#'hes got a face only a mother could love'

[detritusanddross]

The reframing of this moment post finale has still got me in a chokehold.

When we first saw Rio’s reaction in this scene, the resulting meta was glorious and on point; here is a woman who intimately knows the harm done to her former partner by her mother’s cruelty, who can see the instant destabilising effect of Evanora’s words on Agatha and knows it will take a lot of work to undo this most recent emotional harm.

All of this is still true.

But knowing now that Rio was also Nicky’s mother? And that she herself had stood at a crossroads to decide whether or not he would die the moment he left Agatha’s body?

The depth of it all kills me.

Taking the dead from this plane is not just Rio’s job, but the very reason for her existence. When Agatha was in labour, Rio knew Nicky’s time was up and that she had no choice but to do the job she was made for. She appeared before Agatha at the last possible moment, reluctance written in every line of her face and body. Despite not wanting to hurt Agatha—or to take the son they made together away before he could take his first breath—in all her eons I don’t think she had ever once considered the possibility of not doing her job. After all, the river flows in a single direction.

But it is Agatha’s nature to fight inevitability; to bargain and to beg. And Agatha, despite or because of her upbringing amongst such hatred, well, Agatha loves.

And Rio learned to love her back as she has no other being in the history of time. Rio bends the rules to her will like Agatha taught her. All rivers have eddies and she weaves a safe space out of her own love to give their son time.

Agatha is the first person Rio has ever loved and Nicky was quite possibly the first person she ever fought for. And in this scene, Evanora’s ghost is saying she should have destroyed both of them before Rio had a chance to know either? Had Evanora murdered Agatha when she was a baby, Rio would have unknowingly been forced to carry her only chance at happiness into the realms of the dead.

“I ought to have killed you the moment you left my body.” Death would spit at her feet but that would make her think she has power here.

One day that ghost will die and I smile at the thought of what Rio is going to do to her.

In that last gif: Rio’s averted gaze full of so much hurt and that little head shake—the way it looks as if she’s breathing down against the rising bile of what-ifs and maybes—yeah, this right here is what great stories are made of. Layers upon layers of history between characters that we are lucky enough to have a chance to expericence.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank @ngatwa and all the other gifmakers who allow us to continue exploring scenes like this after a show is over. Fandom owes gifmakers everything.

Mom? Why do you hate me still?

[galactic-magick]

A Collection of My Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Here’s the long list of headcanons I have about Viktor and my self-insert OC that’s been sitting in my notes app. Many of these will likely make their way into and be more fleshed out in my fics. I just have so much love for him and so many ideas that I had to post them.

Most are gender-neutral besides a couple. All the fics I’ve written in this AU so far are in my masterlist and in a series on my AO3.

Enjoy 😊

Drinks his coffee either black or with a shit ton of milk and sugar, no in between. You’ll catch him drinking the darkest roast in existence and then the next day he’ll be drinking a sweet milk Frappuccino or something

If you’re the same size or bigger than him, he likes to steal your clothes. Especially when it’s cold, he’ll layer a bunch of your sweaters, claiming yours are “warmer” than his

He loves when you play with his hair. It calms him down and soothes him like nothing else

Sometimes he feels bad he doesn���t have the arm strength to pick you up, so one time he asked Jayce if he could borrow his gauntlets

He can be very forgetful, but it’s never because he doesn’t care. Be patient with him his mind is a crazy place

He gets quite the ego boost when he realizes “talking nerdy to you” turns you on. He’ll purposefully start explaining science shit and get you embarrassingly flustered

He’s definitely a cat person. If you guys got one they would be basically attached to each other, to the point the cat would escape the house and follow him to work in the lab sometimes

Also likes to steal your hair and shower products. He loves all the scents and how soft they make his waves and skin

He can play the Viola, a skill his mother taught him when he was a kid. He’s very rusty but he’ll play for you occasionally

His favorite way to annoy you is poking you with his cane. He’s a little shit about it too, mainly doing it when you’re in the middle of something

When he works longer hours in the lab, you like to bring him snacks, only to find out Jayce is the one who eats most of them after you leave

He likes to see your face when you’re cuddling, so spooning isn’t really the go-to position. But if he does he’s not really partial to being the big or little spoon

He still has the toy boat he made as a kid. It sits on the mantle over your fireplace

He technically needs glasses, but his vision isn’t bad enough he has to wear them. He considers getting them only because you told him he’d look cute with them

If you’re afraid of bugs, he has no problem catching them and putting them back outside. He likes to let them crawl on him for a bit first though, he doesn’t mind them at all

If you ever get in a fight, he can be very stubborn in his opinions, and he often tries to fix the problem before understanding your side. Once he realizes that sometimes you just want him to listen to you, though, misunderstandings become much more infrequent

He loves food with lots of spices and strong flavors. Especially if you’re the one who cooks it

He snores when he sleeps, and pretty loudly at that. If you’re not a deep sleeper who can sleep through it you’ll probably need a white noise maker or something

He uses you as a fidget toy quite often, playing with your hands, massaging your arms and thighs, twirling your hair. Sometimes he’ll mindlessly start squeezing your tits, not even in a sexual way necessarily, just cuz they’re squishy

Wants kids with you, but is terrified of leaving your children fatherless if his disease gets the best of him

Everything in your house has the potential to be a new invention, you’ve lost count of how many appliances have been modified in some way

He likes puzzles, on the rare occasion he has free time to do them for leisure. He can even do those crazy multi thousand piece ones

One of his main love languages is definitely parallel play. He loves spending time with you even if it’s in silence doing separate things

Loves when you lay on top of him. He doesn’t care how heavy you are, you’re his favorite weighted blanket

He likes to keep his personal life private from most people, but never in the sense that he hides you. Everyone knows you’re together, but very few know how much you actually mean to each other

He leaves marks and hickeys on you even when he doesn’t necessarily mean to, simply because his canines are so sharp

Whenever he and Jayce are asked to travel anywhere to meet with Hextech investors, he always brings you with him. You couldn’t afford a honeymoon when you first got married, so he makes up for it by turning work trips into vacations

He likes to leave you love notes sometimes when he wakes up and leaves before you, but his handwriting is so messy you can rarely read them. He usually says what he wrote when he sees you next anyway though

[quarterlifekitty]

could you pretty please expand on gaz’ penchant for women with the eldest sister syndrome pls pls pls🙏🏾

You know, we (I) talk about Price and Nikolai and Simon being a little older, and how much they relish in having a girl who’s never had a man, they’ve only had boys, but despite being on the younger side of the roster, Gaz has this complex too. His has got a bit of a twist on it, though.

He can see the wear on you. Permanent divets in your ability to trust, to relinquish— when was the last time someone was looking after you? You can’t remember. It’s always been this way— it’s you who has to remember all of the chores, who has to remind people of the things they should be doing, who has to teach them how to do it right again and again. And if you don’t? It won’t happen. So you don’t have a choice in the matter. When was the last time you got to leave things in someone else’s hands without having to worry about it? Without asking, begging for someone to take over?

It happened in your childhood and that made the blueprint for the rest of it, like it did to everyone. Boyfriends that came through a pipeline, exchanging their mother for you. Boys who couldn’t be trusted to sort lights from darks when doing laundry. Boys who didn’t know how to sensibly put away leftovers. Boys who forget to clean the drain after shaving.

And Gaz can see it plain as day. He can read you like an open book. The sheer surprise on your face the first time you came back from the bathroom when he was at your place, and he was already taking care of the dishes. You hadn’t asked him to, and you didn’t plan on asking. And he did them quite sensibly. Apologized for not being able to put them up— wasn’t familiar with the kitchen, yet. Found your collection of recycled takeout containers and packed all of the leftover food away, left on the counter to cool before it went in the fridge.

That look on your face, and the tension that visibly left your shoulders was like a drug to him. And he had to have more.

When you move in together, he has to push you to sit down when you get home sometimes. You would protest, only to find that your seemingly endless task list shrank significantly during his leave time. He already called the landlord and someone came around the fix the kitchen tap while you were out. He already did the laundry. He already cleaned the stove. He remembered to close all of the windows when it started raining. And you didn’t have to tell him to do any of it.

And god if that didn’t turn you on. Not that that was his intention, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. It just made him think— how many boyfriends have you had that didn’t do anything for you? Who took everything you gave without giving it back? Not in the bedroom, but in all of the mundane, unsexy, daily-grind type ways that they never show in romance stories.

The idea that he was the first for that… that he was single-handedly raising the bar (which was in the ground). It excited him. It really does make him so happy to see you relax. And yes, this is related to the thing he has for giving massages. This man wants you in the palm of his hand, boneless and not worried about anything at all. You’ve done enough of that for one lifetime.

TLDR: Gaz knows exactly how and when to use a Mr clean magic eraser, and he loves how happy that makes you.

[fawninthesnow]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞: Part 2

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem Reader! 𐙚 18+

Summary: You are the daughter of General Marcus Acacius. After gaining your fathers blessing to join in at the palace, you run into a familiar face.

Warnings/contains: dom fem, f4m, teasing, pinning, size kink, praise, idealization, obsession, not proof read

Word Count: 2.5k

More on my Master list!

follow & like pls

“[Y/n], I would like to speak with you.” Your mother knocked upon the open door of your bedroom. You sighed aloud, taking off your jewels from the day. She moved behind you in the mirror, undoing your bun and undoing your small braids. “I will not ask why you are restless. I want to apologize to you. I know that…we *may* be more protective of you than-“

“I would call it absurd. This is absurd.” You turned to her, “I may not shop on my own! I may not take a walk by myself. Even as we speak, mother, a man watches!” You point to the guard that stood by your bedroom door. “I seem to never leave this place!”

“I know you are angry, but this is for the best!” You squinted with annoyance, throwing yourself onto your bed. “You are a beautiful young woman, [Y/n]! Moreover, you are our daughter! There are people who will want to hurt you.”

“I am aware of your worries, mother, but It is hard to believe the people of Rome know of my name, let alone what I look like!” You rolled over onto your back. Your father, General Marcus Acacius, now leaned on the post of your bed near your mother. “Now, I love you both dearly, but your words do not match your actions and I am tired of being left here to wait and rot! I am not one of your statues, Mother.” You stood in front of them now, your arms folded, and a crossed expression rid your gorgeous face.

To your surprise, your mothers’ hands clasped, and she sadly smiled. Her eyes welled, “Ahh, I am sorry. Y- you are just- you have grown so much.”

You tried not to fold under the pressure. It seemed whenever she got emotional, you found it hard to stand your ground. “Yes, yes, I have. And I want the freedoms of a woman. You say you want me to marry but the only men I have seen in the past few years were your guests, these brute guards and men of the Senate.” You said straightforward, avoiding your mother’s gaze, instead, looking into your father’s eyes.

The man sighed, holding his face in his hands. “What is it that you want?” He asked, officially surrendering to you. In that moment, you wondered if you had done this before on your 19th or 20th birthday.

“I want to follow you, Father.”

“Me? W- no! You cannot. It is too dangerous! Far too dangerous!”

You crossed your arms again and glared at him. “I barely see you as is! You will not let me join your army! You will not let me even speak in public! I want to be called your daughter. I want to follow you!”

Your Mother looked at her husband. She knew you had a point. You had a good reason to be emotional. “I do not know, Lucilla. This is dangerous.” She said nothing.

“That is all I want.” You said softer, close to your parents. “…for now.” Your father sighed.

“I will speak to you again in the morning.” He rubbed his forehead before leaving the room.

You balled your fists, looking away from the door, “Honey.” Your mother took your hand into hers, “It will be ok.”

“Does he hate me?”

“No. No, he could never. He is just tired. Do not stay up too late, ok? I love you.” She let go of your warm palm.

“I love you too.” You said as she left your bedroom. “Will you watch me change as well?!” You asked the guard who bowed his head and quickly left the bedroom.

The next morning, you were awakened by a servant with a tray of dyes for your makeup, with sage and frankincense for your perfume; separated into small bowls. “My Lady?”

“What is this?” You asked, moving the sheets from your body.

“Your father would like you to get dressed. I will do your hair today.” You tilted your head for a moment, rubbing your eyes. Another servant brought in a dress from your mother’s wardrobe from her youth.

“He said yes!?” You jumped from bed and dashed down the hall. The two servants continued to prepare you for your day as you pushed open your parents’ bedroom door. “Oh! Thank you! Thank you!” Your arms wrapped around your father’s waist. He kissed the top of your head.

“You should dress. We leave soon.”

*

Outside the home, you were helped onto your horse. “We will take the main streets.” Your father spoke, “Be sure to stay close to me. It can get crowded very quickly.” You nodded as the two of you, and a few guards who followed, entered the city. The last time you were here, you were being scolded. However, that was two weeks ago, and you never went this far in.

Your eyes flickered around at the stores and market. Children chased each other and women gathered water from fountains. Along side streets, men gambled and shouted. Inside of a cheap jewelry store, a mother bargained. Upon seeing your fathers face, people gathered around the horses, slowing down the group. “Keep your horse forward, [Y/n].” Your father spoke over the crowd. The city was rather overstimulating, and that was obvious. These people were obnoxious in your eyes. To you, this was just your father. Sure, he’s a decorated general, but this was the man that taught you math, dressed you in the mornings, learned how to braid your hair, collected flowers with you, and laid beside you when you fell ill. He was a man. Not a god. “[Y/n]?”

“Where are we even headed?” You asked as guards cleared the way for you and your father.

“To the palace.” He directed to the northeast of the path.

“The palace? Why?”

“I have business with the emperors.” You smirked. Something you adored was snooping. What a place to do so! “After, we can go wherever you please.”

“Sounds like a plan, Father.” Emperor. You hadn’t heard that title in a while. It had been weeks since that clown of a man called himself one to you. You remember that day like it was yesterday. That arrogant, short man. Just the thought him nearly made you laugh aloud. There was no way he would ever be emperor. That scrawny excuse of a man?

When you and your father arrived at the palace, he helped you off your horse; he held your palm, leading you up the steps.

A short man with his arms open greeted your father. Something about his face looked familiar, however, you had never seen him before; for sure. “Acacius! Haha! Hello, my friend!” Your father bowed to him, and you followed suit. “Ahh,” He held his own hands, admiring the face of the young woman standing beside his general. “And who might you be?”

“This is my daughter, [Y/n].”

“Ahh!” The man yelped with excitement. It was then you noticed the small animal on his shoulder. What is that? You wondered. “She is quite beautiful…mhh.” His eyes fell on your curves.

“Should we speak inside, Caracalla? And find your brother?” Your father asked, interrupting the thoughts of the emperor.

“Yes!”

He led the two of you inside, moving rather awkward without his brother. You looked at your father. “There is two, yes?” You whispered. He nodded.

You stayed outside the room as your father spoke to Caracalla. You leaned against the wall, listening in as they planned on a map. It was mostly your father speaking, and Caracalla feeding his monkey while nodding.

In the hall, the sound of loud shoes moving across the floor caught your attention. You looked over your shoulder. “Do not linger outside of there, servant.”

You frowned, turning your body to the sound of the familiar voice, “Do I look like a servant to you?” You asked, stepping closer, as did he. You face shone under the sunlight. The man stepped back and caught his breath.

“It is you! Yo-“

“Oh, shut up!” he gasped, “What are you even doing here?” You stepped closer and he moved back.

“I am an emperor! Of Rome!”

You laughed as he spoke with a nervous undertone. “Be honest, *you are* a servant, no?”

“I am the emperor! Are you ill?! Can you hear me?”

For a moment, you thought aloud, “But, isn’t the older brother supposed to be…bigger…” You circled around him like prey. He wondered if you had gotten taller since your last encounter. “…more commanding? This is rather disappointing…”

“I have had it with you. What is your business here?! Hm? Who even let you in?!”

You push him into a room across the hall. “Shut up. My father is right in that room!”

“Acacius! General Acacius!” You pulled him with you behind the door and covered his mouth, your other hand on the front of his throat.

“Say another word and I will snap your neck.” You said into his hair. “I guess you are the emperor…but that means little to me. For if my father finds out what you did in that garden, he will have your head.”

“Ahg! I did nothing. It was you!”

“Ha! You stained my dress, tiny! Even so, you speak if he’d believe your word over mine.” It was true, he most likely would not believe the emperor. You had your way with words. You had your way with threats. “Now, what to do with you…” He bit your hand before dashing from the room. You chased him down the hall and stopped him in his tracks. He gulped, looking up at you. “And where are you going?”

“Y- you cannot intimidate me! Not in my own palace!” You leaned down and held him by his chin. “T- these guards! They will stop you!”

“You are mistaken. They do not work for you. They work for my father.” The man gulped before wiping sweat from his brow. “I can do whatever I want with you. We can keep playing chase, sure.” You step out of the way, and he ran down into the field of grass, surrounded by fruit trees and such. You laughed at him, chasing him into the field before cornering him and pinning him to the grass.

“This will not work on me! Very soon, your father will catch you!”

“Oh really?” Your knee pressed between his crotch, pushing on his balls.

“Y- yes.” A feathered moan left his lips. “I- I want you t- to let go! Let go, I say!” You let go of his hands, however, he does not move.

“It seems you like this.” Your finger found its way on the wet tip of his penis, coated in precum.

“I d- do, no, I-” He said rather softly. “A- n- you are a bully! A rude woman! No man will ever have you!” You continued to tease and rub his tip, making it hard for him to speak.

“Is that so?” He bit his lip and looked down at the mess he made on your fingertips. “Look in my eyes, you pervert.”

“I am not a pervert.”

“You are a pervert.” You lean down into his ear, gently kissing and suckling on the skin. “Only a pervert likes getting bullied by a woman in broad daylight. Only a pervert likes having his body exposed in an open field…under a woman.” Your hair dangled in his face; your bosom pressed on his chest as he hyperventilates.

His eyes opened wide, and he rose from under you. “I will not entertain you any longer.”

“Come here��Geta, was it?”

“I-“ He stepped away from you once more.

“Geta.” You say, inching closer. “You are too small; you will never escape me.” He held his crotch, trying to stop his throbbing shaft from its movement. The emperor fixed his toga, only for his crown to fall off his head. He groaned, growing flustered. “Do I make you nervous or something…?” You twirled his laurel crown around your finger. You looked heavenly from his view. He felt as if he had come face-to-face with Venus herself. “This crown means nothing, you know? Do you even feel like an emperor when you wear it?” He did not reply but you knew the answer. As you moved closer, your purple dress held onto your hips and swayed with every step. You placed his crown on your head, “Do I look pretty?” You knew he would agree. You are stunning, how could *anyone* deny that? And with that gold crown over your head? It was hard to believe the gods did not hand deliver you to your parents. “I know what you are feeling…why so shy?”

“Leave me be, woman!”

“Come here, little boy.” You tilt your head, offering your palm, “I will make you feel better.”

“I- I am…the emperor…”

“Sure.”

“I wear the crown.”

“Fine, take it.” You tossed it back to him. For some reason, it seemed to lose its meaning. It did not feel as heavy as before. It felt cheap, pointless, useless. Was it really a symbol of the gods if a goddess denies it?

“Acacius…he will not be happy.”

“My Father will not know.” You giggled, twirling his hair.

“See?! I knew it! You are a deceiver!” The emperor took off his shoes and ran back into the palace before turning into the room where General Acacius and his brother leaned over the table. He caught his breath. You stood behind the man and caressed his side. He jumped, and whined, “S- she’s-“

“Oh! Emperor Geta.” Your father bowed to the man, and you did the same, smiling at him. “Good morning.”

He looked between you and your father; the resemblances were undeniable. You squinted at him as if daring him to say something to your father. Geta moved away from you. “…proceed with the meeting.” You went back to your place by the pillar, watching him from afar. He felt uncomfortable, hot under his collar. The general spoke of invasion plans to the north of India. Although you should have cared, your attention was set on the nervous mess in front of you.

The meeting carried on faster than you would have expected. The two emperors walked you both to the entrance, exchanging pleasantries. You lean towards Caracalla, and he happily kisses both of your cheeks. Towards Geta, he resentfully kisses your right cheek, “…I will see you again very soon…” You whisper.

He froze in shock, “No. No, you will not.” You smirked and he groaned, kissing your left cheek. “Stay away from me…”

“It was delightful meeting you, emperor Geta.” You spoke so condescendingly, he felt so small, like a peasant when in comparison to you. When you pulled away from him, and climbed on your horse, Geta adjusted his garments, his cock stayed hard throughout the morning. He had to admit that you were some form of a goddess; maybe it was your figure, or your personality, but something within him felt as if this connection had to be holy, divine. His hips ached, and his tip was wet with lust. He would never admit it to you, that would only boost your ego.

This part was a request! (Originally, was a one shot.) Let me know if you all want a part 3!!

Part one on my Master list!

follow & like pls

[tojiscrack]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄

summary: 11.4k words — you spend some time at megumi and yuji’s open game, but spend some more time with someone else there

notes: i was overwhelmed with the amount of asks, messages, comments, and dm’s the last chapter provoked! (in a good way ofc, i loved it 😭). now i’m just curious — a lot of you (as predicted) hated the events of last chapter. you’re definitely not gonna enjoy this one :) anyway, it’s 1hr past the 22nd of dec, and i intended to get this out for megumi’s birthday, so pretend i did. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR GRUMPY PORCUPINE! <3

tw: shouting, BELLOWING, yelling, whatever other words you might use for that lol, and blood, criminals, and gangs

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

"the raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of duncan under my battlements ... come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts!"

the stage lights cast a soft glow, illuminating you as you delivered your lines with striking conviction. it wasn't a performance for a packed auditorium, but a rehearsal for your extracurricular theatre club.

the room was mostly empty, save for a few of your peers and your director, yet megumi could feel the atmosphere buzzing with quiet focus. your voice filled the space, and he silently appreciated how you could throw yourself into a character so conniving like lady macbeth and then jump right into being your bubbly self once again, as though you hadn't just emasculated poor macbeth trembling on the other side of the stage.

not that he'd ever tell you that. the most you'd get is a pat on the head, and even that seemed to be a bit much for megumi.

the lack of an audience didn't matter to you, it seemed; you poured your entire heart into the scene, as if the world were watching.

but it was easy to remind himself of the fact that it was a rehearsal and not a real performance, for every time you reached that exact line, you'd let out a snort and turn away with the same maturity as a child. megumi became more and more unimpressed each time it happened.

"y/n," the director called out, her voice made ten times louder from the echo of the megaphone.

you nodded, but still failed to wipe that grin off your face.

"i got it," you assured her, and megumi had almost missed what you'd said when the loud movement of the seats from somewhere in the backrow had sounded for the nth time. you schooled your face with an expression of determination, but megumi could see the underlying hint of amusement, clear as day. "unsex me here! and fill me from the —"

you'd cut yourself off with your laughter, the sound of it only resulting in more groans from your peers backstage, but megumi only watched you with a raised brow, mentally cursing whoever was making that stupid chair noise from the backrow — your laughter had been drowned out by it.

"i can't do it," you chortled, using the pages of your script to hide your face. "i can't do it!"

the director's sigh echoed around the hall.

"right, adjust the flower crown 'cause it's sitting on the edge of your head, and let's do act five, scene one."

megumi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he observed the stage's organised chaos. you and your peers bustled about, setting up for the transition to the next scene.

the props crew adjusted the minimalistic set pieces while one of your friends struggled to untangle a misplaced curtain cord. you briefly stepped offstage, laughing with another castmate as they adjusted your flower crown to sit properly atop your head.

as the lights dimmed slightly in preparation, megumi looked up again, his patience steady, fully expecting to see you dive back into the character of lady macbeth without skipping a beat.

and you had — straight away.

you were now at the centre of the stage once more, standing by a fake sink — a prop — your arms extended before you, one hand holding your script, the other with fingers curled towards yourself.

"out, damned spot!" you began, voice striking. "out, i say!"

there was a pause, and megumi half believed that you had forgotten the rest of your lines (even though you were reading out of a paper script held in your hand) but then you looked up, apparently going to improv.

"out, damned fricking spot! get out of here! you damned — damned spot, get away and just — just go and leave and why don't you just leave —"

"y/n," the director called out your name, tone firm and scolding. "stick to the scri— oh for god's —"

you laughed loudly, shaking your head and standing still, your hands back at your side.

"'kay i'm sorry," you sighed, and megumi could tell that you were genuine, but he knew the director couldn't. from his seat in the audience, the director's eyes had narrowed, her megaphone now at her side as she raised a brow at you, the lines on her forehead prominent as ever.

"i'll start again," you told her, and megumi had to strain to catch that, for the stupid chair noise had echoed around the hall again.

you had lifted your script and began hurriedly rereading your lines, but when your eyes had lifted and skimmed the hall, passing megumi's, he frowned when you stumbled, almost looking as though you had attempted to retreat in fear.

"what just happened?" the director's voice called out through the megaphone again.

you furrowed your brows and squinted your eyes. megumi held back a scowl. what the hell were you up to now?

you eventually answered the question, but only after you'd become comfortable at the centre of the stage again, nodding to yourself with a smile.

"ah, sorry," you said, meeting her stern gaze sheepishly. "the outline of megumi's head just scared me for a second —"

the scowl that he'd been trying his hardest to hold back had been released, and it only deepened at the sound of the people backstage — your foolish classmates — laughing along.

there was nothing funny about that, and if he chose to tell all of them about your mermaid fiasco several years ago, you wouldn't find it funny then.

he sunk in his seat, throwing you a glare you probably couldn't see very well seeing as the rest of the auditorium was dark; the only lights being shun were the ones on the stage.

"if she wasn't my best lead, i would've kicked her out by now," the director whispered, only, it had been (accidentally) spoken with the megaphone on.

she quickly turned it off, but it had been too late: you'd already heard it.

your lips parted slightly, eyebrows raised in mild offense, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed a certain smugness. you glanced briefly at the director with mock indignation, a hand coming to rest on your hip as if you were about to deliver a snarky comeback, but instead, you simply shook your head and turned back to your script, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

megumi watched this unfold, his expression still maintaining that bitter scowl.

while the comment seemed to have both bruised and inflated your ego, he wasn't surprised. you'd always had this uncanny ability to balance between taking yourself seriously and not at all. best lead, he thought dryly, watching with half lidded eyes as you delivered your next few lines correctly. if only she knew how many times he'd seen you trip over thin air or forget half your lines in the name of a 'creative process'. still, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that, onstage, you were captivating — even if it happened to be for the wrong reasons half the time.

as the rehearsal wound down, you and your peers began packing up on stage. megumi used his phone to check the time.

it was time to go home.

scripts were gathered and props carefully returned to their designated spots by the crew. the faint creak of the stageboards accompanied the bustle, with one of your classmates complaining about how she couldn't find her missing pencil while another laughed at something whispered behind the curtains.

you slipped off your flower crown, adjusting it absentmindedly before tossing it onto a nearby prop table, and joined the group tidying up. the director had long since stopped barking orders and now stood by the edge of the stage, chatting with one of the seniors about next week's rehearsal schedule.

megumi stood from his seat with a quiet sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards the backstage area, but not without stopping to throw the annoying person at the back row with the noisy chair a glance.

the person was now standing, but the automatic chair had slammed itself shut, allowing that loud noise to carry itself around the hall.

megumi had made his way towards the wall by the side curtain, his nose scrunched at the person — their silhouette showing that it was a guy around the same height as himself.

he had left the hall abruptly as megumi leaned against the wall, waiting for you to finish up, his gaze idly tracking your movements.

you turned around and jumped.

"ah, porcupine!" you gasped, unclipping your bracelets absentmindedly. "you need to announce your arrival, you scared m—"

"shut up, mermaid," he snapped, his patience running thin.

your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, eyes narrowing as you straightened your posture and clenched your jaw, willing yourself to keep your composure, though the sharpness in your movements — tossing your bracelets into the props table with more force than necessary —betrayed your irritation.

"i'm gonna call security on you," you threatened him, the corner of your mouth twitching as if you were fighting the urge to scowl outright, but instead, you busied yourself with adjusting your hair. the flower crown had messed the top of it.

