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marveldcmistress · 28 days ago

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.⋆｡In the Blood｡⋆.

Alfie Solomons x plus size reader

The youngest Shelby sister was supposed to be the good one, the innocent one, but apparently she’s got some secrets of her own

Warnings: shelby!reader (unspecified as to whether she was adopted or not), nudity, protective Tommy, getting caught in the act (sex, sex is the act), mentions of unplanned pregnancies and castration WC: 1.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Ada knew something was wrong with her little sister- she was skittish, hiding her eyes beneath caps and behind her hair, and most telling of all, she stopped coming to family meetings. The final straw came when the elder Shelby sister sat at the kitchen table, sipping on a cold cup of tea as Karl slept in a small bassinet by her chair. He had been a pain all night so Ada had resorted to staying up, gently rocking him with her foot.

Dawn was just starting to break when the front door opened. Ada was perfectly positioned at the kitchen table to see her little sister, who had just turned 21, walk into the house dressed in a coat that was far too big to be hers with her shoes in her hands. The grin on her face was wide and dazed- Ada knew that look well. She smiled and went back to her tea.

When Y/N finally did stumble down the stairs, 10 minutes past noon, Ada and Pol lay in wait. “Good morning princess.” She groaned in reply as she took the offered painkillers from her aunt. “Have a good night?” Ada teased.

“Was fine, just had some drinks with the girls.” Pol raised a dark eyebrow at her niece.

“Oh really. And I suppose it was one of your ‘girls’ that gave you that bruise on your neck.” Y/N’s eyes widened comically and her hand flew to her throat in an attempt to hide where her skin was discoloured. But after a moment, she sagged into one of the kitchen chairs, knowing that she was caught.

“You won’t tell Tommy will you?”

Pol patted her hand lovingly. “Tommy won’t know until you’re ready to tell him but he will find out eventually. I think you’re old enough to have a couple secrets of your own.”

“It won’t be a secret for long if you get pregnant.” Ada murmured under her breath. Y/N’s head whipped around. Her eyes had that same dangerous gleam that Tommy’s got when he was planning something big.

“I actually know how to pull out Ada.” Pol choked on her tea, giving a very undignified snort that made her youngest niece beam.

Ada rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Accidents happen.” Y/N’s smile grew wider, her eyes scrunching with its size.

“Speaking of, where is your little accident?” Her chair clattered to the floor as Ada shot up and dashed to her little sister. Anticipating this, Y/N darted away at the last second. She bounced on her toes like she was contemplating some big decision and, flipped off her sister.

——————

One of the few freedoms that Y/N was given in her adulthood was her own apartment, though until recently, she had not spent much time there, favouring the family home on Watery Lane. But whenever she was at her own place, there was the tiny little condition that her siblings and her aunt each had their own key, for emergencies as John and Arthur claimed. Yet they respected their sister enough not to make use of these keys, until today that is.

Tommy shuffled up to the front door, hat low on his head as the freezing rain pelted him. It had been a stupid idea, a walk to calm the storm in his mind as black clouds descended over Birmingham. So he found himself here, at the door of his youngest and arguably favourite sister.

He jammed his finger into the doorbell, distantly hearing it ring from the partially open window above him. Yet, there was no movement inside. Tommy sighed and glanced over his shoulder, it was at least another hour to walk back to the Garrison, there was no way he was going home to face Pol without at least one drink. The cold metal of his keys stung his palm as he fished them from his pocket; Y/N wouldn’t mind the intrusion, in fact she’d probably feed him before sending him on his way.

His cheeks burned with the change in temperature as he stepped into the hallway. A heavy thump and then a loud groan of pain came from somewhere above his head. “Y/N?” He called out, but received no reply.

Tommy didn’t even bother to hang up his coat, taking the stairs two at a time he reached the landing in no time and with no hesitation, he threw open the front door, hand on the butt of his gun, fully prepared to deal with whatever situation his little sister had been thrust into.

But maybe not this.

His sweet baby sister was kneeling on the floor, stark naked, her back facing him (thankfully) with an equally naked man laying between her legs, hands on her hips and an obviously broken couch behind them.

“Tommy!” She yelped, her arms darting up to cover her chest as he instinctively spun around and faced the wall. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining. Who’s the man?” A deep chuckle soaked into the wallpaper, its familiarity almost mocking the gangster as his mood turned even more sour than it had been only minutes before. A soft slap followed, then the man’s heavy footsteps vanished into the bedroom.

“No one Tommy, just a boyfriend. You can turn around.” A greatly oversized men’s shirt concealed her body, the horrified expression on her face almost tugged at his heart strings, almost.

Tommy glared at her. “A boyfriend?” His words came out as more of a growl, his anger mounting. It was one thing for Y/N to have picked up a boy from the Garrison or at the market, as much as he hated the thought of anyone even looking at her, but to have hidden a boyfriend from the family? From him?

She fought back the urge to roll her eyes at her older brother. “Yes. A boyfriend. You know, like most girls my age have.”

“Not without my permission.” Her gaze hardened.

“I’m a grown woman Thomas.”

“Not when you keep secrets from me.”

“Now that’s rich coming from you.” She scoffed. Tommy’s eye twitched. “I think more than half of the things you have said to me my entire life have been you lying to keep some secret or another. Why am I not allowed to have some of my own?” Her arms crossed over her chest, unwavering in her determination.

Tommy reached for his cigarettes but thought better of it. “That was business.”

Y/N opened her mouth to undoubtedly hit back at him with something clever that he would blame Polly for but before even a single sound had passed her lips, another voice rumbled through the small apartment, making his blood freeze.

“Well it’s a damn good thing this was a business meetin, wasn’t it darling?” And suddenly, in his little sister’s living room, wearing only trousers and with a cigarette hanging from his lips, was Alfie Solomons.

Tommy’s head whipped over to Y/N who now had her head in her hands. “Him?” Was all he could manage around the bubbling anger building in his throat. Alfie laughed and as if to add insult to the injury, wrapped a large arm around her waist, tugging her into his side. She refused to look at her brother, fixing her eyes firmly to the floor like she used to do when caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Alfie was practically beaming, gloating. “She’s done a very good job at keeping me secret from you. Even got me to hide in a fucking supply cubbord once.” A vein in Tommy’s head throbbed as he laid a palm over the butt of his gun.. “But ey, you must be proud, passing on those strong genes. She’ll be runnin circles around you in no time.”

“Alfie, I will fucking kill you.” She pleaded.

“It’s in the blood ain’t it? Can’t even imagine how sneaky our kids are gonna be considering our tendency to tell a little fib.”

“I’ll castrate you before that ever happens.” Tommy growled and finally pulled his gun clear of the holster but Alfie didn’t even flinch. In fact the man’s eyes sparkled with vindication.

“See, all in the blood.”

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marveldcmistress · 1 month ago

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I miss my man 💔💔😔😔😔 (he doesn’t exist and probably wouldn’t even like me if he did)

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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Dead Gentleman's Society - A Vampire!Alfie Solomons/Reader One Shot Story.

Here we go, besties. The next installment for my Vampire Soirée! Enjoy :)

Words - 1,320

Warnings - A little sorrowful, but none otherwise

“I’ll be locking the gates in ten minutes, love.”

Turning away from the grave, you see the cemetery maintenance man pull up in his little buggy, nodding with a smile. “Okay, thanks. I won’t be long now.” Looking back at the shiny, black marble of her headstone, you sigh, kissing your fingers and placing them against the smooth, cold surface.

“Love you so much, bubbe.”

God, how you miss her. The warmth of her hugs, her stories from a joyous life gone by, the aromas from her kitchen, especially the smells of chicken soup and roast lamb filling the air. If there was a quintessential Jewish grandmother archetype, she’d have been the blueprint. It still doesn’t seem real, that you were only there in that kitchen with her just six weeks ago, and now she’s in the ground.

She might have been eighty-seven, but the good innings commentary never sat well with you at all. Just because somebody lived a long life does not mean the pain their loved ones face is any less poignantly piercing when they come to leave it behind.

Standing up, you straighten your coat, turning to walk back down to the main path and out of the rear gates of the cemetery, noticing there the same man you’ve witnessed a few times, appearing as soon as the sun goes down, standing beneath the baren weeping willow tree, her luscious, green canopy stolen by the chill of Autumn. He never broaches the cemetery perimeter itself. He always directs his gaze over to the graves along the left of the gate, never flinching, never blinking, but an obvious mourning almost viscerally palpable in his steely blue eyes.

You always simply walk past him, but on that particular cold, October evening, something prompts you not to.

“Hi,” you speak, the man taking a few seconds to tear his eyes away from the graves.

“Mm, ‘ello, love.”

You linger, tucking your hair behind your ear, following his gaze across the grass that’s beginning to crisp with frost as the temperature drops. “I’ve seen you here a few times, but you’ve never gone in.”

Lifting his chin, he raises his hand slowly, gesturing between the bars of the gates. “Nah, well, here’s the thing, my darlin’. That place in there, right, it ain’t for the likes of me. Hallowed ground, innit. So, everyone I’ve loved an’ lost, I have to go visit ‘em from out here, don’t I?”

You did wonder, why he was so pale. “Ahh. You’re a vampire.”

They’ve been out in the open for a while now, the undead of society. It took a long time for people to settle to the idea, but you’ve never really had any issue with them. Some can be cold, standoffish and temperamental, but you’ve encountered plenty of humans of the same disposition, too. It isn’t a vampire specific, although more often than not, they can be quite aloof.

