#i just think she should have issues about not having her short dark hair

[cestacruz]

This is just for a very specific HC im having but regardless.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ❤︎ 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

ㅤjavier peña x plus size f!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers/fwb, minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: it's the 80s. when the dig you've been working at has to take a short break due to escobar and politics, you decide to wait it out at medellín. while hitchhiking, a charming stranger pulls up.

warnings: mild weed usage (reader), car sex, nipple play, dirty talk, dry humping, age gap, piv, creampie, unprotected sex, brat taming if you squint, some weight-related insecurities if you squint but mostly she's just vibing and living her life

a/n: i would really consider writing more of this so please let me know what you think! a special shoutout to @inklore because i feel like i wouldn't think about hitchhiker smut on the bus if it wasn't for her fic roadside delight which all of you should go and read rn because it's amazing, ily bby 💗

**dividers by the amazing @saradika xx

Raindrops land sparsely over your skin, most of the wetness caught over your cheeks. Sliding down your neck, they sneak beneath the sweetheart neckline of your olive green dress. The skirt dances with the wind, teasing the inner curves of your thighs as it playfully flutters in your wake. Despite the rain, it’s still warm. However, that doesn’t stop the chill of the gray clouds from settling over your skin. With a deep sigh, you lift your thumb once more. 

You have no idea how long you’ve had your thumb sticking up; maybe it’s been only ten minutes or an hour, regardless, you’re frustrated and want the wait to end. 

Some cars had slowed down but upon seeing the men that were driving, you had quickly hidden your thumb away. You knew what they were thinking. Thanks to the rain, there was only little left to the imagination. The dress that already hugged your breasts and hips hugged you even tighter now, the fabric almost sheer as it exposed your tight nipples. You should’ve brought a jacket with you but honestly, how were you supposed to know it was going to rain today? 

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, pushing your wet hair away from your neck in frustration. Not a single car in sight after what you thought had been at least ten minutes of waiting. Clicking your tongue, you reach into your bag, retrieving a lighter and a joint thoughtfully rolled by one of your colleagues at the excavation site. It was greatly appreciated since you weren’t the best at rolling. 

Taking a drag, you sigh, the smoke mingling with the misty air. The excavation site had declared a short break due to some unforeseen issue related to the escalating Escobar problem in the region. It's hush-hush among the team, but you've caught snippets of worried conversations about increased security concerns and the need to lay low for a while. 

Your shoulders relax as the smoke swirls in your lungs, your body now feeling rejuvenated instead of cold under the rain. In the distance, you hear the soft hum of a car approaching and narrow your eyes as you look at the distance. Your eyes light up when you see a car approaching and this time, no matter who’s in it, you promise yourself you’ll just get in. 

The cigarette still between your lips, you lift your thumb with enthusiasm, taking a step further into the road, you giggle slightly thinking you might just as well jump in front of it to make it stop. You want to get out of the rain, want warm clothes and blankets. 

The car comes to a smooth halt. 

You lean towards the already open window, you quickly pluck the join away from your lips and smile broadly at the dark-haired stranger. 

“Hola,” you say, hoping your accent is decent enough. “¿podrías darme un aventón?”

The stranger gives you a curious look, his lips curl upward, eyes dropping to your cleavage before lifting them back up to meet your gaze. Your breath catches in your throat, chest heaving at the sight of him. He’s beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, plump lips. Blinking, you swallow and press your legs together, thankful he can’t see it. 

“Where you headed?” he asks. 

“Medellín,” A timid chuckle escapes your lips. “Did my accent give it away?” 

“A little,” he jerks his head to the side. “Hop in. You must be freezing like that.” 

Grateful, you open the car and slide yourself inside. Warmth immediately envelops you like a cozy blanket and you sigh happily, leaning into the comfort of the seat. “Thanks,” you say, offering your name along with it. “What’s your name?” 

“My name’s Javier. But you can call me Javi.” 

“I think I’ll stick to Javier, I like the way it hits my tongue.” 

He grins, “Do you, now?” 

It takes you everything to ignore the delicious roll of his tongue and how it would feel on your skin. You lift your hand suddenly, the joint visible between your fingers. 

“Is it okay if I smoke this in your car?” 

He looks confused for a brief moment. You notice him taking in deep breaths, sniffing the air, his eyes go slightly wide with realization but then the surprise in his eyes molds into amusement. 

“Go ahead,” he says. “You’re awfully bold to ask that without knowing who I am or what I do. What if I was a cop?” 

“Cops don’t look as good as you do.” 

Shit. 

“I look good?” 

You hear the mirth in his voice and quickly change the subject, “You want one?” 

“No,” he answers firmly. Confusion furrows your brow and his tone quickly softens. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan. And it’s illegal.” 

“Oh, sorry. I can put it out, you don’t have to be nice about it.” 

He thinks about it for a while but shakes his head. “You don’t have much of it left anyway,” The car starts moving and you look at the spot you’ve been waiting at for god knows how long one last time. Good riddance. “So, Medellín, what business do you have there?” 

“No business,” you answer promptly, taking another drag. You blow the smoke out the window, the wind whisking it away. “I’m studying archeology. I was doing research at Ciudad Perdida but we had to take a break for safety reasons. We might still go on so until I get a firm ‘go back home’ I was thinking to wait it out there.” 

“It’s not really safe there either, you know. You gotta be careful when you get there,” he gives you a side glance, eyes moving up and down your curves. Your heart rate escalates and when you press your legs together once more, it doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re awfully squirmy there,” he says, voice low and all gravel. “You okay?” 

Your veins buzzing, you throw the remainder of the joint out the window. Your head is swimming pleasantly, the smoke loosening your tongue and making you eager to confess all the dirty things you want to do with him. But along with that, uncertainty creeps in. You don’t even know if he wants you that way. He seems older than you. He might’ve just been looking after you and the lust you heard in his deep voice might’ve just been in your imagination. 

“I’m not squirming,” you say quickly. He doesn’t look convinced by your answer, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “How long until we get there?” 

“A couple of hours,” his eyes catch your lingering gaze and he smiles. “There’s a gas station a little ahead so I suggest you go to the bathroom, sweetheart. If you have to go.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“You hungry?” 

Your hand wanders to your stomach, you can’t tell if he’s asking because of your appearance or if it’s a genuine question. He speaks up before you can decide. “I’m starving,” he says. “I also need to buy a pack so if you want anything just tell me. I’ll pay.” 

“I have money.” 

He laughs at that, and laughs even harder at your pout, “You’re a student in Colombia, hitchhiking. I doubt you have much,” he shrugs. “Besides, you’re a guest in this country, let me treat you.” 

“You’re being awfully nice.” 

“Am I? I don’t think so.” You see the gas station coming into view. “But mamá always did say I had a soft spot for pretty girls.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” you answer, hoping to have more a sultry tone but your words come out breathless. Excited. 

The car slows, his eyes are glued to your neck, he slowly moves them down. His dark gaze eating you up. You can almost feel it caressing your skin, heating you, and licking over the waterdrops that stubbornly remains on your skin. 

“Don’t say it like you don’t already know.” The car stops along with your breath. He pulls the keys out and leans close, lips almost touching your pulse. You feel his breath on your ear, warm, it coaxes goosebumps to rise across your skin. His eyes trail over the curve of your lips. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No.” 

His lips touch your cheek. It happens so quickly that you feel you might’ve imagined it. The rough hairs above his lip tickle your skin and you instinctively chase the heat of him as he moves away. 

Before you know it he’s out of the car, the patch of skin where his lips touched still burning with delight. Stunned, you touch your cheek with the tips of your fingers. 

Maybe waiting in the rain for someone like him wasn’t so bad after all. 

You should’ve known it would end up like this. 

Him, to park the car in a semi-remote spot. 

You, to cradle his lap, your dress pushed up all the way up exposing your soft thighs with his hands all over you. 

You should’ve known. 

The soft pitter patters of rain hit the top of the car, you’re too occupied by his mouth to realize the sun had slowly started to peek through the clouds, warming the damp concrete. Javier’s tongue is awfully skillful. He slips his tongue between your lips, licking himself deeper into your mouth, his hands pull at your neckline, exposing your bare breasts. He flattens his palms against them, your nipples tighten against the heat of his palm. 

He breaks away with a groan, “I knew you were braless,” he rasps, dipping to your neck. “I fucking knew it.” 

“And I knew you were staring,” you tease and expose more of your neck. He nips at the tender skin playfully, a shiver runs up your spine. “Here I thought you picked me up out of the goodness of your heart.” 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“No—god, no. I don’t ever want you to stop.” 

And that’s all he needs to hear as he lifts your breasts towards his mouth. He dips his head, swirling his tongue over the pebbled flesh. Your body seizes. Your breath caught in your lungs, burning like wildfire. He twists the other with his finger and you moan loudly. The fabric of your underwear grows damp, sticking to your skin. He sucks harder. The thick outline of his cock rubs against your core, a feeling like electricity shooting up your spine, your head falls and he bites. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you whimper, grinding down. Another wave of arousal washes over you, the effect of the weed you inhaled pounding between your thighs.  

Javier glares up at you, “Such a dirty mouth,” he grunts and holds your tongue between two fingers. Your brows furrow with pleasure, the hard denim of his pants growing damp thanks to you. “I don’t like bad girls. And you seem to be walking on the edge of it, sweetheart.” 

“I–I’m not bad,” you whimper, your words slurring thanks to his hold on your tongue. He lifts a brow, unconvinced. You don’t know why you’re hurt by him calling you bad, but you want to make it up to him—why you do, you have no idea. “I’ll. . . I’ll be good.” 

“Promise?” 

You only nod and he pinches your tongue, pain blossoms over the soft muscle. 

“Promise,” you slur. “I’ll be your good girl.” 

Satisfied for now, he releases your tongue and brings his hand back to your aching nipples. He sucks on one while pinching the other, both sensations making your mind whirl. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, hermosa?” he groans at the way you rolls your hips, pulling away his lips, he starts playing with both with his fingers. Twisting, pinching, and pulling. You’re trembling. A sopping, wet mess. “So sensitive. You think you can come like this?” 

You only moan, your lids fluttering like a butterfly’s wings as you look at him. He smiles, something dark crossing over his handsome features. “I think you can,” he says. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” 

Slack-jawed, you answer, “Y–Yes.” 

Javier guides the sloppy roll of your hips. His mouth on your neck, he teases the flesh there while mercilessly playing with your tits however he sees fit. Your nipples are so hard from stimulation it almost hurts, Every twist of his fingers prompts a fresh wave of arousal seep into your underwear. Your body is out of control. Burning from the inside out. You’ve never felt it this intense before, never felt your orgasm nearing so viciously. 

His lips hover an inch away from yours, you part your mouth for a kiss but he smiles cruelly, you can smell the hints of tobacco when he speaks, “I can feel how soaked you are, baby. So wet and all for a stranger you just met,” he nips at your chin, gives your nipples a hard pinch that makes you see white. “I wonder if you’d do this with all the others who would’ve stopped for you?” 

“Others did slow down,” you say followed up by an elongated whine. Javier thrusts his hips, the rough denim of his pants catching against your clothed clit. He licks your bottom lip. “But they gave me a weird feeling so I hid away my hand. So. . . I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.” 

“Fuck, preciosa, you’re saying all the right things,” with one hand, he slides your dress up further, fingers teasing your slit. “It’s an honor to have this cunt all to myself.” 

Only then does he kiss you. It’s hungry, depraved. He sucks on your tongue, presses his lips hard into yours. The hand toying with your core moves to your hip, he squeezes your love handle, tugs you down as he thrusts his hips into the air. You cry out and he swallows the wanton sounds that rattle your throat. 

“That’s it, come for me,” he purrs, his hips pressing into yours. You grind down helplessly, aching to feel the hardness of him. Your ears begin to ring. Your body tingling and tensing while the taste of your nearing release stains your tongue. Your eyelids flutter closed, his lips once again drawing an aching nipple into his mouth. He sucks and sucks and sucks—and you finally break down, gushing and squeezing around nothing. You feel the wetness bleeding into the fabric, your legs shaking around where they frame his narrow hips, your head falls over and the soft locks of his hair soothe your burning cheeks. 

Javier is still moving against you. His cock painfully strained against his zipper, coated in your slick. Both his hands drop to your waist, squeezing as he finds your lips, giving you a tender kiss. 

He doesn’t say a word, his hand sneaking between your legs, he slips them under the elastic and pushes two between your folds. You swear you feel his cock throb when he realizes how wet you truly are. 

“Shit,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you really did come. Such a good girl,” he lifts your head by the chin and stares into your eyes, your pulse races again. “Good girl,” he repeats, watching as your lips tighten and eyes go wide. “You feel so good on top of me, making a mess out of these shitty pants. You come so pretty, querida.” 

“Javier,” you moan, your nipples tightening again. 

He pulls his fingers out out and tastes you in earnest, he moans around his fingers, “So sweet.” 

You moan again, the fire between your legs roaring to life. He cups your breasts and pushes them towards you, watching the way your eyes roll, “Let me fuck you in the backseat,” he says, as if you would ever say no to that. “I wanna see this ass bouncing on my cock.” 

No one ever mentions how awkward car sex can be, especially when you need to move around. 

You try not to show it to Javier but you have a sneaking suspicion your face is basically an open book. He slides to the back first, moving between the middle of the front seats. Moving around in a car already makes you awkward, it’s even worse when your tits are out in the open, moving side to side. 

But you guess it can’t be too bad since Javier is staring at them instead of you. 

“Is it bad that I want to play with them some more?” he chuckles.

“Definitely not,” you smile back, the light-hearted conversation gives you the courage to finally move between the seats. He quickly slides to the side, his lips on yours before you can even sit. He strokes his cock through his jeans, tongue dancing along yours, he sucks the air from your lungs. 

“Take off your dress,” he orders, watching, he unbuttons his jeans. You strip quickly, your body already aching to feel him deep inside you. He hums with approval when you’re bare to him, he doesn’t bother taking off his clothes, instead, he slightly pushes down his pants and frees his cock. 

A bead of precome glistens at the head, the head of his cock swollen, a hint of red adding color. He’s thick enough to have your pussy already throbbing. Your mouth waters. Javier wraps a hand around his length and pumps it under your lustful gaze, more precome gathers at the slit, slowly trickling down the side. Your breath hitches when you notice him smiling. 

“You want a taste?” 

You immediately lean down with your tongue out, sucking the tip, you clean him and push yourself further down. Your lips stretch around him deliciously. 

Javier doesn’t allow you to taste him further though, with his hand on your nape, he squeezes, “If you do that I’ll come in seconds.” You look up to him between lowered lashes. “And I’d rather come somewhere else, preciosa.” 

“How do you want me?” you ask, voice horse. 

“On all fours.” 

Again, a bit tricky because you have the constant fear your leg is going to slip and you’re going to fall, but the backseat is comfortable enough for that not to happen. His hands slide up your back and he holds you by the shoulders, bringing you close. His cock pushes between your thighs, parting your folds, your slick wets his cock, making the glide easier. 

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping dangerously. “Anyone could see us right now. Anyone who decides to drive by is gonna see us fucking.” 

You don’t expect yourself to clench at his words but you do, a soft whimper echoing from your lips. You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Does that turn you on, hermosa?” When you don’t answer, he leans closer, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Don’t worry, it turns me on too.” 

Pushing the tip of his cock into you, your chest begins to move with labored breaths. He buries himself to the hilt with ease. A loud moan escapes his lips as his hips are snug over your ass. Your elbows give way, your head dropping to the leather sheets. It feels too good, too full, too intense. Your body breaks in sweat, your body fluttering around and clamping desperately around his cock. His hands follow the curve of your back, laying on top of each ass cheek. 

“Love this ass,” he mutters. “Are you alright? Can I move?” 

“Y–Yeah,” you choke out, desperate. Javier begins to move. Slowly pulling back his hips, he slams into you, ripping a moan from your chest. The leather seats creak as he thrusts into you, his pace gradually picking up. Each time he snaps his hips forward, you feel like your world is spinning. He grips onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you.

“Come on, sweetheart, push those hips back. Prove to me how good you’re feeling on my cock.” 

All coherent thoughts leave your mind as you surrender yourself to the sensations. You meet his thrusts halfway, your body screaming at how deep he is. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your hard nipples grazing against the leather, it adds to your pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the car. He leans forward, his lips brushing against your neck as he groans your name.

You can feel the tension building up inside you, your body on fire. The coil in your stomach tightens, your legs starting to quiver, you gasp his name, barely able to breathe. “Come on my cock,” he commands, licking the start of your spine. Arousal pours between your legs, slick trickling down his cock. “Show me how good you are—” 

You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him. Your breathing is caught in your throat. You roll your hips desperately, begging him to fuck you harder, god deeper—he does. He hammers into you, groaning over and over about how much of a good girl you are. His praise short circuits your brain and another orgasm washes over you, softer this time, but still powerful, enough to have you dripping over the seats. 

Javier continues to thrust into you, chasing his own release. With one final deep thrust, he spills himself inside you, his body shuddering. He grinds his hips, pushing himself deeper until he’s dripping from where he stretches you. You moan his name, your lips moving against the leather. 

Both of you collapse onto the seats, panting heavily as you try to catch your breath. Javier hugs you tight and pulls you up until you’re draped over his chest. You feel pleasantly lifeless, your lids heavy. He strokes your damp hair, fingers grazing over your cheek, he kisses your forehead. The gesture makes your heart swell.

“Mi preciosa, eso fue increíble, fuiste increíble.”

His words were said heavily as if he was barely keeping himself from falling asleep. You smile, burrowing yourself into his neck, you focus on the sweetness of the fleeting moment and not the come dripping out from between your legs. 

“You were the one that was incredible,” you sigh happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good in my life.” 

“Let’s just say it was a team effort then,” he grins but his smile quickly falters. “How the hell am I supposed to drive now, I need a nap.” 

“We could. . .” 

He sighs, “Sadly, I have work I need to get to.” 

“You never did tell me what you did for a living,” you muse. “Care to share?” 

His grin is back, lips curling mischievously, he looks you up and down. Your body shudders at the heat of his gaze. 

“We were busy doing other things,” he quickly gives you a peck on the cheek and reaches for your dress. “I’ll tell you later.” 

You pout a bit but shrug it off quickly as you take your dress. To each his own. If he wants to keep his job a secret, that’s fine. You just met him after all. And you’ll probably never see him again after you reach Medellín. 

The thought sours your mood. Turns your stomach. You don’t want to think about that. You don’t want to think about the end. You always did get attached too easily. 

With a sigh, you put on your dress and watch as Javier slides back to the front. You still have a couple more hours with him, you might as well make the best of it. 

The ride had been a pleasant one. You’re pretty sure you talked the poor man’s ear off but he talked a bunch too, telling you about his father, his hobbies—which weren’t a lot—and his dislikes about the city. You had listened with rapt attention, eating up every last detail. But still, you had no idea what he did for a living and refused to ask, not wanting to pry. 

Almost at Medellín, you notice a checkpoint ahead. Your eyes narrow for a better look and groan, these guys meant business, especially when cartels were on the rise. No matter how many times you batted your eyes, you know your bag is going to get checked along with Javier’s belongings. 

“Oh no,” you mutter, prompting Javier’s eyes to shift from the highway to you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I still have a couple of joints in my bag. If they search it I’m toast. They won’t let me go back.” 

You’re not sure why but he smiles, did he know the checkpoint would be here? Your heart drops and stomach lurches. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, then he winks for good measure. “Trust me, querida. You won’t get into trouble.” 

You have your doubts but nod and lean back anyway. The car slows down as you approach the checkpoint, and you can feel the tension building up inside you. Javier pulls the car to a stop, and a stern-looking man walks up to Javier. The officer’s gaze lingers on you before turning to Javier. 

“Documentos e identificación.” 

“Hola,” he greets along with a short nod. “Soy Javier Peña, de la DEA. Estamos de paso.”

Your eyes grow wide when Javier shows his badge to the officer, your jaw nearly drops, blood rushing to your ears. You desperately have the urge to shake your head and yank the badge out of the officer’s hands to inspect it yourself. To feel it under your fingers. 

The officer nods and motions to the others to let you through, “Adelante, buen viaje.”

The car starts to move again and finally—finally, you allow your jaw to drop. 

“You’re DEA?” you ask, upper body rising up from your seat, your tone shrill. Javier doesn’t say anything but he does nod, eyes never leaving the road. “Oh my god,” you say. “Oh my god—why. . why didn’t you tell me? I—I smoked weed in your car! You could’ve arrested me at any given point—I. . . I—” I fucked a DEA agent. 

You drop back down, defeated. 

“You don’t need to worry about me arresting you,” he answers, smiling. “I would’ve if you were a threat but. . . I think we established that you aren’t.” 

“A bunch of criminals fuck with agents you know,” you snap, weirdly offended. “Just because we did it doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous.” 

“Do you want me to arrest you, hermosa?” 

Cuffs do sound tempting but you aren’t playing that game right now, “No. . .” 

“Good, we’re on the same page then,” he drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “My intention wasn’t to trick you or anything. You already seemed miserable under the rain, waiting for that long. I didn’t want to stress you further. And you can’t really blame me for thinking like that when the second sentence you said was ‘do you want a joint’ you would’ve freaked out. Am I wrong?” 

“No,” you say, clearer this time. “I still feel embarrassed though.” 

“You’ll live.” Finally entering the city, he turns to you, meeting your gaze. It’s a bit ill-advised since he’s driving but you appreciate having his full attention. “Where should I drop you off?” 

Oh. 

“I. . actually don’t know. Do you know any good places to stay? A room I can book on short notice?” 

“You don’t have a place to stay?” 

“I’m a girl who was hitchhiking through a country I don’t know. Do I look like someone with a plan?” 

“Fair enough,” he says, eyes turning back to the road. “Well, this is going to sound weird but you can stay with me if you want to.” Before you can answer, he adds. “I have a spare room.”

Saying yes is easier than you thought. 

[corroded-hellfire]

Mommy Issues - Eddie Munson x Reader

Note: I think this may be the first time I’ve ever used this term in a nonsexual way? But anyway. When I started to think about what happened to Eddie’s mom, this is what my brain came up with. 

Summary: Eddie’s mother shows up unexpectedly and turns a lazy day on it’s head.

Warnings: talk of parental abandonment, abandonment issues, mentions of domestic abuse, language, i think that’s it?

Words: 3.9k

“Oh God, another one?”

Eddie laughs off your complaint and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You sigh into his neck and scoot in even tighter to his side.

“Baby, you know we can’t just stop with one movie. And you like Star Wars!” Eddie says.

You pull your head back to look up at him with a pout. “Yeah, I do, but they’re really long! And it’s such a nice day outside. Why do we have to stay cooped up on the couch all day?”

“Oh, so you don’t like being all pressed up next to me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you. You were a cuddle-aholic, and though he loves it just as much as you do, you seem to be the one who gets teased for it.

“I can press up against you outside, you know,” you say.

“Do tell,” Eddie says with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Let’s go to the park,” you say, avoiding his attempt at salacious talk. “Or just drive around with the windows down. We can come back when it’s dark and watch the movie. Let’s enjoy the sun!”

Eddie could never deny you anything, so he knew from the first second that he’d be grabbing the keys to his van. He pretends to deliberate for a minute, wanting to leave you squirming next to him.

“Okay. We can grab some food on the way to the park, too. I’m starving,” he finally says.

“When are you not?” You smirk and pinch his tiny waist.

He tackles you down onto the couch, holding your hands down at your sides as he assaults your face with loud, smacking kisses. You laugh fiercely underneath him and squirm, which just eggs him on further.

“Eddie!” you whine out through a laugh.

Eddie releases you and climbs off the couch. You take a moment to catch your breath before sitting up.

“You’re getting off easy. You’re lucky I have to pee before we go,” he says

You snort a laugh at him as he walks down the hallway. Just as Eddie steps into the bathroom, the doorbell rings. It’s rare that Wayne or Eddie get any visitors that aren’t you, so your brow is scrunched in curiosity as you stand up.

Tiptoeing for no particular reason than you don’t want this stranger to hear your footsteps, you move closer to the window that’s closest to the front door. You crane your neck to peek out and see a woman standing on the porch. She’s wearing a white floral short sleeve sweater and a plumb-colored skirt that reaches her knees. You can’t see her face because it’s covered by a curtain of dirty blond hair. The woman is holding the strap of her purse in both hands, rubbing them back and forth over the handle like a nervous twitch.

“Eddie,” you whisper yell down the hallway. “There’s a woman at your door.”

“Okay?” he answers. “Gonna open it?”

“Should I?”

His laugh is heard through the bathroom door. “It is the courteous thing to do when someone rings the bell.”

You huff at him under your breath and take the few steps to the front door. When you pull the door open, the woman’s facial expression changes from nervousness to smiling to try and hide the nervousness. Immediately you know she can’t be a good poker player.

“Hi, can I help you?” you ask.

She has a round face with a sweet smile. It’s her eyes, though. When you look into her large dark chocolate eyes you know exactly who she is.

“Um, yes, hi,” the woman starts. “I was just wondering…do Wayne or Eddie still live here?”

