#*side eyes chapter she'd been editing*

[nectardaddy]

BITTER . . . kyotani “mad dog” kentaro + f! reader

                     𖥔    CHAPTER FIVE : WEEZER    𖥔

warnings : 17+ to read, language, addiction, violence + fighting, blood, no beta not edited we die like men

She looks at him like she wants to kill him, eyes wild with hate. He almost smiles when she takes a step towards him, challenging him and questioning him - not a single ounce of fear. But there's something in her eyes behind the spite and loathing, he notices when he meets her gaze. Pain. 

Unrelenting and outright anguish. 

There's a small piece of him that feels bad for her, with blood dripping down her face from a nosebleed and firing questions at him like she's lost her mind. The majority thinks she should've chosen her friends better, because Yaku was the bottom of the barrel in his eyes. 

Yaku has anger issues worse than him, flies off the handle for no damn reason and takes it out physically on others. He's a junkie and an alcoholic, his pupils are blown and he smells like booze every time he slinks through the basement door. And he's got a bad habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Kyotani was glad to have a reason to put the rat in his place. 

He's down to the butt of his cigarette, so he throws it on the ground and steps on it. The paper crumbles beneath his boot and the ashes stick to the pavement. But he fishes out another just as soon as he does, because he knows the conversation to be had is going to shoot him in the foot. 

He opens the pack with a breath, and she looks at him like he's crazy. The only crazy one here is berating him with questions with blood dripping from her nose and down her face. “Here,” he offers her a cigarette and it only pisses her off more. 

“You say the most cryptic shit ever, then want me to fucking smoke with you, asshole?” There's a bite to her question that he ignores, shrugs it off as he puts the cigarettes back in his pocket. 

“He's not dead if that's what you're asking?” Kyotani has a way with words. His way was to be blunt and to the point, if it triggered others then that was no one's fault but their own.

He watches her pause a second. Her jaw is tight and she's balled her fists by her sides. Her eyes are wild and narrowed, pupils dilated from the sun, and brows scrunched that screwed her face into a look of outright hate. She'd be scary if she actually knew how to fight - even to him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She spits, “what the fuck did you do?” 

He cuts his eyes over to her once more before ashing his cigarette. “Your little friend runs his mouth too much.” He puts the cigarette to his lips and pulls, and smoke leaves his nose as he blows out. “You'd be surprised by the shit he doesn't tell you.” 

There's a split second where her eyes show a portrait of despair and hurt. As if she just watched a friend stab her in the back and smile as the blood pooled at her feet - in a way, it was just that. But the man knew better than to think the betrayed emotion in her eyes would last. They were in the same class after all. 

“Ever wonder how he has the funds to get all those drugs?” He's relaxed when the words leave his lips, calm despite the storm he's willingly riling beside him. The woman has a faux sense of fragility she kept herself cocooned around, chalking herself up to others as meek and standoffish. But Kyotani isn't an idiot, and saw right through it the second their eyes met five days ago. “He gets paid to beat the shit out of people.”

He's been trying to set her rage off its chain the whole damn time. 

This time he can feel the difference when he speaks. Feel how her eyes bore into him, how she's long forgotten about her nosebleed or where she is, how she allowed her festering rage to root in her chest. “Comes in every night, high or drunk out of his mind, running his damn mouth and itching for a fight.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Mad Dog.” Even her voice sounds different than the last time she spoke. No longer tiptoeing the anger, but letting it engulf her as the words ripped him to shreds.

His eyes flick over to her, and he takes the cigarette from his lips in between his fingers. “But you wanna know what happens to rats?” She's teetering on her feet, and the corners of his lips peak up at the notion. “They fucking rot."

He knows what happens next, he plays the game time after after. The only surprising thing is that she let him finish the damn sentence before rearing back. Almost immediately after his words hit her ears, her fist connects to his jaw. 

One fluid motion before she finds her footing again and her chest is heaving. So much rage makes a person forget how to breathe. 

He doesn't stumble back, but the rings she wears makes his skin sting. There's a silence after she punches him. Where she looks at him like a predator and he's the prey; but the look runs cold when he doesn't even hold his jaw. He doesn't even care. 

“Hit me like you fucking mean it, Weezer, not that pussy shit.” 

“Fuck off somewhere, you useless jackass!” There's a crack in her voice when she yells at him, finally throwing all regard to the wind and facing him head on. He sees her pupils are dialed in, locked on. He was her target. 

The community center was empty at this point. Everyone there had left from the class, filed out amidst their exchange of words and she hadn't even noticed. But he did. He waited to crawl under her skin and latch once every single person in the shit hole was gone. No one calls the pigs when the building is vacant. 

She's close to him now, having stepped over just before her fist connected with his jaw, and he takes that opportunity to look her over. To size her up amidst her fury. The pain in her eyes was long gone, now replaced with a white hot rage that hurt to the touch, but they were dark regardless and tired. Dried blood clung to her nose and face, the bleeding had finally stopped but now she just looked like a mess. 

Every breath she took he could feel, labored as the heat of the moment made it hard to take a full inhale. But every exhale he was met with the faint smell of cinnamon and smoke, ingrained in her hair and skin. It was subtle, barely there, but it mixed with the outdoors that clung to her clothes.

Her hoodie sleeve was stained with blood, a pool of it blotting the cuff and already seeping into the stitching. He could tell it was old, over worn, and well loved regardless. But it didn't hold the sentimentality of the other hoodie, the Weezer one - the one with frayed edges and faded lettering from washing. 

“Move your foot back more when you punch someone.” No longer statements, but giving commands to the very woman that wants to kill him. He places his own foot between her own, and kicks back to make her stance wider. He hears her hiss, but promptly ignores it. 

“Get the fuck-” 

But before she finishes, before she has the time to process, to move as far away as she can from the man that continues to pour gasoline on her fire, he cuts her off. “And stop punching with a flat fist.” He's to the point and dry when he speaks, like he's practiced the conversation before - like it was normal. 

He doesn't care that she looks at him like she wants to kill him. He's certain she does, and there's a bit part of him that wants her to. There's a thrill to it all, part of the game that made his heart race. But part of the game was getting the woman completely out of her shell.

“Hit me with your knuckles, like you want to fucking kill me.” He puts his forgotten cigarette to his lips once more, the smoke billowing in front of her, and she grimaces. 

“What's your deal, Mad Dog?” She spits, “you tell me all this shit for what? To fulfill some sick fantasy of getting punched in the face?” 

“Because I wanna know why you're here, Weezer. They didn't put you in this class for no reason, so fucking show me.”

She groans, and just like that the fire from seconds before is back. “Stop fucking calling me that, asshole!” 

“So fucking hit me, Weezer.” 

He sees her take a breath and grit her teeth. “You're fucking crazy!” 

“Yaku said the same thing, Weezer, right before I beat the shit out of him.” 

Another pause. Calm. Peaceful. He feels the chill of the breeze cut between them mingling with the heat of his cigarette, the embers falling to the concrete as it was forgotten. He drops it, and the cherry red top of it glows before it starts to fizzle out. 

Now there's smoke between two adults. 

One who's the antagonizer, and one drawing back a fist as hard as she can. 

For the first time in his life he feels almost thrilled. Like a child getting their favorite toy, or a person blowing out candles on their birthday. There's a stark divide; however, because the thinly veiled rush hits him square in the teeth with a force even he didn't imagine. 

She hit him with every fiber of her being.

With every bottled up emotion, every self deprecating thought, and every line she ever did; she put it behind the swing of her arm connecting with the delicate skin of his mouth. 

He stumbles back and blinks. Little black dots obscure his vision as he shakes his head, as if to whisk them away. He keeps his head down as blood drips from his mouth onto the pavement, his tongue running over his teeth to check if every piece was still there - it was a miracle he didn't lose any. 

There's a moment of silence. Hunched over, his hand on his mouth, looking over at her with wild eyes that seemed to witness a revelation. 

Her chest is heaving and she's holding onto her dominant hand, that's knuckles are now split. But her eyes sparked differently now, and it made a long forgotten feeling stir in the gut. She didn't look helpless, no longer filled with the begrudging emotion of despair. Hell, the woman looked proud. 

Then the bastard smiles. A wicked grin as he lifted his head and spit the blood from his mouth. She doesn't take a step back from him like he thought she would, and the nasty voice in his brain devoured it. 

“What's your real name, Weezer?” 

A palpable shift in conversation, but one that's met and matched. She tells him without question, spoken between the come down of rage and fraction of genuinity. “And yours?” 

“Kyotani.” 

“Why’re you in this shit ass class, Kyotani?” 

“Why don't you come find out?”

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[brownsugarcoffy]

Clause of Temptation |One|

Summary

Fresh off a broken engagement and a master’s degree, Tori Davenport returns to New York—heart bruised, bank account empty, and no job in sight.

When her father pulls strings to get her hired at the elite Moore Law Firm, she’s determined to prove herself… until she meets him.

Elijah “Smoke” Moore is powerful, private, and dangerously irresistible. He doesn’t do small talk. He doesn’t do relationships. And he definitely doesn’t mix business with pleasure.

But late nights and locked doors lead to stolen glances, lingering touches, and a heat neither of them can ignore.

He’s her boss.

She’s off-limits.

But when lines blur, rules break—and the office becomes their secret playground...

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Tori Davenport (OC)( Modern AU)

Themes: Angst, Forbidden Romance, Office Romance, Slow Burn, Vulgar Language, Sexual Content & More

Chapters: |TEASER|

NOT EDITED

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The sunlight didn’t ask for permission.

It spilled through the linen curtains anyway, it's warm and unapologetic landing across the edge of Tori Davenport’s bed like an unwelcome guest. She groaned, rolled to her side, and pulled the comforter tighter around her body, tucking herself deeper into the hollow she’d carved into the mattress.

Another morning. Another day of pretending she was okay.

The walls of her childhood bedroom hadn’t changed. Same off-white paint. Same bookshelf stacked with her old AP prep guides and dusty trophies. Same framed photo of her and her best friend Vanessa prom, beaming like life was just beginning.

Seven years ago, she believed it was.

Now, at twenty-eight, Tori lay in bed with a throbbing ache in her chest and the bitter taste of betrayal stuck on her tongue. It had been a month since Darius had left. A month since he’d said the words that still haunted her in the dark:

"She just... understands me better, Tori. She gets my world. I need someone who fits beside me—on my arm."

Seven years of love. Seven years of building something. She'd stood by him when he tore his ACL, when he dropped to the second round of the draft, when the pressure crushed him and the cameras followed his every move. And in the end, he left her for his trainer, a woman who stretched him out and whispered sweet things about recovery and chemistry.

She wasn’t bitter.

She was humiliated.

And worst of all? She was stuck.

She had a master’s degree from Stanford. A freshly ironed résumé. No job. No fiancé. No direction. Just a closet full of professional dresses she hadn’t worn, and a phone full of texts she hadn’t answered.

Vanessa: “You good, babe?”

Vanessa: “Just checking in. Wanna get drinks?”

Vanessa: “Still thinking about you. Call me.”

Tori had ignored them all.

Downstairs, she could hear the faint clinking of dishes. Her mother was probably making breakfast, humming some old Anita Baker song while flipping pancakes she knew Tori wouldn’t come eat.

Her father. Judge Marvin Davenport would already be gone, starched collar stiff, briefcase in hand, expectations on his face. He hadn’t said much since she came home. Just the occasional hand on her shoulder. A nod. The same words every other day:

“Don’t let this define you.”

But it had defined her. Being with Darius wasn’t just love, it had been part of her identity. She was his future wife. She was the woman behind the man. And now?

Now she was just Tori. Sleeping in her old room. Hiding from her life.

She sat up slowly, legs dangling off the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, grounding. She glanced at the mirror across the room but didn’t dare meet her own eyes. Instead, she stared at the reflection of the woman she no longer recognized: bun too messy, eyes too tired, skin dull.

This wasn’t her.

Or maybe it was. Maybe she’d been lying to herself all these years, thinking she was building something secure when all she’d done was sink deeper into someone else’s dreams.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Lauren.

Dad: “Get dressed. I need you downstairs in an hour.”

That was all it said. No context. No warning.

Her heart skipped. It wasn’t a request.

Something about the text was sharp and final and told her today was the day everything would shift.

By the time Tori made it downstairs, the kitchen smelled like butter and brown sugar. Her mother’s signature pecan sticky buns were already cooling on a rack, the air warm and sweet.

Her father was at the head of the breakfast table, coffee mug in one hand, The New York Times folded beside his plate. The way he looked up when she entered, it was serious, composed, waiting. The looked made her stomach tighten.

Her mother turned from the stove with a hopeful smile. “Good morning, sweetheart. You hungry?”

Tori’s response was a noncommittal shrug as she slid into the seat opposite her father. She didn’t bother hiding the irritation on her face.

“What’s this about?”

Her father didn’t flinch. He never did. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped close, his jaw sharp, and his presence commanding even in a bathrobe. He folded his hands over his mug and gave her a look she hadn’t seen in years, fatherly, but firm.

“Good morning to you too. You're going to an interview tomorrow morning,” he stated.