“Ain’t scared of me? Most people are, when I tell ‘em what it is that I am,” he finally speaks, eyes touring you a few times, studying you. “Then again, if they ‘ad much sense, people were scared of me when I was alive an’ all.”

You shake your head, mouth pinching a little. “I don’t fear anyone unless they give me reason to. Unless it’s those lads in hoodies who carry machetes and prowl around Court Oak Road. They scare me,” you confide, the vampire sniffing, his lip curling.

“Yeah, don’t blame ya, petal. Right horrible little bunch of cunts, they are. Excuse my language.”

Oh, so he’s quite gentlemanly. You can’t even remember the last time a man excused his swearing in front of you, or even if it’s ever happened before. “S’alright, I cuss my arse off. You’re fine. And yeah, I can imagine for someone like you, the machete lads are right at the bottom of the food chain.”

His eyes narrow, something a little sinister spreading his mouth into a grin. “When I could eviscerate all of ‘em in the blink of an eye, yeah, darlin’. You could say that.” His shoulders round, the thick, wool coat he wears making his wide frame look even vaster. “I ain’t much in the market for violence, though. Not unless I’ve gotta show someone why they shouldn’t - what’s that term you young people use now – fuck around and find out?”

“That’s it,” you nod, watching as his eyes fall back onto the graves, the street light just to the side of the curb flickering into life. He looks even paler beneath the halogen glow. “Who’s over there, then? It’s sad, that this is as close to them as you can get.”

Touching a hand to your shoulder, he turns you, pointing out towards the row of headstones that form a row beside a large tree. “Mother, father, brother, brother, sister, wife, daughter, daughter, son.” His mouth twists, his eyes saddening. “Everyone, they always go on at how great it must be to become a vampire, right, but nah. They don’t tell you how fuckin’ tragic it is to watch everybody you’ve ever loved die, and how that’s the way it’ll be for centuries.”

You always assumed vampires to be quite unfeeling emotionally for some reason. Such a stance is very much proved wrong by the one who stands there, unable to even properly visit the last resting place of his loved ones. He seems hugely far removed from that assertion, riddled with the sorrow of his existence, seemingly with nobody familial to share it with.

The sweet charity in you prompts the next words that fall from your lips in an instant, cocking your head as you smile. “I know you vampires only drink blood, but I was going to head to the coffee shop at the top of the hill to warm up a little. You’re welcome to join me, should you need a friend?”

His eyes soften. Oh, such a sweet little thing, you are. He could get used to such loveliness breathing new life into his existence, only broken in its regime by a thrilling hunt to the death upon a deserving mortal, or a mind-blowing fuck. “I’ll pass it up, love. I don’t do friends.”

“Oh.” You feel embarrassed, the vampire’s mouth curling into a small smile.

“Don’t take it personally. Humans, you only mean two things to me; a feed or a fuck. Sometimes both at the same time. And I ain’t offering that either.”

You frown, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Bloody spoil sport.”

He isn’t, though. He just sees something shine in you with more luminescence than the rest of the faces he forgets as soon as he leaves them, thousands of meaningless connections left behind over the last century. He shan’t taint it with his perpetual darkness. “You seem like a proper lovely little flower, right, one I could come to grow right fond of. I ain’t gonna let myself, though. Cos’ there ain’t nothing, my darlin’, not even living death, that makes you cold enough to endure the loneliness that everyone else's mortality inevitably leaves you in, innit. Nah.”

He strokes the apple of your cheek with the back of his finger. “You ain’t becoming another headstone I have to stare at from afar. Too fuckin’ lovely for that.”

You’re about to tell him that you understand – or at least as much as you’re able – but in a blink he’s gone, leaving you spinning on the spot, searching through the inky darkness of the night for him.

“Oh, well,” you sigh, “easy come, easy go.”

You feel sad for him, but also warmed by the fact that even though you can’t see him, you sense that the vampire follows you all the way to the coffee shop before departing properly, just to make sure you arrive safely.

Trust the only gentleman you’ve met in years to be dead.

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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In his hands

I rewatched peaky blinders and have undeniably fallen in love with Alfie’s hands, especially his tattoos. So this fic will be about an obsession with his hands, enjoy xx

content warning: none

You were sitting close together in the quiet of Alfie’s study, the air thick with the scent of ink and whiskey. The room was dim, the firelight casting a warm glow across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the rugged lines that seemed to carry the weight of a life lived on his own terms. Your gaze drifted from his face to his hands, your attention captured by the dark ink that decorated his knuckles, winding across his skin in intricate, almost hypnotic patterns.

You reached out, your fingertips brushing over the tattoos on his hands, tracing each line with a kind of reverence. Alfie stilled, watching you, a bemused smirk playing at his lips. Your touch was light, almost shy, but there was a quiet intensity to it, something that spoke of fascination and unspoken attraction. Without thinking, you wrapped your fingers around his, lifting his hands and bringing them to your face. You pressed his palms to your cheeks, your skin warm against the calloused roughness of his hands, your eyes shining as you looked up at him.

Alfie raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s this, then?” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. “Can’t resist me hands, treacle?”

A blush spread across your cheeks, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you met his gaze with a soft, smitten smile, your fingers lacing through his as you held his hands to your face. There was a vulnerability in the way you looked at him, an openness that made his heart beat just a little faster. He could feel the warmth of your skin against his palms, the way your gaze softened, darkened, as you took in every detail.

“You’re lookin’ at me like I’m a damn work of art,” he teased, his voice a low, affectionate rasp. “I could use to this, real fuckin used to it”

You laughed softly, a quiet, breathless sound. “Maybe it’s you,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper, “or maybe it’s the way you carry yourself. Strong… confident.” Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but you didn’t look away.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your chin, feeling the softness of your skin under his touch. “Is that right?” he murmured, his voice dropping as his fingers tilted your face up slightly. “You like the feel of me hands on you, yeah? Could’ve just asked.”

A shiver ran through you , and you didn’t answer, you only closed your eyes as his thumb grazed over your cheekbone, down to your chin. You felt yourself melt, your usual reserve slipping away under the weight of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he explored your expression, your softness.

Unable to resist, You leaned forward, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the crown tattoo that adorned his knuckles. Your lips were soft against his skin, your touch leaving a warmth that lingered even after you pulled away.

He tilted his head, a glint of mischief and warmth in his eyes as he watched you. “Well now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling, “you keep that up, and I’m gonna have to show you what else these hands can do.”

Your breath was caught, but you didn’t look away, your fingers tightening around his. You were captivated, helpless under the weight of his gaze, knowing you’d let him do whatever he wanted. In that quiet moment, with his hands framing your face, it felt as if the whole world had narrowed to just the two of you, to his touch and the heat simmering between the both of you, waiting to be unleashed.

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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Tom Hardy Kinktober Day 30 - Wildcard 3 [Alfie Solomons]

Temperature Play

You watch Aflie swirl the icecubes in his glass. "What are you gazing at?" He rumbles. You smile a sectretive little smile. "Close your eyes, you'll find out." You purr. Alfie rolls his eyes, but he shuts them all the same. "Fine, I'll indulge you." He murmurs.

You reach into his glass, taking a piece of the ice and popping into your mouth and then slipping into his lap. You tilt his head back and attach your cold mouth to his throat. Alfie grunts hoarsely. "Fucking hell my girl." He tangles his fingers into your hair. You move your mouth to his neck, the piece of ice keeping your mouth. Cold droplets run from your lips down his collarbone, into his chest hair. Alfie shudders.

His trousers begin to tent.

You slip into his lap. He grabs you by the hips and rocks against you.

You grab another piece of ice to cool your mouth once again. Then you kiss him fiercely. Alfie grunts against his lips. "More, more of you." He growls. Your tongues dance around the ice cube and his pelvis bucks up at yours. "Yes, please." You whisper. You grind down on him.

Alfie's hands tug at your skirts and he feeds another ice cube into your mouth. You work your cold lips on his neck and throat while he trails cold droplets along your shoulders and the back of your neck. You moan in unison. "Let me inside you." Alfie nips the shell of your ear. You moan and the ice cube tumbles from your lips. Alfie picks it up, bringing his hand under your skirts to insert it inside you. You gasp at the feeling.

He grabs you by the hips and sets you on the table.

"Yes?" He furrows his brow. You nod quietly. He starts to push in every last ice cube, one after the other. You shudder and moan. Then swiftly Alfie opens his trousers and pulls out his cock. "Sit down." He growls. You oblige, sinking down on his cock. You moan loudly in unison. "Bloody hell, wicked little slut." Alfie grunts, bucking into you.

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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Mortifying Monday Thought!

Pairing: Steve Hot-Ass-Punk Rogers x Reader | Word Count: ~500 | Warnings: Dirty talk, D/S vibes, out of depth with Technology Rogers

Indulge Away!

****

It was a technical debrief, and as the Technical Manager, you joined the Avengers for the meeting. The whole team was present except Tony, who was returning from LA and running five minutes late.

Your phone buzzed for the third time in a row. Narrowing your eyes, you glanced at the stoic, burly man sitting at the head of the table. He looked like a giant in that chair, legs spread wide, exuding an effortless dominance in his formal button-down shirt and trousers. Stupidly gorgeous, too.

Buzzzzzz.

You sighed and picked up your phone. The messages made your breath hitch, quickly turning into a cough.

Steve: You look delectable, and I'm hungry.

Steve: Meet me after? 15 minutes tops.

Steve: You know, I think we missed covering one of the marks on your left side.