"why are you tapping your head like that?" he questioned, not even entertaining the empty threat you'd shot at him.

"'cause if i'm not careful, i'll end up looking like a punk," you answered, before intentionally eyeing his dishevelled, fluffy hair. you met his sharpened gaze with a look of faux remorse. "yikes."

there was a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he watched you try to unclip the necklace hanging delicately on your collarbone — a warning, sharp and unspoken, that clearly said: watch it.

"turn around," he grumbled, when it became apparent that it was going to take a while for you to finally manage taking the ugly necklace off.

you complied without much protest. however, that didn't mean that you did so silently:

"could be nicer about i— ow, porcupine! it's got my hair, it's got my hair!"

"stop moving," megumi demanded, messily throwing your hair over your shoulder to your front. he grunted under his breath when you continued to struggle against him. "squirming like a mermaid —"

your reaction was immediate, bristling with indignation as your head snapped around to glare at him, though the position made it awkward. if he wasn't fiddling with the clasp at the base of your neck, you might've been tempted to swat at his hands, but instead, you turned your focus forward, muttering something unintelligible under your breath that was undoubtedly not complimentary.

you flinched when he had finally managed to successfully unclip the necklace, but only when it continued to tug at the hairs at the back of your neck.

"porcupine — ow! oh my g— stop!" you complained, your eyes watering and knees bending as megumi tugged at the necklace again.

"how else am i supposed to take it off?" he shot back, grumpy.

"i'mgonnaendupinahospitalbedlikeallthoseyearsagoandnearlydie—"

"you never nearly died," said megumi, emphasising his point by cruelly pulling the necklace down again. you had stumbled back into him, but he remained stagnant where he stood, brows furrowed in both annoyance and deep concentration. "don't be stupid."

"ouch! you're doing it on purpose now, you — porcu—"

"right, who is porcupine?" the director's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and demanding attention.

the two of you looked up abruptly: she was standing before you, arms raised (and brows furrowed) in confusion.

deadpanned, you shot megumi a quick glance before addressing her.

"... is it really that hard to guess, looking between the two of us?"

at that, megumi had harshly pulled the necklace, taking some of your hair with it.

you squeaked, your hand immediately going up to ease the pain as you spun around and stared at his hand, the necklace holding bits of your hair cut fresh from the top of your neck.

"..."

"..."

"... okay, what is going on here?" the director asked, her eyes following the prop as megumi casually threw it over your head and onto the table behind you.

megumi barely had time to blink after that before you lunged at him, your hands diving into his hair with startling precision.

you yanked back with just enough force to rip out a few strands, his grunt of annoyance and pain echoing around the hall as the director stood frozen, her expression caught somewhere between bewildered disbelief and an exasperated sigh, as though contemplating whether this entire exchange was even worth addressing.

"right, y/n —"

"now we're even!" you snapped, as though the woman beside you hadn't spoken at all. you presented the dark hairs to megumi, and then purposefully made him watch as you slowly pocketed them, taking your sweet time and relishing in the crease between his brows that continued to deepen the longer you drew it out.

"you're a weirdo," he stated icily, but you turned away, paying him no mind.

"keep talking and i'm gonna get nobara's voodoo doll."

the two of you exited the auditorium together, the air practically vibrating with the quiet reluctance of megumi's brooding presence beside you.

he strode with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, meanwhile, you walked with an air of triumph, your fingers slipping into your own pocket every so often to toy with the strands of his hair, a small grin tugging at your lips every time you caught the subtle crackle of his growing irritation.

he deserved it.

"what did you think of rehearsal?" you asked him curiously. "lady macbeth's lines are so funny —"

"they're not funny," megumi disagreed bluntly. he sounded genuine. "you're just immature."

you showed him the strands of his hair that you'd passionately held onto in your pocket.

"say that again," you challenged, brows raised.

he merely swatted your wrist away with a scowl; you pocketed his hair with a shrug.

"as i was saying," you continued, as the two of you exited the school, "the macbeth play isn't gonna have a proper audience anyway, so i'm not too fussed about perfecting lady macbeth's lines. it's gonna be recorded tho! what did you think of it so far?"

megumi narrowed his eyes, the sun peeking out from over the clouds bright enough to blind him momentarily.

"couldn't even hear anything 'cause of the idiot sitting at the back," he told you with a scowl.

you laughed, brows raised in intrigue.

"yeah, they've been here for the past week or so," you informed your friend, chuckling at his sour expression.

"why don't you kick him out?"

"if we were to kick out every single disturbance, you would be sitting outside every day, porcupine."

"i'm not a disturbance."

"your hair is though."

"shut up."

as you neared the bike rack, you spotted yuji and nobara waiting for the two of you by their respective bikes.

yuji's was unmistakably bright — an electric blue frame with neon green accents that megumi thought perfectly screamed his excitable personality, complete with a flashy bell he had been spinning absentmindedly. nobara's, in contrast, was a sleek, matte-black with a subtle crimson stripe running along the frame. as the two of them looked up at your approach, yuji tilted his head with a toothy grin, arm raised in the air, already waving.

megumi believed that your bike stood out against the others, its pastel yellow frame and front basket adorned with a bunch of small, faux daisies that gave it a cheerful, almost whimsical vibe.

he approached his own as the three of you jumped into conversation with one another.

megumi's bike, dark navy and utterly plain, had been parked beside yours — you never failed to remind him how it looked like a sullen counterpart. he didn't care: it was his bike after all, not yours.

"my parents are working late again," yuji added brightly. he was sitting on his bike, waiting for the rest of you to clip on your helmets and do the same. "grandpa's home, and choso's at his place, so we basically have the house to ourselves tonight."

you silently nodded, hanging your bag on the right handlebar.

megumi scowled at nobara, who had seated herself on her bike, discarding her phone in her bag and zipping it up without another word.

"put your helmet on," he demanded her.

she looked up at him with a stony expression, her lips set in a straight line and brows furrowed as though to say 'are you talking to me?'.

"i'm having a bad hair day today —"

yuji frowned, looking bewildered:

"— but your hair looks nice —"

"shut up," snapped nobara, continuing as though you had not laughed loudly at the falter in yuji's bemused smile. you swerved away from his leg when he extended it to kick at your bike. "i'm not gonna make it worse by putting on that helmet."

megumi did not look impressed by her answer, throwing one of his legs over his bike to sit down and unclip his own helmet, glaring at her all the while.

"you're turning into the mermaid —"

"what the hell?" you demanded angrily, gesturing to your own helmet, which was conveniently sitting on your head. "i'm wearing mine!"

megumi's face tightened, jaw tensed as though he were biting back a sharp retort. one hand gripped the handlebar of his bike firmly, while the other toyed with the edge of his helmet, spinning it idly in a way that betrayed his rising frustration.

"i know why you're hesitating to wear yours," you shot back, offended by his jab at you, unprovoked. "it'll flatten down your sea-urchin hair and make you look like your dad —"

"watch it," he warned you icily, a short, clipped exhale leaving his nose as he glanced between you and nobara, his expression a mix of exasperation and resignation, like he'd just resigned to a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place.

the sky stretched above in a pale canvas of soft blues and muted golds, the sun dipping lazily towards the horizon, its warm light spilling across the school front in delicate, golden hues. the four of you had mounted your bikes and had already begun cycling down the road, away from the busy bus route yuji would usually take and down the quiet neighbourhood, away from the loud traffic lights.

wisps of cotton-like clouds floated idly, their edges tinged with blush and amber as the day prepared to give way to the evening the longer the four of you bickered and laughed, simultaneously being wary of the occasional car that would pass by every now and then. the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the gentle breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the crisp, earthy scent of early autumn. your shadows stretched long across the crosswalk, mingling with the sporadic glint of sunlight reflecting off the polished metal frames of your bikes.

"grandpa went to the store the other day," yuji loudly spoke. he was riding his bike beside you while megumi and nobara cycled just ahead. "he bought a bunch of new films for us! we can watch the nun tonight!"

"is it wise to watch a horror movie at your place?" nobara called out, her hair a lighter shade where the sun hit it.

yuji looked bewildered at her question. "but we always watch horror movies at my place..."

"no, she's right!" you added, eyes wide. "what if we accidentally trigger the s word somehow?"

yuji's expression shifted almost comically as the realisation dawned on him, his brows furrowing in confusion before lifting in sudden clarity. he sat upright on his bike, one hand tightening on the handlebars as if steadying himself, while his other hand shot up to nervously scratch the back of his head.

"oi, use both hands," megumi demanded from up front.

yuji silently complied, though his eyes remained glued on you.

"sukuna won't —"

"don't say his name," you hissed, brows furrowed in both anger and panic.

yuji's wide-eyed expression stayed constant as the conversation continued.

"wait, it should be fine, guys," nobara had intervened, one hand holding onto her bike while the other extended itself towards the brooding, dark-haired male cycling beside her. "we have megumi — he's great at protecting us!"

megumi shot her a sharp look as he swatted her hand away. apparently, he did not agree with this idea.

"remember when he pushed su—"

"nobara!"

"— the s word away from us when he said he'd rip our hair out and use them as handcuffs?" she continued, as you cycled behind her with a wariness only the demon could bring out of you. "he comes up with the most creative threats, y'know. sometimes i'm a little impressed, but my hair's too short for handcuffs —"

"he wanted us bald," you reminded her helpfully, "so that means ripping your hair from the roots, which is long enough for handcuffs, paired with mine, too."

"that's irrelevant," said megumi, his hair standing up as the four of you cycled through the breeze. you imagined him looking rather silly from the front, seeing as the back was serving enough laughs out of both you and yuji. "and i can't do much today anyway. after the movie, i have to look over sharmin and miwa's history homework."

you frowned at the back of his head.

"you're doing their homework?" you asked, sounding offended.

"they asked me to look over it before practice today," megumi answered calmly, "but i didn't have time, so i said i'd do it later today and give it back to them tomorrow."

that did not sit right with you, not when megumi always refused to do your homework whenever you asked.

you pedalled faster and slipped in between megumi and nobara, shooting him a look of disapproval.

"any time i ask you to do my homework, you refuse," you told him with a raised brow.

"same goes for them," megumi responded, throwing nobara (who was now behind the two of you) and yuji both a look a warning glance for arguing over nothing loudly. "i'm not doing their homework. i'm looking over it."

you shrugged. "yeah that's what i ask you to do, too."

"no you don't."

"yes i do!"

"you don't."

"i do!"

"you don't," megumi snapped, his patience thin. "you lie about being sick and try to guilt trip me into it —"

"accusations!" you gasped, lifting one hand to point at him dramatically. "false accusations!"

you'd nearly lost your balance on your bike due to how quickly you had sat up and let go of the handlebars. megumi, once again, extended his own arm and directed your bike properly again, but not without clicking his tongue at you in distaste.

"y/n!" nobara called for you from behind.

you looked over your shoulder and then regretted it when megumi flicked your forehead in warning. you turned back around abruptly, narrowing your eyes at him as they watered.

he didn't have to do it so hard, you thought to yourself grumpily.

"nobara, i can't look at you 'cause of the bike police over here —"

"shut up."

despite megumi's harsh criticism, nobara had continued to talk anyway.

"yuji's hair is nothing like miwa's, right?" she said, and you did not have to look back to be aware of yuji's frown of both annoyance and disappointment. "his is like a dull pink —"

yuji did not like that. "hey!"

"miwa's looks better," you responded easily. it hadn't been a difficult decision after all: you remembered the day miwa had walked past the school doors with the long, blue hair that ran past her shoulders and spine. "the blue suits her! and the bangs too!"

"told you," you heard nobara's smug voice add.

"it also matches her eyes," you commented with a smile. "you can't say the same, yuji."

"wha— megumi!" yuji shouted desperately. "help me out!"

you glanced over at megumi's face. he seemed indifferent, as always, but his response had said otherwise.

he had shrugged, relaxed. "they're right."

yuji's wail of misery only had the three of you threatening to leave him behind. he had sulked for a bit, but eventually joined in on the next set of conversations you found yourself immersed in for a portion of the remainder of the journey.

the sun hung low on the horizon, its amber glow spilling across the quiet neighborhood like molten gold. the bungalows stood neatly in rows, their silhouettes softened by the warm, fading light, and the occasional flicker of a porch light hinted at the coming dusk, while the air seemed to grow still, as though welcoming the four of you to yuji's neighbourhood again.

"you can't do it," you told yuji, who had been adamant in showing all of you a trick that choso had taught him on his bike the other day. you threw him a look of disbelief from over your shoulder.

your bike had swerved unexpectedly, and when you turned back around to regain control, you noted that it was megumi, who had his hand on the front of your bike, apparently saving you from having ridden over a large rock in the middle of the road.

"i can!" yuji protested, riding past both you and megumi to keep up with nobara, who had long since ridden ahead. "just watch!"

"don't do it, you idiot," megumi chided, glaring at the back of yuji's pink head.

"but —"

megumi cut across him harshly. "you're gonna fall."

"i won't!" yuji shouted back, eyes wide with exhilaration. "i've done it a hundred times already! just look!"

yuji surged forwards on his bike, his grin brimming with confidence as he positioned himself to attempt the trick. he shifted his weight back, tugging up on the handlebars with a flourish to lift the front wheel off the ground.

for a brief, fleeting moment, the bike wobbled in perfect balance, his exhilarated laughter ringing out in triumph.

but then the balance tipped — too far back — and the wheel slammed down awkwardly.

yuji, unable to steady himself, tumbled sideways onto the road with a loud thud, his limbs sprawling across the sidewalk. his bike clattered noisily beside him, the bell letting out an inadvertent chime as it hit the ground.

the three of you stopped, a beat of stunned silence passing before laughter broke out simultaneously: nobara had doubled over her handlebars, wheezing as she clutched her side, while you clapped a hand over your mouth, struggling to stifle your snickers. even megumi's usual stoic expression cracked slightly, his lips twitching as he muttered something under his breath and shook his head.

yuji groaned dramatically, sprawled out on the concrete road like a tragic hero, but none of you made a move to help him, not even when he asked.

"guys..." he called out weakly, face scrunched in pain. he extended his arm shakily, eyes half-lidded. "help..."

you shot a glance at nobara, holding your breath to try and stop yourself from snorting out another round of laughs, before turning your bike around and cycling away.

"just go, leave him," you hurriedly told her, your legs working quickly on the pedals of your bike.

yuji lifted his head.

she did not hesitate in following suit.

"we warned you!" she called out with a wide grin.

megumi had not said a word as he, too, seemed to agree with the both of you, his feet pressing down on the pedals a little faster.

"go, don't look back," you muttered, kicking off your bikes to continue cycling down the road.

you laughed merrily as his calls of protest grew faint the further you rode away, leaving him to flail on the ground, loudly lamenting his fate.

but of course, you weren't evil — perhaps nobara was, though — for you and megumi had turned on your bikes to get him, and she had been the only one who let out a groan of exhaustion at the mere thought of it.

but the funniest part wasn't the way you'd found yuji lying on the road in the exact same way you'd left him, nor was it the way his eyes had lightened up at the sight of you...

it was how he had remained firm on giving you all the silent treatment the rest of the way to his house, and how he had been struggling to do so, for if anyone was an expert, qualified chatter, it was yuji itadori.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the football field stretched wide under the fading light, its green expanse marked with crisp white lines that gleamed faintly in the late afternoon. you were standing on the bench at the front row, watching the football players dart across the field.

it was jujutsu high's open game for the football team, which (by the school's definition) was a practice session open for the general school public to attend.

your eyes followed the ball as it sailed through the air, a blur of motion intercepted by a leaping player — chad, you noticed with raised brows, as the whistle from coach yaga encouraged the rest of the team to push forward.

your eyes had scoured the players in search of your friends. you couldn't exactly tell who was who because of the uniform and helmet that would conceal both their bodies and their faces, so you could only rely on their player numbers displayed on both the fronts and backs of their jerseys.

player number one — who was currently sprinting alongside massive player number six — was yuji. you never bothered him when he concentrated on the game. you usually saved the disturbance for when he'd done something to piss you off (like intentionally telling your spanish teacher that you deleted duolingo off your phone to spare some storage).

player number two was who you were really looking for, and it only brought a smile to your face when you'd found him — megumi — sprinting the other way.

"you're going the wrong way, megumi!" you helpfully reminded him.

he ignored you, as per usual. but you noticed, with triumph, how his legs had started to slow down.

beneath his helmet, you were certain he was gritting his teeth.

"the ball's that's way!" you called out, one hand cupping the side of your mouth, the other benevolently pointing at player number eight, who was now in possession of the ball. "what are you doing?"

megumi had approached coach yaga, and from where you were stood, accompanied by the chatter of the other onlookers, you could not hear what was being exchanged between the two. the sharp glare that coach yaga had shot you was a lot to go by, however, not that you cared.

you hadn't cared in middle school, you wouldn't care now.

yaga knew that very well.

megumi turned away and had begun jogging towards his teammates again. you shook your head, your foot tapping the metal of the bench impatiently.

"well it's too late for that now!" you told him, tutting in disapproval. "they've gone and scored without you! oh — hi toge!"

player number six, todo, was a towering presence, and you watched as he charged across the field with the ball tucked firmly under his arm, shrugging off attempted tackles like they were nothing more than minor inconveniences. close behind, yuji darted around the defence with his usual agility, his movements quick and unpredictable, drawing shouts of encouragement from somewhere behind you, because — right, that was a thing now — he had gained quite a few admirers over the last week, not that he had been aware of it. the only reason you knew was because of an occasion last week where you and nobara had camped inside a singular stall in the girls' toilets, overhearing a conversation between a few sophomores and juniors.

megumi was now in possession of the ball, and though he wasn't as speedy as yuji, he excelled in the game by being strategic, which compensated for the lack of agility.

he's doing well, you thought to yourself. it was too bad you enjoyed poking fun at him.

you exaggeratedly waved both arms in the air as if directing imaginary traffic, calling out random, unhelpful advice about the game. his head had turned for a fraction of a second, and that had been enough to encourage you to go further.

"quick! the small one's behind you!" you called out, your expression grave. you chuckled when he actually looked over his shoulder. "haha! made you look —"

"— l/n!"

your eyes travelled across the field to meet yaga's, shielded by his sunglasses. he didn't look pleased in the slightest, but he hadn't said anything else when you stared back at him.

your name was his first warning.

you shrugged and turned back to the game, mimicking a referee's whistle sound — poorly, of course — just to see if it would make megumi glance your way again.

it didn't, but you had not missed the way he'd quickened his steps, an act to try and free himself from being forced to listen to your constant shouts and yells.

"megumi! spell red!" you called out to him, your hands cupping your mouth. he turned around and narrowed his eyes at you, a menacing glint circling in each of his irises. "no? okay, i'll do it for you! L — S — T — E — R —"

the field erupted with laughter.

number six, todo, was the first to lose it, nearly doubling over as he slapped his thigh, while yuji could barely stay upright, clutching his sides and wheezing between gasps of air. the entire team seemed to pause, their focus on the game completely derailed, as they recalled the viral meme and the ridiculousness of your performance.

yaga, however, was not amused. he blew his whistle sharply, barking at the players to get back into formation, his forehead veins looking like they might burst at any second.

"keep laughing, and you'll all be running laps until the sun sets!" he roared, but his threats only managed to stifle the laughter into barely concealed snickers. "and you — stop opening that damned mouth of yours!"

meanwhile, megumi shot you a glare so venomous, it could have melted steel. his fists clenched at his sides, and you could see the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders as he tried to rein in his irritation.

"stop," he snapped, his voice dripping with exasperation.

"all right, all right," you sighed, before cupping your mouth again. "spell megumi! T — O — J — Y!"

megumi stood in the centre of the grassy field, arms by his sides, like a child refusing to comply to rules. you could see the way his jaw had clenched at your joke.

he had always had this incessant need to be right. to correct you when you were wrong. to show off his brilliance.

you could see him fighting a losing battle.

"that's not how you spell my dad's name —" he'd started angrily, but the sound of yaga's whistle had cut through anything you had wanted to say in response.

"IS THIS THE SPELLING BEE?" he demanded, irate. "fushiguro!" he'd all but bellowed, teeth gritted. "why are your legs not moving?"

megumi turned to face his teacher.

"she spelled my dad's name wrong —"

"IS YOUR DAD HERE TO BEAR WITNESS?"

"..."

"GET BACK TO YOUR TEAMMATES!"

megumi had made a move to leave, but at the sound of your snickers, he stopped, lifting his arm and pointing it in your direction.

"kick her out," he'd said — correction: demanded — without hesitation.

your mouth fell open in sheer disbelief, arms extended outwards in confusion as you glared at megumi like he'd just committed the ultimate betrayal.

kick you out? the audacity, you mentally marvelled.

you weren't even on the field, which you could've easily invaded if you had wanted to. you were merely offering a bit of moral support (albeit in your own unique, slightly chaotic way).

"that's a breach of my human rights," you alerted both your teacher and your friend. then, you shifted your attention to only coach yaga. "he's not even participating! personally, i think he should be benched!"

"l/n, sit down and SHUT UP!"

"no, seriously!" you insisted, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. "i can replace him on the field!"

megumi turned around again to face you this time. even though his helmet made it hard to see his face properly, you could see the way he'd narrowed his eyes at you. "you don't even know how to play properly —"

"well i'd do a hell of a lot better than what you're doing," you told him, standing up again and folding your arms over your chest. "which is nothing, by the way."

coach yaga had had enough:

"FUSHIGURO, STOP ENGAGING WITH HER AND MOVE UP THE FIELD!"

megumi faced the angry man with, no doubt, a glare of his own. "she's —"

"NOW!" yaga had bellowed, and you could only laugh at the way megumi's fists had clenched, but he'd obediently ran towards the other players (not without shooting you a glower, though).

you chuckled at his reaction, but choked on it when coach yaga had mercilessly turned to you next.

"SIT. DOWN. L/N," he ordered you, the hand holding the whistle lined with angry veins threatening to pop. you could see one on his forehead, too.

you opened your mouth to oppose, but he'd blown his whistle so you couldn't even hear yourself speak.

and this had become a recurring theme.

any time your lips would part — whether to cheer for a play, yell sarcastic advice at megumi, or protest yaga's increasingly dictatorial tone — the sharp, ear-piercing sound of his whistle cut through the air, drowning you out completely. he'd positioned himself nearby, whistle ready at his lips, as though waiting for the exact moment you dared to utter a sound.

you even tried whispering once, only for him to blow it louder than ever, causing you to flinch and clutch your ears.

the message was clear: coach yaga would not tolerate your antics.

but his overzealous whistle-blowing had unintended consequences, ones that had you giggling into your hands.

the players, accustomed to the whistle being a signal for key game instructions, had begun growing confused by the constant interruptions. at one point, both kamo and logan parker hesitated mid-play, unsure whether the sharp whistle had been meant to signal an offside or something else entirely, and this had led to an awkward collision on the field — logal tripping over kamo as the latter tried to pivot too late — and the two of them ended up sprawled in a tangled heap.

and yaga, visibly frustrated by both the situation at hand and the rhythm of your constant laughter, had no choice but to bench them both, muttering something about how some people were ruining his practice.

"your hair's a mess," you told kamo, when he'd approached the bench you were standing on with his helmet beneath his arm.

"thanks, didn't notice," he responded, blowing the loose strands of his hair out of his face.

you eyed him carefully as he sat by your feet, his knees an angry shade of red where he'd fallen due to the collision.

"does that hurt?" you asked, frowning. "you could sue yaga for blowing his whistle and causing confusion."

kamo peered up at you, his elbows resting on his thighs, his back hunched over in such a way that chiropractors would be disappointed by. you couldn't quite paint what he was thinking, for his face, so devoid of any and all emotion, made it so that his lips were set in a straight line and his eyes would remain half-lidded.

"you can!" you continued, as though he'd voiced his uncertainty to you. "and you can show your knees for proof!"

kamo kept his gaze fixed on the game, following the flow of plays that unfolded without him. you couldn't quite paint what he was feeling in that moment, for his expression was a mix of irritation and fatigue as he lazily tossed his helmet to the ground with a dull clatter.

"i'll remember to bring in a formal complaint tomorrow, then," he added, his eyes following player number five, who was in possession of the ball.

"i'll be your backup!" you told him enthusiastically. when he peered up at you, expectant, you clarified yourself. "y'know, for moral support."

"hold my hand and everything?"

you grinned. "all right, don't get ahead of yourself now."

"my bad," he said, bringing a hand up to brush the stray hairs out of his face. his dark hair had been tied back with a flimsy rubber-band into a low, loose bun, which apparently proved worthless in a rough game of football.

at the centre of the field, andre johnson clapped his hands loudly, rallying the players into position as he directed the next play with precision. toge stood further back, his sharp eyes scanning the field, ready to intercept, while todo, living up to his reputation, plowed through the defence like a battering ram, drawing cheers from his teammates.

you felt bad for the players that had ended up on the floor because of his onslaught of attacks.

one of them just so happened to be yuji.

and as you jested loudly at his limp body, todo stared back at him, horrified:

"BROTHER —"

"ooh..." you marvelled, standing on your tip-toes as todo ignored the game altogether and charged the other way. everyone except for megumi had moved out of the way. "might wanna put that one on a leash..."

your eyes had darted from the game to kamo, and back again.

"no offence, kamotionless..."

"none taken."

the two of you watched as megumi extended his hand to your pink-haired, groaning friend on the floor, intrigued as he accepted his help in pulling himself up.

both their heads had turned to face you.

yuji's lips parted in a comical frown, his hand clutching his lower back as he turned to glare at you with all the indignation he could muster. you could only chuckle at him, for his pink hair was dusted with grass and dirt from the collision, and his expression screamed betrayal.

raising one hand, he offered you an exaggerated thumbs-down, shaking it slowly as though to emphasise just how unimpressed he was.

you stared back at him, brow raised as you placed a pointer finger on your chest, mouthing 'me?'.

his exaggerated nod made you scowl at him and look at megumi instead, but his stare wasn't any better, for it had lingered on you longer than necessary: his sharp eyes had darkened as they subtly drifted downwards, his expression tightening ever so slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was irritation or something else entirely.

he was still pissed at your interruption of the game from earlier, clearly, for his stance had been tinged with quiet discontent, as though he'd seen something he didn't quite like.

rude, you thought to yourself, i stopped yelling at him and i'm likeable.

whatever it was, he said nothing, his eyes snapping back to the field with a stoicism that betrayed nothing outwardly.

across the field, yaga's voice thundered over the chaos.

"ITADORI! FUSHIGURO! get back to your positions — NOW!"

yuji jumped slightly at the sheer force of his command, but megumi had barely looked fazed, as though this was a common occurrence during practice.

yuji shot one last mournful look in your direction before jogging into place, his steps a little heavier than before. megumi, on the other hand, walked briskly back into formation, his gaze focused ahead, though the rigid set of his shoulders suggested he wasn't entirely composed. yaga's glare followed them both until they were back in line, his frustration simmering visibly as he blew his whistle to resume the play.

"what's the history with you and coach yaga?" kamo had asked, which had greatly surprised, your brows raised as you stared down at him. he took your silence as a sign to continue. "yuji said you met coach yaga in middle school."

"oh my god," you beamed, hopping off the bench to sit down on it. "i'm so glad you asked!"

you dug into your pocket and retrieved your phone, tapping on it excitedly to pull up the set of images in your camera roll that you'd visit so often, it would never catch dust.

the academic years of twenty-fourteen to twenty-sixteen.

"so i met him in the sixth grade," you explained, selecting an image of him from the time you had unexpectedly pulled your phone out in the middle of the corridor and snapped a headshot. "that's what he looked like back then, so, not that different. still got that weird spiky hairstyle, except it's longer now, but you get the idea."

kamo nodded, his front leaning forward to get a good look at your phone.

"he's angry," he commented idly.