Tori blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Moore Law Firm. Downtown Manhattan. Nine sharp.”

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t apply to Moore Law.”

“I know. I did.”

She sat back, her spine stiffening. “Seriously?!”

“Yes.”

Her mother gently placed a glass of orange juice in front of her. “Your father ran into a colleague, Elijah Moore last night at the gala. They got to talking…”

“He mentioned needing a temporary accountant,” her father cut in. “His full-time CPA’s flying to Florida to care for her sister. I told him about your degree from Stanford. Your background. He said if you show up Monday, he’ll give you a fair shot.”

Tori stared at him like he’d spoken another language. “So you just... handed him my résumé over champagne?”

Her father raised a brow. “I gave my daughter an opportunity. You’ve been in this house for a month. I’m tired of watching you disappear into yourself.”

Her eyes burned. “You don’t get to say that.”

“No?” His voice was quiet now, but harder. “Then who does? The man who dumped you for someone who can help him stretch better?”

“Marvin,” her mother warned softly.

Tori swallowed hard, pressing her lips together.

“You’re brilliant, Tori,” he said, more gently this time. “But you’re not going to find clarity lying in bed. Get up. Dress up. Show up. If you hate it, walk away. But don’t let your pride bury your future.”

She looked down at her glass, then back at him. “You should’ve asked me first.”

“If I had, you would’ve said no.”

That stung because it was true.

“It’s just an interview, baby,” her mom said carefully. “You’ve worked too hard to let this moment pass you by.”

Tori sat still, quiet. Her hands were clenched in her lap.

“Who even is this Elijah Moore?” she asked. “What kind of firm is he running?”

Her father’s lips twitched, almost like he was hiding a smirk. “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

●●●

Monday Morning

The sharp hiss of the flat iron echoed through the small bathroom as Tori pressed the final section of hair and laid it behind her shoulder. She studied herself in the mirror, black slacks, cream blouse, pearl earrings, and a fresh coat of lip gloss.

Put together. Professional. Polished.

You can do this.

It had taken everything in her not to back out that morning. But her father’s voice, steady and unrelenting had rooted itself in her mind: Don’t let your pride bury your future.

So she got up. Dressed up. And now, here she was, tugging on her trench coat and checking her résumé in her leather folder one last time before heading out the door.

She rode the A train, standing by the doors in a packed car, shoulders tight and mind racing. New York hadn’t changed much in the years she’d been away—same rushed faces, same screeching brakes, same unbothered energy.

But she had.

There was something sobering about being back here not as a college intern or a girl flying home for holidays, but as a woman starting over.

She exhaled slowly as the train rumbled beneath her.

This is just an interview, she reminded herself. HR, some polite questions, maybe a panel. In and out. Thank them for the opportunity. Move on.

The Moore Law Firm building rose twenty stories into the steel gray sky, all glass and precision. Its name gleamed in silver across the marble lobby wall: MOORE | LAW—minimalist, expensive, unapologetic.

Tori paused just inside the revolving door, the air inside cooler than expected, crisp and lemony. She smoothed her blouse, lifted her chin, and approached the guest check-in desk.

“Good morning. I’m here for an interview. Temporary accountant position.”

The man behind the desk checked his screen and gave her a polite nod.

“Name?”

“Tori Davenport.”

He tapped a few keys, then smiled. “You’re with Moore Law today. That’s floor twenty.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped onto the elevator, heart beginning to pick up speed as the numbers climbed. 20 floors. One shot. Don’t screw this up.

Meanwhile, Elijah stood behind his glass desk, hands in his pockets, staring out at the Manhattan skyline as his assistant, Renee, read off the morning brief.

“...three client calls before lunch. Your meeting with Taggart at nine was canceled. Also, HR is still interviewing for the temp accountant. Started at 7:30. First good candidate is scheduled at nine—Tori Davenport.”

He turned slightly. “You said Davenport?”

“Yes. She’s Judge Davenport’s daughter. HR had no idea until I caught the name this morning. Her résumé’s solid. Master’s from Stanford.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll take that one.”

Renee blinked. “You’re doing interviews now?”

“Not all of them. Just that one.”

“You usually don’t—”

“I know what I usually don’t.” He walked to his desk and straightened the stack of files. His voice, calm but final:

“Send her in when she arrives.”

The twenty-second floor smelled like money. Cool, expensive air floated through the corridor. The subtle hints of citrus, leather, and ambition. The walls were navy, the floors a gleaming white marble, and the receptionist behind the curved brass desk had cheekbones sharp enough to slice diamonds.

Tori took it all in with a calm face, even as her pulse thumped beneath her blouse.

She hadn’t expected this.

Moore Law was supposed to be a mid-sized boutique firm.

This? This looked like the headquarters of a Fortune 500 empire.

She adjusted her trench coat, heels clicking softly as she approached the front desk.

“Hi. Tori Davenport. I’m here for the nine o’clock interview. Accounting position.”

The receptionist tapped a few keys, smiled politely.

“Right on time. You’re meeting with Mr. Moore directly.”

Tori blinked. “I thought I was interviewing with HR.”

“Change of plans.” The woman gestured toward a set of tall glass doors.

“Through there. Last office at the end of the hall.”

Shit.

She didn’t let the panic show on her face. She simply nodded, thanked her, and walked gracefully.

But inside?

Her thoughts raced.

She knew who Elijah Moore was.

She’d Googled him the second her father dropped his name. Top Yale graduate. Founder and managing partner of one of the most elite law firms in New York. Corporate fixer. Courtroom shark. One of Forbes’ “Top 30 Lawyers Under 40” before he’d even turned thirty. Black excellence in a custom suit.

And apparently?

He didn’t waste time with formalities.

●●●

Elijah Moore’s office was all glass and steel, overlooking lower Manhattan like he owned the skyline.

He stood as she entered. He was tall, sharp, precise in a navy suit with no tie. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at something dangerous beneath the clean professionalism. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

He just watched her.

As if he’d already read everything she wasn’t saying.

“Ms. Davenport,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Right on time.”

“Mr. Moore.” She held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” His grip was firm. Warm. Measured.

“Sit,” he said.

She did.

He didn’t offer water or make small talk. He sat back in his chair, long legs crossed casually, and watched her the way a chess master watches the board before the opening move.

“So you have a master’s in accounting from Stanford. You interned at a top firm in Palo Alto. Strong résumé. Good references.

So why are you applying for a temporary position?”

Tori didn’t blink. “Because I like to keep my brain occupied.”

One of his brows lifted slightly. A flicker of surprise or maybe amusement.

“You’re overqualified.”

“I’m not overqualified for work I respect. Just for the people who assume that makes me seem desperate.”

His gaze sharpened. Tori held it.

“You’re quick,” he murmured.

“So’s the market,” she replied. “Can’t afford to move slow.”

Another pause. He didn’t reach for her résumé. He had already memorized it.

“You were engaged,” he said next.

The air thinned instantly. Tori’s heart skipped. But her tone didn’t waver. “Is that a professional question?”

“It’s a character question.”

“And what does my relationship status tell you about my ability to balance a ledger?”

“It tells me whether you show up when shit falls apart.”

Her jaw tensed.

Who in fuck is this man?

This perfectly built, maddeningly composed man was digging for her soft spots like he had a shovel made of gold.

“I do more than show up,” she said finally, voice low. “I outperform while bleeding.”

That stopped him. His fingers paused mid-tap on the desk. “So you’ve done your homework on me,” she added, tilting her head. “Good. I’d be worried if a firm this size didn’t vet its candidates.”

“You Googled me also?”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

He let out a low exhale, almost a laugh. But not quite. “Tell me your philosophy on money.”

Tori smiled, slow and sharp. “Money doesn’t lie. People do. Give me someone’s bank statements, and I’ll tell you who they are faster than their therapist can.”

His eyes flickered. Amused. Impressed. “You say things like that often in interviews?”

“Only when I know I’m killing it.”

A long pause.

For a moment, the office fell completely silent. It was just the hum of the city outside, the weight of their locked gazes, and the quiet knowing between two people who had both built their armor from pain and pride.

“This job is fast-paced,” he said finally. “Little oversight. Long hours. High expectations.”

"Sounds like grad school with better clothes.”

“You won’t be working directly with me.”

“Pity.”

He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Tori blinked, all innocence. “Just meant it’d be a good opportunity. You’ve built an impressive company. I’d learn a lot.”

He stared at her. And for the first time all morning, Elijah Moore let a ghost of a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

Just barely. He liked her.

Then, suddenly he stood. “You start Wednesday. Eight-thirty sharp. Business casual. Talk to Renee on your way out.”

Tori blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re offering me the job?”

“I am.”

“No further questions?”

“I already got what I needed.”

She rose slowly, gripping her folder, heels clicking against the polished floor as she headed for the door.

But just before she reached it—

“Ms. Davenport.”

She turned.

He was still watching her.

Still too composed. Still too unreadable.

“Tell your father he was right.”

Tori smiled. Soft. Icy. “He usually thinks he is.”

And then she was gone.

Elijah stood alone in the silence of his office, his gaze lingering on the door she’d disappeared behind.

His expression unreadable.

But his pulse?

Not as steady as it had been fifteen minutes ago.

Elijah stayed seated.

His gaze lingered on the door she’d just walked through. Unmoving. Focused. But not in the way he usually studied people.

He exhaled, leaned back slowly in his chair, and loosened the top button of his shirt.

“Tori Davenport,” he murmured under his breath.

Not bad.

Not what he expected either.

He’d skimmed her résumé last night out of respect for her father. Master’s from Stanford. Strong numbers. Nothing that screamed extraordinary, but nothing sloppy either. He assumed she’d come in polished, professional, a little wounded.

What he hadn’t expected was her mouth.

Her fire. The whip-sharp way she flipped his questions back on him like she was auditing his ego.

She wasn’t just smart. She was sharp. Controlled. Proud and slightly pissed off at the world.

Which meant she was dangerous.

And Elijah liked dangerous, but only when he could control it. When he had it labeled and boxed in. But Tori? She walked into his office like a lit match and left him sitting in the smoke.

He reached for the résumé again, even though he didn’t need to. His eyes scanned the page absently while his mind replayed everything she’d said. Every line that had hit him like a quiet dare.

“Only when I know I’m killing it.... Just meant it’d be a good opportunity. You’ve built an impressive company. I’d learn a lot.”

She wanted to learn, but she didn’t need to be taught. That distinction stuck with him.

His jaw flexed as he stared at her credentials again, but really? He wasn’t thinking about her GPA. Or her thesis. Or the internship she’d nailed in Palo Alto.

He was thinking about how she didn’t flinch.

Didn’t fold.

Didn’t care that he was wealthy, powerful, and sitting in the kind of glass office most people daydreamed about from their cubicles.

She met his gaze with that chin lifted, like she already knew she was someone’s equal.

Like she wanted to remind him she was no one’s exception.

He liked that.

Too much.

Elijah stood and crossed the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below him, the city buzzed with its usual chaos. Horns. People. Power moves in motion.

He didn’t usually think about his hires after they left the room. But she wasn’t just a hire now.

She was a variable.

A presence.

A problem—he could feel it.

And if Elijah Moore had learned anything in this game, it was that some problems weren’t meant to be solved.

They were meant to be survived.

“Renee,” he called out without turning.

“Yes, Mr. Moore?” Her voice came through the intercom.

“Get me the full file on Davenport. Everything. Not just the résumé.”

“Everything?” She quickly questioned.

“Everything.”

●●●

Tori stepped out into the crisp Manhattan air like she was walking off a battlefield.

Her heels clicked too loud on the pavement as she crossed the sidewalk and made it halfway down the block before stopping.

She needed a second.

Just one damn second.

Her pulse was still racing although her face remained composed, just like it had during the interview. Her fingers curled tighter around the leather folder tucked against her side. She took a breath.

Then another.

“What the hell just happened?” she muttered to herself.

She looked up at the twenty-story glass building behind her. Sleek. Polished. Regal. The kind of place that didn’t whisper success, it announced it with a velvet rope and private elevator.

And she’d just walked out of the top office with a job offer from the man who built it.

She should’ve been proud.

She should’ve been relieved.

But all she felt was… exposed.

Like she'd been seen.

Not in the pretty, poetic sense. But in the way that made her feel like every polished answer she’d delivered, every quip, every inch of posture had been scanned, dissected, and stored somewhere inside Elijah Moore’s head.

And worse?

He didn’t flinch once.

Not when she flipped his questions back on him. Not when she called him out. Not even when she almost let her curiosity about him slip into something warmer.

Something inappropriate.

Something real.

She gritted her teeth.

“He knew about Darius,” she whispered under her breath, tightening her grip on her folder. “He brought it up like it was a bullet point on a goddamn spreadsheet.”

He wanted to test her.

Wanted to see if she’d crumble.

She didn’t. She wouldn’t.

But still… she hated how easily he’d gotten under her skin. Hated the way her heartbeat had stuttered when he stared at her with those piercing, heavy-lidded eyes like he could read her silence better than most people read her words.

Tell your father he was right.

That line hadn’t helped either.

