#this chapter is so warm and fuzzy to me

[gleeksfreaksandwannabes]

It is time!

I humbly present to you “a healthy dose of sappy shit, an ‘oh fuck’ moment for Agent Mega and a ‘what the fuck’ moment for Owen!”

This gif is slightly random until you read the chapter, but also I am so damn endeared towards Agent Mega in this scene, what a fool!

The Warmest Goodbye chapter 8 - The L Word

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64736422/chapters/168953092#workskin

[misslisamiray]

I had hoped to have the entire fic finished before the S8 premiere (or at least to have another chapter up. That... obviously didn't happen. 😅 But y'know, considering this post I made the other day about needing fluffy RaM stuff to look at, and figuring others felt the same, it kinda works out. BTW, don't click that linked post if you want to avoid Season 8 spoilers.

Well, if you're in the same "needing fluff" boat, I've got you. This chapter is pretty much all Rick and Morty commiserating over cold symptoms and trying to comfort each other (Morty’s better at it, but Rick's trying). There's also a fair amount of Rick just being really whiny, which I KNOW a lot of us enjoy. 😁

Chapter 15 of Down With the Rickness is below the cut!

“So, Dad… ended up being the most help after all. Not in the big, dramatic way he thought he was going to be, but still, he did.” Morty commented, sounding like he could hardly believe what he was saying. Rick’s expression was one of horrified realization. He snatched away Morty’s notebook, furiously scribbled something, and handed it back to him.

“He still has time to fuck things up. But if he doesn’t, then I guess you’re right. Just never tell Jerry that, and don’t bring it up to me again until I can complain about it properly.” Morty read.

He looked over at Rick and added, “Y’know, that’s fair. But I think Dad’s got this. He better, because we clearly don’t. *ACHOO!*” 

Rick shot him a sympathetic glance, but quickly turned away before Morty even noticed. It wasn’t his fault the kid had gotten himself sick. After all, he couldn’t control that cold viruses were so contagious. Today had been an hours-long reminder that he couldn’t really control anything when it came to the stupid things. And it’s not like he’d asked Morty to stay close to him and try to take care of him all day. In fact, he’d wanted the opposite, and tried to get Morty to leave him alone several times.

Besides, it was just a cold, and Morty wasn’t likely to have nearly as rough a time dealing with it as Rick had to admit he was. A few sniffles and sneezes, and he’d be fine in a day or two. Rick knew all that, but, hearing Morty cough, he still felt bad. He glanced over at Morty again. Sure, his grandson was fairing a lot better than he was. But Rick couldn’t help noticing how tired he looked. The lingering worry and sadness. The runny nose that was already getting a little red. Not knowing what else to do, Rick pushed the nearly empty tissue box back over to Morty.

“Thanks. *SNIFF!* Oh. Last one. You sure?” Rick nodded, then wrote something else in Morty’s notepad and handed it back to him.

“Don’t make a big deal about it. Jerry’s getting more, and I’ve got another handkerchief somewhere. Besides, I didn’t want to sit here and look at your snot all night.” Morty read, sarcastically adding, “Gee, thanks, Rick.” However, he did smile a bit.

Now it was Morty’s turn to look over his shoulder at Rick. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around himself, pile of blankets slightly askew. Visibly exhausted and uncomfortable. Maybe Morty had overreacted and let his imagination get the better of him when it came to exactly how sick Rick was, but he was clearly miserable. After thinking over what to do for a few seconds, Morty handed Rick his mug of tea.

“Here. Dad can make more when he gets back. Besides, you need it *Cough!* more than I do.” Rick hesitated for a second, embarrassed to admit that Morty was right about that, then gratefully accepted the mug. Morty was about to ask him something, when Rick’s phone rang. 

“Don’t be the President, don’t be the President, please don’t be the fucking President…” Morty muttered, crossing his fingers. A faint smile crossed Rick’s lips, as he’d had the same thought, but didn’t last once he saw the caller was Beth.

Deciding he might as well get this over with, Rick answered the call and managed to rasp out, “Hi, Beth. You *COUGH!* coming home now?” Morty sighed with relief, both at the fact that his mother would hopefully be home soon, and that the caller wasn’t President Curtis.

“Yes, I’m about to leave the hospital now. And not a moment too soon from the sound of it. I agreed with you earlier that Morty was worrying over nothing, but now I’m not sure. Dad, you sound awful.” Beth replied, surprise and worry creasing her brow. Rick groaned. Besides how bad he felt physically, his ego was taking a hell of a beating today.

“I know, I know. Stupid cold’s kicking my ass more than I’d like to admit. But I promise I’m okay, sweetie. *COUGH!* *COUGH!*”

“Yeah, that’s really reassuring, Dad.” Beth told him sarcastically, adding, “Stop trying to talk and put Morty on. I tried calling him first, but when… something finally answered, it was just a growling noise that did not sound like it came from any animal on Earth.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, Morty’s phone is umm, broken. I’ll fix it once I’m better. Uh, here he is.” Rick lied quickly, realizing he should’ve been more careful when sending Morty’s devices into another dimension. Morty side-eyed Rick when he heard that, but didn’t bother questioning it as he grabbed the phone from him.

“Hi, Mom. You’ll be home soon, right?”

“Yes, I’m on my way now. How are you guys holding up?”

“Could be better. But Dad’s out getting medicine and stuff now, so that should help. As for Rick, well, I still think he’s sicker than he wants to admit, but also probably not lying that he sounds worse off than he is. If that makes sense. I’m not  *Achoo!* sure at this point. ” Morty answered.

“Aww, you too, huh?” Beth asked sympathetically.

“Yeah. It’s okay, though. I mean, I wanted proof Rick just has a cold, and I guess I got it, y’know? *Cough!* B-be careful what you wish for and all.”

“Uh-huh. And wait – did you say your father’s out shopping and doing you know, useful things? Because from all of the messages he’s sent me throughout the day, I was not expecting that.” Beth said.

“Yeah. It surprised me, too. And it sure took him long enough, but at the end of the day, Dad really came through.” Morty once again sounded surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. Rick reached over and pinched his arm. Hard.

“Ow! Dammit, Rick! You said not to tell Dad or you that he finally helped. You didn’t say anything about telling Mom!”

“It was implied!”

Choosing to ignore that interaction, Beth, who was now getting into her car, said, “Well, I’m glad to hear things are mostly under control. Oh, and Morty? Sounds like you’ve done a good job taking care of your grandfather. I know there’s no way he’s made that remotely easy, so thank you.”

Morty smiled at that and answered, “Thanks, Mom. See you soon. Bye.” The phone call ended, and then it was just Rick and Morty sitting in the dark again.  

Meanwhile, Summer was saying to Space Beth, “Think I’m done with my half of Grandpa’s list. How about you?”

On the ship’s communicator screen, Space Beth replied, “Same. Ready to head back to Earth?”

“Yeah. Thanks again for helping out today, Space Mom. Otherwise, I’d be lucky to be halfway through this thing. And it was cool that we got to hang out and talk.”

Space Beth smiled and said, “No problem. And yeah, it was. We should do it again some time. You know, without a bullshit errand list from Dad taking up most of the day.”

“Totes.” Summer replied, and Space Beth couldn’t resist teasingly adding, “Who knows – maybe next time she’ll want to come along, too.”

“Bitch, you’ve been spending too much time with Grandpa! Maybe Dad, too. You did not used to be this corny.” Summer scoffed, blushing a little, but laughing.

“Hey, that’s a low blow!”

“Not my fault you can’t finish what you start.”

The two ships headed back to Earth, Summer and Space Beth trading mostly good-natured barbs the whole time.

 “Hey, Rick?” Morty asked timidly, inching a bit closer to his grandfather.

“Hmm?”

“Sorry I went off the deep end with y’know, all that stuff. I wasn’t trying to *Sniff!* call you weak or anything. I just had too much time to overthink, I guess. I wanted to help you, but I don’t think I went about it right.” Morty apologized.

“It’s OK. I’m not *COUGH!* mad anymore. Look, I get it. It’s like you said, we don’t have to deal with normal human problems like this often. So when they do come up, we both overreact in different ways. I’d say at this point, the two of us are considerably more phased by trivial bullshit like the common cold than we are by alien invasions. And it’s true you’ve never seen me sick before. Can’t really *Achoo!* blame you for not dealing with it well, when I don’t exactly handle it great myself.” Rick sighed. He leaned back and propped his feet on the coffee table again, trying to get more comfortable.

“Do you need anything? Want me to get you more juice, or see if I can find more blankets somewhere?” Morty asked. Rick shook his head. Morty sneezed.

“I told you you’d get sick if you insisted on staying with me.” Rick mumbled.

“Yeah, you did. It’s alright. I figured it would happen, too. Besides, it’s just a cold. I’m *Cough!* fine.”

“Uh, what about you? You need anything? Not sure how confident I feel about standing up just now, but I could probably manage if I *Cough!* had to.” Rick offered, feeling another twinge of guilt. Morty shook his head, and the two sat in awkward silence again. There was definitely a heavier extension of this conversation they needed to have, but neither was willing to start it.

“You want to play a game ‘til Dad gets back? Checkers, chess, maybe Downbeat?” Morty suggested.

“No, no, and fuck no.” Rick muttered, searching his pockets for another handkerchief.

“So we’re just gonna *SNIFF!* sit in the dark feeling sorry for ourselves?” Morty asked.

“That works for me. I’d say we’ve definitely earned a pity party today.” Rick replied with a shrug, taking a drink from his flask. After thinking it over, he changed his mind, saying, “Okay, that came out a lot more pathetic than I intended. Ugh. How about we just watch TV while we *Sniff!* wait for Jerry?” He patted the spot next to him on the couch, motioning for Morty to move closer.

“Okay, yeah. That works.” Morty agreed, perking up at that idea. He stood up, turned on a lamp, and sat next to Rick. The two of them finally noticed the station currently on was just displaying a “Technical Difficulties – Please Stand By!” screen.

Rick changed the channel, only to find Gene-With-A-Beard announcing, “Today, we’ll be learning everything you ever wanted to know about cod, and maybe a little more!”

“This guy again? Why is he on every channel?” Rick asked with a groan.

“Right? And he doesn’t even like, teach you how to fish. Just stands there in his boat and lists facts about a different kind of fish every episode. Dumb. See what else is on.” Morty complained.

“On today’s episode of Paint Weekly, we’re all about that beige!” boomed the lumberjack looking man from the home repair show. Rick wasn’t interested, but looked over at Morty to see if he was. Morty shook his head. Rick changed the channel again, this time finding the news.

“Wars, horrific accidents, and every kind of injustice you can think of, all coming up on the nightly news. And then we’ll try to cheer you up with a ���feel good’ story about a community coming together to support a teacher with cancer. It completely glosses over the fact her job and healthcare should have provided that support in the first place, but didn’t.” announced a tired and depressed sounding news anchor.

Rick didn’t even bother checking with Morty before changing the station again. The next channel was showing an infomercial for a self-cleaning dryer lint trap. The duo glanced at each other and both shook their heads.

“Okay, but so far this is what we’re *SNIFF!* coming back to if we can’t find anything better.” Rick said. Morty nodded in agreement, then grabbed the remote to see if he’d have better luck.

“Today on Things You Never Bothered to Think About Before: The fascinating history of shopping carts!” chirped a pretty blonde who was clearly phoning in at least 90% of her enthusiasm.

“That’s… another one for the ‘maybe’ column, I guess.” Morty said. Rick yawned, starting to doze off again. Morty changed the station, this time finding a medical program.

“When it started, I thought it was just an ordinary cold. But I was so wrong.” said a pale, sickly looking man on the TV.

“So very, very wrong. And it would take Dick and his family over five years and a dozen specialists to find out just how wrong.” added an off-screen, ominous sounding narrator.

“Umm…” Morty gulped, starting to look and feel panicked again. This hit too close to home. Now wide awake, Rick quickly grabbed the remote from Morty’s hand and turned the TV off. For good measure, he also threw the remote across the room.

“Nope. Absolutely the fuck not. I just got you out of paranoid hypochondriac mode. You’re not going back in that fast.” he stated flatly.

“Yeah. Good, good call.” Morty agreed.

After a moment, he leaned against Rick’s arm, complaining, “I don’t *Achoo!* feel so good, Rick.”

“Aww, come on, Morty. You’re fine. It’s just a cold, right? No big *ACHOO!* deal.” Rick teased.

“Jerk.” Morty muttered, lightly punching Rick’s shoulder.

“Even though I warned you this is exactly what would happen, I am sorry you ended up catching my cold. Sure it’s a nothing, nuisance virus and we’ll both be fine in no time. Doesn’t make it suck any less right now.” Rick apologized quietly, absentmindedly running a hand through Morty’s hair. His other hand rubbed at his throat again.

Noticing that, Morty told him, “You should stop talking for a while. You’re gonna lose your voice again, and it clearly hurts you to talk.”

“Meh. It hurts, but complaining otherwise makes me feel better. Worth the tradeoff. What about you? You getting a sore throat, too?”

“Not really. It’s a little dry and scratchy, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Well, good. So long as it stays that way, that means you’re in charge of yelling for Jerry to bring us shit until we’re feeling better.” Morty chuckled at that.

“You’re planning to milk the whole ‘making Dad take care of us’ thing for all it’s worth, huh?” he asked.

“Duh. Being sick is the worst. Might as well *COUGH!* *COUGH!* get whatever enjoyment I can out of it. Don’t pretend you’re not gonna do it, too.” Rick replied, resuming his search for another handkerchief.

“I just want Dad to get back with supplies. And not have any more dumbass ideas. That’s *SNIFF!* really all I need.”

“Fine. I’ll help you think of some shit, too. With any luck, it’ll be a long, long time before either of us gets sick again. *SNIFF!* Ideally never. I’m not about to let you waste it.” Rick scoffed, rolling his eyes but smiling.

“Okay, Rick. *SNIFF!* Sounds good. *Sniff!*” Morty agreed. Noticing all the sniffling, Rick looked over at Morty. Poor kid’s nose was still running like a faucet, and with no tissues available, he was trying and failing to force the snot back in.

“Here. I promise it’s not used.” Rick muttered, handing Morty the handkerchief he’d finally found. Morty eyed the piece of cloth - old, faded oil stains, but otherwise it looked clean - for a second before grabbing it.

He blew his nose loudly, then said, “Thanks, Rick. My nose won’t stop running. *Cough!* You’re right. This sucks. But hey, didn’t you need this thing?”

“It’s fine, Morty. Not exactly some big, noble gesture. Jerry’s bringing us more tissues, and it’s not like there aren’t napkins, paper towels and toilet paper in the house. One of us just has to get up to get them. Not it, by the way. Besides, my problem right now is the opposite of yours. Ugh. This congestion’s killing me. Not literally, before you panic again. Fucking sinus pressure headaches are just a special kind of hell.” Rick complained, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, man. That sounds awful, Rick.” Morty said sympathetically.

“Yeah, you might find out for yourself soon enough, pal. But as shitty as this is, it’s not as bad as when you can’t breathe out of one nostril, at the same time the other does its best impression of Niagara Falls.” Rick sighed, tossing the blanket pile to the floor again.

After sitting and thinking for a few seconds, he flopped down dramatically, once again laying sprawled across Morty, whining, “Fuck, I hate being sick. Isn’t Jerry *COUGH!* back with the stupid medicine yet?”

“He shouldn’t be gone much longer. And seriously? You’re in a hurry for Dad to get home? You sure you’re not *Sniff!* sicker than you’re telling me?” Morty said, mostly joking, but with some worry creeping back in.

“Yes, but I can’t blame you for asking this time. I know I get pathetic when I don’t feel good, but that was a new low. *Cough!* *COUGH!*” Rick complained.

“Easy, buddy. I know you said *Cough!* complaining makes you feel better, but maybe that’s enough for now.” Morty advised, trying not to start worrying again about how bad Rick’s cough sounded.

In the mood to sulk more than listen, Rick asked, “What, now you don’t want to hear all about how *COUGH!* of course I’ve tried to cure the stupid common cold, and I’ve never even gotten close?”

“I mean, I figured you didn’t want to talk about that. Seemed like a touchy subject. I’ll listen if you want to talk now, but I really *SNIFF!* think the best thing is for you to try to rest, Rick.”

“It’s just… beneath me, y’know? So it’s not something I even bother to think about. Until I end up getting sick, and when that happens I *COUGH!* *COUGH!* can’t think straight enough to do anything about it. Then, by the time I’ve recovered, my brain’s already back to bigger and better things, and I forget all about this bullshit. That is *ACHOO!* until the next time it happens. It’s, it’s a vicious cycle, Morty.” Rick continued to gripe. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in a pillow again.

“Uh-huh.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Rick asked defensively.

“Well, I know for a fact the part about you not being able to think clearly when you’re sick is true. This morning definitely proved that.”

“Hmmphhh. Real funny, Morty. Though I admit, those weren’t my *Cough!* best ideas.”

A new idea occurred to Rick then, and he sat straight up, exclaiming, “I may not have a way to cure my stupid cold, but I do know how to put myself into a coma until it’s gone so I don’t have to deal with it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this *ACHOO!* sooner, Morty!”

“Rick…” Morty sighed, not wanting to deal with this.

“What? It’s a good plan. I’ll do the same for you if you want, Morty. Two days in a coma should be enough for you. Maybe 3, just to be safe. I’ll probably need to put myself out for a week. *COUGH!* Maybe a little longer.” Rick continued, lowering his voice a little at the last part.

“Rick, no. No comas. That’s, that’s doing way too much for a cold.*SNIFF!* Just lay down again and wait for Dad to get back.” Morty told Rick firmly, pulling on his sleeve.

“Aww, come on, Morty. It won’t hurt. At least, it shouldn’t. Don’t you wanna go to sleep for a few days and have this *Cough!* *Cough!* be over when you wake up?” Rick stood up, nearly tripping over the pile of blankets he’d thrown on the floor. He took a few unsteady steps towards the garage.

Morty briefly debated the best way to deal with this newest nonsense, landing on, “You sure you feel like going all the way back out to the cold, drafty garage to work on that, Rick?” Rick scowled and froze in place.

“I mean, unless you’re like 1,000% sure it will work, that seems like a lot of effort.” Morty continued.

“I know you’re manipulating me, you little turd. *SNIFF!* But I’m exhausted, and you make some good points. So fine, you win.” Rick said with a defeated sigh. He collapsed back onto the couch, laying across Morty again, then sulkily added, “But if Jerry catches this damn cold, then I get to try the coma thing.”

“Deal. For now, please just stop talking and try to rest.” Morty agreed, visibly relieved he’d put a stop to Rick’s new plan. He started lazily tracing Rick’s bald spot with one finger. Rick side-eyed Morty for a second, about to ask why he was doing that. Then he decided that whether Morty was doing it to comfort him, calm himself down, or wasn’t even aware he was doing it, it was sort of soothing.

Relaxing a little, Rick mumbled, “I guess you’re also right that I’ve complained enough for now. I could use a break. Your turn.”

Morty leaned forward, resting his chin on Rick’s shoulder and said, “I’m tired and I’m cold. My head hurts. You owe me a new phone and laptop. Today wouldn’t have *Sniff* been half the pain in the ass it was if Summer had been here to help me with you, instead of off running your dumb errands.”

“Yeah…” Rick agreed sheepishly.

Getting a little whinier, Morty continued, “Dad’s taking too long to get home. And if he hadn’t wasted the whole damn day with his stupid anime plan, ‘cause he believed your BS story, we’d already have everything we need to feel better.”

“I know, pal. I know. Everything about this sucks balls.” Rick sympathized, reaching up to pat Morty’s shoulder. He couldn’t help smiling a little though – Morty was sounding more and more like him.

“Sure does. I’m with you on hoping this doesn’t happen again for a long time.” Morty sighed, closing his eyes. He was starting to drift off to sleep, when something occurred to him.

“Dammit, we’re just sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves again. This is exactly what I didn’t want to do.” he complained.

“Hey, you *Cough!* put the light on. So at least we’re not feeling sorry for ourselves in the dark any more. That’s something, right?” Rick offered.

“Not really.”

“Well, we’re not exactly swimming in better options. TV is definitely *ACHOO!* out.”

“Yeah, that last show hit way too close to home. And everything else has just been lousy. We literally watched paint drying for an hour, and that wasn’t even the most boring thing on today!” Morty whined. The two of them sighed.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Thinking about how people tend to pick up on specific words from other languages they're learning (especially slang) and use it over and over, like Pac saying "Shenanigans" or Fit saying "Fofoca" or Phil (and the rest of the server practically) saying "No Mames."

It just reminds me of my time working with Japanese college students, and how they all suddenly started saying "Awesome!" practically every other sentence one day after hearing me say it + explaining what it meant to them. It still makes my heart melt a bit thinking about it.

[alphashley14]

I’M SCREAMING!!! PACING CRYING BARKING DIRECTLY AT IT!

I’ve been staring at this for an hour grinning. I can’t stop looking at it. Look at my BOIIIISSSS!!! 😭😭😭🥹

The body swap bros all together in one pic!!! And in @slimeysodaa’s art style too?! It’s so cuddly I want to HUG IT! And I want to hug YOU for drawing it @slimeysodaa! 🤗🥰🥹 I want to hang it on my wall!!! Obsessed obsessed obsessed!!!

I had actually been feeling kind of down about my fic because I didn’t get much response when I posted the most recent chapter. I’ve only gotten one comment. So seriously. You have no idea how much seeing this means to me. It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. 🥹

I absolutely adore how you drew each of them. With the eyes showing who each of them really are. Arthur looks so thoughtful and he has to be the clever one in their situation. While the other two just look like balls of anxiety hanging on by a thread. Bless their hearts. I love them. And all of those fidgets are totally canon now! You even got Ricky/Shaggy wearing the jacket Daphne gave him! And Shaggy/Arthur looks like a tangerine ray of sunshine! ☀️🥰 He’s as sweet as an orange creamsicle! I love him! (And the detail of him staring at his (Arthur’s) missing arm because he has to get used to being an amputee is so good.

THE SITTING ROOM REST STOP DRAWING HAS MY ENTIRE HEART I LOVE THEM! Just having a little time to talk, to laugh, and to be together as they truly are. 😍 It’s exactly as I imagined it!!! ❤️

THE DRAWING OF RICKY(Arthur) BEAT UP MADE ME SQUEAL AND KICK MY FEET!!! He IS our princess he’s so PRETTY!!! 🤩😍 Does it tug on my heartstrings? Absolutely. But it also makes me go:

(Actually this whole thing does that to me but this. This particularly.)

(Petition for more SDMI Artists to draw Ricky bruised and bloody. I mean- just- he’s so beautiful.)

And Marcie looking after him! 😭 It’s so perfect! (And yes - Ricky is going to freak out when he sees that. But we’re not there in the story yet. 🤫)

As for Brad, Judy, and Pericles? Two whole dollars? As tempting as that is… I have plans for them that are going to take a bit longer than asap but if you stick with my silly fic long enough for that, your patience shall be rewarded. 😈

this fic has consumed my thoughts

for context, this fic (made by @alphashley14 , check em out) is a sdmi/mystery skulls crossover fanfic, where Shaggy, Arthur and Mr E/Ricky switch bodies. angst and chaos ensues. I cannot do justice just how good this fic is, so if you want, pls read it for yourself, it's so fun while also being equally heartwrenching.

some of these are sketches of scenes from the story, while others are just silly things i WISH would happen (let my guys relax for two seconds please). The first one tho is just a silly thought i had of "what kind of nervous ticks do these dweebs got" and i did that.

plus i really wanted to draw Ricky (or in this case Arthur) twilring his hair bc its sillyyy, he's my pretty princess

[ceceilum]

Toriel slander trending again? Color me shocked

I’m not even a little surprised to see Toriel (a maternal figure) suddenly getting backlash across multiple platforms.

The Dreemurr family dynamic in UT is already emotionally dense the more you sit with it, but Toriel, while often beloved is still often flattened in fandom into a one-dimensional “overprotective mom” trope. At first glance? Sure. But there’s so much more going on there.

One thing I think fandom consistently overlooks is that Toriel Dreemurr is severely depressed. And that’s something she actually shares with Sans (beyond their shared love of puns)

We know from UT that Toriel didn’t abandon her people right after the death of her children. She stayed. She left only when Asgore declared war. That’s what broke her. Even Flowey tells us that Toriel retrieved Chara’s body and gave them a proper burial before isolating herself in the Ruins. There, she ends up caring for not one, but six more human children. And ends up carrying six more deaths.

And yet when we, as Frisk, fall into the Ruins, Toriel is still kind. Still warm. Still trying. She tries to keep her distance, but ultimately she cares too much. She begs us to stay. She fights us, but if we spare her, she lets us go. Like?? That’s already a deeply complex character.

We also know from Gerson that she was once a serious ruler. And then you have the nose nuzzling championship trophy at Asgore’s house. She’s loving. She’s strict. She’s grieving. She’s lost almost everything, but she never stops trying to love.

But it’s in DR where we finally get to see Toriel outside the grief.

She has college memories. A social history. She’s described by Rudy as “fuzzy n’ sweet on the outside, a TOTAL NUT on the inside.” She can be judgmental (whose mom isn’t, honestly?) but we also see how much she cares about Kris. She reads parenting books. She becomes the primary caregiver after her separation from Asgore. She’s doing her best while juggling divorce, a full-time job, and a household.

And yeah, she misses stuff. Like the bullying. But if you’ve ever known a single working mom IRL, this is very real.

Parents can love you deeply and still not know everything happening in your world. Especially teens like Kris, who are actively withdrawing.

And then Chapter 4 hits.

People are divided on the ending, but I think it was brilliant. We go from high stakes cosmic weirdness back to Kris’s reality.

Their mom is having fun… without them. And it HURTS.

But that’s not the full picture. That’s Kris’s perspective.

If you’re a teen of divorce, or any kid with a single parent who finally starts to move on, yeah, It sucks. It feels like a betrayal. Because you can’t yet see the complexity. You can’t understand that your mom is her own person, trying to find joy again.

Because to you, she’s just your mom. And you feel left behind.

tl;dr: Toriel is one of the most layered characters in the Undertale/Deltarune universe. She’s grieving, trying, sometimes failing, always loving. She doesn’t deserve the hate, if anything she deserves empathy.

[seattlesellie]

ೀ spoiled. ( part one )

📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬

pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader

synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?

warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !

an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡

A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.

Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.

But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.

You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.

Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.

“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.

You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.

But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.

Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.

Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.

Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.

You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.

But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.

Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.

You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.

You read the first question out loud.

The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…

Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?

Nope.

You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.

Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…

or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.

Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.

Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.

“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”

Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?

But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ��s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.

Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.

It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.

The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.

With her long fingers and all.

When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —

now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.

You wonder if Ellie likes cats.

You know she likes pussy.

You have got to get a grip.

You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.

Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.

“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.

You try and follow your command.

The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.

You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.

You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.

As a tutor, of course.

Not even as a friend, because she’s not.

Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.

And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…

You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.

Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.

“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”

You’re not delusional at all, by the way.

So you send her your address.

In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.

You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.

You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.

You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.

“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”

Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.

As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.

Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.

Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.

You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.

“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”

You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.

You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.

It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.

You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.

Toodles meows once more.

Yup. You should keep it down.

It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.

Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.

Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.

Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.

When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.

Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.

There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?

When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.

When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.

But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.

Then she coughs.

“Hey”

You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…

You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.

Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?

You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.

“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.

“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.

“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”

You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”

“Walked, like, not ran ran”

There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.

“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”

You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.

“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.

“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“

You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”

And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.

“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.

Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.

“Psh, so presumptuous”

As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.

When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.

"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"

Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.

You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.

"Yup..."

Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.

Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.

You like it.

She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.

You giggle.

"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.

She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.

And she likes it.

You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.

"It suits you" she murmurs.

And that's certainly good enough, because it does.

You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too… n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.

Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.

“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.

“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”

You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.

“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”

You like that side of her.

You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”

The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.

You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?

“Anything specific?”

“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.

“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.

“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.

She hates wine.

“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.

“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.

“Impressive” you note.

Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...

Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.

"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.

She's starving.

you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.

"Oh, uhh... nope"

Famished.

