#dread spear

[sleepyfan-blog]

Interviews

Author’s Note: This is the next part of the Big E raises the primarchs AU! First. Previous. Next. A big thanks to @plagueparchments, @undeaddream, @kit-williams and @bleedingichorhearts for allowing me to borrow their OCs for this fic! Please rb and support their artistic endeavors!

word count: 5,041 this fic got away from meeeeee

Warnings: none? Please tell me if I need to tag something

Tagged: : @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @sharenadraculea @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Summary: Valdor interviews some candidates to become primary caretakers for the infant primarchs.

Valdor sent out a coded message, asking all  those above a certain clearance level who were not currently assigned to high priority missions to arrive at his office at their earliest convenience in order to discuss a top-secret medium term mission that required discretion, finesse and care. He has already spoken to over a dozen of his fellow custodes, high ranking mortal military officers, admech and civilian mortal staff… Along with the occasional Terran noble. None of them had the qualities that he was looking for as of yet. 

There was a light knock on the door and Valdor called out neutrally “Come in.” A flash of surprise shot through him as Pariah Almach walked into his office. 

“As you say, captain-general. The mission details on the call you sent out were light on details, but I’m… Curious and willing to serve.” The tanned man stated, tucking a stray lock of dark brown hair behind one of his ears and lightly rubbing one of the facial scars on his lower cheek, golden eyes flicking up to Valdor’s face before looking away respectfully.

“There is a reason for that. I have a series of questions to ask you, which I stress you must answer as truthfully and honestly as you can. There are no incorrect answers, but they will determine  your fitness for the mission. If I deem you a potential candidate, I will inform you of the mission details. Due to the nature of the mission it is strictly voluntary, however if you decline the mission, the lord sigilite will remove your memories of the specifics of the mission for the safety of the mission. Do you understand?” Valdor asks, making sure to be upfront. This was the first hurdle that had more than half of the potential candidates who had arrived so far to decline the mission and leave. 

“I understand, Captain-general. I am ready to answer your questions and pass whatever tests are necessary.” The powerful blank answered with a serious and determined nod. 

“Excellent. How much experience do you have working with young children? Specifically infants and toddlers?” Valdor asked, watching him carefully.

Almach blinked rapidly a couple of times, visibly confused before answering “As a child and a teenager, I had many younger siblings I was raised alongside. As one of the eldest, part of my duties were to care for and protect the little ones as best as I could. I haven’t any formal childcare training, but I’ve got a good few years of experience with children of all ages, including infants, sir.”

Valdor noted that down on his dataslate and continued “How do you feel about potentially interacting closely with psykers who will start out wholly untrained due to their nature, as well as those who are closely attuned to the Warp because of their nature?”

Almach shifted a little in his seat “As a Blank of some strength and training, I have dealt with out of control psykers by exerting my own abilities to nullify their own, sir. As long as the psykers don’t attack me for existing, I think I would be able to get along with them well enough… Though I’d need to be away from them for the psykers to learn how to use their powers, if that’s something in the cards for those psykers.” He’s aware that not all psykers who are found by the Emperor’s forces are allowed to continue to live and are brought under his banner. Those tainted are killed to prevent further contamination. Even if the psyker themself is unaware of the darkness they’ve brushed.

Valdor nods, asking several more childcare related questions before saying “I believe that, despite your status as a Blank, you would be a good fit for this mission. As you are aware, The Emperor has many projects going in order to further unify and strengthen humanity. One of these is the Primarch Project. Twenty-one genetically and psychically hand-crafted human infants by The Emperor and each with a multidisciplinary team of the brightest scientific minds who could be found on Terra, created to lead the Legiones Astartes. Most of those scientific minds have been reassigned to the Astartes project, with a couple of the medical staff on hand at any time of the day or night in case the genetically altered infants require medical attention.’

The captain general paused for several seconds before continuing to explain “They were originally to stay in their incubation chambers until their physical maturity was that of a toddler, but strong visions prompted The Emperor to pull them from their tubes early and bring them to a secure wing of the palace. One of these infant generals is a Blank, though how powerful he will be has yet to be seen. Should you accept this mission, you will be assigned the primary caretaker for primarch eleven, the Pariah Primarch. He does not have a name other than Primarch Eleven yet. Your duties would involve the total physical and emotional care of primarch eleven while he grows from an infant to a toddler, which should take up to two years. One of the fail safes that the Emperor put in place in each of the primarchs was to ensure that they would physically mature faster when exposed to danger. You may also be assigned to care for primarchs Five and/or Seven, depending on how many qualified people I find for this mission. What say you?”

Almach swallowed dryly. Could he raise one to three children for war and bloodshed? Admittedly, that’s what they were made for, and his own hands were dripping in the blood of others. He was also keenly aware of what it was like to be a Blank surrounded by non-blanks. How lonely and aching that could get. He would do his duty, despite the guilt that bit at his heart “I will, captain-general. When do I start?”

“Do you have any loose ends to wrap up? Otherwise you will start immediately, and you will be living in the same section of the Imperial Palace as  your ward or wards.” Valdor revealed. 

Almach shook his head “I have no loose ends, sir. Am I allowed to pack a couple of mementos before being transferred to the palace, sir?”

“You are. One of the Golden Host will accompany you to your apartment and aid you in packing, take the rest of the day to get ready.” Valdor ordered. “Oh, and you will be given a week of childcare training before being introduced to your charge or charges.”

“Yes sir.” Almach responded, nodding. He’s not surprised he’s going to be watched while having such information in his head. He got up and headed off, mind running in many different directions at once.

~

There was a light, efficient knock on Valdor’s door, soon after Almach left and he called out “Come in, please.”

“Yes sir.” Apollo responded, quietly walking in, closing the door behind him and sitting down when Valdor silently gestured for him to do so. “I received your call for a highly secretive, multi-year mission? I am here to present myself for it. What do I need to do, sir?”

“Before I tell you about the mission, I have several questions to ask of  you. There are no correct answers, merely the truthful answers you have. If I decide that you are unfit for the mission it is not due to a fault you possess, merely a mismatch in abilities and needs of the mission. Understood?” Valdor clarified, knowing that some of his fellow Custodians would take a rejection of any mission as a failing on their part.

“I understand sir, and I am ready to answer any question  you have.” The Dread Spear responds, lifting his chin a little and squaring his shoulders.

“Excellent. Now, I will ask you a series of hypothetical questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your abilities.” The captain general instructed, before he cleared his throat and stated “You are guarding a very young and willful charge that has shown signs of willfulness and a prickly disposition. They are being difficult and refusing to do what you have told them to in order to keep them safe. What do you do?”

“I remove them from whatever the source of danger is, or I eliminate the danger, depending on whatever is the swiftest option. Is this a bodyguarding mission, sir? I… Do not have experience with such things. I thought the Aquiilan Shields took those missions solely.” Apollo murmured, shifting ever so slightly in his seat.

“This particular mission is set to last for at minimum two years and will be taking place within the Imperial Palace itself, Apollo. There are a number of other… Considerations that caused me to widen the pool of potential candidates. How well can you adapt to humans with enhanced and altered instincts?” Valdor asked.

Apollo thought about the question for a couple of moments before asking “Are you talking about the approved abhuman strains? I have worked alongside different kinds of abhumans before, sir. While they may be a perversion of true humanity, so long as they are willing to serve the emperor, I have no qualms with them.. And as long as their instincts do not get in the way of the mission, they don’t particularly bother me either, sir.”

Valdor hummed, writing down what the younger Custodian said, tapping the stylus thoughtfully against the dataslate before saying “Before I explain this mission it must be said that this information must be kept in the absolute strictest of confidence. Do not breathe a word of this outside of the imperial palace, even among our fellow custodes, even if you know that they are also aware of this duty. If you feel you cannot keep such silence, speak now and you will be removed from the duty roster.”

“I can keep this silent, captain-general.” Apollo answered, shifting a little in his seat again, leaning forward slightly, intensely curious. He’d recently arrived back from a kill mission and had noticed that some of the golden host were abuzz about something, yet they could not or would not say whenever he approached to speak with them. 

Valdor quickly explained about the changes in the Primarch project, and that the infant primarchs had been removed from their incubation chambers and moved to a different heavily guarded and warded section of the Imperial Palace for their own safety, and finishing with “This particular posting would have you taking care of the needs of one or more of the infant primarchs directly. Tending to their physical needs and ensuring that they are adequately emotionally and mentally stimulated as well. You cannot become emotionally attached to your charge or charge. If you feel that you are, come to me and you will be reassigned.”

“I… Infant care is not something I have been trained on, sir and is outside of my realm of expertise. But I feel that I can maintain proper emotional distance from the Primarchs, and should be able to care for whichever one or more of them I am assigned to tend to.” Apollo answered honestly.

“You will be given childcare training for the next week, and then introduced to your charge. I’m sure that you will do well, Apollo.” Valdor murmured, nodding.  

~

Valdor called out, "Come in," As he heard a quiet knock on his door, ignoring the desire to pinch the bridge of his nose. He'd dealt with a half dozen nosy and unfit nobles who had only wanted to know what the mission was. As they had no intention of actually completing the mission he did not tell them. Not that their whining and fussing... and the fact that His Imperial Majesty had shown up to court lat. Again. And with a small dirty towel over one of his shoulders... Rumors abound in regards to why, and he knew that he would need to head those rumors off sooner, rather than later. It was a job for future him, but he's noted down to get done after the initial interviews were done. 

"What is the mission you are seeking to staff, sir?" Zedkiel asked, standing attentively near the door. The Terrab born Raven Guard watching with dark and inquisitive eyes. 

"Before I tell you, I have questions for you to answer first, and the warning that if you are selected for this mission, you cannot tell any of your brothers the mission... And that you'll have limited to time to even contact them over the vox, due to the nature of the mission. If you wish to withdraw now, you may," Valdor explains evenly, watching the other trans-human carefully. 

"I am used to being out of contact with my Brothers for long periods of time during missions, The Raven Guard are primarily trained in stealth, assassinations, and misdirection after all. I will answer your questions to the best of my abilities." Zedkiel murmured, resolute. 

"Good. Now. How do you handle interpersonal conflict? How do you handle discipline of others under your sway? How do you adapt under high pressure situations where you cannot resort to violence?" The Captain General asked. 

Zedkiel was now very intensely curious as to what this mission could possible be about, but restrained the hundreds of inquiries that The Captain General's questions spawned in his mind. He took his time to ponder each question before answering. "I try and find ground with whoever I am in conflict with, to come to a compromise that all involved can live with, if not happy about. As for discipline, I find that corporal punishment leads to long-term issues and prefer to correct problems using more constructive methods. I find redirection and positive reinforcement of the correct behaviors to be a more effective, sir." 

Zedkiel was aware that a number of Commanders and Officers preferred to use the rod and sticks liberally, but he had found that Carrots and gentle correction had much better long-term results, even if it took longer to get unruly Scouts into line, than beatings and terror tactics. "As for high stress non-violent situations, I deal with them by first assessing the situation ato determine the source, and how I might be able to solve or stop the stress. How I would do that depends on the kind of stressor or stressors present, Sir."

Valdor wrote down what Zedkiel said, a considering expression appearing on his face. He was quite certain if he offered a spot for the Astartes on the mission, that Zedkiel would accept without pause. To b able to meet his tiny Primarch. But would he be a good caretaker? From what Valdor knew of the younger trans-human's mission history and personality... The other may be a tad indulgent, but given that he knew that Apollo would be Strict... A gentler hand and limited Astartes exposure should be fine for the infant warlords. "If you refuse this mission after I give you the details, they will be wiped from your mind, for safety and security reasons. Do you understand?" 

"Yes sir. I am ready," The raven guard responded, posture straightening minutely. "The Primarchs were pulled from their incubation chambers as infants for security reasons. They have been moved to a secure wing of the palace and require full time caretakers. Will you be one of them?" Valdor explains deliberately keeping his face neutral. 

Zedkiel's eyes widened a little in shock before the Astartes spoke, voice cracking a little in eagerness, "I would be honored to help care for any of the Primarchs why they are so young." Valdor inclined his head, the corners of his lips quirking up a fraction of a centimeter before flattening again, He's unsurprised by the other's eagerness, "Of those I've interviewed today, you are one of three candidates I've found acceptable for their care team so far. Tie up any loose ends that you have today, then report to Imperial Office 156 on Beta level for training. You and the other caretakers will receive one week of child care training." 

"Yes sir," Zedkiel murmured, saluting Valdor and leaving once dismissed. 

~

"Come on in," Valdor called out as another person knocked on his office door. He had taken just long enough of a break to eat and stretch his legs a little before returning to the desk that His Emperor had given him. 

"Yes sir," Another of the Golden Host murmured, stepping into the room and sitting down. She removed her helmet and massaged her horns, looking him over, a small smirk appearing on her face, "Long day, cap? Just what is this mission? Half the palace is talking about what it might be, or so it feels like." She shook hout her dark hair as she spoke. 

"The mission is highly classified, " Valdor responded before he gave her the same warnings he had given about the secrecy and security level that this mission was and an offer for her to back out before continuing, as well as the pre-screening questions. 

Baphomet flashed him a challenging grin, eyes alight with interest as she leaned over his desk a little, "Oooh, now you've got my attention sir! It's gotta be something special with this kind of security involved. Ask your questions Boss, I'm ready!" 

Valdor cleared his throat a little before answering with several questions in a rapid response, "Do you have any experience dealing with untrained psykers in a non-violent way? How experienced are you with dealing with those who see glimpses of possible futures? How well do you interact with Blanks?"

Baphomet hummed a little, scratching at the base of one of her horns, leaning back in her chair, kicking her feet before answering, "I've corralled untrained psykers before. Especially given how most baseline psykers tend to be squishy. I can usually scruff them if I need to without much issue. Blanks freak me out a little, but the Sisters do important work. As long as the Blank or Blanks in question aren't shitty to me. I'm fine with 'em. But you know how some baselines get with my mutations. I won't tolerate any whining. Oh! I dunno much about seers, though." 

... Considering that Nine had an obvious mutation he couldn't be able to easily hide. Baphomry might be an excellent fit for him as a primary caretaker, despite her disciplinary history. Valdor gives her one more chance to back out of the mission- to which Baphomet flashes him a grin and laughs. He explains about the infant Primarchs, concluding with, "one of them has bird-like wings and future sight. Almost half of them exhibit warp-touched abilities regularly. And all but three of them have shown at least one warp-touched abilities once after being removed from incubation. Are you willing to be a caretaker for the infant Primarchs?" 

Baphomet's eyes widen in surprise and delight as she shot up to her feet, "That sounds line an absolute riot! Fuck yes, I'm up for the challenging mission! I haven't had ... any experience with itty bitties, but I know you. I'm getting kiddie care training before being unleashed on them. I'm absolutely up for it!" The younger Custodes was bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, radiating excitement. 

Valdor nods, a small smile, which he allows to, appearing on his face amused by her exuberance as he instructed her, "Deal with anything you need to. Caring for the infant Primarchs will last for two years at minimum. Possibly longer, depending on how much of a handful they are as toddlers. Report to room 156 on Beta level tomorrow to begin the week long child care course."

"Aye aye sir!" Baphomet chirped before prancing out of the room, grinning widely and helmet in hand. 

There was a quick, rapid knock on Valdor's office door.

"Enter," The Captain General instructed, mildly curious as to who would next present themself for consideration. The fact, as it stood, the caretaking team was half Custodes, did not show any bias on his part, but rather due to the fact that Custodians were likely the best suited to handle infant warp creations meant to Lead Sector-claiming armies when they were fragile and at their weakest. 

There was a rapid clicking sound as a Martian Tech Priest crawled along one wall of Valdor's office. through the door that they were closing with their tail. The Mechanicum's cultist waved a heavily modified hand in Valdor's direction. 

"Uhm. Greetings. Why are you here?" Valdor asked bluntly, pulling out the language translation app on his data slate, ignoring the rising frustration clawing at his mind. 

The Tech Priest clicked rapidly at him for several seconds. The translation software wrote out for him [Here for Assignment. High Priority and Security Level. Serve Omnissiah.]

 ...Great. Sure. Uh-huh. Not. “I see. Do you have other methods of conversation, or is this auditory clicking your only method of communication?” On one hand, it might be good for the infant primarchs to interact with a member of the Mechanicus, and to know that there was a varied methods of communications.. Would it be prudent to allow a member of their tentative allies so close to such a vulnerable resource? Even if several of his fellow Custodes would be present when this priest was as well?

[Singular method of communication.] The priest clicked rapidly, head tilting a little to one side. [Translation simple with helmet and vox-communication systems.]

“While that is true, if you are picked for this mission, not everyone you will need to communicate with has access to a helmet or vox to translate the sounds you are making. Regardless, I have other questions to ask of you, before you receive the details of this mission, if I deem you a fit match. This mission is highly secret and you would not be able to inform anyone else of receiving this mission any of the details. I was handed the task of stocking the best people by the Emperor Himself. Very few people are aware of this mission as it is. If you refuse to take the mission if you learn of the details, your memories of such will be erased permanently. Do you understand?” Valdor responds, leaning over his desk and looming at the tech priest, gaze narrow and focused.

[Understood. Will answer queries. Serve Omnisiah.] The tech priest beeped response. [Will serve faithfully and keep silence.]

Valdor nodded, looking over the list of questions he had and began with “This mission will take a minimum of two years, and will involve a great deal of physical, mental and emotional discretion and effort on the parts of the team members. Do you have any experiences with caring for and disciplining delicate sentient resources? If so, please give examples. Additionally, if you are chosen for this position while you will not want for any resource you may need to successfully complete this mission, are you able to discern between a need that is not being properly fulfilled and a want or desire in your charge that they are trying to emotionally or mentally attempting to manipulate from you?”

[I have worked with tech-priests in training, after they are released from their vat tubes. They can be unruly as their weak flesh can overwhelm them with sensation and stimuli. Routines, training and careful praise/punishment system is effective in keeping them in line. Before they have been fully brought into the fold, some of the young priests in training can get… Stubborn and unruly. I have dealt with youthful manipulations in the past with a firm hand, when interacting with them. Logic and not yielding to yelling or other emotional appeals is important while training and interacting with such resources.] The tech priest - whose name escaped Valdor at the moment - clicked at a steady tempo.

Valdor hummed as he wrote down the other’s response. The lack of regular communication was a bit of a hindrance, but his responses were illuminating and could prove to be most useful in dealing with the infant primarchs. That and they would need to get used to the strangeness of the Mechanicum quickly, so early exposure wasn’t a bad  idea. “Very well. This is your last chance to back out before I explain to you the mission parameters. If you do decide to back out, it will not be held against you in any way.”

[I am ready to serve.] the tech priest clicked.

The captain-general nodded, before explaining the success of the primarch project, and the fact that the infant generals had been pulled out of their maturation tubes as infants due to security concerns, and the fact that the tech priest - amongst others - would be tending to their physical and emotional needs during such a vulnerable point in time, as well as the week long child care training the priest would be taking before being introduced to his charges, finishing with “Currently all of the primarchs are being cared for in a single room together, though that is subject to change, particularly as they grow older and their requirements change. Do you accept this duty?”

[I would be honored, Captain-general.] The tech priest beeped back, his tail flicking a little. 

“Good. Finish up any tasks you have today.” Valdor ordered him, informing the tech priest as to where to report to for training tomorrow.

~

“Sir, are you still looking for candidates for that high priority, top-secret mission?” Adonis asks as he peers into Valdor’s room, where the captain-general of the Adeptus Custodes is sitting, staring at his dataslate as if he hopes it has the questions to all the questions in his mind.

Valdor looked up at Adonis as he spoke and beckoned him inside with a curl of one finger “That I am. I have found some who qualify, but ideally I’d have one or two more on the team to fill it out competently.” He was still somewhat hesitant in including the tech priest in the group… But from what he had read over of Tiny’s service history, the priest should be a good fit, if a mildly mischievous caretaker. 

“I see. What qualifications are you looking for, sir?” The Aquilan Shield asked, tilting his head a little in curiosity as he obeyed the silent order to come into the other’s office and sit down. 

While Valdor had been tempted to simply assig the infant Primarchs a team of Aquilan Shields - particularly those who had been previously assigned young charges in the past, he was also aware of the… Mixed feelings that the Primarchs provoked in many of his fellow Custodes. Mixed feelings that Valdor knew he himself was not exempt from. “I have several questions to ask of  you, as well as a warning to give to you.” He informed the other of the length of the mission, if he refused it that the memories would be taken from his mind, and that Adonis was free to decline the mission with no repercussions.

“Ask your questions, sir. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready to complete such a mission.” Adonis answered stalwartly, chin lifting up a little, resolute.

“How have you handled medical emergencies that occur to your charges in the past? When one of them fell seriously ill, for example.” Valdor responds. He knew that Adonis had never allowed any of his charges to come to harm during the course of his duties,but illness was an unfortunate thing that happened to baselines. While it was exceedingly unlikely that the infant primarchs could get sick with normal illnesses, and the palace was well-guarded against magical curses and maladies…

They were still gene-crafted infants, and while they were definitely heartier than any natural born infant, there was still the possibility of something unfortunate happening to one or more of them. 

“Fifty years ago, one of my charges fell critically ill. I realized their symptoms and brought them to one of my brother apothercaries who had training in treating the illness that they had fallen prey to. Once they had the medications they required I monitored them closely for signs of relapse or worsening condition, while ensuring that they complied with the medical orders and restrictions they’d been given. I personally ensured that they got all of the nutrients, electrolytes and water they needed in the form of a nutritious but easily consumed soup. Under my care they swiftly and fully recovered from their illness.” Adonis answered promptly “While they were resistant to fully complying, I allowed them to move a little more than recommended in order to get them to consume the soup I created for them without fuss. A little bit of compromise goes a long way to compliance in my experience.”

Valdor nodded as he noted that down, a reflective expression appearing on his face. “I will ask you once more, do you wish to withdraw your name from consideration? If you do not, I will explain the mission parameters.”

“I am ready to serve, sir.” The Aquilan Shield responds, alert and inquisitive.