She almost turned back into the building to give him a piece of her mind just enough to clarify that she didn’t need favors or handouts.

But she didn’t. Because deep down? A part of her knew the job wasn’t the problem.

He was the storm behind the glass. Calculated. In control. Dangerous in the quietest, most magnetic way.

And she hated how part of her already wanted to see what he’d look like if he ever lost control.

By the time she reached the subway entrance, her jaw was tight, her posture perfect.

Tori Davenport didn’t run from tension. She survived it.

And if Elijah Moore thought she was just another brilliant, broken woman trying to pull herself together?

He’d find out soon enough he wasn’t the only one in that room who’d done their homework.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

TAGLIST:

@theogbadbitch @rose-bliss @jasssdee1 @afroslacks @heuhanenani @thefutureemmywinner @mauvecherie-writes @est1887 @milkywayzard

[diegoshako]

Still in Bloom

pairings: blair waldorf x male oc

summary: blair waldorf and luke humphrey have always liked one another, but never took the chance to admit the truth of it.

notes: friends (sorta) to lovers, no blair/dan, no royal wedding, chuck is a red flag in himself. luke humphrey is fan-casted by me by tom welling, but picture him as you want. fan-edit is on my tiktok (diegoshako) if you want to see that! this is a little short, but it's my first tumblr one-shot so i'll get used to writing rather than in fic-chapters blocks!

"I don't know," Dan complained, the empty coffee cup remaining in his hand as they walked up to V Magazine. "Just count yourself lucky you're not working with Blair Waldolf. We cut a deal, but she's going to find a way to sabotage me, I just know it."

Tugging his gloves up a little from where they sat snugly on his wrists, Luke glanced at his slightly younger brother as he ranted.

"Isn't this your third day interning at V Magazine?"

Dan's hand came out in a dramatic gesture as if Luke was supporting his point, "Exactly." His fingers then click, "I have got to sabotage her before she does it to me. For once, it would be nice to not be on the losing side, you know?"

But, the thing was, Luke didn't know. Not really. He'd never been made a target of Blair Waldolf, the woman most famous for her take-downs.

Luckily for him, he'd always been on her. . . good side. Better words, she'd always liked him even before she knew that she did.

And even if she hadn't, Luke hadn't really ever thought about making enemies with her.

He'd fancied her since the moment they crossed one another in the school corridors. She'd flashed some small, semi-sarcastic smile after he'd opened the door for her to the courtyard where they sat for lunch, and he'd been hooked ever since.

Luke Humphrey was well aware how pathetically hopeless he was.

He was just thankful of how little people knew of that fact.

"Or maybe you can leave the scheming behind you and act like adults that you are?" Luke suggested, leaning forward with a raise of his eyebrow.

Dan scoffed as if that idea was pitifully idiotic. "Come on, Luke. This is Blair Waldolf we're talking about. Scheming is second nature to her."

The cold air tinted his cheeks a rosy colour as Luke glanced around, moving out of the way to avoid bumping into a lady walking toward him. It was his day off, and Dan had asked him if he wanted to walk to work instead of staying in, and Luke somewhat regretted saying yes.

Though, it was nice to see Dan for longer than a minute or two this past week. The Humphrey twins were so used to being one another's closest friend that it felt as if they were missing limbs to not be around one another lately.

"You need to give her more credit than that," Luke sighed, though he didn't really blame Dan's doubt — Blair's kindness on Luke had not extended to either of his siblings. Jenny had involved herself in Blair's world for popularity and Dan had been pulled in by the wind-whirl that was named Serena.

"I'm sorry, but are you saying that Blair Waldolf wouldn't take the chance to sabotage me?" The younger twin glanced at Luke with disbelief, finger pointing against his own chest, "You are aware who we're talking about right now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm aware. I'm just saying, take the time to get to know her. She's not all schemes and tricks." Luke did his best to not be so on the defensive, but judging by Dan's face, he was failing miserably. Blair hadn't done anything wrong as of yet, and maybe she wouldn't.

"Am I talking to the right Luke Humphrey?" Dan peered closer, eyes narrowing. "What's going on with you?"

"Me?" Luke was glad that he was wearing gloves and his hat, because it was freezing. He didn't even bother to remove his hands from his jacket pockets as he turned his body in Dan's direction again, nose scrunched. "I'm just saying, Dan."

Dan pulled a face, not quite sure whether he believed that, but he didn't have any time to speak on it further, as they arrived at his internship.

Throwing the empty cup into the bin that was outside it's entrance, his shoulders moved up and down in a heavy motion, glancing up the building before meeting his twin brother's eyes.

"Wish me luck?" He offered for his own satisfaction.

Luke narrowed his eyes, "I think you'll be just fine."

Sensing that was all the sympathy he was going to gather from his sibling, Dan gave a light roll of his eyes and bid his goodbyes, shoving his hands into his pockets as well and making his way inside.

The taller Humphrey huffed, shaking his head. He was definitely regretting ever saying yes to this walk. Now he would have to take the entire journey back, alone and cold.

At least he'd gotten his exercise before he could spend the rest of his day off catching up with his Father, who had already demanded the length of his son's day.

But as Luke spun on his heel, blowing out a breath, his eyes met the soft, dark brown ones that he still remembered seeing for the first time. Even if that was years ago now. Nearly a whole decade, actually.

Her lips were parted, eyes slightly rounded in size for some reason, as she stared back.

Did he have something on his face?

He immediately moved to take a wipe at his cheek, self-conscious that he looked any form of an idiot in front of her.

"Hey," Luke said at the same time, greeting her with a warmth that he'd not even been speaking to his own brother with. But when she said nothing, one hand clutching the side of her bright purse, he asked with concern, "You okay, Blair?"

"Huh?" Was all she managed for a second.

The step closer that he took seemed to snap her out of her dazed state.

"Right," She cleared her throat, head coming up higher as her stare turned into an eye-ball, "What were you —" Her hand comes up, finger pointing, "Two just talking about?"

"What?" Luke asks, looking to where her finger is pointing toward the front of her work, "You mean, me and Dan? Nothing important. Just. . ." He wasn't sure how to admit that his brother hadn't been speaking greatly about her. "Just stuff about your internship, that Dan also has."

Blair furrows her brows, and just over her shoulder, he can see where her limo is still parked by the side-walk. "So, you weren't just talking about me taking the time to sabotage your brother?"

What?

That was certainly not what Luke had been saying, at least. He had said the opposite, but to admit that would be to admit that his brother had been saying that instead, and it was Dan who was working alongside her.

Her disappointment shone brightly and Luke wanted to tell the truth. instead, the silence that drilled between them momentarily made all background noise fizzle out, as if that didn't matter between them.

When her eyes glance away, Luke shifts in his footing. It's a natural instinct to do whenever he's lying and he notices immediately when her gaze pings towards his legs.

"Were you really just about to take the fall for your idiotic brother?"

This time when he looks at her, the disappointment had gone away, and there's something else there mixed with the playfulness that she owed in possession.

Blair had something about her that just radiated. Luke had always fallen victim to her charms.

"Did I really have a choice?" He jokes back slightly, hoping she wasn't too angry at him for it. By the seems of her face, she wasn't.

In fact, she even cracks a smile, stepping closer. "You defended me." Blair shakes her head slightly, "And you weren't even going to tell me that you defended me to save face for your brother."

( And there she had been, only some weeks ago, chasing after Chuck Bass.

Even though she'd been drawn to Luke since the day he held the door open for her. )

"I always knew you were the only hope of the Humphrey brood," Blair pitches in jokingly, unable to help herself. She's glad to hear his laugh at that, even though the small shake of his head disagrees with it in a serious note. "Thank you."

His shoulders come up and down in a soft shrug, not wishing for gratitude. He'd not defended her to be given something back. He'd simply down it because he believed in her growth. In the fact that she cared for her work now more than ever.

"Why don't I thank you over —"

"I don't want you to feel like you owe me something for something so. . ." Little, he cuts himself off but finishes his words in his head, unsure on how that sounded out loud. "My brother's just an overthinking idiot sometimes. He means nothing by it, really. He doesn't."

"Daniel Humphrey is the least of my concerns," Blair finalises, and Luke blinks, taken back by the seriousness of her tone. She spots his surprise, masking a gentle touch of a smile behind a smirk as her hair falls over her shoulder with the sudden movement of leaning to her side. "And I had no plans to sabotage him. . ."

The sound of beeping knocks Luke out of his amusement, head turning to the ongoing traffic, and the pick-up of business with more people travelling to their work destinations.

"Why don't we go out for a drink sometime?" Blair then blurts out, the words swirling in her mouth for a little before she can no longer hold them back or swallow the letters down.

The brightness of his blue eyes had always captured her attention, even across the room. Even when she'd tried to stick it out beside Nate, lost her virginity to Chuck, been betrayed in different ways by them, Blair had always found herself searching for Luke's gaze.

The blue of his eyes had always made her calm. Like she was capable of conversation outside of holding back or having to think of another scheme to keep one's attention.

And that smile.

( Luke thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. The melt of her stare, the darkness of her curls, the way she knew how to walk and talk and capture all the room's attention.

And her smile. )

The way he grins at her with a brightness has already made Blair's day.

"It's a date."

[3d-wifey]

NSFT Alphabet: Star (poly!lost boys + Michael) Edition

A/N: I needed to add my girl Star to the equation. It's been a WIP for ages, but I decided to finish it to give my brain a little break from writing Chapter 14 of the Finnick story---which should be the next thing I post. This is to be read in conjecture with the nsfw alphabet: poly!lost boys edition since it's all the same universe.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Out of all of your partners, you and Star are certainly the closest. Emotionally, at least. When it's just the two of you, it always ends in caressing skin, giggling, and whispering declarations of love to each other. All in all, it's very soft. You're very soft on each other. If you're with the other boys, she'd love for you to lay on her while the two of you watch them goof around.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Her favorite body part of hers is her legs. She loves how it feels when you rub your hands up and down them. She especially loves wrapping them around your waist. She loves all of you, especially your hips. She's insatiable, standing behind you with her hands gripping your sides, always touching. She can't get enough of you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

She loves it when you cum on her strap. That way she can fuck into your mouth while she makes you clean it off. She loves coming on your face the most. The pure joy in your eyes when she puts her full weight on your face is almost as gratifying as the orgasm.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This is a shared one between you and her. The boys will usually send you out together to lure them a meal or two in. I mean, the combined beauty and seductive power between you two is enough to make a nun break her vows. 

And whenever that happens, Star has the nifty idea to play up the flirting, so to speak. You could very well get the job done with fleeting touches and coy smiles, instead, Star hangs off of the arm of one guy and you play with the hair of another. Of course, in full view of the boys. The entire point is to make them jealous. And when David, because obviously, confronts you both about it with snippy little comments like "Have fun, girls?" or "You two were playing longer than expected." You just shrug with innocent smiles and hold hands. After all, they're the ones that told you to seduce the prey. They can't get too upset at their own idea, especially when it works so well (they can and they do). 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Star was turned in the 70s, the era of free love, so she's had her fair share of partners. That being said, she has more experience with girls than she does with boys. So you're in good hands.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Need I say more? I will say more. She loves being on top of you as you grind your wet cunts together. What's not to love? From up there, she can dictate the pace and just how hard she wants to go. Watching you writher and whine under her, the sounds of your begging, and just how wet you both are. It makes her feel desperate to reach her high until she grinds faster and faster against you. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

She might grace you with one of her angelic laughs every now and then. But honestly, it's almost always a very giggly affair. You're a couple of giggly girls in love. 

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Picture this: you're at Woodstock, you're on crazy hard drugs, the guy on stage is on crazy hard drugs, the people you're having an orgy with are on crazy hard drugs. It's a time of peace and nature and free love, man. You don't need any of that consumer shit the Man says you do, like razors or scissors or basic hygiene. That kind of mindset has sorta stuck with Star even after she turned. But she does trim it before it can get too wild. So, think more of a shrub than a bush.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Now, you're speaking her language. The only person who can rival her in this department is Dwayne, but why would you pit two queens against each other? Between the two of them, you're gonna be showered in so many romantic gestures you'll get a rash in the shape of a heart. 

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

No need ;)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Enthusiastic consent: There’s something about the desperation of your begging, it’s a heady feeling knowing just how much you want her.

Mommy Kink: You may have awakened Michael's, but he awakened hers. Now, it's almost guaranteed that whenever you and Star have sex with the boys, they're getting dominated. You're a tag team, a dynamic dom duo. Everybody say “thank you” to Michael. You give up the reins to her whenever it's just you two. Good choice. 

Overestimation: To others, of course. Even if you think you can't cum anymore, she surprises you by coaxing another and another and—you get it. Doesn't stop until you and your pussy are crying (Paul loves to be a witness to this). The guys aren't exempt from it. When the dynamic dom duo is loose, the boys get to find out if that accelerated healing is fast enough to stop them from shooting blanks.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

In her room, one of the surviving rooms of the sunken hotel the boys eventually cleared out for her and moved her bed into. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Pain, but not her own. Odd, for how compassionate she is. She’s not getting horned up over Michael stubbing his toe or grievous harm done to her partners. There’s more nuance than that. Like, the first time you let her give you a piercing, she got alarmingly wet. That kind of pain. Regardless, you wanting her gets her going. Especially if you’re begging her even if you don’t have to considering she gives into you the easiest. 