“Yeah,” you tell her. Your brain is already trying to piece out how this is going to go. Your defenses are already up, and protective mode has been activated. “They live here. Why?”

“Oh, I, uh,” she stutters. She looks down at the beige flats she’s wearing on her feet before meeting your eyes again. “I’m looking for either of them. Are they home?”

Behind you, you can hear Eddie’s footsteps coming down the hall. Your hand on the doorknob grips it tighter, and your free hand reaches behind you, blindly asking for Eddie to take it as he comes closer.

“Babe?” He walks up to you and slips his hand in yours, your body and his angle keeping him from seeing who’s outside. “Who was at the door, babe?”

“Yeah,” you tell the woman through a clenched jaw. You know it’s not your place to keep them apart, but for the sake of your boyfriend’s emotions, you really want to. “Eddie’s home.”

The woman takes a deep breath at this new information, and you feel Eddie creeping in closer behind you. His hand brushes your waist, and you know he’s going to see her any moment.

“Babe?” he asks again and leans down to press his lips to your shoulder. His eyes gaze past you and lock with the eyes of the woman on the porch. At his sudden silence, you know you were right. You peek at him over your shoulder and see a stunned Eddie. His face is colored in shock as he moves to step around you, facing the woman fully.

“Mom?”

The word sounds so small falling from his lips. Of course you’d heard him say the word before, but never in that saccharine way. The word didn’t even hold that much emotion the first time he told you about his mom leaving.

“Hi, sweetie,” she says.

At the use of the endearment, your anger rises. What right does she have to use that term with him? Didn’t she waive that away when she left him at the age of six? The way her eyes tear up makes you think you should probably be a little more empathetic, but the way Eddie’s face has somehow become as open and innocent as a child’s shuts down any start of warm feelings towards the woman.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks. His eyes are focused on his mother, but his hand slips back into yours and you take the responsibility of being his anchor in this moment very seriously. You give his hand a light squeeze and he does the same in return.

“I came to see you.” She makes it sound like it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if she’d only come to see her son after a semester away at college, and not a decade and a half after abandoning him.

“How’d you know where to find me?” Eddie asks.

His mother shrugs and lets her eyes run over the exterior of the trailer. “Wayne’s always lived here. I figured it would be the best place to start.”

You hear the breath leave Eddie’s lungs and you’re curious if your mind is on the same track as his. So, she knew his dad had gone to jail and he was being raised by Wayne. And she still never reached out.

“Um, come in, I guess.” Eddie doesn’t sound sure as he backs away from the door. You don’t realize you haven’t made an attempt to move out of her way when Eddie gently tugs your hand so you step back towards him. Internally, you’re screaming at this woman to turn around and leave. But this is Eddie’s decision to make.

She steps inside, hands still moving nervously over the strap of her purse. Reluctantly, you close the door behind her. Eddie motions her over to the couch and she takes a seat, tucking one ankle under the other.

“This is y/n,” Eddie says, as if it just occurred to him that you two had never met. “My girlfriend.”

She nods her head at you and gives you the smallest of smiles. “Hello.”

“Hi,” you respond tersely.

Eddie knows you well enough to know that tone of your voice. He brings you along with him over to the barstools across from the couch and holds you against his side as he perches on one.

“I take it that you’ve heard about me,” his mother says, eyes looking down to her lap.

It feels odd that she’s talking to you instead of her son. You don’t know how to respond so you just give her a nod of the head, which you’re not sure she sees since she’s not looking your way. She must know that anything you’ve heard about her can’t be good. Sure, Eddie told you that she was beautiful and used to sing him to sleep. He’d told you that she liked to take him on walks in the fall and he would always jump in big piles of leaves, which would make her laugh. But any of the kind things he told you were severely overshadowed by her leaving. By not even saying goodbye, just slipping out in the night, leaving a poor young boy to wonder where his mom was when he woke up the next day. To leave him alone with no reason, to think that maybe he did something to make his mommy want to leave.

“Why now?” Eddie asks. “Why come find me now?”

After a deep breath, she looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I’ve wanted to for years. This is just the first time I’ve had the nerve to follow through.”

Eddie lets out a sigh and you can only imagine the questions that are circling his mind. He must be so overwhelmed and all you want to do is pull him into your arms and hug him tight, though it’s far from the appropriate time to do so. You settle for reaching over with your free hand to hold his securely in both of yours.

“How’d you know I was living with Wayne?”

A look of pain crosses his mother’s face, and she furrows her brow. “I heard about Dave- your dad,” she corrects herself. It sounds odd in her voice, as out of practice as she is at referring to her ex-husband as “your dad” to someone. “I knew you would be living with Way-.”

“How’d you know?” Eddie licks over his lips. “How did you know Dad went to prison?”

“Lawyers,” she answers quietly. “We were in the middle of negotiating the terms of our divorce when he was arrested.”

He sighs again and rubs his empty hand across his forehead. His mood has moved from shock and is now turning into anger. You run your thumb over the back of his hand and his shoulders relax a fraction.

“Okay.” Eddie lets out a humorless laugh and drops his hand back to his lap. “I have about twenty other questions but I’m just going to skip to the big one. Why?”

Such a simple question, just one word. But the answer held so much. It had probably run through Eddie’s mind his whole life. He had probably thought of every possible answer to that question, from his mom having to leave because she’s secretly a superhero, all the way to just not wanting to be his mom anymore. You can practically feel Eddie’s heart thrumming through his ribs.

“I was scared,” she says.

“Of what?” Eddie asks without giving his mother the chance to continue.

“Of your dad.”

Eddie’s brow pinches in confusion and his grip on your hand tightens.

“Dad? Why?”

“He wasn’t…always the best to me.” She lets out a deep breath and a lone tear sneaks its way out of her eye. Her eyes dart around the room, as if she can’t bear to look at him as she says this. “I know he never would’ve hurt you; I’m not a total monster. He loved you. And maybe me too, but he didn’t show it.”

“He hit you?” Eddie’s voice is so small it makes your heart crack.

His mother nods, still not able to meet his eyes. “For a while.”

Eddie closes his eyes and his tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth. You watch him, concern etched on your face. As if he can feel your gaze on him, he gently pulls you in front of him and wraps his arms around your waist. His arms rest just below your breasts as you lean back against him, letting him rest his chin on your shoulder. He runs his thumb up and down over your ribs, and you move your arms to settle on top of his.

“You never called.” Eddie’s voice so close to your ear startles you. “Or wrote. Or even let me know that you were okay.”

“I know.” Her voice is shaky, but she finally meets her son’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

His grip on you tightens as he sucks in a breath. Part of you feels as if they should be having this conversation without you present, but with the way Eddie is clinging to you, you would never dream of trying to excuse yourself. You can’t help but have the bitter thought that you may have taken care of Eddie more than his own mother did. An inner voice tells you that’s not a fair claim, but you make your subconscious shut up and analyze itself at a later time.

“I don’t think sorry cuts it,” Eddie says. It’s not acerbic, but a plain statement.

“I know,” she answers.

“When he was gone.” Eddie sounds as if he’s trying to forge the words together to get to a question. “After Dad was in jail. You could’ve reached out then. Could’ve… Something. Anything.”

“I know,” is all she says again.

Eddie gently moves you to the side of him so he can stand up. He rubs his palms against the thighs of his jeans. His mother is watching him warily, unsure of what he’s going to do. You’re not sure, either.

“So, where are you now? Where’d you find better than this hellhole?”

“Illinois,” she answers quietly. “Just over the border from Indiana.”

Eddie nods to himself, beginning to pace back and forth in front of you. His eyes stay on the floor the whole time.

“Who with?”

More tears begin to fall from his mother’s eyes, and the pain on her face makes you brace yourself for the pain about to come Eddie’s way.

“My husband. A-And…my daughters.”

Eddie freezes on the spot. He slowly turns towards his mother and lifts his head to meet her eyes. The sad exhale that leaves his mouth makes your eyes start to water and you try to blink them away. You’ve got to try and stay as strong as you can in this moment. You don’t want another reason for Eddie to be upset, and he always hated it when you cried.

“I have sisters?” The words all come out in one harsh breath. He sounds disbelieving, and unbelievably hurt.

“Two.” Her voice is watery, and she reaches up the wipe the tears off her cheeks.

Eddie stumbles backwards a step, and you reach forward to grab his shoulders. He lets you guide him back to the barstool and he pulls himself up on it. His eyes are searching the carpet in front of him, scanning back and forth, as if there are some answers to his pain there. You tuck yourself into his side and wrap your arms around his hips. As you gently rub your thumb against his hip bone, Eddie raises his head back up.

“What are their names?” he asks.

“Melissa is six and Jamie is three.” A small smile is on her lips as she speaks, the names of her daughters bringing it out of her. You wonder if she’s smiled whenever she’s said Eddie’s name since she left. If she had ever said it at all.

Eddie nods again and takes a deep breath as he digests the new information. He opens his mouth to speak again when the front door squeals open on hinges that are in desperate need of oiling. Wayne steps in, his tackle box from his fishing trip clutched in his hand. His eyes first find you and Eddie, and he goes to give you a smile before seeing the heartbreaking looks on both of your faces. It leads him to look across from the two of you, gaze landing on Eddie’s mother. She looks at Wayne but keeps glancing away. It’s as if she can’t look at him for long without pain.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Wayne asks. He drops the tacklebox on the floor with a loud clang. It makes his mother jump, and you cling to Eddie just a little bit tighter.

“I came to see my son.”

“What makes you think he wants to see you?” Wayne takes a step towards her, but it’s nonthreatening. You know Wayne enough to know that he would never hit a woman. Even one he disliked as much as his ex-sister-in-law.

“Wayne, please.” Eddie’s voice is so small it makes Wayne look at his nephew in concern. “You know I’ve always wondered.”

Wayne sighs and shrugs out of his denim jacket.

“I know, boy.”

“I, um,” his mother says as she stands up. “I should go. But I have…” She rifles through her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Eddie. Not back then and not today.” Wayne lets out a huff which everyone in the room ignores. “I’m staying at a hotel for the next two days. The number to my room is right here. Or-Or if you’re not ready to talk that soon, there’s also my home number. I-If you want to talk at all, that is.”

She holds the paper out and Eddie takes it in trembling fingers. He opens it, looks at the numbers, then slips it in his pocket.

“Okay.”

“Wayne.” She nods her head at the man.

“Jaqueline.” His voice is clipped, but it’s the name that catches your attention. In all the years that you’ve known Eddie, and even known about his mom leaving, you realize you never knew her name. It’s pretty, just like her.

She walks over to the front door, which was still open behind Wayne. She steps out onto the porch and turns around to look at Eddie. He’s glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as if he can’t bring himself to give her his full attention.

“I do love you, Eddie. I always have.” She closes the door behind her and that’s when Eddie cracks.

The dam opens and the tears flow freely. He instinctively turns in to you, burying his face in your neck. You hug him as tightly as you can while his hands grip at your shoulders. The sounds of sniffles and light sobs in your neck cause your tears to level up as well.

Wayne looks angry as he hangs up his jacket. His clenches and unclenches his fists as he walks over to put his tackle box away.

“How long was she here?” Wayne asks you.

“Not long,” you say through a sniffle.

“Too long,” Wayne huffs.

Eddie’s grip slides down your arms and you turn your full attention back to him. You press kisses to the side of his head and rub your hand up and down his back, just letting him get it all out. 

After a silent dinner of pizza and Eddie takes a shower – where you pretend you didn’t hear him sobbing again – you and Eddie snuggle up in his bed. His head rests on the crook of your shoulder and his arm is secured around your waist. His eyes are red and puffy, and you can’t imagine that yours look much better. He nuzzles his nose against your collarbone and lets out a sigh.

“Do you want to talk?”

Eddie was never one to hide his feelings, but you’d learned that sometimes he needed a little nudge when something was deeply bothering him.

“I don’t know,” he says hoarsely.

“I’d ask if you’re okay, but that seems kind of dumb.”

“You’re making it better,” he tells you.

You press a few kisses against his forehead and tighten your grip around him.

“Tell me how to help you and I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” you tell him.

“I know,” he answers.

He sighs against your skin as you reach up to softly play with his curls. It was instinct at this point to play when his hair when he was stressed. It always calms him down.

“What would you do?” he asks you after a few silent minutes.

“Hmm, baby?”

“Would you call?” he asks. “Would you call her?”

You frown and move your head to rest against his. The question had been going through your mind since Eddie went to take a shower. You thought he might ask this, so you wanted to be prepared. But even after pondering it for so long, you didn’t have an answer.

“Honestly? I don’t know, sweetie.”

He nods against you and slides his hands inside of your shirt to feel your warm skin against his palms.

“Do you think I should?”

“Baby, that’s not my decision to make. Only you can do it.”

He sighs and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“I know,” he mumbles into your hair. “It’d just be easier if someone could do it for me.”

“Listen, I may pick the movie or what’s for dinner sometimes, but this is a little above me.”

He chuckles into your hair and your body relaxes at the sound.

“Only sometimes?” he asks.

“Okay, most of the time,” you admit. After another kiss to his hair you feel you have to speak. “Can I say one thing about it, though?”

He pulls back so he can look you in the eye.

“Of course.”

“I don’t know if you’ll ever want to see her again, let alone meet your sisters.” The words feel so strange in your mouth. His whole life he’d always believed he was an only child, and suddenly he had two siblings. “But if you ever do meet them, remember they’re innocent in all of this. They didn’t do anything.”

His brow furrows as he frowns. “I know that.”

“I know you know,” you say. “I’m not saying you’d ever be mean to them intentionally. Sometimes people can take their feelings out on innocent kids without meaning to. Like she did to you.”

“Look at you,” he says with a small smirk. “You take one psychology class and you’re a fucking genius.”

You laugh and rest your lips against his forehead.

“It’s weird that I have sisters. That might be the weirdest part of this whole day.”

“They’re really missing out,” you tell him. “You’d be the best big brother.”

“You think?”

“Just ask Dustin.”

He smiles and slides his hands higher up your back. You feel him press a kiss to your neck and he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to decide now. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or ever, really. She gave you the option, which is more than you had before. Now it’s up to you if you want to take it or leave it. And either way you choose, I’ll support you all the way.”

“You really are the best,” he says.

“Mm, I know,” you hum. “Do you want me to put on the next Star Wars movie? We can fall asleep to it.”

“No,” he mumbles, hugging you tighter. “Don’t want you to move.”

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home (Part 5)

Azriel x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Warnings: Light mention of scarring.

⧪

“What do you think?” 

Mor’s hands gripped your shoulders. She spun you around in one fluid movement and held you still. Forced you to face your own reflection.

Immediately, your eyebrows rose. “I think…” Your fingers pinched at your dress – what there was of a dress. “I think everyone’s going to be getting an eyeful of my tits tonight.”

Mor’s stunning face grinned at you over your shoulder. “Exactly.”

The dress was…so very Night Court. Gloriously indecent and sexy, and yet equally decadent and elegant. A tight, dark blue mesh material that had the flimsiest of linings, with cutout details that teased the sight of your breasts and your stomach. Its short length had your legs bold and on show, also.

You just…you never thought you’d have worn something like this, with the scars Tamlin’s father had left marring your body. They were visible now, one poking out from beneath your left breast, another great, jagged silvery line peeking out of the cutout just above your navel. The ones on your legs could easily become visible if the hem off your dress rode up with your movement.

Mor noticed what had snagged your attention, her features softening. She’d been at your bedside every day that Madja had healed you after the attack, had seen the marks when they were gaping wounds. There wasn’t one part of you she hadn’t seen; she didn’t even notice the scars anymore.

“We can change it…if you’re not comfortable.” She told you gently. “...But I don’t think you should feel obliged to cover up for everybody else’s sake. You’re beautiful, scars and all. And wherever Tamlin’s father’s soul is rotting now, you shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hiding yourself away.”

You nodded, straightened yourself up and held your head high. You did look incredible; Mor had spent the entire day making sure of that. With your hair perfected, your makeup flawlessly painted on, you were a vision of Night Court darkness and beauty. 

And this party was for you, after all.

Just then, the door swung open, and Amren sauntered in. The flowy, silver trousers she wore hung low on her hips, a link of chains and beads hanging around her stomach. Her cropped top was the same iridescent colour, glinting in the faelights.

“Are you ready yet?” She commanded in her usual, clipped tone. “I’m thirsty, and if we don’t go soon, I may start drinking peoples’ souls.” She stopped as her eyes landed on you, her eyebrows arching. “Oh my. Why don’t you just go naked?”

Mor smirked. “Now there’s an idea.” 

“No.” You snorted, sliding your shoes on. “Let’s go. Now. Before Mor gets any other ideas.”

Your cousin’s laughter followed you out of the room, the sweet sound of it easing some of the weight on your shoulders. 

⧪

Rhys, Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had gotten a headstart at The Hewn City – to issue a very firm warning to Keir and his cronies that they were to be on their best behaviour that night.

Not that he often bothered to heed such warnings where you or his own daughter were concerned. His distaste for females had always been painfully obvious. 

You winnowed to the mountains with Mor, Amren and Nesta. All three of them were breathtakingly stunning. You tried not to think about the fact that Elain had decided not to attend your homecoming celebrations.

“The Hewn City isn’t a place for someone such as Elain.” Was all Amren had said on the subject. Your mind became far too crowded for you to give it another thought.

Your breaths were coming in short and fast as you followed the others into the gargantuan structure of hewn, dark stone. The images carved into the walls had frightened you as a child – something the older males had found particularly amusing. Hideous faces of carved figures seemed to stare down at you, as if they’d waited all these years for your return. 

The place was busy, just as you’d always expected from the city tucked within the very core of the mountains. It had such an oppressive, suffocating feel to you that you found yourself rubbing a hand over your chest, trying to ease your thudding heart. 

Mor made a grab for your hand, and together you walked at the front, ignoring the curious gazes of Hewn City residents as you made your way through the giant gates, into the castle at the heart of the city. You could already hear the lilting strum of music drifting through from the throne room as the guards allowed you to enter. 

“Ready?” Mor squeezed your hand outside the throne room. You nodded as convincingly as you could.

Your party was already in full swing as the four of you joined the mass of people drinking and dancing inside. You were eased slightly by some familiar faces – those of people you’d taken your schooling with, or servants who had been kind to you over the years. They offered you easy smiles, knowing not to approach you until you’d been properly announced. 

As if on cue, a door at the far end opened, and silence fell over the giant room as your brother emerged, cutting a figure of dangerous elegance in all his dark Night Court regalia. Feyre was just as breathtaking in a slim, tight-fitting black dress that glittered like starlight. The High Lord and High Lady stepped onto the dais, taking their seats on their matching thrones. 

“Bow.” Rhysand called, his mask of the ruthless, slicing High Lord firmly in place.

Around you, there was a whisper of movement, of fabric swishing against the floor as people bowed over in respect, their noses almost pressed to the ground.

But you — you barely noticed. 

Your attention was on the door they’d emerged from, your mouth turning dry as Cassian entered first – and then Azriel. 

He was a guarded picture. One of indifference. The true face of a Spymaster who was sizing every single person up with little more than a blank expression. 

He was…other-worldy. Ethereal. You weren’t sure you were breathing.

His usual leathers had been swapped for a dark, fitted tunic that teased the cut of his sculpted muscles. His black trousers no doubt housed a whole host of weapons – a thought that had a strange lick of warmth unfurling in your gut. And the span of his wings flared out behind him, bold and proud and devastatingly stunning.

He followed Cassian onto the dais, and the two of them stood either side of Rhys and Feyre. Azriel’s deep, hazel eyes swept the room – and landed on you. 

You stared back, sure, now, that you certainly weren’t breathing. Not as Az’s eyes flickered down your face – and down, and down. 

He seemed to take in the swell of your breasts, the planes of your stomach that were on show, the slight curves of your legs that you knew were trembling.

And he swallowed. Ripped his gaze away. Rolled his shoulders and stared forward.

The entire encounter, from the moment he and Cassian had strode in, must have lasted seconds at most. It felt like hours to you, though, and had left your heart thudding, your mind reeling.

You felt a tug on your hand – Mor. It was then you realised you’d neglected to bow to your High Lord and High Lady just as everyone else had. You could have sworn you heard Cassian snort in amusement as you lowered yourself to the floor. 

“Rise.” Rhys called the second your knee touched the floor, and you scowled. His wicked grin told you he’d done it on purpose. 

Every single person stood, their faces trained on your brother. Males and females alike wore a whole array of expressions in his presence – fearful, awed, intrigued, turned on. You couldn’t imagine having so many pairs of eyes trained on you. 

“Tonight is a truly momentous occasion.” Rhys’s voice echoed out across the giant room, bouncing off the walls. “Tonight, we celebrate the long-awaited return of my dear sister. I hope you join me in welcoming her back to our court after so many years away.” He rose a cup into the air. “To my sister, Y/N. You may all continue – drink, dance, fuck, be merry.”

As if the silence had never swept through the room, the music resumed, the bodies around you falling back into languid, flowing dances. From his throne, your brother beckoned you over with a smile warm and beaming enough to crack the mask he reserved for the Court of Nightmares.

You approached the dais, trying to ignore the hungry gazes trailing you. And equally trying to avoid the profound hazel one that felt intense enough to strip your revealing dress from your body.

⧪

You felt better – after a few glasses of faerie wine. 

With the alcohol warming you from the inside out, it was easy to relax. The novelty of your appearance had worn off, and people weren’t staring so much. Even your uncle Keir hadn’t been too unbearable; although, the night was young yet. 

You stood at the dais, considerably more at ease as you spoke to Feyre, Rhys off mingling with his subjects. Even Azriel’s presence looming behind her, his eyes frequently flickering to you, didn’t have you slinking into yourself. He had to be privy to every word you and the High Lady spoke to each other, but his cold, Spymaster exterior was unflinching, as though he were in a world entirely of his own. His shadows seemed to supply him with remarks made only for his ears.

It was as you reached for another glass of faerie wine that you saw the flash of bright orange hair across the room. Your eyes tracked the tall, muscled figure as he brushed his way through dancing bodies. You’d recognise the golden hue of his skin, the angular jaw, the scar and the intricate, metal eye, from a mile off.

“Is that Lucien Vanserra?” You asked Feyre, swallowing a gulp of wine. Azriel’s gaze immediately flitted to the redhead across the room – a sure indication that he was listening to every word you said. 

“It is.” Feyre confirmed. “As well as him being Elain’s mate, he’s emissary to The Night Court now. He doesn’t usually come to these functions, but we thought it important to make a statement to Keir. That Lucien is part of this court whether Keir likes it or not, and welcome at as many of our parties as he deigns to attend.”

With a slow, thoughtful nod, you studied the handsome Autumn Court male, your first – and only – interaction you’d ever had with him slipping into your mind as he drifted around, cutting a somewhat solitary figure. You felt your cheeks redden slightly.

Feyre didn’t miss a trick as she watched your observation. “Do you know Lucien, then?” She asked. 

“No,” You answered quickly. It wasn’t exactly untrue. “Well – not really.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” The High Lady tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. When you didn’t answer – when you attempted to stifle your discomfort with another sip of wine – her eyes widened in realisation. “Mother Above, Y/N, have you and Lucien–”

“Shh!” You choked on your drink. But your lack of denial was all the answer she needed. You glanced at Azriel, your cheeks on fire; he merely stared forward, statuesque and expressionless. 

Feyre shot a glance at Lucien – who was edging closer and closer to the dais by the second – and turned back to you. “I have so many questions.” 

“It was years ago.” You told her quietly. “And it was one time. I ran into him on the road when I was travelling, and he was out on Spring Court emissary business. We got caught in a storm and decided to take shelter together until it blew over. Just a one time thing, and I never saw him again.”

“Take shelter together.” She snorted. “Is that a euphemism?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Gods, Feyre.”

There was no chance for her to come up with another witty remark as Lucien’s eyes narrowed in on you, and he came striding over. You supposed you were grateful that Feyre wasn’t annoyed about your history with Elain’s mate.

Even if it had occurred years before Elain was even born.  

Lucien’s black, buckled boots came to a stop at the dais. After inclining his head to Feyre, he turned to you. Cocked an eyebrow. 

“Hello.” His voice was slick, melodious, his metal eye whirring as he appraised you. “Again.”

You cleared your throat, nodding in greeting. “Lucien.” 

He was as breathtaking as you remembered – one of the more unforgettable lovers you’d had. That night all those years ago was a memory that had sometimes kept you warm on cold nights, when you’d been lonely and craved affection, when a gnawing ache between your legs had been hard to abate. He probably had no idea how much he’d helped you with one impulsive night of passion, in a decrepit old cottage in the middle of a storm.

“Curious.” Lucien hummed, tilting his head. “You never did mention that you were Rhysand’s sister when we met.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “And if I had?” 

His grin was wicked, playful – beautiful. “I probably would have left you out in that storm.” 

You snorted, having thought as much. The tensions between the courts had been fraught for as long as you could remember, and once upon a time, your family name wouldn’t have gained you many friends out in the world.

No – when you were out travelling, you’d been almost nameless. Your own person. Not just the little sister of the High Lord of The Night Court.