The captain-general explained to Adonis about how the primarchs had been pulled from their maturation chambers as infants, where they had been placed, adn the fact that his Majesty had been the one primarily taking care of the infants, before realizing that to take care of so many infants at once would effectively prevent him from continuing to reunify the Sol system, amongst His many other duties that had begun to fall to the wayside. Which was why he had assigned Valdor to find appropriate caretakers for the infant primarchs. He finished with “Are you willing to care for the infant primarchs, while they are so weak and vulnerable?”

Adonis nodded “I would be willing to do so, sir. I am well aware of His plans for them in the future and will do my best to guard and guide them, should I be chosen for this mission.”

Valdor nodded, saying “Excellent. I will give you the rest of the day to tie up any loose ends you may have. Report to room 156 on Beta level tomorrow to begin the week long child care course.” 

“Yes sir.” Adonis acknowledged before leaving with a brief salute.

[nerd-elf]

My dear charming, arrogant and stubborn husband. Why don’t you let us help you? Preferably without killing people.

[askdread]

wolfman slay based off of this edit/ image I think the stickers and overlays are so cute tried to recreate it lol

[stealerofthe2ndbraincell]

I love any video game that gives me options of weapons that include a spear.

I will, 9 times out of 10, always pick the spear.

*oh blah blah blah but spears are often less powerful then others and can sometimes break easier blah blah blah*

Spears appeal to me because, fundamentally, I play like a coward.

Fast paced weapon with distance that doesn't really require my shitty aim? perfect

[whumpfish]

Anybody know how to stop somebody from pursuing a conservatorship? My sister has started trying to lay the groundwork for having me involuntarily committed the second my mom's not around to protect me, and I'm having a hard time getting my mom to take the threat seriously.

[xystonantzintla]

[firespirited]

indeed, in the seminal classic Low by Flo Rida and T-Pain, it's clear both parts of the duet have radically different ideals of what 'the club' and even the shortie represents. Not sure apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur (with the fur) would even get into Flo Rida's nudes allowed strip club.

"the club" isn't a real place. "clubs" are real. I've been to clubs, with their loudness of talking and loudness of music and actually pretty good cocktails and drinking until you think you can dance. none of them have ever been "the club." the club is erewhon, utopia, a dream of finding a reprieve from suffering and loneliness in pleasure. maybe he should be at "the club," but he cannot. we can none of us be there. also the cocktails were probably overpriced.

[spearofthetenno]

Yo bossman, that's not what Sandsteel was meaning by infections when she mentioned her kids

She was talking about her fucking Eleanor. You know, a prime infestation source like all frames and protos?

…I erm…Yeah I realised that.

I thought she meant it slightly differently…that’s on me.

[sleepyfan-blog]

First Meetings

Author’s Note: Author’s Note: This is the next part of the Raised on Terra AU! First. Previous. Next. A big thanks to @plagueparchments, @undeaddream, @kit-williams and @bleedingichorhearts for allowing me to borrow their OCs for this fic!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @sharenadraculea @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Warnings: swearing, verbal threats

Summary: The newly assigned caretakers to the Primarchs meet their charges for the first time, and each other. 

“So… These are the Primarchs, huh? I wasn’t expecting them to be so little.” Baphomet hummed as she leaned over one side of the bassinet holding one of her newly assigned charges. Nine peered up at her with sanguine eyes as he flared his oversized, fledgling-down wings up at her “Good morning to you too, ya little shit.” She cooed at the fussy little primarch. She grinned as she reached down and ran a finger across the infant general’s puffed-out wings.

He issued and bapped her finger with his wings, wiggling from side to side, trying to evade her touch.

“Aww, I’m sure that we’ll get along sooner or later, little buddy. Unless your liege lord or Valdor decides otherwise, you’re stuck with me until you’re big and old enough for martial training, fluffy.” Baphomet informed the tiny, tetchy Primarch. She booped his little nose and he started to gum the offending finger, occasionally letting out little hissing sounds.

“Please stop winding up Nine, we are supposed to be caring for them, not distressing them.” Adonis gently admonished, having slowly placed a single hand into Sixteen’s bassinet, allowing the naturally curious and generally friendly-natured little Primarch to get used to this new person in his life. 

Sixteen slowly wriggled towards Adonis’ offered hand, tiny fingers gently wrapping around the Aquilan Shield’s thumb and squeezing a little. “Bah?” The infant general babbled, staring up at him with curious eyes. 

Apollo frowned as he looked over at one of the vents that kept the atmosphere in this room at the optimal conditions. There were odd whistling and clicking sounds growing louder from the vent closest to Eight, picking up the sleeping infant general with one hand, tucking him into his chest, a low warning rumbling from the Dread Spear as he moved into a defensive position “Who or whatever is in the vent, state your business as to why you are there and either continue to do it silently or leave. This room is strictly off limits to everyone who does not have the personal seal of the Emperor’s Approval to be here. Your execution will be slow and graphic.” 

“Careful of your language.” Almach murmured, the powerful Blank narrowing his eyes at the Dread Spear Custodian, having already picked up Primarch Eleven and rocked the younger being into a peaceful slumber, with Eleven’s head pressed against his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“I have not sworn once, and mind how you speak to me. We may be part of the same team, but I far outrank you.” Apollo huffed, glowering down at the dark haired Blank for a moment before focusing on the potential threat to the end-results of one of the projects that His Majesty had been working on the most intensely for ten centuries. 

There was a series of binaric chirps and clicks, which was quickly translated into [Greetings! This one is called VM-3507 or Tiny for short. I have been assigned to this project by the Captain General Himself, to care for Primarchs Four, Seven, Ten and Eighteen. I heard a slight miscalibration in the aeration filtration system and went to investigate and fix it. The minor malfunction has been repaired.] 

The martian tech priest scuttled out of the vents, unfolding into a larger form, shaking off imaginary dust from their long robes and clicking their way over to where Eighteen was currently laying on his back and patted the infant lightly on the head.

Eighteen wiggled a little before smiling and laughing in response to the touch.

Apollo’s eyes narrowed a little, before he huffed and held Eight a little closer to his chest, looking down as he felt a dampness on his shirt start to grow. The little Primarch had latched onto his shirt with his tiny, clawed hands and was sucking onto a small wrinkle of fabric. The Dread Spear rolled his eyes and grumbled “Hungry again, I see. Well then, let’s get you some warmed formula.” And stalked over to where the formula was stored, pouring a measure of it into a bottle, double-checking that it was the correct temperature before pressing the artificial nipple on the bottle to Eight’s lips.

“You all… Are very noisy.” Zedkiel murmured, holding Nineteen close to his chest, the terran-born Astartes staring down at his tiny Primarch with a mixture of awe and soul-deep protectiveness. He was keenly aware of the fact that if there was so much as a whisper spread amongst his brothers to be able to have a hand in raising and training their primarch when he was so young and vulnerable, there was no one they wouldn’t kill, maim or slaughter for the privilege. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d been given such a weighty and wonderful responsibility by the Captain General of the Custodes. He’d thought that the rearing of the Primarchs would be a duty done solely by the Custodes… Though given that half of the caretakers were Custodes, perhaps they’d been brought in to broaden the little Primarchs’ initial exposure to different kinds of peoples. 

Almach rolled his eyes, still rocking a sleeping Eleven slowly back and forth “Not all of us are noisy.”

One woke up when the adult Blank walked by his crib, rolled so that he was on his belly and began hissing at Almach, his bright green eyes almost glowing in the light.

His hissing woke up Six, who snuffled in his crib before starting to whimper and whuffle in distress at all the new scents around him, burying himself further into his nest of blankets. 

The emotional distress from two of his brothers immediately woke up twelve from his doze, who promptly began wailing at the top of all three of his lungs. 

Apollo sighed as Eight finished eating. He patted the little Primarch on his back, just in case he swallowed down any air for several seconds before setting him down and going over to pick up Six as gently as he’d been sternly informed that infants needed to be handled. He roughly began rocking the fussing Primarch with an irritated “Hey. Shh. Calm. Calm down you little sh-... Infant. No need for tears and crying. We are here to protect and care for you. Stop. Crying!” 

Hopefully the Primarchs would be able to better take direction, once they were out of infancy. Because Six wasn’t at all listening to Apollo as his whuffles turned into full-blown howls of distress as he was picked up, desperately clawing at Apollo’s chest, trying to wiggle his way to freedom.

“You don’t want to be dropped. My new training tells me that dropping you from this height would injure you quite a bit… And though you were designed for faster than normal heal-... You know what? Maybe dropping you is a good idea. Our Creator wove fail-safes within your DNA to ensure that you would grow faster in response to perceived dang-”

There were several sharp clicks and whistles as the Martian Tech Priest all but teleported over to Apollo and dared to swipe Six from his grasp in one fluid movement as one of it’s other hands grabbed Six’s favored stuffed animal, a dark grey and white canid, wiggling it just out of Six’s reach. 

Six sniffled and shuffled a little, before trying to reach out and grab the toy.

The martian priest held it just out of Six’s reach for several more seconds before allowing the infant primarch to hold and cuddle the toy. VM-3507 gently placed both the little primarch and the toy down and stared up at Apollo and clicked out [Omnisiah commands we care for and raise infants. Deliberate harm at this stage causes emotional delays and harm that are life-long. Your breach of duty has been reported to the captain-general.]

“Wh… What the fuck, ‘Polly?” Baphomet spluttered, glaring at Apollo far too judgmentally for the Dread Spear’s taste. “We’re supposed to care for the little buggers, not threaten to half-kill ‘em. Even with how carpeted this floor is, a drop for your giant-ass height would break at least one of their teeny tiny bones and take weeks to heal. Do you wanna explain how one of his generals got hurt on your first day in charge of caring for him?”

“You… You do remember his majesty’s temper and mood when it comes to potential delays in the progress of the Primarch Project, yes?” Adonis added in, voice mild and quiet. 

“I wasn’t.. I wasn’t actually going to drop Six! It was… My mouth got ahead of me in a moment of frustration is all.” Apollo huffed, turning to check on one of his charges. He startles, having not realized that the only Blank on the Caretaker team had set down Eleven and made his way over to where he had been standing, glowering darkly up at him. “... Why are you so close to me?”

“Proving a point. You Custodes are deadly warriors, yes. But you are not the only ones who are deadly and quick when need be.” Almach growled, glaring threateningly up at the oversized golden bastard “My expertise in battle lies in Guerrilla warfare. I have slaughtered hundreds of men and witches in the name of the Emperor, and by all that I hold dear… If you prove to be a threat to any of these blessed infants I will strike you down myself and no one will ever be able to find your body. Do you understand. Sir?”

Apollo leaned away from the fuming Blank, arching a brow at him. “While I am certain you are a deadly warrior with few peers… First, I have no intent on harming any of the Primarchs unless expressly ordered to do so in order to encourage their growth… And two, I somehow doubt that you would be able to overcome me in one on one combat. Even with your particular… Traits as a Blank.”

 During the arguing, Zedkiel had quietly placed his infant primarch in one of the many available baby slings after securing it to his chest. He then grabbed two more, grateful that his astartes-sized chest allowed him to carry multiple infants safely as he picked up Twenty-A and Twenty-O, making sure to place the twins in the slings next to each other, to help keep them quiet. He then stealthed over to where Thirteen was quietly watching and listening, blue eyes wide.

Thirteen made a small burbling sound as the Raven Guard picked him up, befores settling down quietly, turning to look at Nineteen, who he was placed in a sling next to. Thirteen slowly reached out and poked one of Nineteen’s cheeks.

Nineteen tilted his head a little and poked Thirteen back in the chest with a tiny giggle.

Zedkiel had no desire to deal with squabbling Custodes, and neither should his charges. As long as he didn’t leave the wing of the Imperial Palace where the Primarchs were located, he could go wherever he liked with them.

[radkatzzstuff]

baby gronk needs 3 grimace shakes by TONIGHT.

Get back to work.

[justinjwong]

More PbP RPG OCs :)

[cuteandhughesy]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas ╰┈➤ NH13

summary: nico hischier acting as your fake boyfriend to try and get your family off your back this holiday season seems like the perfect solution - or so you thought.

[word count] 14.9k

warnings: SFW! fake dating | friends to lovers | suggestive themes and dialogue | kissing | jealousy | angst | fluff | mentions of anxiety | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: based off this request! is this a plot i’ve seen before? absolutely! do i eat it up every time? ABSOLUTELY! hope you guys enjoy my third fic of my christmas special—I cant believe it’s almost christmas 🎄 this was originally supposed to go up on Christmas eve, but i finished it early 😘

🎵 i’ll be home for christmas by michael buble, christmas morning by megan moroney, someone like you by van morrison, run rudolph run by chuck berry, little saint nick by the beach boys, christmases when you were mine by taylor swift, blue christmas by megan moroney, + my only wish (this year) by britney spears

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"I think the only way to solve this is if I jump off the highest mountain in jersey."

bree pauses her stirring hand, glancing at you sternly over her shoulder. "don't jump off anything, y/n/n."

you let out another unsatisfied grunt, a disgruntled noise that has come out your mouth many times since you arrived at your best friend's apartment - and you've only been here an hour.

the sound of the wooden spoon scraping along the metal soup pot starts up again, bree continuing to mix her homemade chicken vegetable soup she coerced you over with.

you watch the blonde with a pout on your slightly chapped lips - but it matches the rest of your appearance, so you're not even bothered that they are dry. resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you can't help but zone out and drown in your own dreadful bubble.

you've been feeling overwhelmed and stressed since last night. it started as you'd just finished eating your sad excuse of a frozen meal dinner, beginning to queue up the next episode of stranger things - when your evening was interrupted with your mom’s call.

"mom? is anything okay?" you answer quickly, brows pulled together in a curious manner.

you can hear her gentle laughter through the grainy line. "don't sound so scared to speak to me, honey. everything is fine."

you sigh. "just wasn't expecting a late night call is all....what's up?"

"well," she singsongs, and you can practically hear her wide smile through the phone. "you remember my friend susan, right? from work?" you hum once, so your mom continues. "well she has a son named scott, and he's around your age."

"why are you telling me this?"

she tuts her tongue like it should be obvious. "they are staying at same same skii cabin resort as us this christmas! and you're still single so I want you to meet each other - get to know one another."

that has you sitting up in a hurry, she's blown wide as you take in your moms words. "mom, no i'm not going to entertain this."

"why not? he's nice and cute-" your moms familiar voice fades into the background, as you can't focus on anything but the swirl of panicked thoughts in your head.

you've been single for three years - three years since your last boyfriend cheated on you with his macdonald's co-worker. honestly his first red flag should've been working at macdonald's at his big age of 28 - you should've broke up with him right then and there.

since then, your mom has been wanting you to get back out there, and 'give her grand babies' - you try to not shutter just thinking about it. she's been trying to get you to meet a million different young men, changing between her friends kids and even random baristas she meets at her local starbucks. and honestly you're just tired of it.

you won't find the love of your life through your mom - and it seems that only you can see the logic behind that.

you'd been looking forward to the few days away from the city for christmas, especially with your boss really coming down on you about upcoming new year business proposals that were honestly out of your job description. now your extended weekend that was supposed to relaxing and festive was tainted by your mom and this mysterious scott dude.

you come back to, your mom still lengthly explaining the christmas plans and scott and everything else in between. you huff anxiously, and before your brain can stop the word vomit that is festering on your tongue, you interrupt her.

"i'm bringing someone to christmas."

the blabbering in your ear comes to a quick stop, your mom going completely silent on the line.  "who?"

you swallow, "my boyfriend."

the conversation went on for a bit longer, and you had blabbed about your fake boyfriend without giving away any type of physical details- heck you even avoided giving him a name. when your mom had asked, you told her that you didn't want to give anything away - the element of surprise much more enjoyable.

you cringe thinking back on it, closing your eyes tightly. you are so screwed.

the front door opens quickly, alerting you and bree to her boyfriends arrival. it's only a few seconds following the thud of his hockey bag hitting the hardwood floor that dougie saunters into the kitchen, hair still damp from his post-practice shower.

he looks up from his phone, finding you sitting with a frown at his kitchen island. "what's up with you?"

this time it's bree who groans out. she takes the spoon out of the soup and sets in on the countertop, spinning on her heels to look at you and her boyfriend properly—without straining her neck. "don't get her started."

you squawk. "bree! you're supposed to be consoling me."

she pouts at you, "I know - i'm sorry." bree swiftly moves towards you, wrapping her small arms over your shoulders sweetly. she smells like broth and caramel perfume, which is an oddly comforting scent. "I just don't like seeing you so stressed."

dougie peeks in the soup pot, humming softly at the sight of the various vegetables swimming among perfectly shredded meat. he turns back to you both, leaning back against the counter as he stares you down. "so are you going to tell me? or do I have to wait for you to leave, which inevitably will have bree spilling her guts."

"dougie!" your best friend screeches, eyeing her boyfriend wildly.

you all but whine, letting your eyes fall closed in pure embarrassment. "I'm screwed." you manage to mumble, one eye peeking open to look over at dougie.

he looks rather amused at your dramatics, and you kind of want to get swallowed up and never be let go. "why?"

you take a deep breath. "because....because I told my mom that I had a boyfriend and was bringing him to christmas."

dougie snorts and bree sends him a warning glare. immediately he stops, playing off the laugh with a small cough. "you don't have a boyfriend."

you eye him irritatedly. "you think I don't know that?" bree, like the most amazing and supportive friend she is, begins gently rubbing your shoulder, grounding you. you take another shaky breath, your earlier pout returning. "I just...my mom was all pushy and wanted me to meet her co-workers son and I just panicked."

bree gently pipes up. "you didn't give him a name or talk about his appearance, y/n/n - it gives you some freedom in trying to find someone. maybe you should re-download hinge and make it known in your bio that you're needing a christmas date."

you pull a face, the thought of scrolling through medacore men who don't meet your ethical standards and are most likely teetering on borderline homophobic doesn't sound appealing - like, at all. "i'm going to pretend I can't go - i'll just tell my mom something came up."

"hold on," dougie steps forward, resting his palms on the island. he looks between you and bree, his brows pulled together as he gathers his thoughts. "you didn't give your mom a name?"

you hum. "or any physical attributes."

a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, and he looks rather pleased with what we thought he's conjured up in his mind. "hear me out here...what If you take nico?"

you blink once. and then you blink again.

behind you, bree gasps. "that's a good idea!"

you shake your head, clearly confused. "he's not going home for christmas?"

dougie shakes his head. "no, the schedule didn't work in his favour, and his parents can't come out for a four day break. he was telling me today he was just going to be alone at his apartment....but maybe he could go with you."

it's....its actually not a bad idea. you like nico, he's always been so kind and sweet anytime you two have been together - which, granted, was quite often. surprisingly enough, nico and dougie were really good friends, and anytime you, bree and him wanted to go out, dougie would have nico join along. it's been like that for a few years, and the dynamic between you and nico was easy.

but...."no, I can't put him through that. you know how my mom is, and she's going to be all over him! and my sister and her husband, and god I can't have my niece getting attached....I just can't."

"you can." dougie hums, pulling out his phone from his sweatpant pocket. "you're just making excuses - nico won't care if your family asks questions. he's a team player who will easily help you with all your problems." he's busy swiping on his phone, barley glancing at you as he talks. "plus, it's not like he'll be out of your life after this - I already know he will be your fake boyfriend as long as you need him to be."

"dougie, no." you sigh.

"yes."

"no."

"too late," dougie hums, "i'm face timing him right now."

you left watching in horror, dougie coming around to your and bree's side of the kitchen island. you squawk, "absolutely no - dougie don't." 

he's setting his phone up against the vase of flowers in the middle of the counter, displaying all three of you on the ringing face time screen. dougie looks at you, and grimaces. "try and look pretty. you look like a mess - c'mon."

bree smacks his arm. "dougie!"

you're not even going to disagree with him, because you do look like a mess. your hair is slicked back with your own oil - too lazy to get into the shower before coming over. your face is bare and you're in the middle of your period, with lingering hormonal pimples littering along your chin and jawbone. all that combined with your anxious eye bags, dry skin and ice cream stained pyjama shirt - well let's just say you've looked better.

your eyes widen as the sound of the call changes, indicating that nico is picking up the phone. "seriously I don't - heyyy nico." your hushed and panicked whisper towards your best friend's boyfriend quickly changes as nico hischier’s face takes over dougie’s phone screen.

"....hey?" he looks confused, and rightfully so. you're sure the last thing he expected with a call from his assistant captain was to be met with not only him, but his sheepish looking girlfriend and her hot mess best friend as well. his eyes move between the three of you, brows pulled tightly. "you guys okay?"

his accent sounds thicker through the phone, voice deeper....it's kind of comforting and as soon as your brain registers that calm feeling, it lets you spew. you begin telling nico all about your situation, but it seems that dougie and bree has the same idea, and all nico can hear is a jumbled sentence.

"y/n needs your help." dougie says, the words barley reaching nico's ears over bree's - "and she's just really stressed." that combined with your pouty lips as you tell him, "and his name is scott - like what kind of name is scott?"

you all come to a stop, eyeing nico through the phone screen. he adjusts the angle of his phone, giving you a glimpse of his location, which seems to be on his couch. "you're going to have to say that again, y/n. couldn't hear you over dougie's loud mouth."

so you tell nico everything - just you this time - starting with getting the phone call, your mom trying to set you up, your fake boyfriend lie and dougie's reason for the facetime. the entire time nico listens, not even interrupting you once as he digests the spoonfuls of information.

you sigh gently, "and dougie shouldn't of called you, nico. I really don't want to ruin your christmas by dragging you into my mess and-"

"i'll help you out." this time, nico does interrupt you, his soothing voice agreeing to the whole fake boyfriend story you'd thrown at him, cutting off the end of your lengthy ramble.

"really? why?"

he shrugs through the screen, a gentle smile beginning to pull on his face. "i'm not doing anything else. you're my friend, y/n, I want to help you out."

the relief that floods through you is ethereal, and you can already feel some of the stress leave your body. "nico, thank you...thank you, oh my god, okay I'll text you the details."

he grins. "looking forward to it."

the phone call ends just as the soup starts to bubble loudly on the stove, which has bree cursing, skipping back towards her food and turning down the burner. as she returns to stirring the mixture, she shrieks happily, glancing back at you. "no hinge needed!"