[httpsserene]

snoring — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ listened to heart to heart by mac demarco on repeat while doing this writing exercise at two a.m. happy reading, loves x

⌕ join taglist | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

lando snores when he sleeps on his back.

he doesn’t snore when he’s on his side, when the curve of his body cradles yours.

like this, his face nestles into the nape of your neck, nose and lips brushing the skin tenderly. his chest radiates warmth against your back, spilling through your skin and warming you from head to toe. he sacrifices the arm tucked under your head, knowing it’ll be dull with numbness come morning. his other arm drapes around your waist, his large hand splayed on the softness of your belly, drifting upward at some point in the night to hold the plushness of your chest.

the first morning you woke with his hand resting on your bosom, he murmured a sleepy explanation into your skin, feels nice. and, it was nothing more than that.

like this, the only sounds you hear are the snuffles of his breath, warm and fuzzy on your neck.

lando snores when he’s deeply asleep.

he doesn’t snore when he rests his eyes, when he leans onto any surface to nap.

like this, whether it’s a chair, couch, floor, table, or tire stack—if he can close his eyes for a few seconds, he’ll be unconscious within the minute. by far though, his favorite napping spot has to be you.

lando will seek you out for the pure purpose of shutting his eyes for a moment. he crawls into your arms with his eyes already closed and asks, put me to sleep?

you massage his scalp, nails scraping along his crown gently, untangling the curls that your fingers get caught in. your other hand scratches up and down the length of his back soothingly. you speak to him softly, about anything that comes to mind and if you’re lost for words, you hum.

he’s never down long enough to reach deep sleep. his body twitches with hypnic jerks as his sleep cycle begins.

like this, naps are when lando’s silent. he extends the length of his snooze session by not handing the team a map to his location, the marked path of his snores erased.

lando snores when he’s on his back and deeply asleep.

like this, he lies flat with you curled up to his side. your head rests on his chest, the steady beat of his heart amplified with your ear pressed close. his arm around your back anchors you to him. your arm lays across his torso and your leg hooks around his.

lando is called to sleep first, as always. there was a time where you were jealous of how quickly he drifts away but now, you fight unconsciousness to wait for him to reach a deep slumber.

because if you do, you’re rewarded with a snore. the sound is throaty and nasally, it rumbles through his chest and interrupts your focus on the pumping of his heart. aptly, you’d compare it to an idling engine.

snoring is annoying to most people, for good reason. it’s disruptive, loud, and if the repetitive noises prevented you from getting your own sleep, you’d have lost your mind already.

but to you, it’s proof that lando is resting well. that his sleep is restorative, that his body is recovering, that his immune system is strengthening, and that his worries and stressors are far from mind. so, you listen to him snore for a few minutes.

however, you don’t allow yourself to treasure the rumbles for long���long term snoring can lead to other risks later in life.

you don’t want snores to be the reason you aren’t allowed a lifetime with lando.

so, you slide off of his chest, huffing quietly as you strain to shift the limp weight of his prone body onto his side. it takes effort, eventually trapping him in the embrace of your arms, throwing your leg around his hip, and tucking his head under your chin.

like this, his snores taper off into nothingness and the little strength you had left to keep your eyelids open is diminished.

lando snores when he’s in your dreams. the raspiness of his exhales mimicked by your subconscious mind calms you. you are able to rest well knowing that he’s doing the same.

© httpsserene - do not repost. photos in header from pinterest.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #18 死

† procurement †

"Waking up in his bed should feel like victory, but all you can think about are those pill bottles on his nightstand."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,5k

content: morning vulnerability and insomnia revelations, elevator sexual tension that goes nowhere, council meeting drama with heated arguments, mission prep with jessi's weapons expertise, undercover outfits that make jeon stare, AD's suspicious surveillance knowledge, and the calm before infiltrating mdf territory

☠ author's note ☠

As a European, I have absolutely no clue about guns so let's hope my research was decent and their weapons actually make sense ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) If any gun enthusiasts are reading this and I've somehow made a sniper rifle that shoots rainbows, just... pretend it's for the plot.

ANYWAY THE BIG DAY IS FINALLY HERE!!! Next chapter is THE MISSION and are we excited??? Because I AMMMMM!!! I've been building up to this for literal months and my chaotic little writer brain is VIBRATING with anticipation!

Jeon + motorbike = HOT AS HELL 🥵 Like sir, you're already dangerous enough, did you really need to add vehicular competence to your list of attractive qualities? RUDE.

Also Jessi is so mother mommy mama I love her! I mean, I say that about every single one of my characters, don't I? But what can I do—they're all so complex in my opinion! I have to really put myself in their position in every single scene and think genuinely about how they would react. Because one thing is how I WANT them to react, and another is how they would REALISTICALLY react, you know? Keeping those two aligned is harder than it looks, trust me!

Anyway ramble ramble ramble shut up Kiki we don't care—I KNOW BUT I'M THE AUTHOR so you're gonna read my rambling because I said so! I don't write 8k words per chapter to have my feelings dismissed! Y'all gonna put up with me whether you like it or not (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

Thanks for reading as always, love y'all! Now buckle up because things are about to get SPICY!

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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎.

The obnoxious blaring of Jeon's alarm tears through the quiet morning.

It's 6 AM—that weird time when everything feels kind of hazy and unreal, like the world hasn't quite decided if it's night or day yet.

His phone keeps buzzing against the nightstand, screen lighting up like a strobe light.

You're barely awake, caught in that fuzzy space between sleep and consciousness. Jeon's sprawled half on top of you, which should probably be uncomfortable but... isn't. His arm's thrown over your waist in this weirdly soft way that doesn't match his usual don't-touch-me vibe. You can feel his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warm on your neck.

For a second, you think about waking him up. But he looks so p̶e̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ different when he's sleeping—none of that cold, distant Chief of Tactical stuff.

Just a guy who really needs some rest.

"Jeon," you try anyway, voice coming out all scratchy from sleep. "Your alarm."

He makes this grunt that might be words but definitely isn't, face pressed against your skin. Instead of getting up, he actually pulls you closer, burying his face in the pillow like if he ignores the alarm hard enough, it'll give up and go away.

"Jeon, come on. Get it." You nudge him with your elbow because that fucking alarm is driving you insane. It just keeps going and going, like some kind of electronic torture device.

He lets out this long-suffering groan that perfectly captures the eternal struggle between wanting to sleep and having actual responsibilities.

His hand flops around looking for his phone, movements all clumsy in that way people only get when they're not really awake yet. When he finally finds it, he misses the screen completely on his first try.

"Fuck off," he mumbles—definitely talking to the phone, not you. The woodsy scent of his skin mixed with mint from his breath fills your lungs.

After what feels like forever (but is probably like, ten seconds), blessed silence falls over the room.

Jeon just tosses his phone somewhere (hopefully not off the bed) and immediately curls back around you like some kind of clingy octopus. His body's radiating heat like a furnace, and he's definitely not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

His aura wraps around you like summer rain, all soft and warm, making your head spin in the best way.

(You're starting to think maybe he's not a morning person.)

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, voice all rough and sleepy like some kid who doesn't want to go to school.

You can't help but smirk.

Who would've thought the terrifying Chief of Tactical was such a baby in the morning?

"Five more minutes, and you'll be the one explaining to the Council why you're late." You poke his side. "Good luck with that."

"What council?" He sounds like he's halfway to dreamland already.

"Council of 9, dumbass. You know, that super important reunion about tonight's mission?"

His only response is this little grunt before his breathing starts evening out again.

Oh no. Not happening.

You kick him under the sheets—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to be annoying. He flinches and makes this annoyed clicking sound with his tongue.

Finally, with this dramatic sigh that you can feel rumble through his chest, he gives in. His body peels away from yours like it's physically painful for him to move.

"Fine, fine," he grumbles, surrendering to reality.

When he sits up, cold air rushes in where his body heat used to be. You both kind of... linger there on the edge of his bed.

You watch him rub his face, trying to wake up properly. It's kind of fascinating, seeing him switch from s̶o̶f̶t̶ sleepy Jungkook back to Jeon, the cold and distant Chief of Tactical.

Another yawn catches you as you sit up, letting the sheets pool around your waist. You blink, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes, when something on Jeon's bedside table catches your attention.

Oh.

There's a whole fucking pharmacy there.

Your eyes scan over the labels—hypnotics, sedatives, tranquilizers, sleeping pills. The kind of cocktail someone needs when sleep doesn't come naturally anymore.

It hits different now, remembering all those times you've seen him in the cafeteria at ass o'clock in the morning. Always with that black coffee, those dark circles under his eyes that you thought were just part of his whole intimidating Chief of Tactical thing.

(Turns out even the great Jeon Jungkook has trouble sleeping.)

You can't help but wonder what keeps him up at night. What kind of memories play on repeat in his head when everything goes quiet.

Sure, being a gang leader comes with its own baggage—the violence, the paranoia, always having to watch your back.

But something tells you there's more to it. Things that left marks deeper than the little scar on his cheek. The kind of stuff that makes someone stock up on enough sedatives to knock out a horse.

Your eyes fix on this one bottle of hypnotics that's already half empty. Something in your chest tightens at the sight, but you quickly squash that feeling down.

The last thing Jeon needs is your p̶i̶t̶y̶ concern.

You know how this works. Show any weakness in Kkangpae, and you might as well paint a target on your back. The gang's full of sharks, always circling, always waiting for someone to bleed in the water.

So you bite back all the questions building up in your throat. Push down that weird urge to reach out, to try and make it better somehow.

Whatever demons Jeon's fighting, they're his to deal with.

You've got your own role to play here, and playing therapist isn't it. Some things just stay broken, and some nights just stay sleepless.

And some things are not yours to fix, even if some part of you wants to.

"You ready?" Jeon asks, already heading for the door without waiting to hear if you actually are.

You follow him out with a quiet sigh, but your mind's still stuck on all those pill bottles.

On what they might mean.

On all the nights he probably spends staring at his ceiling, fighting whatever demons keep him up.

The common areas in his wing of the Assassination Division are empty this early.

Your footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way to the elevator, where Jeon leans against the wall like he's got all day. He crosses his arms over his chest, getting lost in whatever thoughts are running through that complicated head of his.

When he doesn't move to actually do anything, you have to remind him that not everyone has his fancy Chief clearance level.

"You gonna scan your card or what?" You wave vaguely at the scanner. "You know mine won't work up here."

The corner of his mouth twitches up—just barely—like he's annoyed at himself for forgetting.

He pulls out his access card without a word and taps it against the scanner. The light blinks green, and the elevator starts moving.

While you're waiting, your brain decides to dig up this random memory from weeks ago.

That night Jeon showed up at your door out of nowhere, demanding his jacket back. You hadn't thought about it then, but now...

"Hey," you turn to look at him, "how did you get on my floor that night? To get your jacket back?" The question hits you out of nowhere. "Our cards don't work on each other's floors."

His eyes go wide for a split second—clearly not expecting that question. He just stares at you for a moment, lips parted like he's trying to figure out what to say. Then his gaze darts away and he rubs the back of his neck, which is basically a flashing neon sign that says busted.

(This should be interesting.)

"I, uh..." Jeon starts, looking at you then quickly away. He's actually struggling for words, which is new.

His fingers tap against his thigh in this nervous rhythm you've never seen before. Just when you think he's going to leave you hanging, he lets out this tiny sigh, shoulders dropping just a bit.

"I asked AD for temporary access."

Wait. What?

"And he... just gave it to you? Just like that?"

You narrow your eyes because something's not adding up here.

You've seen how these two interact—or don't interact, more like it. The way Jeon basically disappears whenever AD shows up, and how AD looks at him like he's personally offended his entire bloodline.

Sure, AD glares at everyone (especially J-Hope), but with Jeon? That's a whole different level of hate.

(Not that it's any of your business what's going on there.)

"Told him I needed my jacket back."

The elevator keeps moving down, and the silence between you gets kind of heavy. Something about how weirdly hesitant Jeon's being makes your curiosity spike. Part of you knows you should probably drop it, but...

"So, your card worked the whole night?" You try to sound casual about it, but there's definitely some skepticism bleeding through.

"Yeah." He finally meets your eyes again. "Clearance passes usually last for 24 hours."

You nod slowly, filing that information away.

"But didn't AD find it weird? The time stamp would show you came in at 3 AM and didn't leave until..." You trail off, remembering exactly why he stayed so long.

Jeon's eyes snap to yours, and something flashes across his face too quick to read before he looks away. The crease between his brows gets deeper as the silence stretches out.

"I don't think he actually checks the access logs that closely," he says finally. "At least he hasn't mentioned anything about the, uh, timeframe."

You think about that for a second. It seems weird that AD, of all people, wouldn't keep tabs on security access. But maybe Jeon's right—maybe AD doesn't actually monitor that stuff.

Then you remember something.

That day after the pool training, you saw AD in the elevator with Kazuha. He'd told you both to "be careful."

Was that his cryptic way of saying he knew exactly what went down that night?

The elevator dings, cutting through your thoughts.

Jeon pushes off the wall, giving you this little nod to go in first. You step inside, and the last thing you see is his back and this lazy wave goodbye before the doors slide shut.

Anyway, something tells you AD knows way more than he lets on.

You’d never been in The Council room until now.

And it’s… Well, it’s weird. Tense today.

Everyone's taking their usual spots around this stupidly long table, and RM's at the head of it like always, looking every bit the Supreme Commander he is.

"Thanks for coming, everyone." His voice carries that authority that makes even the most stubborn chiefs shut up and listen.

Well, almost everyone.

"I don't even see why I have to be here when you're all so set on leaving me out of it." V's practically radiating annoyance.

Moon gives him that patient look he reserves for when someone's being difficult. "This mission affects the entire gang. That's why we need the whole Council present."

"But I'm not even part of it." V throws his feet up on the table like the dramatic bitch he is, crossing his arms. "So why do I have to sit through all this bullshit?"

"You listen because shared knowledge makes us stronger." RM's eyes sweep around the table, meeting everyone's gaze—even yours. "Unity isn't just about standing together. It's about thinking as one."

V rolls his eyes so hard you're surprised they don't get stuck. "Yeah, yeah, I get the whole 'one gang' thing. But do I really need every fucking detail?"

"Details matter." Jeon's voice cuts through the tension. "MDF isn't some amateur operation. One tiny blind spot and we're fucked."

"It's a goddamn snake pit we're walking into." J-Hope waves his hands around like he's trying to grab invisible dangers out of the air. "We all need to know what kind of poison we might be dealing with."

JM leans forward, all serious despite his usually gentle demeanor. "That hideout's a maze. You two need more than just a way in—you need a solid plan to get the fuck out of there."

"Exactly." RM's sighs. "This intel could change everything. We do this right, we take out one of their major operations."

Flower, who's been watching everything with that calculating look of hers, finally speaks up. "And V, whether you like it or not, this meeting is what keeps your men at the docks from getting caught with their pants down while we're focused on this mission."

V scoffs, but you can see him actually considering her words.

Jessi stops lounging in her chair like this is some kind of casual meetup.

"Alright, cut the bullshit. What's the actual plan here, RM?" She leans forward, all business now. "And it better be good."

The room goes quiet—that heavy kind of quiet that makes your skin prickle.

RM stands up, and you can feel the weight of what's coming.

This isn't just another mission briefing. This is you and Jeon walking straight into MDF territory.

No pressure.

RM clears his throat, looking down at the stack of papers in front of him.

"Here's how it's going to work," he starts, voice authoritative. "Jeon and Y/N are going undercover. We've got IDs that'll get them through MDF's front door."

The word 'undercover' makes your stomach do this weird flip thing. Jeon shifts slightly beside you, his presence weirdly reassuring for someone who's usually about as comforting as a loaded gun.

"They'll play it as traders," RM continues, spreading out this map that looks like someone went crazy with a red marker. "Fresh faces trying to make it big enough to catch MDF's attention."

Jeon nods, watching AD's finger trace some path on the map. "What about their security? Cameras?"

"System loops every three hours," AD says, sounding bored but you know that's just his thing. "We're setting up a distraction. At 23:00, when the loop starts, they'll get a power surge. Six minutes of blind spots."

"Six minutes?" Jessi raises an eyebrow. "That's cutting it real fucking close."

"We can handle it." Jeon sounds so sure it actually makes you believe him. "Had worse timeframes before."

"That's your window to find the server room and plant the bug." RM points to some spot deep in what looks like a maze. "AD will be in your ear the whole time."

"And when shit inevitably goes sideways?" V asks, and despite how pissy he's been about being left out, you can hear actual braincells there.

"You'll be armed," RM says simply. "But this is about getting in and out quiet. No firefights."

"Right, because stealth missions should totally go to Mr. Shoot-Everything-From-A-Mile-Away instead of, oh, I don't know, the actual Chief of Stealth?" V's voice drips sarcasm.

"V." JM's cuts in. "Enough."

V grunts but actually shuts up, which is kind of impressive. You've never seen anyone else get him to back down that easily.

Flower leans forward, and the room suddenly feels a bit colder. The map spread out on the table looks like some kind of twisted treasure map, except instead of X marking the spot, there's about fifty different ways this whole thing could go wrong.

"Alright, here's the deal," she says, getting straight to the point like always. "You need to be interesting enough to catch their attention, but not so interesting they get suspicious. Think you can handle that?"

She looks right at you, and you can feel the weight of what she's asking.

"Y/N, you're our front person here. While everyone's busy watching you sweet-talk them about money and deals, Jeon's gonna be doing the actual work." Her lips curve into this knowing smile. "Keep them focused on the profit. Rich assholes love talking about money."

Great. No pressure or anything. Just gotta be charming enough to distract an entire criminal organization while your... whatever Jeon is sneaks around their base. Easy peasy.

Flower turns to Jeon next, and her expression goes all business.

"You're playing backup dancer on this one. Stay in the background, watch everything, and when AD hits them with that power surge? That's your window. Get the bug planted without anyone noticing."

The room goes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Everyone's thinking the same thing—one tiny mistake and this whole plan goes up in smoke.

"Remember," Flower says, voice serious, "this isn't about showing off. It's about getting in, getting it done, and getting out without anyone realizing what happened."

"And more importantly," RM cuts in, giving you and Jeon a look, "don't fucking die. The intel's not worth either of you."

"What about communication?" you ask, because there's one pretty big hole in this plan. "We can't exactly text each other in there."

"Subvocals," AD doesn't look up from his laptop, but his voice carries that bored confidence that means he knows exactly what he's talking about. "Basically fancy mics that pick up whispers. We'll hear everything, but you two can talk without anyone else noticing. Plus, we'll feed you intel as we get it. Just keep it quiet and you'll be fine."

V lets out this little laugh, eyes twinkling like he knows something no one else does. "Sure putting a lot of faith in luck here, aren't we?"

"Luck's got nothing to do with it." RM's interjects. "This is about being prepared, being skilled, and getting shit done. Don't forget who we are. What Kkangpae stands for."

The room goes quiet again. Then, he continues speaking:

"Once you get that bug planted and grab whatever intel you can, you get out. We're not starting a war. Not yet."

Then Jeon turns to look at you, all Chief-of-Tactical mode.

Stormy.

"We split up as soon as we're inside," he says, voice gone all hard and professional. "Cover more ground, draw less attention."

"Yeah, no." You don't even hesitate to shut that down. The plan's crystal clear in your head. "We stick together, follow the script. Only split when the power goes out. That's the signal."

He scoffs—actually scoffs—and crosses his arms. "You really think playing follow-the-leader's gonna work that long? We're wasting time the second we walk in. Better to improvise early."

"We're not there to improvise," you snap back, getting annoyed now. The air's starting to feel like a brewing thunderstorm. "We have a plan for a fucking reason, Jeon. The power surge is our cover. Until then, you're stuck with me."

His jaw does that tightening thing it does when someone challenges him.

Chief or not, you're not backing down on this.

"A package deal that screams 'we're obviously here to fuck shit up'." He's practically radiating frustration. "Splitting up makes more sense. It's tactical."

"It's reckless," you cut in, meeting his intensity head-on. "Since when do we pick 'making sense' over actually being smart about this? We split up before the power cut, and we're basically painting targets on our backs."

You can feel everyone in the room watching this verbal sparring match in slight disbelief.

"You're not fucking listening—" Jeon leans into your space.

"Because what you're saying is bullshit," you snap back, refusing to be intimidated even though he's practically looming over you. "We go in toge—"

"Too risky. We split up, maximize our—"

"—chances of getting our asses caught!" You talk right over him, blood rushing hot in your veins. "We stick to the fucking pla—"

"Which is basically asking to get pinched if we're joined at the hip," he fires back, and god, his voice shouldn't sound that hot when he's being this infuriating.

"Oh, and you think going rogue is the ans—"

"It's called thinking on your feet, sunshine. Maybe try it some—"

"Save the condescending shit," you cut in, sharp enough to draw blood. "We're not there to show—"

"—that we're fucking amateurs!" He's almost growling now, and the sound does things to you that you really don't want to examine.

Your voices keep rising, cutting each other off in this heated back-and-forth that's starting to feel less like an argument and more like foreplay.

"Enough." RM's voice drops like a bucket of cold water.

You and Jeon both shut up instantly, turning to face him like scolded kids.

The whole room goes dead quiet, everyone waiting to see how the Supreme Commander's going to handle this.

"Y/N's right," RM cuts in, voice carrying that don't-fuck-with-me tone whilst his eyes bounce between you and Jeon as he speaks. "We made this plan accounting for every possible fuck-up. You go in together, no improvising. The power surge is your cue. Until then, you're just a couple of traders looking to make a deal. We can't afford any slip-ups."

The way he says it leaves no room for argument. You can see Jeon's shoulders drop just a tiny bit, like he's accepting defeat but doesn't want to show it.

"Got it," you nod, trying to look all professional and shit.

Like you didn't just get into a verbal sparring match with your Chief in front of the whole Council.

Jeon takes a second, then gives this little nod that looks like it physically pains him.

"Understood," he echoes, finally looking at you.

And so there’s this weird moment where you're both just... staring at each other; as if calling a truce without actually saying anything.

As RM dismisses everyone, you feel that rush of adrenaline from arguing start to fade. Your shoulders relax, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

Right. This whole mission is riding on you and Jeon not fucking it up by going off-script.

You can feel Jeon next to you, his whole vibe changing. He's still got that unreadable expression, but he doesn't look ready to fight anymore.

Before you can make your grand exit, Jessi's voice cuts through the room, making both of you plant your feet on the ground.

"Don't worry, you two. All that sexual tension will make for some hot angry fucking after the mission." She winks at you both like she just said something clever instead of mortifying.

"That's not—we're not—" You start sputtering like an idiot, feeling your face go red.

"Ridiculous," Jeon snaps at the same time, scowling like Jessi just insulted his sniper skills or something.

Jessi just smirks, looking way too pleased with herself. "Whatever you say, lovebirds. Just come by my division after lunch. Gotta get you kitted out for this little adventure."

You open your mouth to tell her exactly where she can shove her assumptions, but she keeps talking.

"AD's gonna set up your access, so don't be late!" And with that, she struts out of the room like she owns the place.

You take a deep breath, trying to get your shit together.

Without a word, you and Jeon turn to leave.

There's still a ton of prep to do for this mission, and you'd rather face MDF unarmed than spend another second in this room with everyone's eyes on you.

The elevator feels way too empty when it’s only you and Jeon in it.

Trapped in a metal box after whatever that disaster of a Council meeting was.

The silence feels heavy, like all that heated arguing is still buzzing in the air.

You stand there trying to look casual, watching the floor numbers tick down like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen.

But you can't help noticing how Jeon's jaw is doing that clenching thing again, his lips pressed together so tight they're practically disappearing. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and his whole body's radiating tension like a coiled spring.

The silence is driving you insane.

So of course, before your brain can stop your mouth, you blurt out: "Just so we're clear, we are not having hot angry sex after this mission."

Great going girl. 10/10.

Jeon's head snaps toward you so fast you're worried he might get whiplash. One eyebrow shoots up in surprise, but then—oh—his expression shifts into that infuriating smirk.

"Aw, you sound disappointed," he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing register that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible. "Yeah, like I was last night."

"Excuse me?" The look of pure indignation on his face is actually priceless. "Pretty sure I had you begging."

"Begging?" You let out a laugh. "More like pointing out how fucking slow you were being."

You're going for casual disinterest, but the memories from last night keep trying to make your face heat up.

He actually laughs at that—this sharp, sudden sound that bounces off the elevator walls.

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now? Because I remember it more like... payback. For all that teasing." His eyes drop to your ass for a second. "Bending over until I couldn't take it anymore..."

You cross your arms, leaning back against the wall like this conversation isn't affecting you at all.

"That wasn't teasing. That was strategic mission preparation." You can't help the sly smile that creeps onto your face. "Besides, you're the one who changed the sleeping arrangement to fucking."

"A strategic move, huh?" His mouth does that little twitch that means he's trying not to smile. "Well, it fucking worked."

"Yeah, you broke so easily." You roll your eyes, but you can feel yourself starting to smile too. "Just for sex"

"Pretty damn good sex, if I might add." He says it like he's stating the weather, but that smirk is getting bigger.

Before you can even process what's happening, his hand shoots out to the elevator panel. The emergency stop button makes this loud clicking sound, and the whole thing jerks to a halt with this deep rumble that you feel in your bones.

Suddenly the space feels way too small, and all you can hear is your own breathing getting heavier.

Yeah. Yeah, he’s stopped the fucking elevator.

"What the actual fuck, Jeon?" You try to sound annoyed, but the words get stuck in your throat because he's moving into your space like he owns it, like he has every right to be this close.

Then you're trapped between his arms and the cold elevator wall, and fuck—the way he's looking at you makes you feel naked already.

Your heart's going crazy in your chest, completely betraying how irritated you're pretending to be. Heat starts pooling between your legs, and it's honestly embarrassing how quickly your body responds to him.

"We can't—" Your voice comes out all breathy and pathetic. "We can't do this here."

The smile he gives you is pure sin as he leans in closer, close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, static wrapping around you, making it hard to think straight.

"Why not?"

"Because we're in a fucking elevator—"

"No cameras." He cuts you off like he's been waiting for this excuse.

You try to swallow but your throat's gone dry. Your sling feels itchy against your skin, probably because your whole body's remembering what happened last night.

"People are gonna notice if the elevator's stuck—"

"Maintenance issue." He says it so fast you know he's thought about this before.

"Jeon—" You start to argue, but then his eyes drop to your mouth and your brain just... stops working.

You know you should push him away. That's what any sane person would do. But there's something about Jeon that makes your brain stop working right—like a magnet pulling you in no matter how hard you try to resist. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to just grab him and kiss him already.

Right when you're about to say fuck it and give in, he pulls back.

And the look in his eyes? Pure evil, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Sunshine," he practically purrs, voice gone all low and rough in a way that makes heat pool in your stomach, "you're too eager."

The elevator dings, saving you from doing something stupid.

He steps out onto his floor without another word, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face like he just won something.

You slump against the wall the second the doors close, letting out this huge breath you didn't even realize you were holding

As the elevator keeps moving, the whole thing feels kind of surreal—like maybe you imagined him pressing you up against the wall and looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

But the way your skin's still tingling tells you it definitely happened.

When the doors open on your floor, it's like stepping back into the real world.

One where you need to figure out what the hell to tell Yunjin about where you've been all night. She's way too perceptive for her own good, and she definitely noticed you didn't come to your room to sleep.

You walk to your room trying to come up with something believable.

Maybe you were up all night studying mission plans? Or got restless and went wandering around the common areas?

Your brain's still kind of fuzzy from having Jeon all up in your space, which isn't helping with the whole creative lying thing.

But when you push open your door, Yunjin spins around like she's been caught doing something wrong. Her eyes are all wide and guilty, and before you can even open your mouth to make up some excuse about where you've been, she starts talking.

"Okay, before you give me shit for not sleeping here last night—" The words come tumbling out of her like she can't get them out fast enough. "You won't believe what happened. I was just gonna have a few drinks with V, you know, just to chill..."

Well. You surely didn't expect that.

You stand there trying to process the flood of information Yunjin's dumping on you. She's so caught up in her story she doesn't even notice your brain short-circuiting.

"And I know we said to stay away from V's whole... thing, but fuck—" She's practically vibrating with excitement. "We've been dancing around each other for weeks, and last night was just—"

"Yunjin, hold up." You raise a hand to stop her word-vomit. "Are you telling me you spent the night with V? Like, you and V actually—"

You don't finish the sentence because honestly, you don't need to. The implication is heavy enough to sink a ship.

She bites her lip and nods, looking somewhere between guilty and smug.

"Yeah, we fucked..." Her voice trails off before picking right back up. "And let me tell you, it was good. Like, he's not even into all that scary shit everyone thinks he is? But his chaotic energy definitely carries over to bed, god, if you only knew—"

You can't help the snort spreading across your face.

Here you were worrying about how to explain your own night away, and Yunjin's gone and done the exact same thing.

There's something kind of poetic about both of you getting tangled up with people you definitely shouldn't be touching.

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. "Okay, spare me the details. But I'm glad you had fun with your psychopath."

"It was actually really nice?" She's got this dreamy look that would be cute if she wasn't talking about the gang's resident knife enthusiast. "I know we said getting involved with him was a bad idea, but..."

She shrugs, looking almost shy.

"Sometimes you can't help who you want to climb like a tree."