Feyre cleared her throat very pointedly beside you; like you and Lucien had forgotten you weren’t the only two people in the room. You straightened up, draining the glass in your hand. 

Azriel glanced at you again. 

“Would you like to dance?” Lucien asked you, outstretching a palm. “I’m mighty keen to know who exactly I was holed up in that cottage with all those years ago.”

You faltered – just for a second. Was that a good idea? Eyes all around the room were glued to you tonight, and gossip seemed to worm its way into the most unexpected places, innocent dance or no. And Elain already seemed to have an issue with you. Indifferent as she apparently was towards her mate, that could quickly morph into territorialism if she heard of you dancing with him. Of your past with him.

But this was your party. Your night to have fun. You weren’t going to let your worries about Elain dictate your decisions; especially when she hadn’t even bothered to come. And Lucien seemed like fine company to keep for the evening. 

Feyre dipped her chin – as though she was agreeing with your thoughts, telling you to let go of your worries and enjoy yourself. With a smile, you slid your hand into Lucien’s warm one.

“A dance would be lovely.” You replied. 

It was as Lucien was helping you down the steps of the dais that another voice stopped you in your tracks. Azriel’s.

“Y/N.” He called, your name the first word he’d spoken in a while. The tone of his voice had an odd quality to it; strained and taut. 

Your hand still in Lucien’s, you glanced over your shoulder at the Spymaster. “Yes?” 

Azriel glanced at Lucien and back to you. He seemed to hesitate before he ground out, “Rhys wanted to dance with you.”

You cocked an eyebrow. Certainly not what you’d expected him to come out with. Why he was suddenly speaking to you – speaking for Rhys – you weren’t sure. 

So you simply gave a nonchalant shrug. “So tell him to find me when he’s ready.”

You didn’t wait to hear his response or read his expression as you turned to Lucien and shot him a dazzling smile.

As he led you through the dancing bodies, onto the centre of the dance floor, it was an effort to leave the feeling of Azriel’s intense stare behind.

Tags: @safetypinxtales @historygeekqueen @smartiepants217 @mulansaucey @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @issybee0611 @goldentournesol @percyjacksonspeen @high-bi-andreadytocry @esposadomd @positivewitch @bsenpai @cityofidek @shannonsaid @mis-lil-red

[elysiaishere]

Genshin Nonsense — Fontaine Edition (Spoilers)

I'm overwhelmed and I'm stressed. So, here I am again with more Genshin Nonsense—Fontaine edition!

Since 4.0 dropped, I've been swept up in all the themes and biblical references that are prevalent throughout Fontaine. So, on this episode of Genshin Nonsense, the theme is...

Okay, maybe not quite. But, we are going to deep-dive into one particular theme: duality.

In fiction, duality is often described as a tool or a theme used to contrast two opposing perspectives, characters, etc., to showcase the complexities of a particular idea and/or issue. A common example of this is "the duality of human nature," which often explores our capacity to commit great good or to commit great evil.

In Genshin's case, dualism seems to be everywhere in Fontaine. So much so that Hoyo's writers obviously want players to take notice of a particular idea. However, what would that idea be? Let's consider the evidence:

The Arkhe

The Arkhe is an energy system exclusive to Fontaine, used to power the elaborate machines and various automatons found throughout the region. It is composed of two parts: Ousia and Pneuma. Most notably, Ousia and Pneuma are opposing forces. This reflects in their appearance too: Ousia is a dark blue, almost purple, while Pneuma shines bright like gold.

Beyond that, our information about Arkhe is extremely limited. We still don't know what creates this energy or where it initially originated from. In fact, the only other additional information we have (that seems relevant here) is that when Ousia and Pneuma come into contact with each other, they create an energy reaction called "Mutual Annihilation."

The Primordial Sea

In short, the Primordial Sea seems to have two primary abilities: to create life and to take life.

Neuvillette confirmed as such in 4.1, stating that the Primordial Sea is where all life on Teyvet evolved. However, during the court cases we explored in 4.0, we're well aware that the Primordial Sea can also dissolve the people of Fontaine—and this process, unfortunately, is permanent.

The Hydro Archon and the Hydro Dragon

Furina and Neuvillette are often presented as polar opposites.

Furina is theatrical, lively, and expressive, while Neuvillette is reserved, thoughtful, and cautious. If anything, they're each other's literary foils. Her surface confidence, public speaking, and social intelligence showcase an individual able to connect with the people around her. Comparatively, Neuvillette struggles with this. On the other hand, his confidence is innate, and he demonstrates a stability that is at complete odds with Furina's chaos.

Nonetheless, I believe the parallels between them run much deeper, still. Not only as Furina and Neuvillette, but as the Hydro Archon and the Hydro Dragon.

In our conversation with Neuvillette at the end of 4.1, we learn that the Gnoses were, in some part, created from the stolen power of the original Dragon Sovereigns. To me, this means that, by nature, Furina and Neuvillette should be mortal enemies. She encompasses all that he's lost, after all, and in turn, he represents a bygone age that poses a severe threat to her already tumultuous rule. However, our in-game experiences with them suggest that their personal relationship is nothing of the sort.

If anything, Furina and Neuvillette showcase how two contradictory forces can instead be complementary.

Furina

Furina is a living, breathing dichotomy. Even her visuals showcase this: her mismatched gloves, her inverted eye colours, her hair length, etc. Symmetry, it seems, is the real enemy of Fontaine.

Nonetheless, I think the most interesting contrast about Furina is her personality.

As I implied earlier, Furina is a study in contradiction. Her outward bravado masks an anxious mind, and intense, overwhelming worries. But, that isn't to say that Furina is all bravado. No. I believe her enthusiasm and charisma is just as much a part of her as her apparent insecurities are.

She's a person, with dreams, ambitions, worries and fears. If anything, she is the most human Archon we've met thus far.

Conclusion

Duality. Parallels. Contrasting perspectives.

Whatever it's called, Fontaine evidently demonstrates these ideas in abundance—including a few additional points I didn't touch upon here. Nonetheless, I think one possible message Hoyo's writers are foreshadowing is this: there are always two sides to every story.

Not only does this particular message fit with the duality theme, but it also nestles quite nicely with Fontaine's philosophies around law and justice. After all, we are unable to pass judgement until we have all the facts, and presently, our picture of the ongoing happenings in Fontaine are far from complete. And I suspect, even when we do have the whole story, it'll be complex, and full of dichotomies.

Meaning, there will be no "right" answer. Just the consequences of the decisions Furina, Neuvillette and wider Fontaine make.

[muse-oleum]

Need – Elijah Mikaelson x Gia

This was first posted over on ao3 but I figured I would bring it over here to help revive the #gilijah tag a little bit.

Beware, below be smut.

He really ought to purchase a bed frame.

Although, in retrospect, it probably wouldn’t last long, between the two of them. He looked at the woman sleeping soundly by his side, her head pillowed on his arm, her cheek pressed against his bicep. There was a vulnerability about her just now that he hadn’t seen since the beginning, back in that bar where he’d told her he would mentor her.

Somehow, he doubted he had ever envisioned it would turn out like this.

Gia murmured something in her sleep, turning further on her side and closer to him. Unwilling to disturb her, he allowed it, running a hand through her hair, waiting for her to settle back down to sleep.

The young vampire was an enigma. He supposed he really should be more worried about how well Marcel had pinpointed this particular weakness of his—this need to fix, to mend the jagged pieces of a broken soul. And, in order to willingly become a vampire, she would have had to be beyond broken, past the point of no return but not so far as to be completely unreachable. At least Marcel had learnt a valuable lesson: only turn those who know it is coming. Exercise caution on all fronts, watch out for them and for them, do not leave them running unchecked.

This was an ideal he had once held onto so strongly he could still feel some echo of it.

Of course, back then, the Strix had been an elite, the vampire sireline, the work of one of his first lifetimes and crushed mercilessly into the dust by his father and his own devotion to his family.

The fact that Gia was not of his own sireline but that of his brother’s should have disconcerted him too. But he was far too consumed by more pressing matters, most concerning of which was his sister’s current predicament. He sighed, running his free hand through his hair. His siblings seemed to find new ways of giving him grey hair every day, metaphorically speaking.

“Stop thinking about it,” came a sleepy voice from somewhere below his chin.

He felt her move, her hair tickling his arm when she propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. At the beginning, her defiance had been nothing short of irritating; then, amusing, and now? Now he had another, much more visceral reaction to the stern look she was giving him.

Her brown eyes studied him under dark lashes minutely narrowed, straight at him.

“We’ll find a way to help your sister, in the meantime, since Marcel is watching over her and there’s no way he’s letting anything happen to her tonight, you should get some sleep before the no doubt batshit insane day tomorrow has in store for us.”

It was so easy, the way she said “us”, as if it cost her nothing to include herself into the equation; she, a young vampire with trust issues, embroiled in their family’s business and still swimming. There was, however, a slight note of regret when she mentioned Marcel. His fingers flexed against her scalp.

He longed to suck it out of her.

Desire, for a vampire, was a powerful feeling, almost impossible to repress once let out, like a wild animal that refused to be caged in again. Over the centuries, he had had countless lovers; some had counted more for him than others, some he had actually loved and others he had taken to bed to satisfy a physical need fueled purely by lust. It had been a long time since someone, somehow, had the potential to encompass all three categories at once.

That scared him more than anything.

Gia was still looking at him, her head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed less in suspicion and more in pleasure as she leaned into his touch. He grasped the back of her head, massaging her neck and relishing in the little sigh she gave him. Slowly, giving her time to back away should she prefer to, he leaned in towards her, angling his body above hers, still covered by the bedsheets he had thrown over them earlier. She held his gaze, hers now sultry, pupils dilated and he knew she wanted him again.

He crashed his lips onto hers with a force that would have made a human bleed, but would only momentarily bruise for her. His tongue caressed hers, chasing away any remnants of her regret over Marcel, pining her down under him as his hands tore away the sheets to grasp her thighs. She gasped when he hooked one over his hip, his mouth moving down her neck to her breast, flattening his tongue against the sensitive skin, growling when she moved to press herself against him, her hands raking through his hair.

He swirled his tongue to the rhythm his fingers beat inside of her, drawing another gasp. She was teasing him, testing him, holding it back.

He wanted it all.

Slowly, he increased the pressure of his fingers, his thumb massaging her in the exact same way his tongue was still latched onto her, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. He nipped at her, none too gently, and she arched her back, helpless against the tingles of pleasure running through her. It was almost painful, his teeth on her breast and his fingers inside her too much, and she cried out his name in agony, the kind only ecstasy could bring.

She knew he wasn’t done with her the moment she felt his mouth leave her breast to travel down her stomach. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, anticipation mounting even as she still vibrated from the high he’d just given her.

He growled when he licked up her folds and she nearly came again, just from the sound, so unlike him and so very… vampiric. And then he dove in and all thoughts flew from her brain as his tongue began a familiar pattern, one the fingers caressing her stomach mimicked, creeping up towards her breasts. She bore down against him, needing to feel more. His other hand kept her hips down on the bed, keeping her from chasing her own pleasure.

She was at his mercy.

She didn’t mind it.

He licked into her slowly, his nose brushing her clit and she moaned, loud enough for all of New Orleans to hear. Elijah smirked, pressing a kiss right where his tongue had been, before sucking, hard. Gia shook under him, completely undone, and he swore under his breath, his erection hard and aching against his thigh. He bit her thigh, letting her catch her breath in a moment of uncanny generosity, before kissing his way back up her body, lingering slightly longer than necessary upon her breasts, desperate to tease another one of those delightful moans out of her.

Her hips crashed against his, a breathy sound that sounded like his name leaving her lips, and he sank into her, the relief so profound that he nearly came. She was perfect, matching the rhythm of his hips seamlessly, her breasts pressed flat against his chest. He snaked a hand under her, bringing her up to straddle him, her neck arching at the change in pressure. He raked his eyes over her, his teeth biting down hard on his lips, watching as she rode him towards another orgasm. Of their own volition, his thumbs caressed up her thighs to play with her nipple again, a fascination with them he couldn’t shake. She ground down on him in retaliation and he could not help but moan at the feeling.

She was lost in her rhythm and he matched it, his own pleasure mounting until he felt as if his groin was going to combust and then she bore down one final time, hand crashing against the wall behind him, and the thought of her leaving a hole in his wall had him choking out her name, hips stuttering against hers, spilling inside her.

Gia’s breathy moans were the only things he could hear in the haze of his own pleasure, only dimly aware of the fact that he was cradling her to him, his hands running down her back soothingly. Her muscles were still grasping at him, overstimulated, and he momentarily marveled at the way she could arouse him again so soon. Gently, he kissed the side of neck, trying to bring his breathing back under control, his hands settling against her hips as he mouthed beneath her ear.

She swiveled her hips and he groaned, raking a hand through her hair, letting her take the lead. He knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it anytime soon, but by the gods did he need it.

He rested his head back against the wall, his eyes catching on the slight dent she had made. Helplessly, he arched his back, thrusting up into her, relishing in the sight of her eyes rolling back, neck arched, chest heaving.

She was delicious, and all his to enjoy.

Flipping them over, he let go, allowing his vampire side to take over, thrusting down into her with such a force her fingers tore through the bedsheets, nails sharp and biting on the flesh of his shoulders before she raked them down his back. Pleasure overtook him so strongly he cried out her name against her neck, her own orgasm washing over him, sharpening his pleasure into something almost unbearable.

And still, the voice in his head would not quiet. He wanted more. More, more, more.

Of her.

[madsdawls]

Neon Frights review:

Okay so Neon Frights aka the most anticipated Skulltimate Secrets line up and I finally have them all, so what do I honestly think of them? overall I would give this Skulltimate line a 7 out of 10. I loved this line a lot and it's personally my favorite of the 3 that have released but there are a few glaring issues that bring it down for me as a whole.  Anyway let's get into it!

The positives:

▪ The SHOES omg I love them so much I love how some of the pairs are comparable to Demonias which feels like a callback to MH's more alt fashion staples while keeping G3's new choice of styling of bold colors intact 

▪The pet themed hoodies were so adorable I love the mesh sleeves on them especially my only issue though is I wish they were more detailed and they were easier to get over the ghouls heads

▪Loved the bold designed pleather skirts all of them looked cool

▪Love the overall bold color schemes on the dolls and their lockers were even masterfully done

▪All of the character jewelry and accessories were super cute and showed off the element of each characters personalities super well

▪The makeup looks were soo fierce and cunty they added so much to the entire line

The negatives:

▪The poly hair every ghoul is cursed with in this line. I loved the bold cuts and colors but oh my gosh the hair quality is HORRIBLE. This line is $30 dollars there is no reason a doll worth that much should have worse hair quality than the MH budget dolls.

▪I'm more neutral on this but I personally did not like the harness gimmick they were very cute on Frankie and Draculaura but over all they don't match or really add anything to this line? idk I would have scrapped that for a different accessory.

▪Absolutely hated the two tone pleather shorts. They were totally boring and lifeless compared to the rest of the boldness of the line and doesn't really read as a relaxing considering how stiff they are on the dolls. I think if they were fabric and more styled they may have been cuter.

▪Another reoccurring issue I don't like about Skulltimate Secrets is how they managed to make the earrings all hang sticking out to the sides so awkwardly when the other dolls don't have the earrings set in like this.

Doll rating:

Twyla: ☆☆☆☆ I thought this doll was gorgeous from the dark makeup to her entire outfits and accessories the only thing I despised about the doll was the horrid dry poly hair quality it fell out and broke so badly everytime I brushed it to the point I am considering commissioning a reroot it bothers me that much :/

Ghoulia:☆☆☆☆ I just loved the gamer girl aesthetic they went with for Ghoulia and the shade of green on all of her accessories and clothes though her pixel glasses were bent from how they packaged her and so they wouldn't stay on and also I hated the two tone shorts and blue harness that didn't match.

Toralei: ☆☆☆ I loved her bold makeup and short hair and most of her clothes however I don't think they balanced her colors very good it was just too much orange and I didn't like how her tail was removable instead of having the clothes have the hole for it.

Frankie: ☆☆☆☆☆ I think Frankie knocked this line out of the park the bold colors suits their character so well and they did not disappoint! I love the hot pink color pop on the side shave and eyebrow piercing it stands out so well with all of the other colors. I am inlove from head to toe Frankie pops out being totally in their element :)

Draculaura: ☆☆☆ I was probably most disappointed with Draculaura honestly I think they half heartedly slapped a doll together of her to be included in just because she is a fan favorite and big seller (especially true since she is in every SS line up even the upcoming Ballerina one). I loved her shoes, the pink bat top, and the black skirt with yellow straps but aside from that the design falls kinda flat. I think with the reintroduction of yellow in her color pallet giving her full neon pink hair would have been better suited.

To sum it up I think this line is still one of the best G3 has come up with but as a whole I wish they would do away with polypropylene and put more effort in the clothing pieces for $30 dollars it feels a little disappointing when you pay a lot for a doll and aren't satisfied with the obvious cheap quality.

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Previous Chapter ┊ Next Chapter

Tap. Tap.

Petra rapped her knuckles against the frame of Captain Price’s door, seeing the captain sitting at his desk through the open door. The older man had been smoking his cigar and looking over some paperwork. He looked up seeing the medic standing in his doorway. Price was a good bit older than Petra, she’d guess at least a decade but she couldn’t be certain. He sported a short, well-kept beard, mostly dark brown with a few flecks of gray. His hair was the same color as his beard and it was cropped short and usually covered by a bucket hat. In many ways he reminded her of her father back home, a hardass at times, but he clearly cared for the team and usually greeted them with a smile that looked all too goofy on his face.

“Mama,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling as he did. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Several things, sir,” Petra said, not matching the pleasantness in his voice, she stood stiffly across the desk from him. She did her best to keep from scrunching her nose up at the smell that wafted from his cigar as it made her stomach churn. “First, when Laswell told me about the team, she mentioned I was being brought on as a combat medic. But the team has gone on several missions since my arrival and I’ve remained on base for all of them.” Petra caught herself a moment later, correcting her posture to stand straight, arms folded at her back, shoulders squared. “Being cooped up in the clinic isn’t exactly what I’d signed on for. I was made to believe my skills would be needed on the field as well.”

Price was quiet for a moment, taking a long puff of his cigar. “You’re right,” he said, blowing out thick smoke. “In all honesty, we don’t have a medical team here. I’d rather not put the only medic we have in a position to get injured herself.”

She tensed at his words. Despite it being an hour or two later, Ghost’s words still burned in her ears. You're our only medic. We can't afford to have you laid up for a few days.

“That brings me to my other issue,” Petra said. “If there is so much of an issue with risking me out on the field, why not have another medic on base?” She paused for a moment as another thought dawned on her. “Honestly, sir, if your intention from the start had been to simply have a medic to keep the clinic running smoothly, I would have rather gotten my discharge finalized.”

Price seemed taken aback by this, his eyes widening. “Now, I never said anything like that,” he said defensively, putting his hands up in defeat. “I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for. I’m grateful you’ve stuck around this long Mama.”

“Don’t Mama me,” Petra’s voice was sharp, words spilling out despite herself. She stepped quickly forward, pressing her palms against the desk with a sigh. “Please, just give me a chance at least. I have more skills than just counting supplies and tracking Ghost down when he thinks he doesn't need medical attention.”

Captain Price was quiet for a moment, placing his cigar down on the ashtray on his desk. His face was that of understanding, though Petra could see a flash of annoyance in his eyes at her tone. The medic stepped back a few paces, standing at attention again, apologizing quietly.

“You’re right, Petra,” he finally said. “We haven’t been giving you the chance to show us what you can really do. I’ll look for a second medic to keep on base. In the meantime, how often do your duties in the clinic need to be fulfilled?”

Has it been this easy all along? Petra asked herself. “Ideally, counts should be done daily,” she started. “However with how few of us there are, every other day should suffice as long as the clinic is kept locked when it isn’t in use.” She saw Price shift, about to speak. “I can set up a small first aid kit with some basics outside the door if anyone needs anything simple.”

The older man nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Then on the days when you aren’t doing counts, I want you training,” he said. “Mornings you can work on hand-to-hand combat and in the afternoon you’ll be on the range. How’s that sound, lass?”

“Perfect, sir,” Petra said, satisfaction rising in her chest.

“Good, we start tomorrow with your training,” Price nodded, picking up his cigar again. “Might take a few weeks to get a new medic out here, but I’ll see what I can do. Now get your counts done.”

“Yes Sir.” Petra turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Sir,” she said. “If I may, I’ve worked closely with Whip from Ankara. He’s a good medic and he won’t mind being stuck on base if need be.” Price nodded, jotting the name down on a notepad.

---

Petra stood in the clinic, carefully counting the supplies and medicines they had stocked. She made notes of what she’d need for the first aid kit: bandages of varying sizes, antiseptic wipes, antibacterial ointments, and a small bottle of over the counter, generic painkillers. Anything that required more than that she’d need to deal with herself anyway.

A styrofoam cup filled with coffee appeared on the counter beside her.

Petra turned quickly, seeing Ghost standing there again holding a cup of his own that looked far too small in his hand, balaclava still concealing his features. The medic raised a brow at him, picking the cup of coffee from the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and ignoring the way it burned her tongue.

“I didn’t take you for a coffee guy,” she said, turning back to her count.

“It’s tea,” Ghost answered. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was watching her with those dark eyes of his. “Price said you were starting training tomorrow.”

Petra clicked her tongue as she finished counting a shelf, scribbling down the numbers.

“If I can’t handle a run, right?” she quipped back. She brought the coffee back to her lips, sipping it. “I was thinking of asking Gaz or Soap for help with hand-to-hand combat. Roach is good with guns, right?” Ghost only hummed in affirmation. “I might get his help on the range then.”

There was something in his dark eyes as he watched the way her thumb stroked the warm Styrofoam cup she was holding, something she couldn't quite read. She might've been able to, had it not been for that damned balaclava he always wore. Another quiet moment passed as the two drank the warm liquids in their cups.

“Why the sudden interest?” Ghost broke the silence, still watching her, observing. In the few months she’d been with the team, she’d never so much as mentioned going into the field.

Petra hummed over her coffee. “I’m not used to being cooped up,” she answered simply. “I was about to be discharged when Laswelll recruited me. Figured if I’m going to stay enlisted, I might as well get the most out of it.”

“Discharged? You were going to leave?” His question didn’t come as a surprise, she’d been one signature away from heading home when she joined the task force.

“Needed to get away,” Petra barely explained, she leaned back against the counter, finishing the last of her coffee. It was strong. She didn’t say much about her reasoning for leaving the military, letting her quick response hang in the air, though she could see understanding in Ghost’s eyes. “I need to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee.”

---

That night at dinner, Petra sat in the common area with the rest of the team, it was one of those rare nights where everyone was eating together. Gaz had made a trip into the nearby town, returning with enough food for everyone to share. Chinese. Petra was seated on the beaten couch next to Roach, legs tucked under herself as she bit into a few vegetables. The room was quiet. Soap, Gaz, and Price were all at the table eating, Ghost in a chair a little further away, his balaclava pulled up over his nose. This was the most Petra got to see of his face, the contour of his jaw and the tiny bit of light color stubble over his chin.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention, Petra turned to Roach, who motioned like he was holding a cup. She nodded as he stood and walked to the fridge, and retrieved a pair of water bottles. She thanked him with a motion of her hand as he returned, twisting the lid off and drinking a few gulps.

Over her shoulder she could hear Soap and Gaz talking, Soap’s thick Scottish accent making it difficult to understand what he was saying. He was one of the shorter members of the task force, though he was still much taller than Petra. His blue eyes caught Petra watching him.

“Yer not fixin’ to throw another shoe at me are ya, lass?” he shot through a mouthful of noodles. Despite his annoyance earlier that day, Petra could tell he’d calmed down and had now taken to teasing her about the incident.

She grinned at him. “Yeah, I was trying to figure out if my aim was good enough to hit that stupid mohawk of yours without getting Gaz in the process,” she teased back. She could see Price shake his head, a bad attempt to hide his smile as Gaz turned in his seat.

“I brought everyone dinner, I’d rather not get hit,” the sergeant pleaded, pressing his palms together and bowing his head. Gaz had darker skin and the shadows of a black mustache, his black curls were hidden under his cap. “But please knock that thing off his head.”

“Away an bile yer heid!” Soap barked.

“English! MacTavish,” Ghost grunted in annoyance from across the room, his eyes sharp on the man.

“Sorry sir, let me translate,” Soap snapped back, turning his glare back to Gaz. “Go fuck yourself.”

Behind her, Petra thought she heard a chuckle from Roach as he reached out a hand giving a thumbs up.

“Better,” Ghost rumbled, returning to his meal.

Captain Price stood up, chuckling and shaking his head. “You lot have far too much energy for this late in the evening,” he said. “I'm off.” The captain left the room then, heading for his quarters for the evening.

When everyone else had finished eating, Soap fished a few beers from the fridge. He slid one across the table to Gaz and tossed one to Roach. Ghost, as always refused the beer, opting to make himself a cup of tea instead. Soap offered one to Petra who shook her head.

“You don't drink, Doc?” Soap asked, raising a brow.

