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hansensgirl · 5 months

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💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (3/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, SMUT, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, jealousy/possessiveness, anxiety/fear, mild foreplay, vaginal sex, rough sex, praise, degradation, dirty talk, rough sex, mild choking, deceit, lying, drinking, creampie, manhandling (a bit), size kink (cock), alluded spying/stalking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~5.6k

author’s note. | series masterlist. after a million years, here’s the final part! i hope you enjoyed this series. please enjoy the final part and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

Time drags by slowly, each minute feeling longer than usual. Perhaps it’s because you don’t do much anymore. You continue with your regular routine, though waking up and going to bed early isn’t necessary.

Ari visits often, taking you on drives along scenic routes you never knew your city had. He sometimes stays with you at home, watching a movie while you feast on snacks. Any time you’re graced with his presence, he comes bearing gifts.

The first present required much convincing for you to accept. It was a set of rings with elegant jewels that cost more than your life. The mob boss placed each one on your fingers and kissed the pads of your digits, his lips so soft that you can still feel them.

You keep the rings locked up in your drawer, buried under items a thief wouldn’t bother searching through. Wearing them makes you feel like someone you aren’t—his girlfriend. No, you’re just his… something, for now.

The day after Ari’s first gift, he arrived on your doorstep with another.

Whenever you see him, he is always put-together. He wears expensive suits, and his hair is perfectly styled yet effortless. He’s considerate, too, always asking about your eating habits and making sure you’re doing more than well while under his care.

The second present was a pair of shoes you had secretly been vying for whenever you got the chance to window-shop downtown. Ari sat you down on your couch and gently lifted your feet, slipping the shoes on as if you were Cinderella, and he was Prince Charming.

His touch remained gentle, although you knew he isn’t always this way with others. Sometimes, you think of what Ari does when he isn’t with you. Does he torture his enemies? Lurk in the shadows? Visit restaurants that are really fronts for more lucrative operations?

You push these ideas out of your mind when you realize they’ll do you no good, as the older man often says. He catches you zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts repeatedly. It’s not as if you’re overthinking about yourself; you just can’t help but worry about the arrangement you’re in.

Unlike the rings, you wear the shoes with pride and a twang of guilt. You’re supposed to be paying Ari back, yet here he is, spoiling you into oblivion. You don’t want to ask him why. You figure it must be mobster gentlemanliness, right?

It’s been one month since the arrangement began, and you find you’re settling into it well. Ari makes sure of this, smoothing over all the wrinkles and ensuring that everything is the way it should be—the way he wants it to be.

You wake up in peace, noting that it’s half an hour later than you usually set your alarm. You even linger in bed, trying to recall your terrifying dream about running from a man who posed as an ally at first. But you never escaped, and now you have to catch your breath. You barely remember what he looked like.

On your bedside table—which is brand new after Ari replaced your old one—is a piece of paper you know you didn’t leave. You grab it and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes once you brace against the backboard.

You recognize the handwriting immediately. It’s Ari’s. You don’t question when he left it, although the older man didn’t visit yesterday. Something about a deal gone wrong made him busy. You told him you didn’t mind just so he would spare you the details.

The truth is that you did mind. You mind a lot, actually. You find yourself thinking about the mob boss almost every second of the day, like he’s some crush you hope you can have all to yourself.

*Princess,

I hope you slept nicely. Don’t tire yourself too much today. I’m taking you out tonight. Please answer the door at around 1:30. It’ll be one of my associates.

*Yours forever, Daddy

You smile as you re-read each word. You appreciate the beauty of his handwriting and the fact he took the time out of his hectic days to leave you a note.

Once the rose-coloured haze disappears, you focus on the contents of the letter. Butterflies fill your stomach, but they taunt and awaken your worries instead of making you lovesick. You haven’t gone out in forever—where will Ari take you?

You get out of bed, and instead of brushing your teeth, you begin to pace along the expanse of your small bedroom. You have nothing nice enough to wear out on the town—nothing to suit your counterpart, at least. You believe you’ll look like an utter fool next to the revered man.

You eventually will yourself to calm down. You eat a delicious breakfast and search through your closet. Nothing.

The morning bleeds into the afternoon, and before you know it, there is a knock on your door. It’s the same pattern Ari used before getting himself a key to your home. You recall the orders he left on the note and rush to open the door.

You’re greeted by the face of Curtis, Ari’s most trusted associate. You’ve seen him from time to time, often staring down the girl in charge of serving the men with drinks and cigars or cigarettes. Whatever vice they want, she offers it up immediately.

Curtis doesn’t say much, and neither do you. He hands you two heavy bags—a paper one filled with boxes and a garment one—and grabs the door handle, shutting it for you. The exchange is weird, but you know Curtis is just doing his job. You can only imagine what Ari would do if he found out one of his employees went against his rules.

The mob boss has told you about his jealous streak, but you would never reveal how flattered you are that he feels that way about you. Though you chalk it up to just being business.

You turn the lock into place and set the bag on the couch, sitting next to it. Another gift! You’re more excited than you’d like to admit. With slightly shaky hands, you reach into the bag and take the tissue paper out.

It’s white with little colourful circles that remind you of confetti cake, Ari’s favourite. You baked it with him one night, and it was delicious. You giggle at the memory of him covered in flour and cake mix.

You’re gentle as you unwrap your gift. The first box is sleek, and you recognize the brand name. You’ve only ever dreamed of affording their cheapest item.

The gasp that leaves you when you take the lid off the box is audible and would make Ari chuckle. Inside is a pair of heels that gleam in the low light of your living room. You take one shoe out gently and inspect the details. They’re a work of art—and they’re all yours.

You feel like a spoiled kid on Christmas morning, squealing and gawking at everything. You close the first box and reach for the next. This one is smaller but heavier. The outside is covered in what feels like suede or velvet.

You pry it open, and your jaw drops. Inside is a beautiful diamond necklace with matching earrings. You’re not sure what the price is, but you know it must be worth a fortune. Your fingers itch to touch the jewels, but you resist the urge.

It’s too much. You can barely breathe.

As if you’re being spied on, your phone rings when you abruptly shut the box. You search for the device briefly, succeeding just at the last few trills. It’s Ari.

You answer the call quickly. His baritone voice comes out of the speaker, sounding just like honey.

“Hey, sweetie,” he greets. You can hear doors shutting on his end, as well as the click of a lighter and the telltale squeak of his chair. “Hi, Daddy,” you sigh almost dreamily.

Ari exhales audibly, and you assume he’s smoking. The thought of his nasty habit makes you wrinkle your nose. “D’you get your gifts, baby?” he asks. “Yes—but I can’t accept them, Daddy, it’s too much,” you protest, glancing back at the boxes. You realize you haven’t opened the garment bag yet.

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when I’m spoiling you, honey,” he chides. You fiddle with the wrinkled fabric of your t-shirt. “And if I’m hearing right, it sounds like you’re telling me ‘no’…”

Your breath hitches. No, that wasn’t your intention. “I’m not—I’m sorry, Daddy. I just– I just don’t know what to do. I’m not used to this,” you express honestly.

You’re determined to never break his rules for the next few months. You’ve already completed one—which he celebrated with a deliciously home-cooked dinner.

The older man shushes you. “I know, baby. You don’t know what to do without Daddy, hm?” he coos. The words make you feel slightly embarrassed, but it’s true. He’s the only one that has helped you cope with your new—albeit temporary—life.

You let Ari claim the following few words. Whenever he uses that title—Daddy—it’s as if he snaps you out of some stupor, and you realize what you’re doing. But when you use it, it feels like second nature.

“Don’t worry,” the older man says, attaching your name to the end of his reassurance to really grab your attention. Ari successfully grounds you. “Just do what I say, baby. Alright? You don’t have to accept the gifts, but you’ll wear them tonight,” he further explains.

“Tonight?” you repeat. “Tonight. When we go out. I have a small get-together planned with a few… friends,” the mob boss clarifies. "You know, honey, this is gonna be our first night out. Are you excited?” Ari asks, his tone a bit more light-hearted.

Admittedly, you’re much less than excited. You’re nervous—scared. But you can’t tell him this. You don’t want to be a bother.

“Y– Yeah. Of course, Daddy,” you tell Ari. You have no idea what you’re going to do. “I’m looking forward to it, baby. I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” he hums. He picked the dress for you especially, wanting his girl to feel like a princess. “Me too… Where are we going?” you question.

“My place. You’re gonna love it, I promise,” he says. You nod your head, although the mob boss can’t see you. Ari chuckles briefly. “I’ll give you a tour once the guests are gone. They’ll be nice, but don’t talk to anyone when I’m not there, ‘kay?”

You listen to him gladly. You wouldn’t even dare to look at his other mobster friends.

“I gotta go now, baby. Call me if you need anything, alright?” Ari abruptly says, sighing deeply as if frustrated. “Yes, Daddy,” you tell him. He blows you a kiss over the phone and hangs up.

You always knew that this day would come, but you never thought it would arrive so soon. You stand up on shaky legs and read the text message Ari sends. He tells you to be ready by 9:00, and you acquiesce. You just hope that tonight goes smoothly. And quickly.

The clock ticks closer and closer to when Ari said he’d pick you up. He texted you here and there, responses quick and well-rounded. You resist using your abbreviation and onslaught of emojis.

You take your time getting ready, making sure that everything is perfect. The dress fits perfectly and is absolutely gorgeous. You ignored the price tag, knowing it wouldn’t sit well with you on the ride to his home.

You can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, though. You feel like the movie stars you’ve always admired in their grand pictures with even larger budgets for the wardrobe, establishing them as fashion icons.

Holding your clutch to your chest, your other hand lightly touches the diamond necklace. It’s a harsh contrast to the simplicity and lightness of your gown. The pink tulle is slightly sheer but leaves much to the imagination. You spin around a bit, too, emulating your childhood princesses.

There is a knock at the door. You take a deep breath and open it, greeted by the sight of Ari.

Ari and his handsomeness. Ari and all your fantasies and weaknesses. You smile at him until your cheeks hurt, but even then, you don’t stop. You rush to hug him, squealing as he lifts you off the ground and presses a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re an angel, baby,” he says once he puts you down. You preen under his careful gaze, his kind words. “You look so handsome, Daddy,” you honestly tell him. You admire the ruggedness he keeps despite his current elegance.

He grins, and the car ride to his place is just like this. You sing praises to each other when the awkward silence becomes unbearable. Ari does most of the talking, while his trusted driver keeps the partition rolled up as classical music blares.

The older man tells you all kinds of jokes. You stare out the window whenever he catches you looking at him. His large hands remain on your thighs while yours are crossed in your lap. So far, so good, you think to yourself.

The drive goes by quickly, and soon, you pull up to his lavish mansion. It is on the outskirts of the city, nestled between tall trees resembling a forest. Ari exits the car first so that he can open the door for you.

You thank him and turn around to marvel at his house. It takes your breath away. You've never seen anything like it. Before you can ask Ari a few questions about his home, he drags you towards the entrance, hand on the small of your back at first, until he decides to loop it around your waist and pull you close to him.

“Don't worry, baby. Just be a good girl, 'kay?” Ari husks in your ear, glancing at the associate who opens the for for the two of you. You simply nod your head, words leaving your mouth as you take a peak inside.

So many people. So many eyes—all of them on you.

You gulp thickly. Ari grabs a flute of champagne from a server’s tray, offering yoou one with a telling glace. You shake your head. Even with all the alcohol in the world, you wouldn’t be able to calm down.

Ari’s hold on your waist grows firmer as men approach and speak to him. Sometimes, he strays to your ass, and you end up choking on your spit each time he does so.

You don’t recognize anyone here, except for Curtis and the other associate that had brought you to Ari the day you reckoned your fate. Neither of them spare you a glance, and if they do, you don’t notice it.

You hold onto the mob boss tightly, scared of losing him. You wouldn’t dare speak to anyone if that happened.

“Everything alright, baby?” the older man asks, once again tilting his head down to hear you better. “Yup,” you breathe out shakily, looking around. You notice that Ari doesn’t return to his normal stature, and then he realize your mistake.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you’re quick to say, and he presses his lips together in a line. “It’s okay. Don’t let it happen again,” Ari warns. “Yes, Daddy,” you diligently repeat, and he presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

Someone calls the mob boss’ name. You turn to look at who the voice belongs to, and you’re greeted by the sight of a man with two barely-clothed women hanging off his arms. You can see it in their faces—the unhappiness, the fear.

Ari can sense how tense you are, and he can sense the way Daniel has been dying to push his buttons all night.

“Price,” the mob boss bluntly addresses his colleague. The other man—the one with a goatee and an ego bigger than the entire continent—simply nods. “Levinson. Nice party you’ve got… Even nicer girl, hm?” Arthur smirks.

You can feel the stranger’s eyes on you, drinking in your appearance. You hate that feeling. You meet his gaze and he leers at your brazenly, winking and darting his tongue out to lick his lips, the action too slow for comfort.

Ari clears his throat to interrupt the moment. Daniel directs his eyes to the older man before engaging in some ‘work-related’ chatter, while you choose to focus on the women he practically holds hostage. Aren’t you just like them? Treated with more class and manners, but how long will that last?

You want to leave, but you know you can’t, and that upsets you. You have no autonomy, and for some reason, this finally upsets you after about a month of living in Ari’s precarious arrangement.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be,” he suddenly ends the conversation, snapping you out of your reverie.

Ari drags you away from the watchful, prying eyes of others. You can barely keep up with his pace.

“W– Wait, Daddy!” you call to him, but he doesn’t listen. Ari leads you up a set of stairs, and the amount of bodyguards lessen with each step, until there is no one left except for you two.

“What was that? Hm?” the mob boss questions angrily, pushing you into his personal bedroom. No one else has ever been inside it before—not even his past girlfriends.

“I– I don’t understand,” you stutter, panting as you try to catch your breath. “Really? I saw you gawking at Price,” Ari disproves. You furrow your brows. “I wasn’t! I would never,” you promise, placing your hands on his chest to placate him as best as you can.

Ari doesn’t shrug off your touch, but he does look away from you. “Please, Daddy. You have to believe me,” you continue. Ari looks back to you, and he sighs. “Promise?” he asks.

There isn’t much light in the room, save for the lamps in the corners. But you can still see the darkness of Ari’s eyes, and while it should frighten you, you can feel your panties dampen at the sight.

“Promise, Daddy,” you repeat. For added measure, you press a kiss on his nose, ready to pull away with a smile. But Ari’s hands quickly grab your face, cupping your cheeks and keeping you in place. “Daddy?”

The older man doesn’t say anything. He pulls you close and captures you in a rough kiss. It appears to be passionate, yet it screams ownership. You don’t know the difference—how could you? It feels right, it feels like what you owe the mobster. At least part of your debt, anyway.

When Ari finally pulls away, you can barely breathe. He doesn’t say a thing, and neither do you. Instead, he pushes you towards the bed, and you fall back with an ‘oomph.’

“W– Wait, Daddy–” you start, trying to sit up. Ari shushes you, pushing you back down with a small motion once he climbs on top of you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he pants, grabbing your body and flipping you onto your stomach. Ari manhandles you with ease.

You nod your head and try to wriggle out of his grasp. It’s all moving too fast for you. “Stay still. Let Daddy make his baby feel good,” he demands, his voice hard enough to will you to listen. You still beneath him.

“Attagirl,” Ari chuckles, pulling the skirt of your dress above your ass. It was already a bit shorter than you’d like, but now everything is exposed to him. The cold air on your ass makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver at the sudden cold.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” Ari growls, grabbing a handful of the supple flesh. He lands a sharp smack to your butt, and you gasp at the contact. It stings at first, but as the feeling dies away, you realize that you enjoy it. You grow shy with shame. “I’m gonna ruin you, princess.”

His words seem like a promise, but they sound like a threat.

“Don’t you think we should take it slow, Daddy?” you ask him, voice a pitch higher out of fear. Fear of him? Fear of his answer? “I’ve taken it slow, honey. I’ve been a gentleman,” Ari assures you.

He isn’t wrong, but you’re not sure if you agree with him. It’s only been a month. You haven’t known him that long.

“But this wasn’t a part of the deal,” you protest one final time. You’re quieter this time around, and Ari pauses in his tracks. There is silence for a few moments, until he speaks up. “It is now.”

That is all he says as he grabs at your panties, ripping the fabric off your skin. You gasp at his actions, and the sound turns into a lewd moan when his fingers find your folds.

“You’re soaking, baby. Like a little whore,” he coos, rubbing the pads of his digits up and down your wet skin. You shudder from the pleasure, squeezing your thighs together when Ari touches your clit. “It’s okay. Daddy loves his little slut,” he professes.

Your head spins from the pleasure, the confession, and the turn of events. Your voice catches in your throat when Ari rubs your clit, sending jolts of electricity throughout your body. He pulls sounds from you that you never knew you could make. They’re music to the mob boss’s ears.

Ari chuckles, as if in victory, when you begin to gyrate your hips to meet the movements of his hands on your pussy. He can feel his hard cock straining against his pants, and all he can think about is fucking you. He hasn’t stopped thinking about fucking you since he first saw you—and that wasn’t the day you went begging to him.

“Daddy,” you mewl, sending a rush of blood to Ari’s dick. “I’m here, baby,” he coos, picking up the pace of his fingers. His other hand plays with your ass, groping and lightly slapping the flesh as he brings you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night.

The older man makes you see stars. You’ve never felt this way before—not during the late, lonely nights under your covers.

The pressure inside you builds, and your pornographic sounds become louder. The squelching of your cunt nearly rivals your moans. “Fuck, you gonna come, honey? Gonna make a mess on Daddy’s hand?” Ari asks, his words coaxing you towards that brink.

You topple over and cry out, dripping hole clenching around nothing. As if your body is a separate entity that belongs to him, you involuntarily nod your head at Ari’s question.

“Shit. That’s it. Such a good girl,” he praises, the words going to straight to your head and making you smile through your pleasure-filled haze. You grip onto the expensive bedsheets and ride out your climax, grinding on Ari’s hand until the nerves of your clit become oversensitive.

Ari, unable to hold back anymore, pulls his fingers away and admires how they glisten with your slick. The sweet scent of your cunt fills the room, and he has the overwhelming urge to make you come apart on his mouth. But that has to wait for now.

The mob boss places his wet digits inside of his mouth, revelling in your taste. He makes a show of it, too, knowing you can see him in the mirrors that are in headboard of his bed. The sight his lewd—enough to make you throb in need and get wetter with want.

There’s a small voice in your head that sounds exactly like you. It tells you that this was never a part of the deal, that Ari shouldn’t be doing this. You find it difficult to listen to its reasoning, too clouded by lust.

You watch as Ari reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it so harshly that it breaks. In just a few seconds, he tears the fabric from your body. You gasp at the display of strength, not even having the chance to bid farewell to the dress.

Your nipples pebble from the cold air, and they rub against the bedsheets, sending a wave of euphoria through your body. “Daddy… Please,” you whimper, rubbing your thighs together as your desperation for something grows.

“I got ya, baby. Daddy’s here,” Ari shushes you, mildly slurring his words. You barely even register that this is the first time Ari has seen you naked. In fact, he never should be seeing you naked.

Ari marvels at your body, although this isn’t the first time he has done so. You’re just so gorgeous, he can’t help himself.

The mob boss begins to undress himself, not caring open the buttons that fly as the fabric stretches against his toned muscles. The velvet suit—one of Ari’s favourites, which he can always get another of—ends up on the floor. The tendrils of hair fall from the gelled style he originally had, framing is face to make the man look more rugged than usual.

He pulls down the zipper to his pants and frees his hard, thick cock from the confines of his boxers. Ari gives himself a few strokes, letting a few beads of pre-cum drip onto your ass.

You arch your back just a bit, giving the older man better access and a better view of what’s his. Ari slaps his fat tip against your leaky hole, sliding it through your folds as he teases you. When he reaches your sensitive nub, your muscles twitch slightly.

You maintain a steady hold on the sheets, bracing yourself for the intrusion. You’ve had sex before, but it was so long ago and an experience that you gained nothing from. You’re always too busy to properly treat yourself. You can imagine that this’ll feel like your first time—only better.

“You feel that, baby? Hm?” the older man asks, bending over you. One of his strong arms is near your head, used as leverage to hold himself up. “Uh-huh,” you moan, feeling how Ari’s hard cock rubs against your pussy. *He’s so big—just like the rest of him.

“S’all for you, honey. You have no idea what you do to me,” he grunts, sliding his cock back to your hole. Before you can respond, Ari begins to push into your cunt, stretching you out slowly. You breathe through the entirety of the ordeal, moaning at the intrusion and the sheer filth of it all.

When Ari finally bottoms out, his heavy balls are flush against your clit. His dick is deep inside you—you feel so full. You take a few moments to adjust to his thickness, getting up onto your forearms so that you can look at Ari.

You tilt your head upwards and make eye contact with the mob boss. His usually blue eyes are blown out with lust—a dark look to him that you’ve never seen before. Ari leans over you even more, his cock still deep inside your wet pussy.

His dominant hands moves towards your neck, and he wraps his hand around your throat after shifting upwards, almost as if he’s holding your jaw. The action frightens you, but you feel no pressure being put on your airway.

It’s the control. The fact that you’re his, and he can do anything he’d like to you.

Before you can say anything, Ari begins to fuck you. He pushes and pulls his cock in and out of you. The mob boss hits your g-spot with expertise and turns you into a moaning, pathetic mess. Ari watches you intently, never once breaking eye contact as your mouth drops open in pleasure.

Your sounds are pornographic. You don’t have a moment to feel shameful about them, though. The noises that come from his skin slapping against yours is loud. So is the squelching of your sopping cunt.

“Daddy—so deep!” you cry out, going limp in his hold. It’s as if you can feel him in your guts. You babble like a baby, making Ari chuckle. He’s dreamt of this moment for so long, and it’s better than he could ever imagine. “Yeah? Wait ‘til I try that pretty mouth a’ yours,” he whispers in your ear, biting the lobe.

The thought of Ari fucking your face creates a lewd picture in your mind. You’ve never thought about it before, but the way you pussy squeezes his cock tells Ari what you think of the idea. Even if, deep down, you didn’t the mob boss to fuck your face, he would still get what he wants.

“Shit,” you mewl, eyes rolling back into your skull. The older man pummels into your relentlessly, practically abusing your cunt. Ari’s dick is coated in your slick, the smell of it and sweat filling the room. “This cunt’s cryin’ on my cock—you gonna cry, too, princess?”

You don’t really register what Ari is saying, so you just nod your head like the obedient girl you are. “Good girl—always such a good slut for Daddy,” he groans, looking down to admire how your ass ripples when his pelvis slaps against the soft flesh.

You cry out as Ari pumps into you relentlessly. You can feel the euphoria build up, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “‘S so much, Daddy…” you express through your moans, fuelling Ari’s ego. “Yeah? You gonna come all over Daddy’s fat cock, baby?” the mob boss asks.

Nodding your head, you topple over the edge of your climax. Your sounds become choked and grow even louder. Your pussy squeeze Ari’s dick, creaming around his hardness as you come undone. Ari marvels at the sight.

Your eyes squeeze shuts and your hold onto the bed sheets tightly. You’ve never felt such pleasure before—even at your own hands. It’s like Ari knows your body—and your entire being—better than you do.

“That’s it. Good girl, ” Ari growls, admiring how your leaky pussy just swallows his dick. The arch in your back is mean, but he loves it. He loves watching you take it. His once-innocent princess is now the older man’s whore. All his, forever.

The stars in your eyes dissipate as you ride out your high, coming down from it slowly but surely. It’s hard, though, as Ari is relentless in how in pounds into your cunt. “Who owns this pussy, honey? Hm?” Ari asks. He can feel his own orgasm building up, and he knows he cannot hold back any longer.

“You! S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M yours,” you mewl, and as if on cue, Ari shoves his hips forwards and he stills his movements. His heavy balls clench as he leans forward, completely covering your body with his. Ari holds onto you tightly, filling your pussy with his cum.

Ropes of his seed shoot from his tip and coat your inner walls, filling you to the brim until some of it leaks past his fat cock. He gives a few thrusts just to tease you, smiling when you whimper from the stimulation.

It’s so damn messy where the two of you are connected. Ari has the desire to clean you up, but he knows that your sweet-self wouldn’t be able to handle all that in one night. At least, for now.

When the older man finally catches his breath, he slowly pulls out of your pussy. A trail of his cum follows, leaking out and mixing with your juices. He rolls you onto your side gently, laying down next to you as he watches your face intently.

You have no clue what to say. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around what happened, especially as the haze doesn’t seem to leave any time soon.

A few moments of silence pass. Ari’s hand rubs up and down your arm, moving upwards to cup your cheek again. He drinks in very detail of your face and you watch him, too, just not with the same intensity.

“D– Daddy?” you quietly say, and his ears perk up. “Yeah, baby?” Ari responds. “What now?” you question. Where do you go from here?

“Well… I think you should get some rest,” he starts, sighing deeply and he seemingly fights back a yawn. You agree, but that’s not what you meant. “I’ll get you cleaned up, don’t worry,” the mob boss assures you.

“What about the deal?” you continue.

More silence, and the sound of Ari clearing his throat. The deepness of his voice remains as he speaks.

“I think I may have to extend it, honey,” he honestly tells you, words heavy with disappointment. You don’t really know what to think—you have no reaction, save for the small nod you give him. You’ve come to realize that whatever Ari wants, he gets. And he’s so damn greedy.

You drift off to sleep slowly, accepting your fate even though it was too late the moment you resigned and stepped into his office a month ago. It could be worse, you could be dead, you reassure yourself.

Ari stares at the ceiling and thinks about how time can fly. Soon, those promised months will turn into a year, and then even more. Just like he planned—just how it’s supposed to be.

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson smut #dark ari levinson #dark!ari levinson #dark ari levinson x reader #dark!ari levinson x reader #smut #lemon #dark #au #fic #series #chris evans #the red sea diving resort

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purplecoffee13 · 4 months

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Nemesis with Benefits* - Part 3

Summary: “You go to your friend’s birthday party, and run into Harry. Naturally, the encounter doesn’t go very smoothly, and you are at each other’s throats in a matter of minutes. But the proximity transforms the anger into… some type of frustration.”

Wc: 4.7k

Tropes: enemies to lovers

Warnings: cursing, smut, dirty talk, (heavy on the)degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics

A/N: Hey y’all, I’m back with another NWB chapter! This took embarrassingly long to write. To be honest, I was in a bit of a rut, and then I was having too many ideas and thoughts at once, and not enough inner peace to sit down and write. But it’s all good now, I’m back, so enjoy!!!

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"Isn't it too much?" You ask hesitantly, staring at your dolled up reflection in the mirror of your vanity desk. Rebecca's head shoots your way, a deep frown on her face.

"Hell no! You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetie." She hurries over to you, putting her hands on your shoulder and crouching down to your level. She looks at you through the mirror, giving you a comforting smile, which eases your nerves a little bit.

"Listen, babe, this is your first real party since that troll cheated on you. It's your chance to show everyone that you are strong, and better than ever." Rebecca gives the pep-talk that you have been hearing seven renditions of for the past week. She turns you around so she can look you in the eyes. "Dylan was a deadweight. You are free of that imbecile and we're going to celebrate it by getting you laid."

You roll your eyes, stifling a laugh at Rebecca's mention of her mission for you. "I don't want to get laid."

"Girl... trust me, you need to get laid." Rebecca says as she picks up her purse from your bed. Your mouth falls open at the insult.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" A chuckle escapes your lips as you ask your friend the question. She turns around, a mischievous grin covering her face.

"You have been so incredibly tense the last weeks, especially today. Seriously, did you have a deadline today or something? You have been incredibly tense all afternoon." Rebecca questions, grabbing both of your jackets and handing yours to you.

Your eyes widen for a slight second, but you quickly regain yourself. You shrug your shoulders, which, now that she mentioned it, are feeling quite tense. You hadn't realized how much effect your stress had on your body today.

Ever since that almost... whatever it was with Harry earlier today, you have absolutely been on edge. It's been difficult to brush it off, especially because the harder you try to not think of it, the longer it stays on your mind. Even blasting rock music didn't get your thoughts off him.

There are just a lot of questions that accompany the events that almost occurred earlier today. Besides the typical, 'why did he even initiate such a movement?', there is also the question of 'why did you almost go along with it?'.

Maybe Rebecca is right. Maybe, you do need to get laid. You are not going to say that out loud to your friend, though, because you know you will never hear the end of it. So instead, you lie.

"Yeah, had a deadline today. But I promise, I'm ready to party." You say. Technically, it a half-lie. You did have a deadline for an assignment today, but it was only a matter of getting your reference list right.

"Alright, let's go then!" Rebecca exclaims enthusiastically, walking out of your bedroom and towards the front door of your apartment.

The frat house where Tyler's party is held is quite close to your apartment. You live extremely close to campus, and so you and Rebecca don't have to suffer through the cold breeze that dominates the night. You are glad, because your short, red dress and sheer tights aren't the warmest thing you've ever worn. You thank your lucky stars for the black knee high boots you paired the outfit with, as they manage to block the wind against your legs a little bit.

The change of temperature going from outside to inside the frat house is lethal. It smells of the standard odors that cover a party: sweat and alcohol.

You don't hear much of what Rebecca shouts at you over the loud music, but her pointing at Tyler tells you all you need to know. She grabs your hand and guides the both of you to your mutual friend.

Tyler grins like an idiot at the sight of you two, spreading his arms out before pulling the two of you into a bear hug.

"I'm so glad you guys came!" He exclaims, letting you pull away.

"We even got you a present." Rebecca says, and Tyler quirks up his brow.