"er... yeah," you confirmed, hesitant. you slowly swiped to the next photo — yaga's realisation of the image being taken. "that's 'cause i took his photo in the middle of the hallway, so..." you shook your head quickly. "but anyway! i met him during our first middle school p.e class. we were playing dodgeball and i was standing at the back to support yuji, even though we'd just met through megumi, but if megumi liked him, then i knew he was good. and then yaga just got mad at me."

kamo watched as you showed him another picture of an angry coach yaga.

"and it was a whole thing," you settled on saying at last. "rest of our time during middle school went by with a theme of pissing yaga off. it's tradition now."

kamo raised a brow, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in mild amusement as he listened.

"sounds like you've had a pretty clear mission since day one," he said, his tone dry but his gaze alight with curiosity. he tilted his head slightly as he regarded the photo on your screen, his hand brushing back a loose strand of hair as he continued. "coach only ever turns red when you're around."

there was no judgment in his voice, just a quiet humour that seemed to match the slight, crooked smile now playing on his face.

without a word, kamo shifted subtly closer to you, leaning in as though to get a better look at the next photo. his arm rested lightly on the bench beside you, and while the movement was casual, the reduced space between you both went unnoticed — or perhaps, just unacknowledged.

you didn't seem to mind at all, and the easy flow of your conversation remained uninterrupted. if anything, the proximity only added to the comfortable rhythm of your storytelling:

"there's actually a legacy," you grinned, swiping several times to get to a particular image. "you know s— mr gojo, miss ieiri, mr nanami, and mr haibara were yaga's students back when they were in school?"

kamo didn't say anything at that. some part of you couldn't blame him, especially when you would constantly spew out nonsense that megumi would immediately shut down in front of everyone.

if you weren't you, you probably wouldn't have believed yourself either.

"at least try to look like you believe me," you scowled.

"no, i do," kamo insisted, though not very convincingly.

"no you don't."

"yeah i don't."

"okay, well, now you will," you stated, showing him the photo you'd been searching for in your packed camera roll.

it was yaga's wedding in january of two-thousand-and-six. you had chosen this particular photo because of the scene in the background: the men you knew dressed sharply in suits and ties, and the women you knew also elegantly adorned in dresses and heels.

"he's married?" kamo asked, looking genuinely surprised. it was the only time you had seen any form of emotion cross his face.

"was married," you corrected him, and then laughed as you zoomed in on his face. "got divorced years ago — look, he's bald!"

as you and kamo continued discussing yaga's wedding, the conversation spiralled into unexpected detail. you pointed out the floral arrangements in the background, commenting on how they looked oddly mismatched with the formal attire of the guests. kamo had raised an eyebrow, countering that maybe yaga had bad taste in decorators. from there, the discussion veered into an animated debate over who had possibly caught the bouquet, with you insisting it was nanami and kamo scoffing at the idea of him even participating.

but just as kamo parted his lips to counter your next argument, yaga's unmistakable voice had cut through the air.

"LOVEBIRDS!" he'd roared, the two of you looking up simultaneously towards the field where yaga stood, hands on his hips, thoroughly exasperated. "FOCUS ON THE GAME, OR LEAVE!"

you pocketed your phone again, glaring at yaga like he'd personally offended you on a cosmic level.

"he's just salty we have luscious hair," you muttered under your breath bitterly. the fact that the entire field had fallen silent didn't deter you from adding more in the slightest. "got a lot of nerve for someone with a wedding album collecting dust..."

unbeknownst to you, chad smirked knowingly, glancing towards kamo with an exaggeratedly teasing expression, waggling his eyebrows as if he'd just uncovered the secret of the universe. kamo, predictably, ignored him entirely, his focus unshaken.

meanwhile, megumi's reaction had been far sharper.

his eyes darted between you and kamo before settling firmly on you, his brow furrowing so deeply it looked like he was judging you for a crime against humanity. his glare lingered, sharp and unyielding, like you'd just desecrated something sacred — which, knowing megumi, might've been the concept of behaving during practice.

"just get him back on the field," he stated firmly, shooting coach yaga a glare.

"kid's right," said yaga, before blowing his whistle again. "KAMO, PARKER — BOTH OF YOU — BACK ON THE FIELD!"

obediently, kamo rose to his feet, brushing off his knees before bending down and retrieving his discarded helmet, and then giving a short, wordless nod to logan parker, who had been waiting nearby.

from the sidelines, yaga's gaze immediately zeroed in on you.

"AND YOU!" he barked, pointing a commanding finger. "stop distracting my players! you've got five seconds to zip it, or you're out of here!" his voice had carried across the field with the same force as his whistle.

you frowned deeply. his reaction felt like an overreaction to you — typical yaga behavior.

but then, the realisation hit you like a sudden spotlight. you glanced at your watch and felt a jolt of panic. you were supposed to stay for only a bit before heading to rehearsal.

"ah, shit! i'm late for rehearsal!" you panicked, hurriedly grabbing your bag and scrambling to leave. the theatre director was definitely not going to forgive you for being late again, especially with the lead role hanging in the balance.

as you ran across the benches, you looked over your shoulder, ignoring the crowd and team laughing at you.

"lady yaga, this is all your fault by the way!"

as you darted towards the building, the teasing chants from the football team had started fading behind you. despite the growing distance between you and them, you could hear yaga cursing you from where he stood, as though he were right next to you.

you were not, however, aware of the two pairs of eyes watching you retreat, one of them mildly amused, the other beyond annoyed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

bonus scene:

the cracked pavement beneath satoru's feet echoed faintly as he strolled through the unfamiliar neighbourhood.

during a conversation about toji's dark past, he had showed off to the family about never having stolen anything, as well as never being stolen from, which only resulted in ogi demanding that he walk in a sketchier neighbourhood and see if he could come back saying the same thing.

and he had been confident, of course, as he looked around at the graffiti-covered walls and flickering streetlights, which might have seemed intimidating to anyone else, but he remained blissfully unfazed, humming a tune under his breath.

in one hand, he'd held a slightly squished cupcake, the frosting a little smeared but no less delightful to him. his sunglasses perched jauntily on his nose, and his long strides carried him through the shadows as though the neighbourhood itself were lucky to have him gracing its streets.

...

that had been before he'd found himself trapped in a phone-box, the gang that had caused his sealing surrounding the box in awe.

'we seriously stole the gojo guy's money?'

'aw heck yeah! he's filthy rich, too!'

'look at that sleek, black card!'

'awesome! his phone's the new model as well!'

satoru stared at the gang leader, scowling.

his balaclava had fallen when satoru had thrown a punch at him earlier, exposing his tattooed face, the dark line that crossed his nose and the thin arrowed lines that went down his eyes.

satoru thought he looked silly with those pigtails.

"how much are those glasses?" the leader had asked, throwing his balaclava over his shoulder for one of his minions to scramble for.

satoru, his neck bent in an attempt to not bump his head, flashed him a grin.

"more than you can afford."

the guy gritted his teeth at him. satoru felt satisfaction bloom in his chest at that, but he noted how the tattooed male could be no older than seventeen or eighteen. what the hell was he doing as a leader of a gang?

"but you should probably open the door to try and get them," satoru suggested, bending down a little to meet the kid's face.

"i'm not stupid," the kid scowled. he was bagging all of satoru's expensive belongings right in front of him.

"if you were smart, you wouldn't style your hair like a five year old girl."

"if you were smart, you would dye your hair."

satoru scowled at him. "if you continued your education, you wouldn't need to join a gang for money."

the kid didn't look too pleased with satoru's rapid riposte, for he looked around at his minions, slinging the bag of satoru's possessions over his shoulder, and turning away with a raised brow.

"come and get your stuff," he had challenged the trapped, white-haired male, who could only watch in anger as one of the minions marvelled at his stolen cupcake.

his cupcake.

satoru let out an exaggerated groan, his head lightly thudding against the very top of the glass wall of the phone box as he tilted his chin to the ceiling (that happened to be so very close to his face).

this was beyond annoying; his cupcake was gone, his wallet and phone stolen, and now he was cramped into this tiny, outdated relic of communication...

but then, a flicker of excitement sparked across his face, the edges of his mouth curling upwards.

out of all the traps he could've been stuck in, it had to be a phone box. how retro. how tragically iconic.

with a sigh, he tapped the dusty dial pad, punching in one of the numbers he knew by heart: shoko's.

the faint hum of the dial tone filled the tiny space as he leaned back, arms crossed, waiting with a fading grin to hear her undoubtedly sarcastic greeting.

but it had been taking a while.

"this is such a pain," he grumbled to himself, annoyed.

and then looked up excitedly when her voice sounded through the speaker.

"hello?"

"shoko, i'm trapped in a phone box 'cause some poor kid with his gang jumped me," he explained hurriedly. it wasn't a completely accurate retelling of the story, but it got the main gist of it, and he was punched for time. "i need your help!"

there was a pause. was she seriously contemplating helping him?

"..."

"shoko?"

"hm," she hummed, her voice nasally. it usually got like that when she was working. "have you returned my lighter?"

satoru furrowed his brows. he had never promised to give that back, not when he hated it when she smoked.

"no —"

BEEEEEEP...

she had hung up.

satoru angrily punched in the numbers of another friend, one who had to be more sensible than her.

"hope she has an asthma attack," he cursed quietly, as he expectantly waited for nanami to pick up the phone.

"kento nanami, who's calling?"

as formal as ever; satoru expected no less. had he been in a better predicament, he would have made a joke about it.

"nanami!" he cheered, and then hurriedly got to the point. perhaps he ought to go a different route, if only to avoid the same outcome with smoke-addict-shoko. "remember when i helped you pay for yuu's birthday expenses?"

he heard him let out a breathy sigh from the other end of the call.

"what's this about, gojo?" he asked, sounding exhausted.

satoru explained his situation as best as he could. he had high hopes for this call — nanami was always the serious, sensible one. there was no way he'd turn him down now.

"you're stuck in a phone box with no way out?" he repeated, though even nanami wouldn't be able to fake amusement even if he tried. satoru felt his stomach drop. "what a shame."

BEEEEEEP...

and he was left with that same ringing beep...

no, the next one would work. he was certain of it.

the kfc disagreement might have occurred a year or two ago, but it was all right. satoru knew that.

they were best friends, after all.

he hurriedly pressed suguru's phone number into the dial and waited.

and waited.

and waited...

...and waited...

and then gave up.

i would've picked up his call, he thought to himself bitterly, before dialling the fushiguros' telephone.

he prayed to god that megumi would answer, and not —

"erm... hello!"

you.

he found you funny, a great kid, one to match the zenins' wit in every way. but you could be so very... chatty.

especially when he didn't have the time.

"y/n, i'm trapped in a phone box 'cause of some sketchy kids in a gang," he explained, though something in his gut knew that this was futile, "where's megumi's mom? where's your mom? in the event that she'd even care —"

"my mom is —"

but you had paused, for megumi's voice had entered the line, but distant:

"i know you stole my book, y/n. give it back."

"i didn't — ugh! satoru, i can't talk to you right now 'cause i'm in the middle of making fun of megumi 'cause he said i stole his boring, non-fiction book when i didn't —"

"— yeah i don't give a shit, where's your mom?" he interrupted, because there was only so much he could take.

your gasp on the other end of the line was telling.

and it came as no surprise to him when you hung up as revenge:

"oh you— okay! bye!"

"wait, y/n —"

BEEEEEEP...

"oh for fucks —" he began, but kept his cool as he pictured his wife. his wife who, surely, would help him. she was his only hope at this point, because if not her, then it had to be ogi.

if not her, then it had to be toji.

he shivered at the thought.

he waited for her to pick up.

"hello? who is this?"

he had no time to waste.

there was a long pause after satoru's rushed explanation, the muffled static on the other end of the line filling the silence. he leaned forwards slightly, gripping the receiver, his hope wavering as the seconds stretched on. surely, his wife was gearing up for some clever solution, for she was smart, he remembered that well during high school and college — or at least, that's what he convinced himself of.

then came the sound of her laughter.

it started low, building into something unrestrained and far too amused for his liking.

and before he could say or do anything else, she ended the call with a click, hanging up the phone herself. satoru stood there, staring at the receiver in disbelief, the faint beep of the disconnected line mocking him.

BEEEEEEP...

reluctantly, he had called both ogi and toji next, and each regret stung more than the last. ogi sounded all too pleased by the event, and had hung up to, no doubt, inform everyone he knew of 'the gojo heir' being a victim of mugging.

toji's brutal honesty hit harder.

his voice had been laced with smug amusement, delivering one dismissive insult after another before abruptly cutting the call. by the time the phone clicked silent again, satoru felt something he rarely experienced — genuine, soul-deep irritation.

with a frustrated growl, satoru clenched his fist and swung it towards the glass, the impact reverberating through the phone box.

a sharp crack echoed as small fractures spread across the surface, and a few shards broke loose, tumbling to the ground.

he flexed his fingers, inspecting the streaks of red beginning to stain his knuckles. the sight annoyed him more than the pain — bleeding wasn't part of the plan. still, the partial break in the glass was hopeful, and he prepared himself for another attempt.

as he paused to assess his next move, his gaze caught on a young blonde-haired girl walking along the street nearby. she couldn't have been older than you or megumi, about ten, her small figure striking against the gritty surroundings.

desperation took over as he called out to her, motioning with his uninjured hand. the girl stopped and turned towards him, but her wide, wary eyes said it all — she clearly thought he was some sort of lunatic. satoru would have tried to understand his viewpoint if he wasn't so irritated with his situation.

she hesitated, clutching her backpack tighter, and stared at him as though deciding whether to run or stay.

"you're a pedo!" she'd decided altogether, which only got satoru to clench his jaw at her.

his neck was starting to hurt with how the height of the phone box had bent him at its will.

"i'm not a pedo, and if i was, you'd be safe, you blonde, bob-headed, little shit."

she furrowed her brows at him, but she'd taken several steps closer, which told him that there was a certain level of trust there between them.

"i'm trapped," he explained, for the eighth time. he looked around and saw a discarded hammer on the dusty floor. "get that hammer and pass it to me through the hole i made."

"my mom told me not to speak to strangers," said the child, her white dress notable in comparison to all the dust and dirt surrounding them.

"your mom also left you unattended in this sketchy neighbourhood," said satoru, brows raised. "you think her opinion matters? help me out."

the child still seemed reluctant. satoru groaned loudly.

"i'll buy you a cupcake."

she ran over to the hammer and presented it to him. satoru encouraged her to push it through the hole, but the way she was looking at it made him pause.

and he was right to do so, for she unexpectedly held it over her head, and then slammed it into the glass window, his hands immediately going over his head to prevent the glass from cutting into his face and sensitive areas.

"sick," he marvelled, as she continued to smash up the glass.

and after a little more smashing, she had finally had her fun and handed the hammer over to satoru through a much wider hole.

he took it gratefully, looking down at her through his round glasses with his head tilted.

"might wanna step back, kid," he warned her, before releasing all his pent-up anger on the phone box, enough to smash its front in a way that made it unrecognisable.

he stepped out, throwing the hammer away, leaving it discarded somewhere forgettable behind him.

"i'm getting my stuff back."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the gang gathered around satoru's possessions with wide eyes, each of them marvelling at the loot they'd just stolen. the leader, with a smug grin on his face, rifled through his wallet, fascinated by the sleek, black card inside.

"this guy's loaded," he muttered to himself, feeling more than a little victorious, for there had been four different sleek cards, and he was certain if they chose to rob his house next, they'd find more.

his fingers hovered over satoru's phone, still in pristine condition despite the earlier struggle.

the rest of the gang members, too, admired the items with greedy satisfaction.

but their smugness was short-lived.

in a blur, everything around them seemed to freeze for a moment, only to snap back into chaos. one second, they were standing in the middle of the street, basking in their victory, and the next — a flash of white filled their vision.

it was as if the world had shifted, disorienting them completely. the last thing they saw was satoru's towering presence, the white of his hair and his eyes like blinding light.

then, with only one warning from one of the members ("guys, he's coming! he's coming!"), they found themselves in a dark alley, each of them battered and exhausted, sprawled out on the ground.

the gang leader himself could taste blood in his mouth, his head swimming as he tried to piece together what had just happened in the space of five minutes. his body screamed in pain, the bruises already beginning to form, and his mind struggled to understand the impossible speed of the attack.

they hadn't stood a chance.

satoru stood over him now, his foot casually pressing down on the younger man's face, pinning him to the ground with alarming ease. his grin was feral, manic — a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

his possessions, now securely back in his grasp, were scattered around him, including the cupcake, which he held up to his lips, barely noticing the bloodstained mess of the street around him. his body was tense, like a coiled spring, filled with untamed energy as he looked down at the leader with barely-contained excitement...

there was something unnerving about the way he was smiling — something wild and unhinged, as if the fight, the chase, and the thrill had unlocked something primal within him. he was terrifying, but utterly in control of himself, and the chaos surrounding him.

"heh," he laughed to himself, throwing the bag over his shoulder. "i get why toji used to do this all the time. look at your faces!"

he eyed them all, noticing one thing they all had in common. he laughed loudly.

they were all japanese.

"what is this, the yakuza?" he joked, taking a bite out of his cupcake.

he deserved more sweet treats, he decided. perhaps he would go downtown to treat himself again.

his eyes had landed on the very criminal that had taken his cupcake intentionally. he walked away from the gang leader and bent down to present it to him again.

"want a bite?" he teased.

when he didn't respond, satoru stood up straight again.

"what, you scared?"

but despite asking the question, he didn't wait for a response. instead, he turned around, spotting the little, blonde girl that had helped him out, and walked off without looking back.

"go back to school," he advised them. "you guys are shit criminals."

satoru strolled over to the little blonde girl, who looked up at him expectantly, her bright eyes wide and curious. her expression was a mix of confusion and caution, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange man who had just singlehandedly obliterated a gang.

satoru, unfazed, reached into his wallet with a casual flick of his wrist, extracting a five-dollar bill. he held it out to her with a grin, his earlier manic energy fading into something far more playful.

"here, kid. get yourself something nice," he said with a wink.

"my name's hana," she told him, taking the bill. "hana kurusu."

he raised his brows at her.

"good to know," he'd said, and without waiting for a reply, turned on his heel, the faintest chuckle escaping his lips as he walked away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

notes: turns out my law exam i told you about went super well (got an A, woohoo!) and i was being dramatic lmao. so half this chapter was scenes i knew you’d be happy with, the other half was a lot of kamo, which i knew a lot of you hate me for, but it had to be done ‘cause i was right about the shit sociology test :/ lmao anyway, this was basically just some filler hahaa (with semi-plot!) 😼

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

taglist (send an ask or comment to be added):

@1l-ynn @shaigimo @shuupiu @nappingnai @xbarrjallenx @reinaswrld @anintrovertedechoe @momoewn @polarbvnny @lailuv21 @cherriee-ee @hfuensiekabhsufnd @k0z3me @laughingfcx @jelly-fsh @anonymity-222 @blubearxy @jamypam @thelost-child @anotherwriternamedclara @ist0leurc0ffee @spookypeacesandwich @jvpit3rr

© tojiscrack (previously ack4rwoman)

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

if you enjoyed my writing, i’d really appreciate it if you tipped me — tumblr no longer has the tip function, so maybe here in my tip jar :)

[barleyo]

Make the Most of Freedom.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: can you tell i'm going through a sukuna obsession right now? ^_^ he's literally my everything currently, and i love him as a father

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), slight mentions of abuse and forced marriage, sexism and heavy misogyny, oral (f receiving)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Your father was decent enough to you, as fathers went. None were particularly good, but you had recently heard gossip of a man who married his daughter off to the town's local pervert in her eighteenth year, convinced by a lump sum of silver, so, certainly your old-fashioned, stern father was a lucky draw. For all the so called "decency" your old man had, though, he had a certain distaste for women. Girls more so. 

Perhaps it was when your mother died that he gained this sneering mentality on the opposite sex. Likely that being left with you, a girl he was forced to raise on his own, was what caused it. Either way, Sukuna's affections for you only ran so deep.  Not abusive, necessarily. Distant was more like it. Neglectful where it mattered most, you often thought, but diligent in your personal matters. 

He practically had a legion of homebound spies to keep him up to date on you.

Choices were not something you often got to make in your life. Every day seemed to be planned out down to the second for you. Servants crowded you and equated you to a pampered house pet. Practice this, say that, eat this, but definitely don't eat that. Look this way. Look there. 

Do not look at him. 

Boys were a nonstarter. Romance was hardly allowed to be the subject of your fantasy. If Sukuna could gain a monopoly on your mind and control your every thought, he would. Without a second thought. He could not, though, so luckily for you, you could peer around a wooden beam on the veranda and watch one of the younger servant boys walk around your father's estate. 

To catch a glimpse of a boy was a rare treat with how often Uraume, on your father's order, tasked you with some type of busy work or etiquette training. Still, you enjoyed your cheeky voyeuristic moments. You savored them, knowing that the spare moments you had to yourself were your only chances at feeling normal. 

Normal girls at your age had other normal girls to chat with about boys. Normal girls had suitors and gentleman callers. Normal girls' pursuers did not disappear randomly after attempting to court them. Normal girls did not have fathers who were feared across all lands. No, that was a you-problem. 

Then again, normal fathers did not love their daughters as much as Sukuna loved you, despite how terribly horrid he was at showing it.

Like every other day, you were aimlessly trapped inside your home. Perhaps not trapped. There were plenty of places to go—your father owned more land than any man could reasonably need—but where else would you go? Outside to be teased by the sight of assorted servants and concubines enjoying the simplicity of their lives? Or, perhaps you could go to the servants' quarters, where Uraume would grill you on your posture and wipe nonexistent smudges off of your face. As wonderful as those exhilarating options sounded, you felt that staying inside the four comforting walls of the main house would be in your best interest.

You leaned against the sliding door parked at the entrance of the house. Trailing your fingers gently over the wooden frame, your found that the door was slightly ajar. A careless servant must have left it open, and you must have been too lost in your thoughts to feel the cool draft wheedling through the crack. Your finger pads pushed against the doorframe to slide it shut, but a familiar voice stopped you. 

That boy. That wonderfully, blissfully ignorant boy. 

You envied him on a few days, but desired him on most. In essence, he was free. Freer than you, at the very least. He seemed your age, but he walked with the experience of a man your father's age. You wondered if he knew things you did not. If he could teach you—touch you.

Sukuna disliked the younger boys that worked on the estate. Lazy, the lot of them. Lazy and easily rousing to the otherwise whorish women who worked with them. You assumed your father simply did not like people, with the way he had a complaint for every make and model of society. 

Women were inferior sluts. Girls were stupid and vapid. Men were arrogant and audacious. Boys were impure little bastards and something you would have nothing to do with under his roof.

He made that very clear when you attempted to ask about leaving the estate with the boy. He pleaded for you to ask your father, and stupidly, you did.

Your father looked at you with what could most plainly be described as disgust. Shame, you would say, if you thought your father was capable of feeling any. 

"Leave?" 

You knew you made a mistake the second the words left your mouth. No phrasing or tone change could have saved you. 'Leave,' 'home,' and 'you' were words Sukuna wouldn't tolerate in the same sentence, unless of course the sentence was: 'I shall never leave home or be away from you, father.'

"For what?" he asked, clenched hands resting on the top of the table. Uraume, knowing what was about to happen from the guilt-stricken look on your face, had disappeared into the servant's quarters right after presenting dinner. "That boy?"

Such venom was spat in the word. Such degradation forced into a single syllable word. You bit your tongue for a moment, feeling offended on the behalf of your tawdry crush. 

"Why, I have half a mind to lock you up. He is the one who had put these ideas into your head, isn't he?" Sukuna asked between bites of his dinner. The idea angered him to his core, but the idea of such a pathetic man-child attempting to take his only heir was humorous enough to keep his temper even enough to eat.   "You probably think you love him, right? Foolishness."

He scoffed and waved his hand at you dismissively, nose crinkled. After a thick gulp of his wine, he continued, practically speaking to himself as you fumed silently in embarrassment. 

"He's just a boy. Swine, really, and you—" his eyes sharpened— "are not to see him again."

That shattered any hope you had left. The small window of freedom you had, the small glimpse of a future, was snatched. 

"That is not fair!"

Childishness, as Sukuna had expected. He sighed and ignored you. What he hadn't expected was the quick, flagrant backtalk you spat out. 

"He isn't just a boy. He's a man, and I am a woman now," you said, voice rushing to match the pace of your furious mind. "I'll leave whenever I want to. If I want to go into the city with him, I will. A woman can choose..." you trailed off, obviously not being as experienced as an independent woman as you claimed to be. 

Sukuna's expression never shifted. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—he simply stared at you, his gaze sharp, predatory. The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive, thick with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes bored into you like a vice, until you began to regret every word that had left your mouth.

"You are a woman," he said loudly, his voice a low rumble of danger and fact, "it's what I hate most about you. Just like any other woman, look at how you turned out. Spoiled. Pampered. I'll bet a whore too," he added, peering down at your body for a beat too long, seeing the way the silks trapped your matured form. "Is that why you set yourself out to leave? Lover-boy knocked you up like some common whore?"

You could tell by his tone he didn't actually think so lowly of you, but the relentless taunts broke you. Any pretense of womanhood shattered under the embarrassment of father chiding you. 

"Well, who will want you now, hm? Not a pretty, little virgin anymore. See what boys do?" Sukuna stood and pulled you up by your shoulder, forcing you to his level. 

"They ruin you."

If boys ruined you, what did men do? With your father's hands digging into your hips and with his tongue attacking your rosy clit, you reckoned that they saved you. 

Yes, saved. That was the word for it, when Sukuna's spit baptized your dripping cunt, you felt saved. How such a feared, demonic man could make you feel such heavenly things, you knew not, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that you could hardly remember the name of the once tempting boy you had fought so hard to go with. 

Many nights after the argument with you father, you tried to force yourself to leave. You made it to the door each time, sometimes further into the garden, before returning back to your room. Your scarce knapsack was unpacked quickly and you tucked yourself back into bed like nothing had happened. 

The night that you made it to the estate gates, you ran back home as fast as your bare feet would take you. You clawed at your father's bedroom door, splintering the tips of your fingers as you cried it for him to let you in. 

You would admit it. He was right. As always, regretfully. You were a stupid girl with the dreams of a woman and eyes bigger than your true appetite. As you sobbed into your father's robes, sick gratification crossed his features. 

"Not your fault," he mumbled between your thighs, licking agonizing stripes through your folds. "Y'never learn. I know."

Your body laid bare before him, showing every curve and blemish, every sin clear as day, you seized and rocked on the mattress. Your blood was hot and your chest was uneven. 

Inexperienced and needy, you gave into your father the second his hands slid down your panties. You let him guide you. Your shepherd, his sheep. Your white wool was his for the taking, and he harvested with interest. He took all you had to give. Ever noise you could make, every gasp, he stole from your chest greedily. 

He could have you, all of you. Nobody else could match him in that moment. As your cunt melted into his mouth, he peered at you through heavy lashes with pure ownership.

How could you ever leave the man that finally made you a woman?

[milk-tea-sakura]

𝐵𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎- 𝒮𝒾𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒, 𝒶 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎. 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝒥𝑜𝒽𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓂𝑜𝓂.

𝒞𝓌: 𝒮𝓂𝓊𝓉, 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀

Ghost sat on their couch, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched you from across the room. He had been contemplating something for quite some time, a secret plan forming in his mind. The Christmas season was approaching, and he wanted to give you the best gift he could think of. He knew there was one thing you had been longing for a while, and he was determined to make it happen.

As you chatted idly with him, sipping on a steaming cup of tea, Ghost's eyes softened, reflecting the warmth of the fireplace nearby.

"Hey, love," he called out, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. "Can I talk to you about something important?"

You set your tea down on the coffee table and turned your attention to Ghost. Sensing the seriousness in his tone, you nodded silently, giving him your full attention.

Ghost patted the empty space on the couch next to him, silently signaling for you to join him. You obliged, crossing the room to take a seat beside him, your heart suddenly beating a bit faster, curiosity piqued.