“I don't make a habit of it,” Petra replied. “Occasionally I like tequila.” She laughed when Soap twisted his face, complaining that tequila tasted of dog piss.

“Next time we go out drinking you're coming with us, lass,” Soap beamed.

Petra could just picture the Scotsman drinking entirely too much, ending up with a hangover the next morning and begging her for something for his headache. In the few times the guys had gone out for drinks since she’d arrived, he’d had a hangover every time.

“Sounds like a blast,” she rolled her eyes as she spoke. Though, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to spend a little time with the team, especially if she was to join them in the field soon. A warm mug of coffee slid into her hands, making her turn green eyes up to Ghost as he walked back to his chair near the corner of the room. Petra paused, taking a sip, the warm liquid radiating through her body, calming her and clearing her mind, jogging her memory. “I had a chat with Price earlier about going on missions with you guys, he said I needed to get some more training in before then. Mornings working on hand-to-hand combat and afternoons on the range, I’d really appreciate some help getting back up to speed.”

There was a tap on her shoulder. Roach signed his willingness to help eagerly as he grinned over the neck of his bottle of beer.

Gaz turned to face the couch, raising his hand slightly, his face questioning. “Hold on,” he said. “Not that no one wants you coming with us, but if you’re training all the time, who’s taking care of the clinic?”

“It's gonna be locked up when I'm not in there,” Petra explained, sipping at her coffee again. She might regret the caffeine so late at night, but the taste was so soothing and warm she couldn't help it. “But I'm going to leave a first aid kit with some basic supplies in it in case something happens, and if there's anything serious I'll just open the clinic and take care of it. In the meantime though, Price is looking into getting another medic on base.”

Soap clapped a hand on her back then, nearly making her spill the coffee and eliciting a glare from Ghost. “Well lass, I'll be happy to help you with the combat training in the morning,” he said, a wide grin on his face.

The medic looked up at him sharply, noting his beer was already half empty. She was grateful he was willing to help her, but she half expected him to be too hungover in the morning to be of any real help. Still, she nodded her appreciation.

---

A few hours later, Petra and Ghost were herding the sergeants to their dorms, the former giggling as Gaz and Soap half stumbled down the hall. The lieutenant was less amused, hanging back and grumbling as Ghost could hear Roach snoring from where he'd been thrown over the broad man’s shoulder.

After ushering Gaz and Soap into their respective rooms, Petra opened Roach's door, allowing Ghost to carry him inside, dropping the young soldier on the bed before rejoining Petra in the hall.

Petra was shaking her head, holding back a giggle and smiling. “I'd hate to see what they're like out at a bar,” she joked.

“About the same,” Ghost rumbled. He turned dark eyes to her, the mask over his face giving nothing away. He lingered in the hallway for a moment before turning and starting to walk away.

A short while later, Petra found him outside as she was bringing a bag of the night's garbage out to the dumpster. He was standing near the backdoor, back leaned against the wall, a lit cigarette between his lips.

“Those things can kill you, you know,” she said, raising a brow as he turned to look at her. The two of them stood there in silence for a while, staring each other down. Then Petra held her hand out, leaving the bag of garbage on the ground next to the door.

Ghost watched her for a moment, his lidded eyes questioning before he relented, holding out the cigarette and tensing as he prepared to be scolded by the medic. Instead, his eyes widened with surprise as Petra brought the cigarette to her lips, taking a drag and blowing out the bitter smoke. He watched as her shoulders relaxed a bit and some of the tension left her body.

“I didn't expect you smoked,” he said, fishing a new cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

“Were you expecting me to scold you?” Petra asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

“A bit,” Ghost replied, flicking some ash from his cigarette. He watched her a few moments longer, allowing himself to take in the way she looked. The frizzy dirty blonde curls, still damp and barely tamed into a low bun at the back of her head. The tired but focused look in her green eyes. She always looked so determined, resolute in whatever task she set herself to. This afternoon in the gym had been the first time he’d seen those eyes falter.

He’d spotted her running on the treadmill when he entered for his own workout. Admittedly, he stopped and just watched her for a while, the way her body moved, the way the softer parts of her moved just slightly more with each step. Her eyes had lost focus though, looking as if they could see clear through the wall of mirrors in front of her. He’d walked closer then, keeping his eyes on her, waiting for her to notice he’d approached her, but she didn’t. Instead, in her daze, her steps faltered and her legs started to give way.

Ghost sprang forward then, scooping the small medic up and placing her all too gently on the concrete floor. His heart pounded in his chest like a freight train. It felt as though he’d been holding his breath when her eyes finally looked at him, focusing again.

Perhaps he’d been too harsh in his reaction, but he felt no need to apologize for his actions. The task force didn’t need an injured medic.

“What’s the real reason you’re suddenly so interested in going on missions?” he asked, watching her snuff out the last of the stolen cigarette. “If you were so upset about not getting discharged, you would have left by now.”

“I don’t like feeling like I’m not doing anything,” Petra said. She bent down, her small hand wrapping itself around the top of the garbage bag she’d carried out. “I need to feel useful, you know?”

Ghost nodded his understanding, blowing out another puff of smoke. “You waited three months to speak up?” he pressed.

Petra put a hand up. “It didn’t sink in until earlier today in the gym,” she said. “I’ve been here three months and I still don’t exactly know what you guys do out there. I haven’t been off of a base in even longer, I think it’s been six months.”

The lieutenant was quiet again, he stood away from the wall, bending and taking the garbage bag from her, his large hand brushing over her smaller one as he did. Petra drew her hand back, looking up at him again as he effortlessly lifted the bag and carried it to the nearby dumpster before returning to where he’d left her by the door. The two of them lingered there for several long, quiet moments, the smell of cigarettes between them.

“You are useful, Mama,” Ghost broke the silence. His gaze was heavy on her, holding her in that spot with the weight his eyes held alone. “Roach was in bad shape when you first came here, you nursed him back to health, helped him get his strength back. And a few days ago, you might have saved my life as well. Don’t doubt yourself.”

Petra softened as she caught the usual coldness in his eyes briefly thaw as he spoke. She tore her eyes from him, looking to her boots instead.

“Thanks Ghost.”

[jksprincess10]

Epiphany || Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Your new neighbor is a war veteran with a lot of scars. (1k words)

CW: AU where Joel is in the military, age gap, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, allusions to smut, suicidal thoughts, sad ending. Beware!! 

A/N: Ngl I’m nervous to post this one cause I never wrote anything like this but yeah... have a good cry guys. 

Folklore anthology

Keep your helmet, keep your life, son Just a flesh wound, here's your rifle

Crawling up the beaches now "Sir, I think he's bleeding out" And some things you just can't speak about

The front porch of your grandmother’s house was your oasis. In the egg-shaped chair, you spent your break days reading, while your grandma knitted by your side. The neighborhood was usually quiet. Except today, a big moving truck was parked in front of the house to your right. The house had been for sale for a while – it was too small for a family, but it seemed like it finally found its owner.

You looked up from your book to see two men unloading boxes. One of them had longer black hair, freckles, a warm smile and a clean-shaven face. The other one, a bit older, had fluffy, short hair, a scruffy, greying beard and a strong nose. They were both very handsome. They both had darker skin, like farm workers who spent days outside.

“Didn’t know we had new neighbors, grams.” You said. Your grandmother barely looked up from her needles.

“Yes. Heard it’s a man who’s alone. Very handsome, but poor thing… had a rough life.”

You could always count on your grandma and her friends from bingo to tell you all the gossip.

“Yeah?”

“He served in the military, but he had to retire early. Bad mental health issues. Divorce, and all… He moved here to work with his brother in construction instead.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Hmhm. We’ll bring him some pie later, what do you think, sweets?”

“It’s a good idea, grams.” You agreed.

**

Later in the evening, after the moving truck left, you knocked at your new neighbor’s door. Your grandmother gave you the task of bringing the pie – poor old woman was already asleep.

The man with the scruffy beard you saw earlier opened the door, wearing joggers and a shirt that tightly hugged his muscles. He looked tired, dark circles deeply set under his pretty brown eyes.

“Hi. I live next door with my grandma. She…  made this apple pie to welcome you in the neighborhood. ”

“Thank you darlin’, that’s real nice. I’m afraid I can’t this eat all by myself, wanna join?”

“S-Sure !” You said as he took the pie from your hands. “It should still be warm.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where he cut two generous pieces for the two of you. You took a look around while you waited awkwardly. It was a nice, old house, and there were still boxes everywhere.

“I’m Joel, by the way.” He said as he tasted some of the pie on his fingers.

You told him your name and your grandmother’s.

“Young thing like ya, livin’ with your grandma?” He had a strong drawl, he was probably from the south, you assumed.

“Yeah, she’s my favorite person in the world.” You smiled. “She was lonely after grandpa died.” You exclaimed as you took a first bite of your grandmother’s still warm apple pie. “So I moved in with her and found a job at the bookstore nearby.”

“Don’t go to school or anythin’?”

“Never really found something that I was passionate about. And at 25… I’m too old to go back.”

“I see.”

“You don’t look too old yourself.” You commented. Sure, you could see a bit of grey in his hair, but he had a youthful face.

“Pushin’ 40.” He sighed.

“You don’t look 40.”

“I feel 80.” He chuckled as he ate more of the pie.

“How so?”

“Years of military and stress put a toll on my body.”

You couldn’t help but admire the strength of said body. “I see. What do you do now?”

“Construction, with my brother Tommy.”

You both finished your pieces in a comfortable silence.

“Well… I’ll see you around, Joel. Don’t hesitate if you need help with anything.” You said as you left.

“Thanks, darlin’. Tell me if ya need any work on your grandma’s house… and tell her thanks for the pie.”

**

After that, you exchanged small talk with Joel every time you saw him. He was a charming man, even your grandmother loved him. Weeks later, you were working in your garden, when you heard an unfamiliar voice in your neighbor’s yard. It sounded like a teenage girl. You finished shovelling the dirt and laid the shovel on the ground as you looked curiously in your neighbor’s yard’s direction. You could easily see through the white metal gate.

He was sitting in his yard with a girl. When he saw you, his eyes lit up and he waved.

“Oh, hey Joel. Didn’t mean to spy on you.” You said through the gate. “Who’s this pretty girl?”

“You’re good, darlin’. She’s my daughter, Sarah.” He punctuated his words with a caress of the girl’s thick curls. She waved shyly at you.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah.”

**

Hours later, you met him outside again. 

“Care to join?” He asked, beer lifted towards the stars.

You laughed. “Yes.”

You climbed up the gate and landed in Joel’s yard. You sat on his patio while he grabbed a beer for you.

“Is Sarah already gone?”

“Yeah.” A shadow on his handsome, youthful face. “She can just visit. Her mother says I’m not stable enough to keep her longer.”

“I’m sorry.” You drank the bitter liquid. “Are you?”

Joel chuckled.

“Wish I was, darlin’. Feels like I can have 20 minutes of solid sleep every night. Wish my dreams weren’t filled with… landmines and dead soldiers. The doctor gave me pills, and they help but… I feel like I’ll never be myself again.”

“Then… find a new person to be.” You smiled, and hit your bottle with his. “You have so many years in front of you.” 

“Hope you’re right, hun’.”

Comfortable silence for a while. The croaks of frogs in the fields. The buzzing mosquitoes clinging to every light. The swallowing.

“Did you tell your grandma thank you for everything she does?”

After the pie, your grandma always brought leftover food to Joel to make sure he ate, and she even invited him to dinner sometimes. 

“Hmhm. Said you were a charming young man.” You looked at the stars for a few seconds, then at Joel. “I think so too.”

Bottles getting pushed to the side. Plush lips meeting. Desperate whispers of affection. Stumbling in the house while holding onto the other person. Clothes disappearing. Moans, hymn of a newly found love.

He was holding you close, an arm thrown around your waist as he was coming down from his own high. He was warm, strong, secure.  So strong physically, but so fragile inside.

You witnessed for the first time his fight with sleep. It was a violent one. He tossed, turned, screamed. You hushed him back to sleep every time, holding him, becoming the strong and secure one.

He fell again and again. Every night.

With you, I serve

With you, I fall down, down

Watch you breathe in

Watch you breathing out, out

And one day, he fell during daylight. You held him as he was crouched over a torn letter.

“She doesn’t want me to see our daughter anymore.” You rarely saw men cry. You thought it was socially ingrained in them not to. But Joel was sobbing, strong shoulders trembling.  “She got a court order and all.”

“We’ll fix this, Joel. Breathe, please.”

He had a hand over his heart, feeling it physically breaking. Ribcage so tight, no air coming out. You witnessed an angry phone call. Soft voice on the other end saying horrible things.

“ – She doesn’t wanna see you anymore, Joel. You scare her. She wants her dad from before… If you don’t go to therapy and work things out, she won’t see you.”

He yelled a broken cry as you kissed his temple.

Only 20 minutes to sleep But you dream of some epiphany Just one single glimpse of relief

Lights in the middle of the night. Tires stopping abruptly. Cops. So many cops. Blaring alarms of an ambulance.

The whole neighborhood came out to witness the paramedics coming in and getting out with a covered body.

You recognized the side of his body – who else could it have been?  You screamed and undid your body from your grandmother’s tight embrace, running like a mad woman to the police officers.

“Please, tell me what happened… ”

They didn’t listen.

“PLEASE. I’m his girlfriend.”

The sorry looks on their faces gave it away.

No.

No.

How is it possible.

I told him he had so many years left.

**

You held the letter in your hands as the ghost of your love lingered around the house. You realized you had seen every crack in his soul, but never his handwriting.

“Darling,

Please, don’t think this is your fault. I was already broken before you came into my life. You did make it more bearable for a few months and I’m grateful for it.

But I couldn’t keep going like this. I’m tired. I’m sorry for leaving you.

You have so many years left. Make this life good.

Tell your grandma I said thanks.

I love you,

Joel.”

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Wanted to get a bit further on in the story in this chapter, but it was already over 4k words and I hit a decent stopping point.

So here we are.

Chapter six, my people.

OPLA!Mihawk x OC

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Chapter 1 Link

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Chapter 6: Secrets and Lies

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

Karimi had hardly expected to find herself back in Syrup Village so soon. With everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours it honestly seemed like it had been longer, like it hadn’t been only a day prior that she had set out aboard the Going Merry with the others for the first time. It was more than a little overwhelming.

Mihawk of course commanded her to get his boat docked, while he paid the docking fee and spoke with the highly intimidated harbormaster about the local businesses—mainly, of course, where he might find an inn or a tavern on the sleepy little island. It was more than clear that even in this relatively calm part of the East Blue, his reputation preceded him. Karimi took a moment to scan the wall of bounty posters near the docks. She always checked, in any new town, any new port.

Tilting the brim of her tricorne down to shield her eyes from the midday sun, she caught sight of the one she was looking for, quite high on the wall, a face that always seemed so strange to look at—lightly freckled, framed with dark blonde hair easily as thick and unruly as her own, a short dark goatee covering the man’s chin.

It was a face she might not even know if not for his picture on the poster. It had been two decades since she had last seen him. Years had passed since anyone had heard hide or hair of him, and his bounty was still active. Active, unchanged, still sitting at two billion, two hundred and forty-two thousand berries.

She breathed a slow sigh as she squinted up at the poster. Had he ever been captured by the Marines, his poster would have been taken down—and considering how high his bounty was, it would have been all over the newspapers, likely on the front page. No one, neither outlaw nor government, knew what had happened to him.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

Mihawk watched how she jumped when he spoke up from behind her, crossing his arms over his chest as she glanced back over her shoulder at him.

“No,” she said shortly. Clearly a lie—her gaze had been focused intently upon the posters high on the wall, no doubt on a specific one. He glanced up in that direction himself, where some of the highest bounties were listed—Edward “Whitebeard” Newgate, Marco, Red-haired Shanks, Dragon, “Quickshot” Janx, Hercinia “Firebird” Wren. Her eyes had been fixed somewhere amid that group of posters.

“Are we set?”

He trained his gaze back down to her as she adjusted her satchel on her shoulder.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. Uncertain whether he was more irritated or intrigued by the girl’s persistent penchant for secrecy, he turned away from her and started in the direction the harbormaster had advised him to head. “We should find an inn near the shipyard that will be suitable. I was told to head in the direction of the mansion.”

“Could just stay in the mansion.” He rolled his eyes over to her, and she shrugged, giving a little smirk. “I’m friends with the owner.”

“Are you capable of being anything but facetious?”

“Who said I was being facetious?” she said, lifting her eyebrows. “I could walk up to the front gates and be provided my own entire wing right this moment. Bet.”

It was impossible to tell whether she was being serious or not; Mihawk wasn’t certain of precisely how long she and the Strawhat’s crew had been in Syrup Village before leaving, and it had been difficult to tell just how much of her drunken friend’s rambling at Baratie had been truth and how much had been storytelling. The boy had mentioned Syrup Village as his home no more than in passing, had claimed to be the son of a famous pirate, and had referred to himself as the captain in the same breath he had called Monkey D. Luffy his “actual captain.”

The warlord bit the bullet after a moment and asked her outright, “And precisely how do you know the owner of this mansion?”

“Helped save her life. She had this butler who—”

“Karimi? Is that you?”

Karimi stopped mid-sentence at the sound of a feminine voice addressing her from behind them, turning around on her heel, her smirk only growing. She leaned to the side a bit as Mihawk stopped and looked over his own shoulder, and muttered, “Told you so.”

And then, leaving the warlord a bit baffled, Karimi hurried the short distance toward the young lady that had addressed her—a girl with pale blonde hair and a white dress, around her own age or a bit younger,  rather frail in stature and pale in complexion. “Kaya! I was just talking about you, how are you doing?”

“Oh—heavens, I—” The girl laughed, wrapping her in a tight hug, which Karimi returned briefly with one arm before stepping back. “I’m still well, I—you’re back so soon, are the others—is Usopp—?”

“All fine,” Karimi assured her—not entirely true considering the state in which Mihawk had left Zoro, but Karimi lied with all the flair of a seasoned politician. Mihawk took immediate note of that. “We found this restaurant after we left, Baratie? It’s aboard a ship just docked in the middle of the ocean, it’s brilliant. I got an offer for a new contract while we were there. Couldn’t turn it down.”

“O—oh, of course,” said Kaya, smiling. “You did mention you weren’t planning on staying with them permanently. It just seems so…” She glanced briefly at Mihawk as he leaned to the side against the wooden wall of a storefront on the street, arms crossed, waiting for the reunion to conclude. “Er…so…who’s your friend?” she asked with a small, nervous chuckle.

Karimi forced a wry smile. “Not a friend,” she said curtly. “New contract, like I said.” And that wry smile turned into a smirk, as she added, giving Kaya a wink and a light nudge with her elbow, “He needed a body guard.”

As the girls both laughed at the joke, Karimi glancing back at him as if daring him to do something about it in so public a setting, Mihawk was beginning to wonder if the girl did have a legitimate death wish. He remained silent, glaring in return as she turned her attention back to Kaya.

“No,” Karimi said as their laughter subsided into a few chuckles, “in all seriousness—just, ah, had some business with the Marines anchored near town. We still need to draw up an official contract, and it seemed it would be easier and more comfortable to do so in port than at sea. Inn or a private tavern parlor.”

“There’s no need for that,” said Kaya. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night at the mansion, you know that.”

“Well, I didn’t really want to impose or—”

“Stop that,” said Kaya, shoving at her arm a little and chuckling. “After what you all did for me—I told you you’re welcome any time, and I meant it. Please,” she added, smiling warmly. “I insist.”

Karimi sighed a little, but smiled herself. “Well, if you insist,” she said. She turned to the side, glancing toward Mihawk. “I suppose introductions are in order, then.” She gestured a hand toward Kaya. “Kaya, local heiress, owner of the shipyard just down the way, aspiring doctor—”

“Oh, would you stop,” said Kaya, shoving at her arm and laughing, “I haven’t even begun studying yet.”

“You’ll do fine,” said Karimi dismissively. Then she turned to Kaya, and gestured toward Mihawk. “And, er. Dracule Mihawk. Warlord.”

The laughter faded from the young woman’s face immediately, her eyes growing wide as saucers as she glanced at him and looked back at Karimi.

Then she took a quick step forward after a moment, cupping her hands around Karimi’s ear and whispering something, glancing at him again before training her gaze back onto Karimi’s. The green-haired girl just gave a sort of noncommittal shrug. Then Kaya was whispering again, and Karimi gave a short laugh. She leaned closer herself and muttered under her breath—though just loud enough for Mihawk to hear—“Yeah, maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole—ow,” she added, when Kaya hit her across the arm.

As Karimi rubbed at her arm, Kaya turned to face the warlord directly, drawing in a deep breath, and with it perhaps every bit of resolve she could fit within her small frame, and offered a pleasant smile. “I do apologize for my friend’s rudeness, sir. I’m sure she just thinks she’s being funny. I would be more than honored to have you both as guests at my estate. I’m sure you would find it far more accommodating to your needs than the inn.”

It came as a bit of a shock that Karimi hadn’t simply been blowing smoke—the formal air about the frail girl was clear indication that she had been raised into money and powerful influence, even if said influence only extended across the small village where they presently found themselves. He glanced at Karimi, rolled his eyes at her grin, and turned his attention back to Kaya.

A mansion did sound far more comfortable an option.

“I appreciate your offer, Miss Kaya,” he said after a moment, curtly. “And I accept it. We will be departing tomorrow morning, no later than first light.”

“Well, you are both welcome to stay as long as you need,” she said pleasantly, bowing her head politely.

Mihawk lingered behind the girls as Kaya led the way to the mansion, listening to their conversation while they passed by the vast shipyard.

“Are you still planning on selling?” asked Karimi. “I was hoping I might be able to buy my next sloop from you.”

“Well…it does provide a good source of income at the present,” said Kaya, glancing across at the shipyard. “I do intend to sell eventually, but likely not until after I’ve finished my studies. I’m sure you’ll have saved more than enough before then. And I have no intention of charging you full price.”

“Ah, no handouts. I pay in full or I don’t buy one at all.” Kaya pursed her lips, rolling her eyes at her. “I can and will take my business elsewhere.”

“You’re more stubborn than a bull.” Karimi shrugged a shoulder and nodded in general agreement, and Kaya laughed at that. “Fine. Full price. But I’m sure you’ll have no trouble coming up with the berries.”

She just shrugged again—Karimi had no intention of telling Kaya the nature of her present contract, that she would be working an entire year without pay for the sole sake of ensuring that one of their mutual acquaintances was allowed to continue breathing. Perhaps it was better to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“So.” Karimi smiled as she rolled her eyes over to Kaya. “How have you been faring since the, ah, firing of your most esteemed butler?”

Kaya rolled her eyes at the question, but she chuckled a little. “It’s only been a day,” she reminded Karmi—and the reminder nearly blindsided her again. It still felt like far longer than a single day. “Some of the workers from the shipyard have been kind enough to help around the mansion. I do intend to become more self-sufficient, so I’m helping as much as I can.”

“You should be taking it easy,” said Karimi, frowning. “The bastard was poisoning you for years, you need time to recover.”

“I am taking it easy,” said Kaya lightly, folding her hands together in front of her. “But I also spent far too long confined to constant bed rest, and I would much rather take an active role in my own life now.”

“Fair enough, then.” Karimi smiled at that—a genuine smile, one that she couldn’t hold back. “And more power to you.”

Kaya was another example of Luffy’s influence. For all the years the girl had spent suppressed, that she had spent both literally and figuratively poisoned by the will of another, she was following her dreams now. One brief day of knowing Luffy, and her life was that much better for it. Her life was her own now, freed from suppression, free to follow whatever path she wanted.

There was no question in Karimi’s mind—that kid was going places.

“Your butler was poising you?” Both the girls gave a slight jolt at the question, as if they had forgotten entirely about the warlord following after them, listening to their conversation as they made their way toward the mansion. Karimi glanced back at him, and rolled her eyes at his brief, snide smirk, the same sort of smirk she had directed toward him several times over.

Kaya glanced at her, and then back toward him. “It’s…honestly quite a long story,” she said offhandedly.

“I think we all have time for it.”

She glanced at Karimi, who just shrugged a shoulder. Kaya gave a slow sigh, and slowed her pace for a moment until she was walking level with him. “My parents took in a man and a couple of his friends who claimed to have been marooned here. Hired them onto our staff and…they both passed just over a year later in an accident.” She drew in a slow, deep breath before going on. “My father trusted him implicitly enough to employ him as our butler, and…his trust turned out to be ill-placed. As I discovered only two nights ago.” She lowered her gaze to her feet as they walked. “He was pirate. Or he had been a pirate, and didn’t want to be anymore. He and a couple of his crewmates spent three years poisoning me. Keeping me weak so that no one would suspect anything when I died shortly after my eighteenth birthday and allowed him to inherit my family’s fortune for his own. I would be out of the picture, and he would be looked upon with both pity and admiration for having spent so long caring for me.”

“That…is certainly quite the plan,” said Mihawk quietly—it was difficult not to be impressed by it.