"you're welcome." dougie chimes playfully, pocketing his phone before he moves to grab three bowls from the cupboard, ready to serve some of bree’s delicious chicken vegetable soup.

although you're feeling stress free about the actual boyfriend part of finding a fake boyfriend— thanks to the devils captain— there is still the matter of having to prep nico for your family, as well as playing pretend with one another in hopes of convincing your family that you and nico are in love.

....and the stress is back, prickling under your skin in a way that has you jittery. you can only just pray nico doesn't get overwhelmed and ditch you on the side of the road on the way up to the lodge, leaving you to fend for yourself while he speeds back to the city.

bree slides the hot bowl full of soup in your direction, plopping the gold spoon into the liquid before she leaves. you thank her gently, and as you dig in into the meaty broth, you begin to create somewhat of a plan for you and your fake boyfriend.

DAY 1

you text nico after leaving bree and dougie's apartment once you had settled back at your place, assuming your usual lounging position on the living room couch. you send him the main details of your family christmas getaway like the name of the resort and it's location, as well as when you'll be leaving and how long you'll be staying.

thankfully, the devils schedule almost perfectly aligned with your families getaway, meaning that nico would be able to spend the entire holiday season with you and your family—he just has to leave early on the 25th for the boxing day game—which you can't yet decide if you're relieved about or stressed about.

regardless, three days after your impromptu facetime call on dougie's phone, you and nico are packed up in his car, backseat full luggage and various wrapped presents— all ready to head up to the ski lodge.

it’s been 5 minutes since nico pulled out of your driveway, and you still haven't said anything other than your initial greeting. the pressure of the day ahead is knawing away at you, turning your stomach into a wave pool of nerves.

the christmas music flows quietly through the speakers, providing a comforting hum in the background. nico keeps switching his gaze from the road to the side of your face, analyzing your anxious eyes as you zone out, nibbling the skin around your thumb nail.

he sighs gently and with a free hand turns the already quiet music completely off. the lack of the original taylor swift christmas song in your ears snaps you out of your daydreaming, looking over at nico with a tight pull to your eyebrows.

"why does your face look like that?"

you frown, "like what?"

"like you've just shoved your nose full of expired smelling salts," nico smirks at his own joke, glancing over at you once again. "seriously what's going on that head?"

you take a deep breath, your mouth opening and closing like a tiny fish—unsure what you want to admit. you don't want to seem ungrateful for nico‘s help by complaining, and you don't want to look stupid and embarrass yourself for being so nervous about spending christmas with your family. after a moment, you let out a quiet sigh, glancing over at nico.

his flickering gaze is soft—comforting—and it has you faltering, head falling back against the head rest with a thud. "I can't lie." nico huffs a laugh, and you almost scoff at the sound. "i'm serious - I can't lie."

"technically, you're not lying."

you eyes widen comically, looking over at him wildly. "what part of this trip isn't based on a lie."

he sighs gently, fingers flicking on the cars turn signal as he approaches the highway lane. nico has always been so nonchalant in your presence, the complete opposite of you at any give moment, and honestly you're envious of that. he glances at you quickly, pulling onto the highway. "I mean, it's not like we are strangers—we're friends."

you don't say anything, too busy trying to understand what he actually means by that. nico smirks easily at you, "so we only have to pretend that we kiss and well....fuck."

you blush. "nico!"

“it’s true.” amused, he looks at you. "and, well, you can't turn red anytime someone makes a suggestive comment.”

groaning, you pull your knees to your chest, creating a spot for you to hide your burning face, tucking your head between your kneecaps. "can't help it." you say, but all nico can hear is your muffled voice making no sense as you talk into your legs.

"it's okay." he reassures you lightly. "so, what's your family like? what do I need to know?" he changes the flow of topic easily, which successfully has you pulling your head up.

"well." you start, voice a pitch higher than normal—contemplating what to say. “my mom she's very.....out there. she's not shy, and her social awareness isn't very high, meaning she doesn't care about strangers or what they think of her." your eyes flicker away from the busy highway infront of you, looking over at nico to gauge his reaction.

he hums, "what else?"

you sigh, eyes finding the road once again. "she also loves me...too much I think. and she always wants what's best for me — even if she thinks that's scott."

"she sounds fun." nico's words take you by surprise, because fun usually isn't the first word that comes to mind after describing your dear mother. you quickly turn your head, but much to your surprise, nico isn't joking. he's being sincere—smiling softly. "honestly she sounds like my mom."

the mention of nico's family has you feeling a bit hallow, and you remember the only reason he's able to help you out is because he couldn't fly out to be with his family. you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling the skin until it feels sore. "i'm sorry about your family, nico. I really wish it would've worked out for christmas."

he shrugs once, glancing back over at you. "it's not your fault. besides, i'm here with you, right? so my christmas is coming together." you deflate slightly, nico's sweet and almost vulnerable words leaving you feeling rather soft. "so who else will be there? besides your mom and this scott guy?"

you huff a laugh, "well I don't know how much of scott we will be seeing now that i'm bringing you, but I do know that my older sister, tammy and her husband brody will be there. along with my niece, taylor - hence the disney princess wrapping paper." you thumb over your shoulder where there are multiple oddly shaped presents, all wrapped in disney paper.

nico snickers, sending you a teasing look. "thought you were just wrapping your own gifts."

"nico!" you laugh sweetly, "you’re ridiculous."

he smiles. "okay, okay. how old is your niece?"

"she just turned 6, back in november." you hum, leaning over slightly to turn the radio back up—only at volume 2—letting the familiar jingles add to the ambiance of the snowy jersey weather.

one of nico's brows raise. "so you've got a birthday twin?"

"wha-how do you know my birthday is in november?" you're clearly baffled, looking at nico like he just told you he met your long lost twin.

he glances at you wildly. "I don't have a brick for a brain! c'mon y/n/n, just because dougie is a stupid hockey player doesn't mean I am."

a dig at your best friends boyfriend never fails to make you chuckle, and you wrap your arms around yourself tighter, keeping yourself warm. although nico was joking around, you still aren't sure how he knew the month you were born in—how he remembered when your birthday was. it's just not something you thought nico would take note of. you don't do big parties for yourself, and you don't even post to social media—bree being one of the only people to celebrate you online.

your laughter dies down gently. "i'm just suprised that you'd remember."

his lips tug downwards in the beginning of a frown. "why would I forget?" nico's eyes flicker to yours once again, holding your gaze with a soft and warm expression. you take in a shaky breath, unable to find yourself wanting to look away from nico. his words, although nothing that deep, feel like the bottom of a warm lake, heating your chest with his question. it's a bare minimum that you've yet to experience with any boyfriend, real or fake.

he clears his throat quickly, eyes flickering away from your face and back through the snowflake covered windshield. "okay, what are our rules here? I don't want you to be uncomfortable with any of this fake dating stuff."

"oh. right, ummmm-" you blink, trying to recover from the abrupt shift in conversation and shift in your heart. "well to start, any question that my family asks about us and how we met, just tell them the truth. no need to fabricate some elaborate story—especially considering i've brought you up before...god my mom is going to die when she sees you." you mumble the last part to yourself, already picturing your moms face when you tell her the nico you're dating is also your friend nico.

he doesn't hear the end of your scentence, and only nods understandably, switching lanes. "got it."

you continue, "and this relationship between us is a new thing-- i'm talking’s within the last two months new. if they ask we say that we were just testing the waters of our relationship. and that gives me an excuse of why I hadn't told my mom about us before tuesday."

"that's good" nico hums appreciatively, clearly impressed with the little plan you'd made for you both. "plus it will make us look less insane when we are all over other and acting lovey dovey. that it’s just the honey moon phase."

your belly swoops, and your eyes widen in a slight panic. "why would we be all over each other?"

nico looks almost dumbfounded at your rushed question, his brows practically touching the edge of the hockey branded beanie sitting across his forehead. "because we are supposed to be dating."

you feel a little stupid in that moment, and when the end of nico's reminder is accompanied by a teasing smile you begin to feel very embarrassed. you try not to face palm, clearing your throat. "right, duh! that makes sense then." nico nods in amusement, which really has you wanting to face palm.

wanting to get back to the earlier discussion of rules, you hum in continuation. "I think cuddling and stuff is fine, right? like we can cuddle on the couch and hold hands in town."

"if you're comfortable with that." nico says, shooting you a glance, taking in your face to try and dissect your expression—trying to find an answer on your face before you say anything.

you laugh once, and even that sounds weird—no wonder nico keeps looking at you. "why wouldn't I be?"

"you're turning red just talking about it."

you face falls. "i'm going to throw myself out of this car."

"no, no." nico chuckles. "any other rules you want to lay down?" his eyes twinkle with playfulness as he shoots you another glance. "like what about kissing?"

obviously you blush because what. you don't let yourself react in the way your body desperately wants to, instead you keep your posture the same, humming in thought. "we don't need to kiss unless absolutely necessary."

once again, your eyes fall back to the driver's side, looking at nico as you wait for his response. you watch him smirk softly, eyes still on the busy roadways as he answers. "sure."

the rest of the car ride is filled with easy conversation and multiple impromptu karaoke sessions— nico laughing anytime you turn the music up and claim that it's impossible to not sing along to a justin bieber christmas song. the easiness of the whole dynamic between you and nico has you feeling much more at ease than you'd been when he first picked you up, and the idea of bringing nico to meet your family is becoming increasingly less stressful.

that is until your mom open the door, squealing in excitement at the sight of you and nico parking in the un-shovelled driveway of the rented ski cabin—waving at you both—your stress levels start to rise back up.

you swallow nervously, the sound of the car engine shutting off setting in your ears - there's no escape now.

"hey," nico mumbles, gathering your attention. he gently reaches towards you and gives your shoulder a reassuring and grounding squeeze. "don't worry too bad. it'll be okay."

all you can muster is a nod, watching through the front windshield as you sister peeks over your moms shoulder, her perfectly styled hair blowing in the wind.

"wanna get the bags now?"

"no," you finally speak, shaking your head. "save them for later just incase we need an escape route."

he chuckles. "okay dramatic - let's go."

with another encouraging nod from the devils captain, you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out the car along with nico. at the sight of your face, your mom screams, waving at you like a crazy woman from the porch—the woman didn't even put on a coat before coming outside, leaving the door wide open behind her. "y/n, honey! you're here!"

"i'm here." you make your way up the pathway, nico's hand providing a ghostly pressure on your lower back as he trails behind you. "merry christmas momma."

she scoops you into a tight hug, kissing the side of your head repeatedly until it feels like all her lipgloss has transferred to your hairline. "merry christmas! and oh, honey don't be rude—introduce us to this handsome man." over your shoulder, your mom catches sight of nico and his ridiculously charming smile.

he looks so relaxed and happy that you're jealous. you're also jealous that nico manages to look that good after spending 2 hours in a car—but that's not important.

you quickly wrap your arm around nico's torso, bringing yourself into his warm side. nico easily follows suit, wrapping his hoodie covered arm around your shoulders, giving you another comforting squeeze. you smile—extra big—at your mom, rubbing your free hand over nico's covered stomach. "right of course, this is nico. my boyfriend."

recognition flashes across her face, eyes darting between you and your fake boyfriend—who you are currently cuddling with on the cold porch in front of your mom, an action that is very out of the ordinary for you. you can only pray she doesn't think too hard about everything. suddenly, she gasps. "nico?! like your friend nico?"

you scrunch your nose through a faux smile, "that's the one!"

she laughs, "is that why you were so secretive over the phone? so it would be a suprise?"

"yes." you say through gritted teeth, arm tightening around nico's muscular torso, grounding yourself through your white lies.

your mom beams again, hands clutched to her chest as she admires you both - granted your shivering and your toes are borderline frozen.

"it's nice to finally meet you, ms. y/l/n. i've heard so much about you." nico says easily, his accent perfectly complimenting his relaxed tone and demeanour. he removes his arm from your shoulders, and you fight the urge to pout from the lack of warmth, watching as nico puts his hand out for your mom.

she dismisses the formality, moving towards him with her arms wide open. "oh, honey, please call me ella - and i've heard so much about you, I can't believe you're finally here."

your eyes close in embarrassment, face flushing a deep pink as your mom embraces nico.

"mom, let them come in! it's freezing." your sisters honey laced voiced calls out from inside the house, and you can see her making her way back towards the front door, taylor on her hip as she easily saunters over.

your niece happily shouts as she catches sight of you, begging to be put down. tammy obliges, but tells her to wait until you get inside, not wanting a coat and shoeless toddler to walk onto the wintertime porch. behind her, your brother-in-law joins you, smiling and waving at you through the open door before pressing a kiss to your sisters head.

"yes, of course." you mom smiles, turning on her heels and walking through the door. "c'mon in you two, before you turn into ice."

too late—you think.

right before you and nico can pass the threshold into the log cabin, you mom puts her hand out, stopping you with a playful smile ghosting her face. you sister looks borderline fed up, closing her eyes at your moms actions, and brody just looks excited.

confused, you quirk a brow. "what's happening right now? you all look very weird."

you mom points up, "honey, you're under the mistletoe!" you smile falters, your eyes slowly moving up until you catch sight of the array of green mistletoe leaves dangling above you and nico. "it means you have to kiss - house and mistletoe rules."

nico laughs awkwardly beside you, warm eyes also on the festive plant.

"mom, no." you follow suit, chuckling through your discomfort as you set your sights back on your mom.

her brows pull together, a frown overtaking her face. "what, why not? just a little smooch?"

"they just got here, mom. at least let them take off their boots before you make them get to business." you sister—ever the saving grace—tries to move on from the discussion, sending you a wide eyed look behind your moms back.

you nod in thanks, "yeah. don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"

"why would that be inappropriate?" she gawks. "nico doesn't mind, do you?"

"I mean-"

"i'm your child, and you just met him." you interrupt whatever people-pleasing answer nico was about to spew, looking at your mom with an expression mixed up of amusement and bewilderment.

"c'mon, y/n," brody chimes in playfully. "it's not like we are asking you to suck his-" tammy smacks her husbands chest, a warning for him to not finish that scentence. "ouch, babe!"

"little ears." your sister reminds, gesturing to your six year old niece, who is still bouncing on her heels, desperate for you to get inside so she can steal you away. "don't egg her on." tammy is talking about your mom, who is still clueless on why making you kiss your supposed boyfriend when they just meet him is a bit weird.

the whole situation is stressful and overwhelming, and you kind of just want to turn around and make a run for the car. as if nico can sense your anxiety, his grip around you—now with his arm around your waist—tightens ever so slightly, reminding you that you're okay.

you swallow nervously. "let's not make nico-"

you're interrupted by the firm press of nico's lips on your cold cheek, kissing your face gently. the action seems to momentarily silence your family, but soon you can hear your mom cheer happily, mumbling something about how she 'should've taken a picture to send to your aunt shirley'

but you’re too distracted to register anything other than the lingering kiss against your cheek, and there's no doubt that your flesh is warming right under nico's lips. he pulls away, an easy smile taking over his face—like he's not even affected.

brody snickers, "see, y/n? wasn't so hard."

it seems that everyone is satisfied after that, your mom too busy texting on her phone to stop either of you from coming inside—thank god because you're pretty sure the inside temperature has dropped 10 degrees from the door being open.

as soon as you shut the door, taylor comes skipping over, her gapped tooth smile wide as she looks up at you. surprisingly, she doesn't attack you with hugs, but instead stops in front of nico. she looks up at him curiously, her hands resting on her tiny hips. "who are you?"

her bluntness has you laughing, even more so as you take in nico's amused expression, looking down at your niece softly. he bends down to meet her level, placing his hand out infront of her. "I'm nico, i'm your aunties boyfriend. what's your name?"

he already knows her name, but the formality of it all has you melting slightly, watching the interaction with an amused look. her tiny fingers splay over his palm, doing her best at shaking nico's large hand. "i'm taylor. you’re my auntie y/n's boyfriend?" her bright eyes flicker between you and nico curiously.

"I am."

she hums. "but you're too pretty for her."

you gasp, hiding your laughter. joining nico in his crouched position, you drag your giggling niece into your chest, lightly tickling her torso. "excuse you missy!"

"I don't know, taylor. I think your auntie is actually too pretty for me."

"yeah." she shrugs lightly, finally breaking free of your tickling. taylor shuffles back towards nico, "do you want to see my stuffies?"

"you have stuffies?" nico beams, "of course I want to see them." it's instantly that taylor grabs nicos fingers, leading him through the log cabin and presumably towards whichever room she's loaded off her stuffed animals in. you can hear taylor's excited babbling all the way down the hall, accompanied by nico’s enthusiastic responses as they disappear out of sight.

"honey can you go make sure she doesn't bore him to death. I can picture the tea party now." your sister sighs, looking at her husband expectantly.

"yeah," brody then looks at you, a teasing glimmer in his expression that you have grown to recognize. already, you're rolling your eyes. "I can't believe you're fucking an nhl captain y/n. good for you."

"go!" tammy hides her laugh behind her hand, but you can still hear her amusement through the muffled sound. brody waggles his eyebrows in your direction, further teasing you as he leaves.

thankfully your mom had slipped into the kitchen in the time you and nico had been talking with your niece—saving you from facing her after your brother-in-laws ludicrous comment. you can hear brody mutter something along the lines of 'course i'll go talk to the professional athlete, fuck kinda question is that?' — but you can't be so sure.

tammy grabs onto your arms, guiding you into the large, high ceiling living room. from what you've seen of the ski lodge so far, you're very impressed. it's got that rustic christmas feel that reminds you of your childhood, with grand windows and entry ways that overlook the winter scenery. with only a 5 minute drive to the hills, the resort was practically perfect.

you let your sister plop you onto the worn leather couch, the plaid throws scrunching behind your back as they slip around. tammy immediately sits down beside you—close enough that you're touching knees—facing you with wide eyes. "what the hell."

you make a face. "what?"

she scoffs a gentle laugh, eyes darting all over your warm face. "how long have you been crushing on nico?"

"what-what do you mean?" you blush timidly. you're unsure why the question has you feeling nervous—feeling caught—because nico is just a friend. a ridiculously generous friend who immediately agreed to spend christmas with your family to help you out, and is currently playing with your niece just because she wanted him to....its fine, really.

"well you've told me and mom that he was just a friend—you've been saying that for years and now you're dating? what's that about."

"oh, right." you really need to get a hang of the whole fake boyfriend thing, because the amount of times just today you've already forgotten is just criminal, and you're practically begging to get called out. you huff a gentle laugh, tucking your loose hair behind your ear shyly. "I don't know something just....changed."

"clearly." tammy laughs brightly. "how long have you been together?"

you swallow nervously, thinking back to the discussion with nico in the car about this very question. "only a few months. we kept it secret just in case...you know—bree and dougie are the only ones who knew."

tammy nods understandably, but a disgruntled expression quickly forms on her perfectly blushed face. "i'm kind of offended you told dougie before me."

"if it makes you feel any better, dougie was the one who set us up - so I didn't technically tell him anything." the twisted truth comes easily, and you give yourself a mental pat on the back for that one.

"fine. I feel a little better." tammy smiles, shifting her body so that she's tucked against your side, loungewear covered legs bent towards her chest as she relaxes into you. her blonde hair tickles your neck as she tilts her head up towards you, eyeing you with a playful undertone. "he's cute."

"hey! hit on your own man." you try and push her off of you gently, but tammy doesn't allow it, wrapping her arms around you tighter as she laughs.

"i'm just stating the obvious, y/n/n." her nickname for you has you feeling warm and fuzzy, settling back into your cuddly position. you and tammy have always been close, even with your 6 year age gap. you've always done everything together, and told one another all your secrets—so you feel guilty for not telling her about nico, even though it's not real.

"you really like him?" tammy's question is a gentle and sweet whisper, looking up at you like she just knows.

you nod, probably too fast and too enthusiastically—but thankfully tammy isn't paying attention to that, only listening to your words and watching the way your eyes change into a more relaxed and emotional state. "of course," you breathe, smiling. "I mean...he's always been really sweet and kind. always making sure I feel comfortable in a crowded room, checking in on me when he hasn't seen me in a couple days. and well, just today he's made me the most relaxed i've felt in a long time...." you trail off, clearing your throat gently. "sorry, god i'm blabbering."

tammy shakes her head softly, gently grabbing a hold of your hand. "it's okay. it's sweet."

"auntie y/n! look at nico!" the tiny and shrill voice of taylor interrupts the rather tender moment, but thankfully it allows you take take a calming breathe and let your heart rate turn back to normal. your niece skips down the hall, dragging nico behind her as they round into the living room.

the sight of nico has you stifling laughter. "oh...wow."

nico smirks, hands held out as if he was showing himself off. the princess aurora tiara nestled in his brown hair catches the setting sun, sparkling in the dimming light. that combined with the bright pink lipstick smeared around his mouth and the lime green tutu that is 5 sizes too small for a professional athlete around his hips is just too much. "handsome right?"

you hum, nodding sarcastically as he gives you and tammy a spin—showing off taylor's work. "oh yeah."

when nico faces you again, he winks—so quickly you're not even sure if it happened. it has your face warming once again, your sister nudging her pointed elbow into your side as she wordlessly teases you.

what have you gotten yourself into?

after a very amusing hour of dress up—which of course you got dragged into—you all had dinner, thanks to your mom and her random bursts of energy that allow her to cook up roast dinners every other day.

dinner went surprisingly well, and nico seemed to fit into the family dynamic nicely. it was a weight lifted off your chest as you watched him easily discuss sports with your brother in-law and excitingly answer all of your moms borderline intrusive questions. it's full of laughter and honestly you're surprised at how well everything seemingly is going—it's a relief you didn't think you'd get to experience this christmas.

after a long travel day for you and nico, you both decide to retire to bed early, leaving your sister and your mom in the living room— your mother shouting out a general explanation of which bedroom is yours as you go.

you're not sure what you were thinking, but the sight of the large bed in the middle of the room has you feeling nervous, stomach swooping at the thought of having to share a bed with nico. you suppose you believed that some part of your mom still pictured you in highschool with a boyfriend and would make you and nico sleep in separate rooms or beds.

clearly not.

the bed looks absolutely heavenly though, with lots of fluffy pillows and a nice duvet with complimenting throw blankets draped over the corner—you can't wait to sink in and pass out.

nico, who had gone and got your luggage right after dinner, drags both of your suitcases towards the dresser, the gentle click of the handle sliding back into place echoing throughout the room. he turns back to you, "I can sleep on the floor if you're uncomfortable."

your eyes snap away from the luscious bedding and over to nico—he must’ve seen your blank stare. you shake your head quickly, "no - no, we are adults. i'm not going to make you sleep on the floor."

you can practically see the relief on his face and in that moment you're completely convinced that nico would've set up camp on the rug if you asked him to.

you continue, ignoring the weird flutter in your stomach. "plus my mom will probably burst in here every morning to wake us up and I don't want to make up some lie about why my boyfriend is sleeping on the floor instead of in the bed."