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No anal, that hole is off-limits. It's never interested her before, and it sure as shit doesn't now. Sorry, Marko. No period sex, for obvious reasons. If she thought resisting blood was hard before, boy was she in for a surprise. Your period is almost harder on her than it is on you! But she endures it because she loves her baby :(

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to give you head even though she enjoys your mouth very much, hence why your period is a tricky time of the month for her—for the tribe as a whole, honestly. The boys are especially greedy around that time, they make you feel like a damn capri-sun but at least they take care of your cramps. While the boys are enjoying breakfast in bed, Star and Michael learn the true meaning of restraint. 

Prefers to get head from the boys though. Queen shit.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on many factors and what position. She's strapping you down from the back? Fast and deep strokes. Missionary? She's going slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch despite your begging for her to go faster. Tribbing? Fast and rough, she's usually just as desperate as you to cum. The pace with the boys depends on who she's with and if it's more than one person.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies for y'all involve either fingering or oral. The boys might like the thrill of doing it in public, but she prefers the cave where she can lay you out the way she likes. But, she will be taken by the urge to make you cum, and if it just so happens to be in public? Welp. Que her fingers honing in on your G-spot in a truly diabolical fashion. It feels like she knows the intricacies of your vagina better than you do. (Off-topic side note: it's a toss-up between her and Dwayne for who makes you squirt for the first time.)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Like I said for the boys. Safe, sane, consensual—but, unlike them, she actually cares about the sane and safe part too. It's hard to consider much of anything a risk that isn't garlic, holy water, stakes, and the sun. If it's something all parties involved are okay with, then Star is too. (Still no anal).

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Supernatural stamina, even as a half-vampire. Goes for a loooooong time, especially with that overestimation kink. If it's just the two of you, you won't even remember how many rounds there's been. Truly insatiable, you'll need someone to tap in (likely Michael).

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Strap-on, obviously. You actually go pick it out with her since, you know, you're the one she's using it on. Michael tags along. She mainly tops whenever y’all break the strap out. Even if you're wearing it, she's riding you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

She loves to tease. She’s not teasing you, you're her baby, and she can't deny you anything. Now, the boys are a different story. She much prefers to tease them with you. 

Something she likes to do with you when they’ve pissed her off, or pissed you off, or just because she wants to is to start making out and feeling each other up in the cave while the boys are distracted with wrestling or smoking or doing something other than doting on their pretty girlfriends. 

But the gag is, the boys aren't allowed to join in. It’s always so fun getting them desperate and seeing their reactions. You two usually make a bet about who’ll cave and approach the two of you first. They typically send in Michael or Dwayne since Michael typically isn’t the one pissing you off and Dwayne is, well…he’s Dwayne.

It’s even more fun to do it on the boardwalk because their pride won’t let them grovel like they need to in order for you and Star to let them in on the fun. So they’re forced to watch and not touch.

And if anyone is dumb enough to say anything in front of your five very protective/quick-to-anger boyfriends when they’re already frustrated, well, free meal, am I right?

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ah, so pretty. Surprisingly raspy. Low tones and sweet moans. She really makes you feel her voice.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

This goes for the whole tribe actually, but she can smell when you’re ovulating. Yeah, and it affects her viciously. Especially when it falls a week after your period. She’s a weak woman, she’s already had to abstain from you for, like, a week. She needs her fix. Truly, as soon as you step foot into that cave when you’re ovulating, you’re getting accosted by seven ANIMALS (>)0o0)>

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A perky B cup with brown nipples that get hard even when it's not cold. A proud member of the FPS, Fat Pussy Society

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high, and she is a fiend. But she’s also a lady, so she wears her horniess better than the guys.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Like I said in the aftercare, you’re very soft together and then you pass out together. It’ll really happen between one blink and the next. Suddenly you’re kissing each other, and then, bam! You’re drooling and snoring together. The boys find it adorable, sans Michael who’s passed out with y'all. Makes their undead hearts skip a beat.

[ssoulstar]

୨୧ FOR EVERY FIRST ✶ ────JO ASAKURA

✶ for every first I was having with her, she'd already had them with him

❪ genre/pairing ❫ '℘. Jo asakura & fem!reader. ❜strangers to lovers experienced x inexperienced, emotional scarring, angst, fluff, mini series

ɴOTE! ⠀⦂ I didn't edit this chapter so grammar errors apply!! there's no decided date for updates so if there is to be a taglist for this fic just lmk in the comments! a really short chapter so I am sooo sorry

✶ "ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗʷᵒʳᵗʰʸ ᴵ ᵃᶦⁿ'�� ⁿᵒᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᴷⁿᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈᶦᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᶦʳᵗʸ, ᵈᶦᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉ ᶦᵗ, ʸᵉᵃʰ ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᶦᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐʸ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵒʳᵉ"

02. the consequences of an encounter with your ex.

Jo didn’t like it at all.

He didn’t like the way his chest tightened the longer the silence hung between you and Yuma. Didn’t like the way the air around the four of you started to feel heavy and weird and… tense, like someone had stretched a rubber band too far and it was just on the edge of snapping.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not really. At least he didn’t think so. He barely even knew you. You were still just a really pretty stranger who laughed at his bad jokes and made his heart feel like it had pure adrenaline in it. But something about seeing your expression shift—so quick, so cold—after being so warm and open with him, made something uncomfortable bubble in his stomach.

He shifted awkwardly, his fingers twitching by his sides, eyeing Maki who's trying to push through the crowd still dancing around them, silently telling Jo with his eyes to wait until he got there.

But Jo continues anyway, he doesn’t know why but Yuma’s stare is intimidating. And not the playful type, but an unsure stand off kind of tension “Right… cool,” he muttered, mostly just to say something, his voice quieter than before.

Yuma finally looked at him, blinking like he’d just remembered Jo was even there. “So…how do you two know each other?” he asked, and it was casual, too casual. Jo winces as Yuma takes another sip from his red party cup, just to act even more painfully nonchalant .

Jo nodded, hesitating. “Nicholas kinda… shoved me into the crowd and I spilled her drink,” he laughed softly, eyes flicking to you, hoping to catch a glimpse of the smile again. And maybe he did—something small, brief and barely there—but Yuma was already talking again.

“She’s great, huh?” Yuma says it with this kind of fondness that makes Jo’s fingers curl in his pockets.

“I’m standing right here, you know,” you say, tone light but clipped. “Stop talking like I’m a signed basketball.”

Jo tries to hold in his laugh by smirking lighty and he sees the corner of Maki’s mouth twitch too, even if his eyes are still scanning the situation and the room for wherever Nicholas went when Yuma caught sight of Y/N.

Yuma doesn’t flinch. “Force of habit, sorry.” But his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, its painful for him; Jo can tell. They’ve been friends for years, in the same circle, the same group, how could Jo not have noticed. Hell, how could Jo not even know about his friends relationship? Was he really that detached from his friend group?

Jo clears his throat. “So… uh, you two dated?” he asks, trying to sound casual, like the question doesn’t burn a little in his chest.

You nod slowly, pressing your lips together. “We did. Past tense.”

Yuma shifts, like he’s going to say more, but you shoot him a look that says don’t, and he listens. But only for a few minutes until his eyebrows furrow, alcohol doing the talking as he huffs; eyes leaving to the floor “It was a year ago anyway…”

Jo lets the silence settle for half a second before speaking again, his voice softer now. “You doing okay?”

 That was a weird question to ask... Jo thinks to himself. 

The question was too sincere for the context. Too honest for a frat party where everyone’s pretending to be cooler than they are but his nerves about the awkward question frails in the wind when you look at him with the soft, plush smile you’ve been giving him the whole night “yeah…I’m fine.”

Jo doesn’t know what to do with the way that makes him feel, so he just nods back, heart thudding louder than the bassline vibrating through the floor. His throat closes shut as he gulp dryly, smiling with a nod as his hand goes up to slyly pat his chest

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, almost too harshly at Yuma and the taller flinches a bit, a deep huff releases through his gritting teeth. You’re hands take Jo’s in yours and Jo can feel the tension in his heart, tightening, pinching itself

You turn, walking back toward the door, and Jo follows, but not before he glances back at Maki and Yuma. Maki gives him a tight smile and a thumbs-up, but it looks more like good luck, soldier than you got this, while Yuma continues to stand tense, watching the both of you go, his expression unreadable but pained

The air outside is cooler and the atmosphere is relatively quieter. The lawn, which was mostly filled with drunk couples making out, is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers talking in low voices or staring up at the stars like they’re waiting for answers.

You sit down on the curb in front of the fraternities property, legs stretched out in front of you as you start to calm down from the tense encounter. Jo hesitates, then drops down beside you, not sitting on the concrete curb but crouching with his knees tucked into himself, his eyes never leaving your profile.

It’s quiet for a while. Not awkwardly quiet, just peaceful as you calm down and as Jo lets you. He won’t admit it outloud but he liked having your company in the silence he often shared with himself, he liked having you in the comfort of his personal space as weird as it seemed coming from him. He usually preferred to be alone, not even taking up his friend's offer to spend time with them, but it was different with you; different with the way your presence felt around  .

After a couple of seconds, Jo finally gains the courage to speak up, after seeing the way your eyebrows furrow and relax with stress and disdain “You okay?” he asks again, even gentler now that he’s watching you sit in the silence. You smile without looking at him. “You ask that a lot…” his chuckles echo off the black pavement of the road, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes observe your melancholy expression “I guess I just wanna make sure that you are...”

You finally look at him, eyes fluttering with untold memories lingering in your eyelashes. You hug yourself, hands snaking themselves across your stomach and squeezing the sides of your band shirt “You’re sweet, Jo Asakura.” a short chuckle breathes through your nose and hiis ears go red again. “You keep saying that like it’s a rare trait.”

“Not rare,” you begin “Just… surprising. In a good way.” he doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t, Jo just sits there with you, the night humming softly around you both.

“You know…” you start, voice quiet, “Yuma and I ended kinda messy…and I honestly didn’t know he was your friend—I don’t know how “bro code” works but I’m sorry to drag you into this, really”

Jo doesn’t press, his sigh heavy as he grows close to you, his previous tucked in position now more relaxed as his shoulders begin to graze against yours “He wasn’t a bad person, I’m sure you know that…it was just bad timing, different priorities.” it had seemed like your sighs would’ve never stopped, hair falling over your face like a veil as you look down at your fiddling hands “Sometimes I think we could’ve worked if we met later in life. Or earlier. But not when we did.”

Jo hums in understanding, slowly bumping your shoulders to lighten the mood a bit, to get your mind off of the earlier situation “You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but i’m glad you did…” Jo earns another look from you, your sad eyes soft against his enduring gaze, and he swears his heart is going to explode at the sight of your thankful smile “I’m glad I came tonight,” you add after a pause, another giggle exiting through your teeth “Even if it meant spilling my drink all over myself.”

“I swear that was not my flirting tactic,” Jo defends playfully, his hands going up to feign innocence, and like he did before, you nudge his shoulder the best you can; feeling the previous wave of sadness being replaced with the warmth of Jo’s presence  “it worked...but don’t go using it on every girl/. Most people hate getting their drinks spilled on them” He snorts at your joke before shrugging himself “I don’t plan on using it on any other person...”

You’re quiet again for a moment before you speak. “Is that so? Do you have an ex you’d like to get back into your life?” Jo’s eyes widen, and his head shakes vigorously “I’ve never dated...”

In return your eyes widen “Seriously?” He nods firmly “Dead serious.” you blink for a couple seconds, in disbelief but also insanely impressed that no one had bagged him. I mean, anyone would be crazy not to. Jos physique was someone out of a webcomic. Tall, lean but also athletic, his hunched over towering figure was nothing but attractive, nothing but something college girls love and fawn over. But yet here he was, overly shy, and insanely attractive despite his blushing red ears

“That’s kind of… cute.” you blurt out and  Jo groans without hesitance, face going straight in his hands. “Don’t say that.” He mutters into his clammy hands and with another shoulder nudge and a curious frown of your eyebrows you mumble “Why not?”

“because it’s embarrassing.” he breathes out which makes you laugh, and Jo goes to bite his lip hard as you continue to tease him  “No it's not! It’s not everyday someone has this much charm naturally,” you reassure him and now its Jos turn to try and tease you, to take the heat off of his ears

“You think I have charm” And you squeal shortly before your lips turn thin and a short giggle releases out of you as you turn back to the streetAnd Jo thinks, maybe he’s not so against dating after all, not if it means more moments like this. Not if it means more moments like this with you

ᵗᵃᵍˢ: @sannieslove @fluffy-strawb3rry if I messed up ur user pls let me know...