“They didn’t call him Kuro of A Thousand Plans for no reason,” said Karimi, turning around to walk backwards ahead of them as Mihawk’s brow furrowed. He had heard of Kuro—heard that the captain of the Black Cat pirates had been captured years ago. “Seems he somehow managed to fake his death. Made it look like Captain Axe-Hand Morgan took him in. Gave him the freedom to fly under the radar.”

“And I suppose he’s truly dead now?”

“Hard to say.” Karimi gave a shrug. “Luffy gum-gum-belled him through a window on the top floor before anyone could check for a pulse.”

“He…” For a moment, the warlord could do nothing but stare at the girl as if she were speaking in tongues—and she may as well have been. “He did what, exactly?”

“Oh,” she said, grinning, laughing a little, “he stretched his neck out around ten, fifteen feet behind him and then just slammed his head into Kuro’s. Sent him flying through the window. Probably halfway across the East Blue, from the force of it.”

“It was quite the spectacle,” said Kaya, chuckling a little herself.

“It was amazing is what it was. How he didn’t have a headache after that…” Karimi seemed to notice how Mihawk glanced between the two girls, discussing this apparent spectacle as if it were perfectly normal. It could mean only one thing—and Karimi confirmed it only a moment later as her grin widened. “Oh—did your Vice Admiral not mention that? Luffy’s a devil fruit user. Ate one when he was a kid. Made him stretchy.”

Stretchy.

“How…interesting.”

And more than a bit infuriating. Not only had Garp sent him to retrieve his grandson, a boy whose career as a pirate had barely even begun; but the old bastard had also neglected to mention the fact that said boy was a devil fruit user, a fact that would have been valuable to know had Mihawk actually decided to bring him in.

“Er…a Vice Admiral?” Karimi looked over at Kaya when she spoke up uncertainly. “Is…the marine ship anchored off the shore, were they…going after you all?”

“Y…yes,” she admitted, and shrugged a shoulder. “Luffy, more specifically. Evidently Garp has some personal issues with his grandson being a pirate.” Kaya’s eyes widened, a hand flying to her mouth. “But everyone’s fine. Luffy turned himself into a balloon and deflected the cannonball he threw at the ship. That’s why they’re still moored there, I would have to guess. Did a fair bit of damage. We escaped into a fogbank, ended up finding Baratie a few hours later. No harm done.”

Karimi had no intention at all of mentioning that one of their number was on the edge of death when she left them. Kaya was a sweet girl, and she had endured enough trauma of her own over the past few days without having anything else to worry herself over. So for the remainder of their stroll to the mansion, she drew Kaya’s attention away from the troubling news that the small crew was being pursued by a well-known Marine Vice Admiral by telling her about their time at Baratie—the flirty waiter that had shot his shot with both herself and Nami; Luffy ordering one of everything from the menu and then attempting to “put it on his treasure tab,” thus getting roped into washing dishes as compensation instead; Usopp drinking far too much over far too short a period of time and entertaining his fellow bar patrons with his ridiculous stories.

Leaving out the fact that Nami was planning on leaving, and that Karimi herself was now essentially a servant to Zoro’s would-be murderer.

“So…he seems happy, then?” she asked with a smile, walking level with Karimi as they reached the open gates of the mansion. “Usopp. He doesn’t regret leaving?”

“Oh, he’s having the time of his life,” Karimi assured her. “Honestly. It’s going to be a lot harder to tell which of his stories are just tall tales the next time you see him.”

She chuckled at that. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ve all only been away a day and you’ve already done so much, I’m sure he’ll have more stories than he knows what to do with before long.”

“Without a doubt. And it definitely doesn’t take long. I’ve been sailing eight years, but I probably could have written a book within the first two.”

Eight years. That caught Mihawk’s attention as they were greeted at the door by some of the help. Barely an hour ago had the girl claimed to have been working as a mercenary for six years. Either she had just been caught in a lie, or she had been doing something else for two years prior. There would be plenty of time to question her later, of course—and there would be plenty of questions.

But there was one more pressing matter that needed to be addressed first. He already knew Karimi would be of some degree of use to the end of reconnaissance, given her powers; but if she would be taking on contracts given to him by the World Government, he had to be sure that her six years of experience included some degree of aptitude in combat. Anyone could carry around an ornate pair of daggers and strap a belt of throwing knives to their calf.

Using them effectively was another story.

On inquiry about where they might be able to spar—which visibly piqued Karimi’s interest, her eyes widening and brow shooting up toward her dark green fringe—Kaya informed him that they were more than welcome to use the western courtyard. It was large enough, fairly empty of obstacles, and they would have more light as the sun sank down further in the sky.

As promised, the sprawling courtyard was more than large enough. There was a large marble fountain at its center, a few flowerbeds and benches around the perimeter, but otherwise clear enough. Stopping just short of the fountain, around ten feet from the warlord, Karimi set to stretching her arms back behind her and over her head. She paused when he pulled the cross from around his neck and unsheathed his knife, tucking the small scabbard and cord into a pocket in his coat. She tilted her head for a moment, lifting an eyebrow.

“Cute paring knife,” she commented, resuming stretching. “Are we sparring or peeling potatoes?”

Of course she had something smart to say—it seemed she always did. “This,” said Mihawk, extending the small blade out at arm’s length, “will be more than sufficient to assess your ability in combat.” Then, as she drew her daggers and spun them around, assuming a posture that favored offense over defense, “Or lack thereof.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “Just sparring or fighting to maim?”

“Both.”

She smirked at his curt reply. “Excellent.”

He held up a hand the second she started to move, and she paused on one foot, lifting her eyebrows. “Your Armament Haki. How proficient are you?”

“At the present I can really only use it to keep my Devil Fruit abilities in check,” she said, shifting back into a fighting stance again.

“Then you will be training to gain better control over it,” he said, “but that will come later. Right now, you will attempt to break through my defense, using any skill at your disposal. Understood?”

“Understood,” she said, waiting, her gaze shifting from his eyes and down to his knife.

“Then you will begin on three.”

Karimi knew she stood absolutely no chance of defeating him. The times she had sparred with Shanks while on his crew, even with him going relatively easy on her, she had never once beaten him—and Mihawk was renowned as an even greater swordsman. His physical strength exceeded hers by miles. Even if he only responded to her attacks defensively, even if he wouldn’t be using Haki himself, even if she lowered hers and let her Devil Fruit abilities help guide her actions, she stood no chance. He only wanted to see how long she could endure, how much damage she could inflict, if any.

“Two—”

And she went on two.

She was sure she saw the swordsman smirk for just a moment as he countered her right blade—and her left just as quickly when she swung it around toward his ribcage, stepping to the side effortlessly when she lowered down and swung a kick toward his ankles.

“I see you don’t fight fair,” he commented, a hint of amusement in the accusation.

“Everything’s fair in a fight.”

So many times had Karimi heard that exact sentiment amid her training with her grandmother, usually before she inevitably ended up flat on her back in their backyard. It had been imbued into her—the likelihood of her enemies fighting fair was slim to none, so it made no sense for her to extend them the courtesy. It didn’t matter either way, where Mihawk was concerned; his defense was ironclad, and just as it had been with her grandmother, her Devil Fruit was essentially useless combating someone with as much experience and skill as the warlord. His counters and movements came with little to no thought at all, finessed to the point that he barely needed to think at all, acting on pure reflex.

Karimi normally prided herself in her agility, but her limits were only human. His seemed to far exceed that.

To him, she was barely more than an annoying fly that he need only swat away once he grew tired of her persistence.

And thus he did after a few minutes, countering one of her daggers with enough force to send her skidding back across the grass. Before she even stopped or straightened her posture, she drew one of her throwing knives and aimed it low toward his legs.

And he caught it by its hilt in midair, flipping it back over his shoulder, where it landed several feet behind him and embedded into the grass and dirt.

Once more, he extended his arm, pointing the knife out toward her, his other arm remaining at his side.

“Again.”

And again, and again, and again. Karimi at least had her patience on her side—growing frustrated would do nothing but make her clumsy, make her attacks less precise and her movements less finessed. Still, physical exhaustion would inevitably have the same effect, and it came far sooner than it usually did. She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening and had spent the vast majority of the night consuming enough alcohol to stock a small pub, after all; she was likely bordering on dehydration.

A poorly timed block on her own part left her with a cut across her left cheek, left her pinned to the wall of the mansion with one of his arms across her collarbone. The point of his small blade was poised the center of her throat, her chest rising and falling heavily and her heart pounding, the cut across her cheek stinging as sweat dripped down from her temple and into the open wound.

By the position of the sun in the sky, no more than an hour had passed. She swore under her breath at that, sitting down heavily against the wall when he took a step back.

“Again.”

“Oh, goddammit.” She laughed breathlessly, shaking her head as she tilted it back against the wall. “I’m just about spent.”

“I will decide when we’re finished.”

Of course he would. Karimi grimaced as she pulled herself to her feet, as he crossed the yard and pulled her throwing knife out of the ground, tossing over so it landed at her feet.

“Now, then…”

And once more, he extended his knife, waiting for her to collect herself, his sharp yellow eyes glued to her.

“Again.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

[vashsmunch]

How could I hate something so perfect?

Vash x GN Reader

Synopsis: you have body dysmorphia and Vash comforts you

Warnings: body image issues, mentions of eating disorder

a/n: first actual post ahhhhhh :’)  i definitely self projected writing this but that’s alright

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

God, you hated this.

You hated this feeling that weighed you down, sinking you into an ocean of misery. Fighting it was futile; all it did was drag you further into the cold darkness that was your self-hatred. Sometimes you wondered if it was all in your head, the stares you would get from everyone. The whispers behind covered mouths, the up and down glances wherever you walked. Too big, too loud, too much. Any logical person would figure it was because you were hanging out with a group where one wielded a gigantic laser gun cross, but the voices said otherwise. They were suffocating you, and how ironic that they were the same ones deluding you into thinking that he could ever like you back.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you stepped out of the shower, drying yourself off with a towel. Thoughts always seemed more melancholic while in there, and you weren't doing that tonight. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and turn back to look at the reflection. Did I gain weight? A finger reaches down to poke at your stomach as you start prodding yourself in all the areas you didn't like about yourself. Ugh, more stretch marks. I really should start being more careful about what I eat. You ran your hands down the sides of your body, trying to manipulate the flesh to look more appealing. Guess I shouldn't get breakfast tomorrow.

You heard a soft knock on the door as you stepped back into your hotel room. A glance at the clock told you it was way too late for room service, much less for anyone of importance to be awake. The group had collectively decided that staying at a hotel that night would be more comfortable than sleeping in the news reporter van again. Wolfwood, Vash, and Roberto took one room, and Meryl loudly exclaimed that she couldn't spend another second with all of them as she went off to claim hers. You lucked out by getting your own, but it was a bit isolating. Groaning, you put on your pajamas and trudged toward the entrance, drying off your hair. "Who is it?"

"Hey... it's me." 

You froze suddenly, hearing Vash's muffled voice from behind the door. Did you forget something at dinner earlier? It wasn't uncommon for you to leave some of your belongings around; Wolfwood would make fun of you as he found stray ammo, notepads, or even entire bags clustered around any space the group occupied. But you were sure you'd brought everything upstairs, so it couldn't be that. Could it?

Inhaling slowly, you cracked open the door to see that infamous sheepish smile accompanied by worried eyes. The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds before Vash cleared his throat, seeming nervous. "I was just wondering if I could talk to you about something."

You cocked your head, confused, as you allowed him to enter, walking towards the bed to sit down. The blanket felt scratchy, but that was expected from such a rundown hotel; being on the run doesn't allow for many luxuries. Crossing your legs, you motioned for him to sit next to you. "So... what's up?"

As he plopped down on the mattress, he sighed heavily and leaned back on his forearms, not meeting your eyes. He stayed silent for a short while before he finally spoke. "You didn't eat much at dinner tonight," His head turned to meet your gaze, his face unreadable. "In fact, you haven't been eating at all for the past few days."

Staring into his eyes, you laughed nervously as you rubbed your neck, trying to play it off. "I just haven't had a big appetite as of late. To be honest, I'm starting to think the nerves from the close calls we've had recently are getting to me." You tried to make your tone as light as possible, but your voice cracked at the last word. You cringed. He definitely heard that.

"We both know that's not true," The air was thick with tension as he sat back up, never breaking eye contact with you. He hesitated before he gently held your hand, squeezing slightly. With a low whisper of your name, he continued. "Look, you're allowed to have your secrets. Everyone has them, and I won't pry if you don't want me to. But I care about you a lot more than you'd think. I hate seeing you deprive yourself, hoping no one will notice, because I do." 

You started to feel tears prickle at the back of your eyes as you began blinking furiously. Goddamnit, not now. Why did he have to be so caring? Why couldn't he just be an asshole? Why is he sitting with you alone in your hotel room, being the sweetest person to ever exist while you're about to sob, knowing you'll never have him the way you want? 

When you were with him, all the worries in your body seemed to magically melt away. To be in his presence was akin to finding nirvana, but you knew deep down that it wouldn't last forever. The thoughts would take over like they always did, and you'd keep hurting yourself. No matter how safe he made you feel, you'd keep starving your body and going past your limit, all to reach this image of perfection you weren't even sure you wanted anymore. But it was for him, wasn't it? He would want you to look like this, right? So you had to, no matter what. You had to keep going.

You felt your throat closing up, and you sniffed, trying to console yourself. You took a deep breath as you shakily responded. "Look, I just need to do this. I don't expect you to understand because even I don't. But it's gonna be worth it in the end."

A frown settled on his lips as he gripped your hand tighter, bringing his own to your face to gently wipe the streams of tears from your eyes. You hadn't even realized you were crying, and now you felt even more stupid. The warmth of his palm was like a guilty pleasure you didn't deserve. It felt comforting and secure. But even that wasn't enough to break down the walls you'd built to protect this ideology of yours. And at this point, you weren't sure anything would be. 

He spoke slowly, seemingly trying to be careful with his words. "What are you trying so hard to achieve? It can be anything good if it means you're starving yourself like this. Please, just help me understand-"

You suddenly stood up, whirling around to face him, sobbing at this point. "No, you won't. You never will. God, how could you? To live every day of your life utterly disgusted by the body you're forced to live in. I look at myself, and I despise everything I see, Vash. Every curve that is and isn't there, every roll. I poke and prod at myself, hoping that I'll magically wish away all the horrible parts of myself, but it never works," Your knees start to go weak as your body shakes in anger and sadness. It felt futile to be vulnerable like this; you were probably only making yourself look like a fool. You forced yourself to meet his gaze and saw a look akin to horror. It made your heart drop. "God, why can't you see this is for you? I just want to be perfect for you, and this is the only way that allows me to do that. I don't care how long it takes me because you'll never want to be with me if I'm like this. I just-" You stumble to the ground, your legs completely giving up.

Vash quickly moved to catch and hold you in his arms as sobs racked through your entire body. You gripped onto his shirt for dear life, trying to ground yourself in his touch, but everything was slipping away. Your sanity, self-respect, and control of your emotions. Incoherent mumbles left your lips as you desperately tried to explain your motives, why you absolutely had to do this. You felt like you were going insane.

He said nothing as he let you crumple against him, his hand rubbing your back. It made you feel even worse. The two of you stayed like that for a long while, whether for minutes or even hours; you couldn't tell. You just let the emotions leak out of you, all the suffering you'd been making yourself endure for the past few weeks. All the dinners you'd missed, saying you were just tired. The smaller portions you'd select in an attempt to control how much weight you were gaining. Feeling your stomach cry out for food but still depriving it because this was for the better, right? This is how people got pretty; there was no other way.

After all the tears had finished leaving your eyes and your crying had subsided, he spoke softly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't notice before how much you were hurting. It should've been obvious, yet I never realized," You felt exhausted. You couldn't even muster up a response. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes full of sadness. "But you're beautiful. I've never cared about what you looked like because to see you in any form is a blessing I can't even begin to describe."

He hushed you as you tried to respond, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. "You don't have to believe me right now. To ask that of you would completely ignore the suffering you've been through these past few weeks. All I ask is that you let me take care of you tonight. Everything can wait until tomorrow. I got you, okay?"

You nodded, your eyelids heavy. Vash helped you back to the bed, laying you down as he caressed your cheek. Before you drifted off to sleep, you heard him whisper softly. "And for what it's worth, I love you. Every part you hate, I'll show it all the adoration it deserves. Because you're perfect. And you always have been."

[karisomk]

AU Siren Merman Attuma x Okoye prompt

With a dash of wealthy merchant W'Kabi

Okoye rubbed the back of her neck with a soft sigh, sneaking away from her parents and W’Kabi’s parents was a task in itself. For weeks, both pairs have been pushing for her to sit and meet with W’Kabi, insisting that they would be a good match. Clearly, it wasn’t this world, he barely acknowledged her in passing in town. She knew that it had to narrow down to family status, coming from a line of warriors and artisans.  And his own line coming from merchants and warriors.

Tonight her parents hosted an elaborate dinner for W’Kabi and his parents, although his parents showed up he did not. W’Kabi’s parents spent most of the night trying to smooth out the awkwardness, insisting that W’Kabi sometimes was just a busy man. And if Okoye should ever give her hand to him as a wife, she should expect this at times. Bast was watching over her, because just as she parted her lips to hurl an insult. Okoye’s mother came out of the kitchen with more refreshments. Okoye couldn’t wait for them to go home, she had seen their displeased looks at her parents' décor. Even at their food, there was only so much Okoye could take holding her tongue.  She couldn’t help herself when she shut her parent’s door quickly on W’Kabi’s family in the end. Even to her mother’s dismay, “Okoye! That is not nice.”

“That was the nicest thing I could do for them. Otherwise, my spear would have been used tonight. ” Okoye snorted softly.

“Young lady, that spear would not be used near my good rugs.”

“Then do not invite any of them here anymore, Umama.”

That sense of superiority and smugness that remained around W’Kabi also surrounded his parents. She would rather marry a fish if this was her current option in marriage right now.

“ My little ‘koye, I think you should stay tonight. It’s really late outside and besides, there has been word that it is better for residents to stay inside tonight for some reason. Something about tides is changing and the weather may be bad. “ Her mother was the first to spot her edging to the door, grabbing her red shawl to cover her braids that were styled in a french braid that went down to her mid-back.

“If the weather does turn bad I can always run home. The walk across the beach to my home isn’t that long. “

Okoye’s mother looked up at her with concerned eyes, her salt-pepper hair tucked into a high bun. The fine lines on her forehead only showed when she began to worry, almost always over her daughter. Okoye offered a smile, brushing her thumb over her mother’s forehead trying to smooth out the lines.

“You know if you do not let her go. She will sneak out anyway.”  Okoye’s father hummed playfully, shuffling to stand near Okoye. Both of her parents were shorter than her, both seemed to shrink with age. Her father was slumping forward slightly due to back issues. His hair held blotches of gray so he stubbornly kept it short for that reason.

“Baba,please-!” Okoye chuckled, even if she felt her father playfully tug at her head scarf. 

“Please be safe, and turn back around if the tide is high on the beach.” Her father said moving to stand near her mother.

“Yes, Baba.” Okoye hummed, giving both of her mothers a forehead kiss and hugging her father before quickly gathering her things.

“Here are some snacks for home if you would like, my dear!” her father called holding out a small box that was secured in a dark blue cloth. Okoye tucked away the small box, loving the scent of spices and fish. “Fried fish, with a little rice just like you like!”

“Thank you Baba, please you both sleep well tonight and I shall see you both soon,” she said, waving and slipping out the front door. 

Guards suggesting people stay in their homes was almost always rooted in groundless stories about sea creatures, spirits or some passed down belief. All of it was foolishness and just a way for guards to get out of extra work. Much to her parent's dismay, she couldn’t wait to change these foolish rules. The sight of people in town was very little, pathways normally filled and bustling seemed almost abandoned.

The stretch of water was pushed back due to low tide, the waters choppy most likely due to storms far off into the sea. Okoye enjoyed the beach even at night, the soothing sounds of water with occasional cold fronts that would come. A small delight compared to the endless heat during the daytime.

Okoye knitted her brows, slowing her steps while looking out to the pitch-black waters. Each time the waves broke against the shore, there was a low hum. She strained to listen to it, to see if it was just wind. She hadn’t realized her frame had pivoted in the direction of the sound now, away from the small path that veered away from the beach and down to her small home. She followed the faint voice, leading to a cove that was normally difficult to get due to high tides. Just as the voice stopped when she passed underneath the little rock bridge into the cove, Okoye blinked rapidly, finding her chest tighten as her stomach began to flutter from being uneasy.

There was no light from the town that could be used as a guide, only the brief light from the moon that peeked through the clouds ever so often. It was quiet, too quiet for Okoye’s liking even though she felt she was being watched. A large stain that looked black in the low light was at the edge of the shore in the cove. Footprints laced with that same substance led away from the water. She should have turned back and ran until her legs carried her away from the place but instead she crept forward.  Okoye moved closer to the stain, the smell of copper became strong the moment she kneeled by it. Dread began to feel her at the suggestion of it being possibly blood.

Okoye shot up to her feet at something breaking the surface of the water in the darkness, finally that notion of fleeing filled her. She tried to rid herself of thoughts of water spirits being real or even sea creatures. The most rational thing she could think of was this had to be a wounded animal nothing more. And she didn’t want to disturb it any more than she had already had. But this wasn’t an animal, the bellowing yell that erupted from this thing or being charged at her made her break into a  full sprint. A shrill erupted from her the moment she felt a wet hand grasp her shoulder. Okoye untied her bag and swung it to throw it. This was enough to get that wet hand off her, and she sprinted out of the cove and all the way home. She didn’t stop running until she was in her home, behind the lock door and leaning against while she tried catching her breath.

[see-the-fandom-imagines]

What's in it for me?

Chapter 9

Chapter 1     Masterlist

Pairing: Kyouya Ootori x Reader Author: see-the-fandom-imagines   Warnings: Kyouya in a bad mood, other than that mostly cute fluff, filler Author’s Note: Sorry, this one is rather short, but the next 3 chapters will follow suit, now that I figured out the issue my tumblr account seemed to have had! Tag List: @radical-bunny, @redsakura101​, @ellouisa17​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46325452/chapters/116633701

You had excused yourself to bed not too long after, even though it wasn’t that late yet, but you couldn’t stop thinking about what Miwako said. “He is taking really good care of you, isn’t he?” You bit your lip, thinking for a while, your fingers searching for your phone in your pocket. No matter what, you should call him and thank him again for the trip. And that he hadn’t told Miwako about the incident. Probably. Just to thank him. That was the only reason you’d call him now. The clock on your phone told you that it was barely past ten, which probably wasn’t too late. And if it was, he didn’t have to pick up. In fact, something told you he wouldn’t, if you remembered how deep he had slept in Okinawa. You dialed the number and listened to the beep. It dialed exactly three times before he picked up. “(Y/n)?” He had saved your number. Well, of course he had. He probably had a million contacts in that phone. “Did something happen?” “Oh”, you found your voice again. “No, no. All fine. I just… wanted to apologize again and… thank you.” “What for?” “Well, for one that you didn’t tell my aunt about what happened.” “Of course. She would have never let you return to our club if I had told her.” “Also, she would have possibly murdered me, and Mori and you trying to help me would have been in vain.” You had said this as a joke, but the other end of the line stayed silent for a while. “I didn’t do anything”, he finally said, words cut short. He almost sounded bitter about it. “No, that’s not true. You called the medic and all. And I never explicitly apologized to you personally.” It was silent again. “So… I am sorry for worrying you, Kyouya.” “I wasn’t worried.” “Well then, I apologize for causing you all that trouble.” You heard him exhale through his nose on the other end of the line. “Apology accepted.” Neither of you knew what to say for a moment, but you did not want to hang up yet either. “So, you were right about Tamaki winning in the end, huh?” “Were you actually doubting me?” “Oh, of course not, I would never.” “Why do I not believe you?” “Because you just got lucky that’s all.” You heard him chuckle. “Lucky?” “So lucky.” You smiled at the phone. It felt really good to be joking around with him like that. You were happy that you had found a friend in the dark-haired boy, even if he would probably never feel the same way about you that you felt about him. You didn’t need him to. As long as he was your friend you could be happy. “I am still wondering where Mori-senpai got that harpoon from, though.” Like this you talked a bit more about the past weekend when you suddenly heard Miwako getting ready for bed and noticed the time. “Oh no”, you whispered, and Kyouya picked up on it, immediately. “All good?” “Yes, yes, I just noticed how late it is. Sorry”, you apologized again. “First, I wake you and now I won’t let you sleep. Again.” You heard him chuckle and it made your heart beat a little faster. “You can make up for it.” Your cheeks flushed hot at these words, but you tried to play it cool. “Aha? How?” “Be creative.” “If I am correct, you still owe me, my dear Kyouya.” “Very well, in that case, I guess I shall forgive you this time.” “Too generous.” “But yes, I should go to bed, too.” “Well, goodnight then, Kyouya.” “Goodnight. And… (y/n)?” You placed the phone back to your ear, you had almost been ready to hang up. “Yes?” “Happy Birthday.” And with these words he hung up the phone, leaving you with the phone on your ear, your mouth slightly agape as you realized he was the third person in your life who had ever remembered your birthday.