"of course." he chuckles, the quiet sound settling through the warmly lit bedroom comfortably. "what side do you want?"

you snicker, waving your hand as if you're trying to appear nonchalant. "oh, i'm not picky."

nico eyes you, one brows raised in question as if he can see right through your attempt at coming across easy-going—you've never even been close to that. "are you lying?"

your shoulders deflate. "yes."

he laughs again, watching as you make your way over to the left side of the bed, tossing your phone in front of the pillows as if you were marking your territory. "it's furthest from the door." you hum like it's obvious, looking at nico with timid eyes.

"sure." he hums softly, eyes lingering one yours for a moment longer before turning away.

nico has his back turned to you, digging through his carry-on in search of his toiletry bag. you watch the way his muscles move, his compression shirt giving you the perfect view of the ripples and hard work he's put into his body. you've never really noticed how in shape nico is—I mean sure you've like noticed he's got muscles because he's a professional hockey player...but you've never appreciated them like you are right now.

"y/n?"

you blink. "huh?"

nico smirks, and you instantly realize he's caught you checking him out. you blush wildly, trying your best not to collapse into an awkward puddle. "I asked if you want to use the bathroom first."

you clear your throat, "no go ahead."

he gives you another knowing smirk before disappearing into the on suite bathroom (which, holy, how nice is this place), travel toiletry bag and a new pair of sweatpants tucked under his arm. as soon as the door clicks shut, you let out a deep breath—one you hadn't realized you'd been harbouring.

thankfully you hadn't worn makeup today, knowing that you’d be travelling—the feeling of being stuck with makeup on your face during the couple hour drive here sounded like a living nightmare. so while nico is busy in the bathroom you quickly change into your christmas red striped pyjamas, shoving your dirty clothes back in your suitcase before nico can see.

the door opens again just as you locate your toothbrush, revealing nico is his team branded sweatpants and...oh he's not wearing a shirt. you swallow heavily, eyes quickly flicking over the expanse of his muscular torso. "bathrooms free." he says, easily moving towards the bed.

you nod. "yeah, thanks."

right before you can shut the door, he calls your name, stopping you in your rather frantic pursuit into the bathroom—which is lingering with the scent of nico's cologne. he smiles at you playfully. "i'll keep the bed warm."

that's it - you're going to drown yourself in the toilet.

DAY 2

you managed to not drown yourself last night—shockingly enough. after nico's fluttering eyes and stomach swooping tease last night, you'd made some stupid joke, one that you can't even remember—you're pretty sure you blacked out. you shut the bathroom door quickly, taking as many deep breathes as you felt applicable.

the entire time you'd been brushing your teeth, you just kept going through calming mantras in your head, desperately trying to grasp ahold of the shit show inside your head. thankfully the rest of the night was easy—easy because as soon as your head hit those inanely comfortable pillows you were out.

the reason for waking up this morning—like expected—was because of your mother, who loudly entered your and nico's room with a tinsel covered sweater and bright smile. "wake up love bugs. taylor wants us all to go into town and look at the trees together!"

you're then hyperaware that nico is obviously still without a shirt, and you happen to be tucked against his bare chest like your life depended on it. his peck, although it doesn't look it, is a surprisingly comfortable pillow. your body stiffen's against him, but before you can roll away, nico tightens his grip around you, keeping you in place.

"give us a few minutes." you manage to tell her, practically rigid against the devils captain. "nico isn't wearing pants." you can hear him make a noise of protest beside you, pinching your hip between his fingers.

"take your time you two!" she sing songs, leaving the room with as much pep in her step as usual. as soon as the door clicks closed, you push off nico, but he doesn't let you get too far, fingers wrapping around your wrist to stop you.

"why'd you tell your mom i'm don't wearing pants?"

"I panicked."

"you're ridiculous—you know she's going to think we had sex now." his amusement is clear, and although it's at the expense of his dignity, nico is enjoying the humor of it all.

you shrug, slipping out of the bed. "hate to break it to you but they already think that."

through the mirror you left your bag in front of, you watch nico eye you from the back, his brows pulled curiously. "and why's that?"

"didn't you know? i'm secretly this like crazy minx who brings different boys to family trips and-" you're interrupted when nico tosses a pillow towards you, his laughter echoing throughout the room.

"get dressed freak."

—

you think one of your favourite things about being around nico is that no matter how his comments make your stomach swoop and how his gentle lingering eyes leaves your heart pounding, it's always easy to speak with him and just...be his friend.

which you suppose is normal with friends—you think?—its kind of hard to tell. you've only been close with your sister growing up, and then when you met bree in college she became your only other companion. when bree met dougie and inevitably started dating him, it opened up this new world to you; going to events and games, meeting so many people all with different personalities and backgrounds.

meeting nico was different though, because unlike the catalog of people that had come in and out of your life, nico was a constant. in the four years of knowing him, he's always managed to be that person—that friend—you felt you'd been missing. despite always playing nonchalant about your relationship with nico, dismissing him to be just a casual friend, you did really like him and cherish that friendship...and it kind of scares you.

after you moms abrupt wake up call, you and nico quickly got ready for the day, bundling in your warmest clothes to bare the chilly downtown weather—granting your nieces christmas tree browsing wishes.

the town is decorated beautifully, with stunning icicle lights dripping from every building, red ribbon wrapped around poles and pulled into bows at every corner, and the trees—filled with various sized and shaped ornaments that perfectly encapsulate the christmas season.

it feels like something out of a hallmark movie with the gentle pressure of nico's hand in yours, guiding you both behind taylor as she excitedly makes you look at everything. your sister and brody watch in amusement, very used to their daughters excitable personality. and of course your mom makes you and nico pose for hundreds of photos, because she has to 'capture the beautiful moment and the beautiful couple.'

she evens asks for you and nico to kiss—again—but just before you have to make up another excuse, brody chucks a snowball right at your chest. you immediately start hurling them back at your brother-in-law, distracting everyone from another non-kiss moment between you and nico.

after a few hours in town you all head back to the lodge, stomachs ready for some warm food to heat up that achy cold emptiness.

you place the serving tray full of freshly buttered buns in the middle of the table, next to the sour cream and shredded colby jack cheese—both necessities with your moms homemade chilli.

on the other side of the table, nico places one of the last bowls, the ceramic dishes clanking together—it's a peaceful noise, one that's often heard in kitchens. his eyes suddenly flicker towards you, and when he catches your stare a slinky smile curves at his lips. "are you judging my placement right now?"

the tease—so mundane and playful—has your smile growing, butterflies tickling the lining of your growling stomach. "never."

his gaze narrows, "well i'm definitely judging your butter abilities—that spread is so uneven."

you gasp, "think you could do better, hischier?"

"oh," he laughs, "I know I could."

you smirk, picking up one of the grapes sitting loose in the fruit bowl at the end of the counter, tossing it in nico's direction. but like the coordinated athlete he is, catches it in his mouth, chewing the crunchy grape slowly—winking at you while he chews.

"y/n," your mom looks at you over her shoulder, "do you mind just finishing adding the herbs? I gotta run upstairs quick."

"sure." you hum, making your way over to the stovetop, taking the long handled wooden stirring spoon from your mom. she thanks you with a squeeze on your arm before waltzing out of the kitchen, disappearing up the stairs.

as you begin twirling the utensil through the thick chilli, you feel nico come up next to you, his chest brushing against your arm. "why are you stirring it like that?"

you look up at him with wide eyes, your amusement clear. "you are just tearing my cooking apart today."

he laughs, "you're not cooking anything. you're simply just spreading and stirring."

a noise similar to a scoff falls from your mouth, and you tear your gaze away from nico quickly. "i'll spread something all right." you mutter with faux irritation, turning your shoulder away from him.

nico laughs again, chest rumbling against your skin. "that sounded dirty." his forearm wraps around your torso, holding you against his chest.

you're momentarily speechless with the feeling of nico touching you so intimately. your slow stirring comes to a stop, the end of the wooden spoon almost falling into the pot—but you don't notice. your head slowly falls backwards, resting just under nico's collarbone. "what are you doing?" you ask quietly, looking up at him.

nico leans down, his lips brushing against your ears. "what does it feel like i'm doing?" his breath is warm on you and you feel a static travel over your body—from your ears, down to your neck and shoulders, even reaching your toes.

"it feels like you're trying to hit on me." your words comes out breathily, barley reaching your own ears.

"maybe I am," he shrugs, and like he didn't just send your heart plummeting to your stomach, nico says, "your sister is watching us."

discreetly your eyes dance towards the large living room where you catch a glance at tammy—who is trying to not make it look obvious as she stares at you both lovingly, a cheesy smile on her face.

"so the only reason you're touching me is because of the audience?—that's a bit freaky, even for you nico."

he pinches your side lightly, which sends you squirming backwards, further into his embrace—chilli and herbs long forgotten. "i'll take any excuse to touch you, y/n."

nico looks down at you warmly, that boyish grin on his face that makes him look so warm and cuddly. you feel your face heat up at his insinuation, and you look away from his playful expression, bowing your head so you're looking back to the chilli.

"you're so pretty when you blush," nico mummers against your skin, pulling you back to his chest.

your blush deepens, a light laughter bubbling through your chest as you playfully push him away. "you're distracting me."

before nico can say anything else, the distant voice of your mother approaches. "and this is the kitchen! isn't it just so beautiful susan? I mean not just the lodge but the whole resort."

susan? who the hell is—oh my god.

nico watches your face drop, your eyes darting towards the kitchens entryway as the voices grow closer, this susan lady answering your mother just as enthusiastically.

he's quickly back at your side, a gentle hand brushing against your lower back. "what's wrong?" nico's question is hushed—determined.

you're honestly surprised that you can hear his whisper over the blood rushing in your ears. the rush of anxiety that pumps through your blood is overwhelming, and the reason you'd brought nico to your families christmas vacation comes trampling back. you swallow roughly, "susan...she's my moms friend and-"

"guys, this is my friend susan and her son scott!" your moms chipper tone halts your scentence, you and nico watching silently as your mom gestures to the unexpected company.

scott is...actually not that bad to look at—which is a gold star on your moms part. the dark haired man is standing merely few feet away from you as he moves to greet tammy. he's got that finance bro look to him, with a crisp button up shirt underneath his puffer vest—why men insist to wear vests inside is something you'll never understand.

he greets brody like a typical male would, bringing him in for a quick slap on the back—a smile on his face that shows his perfectly white teeth.

"y/n, honey this is scott." you mom singles you out, which of course she does, pointing towards scott with a wink in your direction.

you can feel nico stiffen against your back, his forearm snaking back around your waist. before you can think, you let your hand rest over nico's, interlocking your fingers between his resting against your torso.

"nice to meet you, y/n." he greets with a grin. "i'm scott. i've heard so much about you."

"you too, scott." you smile politely. "this is nico-"

"her boyfriend." nico finishes your scentence firmly, the hand that wasn't around your body jutting out on the other side of your body for a handshake. 

scott breathes a laugh, shaking his hand. "boyfriend, huh? lucky guy." briefly scott's eyes flicker back towards you, eyeing you with a look you can't decipher. you feel yourself shrinking further back into nico, seeking that comforting aura that is the devil's captain.

"very much so." he agrees firmly, squeezing the flesh of your hip. there's a tense moment of eye contact between the two men, almost like a wordless battle of alpha male energy—which isn't very like nico.

scott hums curiously. "you look really familiar. do I know you from somewhere?"

"must have one of those faces." nico answers modestly, shrugging his shoulders once.

tammy waltzes into the kitchen, followed by her husband who is holding taylor in his arms. hearing the tail end of the conversation, brody pipes in with a quick laugh. "he looks familiar cause he's the devils captain dude—we are in the presence of jersey royalty."

"a professional athlete?" scott questions, that curious but condescending tone still laced in his voice. "bit unstable, no? unpredictable with trades and that?"

"can be. thankfully i've been lucky enough to have been with the devils since 2017."

"lucky indeed." once again, scott's eyes flicker back to you—giving you that awkward and uncertain feeling.

sensing the tension, tammy quickly intervenes. "taylor did you want to show scott and susan your stuffies before dinner is plated?"

taylor glances towards the two guests. "no." then her tiny brown eyes move towards you and nico, and instantly she's skipping towards you both. "nico can you sit beside me at dinner?"

something prideful blooms in your chest at taylor's request and dismissal of scott and his rather uncomfortable presence. "I don't know taylor," you begin teasingly, "I wanted to sit beside nico first."

she laughs, her adorable toddler giggle like music to your ears. "how about we both sit with nico."

you hum in faux thought. "should we ask him? see what he thinks?"

"yes." she giggles.

nico, who has obviously heard the entire interaction, pretends like he was unaware of the conversation happening quite literally in front of him—he ponders the question playfully, index finger tapping against his chin. when he tells taylor that he will sit with both of you, her tiny face lights up, and you can't help the way yours does as well.

dinner is served very quickly after, brody on serving duty as he fills every bowl with a hefty amount of chilli. the dinner runs relatively smoothly, saved for a few condescending questions from scott asking about only nico. for somebody who was seemingly trying to get to know you—despite having a boyfriend—scott seems to be really interested with the man beside you rather than you yourself.

thankfully only an hour after dinner and enduring painfully boring conversation with susan and scott, they end up leaving to go back to their lodge, and thank god because you desperately are ready for sleep by that point—excusing yourself and nico as you head towards the bedrooms for another much needed nights rest.

you pull the duvet back, creating enough space for you to climb in.

nico follows suit, slipping under the cool flannel sheets. "scott seems..."

you interrupt his trailing thought. "like an asshole?"

"yeah." he breathes. "truly what is that guys deal?"

"I don't know." you roll onto your side, facing nico with a huff. "I can't believe my mom still invited them to dinner. even though susan is supposedly her friend—who, by the way i've never heard of before tuesday. I thought she would've at least...I don't know? respected my boundaries? is that fucked up to say?"

nico shakes his head against the pillow. "no, it's not."

you groan, your irritation clear. "and then when she first introduced us and she winked at me? like hello, what is that about? because as far as she's concerned i'm clearly not looking for a relationship. I brought you here for this exact reason and-"

"hey," nico breathes gently, gathering your attention by running his hand over your pyjama sleeve covered arm. "it's okay, you're okay. I understand that you're feeling stressed and frustrated but don't get in your head about this."

you take a deep breath, nodding.

nico continues, "I don't think she had any malicious intentions with inviting them to dinner. I think she was pleasing people—like you would."

"I just wish her people pleasing didn't involve a literal walking bag of crap."

nico breathes a quiet laugh at your insult. "she just wants what's best for you, y/n—like you said. she doesn't realize that it's making you uncomfortable and she's too distracted by it all to notice that scott is 'a literal walking bag of crap.'"

your lip tugs upwards slightly.

"you should talk to her about it."

you groan, face rolling into the fluffiest part of your pillow. "I think as my boyfriend you should talk to her for me."

"i'm not actually your boyfriend." he laughs.

you scoff. "way to ruin the mood."

nico's smile is barley visible through the dark bedroom, but you can still see it, and the sight had you following suit, a grin taking over your face. he rests his head on his bicep, facing you. it all feels so intimate and precious and you never want to forget it.

your heart beat feels like it's bordering on dangerously fast—making you feel the best kind of nervous. you're glad the room is dark because you blush, clearing your throat. "i'm so happy that you're here nico. I don't know what I would've done today if you weren't with me."

his smile falters slightly as he swallows thickening salvia, eyes trained on your face softly through the moonlit room. "i'm happy i'm here too..with you."

DAY 3

you peer down the snow covered hill, gnawing on your lip in an unsure manner. "does it seem bigger from up here?" your hands wrap around the ski poles tightly, desperately trying to keep yourself from moving forward.

nico expertly slides in front of you, his skis bumping yours. "do you want to go back down? we can just walk back to the lodge if you're feeling scared."

you shake your head quickly. "i'm not scared...im just worried about falling on my face." truth of the matter is that you are feeling scared—scared because you actually hadn't skied since you were 10, and you'd actively avoided the actual ski part of your holiday trips by sitting in the lodge and reading whatever book you'd been into since then—but not this year.

nico wanted to get out on the hills, and even though he said that he didn't mind if you wanted to stay at the house or even in the holiday themed ski lodge, you didn't want him to feel alone out there, especially because he's doing you a favour in just being apart of your families christmas—so here you are on top of the ski hill. plus, any excuse to get away from scott, which of course your mom invited him and susan to spend the day with you all, you'd take.

"you're not going to fall on your face." nico tells you, his tone gentle as he looks down at you.

"you don't know that." you say. "what happens if my ski catches a divet in the ice and I go head over heels into the snow?"

he laughs gently. "the only reason you'll fall is because your hairs in your face—here." nico ditches his poles in the snow, and with glove covered hands he reaches towards your face. gently he tucks your hair underneath your hat, pushing away any hairs that have fallen out from your braid.

you swallow, eyes flickering over his face. "i'm a little nervous." you finally admit.

"it's okay to be nervous." nico adjusts the strap of your goggles over your pink helmet, moving it into a proper position. "it's also okay to back out."

"I don't want to back out." you huff. "I want to do it."

his lip tugs upwards in a half smile. "yeah?"

"yeah." you nod. "but you have to do it with me." you both make your way—you very cautiously—towards the edge of the slope. "i'm serious nico."

"I won't leave your side, okay? fix your knees like I showed you earlier...yup, just like that." he watches you intently, making sure you're in a proper position. nico finds your face again, an apprehensive look in his eyes. "you sure?"

"think so." you hum. "it’ll be fine." before you can decide to back out, you manually push forward until your skis take over, sliding down the first dip of the hill, sending your downward.

the sound of your skis slicing through the icy snow is a rather relaxing sound, one that has a smile breaking out on your face. the feeling of quickly moving through time, with the cool air kissing your exposed cheeks is rather freeing, and for a moment you're not thinking about anything other than yourself and nico.

you can hear nico follow suit, following your tracks within a safe distance. "good! keep your blades a little bent! like pizza." he calls to you, voice travelling through the wind whipping past your ears.

"am I doing it?!" you question loudly, eyes still casted forward as you reach the middle area of the slope, continuing the rather speedy descent down the snowy hill.

"you're doing it." nico answers proudly—a boyish chuckle following.

"oh my god!" you scream happily, "i'm doing it." you slide over a small lip on the hill, propelling slightly into the air. miraculously, you land with only a small teeter in your legs, continuing to ski downwards.

in a moment of excitement, you turn to look over your shoulder, eyes wide and full of disbelief as you find nico. "did you see that?"

his face falls. "y/n, watch out!"

as soon as nico's warnings finishes, you feel somebody slam into you, affectively sending you off balance and smacking towards the ground. you feel the snow cover your face as you land, and you groan out, eyes closing as a quick wave of pain washes over you.

"holy fuck—y/n are you okay?" the voice sounds a little distant to your ears, like they are muffled. they help you sit up, gently cradling your biceps with their hands as they pull you into a sitting position.

you squint in attempt to focus your vision, blinking quickly to clear the blur. "what?"

nico's concerned face slowly appears in your eyesight. "are you okay?"

you groan again. "I think so."

he breaths loudly—a sound of relief. his hands move from your arms and towards your face, un-clipping the helmet strap from under your chin. nico pulls the hot pink protective gear off your head, leaving you with your damp beanie and snow coated braid. "you scared me for a second there. does anything hurt?"

"not really, maybe just a little sore and bruised." you swallow gently as you watch nico as he gently moves your head from side to side, checking for external injuries. his gaze is so intense—so focused. the embarrassment and lingering pain in your limbs has you feeling emotional, and your lip trembles. "i'm sorry."

instantly, nico's eyes snap back to yours. "don't apologize." he watches the way your eyes begin to well up with tears, quickly looking around as if you're seeing how many people are watching you. immediately he knows you're feeling embarrassed on top of everything else, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing a quick kiss against your hairline over your knitted hat.

you can barley feel the kiss, but it's enough to where the gesture has you melting—melting because he wasn't doing it because somebody in your family is watching or making him…nico simply just wanted to.

"you're okay." he mumbles against your hat.

"I think I wanna walk the rest of the way." you mumble waterly, attempting to joke.

he smiles against you, "you think so?" pulling back, he meets your eyes, a boyish grin on his face. the sight instantly has you feeling better, and with a small grin you nod.

nico helps you remove your boots from the ski blades, popping open every latch and button so you're easily able to slip out of the boot slot. he follows suit with his own ski's, freeing himself of the blades hold so he's left in only the chunky boots.

a familiar voice calls your name, approaching you and nico. "shit i'm sorry." scott says, stopping in front of you with his ski's tucked under his arm. "I didn't realize it was you."

nico stiffens. "you hit her? seriously?"

"I just said sorry man." scott huffs. "no need to get all annoyed."

his brows raise is pure shock, eyes squinting accusingly in the shorter man's direction. "sorry doesn't help. what if she got seriously hurt?"

"she didn't though."

nico breathes in disbelief. "that's not the point."

scott takes a step back, "relax, dude."

"she's my girlfriend. I can't relax."