"What's wrong?" You ask, getting serious

Ghost took a deep breath, his expression growing serious as well. "It's nothing wrong, love," he reassured you. "But I do have something I want to discuss with you. Something that's been on my mind for a while now."

He took your hand in his, his touch gentle yet firm. His thumb traced idle patterns on the back of your hand as he gathered his thoughts, preparing to voice what had been on his mind.

"You know I love you, right?" he asked, his voice low and earnest. "And I know how much you've wanted a baby."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your mind instantly understanding the direction this conversation was going in. You felt a mixture of hope and anticipation building within you, nodding silently in response.

Ghost's grip on your hand tightened slightly, almost as if he was drawing strength from your touch. He met your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and determination.

"Is this because we just found out that Johnny and his wife are pregnant?" You ask

Ghost's expression darkened slightly, a flicker of irritation passing through his eyes. "Partially," he admitted, his voice holding a hint of bitterness. "But it's not just about that, love. Seeing them together, knowing they have what you've been wishing for...it's made me realize something."

His hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. "I know how much you want a child. And I want to give that to you. I want to hear the sounds of a baby's laughter echoing in our home, and see the joy in your eyes when you hold our child in your arms. I want to make you a mother, love. More than anything."

Your heart swelled with love and hope at his words, a lump forming in your throat. You knew that Ghost had his own reservations and fears about becoming a father, but hearing him speak so passionately about it now only reaffirmed your belief in his love for you.

"I know I'm not the best at expressing my emotions, love," Ghost continued, his voice filled with vulnerability. "But I want this with you. I want us to start a family together. I want to see you become the amazing mother I know you'll be."

"And I'm sure you'll be an amazing father since you already know how not to act, you know with your childhood..."

Ghost chuckled wryly, his eyes betraying a hint of pain as the topic of his childhood came up. "Yeah, I guess you've got a point there," he admitted. "My upbringing wasn't the best, but I'm damn determined to be a better father than mine ever was."

He paused, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on your knuckles as he continued. "I want our child to have everything I didn't. A loving, stable home. Parents who are there for them through thick and thin. A happy childhood filled with laughter and love."

His gaze met yours, his eyes holding nothing but tenderness and determination. "And I know you'll be an amazing mother, love. You have such a nurturing, caring spirit. You'll give our child everything they need to grow up strong and happy."

Ghost's hand moved from your cheek to the nape of your neck, his touch a gentle yet possessive gesture. He pulled you closer to him, his body heat suddenly noticeable in the small space between you.

"You know, love," he whispered, his voice dropping to a huskier tone. "There is one aspect of making a baby that I'm quite fond of."

A mischievous twinkle came into his eyes, his fingers gently caressing the sensitive skin on the back of your neck. He leaned in closer to you, his lips so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "Maybe you'd like to hear about it?"

"Is it the sex part?"

Ghost's smirk widened at your blunt response. "You read me too well," he said, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "But yeah, that's exactly what I was referring to, love."

He gently guided you down onto the couch, his body hovering above yours. His hands explored your curves, tracing a path from your shoulders down to your hips. Leaning in, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin there.

"The thought of creating life with you...it does things to me, love," he murmured, his voice heavy with desire. His hands continued their exploration of your body, his touch growing more urgent, more possessive.

He angled his body so that he was fully on top of you now, his weight pressing you into the cushions of the couch. His lips left a trail of kisses along your jawline, his gaze filled with hunger and need.

"The idea that something we created, something made from our love, will be growing inside you..." he whispered, his words sending shivers down your spine. "It's the most beautiful and primal kind of connection, love."

"I'm starting to think you have somewhat of a breeding kink." You joke.

Ghost chuckled, his lips still tracing a path along your neck. "Mmm, maybe I do," he admitted, his hand moving down to grip your hip possessively. "There's just something about the thought of making a baby with you that drives me wild, love."

His other hand slid under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your bare stomach. "Maybe we should start a family sooner rather than later," he murmured, his voice taking on a more seductive tone. "After all, practice makes perfect love."

"How many kids?"

Ghost leaned back slightly so he could meet your gaze, a mischievous smile on his face. "You want me to put a number on it?" he teased, his hand idly tracing circles on your stomach but getting lower, lower, lower.

"I just want to have an estimate on how many kids you're wanting me to carry because I might have to make a limit."

Ghost chuckled, his hand stopping its descent just above the waistband of your pants. "Oh, there's no limit, love," he purred, his eyes darkening with desire. "I want to get you pregnant over and over again until you're completely overflowing with our children."

"Can we financially handle that?"

Ghost's smirk faded slightly, his mind briefly sobering at your pragmatic question. "Ah, you always have to be the voice of reason, don't you love?" he teased, his hand moving back up to rest on your hip.

"How about the most we have is 5. That's the max I'm willing to go to."

Ghost pretended to consider for a moment, his expression one of mock contemplation. "Mmm, five, huh? That's...acceptable. For now." He leaned back in, his lips hovering inches from yours. "But who knows what could happen once we start love..."

You roll your eyes "Yeah, yeah, Just fuck me already."

Ghost chuckled, his eyes sparking with mischief and desire. "Eager, are we?"

He leaned in, his lips gently grazing over yours in a teasingly light kiss. "Don't worry, love," he murmured, his hand moving to toy with the hem of your shirt. "You'll get what you want."

He slowly lifted your shirt, his fingers gently caressing your skin as he exposed your flesh to his hungry gaze. He took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and possessiveness.

Ghost's hands roamed over your now exposed skin, his touch hungry and possessive. He leaned down, his lips leaving a trail of hot, open-mouth kisses along your collarbone and down to your chest.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, love," he murmured, his voice heavy with desire. "Seeing you like this under me...it's enough to drive me insane."

His hands continued their exploration of your body, tracing a path down your sides and settling on your hips. "I can't wait any longer, love," he breathed, his eyes locking with yours. "I need you now."

With a swift motion, he lifted you up into his arms, the strength he held in his lean form evident as he carried you effortlessly to the bedroom. He placed you gently down onto the bed, his body immediately covering yours.

His lips found yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with an urgency that mirrored his growing need. His hands roamed over your body, his touch becoming more desperate and bruising as his desire for you overwhelmed him.

Getting a bit more desperate, you try and fail pulling Simon's shirt off of him.

Ghost chuckled against your lips, his hands moving to help you with his shirt. As you struggled to pull it over his head, he broke the kiss for just a moment, a wry smile on his face.

"Eager, love?" he teased, his voice low and rough. "Let me take care of it."

With one swift movement, he whipped off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. The sight of his bare skin sent a thrill through you, your hands immediately reaching out to explore the expanse of muscle and warm flesh.

Ghost let out a low moan as your hands roamed over his chest, his eyes darkening with barely contained desire. He leaned back down, his naked chest pressing against yours as he captured your lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

His body pressed against yours, Ghost's tongue delved deeper into your mouth, his kiss growing more urgent and demanding. You gasped as he deepened the kiss, his grip on your hips tightening possessively.

"I need to feel you, love," he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with desire. "I need all of you."

"Please, I can't wait any longer"

Ghost let out a low growl, his eyes darkening with a primal hunger. "Patience, love," he chided, although his own patience was clearly thinning by the second. "I need to make sure you're ready for me first."

"Ghost" You say desperately "Please, I can take it, you know I can we've done it before."

Ghost's body trembled at your desperate plea, his control starting to unravel. "Love, you're not making this easy for me," he groaned, his hands kneading your hips roughly. "I don't want to hurt you..."

But the look in your eyes and the need in your voice was too much for him to resist. He couldn't deny you any longer. With a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness, he leaned down and whispered in your ear. "But...if you're sure you're ready..."

His hands moved to the waistband of your pants, his fingers deftly working to undo the buttons and zips. He slowly pulled the fabric down over your hips, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your expression.

Once the pants were gone, he gently parted your legs, his touch both reverent and greedy. "You're so beautiful, love," he murmured, his voice hoarse with need. "So perfect..."

He moved between your thighs, his body fitting snugly between them. "Are you sure you're ready for me, love?" he asked again, his gaze locked on yours. "There's no going back once we start."

"Yes, I'm ready, I'm so ready."

Ghost's resolve finally broke, the last bit of his self-control shattered by your desperate plea. He lunged forward, his lips capturing yours in a deep and hungry kiss. At the same time, he repositioned himself, his body lining up perfectly with yours.

"Hold on tight, love," he rasped against your lips, his voice laden with primal need. "This might get rough."

With one swift, fluid motion, he entered you, filling you completely in one deep thrust. You gaspered at the sudden intrusion, your body arching against his. Ghost let out a low, guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he held himself still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the feel of him inside you. 

"Oh, love..." he groaned, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "You feel so good, so perfect. I don't think I'll be able to hold back."

"Don't hold back, I want you to breed me."

Ghost's eyes darkened at your words, a feral, primal light sparking in them. "As you wish, love," he growled, his voice a rough, ragged rumble. "But I warned you..."

With a guttural moan, he began to move, his hips pistoning into you with a primal, almost brutal rhythm. His lips found your neck, his teeth nipping and biting at the sensitive flesh as he claimed you, marking you as his own.

Each thrust was deep and hard, his body pinning you to the bed as he took what he had been yearning for. "You're mine," he growled, his voice guttural with possession. "You always have been and always will be. I'm going to fill you up, love, fill you up until you're overflowing with me, until there's no doubt in anyone's mind that you belong to me."

His words sent a thrill through you, your body responding to his primal assertiveness with a wave of desire of your own. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him as close as possible, your nails digging into the muscled expanse of his back.

He groaned at the feel of you pulling him in, his movements becoming more forceful, more urgent. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice a rough rasp against your skin. "Say it, love. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, your voice breathless and desperate. "I'm all yours, Simon. Please, don't stop."

Ghost's movements became more frantic, more desperate. His breathing was harsh and ragged as he pounded into you, his grip on your hips sure to bruise. "That's right," he grunted, his voice ragged with primal possession.

"You're mine. All mine. Mine to love, mine to take, and mine to claim. I'm going to fill you up, love. Fill you up with my seed, with a part of me growing inside you. You're going to carry my child, love. You're going to have a part of me inside you, a bond that can never be broken. You'll be mine forever, in the most primal and intimate way possible. And I'll be yours, love. Yours to love, yours to mark, and yours to claim. We'll be bound together, forever one."

His words sent a wave of emotion through you, your body arching up against his as the pleasure built to almost unbearable heights. "I want that, Simon," you gasped, your fingers digging into his back. "I want to be yours, forever."

"You are," he growled, his voice a rough, possessive rumble. "You're mine, love, and I'm never letting you go. You're going to carry my child, grow round with my baby, and I'm going to be here, every step of the way."

"And after that first child, love, I'm going to fill you up again and again until you can't take it anymore, until your beautiful body is overflowing with my seed and my children. You're going to know what it means to be mine, love, in every possible way."

"You're going to know the depth of my love and my possession, love. You're mine, body and soul, and there's nothing in this world that can change that. I'm going to make sure of it, love. And nothing, no one will come between us."

With that, Ghost leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, possessive kiss, claiming you completely and utterly.

“Merry Christmas, My Love.”

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Every doctor appointment, every development of the baby, everything Lucifer was there for. When he felt the baby kick for the first time Lucifer had thought his heart had melted. He wasn’t there for the first time, but damn will he ever miss this one. Adam was more than enjoying all the attention from his mate. Eve had done her utmost best to at least ensure his comfort throughout each pregnancy.

For that he will always be thankful. However, she wasn’t Lucifer.

Adam awoke from his slumber as Hells reddish rays of light streaming down his face. He smiled feeling well rested. He brought a hand that was lying at his side up to rub the sleep out of his eye. Unexpectedly, but predictably, it ran against his large six month bump. He left out a small laugh and rubbed it. Adam: Good morning, I almost forgot about you

Once the omega had fully woken up, which took a good few minutes, he was up and about going through his morning ritual. He cleaned his face and teeth, then took a good, long warm bubble bath. It always helped him release the tense muscles that overnight brought. As he washed himself he couldn’t help but play with his long, thick brown locks. Now don’t get Adam wrong he loved his hair it was just a little too long for him.

In Heaven he wasn’t allowed to really cut it. The elders told him that it was natural for all omegas to have a face of femininity. As the first omega and mother of humanity he had to set an example. That meant that he must follow their expectations of him to a tee. His hair was only one of those things.

He wasn’t allowed to dress in his preferred style. Nor was he to have any facial hair. Then of course there were his manners, ‘omegas were to be seen, not heard’ ‘Speak only when spoken to’. He was told that after all he was the one to have initiated discord and sin being brought upon the mortals. Since the rest of omega kind came from him they all were the same. Never mind the fact that alphas also came from him.

The more he kept thinking about it, the more Adam was glad to have left that place.

Once Adam was fully cleaned from head to toe. He got out of his bath, donned a fresh robe, and made his way to the closet. He searched and searched for any pants that might fit him. However, all his maternity pants have seemed to outgrow him. He was just going through a few shirts when he felt someone hug him from behind, resting their hands on his belly. Lucifer: Good morning my beauty.

Adam: Morning.

Lucifer: What’s the matter? Can’t find anything good to pick?

Adam: More like I can’t find anything at all. None of my clothes fit me.

Lucifer: Hmm, if you don’t mind I think I know something that will work.

Lucifer snapped his fingers and Adam’s soft fuzzy robe and slippers disappeared. Only to be replaced by a maternity dress that went just past his knees. It was white and covered in skulls, wrapped against the side of his belly was a black bow. It almost made it look like a present. Adam was already impressed but when he took a glance down to his feet he almost gasped.

It was the boots he saw in that store window a couple days ago while baby shopping with Lucifer. The very best part? They were low heel and felt incredible for his already swollen ankles.

Adam: Oh baby I love it!

Lucifer: Knew you would sweetie. Anyway better finish up. I have a surprise for you.

Adam raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. Once done and ready he went outside where Lucifer was waiting for him. He grinned and pulled out a blindfold.

Lucifer: You don’t mind do you? I just don’t want you peeking and having the surprise ruined.

Adam shook his head and lowered it so that Lucifer could tie the blindfold around his eyes. Once he made sure that Adam couldn’t see. He carefully guided him down the stairs, down the hallways, until finally they made it outside to the garden. He could’ve just portal him to their destination but wanted to build up the excitement and interest. Adam was confused when he heard murmurs all around him.

Even more confused when he heard a “Get down!” Followed by a loud slap and a yelp. Adam: Uh Luci?

Lucifer: Hold on aaaaaand now!

Adam took the blindfold off and immediately gasped. Hands flying to his mouth in shock at the sight of all the baby decorations, snack tables, and most notably a mountain of presents on one stand. There were a group of demons, a few Adam recognized and some he didn’t. They were very big was all that he would say.

There was even a banner above that said congratulations. Adam turned to his mate who had a big smile on his face.

Lucifer: Happy baby shower love!

The First Anti-Christ

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(excuse me for the long prologue)

Anti Christ, the child of the fallen one, the devil. Everyone knows of the name and what it means. However, they don’t know of WHO that child is do they? Everyone thinks that the child will make themselves known as they bring on the end of humanity. What people don’t realize is that the anti-Christ has already walked upon the Earth.

In fact he was the first to be born on the planet. You see he was one of the very first humans. The very first child and son of the mother of humanity, Adam the first omega. His name was Cain.

Now many must be wondering on how this came to be. Why did it happen. How and why did the first omega manage to give birth to the fallen one’s offspring. All will be explained here, in this story.

A long, long, long, time ago when the Earth was still young the creator of it had decided on what its final inhabitants would be. They were called humans, the very first of their kind. He made them into something special. With their names came their designations.

Lilith the first woman and alpha

Adam the first man and omega

He made the two to be companions, to watch over another as one would for a friend or as he hoped like siblings. However, his other creations had other plans. While the Lord was busy attending to his purpose of watching over the universe. The other creations, the angels went down to the humans and they told the two that they were more than just companions. They told them that they were mates and they would bring forth true humanity.

Both were confused and asked how? The angels told them that once a month Adam’s womb would welcome Lilith’s seed and instructed him for when the time came for Adam to lay on his back and to spread his legs for his mate. When they heard of this both were rather disgusted by it. They hadn’t known each other for long but they simply weren’t compatible in that way. They couldn’t even bother to be friends for they both had too many differences that often clashed with each other.

While Adam was energetic and outgoing, Lilith was reserved and careful. It would often cause arguments from the two, especially when it came to their duties. Their first duties, of naming and caring for everything in the garden. Lilith thought Adam to be immature. Adam thought Lilith to be demanding. Both seemed to think that nothing was ever good enough for each person. One thing they both could agree on is that they did not wish to be mates.

Still Adam did not wish to upset the angels and simply bowed his head and nodded submissively. They began to explain other sets of rules that both were to follow. Lilith as the alpha was to always provide and care for her omega. Adam as the omega was to always follow her way and submit to his alpha. Both were to bring children into this world.

Lilith would become the father of humanity. While Adam would become the mother of humanity.

Lilith, disgusted at the thought, disagreed wholeheartedly. She fled from the garden and away from the omega. Hoping to never set another foot in there again. She was found by someone, an angel of the Lord himself, whom she would soon call a friend and sometime after that a husband. Though she didn’t trust him at first she eventually told the angel of why she ran from paradise.

The angel was shocked and confused. Why would his siblings do that? Why would they mess with his Father’s creations that way? He wanted so badly to go up there and tell his Father of what they had done to Lilith. He knew that they would somehow find a way to pin the blame onto him.

That is why he came up with a new plan. To meet and talk to Lilith’s supposed mate. What he didn’t know at the time was that the omega was actually his true mate.

He crept into the garden, careful not to aware the elders of his presence. What awaited him in the garden was not what he expected. A true beauty, one that took his breath away. Though he had thought Lilith to be pretty. She was nothing compared to Adam.

His soft brown hair, honeyed eyes that sparkled, and tan skin that was splattered by freckles. His Lucious curves was enough to drive him insane. The angel managed to open his mouth and introduced himself. His name was Lucifer, the angel of light and God’s most favored son.

[bloodyshadow1]

hello @mer-acle as luck would have it I am your secret santa too. you wanted something based on Athena so here it is. I was planning on posting this closer to christmas, but since you gifted me that goregous Athena piece I thought what the heck.

It's not your normal torturing athena story but I hope you still like

Athena’s skin burned, her veins screamed, and her bones ached.  One minute she was standing in front of her father before all of Olympus, victorious from his gauntlet, the next he was shouting and she was on the ground.   She was in pain, her shield melted onto her arm since it took the brunt of the blow.

Her father was still shouting about something, probably a warning to the rest of Olympus not to defy him.  Athena’s body begged her to stay down as her head rang from pain and the crack thunder.  Athena knew the wisest move would be to stay down, to let her father throw his tantrum and make a plan for when he cooled down.  

But she could not.  This was not fair.  She might have mocked his infidelity, but why should she suffer for his ego when she won his game?  She had earned her victory when she had made it through 5 other gods by blood, wit, and words. Why should she suffer more for mentioning his infidelity than he ever did cheating on his wife?

This was wrong and Athena would not stand for it.  Regardless of sense and what the rest of the family was yelling at her, Athena rose to her feet even if she had to lean on her spear to do so.  Still, in front of all of Olympus, she stood in defiance of their king.  

For Zeus, he looked angry, as his wrath turned to hatred.  Not even Ares had ever made their father look this angry before.  He shouted at her, from what she could make out from his lips something ‘Thunderbringer’ and ‘wringer’ but her ears were ringing too loudly for her to hear him.  In defiance of him, in his rule and his words, Athena moves forward.  

Purple in the face, Athena watches as her father gathers his storms to strike her again, but she does not stop.  He was angry, not uncommon for him, but for the first time since she was birthed from his skull, Athena fed the fires of her rage.  

Athena thought of Odysseus, her dear friend who she never got to call the word to his face.  Trapped on an island, violated by a goddess he did not love, all because of her father’s cruelty.  She thought of Telemachus and Penelope who were forced to endure his absence and the men who came to take his place all these years.  

She thought of her dearest Pallas, her first friend and the first blood she spilt.  All because Zeus’ arrogance would not let even his banished daughter lose a spare.  She thought of her mother Metis, the only source of softness Athena had as a child in the pits of her father’s guts.  She was gone now, gone forever because she could give birth to a child with her husband.  Her first, last, and only gift she was ever able to give to Athena, her armor was also smoking, perhaps unusable after today.  Were she able to allow herself the time, Athena would have cried at its loss.  

Lastly, Athena thought of a little girl, a baby.  A child born without sin, but with a prophecy hanging over her head, one that did not even apply to her, yet the King of Olympus deemed the death of his daughter a small price to pay for his safety.   

Never again, Athena had swallowed enough poison and pain in her life.  She looked at her father, her king, and advanced.  For the goddess of wisdom is going to war.     

There is no god on Olympus who could match the raw power of Zeus, not his brother, not his sisters, certainly not his daughter.  Athena knew this better than anyone.  She doubted that she would, could, win against her father. Zeus is Zeus afterall, but she will be damned if she will let him treat her like this for standing up for her friend.

Her father tossed another one of his thunderbolts at her, probably thinking he could end her little fit of rebellion then and there. This time though, Athena was expecting it and rolled to the side.  Her body screamed at her begging her to stop,  to lay down and die, but that was not Athena’s way.  Before, he caught her by surprise, in a moment of weakness, Athena did not believe that her father would truly hurt her.  That had been a mistake and the pain and scars would be the price she paid for that mistake.  

‘You can rest when you are dead and not a second before,’ was something she told her students Achilles, Diomedes, and Odysseus.  Achilles was resting, Diomedes was not, and she would be damned before she let Odysseus rest in peace trapped on Calypso’s island. She was many things, but she was not a hypocrite when it came to battle.  While she was alive she would not lay down like a beaten dog. 

She met her father’s attack with a charge, Zeus was powerful, but she knew she was as good as dead if she did not close the distance.  His thunderbolts were the most powerful weapon in all the cosmos, her shield was already gone and her Aegis around her neck was powerful, but it could only withstand so much.  She needed to end this now.  

One bolt echoed behind Athena, missing her by a hair, then another as she closed the distance.  Something came into her mind as she moved forward, how sloppy her father was.  His blows were powerful, the whole arena shook every time his bolts crashed to the earth, but as a warrior he was lacking.  It was not hard to be dangerous when you wielding the power of Olympus and the most destructive weapons the elder cyclopes ever made.  But on the battlefield, if not for his godhood, well, Athena had seen many warriors like him.  She could read him like a book.

Big and strong men who thought because they wielded a blade twice the size of the men around them that they were unstoppable.  They thought their strength was a perfect substitute for skill and would carry them on any battlefield.  At least until they came upon someone far more skilled who actually knew how to fight.

As she dodged lightning, Athena wondered when was the last time Zeus had actually fought someone instead of turning them into dust with one blast.  No one challenges the king of the gods, so perhaps his last real foe had been the Typhon?  

That sounded right, the Bane of Olympus against the king, thousands of years ago.  The great spawn of Gaia and Tartarus tore the earth apart as he made his way to Olympus.  The other gods fled save for Zeus, and if the storyteller was being honest, Athena.  Yes, Athena had been so loyal back then, she stood by her father’s side as the Typhon and the creatures he spawned.  She had seen her father fall against the giant while she fended off the nightmarish army.  It was her who distracted the Typhon while Hermes returned their father’s stolen sinews.  She had fought for days back then and despite the blood and sweat she spilled those days she had been written out of the story.  

Athena might have cared, but not enough to let it bother her, back then it only mattered that the threat was dealt with and Apollo had returned to the mountain so someone could heal her wounds.  Zeus had been sloppy and out of practice even back then, now it appears he had let himself go even worse if she could make it this close to him.  

As he went to summon his bolt again, his face growing redder with frustration every time she dodged, Athena made her move.  Before the bolt was back in his hand, her spear pierced his wrist, spraying golden ichor all over him.  He looked as shocked as he was in pain.  

Athena tried to not give him time to recover as she drew her sword from her hip and charged.  She managed two swings before he was able to recover, a deep cut on his chest from which gold spilled out, and one on his shoulder that he was able to dodge somewhat before she could dig deeper.  

Before she could go for the kill though, Zeus grabbed her sword hand with his injured hand.  He might be a shit warrior, but no one in existence could deny that he was a strong bastard.  It hurt as he squeezed down on her wrist but she did not let him have the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.  “Ungrateful bitch,” he spat at her before backhanding her with his bleeding hand.  

Athena spat out blood but did not back down even as her head rang inside her helmet.  He had one of her arms now, he was stronger than her.  In a grapple she knew despite her experience she would lose.  But while Athena was not as strong as her father, she was sneakier and willing to do whatever it took to win.  

As Zeus started to say something, Athena let out her secret weapon.  The bronze of her shield had melted from his first attack, but it had cooled since then.  It was not a pretty weapon by any means, but with how it melted into sharp, jagged, and ugly edges was enough.  Before he could say anything she slammed her deformed shield into his throat and ripped it open, gold pouring out like rain.  

Even Zeus, the King of the Gods, could shake off such a dreadful wound, Athena was counting on it.  He fell to his knees, clutching his gaping throat, it was not enough to kill him, but all creatures weakened to such a wound.  She dashed around him, unclipping her Aegis from around her throat.  

Swiftly, Athena wrapped the cloth of divine make around her father’s injured throat like a noose.  For the first time since Pallas died, Zeus wore the Aegis that was once his.  And like her half-brother killing the great Nemean Lion, Athena pulled her Aegis tight.  

Zeus did not go down without a fight, wounded as he was, he was still the king for a reason.  He thrashed against Athena with the strength only those who knew they were going to die could muster.  But while Athena was weaker than the children of Kronos, she was no dainty flower to be manhandled.  She was a war goddess and proved her mettle hanging on to the edges of her Aegis with an iron grip.  

Athena drew strength from those who lost and who she had yet to lose.  The mother that had been the only source of softness in the abyss that was her father’s guts.  Her first friend who had been taken by her hand and her father’s actions.  Odysseus who was still alive, but tormented because his crew killed a cow.  Her muscles  grew tight as she pulled harder, “you will never hurt the ones I love again,” she snarled like a beast.  

Between her strength and leverage, there was nothing that the King of the Skies could do and eventually he succumbed to the darkness.

Athena kept her grip tight on her Aegis for a few minutes after her father stopped thrashing about.  She would not lose everything she worked for to him playing possum.  Eventually though, Athena let her Aegis slacken once she was sure he would not wake in a moment.  Not even Zeus could get up after that.  With a sigh, she knew she had not a moment to lose.

Athena knelt down to the pools of golden ichor that covered the stage, a mix of both of theirs, her own wounds had not stopped just because she decided to fight her king.  With a touch the golden blood of the gods turned into golden thread.  With that thread Athena wove a golden net even stronger than the one the family used years ago to entrap him.  

Back then it took days of planning before Athena could formulate a plan to depose Zeus with the help of several other gods.  Yet here she was, able to topple her father alone.  She learned from her mistakes last time and when she strapped him in the net, she made sure there was no way out.  He would wake eventually and this time Athena did not want anyone pulling a Thetis and freeing him.  

With her father secured Athena finally looked at her surroundings.  At the monsters and gods in the stands watching them with baited breath.  Some looked afraid, some looked unsure, but there were some who looked hopeful for some reason that Athena could not quite comprehend in her state.  The family looked at her with mixed eyes as well, she would deal with that later.

“Hermes,” Athena shouted, her voice was raw but full of authority.  

Within seconds the messenger god was in front of her, “hey there sis,” he said trying to sound like he was not nervous.  “What can your favorite messenger of the gods do for you.”

“Go to Calypso’s Island,” Athena commanded, “tell Calypso to free Odysseus at once by the authority of Olympus.  Let her know that if she refuses, I will be the next visitor to her island,” she let the threat go unfinished.  Athena knew Hermes would get her point across.  

“My father’s game is over,” she shouted to the masses.  Some looked shocked, some looked frightened, but some, even those amongst the family, had a strange look of hope that she did not understand.  