"We think you're going to love it." You add.

Tyler's head flicks from Rebecca to you, and a sneaky smirk creeps up his face. In perfect timing, both you and Rebecca slap Tyler's arm before throwing some profanities his way.

"What?! You said it so suggestively." Tyler laughs, and you flick him on his forehead. He yelps out, and Rebecca and you chuckle at his dramatics.

"You are an idiot." Rebecca smiles sweetly at him, planting a kiss on his cheek anyway. She steps back and grabs your hand, nodding towards the kitchen. "Wanna get a drink?"

"Oh wait, come with me. I locked the good stuff upstairs." Tyler interrupts, and motions for you to walk with him. You look at Rebecca, and shrug before happily following him upstairs to his room.

You have been in Tyler's room plenty of times, one of which you almost ended up having sex with him. It was late and you were both high as fuck, and ended up falling asleep before anything really happened. You laughed about it afterwards, and besides flirty jokes, there is absolutely nothing between you and Tyler.

"Here we are..." Tyler turns around with three bottles of hard liquor in his hands. You and Rebecca cheer as Tyler pours some tequila into each red solo cup. The three of you make a toast to Tyler before downing the ridiculously large shot. You pull a sour face afterwards because you always seem to forget how nasty tequila is. It does the job of getting you drunk, though, so you don't dwell on it too long.

Tyler then makes you and Rebecca a rum and coke. You chat a bit about everything and nothing, but then Rebecca announces she has to pee, and leaves the room. You quite literally feel the air in the room changing as soon as the door is closed again. Tyler looks at you with sad eyes.

"So, how are you holding up?" He tries to be casual, but you roll your eyes because you know what he is aiming at.

"Stop it, I'm fine. He is a dick, and I am just fine." You say, sitting your self onto the bed. Tyler seats himself besides you.

"You can't blame me for asking, I feel like we haven't talked much since... you know. Just wanted to know if you're okay." He shrugs, and your heart melts ever so slightly. Tyler is a great friend, and he was right: you really hadn't spoke to anyone but Benjamin and Rebecca since the break-up.

And Harry.

"I promise, I'm fine." You say, but Tyler just squints at you. It makes you giggle a bit, getting nervous about idiocy. A short silence falls between the two of you, and you take a sip of your rum and coke.

"Rebecca said I should get laid." You confess, before taking a large gulp of your drink. You look at your friend, expectantly, wondering what his opinion on all this is.

"I mean, my door is always open—"

"Shut up!" You cackle, and Tyler laughs. He loves getting on your nerves. "But seriously, do you think that's a good idea?"

He shrugs. "If you're ready, then sure."

"Well, how do I know if I'm ready?" You ask him, your head tilted ever so slightly.

"You'll know." Tyler answer cryptically, getting up from the bed. You follow suit, knitting your brows at his vague words.

"That might just be the least helpful advice I've ever heard." You deadpan, and Tyler rolls his eyes at you.

"You're thinking about this too much. Just try and see if there is someone you feel attracted to, and just try it. If it's a simple hook-up, it's all about the physical attraction, nothing more. So don't overthink it."

You sigh, kind of bummed with the fact that his advice is actually really good and makes a lot of sense, because now you'll have to apply it.

"Now, let's go downstairs, because Rebecca is probably looking for us." Tyler suggests, and you nod. The two of you fill up your drinks before walking out of Tyler's bedroom. You're still laughing at a joke of his when you are met with none other than Harry standing in the hallway.

He looks surprised to see you, and the same can definitely be said for you. There is about a two second delay in his mood change from surprised to irritated, and the tension in your stomach stings.

"Hey bro." Tyler says, a bit unsure at how enthusiastic he can be towards Harry in front of you. You know they're actually good mates, but I think that lessened a bit since the break-up. Tyler is awfully loyal to you, in the littlest ways.

"Hey man, happy birthday." Harry greets Tyler and they do their little bro hug. You watch the interaction, a bit unsure of how to act in front of Harry now. Pulling out from the embrace, Harry turns to you. He greets you with the sole mutter of your last name.

"Styles." You say back.

You feel Tyler looking between the two of you, and you can tell that he is scared that you'll push Harry down the stairs at any given moment. You refuse to lose eye contact with Harry, however, and he seems to have the same idea. It takes about ten seconds of silently staring into each others' souls before Tyler speaks up.

"Y/N, shall we go downstairs? Find Rebecca?" He puts his hand on the small of your back. You silently cheer for yourself when Harry breaks the eye contact, his gaze shooting down to Tyler's arm, before looking at you again.

"Excellent idea." You agree, turning around and walking down the stairs without looking back at Harry. Your stomach is still upset and your mind is spinning; that was oddly stressful for no reason.

Once you've found Rebecca again, you both take to the dance floor. A typical party song plays and everyone starts to cheer and jump along. You and Rebecca dance with each other, laughing because of the alcohol and the guys who are dancing around you.

You try to scan the room for potential bachelors as much as possible, hoping there is someone who you find attractive. Unfortunately, you are a bit out of luck. You casually look further, but then your eyes fall onto Harry. He is standing against the wall, with a couple of other guys you know, but he is looking at you. You feel like you got caught, even though, technically you caught him looking at you. You don't have much to overthink it, however, because you quickly realize that Benjamin is one of the guys standing with Harry.

You pull Rebecca along and walk towards the guys. Benjamin shrieks when he sees you and pulls you into a hug that nearly chokes the life out of you. After pulling away, he goes and greets Rebecca. Your eyes float past Harry, who is so close to you that you can smell his perfume, but you quickly look away when you realize that, once again, his eyes were already on you.

Your chest feels tight at the knowledge that he is actively watching you, and you have to stop yourself from clenching your jaw out of the sheer stress it is giving you. Benjamin distracts you by asking if you want to go outside for a bit, and you nod, following him to the back yard.

But when you see Harry joins you, you make up an excuse that you have to go to the bathroom, and that they should just go ahead and you'll find them in a bit. The group agrees and begins walking outside, and you take it as your cue to hurry upstairs.

You enter Tyler's room, running over to his desk, where the liquor is still standing, and pour yourself another rum and coke. It is mostly rum with a splash of coke, but you really need it right now. You take a big gulp, sticking your tongue out as the bitter taste trickles down your throat.

"Hiding?"

You jump at the sudden voice sounding from behind you, and turn around to see Harry leaning against the doorframe. You take a deep breath when you realize it's just home, but then the tension settles in because it's him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You ask, irritated. It is mostly to mask the nerves he gives you, and Harry doesn't seem to buy into your pretending. He shrugs.

"Was trying to find a lighter. Tyler said he had one up here." He answers, looking around the room. His eyebrows raise when he sees one on Tyler's nightstand. He leans forward, holding it up in the air so you can see it, then puts it in his pocket. "What about you?"

Getting away from you, you think.

Instead of saying that, you shrug your shoulders. "Just— getting a drink."

Harry nods slowly, not entirely believing you. You stare at each other for a moment, and the heavy feeling in your stomach is beginning to shout to get out. You swallow, your risen heartbeat telling you what you are trying very, very hard to ignore.

"So..." Harry starts.

"So..."

"You and Tyler, huh?"

Your eyes widen at the words that leave Harry's mouth, and before you know it, a loud snort escapes you. You slap your hand over your mouth, shaking your head profusely.

"C'mon, you don't have to deny it. So, the moving on going easier than you thought after all, hmm?"

There is a slight condescending tone that hides between Harry's words, and it makes your smile fade away. You set down your cup at the table and stride towards him until you are right in front of him. You look up and meet his gaze.

"What? Are you trying to say that it's easier, because I wasn't that in love with Dylan, so in the end it wasn't all bad? That the drama was for nothing?" You growl, blood rising to your cheeks as you speak.

"I didn't even fucking say that—"

"No, but you thought it. If you're being a dick, just be upfront about it. Don't act all sneaky about it." You say, and Harry clenches his jaw at your remark.

"Okay, you need to get off that fucking high horse of yours. Not every fucking thing I say is a hidden insult to you, because the world doesn't fucking revolve around you." He barks at you, getting closer. His height is intimidating, but you keep standing your ground and look up at him.

"Can't blame me for thinking it. It’s not like you’ve got anything else going on your life." Your tipsy mind decides to go in for the kill and just start shooting straight insults at him. Harry laughs coldly.

"Yeah? You think that all I do is think about you?" He takes another step closer, your bodies now partly touching. You don't move an inch, mainly because you don't want to let him win, but also because you just don't want to. "You think I wake up and go to bed wondering where you are, what you're doing, who you're with?"

You don't say anything. Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you clench your fists together. There is too much frustration in your body and too few ways to express it. Tyler's words hang in the back of your head, and they are getting harder and harder to push away. Harry leans forward, so he is on eye to eye level with you. His pupils are dilated and he looks just as irritated as you, if not more.

"Listen, darling. I meant what I said. You don't mean shit to me." Harry says slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You are not sure what brain cell lead you to make the decision, but in a matter of seconds, your lips are on his. There seems to be no surprise on Harry's side, because he leans into it immediately.

His tongue slips into your mouth without hesitation, and with a hand on your throat, he pushes you against the wall. All thoughts leave your mind as you kiss Harry, and 'not overthinking it' suddenly seems like the easiest thing in the world.

A sound leaves your mouth when Harry's grip on your throat tightens, and you find yourself arching into him. One of your hands is holding onto his shirt, and the other one to his hair, as you kiss the guy you hate most in the bedroom of your friend.

You feel the adamant bulge in Harry's jeans as the two of you grind against each other, in a desperate, pathetic need for relief. There should be at least a thousand different alarm bells going off in your brain, but there aren't. Not ones that give you enough strength to step out of this situation, anyway.

Your hand finds itself around Harry's throat as well, slightly catching him off guard. You take it as the perfect moment to push him onto Tyler's bed. By the time he's fallen back, you're already climbing on top of him, your hips moving against his crotch as your tongue re-enters his mouth.

It doesn't last long, though, because Harry has flipped the two of you around in no time. His hand back on your throat, and the other one's restraining both your arms above your head.

"Aw, you thought you were taking the reins? That's cute." Harry smiles patronizingly, tilting his head a bit as he scans your face. You clench your jaw, beyond irritated by the fact that he thinks he can just restrain you like this.

"Actually—"

"I don't think I told you that you could speak, now did I?" He interrupts you, his eyes raking up and down your body.

"I fucking hate you." You spit out the words, truly disgusted with yourself for being so incredibly turned on right now. You'd remind yourself to see a psychologist or something, this was not okay. Harry let out a bitter laugh at your remark, the hand on his throat squeezing tighter as he leaned forward. It made your head spin and your panties soaking wet.

"You think I don't loathe you? Because I do. But for some reason, I can't get the image of my cock ruining your pussy out of my head." He growls, equally bothered by the tension as you had been since earlier today. "So I suggest, I fuck you right here, right now. Get it out of my system."

Those words shouldn't have made you crave for him the way you are at this very moment, but for some twisted reason it does, so you nod.

"Words, honey."

"You can fuck me," You say, looking him in the eyes. "but I still hate your guts."

"Right back at ya, sweetheart. Now, take off your panties, gotta be quick."

With that said, Harry's hand leaves your throat, and he got up from the bed. You do as he said as he closes and locks the bedroom door. You are bare and ready for him by the time he turns around, and the smirk on his face makes you realize how much he is relishing in the idea of it.

"No foreplay, let's get this over with." You say, glaring at his smug face. Harry looks down at your sopping wet cunt, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"Not that you'd need it. Sole sight of me got you so soaked, huh?" He taunts, crawling up on the bed and climbing over you. He leans back a bit, grinning as you unbuckle his pants and mutter profanities aimed at him under your breath.

When you pull down his briefs, you have to actively stop yourself from widening your eyes. That is going to hurt. It is a prospect you are looking forward to a little too much.

You lean back, watching Harry stroke himself as he observes your wet hole. As if reading his mind, you tell him: "I'm clean, and on birth control."

"Y'telling me you want it bare?" He asks, and you shrug your shoulders. Harry shakes his head, chuckling at your nonchalance. Then, without a word of warning, he pushes himself into you.

"Dirty fucking girl... just wants to feel it all." He says, pulling about almost all the way before thrusting into you again. You shriek from the heavy mix of pain and pleasure it causes you, so much so that Harry has to cover your mouth with his hand.

"You need to keep quiet if you wanna come." He growls, trying to sound irritated, but you can tell he is enjoying himself too much to really feign annoyance. You watch as he finds a rhythm that drives the both of you crazy, closing his eyes as he takes in the great feeling of it all. Your hands find your clit and automatically begin to rub in circles as you listen to the small sounds of pleasure that leave Harry's mouth while he drives himself into you over and over again.

Opening his eyes, he arrogantly smirks at the sight of you getting worked up because of him. He leans forward, his free hand finding your breasts and groping them harshly. A stifled moan leaves your mouth at the feel of his sensitive yet hard touch.

"Look at you, hmm?" He taunts. "One minute you tell me you hate me, and the next you're begging me to fill you up with my bare cock."

Since you can't respond to his teasing, you decide to do the next best thing, bite on his fingers. Harry's hand shoots away from you, looking shocked for the entirety of one second before he's back on track. Then, he laughs.

"Oh, you are a fucking brat..." His hoarse voice mumbles, pulling his cock out of you.

In a flash of a moment, you are turned around onto your belly. Harry scoots your hips up, lining himself up with you again. You use your arms to try and get on all fours, steadying yourself, but you fall face first back onto the mattress as Harry grabs your arms and puts them behind your back. He holds them restrained, his other hand on your hip as he pushes himself back into you.

A muffled moan leaves your mouth as Harry practically screws you into the mattress. His pace is immediately fast, leaving no time for you to take a breath or even think about what he is doing. Your mind gets a bit fuzzy, and you aren't sure whether it is the sex or the alcohol, but either way you are in a different universe right now.

"Biting my finger, thinking you can catch me off guard with the pain. Well, guess what, I like the pain." He says, and you yell when his hand forcefully connects with your ass cheek. You still feel the sting of it when he slaps on your other cheek too, you whimper at the pain, ashamed to admit how much closer it has brought you to your orgasm already. "And so do you, apparently."

"Fuck— I'm..." you try to tell him, but it is hard with your face duh into the sheets and your brain all fucked out from his dick hammering into you.

"I know, I can feel you clenching around me." Harry assures you, then fucks into you harder. The sound of skin slapping against each other takes over the room, accompanied by your increasingly loud moans.

"You are so fucking predictable, falling apart around my cock. Knew you wanted it." Harry holds your hips steady with his hands, and your arch your back for him to hit a special spot.

"Just— this. once." You clarify, hoping Harry has caught your words.

"Hmm, we'll see about that. But fine, just this once, come for me then. Put me away wet." You can hear the grin in his voice, and it is precisely what makes you fall apart around him. With a string of curses and repeats of his name, the euphoric release washes over you.

Harry's grip on your wrists tightens, his fingernails digging into your skin. Slowly but surely, his thrusts become sloppier, and soon enough you hear a groan. His hips still as he comes inside you, filling you up with his seed.

You clench around his cock a few times more as he comes, the idea of his sperm inside you making you hornier than it should. It doesn't go unnoticed by Harry, as he curses under his breath at the feeling of your walls tightening around his cock.

After managing to catch your breath, Harry carefully pulls himself out of you. A whimper escapes you, not satisfied with the fact that you now feel empty.

"Don't pout, I filled you up just nice." He says as he turns you around so you are laying on your back. Your eyes meet his, and the reality of what you have done begins to sink in.

Oh my god, you just had sex with Harry.

Your hands fly over your face, shaking your head as you let out a shameful groan. You move your hands down a bit, so it covers everything but your forehead and eyes, and you observe Harry leaning down to grab your panties. You reach your hand out to take them from Harry, but he looks you dead in the eyes and stuffs them into his pocket.

"What are you doing?" You ask in a warning tone. He shrugs, waltzing towards the bedroom door and unlocking it. "Give me back my panties!"

"No, that's okay." Harry denies your request in the most casual way, turning around to look at you. "I'll hold onto them, for safekeeping."

"Harry!" You exclaim in frustration as he walks out the door. You quickly get off the bed, and follow him. He turns around, hand still in his pocket.

"Yeah, that definitely sounded less annoying when you were coming around my—" You intercept his stupid ass before he has the chance to finish his sentence, slapping your hand over his mouth. The sudden proximity makes your stomach tense up, but you keep a stoic face.

"I fucking despise you." You say lowly, glaring him down. You feel him grinning against your hand, but you ignore it as you let him go and walk towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway. When Harry calls out your name, your body automatically stills. When you turn to look at him, that exact devilish grin coats his face just right.

"What?" You ask, a slight furrow between your brows as you stare at him.

"You smudged your mascara a bit." He gestures towards his face, referencing to your own under eyes. You say nothing, merely flipping him off as you enter the bathroom. Upon taking a look in the mirror, your eyes widen.

Your mascara is indeed smudged, and not a little bit. There are lines of multiple mascara filled tears that streamed down the side of your face. The weird thing is, you don't even remember tearing up. But it is there, right in front of you, the proof of what you did. The mascara around your eyes, his cum dripping from your cunt.

You sit down on the toilet, taking a deep sigh. You cover your face with your hands once again, this time letting out a frustrated shriek. And you realize that—out of all of this—the worst thing is maybe not the fact that you had sex with Harry and that the proof of it is on and in your body. No, the icing on the cake is that Harry himself has the other proof in his fucking pocket right now.

Shit.

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multi-fandom-imagines8 · 5 months

Text

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 1

A/N: Hello everyone! I’m planning to write an Azriel x Archeron!half-sister reader series, possibly featuring a slow-burn romance and angst. I don’t know how many parts it’s going to have. It begins in ACOMAF chapter 24.

Summary: The eldest Archeron half-sister Y/n hates Fae kind, due to tragic past events. When she unexpectedly visits her sisters, she is met with the very race she hates.

Word count: 2.11K

Being the eldest sibling is not always easy. Y/n knew this firsthand, shouldering the weight of responsibility for her younger sisters from a young age. After their mother’s death, she made the difficult decision to leave her sisters behind and stay with her supposed biological father. It wasn’t because she didn’t share the same father as her sisters; in fact, he loved her like she was his own and never discriminated between them. For the first two years after their mothers death, she stayed with her family, but when her “father” lost his fortune, she knew leaving was the only option. It wasn’t just about lightening their burden by having one less mouth to feed; she also hoped by seeking out her biological father, she could find work and send money back to her family.

Surprisingly, her father welcomed her with open arms, a kindness that caught her off guard considering he had shown little interest in her when she was younger. Despite her initial skepticism, she didn’t question his motives, fearing he might kick her out. With cleverness and father’s help, she managed to pursue higher education, while working to make ends meet. Though her earnings were modest, she’d send whatever she could spare to her family, ensuring they had enough to survive. With Feyre’s help, there was always food on the table.

Y/n’s life was devoid of fun. Between studying, working, sleeping and occasional visits to her family, she had little time for socializing and friends. This isolation was entirely her choice; she distanced herself from others, earning a reputation as being cold, heartless, selfish, and arrogant to those who didn’t know her well. Yet, beneath this exterior, she harbored a deep love for her sisters and would sacrifice anything for their well-being, despite no longer showing them affection after their mother’s death. They understood her silent expressions of care, recognizing that actions spoke louder than words.

One thing everyone knew for certain is that y/n was stubborn. She held fast to her beliefs and opinions, regardless of external influences. Among her sisters, Netsa was the most like her and the one who admired her the most. The two shared the closest bond before she left, but make no mistake, if anyone Nesta feared and obeyed, it was Y/n, knowing she was not one to be crossed.

After Feyre left the mortal realm, her family’s fortune turned, and she finished her education. Consequently, her visits became less frequent, as she immersed herself into her work.

A smile appeared on y/n’s face at the thought of her sisters’ reactions to seeing her after a long time. She decided to surprise them with a spontaneous visit. Unbeknownst to her, another surprise awaited her inside the place she called home.

“Nesta, Elain, I’m home!” y/n announced as she opened the front door of their home.

“Are we expecting someone else?” Rhys whispered to Feyre.

“Nesta, why didn’t you tell me y/n was coming?” Feyre questioned, panic all over her face.

“I didn’t know. She usually sends word before she comes” Nesta claimed.

The conversation between the two sisters earned them a curious, yet worried look from the three males. Nesta stood from chair, hurrying to the door, but she was too late, y/n was now standing in the dining room, the smile dropping from her face and replaced by a shocked expression at the sight before her.

“What is going on?” y/n asked carefully and slowly.

“These are Feyre’s friends. We were not expecting you today” Elain replied.

“Y/n, it’s been a while. I’m so happy to see you” Feyre stood from her seat and hugged her sister, who was reluctant at first but returned the hug.

“You brought Fae-kind into our home?” it was more of a rhetorical question, but Feyre answered anyway.

“Y/n, this is Cassian” she inclined her head to the male with long hair “Azriel” she pointed to the male who y/n could’ve sworn was the most handsome man she’s even laid eyes on “and Rhysand, high lord of the Night Court” Feyre finished introducing.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” Rhys said with a warm smile.

“I’m sure” y/n sneered, returning her gaze on her sisters “you still haven’t told me what’s going on and why the very same race we despise are now in our living room, dining with us” y/n tried making sense of the situation.

Feyre explained the situation, why they were here, what they needed from the sisters and the threat posed by Hybern.

“So the moment you became fae, you chose to forsake us?” this was all y/n could utter.

“I’d never do that. Me being fae doesn’t change that. It never will. You’ll always be my sister” Feyre assured her.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have brought THEM here. Hatred aside, do you have any idea of the danger you just put Nesta and Elain in?” Y/n turned her hand into a fist, her knuckles as white as they could be, trying to keep her temper in check.

“There was nowhere else to go” Feyre claimed.

“And you were alright with this?” Y/n turned to face her other sisters.

“I wasn’t, but Elain agreed” Nesta informed her.

“Feyre’s right, there-“ Cassian spoke.

“Who are you again?” Y/n glared at him “I’m too tired to deal with this now” she rubbed her temples and said to no one in specific “call me when they’re gone”.

“Uhm, they’re-“ before Nesta could finish the sentence, y/n was already gone “-going to stay for a while” she sighed.

“I take it, this is your eldest sister” Rhys asked.

“I told you she could be intense” Feyre replied.

“That’s one word for it” Cassian expressed and was met with a glare from Nesta.

—-

Thinking they had left, y/n descended the stairs, dressed in her nightgown and robe, seeking out a comforting cup of tea in the quiet atmosphere of midnight. Opening the backdoor leading to their garden, she leaned against the door frame, admiring the stars as she sipped her tea. She took a deep breath appreciating the tranquility and solitude the night provided. She could’ve sworn the shadows moved, but she dismissed it believing it was hallucinations caused by exhaustion from a long trip. Noticing a bright star in the sky, she lifted her cup up and uttered “cheers” a sad smile appearing on her face…

As she was locking the door, she glimpsed a figure in the shadows. This time, unable to dismiss what she saw, she called out “who’s there?”.

At first there was no response but she called out again “I know there’s someone here, so I suggest you come out” she demanded.

Azriel hesitated but complied “I apologize, I did not mean to disturb you”.

“What are you still doing here?” She covered herself with the robe, the gesture did not go unnoticed by Azriel.

“Your gracious sisters allowed us to stay here for a while” he informed her.

“Have they now?” she nodded, clearly displeased by the information she just received “how long are you planning on staying here?”.

“Not long. As soon as the letter is delivered, we’ll be out of your way, I give you my word” he politely said.

“Your word means nothing to me. And if you’re staying at someone’s house, do not sneak up on them” her words as cold as ice.

“I wasn-“ before Azriel could explain, she had left, making his jaw clench in frustration.

The following day, she went downstairs earlier to get some breakfast, but what was early for her, was late for others. Upon entering the kitchen, she found Rhys and Feyre engaged in a conversation with Elain, while Nesta and Cassian bickered over their tea. Azriel was standing in the corner and when he saw her enter, his whole body tensed, and Cassian and Nesta went still

“Good morning” Rhys greeted and was met with silence.

Y/n prepared her breakfast when Feyre approached her “how did you sleep?” Y/n just stared at her sister without saying a word. Once she was done preparing her food, she took it and left without acknowledging anyone’s existence. As Cassian and Nesta resumed their bickering, Azriel finally relaxed, prompting Rhys to speak again “not a good morning, I guess?” He joked.

“Oh believe me, this is a good morning. If you think this was something, then you really don’t want to see her angry” Feyre remarked.

“Is she always like this?” Cassian asked.

“Give her time. She doesn’t like strangers and she most definitely hates Fae-kind” Feyre reminded.

“Yeah, that was clear” Cassian said.

“You’re talking about her like she’s a bad person” Nesta defended.

“Nesta, you know that’s not what I meant” Feyre tried to explain.

“All I’ve seen you do since you got here is criticizing y/n. She’s done nothing wrong” Nesta reminded.

“I’m sorry, but you know how y/n can be”.

“How? All she did was ignore you all, instead of engaging in a pitty argument that would hit your weak spots, and last I’ve known, she does not owe any of you anything. If you’re going to stay in this house, then better respect their owners” Nesta expressed.

“Nesta!” Elain said, clearly displeased with her sister’s tone.

—-

“Can I come in?” Nesta asked permission to enter y/n’s room.

“What is it now?” Y/n opened the door.

“I wanted to spend some time with you”

“Don’t you have guests to entertain?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“Elain and Feyre can deal with them. I’d rather stay here with you”.

“Fiine” y/n rolled her eyes but allowed her sister into her room.

“They already have a bad impression of you” Nesta told her.

“When did I ever care about what people thought of me? Let alone, what male Fae thought of me” y/n chuckled “it bothered you, didn’t it?”.

“Of course it did. I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak badly of you”.

“They’re just words spoken by irrelevant people. When you acknowledge their words, you make them relevant. Remember Nesta, you decide who you give power over you”.

The next day, Feyre, Rhys and Azriel were absent from the kitchen when y/n arrived “oh, for fuck’s sake, how do you two find the energy to fight this early in the morning?” Y/n asked, clearly awoken by the sound of Cassian and Nesta arguing.

“It’s noon” Cassian corrected.

“Whatever. If you’re gonna argue, do it outside. Hearing your voice gives me headaches” y/n uttered.

“And here I thought my voice was soothing” he sarcastically said.

“Don’t. Just don’t!” Cassian’s attempt at humor was met with y/n’s annoyance.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“More like a rough couple of days. Some people clearly don’t know how to be good guests” Y/n started making herself a cup of coffee.

“Well, maybe that’s because some people don’t know how to be polite hosts” he snickered.

“You know what? You’re not worth my time, if you want to argue, you have Nesta. She apparently has the patience for it”.

“Y/n” Nesta called.

“What? You do love arguing” y/n reminded.

“Wow, the two of you in the same house as poor Elain and Feyre, how did they survive?”.

“By knowing when to speak and when to shut up” y/n glared at him, taking her coffee and leaving and he said something.

—-

“What now?” Y/n asked as Feyre called for her sisters “We can leave soon to mail our letter” informing them.

“And this concerns me how?” Y/n asked.

“I-I thought you’d like to go with us”.

“Why would I do that? No, thank you”… “wasn’t there one more of you?” Y/n asked, pretending to just have realized Azriel wasn’t present.

“He had to return early. We had an altercation this morning” Feyre explained.

“Altercation?” Y/n narrowed her eyes,

“It’s nothing”.

“If you’re trying to hide it, then it is something”.

“She was attacked” Rhys claimed.

“What? By whom? And you call THIS nothing?” Y/n started checking her sister for injuries and both males’ eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt”.

“Who attacked you?”.

“It’s rather a what. She was attacked by a creature called the Attor who was sent by the king of Hybern” Rhys informed her “don’t worry, Az is taking care of it”.

To his surprise, she only nodded.

“I changed my mind. I’m coming with you” y/n announced.

“Don’t tell me it’s because I was attacked” Feyre smirked.

“Oh, shut up!” Y/n nudged her with her shoulder.

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munson-blurbs · 7 months

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie's rejection made you question your own hopes and dreams, but the consequences were even more dire for him. (3.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, homelessness, depiction of alcoholism, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter three: turn the lights back on

Eddie left during Dad’s shift on Friday. Over the years, there were more than a handful of guests who’d put up a fight when check out day arrived, but he wasn’t one of them.

When you’d inquired about his departure, as nonchalantly as you could, Dad only said that Eddie had signed the log and walked off without any formal goodbye.

“What time?”

“Six-thirty, or thereabouts. No later than seven.”

Almost as if he’d waited for you to clock out. Purposely avoiding you.

You shrugged off the thought, chastising yourself for taking a harmless coincidence so personally. Maybe he had to be somewhere early or wanted to beat the rush hour traffic. Maybe he didn’t even take your presence—or lack thereof—into consideration.

He did, however, swipe the blanket from his bed, leaving behind just the pillow and a rumpled sheet. Disappointment wove its way through your veins at its finality. He was simply another guest, another face stored in the depths of your memory with some many other one-timers.

Making a mental note to replace the blanket before the summer crowd arrived, you stripped the remaining sheet and pillowcase and made the bed with clean ones. The fabric was so worn that it was nearly transparent, barely concealing the litany of stains that decorated the old mattress.

Eddie didn’t appear to have added any to the collection. That was something, you supposed.

Your Friday and Saturday evenings were always spent the same way: watching groups of friends traipse up and down the boulevard, laughing at jokes that were only funny because everyone was on the right side of tipsy. Rain or shine, teenagers could always be counted on to frequent the local bars and liquor stores that didn't bother to check for identification.