"whatever." scott looks back towards your shy face, offering you a sympathetic shrug. "sorry again y/n."

you nod once. "thanks."

that's all it takes for scott to leave again, practically jogging away from the both of you, back down the hill. he disappears behind the slope of the hill, and immediately nico is turning back to you, his expression that was only moments ago hard and strong, now soft. "he doesn't deserve your apology."

"I know." you breathe. "but I was done listening to him."

nico nods understandably, but he looks slightly worried—guilty maybe? "are you upset with me about that?"

"no. i'm glad you were here to defend me honestly. I would've crumbled under the pressure of my own need to be a people pleaser." you laugh lightly.

the ghost of a smile takes over his face. "promise?"

you nod. "help me down the hill? I need you right now—my hips a little sore."

in an instant nico is grabbing you, careful of your sore hip as he wraps an arm around your torso. "let me know if you need to stop at all, okay?"

you both begin to slowly walk down the hill, nico dragging the ski stuff behind you. "you worry too much." you tease him, gaze flickering to his face.

he breathes a laugh, not looking away from the hills. "yeah I worry cause I—" he pauses briefly, a gentle gulp following. "cause you're my friend, y/n."

"your friend?" you question his choice of words quietly—timidly.

finally, he meets your eyes. "yeah."

there's a moment then, where you're looking at one another with eyes that say a million things your mouths can't yet. you're unsure whether or not nico was about to admit to something—deeper feelings—before correcting himself, and you're not sure if you'll ever know.

but you're too scared—to anxious—to find out. because if it's not the answer you're hoping for, your christmas eve will be ruined, and your heart will be broken.

you laugh, breaking the tension. "that's not very fake boyfriend of you to say."

nico blinks once, but soon his expression changes into a more playful one, eyes twinkling with amusement. "c'mon y/n/n."

—

the warm bubbles are slightly ticklish against your skin, but it's a pleasant feeling. you sink further into the hot tub, letting the jets and heat do their job on your sore body.

as the sun started setting through the kitchen window, the pain of your earlier incident was only getting worse, and you could barley move without hissing in pain.

after the 8th groan of discomfort during jim carey's grinch, your mom suggested the hot tub. after all what good were you trying to put presents under the tree if you couldn't even bend over to pick them up.

the almost instant relief from the hot tub was enough to have you moaning out, submerging up to your shoulders and letting the water splash up your neck.

a beat passes and the sliding door sounds, opening into the cool night. "hey, got the presents from my car." nico stands by the entrance, peering through the dimly lit deck over in your direction.

"did you give them to tammy?" you question gently.

"I did." nico hums, gently shutting the door behind him. "you okay in there?"

"getting there." you sigh, eyes carefully watching as nico makes his way through the covered deck—no doubt the cold snow covering his feet in the slides he’d slipped on before getting the presents.

"anything you need from me?"

the nighttime pain reliever you’ve been popping since getting back from the lodge has you feeling a bit sleepy and loopy—completely erasing any kind of filter you have. you raise a brow, squinting at him through the mist coming off the water. "I want you to get in."

he laughs gently, resting his hands against the edge of the tub as he looks over at you. nico takes his lip between his teeth briefly, eyes flickering over your submerged figure. "didn't bring a bathing suit."

"nico." you whine, dragging his name out.

"you can't get upset with me," he smirks, "you didn't tell me there'd be a hot tub."

"okay, well just strip down into your underwear and get in." you breathe, "promise I won't look." you hold your hand up like you’re in scouts, looking up at him with most puppy-dog expression you can manage.

"y/n..." he trails off, almost like a gentle warning.

you continue. "i'll even let you have one of my three towels afterwards so you don't have walk back inside in just your underwear.”

his brows pull together. "why did you bring three towels?"

"I like to be extra warm—just get in."

a moment passes—practically watching the gears turn in nico’s head as he debates your ask. just when you think you’ll have to beg again, desperate to have nico close to you, he sighs, pushing off the edge of the hot tub. in one swift motion he pulls his hoodie off, his muscles flexing beneath his rising t-shirt, exposing nico’s hard v-line and happy trail.

you smile in satisfaction, watching as he continues to shed his clothes until he's left in just his black boxer shorts. you try your best to not stare—you really do—but when your fake boyfriend happens to be that muscular and hot, it's hard to keep your eyes away.

he quickly steps into the steaming hot tub, joining you under the water. "happy?"

you smile triumphantly. "very much. I feel better already."

"I bet you do."

a beat passes, only the sound of the running jets to be heard through the night. it's very relaxing, and with nico with you it now feels 10 times better. under the water you extend your leg until your foot gently nudges his leg—grabbing his attention. "thank you again for today. for everything, I just...i'm really happy that dougie called you for me. because I would've been too nervous to ask you myself."

his brows raise. "why would you have been nervous?”

shyly, you shrug. "I don't know, I just didn't want you to think I was...taking advantage of you or something."

"I wouldn't have thought that—I don't think that." nico moves closer to you, the warm water sloshing around slightly as he comes to a stop in the seat beside you. instinctively you turn your body towards him, eyes curious and knowing all at once.

a beat passes.

"did you know when I was a kid on christmas eve I used to convince my sister that if she didn't let me have her last advent chocolate santa wouldn't come."

you grin. "you didn't."

he laughs. "I so did. and I remember feeling like such a badass about it to. then when she found out that santa wasn't real and I was simply just conning her into an extra chocolate she lost it—and I mean lost it."

"what did she do?"

"obviously she told my parents, which was expected." nico hums. "but she also smashed my game system—like completely destroyed it with our dads hammer."

you gasp, "no."

"yeah and I cried like a baby."

you laugh gently.

nico continues. "looking back now I definitely shouldn't of been so sneaky. and now every christmas I always buy her an advent calendar as an apology."

"that's kind of cute." you coo sweetly.

his eyes soften at the sound, watching your head tilt in admiration. "you would really like her. you two are kind of similar."

you stifle a knowing laugh. "after hearing how she smashed your gaming stuff I think I have to agree—one year I sent taylor's favourite scarf for a trip in the fireplace."

nico snickers, "you little rebel."

"don't laugh," you smile. "she had taken my favourite babydoll I'd opened that christmas and covered the entire face in marker. so instead of going to my parents like I should have, I just threw her scarf right in the fire."

"damn," he breathes. "remind me not to steal your baby dolls."

"oh since then i've kept them all locked away, so you'll never find them." your eyes glisten with a playful shimmer, looking at nico teasingly. he mimics your lighthearted expression, a warm smile pulling on his lips.

your eyes wander to his exposed arm, catching sight of the familiar pattern of ink on his inner arm. "i've always like this one." slowly you reach out, tracing the tattoo with a wet finger.

"yeah?" he watches the way your touch moves over the artwork, your fingers leaving a wake of goosebumps on his skin—despite the heat from the hot tub, chills run over his body.

"yeah." you nod. "does it mean anything?"

"it's my families star signs," he points to the first one, tracing the greek symbol. "they all bleed into one another, almost like it's representing a family line."

“nico that’s…really cool.” you smile gently. "when did you get it?"

he laughs gently, a blush coating his cheekbones. "long time ago."

you snicker, eyes flickering back towards his face and away from the sentimental tattoo on his string bicep. “alright old man.”

he quirks a brows at you, amused. "we're the same age."

playfully you shush him, bringing your finger towards his plump lips in a silencing motion.

quickly, nico grabs your wrist, pulling your tiny hand away from his face. his firm yet teasing grasp around your hand sends your skin into a flurry of flames, igniting under his warm palm.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your pouty lips as if he can't decide where to look—what to do.

you lean in ever so slightly, scared that if you move too suddenly you'll wake up from a dream. nico's hold on your hand changes, fingers trailing down your wrist and off your arm.

his hand finds your slick thigh under the bubbly water, and your heart feels like it's going to jump out from your ribcage with how hard and intensely its beating. as nico's thumb begins to rub along your skin, pleasantly tickling your thigh, you think you may just die.

your hand inches towards his torso under the water, your fingernails just scraping softly against his abs—

"I should get out." nico mumbles. "I haven't packed yet and I gotta leave before 9."

you swallow the disappointment you're feeling, blinking away your emotions as you pull your hand away. "yeah. sure."

he gets out of the hot tub, and you can't even watch him as he does. nico wraps himself in one of your towels before gently looking back towards you. "i'll see you inside, okay?"

you hum in acknowledgment.

and then he leaves.

you mope in the hot tub a little bit longer than expected, and by the time you finally drag yourself back inside the only person awake is your mom.

she sits on the couch silently, finishing up some last minute wrapping of what seems like a gift for brody—some football jersey for a team you don't recognize. "feel better honey?" she asks.

you nod once. "yeah, thanks." you start to walk further into the home, towards the stairs, but your mom stops you, calling out your name quietly.

"before you go upstairs," she sighs, "I just wanted to say i'm sorry about scott. I shouldn't have even put that idea in your head when I called you and I shouldn't have invited him and susan around the that times I did. he was not only disrespectful towards you, but he was disrespectful towards nico and your relationship."

your chest warms. "thanks mom. it's okay."

"but I already invited them for breakfast after presents tomorrow—honestly susan is kind of a bitch and the last thing I need is for her to fuck me over to corporate because I didn't have her and her asshole son over for breakfast."

you snort, which has your mom joining in on the hushed laughter. you're truly not upset about that, and if anything the whole thing is so authentically your mom that you're almost glad she invited them.

just when you think she's done, your mom continues with a twinkle in her eyes. "I must say y/n, I've never seen you happier or more comfortable in a relationship that what i'm seeing when you're with nico. honey I don't know why it took you so long to realize there was something more between you, because nico is special."

you feel tears well up in your eyes, a million unsure emotions coming to a tilt in your throat. you nod. "yeah. he is."

DAY 4

"do you really have to go?" taylor's tiny voice wobbles with emotion slightly, looking up at nico with her wide animated eyes.

he crouches down to her level, soft gaze unwavering. "unfortunately. I have to work tomorrow.”

"okayyyy." she pouts. "maybe next time you can bring your stuffies for the tea party."

"that's a great idea." he grins at the way your nieces face lights up, already giddy at the thought of the next party.

your mom suddenly cooes, moving towards the front door where nico stands with his suitcase. she frowns at him, "honey thank you so much for coming, you've been wonderful."

he stands to his full height, embracing your mom as she wraps her arms around him in a familiar hug. "thank you for having me."

you watch silently, gnawing the skin around your thumb anxiously. you'd been dreading this since you were awoken at 7 by your niece for presents, and saying goodbye to nico today was weighing on you heavily—even with the lingering unspoken words from last nights abrupt departure.

"safe driving, nico." tammy smiles towards him kindly.

brody chimes in, "yeah man, can't have you going down. the devils need you."

your fake boyfriend laughs gently, nodding. "i'll try my best to get home in one piece." then nico's eyes flicker towards you, a soft yet sad expression pulling at his face. he takes a deep breathe, plastering on a bigger smile. "i'll see you when you're home."

you nod, your own forced smile on. "i'll see you then, nico." there’s an unspoken meaning with the goodbye—one that feels permanent and you hate it. with one more emotional glance in your direction nico waves goodbye to your family….and then he leaves.

the hallow feeling that runs through your bones is almost painful, your eyes trained on the spot he was just standing. a million feelings run through you at once—hurt, anger, confusion, warmth, guilt. it's all one big stressful ball, but yet somehow through all that you know there's real feelings for your friend there, ones that have been making your heart run ramped and your stomach flip around with butterflies for years.

"hey," scott's quiet voice interrupts your thoughts, looking over at you with flirtatious eyes. "if things with lover boy don't work out, ill be here." you’d honestly forgot him and susan were here, arriving just after taylor had tore through all her presents for breakfast.

it had you rushing to open your present from nico—because of course he bought you a present—his jersey and a handbag you’d been wanting for years. a handbag that only bree knew you loved, meaning that he talked to your best friend to get you the perfect christmas gift.

and yeah…you really like nico hischier.

blinking out of your thoughts, you properly turn and face scott. "that will never happen."

you look around the room at your family, who have now all resumed their normal routine throughout the home. taylor’s making your brother-in-law open every new toy so she could play with them, while your mom and susan busy themselves in the kitchen, talking while the kettle boils for another round of coffee.

you catch tammy's eyes and she nods—knowingly. you breathe a sigh of what feels like relief, and a tiny smile begins to pull at your lips. "i'll be right back." you mutter, and before you even realize what you're doing, you slip on somebodies slides, leaving out the front door.

the wind blows right though your gingerbread pyjamas, the cold biting against your skin—but you don't care as the only thing you can think about is him. "nico!"

the sound of your voice has him pausing, rounding from the back of his vehicle where he was loading his suitcase in. nico’s brows pull together tightly, looking and feeling rather confused as you hurriedly make your way towards him—merely slipping out of your shoes as you hit a patch of ice.

"what are you doing?" he questions.

"don't go." you words a rushed, looking up at him with a shy confidence in your eyes.

nico sighs quietly. "I don't really have a choice."

you shake your head, eyes closing in frustration. "I know - fuck don't don't go just stay...for a second."

"what are you trying to say, y/n?"

"I like you - like really like you." finally you break, looking towards nico with nothing but vulnerability on your face. "and I think deep down I always knew that, but something about this weekend...watching you interact with my family and seeing how much they like you—it's amplified everything to 100."

you swallow the lump forming in your throat, trying your best at keeping your voice steady as you continue. "and I really didn't think i'd be chasing after a guy in my pyjamas this weekend, but here I am. because you're not just some guy, nico. you're the guy. and I can't let you leave without saying that because I don't think i'll ever have the courage to say it again."

nico swallows. "I can't believe you just told me that." he pauses, a small laugh bubbling past his lips. "and right when I have to leave. because now I really want to stay."

you let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding, relief rushing over you body at his words.

he continues. "I like you so much it's not even funny."

"you do?" you question shyly.

"yes." nico takes a step towards you, now close enough to reach out and touch. "you're my favourite."

"favourite what?" you whisper.

"everything." he reaches out, gently taking ahold of your face between his cold palms. his thumbs stoke along your cheeks comfortingly, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes as his gaze moves towards your lips. "what was the rule about kissing again?"

you inhale sharply, your own eyes watching nico's lips inch closer and closer towards yours. "only if absolutely necessary."

"thought so." nico's words are mumbled between you, lips brushing against yours before he finally closes the gap, connecting your mouths in a much desired kiss.

in that moment it's hard to think about anything other than the skillful and practiced kisses nico is giving you, his hand nestled at the base of your skull as he holds you to him, but one thing you do know is that you should've done this fake boyfriend thing years ago.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[konigsblog]

OCTOBER 2ND — RAPIST!SIMON. You should've known better. Walking around with an ass like that in such a skimpy, revealing dress... What were you thinking?

2024 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. (DAY 2)

TW/CW: NON-CON.

Prey. Simon couldn't hold back on his selfish, abhorrent urges. You were a sight for sore eyes, drunkenly stumbling out of a pub all alone with no-one to shield or guard you, your tiny and skimpy dress exposing and revealing your soft, addictive body. You could feel Manchester's harsh, bitter wind against your skin, raising goosebumps on the surface. You winced with each dreadful step as you weakly wandered through the city, your vision quickly becoming impaired, worsening with the toxicity of the drinks. Therapy wasn't enough for someone as debauched and ill as Simon. He couldn't pry his watchful and predatory gaze from your weak and confused figure, the depraved voice in his rotten mind only encouraging him. Go on, Simon. This is your only opportunity...

Control, something he yearned for, desperately tried to grab a hold of. His grip was firm on your delicate anmd gentle skin, much softer than his, with scars littering his body. His hold was tight and threatening enough to leave deep, agonising marks. His sinful touch left imprints along your thighs as he pried your legs apart with the intent to violate you with his disturbing desires, with one finger pressed against your lips, slowly wiping a wandering tear away while silencing you with the sheer, brutal size. You winced and cried out, drowned out by the distant traffic noises in the far distance. The intense ache only worsened — intensified, and grew with each deep, relentless thrust. “Filthy slag. You want this. I know it.”

Despite the horrified and intoxicated pleas that dripped from your lips, your cunt only reacted to his actions despite how deranged and immoral they truly were. Simon longed, and dreamt for this moment. Now, here he was, finally taking authority over a vulnerable and drugged woman who was too hypnotised by the alcohol and its effects to defend herself. Helplessly clawing at him for survival through his ruthless attack. He stuck three thick, calloused fingers down your warm and velvety throat, earning himself a broken and mortified gag. Your tight and slick hole oozed around his thick and growing shaft, with pearly drops of your sweet, sweet ecstasy coating him. Oh, it wouldn't hurt to snap a few photographs of your misery, would it?

“You were askin’ for it. Look at the state of you, Doll.” He spat, his eyes darkening and narrowing in on you, admiring the crimson that dripped and rolled down his lengthy cock, the way he speared and prodded you with his twitching and pulsating cock. You trembled violently, with the Autumn rain kissing your cold, bruised skin, slowly washing away his sinful touch and the blood that stained your thighs.

It would be cruel to leave you all alone, bleeding uncontrollably between your filthy, dirty legs in an isolated alleyway, wouldn't it? He'll just take you home, chain you up, and keep you as his own personal meat.

[velarisdusk]

The Silence You Built

Azriel x Reader

<- part 1 summary: You betrayed him once. He never let you forget it. Now you're on the same side again, bound by court politics, old grudges, and a mission that ends in blood. word count: 19,803 content: [ alcohol, arranged marriage, death, explicit language, explicit sexual content, killing in self-defense, murder, near-death experiences ] author's note: this IS a one shot i promise, but tumblr says 1000 blocks max per post so i am having to split it into two posts.....smh ANYWAY this concludes the 1k apothecary celebration!!! yay!! thank you everyone who sent in reqs and everyone who's been reading, i appreciate it immensely :") also dont focus too hard on the logistics and the ‘why’ just enjoy the ride. also also please know i wrote this exclusively between the hours of 12am – 5am oops

The Forest House loomed ahead like a mirage—half-swallowed by the trees, warm under the midday sun. 

Golden banners swayed in the windless air, and at the foot of its sweeping steps stood guards in flawless armor, their spears gleaming.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did Azriel.

The tension had returned, creeping back into the space between you like fog, thick and sour. He hadn’t pressed you again—not after last night—but the silence was heavier than anything he could have said.

You were both a sight.

Mud caked your boots and splattered your cloak, blood dried in dark patches along your sleeves and collar. Your hair was snarled, your face raw from the wind and cold. Azriel didn’t look much better—his leathers torn, shadows clinging like smoke, the lines of exhaustion etched deep into his features. His wings hung unevenly behind him, one of them visibly stiff from the cold, from strain.

You felt the eyes as soon as you crossed the threshold.

Autumn Court fae lined the inner hall, resplendent in embroidered velvets and burnished gold, their hair slicked back, their skin glowing with magic and comfort. They looked at you both like you were animals that had clawed your way out of a pit.

Azriel met every stare without flinching.

You didn’t bother meeting any.

The great doors to the throne room opened with a slow groan.

And there he was.

Eris.

Seated where Beron used to sit, sprawled across the ancient throne like it had always belonged to him. Firelight danced along the carved wood, casting shadows behind him like wings. He wore red and gold, crisp and sharp, and though his face was expressionless, his eyes gleamed with something that might have been satisfaction.

“Welcome home,” Eris said.

The words were smooth. Practiced.

And entirely devoid of warmth.

You stopped a few paces from the foot of the dais, refusing to bow. Azriel stayed at your side, silent but iron-still.

Eris looked you over like he was cataloging a corpse. Then he leaned back, draping one arm along the throne’s edge, lips curling just enough to be irritating.

“You look dreadful.”

“Charming,” you muttered.

His gaze flicked to Azriel. “And you brought a souvenir.”

You said nothing. Azriel didn’t even blink.

Eris tutted under his breath and rose slowly from the throne. “It’s a miracle you made it at all.” He made a show of glancing over your ruined clothes. “The Winter Court is especially difficult this time of year.”

You smiled, sharp and cold. “Would His Lordship be terribly offended if I washed off the blood of his own before tonight’s ball?”

That did it—he blinked. Just once. Then his head tilted, curiosity sharpening behind his eyes.

“My own?”

You folded your arms. “Unless the Autumn Court has another legion roaming its borders who happened to take a liking to blades and the color red, yes. They tried to kill us.”

A beat. Then Eris gave a breathy little laugh, like the idea amused him more than it should have.

“Us?” he echoed softly, eyes sliding back to Azriel. “As in both of you?”

Your jaw clenched.

Eris’ smile widened. “How quaint. Did the dog snarl for you? Did he bare his teeth?”

Azriel said, surprisingly cool and quiet, “They nearly gutted her.”

“And yet,” Eris murmured, gesturing lazily toward you, “she stands.”

You took a step forward. “Barely.”

His gaze dropped to the dried blood at your collarbone. “A shame. And here I thought you’d want to make a good impression.”

You laughed once, low and humorless. “Guess you’ll have to take me as I am.”

Something flickered across his face then. Not warmth. Not quite irritation. Just… a moment. And then he stepped down off the dais.

“Very well,” he said, walking past you with the arrogance of someone who knew the room would always bend around him. 

He didn’t wait for a thank you.

“Clean yourself up,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to look like a bride.”

Azriel tensed beside you. You didn’t move.

Only when the echo of Eris’ boots faded did you finally breathe again.

And gods, did you want to claw your skin off.

Even moreso, when you looked at yourself in the mirror of your private room later that evening. 

Someone else stared back.

The dress clung like smoke and fire—scarlet silk embroidered in copper thread, molded to the waist and hips, the bodice structured and cruel. Sleeves hung sheer and slit open to the elbow, baring the soft, vulnerable skin of your inner arms. Your hair had been twisted back from your face with delicate gold combs shaped like flames, leaving your throat and shoulders exposed.

You looked like a sacrifice. Like a warning.

You tugged at the side of the dress, fingers catching on the high slit that ran up your right thigh. Too high. You rethreaded the hook that had come loose—how had they known it would ride too tight there? How had they tailored this to you so precisely?

You checked everything again. Smoothed the fabric. Adjusted the combs. Fixed every strap. Lifted your chin and stared until your face blurred into something shapeless.

Then you turned away, kneeling at your travel bag just once more.