It took everything she had to not sway from the pain now that adrenaline was slowly leaving her system.  But after what just happened, she could not afford to show any weakness.  Whatever comes next could wait, Odysseus needed to be free, Telemachus and Penelope needed to be safe.  Then she could rest.

[scapinoz]

MY MAD DOG (all mine).

yandere male oc x male reader.

prologue.

first of all, thanks for reading. this is my first time publishing one of my original works :) disclaimer that English isn’t my first language and that i don’t pay attention to grammar lessons at school, so there might be a few errors. sorry in advance about that !!

warnings: mentions of firearm and cursing. maybe a bit of child neglect. nothing too dark…yet (we’re just getting started)

Ilarion Lucero had always wanted a dog– a german shepard, to be precise– when he was younger. He had always gotten everything he had ever wanted back then; Ilarion was his father’s only heir, the young master of the household. Everyone– the maids, the servants, the butlers, his father’s men, even his mother– was at his beck and call all the time back then; when he was young. Because God forbid that the young master should ever once feel yearning or sorrow.

Ilarion Lucero had never once asked for anything; because everything he ever desired was handed to him in a bloody silver platter before he opened his mouth to ask for it.

Yet, despite the endless parade of silver-plated indulgences, there was one thing Ilarion had asked for.

A dog.

Ilarion, perhaps when he was five or perhaps six, went to his father’s office, barging in without knocking. (back then he hadn’t paid much mind to the gun that sat atop his father’s maghony desk). He had demanded that his father should get him a dog, because a boy from his class got one; a white one, covered in fur and had wide and glossy eyes. Ilarion had also wanted one. He begged, he cried, he pleaded with all the fervor of a child who had never known denial. And yet his father’s answer remained the same.

No, his father had said, you’re not responsible enough to take care of a dog.

He didn’t face his father for three days after that. His mother had begged him to eat; even had the chefs make his favourite food. But he did not budge. He had hoped that his father would feel some kind of remorse in his cold heart and buy him a dog so that he could brag to his classmates about having a dog as well.

But his father did not do that.

Ilarion had always known that his father was rather unsympathetic (it was the kindest word Ilarion could scavenge to describe his father). His father smiled, of course, the man never compressed his emotion (though it was only in his later years that he realized the smile was fake). The older man loved his son, his mother had always told that his father loved him when he was younger whenever he would ask about why his father never quite kissed his cheek and embraced him as his mother did. Love, he thought, was not something that should be hidden. Love was warm kisses, soft words and long embraces (things his father never gave him).

Illarion never quite believed it. He wasn’t stupid after all (in his six year old brain acing his exams made him feel smart). His father did not love him. Nor did his father love his mother. He had heard them argue back and forth; his mother asking his father to quiet down so that their son wouldn’t hear them and his father said, ‘let him hear then.’

And Illarion knew that he was only his father’s heir; not his son, or his beloved boy, but only his heir.

And an heir should be kept happy, right?

So, he asked for a dog once again.

He cornered his father during breakfast, pleading more. This time his father simply looked at him before walking away, the man that was always with the older man (Rylan, his father’s right hand man) following him.

Later that day he asked again (Illarion really wanted that dog), during dinner. Surely, in the warmth of their home, with food and wine laid before them, his father might soften. But his father did not. his father left the table and his mother, silent and withdrawn, didn’t say a word.

Illarion sought out his mother after dinner. Seeking solace and perhaps an ally in his crusade for a puppy. Hence he made his way to his parents’ bedroom, more than ready to risk his father’s wrath.

His mother wasn’t there in the bedroom. Rather he only found his father and Rylan conversing. And for a moment illarion could swear that he heard his father say, “take the fucking kid outside.”

and Rylan, ever the loyal servant, took illarion out of the room.

“What kind of dog do you want?” He asked.

And Illarion didn’t waste a second answering (he had rehearsed the answer to this question, in case his father was to ask). “A big one,” Illarion said, “like those dogs that the guards had in the last gala.” And then Illarion realized that Rylan didn’t attend the gala which took place last week, which could possibly mean that the older man didn’t know what dog Illarion was talking about. “The big one, full of fur and like a long nose,”

Rylan cut him off, “A German Shepherd, kid. I know. Your father told me.”

“Oh.”

“Do you really want a dog?”

“Yeah,” illarion nodded, “I want one.” Maybe he’ll try asking during Christmas or his next birthday.

“I’ll see what I can do, kid.”

Illarion doubted that Rylan could do anything about it. After all, Rylan was just his father’s lackey and would just follow his father’s words like it was the holy scripture.

But two days later Illarion was proven wrong.

His mother didn’t join him for dinner that day. It was just him and his father eating in silence until the door opened, revealing Rylan accompanied by a boy.

Illarion immediately focused on the boy, who seemed to be around his age. But tall, so incredibly tall. Perhaps the boy was at least two or three years older than Illarion. Ilarion blinked. The boy had striking features that mirrored Rylan’s. But where Rylan stood rigid and composed, the boy exuded an air of defiance (Another difference was that Rylan wasn’t covered with bandages and dinosaur bandaids like the boy was).

“I’m sorry about the delay,” Rylan said, ushering the boy towards the dinner table. “This is my son.”

illarion heard the boy scoff and cross his arms over his chest. And it took him a minute to notice what the boy was wearing…a pair of jeans and a tank top— so casual that it bordered on insolence.

“It’s a pleasure,” Illarion’s father murmured, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “I’ve heard so much about you, Y/N.”

The boy— who Illarion now knew as Y/N— didn’t reply until Rylan nudged him . “Likewise,” came the reply, bored and nonchalant.

Ilarion watched in disbelief as his father allowed the insolence to pass unchallenged. It was the first time he had seen anyone address the man with anything less than deference and leave unscathed.

While his father was amused, Rylan looked the opposite. Perhaps a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance (the same expression that was mirrored on his son’s face).

“Y/N,” Rylan said through gritted teeth, “Go sit beside Illarion. He’s your friend now.”

And the boy complied, dragging his feet as if the short distance to the table was a long gruesome journey in the desert with no water. Illarion watched, bewildered, as Y/N plopped onto the chair beside him with all the grace of a sullen street cat.

Illarion’s father turned to look at him for the first time that night. “He is yours to look after now, illarion.”

Ilarion stared at the boy beside him, at the bandages on his arms and the fire in his eyes. He had asked for a dog, a loyal and silent companion. What he had been given was something else entirely— a mad dog, wild and untamed.

quick yap session :) it was like three a.m. when i wrote this, partially high on caffeine and sugar. idk what i was trying to achieve with this, actually. side note, im doing this just for shit and giggles actually. don’t take this seriously.

and if you’re interested in reading, comment down below and it might encourage me to write quicker and release more parts or else this might just collect dust like most my books.

[moosesarecute]

December 23rd

December Masterlist

Masterlist

Azriel had moved you to his bedroom in the House of Wind after you had fallen asleep. You remembered being picked up and shushed back to sleep, but you don’t remember being brought to his room.

He slept soundly beside him. He snored a little. Azriel only snored when he felt exhausted, so you decided to let him sleep for as long as he needed.

You got his shadows to help you out of his arms so that he didn’t wake up, before you moved into the kitchen.

It was cookie time.

With the help of the shadows you first mixed sugar and brown sugar, before you added flour, vanilla and eggs. In the end you mixed in chopped hazelnuts and dark chocolate.

You scooped out over 50 small cookies and baked them in the oven. In the meanwhile, you started on the presents.

Rhys had given you one of Feyre’s favorite dresses. It had three small holes. It didn’t take you long to saw all of them. It looked good as new.

You remembered the dress the second you saw it. Rhys’ mother had used you as a model to make it.

After that, you moved on to an apron. It was Elain’s and you decided to embroider flowers on it. Just like the flowers of you made on the dresses of the dolls Nick and his elves made.

That’s what you were doing when Nesta walked in.

“You’ve been busy,” she said. “Can I try one?”

You picked up one of the cookies that had cooled down and gave it to her. She took a bite and smiled.

“These are so good! You know, the boys tried to make these. They weren’t half as good as yours.”

You could imagine Azriel and Cassian baking together and the mess they would make. The thought made you happy.

“What’s the deal with the cookies? I’ve heard you’re very set on making these all of December.”

You smiles again as memories of your mother filled your mind.

“I grew up in Windhaven too. We weren’t very well off. I was lucky enough to be able to eat dinner with Rhys and his mother most days, but I remember going to bed hungry often. However, in the month of December my mother had been saving for many months to make sure be had money for sugar, eggs, nuts and chocolate. We would make cookies on the 1st of December. The recipe made about 20 cookies, but we made them so small that he had at least 42. Then, we would eat one each every day until Winter Solstice. And if we had more than 42, my father would get the rest.”

It was your fondest memory from your mother. That was one of the many reasons to why you loved Winter Solstice.

“You really loved your mother, didn’t you?”

“Yes, she was the best. She always supported me.”

“She died when you were young, didn’t she? Do you mind me asking what happened?”

“Unlike most fae, my mother didn’t have the best health. She was sick from a very young age. She got worse and worse from the time I turned sixteen. She passed as I turned 19. She got a very short life for fae standards, as she was only 64 as she died. But she got to meet Azriel and that means a lot.”

You and Nesta ended up speaking for quite a while. You spoke about everything: mates, food, books and training.

“Ooo, it smells sooo good,” Cassian’s strong voice boomed through the kitchen as he walked in.

He stumped towards the cookies, but you slapped his hand away before he managed to touch one.

“Cauldron, Cass. You have to wash your hands first!”

He turned to you and you expected to see his annoyed face, but he only smiled at you. He threw himself on you with a hug.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” he said.

You gave him a cookie and he and Nesta went out to train.

You had finished presents for Feyre and Elain and moved on to Amren and Nesta. You were going to make two different things, but the way to make them were similar. You needed to knit a rectangle and fold it into a book cover for Nesta and a jewelry holder for Amren.

You picked a thicker yarn so that the knitting would be quicker. Then you would sew a piece of fabric on the inside of both of them.

You had just begun when you were covered in shadows. You almost expected Azriel to arrive soon after, but the humming feeling in your chest told you he was still sleeping. The shadows had been following you the entire morning, but right now they were actually holding your entire body.

So you decided to put the shadows to work.

“So you push that needle into this hoop, then you twist the yarn around and flip up the hoop over the yarn twisted around the needle,” you said as you showed the shadows how to knit.

You sat together and knitted and it was surprisingly fun. They would pull your hair once a while because they had lost a stitch or done something else wrong, but they did a great job.

Azriel woke up and was ready to pull you tighter towards him.

But you weren’t there.

Panic immediately filled his chest. Had he been dreaming? Why weren’t you there? He looked at the time. It was eleven. He must have been sick or hurt.

“Kitchen,” his shadows told him.

Azriel threw on a shirt and ran to the kitchen. Relief filled his body as he saw you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and took in your scent.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” you told him.

You must have felt his emotions through the bond.

“It’s okay, just, please wake me next time,” he said and kissed your head.

That’s when he noticed his shadows. His shadows were feared creatures. They often killed or tortured with him. And people ran away in fear from just a sight of them.

But now, they were knitting.

“You taught them to knit?”

“Of course!”

Azriel couldn’t help all the emotions that filled his heart. It was ridiculous, but very cute at the same time.

“You’re cute,” he told you with a new kiss.

The two of you had moved into the living room. Azriel sat and read some reports, while you sewed with your legs in his lap. It was fire in the fireplace and hot chocolate stood on the table.

It was so calm and peaceful.

You were working on sewing the jewelry holder for Amren, when you pricked your finger with the needle.

“Ouch,” you said softly and put your thumb into your mouth. The metallic taste of blood hit your tongue.

You had pricked yourself with needles extremely many times. It became something you almost didn’t notice happened. So you started sewing again.

However, you were filled with a bunch of anxiety. As you looked up at Azriel he looked extremely worried.

He reached for your hand and brushed carefully over your thumb.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. His eyebrows were furrowed.

“Az,” you said. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

You moved away your sewing and held Azriel into your chest. His shaky breath told you he was crying. You realized that your blood definitely had triggered something.

“Shhh,” you kissed his head. “I’m here, my shadow. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe. It was just a small needle. I’m safe in your protection.”

He calmed down more and more the more you spoke. He looked up at you with eyes that were just a little puffier than before. You kissed his forehead and held him a little longer.

Eventually, he started reading again and you moved over to Cassian’s present. You repaired some of his leathers. You finished both his pants and shirt and made sure they were sturdy enough to last him a long time.

For Mor, you begun making a fabric purse with a smaller compartment for makeup, a place holder for a drink and a bigger compartment for anything. The bad was almost finished when you started. You had started it before you got kidnapped. Picking it up again felt bittersweet. Let just say that both you and Azriel crying once again when you brought it out.

“It’s getting quite late, dear,” Azriel said as he held his hand out. He pulled you out of the couch and made the way to the bedroom.

His shadows were swirling lazily around you, but not in a sleepy manner. You moved your hand over to his back and drew a line down his entire back. His wing twitched just a little.

You knew very well what you were doing.

As you closed the door to the bedroom, you kissed him passionately. You moved to kiss down to his neck and ear. He let out a soft sigh. You locked eyes with his gentle hazel eyes and suddenly all you could think of was him.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii @anainkandpaper @donnadiddadog @atomictyphoonkitten @annablack @graciepies @salvatoresister1 @nastylicious @plants-w0rld @stqrgirlies-blog @scoliobean @kbear8863

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[sequinsmile-x]

Develop

She can’t but smile as she steps back, her eyes fixed on them and the tree lighting them up from behind. Matching smiles on their faces and obvious happiness despite everything they’d survived. She feels a familar pull towards her purse, her camera all but calling out to her, and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip.

“Wait there one second,” she says, digging through her purse where she’d dumped it on the couch, “I’ve got to get a picture of this.”

AKA - Five times Emily takes a picture of Aaron and Jack, and one time she's in it.

-x-

Hi besties <3

This is for the lovely @astridncs, who loves all things Hotchniss, as well as Emily and Jack. I hope you enjoy this, and that it fits what you wanted from your prompt <3

This…got sadder at the start than I intended. But what's new?!

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: none

Words: 7.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

One

Emily had always loved taking photos. 

For her 14th birthday, her parents bought her a Nikon FA. She knew it was mostly her father’s doing, that he paid more attention to her interests than her mother did, and she loved it. She took photos at every given opportunity, forced the few friends to pose for pictures because it was something tangible she’d remember them by when she inevitably had to move and start all over again. She did the same with her parents - would make them stand together so she could capture one moment in time, so she could look at it again when her films were developed, her fingers tracing over her parent's smiles as she pretended that was what their life was like all the time. 

Her father’s death just before her 15th birthday only cemented her love of photography. After his funeral, when she’d spent the day standing next to her mother and accepted sympathy from people she’d never met, she’d sat on her bed and looked at pictures of him. She held them so tightly she’d creased them, desperate to hold on to what she had left of her father. 

She was determined after that to take photos of everything. The following summer, John and Matthew both teased her whenever she pulled her camera out, all three of them unaware of what lay ahead for them as they posed together in Rome, all skipping school for a day as they explored the city she would one day look back on and not be able to think of its beauty, only the pain it had caused her. 

She always made sure she had her camera with her when she went anywhere that wasn’t work. She’d upgraded several times over the years, always keen to make sure she had the best camera she possibly could so she could capture all of the important moments. The weight of it and all it represented is heavy in her purse as she waits outside of Aaron’s apartment, a gift bag stuffed full of toys and games for Jack in her other hand. She knew her boss turned friend would say she’d bought Jack too much, his smile and kind and sad as he insisted she only had to get him one thing, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. 

It was his first Christmas without his mother after all. She knew Aaron was struggling, that he was doing his best to make a good Christmas for his son, but Haley’s death was still fresh. A date they’d never forget nestled in amongst his and Jack’s birthdays and the holidays. She hated it for them, hated that they’d always have sadness and loss in the corners of everything they did, so she was trying to help where she could. Last weekend she’d gone tree shopping with them, her hand tight around Jack’s as they chose the perfect one, Aaron just behind them as he watched them closely. She’d left them to decorate it themselves, had smiled and shook her head when Aaron asked if she wanted to stay to help, even though she did, because she knew it was important they figured out some traditions on their own. 

She fixes a smile on her face when the door opens, and she feels a familiar ache in her heart when Aaron’s eyes meet hers, a sadness that seems to chase him everywhere these days written across his face before he can hide it from her. Somewhere along the way, she’d started to think of him as one of her closest friends, if not her closest one. If she was honest with herself, she knew it ran deeper than that, that her feelings for him edged a little too close to love. It was easy to ignore when he was like this, and she could convince herself that her desire to look after him and his little boy came just from friendship - not the love that rolled through her gut whenever she looked at them both. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling softly as she lifts the gift bag to show him, “I thought I’d bring over Jack’s Christmas gifts before it was too late.” 

His eyes go wide when he looks at the bag and he steps back, “You didn’t have to get him so much.” 

She chuckles as she walks past him into his apartment, “There’s a couple of things in here for you too if that makes you feel better.” 

He shakes his head at her, “Well, we’d better get them under the tree,” he says, “He’s just getting ready for bed - prepare yourself to be talked into reading him a story when he realises you’re here.” 

“You know I love that.” She smiles and nods, and her smile gets wider when she looks at the tree.  Jack’s involvement in the decorating was obvious - the ornaments were unevenly spaced out, most of them gathered in one place at about eye level for the four-year-old. Emily was used to perfectly decorated trees. Her mother would always have professional decorators and she wasn’t allowed to help even when she was small and desperate to. She loved that Aaron hadn’t rearranged anything, that he’d left it just as Jack had done it, his love for his son as bright and warm as the lights he’d wrapped around the tree.

Aaron clears his throat, “I know it’s not perfect-”

“No,” she says, turning to smile at him as she starts to place her gifts for them under the tree, “It is perfect.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, his smile real and soft, and not for the first time she finds herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he may feel the same way about her as she feels about him. The moment is fleeting, torn open by Jack running down the hallway, almost slipping on the hardwood in his Christmas footie pjyamas.

“Emmy!” She stands up straight and opens her arms to him, smiling as he runs at her, his arms tight around her neck as she lifts him and rests him on her hip. 

“Hi kiddo,” she says, stamping a kiss against his cheek, doing it again when he giggles, “I was just telling your Dad about how much I love your tree.” 

“It’s pretty!” He exclaims, “Just like you.” 

She isn’t sure why she blushes, why the casual compliment from the little boy in her arms has warmth spreading through her as she kisses his kiss cheek again, “Thanks, Jack.”

“It’s true,” he says, furrowing his brows, “Daddy said so too-”

“Okay, buddy,” Aaron says, scooping Jack into his arms, his eyes wide and his cheeks a beautiful shade of pink as he cuts his son off, “Emily said she’d love to read you a story before you go to bed.” 

She can’t but smile as she steps back, her eyes fixed on them and the tree lighting them up from behind. Matching smiles on their faces and obvious happiness despite everything they’d survived. She feels a familar pull towards her purse, her camera all but calling out to her, and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip.

“Wait there one second,” she says, digging through her purse where she’d dumped it on the couch, “I’ve got to get a picture of this.”

“You and your camera,” Aaron says, his tone something devastatingly close to loving, and she playfully narrows her eyes at him. 

“Just hold still,” she replies, switching her camera on as she stands just a few feet away from them, “Smile.”

Jack smiles as widely as he can, his arms wrapped tightly around Aaron’s neck. Aaron smiles too, a sadness to it that she knows will be pressed into the picture itself. She looks at the small digital screen as the photo flashes up on it and then shows them as she walks over, smiling as Jack leans into her, his cheek against hers as he tries to get a closer look. 

“Can you read me a story now?” 

She chuckles and turns her head to kiss his cheek, “Of course,” she replies as she puts the camera back in her bag and then she turns to them, “Shall we let Daddy pick the book this time?” 

Jack nods enthusiastically, “Yeah, but you still have to read it. You do the voices better than he does.” 

She looks over at Aaron and smiles when their eyes meet, “You heard the boy.” 

She gets the picture printed and she puts it in a frame. She wraps it and places it on Aaron’s desk in the New Year, a note stuck to it that she’d one day find in her desk drawer. A desk that used to be his. 

This was too cute not to print. It reminded me of all the good that can exist with the bad, and I hope it does the same for you.

Emily x 

___

Two 

The weight of everything she was yet to say was heavy on her shoulders. 

She stays on the outskirts of the celebration, watching her friends - her family - all have fun. Joy and wine flowing amongst them all as they celebrate JJ and Will’s wedding. Somehow, the decision she’d made, the decision to leave even though she’s not entirely sure she ever truly came back, doesn’t make her feel any lighter. It was a relief. She could breathe easier now than she had in weeks, Clyde’s offer as timely as it had been tempting. But she didn’t feel lighter.

She would be leaving so much behind. A life she could have had if she’d just let herself in the rearview mirror as she once again ran away from everything she knew. 

She looks over at Aaron and Beth when she hears the other woman’s laugh and it makes her tense, anger and sadness she knows she has no right to feel coursing through her at the sight of them together. Emily could no longer deny that she was in love with Aaron. It was something she’d come to terms with a long time ago and the saddest part, the thing that kept her up at night, was that she knew he loved her too. 

There was a moment, nestled in between him starting to move forward after Haley's death and Ian coming back to tear her life apart, when they almost happened. He’d kissed her, the only kiss they had ever shared, and asked her on a date. She’d said yes, not having to think about it for a second, and she’d driven home feeling lighter and happier than she had in years. The next day, Sean McAllister called her and nothing was ever the same. 

When she came home, they never spoke about it. She wasn’t ready and he knew that because he knew her, and when she told him one night that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready she saw his heartbreak. She hated herself for doing it to him, but in the long run it was kinder. After everything he’d been through he deserved someone with less baggage, someone less complicated.

Someone like Beth. 

It didn’t make it hurt any less to see them together. Somehow, she thinks it hurts more because it was of her own design. If she’d never told him to move on, if she hadn’t insisted that he did, she knew he wouldn’t have. 

She blows out a slow breath and walks over to the bar. She grabs a glass of champagne and turns to watch everyone, her eyes always wandering back to Beth and Aaron. She watches as he holds her close and laughs, the ghost of his palm scalding on her back from when they’d danced as she watches him hold Beth in the same way. 

“You should tell him how you feel.”

She jumps as she turns to look at Dave and she chuckles dryly, “I need to get you a bell or something.” 

“I’m serious, Bella. If he knew you still felt that way, he’d never let you leave. And he certainly wouldn’t still be with Beth.” 

She hums sadly, “That’s why he can’t know.” 

Dave shakes his head, “Emily-”

“Dave, please,” she says, shaking her head at him as she cuts him off, “He deserves more than I can give him. And…I’m not sure if this place could ever be home to me now even if he was okay with that,” she reaches over and squeezes his arm, “It’s easier this way.”

“For who?”

She shrugs and laughs humourlessly, “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.” 

Their conversation is cut off as Jack runs towards them, his hand wrapping around hers as he starts to tug her back towards the dance floor, “Dance with me, Emmy.” 

She smiles, hoping the little boy can’t see through the sheen of it, that he can’t see her broken heart underneath, “I can never say no to you, sweetheart.” 

She picks him up, groaning as she wonders when he got so big, and she throws Aaron a smile as they end up next to him and Beth. She dances with Jack, smiling and listening to everything he tells her, the little boy talking a mile a minute as he thrives on the excitement of the day. 

Eventually, she slips into the house for a break, to give herself a moment to gather herself, and she sees her purse where she’d left it on Dave’s kitchen counter. She roots through it and grabs her camera, the weight of it heavier than it ever had been as she decided to take the last set of pictures she’d have as someone who lived here, who was part of the day-to-day lives of the people she thought of as her family.

Going forward, she’d be a visitor, and that hurt more than she ever thought possible. 

She walks around Dave’s backyard and she takes pictures of everyone. Of JJ and Will dancing, Henry squished between them. Of Dave and Derek sneaking cigars, a moment they thought they’d get away with captured forever. 

She takes a picture of Jack and Aaron, the young boy stood in front of his father, his smile full of gaps from where he’d recently lost a couple of his teeth. Aaron’s hands are on his shoulders as he almost physically holds him in place, Jack’s excitement close to palpable still. He runs away the moment Aaron lets go, calling out for JJ as he asks if he can play with Henry. 

Emily smiles at Aaron and presses a couple of buttons on her camera, stepping towards him so she can show him the photo, “It’s a good one.” 

He leans in, the smell of his cologne almost overwhelming, tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she swallows thickly, the scent of him something that represented missed opportunities, and the life she could have allowed herself. 

“Oh, I love that one,” he says, his breath skipping over her cheek before he pulls back, “When you get a chance can you send it to me? I don’t have many photos of just the two of us.”  

“Of course,” she says, smiling tightly as she switches the camera off, “When I get home later I’ll put them all on my computer and email it to you.” 

He watches her carefully, and she’s not sure how to feel about how exposed she is, how well he knows her. There was a painful beauty in being known entirely by someone who you couldn’t have. 

“Em-”

“Tomorrow,” she promises him, her smile tighter as she reaches out and squeezes his arm, Beth’s curious gaze from a few feet away burning the back of her neck, “I promise.” 

He nods, concern sparkling in his eyes like the flecks of gold in his irises that she’d fallen in love with a long time ago, “It’s a date,” he says, repeating the words she’d said just a few hours ago.

“Yeah,” she replies, swallowing thickly, “It’s a date.” 

She prints herself a copy of the photo of him and Jack when she’s in London. She keeps it on her mantle amongst other photos of the team despite the ache she feels whenever she sees it. Its presence a penance of some sort for the decisions she’d made that had meant she never got to have Aaron, and the little boy she loved more than life itself, in the way she wanted to. 

___

Three

Her doctor was insistent that she get out of her apartment at least once a day. She’s furious about it, mumbling to herself as she walks around her local park, her hands in her pockets as she tries to keep them warm, but she does it anyway. Desperate to make sure she gets back to full strength after everything that had happened.

Peter Lewis had taken so much from her already, he wasn’t going to take her sanity from her too. 

In the three months since the car crash, since he’d tortured her for information she’d have died to protect, she’d struggled to leave her apartment. She felt equally trapped and terrified to leave, the outside world as big as it had ever been as she looked over her shoulder for a man that was dead whenever she stepped outside. She was used to being haunted, to being chased by the ghost of a man who had tried to kill her, but she’d forgotten what it felt like when it was fresh. How it felt when her body still ached if she moved a little too quickly when she jumped at an unexpected sound. 

She sighs to herself as she checks her watch, and she grumbles when she realises she’s only been walking for 20 minutes. She spots a nearby bench and walks over to sit down. She blows out a slow breath as she closes her eyes, making sure she’s purposeful as she breathes back in, fresh air and feeling she always associated with fall filling her lungs. 

“Emily?” 

She opens her eyes, her breath turning into a gasp at the unexpected voice, one she hadn’t heard in too long. One she hadn’t expected to hear ever again. She stands up, her eyebrows furrowed as she walks towards him, stopping just short of him just in case he disappears. 

“Aaron?” She chokes on a laugh, suddenly aware of her outfit made up of an old pair of leggings and her baggiest sweater covered by her jacket, “What…what are you doing here?” 

He smiles at her and nods behind him, “Jack wanted to come and see his grandfather and Jess, so we came back. I’m surprised Dave didn’t say anything, I told him we were in town.” 

She rolls her eyes as she thinks of their friend and his recommendation that she walk in this park this weekend, and she makes a mental note to tell him off for meddling later. She

 looks in the direction Aaron had nodded towards and she gasps, unsure how the tall gangly pre-teen standing next to Jessica could possibly be the little boy she’d once read bedtime stories to, “Wow, he’s…really grown up.” 

“Yeah,” he replies, his smile wistful and sad as she look at her, “He’ll be taller than me I think,” he says, his eyes sparking, “He’s already taller than you.” 