[plothooksinc]

For NRFTW prompts; this may or may not be a bit of a stretch since it's outside of the POVs in the original fic, but I'd just love to see what happened when April's parents were at Run of the Mill. I think it would be really funny to see Senior Hueso getting increasingly more exasperated.

Either that, or seeing the dinner that was promised at the end of NRFTW. I do always love me some found family fluff.

Honestly, both would be great, but even seeing just one of those would absolutely make my day.

You're in luck, actually! I chose Hueso, but the prompter after you asked for the dinner |D so I guess I'll write that next!

Fair warning for this: I do not know Spanish. I have thus used it sparingly. If anyone else knows Spanish and I have it wrong, please tell me and I will course correct.

They were closed.  They’d been closed for days, but the announcement that the lockdown was officially over had been just a few hours ago, and so perhaps it was lucky that Hueso had decided to check in on his beloved restaurant to see if it had survived the surface invasion intact.  He had high hopes, given its highly secretive entrance to the mundane world, but he also needed to take inventory of his kitchen because the lockdown had been unexpected, to say the least, and some of his more delicate ingredients would not have survived a four day absence of care.

Perhaps it was also lucky that Hop had come with him, lured by the promise of double pay, to help him clean out the pantry and set any issues to rights.  Because when the yokai popped into existence in the middle of his dining room—complete with two shell-shocked, dark-skinned humans—Hueso himself was not at ground zero.  And he was not their first impression.  And a fluffy, wide-eyed black and white rabbit yokai was perhaps less terrifying to two panicked humans than a skeleton in a fedora.  Hueso was not convinced that, had he been the first point of contact, the woman would not have tried to run him through with her knife.  

For all the good it would do her.  But… details.

Instead, he bolted out of the kitchen to the sound of multiple screams, stopping short at the counter to see Hop on the floor with both arms over his head, his feet thumping a pattern on the ground—and a woman breathing hard in a pair of blue jeans and an orange shirt and dark, wild curly hair that reminded him of someone else.  He couldn’t work out if the man holding onto her shoulders was cowering or merely holding her back, they both seemed so terrified, but at least the knife in the woman’s hands wasn’t actually in use.  Held in a death grip, maybe, but—

Mayhem, he did recognise.  Because the traitorous little yokai hopped from the woman’s shoulder onto his counter, stared at him pointedly, and then vanished. 

Which drew all attention in the room his way. 

And if the screaming had been loud before…

For a moment, he considered turning on his heel and walking back into the kitchen, locking the door behind him.  It was so tempting. But he had a duty of care to Hop, and he should probably… do something about the humans in his Yokai Only (With One Exception) establishment.

“I’ll thank you to stop yelling,” he said irritably.  “Nobody is going to hurt you.  You will perhaps tell me why you are here, yes?”

The knife swung in his direction, the woman’s expression fierce, and Hop took the opportunity to scoot away from the couple, jamming himself into the corner instead.  Hueso sighed.  “No trust.  Senora, this is a pizzeria, not a death trap.  That’s next door.  If you put the knife down and take a seat, I will fetch you some soothing tea and you can explain to me why you have appeared without warning when we are closed.”

The woman blinked at him, and then her gaze travelled across the menu boards behind him, and her eyes widened.  Thankfully, she finally lowered the knife. 

“…Run of the Mill?” she said, sounding dazed.  “I know this place.”

He stiffened.  “How so?”

“My daughter... orders from here?”

Ah.  That would be why she looked so familiar to him, then.  Hueso adjusted his fedora and graciously kept his sigh to himself.  “Your daughter has good taste.  In pizza, if not in company.”  That was mostly a lie; the boys weren’t that bad, but he wasn’t about to admit that.  “However, she is not here today, and so my question still stands.  Why did Mayhem bring you to my closed establishment?”

“Oh, good,” the man at her back murmured, and he smiled in a way that suggested he was not, in fact, happy at all.  “April and Mayhem have both been here before.  Isn’t that great, honey?  Hmm?”

“Wait, that’s not important,” said the woman—Mrs O’Neil, he would assume until told otherwise.  To his great annoyance, she swung the knife up again.  “You have to send us back.  We left her there, you took us away—“

“I took you nowhere,” Hueso snapped, both from impatience and the realisation that something untoward had possibly happened.  He just wanted to check on his restaurant, but apparently that was not in the cards today.  “If you listened, I said the furry creature with you—“

“Mayhem,” Mr O’Neil muttered.  “I think that’s right.  The… nice skeleton man is just as surprised as we are.”

His fingers squeezed into her shoulders, and she lowered the knife again.  Hueso raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if she’d just threaten him again in a moment—she seemed the type.  But Mrs O’Neil looked tired, and had begun to shake.  Definitely something terrible had happened.  Besides their sudden appearance here.

Now, he did sigh.

“Hop, go home,” he said wearily.  “I will pay you until the end of the evening as promised.  The two of you, please.  Sit down.”

---------

Hop was a good kitchen hand but otherwise terribly anxious and hadn’t needed to be told twice to leave; by the time Hueso came back from the kitchen with tea, he was gone.  Hueso eyed the corner where he’d squished himself in case the woman had somehow gone crazy in his absence, but there was no sign of violence and the couple was now sitting at the corner booth, though they both seemed as rigid as corpses.  It was as if they were expecting the booth to come alive and eat them whole.  (He… would refrain about joking about that sort of thing.  They might actually believe him.  And one day, it might not actually be a joke, given some of his clientele.) 

The knife sat on the table with the blade facing away from the edge.  It was as close to a truce as he suspected they could manage, and he placed the tray on the table, amused as they stared at it suspiciously. 

“You will be reassured to note my tea is a mundane herb for soothing the nerves and likely something you are familiar with,” he said blandly.  “Just as I’m sure you are already familiar with pizza.  This is a normal restaurant, for all intents and purposes.”

They didn’t need to know about the delicate ingredients.  Not unless he decided he didn’t like them.  The jury was still out; for one thing, the knife.  The yelling.  His restaurant being closed.  But on the other side of the equation, they were related to April, who had thus far been a surprisingly tolerable human guest. 

They were also traumatized, and once he listened to their slightly incoherent attempts to tell him what had happened—tripping over each other in their haste to talk about alien zombie creatures—he realised Mayhem had brought them here to save their lives.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  Surely, there were other places Mayhem would consider safer than a yokai restaurant.

Well.  Small mercy that at least the dining room had not been open at the time.

Mrs O’Neil took a sniff of her tea with a cautious face, and then pulled back in surprise.  “Chamomile?”

“And a touch of honey.”

“Oh.  I wouldn’t have thought—“

“I can assure you, Senora, that many yokai tastes run quite similarly to those of humans.  Like pizza, for example.  Consider that you are sitting in a pizzeria.”

The look she gave him was actually irritated.  “I was going to say it’s weird to find chamomile in a pizzeria.”

“…ah.”  Well.  Perhaps, when she wasn’t panicking, she was a reasonable woman.  He tipped his hat.  “My apologies.  It is actually a blend for my own personal use.”

“Why are you Spanish?” Mr O’Neil asked abruptly, and Hueso stared. 

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Hon,” his wife said tiredly, “You can’t just go around asking random skeletons why they’re Spanish—“

“It’s a valid question,” he insisted, but his expression was sheepish.  “You said yokai.  Yokai are Japanese in origin.”

“In origin,” Hueso repeated back pointedly.  “A very, very long time ago.  It is an adopted term for many of us.  Your daughter has been consorting with yokai for more than a year now; I am surprised to find the two of you so ignorant.”

“…she what.”

…ah. 

Well, if April was going to send her parents to him, what was he meant to assume?  Hueso rubbed his fingers against his skull, trying not to hold it against them when they flinched at the click of his knuckles.

“Let’s start over.”

--------

Their first cup of tea settled their nerves enough that they thanked him politely for his hospitality, though Hueso noted tiredly their gratitude came with shell-shocked expressions, and he wondered how much of this they would retain later.  The woman asked him if April had friends here—while her husband tried for the fourth time to call his daughter—and Hueso gave a faint shrug.  He may have only a slight regret about accidentally throwing April under the bus, but Frankie’s daughter and the turtle boys were another story.  Now that he knew how little they knew, it was time to keep his distance:  he left them to continue their phone calls and vanished into the kitchen.

He was just putting a pizza into the oven when his kitchen door slammed open, and Hueso ground his teeth at the sight of Mrs O’Neil bursting into his kitchen looking upset all over again. 

“Senora—“

“You don’t have a front door,” she said shrilly.  “Why don’t you have a front door?”

Ah.  They’d tried to leave.  He could understand this particular panic, and he straightened.  “Senora, this is a non-human establishment.  As such, there is no door that any casual tourist can just walk through.  Imagine the upset.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Imagine if they all had knives.”

“They wouldn’t be carrying knives!”

“That is… reassuring?”

Her mouth opened and closed, and then she ran a hand down her face, face suddenly so tired.  “Guns.  They’d be carrying guns.”

“Less reassuring.  Also an odd tangent.” He blinked.  “This may be a strange question given the circumstances, but are you—“

“I’m fine,” she muttered.  “I was trying to protest and then I realised you had a point.”

“Gracias.”

“No, but—sorry for bursting into your kitchen—“

“And again.”

“—but we really need to leave.”  Her hands twisted into her shirt.  “April isn’t answering her phone and we’ve tried, we’ve tried a lot, we’ve left messages, and we left her there and there are zombies, can you please let us out?  There’s another way to leave, right?”

There was, of course.   There were three ways out, and he wasn’t particularly inclined to show her any of them for a variety of reasons.  First and foremost was the safety and privacy of his family and his livelihood.  The O’Neils seemed like decent people, but they were still human and he’d only just met them.  Giving them the mystical keys to get in and out of his restaurant—or allowing them to see where it was in New York—was not something he was willing to commit to just yet. 

Another reason, of course, was plain common sense.

“Senora, the little furry yokai brought you here for a reason,” he said gently.  “Did April ask him to bring you?”

“Yes,” she said heavily.  “But—“

“Then you didn’t leave her there.  She made you go.  And most likely for the reason that she can hold her own far better when she does not have to worry about you as well.”  He’d never seen April fight, but he knew the company she kept.  It stood to reason.  “Though I am curious as to why she sent you to my restaurant.”

“She told Mayhem to take us somewhere safe.” 

“Ah.”  Then this was a choice of Mayhem’s.  The next time the little yokai came in, they were going to have words.  Or at least… pointed stares.  “You seem to be quite familiar with Mayhem, at least.”

“We knew he wasn’t, uh, quite a cat or a dog.  And there are mutants out there,” she said awkwardly.  “I figured he was a mutant animal of some kind, but… yokai, huh?”

He relaxed a little, leaning back against the counter.  “You do not have a problem with mutants?”

“Well, I don’t know any, except for—well, no.” She folded her arms.  “If Mayhem’s a yokai, then I’ve never met one.  But they’re just people, right?”

A good attitude to have.  He raised an eyebrow.  “As are yokai.  But you drew a knife on my kitchen hand.”

She had the grace to look sheepish—for all of half a second before she straightened against the door, ticking off points on her fingers, voice incredibly polite.  “First, I already had the knife out because I was under attack by zombies.  Second, I’ve never teleported in my life, and switching out a zombie for a sudden furry rabbit guy didn’t do wonders for my anxiety.  I didn’t stab him.  I would have stabbed a zombie.”

“I am glad you are such a discerning knife wielder,” he said dryly, and was rewarded with the small upward tick of her mouth.  Ah.  He was beginning to like her.

“I’m sorry I frightened him, though.”

“I will pass on your apology.” He tapped his finger on the edge of the oven.  “Senora, I know you wish to leave, and I do not wish to spite you.  But I feel it is best that you stay here for the moment.  Your daughter…” He hesitated, but he’d already thrown April under the bus once, and he doubted very much her parents would still remain ignorant after this evening regardless.  “I imagine she already has much experience in dealing with such issues.  One assumes she knows where you are and will come to collect you.”

She was quiet a long moment, dark eyes sizing him up, and the faint smile faded.  “And if I insist?”

“Then I would think you are remarkably foolish.”

“But would you keep us here?”

He sighed, throwing a hand in the air with some impatience.  “I am not a jailer.  I will find some way of returning you home.”  He just—didn’t really want to.  But Hueso wasn’t about to take a pair of humans prisoner, either.  “Consider this also, however:  by the time you return home, it will be too late regardless.  Your apartment is some distance from here.”

She blinked.  “You know where we live?”

“Your daughter orders from us,” he reminded her.

“…are your delivery boys also yokai?”

“Girls, actually.  And yes.”  Cloaked for the outside world, but nevertheless.

“…huh.”

It was a thoughtful huh, and she sagged against the wall, running a hand through her hair.  It made the curls stand up at awkward, frizzed angles, and he suspected his heated kitchen was doing her no favours.  “What do you suggest?”

He gestured toward the oven.  “Sit and recover yourselves.  Have a meal.  It’s likely either Mayhem or your daughter will come looking for you.  Honour April’s attempt to keep you safe and stay safe.  If she still cannot be reached—“

Mrs O’Neil straightened suddenly, cutting him off.  “Do you know who Donnie is?”

That…was unexpected. 

He stared at her, mouth open for a moment, before he clicked his jaw shut.  “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

“Before we left,” she said steadily.  “She was yelling at him over her—uh, watch.  I think she was asking for help.  We can’t reach her on the phone, so—“

Ah.  This he could work with, and he wished it had come up sooner.  But he could hardly blame them for the stresses of the evening.  Perhaps he could help more directly after all.

“Donnie is a customer of mine,” he said.  “Go back to your seat, Senora.  I do not have his number, but I do have his brother’s.  I will try and reach him for you.”

---------

Leonardo was not picking up his phone. 

This was somewhat surprising, as Hueso had a long history of having to grit his teeth when calling the boy, because his reaction was always, always over-enthusiastic and immediate and what’s up, Bone Man? and I knew I was your favourite and sometimes he wished that he had Raphael’s number instead, but Leo had insisted they were ‘mejor amigos’ (and Hueso regretted answering his questions on various Spanish words) and he was the one who forced his phone into Hueso’s face first. 

He left a message.  It was simple.  The situation was too complex for more.

Pepino.  Call me.  Immediately.

Surprising, but when he thought about it, if the boys were at April’s apartment dealing with an apparent zombie situation (zombies?  Really?  Not that he doubted the O’Neils, but zombies?) they were perhaps too busy for phone calls.  He fetched the pizza from the oven and carved it up into slices.  Only Mrs O’Neil was at the booth, looking even more frazzled and now exhausted, but she looked up as he slid the pizza onto the table on its wooden platter.

Then she peered at the pizza with the sudden interest of a woman who has just remembered she is starving, and she reached forward for a slice immediately.  “Wait, is this—“

“Spicy chicken.  Extra sauce.”

“How did you know?”

“We have had this conversation three times now,” he said with amusement, and she huffed a small laugh.  “Again—“

“My daughter orders from you, yeah, I got it.”

“And I know what her favourite is when she eats here.  I had to assume this one was either your favourite or your husband’s.”  He paused.  “Where is he, by the way?”

“Oh… he went to find your restroom.”  She took a bite and leaned back, pointing across the room, speaking with her mouth full.  “An’ got distracted on t’way back.”

That could be alarming.  His restroom was perfectly average, but the hallway down to it was lined with multiple artworks and posters and news articles that were largely from the Hidden City.  Including a picture of April with Sunita and Frankie, which he hoped very much that the man did not see.  He was fresh out of explanations he desired to give.

Fortunately, it seemed Mr O’Neil had been distracted by something much more mundane, if more important to Hueso than the contents of the hallway combined.  He was stooped by the model ship on its stand, eyeing it with obvious delight, and Hueso decided that perhaps both of April’s parents were not, in fact, bad people.

“I have left a message,” he told Mrs O’Neil.  “Donnie is… very much a foolish teenager, but he and his brothers are more than adequate to help your daughter deal with any trouble.  It won’t be long.”  (He wasn’t used to calling the boy Donnie, but it was wise not to give her even more information.  Hueso was a restaurant owner big on confidentiality and wished to stay in his lane.  April could deal with that tangle.)

She swallowed before answering this time.  “Thank you.  Uh…”

And she glanced back at the signs on the counter as if looking for inspiration, and that’s when he realised he hadn’t introduced himself. 

“You can call me Senor Hueso.”

She mouthed something for a brief moment—he suspected it was bone from the confused look on her face—and then she smiled tiredly. 

“Carol O’Neil.  My husband’s name is August.”

“A pleasure.”

Well.  That was stretching it.  But they could certainly be worse company.

---------

Leonardo still wasn’t answering his phone.

---------

“You speak Spanish?”

“Si, Senor.  August too, but not as fluently.”

“He is still looking at my ship.”

“He loves boats.  Or ships.  Whichever.  He has a collection at home.”

“Ah.  Is he a sailor?”

“Not since he was a teenager.  You?”

“For a while.  Then I decided to turn my gaze towards more…. legitimate business.”

“Oh.  What, were you a, uh.  Smuggler?”

“Not quite.”

“…you weren’t a, um…”

“Pirate?  Yes.”

“Oh!   I was thinking something more… skeletal.”

“…Senora.  I assure you that I am not now, nor have I ever been… Santa Muerte.  A ‘Grim Reaper’.”

“I guess that was a stupid question.”

“A little, yes.”

“…”

“…”

“…wait.  Piracy?”

“Of course.  I obtain media illegally all the time.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.  Really?”

“No.”

---------

It had been hours.  Now he was worried. 

He would deny it for the rest of his bony life, of course. 

---------

The O’Neils had passed from shock to exhausted complacency back to a growing urgency the more time passed, and Hueso found himself wishing Leonardo did not know portal magic, because then he would perhaps have an address for delivery that he could pay a visit to.  April was not answering her phone. Leonardo was not answering his.  Mayhem had failed to reappear.  Something had clearly gone amiss and, aside from the humans growing more agitated in his dining room, Hueso’s mind was filling with terrible images of dead teenagers.  Or zombie teenagers, or—

They were good customers.  They paid well.  That was his only concern.

(He was lying to himself.)

The chamomile tea had been swapped out for spirits; just enough to settle nerves, because he wasn’t about to have two agitated and drunk humans on his premises.  As it was, they were both back at the table, Carol tapping an uneven rhythm on the table with her fingers and beginning to stare off into the middle distance, and August kept glancing between Hueso and the walls of his establishment.  Perhaps he was wondering whether there was a secret door he could find if he looked hard enough.  Unless he suddenly developed mystic vision, unlikely.

Their growing fear was perfectly understandable.  He felt a little like he was harmonizing with them.  Hueso leaned against his counter, tapping at his phone, and sighed.

“Ten minutes,” he said quietly.  “I will call again.  If I hear nothing…”

…if he heard nothing, he did not know what to do.  Did he just blindfold them until he could turn them out onto the street, let them go scurrying back home to a potentially tragic scene?  He pondered visiting the apartment himself, but there was precious little point to it; not this late in the game.  He’d left his swashbuckling days well behind him in any case.

“Ten minutes and we leave,” Carol said flatly, knuckles whitening as she curled her hands on the table.  “One way or another.”

Hueso gritted his teeth for a moment, fighting back a withering response.  She was within her rights, and he had already said he would not be a jailer.  There was very little else he could do about the situation, and it frustrated him.

Leonardo needed to call back right now and make a terrible joke at him, so he could yell at him for his terrible sense of humour and his terrible Spanish and for worrying April’s parents, and then he could wash his hands of the whole thing and go home to sleep in relief.  (He thought perhaps that if they called back now he might even make them pizza on the house.)

“Ten minutes,” he said, voice quiet.  “And then I will escort you off the premises and wish you the best.  But give me ten minutes.”

Carol sagged against the table and gave him a watery smile.

---------

Ten minutes later the youngest turtle answered the phone, sounding breathless and cautious, and Senor Hueso thanked every god who might be listening, leaned against the counter, and tried not to panic that it was the wrong turtle. 

“Michelangelo.  Where is Pepino?”  He saw the O’Neils straighten out of the corner of his eye, turning toward him with hopeful faces. 

“Yeah, sorry, Senor Hueso!  He’s not allowed to have his phone right now, kind of doctor’s orders.”

“He is concussed?”  His alarm rose.  “Did the zombies hurt him?”

“Zom--?  Oh!  No!  No, he wasn’t there for that, this was, uh, earlier.”  Mikey was quiet for a moment, then spoke even more brightly, but Hueso could hear the strain underlying it.  “He’s okay, promise!   Just gotta rest up, that’s all.  Do you want me to take a message for you?”

Earlier probably meant during the invasion itself, and many people were hurt in the upper city—he wondered now if he should have perhaps reached out to Leonardo and his family to offer them sanctuary on the other side of the lockdown.  There was nothing he could do about it now, so he moved on, trying to keep his voice level.  “No.  If he is hurt, leave him be.  Please tell me you know where April O’Neil is.”

“…yeees?”  He sounded confused.  “Why would you—OMIGOSH.”  Hueso jerked the phone away from his ear.  “And you know about the zombies.  Are the O’Neils with you?”

“They are here, yes,” he snapped.  “And they are very stressed and eating me out of house and home.”

He heard August protest softly from across the room.  “Hey, now—“

“Oh, don’t be like that, you big softy.”  The strain was gone from Mikey’s voice.  Now he just sounded utterly relieved.  “No way you didn’t just feed them yourself out of the goodness of your bones.  But that’s great!  We didn’t know where Mayhem had taken them, April’s been really worried.”

“She is safe?”

“Safe and sound.”

He glanced over to the O’Neils and gave them a slight nod, and then turned away again as Carol gave a small, aborted sob.  “Then if you please, Michelangelo, put her on the line?  I will hand the phone over to Mr O’Neil.”

“You got it, BM.”

August was already standing, a hand on his wife’s shoulder.  Hueso handed him the phone.

Then he vanished back into his kitchen, shutting the door behind him and eyeing the oven and what ingredients he had.  Pizza; nothing fancy given they were closed, but if he wasn’t mistaken, he was about to have more guests.  And baking them would give him something to do far, far away from the two humans currently having a breakdown in his front room.

Soon, they would all be gone and he could go home and things would return back to some version of normal. 

(The only thing he was relieved about, of course.)

---------

April arrived via ostentatious pink portal, bruised and scuffed and accompanied by the Hidden City’s Most Wanted and promptly threw herself into her parents’ arms, both of whom seemed far too overjoyed to see her to remark on the way she arrived and the company she was keeping.

Hueso stared at Draxum. 

Draxum stared back, arms folded. 

Hueso dumped a stack of pizza boxes on the counter and sidled off to his hallway while the joyous reunion was happening (“Baby, your face!”), and carefully yanked a Wanted poster off the wall, crumpling it in one hand. 

There was quiet for a moment.  And then he heard Carol, voice heavy with disbelief. 

“Barry?”

“Hello, Carol.”  Draxum was extremely casual, examining his knuckles.

“But you—but he--you used a—you’re our neighbour!”

Dios mio.  Hueso would pretend he never heard that.  Instead, he strolled back up, rumpled paper carefully shoved into a pocket.  “Carol, please do not tell me you somehow thought he was human.”

“I could pass for human,” Draxum grumbled.

“Ah, yes, because human legs all bend the wrong way like that.”

“Yeah, okay, enough,” April interrupted, voice small, still latched onto her father as Carol examined her bandaged nose.  “Mom, uh, I’m guessing we really need to talk, so—“

“You do, and I would like to sleep,” Hueso said, shoving his stack of carefully prepared pizzas into Draxum’s empty arms.  To his credit, the caprid yokai merely took them with a long-suffering look and then promptly used them to hide his face.  “And I am so done with revelations tonight.  Please have any further life-changing conversations somewhere that is not my restaurant.  We are, after all, closed.”

April grinned tiredly at him.  “Sorry.  But thanks, Senor Hueso.  I appreciate it, I know it was…a lot.”

Ah.  Well.  He softened, just a little.  “You are welcome. Just do not make a habit of either visiting after hours or zombie attacks.”

“Thaaat, I think we can do.”

“So you say,” Draxum muttered dryly, and then glared as April kicked him in the shin.

“None of that, Barry.  C’mon, Portal Express.  Can you take us to, uh, Central Park?”

“If I must.”

“Wait,” August interrupted, eyeing the portal that was still open with no small amount of nerves.  “Do we have to go through that?”

Whatever the answer was, Hueso didn’t care to hear it.  He swept into the kitchen and snapped the door shut behind him decisively, wiping down the counters.  He didn’t care if Draxum bodily dragged them through the portal at this point; he just wanted to return to the quiet evening he had been looking forward to before all this.

That being said, he would admit to himself he was glad that everyone had turned out to be okay.  Well.  Minus Leonardo, who was apparently hurt badly enough that he wasn’t allowed to have his phone this many days after the invasion.  But Michelangelo said he would be fine—

He paused in his cleaning to dash a quick text off to the boy, and then finished closing down his kitchen in peace.

---------

BoneMan: Pepino.  When you are entirely done lazing around, please call.  You still owe me a shift for the restaurant damage, you can’t get out of it that easily.

He might care a little.

---------

(He returned to the dining room later to wipe down the table and found a folded serviette with words scrawled on it in what looked like lipstick, and he flipped it over to read.