You dug beneath the worn clothes and bandages, fingers closing around the little velvet pouch you’d tucked there in secret. It was barely the size of your palm. You slipped it into your bra, close to your ribs, where the dress was boned enough to hide its shape.

It weighed almost nothing.

But gods, did it feel heavy.

The ball was in your honor—in honor of the new bride of Autumn. That was how they’d introduced you—loudly, grandly—as you were escorted in, already caged by the weight of expectation. Everyone there knew what you were to be. A trophy. A symbol. The jewel Eris had pried from the Night Court’s grip. The famed spy who helped him destroy his father. 

They all smiled at you like you were part of the spoils.

You wore that smile back. Thin and lovely.

It had only been a few hours since you’d scrubbed the dried blood off your skin. Only a few since you’d seen yourself in the mirror and flinched.

Now you found yourself in Eris’ arms, dancing for the fourth song in a row. His palm rested lightly on your waist, his other hand guiding yours, his expression almost bored. Almost.

Normally, you would have kept up easily, met his pace with your own. But after the journey through those gods-forsaken woods, after the hunger and cold and pain, your limbs felt leaden. Hollow.

You were fairly certain you’d lost a few pounds on the way.

You tilted your head just slightly and caught a glimpse of Azriel along the far wall, near one of the carved pillars. Shadowed. Watching.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you once.

Eris’ voice cut through the music. “You’re lagging.”

“I’m exhausted,” you said quietly.

“Then stop dancing like you’re pretending not to be.”

Your gaze snapped to his.

But his expression remained smooth, court-polished. “Everyone’s watching, dear. If you faint, it’ll ruin the mystique.”

You kept your smile in place. “And gods forbid the mystique be ruined.”

“Indeed,” he said, spinning you effortlessly. “You wouldn’t want them thinking you weren’t thrilled to be here.”

“They already know I’m not.”

His amber eyes met yours again, cooler now. “You think they care? Half of them would still marry me tomorrow, even knowing what I did to my father. Most only resent that you beat them to it.”

You pulled back just slightly, enough to feel the edges of your own body again. “And I assume you’d have them think I chose you freely?”

His lips curved. 

You blinked. “No one would believe that.”

“Not yet,” he murmured. “But they’ll learn to.”

You didn’t answer.

Not even when his grip firmed on your waist and he added, almost too lightly, “Besides, you did choose me. Didn’t you?”

The next turn of the dance left your back to Azriel.

You wished it hadn’t.

When the song ended, Eris didn’t release you immediately. His hand lingered at your waist, his fingers brushing the edge of exposed skin where the back of your gown dipped scandalously low—by design, of course. A vision of temptation, of control. His little rebellion against his father’s traditions.

You stepped back before he could lean in with some too-clever comment.

“I need water,” you said, tone airy. “Or would your lordship prefer I truly faint?”

His mouth twitched, but he waved you off with a flick of his fingers. “By all means, keep the mystique alive.”

You didn’t look back as you weaved toward the banquet table, all glimmering gold and crimson. Meats. Cheeses. Goblets of wine. And there, near the edge—

A glass of water, chilled just enough to fog the sides. 

You reached for it with one hand. 

The other slipped discretely beneath your bodice—adjusting, it would seem. Straightening your dress. A small leather pouch passes easily into your palm. 

You moved like you were brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, like nothing at all. 

And when you turned from the table, water glass in hand, only one male in the room had the angle to see the faint shimmer of powder you stirred into it. The small blade dipping in to dissolve it. The metal flash in the candlelight—

And then gone again. 

You tipped the contents into a nearby plant. Returned the glass to a tray. Kept walking. 

You didn’t glance Azriel’s way.

You didn’t need to.

He’d seen.

Whether he’d stop you had been a question twisting in your gut for days. Whether he would let you go through with it—your mission, your reason for being here.

You hadn’t fully believed he would.

Not until what he said in the cave last night.

I’ll take you back if that’s what you want.

The music shifted again. Slower now. Louder. As if the whole ballroom were collectively catching its breath.

You found Eris standing at the edge of the crowd, surveying his court like a male already bored of the power he held. Amber eyes sharp, posture loose. 

He offered his hand.

You took it. 

“You didn’t faint,” he said, voice low and amused.

You arched a brow. “Disappointed?”

He led you back to the floor. You followed, every step smooth, composed. 

“I wasn’t sure how this would go, you know,” he said, steering you slowly back toward the floor. “You’ve historically been a bit… unpredictable.”

“I’m sure that’s what you enjoy most about me.”

A flicker of teeth. “One of the things.”

You moved like clockwork beside him, all elegance and poise. You carried the sharp edge beneath your ribs like a second spine—thrilling, precise. 

“I’ll admit,” he went on, tone thoughtful, “you’ve impressed me tonight.”

“Oh?”

“It’s no secret many here want you dead. This alliance—this union—they think Beron would never have allowed it. That it’s beneath Autumn, marrying into a court like yours. An insult to centuries of bloodline and pride.”

You hummed, letting your gaze drift across the sea of polished faces, all dripping with bloodline and legacy. “Well,” you murmur, fingers curling on his shoulder, “they’re about to hate me a hell of a lot more.”

He chuckled, a low sound you felt in your bones. “Good. Let them.”

Your expression didn’t change. 

But your hand slid from his shoulder to his ribs. 

And the other found your thigh. 

The blade’s already there. Already coated. 

The motion was seamless—

One clean, upward thrust beneath the ribcage. You felt the blade punch through fabric and flesh, angled just right. 

His breath faltered. His body spasmed. 

The faebane hit like a current, drowning his magic before he could even think to reach for it. His lips parted. A choked, red-laced gasp. 

“You—”

But he wasn’t dying fast enough.

The guards—already moving, shouting.

No time. 

You yanked the blade free, wet and bright, and caught a fistful of his embroidered collar in the same motion. Then you pulled him down, closer.

Your mouth brushed his ear as your blade sliced clean across his throat. 

“I told you I’d impress you.”

The sound was awful—ripping flesh, the gurgling rasp as his windpipe parted beneath the blade. Hot arterial blood burst forth in a blinding spray, drenching your chest, your arm, your face. The pressure of it made your ears ring.

The music had long since stopped. Screams tore through the ballroom, the echoes bouncing off the floors and walls every which way. Chairs scraped. Glass shattered. The shuffle of frantic footsteps mingled with the sound of retching, weeping, running. Panic surged like a tide, crashing over silks and polished marble. 

And yet you stood still—blood-drenched, blade in hand, heart thundering against your ribs. 

He gurgled, choking on his own blood, and staggered. His knees buckled. His hands scrabbled for your hips, smearing blood across your gown like paint.

You shoved him off you. “Azriel!”

Eris collapsed at your feet. Across the ballroom, blue siphons flared to life, so bright it felt like the room blinked. Eris twitched once. Twice. Then went still, a pool of blood unfurling beneath him, thick as oil.

And Azriel was moving—a flash of shadows and wings and raw, ruthless precision. 

Power surged from him like a tidal wave, siphons unleashing a violent pulse of shielding magic. A hard blue barrier slammed down around you just as a thrown dagger ricocheted off it with a metallic screech.

The blast of energy sent tables skidding, drinks shattering, chandeliers swaying on their chains. Screams rose—some terrified, some furious.

Then Azriel was in the air, winging across the room, shadows coiling and snapping at his heels like hunting dogs.

You didn’t have time to watch. You ran.

Down the slick marble stairs, blood still hot on your face, your gown. You kept low, high heels slipping slightly on the polished floor, and darted into the shadow of a columned alcove. Your heart was a staccato drumbeat in your throat. A guard caught sight of you—started toward you.

You didn’t fight fair. You never had. It wasn’t a matter of principle—just the simple truth that you weren’t built to win by the rules. 

You waited until he was close. Then threw your knife—blade hilt-over, not to kill but to distract—and when he flinched, you surged forward, snatched the broken shaft of a torch from the wall, and slammed it into the side of his head.

He crumpled.

You snatched up his sword, so heavy you had to carry it with both hands, and kept moving.

Because Eris was dead. And the war had begun.

The sword dragged with every step, the point scraping sparks across marble as you forced yourself forward. You kept your eyes on the corridor ahead—it led toward the servant stairwell, toward the woods beyond the Forest House—but your ears stayed trained on the ballroom.

On the carnage Azriel was unleashing in your wake.

You couldn’t see him. But you heard him.

The boom of a siphon-triggered shockwave. The crack of something breaking—stone, maybe. A scream cut off mid-throat. The skittering thunder of wingbeats, then a snarl, deep and guttural, almost animal.

Azriel had stopped holding back.

Boots pounded behind you—another guard.

You ducked into the shadow of a pillar just as he rounded the corner. He didn’t see you until you surged out and swung wide with the stolen blade.

It was a messy arc. No grace, no technique. But the sheer weight of the sword did the work for you. It smashed across his face with a wet crunch, and he went down like a felled tree.

Your shoulder screamed from the effort. You nearly dropped the blade—but didn’t.

You couldn’t.

More footsteps. Screaming—not all of it from soldiers. A crowd of well-dressed nobles came sprinting past, eyes wide with terror. One of them slipped in a smear of blood on the tile and fell. Another yanked her upright and dragged her along.

You left them be. Besides, even if you tried to melt into their fleeing crowd, it wouldn’t matter. You were the only one covered head to toe in blood.

You rounded a corner and nearly ran face-first into another soldier. He raised his blade—too slow. You didn’t stop running. Just threw your full weight into him, shoulder-first.

He staggered, off balance, and you drove your knee into his groin. He doubled over. You kept running.

Shouts echoed behind you. You could hear them howling for vengeance. And behind them—still—the sound of Azriel, wreaking ruin. Blades clashing. Shadows shrieking. Magic detonating like thunderclaps.

Part of you wanted to go back. Help him. But what could you offer? You were not a warrior, you were a weapon. And your job was already done.

You found the servant stairwell half by memory, half by instinct—a narrow door tucked behind a curtain. You shouldered through and stumbled onto steep stone steps slick with panic and the iron tang of fear.

Down. Down. The hilt of the stolen sword slippery in your palm. Your breathing ragged, each inhale cutting like glass.

You had never meant to be a killer. But the only way to save your court now was to start a war.

The plan was for you two to wed, but that was ages ago, before there had been any rot to begin with. You get him information, he discredits and murders his father, you wed, you both rule the Autumn Court. Eris had no way of knowing your changed intentions when he approached Rhysand with an alliance. 

You’d heard Eris had been kind when he first took the throne. You were in solitary confinement for eight years but you’d learned what’d happened soon after they let you out. He’d spoken of peace. Of reforms. He promised he’d never be his father.

But power had a way of rotting its wielder from the inside out.

He’d started small. Tightening trade routes. Stationing soldiers on once-neutral land. Rewriting laws. Then came the raids. The disappearances. The whispered names of those who never returned.

And that had been your fault. You’d put him on that throne. Which meant it had to be you who took him off of it. 

You burst out the stairwell into the cold night air, stumbling into dew-slick grass. The sounds of chaos still roared behind you, but here—out here—it was quiet enough to hear your own blood pounding in your ears.

You lifted your eyes to the sky, dropped the sword, and ran south. You didn’t need to get to the Night Court, you just had to get out of Autumn. And Spring wasn’t too far off. 

Each footfall was agony. Your lungs burned. Your legs shook. But—

You stopped. Turned. 

Smoke curled from the shattered windows. The ballroom glowed from within, pulsing with siphon-light—blue, furious and sharp. The windows were gone, blown outward as if something inside had detonated.

You stared.

Watched the magic blaze. Flash. Pause. Flash again.

Like a heartbeat.

And when the next pulse died out, when the world held still—

You cupped your hands around your mouth and screamed it with everything you had left:

“AZRIEL!”

You didn’t even finish the breath after his name before he moved.

A blur of motion, a sonic crack through the air—Azriel exploded out of the ballroom, blue siphons blazing like stars gone supernova. Wings wide, mouth a snarl, shadows streaking off him like ribbons of midnight. He flew straight through the shattered windows, glass still raining from the frame.

Straight toward you.

There was no time to react.

One second, you stood frozen at the treeline, chest heaving, the next, he was on you. 

You barely had time to stagger back before he scooped you into his arms without losing speed, body curling instinctively around yours as his wings surged with a mighty snap. Your feet left the earth, and you shot into the sky like a stone loosed from a sling.

The wind howled past. Cold bit at your face. But his arms were iron-tight around you, his heartbeat thundering against your shoulder as he climbed higher and higher, until the trees were a blur below and the Forest House a speck behind you.

Only when you were far above the canopy—wind tearing at your dress—did you speak.

You huffed the name like a confession. “Rhys…”

Azriel didn’t look down. His voice was low, breathless. “Meeting us… in Spring.”

Neither of you spoke.

Azriel didn’t ask.

You didn’t explain.

Not as he angled west and then south, cutting across the cloudline in long, powerful sweeps of his wings. Not as the Forest House disappeared beneath mist and distance. Not as the Spring Court’s emerald forests unfurled below like a sleeping beast.

You didn’t know what he was thinking. His jaw was tight, face set in shadowed stone, eyes forward like if he blinked he might look at you—and see it.

The blood still dried over your face. The memory of your dagger sliding between ribs.

So you flew in silence. Through wind and twilight, until the trees parted for a half-forgotten clearing—a hidden cove at the edge of Spring.

Azriel landed like a shadow come to ground. Didn’t set you down gently, didn’t look at you as your boots met the moss. Just turned and folded his wings tight to his back, shoulders tense as drawn bowstrings.

The sun had long set. The air was thick with crickets, distant streams, the scent of flowering things.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t offer a fire, or a word.

He paced once.

Twice.

Then stopped—faced away from you, voice low and dark and hoarse.

“You used me. Again.”

The words cut sharper than any sword. You exhaled through your nose, arms folded, eyes on the hollow between trees.

“No—I never asked for your help. Blame Rhysand.”

That made him turn. Slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his voice? Not. 

“He knew about this?”

You hesitated. Just long enough for it to hurt. 

“Not outright. But I’m sure he suspected. He had to have. He wouldn’t have actually shipped me off for a bride—certainly not against my will.” 

Azriel’s hands curled at his sides. His shadows stirred behind him, as if restless—wary. But he said nothing else for the few minutes before Rhysand appeared in a snap of shadow and darkness behind you. 

You flinched, but Azriel didn’t move—he just stilled further, like steel hardening in the forge.

The light of the moon caught in the threads of Rhysand’s jacket like starlight. He took in the two of you without expression at first. But his gaze lingered on the blood dried down your neck, on the torn shoulder of your dress, on the way you and Azriel stood apart like drawn blades.

Then, finally, Rhysand’s violet eyes met yours.

His voice was low. Not angry. Not even sharp.

“…What have you done, (y/n)?”

Not an accusation. A weariness beneath the words, faint—but present. A thread of surprise too. Like he’d gambled. And won.

You didn’t speak.

Azriel did.

“Don’t,” he said, voice like cracked obsidian. “Don’t stand there like you didn’t know.”

Rhysand blinked once. “We’ll talk—”

“No. We’re talking now.”

Azriel’s shadows flared behind him, rising like smoke in the Spring air. But Rhysand didn’t react—just crossed his arms with a too-calm expression, as if preparing for a blow.

“You knew,” Azriel said again, quieter now. Deadlier. “You knew what she was going to do.”

Rhysand’s jaw ticked. “I didn’t know. I suspected.”

Azriel stepped forward. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You didn’t need to know when it was a suspicion.”

A beat. A breathless second where something fragile snapped inside Azriel’s chest. You felt it as surely as if he’d said it aloud.

“You didn’t trust me,” he finally said.

Rhysand’s mouth opened. Closed. “It wasn’t about trust.”

“Bullshit.” Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You think I can’t keep a secret? I’ve been holding your secrets for centuries. I’ve killed for them. But this? Letting her walk into that court, into a room with Eris fucking Vanserra—with no help?”

Rhysand’s voice stayed infuriatingly calm as he assessed you. “I didn’t think there’d be a bloodbath. I didn’t ask.” He gave a shallow shrug, jaw tight. “Plausible deniability. You know how it works.”

“Plausible deniability isn’t worth shit,” he laughed, a short, humorless sound that held no mirth, “when everyone in that ballroom saw the female sent from the Night Court slit Eris Vanserra’s throat.”

Silence snapped like a cord.

Rhysand’s head snapped toward you, his composure shattered.

“You didn’t—” His voice pitched, stunned, eyebrows raised. “You killed him?”

You met his gaze, spine straight. “Yes.”

Azriel looked at you like you’d just admitted to strangling the sun. “Yes? She had faebane, she slit his throat.”

“Before dessert, too,” you muttered. “Real faux pas.”

Rhysand exhaled like he might start laughing or screaming—maybe both—but didn’t do either. “You did it publicly.”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t get him alone. The guards wouldn’t leave us. I adjusted.”

“You adjusted,” Azriel repeated, eyes wild. “You adjusted by slitting his throat?”

“I had to make sure he didn’t walk away from it.”

Rhysand swore under his breath. “Cauldron boil me—”

Azriel stalked forward, pointing a shaking finger at Rhysand. “You knew something was going to happen. You suspected—those were your words. So why not prepare? Why not warn me?”

Rhysand didn’t flinch. “Because it wasn’t your mission.”

Azriel’s jaw locked. “That’s not good enough.” His voice was low, taut. “I don’t give a damn whose mission it was. I should’ve known.”

“It wasn’t your decision to make,” Rhysand said, infuriatingly calm again. “She was capable. She succeeded.”

“She almost died halfway here,” Azriel snapped. “You weren’t there—you didn’t see what she looked like. You didn’t see her body on the ground, or how pale she was, or the fucking sword charging at her throat!”

“I didn’t need to be there to know what she risked.” Rhysand’s voice was clipped, his restraint fraying. “(Y/n) made a choice. And she carried it through.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Azriel said, voice low, dangerous. “You’re not angry she killed Eris. You’re angry I’m angry. You’re angry because it means you have to admit you didn’t plan this well enough.”

“I’m angry,” Rhysand said sharply, “because I trusted her to walk away when it got too far—and she didn’t.”

Azriel’s eyes burned. “And I’m angry because you trusted her more than me. You trusted her to walk in there alone. But not me, not with the plan, not with the truth. You didn’t trust me, Rhys.”

“I already told you, it wasn’t about—”

“It was,” Azriel bit out. “You didn’t want my opinion. You didn’t want my interference. So you kept me in the dark and didn’t even give me the chance to stop her.”

Rhysand’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t think she’d go that far.”

“Then you don’t know her at all.”

You stepped between them. “Okay, enough—we need to go. We don’t know who saw what, or how fast word will travel—”

They weren’t listening.

Breathing hard, squared off, Azriel’s chest nearly brushing Rhysand’s. You could feel it between them: the crackle of some ancient current, the magnetic pull of centuries of brotherhood bent to breaking. Their shoulders squared. Magic licked the air. Rhysand had thrown off his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up his forearms. Azriel’s leathers were half-shredded, cut open at the seams, chest rising fast. Their bodies weren’t just bracing for a fight—they wanted it.

You knew it was the absolute worst time, but—there was something shamefully erotic about the two of them posturing, chests heaving, faces tight with fury. Like two apex predators trying not to maul each other. Like dominance barely held in check.

Azriel shoved first.

A shoulder to Rhysand’s chest, a low growl in the back of his throat. He barely budged, but his smile was ice.

“Don’t do this, Az,” he warned.

Azriel did it anyway.

Fists collided—one sharp, the other brutal. Rhysand deflected the first strike, then took a second to the ribs with a grunt. He stepped back, his shoes gouging earth, and retaliated with a punch so strong, so forceful, that it sent Azriel skidding. 

But Azriel didn’t stop. He lunged, eyes wild, blades forgotten in favor of his fists. He moved like a storm unleashed: fast, vicious, all instinct and fury. He caught Rhysand with a punch to the jaw, another to the stomach—bone meeting flesh with a sickening crack. Rhysand hissed, stumbling back a step before sending a shockwave of power into Azriel’s chest that flung him backward into a tree. 

Bark splintered. Azriel coughed, staggered—then sprinted again. 

You stepped forward before you could think. “Azriel—”

He either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

They met in the center of the clearing like wolves, snarling, grappling, teeth bared. Azriel drove an elbow into Rhysand’s side. He retaliated with a headbutt to the nose. 

“You’re going to kill each other,” you snapped. 

Still nothing. 

Azriel’s shadows coiled madly around him, barely reined in. Rhysand’s eyes gleamed like stars at the edge of detonation. The fight twisted brutal—less trained strikes, more animal. Rhysand caught Azriel’s arm and spun him, slammed him to the dirt so hard the ground cracked beneath them. But Azriel rolled, lashed out with a foot, clipped Rhysand’s right knee. 

They both staggered. Bloodied, panting, wild-eyed. But Rhysand was already moving—fast as light. He caught Azriel mid-lunge, twisted, and pinned him upright with a violet shield of magic that crackled at the edges like lightning. It snapped around Azriel like a vice. 

He thrashed, snarled, wings flaring hard enough to stir a windstorm—but he couldn’t move.  

And Rhysand—he didn’t look triumphant.

He looked tired.

“Fuck you,” Azriel spat, chest heaving against the magical bind. “Fuck you, Rhys. You smug piece of shit.”

Rhysand blinked once. Slowly. “Az—”

“No! No—” Azriel twisted violently, the shield flexing around him like steel bands. “You don’t get to sit there and play reasonable while she almost fucking died!”

“But I didn’t—”

“You knew!” Azriel roared, cutting you off without a glance in your direction. “You fucking knew people wanted her dead, and you let her go anyway! You let me walk her into that place like a lamb for slaughter and you didn’t say a godsdamned word! Fucking fight me, you coward.”

“She made the choice herself.”

“Because you pushed her to it!” Azriel bellowed. “You didn’t lay a hand on her, but you lined everything up so she’d walk right into the fire for you. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Pull strings. Tip the first domino and pretend you’re innocent when it goes to shit.”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched. “That’s enough.”

Azriel spat blood into the grass. His hair had fallen into his eyes, but he didn’t bother tossing it back. Just bared his teeth in a blood-slicked smile, feral and goading.