She laughs, and for a moment it’s like no time has passed at all. Like they were still almost a decade younger and talking around their feelings for each other, “I’m not that much shorter than you.” 

“You are when you aren’t wearing those boots you run around in,” he quips, his smile as gorgeous as she’d always remembered, “I…I heard about everything that happened.” 

She chokes on a dry laugh. During the all too brief conversation they’d had when they called to say that Lewis was dead, she’d purposely left out parts of it. Purposely not told him about what had happened to her in the name of protecting him and his son. She didn’t want a prize for it, didn’t want recognition, she just wanted what she’d always wanted - for him and Jack to be safe and happy. 

“And how did you hear about that?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him. He smiles again, something she never remembered him doing quite so much, and he shrugs. 

“A little bird told me.” 

She hums, “Is this little bird Italian and too nosey for his own good?” 

He laughs, “Something like that,” he replies, and his smile fades, “Emily-”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she says, her arms tight over her chest as she tries to hold herself together, “It’s what you and I do for each other,” she smiles sadly, “We keep each other safe.” 

Aaron nods, his hands in tight fists by his sides as he tries to stop himself from reaching out for her. He’s nervous. Anxious in a way she hasn’t seen in years. Since he’d stood in the doorway of his apartment one evening what felt like a lifetime ago as he stamped a kiss against her lips, his request that she went on a date with him still echoing around them. It makes hope she hasn’t felt in years spark in her gut, her blood thrumming with it as she thinks that maybe, this time, she’ll allow herself to have what she’d always wanted. 

“At least let me buy you dinner?” He says, trying and failing to act casual, and she couldn’t stop the smile that spreads across her face if she wanted to. She presses her lips together and sighs, the reality that he was just visiting stamping out any hope. 

“Aaron, I…I can’t-”

“I’m assuming since Dave didn’t tell you I was in town, that he didn’t tell you we’re moving back here.” He says casually, as if it wasn’t life-changing, heart-healing, stuff that once again shifts her world on its axis. Her eyes go wide and he chuckles, nervously scratching the back of his head, “Don’t worry, your job is safe. I’m not coming back to the FBI.” 

She shakes her head, not having even thought about work, still overwhelmed by the thought that she was getting him back. She looks over at Jack, smiling as she watches him with Roy and Jessica. 

“You’re staying?”

Aaron nods, stepping closer to her, closing the gap they’d both built over the years. He reaches for her hand and squeezes, their fingers pressed together in a silent promise that they’d talk about everything. That they’d finally get it all figured out. 

“I’m staying.” 

She squeezes his hand tightly, imprints the feeling of being able to do so to memory, the press of his skin against hers something she only had hazy memories of from when he’d visited her in hospital. The dirt from where they’d buried her still clinging to the cuffs of his pants as he sat next to her bed and told her he’d catch Ian and bring her home. It’s how she knows this is real, that she won’t wake up on her couch having fallen asleep.

In her dreams, she’d never been able to recreate his impossible warmth. 

“Okay,” she says, smiling when he looks confused, her teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek as she tries to contain her smile at least a little, “I’ll to dinner with you.” 

He smiles and pulls her into a hug she gladly returns, her cheek against his chest for a moment before he pulls back. He kisses her cheek, and she turns her head, letting his lips catch the corner of hers before she steps back, a giddiness in her veins she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager and untouched by the pain that love could bring. 

“It’s a date,” she says, her smile getting wider as his does at the throwback to a conversation they’d had so long ago. 

“It’s a date,” he repeats, looking over his shoulder to his son, “I should get back. He wanted to come over and say hi, but things with Roy are…”

“It’s okay,” she replies, “We have time.”

He nods, “We do,” he squeezes her hand one more time and lets go, “I’ll call you later so we can plan dinner?”

“My number is the same,” she replies, hesitant to turn away, worried he’d disappear if she did, “I’ll speak to you later?”

“Later,” he promises, and he winks at her before he turns away. She watches him go, shock and awe still thrumming under her skin, and she sighs. 

She digs her phone out of her pocket and takes a picture of Aaron and Jack talking to each other in the distance, smiling as she realises Aaron was right - that Jack is already almost as tall as him. She sends it to Dave along with a message, and she takes one last look at Aaron and Jack before she turns to head home, content for the first time in a long time to believe that things would work out. 

Look who I just so happened to walk into at the park. Your meddling is second to none, old man. 

She laughs when she gets a response almost immediately, and she shakes her head at her friend before she puts her phone back in her pocket. 

Just make sure you remember to thank me at your wedding. 

___

Four 

She’s woken up by a soft kiss against her cheek and a gentle hand drawing circles on her back. She groans, pressing her face into her pillow and she grumbles as Aaron laughs at her.

“Wake up birthday girl,” he says, his voice raspy and gorgeous and hers. She opens one eye and frowns at him, the bite to it lost as he smiles at her. 

“I haven’t been a girl in a long time, honey,” she says, smiling as he leans in to kiss her. Her smile turns curious as she lays her head back on her pillow, “Have you been eating pancake batter?” 

He smiles and encourages her closer, her arms around his waist as she rests her head on his chest, “You’ll have to get out of bed to find out.” 

She hums and turns her head to kiss his chest, “In a minute,” she says, smothering a yawn against his t-shirt, the slight spatter of flour standing out against it making her smile, “I want to lay here for a little bit first.” 

Aaron kisses the top of her head, “Whatever you want, sweetheart. It’s your birthday.” 

There were times when she still couldn’t believe she had this. That she had him. That they had each other. Even now, almost two years since they’d first walked into each other in the park, it still felt surreal sometimes. They’d fallen into the relationship she thinks they should have always had easily. Their first date had lasted almost 48 hours. They’d gone for dinner and then he’d come back to hers and stayed the entire weekend, his smile wry and soft as he explained Jack was with Jessica, and had told him not to come back until Emily was officially his girlfriend. 

They’d told each other they loved each other that weekend. Had laid in amongst her soft sheets, hands trailing across skin they’d imagined for years. It was fast, fast in a way she would have been uncomfortable with if it was anyone else, but it felt right. 

It felt like everything they’d been walking towards for years. 

They lived together in a house they’d chosen between the three of them - Jack just a few paces behind them as he quipped that at least he’d be less likely to walk in on them making out if they had more room than in their old apartment. He was 14 now and she was proud of him, prouder than she thought she had any real right to be. He was Aaron through and through. He was kind and smart, and reserved in a way she found nothing short of adorable, even if he would frown at her if she ever told him that. 

She loved them both, and they both loved her. There were times when she wished she’d had more time with them, the reality that if she’d allowed herself to love Aaron years ago they could have had more. That there could be little girls and boys that were half him and half her. Kids she never knew the names or faces of who would visit her dreams. She’d drown in the could have beens sometimes, but then Jack would make her laugh, or she’d snuggle up against Aaron in bed and she’d remember what she did have - a life she’d once convinced herself she didn’t deserve. 

“What do you want to do today?” Aaron asks as he trails his fingers up and down her arm. She tilts her head to look at him and stamps her lips against his, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place. 

“I just want to hang out with you and Jack,” she says, kissing him again, her smile wide as she pulls back, “And maybe by starting with those pancakes you two are making me.” 

He chuckles and kisses her forehead, “Speaking of the pancakes - Jack sent me up here because they are almost ready.” 

She smiles widely, “He’s in charge today, huh?” 

“He insisted,” Aaron says, kissing her once more before he unwraps himself from around her so they can both get out of bed, “He barely let me help.” 

She shrugs his robe over her shoulders and ties it around her waist, grabbing her phone from the nightstand to drop it into the robe's pockets before she walks towards him. She takes a moment to breathe in his scent on the fluffy soft material, humming contentedly when he wraps his arms around her, letting her breathe him in from the source. 

“I love you,” she says, suddenly overwhelmed by it as she looks up at him. She runs her fingers through his hair, smiling at the salt and pepper at his temples, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replies, his hand on her lower back as he tugs her closer, “I’m glad we made it here.” 

“Me too,” she replies, stamping her lips against his. The kiss is lost to a laugh as Jack yells up the stairs, an irritated tone to his voice that only a teenager could manage. 

“Dad, Emily, the pancakes are ready. Stop making out and come downstairs.” 

Emily chuckles and she wraps both of her arms around one of Aaron’s as they walk out of their bedroom, “He’s so stern,” she says, smiling up at her boyfriend as they head down the stairs, “I wonder where he gets it from.” 

“It’s a mystery,” Aaron deadpans before winking at her as they walk into the kitchen. He smiles as she gasps at the spread of food on the kitchen island, the marble of it almost entirely covered in plates of pancakes, bacon, pastries and fruit. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

She smiles at him, but is pulled into a hug by Jack before she can say anything else, and she hugs him back immediately. 

“Happy birthday, Emily.” 

“Thanks, kiddo,” she replies, kissing his cheek before she pulls back, smiling at the spread of food in front of her, “You’ve both been busy.” 

“We wanted to do all your favourites,” Jack says, “Dad even went out first thing this morning to that bakery you like.” 

She turns to her boyfriend, her smile so wide her cheeks ached with it, “That’s all the way across town.” 

He shrugs like it doesn’t mean everything that he did that for her, “It’s your birthday.” 

She shakes her head lovingly at him and then back at all the food, “Well, we should get started,” she says, digging through the pocket of Aaron’s robe to grab her phone, “But I want a picture of you with you both with it all first.” 

Jack groans and rolls his eyes, “But Emily-”

“There’s no point in arguing with her, buddy,” Aaron says, smiling as he wraps his arm around his son’s shoulders, “The sooner we let her take the photo, the sooner we can eat.” 

Jack sighs but nods in agreement, a smile painted across his face as Emily takes the picture. She sends it to the BAU group chat, knowing they’d get a kick out of seeing Aaron so casual, and then she slips her phone back into her pocket. 

She had breakfast with her boys to enjoy.

___

Five

It had been, without a doubt, the happiest day of her life. 

She sighs contently as she sits down, looking around the backyard she’d once broken her own heart in at JJ’s wedding. Emily wished she could go back and tell herself that it would all work out in the end, that she’d take the time she needed to heal, that she’d almost forget this was something she’d ever wanted, but that she’d eventually get it all. 

She smiles as her husband walks towards her, his bowtie he’d insisted on how undone and hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar. He sits next to her and she kisses him as soon as he’s close enough, unable to get enough of him today of all days. 

“Hey handsome,” she murmurs against his lips, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place. 

“Hi,” he replies, smiling so widely her lips only catch the corners of his, “How are you feeling?” 

She hums and rests her head on his shoulder, looking back out at their guests, members of the BAU - past and present - all dancing and laughing together, “I’m perfect.” 

He chuckles and kisses her cheeks, “I’ve been telling you that for years. Now you believe me.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “You’re cheesy.” 

“I’m allowed to be on our wedding day.” 

She smiles, completely unable to stop herself, and she leans in to kiss him again, “Okay, I’ll let it go today,” she hums contentedly against his lips, “Today was…”

She drifts off, entirely unsure how to put it into words, how to explain even after all this time how she felt about him. But he knows, because of course he does, and he simply reaches for her hand, his fingers tangled through hers as he lifts their joint hands to kiss her knuckles. 

“I know, baby,” he says, “I know.” 

“I…” she clears her throat, not wanting to cry, again, today, “I’m so glad we made it here.” 

Aaron wraps his arm around her shoulders and holds her close, his lips against her forehead as he presses love and comfort in equal measure against her skin, “Me too, sweetheart. I never doubted we would.” 

She scoffs as she pulls back to look at him, her eyebrow raised and her eyes full of love and mirth, “Really? Even when we lived on different continents, were in relationships with other people and you were in hiding?” 

He shrugs, his smile soft and entirely hers, a spark in his eyes she wouldn’t have thought he was capable of when they first met, “Even then.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and captures his chin in her hand, tugging him in for a kiss, “You’re a ridiculous man, Aaron Hotchner,” she kisses him again, “But you’re my ridiculous man.” 

“Your’s forever,” he says, rubbing his nose against hers, and she nods, her lungs stuffed full of love for him and their life together. 

“Mine forever.” 

They sit there for a moment, their foreheads pressed together as they soak each other in, but they are interrupted by a loud laugh from JJ and Penelope reminding them that they aren’t alone.

“Later?” Aaron says, and she nods, her fingers tangled around his loose bow tie. 

“Later,” she confirms, and she smiles at him, “I need to get a picture of you and Jack before you lose any more of your tux, ” she says tugging at the bow tie again, her smile getting wider at his loving eye roll. 

“I knew you’d say that,” he says, standing up and beckoning over his son. Jack runs over immediately, none of the usual arguing about taking a picture anywhere to be found, and the matching mischievous smiles on his and Aaron’s faces make her narrow her eyes. 

“What are you two up to?” 

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Aaron says, his hands in his pockets as he stands next to Jack, “Take your photo.” 

She hums, not believing him for a second, but she picks her phone up from the table regardless, her focus briefly on it as she opens up the camera app. When she looks back up at them she laughs loudly, shaking her head at the sight of them with their shirts now unbuttoned. They were each wearing a t-shirt with a different photo print screened on it - Jack’s with the one she’d taken of them in front of the Christmas tree years ago, and Aaron’s with the one from JJ’s wedding in this very place. She shakes her head as she stands up, already taking photos of them, wanting as many of this moment as she could possibly have.

“You two are lucky I love you,” she says, pretending to grumble in a way they all know is fake. 

“We really are, sweetheart,” Aaron says, winking at her when Jack groans with embarrassed disgust, “We really are.” ___

+ One 

She makes sure she has her phone with her several times before they leave the house. She simply glares at her husband when he smiles at her as he tells her she’s more likely to leave it behind if she keeps taking it out of her purse to check it is there. He kisses her in response, his lips against her cheek and then her lips as he tells her it would be fine, that she had her phone and he had his, and that he had the mobile battery pack just in case she took enough photos she ran out of battery. 

She doesn’t tell him that she saw him making sure he had enough storage on his phone last night, doesn’t remind him that they’d sat up in bed, her cheek against his shoulder as they scrolled through all the photos of Jack in his favourites folder. She simply lets him make gentle fun of her, well aware that focusing on lovingly teasing his wife was a way of distracting him from what was happening today, another milestone in Jack’s life that seemed to be slipping through their fingers. 

It was, after all, his son’s high school graduation. 

Jack had looked achingly grown up when he’d left the house that morning. He’d asked if he could head there with his friends, if they could meet him there and be on their best behaviour, and neither one of them had the heart to say no. Emily kept shifting between being sad about the boy she loved as her own becoming a man, and worrying about her husband, the same melancholy in his smile that he’d have every time he was reminded Jack was growing up.

Every time he was reminded of all the things that Haley missed out on. 

Even now, she knew that his guilt lingered. That he could never entirely shake off the thought that he’d been responsible for Haley’s head and for costing his son his mother. Emily had spent years doing everything she could assuring him that it wasn’t the case, that he’d done what Haley had asked - that he’d raised their son with love and joy. Sometimes, all she could do was hold him close, hug his head to her chest and remind him of everything he did have. Of the life they’d built together for them and Jack, and the promises he’d kept to help make that happen. 

She squeezes his hand when they arrive at the ceremony, and she throws him a wink when he smiles down at her. 

“You ready?” She asks, and he blows out a shaky breath, leaning down to kiss her cheek as they look for their seats. She chuckles and squeezes his hand, throwing a look at Jack in his seat amongst all the other graduates, her smile only getting wider when he shakes his head at them, “I think PDA counts as not being on our best behaviour.” 

Aaron laughs and waves at his son, his smile getting wider when Jack shakes his head, the smile on his face letting them both know he wasn’t actually embarrassed by them. He finds their seats, smiling as Jessica waves them over to their spot. “We should sit down.” 

She keeps both of her hands wrapped around Aaron’s throughout the ceremony, only disconnecting one of them from him when it’s Jack’s turn to walk across the stage so she can take photos on her phone. When they find him afterwards, she stands back as Aaron pulls Jack into a hug, one he returns gratefully, and she sneaks a few photos of that moment too, knowing she’d want to return to it again and again on the bad days. 

“Okay,” she says, getting their attention and making her look at them. She smiles when Jack rolls his eyes, “Just play ball for a few seconds and then I’ll stop.” 

Jack chuckles and rolls his eyes again, a trait Aaron always liked to say he’d picked up from her, “Mom, give the phone to Aunt Jess, you need to be in the picture.”

It had been a few years since he’d started to call her mom. Since Emily had given way to the name she never thought she’d get to have. It had happened overnight, one day he called her the name he always had and the next she was his mom. Aaron had told her afterwards that Jack had been toying with the idea for a long time, that he’d been unsure how to broach it because he didn’t want to upset anyone. In the end, Roy’s passing had been the last push he’d needed, the death of his grandfather - and the bitterness towards Aaron that had died with him - letting Jack finally do what he’d wanted to do for years. 

He always said he was lucky enough to have two moms - one who’d loved him when he was small, and one who loved him now, who had helped shape him into the man he was becoming. 

Emily smiles and turns to Jess, unsurprised to find her already holding out her hand for her phone, “Thanks.” 

She stands in between Jack and Aaron, both of them towering over her, and she wraps her arms around them both. 

“Now, I know you’re not used to being on this side of the camera,” Aaron jokes, his smile only getting wider when she pinches his side, “So make sure you smile.” 

She shakes her head as Jack laughs from her other side, and she looks at the camera, smiling as Aaron squeezes her waist, his thumb tracing back and forth over her hip. A small show of his love for her, a much needed reminder of everything she had now, of the fact it was real, as she stood between her husband and her son.

“Okay,” Jess says, holding up Emily’s phone to take the picture, “Smile.” 

She smiles, because what else could she do when she was this happy. 

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 25

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: All We Were, All We Could Be.

Notes: Man, that chapter is getting awfully close. 😰

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  25/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You felt your blood’s pressure drop like a stone to ground, then rise like a flame to air. Charles expression changed immediately from irritation to genuine fear. This could not be happening… you could barely hold back the anger boiling up inside.

“Is that true?” Charles asked you, clearly feeling misled.

“I-” What could you even say? How could you even start to explain the real situation of this ‘arrangement’ that Father Carden had made?

When Lancelot looked at you, awaiting the answer, you glared up at him. Charles got up from the chair, apologized to Lancelot and walked away to clear his mind and avoid a possible confrontation.

You rose to your feet and got into Lancelot’s face. “Outside. Now!”

As you walked out the door, you didn’t even look if he was following, you were too concentrated on controlling your anger before it could risk waking up the entire inn if it bursted loose. When you were a little away from the inn’s entrance Lancelot stepped outside as well.

He could feel the storm in the air, it announced itself in the look you gave him now. It had not been his proudest moment, but after hearing what that man proposed he could not stop himself.

“How dare you?” You shook your head. “Does it make you feel good to humiliate me like that? To tell people what I was forced to be?!”

He pushed his feet to approach. “It was never my intention to humiliate you.”

“Then why did you just do that?!” you shouted it at him.

He tried to sound calm while he clearly wasn’t, “He was acting too familiar towards you.”

Your tone grew demanding as he stopped right in front of you. “Yes. And?”

A frown settled on his forehead. “It is not appropriate.”

“Why? Because we are wed in the Church’s eyes?” You confronted him. “I told you before, I never gave you my vows! You don’t get to act like a jilted lover!”

It silenced him, he looked off to the side, jaw tense. He let the storm come over his head.

“You do not get to control who I spend my time with!” you told him off. “I never took the vow you took. I’ve never let religion tell me that I can’t follow my desires.”

He looked your way again, trying to decipher where you were going with this.

“I am not a maiden anymore.” you informed him of the personal truth. “Maybe you thought I was. But I am not pure as you believed, or wanted, me to be. I’m not some innocent girl who needs someone to protect her virtue. And I most certainly do not need a husband, that I was forced to have, to lay claim on me!”

Lancelot was quite rattled, still his stubborn demeanor did not let it show well. He was quiet as your fury rained down on him, and you wished you knew why he didn’t say anything or even argued back.

You stepped away from him to walk back to the inn. “This union between us is based on a lie. Do not ever throw this arrangement in my face like that again! You may be my husband, but my heart is not yours to have. "

He did not move a muscle when you walked past and away from him. His eyes were unreadable and they never lifted from the grass.

        It took him a while to return to the inn as well, you were already back in the room and making a comfortable place for you and Percival to sleep with some linen that Amelia had kindly offered. The silence between you when he stepped into the room was heavy. You were upset, and he… well you didn’t know how to place his reaction. He was just as quiet as you were towards him now. Percival must have felt the tension, he took it upon himself to chat away the silence until it was time to sleep. Fortunately for the boy, he fell asleep easily. For you it was difficult, the sour encounter between you and Lancelot kept you awake. And even with your back facing the bed, you did not feel comfortable enough to sleep. Having to share a room with someone you had a falling out with was anything but pleasant. Perhaps it was wise to set a boundary after this, to create the distance that had not been there ever since Cassian had handed you over to him. The silent tension was just too heavy to bear, and when they had fallen asleep you wrote down a note for them to find on one of the pieces of parchment you had found in the drawers of the cabinet, grabbed your satchel and went out of the room.

Amelia proved to be a night owl, she was still awake and eating some of the stew from that evening. “Up so late?”

You put down a few coins in front of her on the bar. “I want to rent a second room for myself for the night.”

She looked down and hesitated to take the payment. “I saw you leave the inn earlier with the Weeping Monk. So he is not your lover. He’s just your husband.”

Your mouth fell open. “I-”

She smiled cheekily. “I knew it. The way he looks at you says it all.”

You ignored her imagination. “It was arranged for us. We didn’t choose to wed.”

She let it slip, “I bet he doesn’t mind one bit.”

She must have seen you enter just as upset as you were when you exited. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight. I just want to get some sleep.”

“Alright.” Amelia knew when her patrons needed to be left alone, she reached over to take the coins but her hand halted midway.

When she looked past your shoulder in the direction of the stairs, you knew who would be there if you turned around. You pressed your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself before you’d begin to cuss him out. He was standing right behind you, you could just feel it.

“I wish to speak with you.” Lancelot’s voice sounded. The caution in his tone was audible. He had been in a rush to find you, he was not wearing his jerkin and had put on the cloak haphazardly.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest to shield yourself because he was in close proximity. “Can it wait until morning?”

“No.” He would not let this simmer on. “Another room will not be necessary. If we cannot talk this through tonight, then I will sleep outside. You will not have to flee the room, that you paid for, for me.”

“I am not fleeing.” It came out defensive.

He arched a brow but did not challenge the statement. “Good. Then we can sit at that table and talk.”

You held up a hand to stop him when he tried to take you by the arm. “What if I don’t want to?”

For a moment he was trying to read your eyes, the strength in his voice had weakened when he spoke again. “I will not force you.”

After giving it some thought, you pointed at a table. “Over there?”

Relief washed over him. “Yes.”

You moved past him and took seat at the table that was at a convenient distance from the bar and the stairs. “What is it that you wish to speak to me about?”

He moved the other chair to sit a little more at your side instead of opposite of you. “There is a thorn between us, I know you are not telling me everything you have wished to say ever since I arrived here. I had hoped that you would speak to me about how you truly feel about me being here after what has happened between us. Holding back grievances is what lets hatred grow, I prefer you voice them.”

He let a silence fall, hoping it would encourage you to fill it. But you were quite for a little while, contemplating what or what not to say. He was after the truth, to hear what you had held back so long.

You started. “Tonight I felt like you believe that you own me.”

“That was never my intention.” he said, quite shocked.

That reaction told you that he was sincere about it. “It is how it felt.”

He folded his hands together on the table, and after a few seconds he spoke. “I offer my apologies for what I did earlier. You were right to confront me.”

You said not a word, just looked at the way his fingers were nervously moving over his thumb in a soothing manner. He was feeling vulnerable, that much was clear, it oddly helped you to stay calm and listen.

His gaze did not lift up from the table. “I confess that I was concerned when I heard the man proposition you. I thought you were uncomfortable.”

“You thought I needed help?” It had been a little uncomfortable to hear the proposition, but not so much that help was needed.

He gave a shallow nod. “Sometimes I forget how well you can handle yourself in difficult circumstances.”

You kept looking at how withdrawn he was, as if he feared you’d lash out at him all of a sudden. “You were just trying to protect me…?”

Finally his eyes locked on yours, their intensity burned right into you. “I meant what I said about protecting you. It may have started at the Hidden’s request, but I decided to continue with it.”

Now it was you who kept your eyes on the table. “I accept your apology.”

He gave the incentive to let your thoughts out about it all. “This was not all I had hoped that would be discussed.”

You knew what he wanted to hear about, the truth about the ice that was not yet broken between you after the friendship was frozen into it. “I can’t hide that I’m hurt and confused by what has happened between us.”

“Confused?” He found himself saying it out loud.

“I loved your company.” You bit your lip to keep your emotions down and locked away. “And when I heard what Father Carden discussed with you about gaining my trust, about forging weapons with my magic… it broke me.” A silent pause fell, recalling the feeling made it come back and hurt again. You couldn’t look at him. “I finally had someone that didn’t hurt me, that was kind to me, and then that hope was stolen away. I hated you, and missed you just as much, you rotten bastard.”

You only saw his shadow move a little, but your eyes never lifted from the table, if they did then your courage to speak of it would falter. “I wish it wasn’t like this. That I could just trust you without feeling like a fool for taking the risk again.”

He reached for your hand with so much caution that you believed he would give up half-way.

Still it came and his fingertips rested on top of your hand. “I cannot undo the harm I have done to you, I know this now. I owe you the life you deserved instead of the one you were forced to live, by me, by Father, by your family…” His hand curled around yours gently. “I should have told you of Father’s order. I should have told you everything. It was selfish to keep it from you out of fear that you would turn away from me, a desperate act to try and hold on to what was between us. Because our friendship brought me a comfort I had never found before.”

A silence fell, heavy as his words sank into you.

He quietly spoke, “You were right. I wanted it all. To see Father proud. To have you near…” There was a short pause. “You did well to fight me off and flee, you took control over your future. And in the forest I was still too blind to see how bringing you back to Father would have led to the destruction of your soul. I was too blind… I am sorry.”

You had heard his voice break and he was trying not to let it show. “When we were locked in that room to face the storm, you promised me that I would have my freedom back. Was that a lie?”

He shook his head. “I wanted you to have your freedom.”

“But only after Carden got what he wanted from me. Because you couldn’t stand disappointing him.” you confronted him.

A silence fell over him, you could tell that he was thinking about what you had just told him.

Your voice was wavering when asking for a truth you feared to learn of, “Would you truly have been able to stand aside and watch as he made me into a weapon and forced me to use my magic against the Fey. To see him destroy me?”

He took a few seconds before he answered.

“Lancelot?”

His eyes fell shut. His answer was heavy. “No.”

He had imagined the situation for a moment. How you would have been forced to endure Father’s treatment, how your conscience would so quickly have destroyed your soul and the ruins it would leave. Even seeing you broken in his imagination was unbearable. He would not have been able to bear witness of it in reality either, his response to it would have led to his execution.

Your instinct believed him to be truthful, you could sense the remorse in him. Regret was all over his expressions. “Even if our friendship is real, I wish it was not born from Father Carden’s plan to manipulate me.”

He opened his eyes and leaned a little forward. “Then let us start anew. From where we are here and now. I will earn your trust and be worthy of it, I swear it.”

“We can try.” Even if it was to see if that spark of hope was right or wrong. “But how do we go from here?”

He asked for clarification, “What troubles you?”

“There is the fact that we are wed.” you pointed out the most obvious obstacle.

His hand released yours as he leaned back against his chair. “I know you do not consider this marriage to be true. But to me it holds value, I was taught such a union is sacred.”

This truly was a matter that needed to be discussed clearly it seemed. “You cannot ask of me to be a true wife. I never made any vows. This was decided by Father Carden, not me. I decide who I spend my time with.”