You nod because fuck—isn't that the truth? Your body's still kind of sore from climbing your own dangerous tree last night.

Quick thinking has you saying, "I had an early Council meeting about the mission."

It's not exactly a lie. You did have a meeting. The fact that you came straight from Jeon's bed to it is just... details.

Yunjin seems to buy it, but then her eyes narrow and this little smirk appears on her face.

"Speaking of details... that shirt looks a bit big on you." She eyes the obviously oversized fabric. "Almost like it belongs to someone else. Someone tall, maybe? Tattooed?"

Heat creeps up your neck as you tug at the shirt that definitely belongs to Jeon.

"It's just comfortable," you mutter, but even you don't believe that weak excuse.

"Sure it is." Yunjin's laugh is rather a sneer. "Tell Jeon I said hi."

She throws you a wink and you roll your eyes, but you can't quite fight the smile tugging at your lips.

At least you're not the only one fucking a chief.

The scanner actually flashes green when you swipe your card, which is weird.

Usually you only get access to the Seduction floor and common areas, but apparently Jessi wasn't kidding about AD setting up clearance to her realm for you.

You hit the button for the 9th floor and watch the numbers tick up.

The doors slide open to a completely different vibe from what you're used to.

Gone is all that minimalist tech stuff from AD's floor or the sterile efficiency of Assassination.

The Weapons Division looks exactly like what it is—a place that deals in death. The lights are dim, pipes running everywhere like exposed veins, and the floor's just straight-up concrete. No fancy finishes here.

You've maybe been here like, three times? And every visit feels like stepping into some alternate universe inside Kkangpae's castle. The contrast between this and your division's sleek aesthetic is wild.

"Well, well, look who we have here!"

The voice booms through the hallway, making you jump.

You turn to find this huge guy with a green mullet heading your way, covered in neck tattoos that probably tell some interesting stories. You're pretty sure his name is Jae? He's Jessi's second-in-command, but you've barely exchanged two words with him before.

Not that you'd know it from how he grins at you like you're old friends.

"Jessi's waiting on you," he says, slapping your back hard enough to make you stumble forward. (What is it with these Weapons Division people and casual violence?) "Come on, can't keep the boss lady hanging."

You follow Mullet Man through these massive double doors and holy shit—the weapons depot is huge. The ceiling's so high it's got actual walkways crisscrossing it, leading to what looks like storage units. Every table is packed with enough firepower to start a small war: rifles, handguns, knives, stuff you don't even have names for.

Jessi's off to one side, checking out this fancy-looking automatic rifle like she's shopping for groceries. Her fiery aura fills the space with heating energy.

When she spots you, those red lips curl into this knowing smirk that makes you kind of nervous.

"Right on time," she says, putting down the gun like it's no big deal. "Now we just gotta wait for lover boy to complete the set."

Jae throws up this exaggerated salute and swaggers off, leaving you perched on a nearby stool while Jessi's aura dances around like actual flames.

Jessi leans back against one of the weapon-covered tables, arms crossed and this knowing look in her eyes that makes you kind of nervous.

"That was quite the show this morning. Never seen Jeon actually engage like that before."

"What do you mean?" You frown, thinking about how often Jeon and V are at each other's throats. "He fights with V all the time."

"Nah, that's different." She shakes her head, red hair swaying. "When he fights with V, it's all explosions and death threats. Pure chaos."

Her hands make this exaggerated boom motion.

"But this morning? That was like... verbal foreplay. He was actually in there with you, giving as good as he got."

You think about that for a second.

Now that she mentions it, Jeon does usually just... shut down when other people try to argue with him. Goes all cold and distant, like he can't be bothered to even engage.

But this morning he was right there with you, matching your energy blow for blow.

"Huh." The realization hits you harder than it probably should. "He's not usually much for back-and-forth, is he?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Jessi looks way too pleased with herself. "That emotionally constipated asshole usually keeps everyone at a distance. But you?" She wiggles her eyebrows in this ridiculous way. "Something's different..."

Your face heats up because fuck—she's not wrong. But you are absolutely not having this conversation right now.

"So anyway," you say quickly, probably not as smooth as you think, "what kind of gear are we talking about here?"

Jessi's smirk says she knows exactly what you're doing, but she lets it slide.

Instead, she turns to this impressive spread of weapons and gadgets laid out on the table. Some of them look deadly enough to make you nervous just looking at them.

"Only the best for our star infiltration team," she says, sounding like a proud mom showing off her kid's artwork. "Let's talk comm units first..."

Then, you catch it.

That woodsy, pine scent that clings to him like his leather jacket.

You don’t even need to turn around to know it’s him.

Jeon appears in the doorway looking unfairly good in his all-black everything, like some kind of high-fashion assassin.

When his eyes find you and Jessi, one eyebrow goes up.

"Starting without me?" His voice is dry as desert.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Jessi's teasing, but then her expression turns into something more devious. "I was just telling your partner here how I've never seen you get so fired up before. Something about her really pushes your buttons, huh?"

You kind of want to melt into the concrete floor. Leave it to Jessi to stir shit up just because she can.

But Jeon just shrugs, cool as ever.

"Just discussing strategy." His voice gives absolutely nothing away, which is honestly impressive considering how heated he got earlier.

Jessi looks kind of disappointed that she couldn't get a reaction out of him. Classic Jeon, refusing to take the bait. She lets out this dramatic sigh and turns back to all the gear spread out on the table.

"Well, now that his highness has graced us with his presence," she says, standing up with that natural grace she has, "let's get you both looking the part. Can't have you walking into MDF territory looking like gang members, can we?"

You follow her through the rows of weapons and equipment. It's kind of amazing how she knows exactly where everything is in this massive space. Her energy is contagious—she's clearly in her element here, surrounded by all these tools of destruction.

The weapons depot starts feeling less like an armory and more like some underground fashion studio as you walk deeper in.

Because of course, procurement doesn’t only mean weapons and human resource.

Apparently, it also means Jessi has a pass to turn a room full of deadly weapons into her personal styling space.

There's this sectioned-off area that looks like a makeshift dressing room, complete with different fabrics hanging everywhere.

"Over here, Jeon." Jessi's voice has that tone that means she's already planning something. She looks him up and down like she's mentally redesigning his whole outfit.

Jeon follows her, trying to look like he's not into it, but you can see the interest in his eyes. You hang back a bit, kind of enjoying watching him get the Jessi treatment.

Jessi starts pulling stuff from these racks that look like someone couldn't decide if they were making tactical gear or runway fashion. Every piece somehow manages to be both bulletproof and stupidly stylish.

First up for Jeon: this black suit that catches the light in a way that's definitely not standard issue.

"Put this on," she tells him, shoving the suit in his hands. "It's reinforced—won't stop a bullet, but a knife won't get through."

He disappears behind this makeshift changing screen, and you're definitely not counting the seconds until he comes back out.

When he does, though... fuck.

The suit fits him like it was painted on, showing off all those muscles you're way too familiar with now. The jacket makes his shoulders look even broader, and the pants are doing criminal things to his legs. He looks like he walked straight out of some high-end assassin movie.

"You could probably kill someone just by walking into a room looking like that," you say before you can stop yourself. Your voice definitely doesn't sound as casual as you meant it to.

The smug bastard actually smirks at that. "Wouldn't be the first time."

But Jessi's not having it. She shakes her head, looking at him like an artist who's not quite happy with their work.

"Too polished. We need dangerous, not James Bond. Try this instead."

She pulls out this whole new look: leather jacket that probably costs more than anything you own (which is not much), deep maroon shirt that's somehow both simple and expensive-looking, and black jeans that you just know are going to be trouble.

When he steps out this time, his whole aura shifts.

The leather sits on his shoulders like it belongs there, and that hint of maroon under all the black just... works.

He looks like someone who could sweet-talk his way into a deal and then burn the whole place down if it goes wrong.

"Now that's more like it," Jessi says, looking satisfied. "Says 'I do business, but I also do crime' in all the right ways."

You find yourself nodding along because damn.

He looks exactly like what a high-level arms dealer should look—dangerous enough to take seriously, stylish enough to have clearly made money doing it.

Jeon catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, like he's asking what you think. You give him a small nod because what else can you do? He looks f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ good.

Really good.

Jessi rummages through another rack and pulls out this long-sleeved black shirt.

"Here, put this under the jacket. The fabric's breathable but bulletproof-adjacent. Won't stop a direct hit, but it'll give you a fighting chance."

Jeon shrugs off the leather jacket and slips the shirt on. It's thin but looks sturdy—perfect for someone who might need to move fast or fight their way out of trouble.

Jessi finally steps back, eyeing him like she's inspecting a weapon.

"Not bad. Looks casual enough that no one'll think twice, but you can actually move in it." She hands him back the leather jacket. "Try it all together."

You try to look professional while he puts the jacket back on over the maroon shirt and black base layer, but fuck—the whole ensemble is perfect.

The layers somehow make him look even more dangerous, like he could either charm you or kill you and you wouldn't know which until it was too late.

While Jeon and Jessi get into some deep discussion about fabric weights and mobility ranges, you're kind of amazed at how much thought goes into this.

It's not just picking out nice clothes—every piece has to tell the right story without saying a word.

One wrong detail and the whole cover's blown.

The attention to detail is actually impressive. Jessi knows exactly how to make someone look dangerous but approachable, wealthy but not flashy.

In this world, the wrong outfit can get you killed as quick as the wrong word.

You watch them fine-tune every detail, fascinated by how each adjustment shapes the character Jeon's going to play. And then… The final touch.This plain black watch that probably has fifteen different ways to kill someone. Jeon checks it over with that focused look he gets when he's handling weapons.

"Nice," is all he says, strapping it on.

Standing there in his perfectly crafted outfit, Jeon looks like he was born to play this role. Then Jessi turns to you with this wicked gleam in her eyes that makes your stomach drop.

"Your turn, beautiful," she says, gesturing at another rack of clothes. "Let's make you look expensive but deadly."

Something tells you this is going to be way more complicated than just picking out a nice dress.

You step forward to check out what Jessi's picked out, and damn—she really knows what she's doing. Every piece looks like it was chosen to tell a specific story about who you're supposed to be for this mission.

First up is this skin-tight dress that practically screams ‘honey trap.’ Jessi takes one look and tosses it aside with a muttered "too fucking obvious."

Then there's this whole secretary fantasy thing with a high-necked blouse and pencil skirt, but that gets vetoed too. ("Can't fight for shit in that.")

Then she hands you this black button-up that feels expensive as hell, paired with these tailored pants that feel way too nice to the touch. The fabric's got that perfect balance—soft enough to feel good but sturdy enough to take a beating if things go south.

When you slip into it, something shifts. The shirt fits in all the right places, making you feel d̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶o̶u̶s�� powerful. And the pants? They let you move like you might need to throw down at any second, which, considering it's MDF territory you're heading into, isn't exactly unlikely.

You step out to get Jessi's opinion.

And catch Jeon straight-up staring at your ass.

You’re not surprised.

When you meet his eyes, he looks away so fast it's actually kind of funny, pressing his lips together like he's trying not to smile. He looks like a kid who just got caught stealing cookies, and something about that expression makes you bite back a smile of your own.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Jessi says, looking you over with that critical eye of hers. "You look like someone who could either make a deal or break some kneecaps. Perfect."

The outfit's actually making you feel kind of invincible. (The fact that it got Mr. Perfect Sniper all flustered doesn't hurt either.) You do a little turn, testing how it moves. Everything feels right—professional enough to be taken seriously, but with enough edge to remind people you're not someone to fuck with.

"Hold up," Jessi says suddenly, her eyes getting that dangerous glint that usually means trouble. "Got one more thing. Don't move."

She strides off into her weapons paradise, leaving you standing there wondering what else she could possibly have planned.

You definitely don't check if Jeon's still watching.

(Okay, that's a lie. You totally do.)

The button-up fits you like it was made for you—professional enough to command respect but with just enough something to make heads turn. You're fiddling with the collar when you notice it's buttoned kind of low. Like, maybe too low for a serious arms deal. But before you can decide whether to fix it, Jeon's suddenly right there in your space.

"Let me," he says, voice gone all low and rough (molten lava in your stomach)

His fingers brush against your skin as he does up that one button over your chest, and fuck—that tiny touch has your brain stuttering a bit.

Probably because your body remembers what those fingers can do.

When you look up at him (because of course he's using his height to loom over you like the smug bastard he is), his eyes are dark enough to drown in.

The little gleam swimming in them tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you say, trying to sound annoyed even though you can feel yourself starting to smile.

"Immensely." He says; and his voice is pure sin wrapped in amusement.

He just keeps staring at you with this intensity that makes it hard to breathe, like he's thinking about all the ways he could mess up your perfectly put-together outfit.

Then Jessi bursts back in, completely ruining the moment.

"Found it!" She's waving around this black blazer like she just discovered buried treasure.

Jeon steps back, but not before giving you one last look that promises later. That little smirk is still playing on his lips as Jessi throws the blazer over your shoulders like she's putting the final touch on a masterpiece.

While Jessi goes over the tech specs of your gear, you sneak another look at Jeon. That heated playfulness from earlier is gone, replaced by that laser-focused look he gets when he's in Chief mode.

But there's still this... tension hanging in the air between you, like neither of you has quite forgotten what almost happened in that elevator.

Jessi then looks you both up and down with this satisfied smirk, like an artist admiring her masterpiece.

You have to admit, she knows what she's doing—the outfits are perfect for your cover, walking that line between dangerous and professional.

"Now for the fun part," she says, suddenly all business. "Let's get you two properly armed."

She leads you deeper into her weapons paradise, stopping at what looks like a plain wall. But when she presses her hand against this hidden scanner, the whole thing comes alive with soft beeps and whirs. A keypad appears, and Jessi punches in some code faster than you can follow.

The wall basically transforms, splitting open to reveal these massive hidden cabinets that look straight out of a spy movie.

Inside is enough firepower to start (or end) a small war, all arranged with the kind of precision that would make Jeon proud.

You've seen weapons before—kind of comes with the whole gang thing—but this is different.

Every gun, knife, and thing-you-don't-even-have-a-name-for gleams under the lights like they're on display in some very deadly museum.

"For when things get up close and personal," Jessi says, picking up this compact black handgun, "you'll want this beauty."

She hands you a Glock 26, and fuck—it's heavier than it looks.

"Small enough to hide, big enough to make someone regret their life choices."

Then she turns to Jeon with a different gun. "You get the Sig P226. More range, more punch. You can hang back and give her cover while she works her magic up close."

Jeon takes the gun and with a flick of his wrist, he expertly checks the chamber and magazine. You can't understand why your brain thinks that's hot, but the little nod he gives tells you Jessi picked right.

She keeps pulling out more gear—silencers that look way too professional, extra magazines, these holsters that probably cost more than your monthly pay. Then come the knives, small enough to hide pretty much anywhere but sharp enough to make you nervous just looking at them.

Jessi's whole vibe changes as she finishes arming you up. "These aren't just fancy accessories. Every time you pull one of these, you're making a choice that could end someone—maybe even yourself."

The weight of what she's saying hits different when you're actually holding deadly weapons. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you can tell she's trusting you not to fuck this up.

"One more thing," she says, pulling this fancy-looking gadget from a drawer. "Multi-tool kit. Has everything from basic lock picks to a mini torch. Trust me, you'll want options when shit hits the fan."

She hands it to Jeon, who clips it to his belt with practiced ease. (Of course he knows exactly what to do with it—guy probably has a whole collection of spy gear at home.)

Jessi takes a step back, giving you both this final once-over that feels kind of like a proud mom sending her kids off to prom.

(If prom involved infiltrating a rival gang's hideout.)

"You're good to go. Just remember—get in, do the job, get out. Don't try to be heroes."

Her words stick with you as you follow her out of the weapons room.

You walk through another set of doors to find a…

Holy shit. The garage is massive.

It's like walking into some billionaire's private car collection, except every vehicle probably has hidden gun compartments or something.

So Jessi's definitely got a thing for cars. There's everything from flashy Lamborghinis to those huge Bentleys that scream ‘I’m rich and probably dangerous.’ Motorcycles, sports cars, even some vehicles that look straight-up bulletproof—all lined up like some very deadly candy shop.

You're starting to think maybe the weapons aren't even Jessi's favorite toys.

Jessi leads you through her collection of cars like a proud mom showing off her kids' trophies. She stops at this black Lamborghini that looks expensive enough to make your eyes water. The lights bounce off its surface like it's made of pure money.

"This baby right here?" She runs her hand over the hood like she's petting a cat. "Zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds. Makes people's heads turn so fast they get whiplash."

Then she drags you over to this Bentley that screams old money.

"And this beauty? When you need people to think you've got more dollars than sense." The inside looks like someone skinned a whole herd of very expensive cows and covered it in fancy wood.

"We're taking my bike."

Jeon's voice cuts through Jessi's car tour sharply.

He says it like it's already decided, which—knowing him—it probably is.

Jessi whips around to look at him, and fuck—her fiery aura actually flares up like she's about to burst into flames.

"Are you kidding me? Look at these beauties!" She waves at her collection. "They're begging for some action!"

But Jeon just shakes his head. "Bike's more maneuverable. Better control. Makes more sense for what we need."

"Ugh, fine." Jessi throws one last longing look at the Lamborghini like she's saying goodbye to a child. "But I swear to god, one of these days I'm getting your ass in one of these cars."

The little smirk Jeon gives her actually looks kind of fond. "Keep dreaming."

So you follow him to another part of the garage where his bike's parked.

It's this sleek, black monster of a machine that somehow manages to look both subtle and dangerous—kind of like its owner. The thing practically radiates power, but in that quiet way that says it doesn't need to show off.

Jessi watches Jeon check over the bike with this resigned look.

He runs his hands over the handlebars, checking everything with the kind of attention to detail you'd expect from someone who regularly makes impossible shots from a mile away.

"At least you take care of my presents," she mutters, but there's no real heat in it.

Jeon just nods, swinging his leg over the bike like he was born to ride it. When he turns to look at you, his face has gone all serious again.

"You good?"

You nod, feeling your heart start picking up speed.

This is really happening.

Jessi steps back, smiles, and then just waves you two off, not before adding something else.

"Watch your asses out there. And remember—you need backup, we're just a call away."

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[outoftheseine]

-AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS-

i am so obsessed with him it is not even funny | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

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[potatoplace]

I Don't Feel Alive

The Afterthought: Chapter 4 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

part 3 | part 5 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Starfall means dress shopping, and dress shopping means spending time with Nesta and Elain... the celebration is its own set of challenges that you struggle with.

Warnings: Body shaming, toxic family, slight disordered eating, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts (let me know if I missed anything)

Words: ~9.2k

Author's Note: it's heeeere I didn't get quite as far into the story as I wanted, but this was a good cut off point too. I really hope you guys like this one! I don't think I made it quite angsty enough, but there's still some. Plus a lil fluff to start. Enjoy! p.s. let me know who you think Y/N will end up with! Or anything else you have to say 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍���️🤍🤍

Your dreams were soft and fuzzy, filled with hazy scenes of you laying in bed and cuddling with your sisters, just like you had every night so long ago.

Waking felt similar, your body cocooned by soft blankets and warm arms, your own wrapped around someone's torso. You took a deep breath before opening your eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Mor's face was laying on the pillow in front of you, still relaxed with sleep. She looked even prettier like this, without stress and her busy schedule hanging over her.

You slowly unwrapped your arms from around her, taking care to not wake her. She deserved the extra sleep, with how much time she was going to be spending in the Hewn City through the end of the year.

You rolled onto your back, Mor's arms tightening around you as you did. It felt nice, being held again. In the past two years, you had forgotten how lovely it was to wake up feeling safe, snuggled up with your sisters.

The sound of Mor's soft, even breaths nearly lulled you asleep, before your eyes flew open.

Shoot! You had forgotten Nuala and Cerridwen's Solstice presents...

Mor's arms were gently pried from your body, which was harder to do than you had anticipated, but you managed without waking her.

You pulled on a dressing gown and quietly grabbed the two bags containing their presents. Your bedroom door snicked shut behind you, and you padded down the hallway, down the stairs, and to their bedroom. One knock had the door swinging open, this time greeted by Cerridwen.

"Y/N? Did you need something?" The wraith asked, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the presents in your hand. "Oh, you didn't have to do that, Y/N," she said, letting you into their room.

"But I wanted to, both of you have been so wonderful to me. And I already got them for you, so you have to open them," you insisted, placing each bag in their new owner's hands.

Nuala shook her head but opened her present anyways, a wide smile overtaking her face. "This is wonderful Y/N! Oh and you even got me metal threads, how did you know?!" The wraith embraced you tightly in her arms.

"And you remembered me complaining about my needles, oh mother, Y/N, you are the most thoughtful person!" Cerrdiwen exclaimed, stealing you from her sister's arms. "You will be the first person I make something for," she said after she loosened her hold on you.

"You don't need to do that..."

Cerridwen looked at you sharply. "Yes I do, and I will. Would you prefer a hat or scarf first? Oh, I'll just make you both," she finished, not giving you time to answer.

"Thank you in advance, I suppose," you said, blush dusting your cheeks. "I'm glad both of you liked your gifts."

"Of course we do! You pay so much attention to what you buy for people, it's so sweet," Nuala said kindly.

A heavier blush rose to your cheeks at their sweet words. "I just like to make people happy. Speaking of which, I should get back to Mor-"

"Back to me? But I'm right here!" Mor said brightly from behind you, causing you to jump in shock. "Sorry, Y/N, did I scare you?" Mor's arms wrapped around you from behind. "You left me, so I came down to find you. Want to do breakfast before everyone returns?"

You nodded in agreement, but turned your eyes to the twins. "Do you want to join us?"

"I'd love to," Nuala said, and Cerridwen nodded her head before replying the same.

"Girls' breakfast! Let's go!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you out of the twins' room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

The twins trailed behind at a less excited pace, and met the two of you in the kitchen as Mor was pulling food out of the cold box. Bacon, sausages, eggs, broccoli, and cheese were taken out, and the four of you began making breakfast- most likely too much food for the four of you, but Mor insisted that once Cassian had returned he would eat any food that was left over.

You provided the tea, rushing upstairs to pick out an orange and ginger tea.

Breakfast with the three of them was lovely, only kind words and soft smiles being exchanged between you. It was much more peaceful than most of the meals you had taken at the dining table, and for that you were grateful.

Your sisters, their mates, and Azriel returned while the four of you were still gathered round the table, talking over the last of the second pot of tea you'd made.

"Good morning, ladies," Rhys said as he slipped into one of the chairs, pulling a glowing Feyre into his lap a moment later. "Did you have a good breakfast?"

You nodded in response, but it was Mor who spoke. "Yes, in a team effort we made far too much food. What about you lot?"

"It was good, but there wasn't enough," Cassian complained as he sat down, plucking a piece of bacon off of a plate. You smiled at his antics, you'd always found it funny how the male never seemed to be truly full.

"There's never enough for you, Cass," Nesta said as she took the seat next to him- directly across from you- and glared hard enough at you that the small smile on your face fell off in an instant.

"That's true, even though he devoured all of the sweets you gave him, Y/N, he was asking for more the moment they were gone," Lucien laughed as he did the same as Rhys, pulling Elain into his lap in the chair next to yours.

Fear clutched at your heart, though you knew it shouldn't. But the thought of Cassian enjoying the sweets you had made so much that he asked for more... You were scared of how Nesta might retaliate this time.

You tried to keep your breathing even as the conversation passed from one ear to the other, no words registering as they spoke.

"Y/N?" Feyre's soft voice broke through, pulling you out of your worried heart and back into the moment. "You're still up to go dress shopping with us tomorrow, right?"

Your eyes flicked up to her, then to her mate behind her who had a stern look on his face. You forced your eyes back to her slightly worried ones, focusing on the gentle blue that you'd known your whole life. "Uhm... Yes, I am," you managed to respond once you had played the question over in your head.

"Good! We were all thinking that noon would be a fine time to leave, that way the three of us can sleep in a bit after the revel tonight. Does that sound good to you?"

You could feel Nesta's burning gaze and Elain's judgemental eyes on you, stoking the fire of your fear.

"That sounds fine to me, Feyre," you replied, fingers working nervously over the painted irises on your teacup, focusing on the tiny ridges that the paint had created, your gaze now trained on them.

Better than seeing the hatred in Nesta's eyes.

"Perfect! Now that that's settled, I think we should all get to perfecting the revel for tonight," Feyre said, causing movement from all around the table.

Except you.

You sat, staring at your teacup until everyone was gone, disappeared off to their rooms or offices, or wherever they needed to be.

That left you to clear the plates, quickly washing the dishes and leaving them to dry in the rack. Your teapot was dried by hand, and filled with tea leaves and hot water once more. Thankfully you were able to retreat to your room without question, letting you escape back into your fantasy world you had created in your mind. Away from Nesta and Elain's combined ire, combined disdain for your very existence.

The lovely jasmine tea Azriel had gifted you helped you forget where you were, nearly convincing yourself you were back in the human lands, sipping tea in the living room with your father as you watched snow fall and bury that tiny little shack, falling asleep to the thought of it in your arm chair.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

The next morning, you forced yourself from the arm chair, stretching out your neck as you did.

Somehow, it was less comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.

Your soreness abated as you slid into steaming water, bubbling with rose scented soap- something that you were absolutely delighted by, loving that no matter what, your body was completely covered by bubbles. You hardly caught sight of your skin at all, though you knew with the day's plans, you would be forced to confront how your body had changed.

You could feel it, every now and then. The way your bones protruded just a bit more than they had a month ago. How your joints got sore from sitting or laying faster than before. How pale you had become compared to this time last year, when you had a slight glow to your skin.

This year, you were pasty. As though you had been locked away from the sun the entire time.

A sigh left your lips as you finished your skincare, the one act of kindness to yourself that you always made time for.

Your body didn't matter. It's not as though you would find someone in Prythian. After all, fae and humans shouldn't mix...

Feyre had said something similar to you, so long ago about your past crush on Cassian.

Thankfully in that time, only one person had caught your eye... And you were certain that Irina would never stoop so low as to date you of all people.

Another long breath, lungs deflating.

No, you were here to be alone. Mor and Feyre had begun trying to engage with you, for that you were grateful. They were keeping you from losing all hope once more, and it was all you could do to keep that flame alive.

Especially knowing that your own issues with your body would be added to by whatever Nesta and Elain deigned to say to you. Feyre may have told them to behave, but that wouldn't stop them from throwing barbs at you, thinly veiled by concern or 'opinion.'

Your cycle had finished the night before, leaving you tired but free of its scent, which you were overly thankful for. Mor's present was very nice, but you did not want to try the underwear out while dress shopping with your sisters.

You forced yourself to get dressed and headed out of your room, noting the time on the clock in the hallway. Half past eleven.

That should be enough time for a pot of tea, maybe taken in the kitchen? Or should you retreat to your room...?

You turned around and headed back to your room for a packet of tea leaves, this one a plain green tea. After grabbing it, you made your way downstairs, ears listening for any sign of life.

Perhaps they were all asleep still, exhausted from the revel the night before.

The kitchen was empty when you entered it, and you quickly set to making your tea. A few minutes later you were sat at the island in the kitchen, a cushioned stool beneath you. The tea was lovely and calming, it's clean, slightly sea scented aroma perfect for clearing your head.

That was until Nesta and Elain sauntered in, already talking about what dress styles and colors they were hoping to find today. Their conversation didn't stop once as they walked straight past you and into the living room, the only evidence of them noticing you was the feeling of their eyes on your back.

Suddenly, your heart wasn't so calm.

Feyre walked in a minute later, rushing over to you once she saw you seated at the island. "How are you?"

"I'm... I'm okay. How are you, Fey? How's the baby?"

"Oh I'm just fine, baby was being a little fussy earlier but they're all settled now. Are you ready to leave?"

You finished the rest of your tea in a few quick gulps, enjoying the feeling of warmth it brought, and stood from your stool. "I just need to wash this, and then I'm ready," you said, already making your way to the kitchen sink. That was done in a flash, and soon Feyre was ushering the three of you out the door, Nesta and Elain immediately locking arms and taking the lead. You and Feyre trailed after them, your own arms locked together after Feyre forced her elbow around yours, smiling at you when you looked at her.

All too soon, you arrived at the dress store in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, greeted by the owner, Tarin.

"Ah, the High Lady and her sisters! This is a lucky day for me, that's for sure," Tarin exclaimed as she approached Feyre, clasping their hands together. "What can I help the four of you with?"

"We're looking for dresses for Starfall, I know we're cutting it a bit close-"

"Oh, nonsense! For the High Lady, even the day of Starfall is not too close. Please, look around and pick out what interests you, we can have them altered if need be," Tarin said, waving her arms at the racks upon racks of dresses filling the shop. "I can also have them made up in different colors, and with any variations of fabrics you may like. Any way I can please you, my dears, and I am happy to do it."