Sundays brought the usual sense of existential dread; the week ahead was daunting and the week prior was a blur of exhaustion. A new guest checked in, an older woman who’d missed her flight out of LaGuardia and needed a place to stay until the next plane took off in the morning. You almost put her in room four, the key temptingly dangling from its hook, but you plucked the one for room three instead.

And then Monday arrived, baring its ugly teeth in a menacing grimace. It exhaled a rancid puff of morning breath, the same smell that belched from the bus’s tailpipe.

Backpack sagging low with the weight of overpriced textbooks, you dragged yourself towards the bus stop. Your only reprieve is that today marked the last week of classes. All that remained after that was finals week, and then you were done.

The typical small collection of commuters greeted you in traditional New York City fashion: tired half-smiles with a respectful lack of eye contact that you reflexively reciprocated. One of the older men sat on the bench, but the normally empty spot next to him was occupied by none other than Eddie Munson. He kept his guitar case safely clenched between his thighs, his garbage bag suitcase leaning against his left leg.

Curiosity nudged you and wormed its way into your thoughts. Where was he going? Was he staying at a different motel, one that had cable so he could watch MTV whenever he needed?

Or maybe he was en route to Port Authority so he could high-tail it back to not-New York, to his hometown where people considered it polite to strike up conversations with strangers.

Wherever his destination was, it was no longer your problem.

If he noticed you, he gave no indication. His vacant stare never left the ground, vaguely looking up one time to light a cigarette. He cupped a hand around the flame, blocking his view of you.

It was probably better that way.

The bus hissed as it pulled up to the stop and the doors hinged open to let passengers board. Would he sit next to you? Would he position himself as far away as possible? Or was he wholly indifferent, regarding the exchange as out of sight and out of mind?

Taking a seat towards the back, you searched for him in the sea of faces. You could apologize, explain you were only trying to help and never meant to embarrass him, and the two of you could part ways knowing that you didn’t look down on him.

But there was no sign of the frizzy curls that he wore like a crown, no guitar case inching into the aisle. For all intents and purposes, this bus was an Eddie Munson-free zone.

A disappointed ache settled in your chest and you massaged your sternum in hopes of alleviating it. When the driver turned the wheel away from the curb, you caught a glimpse of Eddie through the fingerprint-smudged window, sitting on the bench just as he had since you’d arrived.

Except this time, he was looking directly at you. It was intentional; he’d seen you waiting at the stop and waited until conversation was an impossibility before daring to glance your way.

He averted his gaze the moment your eyes locked onto his. It was so fast that you worried that you’d imagined it. A sleep-deprived hallucination, even.

You didn’t stop looking even as the bus left the stop. You watched him toss his cigarette butt to the ground and crush it with the sole of his sneaker. You watched him take another one and place it between his lips. You watched trembling fingers dig into his jacket pocket and take out the lighter once again.

He was out of sight before you could see a spark.

Excitement hummed through campus, a live wire that electrified even you. It was hard to ignore the end-of-semester buzz, especially with the sun warming the air in a soft spotlight.

Other students sat on the quad, blankets tucked underneath them as they ate lunch with friends. Their mouths moved in conversations about exam cramming and upcoming parties and post-graduation plans. You wanted to bottle their lightheartedness and carry it around with you, dipping into it when life got too serious and dabbing it on your pulse points like perfume.

Fluorescent bulbs replaced the natural light as you walked the hall towards the classroom. You slid into your usual spot and placed your bag on the adjacent chair to reserve it for Nora. Until she arrived, you’d be left alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Great.

The memory of the other night, of Eddie’s sullen expression and the way his lips hardened into a frown, was a stone in your stomach.

How could he think that you pitied him, looked down on him for his circumstances? Wasn’t it obvious from the motel’s disrepair that you weren’t exactly living in the lap of luxury either? And yet, he’d perceived your attempt at an alliance as some sort of enemy threat. You wanted to shake his shoulders and yell, “we’re on the same team!” but it would probably just bounce off of his MTV-obsessed brain without him ever processing it.

Eddie’s reaction wasn’t the only part of the confrontation that bothered you. No, what really drove you to the brink of insanity was that the confrontation bothered you at all.

How many guests were snippy or even downright mean to you over the years? How many had raised their voice over the most trivial matter? You had lost count of the number of times someone had spat the word ‘bitch’ in your direction because of low water pressure or a lightbulb that needed replacing.

And yet, this is the instance that grated at you, had you wondering if he’d looked away from you this afternoon out of disdain, guilt, embarrassment, or some combination of the three.

It shouldn’t have even mattered. So what if he hated you? He was out of the motel, which meant that his problems were no longer your concern.

The click of the door being wrenched open forced you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

“Last week of classes!” Nora trilled with a wide grin. She practically skipped to your side, slinging her backpack over the wooden chair back. “Then we have finals,” she contorted her face in disgust before resuming her excited disposition, “and then we graduate!”

She plopped down in her seat, adjusting her body to face you. “That reminds me; we should probably figure out where we’re going to meet before the ceremony, because I am not sitting through that alo—what?” She frowned when you flinched, the realization setting in. “Nonono, don’t tell me you’re not going.”

“Sorry,” you offered half-heartedly. The pen markings on your desk suddenly became incredibly interesting, and you rubbed your forefinger over them in a feeble attempt to end the conversation.

As usual, Nora refused to accept defeat. “Still haven’t told your parents?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, you’ve got two weeks.” She clapped you on the back a bit too harshly, her lips pinched with an edge of impatience. “Time to put on those big-girl panties.”

She meant well–she always did, doing everything in her power to encourage you to pursue the career you wanted. But she just didn’t understand the mounting pressure to be what your family needed, or how you were constantly towing the line between selfishness and dignity. One step in the wrong direction and you would either crush your parents’ dreams or your own. And while there had to be some gray area there, it was overshadowed by the polarizing categories.

“I’ll try.”

You won’t.

You spent the class forcing yourself to listen to the professor, jotting down notes every so often when you could remember to do so.

Paying attention to lectures, final papers and exams, the graduation ceremony–it all seemed asinine when you considered your failure to help people on the most basic level. Like with Eddie: as hard as you tried to emphasize the mutual benefits of him working at the motel, you’d still inadvertently offended him.

When were you going to learn to stop extending help to people who weren’t asking for any? In these situations, you tossed logic aside to make room for emotion. It had been that way since you first began to understand that answers to life’s problems were seldom clear-cut.

There was one day in particular, where rain fell in sheets and your only option was to play indoors. You were jumping rope in the lobby, excitedly counting along with each skip.

“Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty—”

The rope smacked against your ankles, but you were too distracted to feel the sting. Your eyes were glued to a man who was stumbling towards the front desk. He wobbled in his whiskey-drenched cloud, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before collapsing to the ground in sudden hysterical sobs.

“Everything okay, sir?” Dad asked. His inconspicuous hand motioned you towards your room, but you froze in place. It wasn’t fear so much as shock that a grown-up was having a temper tantrum.

The man didn’t answer; instead, he took a swig from the brown paper bag clutched in his hand. Amber liquid trickled out from between his lips as he cried, and he slowly pushed himself up and out the front door without acknowledging anyone else’s presence. Raindrops pelted down on his head and matted whatever hair was left on his head

“Why was he crying?” You’d asked Dad, the jump rope now all but forgotten. “And what was in the bag?”

Dad gave you a small smile and did his best to explain the adult situation to a child. Even now, you remembered him talking about how drinking alcohol can make people feel happy, sad, or angry. He omitted the fact that all three emotions could occur in the same person, in the same moment, but your eight-year-old mind wouldn’t have comprehended that anyway.

Ever inquisitive, you continued asking questions. “But if it makes him sad, why doesn’t he just stop?”

“It’s not that easy,” Dad said with a tight grimace.

You’d considered his response for a moment, eyes lighting up when you conjured up a brilliant idea. “What if we go in his room and throw out all of his alcohol!” You tugged on Dad’s hand, expecting him to reciprocate your enthusiasm, but he’d stayed where he was and shook his head.

“Afraid it doesn’t work that way, kiddo. He’s gotta want to stop drinking first.”

It hadn’t made sense to you then, and though you’d learned about the nuances of addiction as the years crept by, it didn’t do much to quell your frustration. Any solution being beyond your control was a piranha ripping into your ambitions with its razor-sharp teeth.

The Eddie situation gave you that same helpless feeling. If you could turn back the clock, you would have done something different. You weren’t sure exactly what would be different, but it would almost certainly be better than your spur-of-the-moment offer last Wednesday.

But since time travel was out of the question and Eddie was no longer one of your guests, both he and his problems were out of your hands.

If only your heart could accept that.

A reel of your shortcomings played in your mind on a continuous loop; it still gnawed at you as class was dismissed, the professor calling out a reminder about final paper submission while you and Nora walked out the door.

“Are you okay?” She frowned and put out a gentle hand to bring you to a stop.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

She wasn’t falling for that lame excuse, not when something heavier than sleep marred your face. “Seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Do you ever feel like you’ll never actually help anyone?”

The words came out in a rush before you could curtail them. Wincing, you allowed yourself a peek at your friend’s expression. Confusion knitted her brows together, but her arms stayed at her sides.

“What do you mean?” Her words were soft and careful, distinctly absent of judgment or condescension.

A monologue of response was lodged in your throat. It was a thought you held inside, silently rehearsed but never dared to speak aloud:

Are we really going to make a difference? Or enough of a difference that it even matters? Like when you see a homeless person and you give them some money, or buy them something to eat. And you feel good for a split second, because now that person isn’t going to be hungry for a little while, right? But then you pass by another homeless person. And another. And you realize that, to them, it doesn’t matter that you helped someone else. Because those other people are still hungry.

You said none of it, swallowing the words and replacing them with a, “never mind, I’m too in my own head today.”

Nora nodded, not wanting to push too hard, but you knew she was teeming with questions. She offered a small smile that told you the conversation wasn’t over, just paused temporarily.

A nod of your own sealed the compromise.

The rest of the afternoon played out without a hiccup. Lunch was your usual greasy sandwich from Niko with a side of his irritated banter, this time about the price of gas.

“You girls think it won’t affect you because you take the bus,” he warned, finger wagging between you and Nora, “but just watch them hike up the fare. It’s only a matter of time. Especially with those new card things you gotta use.”

His fears were unfounded, at least for the moment, and you and Nora each dropped $1.25 into the coin slot.

“About what you said earlier,” she started, finding space to wrap her hands on the pole, “we don’t have to talk about it—”

“Please.”

“–but I need to tell you one thing.” Her eyes held firmly onto yours. “If anyone’s gonna make a difference in this shitty world, it’s you.”

The compliment should have illuminated you from the inside out; instead, it was a firefly’s light, barely bright enough to cast a shadow with its pathetic flickering. You ached to believe her, but it was impossible to imagine that the same person who wouldn’t tell her parents a simple truth could also change the world.

“Thanks.” One word compounded with a forced smile, and the truce snapped back in place. Weighing potential conversation topics, you settled on the most neutral–the final paper for your class–and launched yourself into it with as much enthusiasm as you could summon for the remainder of the ride home.

There was no overt sign of Eddie when your bus pulled up to the stop. Not at first. The only indication of him was a familiar mint-colored blanket tightly wrapped around a lump laying across the bench.

It wasn’t until you stepped off of the bus and got closer that you could make out the curly brunette tendrils peeking out from the top, the blanket rising and falling with each breath he took. His face was hidden and his eyelids were screwed shut in fitful sleep, allowing you to hold onto the false hope that it wasn’t him, just someone with a similar build and hair texture. Even the frayed hems of his jeans and his scuffed sneakers sticking out from the other end of the blanket could have been a coincidence.

But there was no denying the truth once you caught a glimpse of the guitar case being hugged to his chest.

Just keep walking. Stop trying to fix things that you didn’t break. Things that didn’t ask to be fixed.

Your conscience trumped logic once again as two fingertips gently pressed against his blanket-wrapped shoulder.

“Eddie?”

His eyes flew open in an instant, revealing the delicate red lines that scarred the whites and meandered towards his brown irises. He clenched the guitar case even tighter as he jolted upright, protecting it like it was his child, and the sudden movement sent a handful of empty beef jerky wrappers floating to the ground.

Sunlight streamed through the glass panes, fragmented where it had been shattered by a rogue baseball or perhaps the crown of someone’s head, though you would have heard about it if it was the latter. It backlit him in an angelic glow, a halo comically contradicting his bitter expression.

“Fuckin’ shit–don’t scare me like that!”

The gentle, rhythmic inhales and exhales were long gone, replaced by a frantic fight-or-flight panting that flared out his nostrils. His hardened jawline softened a bit once he’d fully clawed himself out of his sleepy haze and realized that the person in front of him wasn’t a threat, just a nuisance.

“I told you; I don’t need your charity.” His lips set into a scowl and he laid back down on the bench, tugging the blanket back up to his chin.

That’s it. Conversation over. Go home.

“You certainly need my blanket, though.” Raising one eyebrow, you thumbed at the thin material to make your point.

Eddie only doubled down, sitting up once more to ball up the blanket and toss it in your direction. “Here ya go. It’s all yours.”

You caught it with one hand, the loose threads tickling your forearm.

“That’s not what I meant.” A hiss of air passed through your teeth. This was the perfect opportunity to leave him behind, to go somewhere you were needed and wanted. He had been making it abundantly clear that he’d rather live outside than spend another second with you.

And yet.

“I’m not just gonna let you sleep out here.” Tone thick with insistence, you mustered up all of your determination. The blanket was now tucked beneath your underarm and sopping up the pooling perspiration. “And it’s only a matter of time before you get mugged. With that thing,” you gesture to the instrument still in his grasp, “I’m surprised it hasn’t already happened. So you can either stay at the motel and re-wallpaper the lobby or you can kiss your precious guitar goodbye.”

Fire burned behind your eyes as you spoke, each word adding kindling. You couldn’t tell if you were doing this for his safety or your own pride, but both led to the same outcome.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just scraped his top teeth over the dead skin on his lower lip, drawing a speck of blood that went unnoticed. You stayed silent, too, the weight of his impending decision anchoring your tongue.

Finally he nodded, slowly at first, then faster as desperation seeped in, but he remained steadfast in his refusal to meet your eyes.

“Fine.” Eddie’s breath was shaky, teetering on the brink of tears, but none fell. “Just until I find a paying gig.”

He grabbed the neck of his guitar with one hand and pressed on his knee with the other. Fixing his posture, he stood tall in hopes that no one walking by would equate him with the pitiful mess who had been sleeping at a bus stop in a stolen blanket.

“Okay,” you agreed with a quiet breath, a cautious smile playing on your lips as the two of you walked back to the motel. You stayed two steps in front of him, leading the way.

He could turn heel and run. He could back out at any moment and you’d never see him again. But when you unlocked the door to room four–Eddie’s room–he was still behind you.

“I can take the blanket back,” he said, motioning to the bundle under your arm as he stepped over the threshold and into the room.

Like a phantom appendage, you’d forgotten it was there. “No. I’ll get you a fresh one.” You shook your head, finalizing the matter.

“Okay.”

No hesitation. No argument.

Maybe there was a chance you could actually help him. Maybe you didn’t ruin everything you touched.

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orchidyoonkook · 3 months

Text

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport.

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made.

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really.

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next.

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together.

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling.

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You’re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it.

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you.

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t.

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow.

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.”

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later.

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations.

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake.

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too.

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end.

But it does.

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you.

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom.

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed.

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes.

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream.

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation.

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed.

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.”

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her.

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it.

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now.

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her.

You love her for it. For this.

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes.

You’re staring at him.

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him.

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework.

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him.

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left.

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you.

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is.

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences.

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted.

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know.

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this.

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive.

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit.

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it.

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box.

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag. - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels?

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways.

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework.

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat.

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force.

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him.

“Me?” you look dumbfounded.

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater?

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense.

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline.

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best.

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too.

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better.

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model.

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her.

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe.

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that.

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower.

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back.

And the fact that you didn’t answer him.

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch.

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study.

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face.

Ah, he knows that look.

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim.

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image.

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark.

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line.

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you.

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?”

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker.

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply.

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window.

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to.

He can’t help it.

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious.

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak.

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching.

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some.

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies.

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice.

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains.

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses.

You give him an unimpressed stare.

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?”

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one.

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline.

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly.

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always.

Never your name.

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

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nb-octopus-writes · 2 months

Text

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Summary:

Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule.

In his defense, they keep feeding him every time they see him, and Patton's cooking is really good.

Chapter 1: Halloween Party

Wordcount: 1.9K

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism, he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two, is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name.

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people, I don't know anybody, etc—would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Morning After

#nb octopus writes #Accidental Polycule Infiltration Fic #sanders sides #creativitwins #Virgil POV #multichapter #1 #royality #mociet #(implied)#polysanders

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delirious-donna · 6 months

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Museum Mishaps [Part Six]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: It's been two days since that night at the bar, and Kento is the one to suggest a trip to the museum. Leaving you to wonder... is it a date?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: SFW except for one small mention of masturbation, humour, forced proximity, two oblivious idiots, misunderstandings, a little bickering, Kento is a museum nerd

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

The weekend came and went without further incident between yourself and Kento. That wasn’t to say that things were perfect, but it no longer felt awkward when the two of you occupied the same room. It was much like living with a roommate, which you supposed it was, and you had dealt with that in your first year of college without maiming or killing anyone. Although, you couldn’t recall wanting to fuck your roommate either, so perhaps the comparison wasn’t accurate after all.

Whilst the memory of almost blurting out your late-night wandering hands still burnt freshly in your mind, the rest of the evening had been saved by it. The heat of Kento’s rejection didn’t sting too badly once he turned those hazel eyes on you, suspicion pinning you in place. Anything was better than the look he had given you in the bar.

Thankfully, the banter and easy conversation returned. It was easier to tease him about the incident than dwell on it. Heaven knows you weren’t going to make another move like that. You’d play it off as some silly joke rather than see your feelings hurt. Kento wasn’t interested, and that was okay. You weren’t everyone’s cup of tea, you understood that. Knowing where you stood now, it was a lot easier to build those bonds with your best friend’s brother—for that was all he could ever be.

Kento, on the other hand, felt like an opportunity had slipped through his fingers. It was gone before he could react or try to claw it back. Whilst he was glad that your good humour returned, he couldn’t help but fixate on those unspoken words. It was hard to look past the idea that something was staring him right in the face, and he simply couldn’t bring the image into focus to understand it.

So many times, his mouth had opened, words on the tip of his tongue, only to shut it again. His lack of courage irritated him. Handfuls of his neatly parted hair pushed back to hide how badly he wanted to scrub a palm down his face.

He was no coward.

Except he was.

The dreams were worse than ever. There were never full scenes but enough lingering fragments that tormented him each morning upon waking. Bright sunshine smiles, the warmth of a touch he wasn’t accustomed to and the sound of his name. Such torture, and perhaps, if he weren’t wearing his obliviousness as armour to protect his heart, he would realise that his brain was trying to tell him something.

He was ashamed to admit that he had masturbated more in these three days than he had in almost an entire year. He was more ashamed that he felt more relaxed than he had in an even longer time than that. Whilst he still followed a lot of his daily routine, being able to deviate or change things around was rather freeing, and of course, he wouldn’t put any of it down to the relief he was giving to his body. Preposterous.

Kento missed your presence when you skipped out the door on an adventure he wasn’t invited to. Raising a hand half-heartedly when you waved your goodbyes and clock-watching until you returned. Your stories were fast becoming the best part of his day. Listening raptly to you rave about this quaint little second-hand bookstore you discovered and expressing so emphatically how much you were sure he would love the place, he looked forward to it. It felt like he was rediscovering the city he had lived in for years through fresh eyes and he enjoyed your unique take on the world.

His smile was genuine, if not tinged bittersweet. It was warming that you thought of him when he wasn’t around, but it would be so much better if he could be there with you, and that was quite the realisation to swallow.

In the end, it was that sense of missing out that caused him to blurt out an invitation this morning. The two of you sat side by side at the kitchen island savouring the coffee he had brewed for you both, whilst you thought out loud about where today might take you.

“There’s a wildlife photography exhibition at the National Museum. Kento paused, pretending not to be eyeing you over the corner of his newspaper. “I was thinking of going… would you like to join me?”

He waited with bated breath, silently cursing how nervous he felt and already working on how he would cover his disappointment when you inevitably declined his offer.

“Yes, please! That sounds like fun. I’ve never been to the National Museum before, could we look around as well?”

Kento blinked. In his head, he was ready to say not to worry and that he’d go by himself, but your enthusiasm bowled him over. Shutting his paper, he turned to you and bowed his head in a nod. “Of course. We could leave in around an hour and have most of the day to explore. I’ll just go change out of these sweatpants.”

You watched as he practically scuttled out of the kitchen and down the hallway. It was very unlike him to move so swiftly, and you stifled a laugh before preparing for the outing yourself, dancing along to the soft music playing over the apartment speakers in your excitement for the day ahead.

It was hard to look in every direction as you traversed the wide-open atrium that served as the central hub of the museum, but you gave it a damn good go. More than once you bumped into Kento when a new curiosity stole your attention, apologising almost half-heartedly, and not because you weren’t sorry for nudging him so often, it was more that your brain was too busy processing everything it could see.

A large bronze statue of Buddha caught your eye, and you skittered across the polished floor to stand in front of the information plate, eagerly absorbing all it had to tell.

Kento couldn’t help but smile. Your enthusiasm was proving infectious, and he strolled with newfound intrigue towards you tapping photo after photo of the statue on your phone. “I didn’t take you for a museum connoisseur. Every time I’ve come here with Karin, she has whined and pleaded to leave almost as soon as we got here.”

“Oh, tell me about it. I tried to get her to go to this really cool space exhibition that our college was hosting and she flat-out refused.” You harrumphed at the memory of her expression filled with disgust. “I’m not your sister, Kento.”

You moved away to grab up one of the folded paper guides with a map of the place, and Kento was glad of the second’s reprieve after that last comment. No, you weren’t his sister. He swallowed and raised a hand to loosen the knot of his tie only to remember, at the last moment, he wasn’t in a shirt and tie. Another stark reminder of how little downtime he ever afforded himself. Perhaps, it was time for a change.

“If you enjoy space, follow me,” he said with a subtle wiggle of his eyebrows when he walked towards you for the second time. Waving towards the open entranceway to the left, you turned and glanced up into the skeletal remains of what you guessed to be a T-Rex. It made you giggle, and Nanami followed you closely, shaking his head in good humour at the renewed spring in your step.

He led you through a gallery filled with animals of all shapes and sizes, from the long-extinct to the endangered to the thriving. Creatures of the sea, land and air hung suspended from invisible supports, and even a baby blue whale graced the visitors with the enormity of its skeletal shadow. You would have stopped at every sign and interactive spot if not for wishing to keep pace with your guide. Whilst he wasn’t storming ahead, his pace wasn’t meant for the careful reading of every fact you could digest.

It was worth it when you reached an area darker than the previous section, with minerals and twinkling geodes shown behind glass cases. The remnants of a lunar capsule marked one corner with children standing around an employee giving an enthusiastic talk about the moon landings. Models of the solar system in varying sizes caught your attention, but what really stood out was the black dome in the centre.

Stopping short of the hidden entrance you spied when a woman and little boy slipped inside, you tapped Kento’s shoulder. “What’s inside there?”

“Now, why would I spoil the surprise, hm?”

Without another word, he marched inside to leave you standing there, blinking in amused confusion. This playful side was interesting, fun even, and you hoped it would last throughout the visit.

Never in a million years did you think you’d find yourself lying on your back staring up at the celestial bodies that made up the Universe with Nanami Kento by your side. He was seated on the floor along the wall when you found him, grateful for the small pillow he’d managed to secure for the both of you given how crowded it was inside. The noise of families, friends in little groups and the odd couple or two died down when the low lighting completely extinguished to bathe you in darkness. You found that you had to lie closer to Kento than you would have chosen, but he didn’t seem perturbed by your nearness, in fact, he turned his head to give you a smile that made your stomach flutter with rambunctuous butterflies.

Denying your attraction to him was growing harder once more, and you did your best to focus on the story above you rather than trying to identify the notes of his cologne that wafted into your nose. The heat of his body licked at your own, warming you thoroughly though you were far from cold. This felt… intimate, or it would, if it were a date.

Was this a date? No.

A mighty boom echoed through the sound system to symbolise the moment of the big bang, and you audibly shrieked in surprise. There were titters of laughter from every side, heat filled your face instantly, and you lifted your hands to cover your eyes in embarrassment.

“Are you alright?” Kento’s concerned voice whispered in hushed tones only loud enough so you would hear. His breath fanned your ear from the action of shuffling closer, and you had to fight the urge to shudder in appreciation.

“Fine, I’m… fine.”

He wasn’t buying it, and honestly, he didn’t feel too hot himself. If he spread out his fingers he would brush your hand, that’s how close you were. The near blackness illuminated by the twinkle of projected stars overhead intensified the already far too intimate setting, and despite how crowded it was, everyone faded from his mind as he thought of only you. Kento imagined the two of you spread out like this on a warm picnic blanket, the real heavenly bodies above you and how nice it might be to kiss you beneath their ethereal watch.

The lights came back to life without warning, although had he been paying attention to the experience, it wouldn’t have been such a surprise. Blinking and slightly dazed, Kento sat up and quickly got to his feet, dusting down his trousers and smoothing away any wrinkles. He reached out to help you stand before thinking twice, your hand slid into his with perfect ease, and for a moment, he simply stared at you in longing.

His hand was warm, the texture rougher than expected, and when he finally pulled it back, you wanted to tighten your fingers and refuse to let go. The hustle surrounding you both wasn’t enough to sway your attention nor was it enough to calm your racing heart. Your gaze caught the attention of a young couple, hand in hand and laughing about something unknowable, and you coveted what they had, and you didn’t—couldn’t. He didn’t want you like that, and no matter how much you wished this could be a date, it wasn’t.

“Come on, let’s get moving or we’ll never see everything else.”

Kento heard your words. He saw your smile and the wave of your hand to beckon him onwards, but he didn’t believe them. For that brief moment, when your hand was in his, he felt your fingers twitch almost imperceptibly. More wishful thinking on his part? He wasn’t sure, but he was determined not to spoil the day by moping in his uncertainty.

The hours melted away much like the sun rising and dipping in the sky outside. An air of fragility lingered despite both your efforts to dispel the effects of earlier. The exhibitions and various collections were intriguing, but none more so than the man trailing a few paces behind you. An enigma that you were sure you’d started to unravel, but now… you weren’t so sure anymore.

He offered tidbits of information that only a history buff would be able to, the tips of his ears blushing beet red whenever you pointed that fact out. So many times you wanted to sneak up real close when he was engrossed in reading something, the desire to run your fingertips over his ribs and find out if he was ticklish or not, but you knew that wasn’t a good idea.

The wildlife photography exhibition was far quieter than you suspected it would be, and you were grateful to be wrong. After a good few hours of trailing around the massive building, fatigue was setting in and finding a soft seat to rest your tired feet was a pleasant result. Leaning back on your elbows on the overstuffed leather rectangle that sat in the middle of the gallery, you could watch the comings and goings from every angle.

Kento stalked between the various shots that lined the walls, pausing and tilting his head in keen fascination. He was your sole focus, the unexpecting prey with a jaw cut from pure marble. Your lips quirked involuntarily each time he rocked on the balls of his feet—a habit you had not long noticed. If you weren’t much mistaken, Kento seemed to favour long shots where the subject was captured in action; a tiger swimming through a moss topped lake, hyenas circling the kill of a lioness and a vibrant green frog leaping majestically towards a tree branch.

“Do you dabble?” You asked quietly, having approached after your short rest. “In photography, I mean.”

“Hm? Oh. No, nothing like that.”

Kento shuffled awkwardly towards the next picture, a flock of wild birds taking flight from the long grass of a savannah. “How come? You sure seem interested,” you pressed further, eyebrows knitting at the discomfort you sensed in him.

“It wouldn’t be an effective use of my time. I don’t have the hours to sink into a hobby that would see me gain nothing in return,” he explained to your utter aghast.

“What about happiness? Indulgence? There doesn’t always have to be a measurable outcome for something to be fun and worthwhile.”

He scoffed, and you scowled. “You’re still young…”

“Well, I’d rather stay young than become a jaded corporate slave like someone I could mention.” You stalked away to the other side of the room, perturbed by just how little stock he seemed to put into his own mental and emotional well-being. “And I’m not that young, Kento.”

He couldn’t understand your sudden ire. What did it matter to you what he did with his free time? More like what he didn’t do, he supposed. Sure, there had been a time in his adolescence when he carried a Polaroid camera around with him, the bulky piece of equipment tucked into his backpack and brought out to capture those moments that weren’t posed for, finding a special kind of beauty in the raw exposure of life.

It had been nothing but a phase. One left behind when he entered college and started to work towards the life he wished to live. Only now, he wasn’t so sure he was living the life he dreamed of. He achieved the successes he set out to, but was he happy? That was a hard question to stomach, let alone try to answer honestly.

“Why do you look like you want to yell at me?”

Glancing sideways, you frowned up at his towering frame and felt the heat of his anger wash over you to meld with your own. “Because you make it sound like any interest outside of endlessly working or working out is redundant. Irresponsible. Stupid!” Your voice rose higher, the words punched out with a flap of your hands.

“Do you care so little for what makes you happy? It makes me… mad,” you continued with a slight pause. The familiar tight, itchy feeling invaded your throat whilst the prickle of tears stung your eyes. Goddammit! You hated that you wanted to cry when you were angry, and the last person you wanted to see those tears wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t.