“I will ask nothing of the sorts of you.” He ticked his finger against the edge of the table to release some of the tension he must have felt. “What I mean to say is that I will keep to the promise of this union. I cannot decide for you to do the same, and I will not.”

What it meant was not clear. “Keep to the promise?”

He cleared his throat, still his voice wavered just slightly. “To be faithful.”

That was not an answer you expected to hear, it stunned you even. “I do not ask that of you. You are free to do as you please.”

His reply came quick, “It would please me to respect this union.”

This was an argument you would not win, that much was clear. “So, if you meet someone and fall in love with them, then what? You’ll tell them you will stay with a wife you do not even love, because of an arrangement that was forced on us?”

He went quiet and rubbed his knee a few times slowly.

You got the feeling that it had upset him somehow. Maybe you were being too harsh. “Do not let the Church have that power over you, Lancelot. Let yourself experience what it is like to not have to abide by rules of the scriptures.”

There was a hint of caution in his voice. “Would it be possible to discuss this if such matters arise in the future?”

An open discussion felt far more comfortable to deal with it. “That is alright.”

A breath of relief passed his lips. “I do confess I prefer us speaking like this. Calm, and open to hear what the other wishes to say.”

“I agree.” You hummed.

The jest came unexpected. “Without one of use setting our surroundings on fire.”

“Did you have to bring that up?”

“Is this not a matter we should discuss?”

“No.”

His curiosity won. “Were you aware that you could conjure up Fey Fire without the presence of normal fire?”

You saw the hint of genuine interest in his eyes. “I would have told you if I had known, considering I trusted you before all that. But I don’t feel like discussing this tonight, another time?”

He gave a nod. “What that man suggested tonight…” he could barely voice it, “Would you have done so had I not interrupted?”

That was a very personal thing to ask. “Spend the night with him?”

His eyes flickered away and focused on the wall beside him. He hummed.

You shook your head. “No. I barely know him. And I am not in the mood to crawl into bed with someone. I just want some peace and quiet.”

He moved his chair to stand. “Then we should head back to our room.”

“‘Our’?” you raised a brow.

Almost did he think you took offense, then he smiled when realizing it had been a jest. “Do not fear, I am not asking what the baker asked for.”

You scoffed but couldn’t hold in a soft laugh. “Good. Because I do not intend to ever consummate this marriage.”

His wit was sharp, “I thought I was the one who took the vow of celibacy.”

You got up from your chair too when he stood, too tempted not to get him a little flustered now that he opened that conversation. “I wonder if you have ever considered breaking that vow.”

It distracted him, he accidentally knocked his leg against the corner of the table and buckled over a little from the sharp pain that shot through his leg for a few seconds. Ouch.

You took hold of his elbow to support him. “That’s going to bruise.”

He nodded in agreement.

“Sorry. Did I distract you with my sinful question?” You bit back a grin.

“Yes.” he blurted out the truth.

It was to distract him from the pain. “Can I still expect an answer?”

He sounded mildly amused, “Why do you and Percival have so many questions for me?”

Was that not obvious? “Because when does a Fey ever get to stick their nose in a monk’s private matters?”

The pain lessened and he was able to start walking towards the stairs. It caught Amelia’s attention right away.

“Are you sure you do not need another room?” she called out after you.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” You politely declined. “We’ll share the room we have.”

She hummed, a grin on her face, her offer came out so casual, “I can rent you another room for an hour or so, if you need a moment away from that young one.”

Your friendly smile turned into a look of embarrassment at what she had meant. It took Lancelot a few seconds longer, and seeing your reaction, to realize the true meaning behind Amelia’s offer.

You fired back. “Like I said earlier, you can write books with that much imagination.”

Her thoughts were on her tongue. “I barely need to use my imagination. Look at how close you’re standing.”

Right away you and Lancelot looked to the gap there was barely present between you, he was the one who took a step to the side. Her boldness outmatched yours this time.

“Goodnight, Amelia.”

“Goodnight.” She waved a little, an arrogant gesture that suited her quite well.

When Lancelot did not move yet, you grabbed him by the arm and yanked at it until he followed. As you walked up the stairs and towards the room he questioned you on Amelia’s reaction.

“Do you speak of me to her?” he wondered out loud.

“Sometimes.” you admitted.

A corner of his mouth curved up. “What do you tell her?”

You hoped your honesty would scare away further questions he might have. “I have been trying to convince her that I am not bedding you.”

He let out something that sounded in between a scoff and a chuckle. “I suppose it is odd to see us here together. A monk sharing a room with a woman in an inn is prone to raise questions. And there is a child with us, there is enough seed for rumors to sprout.”

Your voice lowered the closer you got to the room. “Still, I hope she believes it. I don’t like it when people stare at me and I can just tell that they are forming opinions about me.”

He hoped to sooth that fear. “People will always form opinions, it is not our fault if they form the wrong ones. We should only concern ourselves over our own path and try to do the best that we can.”

Lancelot opened the door to the room quietly, Percival was snoring the night away as you stepped into the room with him. Wordlessly you exchanged looks with the Ash Man, he was trying not to laugh at how to boy laid sprawled out onto the bed of linen you had made for him. You returned to the heap of linen that you had made your own bed from on the ground. Speaking openly about your feelings had brought a great sense of relief, a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. It was worth it to try and see if this friendship could be saved, you certainly wanted to try.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Being up so late last night gave you it’s punishment for it the next morning, you were not aware that the sun had been up for quite some time already. Lancelot gently nudging you was what finally woke you up.

He smiled down at you. “I was starting to wonder when you would ever wake again.”

You grumbled something incoherent in your drowsy state, it only made him nudge you more. Even half-awake, you still registered just how unafraid he was to touch you. A squeeze to your shoulder, a few brushes of his hand over your arm and a risque pat to your hip.

He didn’t stop bothering you, knowing you’d fall asleep right away again. “You will have trouble sleeping tonight if you sleep longer. Come, up.”

It didn’t help when you tried to swat his hand away. He was persistent. “Ugh, gods! FINE!”

He chuckled and rose to stand. “I went and got us breakfast. Bread and a mixture of baked vegetables.”

The scent of the food in the room made you get up faster, you stumbled to the table to sit and eat. It was Percival who shoved your plate under your nose.

“Can I ask you something?” The boy eyed you curiously.

“Of course.” You took a bite of the bread.

Percival took a sip of water from one of the tankards on the table to flush down his breakfast. “Have you always known that you were a bit Fey?”

A bit Fey? It was endearing to hear how he worded that. That was quite a question to start your day. “I didn’t know for a while. I was five years of age when I first learned that I did inherit my mother’s Feyblood. I fell in the forest, a leaf of an ash tree touched my skin and I saw the marks appear under my eyes in a puddle of rain.”

Lancelot stood against the wall, drinking from a tankard of water whilst listening. This had been something you had not shared with either of them before.

“I hid it from everyone, you see… my family was not so good to me, I didn’t want them to know.” You tried your best to leave out the fact that you risked being sold at that age, or beaten to death. “When my half-brother, Cassian, found out I was part Fey, he traded me to Father Carden in exchange for his own life.”

“But that’s awful!” Percival uttered his dismay. “Your brother gave you to the paladins?”

You saw Lancelot grow a bit uncomfortable, but the boy had a right to know more about you. “Yes. And Father Carden ordered Lancelot to watch over me. We spend a lot of time together. Father Carden feared others would learn that Lancelot was Fey if they ever saw my markings appear, to prevent that from happening, he made us share a tent. And when my markings appeared no one else but Lancelot saw.”

Percival turned his head to look at the Ash Man. “They didn’t know you are Fey?”

“No. Only Father knew.” he admitted.

You continued explaining it. “The paladins thought I was Sky Folk. Father Carden lied to everyone to hide that Lancelot was Fey, because he knew the Church would see it as betrayal.”

Percival understood why and spoke to Lancelot. “He was using you to find our people… that is why he didn’t want anyone to know.”

Lancelot gave a nod, silently impressed with the boy’s ability to understand the situation so quick and well. “She kept my secret.” He took in a deep breath. “The day I decided to help you, something happened between her and I.”

Your eyes widened at him, and Percival looked at him with great suspicion.

It did not make him take it back. “I had upset her, and she lost her trust in me. Last night we discussed the matter and I hope to rebuild the trust between us. You have a right to know this, Percival. So you may understand that if at times she does not feel like speaking to me, she is not at fault. By allowing me to be here, and having helped me, she has shown a great amount of grace. For which I am very grateful.”

“What did you do?” Percival demanded to know.

You hadn’t expected the boy to react so fierce on your behalf and reached over to touch his hand to calm him. It did not help.

The boy was staring him down. “Well?”

Lancelot swallowed hard. “I was given the order to manipulate her into trusting me. Because she possesses the ability to create Fey Fire…. And I lied to her when I told her why Father Carden was interested in Fey Fire.”

“You what?!” Percival was dismayed and disappointed at the revelation, blinked and then looked at you. “Wait… what?!”

You send Lancelot a scolding look for being a little too honest towards the boy. The discussion that followed took a long time. Percival’s questions darted between you and the Ash Man. You got the Fey Fire questions and the ones about the Hidden, Lancelot received a scolding from the boy and tried to explain the situation as he had done to you. It was a heavy conversation, especially because both you and Lancelot tried to maneuver around certain parts that Percival might have been too young for to hear.

“Your father send sellswords after you?” Percival asked, elbows on the table and head resting in his hands.

“Paying them for it is perhaps the most coin he has ever spend on me.” you said bitterly. Even as you tried to make light of it, it still hurt, and Percival must have read it right from your face that it did.

The boy got up from his chair and wrapped his arms around you, it was what let your tears break free from the chains you had put on them. It felt freeing to let go of them, to acknowledge the pain they had held on to for so many years.

“My papa didn’t like me either.” Percival muttered against your shoulder. “He always wanted me to be stronger.”

You embraced the boy tightly, feeling Lancelot’s eyes on you from across the room. “We have each other now.”

Percival squeezed you a litter tighter, then let go. “So I can stay with you?”

Your eyes widened, as did Lancelot’s. “Wha-… of course. Were you worried about that?”

Percival gave a small nod. Lancelot looked troubled by it, he hadn’t been aware that the boy feared to be abandoned or send away by him.

“Percival.” He approached the boy. “I owe my life to your bravery, you do not have to be concerned that either of us will send you away.”

“He’s right. You’re stuck with us I’m afraid.” You grinned at Percival.

A careful smile formed on the boy’s face, he was not one to easily show his emotions to others. He took the moment to ask Lancelot, “If we stay together, will you show me how to fight like you did against the masked paladins?”

He immediately looked at you for permission, he was raised to fight but was this good for the boy to be taught too? With a nod you gave your opinion on the matter.

“I suppose I can demonstrate a few matters.” he carefully told the boy.

Percival was up on his feet not a second later. “Now?”

The amount of self-consciousness he suddenly felt was ridiculous. He was used to keeping in the shadows and was now asked to show what he could do.

You got up from the chair. “I’d love to stay and watch, but I need to go and fetch those herbs. Do try not to get wounded while I’m gone, I’ll still have to make that ointment.” As you passed Lancelot, you curled a hand around his arm. “Hey, when you feel strong enough and up for it, Amelia could use some help with the firewood outside the inn. She has asked if you could bring some of it inside the inn, but only if you feel well enough for it. Otherwise I’ll do it. Just let me know?”

He leaned into the touch. “I will do it.”

“Only when you feel well.” You were firm on that. “Don’t tear your stitches.”

His voice reached a warmth that not even he knew it could reach. “I am in good hands if they do tear.”

You let go of his arm, trying to understand the reaction in you at his words. Was it your imagination or had that truly bordered on being flirtatious? Surely it was just him teasing about it. “You won’t like my hands when I have to do all that work again.”

A dashing smirk curved his lips at the threat, he let you walk past him and to the door, ignoring how Percival was eyeing him with great suspicion. Then you were out of the room before one of them could offer to come along, and by the time you reached the stairs you could hear the sound of steel being drawn. With hope that Lancelot was careful enough not to accidentally harm the boy, you left the inn to search the woods for the herbs.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You had walked the distance to the woods, being on horseback would have been easier for paladins to spot you. Searching for the herbs was a good form of practise to train your nose to pick up vague scents. Not all herbs however had vague scents, some of them smelled strong enough that you barely had to bother using your sense of smell. After stashing your satchel full of them, you started to head back to the village. After only a few steps, you heard the warning whispers of the Hidden in your ear, a chill ran down your spine. With caution you kept walking, pretending that you were not alarmed by the feeling of being followed. You moved your hand to wrap it around the pommel of your sword. With each step, you tried to recall all you had learned from Lancelot to defend yourself. Leaves ruffled behind you and you started to run without looking back. The Hidden spoke the same thing over and over again.

    ~“Run. Run. Run…”~

    And you knew better than to question ancient deities when they were trying to warn you. Branches smacked into your arms and chest, bushes with thorns threatened to slow your legs down. But it was the sudden hit to your stomach with a thick branch, just as you ran past a tree, that made it all come to a halt. You stumbled and fell, grasping your abdomen as a dull pain seared through it. Nausea hit almost instantly, but there was no time to pay it any mind. The man attacking you was already trying to grab you. You kicked at his groin, missing it just barely, it was still enough to send him back a little. Up of the ground, you drew your sword just in time to defend yourself against his own.

“Your father is expecting you, Lady of Ravenwick.” he spoke in a threatening way and tried to disarm you.

For you it was the incentive to punch him in the face. The only thing he would be taking back to your father was your rotting corpse because he wasn’t going to take you back alive. Being struck made him ruthless, you struggled to keep your footing, then his sword cut through your sleeve and a sharp burning pain began on your arm. There was no time to inspect the damage, you were fighting for your life. He grabbed you by your other sleeve, again trying to steal your sword. A plan formed fast in your mind and you pretended to struggle and fail to keep hold of your sword. He grabbed your sword, believing he had won and you were defenseless. His victorious smile was wiped away when you sank your dagger into his neck. Blood poured out onto your hands and it came out even quicker when you pulled the dagger out again. Stumbling back from him, you watched him fall to the grass and choke on his own blood. A minute had passed before you realized you had not moved at all anymore. When you began to move again and picked up your sword, a heavy tiredness came over your body. Right away you knew it wasn’t good, there must have been something on the sellsword’s sword. Poison? The feeling increased with each step, your heart was hammering in your chest. It was as if you were in a strange dream, nothing felt real anymore. All you could do was go ahead on the familiar path and hope the feeling would pass soon.

Once you finally stumbled up the stairs in the inn, you realized you could not recall the walk to the inn nor arriving there. How much time had passed? It was a frightening feeling to experience. Your hand dragged along the wall for support whilst walking to the room. Fear had you in it’s hold. You opened the door, praying that it was the right one, and found Percival and Lancelot sitting at the table having a normal conversation. All you could hear were your own heavy deep breaths through your nose, still not enough air seemed to get into your lungs. Percival looked up at you shocked.

Lancelot whipped his head around to look at you, he was on his feet and getting closer not a second later. Distress filled his voice. “What happened?!”

Your tongue felt too heavy, your head too light. It wasn’t until he moved your cloak aside and touched your arm that you realized that blood had completely soaked the sleeve and it was dripping unto the floor. Everything felt so slow and so fast all at once. He was asking questions. Percival was asking questions. Somehow you were sitting on the bed all of a sudden, your sleeve was being cut off by Lancelot while Percival was hurrying around to get what Lancelot was asking him to fetch. Needle, thread, water… your mind failed to connect the items to their functions. You had started to lean forward a little too much, why else did the Ash Man move an arm around you to stop you from getting closer to the floor. You registered hooking your arm around his for support, holding on to it as if it was the only thing to hang onto in a rowdy sea. Your eyes closed for just a moment to avoid seeing the room sway. And it was the poison that decided not to let them open again.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten ​​  @the-great-adventures-of-me   @linkpk88   @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks ​​  @slytherlight   @beananacake ​​     @crystallizedtime ​​ @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart   @5am-cigarette   @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream   @coloursforyourportrait   @koressecretidentity   @nike90   @n1ghtlux ​​  @rachlovesactors ​​  @luckyzipperscissorsbat   @morena-doing-stuff   @the-fangirl-diaries ​​  @gipsydanger17   @heavenly1927 ​​ @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies     @stclairesplace   @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog   @beebeerockknot   @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[lvis44]

Cabin Fever - Pt. 3 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Lewis being an ass, allusions to mental health struggles, 18+ MINORS DNI, not edited

Word Count: 5.3k+

Summary: He's your Sister in Laws best friend, you shouldn't even have to deal with him. Always seeming like a cocky arrogant prick, and now here he is crashing your family Christmas. Can you handle a full week of Lewis Hamilton? Or might he not actually be as bad as he seems?

Notes: A bit more drama for you guys tonight but this is nothing compared to what we've got coming up, oopsie lol. Hoping to get the next part out quickly so it kinda aligns with the holidays in real time! I would also formally like to start an important conversation about why the hell this man only seems to own winter jackets the color of a highlighter (im sure it's for safety when snowboarding but pls). I love you all and I'm so happy you guys are enjoying our angsty little Christmas fic!

As always, I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy!

**italics are a jump back in time**

The moment you make your way downstairs the next morning you are ready to turn and run back up to your room. You can hear everyone in the kitchen already, much to your surprise. Their voices are much louder than you would have wanted but you carry on, aware that the only way you’re getting coffee is by showing your face in there.

“Well good morning sleepy head! I was wondering when you’d show up.” Your dad greets you warmly.

“Hey I was up long before any of you yesterday.” You argue as he pulls you into a side hug.

“I do believe I was up before you.” Lewis pipes up with a smirk.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” You grumble, trying to conceal the roll of your eyes but when you meet Lewis’ gaze you know you’ve failed, “I need coffee, lots of it.”

Tom laughs from over at the coffee bar where he seems to be making himself some sort of fancy espresso, “Coming right up.”

You thank him, taking a seat next to your brother at the island, watching the chaos ensuing on the other side of the kitchen. Your mother, Beatrice, and Vanessa are in what seems to be party planning mode. They’re rummaging through cupboards and running back and forth to the fridge, Vanessa has a notebook out creating some sort of list, Beatrice is loudly reading some recipe from her phone.

“How long has this been going on?” You ask the men at the counter, trying to keep your voice low.

“About twenty minutes, they’ve probably got another twenty in them.” Lewis says, picking up his coffee and watching the scene himself.

You let out a deep breath, already exhausted by the amount of energy flowing through the room, praying you don’t somehow get sucked into it as well.

“Y/N, thank goodness you’re up!” Vanessa says excitedly, finally noticing your presence on one of her trips around the kitchen.

“Good Morning.” You respond softly, trying not to allow any chance of being roped into whatever is going on.

“So,” Vanessa's voice comes out chipper and matter of fact as she puts her palms down on the counter, evidently ready to give you the full run down, “I felt so bad yesterday, I had so many things planned for a fancy breakfast and the weather just had to ruin it all so I really want to make up for all of it today. Thank you again for pulling that off yesterday, I was so grateful, but I want a big fancy family brunch, we haven't had one in so so long and I’ve been thinking about it since I started planning this trip. And I don’t want it to be our Christmas morning brunch, I want it to be its own special moment, ya know?”

You can tell that your eyebrows have gotten higher on your forehead with every word that she has said, speaking faster than you could ever comprehend at the early hour. You hear your brother take a deep breath from next to you as Lewis chuckles lowly.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful, very talented ladies doing the cooking.” Tom tells his daughter before setting a delicious smelling cup of coffee down in front of you, “Here you go Y/N.”

“Thank you, it smells fantastic.” You say sincerely, happily wrapping your chilly hands around the warm cup.

“It better, I brought my own beans and everything. That should be the best cup of coffee you’ve had in your life.” He tells you proudly.

“It was a phenomenal cup of coffee.” Lewis says with an amused smile on his face, one that Tom seems to read as more genuine than you think it really is.

“Very good, very very good.” Dylan is quickly agreeing.

“Now listen,” Vanessa’s voice is quick to grab your attention again, “you did such an amazing job yesterday with breakfast and then helping with all the storm cleanup,”

Before she can finish Lewis lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff, cutting her off, “I don’t know if I would call whatever she was doing yesterday helping.” His voice is muffled by the rim of his coffee mug but you can hear the cheek to his voice, more teasing than the jabby tone it usually carries for you, you assume it's because of the current company.

You open your mouth to defend yourself but your brother is joining in quickly, “I mean she made a valiant effort but I do think I have to agree with Lewis on this one.” He’s laughing as he pinches at your side.

You try to find the right words to argue your defense but you realize you really can’t, thinking back to your ways of helping the day before. 

You had started strong, initially heading out after breakfast to try to clean up all the branches that had been blown into the yard, that lasted for only twenty minutes before Lewis and Dylan were getting the plow and skidoo out of the garage. Once the big toys were out you had no more interest in your handheld rake and shovel. You had gone over to inspect the new fun equipment but were quickly shooed away by both Lewis and your brother, both claiming you were going to get in the way and possibly end up hurting yourself. You had accepted defeat, heading back to your sad pile of branches before once again getting quite distracted by the fun sound of the engine on the skidoo. You had done your best to act as if you were still working but you had ended up watching Lewis zip around the yard for much longer than you would have liked to admit. There was something about his level of both control and chaos behind the handlebars that scratched your brain just right and it irked you and brought you immense satisfaction all at once. Once your brother had gotten into the swing of plowing, Lewis following him down the hill to keep Vanessa's mind at ease, you had gotten back to your sad attempt at branch removal, by the time they made it back up to the house you were collecting your armful. 

“Y/N you do know that it’s been a full hour and you don’t even have enough sticks to make a mouse a campfire, right?” Lewis had taunted you when he saw you walking across the driveway as he removed his goggles, your brother laughing as he hopped out of the plow.

“Oh fuck off, at least I was doing something, you were just joyriding.” You said sassily, quickly changing course so you weren’t walking directly past him.

“I,” He started, his voice long and drawn out to dramatically make his point, “was keeping your brother safe. The buddy system is very important, you know.”

“A knight in shining,” You started to say but before you could get the whole sentence out you were falling flat on your ass, your abysmal stick pile flying everywhere.

“Woah Y/N, shit you alright?” Your brother was quick to react, leaving his open truck door to run over to you.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” Lewis huffed out, also quickly making his way over to you.

They had both been there within an instant, squatting next to you to make sure you were alright. Your brother was handling you like fine china even though he could tell you were okay, Lewis however was immediately giving you shit.

“You do realize we’ve been here for like twelve hours and this is the second time you’ve fallen in front of me, right?” The tone of his voice was unamused despite offering you his hand to help pull you up.

“I did not fall last night.” You had tried to defend yourself as he got you to your feet, your brother still giving you a worried look like he thought you had secretly broken something.

“Because I caught you.” He had quickly pointed out.

“Whatever.” You grumbled as you bent down to collect your stick pile, admittedly leaving a good half of them behind before once again heading toward your brother's brush pile off by the shed. Before you could even make it half way, a very well aimed snowball was colliding with your ass cheek, once again knocking the sticks out of your arms. 

“I am going to fucking kill you.’ You had exclaimed loudly, quickly gathering a large armload of snow to form into your own snowball before turning around and whipping it in their direction. You ended up hitting your brother, immediately feeling a little bad because you assumed it had come from Lewis in the first place. Lewis let out a cackle when the snowball hit your brother, evidently pleased that he hadn’t been the one to get in trouble.

“Oh hell no, that was meant for you.” Dylan had said, also laughing but incredibly serious, his own snowball already being packed tightly to whip at Lewis. Much to your pleasure, Dylan was much closer to Lewis and was much stronger than you so you could tell the impact didn’t feel amazing when it finally slapped into his chest.

“I just thought you should put some ice on it after that fall, I was trying to be helpful.” Lewis laughed as he put his arms up to guard himself from any further snowballs being sent his way. You and your brother exchanged a look, both of you loading up again, hurling snow in Lewis’ direction.

He screamed as he turned to run, his snow gear making him much less agile than he would normally be. He had finally found steady footing, his own snowballs being sent in both of your directions, all three of you in a fit of laughter. Somewhere along the line your alliance with your brother had crumbled, his snowballs being sent your way as well, no longer reserved for just Lewis. By the time you finally called truce you had all been absolutely soaked, your stomachs hurting from laughing so hard and your pile of sticks long forgotten. When you made your way back to the house you had found yourself very surprised at how playful and fun that time with Lewis had been but you decided that it must have been a bit of a fluke, knowing it wouldn’t last the rest of the day.

You try to think of a way to argue your defense but you have to admit to yourself that you really can’t, you truthfully didn’t do any actual storm cleanup yesterday.

“It’s the thought that counts, I tried.” You grumble into your mug as the two men laugh.

“Well, either way, you absolutely slayed it with breakfast and putting up with them,” Vanessa gives you a smirk, trying to take away their ammunition, “so I want you to just relax this morning, Moms and I will take care of all things brunch, you just enjoy the pretty scenery and your amazing coffee.”

You smile at her, mouthing a thank you, grateful that you are not expected to be part of the brunch circus that is unfolding in the kitchen before you. Your mother and Beatrice are still frantically figuring out if they have everything for some recipe that they have selected. You sit back, watching as Vanessa returns to her chaos with your mothers, seeming weirdly at home within it. Tom and your father begin loudly discussing just where Tom is sourcing his coffee beans, raising the volume of the kitchen just that much more. You go to turn to your brother, only to find him standing from his seat to rinse out his coffee cup. Lewis is grabbing his phone and eagerly taking a call, leaving the room rapidly. You let out a sigh, choosing to make your way into the den with your coffee, hoping for some level of peace in there. The room is cozy, a fire already going and a light snow falling outside the large windows. You try to settle into one of the plush couches but as you sit there you feel yourself growing more and more aggravated. On one side you can hear your family in the kitchen, all talking loudly about different subjects that don’t even meld together into anything coherent, on the other side you can hear Lewis’ muffled voice on the phone. You can’t actually make out anything that he’s speaking about but the low timbre is enough to be disruptive. You find it hard to believe that in a house of this size you can’t find any silence, yet here you are, you shouldn’t be shocked with it being your family. You decide you can only take so much and come to the conclusion that you would rather be out in the cold and quiet than in here with the chatter. You take your coffee and head off to the foyer to find your winter gear to bundle up, the better idea of just going to your room nowhere to be seen in your head. You get as cozy as possible, grabbing a blanket out of the den before heading back to the kitchen.

“I think I’m just gonna go sit out back for a little while and appreciate the view while I have my coffee.” You awkwardly announce as you make your way to the backdoor, raising your blanket in your hand as you do.

“That sounds absolutely lovely, enjoy yourself!” Beatrice exclaims, overly enthusiastic about your plans.

When you first step out of the house you begin to question your plans, the cold air immediately hitting your face and wrapping you in an unforgiving cocoon, but the moment the door closes behind you, you’re at peace. The door seals your family and their loud chatter away wonderfully, just the gentle howl of the wind and small noises of things falling in the forest left to be heard. You make your way across the covered deck, settling into one of the luxurious outdoor couches overlooking the large backyard and forest. You snuggle as far as possible into your blanket, trying to keep as much of your body heat as possible. You can feel a deep sigh leave your body as you take in your surroundings, admitting to yourself that as much as you hate winter, you do love the beauty of the blanketing of snow. You sit in silence for a while, just sipping your coffee and enjoying the peaceful way the world is waking up, the snow falling gently. It sadly doesn’t take long for your silence to be interrupted, the door opening behind you. You let out a huff when you see who is making their way outdoors.

“Ocupado.” You say sassily as you turn your attention back out to the view in front of you.

Lewis just scoffs, making his way over to sit on one of the couches near you.

“Seriously, I just need some silence. Do you have nowhere else to go?” You groan childishly, seeing him settling into his seat.

“I let you get warm in front of my fire yesterday, I think you can share the silence of your deck with me now.” He says, his voice just as sassy.