Thank you for everything.  We’ll tell no one.

- Carol

Well.

They seemed like decent people.  Perhaps he would see them again.)

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found- Chapter 21

Fandom: Extraction

Warnings: angst, some profanity, dialogue centric

*Includes Extraction 1 and 2 canon mentions

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @munstysmind @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @asirensrage @thebejeweledwatercat @residentdormouse @kmc1989 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ninjasawakenedmystar @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @theesirenteller

My tag list is OPEN. Please let me know if you want to be added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/128385061

****

She lingers on the threshold between the master bedroom and living area, quietly watching him as he works, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as he inspects the contents of the open supply case in front of him. Mere minutes past six in the morning and he’s already been up for more than an hour; she had felt the shifting and dipping of the mattress underneath her as he slipped from the warm confines of their bed, followed by the brief, soft kiss that had been pressed to her forehead.

Sleep is a rare commodity as both brain and body make the seemingly smooth and effortless transition to ‘work Tyler’; the one that’s used to the stress and the long, sleepless nights and is intensely focused and disciplined. Knowing his habits, he likely put in a rigorous and near-punishing workout: extremely heavy lifting, a sweat-drenched run on the treadmill, and a mind-boosting and energy-centering yoga routine to finish it off.

“I hope you realize…” She leans against the doorframe, taking in the still damp hair, well-worn and faded jeans, scuffed combat boots, and simple cotton long-sleeved black tee. “...I’m going to steal that shirt.”

He briefly glances over his shoulder, his smile a striking and almost unnerving contrast to the darkness in his eyes. And he can’t help but admire her, his future wife with her hair thrown into a messy bun and her tiny body clad in nothing but one of the plaid button-downs he’d brought to New York City. It’s enormous on her, the fabric falling well below her knees, the sleeves rolled up several times in order to see her hands.

“Why do I get the sneaky suspicion that most of my side of the closet will migrate to yours?”

“Because it’s not your first rodeo. How many hoodies and t-shirts did you lose to me that year in The Kimberley?”

“Way too many to count, that’s for sure.”

“I was thinking…” She wanders into the living area, briefly stopping to pour herself tea from a freshly brewed carafe before joining him. “... about how we should do it sooner. Rather than later.”

A smirk plays on the corners of his mouth. “Are we talking about butt stuff or…?”

Esme scowls. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You mean right now or in general?”

“We did THAT twelve hours ago. I know you have short-term memory issues, but Jesus…”

“So we’re NOT talking about that. We’re talking about…”

“Marriage.” She focuses on those enormous, strong hands in order to quell her nervousness; their calloused skin, their various scars, and their misshapen knuckles. She knows the various kinds of torture they can inflict, both in the name of violence and vengeance and in creating the most intense and overwhelming sexual pleasure she’s ever experienced in her life. “Me and you. Us. Tying the knot.”

“I thought you wanted to wait. A couple years at least. Put it off until we all got adjusted to living together again and being a family and all that.”

“I guess I just got thinking about it and how it wouldn’t really matter, would it? If we got adjusted and used to things AFTER we got married? I mean, if we’re living together and we’re a team when it comes to raising Millie, it’s as good as already being married. so…”

“And just when were you thinking about all this? We only decided to tie the knot yesterday.”

“Well, I had a bit of time on my hands…”

“Does this have anything to do with the talk we had last night? You being a little paranoid that me taking the time to work on my shit somehow means I don’t want to also work on us?”

“Maybe…”

“I already told you; one has nothing to do with the other. I can do BOTH. It’s not ‘either or’.”

“It just might be a lot, you know? Trying to handle both. Dealing with what happened five years ago and between then and now and trying to play house with me and raise Millie and…”

“And getting married and being a newlywed would somehow be easier? Not put so much on my plate?”

“Maybe not easier, but….” She chews on the inside of her cheek as he stares at her pointedly, then heaves a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, so maybe I’m just a little bit neurotic and…”

“Just a ‘little bit’?’

“A LOT neurotic. At times. And I guess I’m just worried that if we don’t really lock things down BEFORE dealing with everything else, it’ll somehow make it easier for you to walk away and leave us and…”

“I’m not going to walk away. There’s nothing that you could possibly do or say that would make that happen. I’m all in. I told you that. You trust me, yeah?”

“It’s not about not trusting you. I have ALWAYS trusted you. It’s more about things being too heavy and complicated for you to handle and needing a way out.”

“I’m not that guy anymore.”

“It’s going to be hard, Tyler. Unpacking all our baggage and coming to terms with what happened. With what I did. It’s not going to be simple; accepting it all and moving on from it. And I wouldn’t blame you if it was too much and you left and…”

“Where the hell am I going to? It’s my house.”

“You know what I mean. It’s a lot easier to throw in the towel when there’s nothing really holding you down. And I know it’s just a ring and a piece of paper, but it’s like a guarantee. An insurance policy, even. It makes it harder to give up when it’s much more serious and permanent.”

“I think you’re reading into this too much. What we talked about last night.”

“I just worry that you won’t want to work as hard without that tie to me. At getting past things. At forgiving me.”

“I HAVE forgiven you.”

“Have you? Have you really?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I would have left the same day I got here, as soon as I found out you were the one who hired me. You think I would have stuck around if I hated you?”

“Well, at first, you could have stuck around out of some sense of obligation. Millie being yours and all…”

“I’m not sure ‘obligation’ is the right word, but yeah, her existence does play a huge part in why I hung around. Obviously. But it’s not the only thing that kept me here.”

“You stayed because…”

“Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. I spent five years hoping you’d just come wandering back into my life. That you’d show up out of nowhere, just like when we first met. I stayed here in New York for you. Simple as that. I stayed for YOU.”

Both lower lip and chin tremble as tears brim in her eyes. “It is way too early in the morning for this. Tyler Rake. Making me cry like this.”

“I’m not trying to make you cry. I’m trying to make you realize that I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need an ‘insurance policy’ or a ‘guarantee’ or whatever you want to call it to keep me around. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I have a hard time understanding it, I guess. The fact you ARE here. That you choose to be here. That it’s not just because you were hired to do a job.”

“It stopped being a job the second I saw you. Do you really think I see it that way? That this is just another gig? This is far beyond being just a payday. The minute I saw you and then met Millie…”

“I just feel like you’ve been too…I don’t know...accomodating, maybe? Too forgiving?”

“What do you want me to be like?”

Esme shrugs. “I guess I was expecting something different. Something a little more…volatile.”

“I’d never be that way with you. Ever. Doesn’t matter how bad things get. It would never happen.”

“I expected more, I guess. More anger. More bitterness. Maybe even making me get down on my hands and knees and grovel at your feet.”

“Well, if you want to get down on your knees, I’ve got something else you can do other than grovel.”

“Regardless of what you think, a blowjob does not solve every problem.”

“Maybe not EVERY problem, but a hell of a lot of them. I bet we’d come close to achieving world peace if more people got on their knees and…”

“I appreciate the attempts at piggish humour to get me to loosen up a bit, but I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you. A totally random one, mind you. But still…”

“I don’t what it is you want from me,” he admits, and turns back to the supply case. Checking the selection of magazines and filling those running low on ammunition. “What more you need me to say. Or do. I’ve been pretty open about it; all the shit I’m still holding onto and the fact I still love you and never got over you. I haven’t held anything back.”

“Like I said, I was expecting more. Something different. You’ve just been so…calm.”

“I’ve had my moments. Especially during our talk the first night here. Things got a little heated from what I remember.”’

“That was still calm. For you, anyway.”

“What is it you want to hear? What exactly do you want from me? Do you want me to completely freak out? Totally lose my shit on you? Bust up my hotel room? Put holes in the walls? Is that the kind of reaction you want?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m glad you never got like that. But I’m also a little weirded out, I suppose. That you didn’t go off the rails more than you did. I thought seeing Millie and realizing she was yours…”

“Seeing Millie and realizing she IS mine is what stopped me from going totally off the rails. Made me realize you had other reasons; for staying under the radar. I’m not exactly well-liked. Not in this circle, anyway. I’ve pissed off a lot of people. Burnt a lot of bridges. There’s quite a long list of people who wouldn’t mind getting revenge. I just figured maybe that’s why you kept her a secret. That maybe you were worried if word got out that I had a kid, they’d make her a target.”

“I never once thought about any of that. You weren’t the issue, Tyler. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was never about you. I mean, it WAS. But not like that.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. If you’d thought that. It’s pretty reasonable; not wanting trouble to show up on your doorstep. You wanted to protect your daughter.”

“OUR daughter,” she gently corrects. “She’s OUR daughter. And I never felt like I had to protect her from you. Or because of you. It was all me. I didn’t want you to turn us away. That’s what I was afraid of. That you wouldn’t want her because of me.”

“I would have wanted her. And I would have wanted you, too. I’ve only wanted you for the last five years.”

“I didn’t know that. No one ever talked about it. Your personal life. Nik never mentioned how you were doing outside of your firefighting and your reno business and doing the odd job here and there for her. And to be honest, I was scared to ask. I didn’t want to hear that you found someone else. That you’d moved on. And I know that sounds selfish as fuck, but…”

“Want to hear selfish as fuck?” Filling the last clip, he snaps it into its holding spot and then turns to face her. Arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the edge of the table. “I used to hope that you were dead. Not because I was angry at you and felt you deserved it. Because I would have rathered you permanently gone than with someone else.”

She blinks, taken back by his honesty.

“I could handle you being dead, but not with another guy. Now who’s the selfish one? What kind of person even thinks like that? How messed up does someone have to be to come up with something so fucking twisted?”

“You’re a human being. You were hurt. And when we’re hurt, we don’t exactly think properly. We don’t…”

“It wasn’t because I was hurt. Or angry. It was because I didn’t want you with anyone else. Because all I could think was how if I couldn’t have you, I didn’t want anyone else to either.”

“I felt the same way. Every time I thought of you with someone. It fucking killed me inside. To even go down that road. I didn’t want you with anyone else. Which is pretty messed up considering I’m the one who left you.”

“We both have our issues. We always have. It’s never been one hundred percent healthy. I mean, look how we met. WHERE we met.”

.“Doesn’t mean it’s wrong, though. Us. I’ve never felt it was wrong. Have you?”

“I’ve never regretted a single thing. I’d take that bullet to the neck a million times over if it meant I got to be with you.”

“Don’t say that, Tyler. Don’t even think it. Because I don’t deserve it. That kind of devotion. I don’t…”

“I think the problem is that you WANT me to be angry. Or angrier than I am. You WANT me to totally lose my shit on you. You want me to yell and scream and tear things apart and make you feel like complete and utter shit.”

“It’s not that I want it. It’s just that…”

“You think you deserve it.”

She nods.

“You don’t. You don’t deserve that. Especially knowing the truth. About WHY you left. Yeah, there were a thousand different ways you could have handled it. You could have stayed; we could have found a way to get you out of that mess. We could have gone so far underground that they never would have found us. While Nik dealt with things. But like you said, when you’re scared, you don’t exactly think right.”

“I hurt you. Taking off like I did. Not even giving you a proper explanation. And then keeping Millie from me…”

“You’re not a bad person, Esme. You’re a good person who made a bad decision. A couple of them, actually.”

“And I deserve more. From you.”

“You’re angry because I’m NOT? Because I’m not living up to your standards of how angry I should be? Why do I need to treat you like that? Make you feel like crap? Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t even bother. Because you’re already doing a damn good job. When it comes to shit-talking yourself.”

“But I deserve that. I deserve to feel that way. To have YOU make me feel that way.”

“I don’t hate you. I could NEVER hate you. I love you too fucking much. And besides, no one could ever hate you the way you hate yourself. For what you did.”

“I can’t make peace with it. Especially when it comes to keeping Millie from you. I can’t…”

“I need you to. I need you to stop with it; all that hate and that guilt and that regret you’re carrying around. Because THAT’S what’s going to kill us. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life hating yourself and beating yourself up over it, it’s going to fuck US up. And I don’t want that. That’s the last thing I want.”

“You know….” She swipes at her escaping tears with the back of her hand. “...there’s something slightly disturbing around this changing of the guard stuff.”

Tyler arches a quizzical brow.

“When YOU’RE the one being the most rational and logical? Well, it’s kind of unnerving.”

He grins. “Smart ass.”

“I don’t know HOW to get rid of it. I’ve carried it for so long that it’s become a part of me. Where do I even start? When it comes to letting it go?”

“Well, the first thing is to believe me when I tell you that I love you. That I always have. That I don’t hate you, and I definitely wouldn’t have turned you away. I spent five years wondering where you were. What you were doing. If you were even alive. I never forgot about you. Or got over you. I probably never would have. And I don’t know why that’s so hard for you to accept.”

“I guess I don’t feel I deserve that. Someone loving me that much.”

“Why? Why do you feel like I don’t deserve it?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just…do.”

“It isn’t just about what happened five years ago, is it.” It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s not the only thing going on here. It’s not just you hating yourself because of what you did.”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“You expect me to be like Mark. You expect me to react the same way he would.”

“You’re nothing like him. I would NEVER compare you to him. I would never…”

“But that’s what you’re used to, yeah? The way he treated you. You even grew up with a mom that didn’t give a fuck about you. Two people that you should have been able to trust and should have loved you no matter what turned out to be fucking assholes. So because I say ‘I love you’, I’m expected to turn out the same way.”

“I don’t expect that at all. I just think you being angry at me is and showing it is a normal reaction and…”

“But it’s not normal. Not the way you want me to show it, at least. You want me to freak out and destroy shit and make you feel like garbage. And maybe the Tyler five years ago would have acted that way; maybe he would have tried to burn everything to the fucking ground. But I’m not him anymore. And I’m definitely NOT Mark.”

“I know you’re not him. You’re not even close to being anywhere like him.”

“But you want me to be. And I’m sorry, but that’s fucked up. I mean, I get it; I understand why you are the way you are. But it’s still messed up.”

“You get used to it, I suppose. The way you’re treated. You believe everything someone tells you. About how terrible and repulsive you are and how you deserve the things they do to you. I’m not who I was; before he ever walked into my life. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am. That Esme? She’s long gone. He killed her.”

“No. He didn’t. Because the Esme I know? She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. Everything that you’ve been through, everything that you’ve done? You staying on that bridge and putting your ass on the line for some guy you barely knew? And then all that you did in the hospital? For MONTHS? That’s real bravery. You’re a far braver and stronger person than I am.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. Everything YOU’VE been through?”

“Who got me through the worst of it? Who was the one that stuck around and shoved their fingers in my neck to stop me from bleeding to death? And who fought like hell to get me the best care in the hospital? Who stuck during all that shit afterwards? All that therapy and me being a grumpy fucking asshole?”

“In all fairness….” She manages a shaky smile. “...you’re a grumpy fucking asshole regardless of what you’re going through.”

“You got used to it the first time. Think you can do it a second?”

“I think I can do it a million more times.”

“I’m never going to be like him, Esme. And maybe, in a way, it IS expected me. Considering what I do for a living and the things I’ve done to people. But that’s not who I am. Away from the job. That Tyler is someone completely different. And I think deep down, you know that.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be with you if you were that other Tyler all the time. It’s what attracted me to you; you were different than anyone else I’d ever met on the job. You had all this kindness in your eyes and in your voice. All this humanity still left inside of you. And that’s what I liked. What I fell in love with.”

“You are the strongest person I have ever known. And that’s saying something considering the life I’ve led. And I’m sorry; for every disgusting, horrible he said and did to you. And that you ever believed you deserved any of that. But I’ll never be like him. No matter how ugly and hard things might get. He didn’t love you. He didn’t even LIKE you. You realize that, yeah?”

She nods.

“I love you. In a way I never thought I could love someone. And maybe one day, you’ll believe me. I don’t care how long it takes, but I really hope it happens.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I KNOW you love me. I just don’t understand how you still can. After what I did.”

“Why do you love me? Look at the shit I’ve done. I’ve hurt people. I’ve KILLED people. Look what what I did to my ex. To my boy. Look at how much I hurt them. How can you love me knowing all that?”

“Because I know you’re a good man. With a huge heart. And I know how much damage it’s done to you; the choices that you’ve made. You have your regrets and your own guilt and…”

He stares at her pointedly.

“Oh…” A smile creeps across her face as the realization sets in. “Just like I have mine.”

“You love me. Even all the messy, fucked up pieces. Despite all the shit I’ve done, you still think I’m a decent person. Capable of doing good things. You don’t see me like some monster that’s beyond forgiveness. That’s got blood all over his hands.”

“Because you’re not that person. You’ve done those things, but they don’t define you.”

“And your mistakes and your issues and whatever you’ve got going on? They don’t define YOU. I don’t see you the way you see yourself. I could NEVER see you like that. And yeah, I’m hurt and I’m angry. I’ve got some bitterness. But the good things I feel? Towards you? They’re way stronger than any of that.”

She finally moves closer; standing between his legs and placing her hands on his hips and her forehead against his chest. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to hold onto all of this…stuff.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he repeatedly runs his hands over her arms and back. “We’ve got some shit to deal with. But we can do that as a team. Help each other. Stronger together than we are apart, remember?”

She smiles up at him. “I remember.”

Smoothing wayward strands of hair away from the side of her face, he places a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Neither of us is alone in this. Not anymore. We just gotta remember that. That we don’t have to go through it by ourselves.”

“It’s going to take some time. To get used to NOT doing it all alone.”

“We got used to it five years ago. We’ll get used to it again. And if you really do want to get married sooner and it’s for the right reasons? I’m good with it.”

Her hands slide up the bottom of his shirt; index fingers hooking in his belt loops, as she leans her body against his. “I want to marry you because I love you. I always have. I never stopped, you know. I never stopped wanting you or missing or wishing that things could have been married. I want to be your wife; I want us to raise Millie and have more babies and grow old and gray and spoil grandkids together. Are those the right reasons?”

“Those definitely are.”

“We lost five years, Tyler. And there’s no way of getting them back. I don’t want to wait. It’s not like I need or really even want anything big or fancy. That’s just who I am. I’m perfectly fine with just heading to the nearest courthouse and doing it in front of Millie and a couple of witnesses.”

“I don’t want you to regret it. Doing things that way.”

“I just want to marry you. I don’t care how that happens. Or where. But you have to want that, too. I don’t want you just going along with it just to make me happy.”

“If there were a way of making it happen, I’d marry you right now. If it was better timing and under better circumstances…”

“Maybe once we get to Australia? And spend a couple of days getting settled? Maybe then?”

“As soon as we get home, we can talk about it. Make plans. Sound good?”

“I like hearing you call it that. Home. Like I’m somehow already part of it.”

“You’ve always been part of it. We bought the place together. Had tons of plans for it. Things just didn’t happen when we thought they would. Doesn’t mean they won’t now.”

“You know, for such a huge man and such a badass, you really are a big sap.”

“That is a mean, horrible thing to say to your future husband.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a sap.”

“There’s something very wrong with it. I’m not supposed to be a sap. Haven’t you heard? I’m a bit of a legend now.”

“Oh, really? Is that a legend in your own mind or…?”

Initially frowning, he causes her to squeal when he aggressively slaps a palm against her ass, enjoying the sound of her giggle when he pinches both cheeks through the fabric of her pyjama pants. And when both hands settle at the small of her back, she once more leans against him, both arms circling his waist.

“It’s going to be okay,” he assures her. “Everything’s going to work itself out. As long as we put the work in. And as long as we stick together.”

“Lord knows we’ve been through worse.”

“That’s the understatement of the century. All I know is that I’m all in. No matter how rough it gets. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Who says I want to? I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me. For a really long time.”

“Yeah?” With a hand on the small of her back, he uses gentle fingertips to push hair away from the sides of her face and out of her eyes. “Well, I can think of worse ways to spend the second half of my life.” Placing a palm on the nape of her neck, he pulls her into him, fingers kneading at the tense muscles as she rests her head against him. “It really IS going to be alright.”

“I’m scared,” she admits. “About tomorrow.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m a little…unnerved…myself.”

“Okay, now that doesn’t fill me with the utmost confidence,” she teases. “When the mercenary is having second thoughts, that’s not a good sign.”

“No second thoughts. I’m not questioning whether or not I should have ever come here. I would have taken the job whether it was you involved or not. Just…”

“It’s just personal. Very personal.”

Tyler nods. “I’m having a hard time.; separating those two sides of me. The merc side and the one that’s just a normal guy, worried about his family.”

“Maybe it was better if I didn’t call you. If I’d just gone with someone else…”

“Don’t say that. Don’t EVER say that. You did the right thing. As much as a kick in the balls it was to see my secret kid walk into the room…”

“I don’t want to fight. If we start talking about it, we’re going to fight and I don’t…”

“All I’m saying is that despite everything dropped on me, you did the right thing. By having Nik reach out. If you hadn’t have and I found out about all this later, THEN I would have completely lost my shit. If you’d hired someone else…”

“You were the only person on the list. Nik tried; to convince me to go with someone else.”

“Of course she did. ‘Cause hiring me meant I’d found out about the bullshit she’s pulling for the last five years.”

“She only did what I asked. And she fought me about it. All the time. Please don’t hate her, okay? I’m the one who brought her into all of this. I’m the one who asked for her help five years ago. I’m the one who put her right in the middle of this. And you know what? She’d do the same for you. If you needed that kind of help. You know she would.”

“It’s hard. Accepting it. That she lied all that time. She knew how bad off I was off and she could have ended it. All she had to tell me was that you were okay. And that it wasn’t my fault. That’s all she had to do.”

“If you’re going to hate anyone, it should be me.”

“Don’t start that again.”

“ I’m the one dragged her into it. Who dragged ALL of these people into it. I’m the one that fucked up, Tyler. So please don’t take this out on Nik or Yaz or anyone else. Because they were just trying to help. And if I’d never put them into the middle of all this…”

“You didn’t have much of a choice. You had a hell of a scare put into you. Like I said, I understand that part. And I swear if you apologize to me one more time for ‘dragging me’ into things…”

“It’s just such a mess. Alessio’s family? They are horrible, evil people. They aren’t going to just stop, you know. If we get out of the city, they will do whatever they can to find us. And they will. Eventually.”

“And then I deal with it. They catch up to us, I handle it.”

“You’re one man. You’re not invincible. And I just got you back: Millie just finally got her dad in her life. So if anything happens to you…”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. That’s something you don’t need to worry about.”

“You should know better than to tell ME…of all people…not to worry.”

“Then just trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a rookie. If I say I can handle things and I have them under control, just take my word for it. Can you do that?”

“Depends. Can I still worry at the same time?”

“If you can manage both, I don’t see why not. I know how good you are at multitasking. I lived with you for a year.”

“And that was the best year of your life, buddy. Don’t deny it.”

“What’s there to deny? It’s the truth. It was a little…rough…at first. Getting used to you and your shit, but…”

“Me and my shit?” Esme laughs. “Who was the one who managed to get himself shot in the neck and nearly die and end up in hospital in Dubai? Do we really need to name names?”

“Technically, I was shot SIX times, but…”

“It was a little rough. Getting used to living with someone. Learning about their little quirks and what makes them tick and drives you absolutely insane about them. But I liked it. Being with you like that. We definitely had more good times than bad.”

“We were on a pretty good roll, weren’t we? When it came to things going good?”

“We were. And I’m sorry. That I screwed it up so badly. That was the last thing I wanted.”

“None of that matters now. Not when it comes to where we go from here. Might be a little hard getting used to you all over again…”

“You poor baby. My heart bleeds for you.”

“But…” Both hands find her ass, squeezing firmly as he pulls her tightly against him. “...I think I’ll manage.”

“I’m willing to put in the hard work if you are. We’ll just dig in our heels and take it one day at a time. Just ignore the rest of the world and concentrate on each other and Millie and what’s going on under our roof. Sound like a deal?”

Nodding, he covers her mouth with his in a long, soft kiss. “It’s a deal.”

******

They relax on the couch. Enjoying the last moments of silence before Millie and Abuela wake and Nik and the rest of the team begin arriving; anxious to arrange the final pieces of the puzzle. Tyler sits sideways, leaning back against the arm of the couch with one leg stretched out and the other dangling hanging over the edge. Esme content between his splayed thighs; resting back against him as she sips a tea and he keeps a lovingly yet protective hold on her. A forearm lying across her collarbone, and his free hand lightly placed on her stomach.

“She’ll be up soon,” Esme eyes the bedroom door over the rim of her mug. “And the havoc shall begin.”

“I mean, she’s been amazing with me. But I also haven’t been around her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for nearly five years, so…”

“Oh, just you wait. You haven’t had the full Millie experience yet. She’s been on her best behaviour; she adores you and she’s trying her best to butter you up and just reel you in. I think she’s worried you might be temporary; that you’ll leave as soon as the bad guys are dealt with. That scares her. She’s already really attached to you. She doesn’t want to lose you.”

“I guess I’ll have to prove to her that that’s not going to happen. Same way I’ll have to prove it to her mumma. Tell both of you as many times as I have to; that I’m not going anywhere and you’re both stuck with me.”

“What a horrible, miserable life to lead.” She teases, then tips her head back and smiles up at him.