“Come on, Rhys,” he rasped. “You’ve got me right where you want me. You wanted to pull rank, well pin me down like a fucking insect and teach me a lesson, yeah? Isn’t that what High Lords do?”

Rhysand’s power flared—sharp and sudden. The magic around Azriel shifted, receded. His body jerked in response, muscles going taut, wings flaring wide in a primal instinctive brace. 

And he launched. 

Like a shadow given form, he tore toward Rhysand with the full force of his fury. Rhysand moved to sidestep—cool, calculating—but he was faster. Or maybe just more furious. Azriel caught him around the middle and tackled him to the ground.

The impact shook the forest floor.

“No magic,” Azriel snarled, already drawing back his fist. “No tricks. Just you and me. Fucking fight.”

He barely managed to block the first punch. The second landed—cheek, jaw, something cracked. Then another. And another. Azriel didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, raining down blows like he’d been waiting centuries to throw them.

Rhysand twisted, grunted, then reversed their positions in a sudden burst of motion. Now he was on top, pinning Azriel with one knee on his sternum, arm cocked back—and he didn’t look calm anymore.

He looked furious.

“You think I didn’t want to tell you?” he snapped. “You think this was easy?”

Azriel spat blood in his face. “Oh, fuck you.”

And then they were grappling, rolling, punching, wings thrashing and tearing through underbrush and branches. Power crackled just under Rhysand’s skin, but he didn’t use it. Azriel could’ve reached for shadows, but didn’t either. No siphons, no magic—just brute strength and fury and history, crashing together like a tidal wave.

“You want to kill each other? Do it faster, we don’t have the time.”

But they didn’t even look at you.

They were locked in completely—two storms colliding. Rhysand landed a brutal blow to Azriel’s ribs; he coughed and grinned and returned one to his temple. You couldn’t tell who was winning. You couldn’t tell if winning was even the point anymore.

They were trying to hurt each other. Trying to bleed this thing out through fists and broken teeth.

And gods, it was awful.

So awful—and so hot. 

You hated yourself for thinking it, but—

The way their chests slammed together, all sweat and sinew and rage. The raw sounds of fists on flesh. Azriel’s lips split wide open, blood slick on his chin, and Rhysand’s shirt hung open, half torn, sweat glinting along the cut of his abdomen. They rolled and snarled like animals, like war made flesh, like every unsaid thing was being carved into each other’s skin. 

It was brutal. Messy. Primal. 

You shook your head, hard. Shame clawed at your throat. 

Another shout. Another crash. You screamed their names again, but they were too far gone. Another punch. A sickening crunch. Blood on both their faces—Azriel’s nose pouring, Rhysand’s eye already purpling.

You didn’t even realize there were tears rolling down your face until your voice cracked:

“Stop.”

They didn’t.

You took a step back—hands trembling, stomach churning. They rolled again, Azriel on top now, pinning Rhysand by the throat, breathing ragged, and for a terrifying moment you thought he was going to kill him.

So you screamed.

Not a word. Not a plea.

Just a raw, guttural, desperate scream—the kind that lived in bone and blood.

It cut through the clearing like a blade. 

Azriel froze. Fist raised, shaking. 

Rhysand blinked up at him—bloodied and bruised and suddenly… horribly aware. 

Azriel’s arm dropped. 

The forest was silent. 

Your breathing hitched. “You—both of you— are going to get us killed. Let’s. Go.”

Neither of them spoke.

Rhysand stared past Azriel like the last few minutes had only just caught up with him. Azriel turned away, chest still heaving, blood dripping from his mouth.

They rose slowly, movements stiff with pain and restraint.

No words. No apology. Not even a glance at each other.

Just the quiet brush of Rhysand’s blood-slicked fingers finding Azriel’s and yours—

And then the world vanished into darkness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The hot water had gone cold long before you dragged yourself out of the bath.

Your body was clean. Your mind… less so.

You dressed slowly in one of the many guest rooms in the House of Wind, letting the silence press in like balm and punishment both. Even the stunning view of Velaris at night wasn’t enough to calm your racing thoughts.  

The cave conversation replayed first—

That fleeting moment of softness. His voice low, his eyes tired. The warmth between you that felt like a second chance. 

And then the turn. 

The sharp shift. The way his expression had iced over. The silence that followed was worse than the shouting—thick and pulsing with everything you still hadn’t said. The taste of it still lingered on your tongue. 

Then the walk to the forest house. Quiet. Tense. Wound tight.

Azriel hadn’t looked at you. Not really. There were no words for what passed between you on that path. Just the shared weight of too many missteps, too much history. 

By the time you’d reached the gates, your hands were shaking. 

And Eris.

Gods, Eris. 

You’d killed him. 

You had to. 

You would do it again. 

But there’d been no satisfaction in it. No triumph. Just the spray of his blood across your face, the way it ran hot down your arm. The way his hands had reached for you even as he fell—confused, grasping, because he thought he’d understood you. 

You hadn’t flinched or looked away, but you couldn’t stop remembering it now. Couldn’t stop feeling the moment the blade caught bone. The way the faebane had stripped the power from him like peeling skin from muscle. 

And after—

That fight.

That awful, hot, brutal fight. The kind only old friends have when the betrayal cuts bone-deep and pride won’t let them speak. You could still hear the thud of fists, see the flash of violence behind your eyes. 

You paced. You lay down. You got back up again.

Eventually, you decided on the only thing you trusted to quiet your mind tonight: a book.

Your room was dim, lit by a single faelight. You padded toward the door, bare feet silent on the wood floor—

And stopped.

You’d barely pulled the door open when you saw Azriel standing there, one fist raised mid-knock, eyes slightly wide like he hadn’t expected you to open it first. 

Azriel didn’t lower his hand immediately. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, water dripping from damp hair, and still in the hall like he didn’t know why he’d come—only that he had.

His knuckles were bruised, skin already knitting itself back together in uneven seams. A faint split still lingered at the corner of his mouth, just beginning to close. The ghost of a purpling bruise had formed beneath his eye. Faint, but visible. Gone by morning. 

“...You okay?” you asked, voice soft in the hush between you. 

His jaw flexed. “No.”

You hesitated. Then stepped aside. “Come in.”

He moved past you slowly, seven siphons replaced with a smaller one on a chain around his neck. You closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

Azriel didn’t go far. Just stopped in the center of the room, like he didn’t trust the furniture. Like sitting might be a commitment he couldn’t walk back.

The shadows didn’t follow him tonight. Or maybe they were there, just quieter, hidden. Listening.

You folded your arms, more to keep yourself together than anything else.

“Wasn’t expecting you to come,” you said eventually. 

Azriel didn’t look at you. Just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “Wasn’t sure I should.”

“Right.” You nodded slowly. “Wouldn’t want to risk doing something irrational. Like talking.”

He glanced at you then. Just barely. “Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what this is,” you said, sharper than you meant. “I know what it feels like. Like we’ve spent years dodging each other in rooms we were both bleeding in.”

Silence. Then: “That’s not fair.”

You laughed, low and bitter. “Yeah. Well. Neither is any of this.”

Azriel turned to face you fully. His eyes were unreadable, but his voice was quieter when he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You stared at him.

“I mean it,” he said. “You should have told me.”

“Azriel,” you said, and your voice broke a little on his name, “you don’t get to be angry at me for lying in the silence you built.”

Something in his face flinched—just once. Then it smoothed over again.

You didn’t let up.

“I asked you once, forever ago, if you’d meant to leave me in the Hewn City,” you said. “You never answered. I think I stopped expecting one. I think that was the start of all this.”

He was quiet. The only sound was the wind pressing against the windows.

“I didn’t leave you, (y/n),” he said, eventually. “Not really.”

You tilted your head. “Then what would you call it?”

He hesitated. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“By leaving me in the lion’s den with my teeth still growing in? I know I asked you to hide me, but shit, Az.”

Azriel’s mouth twisted. “You weren’t supposed to become what you did. I thought… if you stayed, you’d be forgotten. You’d be safe.”

You stared at him. “You thought.”

“I was wrong,” he said. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He blinked.

“I wasn’t safe, Azriel. I was desperate. I was being used. I was crawling through shit to buy ten more minutes of freedom. You think because I learned how to smile while doing it, it means I was fine?”

A long pause stretched between you.

“I know you weren’t fine,” he said quietly. “I read the reports. I saw you when I went down there with Rhys. I saw the wreckage. I just didn’t… I didn’t know how to talk to you after that.”

“Then why are you here now?”

Azriel looked at you, truly looked at you, like he hadn’t allowed himself to until this very moment. His voice was quiet, raw. “Because I couldn’t stand the idea of you being alone after everything.”

You stared. 

“You seemed perfectly fine with the idea of me being alone for fifteen fucking years. First in that cell, then in the cabin. You didn’t have a problem then.”

The silence that followed was not empty.

It pulsed with all the things you’d never said. With the nights in the forest. With the scream you’d let out when he’d disappeared. With the way he’d held you like he was the one breaking.

“I’m tired,” you whispered. “Of being something everyone needs and no one wants.”

Azriel stepped closer.

“You think I don’t want you?” he said, and the words came out low and dangerous. “Do you really think that?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t have one, but because you’d learned not to speak in those silences. Because he’d left you in them, over and over, until wanting him started to feel like a fault line in your chest. 

Because he’d made it clear—for years—that whatever you were to him, it wasn't something he could name. Or keep. Or want. 

He took another step. “You’ve haunted me since the day I found you in the snow. I still hear your voice when I can’t sleep. I still see your face when I close my eyes.”

You opened your mouth—but whatever you meant to say got lost in the heat behind his eyes. In the way his jaw clenched and his throat worked as he struggled for the words: 

“I fucking hated you. For a while. Of course I did. You got our soldiers killed. You lied to all of us.”

Your throat tightened. 

His chest rose and fell once—harsh and unsteady.

“I hated you for what you did. For what it cost us. But don’t—” His voice cracked. “Don’t think that means I didn’t want you.”

He stepped closer. Another inch, another breath. His hands were clenched at his sides.

“Because I did. I do. I’ve wanted you every fucking day since the moment I left you in that city. Even when I told myself I didn’t. Even when I thought you didn’t deserve it—Hell, even when I didn’t.”

He was right in front of you now. Shadows curling low at his feet, flickering like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

“After everything we’ve been through—after everything I’ve watched you survive—you really think I don’t want you?”

A beat. Just long enough to burn.

“Don’t be stupid.”

You were shaking now, but you didn’t look away. “Then why didn’t you—?”

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed to want something I’d broken.”

The air left your lungs.

You stared at him, chest tight, hands clenched at your sides.

“I’m not broken.”

“I know.”

And when he reached out, you didn’t flinch.

His fingers brushed your cheek—just barely. Just enough to ask. Just enough to let you say no.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in.

Just a little.

Just enough.

And something in the space between you finally, finally, gave.

Azriel’s hand lingered at your jaw, warm and hesitant. Like he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you. Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

You tilted your head just slightly into his palm.

He breathed your name like it hurt.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t with heat, or hunger.

It was soft.

Tentative.

A question asked against your mouth.

And when you answered—when you parted your lips, when your hand rose slowly to the back of his neck—it was the quietest kind of yes.

Azriel pulled back a fraction, eyes searching yours.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

“I’m not sure about anything,” you whispered. “Except this.”

That was enough.

He kissed you again—deeper this time, but still slow. Still careful. Like he was afraid you’d vanish again if he moved too fast.

You curled your fingers into his shirt, grounding yourself in the solid weight of him, the warmth beneath all that restraint. He exhaled shakily against your lips, his other hand sliding to your waist, anchoring you.

It should’ve been awkward. Hesitant.

But it wasn’t.

It felt inevitable.

Azriel nudged you gently backward, his movements unhurried. You let him guide you to the edge of the bed. Sat when his fingers grazed your hip. He followed you down, kneeling first—his hands at your thighs, thumbs brushing slow circles through the fabric of your pants, like even touching you was something sacred.

Your breath hitched.

“Let me take this off,” he murmured, voice fraying. “Let me see you.”

You nodded.

He undressed you like he was unwrapping something breakable. Not because he thought you were fragile—but because this was. This moment. This choice. This impossible, flickering thing between you.

Clothes pooled slowly to the floor, layers unspooled with reverence. And when his eyes swept over you, it wasn’t with lust first.

It was awe.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You reached for him then—sat up to help him out of his clothes, your hands bolder than his now. He let you, wordless as you peeled away the shirt, the sweatpants, the tension he’d been hiding behind for years.

You paused when you reached his chest—traced the faint scar that cut across his ribs.

He didn’t flinch. Just looked down at you with something raw in his expression.

“Still think you’re not allowed to want this?” you asked softly.

Azriel didn’t answer with words.

He kissed you again—urgent now, as if you’d taken the last wall he had left.

You fell back onto the bed with him over you, your bodies flush, the heat building slowly now—no longer afraid of itself. His mouth found your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. Every kiss was a promise. Every touch a confession.

You arched into him when his fingers found your skin—skimming along your ribs, your hips, before slipping between your legs. Gentle at first. Testing. Learning.

But when you gasped—when your hands gripped his arms, your thighs parted instinctively—he exhaled hard against your throat, and everything shifted.

The gentleness didn’t vanish. It just… sharpened.

His fingers moved with more confidence now, his mouth trailing heat down your chest, your abdomen. You felt him press against your leg, hard and aching, and still he didn’t rush.

“Please,” you whispered. You weren’t even sure what you were asking for. 

Azriel looked up from where he hovered at your waist, his eyes dark and ruined and so full of everything he hadn’t said in the cave.

He came back up over you slowly—braced himself with one arm beside your head, the other hand trailing down your thigh. Your legs opened easily for him.

He dipped his head to kiss you again—slow, deep, deliberate. No hesitation now. Just the steady press of his body into yours, his tongue coaxing yours until your breath hitched and your hips lifted to meet him.

“You want more,” he said against your mouth, voice low and wrecked. “Tell me what that means.”

You swallowed. You could barely think, let alone speak.

“I don’t—Azriel—”

His hand slid up, calloused fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing the edge of where you were soaked for him.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, breath hot against your skin. “Just say it.”

His fingers parted you gently, just enough for his thumb to find your clit—light at first. Barely a touch. You gasped, hips jerking toward him.

“Fuck—”

Azriel groaned softly, eyes fixed on your face. “That’s it. Don’t hide from me now.”

He circled your clit slowly—carefully—and gods, it was like he already knew your rhythm. Like his eyes and heart had memorized you years ago and his hands were only now being given permission to visit.

You cried out when he dipped one finger into you—just the tip, just enough to drag slickness back up before returning to that torturously slow circle.

You moaned, your hands finding his shoulders, gripping tight as he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear, slipping a finger into you. You clenched around it, gasping, and he swore under his breath. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispered. “So fucking warm.” Another finger joined the first, and your spine arched—hips rocking helplessly, chasing every curl of his hand, every flick of his thumb. 

“I can’t—Az—fuck—”

“You can.” He groaned into your skin, his voice shaking now. “You’re doing so well. Look at you—look at you.”

You met his eyes, barely. They were wild. Starved. 

“Say it,” he breathed. “Say you want me.”

“I—fuck—I want you.”

“Say my name.”

“Azriel—”

“Louder.”

You said it again—cried it, this time—and he growled like he was about to break apart. His mouth crashed back onto yours, desperate and hot, his fingers curling just right inside you. 

You came hard—shattering under him, your voice breaking on his name, your body convulsing around his hand. Azriel didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. Just worked you through it, coaxing every last tremble, every last breathless sound.

Only when your legs went slack and your eyes fluttered did he finally slow, fingers slipping free. He braced himself over you, panting, his mouth hovering just above yours. 

You reached for him—shaky, greedy—and he went easily. Let you pull him into a kiss that was messier now, needier. All tongue and heat and the low, broken noises you hadn’t known he could make. 

And you could feel him, still pressed hard against you. 

“Let me,” you whispered. “Please.”

Azriel groaned like it hurt. 

“Careful,” he said, voice like a promise, “you ask like that, and I won’t last long.”

“Good,” you breathed. “Then we’ll do it again.”

He growled.

You kissed him again—open-mouthed and filthy, your tongue teasing against his, your fingers slipping between your bodies. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

“I think I do,” you murmured, as you wrapped your fingers around him. 

And gods—he was hard. Thick and flushed, the head already glistening. You held his gaze as you sat up slightly, leaned on your elbow—and spit into your hand. Slow. Deliberate.

Azriel’s eyes darkened—shadows curling tight across his shoulders as your saliva slicked your palm and wrapped around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head tipping back as you gave him a slow stroke. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned. “Not before you fuck me.”

That got him. 

His head dropped forward, and when he looked at you—gods, that smile. 

Slow. Crooked. Wicked. 

The kind of smile that only ever meant trouble. The kind you’d never seen on him before, but knew without question it was meant only for you. 

Your hand moved with purpose now—tight, teasing strokes from base to tip. He gritted his teeth, hips jerking into your touch, one hand gripping the sheets beside your head like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You’re too good at that,” he rasped. “You want me to lose it already?”

“Maybe.”

He grabbed your wrist—not roughly, but firm. His eyes met yours, molten and steady.

“I need to be inside you,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t argue. You just let go of him, lay back, and held your legs open for him—wide, welcoming.

Azriel knelt between your thighs, his body trembling with restraint. Shadows flickered low at the edges of the room now—curious, pulsing with need that wasn’t just his anymore.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “Fucking perfect.”

You reached for him—but his shadows moved faster.

They slid over your eyes like silk—cool and soft, weightless but sure. You gasped, surprised, as your vision dimmed.

“Az—?”

“They won’t hurt you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Just want you to feel. Every inch. No distractions.”

Your breath caught. The shadows pulsed once. You nodded.

“I trust you.”

And gods, the sound he made at that—like a prayer torn from the chest.

He lined himself up with one careful hand, the head of his cock nudging through your folds. He paused there, just barely pushing in.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded again, vision still cloaked in darkness, your whole body humming.

“Yes. Please, Azriel—please.”

He thrust in slowly, working himself in inch by inch. 

You cried out—back arching, walls clenching around him, your hands scrabbling at his arms.

Azriel groaned, burying his face in your neck as he bottomed out.

“You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven.”

You whimpered something in return—couldn’t tell what, couldn’t think past the stretch, the way he filled you completely.

And then he moved.

Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that made your toes curl. The shadows over your eyes tightened just enough to hold—like a soft blindfold—and every sensation spiked. The drag of his cock. The heat of his skin. The tremble in his voice when he murmured:

“You take me so well. Gods, fucking beautiful.”

“I can’t—” you gasped, writhing.

“Yes, you can. You were made for this. For me.”

He angled his hips—found that spot—and your vision flared white behind the shadows.

You choked on a moan.

Azriel groaned, bracing his arms beside your head, voice strained now.

“You want it?” he asked, breath ragged. “Want me to fuck you nice and deep?”

You dragged your nails up his spine, pressed your forehead to his.

“I want you to stop holding back,” you whispered. “I can take it. I want all of you.”

Azriel went still. Like you’d said something dangerous. Something forbidden.

His mouth hovered over yours, his breath a shaky exhale. “Careful, (y/n).”

You kissed him—slow, deep, deliberate. “No. You be careful. I’m not scared of you.”

The sound he made—guttural, low—was not quite a groan. Not quite a growl. His hips bucked forward in response, driving himself deeper, and your gasp fractured between your teeth.

Above you, the shadows flickered and unraveled, pulling back from your eyes in a soft, silken sweep. The world returned in color and shape, blinding and brilliant, and there he was. 

Azriel. All of him. 

His face drawn tight with restraint. Jaw clenched. Breathing ragged. Wings stretched wide and twitching.

You traced one hand up his back—slow, reverent—and then let your fingers brush the membrane where wing met muscle.

Azriel shuddered. Visibly.

His whole body stilled above you like a pulled wire.

Your thumb stroked the edge again, featherlight.

“…Fuck,” he muttered. A whisper, almost like it escaped without permission.

You froze. “Too much?”

He shook his head. His voice was strained when he said, “No. Just—fuck, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You smiled—slow, deliberate—and traced another line up the vulnerable underside of his wing. The tremble that ran through him was violent.

“Oh, I think I’m learning,” you said softly. “Sensitive?”

“Very.” His jaw clenched. His wings twitched again, twitchier now, one of them knocking into the headboard like he’d forgotten they were there. “You dangerous, beautiful thing…”

You laughed, delighted.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

You touched the joint again—barely grazing the nerve-laced edge—and this time Azriel groaned, hips jerking into you.

“Stop,” he rasped.

“You want me to stop?”

“…No.”

You arched into him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other trailing another teasing stroke along his wing.

“Then say it,” you whispered. “Say what you want.”

He growled. A real one this time. Low, dangerous.

“I want you to keep touching me,” he said, voice dark and unraveling. “I want to fuck you while you ruin me.”

Gods.

The pace that followed was brutal.

He slammed into you harder now, panting raggedly, the aftershocks of your teasing still thrumming through every nerve. You kept one hand on his wing as long as you could—feeling it shiver under your touch, hearing the soft, desperate sounds he couldn’t keep back. Every time your fingers skimmed the sensitive membrane, he lost rhythm—just for a second. Just enough to let you know what it cost him to keep control.

And when you dragged your nails lightly down the edge—

Azriel broke.

He swore—loud, filthy—then drove into you so hard you saw stars. His shadows lashed around the room like smoke caught in wind, reacting to the shudder in him, the unraveling.

You felt him everywhere. In the way his cock hit deep, again and again. In the tremble of his wings bracketing your body. In the frantic press of his mouth at your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

“You feel—fuck, I could stay inside you forever,” he groaned.

“Then stay,” you gasped. “Please—Az, I want to come again—I need—”

He reached between your bodies, rubbed your clit fast and tight—less precise now, more desperate. You couldn’t blame him. He was shaking.

“Give it to me,” he said, breath wrecked. “Come for me again, I need to feel it—I need—”

You shattered. No warning. No buildup. Just a white-hot wave of heat, and lightning, and his name torn from your throat as your body locked around him, your hand clutching blindly at the base of his wing, like you could anchor yourself there. 