[zeewritez]

The Sailor and The Samurai - I

Mizu x Femme Shipmate/Pirate Reader

Hi my lovelies! I haven't updated in so long and I'm sorry but college has been kicking my ass. (Why tf am I studying biochemistry - because I hate myself). Anyways, I hope to update my other stories soon (I've had chapters for months now, they just need to be edited lol). So for now, here's a little BES fic because I'm in love with this show :)

(Notes: Reader's father is Irish in the fic but she will not be described physically except for having super long curly hair because I like projecting my hair goals onto stories, also I will be using he/him pronouns for Mizu since they are currently being perceived as a man.)

Part 2 now out

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache from the rum she had the previous night. She made a note to self to not attempt to out drink her father, even if he was pushing 60. Rolling out of her cot, she slipped on a blouse and trousers she had acquired from a crew mate at some point. They barely fit, but it was far better than the dresses and corsets she wore whenever they docked back home.

She walked onto the deck just in time to watch over the vast ocean as they approached the isolated island of Japan. She'd been there many times in her career but had only ever been to the ports to assist with loading goods when the crew needed it. Today, there was no need. Instead, she watched with mild curiosity from the crow's nest as crates were loaded onto The Banshee.

The cargo seemed standard: silks, swords, exotic fish. The things nobles in England dreweld over. Yet the passengers were anything but standard. Y/n could barely believe her eyes when the infamous Abijah Fowler was brought on board with guards on each side of him. He was brought to the detention cell, which would have otherwise been used when her father was tired of a crewmate's drunken antics.

Y/n was so taken aback by Fowler's presence she nearly missed the passenger behind him: a young man, a few years older than y/n herself, clad in Japanese garb and yellow glasses. It seemed odd to her, as it was rather overcast outside but she didn't give it a second thought. What she was truly curious about was why Abijah Fowler was on their vessel.

As the ship took sail, she climbed down from the nest and made her way to the detention cell with a curious, if not mischievous, grin.

"I never thought you'd be joining us for London," she teased as she stood outside of his cel, as though dangling her freedom like a carrot. She did not like Fowler one bit, but she found him almost as amusing as she found him vile. Entertainment was hard to come by at sea, so who could really blame her?

"Well I for one am always happy to see you," he said, grabbing her hand through the bars and kissing her knuckles. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand back from him.

"What brings you back to the isle?" she asked. "My father doesn't even enjoy England, and he's still in good standing, legally speaking."

"Perhaps he's a better Irishman then me," Fowler said with a shrug. "What does it matter to you?"

The girl looked up in faux innocence. "Oh, I'm just curious."

"Well, why don't you hunt down the samurai that's on board and he can let you know why I'm going back to London," Fowler finally told her. "You've picked up quite a bit of Japanese, haven't ya?"

"Alright, I'll see you around then," she said as she turned to leave.

"You have your mother's rear!" He shouted out, as though y/n had forgotten why she had disliked the man so much. She said a silent prayer thanking the heavens he wasn't roaming freely as she roamed the ship looking for the mysterious man with glasses, which was simple enough.

He stood on the poop deck, staring out onto the ocean, as anyone who has ever treaded water has. The waters had a way of commanding one's attention.

"Hello good sir," the young woman greeted she climbed the stairs, stopping to curtsey out of habit. She'd managed to have some resemblance of good manners despite being raised at sea by a captain with a drinking habit.

The young man stared at her, which was a common response from many men upon seeing her for the first time, regardless of national origin. In fact, Englishmen seemed most taken aback by her appearance. Her hair was long and unkempt, falling down her back in ringlets instead of being pinned into an updo of a proper lady. Her shirt nearly fell from her shoulders and around her neck was a long, beaded necklace that seemed to trail down between her breasts. Y/n giggled at the man's reaction, having expected nothing less.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he spoke casting his eyes away from her eyes out of embarrassment, then down to her strange necklace, then back up to her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she said, leaning against the Banshee's railing. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance, may I ask your name?"

"Mizu," he answered, finally less taken aback by the strange woman. "And you are?*

"Y/n," she said, reaching out her hand limply, again out of habit more than anything else. Mizu looked at her with pure confusion, almost fear. Y/n giggled again, this time to hide her embarrassment. "It is expected to kiss a lady's hand where we're going."

Mizu nodded and cautiously took the girl's hand, which was smaller then her own, and cool to the touch from the ocean winds. He kissed it with the gentleness most men she encountered lacked.

"You'll make a proper gentleman," y/n remarked as she retrieved her hand once again and placed it under her head. She scanned Mizu as had her. Admittedly he was rather dashing. So much so she'd forgotten what she was originally there to ask him. Fowler was the last thing on her mind. "What's with the spectacles?" she asked.

"My eyes are unnatural back home," he told her.

"Is that so?" Y/n asked rhetorically. Perhaps without thought for personal space, she leaned forward and took the yellow frames from the man's face. She was greeted with eyes that would put the sea herself to shame. "You needn't wear these anymore, your eyes are beautiful." The young sailor folded the glasses and handed them back to the blue eyed man.

A small smile graced Mizu's face at the first genuine compliment he'd heard in regard to his eyes. He looked over the beautiful yet foreign face of the woman in front of him. The journey to London was certainly something to look forward to now.

[yappacadaver]

OC Layers Game! - YUMI EDITION

Thank youuuu @paramortality for the tag!!!

SOOO since I just finished chapter 12 and wrapped up the second act of my fic, these answers will reflect her attitude at this specific point in the plot :3 have some yumi getting worse

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE

Name: Yumi Sato

Eye Colour: brown, yellow when she goes beastmode

Hairstyle/Colour: Short brown hair with bangs, usually under her hat

Height: 5'2

Clothing Style: grunge, sometimes she'll dress a little more emo/goth/kawaii when the mood strikes but usually she's just feeling lazy

Best Feature: she would self identify her best feature as her ass or her jokes but real yumi truthers know the best part of her is her smile :)

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: everything tbh, but she wears it well. Biggest fears are weakness/disability, entrapment, fear itself, and sadism/cruelty

Guilty Pleasures: MTV and over-indulging in expensive snacks

Biggest Pet Peeve: conformists, thoughtless behavior

Ambition for the Future: what for the what? Yumi has no real purpose in life besides apathetically avoiding death and trying to make each moment bearable. In her experience, ambition and striving only lead to immense fuckups and ego-shattering tragedy

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thought Waking Up: "Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh"

What They Think About Most: she spends a lot of time ruminating about the past, but it's more disordered thinking than intentional. When she's not doing that she's thinking about momentary needs/wants and how to get them met. She spends a lot of time thinking about snacks

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: She thinks her best quality is her ability to disappear. When someone in her life has pushed her too far, or when she believes she's becoming an issue, Yumi prides herself in being able to detach completely and vanish

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Single, she's not really a people person, and she's kinda cringe in love and doesn't want friends/acquaintances to see that side of her

To Be Loved or Respected: Ideally both, but if she could only have one, she'd choose respect. Love has been the trojan horse concealing abuse, and respect is hard to come by when you're as fucked up as she is. Being respected is safer than being loved.

Beauty or Brains: brains, of course, but she also has a very different idea of "beautiful"

Dogs or Cats: cats, but she loves both

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: Yes

Believe in Yourself: No

Believe in Love: She used to, but now she doesn't and it sucks since she's such a lovergirl deep down inside

Want Someone: YES. BADLY. not gonna name names but he popped into your head didn't he 😏

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been On Stage: Yes, Yumi has been through public school as a child musician and dancer

Done Drugs: Yes, often

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Yes, and it's sucked every time, but then again so does being targeted for not fitting in

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT’S THEIR…

Favourite Colour: She doesn't really know anymore. Maybe black. Maybe brown or grey or white. Yellow is growing on her.

Favourite Animal: Cats, but really she likes all animals

Favourite Book: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Favourite Game: Pokemon Yellow Pikachu Edition for the gameboy

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB: November 22, 1970

How Old Will You Be: She is turning 28 soon (TWIG takes place in late summer/fall 1998)

Does Age Matter: Yes

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I Love: when he treats me softly. I even love when he touches me, but I could never, ever say it.

I Feel: like shit all the time.

I Hide: everything, for as long as I can, and then have to go through hell once it eventually gets out.

I Miss: when i was a kid. I miss myself from before I ruined everything.

I Wish: I could go back. I wish I died before any of this happened.

Tagging: OPEN TAG!!!!!!! IF U HAVE AN OC PLS FEEL FREE TO FILL IT OUT AND SAY I TAGGED U :D

[witchofhimring]

To cast you down and take all you hold dear

This series is being edited. I feel Alys came off as one dimensionally evil and the reader as a pretty flat character. So this will be heavily edited.

Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear

Pairings:

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Part 3 (previous chapter): Younger and more beautiful

Warnings: angst, cheating, mentions of stillbirth/miscarriages, death

A slap echoed through the room. The lady cried out and held her cheek. Alys stood there, wide eyed with a shaking hand. All her ladies stood around her in shock. At that moment Alys did not look even remotely regal. In fact, she had never looked worse. Alys was no longer the beautiful woman who took the throne. There may be remanence, but they were blurred. Her once fine black hair had a slight wear to it from all the nervous tugging over the past few months. Dark brown eyes bore out of a pale face, the skin stretched tightly over it like a mask. Her figure, which had once been so slender, had become blousy and difficult to control. Alys found that she could no longer simply rely on walking and eating soups to keep a slim figure. Her body ached in places she did not even know could. This might have been all worth it if she'd had a son. But only one daughter and two stillborn babes in the end. Panic had set in. They now whispered in the halls of the Queen, unable to bear the King a son. Now they whispered of the old one. Lately, Y/n's name came stalked the halls.

At least she new how to be a Queen.

Twenty years and he just casts her aside.

Queen Y/n would have done it better.

Y/n this. Y/n that. All they talked of was the old Queen. They also whispered of how Queen Alys was losing her grip of the King. No longer was she the fearless mistress who took the court by storm. As Queen she was flooded with worried and responsibilities that made her hair turn grey.

Not like Floris Baratheon. Floris Baratheon was only slightly younger than herself. She had borne her pervious husband two sons yet her figure remained just as lithe as it had been in her youth. Alys had taken great pleasure in sending Y/n's former lady to serve the true Princess, her daughter. But the sneaky little slut had been cunning. Because whenever the Queen had her back turned, Floris took to seductive arts.

"To cast you down and take all you hold dear."

Floris Baratheon, younger, more beautiful, who held a candle for the old Queen. Soon Floris became the governess and had unfiltered access to the King.

Exhausted, Alys dismissed her ladies and headed down the hall. It was late and she had only just heard the last of the petitioners. She would go to her husband tonight and try to get another child. Perhaps this time a son. Summoning her courage Alys walked to the door. In the mirror she quickly checked herself. Today she wore a sleek black gown that highlighted her best features. The black and ruby crown that once belonged to Y/n was placed on her head. She pushed open the door. The sight that greeted her caused Alys to stagger back. Floris Baratheon was sitting in the Kings lap, her dark hair cascading to one side. Her blue eyes drifted towards the Queen and she could see mirth shimmering on the surface of her eyes. The second her husband sees her he simply helps Floris to her feet and sends her away. "Your Grace." Floris gives her the smallest curtsy, and the smallest smile that only she could see dancing on her lips.

"At least the previous Queen was dignified about it." Alys wanted to tear their eyes out for such words. It was all they had been talking about the past few days. After catching her husband with Floris the conversation that followed could have destroyed the Red Keep. Shouts thundered and likely a nosy servant had overheard and spread word about. Or even that bitch Floris had opened her cunt mouth. She wanted to tear their throats out and make them beg for mercy. But that wasn't truly an option. She was the Queen. Just as how Y/n held the title. A Queen never complained.

"You brought that whore into your chambers!" She screamed as tears built up behind her eyes. Aemond pinched his nose, looking irritated. "I did not endure a day of tedious meetings to deal with your harping." This was insulting. He was acting as if his offence was minor in nature. "Harping! This is an insult to me and our daughter the Princess! She is heir to the Seven kingdoms and-" Aemond started to laugh. With a flinch she drew back. Alys could not believe this was the man she had grown to love. "You forget yourself Alys. And let us not forget that my daughter Daenerys was considered the heir at one such time." She could hear the wine on his breath. Horrified, Alys gaped at her husband. "How dare....that is not the same!" She was actually shaking right now, such was her anger. Alys was tempted to rush towards Aemond and drag her nails through his skin. And once she was done with that, her attention would turn to Floris. And Gods help that girl when she did. "In the eyes of many it is the same, My Lady. Many do not see you as the true Queen." She staggered back. No, this could not be her Aemond. This was some horrid parody of the man she had come to love. Unable to take it anymore, Alys fleed.

She knew that the crown was her destiny. Alys had spent days preparing Harenhall for the Kings arrival, as well as herself. Her onyx black hair fell to her waist, she bathed in cold water for weeks to keep her skin pale and a crimson dress that flung to her figure. She waited by the window, excepting to see a dragon descend at any moment. "Queen you shall be." Yes. She would be Queen one day. Her thoughts went to the current Queen. The one who could not even give the King a son. Perhaps this was the Queen she was meant to replace. A deep rumbling emanated from the distance and a great shadow parted the rolling clouds. It was time.