Your face heated as you read his messages, your heart thundering in your chest. Pushing your hair forward to shield both sides of your neck, you furiously typed a reply.

You: You're incorrigible. Behave, Captain Rogers!

His response was instant, and it made you groan out loudly. Almost.

Steve: Are you giving me orders, sweetheart?

Steve: Guess you need reminding. Maybe 10… with you on my knees.

A series of coughs, groans, and muffled laughs echoed through the room. Confused, you finally glanced around—and froze. Your husband was blissfully unaware that he’d somehow shared his private chat with you on the giant screens surrounding the tiny conference room.

Dear heavens! Your heart nearly lurched out of your chest, and you couldn't find the words to smack some sense into your man.

Steve, oblivious as ever, kept his eyes on his phone, clearly far too pleased with himself. That is, until Tony Stark strolled in, a grin plastered on his face when he glanced at the screens.

“Ah, I knew you had it in you, Cap. Kinky.” Tony quipped, throwing you a wink.

You groaned audibly, wishing for the floor to swallow you whole.

Steve’s smug expression disappeared faster than light as he finally looked up and realized the horrifying fact. Fury blazed in your eyes, and he visibly wilted under your glare. Fumbling with his phone, he tried desperately to shut off the screen share, his face paling visibly.

After what felt like the longest, most excruciatingly discomfiting meeting of your life, one thing was clear: you were going into hiding. Not just for a day or two. No, this was a full-blown disappearance act. You’d fake an emergency, retreat to the furthest corner of the planet, and hope everyone conveniently forgot your existence.

Your face burned as your mind queued Tony’s teasing smirk, Natasha’s raised brow, and the quiet snickers from the rest of the team.

And then there was Steve Rogers, your stupid punk of a husband, who had the audacity to look both sheepish and mildly proud after his massive fuck-up.

One thing was certain: Steve Rogers was going to pay. Oh, you’d ground his ass, confiscate his phone, and probably ban him from tech altogether. Let him figure out smoke signals or carrier pigeons next time he wishes to text.

But first, you needed to figure out how to survive the inevitable wave of teasing headed your way.

****

Boi, Oh Boi! Your man is in trouble!

Just a thot! What do you think? I think Steve is going to have to do some major groveling (or perhaps… other things 👀) to earn your forgiveness.

I'm working on my next ASK for SMUT-BER Fest and need Steve to cooperate. So, I decided to scribble some musings with Captain Hot-Ass-Punk!

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @rogerscut @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @bernelflo @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @jvanilly @mimisweetz @navyhua23 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @feynightlight @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stellar-solar-flare @stuckysgal @bval-1 @slowlyshycomputer @rogersbarber @avengersfan25 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @thiquefunlover63 @blackhawkfanatic @notsostrangerthing @awkwardgiraffe726

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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THE PRINCESS' SEVEN MERCENARIES

CHAPTER FIVE : THE SMITTEN CHARMER

relations. : cevans various/reader -- steve rogers/reader ; curtis everett/reader ; ari levinson/reader ; lloyd hansen/reader ; andy barber/reader ; jake jensen/reader ; ransom drysdale/reader

chpt. sum. : operations centres around the royal family and the capital. with nothing to do, ransom volunteers to stay home with you hoping to drive you away only to be pulled in by your charms.

tags. : snow white and the seven dwarves au ; fairy tale au ; fluff ; domestic fluff ; a/b/o universe but it's not the central point ; disney princess reader and her seven sexy mercenaries hehe~ ; ransom drysdale centric chapter ; ransom fully falls for you ; scheming ari ; lloyd being stubborn ; jake being a lovable dork ; slight a/b/o dynamics

length. : 5.8k

← four. the liberal guard | navi. | series masterlist

Full of your delicious food catered in gratitude to Curtis, the team ensured you were comfortable before commencing their nightly meeting, as was routine. They delved into the recent developments and Steve swiftly handed the lead over to Lloyd who informed them of their latest target — the kingdom’s royal family.

“Not a lot is known except for the fact that the Queen has been the official ruler ever since the sudden passing of the previous monarch in battle,” Lloyd informs and clicks his tongue, his lips tugging up into a smirk that was simultaneously an unsatisfied grimace, “her rule is… turbulent. There’s good and bad but the good doesn’t always seem to outweigh the bad,”

Andy nods along and smoothly interjects with the information he had dug up on his supplementary research, “It’s said that the previous King had a daughter but since his passing, there have been no known sightings of the princess. Talk of her flits between heedless rumours and confident accounts; the consensus of her existence appears mixed. It also seems as though the palace staff have been confined to the palace so reliable accounts of inner palace workings are close to none…”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Steve asks, his tone more curious than accusatory at the lack of information.

“I’m afraid so,” Andy confesses following a sigh as Lloyd shakes his head trying to deny the situation.

“We’re back to zero,” Lloyd mutters but is still loud enough for the team to comprehend and there’s a unanimous slumping of shoulders throughout the room.

“At least we know where to focus our efforts from now on,” Steve is optimistic, “a concentrated effort is better than a divergent one,”

“To think that the royal family could be a suspect…” Jake shares a look with Ransom, prompting the machiavellian mercenary to speak his thoughts.

“But it seems the queen is the only primary suspect. Nobody even knows if there’s a definite princess or not,”

“That’s true…” Ari adds as Curtis nods beside him, “Our operations can go two ways then, investigation into the Queen or the potential Princess. Is she even real?”

Lloyd grumbles, “It would be useless looking into her if that’s the case,”

“If she’s real, that would make her the true heir,” Andy helpfully points out. “So keeping staff inside the palace would also keep talk of the princess at bay and potentially lead the kingdom into questioning whether she exists in the first place…but is this hypothetical princess already of age or not?”

“No clue,” Andy shrugs, frustrated.

Another silence fills the space as the group slowly turn to their captain. Prompted by his team’s gazes, Steve begins to lease out assignments catered to each member’s speciality. Andy and Steve will take on further strategising and research efforts. Lloyd will carry that further by tailing several known nobles who are allowed limited access into the castle. Curtis will aid in Lloyd’s assignment. Jake and Ari, equipped with knowledge of weaponry and magical artefacts, will continue investigating the stolen artefacts in a more localised area spanning the kingdom’s city centre. Steve has also permitted them to engage in suspicious and potentially dangerous activity. As the captain, wasn’t willing to risk causing a stir in the underground too early on in their investigation but, now that they had a lead, they were ready to get their hands dirty again. That left Ransom with nothing to do and free to join any of the three operations.

“I’ll stay here then, keep an eye on our intruder,” Ransom’s comment makes Curtis visibly displeased as Ari smirks, looking smug.

“Don’t be shy now, you like her~” Jake smirks, narrowing his eyes in playful accusation, “you wouldn’t be so eager to stay behind, otherwise; Captain finally gave us the green light for going all the way,”

Ransom glares at the only other beta in the group, prompting Ari to laugh as Andy smirks in amusement, Steve remains a neutral observer, “I still don’t fully trust her.” Ransom turns to Steve, “With your permission captain, I’d like to make some observations of my own,” To the surprise of everyone, Steve accepts.

“But you have to promise not to do anything that would scare her away. Judging from what Curtis told us about escorting her to the nearest village, she’s safer with us than anywhere else and we can’t risk her safety.”

Comforted by Steve’s condition, Curtis eases into his seat as everyone else nods in agreement. Lloyd seems to be the only other person still at odds with you. He and Ransom couldn’t believe how vocal they were upon arriving home and being told what had transpired. Their current backtracking was almost laughable to the group. They didn’t want to admit the growing softness they had towards you – that was the last thing they wanted to do.

“Sure,” Ransom agrees flippantly. Although that was enough for Steve to finally give his dismissal, some others weren’t quite satisfied yet. Lloyd happily retires while everyone else lingers, not allowing Ransom to leave until they’ve said their share.

Curtis gives Ransom a silent look that borders on a glare before dragging an equally glaring (though not as intimidating) Jake out of the meeting room. Andy moves to stand by Ransom’s side and offers a hushed warning. Despite the negotiator’s usually modest disposition, Ransom couldn’t help but take his words seriously.

“She is innocent and precious and worth protecting Ransom; don’t let me see you treating her otherwise or you will have hell to pay,”

“Agreed,” Ari grips at Ransom’s shoulder tighter than what is necessary. The giant man is smiling amicably but his eyes are a piercing sort, eager to cut him up if Ransom ever crosses him. “Don’t mistreat our Angel,” there was enough threat in Ari’s eyes for him to leave.

“Goodnight Ransom,” Steve utters, his monotone voice coming off more threatening than it should and shoots a shuddering bolt down Ransom’s spine.

Breakfast twice in a row was pleasant. Heading out with full stomachs was pleasant. Having a lovingly prepared lunch to carry them through the day was pleasant. Leaving with a kiss on the cheek from an angel, was heaven on earth.

Steve graciously accepts his kiss with a soft smile, leaning over so you can reach. He smells clean, like fresh, cotton sheets and has a smile that makes you go weak in the knees. “Thank you…” he whispers and kisses the crown of your head before heading through the door first.

Andy kisses your knuckles first before leaning into your kiss against his cheek. He feels the light touch of your gentle fingers briefly comb through his neat beard and he raises a brow. Staying inclined towards you, he whispers, “You don’t like it?” he sounded willing to shave his entire beard off if that was your preference.

“No no, I like it,” you look adorable flustered under his questioning but fond stare, it prompts you to answer his silent question, “I just wanted to know how it felt,” he chuckles lowly and brings your hand up to cup his cheek and feel for his beard a little longer, “I’m glad you think so. Take care, pretty girl,” he kisses your fingers before joining his captain outside.