Nesta and Elain set into the sea of fabric together, keeping close to each other as they picked through the racks. You stayed near Feyre, feeling wildly out of your depth.

Shopping for Solstice was one thing, it was shopping for those you cared for. But this...

This was shopping for yourself, and you struggled more with that. Buying the hairpin that you currently had twisted in your hair was a rare action, and one of the first non-practical purchase you had made for yourself since coming to Velaris.

"How about this one?" Feyre asked you, drawing you from your thoughts as she waved a dark purple dress in front of you, it's long sleeves waving as she did so.

"It's pretty," you said absentmindedly, staring at the way the fabric shimmered in the light.

"Do you want to try it on?"

Your eyes snapped up to Feyre's. "Me?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Yes, you. The cut is similar to dresses you've worn before, and you like purple, right?"

You looked back down at the dress, taking in the modest bodice and neckline, and the long length of the dress. "I like the design, but I think I'd prefer a lighter color, Fey," you said politely, but grabbed the dress anyway. "I'll try it on, though."

"That sounds fine, we could always get it made in a lilac color if you'd like," Feyre suggested, her hands already moving over more dresses. "You can go put that at the dressing rooms, then come back and look for more, okay?"

You nodded and did as she suggested, returning to her side and half-heartedly looking over the dresses hung in front of you.

Many of them were far too revealing for your comfort, with low necklines and slits up the thigh. You did find a few you thought Feyre may like, gowns that reminded you of the shimmering night sky, and showed them to her when you happened across them.

"Oh, I love this one," Feyre gushed when she saw one you had handed her, this one a dark blue silk with a smattering of silver stars embroidered across the chest and stomach, with a sweetheart neckline. The length of the dress would like reach her mid thigh, and hang just slightly on the tiny bump that was forming on Feyre's stomach. "What do you think?" She asked, holding the dress up to her body. "High Lady of Night enough?"

Even held against her body, the dress looked perfect for her. "Definitely. You should try it on, Fey," you suggested.

"Hmm... I think I will, Y/N. Are you ready to try yours on? I think we've both got a decent number," Feyre said, slowly walking with you to the back of the shop, where the dressing rooms were located.

"I am, I think," you replied, though you were unsure of being anywhere within a ten foot radius of Nesta. Especially if she couldn't find a dress she liked...

Thankfully at the moment, Nesta and Elain were both in their own dressing rooms, trying on whichever ones they had picked out.

You and Feyre entered your own curtained room, the dresses that you had picked out hung on the hooks inside.

A quiet sigh, and you set to undressing yourself. There was no mirror in here, likely to force people out to get recommendations from their friends. The purple dress that Feyre had found was the first you tried on, the soft fabric flowing down your body like water.

It clung too much.

That was your first impression of the dress, even with the modest neckline and hem length. The soft fabric seemed to be molded to your body, and even a cursory feel of your hands over your hips had you wishing you had rejected Feyre's offer to go shopping. You did not want to hear what Nesta would say about the slight show of your bones in the dress.

"Y/N, are you almost done? We're waiting for you," Feyre said softly from the other side of the curtain, and you forced yourself out of the dressing room. "Oh, you look lovely! I think the color looks nice on you," Feyre said kindly, even as her eyes lingered over the sharp edges of your shoulders, the noticeable bump of your hip bones.

"Do you eat?" Nesta asked sharply from across the room, her nose wrinkled as she took you in. "You look like you're still living in poverty, Y/N."

Blood rushed to your cheeks at her words. They were true, though. "I eat. I've just been..." you paused, trying to find a word that wouldn't irritate your sister. "Stressed."

Nesta scoffed, but shut her mouth at a stern look from Feyre.

"The color is nice, Y/N," Elain said weakly. You forced a smile in her direction.

"Thank you, Elain. Your dress is lovely, green is a wonderful color on you," you said, taking in the flowing layers of fabric that made up the skirt of the dress, all in varying shades of dark green.

"Thank you," Elain replied, but moved her gaze to Nesta. "Nes, your dress is gorgeous. I think you should stick with that one, no need to look for others. You look perfect," Elain said excitedly, so different from her reaction to you.

You tried not to let it sting, turning instead to Feyre. She was clad in a floor length dress in black, tiny diamonds sewn on in patterns that you thought were constellations. There was a slit up to her mid thigh on both sides, allowing her to move freely. "This one is beautiful Fey, you look stunning!"

"You think? I still want to try on that last one you picked out, but I really like this one," Feyre said. "Oh, and I may have put an extra dress in your dressing room, please just try it on, I think you'll really like it. It's the pink one on the left hand side. Just, try it," Feyre begged you softly before returning to her dressing room, Nesta and Elain already back in their own.

Your mouth set into a line, you entered the curtained room again. As she said, there was a glittering pink gown hung on the left hand side when you walked in. Your mouth fell into a frown at the neckline.

Entirely too scandalous for you.

But still, you forced yourself to shed the purple dress and shimmy into the pink one as Feyre had asked. The long, flowing sleeves were off the shoulder, connected to the bodice by a small amount of fabric. The neckline of the dress was far lower than you were normally comfortable with, showing more cleavage than you ever had. The dress was loose fitting past your chest, the flowing skirts moving beautifully as you examined them. The pale rose pink of the fabric was one of your favorites, and didn't wash out your complexion. A difficult task, with how pale you are at the moment.

You walked out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirror, assessing the dress. Your shoulders were far too bony, but even so... You felt beautiful in the dress, like a princess. The skirts reached your feet, billowing out around you. The neckline was lower than you wanted... But it looked lovely, and really, wearing one low-necked dress in your lifetime would be fine. A turn in the mirror showed you your prominent scapulae, half hidden by the fabric of the dress. That could be fixed by styling your hair in large ringlets, enough to cover most of your back. But the gown... The gown was lovely.

"Oh, I knew you would look perfect in that one!" Feyre cheered when she exited her dressing room in the dress you had picked for her. "You look amazing! Please tell me this is the one you want?" Feyre asked, standing by you as both of you stared in the mirror.

"You don't think it's too...?" You gestured to the neckline. "Revealing?"

Feyre shook her head. "No, mother no. I've worn much worse, you have nothing to worry about. It's just a little bit different than usual, is all. And it's perfect on you."

You tried to believe Feyre, and you did like the dress...

But then Nesta walked out. Her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled as she gave you a once over, obviously displeased with how you looked.

She was so good at that. Tearing you apart with just one look.

"Your shoulders stick out," Nesta remarked as she took her place in front of the mirror, looking herself over. Her dress was made of shiny silver fabric, a corset in the same fabric serving as the bodice with thick straps wrapping over the tops of her shoulders.

You ignored her comment as best you could. "You look amazing in that dress, Nesta. The corset fits you perfectly."

A cold look over her shoulders, followed by a clipped, "Thank you."

Elain came out of her dressing room last, this time clad in a cream colored dress, looking every bit like the bride she was always destined to be.

"Oh, Elain! You look wonderful!" You said brightly as you took a step toward her, stopping when her gaze hit you- cold as ice. "This one looks very nice on you, but the last one looked amazing too," you said, more nervous now.

"Thanks," she answered coolly, setting her eyes on Feyre. "Feyre, that dress is stunning on you, and very fitting for Starfall."

You nodded in agreement, the dress was perfect for her. And just like you thought, it just barely highlighted the tiny baby bump Feyre had. The sight of it made you smile.

You were overjoyed that your sister had found a loving partner in Rhys, and was looking forward to motherhood.

"Thank you, 'Lain, I really like that it shows my bump just a bit, I think Rhys and I are ready to let our court know that we're expecting at Starfall," Feyre said excitedly, a hand stroking her belly.

"That's amazing, Feyre," Nesta said softly, sounding the kindest she had since they had been taken by Hybern.

"You'll be the talk of Starfall," Elain said, holding Feyre's hands in her own. "I'm so excited for you and Rhys!"

"I don't want to make the biggest deal out of it, after all, it's still early, but... Rhys is so excited about finally being a father, I had to talk him down from telling the Hewn City residents about it last night," Feyre sighed. "I am glad that I'm going to have all of my sisters with me, supporting me along the way, though. Thank you all for coming shopping today," Feyre said tearily.

"Of course, Feyre," you said, taking her in your arms. "We're always going to be by your side."

Elain's arms followed next, barely touching you but clutching Feyre close. "Yeah, Fey, we'll always be with you. Right, Nes?"

"Of course. I will always be here for you, Feyre," Nesta said, and reluctantly wrapped her arms around Feyre and Elain, one hand just barely touching you.

When you all pulled away, Feyre was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. You grabbed tissues from a nearby table, dabbing away the tracks of starlight on her face. "It's okay, Feyre. We're all here."

"I-I know," Feyre sniffled. "I just... I love you all so much. I can't imagine life without any of you." She let you wipe her eyes, dabbing away the last of her tears after she collected herself. "Now, let's try on the rest of the dresses, we shouldn't waste too much of Miss Tarin's time."

The four of you continued to try on dresses, with much of the same behavior. You attempted to compliment your sisters, only to be met with cold responses. If they did talk to you, it was to point out how the dress didn't suit you.

You still chose the pink dress that Feyre had chosen for you, Feyre choosing the blue one that you had picked for her. Nesta picked the silver gown. Elain had taken the longest to decide, eventually choosing the green dress she had tried on first.

Feyre had argued over the payment with Tarin, demanding that she pay full price for the rushed orders, eventually winning the argument. Nesta and Elain had left by that point, taking off to some vague location that contained books.

That left you and Feyre, walking slowly across the bridge that would lead you to the Rainbow. She wanted to look at paints, and maybe get something special for the canvases that you had gotten her.

And that's how you found yourself entering Irina's shop once more, your heartbeat kicking up when you realized it. Feyre led you to the wall of paint, her fingers hovering over the tubes as she searched for the colors she wanted.

Soft footsteps approached from the back of the shop, and you were met with Irina, her face just as beautiful as you remembered, her smile just as warm.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, Feyre and Y/N, it's lovely to see both of you," Irina's smooth voice said. "You came in just in time, I was about to close up early."

"Lucky us!" Feyre said, eyes still glued to the paint tubes. "Any special occasion?" She asked Irina teasingly as she pulled a few out of the selection.

"Oh, hush you," Irina scolded, swatting Feyre gently on the arm. "You know that I have a date with Rivin tonight."

Oh.

Your heart sank.

"Well, I wanted to make sure the plans were still on! You know I was rooting for the two of you to get together," Feyre said. You grabbed the paint tubes she had picked up from her, pushing her slender hand away when she attempted to take them back. Your fingers rolled over the cap, giving you a sensation to focus on besides your crushed... crush. "The way the two of you danced around each other since I first met you was adorable- I'm so glad you're going out now!"

"Well, I'll only be able to go out with her if you choose what you want soon, or she'll think I stood her up!" Irina laughed, her skin shifting colors under the light.

"Oh, fine, fine," Feyre said, pulling out three more tubes of paint, all shimmering metallic shades. You followed her as she followed Irina to the back counter, placing the tubes on it. Soon enough, the paints were rung up and bagged, and clutched tightly in your arms. "Thank you, Irina. I hope your date goes well."

"Oh, I do as well!" Irina said as she walked the two of you out of the store, locking the door behind her. "I hope the two of you have a lovely rest of your day as well."

"You as well, Irina," you said quietly, nodding your head to her before she turned to leave. She flashed you a dazzling smile, her eyes a bright pink today.

So pretty.

"I'll see the two of you around!" She yelled, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

You and Feyre began the walk home, arms linked together one more, your other balancing the bag of paint.

"How do you know Irina?" Feyre asked once you were crossing the Sidra, taking careful penguin steps so neither of you would fall on the slippery bricks.

Color rushed to your cheeks, though they were already pink from the cold. "Oh, I went into her shop to get one of your birthday presents. The canvases and all," you explained.

"Ahh, that makes sense. She's nice, and she has a great selection!" Feyre said excitedly as the two of you passed through the door of the River House. "I cannot wait to start the first three panels! I'm not quite through my third month yet, but I know some of what I want to do for it."

"I'm glad you like it Fey! I can't wait to see what you make for each one." You kicked off your boots after unlacing them, and let Feyre pull your jacket off your arms, you doing the same for her after. "I think I'm going to head up to my room," you said quietly after you hung up your coats and put your boots on the rack.

"Oh, alright. I... I hope you didn't feel too uncomfortable while shopping," Feyre said. You knew what she meant: with Nesta and Elain.

"I was... fine," you lied half-heartedly.

Feyre stared at you, and you would have thought she was reading your mind, but you didn't feel anything similar. "If you say so. You know you can talk to me, right?" You nodded. "Okay... Well, I'll let you get to your room. Did you want me to start water for tea? I was going to make a cup for myself anyway," Feyre offered, a soft smile on her face.

You nodded again. "That would be nice, thank you, Fey."

Feyre's smile broadened. "I'll see you in the kitchen, sissy."

You went to your room to grab another packet of tea from the sampler Azriel had gotten you- so far, you were a fan of every blend he had chosen. You were hoping today's choice of a rose petal tea would be just as lovely.

The trip back to the kitchen was quick, with no sign of your other two sisters. Good. You weren't in the mood to see their sneering faces again so soon.

Tea was made quickly, thanks to Feyre boiling water for you. You gave her a hug before returning upstairs, tray balanced in your arms.

Just before you opened your door, the door to Rhys's study swung open, Azriel emerging from it.

Oh!

He came down the hallway, and once he was near the stairs you finally got your brain to move past your anxiety of starting a conversation.

"Hi, Azriel, would you uhm... Would you wait here for just a moment?" You asked. "I have that Solstice present I got for you."

"Alright," Azriel replied quietly, moving closer to your doorway. You went inside quickly, fishing the already wrapped box out from under your bed, and a moment later you were back in front of him, offering the gift to him.

"Open it," you said, pushing the box into his hands.

Soon enough, the dagger was in his hands, his fingers running over the inlaid crescent moon made of sapphires, then over the blade itself. "This is wonderful, Y/N, thank you," Azriel said, sincerity in his tone. "I happen to have gotten a gift for you as well." A moment later, shadows materialized, depositing a festive, glittery evergreen tree colored bag in his hand.

"Oh, Azriel, you didn't have to-"

"Open it," Azriel said simply, transferring the handles over to your hand in a quick movement.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, but opened the bag. Inside was a beautiful, hooded cloak that would reach at least your mid back, made of a soft, white yarn. Beneath it was a matching scarf, little tassels on the ends, and a pair of mittens. They even had a small button on the top, allowing for the and of the mitten to be lifted and become a sleeveless glove if needed.

"Its made of rabbit fur," Azriel said quietly as you ran your fingers over the fabric. You looked up at with him with wide eyes. "Oh- they just brush or shave the rabbits, don't worry, no fluffy creatures were killed in the making of your gift," Azriel reassured you.

You let out a breath of relief. "Good. Good. It's a beautiful present, Azriel, thank you. Could I- could I give you a hug?" You asked nervously, regretting the question the moment you asked it. "I mean, you don't have to-"

"That would be fine." You blinked up at him. That would be- You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around him, noticing how stiff he was for the first few seconds before relaxing, his own arms coming up around you.

He smelled nice. Like cedar wood and... And night? Whatever it was, it was nice. Calming.

You both retracted your arms at the same time, pulling apart. A soft smile at him and one last thank you, and then you were in your room once more.

You were happy that he liked your present, but the slight wash of warmth it had given you was quickly chased away by the rest of your day.

Nesta and Elain... You were sure that they would never look at you like a sister again.

And Irina... It was such a silly crush that you had, based almost entirely on how pretty she was. You had been taken with her instantly, yes, breath catching in your throat. But that... That meant nothing.

Especially with you still being... Human. Frail. Less than a century from dying.

No fae, no matter how they looked, would ever take you as their wife, that you were sure of. You only had a couple of decades left of looking youthful, and perhaps only a few more past that before illness would inevitably take you.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat at your desk, a cup of tea poured out in the next moment.

At least tea could never not choose you...

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next week and a half passed dreadfully slowly, spent mostly in the solitude of your room.

Feyre came by when she could make time, the two of you sharing a pot of tea and the occasional snacks that she would bring.

Mor was stuck in the Hewn City, all the way until the morning of Starfall, when she would have a slight reprieve. She had already promised to come and spend the morning with you to get ready and catch up.

But until then, or until Feyre could make time... You stuck to your room.

Apparently your giving a joint present to Nesta and Cassian, and Elain and Lucien cause some extra anger in the two of them towards you. Nesta's glare had seemed extra fiery, and Elain had appeared perched on Lucien's lap more often than not when you did happen to wander into the living room.

You tried not to let it get to you, you did... But between the extra tension at home and the sadness in your heart from your silly little crush... It was weighing you down.

The days ticked past, counting down to an event that you weren't particularly excited for...

The morning of Starfall arrived, bringing with it the bright ball of energy that was Mor.

"Y/N!" Mor shouted, startling you awake. "Wake up! Wake up wake up! I'm here, I'm here. Please. Wake up. I've missed you!"

"Oh my gods, Mor, I'm awake," you groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes. "Do you know a gentle way to wake people up?" You asked as you sat up, pushing your hair away from your face.

"Mm, not really. But, my way is super effective," Mor said cheekily, grinning when you stood up in the tub to glare at her with no fire in your eyes. "Come over here, sweets," she demanded, patting the bed next to her. You went over to her, collapsing onto the bed next to her, and swatted at her with a pillow in revenge for her waking you so abruptly. "So, how have the past two weeks been for you?"

"Oh... You know... Boring..." You said quietly. "How's it been for you? Is everyone behaving?"

Mor narrowed her eyes at you for a brief moment, before accepting your change of subject. "Oh, most everyone has been fine... I've been trying very hard to change the city's voting system plus helping plan their Starfall event, so my hands have been full every waking moment. And Keir has been an absolute pain..." Mor sighed. "He doesn't like that he's losing most of his control by the city moving to a full population vote rather than just the nobles, but it's going to happen whether he likes it or not. But for me, that just means him being more of an ass."

"I'm sorry Mor. I wish that someone else was able to help you..."

"Feyre offered, but, well, with her being pregnant that's not the best idea. And I'm sure Amren would enjoy going solely to terrify the citizens, but that's not exactly... What we're aiming for. And I can do it, and I will, I just wish my stupid father wasn't a factor." Mor sighed dramatically and flopped back on your bed, arms flung out to the sides.

One smacked into your thigh and you laughed, pushing it off of you and back over to Mor's side. "I know something that will cheer you up," you offered.

"Oh?" Mor asked, peeking over at you. "And what would that be?"

"Doing our skincare!" You answered brightly, using the same tactic that she always did with you.

"Oh, I should have guessed!" Mor giggled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweets. Let's get to it!"

"Wait- let me take a quick bath first, and then I'll be all ready for it."

Mor nodded. "That sounds fine, I'll go make some tea and grab some breakfast for us."

The morning moved quickly from there- too quickly, in your opinion, your alone time with Mor slipping away so fast. After you had bathed, the two of you did your skincare, doing an extra mask and moisturizer to give yourselves an extra glow.

Into the second pot of tea Mor started doing your makeup once she had seen your dress. She spent nearly an hour on you alone, taking her time to perfect your eyeshadow and lipstick, getting just the right about of blush coloring your cheeks. You felt beautiful, seeing yourself like that in the mirror.

Mor's own makeup didn't take near as long, but she was even more beautiful than usual, with the extra time she had put in.

The two of you spent a bit more time together before she had to leave and return to the Hewn City for a bit longer, to make sure their celebration started smoothly.

"I'll see you at the House of Wind later, yes?" Mor asked before she left your room, a stern eye on you.

You sighed. "Yes, Mor, I will see you at the House of Wind. I won't skip out on the celebration, I promise."

Mor nodded in approval. "Good. I'll see you in a few hours, Y/N."

She breezed out of your room, leaving you alone once again.

You sighed, and sat down on your bed. Then collapsed back onto it.

Just a few more hours, and your anxious anticipation could subside.

Starfall would be fine this year. You will stay away from Nesta, Elain, and their mates, and instead stick around Feyre, Mor, and possibly Azriel, if he didn't seem too annoyed by your presence.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Four hours later, you were dressed and ready to leave for the House of Wind. Your hair was half pinned up by the hairpin you had bought yourself, half left down in loose curls that conveniently covered most of the bones in your back.

There was little you could do to cover your shoulders, what with the style of the dress, but you felt pretty nonetheless. The gown had been taken in slightly, just enough to fit more snugly and leave you feeling more comfortable with such an exposed neckline, more secure. And the way the skirts flowed around your feet made you feel more graceful than you were.

Overall, you felt decent about yourself tonight. Your hair had cooperated, not making you late for the start of the event by taking too long to style. And the makeup that Mor had done was perfect, just enough to enhance your natural features.

You had even opted for heels tonight, little sparkly silver boots that Feyre had gotten for you, in case you wanted something more than flats to wear.

When you finally left your room, you made your way downstairs where Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel were waiting in the entryway, seemingly for you.

"Oh, Y/N, you look beautiful!" Feyre exclaimed when she caught sight of you, rushing over to pull you into her arms. "I just love this dress on you!"

"Yes, both of you look lovely, but Feyre...?" Rhys started.

"Oh, shoot! We need to get going, Y/N, but Azriel will take you up to the House when you're ready!" Feyre said brightly, leaving the house a moment later and letting her mate take her in his arms, shooting of into the sky together.

Your heart dropped. Flying? You had only flown a few times, usually to get to the House of Wind as you would be tonight. It still terrified you as badly as it did on the first time, leaving you shaking every time.

"Are you ready to leave?" Azriel asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, and followed him outside, even as you felt like your heart was in your throat at the prospect of flying.

He gently pulled you into his arms, one hooked beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. Your arms instinctively flew around his neck, ready to hold on for dear life.

Not that you didn't trust Azriel to keep you alive, just... You weren't made for flying, you don't think.

The push off from the ground had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut tight. You could feel your heart racing, trying to leave your chest as you were overtaken by fear.

"You look beautiful tonight," Azriel said, his deep voice in your ear causing your eyes to snap open.

"You don't have to lie..."

Azriel let out a soft breath. "I'm not lying, you look beautiful tonight. Pink is your color, I believe," He said, his voice right in your ear again. Color rushed to your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled- small, but there.

A moment later, he had landed solidly on the ground, carefully placing you on your feet.

You'd nearly forgotten you had been flying.

Soon after distancing yourself from him, Rhys rushed over to pull him away for some reason or another. Which left you standing alone in the House of Wind, for the first time since Bounty Day.

Anxiety grew in your gut again, making you feel queasy.

Especially when you saw the feast, laid out over that same massive dining table.

You turned away from the banquet, navigating instead to Feyre's side. Already she was surrounded by a few citizens, but you were able to make your way in for a hug from your sister. Soon though, far more crowded in, and following the arrival of Rhys you broke away from your sister, no longer feeling welcome next to them.

You wandered off, searching for Mor in the ever growing sea of people, with no luck yet.

Azriel, the other person you knew that could be safe to talk to, was occupied talking to a very pretty redhead, and also next to Nesta and Cassian.

Definitely a no.

After a while, you filled a small plate with food, picking at the smoked meats, cheeses, and some pieces of fruit until you couldn't stand it anymore, taking the plate back into the kitchens.

Back here, it was quieter. A few stragglers were wandering in and out between the balconies nearby, but you paid them no mind as you got a glass of cool water from the sink.

You let yourself take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, to bring yourself out of your anxiety. It helped, but not much.

It was enough to allow you to wander back out into the party, passing more than enough males who eyed you up and down, leaving you nervous. You were almost tempted to grab a glass of wine, but you knew all that was provided was faerie wine, something that you never wanted to try after hearing some of Feyre's tales involving it.

You knew this dress was a mistake. A beautiful one, yes, but it left you feel exposed unlike every before.

Every few minutes, you circled back to where Feyre was, seeing if there was an opportunity for you to ask her to take you back to the River House, or have someone take you back. But every time you passed, there was somehow more people crowded around Feyre and her mate.

Mor was nowhere to be seen two hours into the party, leaving you adrift in the sea of fae that had overtaken the House of Wind. You were overwhelmed and feeling so alone, the noise of the party drowning out any coherent thoughts you could have.

Just make it to the Starfall, and you can go.

That's what you told yourself for an hour as you continued your slow circles of the main rooms, attempting to find Mor or see if Feyre was available. No luck for you, though.

Cheers erupted as the first streaks of glowing green overtook the sky, giving you your cue to leave.

You didn't care that it was cold and snowy out, you just needed away from the noise, the lights, the everything that always surrounded you.

The stairs were hell in your heeled boots, but you dealt with them, forcing yourself to go one step at a time. By some miracle, you didn't fall, merely ending the massive flight of stairs by sitting down at the bottom to catch your breath.

Tears had begun falling down your cheeks at some point, driven by the cold and how lonely you feel, how forgotten you felt yet again.

You finally pushed yourself off of the cold stone, the bottom of your dress now wet with snow.

The forest would give you the peace you wanted, though you wouldn't venture near as far as you had last time. No, tonight you just wanted a bit of peace, a bit of time with only natural light shining upon you, even if it was enhanced by the cosmic phenomenon going on above you.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the forest in your sights. A sigh of relief left you as you saw the trees, so reminiscent of the ones you had grown up near.

And then you crashed into a wall.

"What the-?" You rubbed at your nose, attempting to soothe the pain of crashing into- whatever you had crashed into. You held your hands out, shocked to find that they rested perfectly on an invisible force in front of you. Nothing that you tried let your hands pass that point, and a kick at the area led to the same results- a foot that you knew would hurt badly in the morning.

You couldn't believe it.

They had locked. You. In. They had taken any amount of freedom you could have, no matter how fleeting it would inevitably be.

Ice cold rage and swells of disappointment left you a sobbing mess as you stumbled away from the wall of your cage, following the Sidra with no true destination in mind.

You would not be going back to that house. You couldn't. Not when- when... Not when Feyre had okayed you being locked inside of the city like nothing more than a pet, like you weren't a person with feelings and needs and desires.

You were sick of being alone, sick of feeling alone even in a sea of people. You had no one who was just yours. And that would never change in Velaris, would never change unless you were around humans once more.

"Y/N!" A warm voice said, drawing your eyes from the snow covered ground to the person it came from. "How did the recipe I gave you turn out? Good?" Sevenda asked, her smile turning to a frown when she saw your tear covered, blotchy face. "Is everything okay, dear?"

Another sob left your lips, despite your attempts to quiet it. "I- I- No," you managed to get out.

"Oh, come in here for a minute, Y/N, you're freezing!" Sevenda said, pulling you into the back of her restaurant. She pushed a cup of tea in front of you, which you gladly accepted, your fingers warming instantly from the mug. "Did you want to talk about it?" She asked after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, but sighed and answered anyways. "I just... I don't belong in that house, I don't belong in Velaris... I can't... I can't keep pretending like I do, acting like I'm happy to be there... I need..." You sighed again. "I need out of there." And then an idea struck you. "I- I know this would be a lot to ask, and that you likely don't need help from a human but... Do you happen to need help here? I could do anything you need, I just..." You trailed off.

"You need out?" Sevenda asked, sympathy on her face and in her voice. "Well, I did lose one of my prep cooks to the Continent recently, he went to study new styles of cooking. If you are serious about this, I will have you show up at nine tomorrow morning. Okay, dear?"

You nodded your head vigorously. "I would be so grateful, Sevenda, truly, thank you so much." You let the older fae pull you into her arms, the gentle hug enough to stop your tears for the moment.

"Are you going to be alright, dear?" She asked once she pulled away, looking you in the eyes. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the moment. "Okay. Let me get you a cup of tea to go, and you should go straight home, hmm?"

You let her do just that, accepting the hot jasmine tea in a lidded cup that she made you promise to bring back in the morning. After saying goodbye, you set off in the opposite direction of the River House.

No matter how cold you were, you didn't feel like going back there yet.

Some time later, you found yourself on a cliffside, overlooking the bay of Velaris. Your tea was long gone by now, any warmth it had given you gone with it.

The rocks down below looked so inviting, as though they would welcome you in an instant. You let out a long, heavy breaths, tears beginning to flow again.

You wish you had the strength to jump.

Instead, you sat on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the side. The snow underneath you was frigid, leaving you colder than before. But still, you sat and watched the waves, and listened to the crash on the rocks below.

"Y/N?" A deep voice asked from behind you, but you paid it no mind. Maybe they would leave you alone. "Y/N?" The voice asked again. After another length of silence from you, the person took another approach, and sat next to you instead, their own long legs dangling over the edge. A warmth behind you, and less wind hitting you after the male readjusted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You still didn't answer.