“Oh, Howard, look there. Doesn’t that bring back memories?” The amused voice of a woman who appeared in her early sixties caught your attention. Quickly wiping at the stray tears at your lashline, both you and Kento turned to the couple who were staring right at you.

The man chuckled indulgently at his wife, patting her hand that was secured through his arm and whispered something that couldn’t be heard. His wife nudged him playfully, and you could only look on in complete bemusement. They walked closer, the woman offering a kindly smile as she reached out to pat Kento’s arm, then yours.

“They say that couples shouldn’t bicker, especially in public,” she said with a slight laugh. “But don’t listen to such rubbish. Howard and I used to snipe at each other regularly, and we’ve been married thirty-five years.”

“Oh, no! You misunderstand, we’re not…”

She held up a hand to silence your stammered protests, shaking her head with a chuckle. “My dear, when you’ve been around as long as we have, you start to trust what your gut tells you. I won’t say anything else except to offer this one piece of advice. Don’t go to bed angry, and don’t wait to go after what you truly want.”

“That was two, dear. Come on, let’s not bother them any longer.” With wisdom imparted, the older couple bustled away, leaving you to blink in bewilderment.

You could feel Kento by your side, his body rigid and unmoving. So badly you wanted to glance up and find out what his expression was, but honestly, you weren’t sure if it was a good idea or not. What could the couple have seen in you? Was it so obvious that you were interested? Even if that was true, surely his disinterest was just as plain to see?

“Well… that was unexpected. I’m sorry for yelling. It’s your life, after all, you should do whatever you believe is best. Can we go get a bite to eat and head home–I mean, back to your apartment?”

Kento could only nod. He couldn’t help but feel as if everything he had come to believe as true was crumbling around his ears. The ideals and principles he set for himself all those long years ago no longer seemed important. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d taken time off work, albeit enforced this time, and he had never felt so unsure of himself.

It was you. Your presence was the catalyst, and he didn’t know whether to thank or curse you. How could one person cause so much inner turmoil without trying? He watched as you wandered towards the archway that would take you back to the main atrium, the light from the skylight caught across your face and your simple smile blinded him.

Don’t wait to go after what you truly want… would he take the advice that continued to ring in his head?

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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toodelusionalforreality · 1 month

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Azriel x OC | Chapter 4

Shadow

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The more he gets closer to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Word count: ~6k Warning: None

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. This is a half-baked version which I may edit later. This was supposed to be two separate chapters which I compiled into one. So the style difference may come off a bit strong, my apologies.

Previous Chapter: Bastards

The gelding, as dark as midnight sky, stood with an unearthly stillness under the shade of the stable. Its beady eyes followed Mor as she circled the building for the second time. Grateful for the boots she exchanged her sandals for, she stepped along the edge of the bank. Soil crumbled under her feet setting off ripples in the shallow waters. Pushing the hair out of her face, she peered around. Her fingertips trailed along the stone wall allowing the ragged surface to chip at her skin. No trace of magic. No hint of a hidden room. Not an inch of window on either side.

Sensing its unwavering stare on her back, Mor turned to the horse with narrowed eyes. She teased the ends of her braid between her fingers. ‘You wouldn’t know of a secret room back there, would you?’

The beast didn’t even breathe in response. Mor let out a long sigh.

The meadow stretched for miles in every direction with nothing in sight except for the smithy. Gentle breeze chilled the sweat coating her neck. Thunder clapped at a distance and the scent of impending rain sweetened the air. A single droplet fell on her cheek and she looked up at the darkening skies. Maybe a summer drizzle would be a blessing. It would save her the effort to cloak what she had been up to before Ayla returned.

As she walked back, Mor studied the closed doors again. Painted in blue as bright as the ocean in the west, the carvings seemed to blend and merge into waves, chaotic and restless, as though the rustle of Sidra poured life into them. The longer she stared, the harder it was to break her gaze.

Then she felt it—a quiet call beckoning her forward, promising her. . .something she couldn’t name.

In that moment, Mor knew only one thing. She had to own it.

She inched ahead, and a low grunt warned her. The waves froze. So did Mor’s breath. The horse now stood at the doorstep. She hadn’t seen it move.

‘Hey,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘I don’t want to do this either.’

. . .

Her cousin’s smile vanished as soon as Feyre left the room. Alone in his study, Rhys finally turned to Mor.

Ever since the three brothers returned from Mother knew where a week ago, none had been the same. Only when Rhys found his mate in front of a fire cradling their babe in her arms that night, his love for them chased the darkness away from his eyes. Creases marked his tunic and his usually impeccable hair was dishevelled. Az didn’t enter past the foyer while Cass stood guarding the door after him. The two stared at each other. Az waited for another minute before he stepped to his brother and hissed under his breath. Shadows wreathed around him. But Mor caught glimpses of his leathers ruined with dirt and splattered blood.

‘It doesn’t feel right, Rhys.’ Mor found his eyes devoid of any emotion.

Perched on a simple leather chair, Rhys radiated the power of a High Lord making a throne for himself no matter where he was. He fixed her with one of his rare stares that left no room for argument. ‘We don’t have the luxury to discuss what’s right.’

Mor didn’t need a reminder of what entailed when Az wanted something. She had seen it for five centuries—the ruthlessness behind those kind eyes, the raging fire behind the cool facade.

‘Do you think she’s dangerous?’

Rhys paused. ‘I don’t know.’

Mor couldn’t tell if he meant the mystery woman or Ayla. Perhaps, both. ‘Let’s wait a couple of days. See what happens.’

There had been no news of a missing fae or attack anywhere in the city. Somehow it didn’t offer comfort to either man as she had expected.

‘Would I be asking this if we could sit and wait?’ His shoulders drooped as he heaved a heavy breath. ‘I can barely hold him off from tearing Hewn City apart.’

‘Then let him,’ Mor shrugged. ‘He’d be doing us a favour anyway.’

She would have done it herself, she should have done it herself centuries ago. But she was a coward. The thought of returning to that place even to reduce it to rubble and dust made her blood run cold.

Rhys dismissed her. ‘She was intent on making a bargain. Sounds like an awful trouble for a simple bladesmith, don’t you think?’

Mor gaped at him. He never ignored her whenever that hell was involved. Never. Not only did he speak the city’s name with carelessness, but his eyes lacked the softness they always held when he approached her on its matters.

She squared her shoulders. Her cousin had a point, though she wouldn’t admit it yet. ‘We shouldn’t be making assumptions. It could be nothing.’

But Rhys pressed on, ‘We were in the next room. She wanted the fae. She hurt Ayla.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘I’m not willing to gamble with their lives.’

Mor hated that Az was caught up in it. She hated it more that she was dragged into it. Az hadn’t been himself the past few days. Damn, he hadn’t been himself for the past few months.

At first, Cass and Mor bet how long his affair with Ayla would last. Az rarely ever shared more than a night with one woman. A few hours at her place, but at the end of the night, he always returned home. Ayla was supposed to be one of his blow-off-the-steam flings. Mor claimed it so, a phase. But Cass was certain it was a mild attraction. I’d never seen Az smile like that at a woman who drew blood from a man, he had said.

Then he returned to the bar again and again. It was a jolt to both of them—at least Cass ended up five gold marks richer. If Ayla had such a hold over Az, if she had meant anything to him, one expected him to tell his friends about his budding feelings. But he kept his escapades a secret, kept her a secret.

Ever since the night, Az had been more distant, more aloof. When everyone went out, as far as going to Ayla’s bar for his sake, he wished to stay home. When everyone stayed the night in River House, he preferred his room in House of Wind. No amount of coaxing convinced him to stay longer than dinner. Nothing satisfied him anymore.

Since he wished to be anywhere but Velaris, Cass and Mor had planned a whole weekend in the mountain cabin. Yet, Az declared he was going to Day Court on a mission, and Rhys refused them specifics.

That was before the bond snapped for him. Mor didn't blame Ayla. Still, she couldn’t stop the resentment festering in her heart either. The man she knew all her life, her friend who saved her and brought her back home, was being ripped away from them. Slowly and steadily. She wanted him to be happy. But what if the price was to lose him to a woman they barely knew, to someone who stood to break their family apart? Or worse, break his heart? One day with her had left Az a wreck. What would a lifetime with her do to him? It almost happened once. But Cass and Nesta were one thing.

This was Az.

Getting up from the chair, Mor turned away from Rhys and his hard stare. ‘Didn’t you say the wards are ancient magic?’ Her fingers tugged at the gold chain around her wrist, ‘And Ayla can fight. It will be fine.’

She couldn’t go down that road, not even for Az. Let him deal with Ayla and the danger surrounding her. If the worst came to pass, she couldn’t bear to watch it destroy him. She couldn’t get in the middle of his love affairs. But it wasn’t an affair, was it? No, this was his mate. His one true match.

‘Mor,’ called Rhys, kind and gentle that it stopped her pacing. ‘He’s waited long enough. He deserves better.’

There it was, the jab she had been waiting for. Mor kept her breath and voice steady. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means we look out for our friend.’

A lie. A pathetic one at that. She knew what he meant. They blamed her for breaking Az’s heart. They believed Ayla couldn’t do worse than what she did to him. It wasn’t her fault Az held onto hope. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love him the way he wanted her to.

‘It’s a mating bond,’ she stated calmly, ‘We shouldn’t be meddling.’ Maybe rationality would earn a sway with Rhys. He always put reason first anyway. ‘Besides, Az wouldn’t appreciate you scheming behind his back.’

‘It’s for him I’m asking.’

. . .

‘I only need a peek inside,’ Mor said.

She revealed her open palms to the black guardian in a peace offering. But it stood unmoved. She took a careful step towards the door—that unknown magic summoning her again.

Another grunt, and she halted.

Damn you, Rhys!

A gentle murmur closed in on them. Mor looked over her shoulder. She had lingered for too long.

‘Don’t tell on me,’ she whispered to the beast and hurried to the stable.

Ayla wore a ridiculously large shirt that swallowed her frame. The fabric swayed in the breeze and clung to her toned thigh and the graceful swell of her hip. Every inch of her body—except for her face and hands—was hidden. She lovingly looked at the mare limping beside her. As it slowed, Ayla grazed her fingers along its neck and followed its gaze. Her pretty, serene smile faded.

Daylight did her justice, unlike the dim glow at the bar. Ayla was attractive, criminally so. But she wasn’t Az’s type—so simple and. . .forgettable. She was beautiful, and yet her face barely left a mark on one’s mind. As if she merged with the very air surrounding them, invisible and intangible. Unless one knew what they were looking for, they wouldn’t spare her a glance.

The night they found Az in the bar alone—Ares or Larus, all Mor remembered was the ugly creature and her incessant knitting—none of them suspected his reason to be a woman, let alone her.

One had no say in how Mother chose their mate. Still, Ayla was a far cry. Az instead liked women who were. . .Mor frowned. She realised she didn’t know. Her friend was lucrative about his partners, especially with her. Did Rhys or Cass know of his preferences? Something worse dawned on her. Would he have told her about his mate if Cass hadn’t blabbered in his drunken haze?

Without breaking her stride, Ayla walked past the blonde ignoring her friendly wave and smile. She smelled sweet—like cardamom and something exotic.

The gelding finally moved from its spot and approached her as she reached the stable. It stood by the entrance even when its companion sought the shade inside, its beady eyes only on Mor.

‘You need anything?’ Ayla peeked at her visitor before crouching by the door. Lustrous strands slipped loose from the messy knot at the nape of her neck. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and reached inside a bucket on the ground. She tossed something at Mor, ‘It’s clean.’

Mor caught it before it hit her in the face. Rude!

It was firm and cool and. . .red. She threw an apple at her.

The mare trudged back to Ayla, looking down over her shoulder. A leather brace encased its right forelimb, winding up from hoof to knee. When Mor moved closer, drawn by its beauty, it whipped its head away and backed into the shade.

Ayla got to her feet with a dancer’s fluidity, an apple in her hand. ‘I got you. You’re safe now,’ she cooed. ‘No one’s going to hurt you.’

She hushed softly. The mare stilled under her touch. She brushed her fingers through its mane, the hair shifting like spun silver. As she breathed, the horse breathed with her.

‘What happened to her?’

Mor couldn’t take her eyes off them. Over the centuries, she had witnessed many fae and humans alike attempt to tame a beast and waste years to earn its trust. She had never seen anyone so in tune with a creature before. Or rather, a creature in tune with a fae.

‘Her owners weren’t kind to her,’ Ayla held the fruit out. The mare caught a sniff before sinking its teeth into its flesh. ‘When she couldn’t breed anymore, they worked her until her leg gave out. They ignored her when she started showing signs. She was in much pain.’

The creature shuffled closer, eager for her touch and words.

Ayla smiled, ‘But that’s the past. She’s making a recovery now. Brave girl, aren’t you?’

Something deep inside Mor cracked and ached. She swallowed, turning to the male horse. It bore no sign of illness or injury. ‘What about him?’

The silver one wearily made its way to a corner hiding from the stranger. But the darkness couldn’t hide the glow in its watchful blue eyes.

Ayla cared neither about Mor nor the threat her horses seemed to sense. She inspected two more apples between her slender fingers as she carried them to the gelding. ‘You’re not here to discuss horses with me. I know who you are, Morrigan.’

A chill went down her spine. No one called her that anymore, at least not in Velaris. She was Mor—Mor who escaped her father and her fate. Mor who freed herself from the darkness from which she was born.

She opened her mouth, unable to resist the urge to correct the woman in front of her. Distant thunder rumbled above the mountains like a warning. A reminder from Mother herself to speak true. Her words halted. It wasn’t the name that unsettled her. But the way Ayla spoke it, the quiet command in it.

Mor mustered the smile she reserved for the courtiers and nobles. ‘Then I guess it makes this less awkward. Tell me about the fae.’

‘What fae?’ Ayla petted the dark coat of the horse. It shimmered like starry smoke under her fingers, and Mor longed to feel its softness on her skin.

‘The one you’re hiding in a secret room back there,’ Mor pointed at the smithy, though Ayla didn’t bother to look at her, unlike her horses who wouldn’t take their eyes away from her.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Seriously?’ Mor snorted, ‘Is this what you want to lie about? Rhys was inside that room.’

‘There’s a room, but it’s no secret.’

Mor rolled her eyes. She regretted not asking Rhys about her first. ‘Fine. Why don’t you tell me about this not-a-secret room and the child you’re harbouring?’

‘She’s not your concern.’

‘Of course, she is. She lives in this court.’

‘No, she’s not.’ She smiled, a twitch of her lips in mockery. ‘Despite what your High Lord believes he heard, that child was never in danger. Regardless, she can protect herself.’

‘Mine?’ Ayla’s chin dipped ever-so-slightly, her gaze shifting. Mor pressed, ‘You said my High Lord.’

‘I’m not mistaken.’

‘Where are you from?’

Ayla stayed silent. Mor studied her. Her hair, lighter than a raven’s, a deep brown shone with a tinge of coppery sheen in the sunlight. Her eyes matched her hair, deep and intense. Her skin had a golden hue to it, not tan like the three Illyrians she knew, and not fair like the Archeron sisters. Somewhere in between. Her body showed no hints of other courts’ blood.

Right when she was about to press again, a cool calmness that was the essence of her cousin nudged her mind.

He’s home.

Keep him busy, she told him. If Rhys were to be believed, Az clung to a delicate thread of restraint from shadowing Ayla day and night. And when that snapped, she wanted to be as far away as possible.

Mor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘So, Rhys says you’re a weaponsmith.’

Ayla pursed her lips, resisting a smile. She petted her gelding, running her nails over its glossy coat, and coaxed it to accept her offering. It hung its head low, careening into her hand.

Mor sucked in a breath. ‘You’re going to ignore me?’

‘It’s pointless to state the obvious when you came here knowing who I am. And,’ Ayla drawled, ‘you’re standing in front of a forge.’

Mor snapped her mouth shut at the sound of her cousin’s chuckle in her mind. She almost forgot he was witnessing her trial. What did you do to her that day?

I can’t take credit for this. It’s all her. His amusement was loud and clear. Did you get anything yet?

Mor looked down at her hands. She gave me an apple. Does that count? He laughed again.

‘I understand why you won’t work for other courts. But why refuse your own High Lord?’

Ayla shrugged, ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

Mor tugged at the bracelet coiling around her wrist, almost as tight as the words in her throat. ‘Would it hurt you to give me one straight answer?’

Ayla didn’t utter a word. Her gaze drifted to the mare at the tone only for a minute.

Even as a courtier, it had been a while since Mor had to strain every nerve for a simple conversation. Why would Az lose his mind over her? He wouldn’t want her without the bloody bond. For a moment, she pitied her friend. He waited centuries only for Mother to bind his fate with this infuriating woman.

Then she remembered her thoughts weren’t secure. She took a breath, ‘Fine, hate Rhys all you want. Why do you hate me?’

‘I don’t have a reason to hate you or your High Lord.’

I tried, Mor sighed.

Try harder. Rhys’s response was instant.

Get down here and do it yourself.

Mor, he warned, his power radiating even through their minds. Then his voice was gone, and so was his commanding presence. Mor inhaled deeply at the emptiness, as if her cousin had taken her thoughts along with him. Come home. I think he’s onto us.

You think? She surveyed their surroundings. Lush plains stretched in every direction, providing no cover for a particular shadowsinger if he chose to stake out. Give me another minute.

When she turned around, she met the coal-like eyes of the gelding that peered into the depths of her soul. It watched her like it sensed what she had been up to, that Rhys was watching it back.

Mor knew such beasts well. So she matched its stare. Tiny drops of rain hit her skin, but she refused to bow down. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the mare edging close to the entrance. Its steps were as quiet as the one challenging her. Neither made a sound with Ayla around, only their breaths a sign of their attention when she spoke to them.

‘I know you’re hungry,’ said Ayla, twirling the apple between her fingers. ‘We’ll go for a ride later if you take one bite.’ The beast nuzzled against Ayla’s neck, but it didn’t relent. She tipped her head and a thin veil of her hair blocked its view. ‘For me?’

Mor shifted her weight to her right foot, and it whinnied out a hoarse breath. Its forelimb twitched, muscles pulling taut along its length, warning her of what it wouldn’t hesitate to do if she made one wrong move.

The Truth-Teller strapped to Az’s thigh flashed in her mind. Or was it Rhys?

Ayla spoke softly, ‘I won’t let anyone touch you. You’re safe.’ She smoothed her palm between its eyes, down its neck, through its mane. ‘Easy now.’

The horse blinked. Ayla repeated her affirmations. It slowly turned, leaning into her hand, an eye watching its foe. The crunch of the ripe flesh between its teeth echoed in the air.

Mor shuddered. Yet, she couldn’t mask the smile on her lips or her thoughts. Tell me you're seeing this.

Ayla rewarded the gelding with a kiss between its eyes. ‘Good boy,’ she held out the other apple. But the beast pressed its forehead to her cheek and nuzzled, backing her towards the stone building, away from the stranger. Ayla chuckled as she steadied herself. ‘Come now. Don’t be rude.’

Mor ached to winnow back and tease her friend about his mate and her territorial pet. It wasn’t just her who felt that.

Does Az know his mate already has a shadow?

Oh, he won’t appreciate this competition. Rhys laughed.

Mor snorted. The beast stilled, its ears perked up. She cleared her throat, ‘He’s adorable. What’s his name?’

A minute passed and another. Well, Rhys would have to find some other way to get his answers.

Mor sighed, though a little of the guilt and doubt in her chest had dampened. ‘If you ever need help, you can come to me.’

To her surprise, Ayla looked at her and nodded.

Seven days. Two cities. One woman.

Some spy he was. For five centuries, Azriel hunted men and women across lands. Never had he felt as useless as he did in those seven days.

He scoured every inch of Velaris for the woman who hurt Ayla. Day and night he searched every inn, listened to whispers in the streets, and sent his wraiths to gather news about foreigners. He searched for her in expensive bars and restaurants, to the theatres and landmarks. He went as far as to look into the seedy taverns on the other side of the city, just to be certain. If she had known they were inside the room while she threatened Ayla, she should have been smart enough to keep to the shadows. Even Hewn City wasn’t spared. He spied every courtier who set foot inside the mountain city in the past two weeks to ensure none of them knew of Ayla’s existence.

He found nothing. It wasn’t a question of how, but who stumped him. All his efforts were futile, for what did he know of this mysterious enemy?

Azriel played the events of that day in his mind over and over again. His instincts had set in the instant he walked out of the hidden room. His shadows crept along the floor and writhed at his feet like serpents waking from each step. There was no trace of that woman—not her magic, not her scent. The only sign of the ordeal lay red on Ayla’s tender neck. He combed through every spoken word, every moment to find one clue that could lead him to her. A name. A court. But all it yielded was the churning rage in his gut at the voice that rang in his ears—her mockery, her threats, her laughter.

I don’t work for any court , Ayla had said.

His brother wasn't beyond sending someone to test Ayla, but taking him to the smithy on the same day? Rhys could be cunning, but he was no fool.

The woman didn’t belong to Night. But she knew where to find the city. She walked past the wards unhindered. She recognised them from their scents alone. She had met them before, at the least, been close enough. Why did she want Ayla? Was it to spite him? No, she mentioned Rhys only when she was denied what she came for. She wanted Ayla. And the girl.

Azriel found only a mild comfort in all this—if she knew them, they knew her.

From the constant fussing and wary glances between the two, he knew his brothers sensed his desperation. So he went to work and pretended to be past it. He employed every spy of his all over the court, but he kept the details to himself. Every crossing past the borders of the two cities and the court was reported to him, irrespective of who and why. It was tedious work and inappropriate use of resources for his personal matters. He had never done that before.

And yet, it didn’t feel wrong.

Fourteen days. Three brothers. One woman.

Azriel needed answers. But he had no leads. Not true, he had three—none willing to help.

Confronting Ayla would be easier than chasing a phantom around the court. She refused to make weapons for her High Lord—fine, Azriel didn’t care. But as citizens of Night Court, she and her friends were their responsibility despite what she thought. If one of them was in danger or involved with other courts, he had the right to demand answers from her. She wouldn’t have a choice but to comply.

Mother above, he sounded like Rhys!

Ayla hated him. Azriel remembered the way she stepped back from the threshold when he reached for her. Her hand remained on the doorknob, but her back pressed into the stone wall with each step he took. Her breath stilled in her lungs as though she couldn’t bear to breathe the very air that touched him. Once he and his brothers were a few good feet away, she released a breath, and it was enough to crush his heart.

Her naked observation when she had him pinned to the floor was lost as soon as she realised who they were. Emotions flickered in her eyes—deep and haunting. They were nothing more than a threat, worse than the woman who almost killed her.

His brothers promised to protect Ayla. They reassured him her feelings would change with time, as they did for Feyre and Nesta.

But Azriel wanted to disappear and never to return. He might as well do that. Leave her alone and never intrude into her life, even if the bond killed him.

After he found the woman and skinned her alive.

Each wasted day chipped at his sanity. The horrid mark on her flesh was seared into his memory. Branded on his soul—a reminder of his incompetence, how he had failed to protect his mate. Not with his sheer Illyrian power, not with his shadows.

It was hard not to imagine, not to see so clearly. Shock and panic flooding her eyes before the fear settled in. Or her fingers clawing at the hand to savour one more gasp of air. Or her legs scuffing on the floor as she fought to level herself. Or her head hitting the wood hard to rattle the wards within, her eyes pinching shut at the impact. Every rasp of hers, every strained breath echoed in his ears—the little choke escaping her lips as the hand enclosed around her neck.

There was no escape, not for him. Not when he had witnessed many in that position—put many in that position.

It was a twisted joke Mother played on him. A fitting punishment for what he had done over his lifetime for his friend and brother, for his High Lord. A punishment for who he was. To stand helpless and hear his mate endure what he had inflicted upon many without mercy.

She was his mate. She was so close. She was scared and confused.

And he couldn’t help her.

Twenty-one days. One shadowsinger. One woman.

Stop.

His shadows hissed as Azriel stared at the worn-out door from across the street. He couldn’t bear to face her again, but he couldn’t stand failing her more. One conversation, he told himself, just one.

He wasn’t afraid. He longed to see her face. He longed to hear her voice. Maybe even a touch, if he was lucky. Yet his body wouldn’t move.

Home.

The one time he wanted assurance from his shadows, they disagreed with him. Azriel balled his fists and turned away, only to meet the very eyes he had been running away from.

Ayla looked at him, the bar, and then back at him. A mere second. That’s how long it took for her to decide to ignore him like he meant nothing to her. She walked past, opening the lid of a brown box she carried in her hand.

‘Wait,’ Azriel said. When she didn’t stop, he called out. ‘Ayla.’

He hadn’t spoken her name out loud before. Not with Uri, not with his brothers, not in the privacy of his room. It had always been her. And now that he had spoken it, it was the only word he ever wanted to utter. The only word that held any meaning.

She came to a slow halt and looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. Azriel held his breath waiting for her to return to him. Instead, she walked to the side of the building and leaned a shoulder against the wall facing him.

Azriel waited a moment before he approached her. For an alley, it was too clean, even in the dark. Behind her stood an iron door leading directly to the office inside. The only shred of light poured down from the streets. And the faelight next to the inscribed plaque of the bar cast an iridescent glow on part of her face.

The usual sternness she carried herself with was replaced with a casual ease. Her legs crossed at the ankles. Her hip jutted out, revealing that sensuous curve of her waist through that large shirt. Locks of hair that never seemed to stay held in her braid spilled around her face. The high collar hid her neck from his eyes. Azriel knew he would only find her flawless skin underneath. Still, he ached to pull her shirt down and see for himself.

The golden rings on her bracelet glinted under the faelight as Ayla reached into the box. Her fingers hovered over the crisp layers of pastries that sat inside. Scratches and cuts littered her knuckles. If the flex of her fingers were any indication, she was in pain.

One made his breath hitch in his throat. One too deep that it split the skin open between and around her knuckles.

‘Those are new,’ he said quietly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dried blood. What did she do? Did that woman return? Did Ayla have to fight her alone?

‘Yes,’ she hesitated, ‘I just bought them.’

Azriel looked at her. As confused as he was, she was staring down the street where she came from, at the bakery she went to every week. The worry that nagged at him day and night lost its hold in a heartbeat. He bit the inside of his cheeks and tapped the back of his hand with his fingers, suppressing his urge to hold her hand and inspect it himself.

The little frown between her brows disappeared. She nodded at his face—his broken nose. ‘So is that.’

Courtesy of his brother during their morning training when he was so distracted that he practically threw himself into the punch. But she wasn’t interested in it.

Ayla picked up a pastry. The sweet fragrance of chocolate and butter filled the air between them. Better than her scent, for he needed to think straight if he intended to find simple words around her. Her hand froze close to her mouth as she held out the box to him.

Azriel’s heart stopped. He was sure of it. Did she know what it meant? Did she know how she was tormenting him?

He gawked at the flaky shell of the dessert. He could do it—take a bite, make her his.

No!

The weight of his shadows curled around his hands and pulled him back. He shook his head, smiling.

‘Let’s hear it then.’ She returned the pastry with a sigh.

‘And,’ he started carefully, ‘what is that?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Who is the child? Where is she? Why are you hiding her?’

Voices floated towards them. A band of faeries headed for the bar, giggling and stumbling before they caught sight of him. Their pale skin shifted and glimmered like fish scales under the faelight. Glancing between his wings and his face, they blushed and whispered to each other. Until his shadows wound around his shoulders and chest. And they hushed into silence.

Ayla watched them rush through the door.

‘Are you safe?’ The words left his lips in a whisper.

Her eyes snapped to his face. The calm ones, yet so terrifying in the way they unravelled him every time she looked at him. Slowly, she graced him with a smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I know you were holding back that day.’ He took a step closer, drawn in by her gaze. ‘You could’ve stopped her. Why didn’t you fight?’

‘There was no reason to.’ She shrugged a shoulder, her shirt shifting over her breast with the movement. ‘She can’t hurt me.’

‘But you let her.’

‘She wasn’t there for me.’

‘Hamra.’ Ayla hesitated at the young fae’s name, still nodded. Azriel asked, ‘Why does she want her?’

‘It’s not my story to share, shadowsinger.’

With one simple statement, she quashed the only excuse for a conversation he had. They stared at each other. One more minute of silence and she would walk through that door. One more minute of silence and she would leave him. Azriel couldn’t find any words. But then, he didn’t have to.

‘You need to stop harassing her,’ she said.

Azriel narrowed his eyes. ‘I met with her once. That’s far from harassing.’

‘So you’re telling me,’ she arched a brow, ‘the shadows following her around is not you? Hmm, must be another shadowsinger I’m not aware of.’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? That one seems to attract a lot of trouble.’

‘And how would you know that?’ She clicked her tongue, ‘You only met with her once.’

Azriel chuckled, and her eyes flicked to his lips. ‘How much do you know?’

‘Your brother came by the shop exactly when I was away. You’ve been asking Uri about my whereabouts. And Hamra threatened to stab you if she saw you again.’ She missed nothing. She continued, ignoring the dark gleam in his eyes, ‘Those are loyal to me, you know? What made you think they would tell you anything?’

If only she knew loyalty had nothing over pain and the will to live.

Uri was prone to talk, but he swore to secrecy as Ayla's safety was concerned. Orvin was fiercely defensive to let Ayla know the High Lord she despised and his brothers took an interest in her. Azriel only worried about Hamra, but he trusted her to be smart, especially after his warning veiled as a lecture. He sensed wrong.

‘We believed they cared about you. Besides,’ he crossed his arms across his chest, ‘I can be. . .persuasive.’