Jake approaches you shyly but with open arms. His bashfulness makes you smile and almost coo at his lovable image despite the visible muscle in his arms and his broad chest. You hug him close and turn your head to sweetly kiss him on the cheek. A little more shameless than the rest of his team, Jake quietly asks for a second kiss on his other cheek, which you happily grant. This sends him cheering and jumping in glee out the door, eager to brag about his second kiss to the rest of his teammates, “Have a great day, princess!” his favoured nickname still catches you off guard but you don’t let it show on your face this time.

Ari doesn’t tease you by staying upright this time and happily bends down for his kiss. However, he isn’t eager to let you pull away, “Don’t be shy,” Ari teases, holding your chin hostage and moving his lips to brush against your own as he speaks, “Why not a kiss on the lips, angel?” Your heart jumps in your chest and you almost give in to his smooth seduction.

“Shove off, Ari,” Lloyd grumbles, pushing away the tall, broad-shouldered man who laughs in good humour. Ari appears to get equal satisfaction from seeing you flustered as he would if you actually gave in and kissed his lips.

“I’ll get that kiss some day,” Ari promises as he steps away, leaving behind a grumbling Lloyd, who faces your flustered form sternly.

“Don’t let him do shit you don’t like,” silently, Lloyd leans down for his kiss too. And, feeling in the mood to tease, you kiss him on the corner of his lips, ignoring Ari’s hearty laugh outside the door from the display. Pulling away you barely contain the giggle that bubbles up at the sight of Lloyd’s wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“That moustache is a magnet,” you teasingly say, louder than you anticipated, which earned a round of laughter from the mercenaries outside the door. Lloyd refuses to burn a deeper shade of red and stomps off in a huff, stubbornly withholding his goodbyes despite your call to him.

“Have a good day, Lloyd!”

Last up was Curtis who patiently waited for his kiss behind everyone else. He holds your much smaller hands in his own as he receives his kiss and he doesn’t seem to want to let go, lingering behind the front door with you as he stares into your eyes. He doesn’t say anything but it’s all in his gentle, blue eyes, “Take care, Curtis. Come home safe,” he visibly softens at your words and leans down to touch his forehead with yours.

“I’ll be back soon…”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

It was just you and Ransom now. And Ransom was on a mission to test your limits. Confident in ‘innocently’ driving you away, he begins immediately with the chores you set yourself to do after the team leaves.

He sits around observing while you wash the breakfast plates. You informed him you had planned several things to do for the house and it began with maintenance chores such as doing the dishes, sweeping the floors and some light dusting. Again, you keep clear of the upstairs for their privacy. Andy had kindly asked you that morning to help them wash their bedsheets and ensured everyone delivered theirs to the pantry for you to easily sort through and wash up.

For now, you were sweeping the floors with a pan nearby to collect the debris. Ransom makes himself useful by doing nothing and instead, goes outside to get flowers for the dining table. He innocently forgets to dust the roots clean of soil before stepping through the front door and proudly showcasing his find and throwing clumps of dirt everywhere, rendering your earlier efforts useless. He expects you to angrily reprimand him for dirtying the floors again but is shocked to find you awed by his beautiful arrangement.

“Ransom, these flowers are gorgeous,” you lean forward to smell the bunch as your hands come up instinctively to hover over where he’s gripping the stems, “wherever did you find them?” he can’t deny your pretty eyes and cute lips; before he can stop himself, he’s already apologising for his mistake of dirtying the floor. He hardly apologises to anyone, if, at all.

“I’m sorry…about the floor,”

“Oh don’t worry, I can clean that up easily. Do you mind cleaning off the rest of the roots outside and putting the flowers in the sink with some water?” he’s captivated by your gentle demeanour and unjudging tone, “It’ll keep the flowers from wilting while I get a vase for them,”

Obediently, Ransom does as he’s told. Spurred on by your kind voice, gentle direction and sweet smile. It isn’t until he catches himself staring in wonderment while you tidy up the flowers on the dining room vase that he grows a newfound determination to push you away once more. He’s never felt so foolish!

You just finished putting the team’s clean bedsheets on the washing line to dry when Ransom comes prancing by, only to trip and kick up mud right onto the freshly washed sheet. Still collapsed on the ground, Ransom expects you to angrily shout at him for muddying your hard work but is shocked once more when you rush to his side instead.

“That fall looked like it hurt, are you alright?” you reach up and gently brush back his hair to examine his face before leaning back to observe the rest of his form for any injuries, “are you hurt anywhere? I’m not a medic but I know first aid,” as you continue fretting over him, Ransom stares in disbelief at you.

“Wh-what about the sheets?”

You only glace at the dirtied sheets briefly before returning your worried gaze back at him, “I can clean those again, easily,”

This would be harder than Ransom originally thought… but (and he’ll never admit this aloud) he quite likes your attention – you’re worried just for him, nobody else. Briefly, he wonders if he can easily monopolise you like this.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The night before, you had offered to patch up Curtis’ torn shirt from his valiant rescue at the town square. Curtis couldn’t say ‘no’ to you and nodded with a small smile. This also prompted Ari and Steve to kindly ask if you could also sew up some of their torn clothes. Due to their occupation, many of their clothes now have rips and tears in them. Happily, you agreed and, equipped with their sewing kit, sit in the conservatory with a pile of their torn clothes on your left. You currently had one of Steve’s shirts in your lap, peacefully patching it up while Ransom talks your ear off.

Surely you’d be annoyed by his endless yapping right? Nobody likes someone who talks too much, not only that but this was the perfect outlet for Ransom to talk about the miscellaneous things he normally didn’t have time to discuss with the others.

The team always prioritised the mission, it was their livelihood and, although tumultuous, it was the one thing they were good at and the path to their retirement of such a life. It was this same focused mindset that they became the most sought-after group of mercenaries for hire with a clientele that ranged from high-class merchants to Royalty. Nevertheless, the men still had their own individual interests, Steve with his art, Andy with his reading, Ari with his plants, Lloyd with his knives and Jake with his magi-tech devices. Ransom was interested in writing and that meant having multifarious knowledge, including trivial things.

He sat to your right, barely fitting into the loveseat atop the torn clothes on your left. You were almost pressing into his side as his arm slings across the back of the seat. The warmth you emit is pleasant, gently brushing against his sensitive nerves as he continues rambling on. He watches you nod at points and hum in thought or agreement with some of his statements. The action makes him grit his teeth. It’s annoying how you pretend to be listening when it’s clear that you’re not!

“What do you think?” he asks suddenly, hoping to catch you out and smirking confidently.

“Hmmm… I think you’re right,” Ransom tries not to roll his eyes too obviously. What a basic, avoidant answer. “A lot of things can be improved when it comes to city layouts. It’s too dense and that makes it hard to navigate, both for the people and the policing patrol. Naturally, people who live in the city are used to the layout and the systems of city life, however, tourists aren’t as adept and that’s a major downfall, especially for businesses that rely on tourism to keep them going. I think there are some businesses tailored to helping tourists but it’s all for separate problems in tourism. I think having one business that does it all would be more beneficial…” you continue to comment on cities and Ransom’s eyes widen in disbelief; you were listening. As an amateur writer, he’s gotten into fleshing out specific locations that appear in his plot and, of course, there has to be a fictional city location too. Ransom’s fingertips itch to reach for his pen and paper but he doesn’t want to expose himself like this, he hasn’t even told the team about his hobby. They all believe he has an ego thing going on by shutting himself away at any given chance when he was only eagerly planning and writing up his many projects. The only person who knew of his passion was Jake, who helped him create a more convenient way of travelling with his papers.

The acumen you were spewing was incredibly useful for his world-building but it also expressed how attentively you had paid attention to his ramblings, pulling on ideas he had presented much earlier. Unable to help himself, he softly pauses your speech before rushing off and coming back with a small notebook and pen. After that, Ransom’s ramblings had divulged into bouncing ideas off you and seeing your perspective on aspects Ransom has been stumped on for too long. You brought a fresh perspective and didn’t ask about his need to write things down from your conversation. There wasn’t a hint of judgement in your tone or eyes, you remained ever-patient with him, diving into his ideas with him wholeheartedly – never questioning, never condescending, never adjudicating. You’re just what he needs…

Ransom hasn’t felt this excited about his writing in a while and it’s all because of you. It was irritating but he couldn’t deny the elated pacing of his heart nor the tremor of delight in his fingers, slightly skewing his handwriting. But that didn’t matter. For once, he felt heard, he felt excitement for his writing outside his private quarters and it felt incredible. He doesn’t want the feeling to stop, even if it’s with you.

Around noon, you urged Ransom to eat the boxed lunch you prepared for him that morning with the others. In the meantime, you whipped something up that was quick and easy but filling for yourself. Ransom shouldn’t have been surprised to see a note tucked away for himself but it was there, your penmanship as elegant and pretty as the last note, “May this meal be as comforting as having you around” It was touching and almost made him feel guilty about what he had done and what he planned to do later on. The assignment he had set for himself was still at the forefront and made the food you had lovingly prepared rather hard to swallow.

You went back to sewing after lunch and conversed with Ransom again. And it tore at him every time you asked if he was enjoying the lunch you packed. It was his mistake to ask you about how you had made certain food items just to keep the conversation going—a habit he had grown from his speciality as an overt spy. The culpability that culminated around his airway was suffocating.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head and focuses back on holding your attention, rambling on while occasionally pausing for your input on the subjects. In his mind, he was lulling you into a sense of comfort and ease in the hopes of driving you away or, at least, having reason to vote you out of the cottage by tonight.