She descended the stairs, careful not to tear her delicate dress. A rumble shook the castle as Vhaegar landed. The great doors opened and Alys entered the court yard, just as the King got off Vhaegar. He was not a young man anymore, though not old either. He still kept the same physic of his youth, silver hair streaming behind him. Alys felt something warm stir within her. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. It was as if someone had plucked the ethereal descriptions of the Valyrians of old and made it into life. He walked towards her in an elegant stride before kissing her hand. His lips were warm.

Days went by as Aemond and Alys spoke. They walked in the gardens and talked about books. The longer they stayed together the more she fell for him. Alys thought that this must be it. This must be the King she was meant to marry. It was just too bad he had a wife. "I shall head back when the Queen gives birth." It had been almost twenty years and the Queen had yet to give a son. Alys hated her, the reason Aemond would have to leave. She just wished Y/n would go away already. She was tired of waiting! "Is she in good health?" From anyone else this would sound like a comment of concern. But no, Alys simply hoped Y/n would finally die. And then Alys could marry and give her King the son he so needed.

She was summoned to the council at the hour of the wolf. She walked, flanked by two of her ladies. On her way there, who should she meet, but Floris. It was late. Far to late for Floris Baratheon to simply be taking a leisurely stroll through the castle. Alys realized they were quite alone. A slow sneer curled on those red lips as Alys realized now was the time. She would take care of Floris once and for all. "It is late to be serving the King as his whore." She put on the facade on an uncaring Queen who saw mistresses as beneath her notice. Only Floris smiled, as if in on some great joke. "Oh, you're alright at it." Instead of rage Alys was confused. "Speak plainly." She demanded. "I mean that your uncaring mask is alright. Though not as good....as say... Queen Y/n." The former Queen's name rolled off Floris's tongue as she relished in the look on Alys's face. "Your loyalty to your former mistress is touching. But I suppose your final memories of her plight encourage you to rebel against be." Alys got pleasure from the momentary, painful spasm that crossed Floris's face. "I regret to inform you that the Queen was hardly pitiful in her final days. She carried herself with dignity, before and after she was in the palace." Alys fought down the hateful heat that threatened to engulf her. This mere mistress dared to insult her. Alys swore that when she bore a son she would have Floris pay for every insult. "Well, regardless, I am Queen now and it is best you remember that. I am sure your mistress told you many things to sway your heart against me." Floris only laughed. "You are most mistaken if you thought that you took up much place in the Queen's mind at all. Queens do not concern themselves with mistresses." The next moment there were was a gasp and a "crack" as Alys struck Floris. Her head turned and Floris's pale skin now wore the beginnings of a bruise. Floris simply wiped the small amount of blood from her lips. "As I said, alright. But Y/n was better."

Now word got around court of how the Queen struck the Kings mistress. All the time they stared and whispered of the jealous Queen. Worst of all were the murmurings of how Aemond might set her aside and take the young, pretty Floris as his bride. After all, she had provided her previous husband with two healthy boys. Alys had tried to conceive again but to no avail. Each month she woke up to blood on the sheets. Day after day she hoped she was pregnant.

It was not only her difficulties in producing a son that haunted Westeros. There was news coming in that Daenerys was plotting something. She had disappeared from the Sept in which she receded and taken her dragon with her. Aemond had sent out men to look her her. Alys hoped that Aemond would see sense and either kill the girl or make her take the veil. But no such thing was to occur. And then they did find the Princess, she was at the head of an army.

Alys went to see her husband that night. This time she went alone. The light flickered on the wall casting shadows. Her steps echoed off the stones. She saw her husbands bedroom door. Oddly enough, there were no guards posted. Without knocking she entered, only to see it occupied. Floris immediately straightened up, turning around hastily. A piece of crumpled parchment in her grasp. Suspicion gripped Alys at the way Floris's eyes shifted. "Hand me that." Alys striddened towards her. Floris stumbled back in her haste. A thin, cold hand closed on Floris's wrist as Alys snatched the parchment. With a shove Floris was sent to the floor. Alys could not discern the writing. But that's why spies used code. They both froze, as Alys realized what Floris had been planning for months. And Floris realized Alys had found her out. Alys could not breath. Floris had charged at her and seized Alys about the throat. Both toppled to the side. Alys dug her nails in Floris's pale skin, wracking it with her talons. Floris cried out but did not release her hold. "You traitorous bitch! I should have killed you and her bastard daughter!" Alys screamed. She called for guards but realized there were none at the door. Floris seized the necklace around Alys's neck and twisted it. Sharp pain exploded across her neck and suddenly Floris let go. She shot up and darted to the door. Alys was hot on her heals and she seized Floris's dark brown hair. She screamed and slammed her weight into Alys's foot. In one last desperate move Alys reached for the candlestick and a moment later it cracked against Floris's skull. Floris feel, bleeding. Victoriously Alys stood over her. And it seemed her prayers were answered as she head voices outside. Guards swept in and the candlestick fell from Alys's hand. At their head was Daenerys Targaryen.

"You should take care." Her elder brother Harwin Strong leaned against the door as he watched his sister put on jewelry. Alys admired her features in the mirror. She was lucky in her looks. Unlike her lumbering oaf of a brother and crippled Larys. "And why is that?" Alys rolled her eyes, she didn't have time for this. Harwin's expression darkened. "Do not take me for a fool little sister. I know what you did to Amelia." Alys sharply turned to him. So her was taking her side, was he. "She should have been more careful." "She accidently dropped tea on you. That was no reason to scar her face." Alys payed her foolish brother, who held to idea of gallantry and chivalry like a child. "Alys, one day your carelessness will harm you."

The great hall was lit. Lords and ladies had been crowded into the court, armed guards standing at every entrance. As Alys was lead in she saw her husband standing in front of a young, white haired man. The second he saw Daenerys he smiled. "I take it that everything went well?" "Yes." Daenerys stood beside the young man. "What is this?!" Alys was shaking. Even though she did not know the events that had transpired she could guess them. She looked to Aemond was had tight lipped and unable to look at her. "Aemond what has happened?" Alys grasped onto his arm, Daenerys's eyes flashed. "Alys Strong." It came out as a hiss. Daenerys's hand rested on a sword that longed to be wielded. "Lady Alys, I have not introduced myself. I am Viserys Targaryen, second of his name. This is my wife Queen Daenerys, first of her name." Her heart seemed to stop beating. She looked from Aemond back to the new couple. "You....you bedded the enemy?" Alys could barely grasp the situation. Daenerys shrugged. "Alliances change, as you well know. After all weren't you once a faithful subject?" "I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and-" Daenerys laughed. "And who will fight for your cause, My Lady?" They looked around the court and not one stepped forward. Alys looked at all the faces, at the young lady whom she slapped weeks before. The lady turned her back. Finally one did step forward. It was one of the Kingsguard. Joy leapt in Alys's heart only for it to plummeted as he knelt in front of the couple. And one by one they surrendered to the new King and Queen.

Alys was allowed the keep the Queen's rooms. But it was little comfort. A new succession had been drawn up. After Aemond died it would be Daenerys, daughter of Y/n, who would be Queen. The marriage of Y/n and Aemond was judged as good and valid. And while Alys was Queen her daughter would not be in the line of succession. She did not even feel like a Queen. Most of her ladies had gone. And she held no influence. Her place on the council was taken my Daenerys and her husband.

Aemond did not seek out his wife. Their love was less than a shadow of what it had once been. He took neither council or took to her bed. Sometimes they passed in the halls. How she wished to have words with him. But he never seemed to be interested. They never spoke again.

King Aemond Targaryen died in the early morning, alone, with none by his side. Alys wept bitterly when she found out. They had never even said goodbye. A day later they came in and told Alys that she would have a new residence. Her things were removed from the room and bustled into a carriage. "Where am I going?" The guard simply shook his head. "You will not be leaving now My Lady. The coronation takes place in a week. Alys had to make due with the few things they had left her with. Her new room was nice, but a far cry from what had been. When they day of the coronation Alys was brought to the front of the crowd. She watched as Daenerys and her husband were crowned a joint rulers of Westeros. And she looked every inch her mother, with a crown of Valyrian steel on her head.

To cast her down and take all she held dear.

Alys was bustled into a carriage shortly after. Exhausted, she leaded against the window. Where she was going she did not know. Perhaps back to Harrenhal, a place of happier days. Maybe her daughter would visit from time to time. For days they trundled on and Alys realized the destination was not Harrenhal. But no one told her anything. Perhaps she was staying at Casterly Rock. Which might not be so bad. One day they reached the place. The salty waves beat against the rocks and Alys realized where they were.

She cried out and collapsed.

On the stone steps of a sept.

Note: So this is the end I guess. I'm not entirely happy with this ending, so I might make it into a story at some point. Anyway, thanks for reading!

Taglist:

@watercolorskyy

@bellstwd

[fantasyheroine]

Written in the Stars - Chapter 7

Pairings: Astarion x Tav

Rating: Explicit

Summary: For months Astarion and Tav have been growing closer and both of them would consider the other a good friend at this point. But is friendship really what either of them truly want? One night has the potential to change their relationship forever. Will the two of them be able to overcome the hurdles a new romance throws their way while they navigate the impending threat of the Netherbrain? Or will past trauma's come back to haunt them permanently? Get swept up in this whirlwind of passion, love, and fear as the characters of Baldur's Gate 3 take on the Cult of the Absolute.

Playlist for the fic

Read on AO3

Beta Read By: @thespookypumpkinwitch

Banner Created By: @rahuratna

Tag List: @rahuratna

Previous - Next

Chapter 7: Unsteady, Unsure

Word Count: 4,572

Warnings: Angst, References to SA, Past Trauma, PTSD, Self-Hate, Insecurities, Implied Smut

Song: Haunted - Taylor Swift

A/N: Apologies for the shorter chapter. I had to split what I had planned into separate parts because things were looking like they would get too long. Chapter 8 will be a much longer one. As a heads up, Chapter 8 is going to take around two-three weeks to come out as I am going to a convention to meet Neil Newbon this coming weekend and I plan to edit what I have written so far as well. So that means my writing time is going to be reduced for about a week or so. I promise I won't hold you all in suspense for too long though and that we will be done with angst for a while as we move into the next segment of seven chapters.

Astarion worked both of them through their orgasms. His hips never stilled until he had gone completely soft and Tav was a quivering mess beneath him. As he slipped out of her sex he rolled off her body, landing on his back by her side. His chest was heaving, his breaths coming in quick pants. Rosy lips were parted in a breathless smile as his mind fought to catch up with what had just happened. His eyes focused on the stars shining down between tree leaves. Tav loved him. She had always loved him. He felt foolish for never having realized it. But now? All was out in the open. They loved each other and she had given herself to him entirely. Her heart, her trust, her body. Her body… By the Gods was that sex incredible. She had taken him better than anyone ever had, like she was made to fit him and only him. The ways in which their bodies had so perfectly molded together felt unreal. She had moved and bent exactly how he wanted her to, never giving any resistance when he’d pulled her against him in different ways, in different positions. How she had reacted to him, clenching and spasming, gasping and moaning; the memory would be seared into his mind for life. Eyes closed and he thanked the heavens for her. Thanked her enhanced flexibility and stable strength. Thanked the way she had let him take her in the dirt without a single complaint about the mess. Hells, he was doomed. An airy, soprano giggle brought him out of his reverie and he looked at the woman who had just blown his mind.

“You know, that’s twice now you’ve kissed me out of the blue.”

Teasing Astarion came naturally. It was the foundation that their friendship had been built on. Quips and jokes made lightheartedly at the other’s expense. If he thought she wasn’t going to point out the irony of him having kissed her twice when she was least expecting it simply because they had just finished having sex, he clearly didn't know her. The opportunity was just too good to pass up. Honestly what had he even been thinking, sneaking up on her while she was swinging an axe. He was damn lucky she had memorized him otherwise he could have very well ended up putting those dodging skills of his to use. The silly, lovesick fool. But she'd be lying if she said the games the two of them played didn't bring her an electric thrill. She loved how they always kept each other on their toes. Pushing limits, testing restraints. Fuck was it fun. And now here they were. At the apex of all that endless teasing. She would never dare admit it to him, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way. The start to this new thing between them. It promised a romance full of lighthearted joy. As her giggles faded she kept smiling at the sky, pleasantly content at how the day had ended. Slowly, her head lolled towards him, his perfect mouth curling up into a mischievous smirk.

Leave it to her to tease him at a time like this. It wasn’t his fault she was so damn kissable. Deniably irresistible. Had she really expected anything less than a heated make out session in the woods? Tav was brilliant in so many ways but by the Gods was she dumb when it came to interpreting his meanings at times. All dinner he had been fucking her with his eyes. Imagining all the different ways he could take her and make her scream. He thought he’d been obvious. And yet still she was surprised when he had followed her. Sweet, oblivious Tav. He would kiss her every second of the day if he could. Planned kisses, surprise kisses. Kisses to her forehead, kisses to her cheeks. Every morning he’d sweep her into his arms and pull her knuckles to his lips; only if she’d let him. He grinned.

“Give me your permission, little lover, and I’ll keep doing it.”