“I have to admit, she CAN be a handful. I don’t where she finds the energy. I’m used to going days without sleep sometimes, but THAT girl? She can wear me out.”

“You know she gets that from you, right? The whole ‘not being able to sit still for longer than five minutes’ thing? And as far as being a handful, that’s definitely YOUR DNA.”

“You gotta be kidding me. She gets all the bad stuff from her mother.”

Giving a derisive snort, she playfully elbows him in the stomach. “You wish! She is all you! That is all Rake DNA inside of her. My genes didn’t stand a chance! Did I mention she can be extremely grumpy? Especially first thing in the morning? And that she’s insanely stubborn?”

“And you’re not stubborn? You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

“Other than yourself, you mean. You are way worse than I am!”

“I don’t even come close. You are by far a million light years ahead of me. In the stubbornness department.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles, and then giggles when he lightly pinches her side and presses a kiss to her temple. And for several minutes, they sit in companionable silence; his eyes closed and his nose pressed against the side of her head as her nails repeatedly brushing along his forearm.

“What’cha thinking about?” Esme inquires, momentarily leaving his embrace in order to lean sideways and place her empty mug on the coffee table.

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Christmas.”

She tilts her head back to look up at him, an eyebrow arched quizzically. “What?”

“I was thinking about Christmas. There were a couple of other things in there too, but it was mostly that. How we’re going to have to get a tree and decorations and stuff for outside and presents and…”

“Babe, it’s more than a month away. We haven’t even got to Thanksgiving yet.”

“Yeah, but that’s an easy holiday. Just eat a lot of food and pass out on the couch while watching footie. Now Christmas…”

“When did you get so interested in celebrating Christmas? You thought I was crazy for wanting go all out; when we lived in the little shack in The Kimberley.”

“Look where we lived. Who would want to celebrate Christmas in that place? And you got your holiday in the end; we got you a tree, I put lights up outside, you did up the inside…”

“And you bitched and moaned the entire time. But I do appreciate it; you putting in the effort to make ME happy.”

“I had my reasons. For not caring about Christmas. We talked about them. Extensively.”

“And what about now? Those reasons still exist.” ‘ “Yet, but much more important ones exist, too. I’ve got a family. I’ve got a soon-to-be wife and a little girl. And it’s her first Christmas. With me. With her dad. I just want it to be perfect. For her.”

Smiling, she presses a kiss to the side of his wrist. “You are so cute.”

Tyler scowls and then nips at her earlobe. “Shut up.”

“There is nothing with being called cute. Or sappy. Or adorable. You are all those things. But you’re also insanely hot and sexy and a total bad ass that can kill a man a hundred different ways with his bare hands.”

“It’s more like a hundred and fifty, but…”

“You are so many things rolled up into one. A total walking contradiction. People see how big you are and all the scars and the tattoos and that resting asshole you have going on ninety percent of the time and…”

“My WHAT?”

“Your resting asshole face. You don’t realize you’re doing it, but you have this very distinct ‘I’m going to rip your head off and shove it up your ass’ thing going on. And it happens to be extremely attractive and compelling, yet very terrifying and intimidating all at the same time.”

“You make absolutely zero sense.”

“People are scared of you. As soon as they look at you.”

“Millie wasn’t.”

“Millie isn’t scared of ANYONE.”

“You weren’t afraid of me. Were you?”

“I didn’t find anything to be afraid of. You had a nice smile. It’s soft. Gentle, even.”

“I never smiled at you.”

“You most certainly did. Maybe not that big, ‘crinkle the corner of eyes’ smile that you sometimes bust out, but it WAS a smile. When I was out on the porch with Lucy and I looked inside; you were watching me and when you realized I’d caught you, you gave this sweet, little smile.”

“You were imagining things.”

“I was not! I KNOW what I saw. It was a smile.”

“I do NOT have that kind of smile.”

“You do. And I saw it many times after that. In Dhaka, in the hospital when you were recovering, when we were living together…”

“You are so full of shit.”

“You can deny it all you want, but you do have a very distinct and very…likeable…side to you. It’s just that not everyone takes the time to notice it. What’s lying underneath all those scars and tattoos and all the rough edges. They don’t look past all of those things. Either that or you don’t LET them past them.”

“How did we go from talking about Christmas to talking about some weird smile you supposedly saw?”

“I knew you were different. As soon as I saw you. You weren’t like everyone else I’d ever come across on the job. And you especially weren’t like other mercenaries. You had a softness to you. A sadness, even. And humanity. A lot of humanity.”

“And you saw all of this standing in my kitchen in the outback?”

“I’m very observant.”

“You’re on drugs is what you are.”

“I know what I saw. I know what I experienced. Especially during those five days together. And you can deny it all you want, but you ARE different. Then the rest of them. And you let me see that. For some reason.”

“So, for argument's sake, say this stuff DOES exist. Say I do have this weird little smile, and I am different than anyone else and I let you see all of it. Guess it’s because I trusted you.”

“Which is odd, considering you don’t trust anyone. Or BARELY anyone, at least. And you certainly don’t trust them right off the bat.”

“Something must have told me I could. Maybe my instincts said you were good. And I’ve been living off those for years, and they haven’t led me wrong yet. Guess I listened to them.”

Smiling, she wriggles around on the couch until she’s facing him, perching herself on her knees before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. “Your instincts are very wise. And they have very good taste.”

“I swear to God if this is where you call me ‘cute’ for a second time in only half an hour…”

“Actually…” fingernails lightly and loving scrape at the nape of his neck). “...this is where I tell you ‘I love you’ and say ‘thank you for being you’.”

“And now who’s being a sap?”

“Spare me your mouthy bullshit and just kiss me, okay?”

“I’ll get mouthy with you. In all the ways you like best.”

“You’re a pig. Remind me why I put up with you? Why I tolerate your bullshit?”

“Because of the things I can do with my mouth. And my dick.”

“Well, at least you know your strengths and your main selling features,” she teases, yelping when he pinches the sensitive area just below her ribs. And when one of his hands clamps down on her ass and pulls her even tighter against him, her initial laugh quickly transforms into a long, drawn-out sigh; his mouth covering hers laughs in a long, deep kiss that causes her toes to curl and her entire body to shudder.

*****

Her eyes remain closed when he pulls away; smiling when she feels him peck the tip of her nose and then dropping her head into the warm, safe place between neck and shoulder. Content and relaxed in the familiarity of him; the smell that lingers on both skin and clothes, the wall of solid muscle that she lies upon, the warmth that radiates from his body. And the way his hand sneaks up the back of her shirt and his fingers find the small of her back; able to feel the callouses as he repeatedly strokes smooth, pale skin.

“What else were you thinking about? You said ‘stuff’. That’s plural.”

“I don’t know if you want to hear about those things.”

“They have to do with tomorrow, don’t they.”

Nodding, Tyler presses a kiss to her brow. “Yeah…”

“I guess it’s better to talk about it now; we certainly won’t have time once we get out on the street. Is it something to do with the plan? How you’re going to get me out of here?”

“No. I’m confident about that; I’m not second-guessing it at all. I know I can get you out of here. Safely. And to the airport. That’s not what’s eating at me.”

Rolling onto her stomach, she places her forearm across his chest and then rests her chin upon it. “What IS eating at you?”

“Do you think we made the right choice? When it comes to Millie? And sending her with Alcott?”

“You agreed that it was way too dangerous; extracting and transporting Millie and me together. You didn’t even feel comfortable doing it. And when someone with your experience and your skill set admits to not feeling good about something…”

“This isn’t the mercenary side of me talking. This is the regular guy side. The DAD side.”

“And what’s it saying?”

“That it needs to know we did the right thing. That we made the right choice. It’s not like I don’t like the guy; he’s damn good at his job, and we’ve had a pretty decent working relationship. There haven’t been any issues. But this is my kid we’re talking about. My little girl. That I didn’t even know existed until four days ago. And I need to know that we made the right choice. By picking him to look after her.”

“I wouldn’t have talked you into it if I didn’t think he was the best person for the job. I trust him, Tyler. With not just my own life, but Millie’s. And believe me, I don’t trust many people when it comes to her. I don’t hand her over to just anyone. I know how much he loves her, and I also know that he’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe.”

“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Just blindly trust someone like this. Especially with something so important. I just found out about her. I just became a dad again. And when I think about something happening to her…”

“She’ll be in great hands. Other than Nik and Yaz and maybe John, Alcott is the only one that I would one hundred percent trust with her. And seeing as the other three people will be busy doing their own thing and it’s a horrible idea to bring her with us…”

“I’ve already lost one kid. I don’t want to lose another one. Especially one I just found out about. I haven’t gotten a chance yet; to really get to know her. She doesn’t even know I’m her dad. What if…?”

“No. No. No,” she scolds, and places a palm over his mouth. “We are NOT playing that game. That is not a road we are going down. That leads to nowhere good. She’s going to be fine. She’s surrounded by people who love her and would do anything to protect her. These people are her family. They’re…”

His eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist. Displaying more aggression than necessary as he pulls her hand away from his face. “I’M her family.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that they’ve known her all her life. Since she was just a little thing, still in my belly. I…”

“At least they got the opportunity. I wasn’t given a choice; whether I wanted to be there or not.”

“And I’ve apologized for that. Many, many, MANY times. And I don’t care if I have to apologize times more. You said it yourself; no one hates me for more than I hate myself.”

“I don’t want you hating yourself. And I don’t want you to keep apologizing. I don’t want either of those things.”

“Then tell me what I can do. Tell me what you want me to say. What you need me to do. Because whatever it is…”

“I want Millie to know. About me. That I’m her dad.”

“And we talked about that. We came to an agreement. That once we were in Australia and things settled and we got her into a routine, we’d sit down with her and…”

“No. That’s not soon enough. I want her to know NOW.”

“Tyler, with everything else that’s going on and everything she’s already been through…”

“Why are you underestimating her? Why aren’t you giving her the benefit of the doubt? When it comes to what she can and can’t handle. You said it yourself; how resilient she is.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to dump more things on her. I know she’s strong and tenacious but…”

“Is that how you see it? That you’re ‘dumping’ me on her?”

“No! Of course not! You’re taking everything I say totally out of context. It’s just big news, you know? It’s life-changing; finding how your dad’s been right under your nose for almost a week. She’s been asking about you…about her dad…for almost two years now. At least twice a week. But considering what she’s been through in the last five days…”

“None of that is my fault. What happened between you and Alessio. You took that job; knowing that Millie would be in direct contact with those people. You knew exactly who they were and what they were capable of, and YOU brought her into that. People talk about how I’d be the bad influence; a mercenary having a kid and putting a target on her back. Yet it wasn’t me; getting her mixed up in this bullshit.”

Esme sighs heavily. “I deserve that. And it’s not like I haven’t accepted the blame. You’re right; I took the job and I put her in harm’s way. But…”

“I came here because I needed to fix someone else’s mess. And I stayed because it WAS you. I could have easily said ‘fuck you’ and left. And a lot of guys probably would have. But I stuck around. Because I didn’t want anything happening to you. Or her. I agreed to put my own ass on the line so the two of you could live to see another day. So I think the least you could is hear me out. When it comes to why I want this.”

“ You’re right; it IS the least I can do. I don’t mean to lessen what you’re going through or how you’re feeling. It’s not intentional. I’m sorry, Tyler. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to.”

“You see how Millie loves me, yeah? I mean, she tells everyone she comes across. That she does. And she goes on and on about the things we do together; about going for pancakes and letting her watch that goddamn, fucking Bluey on my phone and how I didn’t let the bad guys hurt. She even talks about how we have the same favourite ice cream. And how good I am at tucking her in. She calls it a ‘Millie burrito’.”

“She adores you. She loves being with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”

“I hate that she tells people I’m just her mother’s boyfriend. And says I’m just here to keep you and her safe and kick some’ asses. And I especially hate it when she calls me by my first name.”

“I know it does. I know it hurts. I can see it in your eyes; every time she calls you Tyler.”

“I have to hold back. With my own kid. I can’t treat her the way I want to. I can’t LOVE her the way I want to. And that’s not fair, Esme. Not when I had to miss four years of her life. Through no fault of my own. It’s not fucking fair, and you know it.”

“You’re right. It isn’t. It isn’t fair. At all.”

“Everything you know about me. Everything you know I went through. Especially when it comes to losing my son and the horrible fucking choice I made. You knew what that did to me. What it STILL does me. And not only did you keep Millie a secret from me, now you’re keeping me a secret from HER.”

“I’m not…”

“We talked about it. About having a family. About how much you wanted to be a mum. And I was more than honest with you about how scared I was. You knew it fucking terrified me; the thought of being a dad again and fucking it all up a second time. But I was willing to do it. I WANTED to do it. With you. And now I get that second chance and I can’t do anything with it. I have a kid I can’t even claim.”

“Why didn’t you say all that right at the beginning? When we first talked about it? Why didn’t you just come right about how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking? We could have come to a different decision. A compromise. Had I known all this…”

“This is no compromise. Not when it comes to her. Not when it comes to MY kid. We have to tell her. It’s as simple as that.”

“For her benefit or yours? Because if you’re thinking solely of yourself, I’m sorry. I can’t agree. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. But Millie comes first. She HAS to. She’s four years old, Tyler. She’s a baby still. And yeah, she’s strong and she’s resilient, but she’s still a little girl. A VERY little girl. And if you just want this because of how you’re feeling…”

“This isn’t just about me. When do I ever think of just myself? Be honest. When have I EVER been like that?”

“Never. You’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever known. Selfless to a fault, even.”

“I know she’s been through a lot this past week. I’m not denying it. And it’s a hell of a thing she went through this morning. But do you see how she handled that? How quickly she bounced back? By the time she went to bed last night, it was almost like nothing ever happened. She was back to herself. She was bouncing around and telling jokes and fighting me on going to sleep. I mean, I had to read five stories for fuck sake. Before she’d even close her eyes.”

She manages a smile. “I told you she’s stubborn. She’s her father’s daughter.”

“But she’s also YOUR daughter. And all that strength? That bravery? That comes from her mother. You’re not giving her enough credit, Esme. I know she’s only four. But she’s resilient, and she’s smart, and she can handle way more than you think she can.”

“I just don’t want it being too much, you know? Emotionally. I don’t want it to be more than she can handle after everything else. And if I’m being totally honest? Selfishly speaking? It kind of scares of me. How she’s going to react.”

“You’re worried she’s going to be angry. At you.”

She struggles to hold back her tears. “I’m worried she’s going to hate me. For not telling her sooner. For not taking her to meet you before all of this.”

“Hey…” Tyler cradles her face in his palms. “...she’d never hate you. You’re her mum. Look how much she loves you. How much you love HER. You’ve always given her that; she’s always known how much you love her and how you would do anything for her. She’s happy, and she’s healthy, and she’s so fucking smart. She loves the world and everyone and everything in that. That’s because of YOU. How you’ve brought her up. How could she EVER hate you?”

“I lied to her. About you. She’s going to wonder why. She’s going to ask questions. A lot of them. I know her.”

“She’s got questions, and we’ve got answers. We don’t need to hide anything. There’s nothing for either of us to be ashamed of. There’s no deep, dark, dirty secret. The truth isn’t THAT ugly, Me. It isn’t. And I am one hundred percent sure she’ll understand; why you did what you did. And if she hears it from BOTH of us…”

“This is just such a mess. Had I not waited this long to tell her….”

“A little late now, don’t you think? It’s done. I’m here. And we are in one hell of a fucking mess.”

“I’m assuming you mean the job and not THIS.”

He nods.

“So what do we do? What’s the plan? When do you WANT to tell her?”

“As much as I want to tell her as soon as she gets up, I think we need to hold off. Until we get home. And then we do it ASAP. We don’t hold off. No waiting for things to settle or a routine to be put in place. We just do it. Everything else can come later.”

“And we’ll do it together?”

“Took us both to make the baby, yeah?”

“Well, I DID to all the hard work,” she chides. “You merely got your ten minutes of fun.”

“Excuse you? Ten minutes? I’ve been going more than ten minutes since I was sixteen years old. WAY more.”

“What do you want? A cookie? A cake? One that says ‘congratulations, you came inside of me’?”

He smirks. “You really ARE a smart ass.”

“You love my ass.”

“I do. Sometimes a little too much.”

She rests her forehead against his. “I am so sorry, Tyler.”

“For what? Having a great ass? For making me a simp for it?”

“I can’t believe you even know that word.”

“Your slang does eventually get to Australia, you know.”

“I meant I’m sorry for all of this. I’m sorry for leaving, and I’m sorry for not telling you about Millie. I’m sorry for not getting a hold of you a lot sooner; for not having the courage to just bring her to you. You deserved to know. That you were a dad again. You deserved to be there. Through everything. Especially when she was born. And I’m sorry I took all of that from you.”

“I don’t need to keep hearing ‘I’m sorry.’ I KNOW you are. I don’t doubt it for a second. What I need is for you just to let me go off. When I NEED to. You’re my person, Esme. You always have been. And don’t want that changing. So what I need is for you to just let me get all this shit out. And not take it personally when I do.”

“I can do that. It’s kind of hard, though; NOT taking it personally. I’m the one who did all this. Made such a mess of things.”

“And everything’s going to work out. We have been through a hell of a lot worse. If we can get through that THAT? I don’t think there’s much we can’t get past.”

“We need to get through tomorrow first. Before we can even start concentrating on what’s next. And if something goes wrong…”

“You just let me worry about all that, okay? That’s part of my job. Goes along with this whole bodyguard thing.”

“I have to say…” She once more leans her body against his, chin resting on his chest. “...you guard the body VERY well.”

“Is that what the kids call it these days? ‘Guarding the body’? I really need to brush up on my slang.”

“Millie will teach you. She’s four going on fourteen some days. She’ll have you saying ‘sus’ in no time.”

“What the hell does that mean? ‘Sus’?”

“Short for suspicious, I guess. I don’t know. And I don’t ask. She’s four; she doesn’t understand half of what she learns and repeats. Which is why you’re going to have to watch your mouth around her. Or she’s going to have the vocabulary of a drunken sailor by the time she starts school.”

“No one thinks anything of it in Australia. Kids throwing the word ‘fuck’ around.”

“I just rather she not be one of them. Just in case the Wicked Witch of the Mid-West ever does meet her.”

“You don’t want her telling her grandmother to go fuck herself?”

“What I want and what is acceptable are two entirely different things.”

“Just for you, I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“For you, being on your best behaviour means not getting shot half a dozen times.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s going to be all behind us. Once this is over, that’s it. I walk away. For good.”

“And you’ll be happy with that? Retiring? From this life anyway?”

“I will. I’ll have everything I need at home. Why risk losing that?”

Smiling, she pecks the tip of his chin. “That’s a very good answer.”

Using gentle fingertips to push strands of hair behind her ears, he cradles her face in his palms; eyes never leaving hers as the pads of his thumbs graze along the tops of her cheeks. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You just have to trust me.”

“I do,” she assures him, and once more lays her head upon his chest; releasing a sigh as she tucks her head under his chin. “With my life.”

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

I Like the Lucien / Helion Plot - But Also!?

So as much as I objectively enjoy all of the Lucien/Helion/Lady Autumn intrigue and think that this plotline overall adds to the depth of the characters/world of ACOTAR - we can't really deny that some objectively WEIRD and honestly terrible choices were made in the creation of this.

I want to start off by addressing the great big elephant in the room which is that Lucien is primarily described with the same "golden skin" BS that SJM is known for now - but at the same time, *Tamlin* is ALSO described as having bronzed or golden skin. Lucien is then later described as being pale, and as having a resemblance to Beron, who is extremely pale. The impression that you might get from book one (and book two, honestly) is that Tamlin and Lucien are white guys who spend time outside in the Spring Court, as opposed to the faeries who were imprisoned Under the Mountain, who haven't seen the sun in years. (For context: I also am a white person! In the summers I worked as a lifeguard, I spent lots of time in the sun and I developed a deep brown sun tan that often lasted for months, even into the winter when I was spending more time indoors! I've also known white people who have gold or olive undertones to their natural skin, so describing characters as "golden" or "tan" does not immediately lead me to assume that a character is non-white.) I've seen reviewers refer to this writing tic of SJMs' as "Kardashianing" her characters - which honestly, might be the case. She really wants to be seen as a writer who puts out diverse and empowering work but also - she's demonstrably doing the bare minimum AND when she does include non-white, non-straight representation, she tends to do a really bad job at it!

In short, these descriptors are super super weird, given that Lucien is meant to be a mixed race character. ZERO effort is put into the narrative at any point in order to meaningfully distinguish him from SJM's endless roster of white heroes. He's explicitly stated to resemble his pale-skinned family at various points. The main information we get from the narrative other than "red hair" and "mechanical eye" is that Lucien's beauty is "cruel," as in he's in a total heart-breaker, but given that SJM is constantly coming up with new ways to describe the Most Handsomest White Guys Ever, this doesn't MEAN anything.

We do, however, get the reveal of Lucien's heritage in the absolute stupidest way possible.

So, it's now Book 3 of ACOTAR. All of the High Lords - the most powerful people in Prythian (who are, of course, all less powerful, cool, and handsome than Most Handsome and Powerful Guy Ever, Rhysand) - have all been in a room with Feyre for the first time since she was Under the Mountain, and she finally gets to observe them in close quarters.

Later, Helion - who is described as being dark-skinned, thereby showing that SJM does, in fact, know how to make a character explicitly non-white even if she doesn't do any work putting her non-white characters in cultural context - shows up at the Night Court slumber party and gives some vague information about the time that he once had an affair with Lady Autumn.

Upon learning this, Feyre goes, "Omg, he's totally Lucien's REAL father!!! They even look alike!!"

And Rhysand goes, "OMG!!!! You're SO right, Feyre, and I can't believe I didn't realize the truth until right this very minute!!!"

There are a LOT of issues with this. This scene is apparently meant to show how clever and observant Feyre is but - there are just so many assumptions being made here that it just comes out of left fucking field! To go on a brief tangent, the narrative basically reveals the "truth" of Lucien's parentage, which somehow nobody but Feyre ever guessed, and then immediately condemns Helion for not rescuing Lady Autumn from her abusive husband, because Rhysand rescued Feyre from HER depression so every man should do the same thing. At this point, we have no other information on their relationship so it's frankly bizarre that Feyre is so judgemental towards Helion about this. And to that end - the Lady of Autumn is UNNAMED and has exactly one speaking line in the entire books! At this point, she's not even a character, she's just a sad, silent victim for Helion and Lucien to angst about!

Furthermore, this reveal is now contingent on the fact that Helion is not white, and Lucien looks like him, therefore, Lucien is not white! Except, and I CANNOT emphasize this enough - not a single iota of narrative effort was put into describing him as a nonwhite character until this point.

Now, Feyre does know Lucien and has spent some time with him, so this begs a lot of questions: Is Lucien apparently so pale that Feyre didn't realize he wasn't white until she physically saw Helion's face and then put two-and-two together? That seems to be what the narrative wants you to think, except in that case, why the HELL is Rhysand surprised about the parentage reveal?? Because Rhysand is supposed to be Helion's close personal friend, someone who has known both Helion AND Lucien for centuries and who can also read minds. Why, instead of just blindly accepting Feyre's theory, doesn't he say something along the lines of, "You know what, Feyre, I've also suspected that for a long time - but we should keep it between us, because we could put Lucien and his mother in serious danger if we start throwing accusations of infidelity around, even if they're true!" A line like that would go a long way to showing the type of character Rhysand is supposed to be - clever, ancient, politically savvy but with a kind heart - because as it stands, he looks straight up stupid!

I want to emphasize again that I LIKE this plotline on the surface - but I would like it a lot more if SJM put literally any effort into making Lucien a mixed character in a meaningful way, instead of something that's tacked on at the last minute.

As it stands, I'm terribly certain that the reveal of his parentage has something to do with SJM's genuinely shitty morality system. Because Lucien - who is shown to be self-sacrificing to an extreme degree, who is shown to be fair, compassionate, and loyal to Feyre even when it puts his own safety at risk - for some reason, needs to be "redeemed" in the narrative. In ACOMAF, his character is tainted by Beron's blood and his loyalty to Tamlin (a close person friend who is also Lucien's boss) - and so, he can't help Feyre, can't rescue her, and therefore is condemned. In ACOWAR, those two things are neatly cut out of his character arc. He gets sexual trauma fostered on him so that Feyre can consider him worthy of help and rescue from the Spring Court, and then, oh, by the way, it turns out that Lucien isn't actually an example of a young man who actively chooses to go against his abusive father and treat people with respect despite his tremendous trauma! No, in fact, Lucien's REAL father is one of the good guys, someone who never did any abuse!! Lucien was GOOD all along, don't you see!?! Unlike Tamlin, whose dad was an abusive POS and Tamlin just follows in his footsteps because he was always destined to be bad just like his father!!!

Or, ya know, whatever BS that SJM believes in.

It stinks in so many ways: the casual racism, the black-and-white doomer thing, the sheer LAZINESS of the writing.

This is my second time writing this post and while I definitely feel my analysis is better here, I still don't have a good way of ending it. I just kind of think that even if I like the plotline, it's still questionable and was introduced in the stupidest way possible.