Through their earpieces, Curtis and Lloyd actively reported back to Andy and Steve, vocalising suspicious and noteworthy behaviour for the two to record and ruminate over. They had been stalking a select few nobles all morning and had made some progress on ones with access to the castle. The frequency of visits also needed noting but was impossible to track so early on in their investigation. At least they had some names to go off of and were content with returning to base. Jake and Ari would also be returning soon enough, hopefully with good progress to report also. Steve had full confidence that, despite the go-ahead he gave on engaging in suspicious and dangerous activity, nothing too alarming would occur just yet — it was just the beginning, after all.

Those who were already there began eating the packed lunch you had prepared and couldn’t hold back their smiles, even Lloyd who made sure his back was turned so as not to be seen. Again, the lunch was still warm and it came with a short but sweet note.

Steve reads your note first, softly uttering the sweet words to himself with a gentle smile, “You deserve all good things today!” you’re too precious. Steve places the note down on the desk, keeping it in view as he eats your lovingly prepared lunch for him. Every so often, he would look up and smile more noticeably when his eyes trace the curving letters of your elegant penmanship.

Andy also reads his note first, somehow, feeling more anticipation for the note than eating the lunch, “Hope this brightens your day the way you brighten mine!” you certainly know how to make someone feel special. As a mercenary, that is a rare feeling to experience and Andy wants to savour every sensation of it, from the ache in his heart to the lightness in his head to the butterflies in his stomach.

Curtis silently goes about opening his lunch and preparing to savour every bite, “A little reminder: you’re appreciated!” he smiles and carefully pockets your note before proceeding to eat his lunch. He misses you but being able to eat your cooking away from home is comforting. Curtis will defend his choice in having you stay no matter what; he hasn’t felt this comforted and cared for in such a long time. He’s sure it’s the same for the rest of the team.

Lloyd doesn’t read his note aloud but is prompted to when Jake and Ari finally arrive back. Ari sees him with the note and innocently asks what it says with a sly smirk hidden beneath his beard. With all eyes on him, Lloyd begrudgingly reads his note aloud, “Smile! There’s someone out here who thinks you’re amazing!”

With a teasing grin, Jake goads the neat man, “Where’s that smile Lloydie?~” Lloyd raises a clenched fist and growls, threatening the Beta to continue but Jake is unphased cackling mischievously as he slinks away with ease, his smaller frame making him the most agile in the group.

Jake immediately makes his way to his boxed lunch and happily announces his note after fawning over your ability to, once again, keep his lunch warm, “You’re in my thoughts today – I hope this lunch brings you joy!” Jake coos and does a little dance before sitting down to eat his lunch, “she’s the best!”

Ari wastes no time in tucking into his lunch, holding your note to him in one hand and reading as he ate, “Packed with love, just like every note to you,” the sweet message makes the broad-shouldered man chuckle and turn to his teammates, who were holding their notes close, “she’s Luna material, I tell you,” he knows that bit by bit, they’re getting accustomed to the idea he’s putting forward. Gradually, more and more of them will be picking up what he’s putting down. He’s confident that it’ll only be a matter of time before they’re claiming you and vice versa to form an official pack.

There’s no way on earth Ari will be letting you go; having you around makes the days feel so much easier to face and there’s a warmth that lingers in every minute spent thinking of you. The mercenary life isn’t a glorious one, you need thick skin to be able to endure it but having to do it for an extended period will make any person go numb. Ari is finally starting to feel something again and he can tell that you’re having the same effect on his teammates. These are the people he’s grown to trust his life with, the ones who he would sacrifice his life for – that’s the type of bond they have. They’re so close to becoming an official pack, all they need is an omega, a Luna to balance them out. The pack will be Alpha-heavy but that isn’t a bad thing, they know how to take care of each other and readily keep others in line if need be. Jake and Ransom are also the perfect Betas, caring for each other and offering stability to the group. You coming along was a blessing they didn’t deserve but desperately needed. You are their missing piece — their omega, their Luna, who will soften their hardened exteriors and provide a gentleness they’ve been deprived of for too long.

“She deserves better,” Steve comments, immediately drawing attention. Ari figures their captain will be the hardest to crack but his heart is in the right place and Ari can’t fault him for that. Meeting eyes with Andy, a silent alliance is formed. Both Alphas are motivated to keep you and will make it their mission to convince everyone else that you have to stay by them.

To your surprise, Ransom had offered to help you with dinner prep and you were delighted. It was a small gesture but it brings back memories of having a bustling kitchen full of talented cooks preparing meals for the Queen and the majority of staff. The feeling warmed your chest and made your limbs feel lighter. However, you never expected the put-together and suave man to be such an uncoordinated mess in the kitchen. Watching him cut vegetables almost gave you a heart attack. Nevertheless, you remained ever-patient… His clumsiness was something you looked upon with a touch of fondness, seeing your younger self in him. Ransom almost couldn’t hide his shock when you placed your hands atop his to slowly guide his movements.

He sucks in a sharp breath when you simply tut but giggle at his inexperienced navigation of the cupboards, handing you something entirely different to what you had asked for.

“It’s okay, I can’t expect you to get it right the first time or even the second time,” you said.

He grits his teeth when you also didn’t find fault in his trip over a chair leg and falling head-first into the sink, accidentally turning on the faucet and sending water everywhere.

“It’s an easy clean-up. Are you hurt at all? I’m worried,” you said.

His eyes bulged when you dismissed the way had sabotaged the broth by adding too much salt and smoothly fixed it by adding some tomatoes and a little lemon juice.

“They help balance out the salt. It’s a useful tip a really good chef taught me,” you said.

It wasn’t until he flailed his arms widely, tipping over the pot and spilling the bubbling broth that you finally seemed to snap. And, although it was what Ransom wanted, he didn’t feel satisfied by it, at all.

“That was so stupid of you to do!” you shout at him, eyes gleaming with rage and jaw clenched to hold back words you didn’t mean. This was what Ransom wanted but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything other than an apology. “Don’t do that again!” you snap sharply, your words making him flinch more than when you were tending to his minor burn. Thankfully he didn’t burn himself from the spilled soup but rather the side of the cooking pot. For twenty or so minutes, you held his hand under some cool running water, removed his rings in the process and carefully patted his skin dry with a clean towel. You rushed to your wicker basket to retrieve a tub of aloe vera gel and antibiotic ointment you created with Alma and Otis (the palace herbalist and gardener). It was completely silent as you slowly began to wrap his hand with gauze and, when Ransom finally found the courage to face you again, he found your hands shaking and your eyes welling up with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises but you don’t respond, only sniffle and stubbornly rub at your teary eyes. Ransom’s chest constricted painfully at the sight – you were crying over him the same way you had cried over Curtis the day before. This was the first time anyone had cried for him like this and, although it hurt to know that he was the cause, Ransom couldn’t deny your beauty. He’s always wanted to be cared for and loved sweetly by someone and you were doing it all as if it was the natural thing to do. He can no longer stubbornly deny your kind, sweet nature — you’re everything he’s ever hoped for and he wasn’t going to sabotage having you ever again.

Keeping your head down to focus on bandaging his hand, he leans forward and presses his lips against the crown of your head. He whispers another apology. He’s filled with regret for wasting an entire day trying to rile up a sweetheart like you. You didn’t deserve his underhandedness. He knows swarms of people more deserving of his trickery than you.

“...don’t ever do that again…” you whisper and his heart swells.

“I won’t, I promise,” once his burn was securely wrapped, you jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly. It was only natural for him to return your affection, a silent agreement to not do anything reckless again. The pheromones you released made your distress obvious and he instinctively began releasing a tranquilising scent. As a Beta, it was the perfect remedy to get you to calm. You had to redo the dish from the beginning but were in much better spirits. And Ransom would make sure you stayed that way.

The team returned right on schedule, just as you were turning off the burners and Ransom was setting the table. Despite the exhaustion of the day weighing down their shoulders, the mercenary group immediately brightened at the delicious smell in the air.

“What’s on the menu, angel?” Ari calls out fondly.

“You’ll find out after you wash up, now go!” you shoo playfully and Ari laughs before complying. Everyone else follows him up to the washrooms, all of them even taking the time to change out of their ‘work’ attire and into more comfortable, loungewear.

Like every night, the team compliment you on your labour and the delicious spread laid out for them. Tonight they were being treated to two main dishes: a hearty pasta soup with handmade spinach and ricotta tortellini and a creamy, lemon chicken orzo. For sides, there was fresh garlic bread and a simple but refreshing side salad. And, for dessert, cookie brownies.

“Delicious as always, thank you,” Steve voices sincerely, meeting your eyes from across the table as Jake chimes in with his own praises.

“Yeah! I swear you can cook everything, princess!”

“Thank you,” you smile warmly, “but Ransom helped a lot too,” the man seems flustered by the sudden direction of praise but huffs stubbornly.

“You did most of the work anyway,”

Jake leans over and inspects his fellow Beta’s injury, “Is that why you’re hand is bandaged up?” Curtis raises a brow and looks at you as Andy makes a sound of curiosity.

“Th-there was a little accident in the kitchen…” you explain, avoiding their eyes as you didn’t know how comfortable Ransom would be with what you choose to divulge. The Beta immediately picks up on your intentions and holds back a smile. You’re far too considerate for someone like him —he appreciates it so much.