Idiot.

His shadows flittered over his shoulders. They were right. What was he trying to do—scare her away?

She watched him in silence. His eyes, his lips, his face. His crossed arms, his body. And finally, she stopped at the knife strapped to his thigh before she met his gaze. She leaned her head against the wall and smirked, ‘Not enough.’

Gods, what did she think of him? Nothing good, he knew.

Her eyes burned with challenge, daring him to hurt the ones close to her. She lived in the city long enough to have heard of the rumours about the shadowsinger—Night Court’s torturer. They weren’t rumours if they were true.

‘I don’t intend to harm them.’ Azriel tried to salvage his dignity, ‘I was trying to find some truth.’

‘Is this your High Lord’s way of protecting his civilians?’

Closer.

Azriel wanted it too. But he stayed still.

‘It’s not him,’ he said quietly.

Her smile faltered.

Silence stretched long and tense. His shadows swirled over his arms drawing her attention. When she blinked at them, they skittered between them, daring to reach for her. Azriel took a sharp breath, and they withdrew.

‘Next time, shadowsinger,’ she pushed off the wall holding his gaze, ‘I find any of you following one of us, I will hand over a dagger to Hamra myself and she will keep her promise.’

With that, she left. And Azriel stared at the closed backdoor with a grin on his face.

Next Chapter: Relic

Someone tell me Azriel came off as a drama queen.

#god's game #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar x oc #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses

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lxndonorris · 9 months

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warmth - Logan Sargeant

Y/N x Logan Sargeant Theme: fluff, touching (light) you need a break from studying and cuddle with your boyfriend Logan x word count: 1100+ taglist: @game-set-canet (sorry for the wait, had exams and stuff but they are nearly over, so :)) gif by me.

It's always been this way. Studying is exhausting, so you push it away and focus on other things while the day of the exam keeps creeping up on you. Months turn into weeks, and weeks into days, while you try to manage your life the best way possible. Your boyfriend, Logan, tries to support you, but, to be fair, more often than not, he's a welcome distraction.

Right now, there is no way you can procrastinate any longer. It's Friday, and the exam is set for Tuesday. You're sitting at your desk; what feels like a dozen textbooks lie in front of you, with the artificial light making it even harder to keep your eyes open. You've read the same chapters and the same lines at least half a dozen times, but you feel like it isn't enough.

Your laptop already went dark like ten minutes ago; the battery probably died from exhaustion as well, but something inside you isn't ready to stop yet. Steadying your head with your hand against your forehead, you let out a low sigh and take a deep breath. 'How are you supposed to get all of this into your head until Tuesday? Clearly, there wasn't enough time', you think to yourself. No, you were just too busy procrastinating.

That's when you see the reflection of your boyfriend on your screen. He's lying on the bed right behind you, one hand casually resting on his tummy, stroking himself through his white shirt, while his other hand is leaning against his face, covering a coy smile with two fingers.

Logan notices you watching him, and he holds back a soft smile. Exhausted, you turn your head toward him, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look." You say this, shaking your head slowly.

"I have no clue what you're talking about." He says, raising both of his eyebrows, trying to play the innocent one, but the smile he's holding back is giving it away.

That vicious, cute look on his face. He would always look at you like that when he was craving attention. Cuddles, kisses, hugs, anything. It's not hard to look through him after being with him for nearly a year.

"Logan." You mentally raise a finger as if scolding him, but he just giggles quietly. "You looking at me like that makes it really hard to concentrate."

Holding back a smile for yourself, you turn back to your textbooks and start to read the same lines for the seventh time.

However, you can't help but look at Logan through the screen again, and he's giggling still, but he tries to regain his composure.

You turn your face again, but before you can open your mouth, he stops you.

"Look." Logan says, trying so hard not to giggle. "I just think you should take a break." He runs a hand through his messy hair as he sits up.

"I can't." You let out another long sigh before you turned back to the books. The words keep melting together, almost spinning. Clearly, you're way too tired to keep studying.

That's when you feel Logan's hands on your shoulder, before he wraps you in a warm hug from behind.

"You've been studying for hours, Y/N." He breathes and places a few kisses on your neck. Feeling his soft lips against your skin gives you goosebumps.

"I know." You say, leaning back against his firm chest, embracing his arms around your chest.

"You need a break." He says it softly and rubs his head gently against yours, slightly pulling you back into him.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you give in.

"Fine. You're right." Logan purrs quietly, leading you toward the bed, one of his hands running along your arm. It tickles as his fingertips brush over your skin.

Together, you get on the bed. Logan is the first one to lie down, inviting you to lie down right next to him.

Carefully and slowly, you snuggle up against his chest, using his left arm as a pillow. Letting out a low groan, you rub your face against his chest, causing him to giggle again.

"See, you must be exhausted." He says, with his voice a little rougher than before.

Logan kisses your forehead and moves a little closer so he can stroke the small of your back with his other hand. It feels good—soothing, almost. It feels even better once his fingers slide underneath your shirt—a tender touch, with his fingertips gently dancing across your skin.

At the same time, you let one of your hands slip inside his shirt as well. It feels so good to run your fingers across his chest, feeling his firm chest, his soft, warm skin, and the way his chest heaves with every little breath he takes.

"Mhmm." Logan purrs again, rubbing his head gently against yours.

"That's what you wanted, eh?" You lift your head to meet his warm gaze.

He licks his lips quickly as a shy smile forms on them. "Yes." Logan's face flushes with color.

"But you deserve a break." He nods comfortingly, knowing very well that you're stressing yourself out, even though there is no point in studying when you're that tired.

"I know." You lean in and kiss him once, then twice. He embraces your lips on his own as his hand wanders down your back, across your buttocks, and to your thighs.

You can feel his thumb stroking you, causing you to giggle into his mouth.

"I couldn't help myself." He giggles as well and kisses you again before you two get even closer, cuddling again.

While he keeps stroking your thighs, you return the favor by stroking his tummy, just the way he likes it, causing him to purr like a happy kitten.

Now, you're lying face-to-face, looking into each other's eyes. There is no need for words; it just feels so good to not think about exams, textbooks, or anything else.

"Thank you." You breathe deeply, moving a little closer toward him, and hug him with both of your hands now underneath his clothes.

Logan embraces you right away and rests his head against yours.

"You're welcome." He growls, stroking the small of your back again, while you take in the warmth of his body and the faint scent of his cologne.

With a soft smile, you rest your head against his firm chest, and he embraces you even closer—like wrapping you in a warm glow.

After a while, you fall asleep inside his arms while he watches over you, just for a little while longer, before he too falls asleep.

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant fanfic #logan x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #logan sargeant fluff #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fluff

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dronebiscuitbat · 2 months

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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 56)

Hi, quick authors note. I have little to no experience writing action... and I'm a little afraid that might show in this chapter. That being said I do hope it's not confusing and you all enjoy it. It's a Doozy!

The next store, smaller then the toy store and really no more then a kiosk, with trinkets and scanners placed on a simple wooden table, the man standing behind it was cleaning a nixie tube with a cloth.

“You two seem a little young to be looking at these antiques…” His voice was gruff, sporting green eyelights and brown hair under a simple hard hat.

“Just… something specific.” Uzi cracked a wary smile as she took a look at what he had, ancient tech mixed with more modern parts… some of it wasn't exactly… legal. But that had never stopped her before, even if N looked increasingly nervous.

He was off duty sure, he was under no obligation to arrest the man even though his booth was sketchy and some of the parts he was selling were clearly ripped from other parts of bunker. But it still felt wrong to just… not do anything.

Uzi eyed the medical scanner, half buried under other medical equipment (mostly pain relief spikes) it was older, a screen on the front with the back shaped like a scan gun you find at registers. The ones the medical bay had now were automatic, this one was manual, but it would still do the trick.

“How much?”

She pointed to the scanner and the drone squinted at her, his eyes trailing over to Tera, who was still enthralled by her bat toy, then to N.

“Hundred and fifty.” N winced, that was like… half a paycheck. But it wasn't like they needed the money for anything else. So he transferred the credits without another word and the drone grinned wide and toothy, N just turned away as Uzi grabbed the scanner, her nerves seeming to skyrocket now that she had it in her hands.

This thing would tell her what she was, if she was still mechanical or if she was more flesh, ignorance had been bliss, a bliss she wouldn't have for very much longer.

“We got it… you wanna go home and perform it or…”

“No. No we can go home, I need to know.”

N nodded, taking her hand and attempting to lead them out of the marketplace before something seemed to catch his eye. Thad was walking with one of their female classmates, he was being hit on… clearly. But he wasn't giving her much response back, he looked almost bored….

“Hey Thad!” N shouted, making Uzi elbow him in the gut. They were supposed to be heading home! And she definitely didn't feel well enough in any way, to be put in more social situations.

But it didn't matter, Thad heard his name and locked eyes with N, his bored expression turning up into a friendly smile as his attention was turned away from the girl and to his freinds.

“Hey guys! What are you all doing here?” He turned to N, who immediately began to talk nearly nonstop, about his job, about Tera, about her. It would be sweet if she wasn't currently zoning out, thoughts running elsewhere and everywhere.

Maybe that's why she didn't see the red glint from a darkened hallway behind her.

The world around her began to slip away as she tuned out the conversation, there was so much to worry about, and it all seemed to be slowly creeping in on her, she felt like if she focused on it she would suffocate.

And that's when something grabbed her from behind, and she didn't even have time to give out a yelp and barely had time to wrap her hands protectively around Tera as she was yanked backwards, sailing quickly through the halls and into a small room that was only half finished, bare stone making up two of the furthest walls.

She was on her feet instantly, tail wrapping protectectivly around Tera, spines flexed outwards and fangs bared, eyes scanning the dark room for any sign of who dragged her here, a growl left her lips as Tera was uncharacteristically quiet, pressed up against Uzi tightly.

[Hello Uzi] A voice spoken in Russian, automaticly translated by her receptors but it sent chills down her back all the same, she gasped pulling Tera closer and her eyelights hollowing out from anger to fear. She looked around, she didn't even know where the hell she was, much less the route Doll had dragged her to get here, it had gone by too fast.

“What do you want?” She snarled, she couldn't see but a few feet in either direction, this part of the bunker was dark and empty, the only real lighting being the dim florescent light above her.

[To talk] She couldn't pinpoint exactly where Doll's voice was coming from, which only succeeded in making her frustrated, but mostly sacred, Tera was here, this was a bad situation…

“Then why drag me here alone?” She asked, focusing hard on where the response would come from. But she didn't have to, Doll stepped into the light.

She looked… awful.

Her clothes were nothing but tatters and all of them covered in some combination of oil and blood, she walked with a limp and her visor was cracked, she'd tried to cover it with an eyepatch, but she could still see the spiderwebbed fracture. Her remaining eyelight was still as peircing as ever, however.

Even still, Uzi didn't let her guard down.

Doll activated her solver, beginning to circle Uzi like a hyena about to pounce, there were black veins snaking up the leg she was struggling to put weight on, but Uzi recognized the look on Doll's face, hunger.

Who knows how long it'd been since she last fed.

[I had a plan that fell through, I've got nothing and the planet will soon be transformed. I did not find what I was looking for, for that, I am sorry.]

She started talking quickly, like she was running out of time.

[But I am not sorry for what I am going to do to your murder pets when you lure them in here for me, if I cannot be cured, then I want to take them down with me.]

“W-what?” Transformed? Cure? What the hell was Doll talking about?

“Like I'd just let you do that.” She replied, deciding to focus on the most important thing, which was keeping her daughter safe. She activated her own solver, feeling power from her core rush to her fingertips as she accessed it.

[I thought you might say that.]

Something hit her shoulder and sunk in deeply, causing her to yelp and wince as oil oozed out of where a kitchen knife dug into her metal, Uzi immediately made Tera look elsewhere, silent tears of fear shining in the toddlers eyelights as her mother hissed in pain.

“Fuck…” Uzi used her solver to pull out the knife from her shoulder, the wound already beginning to heal over the moment it was removed, she aimed it at Doll and got into the best fighting position she could while carrying a toddler.

[Don't worry, I'll just knock you out.] Doll grinned before summoning more knives and taking aim, Uzi growled, and dug deep to what she remembered doing with the pens to duplicate them, there was more at stake now, her daughters safety depended on her winning this fight.

She duplicated the knives nearly effortlessly, and launched them at Doll at a speed even the Russian was surprised at, though she just teleported out of the way of them, she looked back on them with a half smile.

[You've been practicing]

“Bite me.” Uzi lept out of the way of knives sailing towards her, ending up unfurling her wings to crawl on the ceiling while she held Tera with her actual arms, she felt a different kind of white hot rage fill her, and another feral growl left her lips. Her tail whipped in front of her, sending razer sharp spines raining down on Doll's head, once again, the projectiles just seemed to bounce off, but ever the observant one, Doll had something to say about it.

[I have never seen that mutation before… how cute, you're literally prickly now]

Uzi just growled, crawling over the ceiling and the walls around Doll a lot like an actual bat, she had to keep her distance, her kit was in danger and she had to make as much space between Doll and Tera as possible. She sent more spines her way utterly filling the wall behind the Russian like a stone pincushion.

[What the hell are you holding anyway? It can't be that important.] Uzi blinked, could… could Doll not see very well? That would make sense, she only had one working eyelight…

But that thought came at a bad time, a knife came flying her direction that she couldn't dodge and it caught her in the side, sending her falling off the wall and tumbling to the ground, she sheltered her daughter the best she could from the fall.

She lifted her arm to try to launch the knife back but her core suddenly lurched and visibly sparked with gold, gold glitched across her screen and her solver turned a similar color, her entire body screaming at her to stop what she was doing instantly.

“Agh!” She yelped, curling in on herself and pulling Tera into her, she felt like she was on fire, but Tera was still in danger…

[Oooh… that looked painful.] Doll closed the distance, pointing her solver directly at Uzi's visor, she closed her eyes shut and shielded Tera in her wings as best she could, N could take care of her… V might even step up, she had family still…

“No! Bad! Bad! NO!” Tera flung herself at Doll, slamming her tiny fists uselessly against her, Uzi wanted to scream, but any movement to try and rip Tera away was sending so much agony through her that she just ended up sinking further into the floor.

“Tera No!”

She kept at it though, punching as hard as her little fists could, Doll stopped after a moment of processing, her solver dissolving into nothing as the toddler did her worst… which wasn't much.

[What?] Doll blinked before picking the toddler up with one hand and holding her slightly away, Tera kicked and screamed and spat in her direction, digital tears streaming down her face.

“No! Mama! Bad! No!” Her limited vocabulary spoke volumes, and Doll looked back over at Uzi, who had switched from fighting to downright pleading.

“Please don't hurt her… please… you can do whatever you want with me, but let her go…” It wasn't like Uzi to beg for anything, but the life of her daughter was too important, too precious. Doll's eyes went hollow, her breaths came in quick pants.

[You- Since when?] Doll choked out before she dropped the toddler like she had burned her, Uzi fought through the pain to catch her and hold her close, both mother and child clinging to each other, pushed up against the wall.

[I… I'm…] She looked down at herself, at her ratty clothes covered in oil and blood and the strange growth on her leg as she tumbled backwards, looking terrified, of what, Uzi wasn't sure.

She locked eyes with Uzi, breathing heavily, before red code began to scrub her out of existence, dancing around her like a veil before… she disappeared.

Uzi waited for something else to come, for Doll to come to finish the job or her body to genuinely begin to fall apart or some combination of both, but the pain slowly subsided, her core returning to it's normal functioning, and the room fell silent, absent of Doll.

Tera was sobbing into her, gripping her like she was her only safe haven, digital tears began to fall from her own visor too, she gripped her back, petting the back of Tera's head.

“You were so brave sweetheart… so brave.” Uzi was proud and terrified and tired so tired, but mostly she was relieved that she was safe, although no doubt traumatized.

“Mama…” Tera whimpered, curling up tight next to Uzi's core and refusing to let go, Uzi took several deep breaths, okay, Doll was gone, and even though she didn't know why. It didn't matter, she just… needed to get up off the floor.

But… her legs weren't listening, it didn't matter what she told them to do she was frozen there, either from shock or fear or even the slight aftershocks of pain or the combination of all of them, she just… didn't have the strength.

There was a banging somewhere, a furious, desperate type of banging that progressively got louder, Uzi cocooned them both in her wings and wrapped her tail around them, becoming a living full body shield.

Then a door opened and light poured in.

“Uzi!” Oh… that was N. He was here, thank Robo-God he was here.

“N!” She popped her head out of her wings just in time for her to get scooped up into his warmth and his scent and everything was suddenly feeling so much better.

“What happened? You disappeared!” He sounded so worried, and on the verge of tears himself, he looked her over, the gash on her shoulder was almost healed but her side was still bleeding freely, she didn't respond, only trembled as she tried her best to melt into him.

“D-doll” She choked out and she felt him flinch as he looked around, she assumed he was using his other vision modes, since she heard the soft beeping of his HUD switching modes.

“She's gone, Tera uh… scared her off.” N helped her stand, her legs were wobbling and she was still struggling to take deep breath, Tera was crying so hard in her arms that she was near silent aside from her harsh sobs and whimpers.

“Tera?” N replied, confused.

“Yeah, I don't know either.”

“Uzi! N!” There were more footsteps as Thad ran into the room, out of breath and venting heavily, his gaze met the family and his eyelights turned worried.

“We're fine…” Uzi said immediately, trying to hide how beat up she was, artificial adrenaline slowly waning, replaced by a dull ache in every joint, every servo and every gasket. The area around her core felt sore…

“Yeah I don't belive you…” Thad replied, immediately looking her over in much the same way N had done, just with far less lingering touches.

“Since when did you become so doting?”

“You're my freind Zi, I'm like… Tera's uncle at this point.” He held something in his hands, something small, purple, and shaped like a bat.

“Hey, I think you dropped this.” He knelt down to where Tera was and brought the bat plushie into her view, she gasped, and breifly let go of her mother to grip it tightly and hug it to her before curling right back up in her previous position.

“Thank you…” Uzi found herself choking up again, causing Thad to back away slightly, he wasn't used to seeing Uzi so… vulnerable.

But in the next second she pulled him into a hug, making his eyelights go hollow for a moment before he returned it, squeezing her tightly.

“No problem.”

It took several minutes for Uzi to calm down enough to begin to try and walk, N steadied her on one side, Thad on the other, Tera resting on N's back, gripping him tightly.

She limped home, ignoring how slowly her wounds were healing compared to normal, ignoring the aches and pains and desire to just collapse into a pile of spare parts and letting herself get near dragged back home.

N and Thad lowered her onto the couch, tye furniture creaking unhappily with the addition of her weight, N turned to Thad, talking about something she couldn't focus enough to listen to.

She'd lost… and the only reason her and Tera weren't dead or used as bait was because Tera surprised Doll… She'd failed to protect her, her one job.

“Hey Thad's going home, do you want me to move you to the bed?” N's voice broke through the thoughts, and she nodded without thinking, he scooped her up in her arms and was off towards the bed, shutting the door behind him with his tail.

He sat Tera down on the edge of the bed first, before he laid his girlfriend down gently, Tera immediately crawled towards them both, refusing to be anywhere but curled up next to them.

Her wounds were healed well enough, neither no longer openly weeping, but her hoodie was still stained with oil, no blood thankfully…

She had no qualms with sleeping like this even through she felt filthy… she was too exhausted to even think about getting up and changing, not to mention the dull ache of her limbs and joints only adding to it.

N wasn't satisfied with that though, and began to change her into her clean pajamas instead, Uzi just let him, she'd never felt more tired in her life. The glitch with the solver draining every ounce of energy she had.

“Wait.” She managed to get out, pointing to her pocket weakly as N was throwing it into the hamper, he dug into the pocket, pulling out the scanner.

“Scan me.” She asked quietly, and he looked at her worry etched on every inch of his face.

“You've been through a lot today… maybe we should wait until you've recov-”

“My solver glitched out during that fight… I need to know what's going on… inside.” She gulped, she really wanted to sleep but… this was more important.

“O-okay, walk me through it.”

So she did, she showed him how to calibrate the scanner and tune it for her systems, how the data it collected on her internal systems would be displayed on the screen, and all he had to do was slowly scan her.

He started with her head, pulling the trigger on the scanner and allowing a little blue light to roll over her, the scanner beeped as a map of her head was taken, first just her silicone, then the metal underneath, then through that.

He had to hold the scanner over each part of her for several minutes to completely map each part, on the side of the tiny screen, her code read out flashed, all bathed in purple and running nominally, as far as he could tell.

“You look fine so far.”

‘Keep going, end on my core… that's the most uncomfortable.”

“Okay.”

He continued the scan, taking note of any abnormalities he could find, her limbs were all normal, no fleshy bits or arrant code, just basic, stock worker limbs, complete with the ball joints and industrial hydraulics running through them.

Her head was… mostly normal, her processors were all neatly wired up, but the scanner had picked up… extra wires? At least that's what they looked like, that made a web over most of her main processing units, connected to bits of organic tissue.

It was her torso that really held everything… off.

The scanner picked up her wings and tail, folded into compartments he knew for a fact normal worker drones didn't have, but that had to normal for Uzi, at least since her transformation, but those weren't the only organic parts.

She had a small, but fully realized set of human lungs, breathing in time with her vents to pump air in and out, her oil tank was artificially enlarged and rerouted into… a very strange organic mass in her midsection. When the scanner broke through the tissue, he realized it was a digestive system.

“Not liking that face your giving.”

“It's fine. Let me finish up” He quickly said, he didn't want to freak her put before the scan was done, despite the weirdness and the fusing of flesh and metal, none of it was damaged or working improperly, so none of it had the capacity to make her sick.

Slightly further down, below her midsection there was another, extremely small ball of… something. It wasn't organic, but it was dense, and the scanner couldn't get a good read on what it was. N kept it at the back of his mind as he raised the scanner again, this time over her core.

“Alright, last little bit, you ready?”

“Mmhm.”

The scanner flashed over her core and she gave an uncomfortable shudder, the scanner beeped incredibly rapidly as it both mapped through her casing and exploded in code readout; which made sense, the core was like a motherboard.

Only… the code it read out looked different from the code running through systems in the rest of her body. For starters, some of it was mixed with gold instead of the ocean of purple code it had read out to him before.

Her core was also beating, like a human heart, it still thrumed normally, but surrounding it was a fleshly mass that beat in a constant rhythm. N blinked, feeling his own core and feeling the soft beating that had always accompanied it. It was like his now.

The more the scanner dug in though, the more golden code it read out, as he slowed down to read it, he realized that he recognized it. After all, it was easy to recognize your own code.

“Uh…” He made a noise of confusion making Uzi look up at him with a brow raised, he blinked before showing her the screen that was still reading put mixed code.

“I- sorry I don't know what this means.” He admitted, but Uzi suddenly grabbed the scanner, eyes growing wide as she looked through the model of her internals and the code read out.

“Holy hell I have lungs! And an actual stomach! That might explain why I've been so hungry…” Honestly? It wasn't as bad as she was expecting it to be, none of her internals had been replaced, just added onto, she held her chest and felt the the rise and fall, something that had started after her transformation that had been so imperceptible she hadn't noticed.

Shen she looked over at the core code and felt everything stop.

That was gold code.

That was gold code in her core.

She wasn't stupid, she knew what that meant, she'd seen it in nursery screenings about a thousand times shown to prospective new parents. It was N's code, mixing with hers.

She was… pregnant.

Next ->

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #oil is thicker then blood #tera doorman #oh boy this is a long one #Uzi finds out whats going on #She also has several new questions

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yawneneteyam · 1 year

Text

ALL THINGS CONNECTED | j. flatters chapter four — a minute sixteen

summary: growing up on the set of avatar: the way of water was a dream. your friends had become your family, all except for one. jamie was the one person you always found yourself drawn to, in ways more complex than the title of 'best friends' [3.1k].

pairing: fem!reader x jamie flatters

notes: based on jamie flatters documentary: all things connected. co-stars/friends to lovers. inspired by @cacapeepee. chapter contains swearing, mentions of next chapter being the kissing scene (I know, dont lose your head)

masterlist ⎸ chapter three | chapter five

2017.

"SO YOU'RE ENJOYING your time on set then?" you were sat on the floor in jamie's hotel room, legs crossed, hands in your lap. this was the longest interview that jamie had filmed so far. he saw his camera battery flashing red, but was adamant to keep hearing you speak.

"loving it," you admitted, a small smile picked up by the camera. it beeped, signalling that it had a few more minutes of battery life left in it before it would shut down. "what was that?" you asked, a chuckle following in suit.

"the battery is gonna die," you noticed how jamie didn't switch it off, rather keeping you in frame.

“should i stop talking?” you asked.

“don’t," jamie looked upwards to you, through his eyelashes, "your voice is very soothing." you felt your chest tighten and your face heat up.

"your camera is gonna die, jamie" you whispered.

"oh well," he shrugged.

it was into the second month of free diving training for you all. kate was excelling, britain, who didn't know how to swim at the beginning of filming, was consistently getting over two-three minutes in each session. you and jamie struggled, everyone else seemed to keep improving, but you both found it harder than the others.

"i don't get why we're shit though," he grumbled one night. the two of you had stayed back late on set, only a few members of crew pacing around, fixing things up for the next day of filming. you weren't technically supposed to be here still, but after getting caught up in hours of conversation together- you couldn't

"speak for yourself, i got over a minute and a half the other day, mr sixty-two seconds" you crossed your arms, leaning back against the tanks.

"put your money where your mouth is, miss" jamie cocked his eyebrows up, a smirk growing on his face. you scoffed, smiling at him, pausing for a second before looking around to see who was near you both.

you knew that people were still on set, but no where near where the water tanks were. you took a deep breath, before looking over at jamie.

"ten bucks says i hold my breath for longer,"

"twenty says you don't" jamie countered.

you paused for a moment.. "you're on."

you both quietly took off your shoes and socks. jamie turned around as you pulled off your jumper, leaving you just in your shorts and tank top. he stripped his shirt off, his shorts the only thing he was left wearing. you both tried you best to quietly pull back the thick cover over the closest water tank.

jamie did most of the heavy lifting, noticing you struggling to pull your side. you wondered what material they were made out of to be so heavy. the metal stairs that connected to the top platform were freezing against your bare feet, you tiptoed across to where the ladder was.

"let me get the stopwatch on," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "alright," he put it down, ready to help you lower yourself into the water.

you turned around and stood on the top of the ladder, getting ready to dip your feet in first. "you right?" he asked, holding your arms as you stood still.

"yeah," you exhaled, "it's gonna be cold," you nodded.

"oh yeah," jamie chuckled, nodding in agreement. you took another deep breath before lowering yourself into the cool water. you felt the pins and needles take over your lower half as you climbed more down the ladder. jamie chuckled softly as you took deep breaths, adjusting to the harsh temperature.

"okay," you whispered out nodding "i'm ready."

jamie counted you down to start, you took in a long deep breath- trying to slow your heartbeat down. when he finished counting to three, you dunked your head under the water and held your breath.

it was freezing. usually the tanks were heated, depending on who you who filming your scenes with. filming in the water with sam? warm water. filming with sigourney? freezing, not far off from the temperature now.

the lights that usually illuminated the tank were off, you were left in complete darkness. you weren't sure how long you had been going for, but you knew you had a little while longer left in your lungs before they began to feel like bursting at the seams.

jamie watched the time count upwards as you stayed under the water. he knew that if you broke your best, a minute and thirty-nine seconds, he would tap you and get you back above the surface.

soon, you popped back up, panting from holding your breath for so long. "how long?" you gasped for air, holding onto the ladder. jamie leant forwards, holding his hands on top of yours, making sure you were okay.

"a minute sixteen," he said.

"fuck," you put your head back, resting it against the water. "you want a turn?" you looked up at him. he watched as the dim lights that were still on in the tank room, illuminated your wet skin; glistening in the late hours of the day.

"yeah," he nodded. you moved over, but kept hold of the ladder. jamie let out a breath as he quickly tried to lower himself into the cold water. "holy shit," he whispered.

"i know," you nodded quickly.

"you didn’t tell me it would be so cold, i’m freezing." he looked at your accusingly, floating back from the ladder. jamie took a little bit, trying to adjust to the water and get his heart rate down. "okay, i'm ready" he nodded, closing his eyes.

you climbed up one step of the ladder, ready to press start on jamie's phone. you counted down from three slowly for him. jamie kept his eyes closed as he sunk underneath the surface once you reached three.

the time went painfully slow. you couldn't help but feel nervous, as jamie approached a minute. he had struggled before trying to get past a minute, almost blacking out on more than one occasion. you knew that was the real reason he was determined to practice. he was dedicated, wanted to be the best that he could be on a project.

if he couldn't reach a minute almost two months into training, he felt like he was never going to improve. you shook your head, thinking about it- not realising the time clocking over sixty seconds. you watched him nervously from your spot in the water.

had he been down there for too long? you couldn't really tell. as you scrambled back up the ladder to see how long he had been down there, jamie came back to the surface.

"oh!" he panted, "holy fuck," he moved and began to float on his back.

"are you okay?" you got back down and swam over to him, neglecting to look at the time. "jamie?"

"yeah," he exhaled, "how long was i down for?"

shit.

you closed your eyes, taking in his tired expression. "longer than me," you smiled, lying to him.

"come here," he tried his best to use his head to call you over, "come lay with me, it feels unreal"

"you might just be on the verge of unconsciousness," you chuckle, pushing back to float next to him.

"yeah," he chuckled, "that's probably it."

you both laid quietly in the water, letting it ebb and flow into your ears and out. sometimes you could hear and others the water took over your senses.. but you heard jamie when he spoke.