Instead, you were surprised by gentle hands winding a scarf around your neck in two loops, then a cloak being fastened over your head and buttoned in the front, and finally a pair of mittens slid over your hand.

Azriel didn't make you talk, didn't make you do anything. He simply let you take the time you needed to recover, to stop your tears.

A while later, the waves started to lull you to sleep, your head tilting to the side until Azriel pulled it to his arm, letting you rest against him. Your eyes fluttered shut, your cheek soaking in the warmth of him, even through the hood of your cloak.

It was only when you nearly pitched forward off the cliff that Azriel insisted on taking you back to the River House, or at least to a café where you could warm up.

"I suppose..." your voice cracked. "That going back to the River House would be... fine... for now," you whispered, glad that he didn't force you to speak any more. A moment later and you were pulled through shadows, similarly to how Nuala and Cerridwen travelled but... different in a way. Almost warmer, you would say.

The two of you appeared in front of your bedroom door, the warm air shocking your skin and making you feel clammy.

"I'll have my shadows bring you a pot of tea, feel free to take a bath or change so you can warm up, Y/N. I hope you have a better night that it has been so far," Azriel said quietly before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Azriel," you croaked just before he turned to go down the stairs. He gave you a small smile and nodded before continuing on his way.

You entered your bedroom, tears falling almost instantly once you were alone again. You forced yourself to strip, hanging up the pink gown to dry and setting your sparkly boots near the door. The bath felt soothing, at least, warming you to the core by the time you got out.

And there, awaiting you on your desk, was a fresh pot of the lavender and chamomile tea that you preferred for sleep.

A few extra tears fell at that small act of kindness, and you helped yourself to a still steaming cup of it, settling into the armchair that you had perpetually pulled near your window, a throw blanket across your body.

Sleep claimed you before you had even finished your second cup of tea.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao

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[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER SIX: she’s my collar

masterlist

i made a playlist for this specific chapter! check it out

cw - very suggestive, mentions of alcohol/club scene, mature themes !

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Nobara muttered as she emerged from the sleek black Mercedes, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the pavement. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill that cut through the night air.

You pulled your faux cheetah-print coat tightly around herself, desperately seeking any warmth to stave off the biting cold. The regret of wearing a mini skirt settled heavily in your chest as the chill seeped through the fabric.

A biting breeze swept through the group as they piled out of the car, their breath visible in the crisp air. They made their way toward the building illuminated in vibrant LED lights, the name "Aphrodite" glowing in an elegant script above the entrance.

Your gaze fell on the line, a serpentine stretch of eager faces winding around the block and bending around a corner. “The line is so fucking long, bro,” you groaned, frustration lacing your voice.

“Don’t worry,” Panda replied absently, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, fingers tapping away with a rapid rhythm.

Maki arched an eyebrow, her attention shifting to Panda. “Yuta is here too,” she said, a teasing note in her tone.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if that meant anything significant, but your question was abruptly cut off by a loud, boisterous shout.

“BRO!” a familiar voice rang out, echoing through the night. A white-haired boy emerged from the shadows, his vibrant presence lighting up the crowd.

He approached Panda, effortlessly slipping into a familiar handshake that you had witnessed countless times before. Next, he turned to Maki and Nobara, greeting them with warm, polite hugs, each one filled with camaraderie.

Then, his gaze settled on you, his eyes assessing you from head to toe. He stepped closer, wrapping you in a longer embrace, leaning in to whisper, “You look good.” The words lingered in the air as he pulled away, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Turning back to the bouncer, he declared confidently, “They’re with me.” With a gentle tug, he took your hand, guiding you and the group inside, where the warmth and energy of the club settled, wavered to meet them.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warmth and pulsating music flooded over them, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your gaze was immediately drawn to a figure dressed entirely in black, standing near the entrance, seemingly lost in concentration as he studied something written on a piece of paper.

You noticed two beauty spots nestled just above his eyebrows, creating an intriguing contrast against his sharp features. “Huh,” you thought to yourself, curiosity piqued.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. A subtle smile curved his lips as he offered them a nod, granting approval for them to venture further into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue.

“Yuji’s been so excited to see you again, Yn,” Toge slurred, his words slightly fuzzy, hinting at the drinks he had already indulged in.

They navigated through the bustling crowd to the VIP booth, where three silhouettes lounged comfortably in deep, luxurious velvet seats, their relaxed postures radiating a carefree vibe.

“Yn!” the pink-haired figure shouted, bounding over with infectious energy. He enveloped you in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne mingling with the rich aroma of the venue. Behind you, the others dispersed, finding their place among the group with casual ease.

“God, it’s been so long! You look incredible!” he exclaimed, stepping back to admire her. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at the compliment. But as you turned to respond, your gaze inadvertently drifted over his shoulder. There, a familiar figure leaned casually against the wall, his eyes fixated on you. He drank you in, the intensity of his stare making her heart race, even as he casually swigged from his beer, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

“Come on, we need to take our traditional six shots!” Yuji said with infectious enthusiasm, grasping your hand and leading you through the thrumming crowd toward the bar. He slid onto a barstool, gesturing for you to join him with an inviting smile.

As he chatted cheerfully with the bartender, his energy radiated around you. He ordered the customary six shots for both of you, but your thoughts drifted back to Megumi and the way he had been staring earlier. Was it just the atmosphere, or did he really look that good? Hold on—were you actually finding him attractive? The guy who seemed like he spent too much time watching stepcest?

“...up.” You snapped back to reality at Yuji’s voice. Looking up, you were met with his bright, doe-like light brown eyes, sparkling with excitement. In front of you stood an array of colorful shots—twelve, to be exact each one a different hue, glinting invitingly in the bar’s dim light.

“BOTTOMS UP!” he shouted, already downing his first shot. A playful smirk spread across your face; there was no way you were going to let him finish first. You swiftly tossed back the first shot, the bitter liquid searing the back of your throat, but it was a thrill that sent warmth coursing through you. This was light work.

With each shot, the world around you faded into a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. You quickly moved through the shots, feeling the exhilarating buzz rise within you. Soon, you found yourself on your last one, placing the empty glass down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You glanced at Yuji, who was just finishing his own final shot.

“Still can’t outdo you yet, huh?” he said, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of admiration and playful challenge.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, a hand pressed firmly against your back, sending a jolt of surprise through you. The warmth of the touch felt intimate, and you turned slightly to find a figure looming behind you. A husky voice cut through the air, rich and smooth, as it said, “Can I borrow her for a second?” The tone was both commanding and playful, drawing your attention away from Yuji and into the mystery of the newcomer.

The air around you was instantly infused with the intoxicating scent of the mystery man’s cologne—a deep, sophisticated aroma that reminded you of Maison Margiela. You turned to get a better look, your heart racing as you were met with his piercing green eyes, which seemed to draw you in.

Meanwhile, Yuji sat there, momentarily confused as he processed the situation, glancing between you and the newcomer. But with a shrug and a grin, he waved goodbye, calling out, “Find me later!” before making his way to the dance floor, his energy lighting up the room.

As Yuji disappeared into the crowd, Megumi smoothly slid into the spot where he had just been sitting. You rested your chin on your hand, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

“I hope you’re here to apologise,” you said playfully, flicking away an invisible speck from the counter. He met your gaze with a smirk that seemed to reveal a mix of amusement and confidence. Was that his go-to expression? Because right now, it was definitely starting to look punchable.

“Apologise for what? The truth?” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence as he raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, eager for a shot.

“Slut-shaming isn’t a good look for your reputation,” you countered, letting out a frustrated sigh. He was undeniably attractive, but the way he spoke was quickly drying up your pussy and killing your mood.

“Intrigue me, Yn,” he said, his sultry tone wrapping around you like a warm breeze. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“If I fuck you tonight, what number will that make me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you silently pray he doesn’t notice. Just then, the bartender sets the shot down between you, and you seize the opportunity to reclaim the upper hand.

You grip his jaw, guiding his face closer until your lips are mere centimeters apart. You glance between his lips and his eyes, feeling the tension crackle in the air.

“Oh, baby, don’t you know? I don’t fuck virgins,” you whisper, releasing your grip on his face as you down his shot and head toward the dance floor.

You weave your way toward the dance floor, each step a little unsteady as the pulsating music and vibrant lights overwhelm your senses. The crowd swells around you, a sea of bodies moving in sync, but the energy feels like too much to handle. Frustration and anger churn inside you. Fuck that was your seventh shot. You were no longer thinking with your head but with your vagina instead.

You weave through the pulsating crowd, your gaze searching for the perfect target. When did you become so needy? Finally, you spot the familiar salmon-haired boy from earlier, and a smile flickers across your lips. “At least it’s not a stranger this time,” you think, navigating through the bodies that sway and jostle around you.

As you approach, an unexpected wave of self-doubt washes over you. Was he always this tall? His shoulders seem broader, more defined, and the tattoos that snake down his arms catch your eye—when did he get those? You dismiss the thoughts, blaming the alcohol for your hazy perception.

Raising yourself onto your toes, you gently tap him on the shoulder, but the moment he turns around, a rush of regret floods in. His imposing figure towers over you, and a sense of horror grips your chest as you realise this is definitely not Yuji.

“Doll?” his deep voice resonates, cutting through the din of the club, leaving you momentarily speechless as you look up, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. You freeze. You can’t move. Why can’t you move?

The all-too-familiar pet name washes over you, and a torrent of memories floods your mind, each one more vivid than the last. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Suddenly, you feel hands grip your shoulders, pulling you away from the man, away from the chaotic atmosphere of the club, and guiding you outside into the cool night air.

As you slip into the car, the reality hits you: Nobara, Maki, and Panda are all there, their concerned faces surrounding you. In an instant, the dam breaks, and you begin to bawl, the emotions you’ve kept buried for so long surging to the surface like a tidal wave. You lean your head into Maki’s lap, feeling the comforting weight of her presence as she gently brushes your hair back from your face.

Nobara’s soothing touch caresses your skin, her fingers rubbing your back in gentle circles. “Shhh, let it out,” she murmurs softly. “You’re safe with us now.” Their unwavering support wrapping around you like a warm blanket, allowing you to release the pent-up feelings that had been longing for freedom. And then, just like that, darkness fills your vision.

extras!

• the aphrodite nightclub was a reeference dedicated to my beloved ree and her hq series ‘poker face’ you should definitely check it out here! @aozui thank u once again <3

• omi sneak in there if you squint

• i imagine aphrodite having the same vibe as the percy jackson casino scene highkey

• hm what does spotify have planned out with tridant i wonder…

• madagascar 3 is my shit guys i would watch it RELIGIOUSLY (maybe i am yn guys idk)

• why does the whole band want us idk we’re just hot like that

• it’s all platonic though guys trust LMFAO

• solstice is a reference to my upcoming spiderman kuroo au btw shhhh #shamlesspromoter

• i threw in the toge and panda texts just for fun LMFAO

• a lot of tridant’s gc texts were actually me and abi’s twitter texts LMFAO (ily abi)

• toge is never crowd surfing again after tonight.

• their set was a total of 1 hour and 49 minutes long (yn secretly enjoyed it and was lowkey fangirling)

• guys i had a field day with the written portion SPECIFICALLY THAT ONE QUOYE

• i hope u all listened to the playlist <3 (pls it’s important)

• yn’s ex is…. SUKUNA?

• to beepboplorpz’s ask that’s still in my inbox currently abt when sukuna would debut HERE HE IS😭

• sukuna’s backstory will be mentioned in the next following chapters..

• panda saw yn going to sukuna and INSTANTLY went to intervene #truefriendeventhohesfat

• yn blacked out in the car if it wasn’t obvious

• megumi was lowkey searching for her on the floor because he thought he was too harsh on her (he cared)

a/n: sorry the chapter is a bit behind schedule but it’s so worth it😭 this was fan service for the thirsty megumi asks so i hope you all eat this up because it took me so long to perfect !! anyways it’s still sunday so it does count… see yall next weekend!! <3 (apologies to my beta readers i was in a rush and wanted this one out but trust im returning back to schedule next week!!)

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @anqelfries @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yomamablazeit @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho

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[mikkomacko]

Him and I - 14

Famiglia

Mob Boss! Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of death

Previous chapter

Masterlist

A/n: Ok this chapter is a lot shorter than I usually do but it’s because sort of a transition chapter. I promise to be quicker about getting the next chapter out. Thanks for reading!

____________________________________________

Nico’s got way too much on his mind.

In the months since Switzerland, it’s like he can never catch up. Updates on Luca attempting to track down Rino come in, though they lead nowhere. The wound on his arm from Vancouver heals and Jack and Luke move on like nothing happened. The Pinterest board for wedding planning grows and grows, lists of vendors and themes get tacked up to the fridge or left in the drawer of his desk. You fully take up your role with Hischier Enterprises, settle into the spot in the Devils that’s been waiting for you. And that night you saved Nico from the Rangers? The one that sealed your readiness for said role comes back to Nico more than he’d like.

Small rumors of contracts and deals that he doesn’t like, the paranoid behavior of Trouba, all of it putting Nico on edge. Even though nothing has really happened in months, he knows something is off.

Something he should be looking into right now.

Except he can’t look through Haula’s last report of the Rangers with you like this. Because no matter how pressing work is, how direly he needs to focus on that, you’re always first, always on the forefront of his mind.

You come first.

In every way possible.

“I’ve got you baby, come on.” He grunts, splaying his hand over your belly, thumb stretching down to your puffy clit. He starts drawing tight little circles, groaning when your pussy tightens around him, both of you so close to the edge. You first though, you come first.

“Supposed to be a reward for you,” you pant against his mouth, heavy eyes filled with laughter underneath the arousal darkening them. “Didn’t stall once today.”

Nico laughs, breathless and rough and kisses you again, his left arm pulling you in closer. Not that you weren’t already close to him, cramped in the backseat of the new Camaro that goes parked in the garage at the house.

His learning car, you’d called it. Even if it’s far too nice and expensive to be a car one learns to drive in. You loved it at the dealer, said it was just like the one you learned to drive and how could he say no to the sight of you in the passenger seat, smiling all pretty for him.

“M’not going to now either,” he promises, puckering a line of wet kisses to your jaw, following a path to the sensitive spot under your ear. “So you better fucking drench me first baby.”

You moan at his biting tone, the command a low rumble in your ear and you wrap your arms around his neck, head tilting forward to press against his temple. You bounce on him only a handful more times, grinding into the pad of his thumb with it before your whole body goes taut.

Still pulsing on him, Nico buries his face in the crook of your neck, arms around your waist and holds you still as he fucks up into you, chasing his own high. You go all soft and limp in his hold, fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of his neck and your voice is sweet in his ear when you speak.

“Please come for me Nico, need it baby, please.”

He comes with a shudder, chest arching into yours as he trembles with it. You keep combing through his hair, the other hand running down his back that grew damp with sweat against the leather seats. Not the most comfortable of feelings, but in his defense he didn’t think about the interior of the car for this purpose when he bought it.

“That’s it Neeky,” you coo, kissing at his hairline all tender and warm, like him painting your pussy white in the back of a car is the most romantic thing he’s ever done. “Feels so good.”

He hums in satisfaction, brain still a little too fuzzy to say anything right now. Instead he presses his lips to your neck and shoulder, passing over your slipping bra strap as he goes.

If you’d told Nico weeks ago that his new car would have more miles in the back seat than on the road, he wouldn’t have been shocked, but he probably would’ve laughed. At least before thinking practically about the fact that his legs are a little too long for the backseat and unlike the bigger SUVs, he can’t lay you down in this one.

“Mmm need to head home soon,” he sighs, slumping back into the seat, his hands holding your waist lovingly. You shift back on his thighs, sucking in a breath at the drag of his softening cock on your sensitive walls.

“I don’t want to go home,” you mumble, trailing your hands down his chest, one pausing to catch the pendant resting there. “Want to stay here with you.”

Nico smiles, cupping the side of your face and drawing you in for a kiss. If there’s one thing you haven’t liked about how packed Nico’s schedule has been lately, it’s that the downtime you used to spend getting lunch with him or dropping off coffee or checking in after jobs is now filled.

It’s been rare that he’s gotten to see you during the work day and even if he’s been lenient with allowing you to make him late in the mornings, it doesn’t make up for it. He misses you, you miss him, and it’s obvious now why you want to keep him in this abandoned lot for as long as possible.

As soon as he returns the car home, he’s gotta get in the other one and head to work for the day. And you’ve got to get ready for your packed day too. He thought that these late morning driving lessons with you would quell some of that, that spending a couple hours teaching him stick and then riding him in the backseat for a job well done would be enough.

Even if this has become your new routine, and he does look forward to having you on his dick after sitting there and acting like you reminding him to hit the clutch doesn’t turn him on beyond belief, it’s not the same. For either of you.

“I’d take you with me if I could baby,” he promises, pecking at your lips again “carry you around in my pocket all day.”

You give him a girlish giggle, cheeks blooming with color as you fiddle with his pendent. “Yeah? Which pocket?”

He nudges your nose with his, humming in thought and his heart swelling in his chest when you excitedly bite at your bottom lip. “The one right here,” he decides, laying his hand over yours and dragging it over until your fingers rest over his left pec. “Nice and safe, right next to my heart.”

“What about when you’re not wearing your flannel?”

He scoffs with disbelief, “I’d wear it everyday to keep you right there baby.”

Laughing delightedly, you lean in to kiss him again, pressing your palm into his beating heart like you’re trying to reach in and physically pet at it.

“Are you really busy today?” You ask him after a beat, lips pulled down a bit as you trail your fingers over his happy trail, almost shy with it.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “gotta a meeting with Lee out on the island. Then some stuff with Haula and Jonas about the Rags.”

Dejectedly, you hum. He tucks your hair behind your ear, cupping the back of your neck until you blink up at him, apprehensively still fiddling with the patch of hair on his stomach. It would tickle if he weren’t so worried about you, about how you deflated at the mention of him leaving Jersey for the day. Maybe it’s Timo being gone too, your old habits coming back and making you insecure about being without the two of them for the day. Or maybe it’s just personal, the clinginess you’ve both been trying to fight since Vancouver making you like this.

“You can call me if you need anything, you know that right?”

You nod, chest rising as you inhale deeply and puff out a strong breath of air that warms his skin underneath you.

He squeezes your neck, waits for you to melt into his hold the way you always do. “I mean it baby. Anything. Trip will be quick, S’just basic stuff and then I’ll be here all day for everything else. Here for you.”

“I know Nico,” you nod, lips twitching into a grateful smile and he draws you in so he can brush kisses the corners of it.

“Keep Moose with you all day,” he reminds, just to make himself feel better. “and Dawson too. Know you have a couple things to do without him but he stays with you for the rest, got it?”

“Yes boss,” you purr, words hot when they hit his mouth and you kiss him again. He pats at your hip in praise, nodding towards the door.

“We gotta go baby. Before I start getting hard again.”

Your eyes light up with interest, glinting mischievously and you pout your bottom lip at him. “Or we stay and have another round?”

He groans when you drag your hand over his chest, fingers brushing his nipple and you sink a little lower on his lap. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, ya know that?”

“With who?” You say teasingly, “Because the only person in charge of you is me and I really want to make you come again.”

Nico can’t argue with that one.

~~~~

A crystal glass of orange juice and champagne in hand, you sink back into the oversized chair of the nail salon, eyes fluttering shut as the mechanism massages at your upper shoulders.

“Oh you’re so right,” Nola hums, her feet swishing around in the hot water. “We did need this.”

You look over at her, smiling lazy as she clinks her glass of just orange juice with yours. The man working on your pedicure nudges your feet out of the water, resting them on a fluffy towel as he begins to file your nails down.

“When Timo’s away, the girlies will play.” You sing, the two of you giggling and sipping your drinks again. Timo’s been away for a week and a half now, off in Switzerland with Amelia again, and you’ve been distracting yourself from him abandoning you with absolutely no training and just fun.

Which works for Nola too because as the baby in her belly gets bigger, she’s gotten lax about sticking to the routine with you and Timo.

“I hope he knows he’s missing my 20 week check up,” she says, dramatically sighing. “Now he’ll never know what fruit the baby is at.”

You and Timo don’t go to Nola’s check ups with her. That’s strictly a her and Jonas thing, not that you really mind or even would want to go. Sitting in a plastic doctor’s chair and seeing something living inside of her makes you feel a little squeamish, but you’ll take any updates you can get on the fruit ratio of the baby’s size.

“What fruit is the baby at?” You ask curiously, and she laughs, twitching a little as her pedicurist takes the pumice stone to the bottom of her foot.

Proudly, she say, “This month we’re at a banana.” Her hands cup her barely there belly, whatever bump she may have hidden by the oversized linen button up she’s wearing today.

Either way it’s cute, and you’re about to tell her just that when another voice pops up from over your shoulder.

“Oh a banana sounds so good right now!”

Johnny is slumped in his chair, jeans rolled up to his calves and feet soaking in his own bubbling bath of hot water and salts. Like you, he’s got a mimosa in hand though it seems must be stronger than yours because his eyes already look heavy and a little delayed.

“We’re talking about my baby not an actual food,” Nola chimes in, narrowing her eyes at him. “You want to eat my baby John?”

He’s so relaxed, an easy smile on his lips as he simply giggles. “Nah I’m hungry,” he replies, “but for real food. Not babies.”

You can feel your own pedicurist looking from John to you, and sure enough when you peer down his eyebrows are raised.

“He doesn’t eat babies,” you explain, laughing awkwardly. “He’s new to the whole pedicure and mimosa thing.”

��And the massage chairs, holy…” he adds, practically purring as he presses into the vibrating back rest. You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at him and making a mental note to not tell Nico about Johnny’s day with you.

He’s been filling in for Timo, switching with Mercer in backing you up on day-to-day stuff and acting as body guard of course. You’d imagine the sight of him slumped and buzzed on champagne, giggling every time they touch the bottom of his feet doesn’t exactly scream body guard though, especially not to Nico. Or Jonas who has also gotten weary about Nola going out with you so often the further along she gets.

Not that she cares. Jonas would have to sedate and tie her down probably to get her to stay home.

“We still have work after this Johnny,” you remind him when he requests a refill on his drink, though your tone is more amused than warning.

“Aye aye boss,” he clicks his tongue, peering down at his toes in excitement as they add a clear gloss to his pedicure. “Ooo that looks clean.”

“Who’d have thought that washing your feet works?” You joke, and he gives you a pout before looking at your own drying white toes.

“Basic color,” he comments thoughtfully, “but cute. Goes with everything so that’s cash money.”

Nola snorts. “Very cash money. Unlike my bright pink ones, huh?”

Johnny leans over you to look at her pedicure. “I like it,” he compliments, settling back in his chair and upping the massage timer.

“Figured I’d enjoy bright colors before I can no longer even see my toes.” She jokes, sipping the last of her orange juice. “What do you two have planned for the rest of the day?”

Humming, you mentally go through the list in your head. “Left the boys organizing projects at the penthouse. So I’ll take Johnny back there and leave him, pick up Luke for his appointment, then we’re all meeting around Newark for business check-ins.” You relay, checking them off on your fingers as you go.

The past few months of getting to run the legal side of the Devils has been fun. You like having more to do with your day than just train with Timo and doing odd chores around the house. Not that it wasn’t work per se, but it never felt like you were actually doing anything, actually pulling your weight.

With this though, you get to sort through project files and research on local businesses, put together potential deals. It’s almost the same process you went through with Timo to get Johnny and it’s fun, exciting.

Your little team of Devs is great too. Dawson and Luke, Alex and Johnny, Timo and you. Like you expected, they all work together well and they seem to enjoy the business side of things. Plus it’s safer for them to be on this side with you. Most of them are still young, we’re given busy work or behind the scenes stuff with Nico because he didn’t want to put them in direct danger.

They’ve got real work now, still sticking to the obligations Nico gave them of protecting you, but also getting to see the city in a new way. Face time with the people you’re supposed to be helping, looking into businesses they have an interest in.

Luke had just about died at the file Nico had half put together on a local animal shelter and while you haven’t had the chance to finish up any deal pitches yet, you know that one will be his.

“Wow, a real business gal,” Nola murmurs flirtatiously. “Nico better be careful before you get too smart for him.”

“She’s already too smart for him.” Johnny laughs, struggling in his chair to get his socks back over his feet.

“We’re equally smart,” you defend, ignoring the look Nola gives you in favor of swinging your legs to the side of the chair and slipping your sandals back on. She does the same, Johnny now yanking his jeans down his calves and shoving his feet into his sneakers.

The three of you get up, heading towards the front desk to pay. Johnny is giving you a look too, like he’s trying to tell you to give it up and admit you’re a rocket scientist compared to Nico. It’d be a lie though, so you can’t. They don’t often see all of Nico’s planning and preparations behind closed doors, see how his brain works a million miles an hour the way you do. Sure some simple stuff slips under his nose, stuff that would be considered stupid but he’s by no means dumb.

“Mr. Hischier has already paid for the services on his tab,” the receptions tells you when you approach the counter, smiling warmly. “He also left a message for John, saying next time no drinking on the job.”

Looking up from her sticky notes, she glances at Johnny who looks a little stricken.

“I’m guessing that’s you?”

Dumbly he nods. You nudge him towards the door, Nola laughing as she follows and you offer a final thanks before leaving too. The bell overhead rings as the door shuts, the warm spring air light on your skin as you step onto the sidewalk.

“Yeah alright,” Johnny huffs, “Nico is pretty smart.”

~~~~

It’s odd being back in your therapists office, especially when you’re not the one being checked in at the front, not the one filling out the mental health questionnaire, not the one being led back into the actual office.

Like you, Luke’s leg had bounced the whole time he sat waiting with you, head hanging low in that same way it had on the jet a few months ago. Today is his first real appointment, his first time genuinely coming to speak to the professional.

It’ll end up mostly being background stuff, about his childhood and what are his goals for being here. You know that from experience. And you’d told him as much, told him it’s scary and it makes you feel like shit at first but nothing he ever says in there will be held against him. The same thing Nico had told you first time he walked you in here.

When he was the one holding your trembling hand, checking you in with the receptionist, filling out forms for you because your hands wouldn’t cooperate. He even walked you to the door when they called your name, left you with a kiss on the forehead every time and a promise that’ll he be right out here.

You sit in the same spot he always sat, right up against the window that looks out onto the street. He never really people watched from what you remember, always had an AirPod in or a book with him, but you just stare out the window, watching the cars drive by and the clouds overhead move. Texting Nico about any cute dog you see walk by, let him know that Moose hasn’t once reacted to them as he lay by your feet.

Of course he was trained to not react to other dogs when he’s out with you like this, but it still makes you swim with pride when he obeys.

You spend the next 20 minutes of Luke’s appointment switching between texting Nico and watching the people outside the window. Not that you’re really seeing them, more focused on your own thoughts.

He’d come up to you only a week after you all returned from Vancouver. Him and Jack spent every night at the house, sharing the room next to Alex’s that Jack usually sleeps in himself. On the other side of the Jack and Jill bathroom sat Luke’s usual room, empty of its typical occupant.

They acted normal. Went to work every morning with Nico, hung out with the boys, bitched when you assigned them dish duty after dinner. The only thing out of place was how quiet they both were. Like their internal volumes had been turned down.

And then one night Luke found you by the patio door, waiting in the dim light for Moose to go potty so you could send him to bed and join Nico upstairs. You’d thought Luke had gone to sleep himself, maybe he had by the way his curls were sticking up but all he did was come stand next to you, take one deep breath and then speak.

“I think I want to trying seeing someone,” he murmured, gazing out the patio door even when you turned to him. “Like a doctor or whoever you saw. To talk about what happened.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to hug him, wanted to cry because after all this time he was finally looking inwards. He had seen what you’ve been carrying for him, as Nico had said, and he was ready to try carrying it himself.

Instead you nodded. “Okay, whatever you want to do Luke, I’ll make it happen.”

He nodded, lips pursing and then Moose came pattering back inside, tail flicking lazily and Luke leaned down to scratch at his ears while you locked up.

“You’ll call?” He questioned, staring a little too intently at Moose. “For me? To make an appointment.”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll go with?”

That urge to cry burned at the back of your eyes, made your throat feel dry. Luke still wasn’t looking at you, hiding behind the pretense that he just needs to examine the inside of Moose’s ear right now.

“Yeah,” you choke out, “I’ll be there.”

Then he’d straightened out, gave Moose one last pat and met your gaze. It was fleeting, just a moment of those pale hazel eyes silently thanking you before he turned back towards the stairs. You watched him go, heart thumping rapidly in your chest and once he disappeared back in his room, you tucked Moose into his bed by the couch, and practically ran upstairs to tell Nico.