Azriel swore—louder this time, rougher—and drove in once, twice, then came with a groan that broke into something softer, almost like a sob. His wings trembled above you. His mouth pressed to your shoulder.

And then everything stilled.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

You didn’t know how long you lay like that.

Azriel hadn’t moved—not far, at least. One arm still looped beneath your ribs, his breath slow where it dragged across your shoulder. His cock had slipped free at some point, but his body hadn’t left yours. Not really.

His wings were still up, still twitching faintly with each shift of your breath. You didn’t touch them this time.

You could feel the sweat cooling on your skin. The throb of overstretched nerves. The low ache between your thighs. But more than that, you could feel him. Heavy and warm beside you. Present in a way he hadn’t been in years.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It wasn’t comfortable either.

You turned your face toward him in the dimness. Not to look for anything. Just to see if he was still awake.

He was.

His eyes opened slowly. Unreadable. Shadowless.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

For a long while, that was enough.

Then Azriel’s fingers shifted—just slightly—where they rested near your hand. Not touching. Not quite.

You watched them move. You didn’t take his hand. You didn’t pull away either.

Eventually, you sat up.

Your legs were shaky. Your breath still uneven. But you reached for your shift, not looking at him.

Azriel said nothing. Just watched you with that same quiet, unreadable gaze.

You pulled the thin blanket back over your lap and leaned your elbows onto your knees. Not cold. Just needing a moment.

After a while, you heard the rustle of him sitting up behind you. The mattress dipped. The shadows moved.

Still, you didn’t look at him.

His voice came low. Raw.

“Was it a mistake?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Not because you didn’t know. But because the truth wasn’t simple enough to give without care.

You looked down at your hands. Flexed your fingers once.

“No,” you said. Quiet. Measured. “But it wasn’t forgiveness either.”

A long silence.

Then:

“I know.”

“And I don’t expect it to be for you, either.”

“I know.”

And that was it.

You didn’t kiss him goodnight. He didn’t ask to stay.

But when you lay back down, turning away from him, he followed. Gave you space—but not distance. The backs of his fingers brushed your spine as he settled behind you.

He didn’t reach for more.

And you didn’t ask.

But when sleep finally came, you both let it.

Not together.

But not alone either.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

<- part 1

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[juicykvnture]

(YOU DRIVE ME) CRAZY

mechanic!Jason x ditzy/girly!fem!Reader

tags: AFAB reader, kinda bimbo!reader, manhandling, fingering, spit, thigh riding, light slapping, nicknames (doll/bunny),semi-public? (in a garage)

a/n: This came idea to me while listening to my 2000’s playlist (thank u Britney Spears)

wc: 3.4K | masterlist

You honestly don’t know where you’d be without your favourite mechanic! Taken off of the road, girl be serious.

It’s not like you do it on purpose, yknow? Seriously, there’s nobody on this planet who enjoys that feeling of existential dread when you back up against the curb a little too hard.

So, like any rational person, you blame the state of your car on bad luck, or the world around you - like, how were you supposed to know that there was gonna be a curb there?

The first time, you just slapped a bumper sticker over the scuff mark, and then another one, and then another, until ultimately your precious Impala looks less like a muscle car and more like an arts and crafts project. Especially since the second you got it, you immediately handed it over to the garage and all but begged to get the original dusty pink colour restored.

You’ve mastered the skill of batting your eyelashes out of speeding tickets, flirting your way out of parking fines, the whole lot.

But the same can’t be said about the fact you’ve got a knocked-off mirror and a busted-up tail-lights, which you can’t stress enough is simply just rotten luck, never-mind your bumper hanging on by a mess of pink washi tape of all things.

But the silver lining? Him.

“We’re closed,” Jason calls out from under a car, cursing under his breath when he hears the door to the garage creaking.

He’s a busy guy, he just hasn’t had time to get around to the damn thing. Especially not now, not with the fact he’s got a never-ending list of customers coming to him every three seconds and his gloves are dripping in engine oil.

Yes, gloves. Only cause Dick laughed at him and said Jason looks like he’s been in the mines all day with his bare hands stained black.

His brother is in no position to tease him about anything. He can’t tell his ass from his elbow when it comes to cars. All he does is the accounts.

At the sound of footsteps coming closer, Jason’s expression hardens as he starts to roll himself out from under the car. For fucks sake, he literally just called out the fact they’re is closed and there just has to be some stubborn fucker who thinks they’re more important than everyone else.

The sound isn’t just footsteps, it’s heels. Loud, clicky heels.

With a slightly amused sigh, his head comes into view, his hair a tousled mess like always with his grease-stained vest clinging to his body.

You’re not exactly sure why he became a mechanic, he could easily be a fucking model or something.

“Hi, Barbie.” He hums, crossing his arms over his chest, making absolutely zero effort to get up.

Fidgeting with the charms on your nails, you blink. How creative of him to definitely be the first person to ever tease you with that.

“You think you’re funny?”

He just shrugs as he peels off his gloves, now graciously deciding to stand up.

“I think I’m adorable.”

Staring at your bumper, and then at you, Jason has to hold back a cackle, he knows you’re a menace on the road but even for you, the state of the hood of your car is impressive. Sheer damage on that thing has his mouth hanging open for a moment. Where's the rest of it? Where's the rest of your skirt? Surely you got that for 50% off.

“Less of the horrified stares and more car fixing, please?” You blink, tapping your nails against the side of your thigh.

You do that a lot, he’s noticed. You’re kinda fidgety.

“Don’t rush me. You come in here for my skills or my charm?"

Before you can even answer, he’s brushing past you to take the keys dangling from your manicured fingers, his large hand brushing against yours.

“My bad, Dolly. I know it’s my pretty face you come here for.”

He can’t hold back a small huff when he glances at the keys in his hand. Well, it’s more a tangled up mess of pink and sparkly key chains, no surprise you need a massive purse to drag all that around.

Glancing over his shoulder as he walks out to the car, he twirls the keys around on his finger, scoffing a little at the rhinestone Playboy bunny charm.

“M’gonna go get this beauty up on a ramp, you jus’ sit there and look pretty, alright?”

Yeah. Unlike your driving skills, you’re good at that, sitting there all dolled up.

Pretty, he called you pretty.

Is it stupid that you feel almost giddy when he says that?

You’re sat up on the workbench now, dangling your heels off of your feet as you swing your legs, the soft click of your nails against the phone screen filling the room along with a confused grumble every couple minutes from Jason, internally wondering how the fuck you managed to get a car as formidable as a Chevy impala run down like this.

He’s stood over the hood of your car with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. He looks more like he’s trying to start a barbecue and not checking your engine.

“Dolly?” He pipes up suddenly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Mhm?” You tilt your head up tossing your phone back into your purse before hopping off of the counter again, the click of your heels hitting the concrete soon following.

“You got your logbook anywhere?”

Silence.

You blink, tilting your head to the side like he’s just asked you to solve some kind of mystery.

“The blue book, I filled it out the last time you had your car serviced here.” He explains.

“Oh,” You let out a sheepish chuckle, your hands instinctively going to smooth over the pockets on your skirt. Yeah, as if you’d have a whole logbook in your fucking pocket. As if it would even fit in a skirt that short.

“It’s in there.. somewhere?” You offer with an awkward gesture of your hand, your charm bracket slinking against your watch.

“Yeah, I’d hope so.” Jason sighs, reaching an arm up to close the hood.

“I’ll check your glovebox, you check in the back, yeah?”

“Shit,” You’re now rooting through every pocket, every single possible compartment, tossing your empty shopping bags to the side in search of it.

It’s one stupid little book, how hard can it be?

His brows arch in amusement as he digs through your glovebox. It’s all so stupidly you. Rifling through piles of CDs in hopes of it somehow being sandwiched between Britney Spears - Greatest Hits and Lady Gaga -The Fame.

To his dismay, it ain’t. It’s just bubblegum wrappers and a bizarre amount of sunglasses and mismatched earrings as far as the eye can see.

“Any luck back there, Barbie?” He mumbles, ready to crawl into the back with you to help you try find it.

When you shake your head, he sighs, leaning his hand against the console with the other gripping the passenger side headrest to get in the back.

- - CLICK - -

You blink, staring at Jason for a moment as he lands himself beside you.

His eyes aren’t on you though, he’s staring at the window, more focused on the fact he just accidentally locked you two inside your car.

“Where’s the key?” Jason sits up slightly, glancing at you with his eyebrows furrowed expectantly.

You’re staring back at him like a deer in headlights, trying not to focus on the fact that your car just lacks AC and his abs are looking a little too good under that vest for your liking.

“My purse?” you’re not entirely sure, but it’s the only place you can imagine they’d be.

Okay, just one small issue.

Your purse is currently out on the workbench, hung up somewhere between a carjack and a set of screwdrivers.

You begin your internal panic, death by a hot car with an even hotter guy inside? Yeah, you’re cooked, you’re done. You want a pink casket at your funeral and-

“Hey,” Jason snaps you out of it after a moment, his hand tentatively moving to rest on your knee, his thumb pressing little circles into your skin.

“We’re fine, okay? Just focus on finding me the book and I’ll sort this out later.”

You nod a little shakily, but you can’t help glancing out the window. Fuck, you can literally see your purse right there. How could you be so stupid?

“Dolly, c’mon.” He sighs, noticing how you’re gnawing at your acrylics with a small grimace.

He leans back in his seat a little, letting his head thump against the window, he’s doing that stupid man-spread thing they always tend to do, his thighs taking up almost the entirety of your backseat.

“Look, we’ll be okay. Dick’s coming here in about an hour or something, cause I need him to sort my taxes. We’ll tell him the keys are in your purse, alright?”

He may have the emotional intelligence of a teaspoon, but he can tell you’re thinking the worst-case scenario, as ridiculous as it may be. You don’t like enclosed spaces, that’s fine.

A small tug at your hand prompts you to land in his lap, facing him as his fingers drum against the leather by his sides.

“Have you checked your pockets?”

“What?” You blink.

“For the logbook,”

You figure he’s just trying to make you laugh, trying to distract you from the thoughts of impending doom. It’s silly, but part of you likes that he’s trying. You like that he cares.

“How do you expect me to keep it in a skirt like this?” You scoff, glancing down at the denim skirt clinging to your hips. It barely fits your phone in your pocket without your ass basically hanging out.

“Dunno,” he hums, his fingers now tapping lightly against your thighs.

“I should check, maybe it’s in there.”

When you roll your eyes, he offers a small smirk, his hands crawling up your hips to slip into your back pockets, giving your ass a squeeze.

He’s about as subtle as a punch to the face.

“Jason!” You sputter, your first giving his chest a half-assed little punch.

“What?” He shrugs, his hands still very much resting atop your ass, squeezing again just to see how you react.

“M’just checking, Dolly, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

The smirk just doesn’t leave his face, he likes to see how your cheeks heat up, about as pink as your silly little nails.

“My panties are not in a twist, Jason.”

Except, they are.

They have been since he pulled you into his lap like you weigh absolutely nothing. They have been since you saw him roll out from under that car. They have been since you were on your phone, pretending to text someone whilst you were actually staring at the muscles rippling in under his skin.

“Hello?” He coos, giving your forehead a little poke when he notices you zone out, his hand slowly moving back down to your skirt to hook his fingers into your belt loops, pulling your hips down against his a little more.

“Y’still with me?” He mumbles, his lips gently brushing against your jaw.

You blink, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to ignore both the heat in your cheeks and the one between your thighs.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you’re still with me,” Jason grins, his gaze following your necklace down to the little diamond pendant with the first letter of your name (if Regina George has one, so do you), and then a little lower to your cleavage.

“You’re not very subtle,” You mumble, fidgeting with your charm bracelet as you tilt your head to glance out the window once more, berating yourself mentally about those keys.

“And you’re not very focused,” He counters, giving the pendant on your necklace a little tug to pull your attention back towards him.

What the fuck are you even supposed to be focused on? Searching for the logbook? The sweltering heat inside your car? The fact you can feel his hand literally crawling up under your skirt? The fact he’s rubbing his thumb in little circles against your panties?

You open your mouth to say something snarky, only to be cut off by a small chuckle coming from the back of his throat.

“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt your head.”

“Shuddup,” you mumble sheepishly, staring at him through your falsies with a slightly forced laugh, trying to ignore his wandering hand.

“I’m not doing anything.” Jason shrugs like it’s nothing, keeping one hand between your legs as the other slides up under your shirt, gently stroking your back as if to ease you.

You don’t give a fuck about the stuck-in-the-car situation anymore, your brain is mostly occupied by the stuck-with-Jason situation.

“You’re not looking at me,”

Thank you Jason, for that astute observation.

“Why?” He presses on, his hand sliding out from under your shirt to tilt your face up to his, raising his eyebrows as if you’re overreacting.

His grip is a little tight, but not painful. Why would he wanna put a frown on your pretty face, after all?

Your pout at his teasing makes him chuckle slightly, offering a nonchalant shrug as his eyes roam over your face, still lazily rubbing his thumb against your underwear.

“Pretty lashes,” He points out, acting like this is a completely normal conversation to be having.

Still, you’re flattered. A compliment is a compliment, yeah?

“They’re fake.” You mumble sheepishly, staring down at your lap.

That earns a tiny scoff, you feel his hand tilting your chin up again, tilting his head to the side.

“So? They’re cute.”

You force out a small chuckle, feeling his eyes scanning every detail of your face. You can’t even hide the flush on your cheeks.

“These are cute too.” He continues, his large hand gently wrapping around your wrist, glancing down at the pink charms on your nails.

He lets go after a moment, pushing your skirt up your hips a little, his fingers hooked into the belt loops.

“Can’t forget these,” Jason mumbles, a small smirk gracing his features when he hears the slight hitch in your breath, watching the subtle shift of your hips.

“Now these are cute.” His hands wander further up your thighs, lightly hooking his fingers into the hem of your lacy underwear to give it a small tug, his smirk unwavering.

“Shuddup,” you mutter under your breath, reaching a hand up to gently adjust your lashes, trying to ignore his hand between your thighs.

“That ain’t nice, Dolly.” He mumbles into your neck, his teeth gently dragging over your smooth skin before nipping at it slightly, his breath hot against your flesh.

He’s been condescending, pretty much mocking you in subtle little ways ever since you marched your pretty ass into his garage.

If everything about you is so cute and pretty, he’d bet his whole life savings that your sounds are too.

And he’s all too happy to test that theory.

His hand slips away from your panties for a moment, giving the side of your thigh a little smack, his strong hands pressing into your thighs as he flips you around.

He was right. He knew he would be.

You shift your legs awkwardly when he basically tosses you around however he sees fit, acting like that shit doesn’t turn you on.

Glancing down at how you’re pressing your knees together again, he smacks your other thigh, just a tiny bit harder, pulling your back against his chest, grinning into your neck at the little squeak you unintentionally let out.

“You squeal like a fuckin’ bunny, you know that?”

Your skirt is now bunched up around your midsection, your breathing a little shaky as you feel his fingers tracing over your panties again, lightly circling his thumb against your clit through the thin lace.

“Jason, shuddup.” You repeat for like the tenth time, only to be met with a smirk against the back of your neck.

“Is that all you’re able to say to me now, bunny? shuddup, shuddup, shuddup?” He’s mocking you now, putting on a squeaky little voice and everything, paired with an exaggerated pout into your neck before he lightly bites again.

“You’re mean.”

“Oh, am I? Poor you,” He mumbles into your jaw, his other hand going to your neck, gently tilting your head up while his fingers hook into the lace, pulling it down your thighs.

His eyes remain locked on your face in the rearview mirror, watching how your lips part slightly.

“Open your mouth f’me, Dolly.”

“Huh?” You mumble a little breathlessly, your expression a little dazed in the small mirror.

“Y’heard me, open your mouth.” He repeats, his middle and ring fingers gently prodding at your chin.

With a shaky sigh, you part your lips, your lashes fluttering slightly.

“Atta girl,” Jason mumbles in slight amusement, almost impressed with how easily you listen to him. It’s not like you usually tend to have much going on in that little head of yours, anyway.

His fingers press down on your tongue, just resting there for a moment as he feels you trying your push yourself down against his lap a bit harder, leaving a little wet patch on his jeans.

He presses a small kiss to the back of your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pushing a little further into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

It’s useless for him to try to stifle a huff of amusement when you gag, slowly pulling his fingers back, covered in your spit.

“You’re real pretty, yknow that?” His voice is a soft rasp against your neck, lightly rubbing his fingers against your clit, pressing a little kiss to his jaw.

“Uh-huh,” you manage a weak nod, tilting your head back against him with a shaky sigh, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip.

“Good.”

He’d burn a fucking CD full of your little sighs and dumb little squeaks if he could.

It’s so obvious he’s doing this on purpose too, his fingers moving against you at an almost agonisingly slow pace. It’s partly cause he doesn’t wanna rush things.

But mostly cause he wants to hear you whine a little more. He lives for that stupid little pout on your glossy lips.

“Jason..” Your words come out as an almost silent plea, your hips lifting to try to push against his hand a little harder, only to be met with another smack to your thigh.

“M’not gonna let you rush me - sorry, Dolly.” He tilts your head to the side, admiring your flushed face in the mirror once more - it’s hard for him to take his eyes off of it, actually.

When he’s had enough fun making you pant, he finally decides to be decent enough to actually give you something, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, kissing behind your ear as if his strong arm is wrapped around your torso like a vice, bouncing his thigh a little bit every now and then, just to mess with you even more.

“Y’still with me, bunny?” He’s holding your neck now, his thumb rubbing over your kiss-swollen lips, lightly pushing it between them.

“Mhm,”

You’re not sure whether to nod or shake your head, and before you can even answer he’s grinding you down into his thigh again, gripping your hips hard in whatever way he wants, his fingers likely to leave little bruises on your hip-bones.

He should kiss those better later, he thinks.

“Yeah, pretty girl?” His hands slide up your hips to your torso, his fingers pressing into your ribs as he moves you around to lie down on the backseat, his thigh slotting between your legs as he fumbles with his belt, grinding himself against you slightly.

And that’s when you see it.

Your car keys are right there, in his fucking front pocket.

And you never even thought to question him.

a/n: I have the feminine urge to gnaw at his arms like a rabid dog.

Jason Todd m.list

[groundzerosgirlfriend]

A/n: Just binge watched all three seasons of Dr. Stone and Senku and Tsukasa can do whatever they want to me! Bark Bakrk woof Awooga!

Soft boyfriend Tsukasa: That revived you in this new stone world with the 'miracle fluid' after gathering a strong enough army, to ensure your safety at all times.

Soft boyfriend Tsukasa: That barely wants his right-hand man Hyoga to be around you unless it's absolutely necessary going out of way to forage, fish, and hunt with you.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That sits beside you for quality time as you sew and talk his ear off about everything that runs his mind and although he could spend his time elsewhere, where else would he want to be.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That is still as sweet as he was 3,700 years ago instead of carrying your books to school, he carries any prey you caught, any basket of mushrooms, and any firewood (He doesn't want his gorgeous girl working hard, what type of boyfriend would he be).

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That ignores all the other attractive women (much to the disappointment of Minami) in his empire throwing themselves at him much preferring to keep his sights set on you. His one and only.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Whose heart breaks as you finally see him firsthand destroy a statue of an older gentleman the crumbled rock around his feet and his gut twisting as your eyes prick the slightest tears.

Soft boyfriend Tsukasa: Who doesn't follow after you when your quick leave his vicinity not wanting to pressure you into talking to him, knowing how empathetic you are about a lot of things (It's one of the things he loves about you, but right now it's biting him in the ass).

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Whose heart beats harder than it ever has when comparing it to any of his grueling wrestling matches after a week of silence on your end you sit next to him at the campfire site just leaning your head on his shoulder.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who's about to apologize for slaughtering those statues in front of you and explain his reasoning behind his uncouth action is surprised when you tell him 'You don't mind.'

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who stays quiet with ears open as you express that although you don't like what he's doing, you condone killing innocent people statues or not, but you won't question it or force him to stop knowing it has to be for good reason.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who places his huge hands-on top of yours just giving a gentle squeeze of acknowledgement and thankfulness, because in this moment no words need to be said as the fire crackles in front of you two.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who is now happier than he thinks he's ever been having both you and his newly revived sister free from her dreaded comatose (with the help of Senku) at his side.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who smiles the slightest bit and chuckles softly as he watches from the sidelines you entertain and play with his younger sister grateful that the two of you get along so well and even wondering if one day you would want a family with him. A blend of both of your genes.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That sacrifices his life with a spear piercing through his lung at the river side when Hyoga attempts to attack you and Miria. The last thing he sees before he falls into the river is you and Senku reaching out for him in a desperate attempt to catch him.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: After his epic battle with Senku at his side he spends his last minutes alive breathing ragged and hoarse with you and the renowned scientist. His head in your lap and holding each other hands as he chuckles at Senku's attempt at small talk.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That whispers out a barely heard "I love you" but before you can even comprehend it and much less respond his eyes softly close, and his breathing comes to a permanent stop.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who unknowingly has you and his sister by his side the entire time he is in cold sleep. Barely leaving the makeshift refrigerator as you tell him stories and talk his ear off knowing that you won't get a response.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who when he's finally revived and healed from what were once permanent wounds hugs his teary-eyed little sister and looks around the cave space for you inconspicuously knowing you couldn't be far.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who finally spots you in the very back of the group your lip quivering as he cracks the softest of smiles and hold his arms open for you to rush into as you cry and snot all over his bare chest comforting you with the fact that he was alive and well now.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who even though was dead for months on end in that cold refrigerator somehow knew that you were by his side the entire time thanking you for never giving up on him.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who sits with you on the cave floor simply murmuring low sweet nothings in your ear as you cling onto him as if to make sure he's really alive and well, your head pressed against his chest to hear his heart beating once more.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who says "Let me say it properly this time, my dear. I love you."

Extra: Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who could most definitely manhandle you like a little ragdoll but refrains from it since you've never expressed interest in such rough treatment. But after he tosses you over his shoulder to carry you out the cave without asking in the heat of the moment and hears your delighted giggle, he'll be sure to bring that up with you.