"can you believe we get paid to do this?" he said softly. he was now laying with his eyes open, stuck to the roof. there were squares of skylights here and there in the roofing, the moon and stars were shining down on him. "like y/n, this is our job."

"i know right," you smiled, your eyes still closed. you hadn't found a time in the last few months were you felt as content as you did now. here with jamie, you felt at peace in the water. "i'd do it for free.. fuck, i'd pay them."

"me too," jamie chuckled, "we're lucky."

"i'm feeling pretty lucky," you agreed.

jamie turned his head as much as he could, taking in how you looked so carefree in the water. you looked beautiful. "i'm feeling pretty lucky too," he smiled.

"we should probably head back to the trailers soon," you sighed, "we might freeze to death in here," you laughed.

jamie let out an exhale of a laugh through his nose. "might freeze out there too,"

you suddenly opened your eyes, jamie watched as your face turned blank. "jamie," you said.

"yeah?"

"we don't have any towels,"

"... fuck"

"yeah.. fuck" you sighed.

"we'll have to make a run for it," he laughed.

"we don't have the buggies either," you shook your head, already imagining how horrid the trip back to the trailers would be. "it's gonna be a long run," you turned your head to look at him. you both just stared at each other for a moment, before both breaking out into soft laughter.

eventually, you both found the courage to pull yourselves from the cold water and back up the ladder. "oh my god," you shivered, trying your best to wring out the water that had soaked your hair. "shit, shit, shit" jamie followed you as your tried your best to not fall down the metal stairs with your wet feet.

jamie grabbed his shirt, and looked at it for a moment before deciding: fuck it, and putting it on even though he would soak it. you gathered your shoes and socks, grabbing your jumper last.

"put it on," jamie said when he realised that you hadn't put it on.

"it'll get wet," you looked at him. jamie threw his shoes and socks back onto the ground before coming over to you and grabbing your jumper from your arms.

"and you'll get sick if you don't put something on," jamie pulled the material until he had the arms of the jumper open for you to put on. he helped you pull it over your shivering frame. "you're freezing," he took notice of your teeth chattering.

"it's cold!" you defended yourself. he put his hands on your arms, rubbing them up and down, trying to warm you up. "aren't you cold?" you asked him, eyes wide.

"yeah, but you look like you're gonna get hyperthermia" he chuckled, "i feel colder just looking at you."

you laughed as another cold shiver ran down your spine, your hair dripping all around you. "let's go, we need to get changed" you nodded.

jamie gathered his belongings back up and you both ran bare foot back to the trailers. shouts of explicits filled the night air as you both were met with the cool winds of los angelas. jamie had longer legs than you, but slowed down so you could stay together.

your feet were sore against the pavement, but when you saw your trailer in sight, you stopped caring. you slowed down as you approached the door, jamie behind you waiting to see you safely inside.

you put your hands in your pockets to put out the key to your trailer. when it wasn’t there you felt the front and back pockets of your shorts. jamie noticed your change in demeanour, but when your eyes met his, he knew what was wrong. “oh, you didn’t” he softly gasped.

“i did!” you panicked, “i’m so stupid, i left my bag back at the tanks.”

jamie chuckled, “it’s fine. come back to mine for the night and we will get your keys in the morning.”

“jamie-“

“y/n, you need to get changed or you will get sick,” he said, looking at you with a serious gaze in his eyes, “i don’t want to be held responsible for that really,” he shrugged with a smirk. you shoved him lightly, glaring at him. he pushed you away laughing. “come on, let’s go.”

there were four trailers in between yours and jamies: bailey, britain, filip and trinity. you knew they would all be asleep in their trailers, trinity probably back at her parent’s hotel. jamie unlocked the door to his trailer and let you inside first.

it wasn’t messy. frankly, his trailer was a lot cleaner than yours, something that you admittedly wouldn’t expect from jamie. there were a few books scattered around the kitchenette, his camera was sat on the bench.

“let me get you some clothes,” he headed towards the bed, pulling his suitcase out.

“it’s okay, i’ll sleep in these” you said, not wanting to inconvenience him more than you felt you already had.

“y/n..” he looked at your with an unimpressed look, “you’re sopping wet, take the clothes, yeah?”

you sighed, “thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” he said, passing his black hoodie and some trackpants to you. jamie popped into the ensuite and turned the shower on, trying to get a nice temperature for you. “i’ll pick a film to watch while you shower, ‘kay?” you watched as he pulled an extra towel out for you and hung it over the glass. you nodded, trying to hide the smile playing on your lips. jamie dotes on his friends, that was something you came to notice. what you didn’t notice was how much more he dotes on you than anyone else.. but of course, everyone else could see it.

“i’ll be quick so you can get in,” you told him, closing the door behind you. the shower was needed. you let the cold water wash out of your hair and allowed the hot water to soak in instead. you quickly washed your hair with the shampoo and conditioner that was sitting on the shower floor. not bothering to stay in for much longer, you pulled the towel over the glass and wrapped yourself in it. you dried off as best you could before opening the glass door and getting changed.

it was abnormal, the way that jamie’s clothes engulfed you. the jumper was almost drowning you. he preferred baggier clothing on himself, meaning it was even more so on your frame. you chuckled, trying to dry your hair slightly before heading back out into the trailer.

jamie was sat, towel around his shoulders, going through footage he had shot throughout the day. you came and sat next to him as you watched the viewfinder play the clip. it was of bailey, trinity behind the camera.

“can i interview you?” her voice came through clearly.

“no,” bailey said quickly, hiding her face from the camera.

“ouch,” jamie chuckled, shutting off the camera. “better?” he turned to you.

“so much better,” you whispered, resting your head tiredly in your hands.

“i’m gonna shower quickly and then we can put a film on,” he sniffed standing up.

you laid back on the couch, taking up the space he had left. “you didn’t pick one?” you smirked.

“shut up,” he shut the bathroom door behind him. you chuckled, letting your eyes close. you quickly lost track of how long jamie had been gone, but it hadn’t been long before you let sleep take you. by the time jamie had gotten out of the shower and changed, you were long gone on the couch.

coming back into the room, jamie smiled with a soft chuckle. he grabbed the spare blanket from his bed and brought it over to you. he contemplated waking you up and getting you into the bed so you could sleep properly, but he knew you would refuse. so instead, he laid the blanket over you and tucked the sides in so you would be extra warm. pulling the second pillow from his bed, jamie brought it back over to your sleeping figure and tried his best to put it underneath your head. you mumbled in your sleep as jamie moved you but stayed asleep.

“goodnight, y/n” he whispered.

when you woke up, jamie was still asleep. with a deep breath, you rubbed your eyes and slowly sat up. you knew you would have to go back to set and get your keys and phone. you didn’t even know what time it was. but if you were supposed to be somewhere, someone would have come and found you both.

you left jamie in the trailer to sleep, and headed up towards set. on your walk, a buggy drove past you with sam in tow. “do any of the clothes you’re wearing belong to you?” he shouted with a smile.

“shut up!” you yelled back defensively, a smile close to breaking the surface.

“wanna ride?” he asked, the cart slowing.

“yes please,” you groaned, walking faster to hop in the back with him.

“you’re not needed till eleven, what’s up?” he asked.

“i left my stuff on set last night,” you closed your eyes, ready for sleep to takeover again. “what time is it?” sam chuckled as your face screwed up in annoyance.

“it’s nine thirty, kid” he patted your knee, “time for you to go back to bed, by the looks of things.”

“i slept on jamie’s couch last night, i miss my bed” you admitted. sam’s eyes perked up at jamie’s name.

“so that’s who’s clothes you’re wearing, hey?” he smirked.

you opened your eyes to meet his gaze. “no, no, no” you said, “don’t even go there.” you shook your head at sam before speaking again, “my trailer keys are in my bag, i was with him and he said to sleep in his trailer instead of going back so late”

“of course he did,” he scoffed, a smile on his lips, “kid wants you”

you scoffed, “sam!”

“what?!” he exclaimed, “speaking my truth,” he defended himself. you rolled your eyes in response as you pulled up to the main area of set. you and sam headed inside to see some crew members fixing the covering of the tank you and jamie had been swimming in last night. trying to be inconspicuous you quickly grabbed your bag, ready to head back to the trailers and sleep for a little while longer.

you pulled your phone from your bag and checked the notifications that you had missed; one in particular catching your eye.

[📱 bailey bass: ] oh my gosh you have to check the schedule for next week

[ 📲 message sent: ] what why?

[📱 bailey bass: ] because

[📱 bailey bass: ] you’re filming your kiss scene!!!!!!!!!!!!!

taglist: @littlexscarletxwitch, @thexplosivegirl, @lagoonabluebabe, @rexorangecouny, @ilovejakesullysdick @rhiannonhippiegirl @leelumenaura @playboykenz @couragemydearheart @whos6claire @m-1234 @coconut-dreamz @graysonshaven @stvpidscvpid @ok-boke @cvsmic-love @sully-stick-together @caniuseurname @fandom-geek17 @sully-stick-together @leaveitbythewave @mirandathebanana @aisselasstuff

#𓆝 𓆟 all things connected 𓆝 𓆟 #jamie flatters imagine #jamie flatters x reader #jamie flatters one shot #jamie flatters #jamie flatters series #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #avatar 2022

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randomshyperson · 8 months

Text

Fluorescent Adolescent - Heart Shaped Series

Chapter Summary: Layla's presence brings back some ghosts from your past and for the first time, you want to include Wanda in everything.

Warnings: Typical canon violence, mentions of blood, stitches, and pregnancy nausea, talking about abusive environments (innuendo of different forms of exploration), mild angsty with a bit of comedy as well, some Blackhill drama too | Words: 6.935k

A/N-> This chapter is a bit longer but I tried to put more characters background on it. I know it's late, I've been struggling with my writer's block, but it's finally here. I'm also sorry there's no smut on this one, but the chapter mood was not a sexy one. We will be back to our normal schedule I promise. Also, the extra chapter with their first kiss is almost ready as well! So hopefully, the next update won't take that long.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Series Masterlist

-&-

“Do you really have to do that?”

The question drew a confused laugh from you. With your hands busy with a first aid kit borrowed from Natasha, you can only offer a look to your girlfriend.

"Yes?"

But Wanda snorted stubbornly, crossing her arms before stopping in the doorway of the bathroom in Black Widow's room, who was standing outside with the rest of the team. You were supposed to go back outside right away before Layla had a nervous breakdown at being left with the entire Avengers team while you grabbed the kit to fix your own reaction to seeing her and ending up hurting her.

"I just don't understand why you have to do the bandage. Can't you ask Nat or any of them?" Wanda insisted, sounding very irritated and you had no idea why.

"Well, Layla only trusts me of all the people present and I'm the one who threw her against a snack machine." You half-heartedly explain the whole thing. "If you'll excuse me, sweetheart."

Wanda gave you the room but did so with a grimace that you would probably try to understand later. She's been acting so weird ever since your partner arrived, but Layla's presence is making you worried enough. You'd talk to Wanda after you understood exactly what the other woman was doing here.

Outside, and in the outer courtyard that was more isolated from the rest of the motel, Layla was sitting at one of the tables with the Avengers doing a poor job of disguising the fact that they were on alert for her. Sitting down, her jacket was laid beside her, and she was wearing a tank top that exposed the redness of her new bruise and made you groan low in guilt. Wanda, who hadn't left your trail since Layla appeared, glared at you as soon as she caught the sound.

For the witch, she didn't see the bruise but the beautiful woman with well-defined muscles, a tight tank top and curls that made her look even more attractive than before. And you, who apparently had a long-term relationship with the curly woman and were friendly enough for her to come looking for you.

You didn't even notice the look Wanda gave you, busy opening the kit and mumbling apologies to Layla in Arabic that made Wanda spend the next few minutes imagining you learning another language just to talk to your friend.

She was so distracted by her own neuroses that she didn't notice Natasha approaching, and leaning on the pillar she was also resting on.

"Wow, if looks could kill..." teased the widow, but Wanda snorted lowly, ignoring the phrase and trying to pretend she wasn't watching you pull whatever piece of glass the machine left behind in Layla's back, while you whispered apologies to her for it.

Natasha chuckled at the witch's expression and wasn't intimidated by her aggressive attitude. It surprised her that Wanda, a moment later, was the one who started the conversation.

"Do you think they seem close?"

You had just pressed a cotton pad with alcohol on Layla's wound, and because you were sitting next to her, the woman, grunting in pain, instinctively grabbed your thigh.

Nat raised an eyebrow.

"I bet you ten bucks they've slept together." Replied the widow, and Wanda grunted in disgust before turning away from the scene. Natasha giggled. "Hey, I'm joking."

"Whatever, I'd better get out of here before I blow something up." Muttered the witch in a frown, practically running away from the scene.

Natasha sighed, regretting having taken the provocation too far. She took one last look at you and Layla before turning back to Steve and Sam on the other side of the courtyard.

You were just finishing sewing the few stitches on Layla's shoulder when she called your attention.

"Sorry, I promise I'm almost done-"

"It's not that, يا حلو (sweetie)." She interrupts gently. "I don't think your girlfriend likes me."

You smile, unable to take your eyes off the stitches you're closing. "Don't be silly, Wanda doesn't know you well enough." You retort. " She'll need at least a few days not to like you."

Layla chuckles, pinching you gently for the joke. You finish the stitches next, and as you assess the work to make sure they won't open, she speaks again.

"I've been looking for you." Layla's tone is a little upset, and it surprises you. You look at her, but she continues to stare at the team from a distance. "I thought you might have been kidnapped. Or even killed. I almost went to Valentina to ask." You swallow, ready to apologize when Layla finally looks at you. "And all this time you've been playing superhero with your new friends?"

"Layla, it's nothing like that."

"So what's it like?" She demands with a hard stare. You sigh, hesitating about taking it all in like that, and Layla studies you intently. When she speaks again, it's in another language that she hopes no prying ears can understand. "هل هي مهمة أخرى؟ (Is it another assignment)?"

You look back at Natasha talking to Sam and of course she would know Arabic, but she didn't really seem to be paying attention to the conversation.

Either way, you face Layla and and denies it with your head. You sigh once more before forcing a smile at her. "I'm not here on business."

Layla doesn't seem to believe your words. "Come on, I'm not going to torment you if your girlfriend asked you to steal something for them." She shrugged. "I even heard that they're being treated like criminals now. Decided to act on their own, huh?"

You don't answer right away. You occupy your hands with the bloodstained cotton and the needle thread, saving what can be reused, like the alcohol, and throwing away the rest.

When you return to the table where Layla is still exchanging hard looks in the direction of the Avengers, you lean over to talk to her.

"Valentina didn't send me here." You say. "Like I said, it's not about work. Me and Wanda, we're together for real."

Despite the tense exchange between her and the rest of the team, excitement shines through her irises and she looks at you with wide, surprised eyes, a smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, you didn't say."

You chuckle shyly, looking away from your colleague. "Shut up."

"No, I mean it." She giggles. "Damn, I think I owe Xu Xialing some money." You frown in confusion, and Layla sighs. "She bet you'd put a ring on it before the end of the year, and here we are."

Your ears heat up, but you roll your eyes. "I can't believe you bet on me."

Layla chuckles, gently bumping her good shoulder against yours. "Come on, what do you expect from the founder of the Golden Daggers? She breathes gambling. You got really drunk after the last championship and started whining about how much you missed your little Sokovian witch. I wasn't expecting to owe Xialing 20,000 Yuan either, but here we are."

It's your turn to laugh, covering your face for a moment. "And how is she? Xu Xialing?"

Layla snorts softly, shrugging. "Honestly, I have no idea. But if the club is still standing, then she must be fine."

"You should visit her."

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you." Layla retorts somewhat ironically, and you hesitate, looking away. "What? Why are you acting so weird?"

You chuckled weakly, trying to gather your courage. Finally, you take a deep breath and say. "I'm not going to do these things anymore, Layla. Nothing we did together. Robberies, fights, the club. None of it. I want out."

But it doesn't take Layla by surprise. She remains silent before looking away.

"I guess I expected that."

You frown. "Really?"

Layla chuckles, looking at you again. "Yeah. Since the day you arrived from Italy, acting so... quirky."

"I wouldn't use that word."

"I thought it would be rude to call you a simp."

You chuckle, shaking your head. Layla laughs too, before leaning her good shoulder against yours. It's an affectionate gesture, which she used to do a lot when you were on long robberies and so exhausted that the world would stop making sense. The touch was a way of anchoring each other back to reality.

"You could have told me." She says gently, even if the words hide a certain disappointment.

You swallow, looking down at your shoes. "I was afraid, I guess." You mumble, and she frowns in confusion. You sigh sadly. "I'm not good with these things, Layla. You're my work partner. I thought, if I'm not working anymore, I'll lose you. I just... didn't want that. It was easier not saying anything."

Layla reaches over to entwine her arm in yours and take your hand. "You're an idiot."

"Thanks." You mumble, but she chuckles, squeezing your fingers for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." She says and you look at her curiously. She sighs. "For giving you the impression that we were just work colleagues. You're my friend. You've always been my friend."

You smile, ignoring the sudden urge to cry.

"I'm sorry I didn't call." You mumble. "I didn't want to worry you."

"Nah, it's fine." She assures you with a smile. "It's like Bulgaria all over again. I should have waited for backup, but all I ended up doing was calling you for help. I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that you got me out of that basement wearing the Chief of Government's face." You chuckle nostalgically at the story of what was probably the moment when your friendship and partnership with Layla was settled.

"You want to get even? Tell Valentina about me." It's supposed to be a joke, but it immediately makes Layla tense up.

She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly there's a backpack slamming into her lap.

"Your things are in one piece again." It's Wanda, angry and with red eyes that make Layla frown with some concern. The remnants of her magic leaving the backpack also signal that Wanda has repaired anything broken by the impact earlier. "You can leave now."

You only realized you were still holding Layla's hand because Wanda was looking directly at it. It was your friend who let go first, chuckling weakly at the whole thing while you tried to understand exactly why Wanda seemed about to murder someone.

"Thanks for fixing my stuff, but I still have a few things to discuss with my partner." Layla replies with a shrug, her backpack in her hands. "I'll get something to eat first, I'm starving."

But Wanda steps forward. "There are some great restaurants on the road."

The curly gives a confused snort at the hostility, but you get to your feet before your friend ends up giving a rude answer to a witch who could do a lot worse than push her against a snack machine.

You enter Wanda's field of vision, and much of the fury disappears from her gaze.

"Hey, can we talk?" You ask, and the witch gives the thief one last angry look before allowing herself to be taken to a far corner of the courtyard. You sigh softly as soon as you're alone with her. "What was that all about, Wanda?"

She crosses her arms, her jaw clenched. It's so unfair that Wanda always finds ways to make herself more attractive.

"You told me you didn't have any friends, but you seem very close to that woman."

You hesitate, and that doesn't help your situation. Wanda narrows her eyes at you, and you try not to look intimidated under her red irises.

"It's complicated."

" It's better not to be, darling, because if she touches you again I swear I'll-"

"Wow, you're jealous." You interrupt her sentence as you realize it, a laugh escaping you. "Holy shit, you really are."

Wanda doesn't reply, rolling her eyes and looking away, but you stare at her with a certain intensity.

"No one's ever been jealous of me before." You confess quietly, and despite the color in her cheeks, she looks at you with irritation.

"Stop it." She retorts. "That's not a good thing. You shouldn't try to look on the bright side, I'm not… “ She takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm her nerves. Then, she tries to smile. “I'm just being silly. You should say that."

You chuckle. One of your hands moves up to brush the rebellious strands of hair out of front of her eyes.

"Alright, I'll try. Wanda, you're being silly. There's no reason to be jealous. Better? I kinda sound like those movie characters."

Wanda grunted in frustration, hiding her face in your chest afterward. "It's not fair." She mutters, her voice muffled in your clothes as your hands wrap around her shoulders. "She was all over you, and I can't even be mad at you for being clueless."

You sigh, without breaking the embrace, trying to explain further:

"It was a friendly gesture, I promise. It's nothing like when we hold hands. When Layla and I would go on missions together, sometimes we'd spend so long hiding, rationing food while injured, that we'd start to get a little crazy. The touch would ground us again. She reached out to my hand because I told her I wasn't going to work with her anymore."

Wanda breaks the embrace to look at you. "Because you're staying with me."

You smile and nod. "That's right, darling. Just like I promised."

The witch sighs, sinking her face into your chest again for a long moment. You don't mind and stroke her hair until Wanda ignores the insecurities that have arisen and relies only on you.

She's still hugging you when she mutters: "I'm sorry for snapping at your friend. I'll apologize to her too."

"It's okay, I doubt Layla took it to heart." You mutter, and Wanda breaks the hug to look you in the eye.

"What does she still have to discuss with you?" The witch asked more seriously, with a different kind of concern rather than jealousy now.

You force a smile. "Let's find out."

The new information you passed on to Layla about running away seemed to have some kind of effect on her because when you and Wanda found her again, she was chatting amiably with the rest of the Avengers. Wanda had the impression that Sam was actually flirting with her and felt some weight leave her shoulders even though you had assured her that there was nothing between you.

With the most sympathetic exchange between Layla and the rest of the team, she was invited to stay - Of course, she didn't miss the opportunity to make a few jokes on earth mighty heroes having lunch with criminals, but everyone took it as a joke. And shortly after eating, Wanda noticed that the two of you exchanged a look that meant it was time to talk.

She was ready to deal with her own jealous insecurities when you, who had been by her side all lunch, leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Come on, love, let's go for a walk with Layla." It's an invitation, not just to talk, but to a part of your life that Wanda has never seen. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to control her anxiety, and it helps a little by the look of reassurance that Natasha throws her from across the table.

Layla, now with the bandage securely sewn up, is wearing a jacket again and dark glasses that make her look too cool even for the fugitive Avengers.

Wanda wishes she wasn't so nice and clever in her jokes and comments during lunch either, so it would be easier to hate her.

So far, she has only been able to understand exactly why you were friends.

"I gotta catch a bus, come on." Layla says as soon as you're on your feet. There's no bigger goodbye for the Avengers than a nod, and it makes sense since despite the polite exchange, they're not friends and Layla is still on the wanted list.

You keep your hand intertwined with Wanda's, and at a slow pace, you accompany Layla to the nearest bus stop.

"It's quite of sad you couln't get a car, my friend." You tease, earning a short laugh from Layla. Even though you can't see behind her glasses, you're sure she rolled her eyes.

"I couldn't bring my bike straight here from across the globe, and I wasn't going to attract unwanted attention by stealing a new one." She explains casually. "Besides, there's decent public transportation around here." She winks at you and Wanda. "I will survive."

You reach the bus stop on the corner, it's completely empty but that's not atypical for a corner motel in an isolated place.

Wanda decides to sit on one of the benches, and even though you're standing, you don't occupy her view or try to exclude her from the conversation. You lean against one of the railings and cross your arms, offering Wanda a small smile before facing Layla.

"So, Miss El-Faouly, how fucked am I?"

She chuckles, shaking her head.

"I told you, Valentina doesn't know you ran away." She retorts. "Not yet."

You sigh, and Wanda bites the inside of your cheek. She has so many questions, but you think it's best not to interrupt.

"What does she know?"

Layla shrugs. "She probably thinks you're having another morality crisis." The woman retorts, stealing a few glances down the street. "You've been away before. A few times on vacation, yes? But she'll know what you're up to if you don't come back soon."

You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You laugh humorlessly. "Actually, I've just missed the deadline. It's Tuesday, which means that officially, this is my longest period without contact after a mission. I guess she hadn't come to me yet because what I picked up in Greece arrived in the mail."

Wanda doesn't ask - not about what you were stealing before you joined her. The connection, the freshly healed bullet wound you had when you arrived. She knew you were working.

Layla steals a glance at the witch before clearing her throat.

"What if... you came back?" Your expression hardens immediately, but Layla clarifies; "Just to talk to Valentina, Y/N."

"No, Layla."

"She'll make things more difficult if she knows you've just left. You know that. If only-"

"It's out of the question."

"God, why are you being so stubborn?" Layla replies a little impatiently, her eyes studying you. "Your superhero girlfriend will be fine for a few days without you!"

"Layla." You cut in more seriously, and the girl snorts angrily but doesn't insist. Exchanging a glance with Wanda, you soften your tone. "I'm not leaving her, Layla. I can't, it's not right. Wanda, she... she's pregnant."

Layla widens her eyes, looking between the two of you in shock. "What? Really? And it's yours?"

You and Wanda choke at the same time. With her ears slightly reddened, she gives your friend a deadly stare. "Of course it is!"

The thief shakes her head quickly. "I didn't mean it like that!" She tries quickly. "I just... I didn't know you could, Y/N."

You sigh wearily. "I can transform into any Caborn-based form and you think I'm unlikely to have children?"

But Layla rolls her eyes, suddenly a little hesitant. "That's not what I meant either." She mutters. "I just assumed... you couldn't. Not after all they've done to you..."

But you clear your throat, get to your feet and Layla falls silent. Wanda frowns in curiosity at the interaction, but you're delivering something to your friend.

"Here, for Lagaro. For all the trouble." You hand over your watch and Layla grimaces.

"And my trouble?"

You chuckle. "Af if you weren't dying to see me."

Wanda clears her throat, and you take a step away from Layla before your girlfriend loses her temper again. The curly doesn't notice, busy putting your watch back in her pocket and checking the street again.

"Lagaro will be happy to know you're not dead, Y/N. Not just with the watch." Your friend comments and you nod, moving closer to Wanda to rest one of your arms on her shoulder. You're trying to relax the tension that has arisen there. When Layla looks at you again, her expression is more serious. "Think about what I said. I understand why you can't leave her, I really do. I guess it's the same idea with Marc disappearing to protect me."

You smile. "Marc disappears because he's an idiot, you should have married someone more... present." Layla raises her middle finger at you, but Wanda suddenly feels very silly knowing that all this time, your friend was married.

There's a bus approaching on the corner, Layla sighs as she sees it stop at a red light. She then offers you two a smile.

"Despite the circumstances, I'm really happy for you both." She assures you with sparkling eyes. "Just... be safe, darling. Okay?"

As she hugs you, she whispers something that Wanda doesn't hear and has to ignore the instinct to ask. She doesn't want to pry, but she feels so curious that she almost uses her powers to find out.

Instead, she also says goodbye to Layla and the two of you watch the woman get on the bus and leave.

Once you're alone, you entwine your hands together again and give Wanda a small smile.

"I can almost hear the gears in your mind working, baby." You tell her gently, and Wanda sighs. "You know you can ask me anything, don't you?

She nods, before looking around to see the growing number of lunchtime passers-by. With another sigh, she faces you.

"Let's go back inside."

It's a silent, tense walk back. You can sense that Wanda is nervous, and you fear that she's insecure again, about trusting you, about feeling left out.

The Avengers are no longer outside, whether they're back in their own rooms or out for a walk, you don't need to give any excuses about Layla's quick farewell.

Wanda enters first, and as you close the door, she crosses her arms and waits in the center of the room.

With a sigh, you speak first. "Come on, darling, ask me anything you want." You try to sound as gentle as you can, yet Wanda seems very nervous.

"I've spent so much time studying you. Your missions, your deeds, your disguises." She begins. "Still, I feel like I don't know anything."

"Well, that's because I'm good at what I do." Wanda looks at you seriously and you sigh, forcing yourself to act more serious about the whole thing. "Sweetheart, you know me. You know me more than anyone else."

You try to touch her cheek, but Wanda pulls away. "You say that, but I don't think it's true." She fights back annoyed. "I didn't even know about Layla. What else are you hiding?"

You frown in surprise at the accusation. But instead of starting a fight, you swallow dry. "I wasn't hiding. This is hard for me. I can't just dump my life on you. Sharing... doesn't come naturally to someone like me."

Wanda looks down, a little uncertain. "I just want you to trust me."

"And I do." You assure her, stepping forward to touch her shoulders. This time, she almost melts into your touch. "Look at me, I've been an wanted criminal for as long as I can remember, but I'm here, in a hotel surrounded by avengers, just to be with you. I want to be with you, no matter the risk, no matter what. Not only do I trust you, but I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? You not knowing all the details of my past, of my work, doesn't make it any less true."

Wanda takes a deep breath and lets her forehead fall to yours. You stroke her shoulders, thinking about breaking the distance when suddely she moves away.

"You really have to go, don't you?" She asks with tears in her eyes, and you feel your stomach sink. You shake your head immediately, but something in your gaze makes Wanda's tears start to fall.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Y/N."

"I'll find another way." You assure her, but she turns her back, wiping her face and sitting down on the bed. Wanda hugs her own body and you let your arms fall by your sides. Seeing her cry is always the worst, and for a second, you let your anger get the better of you. "What? Do you want me to leave by any chance?"

Wanda lets out a tearful laugh. "Don't do that."

You snort angrily. "I'm telling you that I want to stay, that I am going to stay. And you're crying, as if you're sure I'm going to leave. I don't like being called a liar, Wanda."

She shakes her head. "Stop."

"No, you stop. I'm telling you something, but you're acting as if I'm going to abandon you. As if you were sure. Do you really think so little of me?"

Wanda chokes, raising pleading eyes to you.

"Of course not!" she retorts. "Don't say that."

The seriousness in her gaze makes you feel ashamed that you'd even considered such a thing. You prepare to apologize, but Wanda speaks again.

"It's your thoughts." She mutters, now she's the one who looks ashamed as she gazes at the floor. "Your mind is screaming that. You're so worried, I can easily hear it."

"Wanda, I...

"It's okay." She cuts in with a tearful voice. "I'm not angry, I think I get it. You don't want to put me in danger, but I'd like you to understand that you don't have to worry about it. I can protect us both."