Her bright laugh echoed through the forest. Nocturnal birds fluttered and nighttime critters crept closer to chance a peek at the noise. She rolled to her side, booping him on the nose.

“Tempting, but knowing you, you’d take advantage of that privilege at all of the most inappropriate of times.”

She wasn’t wrong. If he had her indisputable approval, he would kiss her whenever the Hells he felt like it, even if the time was arguably an inconvenient one. A pale hand shot out to grab her wrist as her hand tried to retreat. He gave the tips of her fingers a quick nip. A playfully curled lip exposed that fang that loved to make itself known when he smiled.

“Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Tav’s beautiful face leaned close to his as she licked her lips. Her voice dropped into one of silky seduction.

“I think I’d rather find other ways to make our companions blush.”

Sparks ignited in his eyes at the implication and his fingers squeezed as he grabbed at her chin and cheek, tilting her head to the side sharply. He analyzed the teasing smirk dancing on her lips and the way her eyes had narrowed to impish slits. He grasped her face tighter, pulling her lips a fraction closer to him.

“You cheeky thing.”

Tav’s grin turned more devilish and she wiggled her eyebrows with a wink before puckering her lips in a mock kiss. He barked a loud laugh, letting her go to instead scoot back and admire her cocky confidence. It took a brave woman to toy with a creature such as him. Especially one who wouldn’t say no to devouring her a second time. But like always she trusted him unwaveringly. And as much as he would have loved to go for a second round he didn’t break that trust. Elbows kept him propped as he leaned back to watch her. Rolling onto her back once more, she stretched. As her arms reached wide to the side, her back arched pushing her chest into the air. The expanse of her neck became completely exposed as her head tilted back and he could see the pulse of her heart. Watching her bend, the silhouette of her frame against the backdrop of the mist riddled, darkened woods created a sort of magical mysticism to her image. She was a huntress. A goddess. A wild fey queen that he’d happily kneel for… She was gorgeous… Inexplicably gorgeous. He’d want for nothing if he managed to make her entirely his. She could very easily change his world. 

Red traced the shape of her body as she came down from her stretch and sat up. The definition of her muscles showed her blatant strength but with a subtlety that maintained her feminine figure. Full breasts, toned stomach, slender waist. Her skin glimmered, flawlessly smooth, save for the abundance of scars littering it. There wasn’t a single beauty mark in sight. No moles or freckles besides the small smattering across her nose and that sole tattoo. Black ink winding up the curve of her hip to the planes of her iliac region like a vine. She looked like she was carved from gold. Soft in places, yes, but finely detailed and immeasurably precious. She was a treasure most sacred, one that bandits could only hope to try and steal, and he wasn’t lost on how blessed he was to be allowed to gaze upon her naked form. When she finally looked at him again his mouth curved at the edges into a warm smile and his arms opened encouragingly while he lowered himself to the ground.

“Come on, love.”

The way in which Tav’s eyebrows immediately furrowed had him getting concerned. She didn’t make a move to come closer to him and his throat clenched. Why wasn’t she coming closer to him? Fear rose up in his chest, clawing with nails shaped like his master’s. Had he made a mistake in his interpretation of the night? In his interpretation of her words? She looked so confused right now. Perhaps he hadn’t made his intentions clear.

“Come lie with me Tav.”

Still she sat frozen. Anxiety made its way to his tongue and his mask slipped back on. He didn’t mean to scoff. Didn’t mean to default to sarcasm. But her hesitation was hurting him more than he’d like to admit.

“Oh don’t look so shocked, darling. We did just confess our undying love for each other did we not? I’d be a bad lover if I didn’t at the very least indulge in a cuddle.”

The switch broke Tav out of her temporary flashback within seconds. NO. She wouldn’t think about him. Not now. Not when everything with Astarion was so close to being right. He wouldn’t haunt her any longer. She was better. She had moved on. Healed. It had been eighty five years since then. Sixty since she’d stopped trying. Forty since she’d vanished. It was better now. It had to be. Astarion wasn’t… He wouldn’t… It was safe. It was okay. She’d be okay. *I’ll be ok.* When her eyes focused on him again the look he was giving her made her flinch. One second Astarion had been smiling at her with tenderness and now his expression had morphed into the sardonic one he liked to throw up whenever he was feeling vulnerable. Her mind whirled. She stared at him while he sneered at her. It wasn’t like she had meant to hesitate, to frown at his offer of cuddling but he wasn’t the only one with a past. Wasn’t the only one who wished they could forget things they never would. She hadn’t been expecting his offer. It wasn’t something that she had ever been given before. Tenderness after sex. She had honestly been fully expecting him to get dressed, bid her goodnight, and then leave her in the woods. The fact that he was willing to stay, wanted to stay, was extremely confusing. Did he expect more from her? Had she not been good enough?

His arms were still outstretched but they were dipping. His confusion was evident. Guilt tore at her heart. She didn’t want to hurt him. He was new to this whole thing. Relationships, sharing feelings, opening up. Hells, he had even given her a heartfelt confession before having sex with her. But this wouldn’t have been the first time someone had lied about loving her. And yet, he had sounded so honest. Treated her with such care. There had been an actual connection between them when he’d fucked her. It hadn’t been just sex. It couldn’t have been. I felt too different. Too raw. So real… He was still looking at her confused. Pained. She could see his confidence waning. He had opened up to her. Offered her comfort and love. And all she had given him was hesitation. *Shit.* Of course she had fucked this up. She always fucked things like this up. And now he was defensive again. His walls were returning. All because of her stupid trauma. He had gone out on a limb and shown her a different side of him today. One made of pillows and fluff. Softness and fairy tales. He had given her a snippet of the romance she helplessly craved; and what she had given him was more of the same. She was a fuck up. A hopeless fuck up. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve anyone.

Their staring stalemate stretched on. Desperately she tried to tame the hurt of her past. If she could just let go. Let him in. His Adam's apple bobbed with his every nervous swallow, his eyes shifted to the side before focusing back on her. She couldn’t watch him. Watch the hurt she had caused wash over his face. His posture was dropping, his arms slowly lowering. Before he could fully put them down, she launched herself closer; begging with her eyes for him to not retract his offer. She couldn’t lose this! Not this! Not him! *Please! Please don’t! I want this! I promise I want this!* Warily his arms opened back up and this time she didn’t hesitate, nestling herself into his strong hold and placing her head on his chest. The pounding of her heart in her ears was deafening and she cringed because she knew that he could hear it. Why couldn’t she just open up to him like he was trying to open up to her? The weight of her secrets, all those things she had refused to say, refused to share, they ate at her conscience. She could trust him, couldn’t she? Astarion wouldn’t break her. Not like he had. No. She couldn’t. Not now. Not when their relationship was still balanced on the edge of something precarious. Maybe one day she’d tell Astarion. Let it all come spilling out. A day when they had been together long enough. A day when she knew without a doubt he wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe then she’d tell him. But for now she would push it down. Cage all of those unspoken things back up in her chest and focus on taking care of him.

Astarion’s relief was immediate as Tav finally folded against his body. She hadn’t left. She was still here, laying in his arms. He had been so worried she was going to get up and walk away. That her hesitation had meant he’d been wrong. That she didn’t love him. That she’d lied. That she was only after sex. He wanted to trust her. Trust that she wasn’t like that, but so many people had only ever wanted him for his body. Lusted after his sexual appeal and not given a second thought to anything more once they had received what they’d wanted. His mind conveniently forgot how adamantly Tav had refused to use him, denied sleeping with him without it meaning something more. The frenzy of memories swirling like a storm caused him to not remember that detail. Instead he recalled all the times he’d been told he was nothing. How many times had Cazador told him he was only worth the sex he could provide? That he was simply a pretty face meant to entertain? His assumption surrounding her hesitation had been instinctual, and now as she lay next to him his mind froze. The storm swelled. Thunder crashed. The disgust he was used to hit him like a thrown brick. Suddenly the feel of her skin pressed against his was no longer pleasurable. It felt like a cage. A reminder of his enslavement and all the times he’d been forced to seduce. Forced to perform the act of sex and then hold his marks before leaving them in the night as they slept. The sound of their screams as he left the room and Cazador took his place haunted his mind. It was all he could hear right now. Those horrible, terrified screams. The woods faded away and he was back in a lavish four poster bed, holding his latest victim knowing that soon they would be dead. Drained dry while he was sent back out on the streets to find another poor soul to lead to their death. Another body to add to his endless list.

Tav smothered her issues as she felt Astarion spiraling. His body had gone ice cold, colder than she had ever felt him, his breathing had completely stopped. His nails dug marks into her shoulders where he held onto her and she wasn’t sure if she should pull away or if moving would make things worse. So she stayed unnaturally still. It wasn’t fully clear as to what horror he was currently reliving, but the hunter in her knew when someone was experiencing pure fear. Her own emotions spiked, that guilt eating at her doing its best to make her unravel with him. But giving into it would help no one. She had to salvage things before she lost him all over again. Before this thing ended before it ever got the chance to begin. She needed him. She loved him. And despite all her reservations, all of her fears, she knew she had to bring him back. The darkness that could consume him was one she was far too familiar with and she couldn’t let him fall into it. Not like she had. The quiet melody began to encapsulate them. The lullaby nearly inaudible as she hummed against his shaking chest. She didn’t want to startle him but she also didn’t want him becoming lost. Music had always been her safe haven. The one thing that never failed to calm her down. Now she hoped that it could do the same for him. As the crickets joined in on her song providing their soothing orchestra to the lull of her hymn, she prayed that her voice could bring him back from the edge.

It took many minutes before Astarion’s body relaxed. Her music faded at the first indication that he was returning to himself and she let the insects take over the song. Soon enough he was breathing again. He wasn’t fully with her yet but it was a start. She didn’t touch him. Didn’t stroke his arm or rub his back. Not once did she move even though her hands were twitching from the stillness. But shifting could make him stray. It could scare him away. The last thing she wanted was to frighten him in his current state. The slightest hint of warmth returned to his skin and at his next shaky sigh she whispered into his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Goosebumps erupted along his flesh at the feel of her breath on his pecs. His ears flattened against his skull and he screwed his eyes shut trying to vanish the images still playing in his mind.

“No.”

Talking would make things worse. It would make the memories more concrete. Plus then she would know. Know all the horrible things he had done. All the blood that coated his hands. All the people he’d killed. She’d hate him. He didn’t belong with her. Not even if she was only using him. He was a monster. A being of pure evil. And she was a hero. Someone who by all rights should slay him. Put him back in the grave he’d crawled his way out of. He was beyond unworthy of her. So beyond unfit to be her partner. To stand by her side. She was so kind, so caring. Her heart was made of the gold she’d been sculpted from. It was good and honest and he was a lier. A manipulator. A seducer and a thief. He had stolen her heart without ever having earned the right to. But she loved him. Sworn she loved him. Loved who he was. Another puff of her air against his skin had him taking a deep breath. This was Tav. A woman so confident in herself and the company she kept that it left no room for argument on who was good and who was bad. Her words had not been untrue. She had only ever told him the truth. He could trust her. Like she trusted him. This was real, wasn’t it? 

He took a moment to consider the risks of showing her his weaknesses. The self-doubt. The self-hate. The horrors he had wrought and the ones he had endured. She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t. That wasn’t like her and he knew her. She wouldn’t shun him simply because the touch of her skin brought back bad memories. No. She was strong and surefooted. Confident and brave. But he was broken. Tainted. Eventually she would come to her senses and leave him. Any smart person would. Perhaps it was best to end things between them before anything ever began. It would save him the heartbreak, save her the struggle. But if there was one thing Astarion was, it was selfish. And he wanted her. Badly. So despite his fears, the worry and the pain, he gave her the best explanation he currently could, not wanting to forgo the chance of what they could have. What they could be.

“Bad memories is all. I’m fine now.”

Tav continued to not move. She didn’t push him to share. She never pushed. But she knew that fine was a lie. Fine was always a lie. She was intimately acquainted with the falsified assurance of being fine. Still, if he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t press. Her head remained on his chest and faintly she wished she could hear his heart. That the organ within didn’t lie dead. It could have told her what to do. Tell her if his nervousness had subsided. If she could hug him. But such was the curse of Vampirism. Forced to live a life without life. His voice echoed around them as he attempted to joke with her. Like things were ok. Like they weren’t both breaking.

“You’re as stiff as a board.”

Her mumbled apology felt forced. Even to her ears she could hear how far away it seemed.

“Sorry.”

If he was attempting humor that meant he was ok now, right? She could move? She could touch him? Carefully she tried wrapping her arms around his torso but retracted her limbs when he once again froze.

Astarion cursed his bodily reaction, hating how even miles away Cazador still had him enslaved. She clearly didn’t trust that she could touch him. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to touch him. That damaged part of himself started to second guess her intentions. Maybe she was disgusted by him, disgusted by his past. At how many people he had slept with. At how much he'd been soiled. Maybe she thought he was unfit for intimacy and was pitying his attempts at aftercare. It’s not like he was currently doing a good job at it. He’d frozen up too many times to count at this point. His thoughts went back to how she had hesitated when he’d offered to cuddle her. Perhaps she was forcing herself to do this for his sake.