You have no idea what made Luke decide that, what finalized his decision. All you know is the next morning you and Nico woke to the two brothers loudly yelling at each other and banging around in their bathroom. Completely back to normal.

The door back to the offices creaks open, Luke dragging his feet as he steps through the frame and lets the door softly click shut behind him. He heads straight towards you, shoulders a little slumped but not as downtrodden as you’ve seen him before.

“Hey,” you greet him with a soft smile, climbing up from your seat. Moose follows eagerly, tail wagging as Luke comes to stand across from you. “How are you feeling?”

He purses his lips in thought, eyes roaming around the room for a moment before he shrugs. “Fine I guess. I kinda liked it.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, leaning down to pet at Moose’s head. “At least today I liked it. It was nice to talk to someone who doesn’t know me or us.”

A wide smile breaks out on your face, the dread of waiting for his reaction finally lifting from your shoulders and you feel about 10 pounds lighter.

“That’s good!” You say cheerily, and he offers a little smile. “I’m so happy for you Luke.”

“I talked about Jack,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to come rushing out and drag him away for mentioning what he revealed behind closed doors.

You don’t know what to say so you simply hum. He straightens out again, looking a little sheepish as he scratches at his hair. “Just how I love him but sometimes it’s hard having a brother like him. Like I always have to owe him something or compensate because he got us here.”

His statement shocks you a bit. You don’t have siblings, don’t know what it feels like to have another version of you basically, running around and having free will and all that. It’s easy to see why Luke would feel that way though. Jack did raise him pretty much and even with them working separately now, you’d imagine he still feels a little like he’s under Jack’s umbrella. It must be hard, feeling like you never do enough to make up for everything an older sibling did for you.

Hell, sometimes you still look at Nico and think you’ll never be able to show him how much you appreciate what he’s done for you, the life he’s given you. It’s different than siblings obviously, but it’s a similar guilt.

“You felt good talking about it?” You ask him, “Comfortable and everything?”

Certain, he nods. “Yeah I did. Thanks for coming with me.”

Reaching for him, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug him forward, taking a step closer so you can wrap the arm not holding Moose’s leash around him. “Thanks for letting me,” you reply, rubbing at his back.

He hugs you back for a moment, chin on top of your head. Moose nudges at his knee, pushing him back and you both part with a laugh.

“Wanna get something to eat?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Luke smiles, eyes bright and happy as he motions for you to leave first.

“Fuck yes I do.”

~~~~

Paws pattering on the sidewalk, Moose prances his way up to the water dish outside the deli, not hesitating to stick his snout in the bowl and start drinking.

You fiddle with his leash on your belt loop, laughing when Mercer’s eyes widen at the loud lapping noises coming from the dog, water spilling out onto the concrete. Over his shoulder you see Johnny and Alex head into the open door of the boutique across the street, the little Devil horn logo decal on the front window glinting in the sun.

Lazily, Moose lifts his head, shoelaces of drool and water hanging from his snout.

“Putze, Moose.” You call lightly, his head tilting comprehendingly and then his leaning down to wipe at his face with his paws, the drool now soaked into the fur of his feet.

“That dog is stupidly smart.” Mercer says, and you beam with pride, patting the top of his snout affectionately. Then he’s pulling open the door to the Italian deli, the bell ringing overhead.

The tables are mostly empty inside, caught in the lag between lunch and dinner. You try to do monthly check-ins around this time, that way any lingering messes from early in the day can be spotted but you’re not interrupting the lunch rush.

Mrs. Sposato waves from behind the order counter, eyes brightening when she sees Moose at your feet.

“Oh there they are!” She greets, her accent still thick even though she’s one of the few in the shop that will speak English all the day. The boys in the back, including her husband, are strictly Italian. They don’t try English and they never will, at least that’s what Mr. Sposato told you. Italian is too beautiful a language.

Moose perks up, tail wagging and eyes lifting as he pretty much pulls you through the dining area and up to the counter. She rounds the edge of it, crouching down with open arms to greet the dog and he happily presents the underside of his neck to her for pets.

Mercer, standing behind you, sweeps his eyes over the place, examining the few patrons still hanging around.

“Come stai?” You ask her quietly, in case there’s listening ears. “Tutto bene?”

If anything was ever actual wrong at the shops the Devils protect, you and Nico would know immediately. They all have a direct line of contact to Nico in case of emergencies, but that’s strictly for life or death situations.

You want them to know though, that you’re invested in their well being. That there’s genuine care and interest when you come here to check-in. If anyone were threatening or harassing them for the Devils mark on the front window. If a cop or someone higher up is sniffing around and chatting about said logo on the front. If they’re unhappy with working with the Devils, this is how it’s fixed.

We keep them happy, is what Nico had told you. If they’re happy, we’re happy, and everyone’s wallets are happy too.

So you put in the face time and the personal touch, the petting of dogs and admiring graduation photos of kids. And you and Johnny conquer and divide the Italian speaking places because there’s nothing more personal than bonding over a shared mother tongue.

“Yes we’re good,” Mrs. Sposato assures you in Italian. “Getting busier now that it’s warm and everyone’s out again.”

“Best time of year for subs,” you agree, and she rises to her feet again. For a moment she disappears back behind the counter, sliding open the glass case and fishing out a little napkin placed in the corner of the refrigerated display.

“Always a good time for subs,” she corrects you, the two of sharing a little laugh as she opens the napkin, laying it out on the counter to reveal little chunks and scraps of meat.

Already knowing and eager, Moose sits politely, thick tail swishing on the tiled floor. She makes a soft sound of endearment before feeding the pieces to him, Moose taking the food from her fingers with delicate teeth.

“I don’t think very many people have our taste for good food year round.” You admit, leaning on the counter to catch a glimpse at Mercer. He’s still looking around, though a bit more lax now, two hands shoved in his pockets.

Mrs. Sposato hums. “That could be true,” she nods, petting at Moose’s nose as she wads up the empty napkin and tosses it in the trash. She wipes her fingers on her black apron.

“You and Nico?” She questions, sitting back on her stool. Her eyes fall to your ring, eyebrows raised. “No wedding date yet?”

You shrug, unable to hide your giddy smile at the mention of the wedding. All these months later and it still makes you swell with love when you look at the pretty diamond.

“We’re thinking summer. He loves the beach and water but it’s so hard to decide.”

She laughs with you, smacking her hand on the counter top and her own ring clacks on the hardwood. “Tell me about it. It took me two years to figure out a date for mine and by that time everyone was saying just go to the court house already!”

Two years is a while you suppose, but not long enough to abandon any plans of a ceremony and party for the court house. It’s a wedding, something special and hopefully for life. If it takes time to plan and get right, you think that’s ok.

“Where did you end up marrying?”

She gives you a shy smile, thumbing at her wedding band. “His parents back yard in Sicily. It was where we first met, where he said he loved me. And no where is more beautiful than Italy.”

You nod in agreement, even if the statement is unknown to you. Sure you’ve seen pictures and videos, can attest that through a screen it’s beautiful. But you’ve never witnessed it in person. After your parents left Italy, they refused to return. Any relatives you ever saw came here to visit.

“I know he’s Swiss, but I’m sure Mr. Hischier would marry you anywhere you’d like. Even your home country.”

Her words make you go warm, the reminder that Nico loves you so much it’s obvious to everyone around you. He’s not easy to read but he’s never hid that his heart beats for you and you alone.

“Yeah he would,” you agree, though you don’t know if it’d work out. Johnny still hasn’t returned to Europe since his father was killed. You’ve never been to Italy, don’t even know where you’d start looking for places to marry. And you’ve since lost contact with any family still remaining there.

It seems like a fruitless dream, even if you know Nico would make it happen.

“Whatever you end up doing,” she continues, laying her hand over yours and smiling with warmth. “If you need any subs or help, let us know, yeah?”

You laugh, lifting your hand to squeeze your fingers around hers. “I don’t know about sandwiches but hopefully there’s a table with your name card on it, right?”

Mrs. Sposato’s eyes go a little misty with surprise and something like honor, the dark brown of them growing shiny and she nods. “Right.”

At the entrance, the bell rings announcing new customers so you and her let go of each other, offering smiles in goodbye.

“We’ll be back soon to check in. And just call if you need anything ok?”

You take a step back with Mercer, Moose easily following you as you wave. “Yeah yeah,” she agrees, “tell Nico to stop by next time. I haven’t seen someone so good looking in awhile.”

It makes you giggle, especially when she winks and then worriedly glances into the back rooms to see if her husband has heard her. When she deems he hasn’t, she’s smirking devilishly and waving you out the door.

Turning around, you follow Mercer back into the maze of tables, glancing down to make sure Moose’s leash is still secured. You tug on the clip, double checking nothing is twisted and then look up to watch Mercer bully through the newest group of people to enter the deli.

You want to call his name, tell him to wait next time because low profile here means not shoving his way through customers, but your entire throat has gone dry at the sight before you.

A family of three, the middle aged couple standing stiff and poised next to an older lady. Her hair is white, styled in salon curated puffs on top of her head that her make her skin appear darker, her green eyes brighter. You could convince yourself you don’t know her if you really wanted to. It’s been long enough without seeing her you could say you forgot.

You can’t say the same about the other two. It may be three years since you’ve seen them but you can recognize the woman’s dark and unruly hair anywhere, her almond eyes and sharp nose. The man’s tan skin and mannerisms, from the way he stands to the way his face rests. After all, they’re the exact same features as yours.

They freeze at the same time you do, your eyes locked on your mother’s. It’s like the space between you and them freezes, everything moving around you. Mercer has noticed, quickly moving back to your side and Moose must have picked up on something too because he’s standing at attention in the space between you and your parents.

“Y/n,” the older woman finally gasps, the words barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. You take a step back, give yourself more space and Mercer steps into it, half shielding you from them.

“Can I help you?” He asks gruffly, tone short and clipped as his hand creeps towards the small of his back, ready to grab the gun in his waistband if needed.

Shocked, your grandmother’s mouth parts and she looks at him defiantly but must think better of it because she stops. Blinking timidly, she looks over his shoulder at you, eyes shining with tears.

“Nonna?” You murmur, your voice hollow in your own ears though it’s hard to hear anything over the pounding of your heart, the way it feels like it’s slowly beating away at the bone of your ribs, aching and cracking.

Mercer glances back at you, holding his other hand out in front of you. He’s waiting for instructions, for silent commands, for any hint on what to do. You should leave, you need to leave. Get away from them as soon as possible.

But you haven’t seen Nonna since you were 13, the last time she ever got to visit New Jersey before they all claimed her health was too bad. You never got to go see her either. Italy was forbidden.

“With someone new already?” Your mother cuts in, her Italian just as sharp and formal as you remember it. She was always the one to demand perfection. Even when it came to a language you could hardly use outside of the house.

She gives Mercer a mean once over, her eyes narrowed in disapproval and it rattles you, hits you painfully in the gut. It enrages you that she’s seeing you after all this time and her first words to you are about a boy. An assumption that you’re no longer with Nico, that he’s thrown you out the way she did. Already replaced and moved on from with Dawson apparently.

“No actually I’m not,” you reply, making your tone mimic Nico’s, carrying the same authority and confidence he always has when interacting with anyone but you. “He’s with me.”

Her expression doesn’t change, still unimpressed, still cold, still unrecognizable as the mother you grew up with. That look isn’t foreign though, it’s the same one she gave you when you told them you were picking Nico.

“Where is the knight in shining armor then? Shouldn’t he be with his little piece?”

Your jaw clicks, teeth sinking into the soft skin of your cheek and the taste of blood floods your tongue. Even so, you let the comment roll off, looking away from her and back to your Nonna.

“I didn’t know you could travel again.” You tell her, softer and kinder. There’s no way of knowing her knowledge or compliance in your parents cutting you off, so there’s no reason to be spiteful with her.

“Yes, yes,” she nods frantically, her fingers coming up to touch at the cornicello necklace she always wears. “I’m here again. But you-“ she shakes her head, making a choked cry sound and pressing her hand into her chest. “You’re alive.”

“What?” You ask, dumbly. “What are you talking about?”

She swallows shakily, motioning to your parents. “They told us all it was an accident. Something after graduation. That you’d got in with a bad crowd and they hurt you. Killed you.”

There’s been two times in your life when the ground has given out beneath your feet. The first was that night the Flyers took you, when the lights in the bar had gone out and everything went pitch black. The only thing grounding you was Nico’s hand in yours, his fingers tightening in panic. You heard him call for you, could feel him moving to wrap you up in his hold and in that brief moment of feeling like you were dangling over an abyss, secured only by him, two pairs of hands had latched onto you.

They grabbed you by the waist, yanking you back and you yelped Nico’s name as something wet clamped over your nose and mouth, stung at your eyes. He was still struggling to hold your fingers when you lost consciousness, slipping from his grasp.

The second time is now. You stumble back, elbow hitting one of the tall tables and making your pinky tingle. Moose follows you, pressed tight to your side protectively. You want to be the person that stands up tall and ignores them, that walks away as if totally unaffected but you can’t. You’re not Nico, you’re not as capable or as strong.

Dead. Your parents have been explaining your absence by saying you were dead. Life taken from your body at the hands of the Devils, of Nico. They’ve been claiming that the man who loves you more than life itself is responsible for taking everything from you, even your breath.

When this whole time it’s been them.

You can’t even look at them, can’t stand to meet the pathetic faces of the people you used to call family, the people you used to love. Grabbing at Moose’s collar, you wrap your fingers around it to steady yourself, swallowing down the rising heartbreak that is filling your chest, pressing onto your spine and lungs.

Blinking, you wait for the ground to stop look like it’s moving, peering up and Mercer and giving him a curt nod. He towers over your parents and grandma, pushing them back until there’s enough room behind him for you to slip towards the door. Staying between you and them, Moose follows, his fur soft and soothing under your fingers.

“Wait y/n please,” it’s your father, the first words he’s said this whole time. Tears flood your eyes and the effort it takes to force them down makes the back of your throat ache. You can hear him move for you, trying to follow you and Mercer so you do the only think you know will always work.

The best protection Nico’s ever given you.

“Moose,” you whistle, unclipping his leash from your belt loop “protect.” His leash clatters to the floor and he spins around, snarling and barking at the feet of your father. You don’t bother staying to watch.

Shoving at the handle to the door, it springs open and you step out onto the sidewalk, still fighting to see clearly, to feel the ground beneath your feet. Mercer is only a beat behind you, Moose trailing behind him with low growls still rumbling out of him. You rush away from the front of the window, trying to appear calm as you move out of sight, pausing in the entryway of a closed shop.

Moose immediately finds you, nudging his nose into your leg and you crouch down to hug him, burying your face in his neck as Mercer covers you.

“Y/n?” He calls softly, his fingers just barely touching the top of your head. It makes you think of Nico, how he always goes for the soft spot on the back of your neck when you’re upset, how he knows just the right way to lay his hands on you so they feel safe

“I’m ok,” you croak, taking a few deep breaths. You just need a minute, a minute to collect yourself so they don’t freak. Except you don’t feel better, no matter how much you breathe or hold Moose, it still hurts. Your chest aches, your stomach feels tight with nausea.

“We have to move, come on.” Mercer finally says, kind fingers grabbing your elbow and he helps you stand back up. You grab the dog’s leash, holding it tightly as Mercer practically marches you up the sidewalk and back towards the car.

You know he’s lost, has no idea who those people were or what they said to you. He still stood in front of you, shielded and protected you. Obviously it’s what he’s been trained for but to know he does his job well enough to pick up on the silent cues makes you glow with pride, at least under all the bad feelings swelling inside of you.

This little team you put together is good. They’re all really good.

After a few steps you manage to shake out of your stupor, wiping under your eyes in case any tears escaped and clearing away the last of the sobs stuck in your throat. Mercer lets you go then, watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Head high, you follow him back towards the car, relieved that you managed to get yourself together before meeting up with Johnny and Alex on the corner.

“Mrs. Sposato chatty again?” Johnny asks you, the two boys falling into step. “You were in there for a while.”

It takes you a moment to think. “Yeah kind of,” you respond, looking over your shoulder at him. When you continue, it’s in Italian now. “I saw my parents.”

Johnny trips over his feet, stumbling as he rights himself behind you. “W-what? In the deli?” Blankly staring ahead, you nod. He lets out a low whistle, glancing at Mercer.

“Does he know?” He asks, “who that was?”

You shake your head, puffing out a breath of air as the car beeps to life on the curb. You pull open the door to the backseat, whistling for Moose to hop in. He does, curling up in the space between the two bucket seats.

Alex sits in the back with you, eyeing you worriedly as Mercer and Johnny buckle into the front. He shifts into drive but doesn’t pull away from the curb. You realize he’s waiting for your instruction.

“The bar,” you croak without hesitation. Mercer pulls out onto the street, easily slipping into the Newark traffic. Moose lays his head on your thigh, big droopy eyes blinking up at you. It helps, seeing his sweet face, always a reminder of how much Nico loves you, how he’ll protect you no matter what.

“Braver hund, Moose,” you coo, scratching at his ears and he wiggles closer, tail wagging at the praise. You tuck your hand back into your lap, peering out the window.

The car rolls by the deli shop, your gaze searching through the glass for any sign of them, any indication that maybe they followed you out, maybe they’re just as shaken as you.

They didn’t, and your heart shatters at the reminder that even know, they don’t regret letting you go. They don’t regret writing you out of their lives.

You press you fingers into your collarbone, rubbing at the aching spot and willing yourself not to cry. Not until you see Nico.

A hand slips into your lap, careful fingers taking a hold of your wrist, pulling your hand free and Alex slots his fingers through yours.

You glance up at him, meet those dark and comforting eyes that have always reminded you so much of Nico. The one person in this car with you that knows about it all, knows about your family and the way they treated you. How much it broke you to lose them just because you had met the person you loved most in the world.

“S’okay,” he murmurs, his other hand patting at the back of yours. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

They’re the words. The ones he overheard Nico swearing to you when he first got to New Jersey, when Nico would wrap you up in his arms and squeeze you so tight you couldn’t cry. The same ones you used when he came to your bedroom in the middle of the night, fighting to breathe through whatever nightmare he’d just woken up from.

The words that made you three a family. One that’s far better than whatever you left behind in the deli, now growing smaller in the rear view mirror.

~~~~

Halfway to the bar, you change your mind. Not because you've realized that Nico might not even be there right now and not because you've chickened out on telling him what happened, but because something else has popped into your mind.

It's sudden, the memory of the will your parents showed you when you had turned 18, listing out their estate and setting guidelines for their affairs. As their only child, you'd be in charge of handling everything after their death. Or at least you would've been.

"Left up here," you instruct Mercer, peering around his seat to look out the windshield. He takes the turn, pulling onto the gravel driveway and slowly inching forward. You keep directing him down through the cemetery, passed the old crumbling headstones at the entrance until you’ve gotten to the newer plots in the back.

“Stop here,” you murmur and the car comes to a soft stop, pulled off to the side so others can drive by if needed. Waiting for him to put it in park, you release your seatbelt, reaching for the handle when Johnny stops you.

“Do you want us to go with you?”

Half out the door, you pause. They’re all looking at you, Mercer tangled in his seatbelt and head craned awkwardly to try and meet your eye. While it’s sweet that they want to come with you, want to support you when they don’t even know what’s going on, you can’t let them.

If what you think is here actually is, Nico needs to be the first to see it with you. There’d be no way of explaining to them without crying and you don’t want to do that. You’re supposed to be their boss, to be strong.

“No I’m okay,” you promise, slipping the handle of Moose’s leash to Alex. “I just I think I need to call Nico and talk to him by myself, yeah?”

They all murmur out variations of agreement, watching you with sympathetic eyes as you climb all the way out. “Stay Moose,” you instruct, petting his neck in goodbye before closing the door.

You cut across the grass, slipping your phone out of your back pocket as you go. By the time you find the section of the cemetery you’re looking for, Nico’s contact is already pulled up on your phone. You hit call before you’ve even seen the front of the headstone. You don’t need to read the name, it being there in the midst of the two empty plots next to it is enough.

Nico picks up on the third ring, just as your coming face to face with the front of the marble headstone.

Y/n Y/l/n

September 13, 2000 - June 15, 2022

Loving daughter, friend, and person

May she rest in God’s arms

~~~~

When the screen of Nico’s car lights up with your contact, he knows not to answer it hands-free. He scoops his phone out of the cupholder, sliding the answer bar and ignoring the peeved look Jack gives him from the passenger seat. Little does he know, Nico is probably saving him from having to hear something inappropriate or cringingly sweet.

“Hey baby,” he answers, “what’s going on?”

He’s expecting you to say nothing, that you’re just calling because you finished up on wellness checks and missed him. Maybe beg him to come home early if he can or to let you come hang out in the office with him.

What he’s not expecting is the overly neutral tone of your voice when you ask, “hey are you busy?”

He pauses, listening to the background noise for any hint of where you’re at or what’s going on. It’s almost dead quiet from what he can tell and it makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Just heading to the Rock,” he says, voice light and calming. “You okay? Do you need something?”

You clear your throat, voice trembling a little when you speak. “I’m okay I just- could you maybe come here?”

He has no idea where you even are but he still slows the car down, pulling into the slower lane until he can figure out exactly how to get to you. “Yeah of course. Where are you at? Are you safe?”

“Yes, yeah I’m safe. The boys are still with me too. But I’m at the cemetery in Jersey City, the one by my old neighborhood.”

His blood goes cold, panic seeping in. The cemetery? What are you doing at a cemetery by your family’s house? You haven’t been to that neighborhood since graduation and Nico hasn’t been since the month you and him were broken up. When he was tailing your father to make sure you hadn’t gone back to them, that you weren’t back in that house with those assholes.

“Are you-did something happen?” He asks, mind flashing with a million different scenarios. Your father dying, your mother dying, maybe both of them died. Maybe there was an accident and they’ve been gone for awhile, no one thinking to reach out to you even though you’d be the last of kin.

“Kind of. It’s really not that big Nico I just… I need you I guess. If that’s okay? I know you had a lot today and I can wait until later if that’s better.”

He deflates, chest aching at the thought of you standing in this cemetery, clearly shaken by whatever is going on and fighting with the decision to call him. Or worse, feeling guilty for it.

“Always okay, baby,” he assures, Jack gesturing wildly as Nico navigates towards Jersey City rather than Newark. Nico shoots him a warning glare, Jack slumping back into his seat and pouting out the window. “There’s a reason I’ve got so many of the boys with me. They can cover anytime, anytime you need something from me. Don’t ever question that, you hear me?”

A small laugh comes out of you, airy enough to make him smile too. “Yeah boss,” you murmur, “I hear you. I’ll send you my location, okay?”

“Mhm,” he agrees, “you need me to stay on the phone?”

Nico knows the answer. It’s the same one you always give him when he’s driving, when you get that mama bear tone in your voice and tell him absolutely not.

“No just drive safe.”

Laughing to himself, he promises you he will and that he’ll see you soon, then waits for you to hang up before dropping his phone into his lap. Impatiently, Jack stares at him.

“Where are we going?”

Nico glances at him, pressing on the gas a little harder as a text from you lights up the screen. “Y/n needs something.” He clicks it, your pinned location popping up. All he has to do is tap it and the map takes over, the estimated time of arrival showing 13 minutes from now.

“Something like serious or something like you’re going to leave me in the car while you go canoodle her?”

Making an offended face, Nico huffs at him. “Serious, you clown. Now sit back and make sure I don’t get us lost, ok?”

Taking his duty ever so seriously, Jack sits up straighter in his seat, gaze methodically shifting from the map to the road ahead. Nico doesn’t tell him that he knows what area he’s heading to, what exit to take and street to turn down. Mostly because he doesn’t want to talk to Jack about where they’re going and why, but also because none of them know how much time Nico still spent watching out for you after he’d broken your heart.

He doesn’t need to voice how much he’s always cared for you. That he’s been this pathetically and hopelessly in love with you that even when he knew you hated him, he was still tearing himself apart to be the one between you and all the bad things.

And he might be running a little behind getting there right now, but it doesn’t change the fact that he will be there.

~~~~

Mercer, Johnny and Alex are all standing outside the SUV when Nico pulls up behind them, Moose rising from where he was laid out in the shade of the car by Alex’s feet.

“A graveyard?” Jack asks, “Who died?”

Nico shoots him a look, shutting off the engine and pulling the key out. “I thought you were gonna start using that thing that rattles around in your head before speaking?”

Wounded, Jack grabs at his chest. “Ouch. I’m telling y/n that you’re being mean to your second hand man.”

“Just get out.”

He shoves open the door, squinting into the afternoon sun as him and Jack approach the boys. Mercer is already waiting for him, arms crossed impatiently and by the harsh line of his jaw Nico knows the kid already thinks it took him too long to get here.

“What’s going on?” Nico asks, glancing down the line of headstones. He finds you, almost dead center in the middle of all them, just standing there. Your turned just away from him, enough that he can barely make out the profile of your face, much to his dismay.

“John,” Mercer grunts, elbowing him forward. Before he can speak Alex is pushing into Nico, grabbing at his bicep and eyes wide with concern as he rushes out.

“It was her family,” he rushes, “she went into the deli and then came out all panicked.”

Simultaneously they all gawk at him, caught off guard that he’s apparently picked up some Italian in his time here in New Jersey. They all know that when you get emotional you switch to your first language, Johnny being the one to usually translate for Nico when you’re too upset to stop and explain. For years he’s been the only one, especially since Nico’s knowledge has remain limited even if he’s capable of picking up a few words here and there. He thinks it’s how fast you speak, the words bleeding together ever so slightly and he gets lost trying to decipher.

But Alex didn’t.

“What?” The youngest boy scoffs, eyebrows pinching together as he releases Nico’s arms. “She’s my mom. And I’m not stupid, I’ve listened to her speak Italian for years.”

Shaking his head, Nico blows off that topic in favor of focusing on what’s more important now. You went into the deli, has some kind of interaction that made you think of your parents, and has now lead you the graveyard you grew up near. The only explanation he can think of is that one of them has died. That you’re standing a family plot right now, confirming that you have in fact fully lost family.

“Oh fuck,” Nico mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He points a finger at all the boys. “Don’t move, okay?” Comfortingly, he pats the top of Alex’s head, offering him an impressed smile. “You are smart kid,” he compliments, “thanks.”

Alex has just enough time to smile all shy at him before Nico is turning and crossing the grass to you. He doesn’t exactly know the etiquette of walking through a cemetery, if he’s supposed to be doing an odd little hop around all the graves so he’s not stepping on the dead. That seems kind of impossible though so he just marches along, gaze locked ok you.

You must hear him coming because he’s only a few steps away when you turn, glossy eyes meeting his. As if his absence were the last thing holding it all together, your whole face crumples at the sight of him, lips quivering and eyebrows frowning as your mouth parts, forming what he thinks is his name. Instead a heartbreaking sob bubbles out of you, your hand reaching up to clamp over your mouth and Nico rushes forward, catching you as you take a stumbling step towards him.

“It’s okay baby, you’re okay.” He shushes, cupping the back of your head protectively as you cry into his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

Hugging him around the middle, you hide in his chest with his muffled sobs, Nico unable to do much except hold you. He manages to walk you back a few steps until he can finally see the name on the headstone, expecting to find either your mother or father’s name carved into it.

What he finds instead makes his heart drop into his stomach. It’s your name and birthday on that stone, scraped into the marble under an intricately carved catholic cross. The most concerning part is the date of death. Nico would know it all too well. The day of your college graduation, the day you picked him forever.

“Baby,” Nico gasps, fingers slipping into your hair. “Why does that grave have your name on it?”

Still sniffling, you pull back, wiping at the smears of mascara under your eyes. “I saw them,” you mumble, voice raw. “I saw my parents, at the deli and they had my nonna with them.”

He balks, “your nonna? The one from Italy?” You talked about your grandmother a lot when Nico first met you, all those nights he laid naked in your bed back in your college apartment, too excited to be listening to you talk to even think of sleep. Story after story of her visiting when you were a child, how much you looked forward to it every year. Until she’d gotten too ill to travel and your parents, unwillingly to return to Italy, left her there to be cared for by relatives. Relatives you never really knew or cared for, not like your nonna.

“Yeah, I- I guess she’s better and all but Nico, you should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she had seen a ghost. They told them all I died. That I wasn’t around because I had been with the wrong crowd and got into an accident or something.”

He’s never been a man of many words but for maybe the first time ever he’s actually rendered speechless. Your family quite literally killed you off from real life. Instead of claiming no contact or personal reasons for your absence they shifted all the blame of their faults to something else. To this accident that supposedly killed you, to the bad crowd-

“Me,” he realizes, “the devils and me, we’re the bad crowd aren’t we? Your parents told your family I killed you?”