You chuckle weakly, looking down at your feet. "That sounds lovely, but the last time I left you, you ended up in the Raft, darling. I don't want that to happen ever again."

"And it won't."

"You don't know that." You retort, moving closer to kneel in front of her. Your hands search for hers. "I won't leave you again, Wanda. Not like I used to do to get back to work. We're in this together. Can you please believe me?"

Wanda lets go of one of her hands to stroke the loose strands of hair away from your face. "Why is it so hard for you to get away from Valentina?" She asks, and the red irises explain why she can read the insecurities in your mind. You hesitate, but when you make a move to pull away, the grip on your hand tightens. "What's different between escaping her and escaping Hydra?"

But the hesitation in your eyes turned to confusion. "Escape Hydra? Wanda, I've never escaped them."

It was then her turn to be confused. "B-but I thought... your records. You haven't worked with Strucker for years. I assume-"

"That I just left them? Like you did?" You add, suddenly upset. Wanda says nothing and allows you to let go of her hand to sit down next to her on the bed. You sigh before speaking again. "I never ran away from Hydra, Wanda. My program was a success. And because of that fact, Strucker was allowed to command yours." You say, without meeting her gaze, your hands fiddling with the loose threads of your jeans. "Even if he made mistakes, even if volunteers kept dying, he could still be in charge. Because it worked for me, so it would work for others."

"What happened to you?" she risks asking and you sniffle.

"What happens to valuable merchandise, of course." You reply darkly. "I was sold." Wanda chokes softly, but you force a sad smile and keep talking. "I was 10, maybe younger. The program was complete, Strucker decided it was time to show off his new triumph. At his request, I created my first fixed identity at that time, to make it easier to find clients. To have a trademark, I guess. But with each buyer, they wanted something different. The Slayer, Mighty Samuel, Scorpion, Dark Diamond, any weird name they wanted. Any face they needed. For any service they paid for." The way your jaw tenses makes Wanda understand what is hidden between your words. Everything that was left out of the Shield and Avengers files, simply because they didn't know you were all those people.

Wanda reaches for your hand, interlacing your fingers together. "If it's too painful, you don't have to talk about it."

You squeeze back, shaking your head. "No, it's fine. I can talk about it, it's been a while. And Val, hm, she put me in therapy for a while. So I could talk about the program, my past, for her records."

"Tell me about her." Wanda asks because this doesn't just sound like a contractor and employee relationship. You sigh, nodding.

"I was 16 when the CIA caught up with me. It was no challenge, of course. But the agent who found me, Valentina Fontaine, had intel on me. At the time, Hydra and Shield shared the same name, so I couldn't tell who was a friend so easily. But Valentina? Oh, she knew a lot. She didn't care about the coats of arms one would wear, she just had a particular interest in special individuals. But she didn't approve of the way I was being enslaved. Barbaric she called. She charmed me, so, so easily. She was always very good with words. Manipulative. She got me to take her to my owner at the time, said she would give me my freedom." You sighed tiredly. "But when I took her to him, the rest of her team revealed themselves. They killed anyone who tried to fight and imprisoned the rest. My master, my boss." You correct yourself as you feel Wanda complains about the title. "He swore he was going to kill me for the betrayal. So Val shot him in front of me, and said that from then on, I owed her my life."

"You don't owe her anything. You know that, don't you?" Wanda retorts immediately, but you move uncomfortably as if the idea was already craved in your mind, and remind Wanda of how Bucky feels about the Winter Soldier and everything Hydra has put him through.

"I can think about it rationally, but practically? No, it's not that simple." You murmur, adjusting yourself to turn your whole body towards Wanda, your fingers playing with hers. "Valentina didn't use me, not like the others did. She bought me a place, gave me a name." You laugh weakly. "Of course, she couldn't say she'd got me in a dirty shed in Madripoor. No, she had to lie. She let me be Lady Fontaine, a distant relative of hers. She paid me very well for any service. I could travel wherever I wanted, have my own teams. I was free."

"As long as you kept working for her."

You swallow, agreeing. "Yeah, as long as I kept doing the job." You mutter. "But for someone like me, the life I had before, the deal was not bad, not at all. The whole sense of freedom. But then... I met you. Suddenly all those expensive things I could buy, all the adrenaline of a new robbery, everything stopped making sense if I didn't have you by my side.”

Wanda smiles tenderly, leaning in to steal a kiss from you. It's quick, but deep enough to make you sigh against her lips.

"Nothing and no one will ever keep us apart again, detka. I promise." Wanda whispers, her arms going to your shoulders so she can hug you and sit on your lap. You melt into the warm sensation, hugging her back with the same intensity.

It takes you by surprise, of course, and a moment later, Wanda hurries away.

"Is something wrong?" But she's already stumbling out of bed, running for the bathroom. "Wanda?" You barely get to your feet and hear her throwing up. First, your body goes into full alert, and then you sigh and relax as you remember: Pregnant girlfriend.

When you reach the door, it slams shut in your face, still shining with red magic. You chuckle.

"Don't come in here. It's disgusting." Wanda grumbles from inside, but you shake your head in disbelief and open the door, reaching up to hold her hair, calming any protests with a caress on her back as Wanda flushes all her lunch down the toilet.

"Can I run you a hot bath?" you suggest, still holding her hair. Wanda nods weakly, and you smile briefly.

You walk away to the bathtub while hoping that her state is enough for her not to notice your racing thoughts about keeping a pregnant woman in those conditions.

-&-

Wanda gets shot in the stomach. You wake up with a jolt.

The motel room is poorly lit, and you realize you've fallen asleep sitting up. Wanda sleeps deeply beside you, and you sigh before leaving the bed.

The bathroom light is the only one on in the room and gives away the previous activities - Wanda's nauseated state for almost the entire night. Perhaps the events were the reason for your nightmares.

Knowing that your girlfriend would easily notice your discomfort and end up waking up due to the nature of her powers, you left the room to get some air, and maybe push those thoughts away.

Given the time of night, the motel was quiet. But the figure smoking on the balcony made you take a deep breath.

"Hi, Nat."

The widow wasn't startled, she'd probably heard you coming out. She mumbled the greeting back, taking a long drag before offering the item to you. Your response was a dismissive nod.

"Sorry about the smoke." She says, and you scratch your eyes for a moment, shrugging in a sign that you weren't really bothered by it.

The next moment, you ask: "Rough night?"

Natasha gives a small laugh. "You have no idea." She retorts, attracting your curiosity. But the concern in her eyes is for Wanda's safety, she realizes, and quickly clarifies: "Nothing affecting your little witch, relax."

Despite feeling a weight leave your shoulders, you adjust your body towards the widow. "I know we're not friends and that this is a situation of necessity, but I'm grateful for the way you're keeping us safe. If there's anything I can do to help you with your problem, please don't hesitate to ask."

The sincerity of the words surprised her for a moment. And then, after another swallow, Nat laughs lightly and comments: "If you have any solution for a broken heart, I'll take it."

You frown, absorbing her words for a moment. Nat almost immediately looks away, busy smoking as if hoping that the cigarette would take away all the pain she was feeling. Your mind is racing with all the things you've been entrusted with about the widow, be it work-related or the little socializing of the last few months.

You don't have enough to know exactly what Natasha is saying, but it occurs to you that she must really need to speak to someone about it, at least enough to mention it to you.

"What happened?"

The next laugh that escapes her is a sad one. "Nothing you can fix it."

"I wasn't intending to anyway." You respond gently, offering her a smile. "I'm just here to listen. If you need to talk to someone."

"I have people to listen to me, thank you." She snaps back, and you sigh tiredly before stepping away from the edge.

You nod and retort; "All right, Romanoff, sorry for intruding." And you turn away, heading for the stairs.

But from the balcony, Nat only lets you go down two steps before saying; "I was engaged. Past tense." And you raise a frown in surprise at her, only for Nat to sigh, looking like she's going to burst into tears at any moment. "Like I said, it's nothing you can help me with."

But you rest your waist on the railing and keep looking up. "I'm sorry, the Captain is an asshole-"

"What?" Nat cuts you off with a grimace. "I wasn't talking about Steve!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed you two-" But Nat bursts into laughter, and you shut up. It's better that she's laughing than crying anyway.

Wiping away tears of laughter, she shakes her head. "I understand why Wanda likes you. Your cluelessness is hilarious."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Nat chuckles briefly, taking one last drag before putting out her cigarette. She rests her elbows on the edge and looks down at you.

"Agent Hill was my fiancée." She explains, more gently than before. "We had a plan. One that didn't involve me switching sides and ending up fleeing across Europe."

You offer Nat a look of understanding. She sighs, looking away so you don't see her tears.

"Let me guess, Miss Hill believes you prioritized the Avengers over the life you planned together?"

Nat chuckles humorlessly, humming in agreement. She looks at you again with watery eyes. "Don't you think she's right?"

You sigh. "I think things are more complicated than that."

"They certainly are." Nat mutters tiredly. She swallows dryly, pushing her own emotions away before looking at you with a certain determination. It's going to be about you now. "How long are you going to keep this up, Y/N?"

It's your turn to sigh and cross your arms. Your gaze wanders away. Natasha decides to press.

"There are hundreds of bounties on you." She says. "You've annoyed too many people."

"I know."

"And Wanda needs to see a doctor-"

"Natalia." You cut her off, and her given name catches her off guard. She falls silent, staring at you intently. You sigh. “"I'll go where Wanda goes. No more leaving. I'm tired of running away."

Natasha remains quiet and thoughtful for a long moment. When she suddenly laughs dryly and offers you the cigarette again, you think it's best to accept.

"I think I just got Maria's point." She mumbles in annoyance, and you're a little taken aback by the tears in her eyes. But you try to take a drag on the cigarette, and start coughing, and it works to make Nat laugh and help you instead of crying. She takes the cigarette back, and gives you one last pat on the back, her hand staying in place instead of moving away. "That girl loves you with all her heart, Y/N. She'll follow you if you ask her to, so I beg you, make your decisions with your head, not your heart. Don't put her in danger that you can't protect her from."

You look at Nat. "Do you think that's what you're doing for Maria? Protecting her?"

"This isn't about Maria and me."

But you pull away from Nat's touch, looking at her hard. "I think it is." You insist seriously. "I can't protect Wanda from anything, and I don't need to. She's infinitely more powerful than I am. And I certainly won't be plotting decisions without her. If she decides to leave with me, that's her choice. Not any of yours, and maybe that's the problem with the Avengers, huh? You have a bad habit of putting your members in no-win situations."

Nat forces a smile. "Yes, we're the ones who are wrong not to want Wanda running around with a thief." She ironizes it, and you swallow, your gaze tired and disappointed. Nat is upset, and well, you're the easiest target here. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. "Excuse me, for not wanting her in Madripoor, surrounded by the Chinese Mob!"

You sniffle lightly, shaking your head. "Do you know who's in Madripoor, Natalia? Your old colleague, Sharon Carter. The one who sacrificed her career for what you and Steve did. The one who was abandoned by you two without hesitation. Just like Clint did it, for whom Wanda's twin brother died and for whom she accepted this position. He abandoned her without looking back. Because that's what the Avengers do for each other, isn't it?" you retort angrily. "But I am the villain. I'm the one who stays and takes care of Wanda no matter what and makes her my priority, and I'm still the wrong one. Even though I'm not the one who let her end up in a fucking straitjacket, locked up like an animal!"

You don't realize you're screaming, but for a whole moment, all you can see is that damn newspaper photo of how Wanda looked, how she was captured. Nat's cheeks are wet, but she doesn't lose her posture.

You chuckle humorlessly. "You've got a damn nerve acting like you're better than me, Romanoff. Especially you."

"Don't go there." She warns with a dangerous look, but you shake your head.

"What would be the point?" You retort. "I'm over the past, but I can't say the same for you. You're pushing Agent Hill away because you're afraid of who you were, you're afraid that anger is still there. You're not giving Maria the choice to love you completely. And I'm not going to make the same mistake with Wanda."

With one last hard look at Nat, you turn to leave. Deciding that you need to take a walk and calm your nerves before going back to your room.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #heart shaped series #wanda maximoff series

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call-me-strega · 3 months

Text

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: ch.3/5 of p.2

First, prev, next, lore, ao3

OK SO- I’ve been working on this for months and I was actually supposed to have it done like a month ago but my parents took me on the last minute vacation to another country to visit family and I didn’t have access to my laptop most of the time. But it’s okay bc the timing worked out! I wrote most of this on my phone actually and I’m posting it from there too so I hope the formatting isn’t weird. Our flight back is tonight and we’re in a different time zone so I really hope this is going up at the correct time. Anyways I tried to make this chapter longer so I hope it’s worth it. Thanks for sticking around to read this and I’ll let you start now.

-Strega p.s Happy 4th of July!

~~~

Chapter description:

Danny and Jason comfort each other after a rough night, Jason teams up with Duke to stop a villain, and Jason spends the 4th of July with the Nightingales.

~~~

Everything was hot. Someone was laughing. Someone was crying. It's all too loud but he can't hear a thing. It was so hot. He could taste the bitterness in the air. His face ached. It's too much. All the textures overwhelm him but he can’t feel a thing. It was too hot. All he can see is rows of black upon gray, but he can't really see anything at all. He couldn’t- he couldn’t breathe. His forehead was wet and sticky. Why was it wet and sticky? Why was it so goddamn hot?!

With a desperate gasp for air, Jason launched up into a sitting position on his bed. He supported his body with one hand and the other pushing back his white, sweat-soaked fringes out of his eyes. He sat there for a few moments, just panting, trying to regain some semblance of control over his breathing. He felt a warm sweat drip down his face and back. It made his skin crawl.

He looked around his dark room and then down at his messy sheets for a moment, before pulling off the blanket and flinging himself off the bed. He couldn't stand the idea of staying there a minute longer. Not right now.

He stalked out of his bedroom and into his living area. He didn't want to stay inside. The thought of being in an enclosed space right now gave him the hives, no matter how spacious the apartment might be. Even if it's bigger than a coffin. Even if it's smaller than a warehouse. He can't see the sky. He's closed in.

Instead, he pushes open his window and pulls himself out onto the fire escape. It's not particularly open, facing into an alley, but it offers privacy and is heaps better than being inside. He slumps down against the brick wall of the building, feet planted and knees bent. He looks up and takes a breath trying to calm himself. Even with all the smog and Gotham's perpetual cloud cover, Jason is grateful to see the sky. He half-wished it was a clear night so he could see the stars. The other half didn't. It didn't think he could handle seeing the stars peeking out through the smog. It would look too much like a night sky tainted with smoke and bad memories.

His mouth felt dry as he clenched and stretched his hands. He almost wished for a cigarette or a joint, (no he didn't, he didn't want to see the smoke, to feel the heat of the slow burn) but the thought made his lungs constrict and he felt bile rise in his throat. Instead, he alternated between closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, and gazing at the lights and laundry lines. Even in the sticky city heat of a Gotham summer Jason shuddered from the cool night air.

Suddenly, he heard metal creaking and his eyes snapped open. His head jerked to the side where the sound had come from. A few feet away, on the adjacent fire escape, stood a figure slumped over the rail. They must have also sensed his presence because they turned to meet Jason's gaze.

Before him stood a haggard Danny Nightingale with dark circles under his eyes and a head of bed hair. He wore an old worn-out shirt for a band called Dumpty Humpty, and a pair of basketball shorts that came down to his knees. Faintly, Jason could make out a faded scar on his calf. (Not that Jason had been staring at his legs or anything!) Jason soon became aware of Danny's own eyes assessing him as well. He felt his face heat up and was grateful that he slept in sweats and a white tank tonight.

And the two of them stayed there for a while, on their fire escapes. Two souls in the haunted hours before morning, looking worse for wear, just staring at each other as the world continued on around them.

Then, Danny weakly gave Jason a wry grin and in a rough voice he said,

" Hey, neighbor."

" Hey," Jason replied hoarsely, with a small grin forming on his face. "Funny running into you here, huh?"

There was a brief pause where the two continued to stare at each other, suppressing the quickly growing urge to laugh.

Danny broke first.

" Pffffffft, you dork!"

The two of them burst out laughing and the atmosphere grew lighter. The ever-present smog and darkness seemed to lift and the shadows haunting them seemed to fade.

Danny bubbled up with giggles that rang in Jason’s ear like a familiar song coming on on the radio. Jason looked at him softly in quiet wonderment. Well, I guess that’s where Ellie got her laugh from.

Jason heaved himself off the ground and walked over to the railing closest to Danny, who was just coming down from his high. He leaned over, one arm on the railing and the other coming up to support his jaw. He gave Danny a tired smile.

“Hey,” he said once more.

“Hey yourself,” came Danny’s soft reply.

Then the two, now standing closer, took a moment to examine each other once more. Danny took note of Jason’s sweat and unsteadiness. Jason could now see that Danny’s hands shook lightly and were covered in faded, barely-there scars. They met each other’s eyes and both just felt like the other understood.

Tonight hadn’t been a good night for either of them. But they didn’t need to talk about it right now. No, for now the two could just bask in each others presence The air filling with a certain solidarity and what felt like a near-tangible sense of mutual comfort.

Jason turned away first, observing the way light and shadow danced across alley walls and how the clothes on clotheslines fluttered in the night breeze. Danny followed his gaze in suit, trying to identify what Jason saw out in the city.

“ Ya know for being such a hell-hole Gotham really does have a subtle beauty to it.”

Jason turned to look a Danny with mock offense.

“Hey! Gotham may be a hell-hole but it’s our hell-hole! Just ask any true Gothamite, the city has a way sinking itself into ya.”

Danny looked almost amused by this statement, but nodded in understanding.

“Yeah, I think I kinda get it. It really sucked back home, but it was still home, ya know? And I agree, Gotham does have her ways of making you feel like she’s a part of you. We’ve only been here bout a month or so but I already feel like Ell and I are well on our way to become city slickers through and through.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head and bringing his arm down to stand up straight. He decide to pursue the opening Danny had left.

“Speaking of Ell, she the reason your up so late?”

“Naw,” Danny’s smile grew a bit strained. “My little spitfire may have a lotta energy but the girl sleeps like the dead.” He grew a more subdued, looking down at his hands.

“Nah, this was something else.”

“Nightmare?” He probed gently.

Danny nodded.

Taking a breath, Jason said “Me too,” in a show of vulnerability that he found came surprisingly easy. Danny glanced at him sympathetically.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Kinda, but at the same time not really?”

Danny nodded as if he understood perfectly. Once more a comfortable silence overtook they began to shift closer. Even with the space between their fire escapes they felt impossibly close.

Danny interrupted the quiet with a light chuckle and Jason returned him a questioning glance. Danny shook his head,

“ Nothing I just think it’s kinda ironic we both came out to our fire escapes to escape our bad dreams.” He paused as his face clouded with confusion. “ Or at least I think it’s irony? Would you call it irony?”

“I think it might actually be symbolism but fuck if I know. I don’t have the mental capacity to figure which literary devices apply to our situation right now but remind me to come back to it later.”

Danny hummed in amusement before taking a deep breath.

“ I think I wanna talk about it.”

“Hmm?” Jason raised an eyebrow

“ I think I wanna talk about my dream.”

In a split second Jason makes a impulsive decision.

“Hold on,” he says, before climbing over the railing and extending his foot over to reach Danny’s fire escape.

“ What are you doing, ya maniac?!” Danny asked incredulously at Jason’s actions.

Jason stepped over onto the fire escape and shrugged as he walked over to Danny, “This felt like something I should be close for.”

The startled man seemed to loosen up and sunk to sit on the platform with his back to the railing. Jason joined him on the floor. They sat shoulder to shoulder, Danny staring at his trembling hand, and Jason, staring at him. Jason hand crept towards Danny’s, gentle taking it and interlacing the fingers.

Danny’s head swiveled to look at him and Jason returned him a gentle look and a squeezed his hand reassuringly. Faintly, the young man smiled and squeezed back. He took a deep breath and began.

" So you remember how you found my groceries in an alley the other day?”

Jason nodded.

“ Yeah well, the reason I left them there was because some mugger tried to kidnap Ellie. I ditched the groceries to grab her and get home.”

“ You did a smart thing,” Jason continued to nod as if he didn’t already know exactly what happened that day.

“ Mm I don’t doubt that, Ellie’s safety will always be my first priority. But the whole thing kinda brought up old fear. Some old … memories.”

A distant look grew on his face and Jason’s heart burned with sadness and anger for his friend.

“ The dream started out back in that alley. I had just pulled Ellie back into my arms but when I turned around it wasn’t the mugger standing there. It was Vlad.” Danny’s breath staggered before he continued.

“He started saying stuff about taking Ellie back since he’s the one who made her. The one who had wanted her originally, never mind that he’d lost interest after realizing she was a girl and not his perfect son. But he kept saying things about how he had more life experience and was better equipped to raise her. How he’d be able to do better than me and provide more for her. And for me, if I let him. I hated it. I hated him for leveraging his age and wealth to try to get into our lives again. I didn’t have many reservations about punching him in the face about it either.”

Danny tightened his grip around Jason’s hand. He squeezed back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“I turned to leave but at the mouth the alley was a van. And not one of those stereotypical white vans they warn you kidnappers use. No. No, it was my parents’ van. They slid open the door and and I felt like I couldn’t move. I looked down and Ellie was gone. They-” the words started getting choked up in his throat. His eyes becoming glassy as he fought with his next words.

“ They wanted to take her too. They said they still loved me even though I was different and that they could fix me.” His voice grew frantic and shaky. “They thought they could ‘fix me’ but that Ellie’s existence was unnatural. That it’d be better if they took her and tried to raise in a ‘normal’ environment, especially if she showed signs of being unnatural too!”

Danny turned his face into Jason’s shoulder, trying to fight back tears.

“ And I know they don’t actually think like that- that I need to be fixed, at least not anymore. But, the idea that they’d try to take her from me? Raise her better than I could? It tore me up inside. How could they want to raise her when the barely raised me and my sister? When my sister raised me more than they did? How could I trust them not to get her involved in experiments when they still store chemical samples the same fridge as our food? How could I trust them when I told them I didn’t want to be around Vlad and they still let him into our house? Because ‘We’ve know good ol’ Vladdie since college! Nothing to worry about with him!’ even though I told them I-!”

He paused trying to catch his breath. Jason lifted his other arm to wrap around the crying young man, tucking him under his chin. Danny shifted, now shuddering into his chest. Jason could feel the Pits ignite a fire in soul. His blood boiled and a voice cried out for blood in recompense for his friend’s pain.

‘What type of shitty parents-! No. Later’ he tried to reign in the voice. ‘Being here for him now is more important.’ He held the other even closer.

Finally, Danny calmed himself enough to continue, “ I know they don’t think that now. I know that they love me and, and Ellie too- and I still love them too and I know that they want to be better. But they just don’t get it. That there’s a lot of reasons I don’t want to be around them anymore. Reasons I don’t bring Ellie around if I can help it. Even though it was just a dream I couldn’t handle the idea that they- that anyone might try to take Ellie from me.”

Jason tilted his head slightly to press a soft, comforting, kiss on the top of Danny’s head. He rubbed small circles on his back and murmured gently in his ear,

“It’s okay Danny. It’s okay to be mad and upset and scared. From the sounds of it you have ever right to be. It’s okay for you to worry. I have a friend ya know. He’s a recovered addict, started getting extra serious about staying sober when his ex dropped a daughter off on his doorstep because he was worried at every turn that if he slipped up or relapsed someone would take her away. I know that it’s not the same but I think every parent is entitled to worrying over losing their kid. And it sounds like your own parents haven’t done you too many favors in minimizing the worry. But you don’t have to hold yourself back from being afraid. You’re allowed to be afraid, or upset or whatever else you might be feeling.”

He finally let go of Danny’s hand in order to hold him properly, once again shifting their positions. Now, they sat perpendicularly, with Danny partway into his lap, pressed against his chest. After a while Danny wiped his tears, whispering out a thanks to Jason and allowed himself to be comforted.

They sat in delicate silence until Jason finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“So you probably know who I am right?”

Danny lifted his head from Jason’s chest to give him a confused eyebrow raise. “Yeah I think I’d know whose lap I’m on right now?”

“Not like that,” Jason blushed. “ I mean since you asked about volunteering you must know who I am in a larger context right?”

“ You mean do I know you’re beloved Gotham celebrity and non-profit worker: Jason Todd-Wayne? Because I do. I did research this city before moving here, believe it or not. Actually I remember seeing a bunch of articles about how one of Gotham’s beloved sons had returned home with your picture around that time?”

Jason touched the back of his neck, glancing away in embarrassment.

“Uh yeah that, so you’ve probably hear about my- uuh, ‘resurrection’, huh?”

Danny’s expression sobered up. His eyes darkened and his voice got all quiet, likely due to the serious nature of the discussion.

“Yeah, I did. The media claimed you had been in a kidnapping turned terrorist attack slash hostage situation? And that you had managed to survive and were taken in by family who help you recover and reconnect with your dad once you were ready?” Danny recounted the cover story they’d given to the public. There was something in his tone that made Jason think there was more he wasn’t mentioning but it was likely all speculation or more sensitive details.

“Was-… was that what your dream was about?”

Jason bowed his head into Danny’s shoulder, not having it in him to say it to his face.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “It was.”

“Oh.”

Now it was Danny’s turn to hold Jason tight, one arm one his back and the other coming up to pet his hair, gently pressing the larger man further into his shoulder. It felt like something cracked open inside him. Suddenly, words came tumbling out before he could even think about them.

“ I was back in that warehouse. Laying on the ground, injured. I could hear someone crying. And- *gulp* -and his laughter before the explosion. It was … so hot. And when I woke up I couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped inside. The same way I was trapped … during some of the worst moments of my life. And I know I’m not there anymore but I’m still terrified by the memory! Sometimes I still get scared the man who took me the first time will find me again and I just-!”

He choked on a sob as Danny held him even tighter, as if trying to melt him into his skin.

“I just hated feeling that way so much!” He whimpered.

“It’s okay Jay, I’m here big guy. You can let it out.”

And for the first time in a long while Jason allowed himself to cry freely, sobbing into his neighbor’s shoulder. Danny continued to stroke his hair, rocking gentle as one would when comforting a child. But maybe that sort of gentleness was what Jason needed.

Once he heard Jason’s sobs subside Danny took a deep breath and spoke.

“You know what?”

“What?” Jason asked lifting his head to gaze into Danny’s icy blue eyes.

“I’m kinda glad I ended up out here tonight. I mean the nightmare sucked but at least I got to be here for you.” He smiled softly, “I’m in your corner if you ever need me.”

Jason couldn’t help the soft smile that worked it’s way onto his face.

“Yeah, me too. I’ll be there if you ever need help, with anything: Ellie, Vlad, your parents, your groceries.”

Danny giggled at that last part, knowing Jason was sincere. With a sigh he rested his cheek on Jason’s chest. Jason reach down to hold his hand again and the two enjoyed the feeling of holding someone who held them back.

With a sigh, Danny lifted his gaze from their hands to Jason’s face. Jason gave him a closed-mouth smile, his eyes asking if something was wrong.

“It’s the 4th of July in a few days.” He stated.

“Yes, it is.” Jason said back.

“If it’s not too short notice, Ellie and I would love to have you over again. We were gonna have barbecue and ice cream and then come out here and see if we could catch the fireworks. She’d love it if you could join us, and … and, well I would too.”

Jason swore Danny was looking at him with the biggest, roundest, most earnest eyes he’d ever seen, save for his daughter’s.

“ I’ll be there.”

Danny flushed at his quick response.

“Don’t wanna check your schedule first?”

“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t have anything else planned so I’ll do my best to be there.” He made sure the shorter man’s eyes met his as he said his next words. “Besides, I like spending time with the two of you too.”

‘His ears are pink, he’s just adorable.’ He thought to himself as Danny seemed brighten in a shy glow. He shifted in Jason’s lap, probably getting ready to get up when he did something that cause Jason to blue screen.

Danny tilted his head up planting a quick peck on his cheek before squeaking out a “see you then” and fleeing back into his apartment, leaving a wide-eyed Jason on the floor of his fire escape.

Jason sat there stunned, before a furious blush over took his face and decided to hurry back into his own apartment. The voice in his head came back to give its routine comments: ‘His lips are so soft, the stuff of dreams’

He somehow managed to blush even more violently. ‘Damn it’ he thought, shoving his head under his pillow, unable to tell whether he actually wanted to dream about Danny’s lips or not. ‘It’s actually embarrassing how worked I’m getting over a fleeting kiss on the cheek from a friend.’

~Bzzt~ “Calling for back up! Firefly decided to start his annual firework show early this year!” ~Bzzt~ Signal called through the emergency comms.

Jason cursed his luck, of course Firefly would attack just as he got off work! Now he might be late to dinner! He sighed and tried to look on the bright-side: If they dealt with this now that meant it was less likely for any of the other rouges to try anything later. Then, the comm crackled back to life.

~Bzzt~ “I could have got him by now but he keeps lightin’ more shit on fire! By the time I get the first fires under control and punch him in the face, he’s started 20 more! Normally I’d be able to handle it, but there’s a lot of civilians around right now and fires take priority. I just need someone to help me keep the guy down long enough to make the arrest.” ~Bzzt~

Jason started ducking through alleys trying to get to his near safe house in order to grab his gear. Hey called back to Duke over the comms.

“Signal, heard! I just got off work. See if you can herd him towards the Alley. It’ll give the Red Hood an excuse to show up and beat the shit outa him while you make sure nothing actually gets damaged. I’m heading to the safe house near the Catherine Johnson Rec Center. Try to get him at least two blocks away!”