“It was my fault,” he focuses on his food, ignoring Ari’s knowing smirk at his clear change of demeanour towards you while everyone else’s jaw drops — this is the first time they’ve seen Ransom admit to being wrong. “I didn’t know what I was doing in the kitchen,”

“But he’s a quick learner,” you helpfully chirp, and Andy smiles at your sweetness. For Ransom to be treated so purely was unheard of, the merc has had to deal with and smile at the most disgusting low lives of society, the ones who ruthlessly trample on innocent lives without a care, all for their selfish gains. This is a first time for Ransom, and it’s amusing to see its effect on him.

“I see,” Steve pipes up and smiles, almost mischievously, at Ransom, “good job, Ran,”

Everyone finds Ransom’s behaviour towards you so uncharacteristic and different they decide to stay downstairs to witness the cleanup the merc promised to help you with because of a previous incident. You were surprised Ransom had brought up the incident himself and, though you weren’t quite sure what he was referring to, you happily accepted some helpful company.

Lloyd glared while everyone else stared with amused faces as Ransom followed you about the kitchen like a lost puppy, doing your bidding and assisting wherever he could. He wiped down surfaces, dried while you washed and put away the ceramic plates that were stored in the higher cupboards.

Ari had to bite his lip to keep from grinning too hard while Andy and Steve leaned back in their chairs with observant eyes, carefully taking in the profound influence you’ve had on the usually snappy and sarcastic merc. Curtis remains quiet and stoic but there’s a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Jake leans forward and rests his head against his folded arms, smiling softly. He’s so happy to see Ransom like this, his shoulders weren’t tense, and his eyes looked gentler — it was a good change. Lloyd, as stubborn and cold-hearted as he was could tell that Ransom was finally allowing himself to feel the warmth of acceptance and kindness he had always longed for but never received in his family. Yes, he found the group but they always had a job to do and needed to be kept at a distance despite the obvious bond that was forming between them all.

The last person to bid you goodnight was Ransom, whom you swiftly pulled down to kiss the cheek of. “Pleasant dreams Ransom, thank you for keeping me company today,”

Staring into your eyes and taking in your sweetly, smiling lips, Ransom felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to lean forward and…kiss you? Embrace you? He did none of those things, succumbing to the heat in his cheeks was more than enough.

“Goodnight,” he rushes upstairs, face turned away from you and hiding his beaming smile.

navi. | series masterlist | six. the foolish genius →

a/n : i'm so sorry this took so long, my lovelies! (ó﹏ò。) life has been a bit demanding recently, i'm trying to do a lot of personal development stuff and it's more tiring than i expected. i hope you darlings enjoy this update though, please tell me what you think and hopefully, the next chapter can come sooner (づ>/////<)づ♡

taglist : @imyourbratzdoll @lovinglimerence @saturdayrj @baw1066 @whereismymindnow @urmomw4ntsme @oneandonlybbygrl

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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Chris Evans explains his new look

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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a kiss out of envy + ari 🤭

As promised, love, I give you...

frat boy!Ari Levinson x reader, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024 (yes, you read that correctly, and no, I don't want to talk about it. 🥲 It's been a rough year lol.)

Summary: You and Ari want each other for all the wrong reasons.

Warnings (regarding both parts of the story) for drinking and partying, language, shitty behavior from...yeah everyone is a bit of a mess in this ngl (it's college), vaguely taboo mutual pining, and not-really cheating/implied cheating (applies to multiple people). This is an angsty weird fluffy sorta romance with an ambiguous ending because no one can communicate to save their f**king lives...BUT HEY! KISSES. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for younger readers on my Light Masterlist, but not here! WC 3.9k

A/N: This is the first half from Reader's perspective.

College is…predictable.

You spent the first weeks of your freshman year faking self-assurance you didn’t actually feel because confidence is sexy—or whatever the saying is,—and if you had to start from scratch, you might as well start from a place you’re proud of.

You made friends. You went out with your roommate. You stayed out late with lots of people you don’t know, and you smiled. Holy shit, did you smile…

The attempt to ‘get out there’ brought constant stress; you wanted to define your social life right off the bat, but good people are hard to find.

You officially decided you were looking in the wrong place for any good people while at the Lawn Party three-quarters of the way through your first semester.

Finally, you’d tried. You pulled out all the stops. You wore the nicer, trendier clothes that you splurged on for events just like this. You put on extra makeup, brought some with you in your little purse to touch it up, and when you smiled in the mirror seconds before running out of the dorm with your roomie, you really were self-assured. You felt sexy.

Though the party was outdoors, you stuck with just the one layer of a light-colored, flowy top, something whimsical and fun, something less useful and more useless, but that’s the idea of fashion, you suppose.

When the breeze caught the fabric, you imagined you were in a movie, one of those scenes where the heroine is about to get noticed by the man of her dreams.

That is exactly the opposite of what happened.

You’d been there all of half an hour, your roommate off to get drinks (after you whined and waited and stalled, hoping to strike up some conversation without partaking in the shared, bad decisions of the swath of 18-22 year olds meandering across a grass field behind the sports complex), when you heard a really loud, shrill laugh behind you and turned.

A red Solo cup crumpled against your boob and beer exploded across your chest, drenching your shirt and dripping grossly down your stomach.

“Wooooah,” the big guy still gripping shredded plastic drawled, eyes glued to your see-through blouse as it clung to your front. “Sorry.”

The girl who laughed with him put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh. My god.” Yet she just laughed more.

That was it. That was the sum total acknowledgment of your destroyed outfit and evaporated dignity.

“Ari,” someone called, startling your assailant to look away with his unresponsive, blown pupils.

You noticed a few drops of beer on his letterman jacket, so, sure, in comparison to your entire front half being soaked, that seemed a fair-and-equal trade for your embarrassment.

Then he was gone, the laughing girl following the asshole, Ari, and his idiot friends as they recapped the football game from…whenever.

You left the party once the waistband of your jeans felt soggy.

You spent longer washing your beer-sponge bra in the dorm sink than you did on the lawn.

Now you know college is a fucking joke. That party became a defining moment in your social life. You realized men—no, boys—like Ari will never care about you as you really are, and finally, you’ve accepted that you don’t want them to.

They don’t deserve to know you.

Sophomore year. Women’s Studies. Of all the fucking classes…

On day one Ari plopped down in the desk next to you.

He plopped because his whole left leg was strapped into a thick brace that kept it straight and jutted out, unable to fit in the tiny seat. He’s so tall his thonged foot tapped at yours beneath your own chair.

In your utter frustration and irritation (since the professor had already started talking), you automatically muttered an apology—to Ari, like some pushover—and moved your legs.

“Not your fault,” the footballer softly chuckled, taking another long moment to settle his crutches on the floor.

Were there no other seats?

You sighed and knew, you just knew down in your bones, that this would be a long damn semester. You also had every faith, however, that this fuck-boy classmate would do just about anything to stay in the course dedicated to his favorite pastime: women.

Though that was an assumption, Ari proved you right, and it sucked.

It took all your innate kindness and compassion not to spit on him. Honestly, the guy is just…dumb. When your eyes wandered every so often, you always found him looking confused, but he wouldn’t ask questions. Several times you caught him sneaking peeks at your notes. You just couldn’t take it.

He fell asleep in one class!

With the course final mere weeks away, the OCD part of your brain kicked in and shoved several sheets of important points you’d written down into his lap before he fully woke up.

His brace was off by then, but Ari still moved slowly.

Again, he looked so confused.

“I expect them back on Wednesday,” you said with a tight jaw, barely restraining the choice names you’d wanted to call him.

You’d been conditioned so heavily to be nice that you smiled at him. A small smile, yeah, but you smiled at the coddled asshole who did not deserve to pass the class. You should have let him fail. You should have let him lean harder on that damn scholarship.

Football held his dead-weight up this long; what’s a few more years?

Nearly the end of your Senior year. Off-campus. You’ve tried.

Socializing is a hit-and-miss game, and you’re learning that sometimes the miss happens slowly, without failed plays, with all the effort you could muster.

“Look, if we’re not doing anything here, then I’m going to the party. You coming? The house is two blocks away.”

Your boyfriend, Billy, stands with his apartment door open and his roommates calling to him from down the hall. He’s frustrated, you know that, but his frustration doesn’t negate the uneasy twist in your gut you get whenever he tries to take things further than making out.

Billy is perfect on paper. He studies hard, has a job already lined up for summer, is driven to achieve…and desperately wants to get laid.

He’s cute, totally adequate in that department, yet still, you can’t force yourself to let him touch you any more than absolutely necessary. You two have excellent conversations, multiple shared interests, and you have no words to describe your lack of…want. It eats you up right along with that twisting aversion to fuck him—because it is specific to him.

You don’t lack for interest in men, even if these are still boys around you. You’re attracted. Kinda. You thought attraction could grow from affection, too, but it hasn’t in months with Billy. It doesn’t make you think he lacks in some way; you feel lacking.

Maybe you lack sympathy. Maybe you lack understanding. Maybe you are just as superficial as those slutty girls you hate, the ones sure to be at this party. Maybe Billy thinks those girls will rub off on you if you’re surrounded.

There’s no one thing, no quantifiable logic; he just doesn’t do it for you. That won’t change.

Your relationship has an expiration date, and you feel it approaching.

Unsurprisingly, you can’t bring yourself to be mean and tell him an outright ‘no.’ It’s rude to say ‘I’m not attracted to you,’ right? You’re a nice person, and it’s not nice to hurt someone who hasn’t done anything wrong.