The date makes even more sense now. They chose the day he took you from them, at least that’s how they saw it in their eyes. The big, bad mafioso that charmed you with money and a life of excitement, that needed arm candy more than he needed love and you were the prettiest option. He knows that’s what they told you, the lies they spewed to try and deter you. They had already made him a villain in their lives, so making him the one that killed you probably wasn’t a reach.

“I mean I guess.” You croak, more calm now that you’ve cried and gotten to speak to him. Flakes of mascara stick to your cheeks, the concealer under your eyes marred with tear tracks and Nico cups your face in both hands, gently clearing them away with his thumbs.

“The date,” you whisper, “I’m sure they’re saying it’s you that did this since the date is-“

“The day you left them for me.”

“The day they made me leave.” You correct, leveling him with a scolding look and Nico’s whole chest warms at it. You’ve always gone out if you’re way to make sure he knows everything with your parents wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t force you into picking him. He already knew that, always thought maybe it was you’re way of trying to make yourself hold them accountable but to be doing it even know, after seeing the fake grave your parents have created for you, it’s just nice.

This should all be about you right now, and yet you’re fussing over him.

“Are you okay baby?” He asks, tracing the tip of his thumb under your swollen bottom lip, trying to ignore how beautiful you always look even after crying.

He’s always liked the glossiness of your eyes, the flush to your cheeks and mouth after you’ve gotten emotional. Not in the sadistic way like he’s enjoys seeing you hurt and crying, but the vulnerability. He really likes that you let him see you like this so openly. You’ve never hid from him.

“I don’t know,” you shrug after a beat, sliding a hand up his chest until your palm is over his heart. “I mean, I guess it’s nice that at least they buried me in the family plot.” You laugh dryly.

“Baby,”

You let out a breath, more earnest this time. “I can’t believe they’d go this far and it sucks but also like it doesn’t matter.”

Nico pauses, frowning in concern. This would terrify him. If he one day walked into a cemetery and saw his own grave, his own headstone, it’d make him sick. Seeing your own potential plot, bare of any markings, is already unsettling enough, but seeing an actual marker for your death? Even if it is fake, it’s nightmarish.

“It does matter if it makes you feel badly.”

You slip out of his hold, turning to look down at your own grave again as if trying to gauge how it actually makes you feel, like underneath your name a sudden carving of instructions on what to think will appear. Nico wraps his arm around your shoulders, urging you into his side and you slip a steady arm around his waist.

“I think I cried because I saw them,” you finally mumble, “but I don’t care about this. It just makes me angry, makes me hate them. Like I never want to see or think about them again hate.”

He squeezes your shoulder. “Hate like you hate Lena?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I want to ruin their lives, I want to take them away from their family, I want-“ them dead.

For the first time in years, Nico brightens at you finally seeing eye to eye on this. He’s been wanting to kill them since the day they abandon you, used to spew all kinds of nasty things about them and while you never disagreed, you never held that rage or contempt for them.

He turns to you, gazing at your side profile as he speaks. “You know I can make that happen right? If you wanted me to.”

You don’t so much as flinch. “You’d do that for me?”

“Thought I told you I’d do ungodly things for you already? Besides I already killed you it seems, might as well add the rest.”

Looking to him, you examine his face for a moment, eyes narrowed in the questioning and innocent way you always give him when you need more. Words he doesn’t even have to say, holding your gaze firmly and knowingly, tilting his head as if to say ‘come on baby, it’s me’.

Relief floods your eyes, a little smile curling at your lips and Nico chuckles at the sight, jumping in to smoosh kisses to your cheeks and nose.

“At least let me get rid of the headstone,” he pleads, “they don’t deserve to be laid next to you, whether it’s fake or not.”

You hum, laying your head on his shoulder and looking back down at your marble name. “They won’t be laid next to me,” you assure, “that’s not the last name I’ll be buried with.”

It’s the smugness of your tone, how haughty and pleased you sound to be saying it that makes Nico smile, body alighting with adoration for you. Everyday he thinks he couldn’t possibly love you more and then you prove him wrong, looking so enamored at having his last name, at being with him forever. Even in death.

He presses a kiss to your temple, burying his nose in your hair and squeezing you so tight you make a little squeaking noise.