~Bzzt~ “Heard!” ~Bzzt~

Jason tossed the comm to the side and started strapping into his body armor. He started fastening his helmet when felt something in the air change. Then the comms buzzed to life once more.

~Bzzt~ “Hood, I’ve got Firefly coming your way! He’s heading up Delancy Ave.!” ~Bzzt~

Hood readied his grapple on shot.

“Good, keep him there! I’ll see you in 5, Narrows!”

~Bzzt~ “On it! I’ll be waiting Alley!” ~Bzzt~

Jason swung through the rooftops, heading in the direction of the fires that kept spontaneously appearing and subsequently being extinguished.

When he arrived Hood found Signal split between stopping fires and engaging Firefly in combat. The madman was so absorbed in antagonizing Signal that he hadn’t noticed Hood’s approach. Signal was handling him pretty well but being unable to focus solely on the villain lowered his efficiency. Jason’s mind wandered back to his friend, who had wanted to see him tonight, and decided he’d end this quickly.

You see for all his bulk and bullheadedness Jason was still a highly trained and intelligent individual. Maintaining the element of surprise he approached in the shadows silently looking down from his perch on an adjacent building. He made subtle gestures for Signal to move the guy into place, which he returned with the slightest of nods. Signal moved Firefly over to the side of the building closest to Jason’s position. Jason got ready took make use of his high ground, tapping into what he learned from Dick.

With a deep breath Jason runs up and launches himself into a triple forward somersault, building up power and momentum. In midair he took account of his bearings, aiming his feet at Firefly’s back.

Firefly goes down like he’s been hit by a semi.

“AND THATS WHY YOU STAY OUTA THE ALLEY FUCKER!” Jason shouts, crouching over the rouge who was quickly losing consciousness. Even though it’d been his plan to lure him here Jason was still protective of what was his. And Crime Alley? Crime Alley was his territory.

He stands up and gives Signal a celebratory high five.

“Nice going, ya tank! I thought he’d never go down!”

“No problem, Dayshift! Nice work handling him, you’d have gotten him eventually. I just sped up the process.”

“Thanks Hood, I ‘preciate it.”

“Soooo, you good here oorrr…?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Get outa here before the cops show up and arrest you,” Signal dismissed him.

Jason gave him a quick, two-finger salute before running off to change before he was late to dinner.

Jason arrives at the Nightingales’ red faced and out of breath. His hair is a windswept mess and his clothes slightly messy from his quick change. He knocks on the door desperately trying to tame his hair and adjust his t-shirt and jeans.

Jason feels a burst of cool air as the door opens and he’s greeted by a smiling Danny and a surprised Ellie. He smiles at the two but Danny speaks before he’s got the chance.

“ Surprise! It’s Jason!” He says with some mild jazz hands.

To which seem to Ellie explode in glee. Jason swears she’s vibrating with how fast she’s bouncing.

“The secret surprise guest was Mr. Jason! Awesome!”

And just like that there is small child attached to his leg. He looks down at her, then up at Danny, who’s holding in laughter, then back at Ellie. Then he bursts out laughing. He bends down down to scoop the young girl up into his arms and she lets out a small “whoa!” Jason follows Danny into the apartment, Ellie resting on his hip.

“It’s nice to see you to princess!”

“Mr. Jason! You’re not wearing any red!”

“Huh?”

He looks down to see the young girl scrutinizing his plain white shirt and blue jeans and looks questioningly at Danny. The young man takes pity on him and explains.

“Ellie really wanted to wear red, white and blue for the 4th of July,” gesturing to his own outfit: a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt with a logo for a band called Fifth World Raga, and a lightweight red flannel wit the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“That’s right! I have a white skirt and socks, and a blue top and tiara, and my cardigan, my sneakers and beanie are all red!” She showed off. Then she pointed at Jason.

“You’ve gotta white shirt and blue jeans but no red!” Then she gasped, “Oooooh! I have an idea! Wait here!” She said, scrambling off to her room.

Jason looked at Danny who smiled and shrugged helplessly in a “eh, whadda ya gonna do” sort a fashion. To which Jason just huffed in amusement.

That’s when Ellie rushed back in, holding something behind her back. She patted Jason’s thigh indicating for him to bend down, to which he obliged by crouching down to her level.

“Close your eyes!”

Jason shut his eyes. He felt something being placed around his neck and on his head.

“Open them!”

Jason found himself looking into a small purple hand held mirror. Ellie had placed a cheap red-beaded party necklace around his neck and a silver tiara with red gems on his head, one to match her own silver and blue one.

“I have lotsa tiaras so you can borrow this one so that you can have red! And you can even keep the necklace!”

Jason’s internal monologue nearly burst into tears. ‘She’s an angel! She’s bestowed such a wonderful gift Must. Protect. At All Costs!’

He heard Danny burst into laughter but focused his attention on the grinning girl in front of him.

“Thank you so much Princess! I love it! Just what I needed! I’m honored to receive such a thoughtful gift!

“Yeah Ellie, it looks great on him!” Danny chimed in between chuckles.

“That’s great daddy b’cause I found a white one for you! Now we can all match!”

Danny stopped laughing and Jason returned him a wicked grin.

“Yeah, your highness! We can all match! Besides, what’s a king without his crown!”

Danny sighed, placing the tiara on his head.

“Thanks Ell, I love it.”

“Your welcome daddy!”

“Alright, now go wash your hands for dinner!”

“Okay!”

And the girl scurried off to wash her hands. Jason grinned at the interaction. He waited till the girl was gone before turning to Danny.

“Looking good your highness,” he teased.

“Oh, hush you!” Danny flushed. “Come help me set the table. It’s not a traditional barbecue but I made some chili, hotdogs, veggie skewers, and some coleslaw. We’ve also got fruit salad and some soda pop in the fridge. Ellie wanted to do a homemade version of chili dogs and I had to insist on some fruits and veggies in there. Ancients knows she needs her nutrients! If you could be a dear and grab some plates off the drying rack that’d be great!”

“Of course, your highness! You had me at chili,” Jason said following Danny into the kitchen.

Later that evening after finishing up with dinner. Danny herded them all onto the fire escape with some frozen treats. Ellie had drumstick ice cream cone, Jason an ice cream bar, and Danny an orange popsicle.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to see the fireworks from here but fingers crossed we do. Just don’t be too disappointed if you can’t see them alright Ell?” Danny told his daughter.

“It’s okay daddy! Even if I don’t see the fireworks I still have you and Mr. Jason and my ice cream!”

Jason and Danny looked at each other sharing the same thoughts: ‘She’s so precious!!!!’

Then the tell tale boom of fireworks started and the trio turned their attention to the sky. A streak of red danced across the sky before it burst into a shower of ruby colored sparks. Then came gold, and green and blue and white. One after another in a barrage of sound and color. And they were just able to see it above the end of the alley.

Ellie let out an awed “Whooooaaaa” as she watched the colors dance across the sky. She turned back to her dad tugging on his sleeve and point up at the sky. He chuckled, picking her up to give her a better view pointing at the sky with her saying, “Look at that one!”

It was near enough to make Jason’s own heart burst.

“Beautiful.”

“I know right!” Danny said, glancing back at him, talking about the fireworks. Silently, Jason thought about the way both of the Nightingales’ glossy black hair reflected the fireworks colors in their sheen.

Then Danny turned to hand his phone to Jason.

“Would you mind taking a picture of us?” He asked. “I never had many growing up and I want this to be something she’ll remember.” Looking back down at the child on his hip.

“Of course I can,” he said, taking the phone in his hand. “Smile!”

Jason looked down at the photo he snapped when he saw something that made his heart stall. It was a good photo, both Danny and Ellie smiling at the camera while the remains of a fireworks fell behind them in a shower of fading light. What stopped him in his tracks was the soft look on his own reflection in the window of the apartment staring at Danny and Ellie.

And he realized, ‘Oh. I like Danny’

And he doesn’t know when he zoned out and missed Danny taking his phone back, but he zones right back in when two arms are thrown over his shoulders and suddenly he’s in a selfie sandwich. Both Nightingales press close, Ellie throwing up a peace sign while Danny snaps the photo.

The two laugh at his startled face and he can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him.

“Hey! I wanna redo!”

That night Jason tosses and turns in bed while his brain replays images of Danny: his smile, his lips, his laugh, the way he licks an ice pop. If he hadn’t realized earlier then he definitely knows now.

Jason Todd has an undeniable, unequivocal crush on Daniel Nightingale.

~~~ I tried with that fight scene but I don’t have a lotta experience there. I know this is a fluff fic so sorry to angst you but it’s necessary for hurt/comfort. Have some “Jason accepts his feelings” to make up for it. Sorry if it’s too clunky or dialogue heavy. I’m open to constructive criticism so let me know what you think.

Fifth World Raga is a real band in the DCU their a rock band and their music is described as quote “spiritual in nature” so I feel like it fit Danny’s vibe.

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 5 months

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Do it for Him | Do You Even Love Me? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Voicing the thoughts that had been on your mind for so long leaves you broken and regretting every decision you've ever made. Pairing: Daughter in law reader x Father in Law Jungkook (Yändere) Word Count: 1.1k~ Warnings: An argument and some explicit language (kinda but not really) a/n: This is a hypothetical situation and is NOT what happens in the story. Oc and Jungkook don't end up together and I'll be writing another bonus chapter about how everything ends but this is simply a longer drabble that I just decided to make into a bonus chapter since I think some of you would be interested in reading it 😁 P.s. Requested by an annon 💜 (also written in one sitting so ignore any mistakes lol) Series Masterlist

"How was your day today?" I ask half heartedly, wondering if he'll actually speak to me like a human being today or skip to having sex again like he's done almost every time he's come to visit lately.

"It was fine but I don't want to talk about work since it looks like someone's been missing me huh?" he taunts, taking my want for interaction with him as a sign of an insatiable hunger he wishes I shared.

"I did miss you but I missed being with you, not just sex" I say, pressing on his chest to keep some space between us to show I'm serious and want to talk about this.

He stops and waits for me to continue but his eyes don't leave my body for a second.

"When I told you I loved you I didn't mean for our life to end up like this" I say, referring to the way we've been living for the past year.

"What's wrong? Did you need something else? You have my credit card and I told you before that you didn't have to ask me for anything. If you want it then get it. It's the least I could do for my beautiful Angel" he says while caressing my face but I take a step back, not letting him put me under his spell again.

"I'm not talking about money Jungkook. I'm talking about how I told you I didn't want to live as 'The other woman'. You told me you were going to get a divorce and let the children and I move in with you. Not just have you pop by at this separate house you have us living in" I say.

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, gulping down a glass of water and placing the cup down on the counter. "I told you I would take care of it" he growls out while leaning both hands against the sink, clearly not appreciating the topic of conversation when all he had been looking for was a quick fuck.

"You told me that a year ago and from what I've seen you've been lying to me this whole time. Have you even filed the papers? You know that neither of you love each other so what's the point of keeping this whole charade going?" I say, following after him and standing my ground, not letting him drop this.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to center himself so he won't blow up on me like he has in the past. "These things take time Angel, plus going through a divorce would make my company take a big hit and might ruin some of the relationships I've built" he tries to explain but I'm not having it.

"If your company is all you care about then maybe all of this was a mistake" I say, turning around to walk into my bedroom with him following lazily behind me.

"You know I care about you too Angel" he says, leaning in the doorway while I've decided to plot down on the bed, running my fingers through my hair and trying to figure out if any of this was a good idea.

From the looks of it to any outsider this whole relationship was bound to go up in flames sooner or later. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. Was I really that naïve to think that somehow things would change if we were actually together? Did I really think that he was capable of loving me too?

"No I don't know that. I know that you love my body and that you love having sex with me and the idea of being with me and stealing me away from your son but I don't even know if you actually love me. Y/n. Not Angel, not the mother of your children, not the daughter in law that you took advantage of, just me" I spout off everything that's been on my mind and I can see that he starts to more or less assess our relationship and I really hope I'm going to get the answer I'm hoping for.

"You knew who I was when you first met me. You knew who I was when you married my son and you definitely knew what you were getting yourself into when you left him to be with me. I'm not this loving and kind husband that you want me to be and deep down you know that too. Do I care about you? Yes, I do. Do I love you? I don't know. I don't know if I do and I don't know if I ever will and if that's not good enough for you then be my guest, say the word and we can end this right now" he says and every condescending word that falls from his lips is like a knife through my heart.

I choke back a sob as my eyes glass over leaving him rolling his eyes, clearly not having the patience to deal with this today.

"Seems like you've got some stuff to think about and from the looks of it I've got some business to attend to" he says, hinting at the headache it's going to be for him to go through with this divorce.

He strides over to the bed where I'm sat with my head down, trying and failing to hold back my tears and picks up my chin. "Just remember who you're dealing with Angel okay? It will make all of ours lives so much easier if you stop thinking that you can change me" he says, caressing my face again, driving the knife deeper.

"I am who I am and if you can't accept that then I think we have some hard decisions we'll need to make here" he says a wipes away a few of my tears before tapping underneath my chin twice and walking away.

"Where are you going?" I ask, getting up and following him out, my vision going glossy. "It seems you're not in the mood that I thought you might be in so I think it's best if I go. Give my love to the children" he says over his shoulder and walks out, leaving me speechless and beyond heart broken, mourning the life I had with his son all over again and missing the feeling of loving someone and being loved in return.

"What have I done?" I whimper, sinking to the floor and sobbing, wishing that I could take it all back. That I could start over and never get mixed up with this family no matter how in love I was with his son. I never knew that a love that was once so pure would be traded for one that is so devastatingly one sided, wrecking my life beyond compare and stealing what little pieces of me I had left.

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c-e-d-dreamer · 5 months

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Top Shelf Love: Chapter One

A/N: yeah, yeah, I know! This is super exposition-y, but we have to set it all up, besties! I promise Cassian and Nesta actually interact again in the next chapter 🫡 Also, for anyone who's nerdy like me, the Athletic has a really great article about just how complicated things get when a player gets traded. It's a fun read!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian groans, tossing his phone on the coffee table, the device skittering across the wood without a care. He drops his head against the back of the sofa, digging his hands into his hair and dragging his fingers against the curly strands. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and he half wonders if he’s imagining this entire phone call, but the tinny voice continues through the speaker even if he’s no longer listening.

Seattle.

He got traded to the Seattle Kraken.

The words continue to crash and echo in his mind, even as his agent goes through the usual spiel when trades happen. Expect a call from the coach, maybe even a few players will reach out once the news breaks. The Kraken’s director of team services will reach out with the finer details for a smooth transition. Reminders of the CBA mandates. Meetings with the trainers, the equipment team, and the coaching staff to look forward to. Practice schedule. It’s like information overload, a hurricane swirling through his head with hundred mile per hour winds.

It doesn’t help that his phone has already started to vibrate against the table, almost excessively. With a quiet huff that thankfully his agent doesn’t pick up on, already plowing forward into the exciting potential for re-signing with Seattle, Cassian snatches his phone back up. He minimizes the call screen and looks at his notifications. Of course. The news has already broken on Twitter. Damn ‘insiders.’

“Any questions for me, Cassian? Anything I can do for you?”

Cassian has to shake his head, clearing his still spiraling thoughts, before he finds his voice. “All good, Eris. That’s how the off season goes, right?”

Eris is quiet for a moment. “I’ll send a car to take you to the airport. A nicer one than the team would send.”

With that, the line clicks, and Cassian tosses his phone away again, this time face down. He doesn’t even want to look at what’s being said, at the speculation. Sure, the Rangers hadn’t had the best season, the ending more heartbreak than anything else. Sure, he only has one year left on his contract. Sure, the front office wants draft picks to help build up the farm system with young blood.

But still, Cassian never expected this. Never expected this was how his time with the team would end. Never expected this was how his time in New York City would end.

Sighing softly, he glances around his apartment. The high ceilings, the modern, open kitchen, the tall windows and the amazing skyline view that the thirty-first floor offers. He really did love this place, a far cry from the streets he’d grown up on, and a reminder of how far he'd come from those very streets. He supposes he’ll have to sell it now. Is it worth keeping just for the off season?

The sound of Cassian’s phone ringing is loud in his otherwise quiet apartment. It seems to echo off the walls as though taunting him. He’s half tempted to ignore it all together, but despite the unknown number displayed on the screen when he checks, the location is listed as Seattle. Not the best first impression to send his new team to voicemail. Another sigh and Cassian squares his shoulders, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.

The man on the other end of the line introduces himself and exchanges a few pleasantries, but then he’s diving right in to more specifics. The nitty gritty of a trade. Flight details. Financials and reimbursements. Rental car when he lands. Taxes.

Cassian only half listens, making sure he makes the affirmative sounds at the appropriate breaks in conversation. This isn’t his first rodeo. Although, he had still been in the farm system when his last trade happened. This is certainly different, but Cassian knows he thankfully won’t have to deal with most of this. He’ll give the director of team services Eris’s number, and let him deal with all the numbers and everything. It’s why he pays him the big bucks after all.

As soon as the call ends, Cassian’s phone lights up and starts ringing again. He wants to pull his own hair out as that incessant sound fills his apartment. He knows how this goes, but he’d give anything for just a moment of peace, a moment to really sit with his thoughts and everything that’s just happened. He considers turning his phone off, letting all the calls go to voicemail, at least for a few hours, but then he sees the name displayed on the screen.

“I take it you saw the news?” Cassian says by way of greeting.

“Need a drink?” Rhysand’s voice carries down the line.

Cassian chuckles, already pushing up to his feet. “You have no idea. But you better be breaking out the good shit from your fancy cellar.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get your ass over here.”

Just the short conversation, the teasing tone of his chosen brother, has Cassian feeling lighter already. He grabs his wallet and shoves it into his pocket, tugging a ball cap down over his curls. Summer still clings to the city despite the first day of fall barely a few days away, but the breeze that dances between the buildings promises cooler temperatures to come. Cassian takes the subway up toward Central Park, the rocking of the car over the tracks strangely a lulling balm over his nerves.

The doorman offers Cassian a nod and a friendly hello in greeting when he arrives at the building, holding the door open for him to stroll inside. The receptionist at the front desk does the same, barely casting Cassian a cursory glance as he heads for the elevators. He quickly punches in the code and steps inside, riding up and up and up, all the way to the penthouse.

Feyre is waiting for Cassian as soon as the elevator doors open, stepping forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian chuckles but he wraps his own arms around Feyre’s shoulders nonetheless. “I’m not dying, Fey. I just got traded.”

“I know, but traded across the country,” Feyre continues, pulling back enough that she can peer up at Cassian with an overdramatic pout. “I’m losing my partner in crime. Who will join me in bullying Rhys now?”

“You’re right,” Cassian tells her, nodding his head with faux solemness. “I’m so sorry you’ll be stuck on the east coast all alone with Rhys’s stupid face.”

“Stupid face? And here I broke out the good wine for your sorry ass.”

Cassian tosses his head back and laughs. He steps away from Feyre and walks over to Rhys, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I expect nothing less.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, but he leads the way into the kitchen, three wine glasses and a bottle already arranged on the large kitchen island. He pours the wine into each glass, but Cassian grabs the bottle, examining the label with an appreciative hum.

“I don’t know why you’re making that sound,” Rhys comments dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

“Who cares about that?” Feyre cuts in, waving a dismissive hand at her fiancé and leaning against the kitchen island, her attention solely on Cassian. “Are you excited for Seattle?”

Cassian hums, swirling his wine around the glass. “They’re definitely building a good team out there. Strong top line. And I’ve heard good things about playing under Miller.”

“But…?”

“There’s no but, it’s just…” Cassian sighs softly, pulling his cap off to run his fingers through his hair. “It just sucks because everyone’s here, out east. You guys are always here or in Montreal. Mor’s here in New York. Even Az isn’t that far in Nashville. I won’t know anyone out west.”

“Yeah, but you’ll have the guys on the team. You know they’ll have all the best spots in town to recommend,” Rhys reminds him.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“My sister lives out in Seattle!” Feyre jumps in to add, blue eyes bright.

Cassian frowns. “Doesn’t Elain live in Toronto with Lucien?”

“Not Elain. My other sister. Nesta. You’ve met her.”

Nesta.

Cassian is sure he’d remember if he met Nesta Archeron. He still remembers when Feyre had posted the photos from Elain’s wedding last month to her Instagram, the way his mouth had slackened at the sight of who he was sure was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. With the purple, silky fabric of the bridesmaid dress clinging perfectly to her every curve, golden brown strands of hair swept away from her face in an intricate updo, she was breathtaking.

But it was her expression in the photos that had really drawn Cassian in. There was something about it. Something about her. Something about the way that even though she was smiling in the photo, there was still a challenge, a dare, burning in her stormy blue eyes and the pinch of her brow. And Cassian had never backed down from a dare. He was sure one look from her had sent many men to their knees, sent them fleeing for the hills before she could cut them down where they stood, but Cassian? Cassian wanted to drive head first into that fire.

“I don’t think I’ve met her,” Cassian offers, but he doesn’t tell Feyre just how much he wishes he had.

“But she was at our engagement party in May,” Feyre continues, but when Cassian only shrugs in response, she merely sighs. “Whatever. The point is that she lives in Seattle. I can give you her number if you want. Then, you’ll at least know someone out there when you get there. And I’m sure she’d be more than happy to show you around.”

Cassian thinks about it. He thinks back to those photos on Feyre’s Instagram, thinks about the photos he had seen when he stalked Nesta’s own Instagram after he clicked the tagged account. Thinks of those stormy blue eyes and the tilt of her lips in a smirk behind the rim of a wine glass. Thinks of the stories Feyre has told him, of the stubborn and fierce older sister who all but eviscerated Feyre’s ex, Tamlin.

“Yeah… yeah, that’d be good. Just so I know someone out there.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, but she reaches down, fingers curling beneath cardboard. Her arms protest at the weight, but she hefts the box up, shuffling the few steps to add it to the organized chaos that’s their backroom. For a moment, her attention dances back toward her phone where she left it on another box, but she pointedly left it face down for a reason. She doesn’t need to look at the text messages waiting for her again.

Feyre 1:18pm Remember Cassian? Rhys’ brother that I told you all about? 😉 He’s coming to Seattle! I gave him your number. Show him around for me? Please?

Unknown number 4:43pm Hey, Nesta. This is Cassian. Feyre gave me your number. I’m moving out to Seattle soon. Maybe we can meet up?

“So, let me get this straight. The Cassian is moving to Seattle?”

Nesta snorts softly, peering toward where Gwyn is sprawled across the floor, iPad balanced against her knees. “We’re calling him the Cassian now?”

“I prefer to call him the douchey hockey player,” Emerie comments idly, placing the box in her own arms down. She swipes up the box cutter from the metal shelf to her left, making quick, efficient work of the tape keeping the box closed.

“And are you imagining douchey hockey player’s balls there?” Gwyn teases, looking meaningfully toward the box cutter in Emerie’s grip.

“So what if I am?” Emerie fires back, leaning forward to open Nesta’s box too. “He’d deserve it.”

“I never said he didn’t,” Gwyn laughs, turning her attention back to Nesta. “So, what are you going to do?”

Nesta sighs softly. “I don’t know. Feyre asked me to show him around the city.”

“Doesn’t he have teammates to do that?”

“Ignore him and the request,” Emerie suggests dryly.

Nesta snorts quietly but it quickly turns into a sigh, even as she keeps her hands busy pulling books out of her box. “I didn’t exactly tell Feyre what happened that night.”

She hadn’t told anyone about that night, save her two best friends. She still cringes sometimes when she thinks back to it, the embarrassment burning bright low in her gut, twisting and squeezing between her ribs uncomfortably. She’d sworn that night that she would never give a single thought about Cassian Valdarez ever again, and until today, she’d kept true to that.

She’d spent her remaining days in New York City solely with her sisters, even doing one of the touristy bus tours with Elain to see all the classic sights. And thankfully, Feyre had been more interested in excitedly talking about wedding plans and ideas than continuing her busybody meddling. If either of her sisters noticed anything different with Nesta, they didn’t say anything.

After Nesta had flown back home to Seattle, Emerie and Gwyn came over to her apartment. Drinking a bottle of wine between the three of them, it all had come spilling out of her. Her friends had allowed her to pace and rage, and then that was that. Nesta had washed her hands of the whole thing. Never again did she dare to check the sports news out of curiosity. Never again did she dare to stalk his Instagram. Never again did she think of the stupid face and the stupid smirk of a smile of that hockey player.

“What if you give him a tour of all the worst places in the city?” Emerie suggests, brown eyes practically lighting up at the idea. “Then, maybe he’ll want to leave the city.”

Gwyn’s laugh is bright, red hair tumbling down her back when she tosses her head back. “That is definitely not how sports teams operate.”

“Worth a shot,” Emerie mutters, tossing aside the box packaging in her hands and reaching back in for the books hiding beneath. “Holy shit. We got the new Sellyn Drake novel already?”

Emerie holds up the book in her hand excitedly, showing off the cover. Like so many romance novels these days, it features a faceless, cartoon style couple. The man is shirtless, though, rocking a kilt, while the woman is drawn with a yellow sundress. Looping script above the cartoon characters declares the title, The Scottish High Lord and Me.

“It’s official release date is…” Gwyn starts, squinting down at the iPad and scrolling through whatever is on the screen. “Tuesday, so we’ll want to put them out Monday night after we close.”

Gwyn reaches over toward the metal shelves, swiping up the sticky notes and sharpie sitting there. She scrawls out a note, a reminder of when they’ll need to stock the books, and peels the sticky note free. She slaps it right over the cover of the book in Emerie’s hands, but Emerie is quick to peel it right back off, placing it instead on one of the other copies still in the box.

“Hey!” Gwyn chastises, narrowing her eyes.

“What?” Emerie asks, her tone overly innocent. “This is my copy.”

“Gwyn just said the book doesn’t technically release until Tuesday,” Nesta points out, snorting softly.

“What’s the point of owning a bookstore if we don’t get to read all the best releases early? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be posting all the spoilers online or anything.”

“Good point,” Nesta agrees, reaching forward as well to grab another of the Sellyn Drake books.

“You both are terrible.”

“Oh, come on,” Emerie teases with a roll of her eyes. “You know you want to read it too.”

“Seriously, Gwyn,” Nesta adds, not even bothering to bite back her smirk as she points to the cover. “It’s a Scottish love interest.”

Gwyn huffs, seemingly determined to hold her ground with her crossed arms and narrowed gaze, but it barely lasts a few seconds. Not quite meeting either of her friends' eyes, the barest hint of a blush beginning to pool in her cheeks, she reaches forward into the box, plucking out another of the books.

Nesta and Emerie glance toward each other, sharing a knowing look, before they both burst out laughing. It feels good to laugh, to have that lightness twining around her limbs and swelling through her chest. It feels good to be squeezed back in this tiny stockroom with her best friends, her chosen sisters. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

They were there for her when she hit the lowest point of her life, when she well and truly felt like she hit rock bottom. They were right there beside her in the trenches, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rage and scream at, a voice of reason and comfort. They didn’t flinch when Nesta snapped and released that swirling storm of emotion within her. They didn’t balk from her every scar, every dark crevice of her soul.

And when Nesta was ready, they helped pull her out.

“And what books are in your box?” Gwyn asks Nesta, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into the present.

Nesta shakes her head before peering into the box at her feet, pushing aside the packaging. “It looks like it’s our restock of that baseball romance that went viral.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gwyn comments, tapping away at the iPad screen. “We should definitely put those out tonight so they’re ready for tomorrow.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta slumps back against the blankets and pillows of her bed with a soft sigh. She sinks back into the mattress, letting her arm fall over her eyes. There’s definitely a soreness lingering in her biceps from lifting all those boxes, but it was worth it.

When they finished inventory of the latest deliveries, the three of them had moved back into the main shop. Emerie had taken to restocking the shelves while Gwyn took to rearranging the table displays at the front. Nesta had taken to the registers. Math had always been a strong point for her, even when she was back in school, so it was always her job to balance their books. They all worked in perfect tandem until everything was good to go, finally closing up the shop and heading their separate ways back to their respective apartments.

Nesta allows herself another moment to simply lay in bed before hauling herself back up. She grabs the newest Sellyn Drake novel, resituating her pillows and settling back comfortably against them. Her fingers skate along the cover, down over the spine. There’s always been something about holding a fresh book in her hands. The crisp pages, the scent of parchment and ink.

Sliding her palm down the cover once more, Nesta turns to the first page, but her gaze dances away from the words and over to her nightstand. To her phone sitting there. She knows she shouldn’t, but her fingers itch with the urge all the same. With an annoyed huff, Nesta snatches up the device, navigating to her message app and the unread texts there.

Unknown number 7:12pm Did I type in the wrong number? This is Nesta, right?

Unknown number 7:37pm Feyre says this is the right number. Did she tell you I’m moving to the Seattle area? It would be really great if we could meet up!

Unknown number 9:21pm I guess you’re just really busy. My flight gets in Saturday morning, but the team is picking me up to show me around the practice facilities and locker rooms and introduce me to everyone. Maybe we could meet up in the afternoon? I’d be more than happy to buy you dinner 😏

The last message has Nesta rolling her eyes hard. It’s exactly the sort of response she expects from someone like Cassian. All the arrogance and presumptuousness that comes from being a professional athlete. She half wonders how he even fits his ego inside the locker rooms.

Nesta tosses her phone aside and returns to her book. She hasn’t broken her promise yet, and she has no intention of breaking it now. Besides, who needs a hockey player when she has a fictional Scotsman, anyways?

—

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#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #top shelf love #hockey Cassian #my fic

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