You go to argue with him, wanting to tell him that it’s not the same and his fire was in the den, a common area, but you quickly realize that this too is a common area that you have no monopoly over. You decide to bite your tongue, rolling your eyes as he settles deeper into the couch, pulling his phone out. You decide to do the same, feeling awkward staring into the trees now that you have company. It doesn’t take long before the first post from a friend is popping up on your feed. She is back in California, a small party dress on that would have you getting hypothermia here. The post is about a party that you had known would be happening, a fun Christmas get together with a bunch of your friends that you would have loved to have been at, carefree and ridiculous fun. You let out a huff as you scroll through her post, the fomo eating you alive as you do so.

“Thought you wanted silence.” Lewis grumbles from his spot at the sound of your huff, his voice already laced with annoyance. 

“So sorry to disturb you, your highness.” You fire back at him sarcastically.

“It’s just sir, I’m a knight, not technically royalty.” He replies, his voice so cocky that it makes you want to smack him, only stopping when you see the slightly teasing smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes again, not even having the energy to come up with something witty to say back to him in the moment.

“Seriously though, what’s got you in such a mood?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious, much to your surprise. 

“I’m not in a mood.” You mutter, burrowing further into your blanket, your attention back on your phone.

He lets out a chuckle at your response, “Yeah the huffing and puffing really sells that narrative well.”

“Oh shut up, you know I don’t particularly want to be here, just let it go.” You say quietly, not wanting your family to hear your disdain for your surroundings.

“I know, and me being here probably isn’t helping that, but it seemed like there was something else going on. Thought you saw something that was upsetting you.” He says casually, shrugging like it’s a normal conversation for the two of you to be having.

You’re taken aback by his casual and genuinely curious nature, not being used to anything like this from Lewis. It takes your guard down, quicker than it should. You let out a sigh, deciding, against your better judgement, to confide in him a little bit. You know he could come back with some level of snippy remark but you were prepared for that, maybe he would actually have a normal conversation with you for once. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but seeing everyone enjoying their lives as adults and doing what they want, where they want, I don’t know, it’s just driving me a bit insane.” You divulge, not getting your point across in quite the way you meant to.

He raises an eyebrow at you, evidently rather confused by what you mean, “I mean, you’re an adult, you spend 99% of the year doing what you want, where you want. What’s the problem?”

You just shake your head, deciding to instead show him the post that caused the initial huff. You watch as his brows furrow while he scrolls through the instagram post you handed him. Quickly his face turns from curious to judgemental. It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he finally hands you your phone back.

“So you’d rather be back in the smog of LA where you can’t even tell it’s Christmas, dressed in a skimpy dress with your friends? You’d prefer that to fresh mountain air, a white Christmas, and your family that loves you?” His tone is belittling as he reads the situation completely incorrectly, his questions coming out more as statements, as if nothing that you say now will change his mind.

Your jaw drops at the accusation, a loud scoff leaving your throat as you snatch your phone back from him, “How dare you, that was not the point I was trying to make.” You begin to argue before he’s cutting you off.

“You see those people all the time Y/N, how often do you see any of your family?” He raises his brow in challenge but doesn’t give you time to formulate a response before he’s carrying on, “We all know you don’t want to be here, just suck it up, a little bit of winter mountain air and family time isn’t going to kill you.” He doesn’t wait for a rebuttal, he just stands from his seat as if he’s just finished reprimanding a child and walks away, back inside.

He leaves you in your seat, silent and fuming but also leaving you feeling a tad guilty. He is correct, you don’t want to be here, but it has nothing to do with you preferring to be out in a skimpy dress in LA, it’s about your freedom. Having the freedom to do as you please and be where you want, something you haven’t had a ton of in your life. You hate that everyone knows that you would prefer to be somewhere else, making you feel as if you’re almost a burden. You hate that Lewis feels that he has the right to make such deep assumptions about you and treat them as fact and you hate even more that he feels he has the right to lecture you based on those assumptions. 

You end up staying out on the back deck much longer than you had originally planned, only finally making your way back indoors when Vanessa announces that brunch is served. You do your best to ignore him, not even looking in his direction. Instead you spend most of brunch quizzing Vanessa on things about her brunch that in all honesty you aren’t particularly interested in, but listening to Vanessa explain how he gets her eggs to fluffy is much better than having to even think about dealing with the man sitting at the other end of the table.

It irks you that you can hear him chatting so freely and happily down the table, as if he hadn’t accosted you on the porch mere hours beforehand. You find yourself already making a plan for escape before you’ve even cleared your plate.

Avoiding him throughout the rest of the day ends up being shockingly easy. You take an extra long time getting ready before helping Vanessa and your mom with some last minute gift wrapping. You can’t help but laugh when you see that Vanessa's “last minute stuff” actually appears to be a majority of her gifts, but you don’t complain, knowing it will take up more of your time, and in turn help in your game of avoidance. You can hear Lewis chatting off in the distance, your father quizzing him eagerly on his car collection after hearing he added something new. Lewis gushed with ease, thoroughly entertaining your fathers questions and while it could be considered a nice conversation you felt like it sounded arrogant, flashy. 

“Boys and their toys.” Your mom muttered with a laugh, also listening to bits of the conversation, your father now seemingly showing Lewis photos of a car he had back in the nineties.

“Tell me about it, I couldn’t for the life of me get Dylan out of that plow truck when we first bought it and the snow hadn’t even fallen yet.” Vanessa exclaims, shaking her head.

You just laugh as you lean back to stare out the window for a moment, admiring the way the world is beginning to turn blue as the sun goes down. As if he’s noticed it getting dark at the very same moment, Dylan is bursting into the room talking about Christmas lights.

“Get out, we are not finished in here Mr.” Vanessa is quickly squealing, throwing her body in front of the few remaining unwrapped gifts.

“Okay, okay,” Dylan laughs, throwing his hand over his eyes before continuing, “What I was saying is the lights in the forest look like they stayed up through the storm! It’s getting dark so I was hoping we could all take a walk out there, it’ll be beautiful.”

“That sounds nice Dyl, give us just a little time to get ready.” You say softly, eager to see the lights that have your brother so excited.

“Sweet, I’ll go let the guys know.” He says like a little kid, whipping around to go inform them of the new plans.

“He made an absolute wonderland out there, you guys are going to love it.” Vanessa says, already standing up to collect the remaining wrapping paper, shoving things away like she’s now on a time crunch.

You take that as your sign to go change and get ready for a winter walk. When you go to head upstairs you finally cross paths with Lewis who seems to be headed to his own room, you pause for a moment before flicking your gaze away and trying to move past him.

“Joining us on the walk?” He asks, his voice cold, sounding like he’s expectant of a no.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” You waver slightly, caught off guard that he had any words for you at all. You wished your voice had come out stronger, not wanting him to feel like he had any sort of upperhand, that he had gotten under your skin.

He does actually look surprised, his eyebrows twitching up in a certain judgemental look of disbelief before he is once again turning on his heel. He doesn’t say a word, just walks away to his bedroom.

When you make your way back downstairs, everyone is there and waiting. Dylan is animatedly explaining how he set up with power for the lights and how they follow all of the groomed paths in a certain pattern. Once he notices that you’re there he is directing everyone to follow him to the back yard, still explaining his tree lighting process on the way. You can’t help the grimace that leaves your body when you step outside, the temperature having dropped drastically since you were out here earlier. You try to just burrow further into your coat, not wanting to complain after being made so aware of your attitude earlier today.

As you wander the paths you find yourself mesmerized, Vanessa was right about the absolute wonderland of it all. The glittery lights look like stars, spanning higher up trees than you would like to think about your brother being, but regardless they are breathtaking. You find yourself falling away from the group a bit, too caught up in admiring the gorgeous trees and trying to keep as much of your warmth in as possible. Your family carries on walking, unaware of your sudden slow pace, Lewis however seems to notice and slows down himself. So much that you almost trip over him, having been blissfully unaware of his presence.

“You okay?” He asks you when you’re steady on your feet.

“I’m just fine Lewis.” Your voice is as cold as the outdoor air as you avoid looking in his direction.

“Well, from where I’m standing, you’re shaking like a leaf.” His tone has lost its earlier harshness but still carries that bit of arrogance as you catch him smirking at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Just wore the wrong jacket, I’ll be fine.” You argue, keeping your voice short but still pulling your thin jacket tighter. You're mentally cursing yourself for not having worn your puffer.

“Do you want to head back? I’ll walk with you.” His offer catches you off guard, his voice sincere and almost kind as he continues to stare at you, the smirk gone.

“I’m fine,” You say yet again, your voice slightly quieter now, “Dylan worked hard on this, I’ll survive.”

Just as you once again reiterate your argument a gust of wind comes through, picking up the loose snow and blowing it around you sending yet another chill directly down your spine. Lewis evidently notices the cold seeping deeper into your bones, taking it upon himself to make the decision. 

“Y/N and I are gonna head back to the house, she’s getting a little too cold, gonna get her something warm, we’ll see you guys in a bit.” He yells ahead to your family against your will. 

“Oh, hun, are you okay?” Your mother is immediately concerned.

“I’m fine, I’m not going back.” You start to insist but Lewis is stepping in yet again.

“She’s fine, just wore the wrong jacket. The lights look amazing Dylan, well come see them when she’s warmed up.” Before you can say anything he’s starting to usher you back down the path, Dylan is thanking him and Vanessa is telling you where to find more blankets. 

Lewis is guiding you down the path, his body close against your back and his grip firm on your waist as if you don’t know the way. You hate the way he is manhandling you but you have to admit you are relishing in the warmth coming from the proximity. You don’t allow it to go on for too long, wrenching yourself out of his grip once you’re far enough away from your family. You pick up your pace, both in a show of defiance and actually quite wanting to get back to the warmth of the house. You hear him let out a scoff behind you as you throw your little tantrum.

The heat of the house is immediately welcoming, wrapping around you like a hug the moment you open the door. You take a moment to let the heat sink into your bones before even moving to remove your jacket. Lewis stands there watching you for a moment, just shaking his head before taking off his own large puffer.

“What?” You groan, assuming he has a comment to make.

“You know sub zero temps usually require a little more than a flimsy fashion jacket from the mall, right?” His voice is laced with judgement again, the kindness from the forest long gone.

“Oh, would you just fuck off!” You finally properly snap, whipping your head to face him.

““I’m just saying you’re a grown adult and you’re acting like winter is gonna kill you, you can’t even prepare for it” His response is quick, his tone just as snippy as yours, dripping with arrogance.

“I have a fucking parka in my room, I didn’t know how cold it was.” You throw back at him.

“Mmm sure, or you just wanted to look good for the little walk.” He accuses you, his tone condescending.

“Look good for who? I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere!” You fully yell at him, finally done with his jabs.

He ignores the question, his voice raising but not yet actually yelling, “Have you ever considered that maybe it’s good for you to be in the middle of nowhere once in a while?”

“I do not need some asshole who doesn’t even know me giving me fucking life advice, thank you very much.” You snap, no longer yelling but your voice is harsh.

“Well maybe you do because from where I’m standing you would rather be back in LA partying with your friends to post on Instagram than at your brother's beautiful new house with your whole family that loves you. They fucking want you here and you get to fucking see them, stop acting like its pulling fucking teeth for you to be here.” He actually yells this time, momentarily stunning you.

“Why do you even fucking care so much?” You just about scream, praying that your family is still far away from the house. The two of you haven’t even made it out of the foyer yet.

He just stares at you, his eyes hard and his chest heaving slightly. He opens his mouth before quickly snapping it shut, finally letting out a long, deep sigh. “Ya know what, I guess I fucking don’t. Go take a hot shower before you get fucking hypothermia.” He finally mutters harshly as he storms out of the room, his bedroom door slamming shut not long after.

You stand in the foyer, staring down the hallway where he disappeared, still dressed in your winter jacket. You can feel the tears pricking in the back of your eyes, immediately pissing you off that they can be caused by even Lewis. You bite lips, willing the tears to stop, but then you realize, there it is.

It finally feels like Christmas.

[itsmeemeg-fandomsandfics]

“So…” Jayce attempted to fill the awkward silence as the pair walked through the crowded streets of Zaun. Ever the gentleman he had offered to carry Elvie’s bag for her, surprised that all of her belongings could fit into one measly messenger bag. “Have you lived in the undercity your whole life?”

“Mhm.” Elvie nodded, only half listening to the man beside her. “Born and raised. It’s not so bad, believe it or not.”  

Jayce raised an eyebrow, sidestepping a vendor shouting about glow-ink tattoos. “Not so bad? Guess that depends on your definition of 'bad.'”

Elvie chuckled, the sound soft but genuine as she gazed up at the tall man beside her. “You get used to it after a while. Besides, we’ve got our own kind of charm down here. I mean, there's a reason the brothels stay open, even the enforcers can’t say no to Babette and her charms.”

Like a child caught by his mother, Jayces face flushed a deep shade of red at the mention of the undercity brothels. Awkwardly he cleared his throat and readjusted the bag hanging off his shoulder. 

“I forgot topsiders could be such prudes.” Elvie snickered, hand covering her mouth to suppress the smirk that was pulling at the corners of her lips. Jayce was easy to mess with, more so than the average topside citizen she had come across. 

Jayce huffed, his face still glowing red. “I’m not a prude. I just… have standards.”

“Standards?” Elvie quirked an eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Let me guess: polite conversation over tea, a strict bedtime, and absolutely no mention of anything worthwhile, right?”

Jayce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Sure, sure. What do you wanna talk about?” 

“How do you know Viktor?”

Sucking on her teeth, Elvie stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the faint silhouette of Piltover’s skyline, barely visible through the smog that hung heavy over Zaun. The towering spires gleamed faintly in the polluted haze, a stark contrast to the rust and grime of the Undercity.

Her chest tightened as she stared upward. Viktor was there. He had been for years, living in that world of progress and prosperity. And yet, in all that time—nearly seven years—she hadn’t seen him. It killed her to think about it. 

“We grew up together, what more is there to it.” So much more, but she wasn't about to go spilling her entire history to the man before her. This was a chance to move forward and start anew, dredging up the past would hardly do any good.

Jayce- a few steps ahead turned to look at his companion, surprised to see she was several paces behind him. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

Before Elvie could answer, shouting from further down the street caught her attention. The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight as she turned towards the source of the noise. It dawned on her that this was not the usual kind of bickering one could expect while walking through the market, this was different, harsh- dangerous. 

The crowd around them had all but disappeared, the bustling energy of the main street giving way to a darker, eerie atmosphere. The faint hum of machinery echoed off the walls, and the flickering lights overhead cast jagged shadows across the alleyways. 

Bright green spray paint littered the rusted exteriors of abandoned shops. Creating crass illustrations of a bald man with a wide smile and spirals for eyes .The face seemed to leer at them, repeated in various sizes and angles, as though the figure were watching their every move.

“Keep your head down,” In two long strides Elvie had managed to catch up to Jayce and was tugging her bag off his shoulders. “And for the love of god lose the jacket.”

Jayce looked around, his unease showing on his face. “Where are we

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes scanning their surroundings. “Nowhere you want to linger,” she muttered, her hand subtly shifting closer to the knife tucked into her belt. Elvie’s voice hardened as her gaze returned to Jayces figure, still clad in his pristine academy white. “I said loose the jacket, now.” 

Jayce blinked, confused. “What? Why?” Wordlessly he shuffled out of the academy jacket, a symbol of his status as a topsider. Awkwardly Jace shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with it now. 

“Because it screams Piltover,” Elvie snapped, nodding her head towards a nearby dumpster. “Now dump it.” 

Jayce glanced at the dumpster overflowing with trash, and then back at her. “You want me to just—throw it in there?”

Rolling her eyes Elvie bit back a sarcastic remark. “Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. Unless you want to be jumped by Rourke or his goons? Now stay close and keep your eyes down.” 

Reluctantly Jayce tossed his jacket atop the pile of garbage, watching as the garment almost instantly sucked up the top layer of grime and staining it a disgusting shade of brown. “Happy?”

“Very.” Elvie replied flatley, already moving forward. 

The silence that followed them was suffocating. Every skittering of garbage down the street or hissing of an alley cat causing Elvie to grip her knife a little tighter. Every couple of steps she had to force herself to look back at her companion to ensure he was still following diligently behind her. 

Only once before had Elvie had the displeasure of finding herself in Rourke’s neighborhood- The Maw, years ago when she was much younger. The place was infamous, a part of the city even the most hardened of Zaun’s criminals avoided unless they were desperate. It was a part of the city where people had a tendency to go missing. 

She could still remember the terror that had filled her all those years ago walking the same empty streets. She had been desperate back then and had exhausted all other options before turning to Rourke for information.

A high pitched whistle grounded her back in reality.The shrill sound cut through the stale air of the Maw, snapping Elvie out of her reverie. Her muscles tensed, and her hand instinctively went to the blade at her side, eyes scanning the street ahead.

The sound was followed by the faint scrape of boots against metal. Someone was coming.

Her heart quickened as the figure stepped into view. A man, tall and stocky, with a scar running down the left side of his face, wearing a patched-up leather jacket. His gaze locked onto hers almost immediately, and Elvie felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. He wasn't alone—two more figures emerged from the shadows behind him, their movements deliberate and calculating.

“Well, well, well.” Rourke taunted, dropping his cigarette and grinding it beneath his boot. “I haven’t seen you round here in quite a while. Where's the cripple? The two of you were stuck like glue. He finally bite the bullet?”

“I don't want any trouble, Rourke, just makin' a delivery for the shop,” Elvie lied smoothly, pulling one of the bottles she had stolen from work before leaving. She held it out, shaking it slightly to catch the light, hoping it would distract them from her true intentions.

Rourke’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he took a step closer, inspecting her face with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

“Delivery, huh?” he repeated slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. His gaze flicked down to the bottle, then back to her. "In The Maw?"

Before she could answer, one of the men behind him piped up, his voice sharp and inquisitive. "Who’s your friend?"

“A replacement, “ Forcing herself to breathe steady, Elvie answered. “Since Vik’s not around anymore.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” The shock Jayce had felt at the man's sincerity was quickly replaced with fear as Rourke turned to him with a sneer. “What's your name, friend?

“Jayce.” Jayce answered, throat tightening as he choked out his own name.

Rourke’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Jayce, huh? You don’t look like someone who belongs here. You sure you’re in the right place?"

Elvie tensed, instinctively stepping closer to Jayce, but Rourke raised a hand, signaling for her to stay back. His eyes never left Jayce’s.

"Not many folks wander into The Maw without something to hide," Rourke continued, his voice dripping with malice. "So, tell me, Jayce... What's a Piltie doing in my turf?”

There was a flash of silver as Rourke’s right hand- Ziggy, lunged forward with his blade raised high. With a moment to spare Elvie jumped back as the knife sliced through the air where she had just been standing. Her shoulder slammed into the wall behind her but there was no time to be hindered by pain. Using the fact that she was much more nimble than the men surrounding her Evlie used the wall to launch herself towards Jayce, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back the way they came. 

“Run!” She shouted.

Jayce did not need to be told twice. 

The men in pursuit howled with laughter as they chased the pair down the narrow streets. The sound of boots pounding against the cobblestones echoed through the alleyways, mixing with the frantic footsteps of the fleeing duo. Elvie, breathless, glanced over her shoulder at the group of rough-looking men gaining on them. They were getting closer, their cruel jeers carrying in the damp air.

Grabbing a trashcan next to a bar's backdoor, Elvie hurled it into the path of her pursuers with the hopes of at least slowing them down. The streets continued to twist before them, growing harder and harder to maneuver in. 

 A hand ghosted over the exposed skin of her shoulder threatening to pull her back and into the arms of danger. Instinct took over, within a split second the knife that had been tucked into her belt this whole time was slicing through the air. Rourke howled in pain as the blade made contact with flesh. For a split second the men pursuing them hesitated- startled by their bosses' cries. 

Using the hesitation to their advantage Evie grabbed Jayce once again, pulling him behind a corner he had failed to notice. Hopefully their pursuits had failed to notice it as well. She pressed her back against the rough stone wall in an attempt to hide within the shadows. Not once did she allow her grip on Jayce to loosen. 

“Don't move.” She whispered, voice barely audible as the thrumming of her heart threatened to give their hiding spot away. 

Wide eyed Jayce nodded, his chest heaving. The adrenaline that had gotten them this far had quickly disappeared, replaced with a heavy blanket of exhaustion. The heavy drumming of boots on the ground drew closer and Elvie could hear their pursuers bickering amongst themselves . 

“Spread out, I want that brats head.”

“Yes sir.”

“On it.

“Won't let you down boss.”

The goons shouted over each other, voices dangerously close. Elvie was sure that if she dared to peek around the corner she’d find herself nose to nose with Rourke once again. Shadows danced on the opposite wall, large and imposing as they darted past the pair's hiding spot before disappearing further down the road. 

Next to her Jayce shuffled, prematurely attempting to push himself out of the shadows to get the two back on track. Swiftly Elvie placed a palm on the man's chest pushing him back against the wall and silencing his protests with a glare. Not wanting to risk drawing attention back to the alley she hoped Jayce could understand what she was trying to convey- wait.

Minutes ticked by- uncomfortably long as they remained unmoving. The air seemed to grow more heavy and oppressive if that was even possible as Elvie and Jayce struggled to catch their breath. 

“I- I think we’re in the clear.” Whipping the sweat from her brow Elvie turned to Jayce, offering him a lopsided smile. “If we backtrack and cut through the fissures we should make it to the streetcars in twenty minutes, thirty tops.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath as he nodded. “They won't be waiting for us there?”

“No,” She sighed. “Too many enforcers. Rourke’s tough but he's not stupid.” 

Jayce looked at her for a moment, his face caught between doubt and trust, before giving a small nod. "Alright. Lead the way."

It didn't take much backtracking for the pair to find themselves on friendlier streets. The labyrinth of Rourkes territory makes way for wider streets bustling with dimly lit apartments on either side. The lack of green spray paint confirmed they were free of The Maws grasp. 

Slowing her pace Elvie looked back at Jayce who had been following no more than a step behind her. “Told you we’d make it.”

Awkwardly Jayce chuckled, his heart rate still elevated from their close call. “You're sure they won't come this far? 

“Positive.”

By the time they finally made it to the street cars night was beginning to creep along the horizon. Tired enforcers stood around chatting with each other. One had even decided to take his break early, seated on a stack of crates with his flask open and half empty.

“Last call to go up to the bridge.” A female enforcer shouted, unnecessarily so as they were the only ones around this late. Next to her Jace said something but Elvie had been too distracted to actually hear what he had said. How could she when the beginning of her new life was only a few steps ahead of her. 

Piltover's gilded gleam stretched before her, both beautiful and imposing. How many times had she stared up at the city, wishing she could claw her way up and join them. To breathe in air that didn't burn her lungs with every breath. To indulge in fancy foods and imported wines. All of it had felt like nothing more than a childhood dream and yet here she was. 

Despite the fact that they were still technically in Zaun, Elvie could already feel the difference around her. Piltover's influence lingered, blurring the lines between the city of progress and the harsh edges of the undercity. The streets were cleaner, the air less suffocating. She really was on the precipice of something great. 

“Ready to go?” Jayce reappeared out of nowhere, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly at the touch, muscles still wound tight from the earlier confrontation. Turning to him Elvie gave a playful punch to Jayces shoulder.

“Scared the crap outta me there.”

“Sorry,” Jacye chuckled, hand dropping to his side. “We should get going, I’m sure Viktors wondering what's taking us so long.” 

The thought of Viktor waiting for them, for her all the way up in Piltover brought a smile to Elvies face. She could almost picture him now- features sharper from age, staring intensely at the clock while he tapped his cane impatiently on the floor. Had he missed her just as much as she missed him? Five years was a long time, surly over the years he had made new friends. Yet he had sent for her, with a proposal so grand it would change the world. 

Throwing one last glance at the platform before her, Elvie bid her home, her city farwell and stepped onto the street car. The doors hissed behind her as they closed, sealing the pair in with a soft metallic thud. Slowly the street car began its accent bringing Elvie one step closer to her new life. 

It was odd seeing the undercity from such a height. From the streetcar’s elevated tracks, Elvie looked down at Zaun stretching out beneath her, a labyrinth of metal and smoke, its disarray laid out like a tangled web. The city sprawled below in a chaotic mix of rusty rooftops, smoke billowing from forgotten vents, and twisting alleys that seemed to disappear into the depths of the earth. There was no neat order here—no carefully laid-out plans, only the wild, desperate surge of life clinging to the city’s bones.

“Saying goodbye?” Jayce asked, his voice soft yet teasing. 

Elvie scoffed with an equal playfulness, “More like good riddance.” 

Piltover was waiting for her, Viktor was waiting for her. The thought settled in her chest like a spark, warm and comforting. Elvie wasn’t just leaving Zaun behind—she was moving toward something new. A future she once believed was nothing more than a childish dream. The contrast between the girl she had been and the woman she was becoming wasn’t lost on her.

The streetcar continued on, widening the distance between her and Zaun. Zaun had been harsh, unforgiving, and yet it was hers. The struggle, the fight to survive—it had made her who she was. Piltover was a new chapter, a chance for her to be a part of something worth the city of progress. More importantly Viktor would be there with her every step of the way just like when they were children

With a steadying breath, Elvie tore her gaze away from the fleeting cityscape. Piltover was no longer just a distant dream—it was where she was going, where she was meant to be.

And she was ready.

[vikkirosko]

⚾️ Scout x Reader Oneshot Welcome back 🍗

Scout returned home in high spirits. There were many reasons for this. He would finally finish his job, he would see his family again, and he would see you again. And now you were sitting on the roof of the house where your apartments were, and just looking at the night sky, which was so very different from the one he was used to seeing over the years.

You've known each other for a long time. When you were both younger, you spent a lot of time together, running around the city, finding things to do. You watched him play baseball, Jeremy tried to teach you how to play a few times, and then you laughed together when you couldn't do it. He considered you his best friend, and for a long time he was sure of it.

When he started working as a mercenary, as soon as he had the opportunity, he got to the phone with Sniper and called you. You could talk for hours about nothing, and only when Sniper reminded him that it was time for them to leave, he was forced to interrupt your conversation. He told his colleagues about you, and the more they heard about you, the more they realized that Jeremy's feelings for you were different from friendly ones. Now he understood it himself.

Looking at you lying on the cold concrete next to him, he realized that he was really in love with you. He understood that he was in love with your smile, your laugh, the way you sang along to your favorite songs from the radio, how you took care of him when he was injured or ill. He loved everything about you, but it took him a long time to realize his own feelings, which now seemed so obvious that it began to seem ridiculous to him that it took him so long.

When you heard him laugh, you turned to him and smiled a little.

"Did you remember the joke? Will you tell me?"

Scout turned to you and smiled wider.

"I love you"

You looked at him in surprise, as if waiting for the moment when he would laugh and say that it was just a joke or say that he loves you as a friend, but when that moment did not come, a blush appeared on your cheeks.

"You're not joking?.."

"Nah, I'm being completely serious."

He smiled wider, feeling a blush appear on his cheeks. His heart was beating faster than usual. He was glad that he finally told you how he felt. However, his face showed surprise when you leaned forward a little and lightly kissed him on the lips. That kiss only lasted a couple of seconds, after which you pulled away, smiling at him sheepishly.

"I'm glad… I'm really happy about it…"

Jeremy leaned forward and hugged him tightly. When he felt your hands on his back, his smile widened.

"So we're together now?"

"It turns out that yes"

"That's cool! I am sure we will be happy together! We will live in a cozy house, visit our families, especially since my mother already knows you and for her you are already part of the family!"

You smiled softly as you listened to him talking quickly and enthusiastically about your future together.

"And the children! A few kids!"

You laughed softly, stroking his back.

"That sounds great…"

Silence fell between you again. Jeremy was happy that you two had such a wonderful future ahead of you.

"Hey, Jeremy…"

"Hmm?"

You kissed the tip of his nose and smiled.

"Welcome back"

Scout felt happy. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly happy. He felt like he was exactly where he should have been a long time ago.