The heavy pain in your belly grows dense, but still, nothing changes.

The compulsion to be kind and quiet continues as you follow him out, tucking your hands under your arms so Billy won’t try to touch you, but it doesn’t matter. He walks a few feet ahead to keep up with his friends on the walk down the road to the Kappa house.

The two-story, plantation-style home is packed to the gills, making it hard to maneuver past the front door, and of course, the first person you recognize is a brother of the fraternity living there.

Ari Levinson stands halfway up the staircase overlooking the crowd like a king surveying his domain, hair grown long and a beard worthy of his fifth-year undergrad status. He’s wearing a button-up linen shirt as if he just walked in from the beach, perpetually sun-kissed skin glowing, the carefree blue fabric matching his eyes.

Asshole.

He probably showed up to his own damn house, cocked his head, and smirked.

“Y’all having a party?” he probably asked, chill as fuck.

Idiot…probably. You don’t know what happened to him after Women’s Studies, but you can’t imagine he got better. Nothing changes.

His queen-for-the-day leans into his ear, her chest covered only by a red bandana and not much below that hidden by a miniskirt.

What sluts. Both of them. They deserve each other.

He’s so sexy though.

His smile is bright while he doesn’t spill the contents of his red Solo cup on anyone beneath him on the stairs. Seems his drunk coordination has improved at the very least.

“Babe,” you hear yelled close to your ear, “take it!”

Billy shoves one of two cups he’s carrying into your hands and shouts to follow him. He wants to play beer pong in one of back rooms downstairs, a room with no space to stand and watch. There are no chairs, but Billy asks if want to play with him. In no reality would he think you’d answer ‘yes’ in this chaos, but then again, he hasn’t noticed you won’t take a sip of the drink you didn’t see poured either. That’s not even a trusting him problem; for all you someone else made the drinks for Billy, and then you absolutely don’t trust it.

If he can’t manage to notice your reticence, why should Billy care if you’re comfortable?

You yell back that you’re going to find a seat somewhere. Billy gets whisked away for the next partnered game, and relief washes over you.

The only open spot that isn’t a squeeze beside couples going at it in public is a bench underneath the cutout of the staircase. You take a detour to dump your cup in the crowded kitchen’s sink and sit alone for a while, people-watching, wondering vaguely about the king and queen above you on the steps.

Parties…are not all that fun when you don’t feel safe, welcome, or seen. College is predictable this way.

You’re not sure how much time passes before a light blue linen shirt invades your view.

Looking to your right, you don’t see anyone paying attention, and looking to your left you see a sloped wall.

He’s looking directly at you.

“Thirsty?” Ari asks casually, offering the only cup he carries.

You wave it off with a polite ‘no, thank you,’ even though that should be sketchier than your boyfriend getting you a drink.

Ari takes a huge gulp and shuffles his broad body onto the too-short edge of the bench beside you. He seems careful not to touch you or invade your space, the barest graze of a short-sleeve cuff brushing the skin of your upper arm.

Again, Ari tilts the cup toward you. “Jack and Coke,” he shrugs, lifting his eyebrows, “mostly Coke though. I’ve been here a while. You’re basically late.”

You can’t help but blurt, “you live here.”

“That is an astute observation, smartie pants,” he adds with a proud smile. Those, you imagine, might be the biggest words the guy knows.

You also imagine he wouldn’t drug himself with anything,, and worst case, Ari’s already much drunker than you.

You pluck the half-full Solo from his hand, your pinky running the length of his forefinger in the process, knuckles hard beneath callused skin, and take a small sip. He’s right about one thing; you can’t smell or taste any alcohol.

His smile softens. Your pinky tingles even after you return his drink.

“Where’s whats-his-face?” Ari scans the hall. “Probably getting you something better, huh?”

You can’t help but frown and sigh as he takes another swig of soda, pink lips nearly hidden beneath the hair of his beard, but you remember they are quite plump. He only had stubble in class two years ago. You shouldn’t be thinking about what those lips might feel like. Hell, you shouldn’t be sharing a drink with anyone because that’s more intimate than anything you’ve enjoyed doing with Billy recently.

Billy is pushy and inexperienced. Every time he goes to touch you, it reminds you that he’s desperate for it, but…not in a flattering way. It’s difficult to describe.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you throw out loudly, keeping your guess silent. Perhaps hugging the toilet bowl?

Though a simple question, Ari looks somewhere between giddy and chided while contemplating his answer. He’s so dumb, poor thing. “Flying with the pigs,” he settles on.

“What?”

He repeats himself, and then, seeing your confusion, he leans closer to clarify, “she doesn’t exist. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Ow, rough gig bandana girl. That’s a little harsh: being fobbed off mid-party. Although, you aren’t exactly replacing her. Ari is just talking to you. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s sitting beside you, only a little closer than Women’s Studies, sharing a sip of soda. That’s all.

“So, genius—”Ari elbows you gently, taking advantage to stay arm-to-arm this time “—how you been?”

You notice you’ve been shrinking against the wall and straighten as best you can without looking as if you’re pushing your boobs out.

“Fine. Just…busy with school work.”

Internally, you groan, hating to sound so boring and feeding into this idea you are nothing but a bookworm.

Ari swallows the last of his drink, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs lewdly—at least, it should be considered lewd with how the motion leads your eye down to the matching dark chest hair peeking behind the shirt collar. He scrunches his nose when the bubbles hit the back of his palate.

“Good. You always seemed happy. Bet you’re top of our class.” He emphasizes the year because he should have graduated already. Originally, he was a year ahead, but then he took a red-shirt year while injured. Ari doesn’t appear to mind that’s something else you share.

You bite your lip and wonder if he’s baiting you. If there’s one thing you’ve heard consistently in your whole young adult life, it’s that you ‘look angry’ and could ‘benefit’ from smiling more.

“I’m…somewhere up there, yeah,” you allow.

He points over his other shoulder and shimmies the empty cup in front of him. “You want one? What’s your favorite?”

For the first time all night, what you want has been considered. Not only if you want a drink, but which one do you want. Such a small thing, and yet the twist in your stomach unfurls a little. The drink itself doesn’t matter; the thought does. That, and being comfortable near him.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Ari flashes that megawatt smile of his and says he’ll be back in a jiffy.

The true value of a beautiful idiot is you don’t have to be on edge. Your basic knowledge of any subject (save sports) would read as genius to a guy like him…which is also why it feels so unbelievable Ari’s choosing to hang in this corner with you. He’s friends with everyone. He could get anything from anybody here. It’s nice to be wanted, not needed.

He returns with two cups, one with a couple shots worth of Jack Daniels, the other full of CocaCola. He looks at you for approval, hesitating in case you want just plain soda, and then makes a huge show of his ‘mixing’ skills.

Absolute moron did not consider the carbonation exploding with every pour back and forth.

It’s a horrible mess of foam and splashing liquid. Both his hands are dripping and sticky, but you laugh freely by the end. You never thought you’d see the day Ari Levinson spilling a drink wouldn’t be triggering.

Not even a fleeting image of that ruined blouse crosses your mind while you weakly clinkthe plastic cups together. It’s the epitome of the college experience in your eyes. For once, you aren’t upset by that fact.

You keep smiling, wrinkling your nose at the fizz bursting on the back of your tongue. You can’t help it.

Ari is a happy drunk, and he starts talking, joking with you, tucked away in your own little bubble.

It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He’s self-deprecating about the same, drunken party behavior that you have watched him participate in for years, and yet you dismiss that as nothing, normal even, and unconsciously nudge closer to Ari, your side flush with his as you bend to see the person he’s bad-mouthing now.

He seems to like the irony in that and chuckles as he says someone over there is getting sloppy, lifting his Solo to his mouth with a dainty pinky raised in defiance. He’s a goofball. You haven’t been so relaxed with someone in…months.

Both drinks are finished quickly, and Ari offers to grab more.

The warm buzz humming beneath your skin tells you ‘yes,’ but your higher brain function steadfastly puts a foot down.

“I shouldn’t,” you mutter, sounding undecided.

He shrugs. For whatever reason, you appreciate that Ari isn’t pushing for anything from you, but that’s exactly what makes you want more from him. He stacks the empty cups and mentions walking you home. He could use some fresh air, he says.

“I should find Billy…”

Ari rolls his shoulders and thinks, his eyes follow suit, scraping his peripheral vision for an alternative that never presents. He stands up, arms akimbo, dramatically squinting to ‘think’ harder.

“He was wearing that red ball cap, right?”

“What?” You’ve never seen your boyfriend don a hat once but suddenly remember the pong partner who pulled him over. “No, that’s Leo,” you scream over the noise now that Ari is standing a few paces away. “Billy’s in, like, a neutral t-shirt.”

Ari smirks, scanning. “One beige Billy, coming up!”

Off he darts into the crowd, much faster than you’ve ever seen a drunk man move, and you skitter behind, realizing Ari stops at the kitchen only when you slam into his back.

He throws the empty cups into the trash and turns to the sink, washing his hands with dish soap, drying them on his shirt, leaving darker streaks of blue.

“Okay, not sticky,” Ari beams, “so now we go.”

Easily, naturally, his hand scoops up yours, and Ari leads you deftly through the throng.

He’s holding your hand. It’s damp and rough and cool and warm all at once. And you grasp it. You’re holding his hand back.

Though tall enough to see over most heads, Ari takes a good long while to notice everyone because they keep moving about.

Pointing with your still-joined hands, you shout to check the beer pong room, but no Billy.