“No it’s not.”

~~~~

Nico’s boot thump on the tiled floors, heavy and bulking as he shuts the front door behind him. He’s never fully learned how to keep his feet silent, unable to ever move without making a sound. No matter how many times he’s watched you sneak around, the way your shoes always seem to melt into the ground in careful and noiseless steps, he can never mimic it.

Not that he really needs it right now. The house is empty, its occupants away for the day and even if they weren’t, he has every right to bully his way in here. It is his city after all and he’s been lenient with who he lets run around it.

It’s not a very homey place, more so than the house he grew up in, but still not light and welcoming. Not like the home you’ve made with him. Dark wood furniture, all of it freshly polished and matching. Fancy china dishes in them, rosaries and crosses, knickknacks he couldn’t even begin to identify.

There’s photos though, dozens of them everywhere. Framed neatly, tucked into the duvets of curio cabinets, on side tables by the living room furniture. All of them of the same little girl, from photos of her as just a pink bundle in a hospital crib to ones of her crossing the stage at graduation.

Documenting her life up until the moment she received her college degree and then stopping abruptly. It’s bullshit, Nico decides, jaw clicking as he examines them.

He should take them. They shouldn’t be here, pushing a false narrative of what’s actually happened. Yet there’s too many to take even if he wants to.

Blatantly, Nico shifts around the photos, moving the angles of them and crunching to the rug under his boots. He stomps his way into the kitchen, cracking open a kitchen cabinet just because he can. Shifting around more photos on the fridge, switching magnets and wallet sized school photos.

Angry about it, fingers moving with a purpose. It’s not fair that all these photos are here, photos he’s never gotten to see and you’ve never gotten the privilege of having. The familiar curve of your smile, the shape of your nose, the brightness of your eyes always the same no matter the age and size of you in the photo.

They all make him ache, make him so vengeful he might just plant his ass at the kitchen table, gun in hand and wait for your parents to return. You didn’t tell him not to kill them but you never answered him either. I want to ruin them, that’s what you had said. Ruin their lives.

Nico can make that happen, easily. Starting with this, planting that uneasiness, make them scared. They need to know that he’s been here, that he knows everything and he isn’t happy. Everything they said about him before is going to look like nothing after he’s done here.

He’ll make them spiral. Make them paranoid and anxious, vulnerable. Then he’ll take away everything familiar to them, make sure whatever security they thought they had is gone. Hell, maybe he’ll even let them know that he’s been watching them for years. All this time they’ve never actually been safe. Not like you have been with him.

Nico pauses on a 4x6 photo on the size of the fridge. Held in place by a magnet from the Jersey Shore. He has no idea how old you are here, what year it could possibly be. The photo is slightly blurred by smears of white, big snowflakes turning to fuzzy flashes in the camera. But the large tree behind you is still visible, bright and colorful on Rockefeller center. You’re just a tiny thing of a girl in front of it, a white fur coat and black shiny boots peaking out under it.

It’s so you, smiling that wide and pretty in a winter wonderland at Christmas, dressed like the mob wife you were meant to be.

Nico’s never thought about it very much but looking at this photo now, the happy wrinkles by your eyes and the rosiness of your cheeks, the way you shine even brighter than the most famous Christmas tree in the world, Nico hopes that one day he can give you this all back.

That you’ll let him give you a little baby girl, her smile and personality as beautiful as yours, a mirror of her mother’s. That the childhood depicted here can be restored with a family of your own. He already knows how healing it is for you to care for others, to be the safe space you didn’t have in your parents.

He thinks that maybe getting to love babies of your own would fill that last bit of you that still aches. And he thinks it’d maybe fix him too. Let him prove himself, show that he can love more than just you. He doesn’t think he could ever love anyone or anything as fiercely as he does you, but he can still love them wholly and entirely.

He can love in the way only a father can. He’s sure of it.

Plucking the photo off the fridge, he traces his thumb over your smiling face, chest flooding with warmth. Carefully, he slips out his wallet and tucks the photo in there, cautious as to not bend the corners. Shoving it back in his front pocket, he takes one last glance at the fridge, faltering when he realizes what the other papers stuck to it are.

Condolence cards. So many of them displayed, handwritten sympathy for the loss of you. Nico swipes those off the fridge too, gathering them in his hands until the metal is startlingly bare. Dumping them in the empty kitchen sink, Nico digs through the drawers until he comes up with a box of matches.

He leaves the drawer slightly ajar, lighting the head against the scratch on the back and dropping it onto the pile of cards. Then he waits, watches them light up in flames, curling and melting away into ash, the air turning warm in front of him.

Once they’re all ruined, half burnt and charred, unsalvageable, Nico dusts his hands off and heads back towards the front door.

Satisfied with his work, he leaves, locking the door behind him just to make them wonder how he got in and if he’ll get in again. Let them know what this little visit was for. Not an act of intimidation or revenge, but one of war.

[deanwinchestersbabygirll]

Sam Winchester, Hero

-warnings// angst, fluff, SMUT, MENTION OF SA!!

-lil summery// kind of my spin on the pilot episode, based when Sam’s in college, best friends to lovers trope

Sam x reader

Part 2

word count// 3330

(Gif from Pinterest)

Your eyes burned as you continued to read the same line over and over, exhaustion threatening to take over your body any minute "hey you okay?" You looked towards the soft voice to see your best friend Sam, you nodded "yeah I'm just trying to finish this chapter I can't hand in another late assignment" you said stretching your limbs trying to wake yourself up 

Sam chuckled "it's after midnight, you’re gonna end up face down on your desk if you don't get to bed soon" you rolled your tired eyes playfully "I’ll be fine I'll just be another half hour then I'm done, you head on home, I'll be right behind you" Sam shook his head "not a chance this place isn't safe at night I'll wait for you" he said going to sit next to you "Sam sweetie, I'll be fine, our apartment is a ten minute walk at most, plus you know I can handle myself, I've kicked your ass plenty of times" you joked making him smile 

"Alright but I want you to knock on my door when your back home so I know your home safe, I'm giving you forty five minutes and if ur not home by then I'll be back here to haul your  ass home" he said firmly, he was always the worrier, that's what you loved about him the most

"I promise, scouts honour" you promised him with the scouts symbol he chuckled as he moved toward the door "see you at home Y/N" he called as the doors closed leaving you alone in the library, You rubbed your tired red eyes and got back to work, your blinking getting slower until all you could see was darkness and a warm fuzzy feeling take over your body.

Almost an hour later you awoke with a start "oh son of a bitch!" You exclaimed quietly looking at your watch, in a panic you shoved your stuff in your bag quickly before running out the big mahogany doors and taking off in a speed walk down the dark campus towards you and Sam's apartment, hoping he hadn't left yet

You were moments away from sanctuary before you heard the sound of loud foot steps behind you, your heart plummeting to your stomach as you picked up your own pace, you were less than a minute away, the footsteps got closer and your heart was beating a hundred beats per minute

The person behind you grabbed your arm roughly turning you around to face a tall brute of a man, glaring at you his lips twisted in a dirty smile "where you heading beautiful?" He asked his grip on your arm tightening making you wince "none of your business now get your damn hand off me you jackass!" You exclaimed trying to pull your arm away 

"Watch yourself now... the nicer you are to me the better I'll make you feel" the man said licking his greasy lips, your stomach turned and you regretted not leaving with Sam earlier. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to fight him off "if you touch me I swear I'll-" you started to say before a loud laugh cut you off "you'll what baby? Look at me then look at you, who's got the upper hand here?" he mocked before a third voice interrupted him 

"I do!" The voice said and a fist was slamming against your attackers face knocking the brute out, screaming you turned to see your saviour as the tears streamed down you face, you saw Sam looking back at you concern written all over his face "c'mon let's go" he said quickly taking your bag from you and pulling you tightly to his side making your worries instantly vanish as you cuddled into him 

Sam unlocked the door with his free hand, never letting go of you, he locked the door instantly as soon as you stepped inside "are you okay? I knew I shouldn't have fucking left" Sam told you his voice cracking slightly as his hands cradled your face in them as his green eyes scanned for any visible injuries.

"I'm okay Sammy" you assured him but he shook his head, his shaggy hair bouncing as he did "I'm so sorry I didn't get there sooner, I shouldn't have left you by yourself it's not safe i-" "SAM!" You yelled cutting his rambling off, his eyes snapping down to meet yours "I'm okay, I promise, you got me before he could do anything" you promised him, brushing a stray strand of shaggy brown hair behind his ear

He closed his eyes tightly and sighed loudly, his shoulders remaining as tense as ever, he wrapped his strong arms tightly around you, holding you tightly to him

You rest your head against his hard chest, listening to his heart beating like crazy as he breathed in your scent "are you okay sweetie?" You questioned looking up at him

Sam nodded slowly "I'm doing everything I can right now to stop myself from killing that perverted bastard" Sam confessed, his voice low and serious, you chuckled quietly "Sammy your the sweetest guy I've ever met, you don't have killer instincts in you" 

Sam swallowed thickly... little did you know who he really was, how many monsters he'd killed since he learned to walk "...yeah your probably right, come on let's get some sleep" Sam said changing the subject quickly

You stepped away from the his warm comforting embrace nodding your head, a quiet quiver threatening to leave your lips  "night Sammy" you leaned up to kiss his cheek before retreating to your bedroom.

You shivered as you walked into your dark bedroom, you pulled on an oversized shirt kicked off your jeans before getting into you bed, your whole body shook as you lay, the events of the night finally setting in your head

You let the hot tears fall slowly down your face as you fell asleep. 

You awoke a while later, you heart beating like crazy, your face stung as tears, new and fresh stuck to your cheeks, you tried catching your breath before making your way quickly to your bedroom door and down the hall to your best friends room

You knocked lightly on the door but there was no response other than the small snores on the other side, you questioned if you should just suck it up and go back to your own room but you knew you couldn't, not alone 

Taking a deep shaky breath you opened the door tip toeing towards the sleeping giant, "Sammy?" You whispered in a strained voice, "...Y/N... w-what's going on? Everything okay?" Sam quickly shot up suddenly as though he was wide awake. You tried to control your breathing before replying "y-yeah I uh, I-" you struggled to get out before you broke completely, your whole body shaking as more tears streamed down your swollen face

Sam was instantly pulling you down to sit next to him on his bed, pulling your shaking body tightly into his warm embrace, his muscular arms wrapping around you waist as you lay your head in the crook of his neck, "hey it's okay just breath" he said gently trolling your hair from your face "what happened?" He asked quietly stroking your wet hair behind your ear 

You took a deep shaky breath leaning into his touch "I- I just had a bad dream and I didn't want to be alone, can I stay with you, please?" You begged Sam, your heart racing like crazy, Sam's cheeks flushed a deep red as he nodded his head almost immediately "of course you can, you know you can always come to me no matter what" You smiled squeezing his hand tightly as a silent thank you.

Sam stayed in that position for another while longer, just holding you tightly to him as you slowly regained your breathing and the tears stopped rolling, "you ready to lay down?" Sam asked rubbing his hand up and down your cold arms nodding you move to his side, slowly lowering your self to rest against the cold unused pillow in Sam's bed, Sam turned to face you in the bed,

His hand once again reaching out for your own "I promise your safe here, I would never in a million years let anyone or anything hurt you" Sam assured you making your heart swell, "I know sweetie,  your like my very own superhero" you told him making his lips pull into his familiar grin "night gorgeous" Sam said giving your small hand another light squeeze "night Sammy" you whispered back.

You lay there another few minutes just staring into the dark room, this was different than how you felt earlier in your own bed, you felt safe... you just couldn't trust your mind enough to sleep

You turned to your side to face Sam, his eyes already on you "I can't sleep" you whispered lowly to him your faces inches apart as Sam moved closer his arm moving to wrap around your waist as his green eyes stared into yours "it'll be okay, I'm right here next to you" Sam promised making you smile up at him 

Your hand cupped the side of Sam's face gently as you moved closer, just testing the waters, letting him have time to pull away if he wanted to, but he didn't.

Sam closed the small gap between your lips quickly capturing you lips with his, you let out a small gasp as your hand flew to grip the back of his neck lightly, his own gripping your waist pulling you as close as possible to him, you let out a quiet moan as Sam moved you to lay on your back, his body rolling to hover above you 

You wrapped you legs tightly around Sam's hips pulling him down so that his covered cock was pressing against your clothed clit, "oh god Sammy" you breathed out pulling his hair slightly 

Sam moved his kisses down your neck causing your eyes to roll "Sam please" you begged tightening your legs around his hips, sam obeyed as he pulled back slightly to pull his grey shirt and off revealing his muscular chest, you ran your hand down from his toned chest down to his pyjama pants, you swallowed the thick lump of nerves in your throat "Y/N, we don't have to do this" Sam told you sensing your nerves 

You shook your head and smiled up at him "I want to do this, with you" you told him as you gently pulled him back down for a kiss, he smirked into the kiss, his hands moving to the hem of your oversized shirt you'd stolen from Sam many moons ago, he pulled the shirt off your body, revealing your bare breasts to him, he instantly grasped them in his warm hands

You let out a small moan of his name, arching your back from the bed "please touch me" you begged, sam chuckled and kissed his was down your chest taking each breast in his hot mouth before continuing his way down your stomach, he dragged your panties down off your legs, gasping at the cold air hitting your core you move to clench your thighs together

Sam's hands caught your thighs quickly, spreading them wider exposing you completely to him "you look so beautiful like this" Sam said his eyes a darker green, bordering a light brown, Sam blew cold air against your soaking pussy before diving in, you screamed in pleasure your hand rushing to gripe Sam's longer hair, "oh god Sammy! Please don't stop that feels so fucking good" you cried out as Sam sucked hour clit into his mouth and inserting his two long fingers inside your dripping hole "you taste fucking delicious Y/N I could stay between these legs all damn day if you let me" Sam said against your pussy, the vibrations of his deep voice and combination of his thrusting fingers causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head "I'm so close Sammy please!" You screamed in pleasure slamming your head back against the pillow behind you as Sam sped up his movements, all that could be heard in the room was heavy breaths and the sounds of Sam's mouth and fingers working you toward your orgasm

You cried out in ecstasy, Sam's long fingers curled inside of you hitting your g-spot repeatedly his lips wrapping around your clit stimulating you completely, you screamed Sam's name as the coil snapped, your orgasm came crashing towards you causing your body to shake slightly, sam carried you through it, not stopping until you gently pushed him away from you, you legs around his shoulders shaking "that was the hottest fucking thing in the world, I've never had a guy do that to me before" you breathed out, still trying to catch your breath

Sam chuckled giving you lips a small kiss "well you have only dated jackasses who clearly have no idea how to please their girls, if I had it my way I'd have you tied to the bed with me down there all damn night" Sam confessed making your heart pound, you looked at him threw half lidded eyes a smirk playing on your lips "I'm not opposed to getting tied up sometime" you said making sam groan loudly as you pulled him into another deep kiss, your hand snuck it's way into his pants and wrapped around his hard cock, you started to move your hand in an up and down motion before Sam quickly grabbed your wrist stopping you

Your eyes snapped to his in a panic and your heart raced in panic, "What's wrong?" You questioned quickly and Sam smiled "nothing it's just… I'd rather be inside you gorgeous" Sam told you and he kicked the rest of his pants off leaving his big hard cock on full display making your mouth water "do you have a condom?" You struggled to ask as your mouth was suddenly dry

Sam nodded, hovering over your bare body to reach into his nightstand, he quickly pulled out a familiar foil package, he ripped it open quickly with his teeth and rolled it onto his erect member "are you sure your okay with this?" Sam, ever the gentleman asked you, his hands ran up and down your waist in a comforting way making you smile  "of course I am Sammy" you confessed wrapping your legs tightly around his hips and pulling him down to you so he was chest to chest to you

Sam leaned down to capture your lips in a sensual kiss, not rushed or hard like the other kisses, you felt him place his covered tip at your entrance, your pussy clenching in desperation to feel him inside you,

Your moan caught in your throat as Sam pushed his way inside you, filling you up, inch by inch

Sam sucked in a harsh breath, his lips moving to attach to your neck "god Y/N your so fucking tight, can already feel you squeezing me" he groaned out hotly against your neck, you giggled softly as your hands ran up Sam's muscled back, he began to move his hips slowly to rest the waters, there was a slight pain but nothing could take away from the pleasure of having Sam so close to you like this "faster Sammy please" you told him arching against him to allow him to push inside you deeper, Sam obeyed and grabbed your thighs, he pushed them up so you knees were against your chest, your calves hanging over his broad shoulders

Sam pulled his hips almost all the way back before slamming back inside you making you scream in pleasure

He continued to slam his cock deep inside you at a fast pace, hitting your G-spot with every thrust his pelvic bone pressing against you swollen clit adding just the right amount of pleasure "yes!" You screamed dragging your nails down Sam's back as white hot pleasure clouded your vision, you knew your orgasm was fast approaching as the coil in your stomach tightened "cum with me baby" you moaned out, Sam quickened his movements feeling his own orgasm crash against him, he moved his hand down to rub your clit quickly causing the band in your stomach to snap, you screamed Sam's name as your juices came flowing out of you, down Sam's thighs as Sam groaned feeling the condom fill with his hot seed 

Sam continued to thrust a few more times slowly to calm you both downs, whimpering when he pulled out you gave him a gentle kiss on his now swollen lips "that was amazing" you said once you pulled away causing Sam to chuckle, he threw the used condom in his trash can "yeah that was the best sex I've ever had" Sam confessed making your heart race and your cheeks turn pink when you giggled “yeah me too”

Sam pushed a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes staring into your own with intensity “I really like you Y/N, your my best friend.. I mean I know we just crossed the line of just friends but I want you, I mean, I want this, not just sex.. I mean I want you.. all of you” Sam confessed before kissing you quickly to solidify his words 

Your heart pounded against your chest as you listened to Sam’s confession, “I want that to Sammy” you said placing your hands on either side of his face, leaning in to peck his kiss swollen lips a couple of times until the smiles on both your lips made it impossible to keep going “so how about tomorrow after your last class we head down the Chinese place for dinner and we can rent a movie to take back home?” Sam asked you nervously “I’d love that” you told him before going to the bathroom to get ready for bed again, this time in the safe protective arms of your boyfriend.

A couple of hours later you awoke to voices in the kitchen, panic rose in your chest before you turned to wake Sam, surprised when all that was in his spot was cold sheets, you furrowed you brows before getting up, you quickly pulled on your over side shirt and panties before stalking towards the kitchen where your boyfriend and another man were talking  “sam?” You called for him making his head snap towards you “Y/N hey what you doing out of bed?” Sam questioned placing his hand on your arm 

You opened your mouth to answer before the other man moved towards you a big flirty smile graced his lips “wow you are so far out of my brothers league” the man said making sam roll his eyes “oh your Dean! Sam’s told me a lot about you” you said making him chuckle “all good I hope” he said before turning his attention back to your boyfriend before staring at you again “listen sweetheart, I gotta talk to your boyfriend here about some family business would you mind giving us a minute?” He asked trying to be as nice as possible “of course I’ll just-” you were cut off by Sam’s big arm wrapping tightly around yours waist pulling you tightly to his side “no, anything you can say to me, you can say in front of Y/N” Sam told him his chest puffed out in anger 

Dean clapped his hands together in frustration “fine, dad hasn’t been home in a couple days” Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes dramatically once again “yeah, he’ll come stumbling back on in soon enough, just like he always does!” Sam said annoyed, his muscled arm around your waist tightening as Dean sighed lowly 

 “alright, dads on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days”. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ALL MY OWN WORK I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT TO COPY OR PUBLISH ON OTHER SITES , I.E WATTPAD, ETC, WITHOUT MESSAGING TO ASK FIRST

For my Sam girlies!

[dough09]

Spoiled

Y/N and her period.

(chapter: Sae Itoshi) //If you want more chapters//

All day he didn’t receive a moment of peace. All you did was whine. Every single second he saw you going by your day.

Technically he expected this would happen. You were on your period. This was your month. He knew it'd be coming because lately you’ve been getting more and more agitated at everything he did.

He forgot his socks on the bed and you glared at him for half a day. Just because of a pair of socks.

You also craved more snacks lately. He noticed these things and always knew it better than the palm of his hands. Sometimes you’d ask him when did the last one end and he’d without thinking just answer. Like it’s nothing.

The man knew you better than you did yourself at this point.

He loved paying attention to the little things. But really you never understood how he knew your cycles better than you yourself of that stupid app on your phone.

You always required more attention on your month and that wasn't different now either. Your head was in his lap as he kept stroking your soft and freshly washed hair.

His jersey hid your form as the size simply was for you. Regardless he’d always request two more. One to have a spare one and the other just for you. His girlfriend.

“This is so boring they aren't even going anywhere! “ The anime that was supposed to be distracting enough failed. As the night was beginning to rise he decided to watch something so time would fly faster. Not that it ever worked for her.

Her cramps and whines engulfed the room making her curl into a small ball. “Oh come on, it can't hurt that bad” he sighed as you flinched and crumbled even more.

“Want me to get a period simulator for you?” “Nah, I'll be fine without one.” He said as he got up and walked to the kitchen. You frowned. “Where are you going?” “I’ll be back.” He said from the end of the hallway.

To his absence you stopped the show and just layed down on the bed. You were squirming on the bed. At this point you were cramping just like on the day you started.

Not that you didn't feel it coming while being in his embrace. It's just that.. he calmed you. His touch was so warm and it made you fuzzy inside. So you could only focus on that.

Soon he came back with a period cramp heat pad. Your eyes widened. “How did you-” “How did I know? Your toes were curling and you were turning into my chest more mi amor.” He sighed and smirked. He gently placed the pad onto your stomach and sat down, pulling you into his arms.

His hand slipped under your shirt and his hands moved in small circles around the belly. “You’re spoiling me~” your grin made its way to your face and he only squinted his eyes at you. “You like it, and it's not like I can't!” He made a fair argument.

[twilightsumu]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter two: girls like sex

synopsis: flashback: the start of yn and geto’s fwb ‘relationship’.

warnings/genre: modern au, smau, college night out, alcohol use, cursing, yn being idiot and not picking up on signs, geto being an idiot and hiding his feelings, suggestive, talks of pregnancy (suguru the seahorse)

a/n: i am trying not to not write so much, but jeez i can’t shut up! i just want to detail every little thing because i love them. also, how cute is suguru?

your friends, shoko, nanami, gojo, and haibara are up ahead of you. their voices drifting into your hair. and for a minute, the liquor sneaks through you; you want to stand there and have the words of their conservations wrap around you like a warm blanket. feel drunk off the sounds of your friends and not the tequila pumping through your bloodstream. 

suguru is walking in step with you. you almost want to jog a few steps ahead and see if he’ll catch up. if he’ll follow through or stay coolly behind you, like he has all the time in the world to walk home. 

you look up at him and before you could even get him in the full line of your fuzzy vision, his eyes are already on you. soft and still, like he was watching your hair dance with the light breeze and was waiting for you to watch too. 

he curls the piece of hair that is always dancing in front of his eye, behind his ear. Iike hes trying to neaten himself up, without realizing. 

“what?” you hiccup and suguru chuckles. another sound you want to add to the blanket of your drunkness. your steps matching his, shoko yelling at gojo, nanami’s head shaking, his chuckle. maybe even the curl of his hair near his ear, if you listen hard enough. 

“you’re drunk,” he says. his hands stuffing into his pocket, like he’s trying to keep them busy. 

“not super drunk,” you giggle. it’s not a lie, you’ve been far more drunk than this. but the air is making you feel light. making you feel like you might be able to overcome tomorrow’s hangover with a glass of water and a single piece of bacon. no need for the advil or whatever the fuck nanami puts in his morning shakes. 

“i could still do this,” you place your finger right in the middle of your nose. a little plop. and you almost throw your head back in laughter at how childish it seems. but that feels like too much work. especially because you’re trying to stay around all of them. around the sounds of the people closest to you. no need for you to muddle with their soundtrack. 

“wow, i'm so proud of you,” he deadpans but you hear the smile in his tone. you smile too. 

“i'm surprised you didn’t leave with one of your guys. you usually never come back with us.” you roll your eyes. not at his observation but at the thought of the guy you would’ve gone home with. 

a car blasting a pop song you’re sure you have saw in suguru’s secret spotify account, speeds past you guys. the vibrating bass of the car staying in the air. you almost feel the bass on the bottom of your feet even as you continue to keep up with suguru’s steps. 

“first of all, i don’t have ‘guys’,” you huff and he chuckles again. teasingly. you ignore how your ears perk at the sound. 

“it was one guy and he’s a fucking moron,” he is looking at the back lights of the car so far away now. they look like little two red eyes watching the group of us walk home. watching suguru tease you with his chuckle. 

“how so?” suguru mummers. a strong breeze bites through the night and you get a sniff of suguru’s cologne mixed with the tequila you're sure is emitting from your pores. 

he’s looking at you again. eyes still soft, always welcoming. 

“he didn’t believe me when i said i did not want a relationship,” you shrug. use to the conversation. you could replay the exact conversation, the faces always changing. the words are always the same. 

the face doesn’t believe that you could possibly just want sex. no strings attached. no calling late at night because you saw him with another girl. no, you don’t want to meet his grandmother’s dog. just sex. no, you're not going to change. you never do. 

“he said he thought i was looking at this too seriously,” you deadpan and you feel a faint prickle of annoyance at the base of your spine. because you know how to act. you know not to get too comfortable. no, you don’t stay the night. you barely ask how their days were. 

suguru hums, slightly nodding his head. he kicks a rock ahead of you two. a little puff of dirt dancing around his feet.  

“were you?” he asks. his interest makes you feel a little unraveled. 

“jesus, no,” you throw your arms up. “i know i have never made a guy believe that we’ll get in a relationship,” he kicks another rock, his hands burrowing deeper into his pockets. more dirt dancing. you almost feel like you have to sneeze. 

“i think he was gaslighting himself to believe that is what was going to happen.” you watch suguru think this over. his eyebrows furrow slightly and his shoulders lean forward a bit. propelling him to another rock. 

“why don’t you just get into a relationship?” suguru asks. and the question is out of curiosity. not snarky, no judgmental tone to it. just curious. like a child asking why the tooth fairy only comes at night. 

ahead of you guys, shoko is running into a bush to pee. nanami is trying his hardest not to gag as he covers her body with his. gojo is still screaming and laughing. loud, lifelike. haibara is off to the side singing off key to some song that was playing in the bar. 

“because i’m me,” you say. no shame to it. no need to lie or beat around the bush. you’re proud to know yourself. to know that you’re the problem. you know that you’re not willing to change. 

he looks at you from the corner of his eye for a beat too long and you could tell that he is trying to bite back something. a disagreement, maybe. a statement of understanding. but he doesn't say anything and you're starting to become uncomfortable under his stare. 

you sometimes catch him staring at you exactly like this and you wonder at the moment if he was looking at you because you did something he liked? it always leaves you a little shaken, because suguru’s stare could be so hard to gauge. he’s either staring at you to see you whole or look right through you. 

his hands leave his pocket and sway on his sides. a little too close. one pinky away from hooking your fingers together. you decide not to overlook the movement. 

you continue and you feel like you’re trying you’re best to defend yourself under his stare. “girls like sex too.” 

“those are valid reasons. no judgment towards it,” he smirks. his hand nearest to your brushes against yours, just once. “i don’t think it should be hard for you to find someone who feels the same,” he looks at you, the smirk still dancing in his lips. but his voice sounds tempting. like he knows something you don’t know.

“my track record says otherwise, suguru,” you retort, an annoyed huff swishing out of your nose. 

and because the tequila is still dancing in your bloodstream and suguru’s stare is unraveling to a place you didn’t think you'll ever go. and because of his tempting voice from three seconds before. you don't think, just allowing your mouth to move.

“unless you’re up for the challenge,” you joke. but for some reason, despite knowing and joking with suguru for a couple years, this felt new.

almost instantly, you regretted your mouth just moving with no thought process. no safety plan. 

he halts, and that smirk that pretty much lives on his lips is there and it feels inviting. like it wants you to come closer. his eyes follow your body up from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head, his hand reaching up to rub at his chin. like a professor assessing the paper you just sent in. 

his smirk twitches, for a split second, becoming something sincere. something way too kind for what you’re proposing. 

a car playing a more mellow, low volume song drives by. the headlights playing off suguru’s all black outfit. 

you’re sure it’s the tequila talking. playing eye games. but his eyes light up just a bit. a little dance of hunger in them.

“i love a challenge,” he says, a playful tilt to his voice. he’s staring at you as if he's trying to figure out if you mean it or not. if his answer was correct. 

“and sex?” you tease back, looking at the smirk on his lips. your eyes hiding from his. there were too much emotions flowing through them it someone like you to grab on too.

maybe you were too hard on yourself a few seconds. the words were meant to leave and be heard by him. 

“who doesn’t love sex, yn?” he seriously asks. no laugh following it. as if you asked the stupidest question ever. his eyes are racking you over, the hunger being replaced by a softness that doesn't make sense coming after this question. 

you stare at him, the tables reversing. but under your stare he’s cool. like he’s practiced this exact conversation in his room for the last three months. no other emotion but passive confidence radiating off of him 

you take your eyes off of him to look over your shoulder. your building is close. two blocks away if you hustle and catch the light on this corner you could be home in less than five minutes.

shoko and nanami aren’t super ahead anymore, their whispered conversations carrying in the air and entering this new landscape of suguru and yours. 

“i think we could work,” he says and you turn your head to give him a good look again. his hands are running through his raven hair and he’s looking at his own roommates, gojo and haibara playing around in the streets. chasing each other like two puppies playing in a field. 

“not that i have been thinking about it,” he quickly adds and you almost laugh at the way he shifts his eyes from you back to his roommates as fast as he could. like he's trying to get a snapshot of your reaction.

“i might have to agree with you, suguru,” another laugh almost erupts out of you at the way his eyebrows shoot up. so quickly, so that the look of passivity can be etched back onto his features without you noticing. but you did notice and it made you feel powerful. 

“you’re good looking and,” you shrug, sending him a teasing smile at your blunt remark. “well, i’m me. so like naturally,” you start walking away and you hear his steps starting up behind you again. 

“you think i'm good looking?” there is a smugness in his voice that sends a little zap at the bottom of your spine. it almost made you forget about his eyebrow mishap a few seconds earlier. 

you guys missed the light. shoko and nanami across from you. gojo and haibara are nowhere in sight, but you hear them. 

“not as good looking as gojo,” you joke and you look up at him right as he sends a playful eye roll. 

“kidding,” you laugh. “you have that ‘i hate my life’ vibe that I find oh so attractive,” you dramatically exclaim, using one hand to clutch your chest and the other to grab at his arm that’s closest to you. 

his skin touching yous, specifically after this conversation floating around you two, feels hotter than usual. like his body is trying to seep into yours by heat alone. 

you’re not sure if he notices the heat but he erupts into a belly aching laugh. his eyes closing and his head tipping back to allow the laugh to enter the air stream. you stare at the way his adam apple bobs in his neck and you have to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“you’re funny,” he states, laughter still dancing in his voice. the light changes and you’re both waking into the crosswalk. step to step. “but i knew that already,” his hand finding its way to the dip on the bottom of your back. you think you could feel a light tremble in his hand, but that might just be you because of the breeze pushing in. 

you shiver a bit, hoping he does notice. so that words don’t have to speak for you. for what you want and what he may be willing to give and lose in the process.

shoko and nanami are waiting for you, right on the corner where the two groups usually depart. suguru and his group turn right and you guys go left. 

you almost wish you had even a minute more so you could gauge suguru. really get under his stare. 

“if you’re done joking,” he says quiet, carefully. like the words might come out wrong if he isn't. 

leaning down a bit so that his lips are ghosting near your ear. “i’m down. it’s just sex right?”

you feel his hand on your back tense for a moment, as if he is wondering if he should keep it there. and from the corner of your eye, you notice the twitch in the corner of his lips.

you swallow, and feel a smirk grow on your own lips. you watch the way your roommates stare at you two. nanami voices something about the time and you use that to get out of suguru’s line. 

“mhm, i'll think about it suguru,” you say, walking towards a cranky nanami complaining about how late it is and a shoko laughing at him. questions evident in their stares. the warmth of his hand still burning on your back. 

“think about getting home, jesus,” nanami mutters as you fall in line with them to walk to your building. you ignore him, feeling suguru’s stare on your back. 

“i wouldn’t want you to catch feelings, you know?” you say over your shoulder and you hear his chuckle drift towards you like an open invitation. and you laugh too, because you think this may actually work.

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie

[vibewithma]

Ruth

Modern Sinners AU! Preacher Boy / Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Guys this is just a filler chapter so you all can know all characters the next chapters finna be🫦. My German ass needed 4 days for this😕💔 I’m working to be faster.

“Y/N, get yo’ ass in here!” Grandma hollered from the living room, already halfway standing, one hand gripped tight around Pops, the other waving like she could summon you through walls.

Dawn, still in her bonnet and fuzzy slippers, shuffled in like a sleepwalking soldier, posted up on the other side of Grandma and took her hand like it was routine.

“Where that girl at? I got a long shift ahead of me,” your Mama called out while wrestling the end of her scrub top, badge already clipped, shoes by the door.

“Don’t be hard on her, now. It’s her first time, baby,” your Daddy mumbled, voice low and easy like Sunday morning, sliding his fingers into hers as they stood side by side.

“I’m here,” you muttered, voice still thick with sleep and thoughts of Sammie lingering in the corners of your mind like smoke. Even though you try to push away any imagination that concludes him.

You stepped into the circle, palms up, heart open. The whole house held its breath as you all bowed heads and began to pray over the week, over your steps, over this brand new chapter that was just starting to bloom.

Amen passed through lips like breath and just like that, the morning was moving again your Mama grabbing her keys, Grandma fussin’ over Dawn’s hair and Pops humming an old hymn under his breath.

“C’mon, girl,” your daddy said, nodding his head toward the front door.

You followed him out, the sun shining above the trees, that early light catching the dust in the air like glitter. The ride was quiet, not awkward quiet just peaceful. His old-school Hip Hop playing low on the radio, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze sneak in.

“Got somethin’ for you,” he said as y’all pulled into the gravel lot behind his job. His truck kicked up little clouds of dirt that shimmered gold in the morning.

You raised an eyebrow, still halfway in a dream. “For me?”

He just smiled and nodded toward the back corner where an old but clean car sat shining like it was fresh out the womb. Paint new, tires black like they’d been dipped in ink, and a little bow taped crooked on the hood.

“Went ahead and fixed her up for you. Thought you might wanna drive yourself to the campus instead of waitin’ on me or your mama.”

You blinked. “Daddy…”

“Don’t cry now, you gon’ mess up your face,” he teased, but his eyes were warm, proud. “She ain’t new, but she solid. Just like you.”

You threw your arms around him, holding him tight like you were seven again, not nineteen and grown. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He patted your back with that daddypat that said I got you, always.

Meanwhile, back home, Dawn was curled up on the couch in Doris’s old bedspread, watching old reruns with Pops. She was still half asleep, letting Grandma braid her hair slowly into cornrows while the house exhaled the rest of the morning quiet.

And just like that, the week began.

The car still smelled like the lemon tree air freshener Lenny stuck in the vent, windows rolled down as you cruised down the two lane road. College campus coming into view like something out a brochure folks laughing, some running late with backpacks halfway falling off, others posted up with iced coffees and opinions.

You found parking easy, took a deep breath and grabbed your tote bag, head held high even though your stomach was doing flips. First day. First class. First real step toward the future you’d been praying on since tenth grade. Social Work 1100: Intro to Human Services. Room B208.

The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and somebody’s too strong cologne, but you found your seat near the window and tucked yourself into the corner.

That’s when he walked in dark skin, dreads shoulder length and a low fade with a clean line up. He wore a big tee, cargo pants, Airforces and carried a beat up notebook like it was sacred.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing to the desk beside you.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

He plopped down, sighed like he’d been holding his breath all morning and then turned to you with a quick, lopsided smile. “I’m Chris, by the way. Social work major God help me.”

You laughed, some of the tightness in your chest letting go. “Y/N. Same major. Same prayer.”

“Okay, I like you already,” he said, sliding his phone face down on the desk. “You look like you you don’t play. You say ‘no’ to people, don’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m working on it.”

“Aren’t we all,” he grinned. “I got a cousin who think I’m about to fix his baby mama drama just ’cause I took one psych class. I said, sir, I’m not licensed yet call your mama.”

You snorted, trying not to be too loud, but it was impossible around him. Chris had that magnetic energy.

By the time Professor Jenkins walked in, y’all had already traded numbers, cracked jokes about the textbook price and promised to be each other’s emergency class partner.

Monday rolled in smooth like butter on warm toast. You got through your classes, met Chris and even remembered to email that one professor back before midnight. Tuesday was light work just two classes and enough time in between to actually eat lunch and catch up on readings. You were getting the hang of this college rhythm.

By the time Wednesday came around, your head had switched gears. Afternoon sunlight poured into your room, golden and soft, and your calendar had one thing circled: youth choir practice.

You were fixing your hair in your bedroom mirror when Dawn poked her head in. She was already dressed like she had somewhere to be that wasn’t choir tight jeans, lip gloss poppin’ and a sly little smirk on her face.

“Hey,” she started, all casual, “can I use the car after you drove to practice?”

You turned, confused. “What you mean? I thought you was staying for choir?”

Dawn shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah… no. But Daddy still got my car jacked up and I just need it for like… an hour. Promise I’ll be back before it’s over.”

You eyed her, suspicious but tired of arguing. “You better be. And don’t scratch it Daddy just gave me this thing.”

“I ain’t stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes and grabbing her bag. “Thank youuu, sissss.”

The two of you slid into the car, the evening breeze dancing through the windows. You pulled up to the church, parked on the side lot and switched seats so she could slide behind the wheel. As you hopped out and shut the door, you didn’t even see the quick check she did in the rearview or the text she sent before pulling off to see whoever she wasn’t telling the Lord about.

You took a deep breath, walked up the church steps and opened the door expecting voices, laughter, maybe a choir member or two already warming up.

Instead, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

You stepped in and the soft hum of piano drifted from the sanctuary. There he was.

Samuel Moore.

Sammie sat at the baby grand, head tilted down and fingers gliding across the keys like the music was coming straight from his bloodstream. He hadn’t seen you yet or maybe he had and was just pretending not to.

You stood there for a second, heart thumping.

He finally looked up, slow and deliberate, mouth curving into that lazy, knowing smirk. “Look who showed up early.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I thought practice started at five.”

He chuckled, not missing a beat. “It does. You just couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face burned anyway. “I came to sing, not flirt.”

“Mmhm,” he said, still playing. “You always wear that lip gloss to sing?”

You folded your arms, but your smile was giving you away. “You always come to practice alone just to be a menace?”

He let a final chord linger in the air, then stood, walking around the piano with a kind of slow, deliberate swagger that made your knees wobble a little.

“I came to get ready,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “But now you here… and suddenly I feel real inspired.”

You looked away, biting your lip just a little too hard.

“Don’t do that,” he said low, voice brushing against your neck like a prayer and a warning. “Do you know what that does to me?“

You laughed, stepping back before the air got too heavy.

“Boy,” you said, “go warm up your vocals or something.”

“I’d rather warm up with you,” he said, voice low and syrupy, like he was trying to melt into you right there between the piano chords and stained glass silence.

You gave him a look that should’ve been stern enough, warning, laced with a little holy fire but all he did was grin wider and take one slow step closer.

“Samuel…” you muttered, planting both hands against his chest, palms flat like a benediction, trying to put something, anything, between the two of you.

But space? Space wasn’t something Sammie knew and especially not when it came to you.

Before you could take another breath, he had you gently backed up against the pew. Not rough, not wild just firm enough to remind you that he was there. That he saw you. That he felt all of this, same as you.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, soft but full of warning, like he hated how your voice wrapped around his full name. Like it did something to him.

He took both of your hands in his, warm and calloused from Keyboard keys and old hymn books and he held them right in front of your chest. His thumbs brushed the back of your knuckles slow.

“You know I like it better when you say Sammie.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “You’re not supposed to be this close.”

He smiled again, leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. “Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t stand near a beautiful girl.”

“Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t swing my purse at you, either.”

That made him laugh quiet and deep, the kind that came from his belly and he leaned back just a little, still holding your hands.

“Fine Y/N,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll behave.”

“For now.”

And he let go, just like that.

But even as he turned away to sit back down at the piano, you still felt the echo of his hands on yours and you still heard the way he said your name like it was part prayer, part problem.

And you weren’t sure which one scared you more.

You were still catching your breath when the old wooden church doors creaked open, the clatter of shoes on tile snapping through the sanctuary like a clapback.

“Hey y’all,” Brittnay called, voice pitched and firm like she’d been born with a mic in hand and a clipboard in the other. Her natural hair was pulled up into a slick bun, edges laid like holy ground. Her eyes flicked over you quick, clipped and cool before landing on Sammie like they always did.

Malik, Terrence, Josh, Paul, Essence, Ruth and a couple other choir regulars spilled in behind her. Laughter and the soft glow of phone screens trailed them like perfume. A few nodded at you. Josh and Terrence? Yeah, they did the most.

“Hey now,” Terrence said, eyes roaming like he was reading scripture on your skin. “Didn’t know the choir was auditionin’ angels.”

You blinked once, slow. “You say that to every girl?”

Terrence let out a sharp laugh, quick and mean. Brittnay gave you the kind of side eye that could curdle communion wine. Sammie, of course, was watching from the piano, one brow lifted like he’d just found his favorite hymn.

Brittnay clapped her hands once. “Alright now, get in place.”

Voices shuffled, shoes scraped and you took your spot near the alto section. Brittnay handed you harmonies like a challenge, but you caught on easy your voice already seasoned by pews and potlucks and a mama who made you sing before you could speak.

Sammie’s hands graced the keys and Amazing Grace rose slow and sweet. His playing was deliberate, like he was coaxing the Spirit out of the strings. You let your voice fall in soft, steady. By the time y’all reached “was blind, but now I see,” even Brittnay had stopped frowning.

Redeemed followed louder, fuller. Ruth belted like she had something to prove. Malik clapped off-beat. Sammie added these bluesy runs between verses, just subtle enough that you noticed. When your voice met his melody, he smiled like he knew you would.

After the last stretch of “His child and forever I am,” Brittnay tapped her phone screen and the music stopped cold.

“I’ll drop the rehearsal vid in the group chat,” she said, already typing. “Y’all know the drill.”

Buzzes filled the room as messages came through. Choir folk grabbed bags and Bibles, hugging, joking, easing toward the door.

Terrence lingered, leaned in close. “You need a ride home or you straight?”

Before you could get your answer out, Sammie slid into the space like he’d been summoned.

“She good,” he said, dangling his keys like temptation. “I offered already.”

Terrence held up both hands. “Say less, preacher boy.”

Brittnay turned to you, smile taut. “Welcome to the choir.”

You gave her a tight nod. “Thanks.” But her voice held no warmth. Felt more like a warning than a welcome.

Some of the group still standing and talking while others went out, voices fading into the humid night air. You turned to Sammie.

“I actually got a ride,” you said, half a lie. “Dawn should be here any minute.”

You stepped out the doors, swinging your hips like you weren’t irritated as hell inside.

But the parking lot was empty. One car left.

Your phone was already in your hand, thumb moving fast.

You tapped the mic and held it close.

“Dawn Elise Whitaker. Where are you? More importantly where is my car? If I don’t hear from you in the next five minutes, I will summon Granny and you know she still got that wooden spoon from 2004. Call me back.”

“You always holler into your phone like that?”

You didn’t even need to turn. That voice? That lil smirk woven into every word? That was Sammie.

You spun around. “Dawn took my car to go God knows where, probably somewhere no Bible touches and now she’s ghostin’ me like a Pharisee in a leggings.”

Sammie laughed, deep and full, like it came from somewhere way down in his ribs.

“Well then,” he said, holding out the passenger door, “Let me be your chariot tonight, church girl.”

You looked up at the sky like maybe God would write no in the stars. But it stayed quiet and dark. And Sammie was already grinning like he knew you’d fold.

You sighed. “Alright.”

He opened the door, still with that look like he was always one second from saying something slick.

“You ready?”

You slid into the seat. “I guess.”

Sammie climbed in behind the wheel. “Let’s get you home before you start second guessin’ this blessing.”

He winked, turned the key, and the engine came alive deep and low, just like your nerves.

And with that, the two of you slipped into the Clarksdale night, your phone still silent in your lap, your heart beating a little too loud for a simple church girl.

The ride started quiet, windows cracked just enough to let in the cicada song and the last breath of sunset. Sammie tapped the wheel with two fingers, watching the road like it had answers he’d been praying on.

You sat with your arms folded, pretending to scroll on your phone but really just waiting for a text that still hadn’t come.

He glanced over, smirk playing soft at his lips.

“You always walk like that after choir practice?”

You looked up, brows furrowed. “Walk like what?”

He leaned back, hand resting at twelve on the wheel, voice a little lower than before. “Like you was floatin’. Swingin’ your hips like you ain’t know half them boys was ’bout to break they neck watchin’.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “I saw Terrence. Lookin’ at you like you was communion and he ain’t ate all week. And that whole ‘you need a ride’ line? Nah. He wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout cars.”

You side-eyed him. “You jealous?”

He didn’t answer right away, just let the engine hum and the night fold around the car like velvet. Then—

“Would it be wrong if I said yeah?”

That shut you up.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. The soft curve of his jaw, the gold chain catching a glint of streetlight, the way his hands gripped the wheel like it was a steering wheel and a prayer all at once.

He caught your stare and smiled. “You be lookin’ at me like that, church girl, I might crash this car on purpose.”

You snorted and turned away, heat rising in your cheeks. “You so full of yourself.”

“I’m full of a lotta things,” he said, voice dipping playful. “But mainly just thinkin’ ’bout you.”

Another silence passed, this one more weighted, like something holy and unspoken was sitting between you both.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favorite Bible story?”

You blinked. “Wait?! what?”

He shrugged. “I’m serious. You got a favorite? Don’t act like you ain’t grown up around the Word.”

You stared at him, thrown. “I mean… yeah. Ruth, probably.”

That made his smile falter just a little. He looked at you different then softer, like your answer unlocked a door he wasn’t ready to open yet.

“Ruth,” he repeated. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, gaze back on the road. “You loyal. You strong. Got that kind of beauty that don’t ask for attention but still gets it anyway.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before his phone lit up on the dash, screen flashing Brittnay and connecting automatically to the car’s Bluetooth.

Sammie groaned. “Damn.”

He hit the answer button and gave you a quick “Shhh,” finger pressed to his lips.

“Hey Brittnay.”

“Hey Sammie,” her voice came through the speakers sharp and sweet like sugar with lemon juice. “I meant to ask before you left can you get that girl’s number? The new one. Y/N?”

Your eyes widened. Sammie glanced at you, trying not to laugh.

“I wanna add her to the choir group chat,” Brittnay continued, tone going flatter now. “Since apparently she’s in now.”

You leaned closer to the speaker, lips twisted. Since apparently?

Sammie coughed into his fist. “Yeah, I’ll get it to you.”

“Mhm,” Brittnay said. “Well. Night.”

The line cut off, the silence loud.

You raised a brow. “She said that like she didn’t ask me to come and like I snuck in through the back door.”

Sammie chuckled. “That’s just Brittnay. She don’t like when new folks catch the spotlight without askin’ her first.”

“Well tell her I didn’t ask for it.”

“I won’t tell her anything,” he said, while the camera to a stop because of the red light. “You tell her next Sunday with that voice of yours.”

He met your gaze and didn’t look away.

“You really jealous?” you asked again, quieter this time.

His lips twitched. “I’m not used to sharin’ what I want.”

You bit your lip, heartbeat steady and loud in your ears. Before you could answer your phone lit up in your hand.

Dawn calling.

You were only ten minutes from home, the street signs startin’ to look familiar and the sky deepenin’ into that Southern blue black.

You picked up with a sharp inhale, ready to fuss.

Before you could get a word out, her voice came fast and panicked, like she’d been rehearsing it on the ride over.

“Wait don’t go inside yet! Please, Y/N, I need you to meet me at the old corner store. You know, the one near Mr. Lee’s barbershop? I’m pulling up now. I can’t go in alone Granny already think I’m halfway goin’ to hell.”

You sighed and looked at Sammie, who raised his brows at your expression.

“Dawn. Girl.”

“I know, I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? Just help me out. I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

You held the phone away from your ear for a beat, then brought it back. “You better be there when I pull up.”

“I’m already here.”

She hung up before you could argue.

Sammie smirked. “That your Pharisee again?”

You gave him a look. “Yes that’s her.”

“Mhmm,” he said, flipping the turn signal like he already knew where to go. “She gon’ owe you for this one.”

As the car turned down the familiar road toward the corner store, he tapped the steering wheel. “Since I’m still playin’ chauffeur, you might as well gimme your number.”

You squinted. “Why?”

He grinned, leaning into that tease he wore like a second skin. “Well, one you gon’ need a ride again. And two Brittnay want it. Remember.”

“Right,” you said slowly, typing it into his phone when he handed it over. “Only for the choir.”

He looked at you sideways. “Unless you want me to use it for somethin’ else.”

You snatched your hand back, heat pricklin’ up your neck. “Drive the car, Samuel.”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, still smiling.

By the time y’all pulled up, Dawn was leaning against the side of the store, hoodie up, like she wasn’t out here actin’ a whole fool just thirty minutes ago.

She scurried over to your side, knocking on the window. “Unlock it!”

You did, barely rolling your eyes before stepping out.

She grabbed your hand quick. “Okay. We was at the church a little late, right? That’s what happened.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered.

“I know,” she whispered back. “You the realest.”

Before y’all started walking, you turned back to Sammie, who hadn’t pulled off yet.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, voice softer now.

He leaned over the wheel, one arm draped lazy but his eyes locked with yours. “Anytime, Ruth.”

Your breath hitched just a little.

Dawn looked between the two of you, confused and amused. “Y’all flirting or quoting scripture?”

You elbowed her.

And Sammie? He just laughed, like he had all the time in the world to keep teasing you until you gave in.

By the time y’all reached the house, the porch light was still on and the living room window glowed warm behind the lace curtains. Inside, the air was still, thick with that kind of silence that don’t mean peace just waiting.

You and Dawn stepped through the front door like two kids fresh from trouble. Not even five seconds in and you froze, Pops was sittin’ in his favorite chair, Bible closed on the side table, glasses perched low on his nose. Doris sat straight on the couch, arms crossed, face carved in stone.

Both of them looking dead at y’all.

“Evenin’,” Pops said, slow.

You swallowed. “Evenin’, Pops.”

Dawn’s voice cracked a little. “Evenin’, Granny…”

Doris didn’t even blink. “Mmhm. Y’all smell like outside.”

You and Dawn exchanged a glance like that would help, but it only made you more suspicious.

“We were at practice,” you offered.

“Late, huh?” Doris cocked her head, still lookin’ at Dawn.

“Yeah,” Dawn said too quick. “Real late. The choir uh, we recorded stuff and, uh, Brittnay wanted to run a second round—”

“Baby,” Doris cut in smooth. “Don’t lie with your whole chest if your socks tell a different story. You done scuffed up your shoes runnin’ through gravel and your neck still got perfume from somebody else’s bathroom.”

Dawn blinked like she forgot how to use her mouth.

You coughed into your hand, stifling a laugh, but Doris turned to you next.

“You went to practice, Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Doris squinted, then sighed. “Alright. Go on. Get ready for sleep. Your mama gon’ want to hear how choir’s goin’ in the mornin’.”

“Goodnight.”

You booked it down the hall, still hearing Pops mumble, “You too grown to be actin’ so foolish,” as Dawn shuffled into her seat for the interrogation of the year.

By the time you shut your door, you went straight to the shower and got ready for bed.

Your bonnet was tied and your oversized tee hit just above the knees as you curled into bed, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling you into stillness. You had barely flipped your phone over when the screen lit up.

Unknown Number You make it home alright, church girl?

You smiled, thumb already flying before your brain could catch up.

You I made it. Barely. Dawn almost got me grounded at my big age.

Sammie. Coulda been worse. I coulda drove you straight into temptation.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin stretching wide across your face.

You You already did. Now I gotta pray twice before bed.

Three little dots danced before his reply dropped.

Sammie I like a girl who knows her way to the altar. But I also like a girl who pays her chauffeur. You got some gas money, miss ma’am?

You stared at the message, laughing into your pillow.

You I’ll cashapp you $5. That cover it?

His response came fast.

Sammie Mm. Nah. I don’t take cash.

You Then what you want?

Sammie A kiss. Just one. Payment in full.

Your breath caught a little. Fingers paused mid type. This boy had no business texting like this while you were tucked under your grandmother’s roof.

You You tryna go to hell, Samuel?

Sammie Only if you drivin’.

You threw your phone across the bed and squealed into your pillow, heart knockin’ around your chest like it was trying to break free.

You stared up at the ceiling for a long beat before whispering out loud to no one, “Lord… why he gotta be like this?”

Your phone buzzed again.

Sammie Sleep good, choir girl. Don’t forget to pray. Twice.

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