You two amble through the entire lower floor, stopped several times by people greeting Ari, and he introduces you automatically. You hope none of these other drunk frat boys remembers seeing you hold his hand while asking where your damn boyfriend is.

Without fail, each friend asks if you two are together, and to his credit, Ari quickly changes to “have you seen a guy…” and describes Billy.

“Dunno, man. Check upstairs?”

Ari thanks them and glances at you, a look of defeat creasing his forehead.

He drums his free fingers on the banister. He hesitates.

“Wait here?” he offers but drops your hand and doesn’t pause for your reply.

Using a football drill tactic, Ari bolts expertly up the stairs while you get waylaid by some girls holding up a selfie-stick to make a video. They bitch at the angle, ignoring you, and have to reshoot. You can’t get past.

Yelling.

Suddenly, there’s lots of yelling coming from the packed second floor and a door slams. Half the people in the stairway and hall look up.

More crashing and thudding noises ring out.

With everyone frozen, you shove your way through.

“What the fuck,” you hear just as some guy backs away, almost knocking you down. “Who the hell do you think you are, man?”

Your legs take you inside though your heart lodges in your throat.

Ari’s got Billy pinned over a wrecked desk on the other side of the room while the girl with the bandana top stands by a bed, pulling down her mini skirt. She snaps for Ari to mind his own business, and Ari immediately shoots a glare at her over his shoulder, keeping Billy pinned beneath him.

“Beks, for fuck’s sake,” Ari starts, but quickly, the guy who pushed you in the hall cusses her out louder than anyone else.

“Serves you right for getting back with Erin,” Bandana Girl snaps.

“Eat shit, Rebekah. You don’t actually care!”

What…is going on? These people are nuts.

At least four more bodies squeeze through the door, all looking blazing-mad while you get pushed farther into the suffocating room. You’re bewildered and overwhelmed.

Blocker Guy lunges forward and shoves Ari off of Billy.

Your hands are up, claiming space to breathe, but there’s way too much going on. No one—not even you—can hear your voice crying to be let out.

Funny thing is, you aren’t crying for Billy to help you. Only after you yell for Ari does your brain process that your boyfriend’s fly is down, his jeans unbuttoned, too.

A large, rough hand grabs your wrist and yanks you to the door, barreling you both through the crowd to another room down the hall. It’s surreal to see the group descend on the fight like moths to a flame, drawn to watch what horrible thing these students will do next.

Ari man-handles you inside without hitting a light switch. It’s pitch black, but the closed door at your back muffles only a fraction of the commotion.

From the other side, you hear Billy calling your name, but Ari’s soft, panting breath steals your focus as it gusts across your neck.

His lips shift close to your ear.

“Don’t do it, smartie,” he whispers. “Leave him.”

The stale smell of beer wafts forward when you lean farther into that letterman jacket Ari keeps prominently hung. You feel the ribs of the cuffs against your bare arms until, suddenly, it’s the ridges of Ari’s rough fingers ghosting over your skin.

If Billy’s still screaming, you can’t tell. Your heart thunders in your chest as the hot breath rolling over you moves up your neck and over your jaw.

He’s right there.

He’s right there. He’s drunk. He’s stupid. He doesn’t matter. You don’t matter to him. It’ll never work and it doesn’t have to. This could be so simple.

You envy how easy this is for him, always another girl around the corner, in the next room, who will want him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about wanting to use him. He’s right there, willingly, single or not, sober or not, and so you grip the soft linen of his shirt collar and tug him straight to you.

It doesn’t matter how sloppy you are, how shy or how forceful you get, because you live like him in this moment.

Ari doesn’t care about anything. Self-assured. Confident. Sexy. Popular. He doesn’t have to care.

Now, neither do you.

[Next Part]

⬅️ Steve Rogers and a kiss where it hurts

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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CHRIS EVANS The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (November 11, 2024)

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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CHRIS EVANS at the ‘Red One’ NY Premiere (Nov 11, 2024)

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marveldcmistress · 2 months ago

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The Arrangement - Part 11

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Anxiety, Bad parents and siblings, Talking about abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 10 -- Part 12

Series Masterlist

That night you managed to sleep a little easier than before. While Jake had not given you any indication he'd go back on his word, a part of you was still waiting for him to show his angry side again. For him to start putting his foot down and starting things out on you. He wouldn't be the first that betrayed your trust.

It helped that you'd decided to sleep with your light on this time. If it was truly your room, you were allowed to do that, right? You'd always been afraid of the dark, especially since it was Travis's favorite for scaring you. Or "pranking you" as he would often say for his excuse. You'd been told, time and time again, that it wasn't proper to have a nightlight; that you shouldn't need one. Well, it's your room, you're going to have a light on.

And it did help. Every time you woke up, you didn't have to try to search the darkness for someone that may or may not be there. You could just see, calm yourself down, and get back to sleep. In truth, though you continually woke up, you did feel a lot more well-rested than you have for a while.

When you decide to go ahead and wake up for the day, you're noticeably calmer than yesterday. You're able to relax a little under the hot shower, though you do still need to regularly double check your surroundings. Overall you feel less frantic and paranoid. For now.

To your surprise Jake is awake already and started cooking breakfast.

"Oh, hey," he smiles. "Great timing! Breakfast is almost ready! It won't be anywhere near as good as yours but, a deal is a deal."

"Deal?"

"You remember? Whoever wakes up first makes breakfast?"

"Oh," you blink. "I thought that was just for yesterday."

"That makes sense," he nods. "But I woke up first, so I started up some breakfast." He pauses what he's doing. "Wait, is it okay that I did this? I hate to think I'm stepping on your toes or invading your space."

"I...I think it's okay," you shrug. "It's just a minor miscommunication, not the end of the world, right?"

"Do you...do you want me to stay out of the kitchen? To not cook? It's okay to say either way. We're partners in this so I just want us on the same page."

You're frozen up. He seems to be presenting you a choice, and his demeanor certainly indicates sincerity regarding acceptance of your decision. But what if it's actually a test? What if he gets angry because you don't want him in the kitchen? He's already given you the master suite for yourself, can you really demand more? The more you think, the more you spiral.

"Hey, Sharky, hey," Jake's voice breaks through after a bit. He's stopped everything so he can get your attention. "Are you okay? What happened?" He wants to wrap you up in a hug but knows he's has to ask for permission first.

"I'm...I'm so sorry..." you start sniffling. "I...I can't...I don't know what answer you want. I'm so sorry!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" Jake insists. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Just take a deep breath for me, okay? Please?" You do as he asks and it helps a little. "Can you give me another?" You oblige with another deep breath, feeling a little more in control.

"You're looking better," he nods. "Are you willing to go sit at the table?"

You nod and start moving. Jake brings over the food and coffee and you start eating if only to keep yourself from saying something wrong.

"Like I said, it's not as good as your cooking," Jake mumbles. "But if you want me to keep at it, I absolutely will. At the same time, if you want me to stay out of your kitchen, I absolutely will as well, minus the need to get the occasional beverage or snack."

Your breathing gets a little shaky again as your anxiety starts getting control again. "You already gave me the master suite."

"And?"

"I...I don't want to overstep. Take too much. Be ungrateful." Your brain is replaying words your parents have thrown at you.

"You're not," Jake shakes his head. "I asked, and I promise to respect your choice. I know the importance of having a safe space and well, while it's not anywhere near as secure as I'd like," he says, eyeing the front door, "I want it to be a safe space for you, too."

You start to tear up at that and distract yourself with a sip of coffee that you almost immediately spit out.

"Shit, I made it too strong, didn't I?" Jake winces as he rubs a hand on the back of his head. "I'm so sorry!"

"It...it's okay," you're quick to reassure. "I'll still drink it."

Jake gives you a concerned look, "you know it's okay to say you don't like something, right?"

You start and stop several times but ultimately can't bring yourself to answer.

"I'm going to guess your family wouldn't support you going to therapy?" You shake your head to confirm his suspicions. "Clay's girlfriend, Aisha. She has a lot of experience with abuse survivors. Maybe, after they've relocated my family, I could ask them to visit? She's more about action than talking, but maybe she could give us some pointers?"

"I wasn't abused," you rebut. "I was just...always too thin skinned. It's my own fault. But they never hit me or anything like that."

"Just because it wasn't physical doesn't mean it wasn't abuse," Jake argues. He's trying to keep himself in check, keep his tone soft and encouraging for your sake. "Please know, I really do want to hear your opinion on things. I want you to be your own person. And yes, it'll be good for you, but there is a bit of a selfish reason for my wanting that." Your brows furrow and you look up at him. "I'll be honest, it'll be a lot easier to survive all of this if I have a partner helping me out. I've learned from having a team for so long that a lot of crap is much easier to get through if you're not alone."

"And I'm not much help in that area," you sniffle. "I'm so so--"

"You don't need to apologize," Jake interrupts you. "Given what little I've seen of how your family treats you, it's understandable. It's why I want to get you some help."

"I shouldn't need it."

"Is that you or your mother speaking?" You don't answer. "I know it'll take time. A lot of time. But I do hope you'll believe me when I say I want to help you, that I want your honesty, that I want your help but not at your own expense."

"Can...can you hug me again?"

Almost before the words are out of your mouth, Jake has his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. You cry into his shoulder again. He must be getting tired of your tears by now but he's giving no indication of it. He's even whispering encouragement as you cry out your anxiety.

When you finish crying you gently pull yourself away and his arms release you. "Thank you, again," you whisper.

"Anything to help."

Part 10 -- Part 12

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @irishhappiness

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

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