“Is this… not what you wanted?”

Tav balked at the question. How did she answer that? How did she tell him that cuddling was something that had never been offered to her before? How could she even begin to explain her past? Explain the man that had used and abused her? The only man she had slept with. The only man before him that she had ever loved. He would judge her. Devalue her. He would never see her the same way again. She hadn’t shared much with anyone about who she’d been before getting abducted but they all knew that she was young for an Elf. If she told Astarion about how inexperienced she actually was there was no doubt that he’d laugh at her. No. She’d keep that information to herself. She was good enough in bed to not arise suspicion. He had made sure of that. Made sure she was good enough for him each and every night they were together. Astarion would never know.

“This is fine.”

Gods, it was fine. Just fine. Nothing good ever came from something being fine. He regretted ever offering up this embrace in the first place. Clearly neither of them wanted it anymore. So why was he still holding her? Why couldn’t he let go? She interrupted his thoughts with a vulnerable whisper.

“I’m just nervous… It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

‘Since I’ve ever done this’, is what she wanted to say. But the words wouldn’t come. Too much vulnerability at once would be bad for her. Admitting she was nervous was hard enough. It was too soon to spill the truth. The whole of it. His mind was already eating at him, his own past hard enough to sift through. He didn’t need the added burden of hers.

Astarion’s worry stricken expression slackened and he glanced down at Tav for the first time since she had crawled into his arms. He wondered what she meant by her words. What ‘this’ was she referring to? Cuddling? Sex? Or perhaps a relationship. Either way he wouldn’t question her. It was clear she was struggling to share whatever was plaguing her. As much as he wanted to know, she never pushed him when he wasn’t ready to talk, so he wouldn’t pressure her. Still he felt somewhat soothed by her admission. His weight shifted so that he lay on his side. Her body moved with his as she repositioned herself as well and he tucked her head back into his chest placing his chin on top of messy copper waves. A sigh managed to shutter its way out of him. As awful as those memories had been, this felt nice. She remained stiff and clumsily he patted her back in an attempt to ease her worry. He wanted to comfort her as she so often comforted him. As inexperienced as the action made him feel it did the trick in getting her to soften. Her body went languid and he relaxed his arm around her waist. She did not hold him back, instead opting to slide her hands between their bodies to rest on his upper abdomen, but that was ok. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being embraced in return. He wondered if she had done it for him. Out of mindfulness of those sensitive, untouched parts of his psyche that caused his body to react poorly. But there was every chance she had done it for her. A way to keep whatever was running through her mind at bay. He kissed the top of her head, sighing at how quickly the atmosphere had changed to something tenuous.

Tav let her eyes close as she tried to focus on the feeling of being held. Astarion was being a sweetheart. Offering her what little comfort he could as he struggled himself, kindly refraining from asking questions. She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep this up. Keep hiding the parts of herself that hurt. If they wanted this relationship to be something worth holding onto they’d both have to reveal their cards. All of them. Gingerly, she placed a kiss above his undead heart.

“I love you.”

His face buried deeper into her hair as he tried to hold back the fear those words brought to the surface. That she didn’t actually love him. That she shouldn't. That he didn't deserve her. But he didn’t say any of it, because somehow, despite everything, this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“I love you too.”

For the first time Tav let herself enjoy the hold of another person and soon her breathing lulled into a slow pull of air. With every inhale she breathed in the scent of the man she loved more than anything in the world. The man who she hoped would love her just as much, forever. Bergamot and rosemary wrapped around her senses like a python around its prey, and she kissed him again before letting herself fall into a deep trance. Nightmares haunted their memories as the two rested but with it came the blossoming hope of a real love.

[some-kindof-cryptid]

Heart of Hearts 8 ♥️♦️

Summary - To cap off the worst year of her life, Kutsuki Hotaru is thrown into an unknown world where everyone in Tokyo has disappeared. She's forced to play games to survive and dark memories catch up to her. Can some coincidental encounters with someone from her real life help her escape from the Borderlands?

CW/TW - violence, injury, very brief niragi

A/N - 👇🏻 this scene isn't in the chapter but it's my fave so I need it to be here for vibes

Chapter 8 - WITCH HUNT魔女狩り

A/N - ok tbh I've had this fic written since 2022 😭 9 chapters anyway. I've just been editing it as I publish it here. Since I'm almost at the end, I wanted to lyk that ch. 10 is gonna be special. Leave any scenes ((like filler//fluff stuff))of Hotaru, Chishiya, Kuina, or any other character that you would want to see in the comments and chapter 10 will be a collection of about 5 small scenes of everyone together OR I can make up another game for Hotaru and Chishiya to play, you decide 🃏 ok bye

"We will now be explaining the rules. All players are to assemble in the lobby. I repeat. All players are to assemble in the lobby," the voice chimes.

Hotaru's pulse drums in her ears as she sprints through the halls. Once she reaches the first floor, people start flying past her, trying to reach the lobby. The sheer amount of people clamoring for a phone is suffocating. She sneaks around the back of the table, snagging one. The screen lights up;

[DIFFICULTY, TEN OF HEARTS]

Her heart drops. Of course, she thinks, Of course, it's here. Her eyes search frantically for someone, anyone she knew.

Her eyes widen as she spots someone with familiar short hair and a pink jacket, "Usagi!" She calls, shoving through people.

"Kutsuki!" She exclaims, catching her as she broke through the crowd, “I thought you were behind me-”

Hotaru's mouth opens to say something, but her voice dies in her throat. The residents of the beach formed a circle in the middle of the lobby. In the center, a girl with a knife through her chest. Her dead eyes stared back at her, making her mouth snap shut.

A girl who she'd only seen in passing runs towards the girl screaming, "Momoka? Momoka!"

"Game, "Witch Hunt." The evil witch who took the girl's life is hiding among you. The witch role is not limited to women," the voice explains.

Both girls look at Usagi's phone screen, Hotaru holding her stomach with one hand, trying to hold her shoulder in place at the same time, and the other around her friend, keeping her balance, "Among us?" Usagi mumbles.

"You clear the game if you find the witch and burn them in the Fire of Judgment. Time limit, two hours."

[TIME LIMIT]

[02:00:00]

"There's a fire burning at the back of the building!" A man calls, pointing to the large windows at the back of the lobby.

“Find the one who murdered Momoka, then burn them in the Fire of Judgment,” Ann’s voice says somewhere behind them.

There’s a small commotion behind the girls as a voice that makes Hotaru’s blood run cold shouts out, “A witch hunt? This sounds interesting,” Niragi pushes himself to the front of the crowd.

“The game has already begun,” Usagi mutters, the countdown on her phone screen already ticking down.

“Hey,” Niragi says, leaning down to Hotaru’s ear.

The man winks at them, blood stains visible on the white of his shirt. She can’t stop her body from shaking at the sight of him. Usagi takes notice, pulling her closer to her side.

“All right, let's search for the witch!” he calls out, addressing the rest of the residents. Everyone starts whispering to each other, they were already starting to panic. Ann steps forward, kneeling to inspect Momoka’s body.

“Hey, you,” someone addresses Momoka’s friend, “Why weren't you with her today?”

“What?” she asks, tears still staining her face.

“Why were you late? Weren't you always with her?” a man asks.

Niragi lunges forward, shoving his gun into the girl’s face, “Is she the witch?”

“It's not me!” she screams, trying to crawl away.

“We'll know once we throw you in the fire!”

“I was in my room! I'm not lying!”

Another man chimes in, “You two were always together, but today you happened to not be with her?”

Niragi cackles, “All right, it's decided. She's the witch! Drag her to the fire!”

Several militants run forward, hoisting the screaming girl into the air, “I didn't do anything!”

Hotaru can't stand it, breaking free from her friend, she runs to stand in front of the militants. Usagi follows, “Stop this!” Mira shouts, joining the two of them, “Let go of Asahi,” the woman was almost unnervingly calm.

They drop the girl, “We’re all suspects here,” Hotaru says, “Even the militants.”

“Where were you guys, and what were you doing?” Usagi asks, stepping forward, “Can you prove it? Just say it!”

A tense silence settles over the room before Niragi makes his way to them, “Both of us were having a good time in the same room, right Kutsuki?” he asks tauntingly.

She averts her eyes, throat going dry. Ann puts herself between them, “Everyone will take turns reporting what they've been doing in the past hour.”

“There's blood on her!” a girl shrieks.

“Don't get the wrong idea-”

Niragi’s face lights up, “Now, this is getting interesting. Could she be the witch?”

“You're wrong! This is Hatter's blood.”

The crowd of people starts murmuring to each other, confused.

“I was checking Hatter's body. That was when the blood got on it.”

“His body?” someone wonders.

Ann looks at the cloth in her hand, “Hatter was murdered,”

“Why did you keep it from us?”

“The executives believed this would throw everyone into confusion.”

“Are you guys hiding more things from us?” a man asks, shoving a man next to him, “Hey! Stop whispering among yourselves!”

“Calm down!” Kuzuryu snaps, appearing next to Mira.

“This bullet was stuck inside Hatter's body,” Ann says, holding up a bullet in between her fingers, “The firing marks align with the firearms we have here. This means someone at the Beach killed Hatter.”

“Hey,” a timid-looking girl speaks up, “Could it be that the witch killed Hatter? I mean, doesn't that sound plausible given the timing of the events? The witch must be among them-”

The girl chokes, blood gurgling from her throat, a blade slicing through her chest, and she collapses as it withdrawals, revealing Last Boss, “How troublesome,” he hums, “Let’s just burn everyone we find.”

“If someone among us is the witch, then everyone other than the militant member is the witch,” the sea of people parts as Aguni and the rest of the militants enter the room, “Who's the witch? Come forward,” everyone is silent and Hotaru’s stomach tightens, she grabs Usagi’s hand tightly, “If nobody does, then I'll throw everyone into the fire,”

Niragi yells out in excitement, shooting into the air. Everyone screams, scattering in every direction. Hotaru yanks Usagi toward the exit, but spots Asahi still on the floor. They separate to help the girl up and yell at her to follow them. Before leaving, Usagi grabs the lone phone left on the table.

Once around a corner, Usagi stops them, grabbing her shoulders, "Where's Arisu?"

"I-" her thoughts race, unable to think properly, "He got caught, he's in a room somewhere, I can't remember,"

She gives her a consoling look and nods, "We'll find him,"

The three girls start to run again when Hotaru is knocked to the ground. A stampede of people separates them and she can see Usagi trying to spot her. She scrambles back up, clinging to a pillar near her.

"Go without me! Find Arisu and I'll find you!" She calls out over the crowd.

She tries to give them a reassuring smile, but it comes out pained. Nevertheless, they take off down the hall, leaving Hotaru on her own. Her eyes dart every which way, trying to get a grasp on where to go. The militants bark orders at each other on the other side of the room, people screaming, drowning most of it out.

Ok, ok. She thinks, trying to breathe deeply. Despite her efforts, her breathing becomes shallow as her chest tightens. Her entire body begins to shake again as she slides down the wall, grasping at her heart.

The crowd starts to thin as her face starts to sting. She wipes at her cheek, tears and blood staining her hand. She clasps her hands together, trying to settle the tremors.

"Out of here…" she mumbles, "Need to get out of here."

Slowly sliding back up the wall, Hotaru's eyes widen, landing on a militant heading her way. Her body freezes as the man raises his gun, shouting something unintelligible. In an instant, he shoots and she ducks, covering her head. She's up and sprinting a second later, her ears ringing from overstimulation.

The only place she can think to go is her office. It could be safe, she could push a shelf in front of the door. Hiding out until someone finds the witch by pure chance or until a laser rips through her skull.

She stalls at the door, hand hovering over the handle. Hiding? While hundreds of people are being massacred? While Usagi was searching for Arisu, who for all they knew could be dead. While Niragi walked around relatively unscathed…

After only one tentative step backward, Hotaru is pushed into the room. She stumbles in, catching herself from hitting the floor. She whips around to yell at the person before she stops. Chishiya held his ear against the door with his finger over his lips.

She listens as pounding footsteps pass and fade around the corner, "You're not the witch, are you?" He asks, barely looking at her.

"You," she starts, closing the distance between them in a second, barring him against the door with her good arm, "Why don't you ask your friend Niragi what he was doing to Usagi and me while Momoka was being murdered!" She shouts, slamming his back against the door, "What were you doing, huh? Should I throw you in the fire and see if you're the witch?"

His gaze on her is steady, "You're covered in blood again," he says, his eyes traveling to her neck, "but the bruises are new."

Chishiya's calm demeanor catches her off guard, "What…" her hand unconsciously feels her neck, pain blooming under her fingertips.

As her breath quickens, Chishiya grabs her wrists to guide her to the floor. He crosses the room quickly, searching through her cabinets. She holds her neck, gasping for air.

"You… how could you…" she pants, her head finally starting to clear.

"Why are you still here, Kutsuki?" He asks, shoving a roll of tape in his pocket, "Kuina said you left, but here you are trapped with the rest of us."

With her brain finally receiving oxygen again, her thoughts still, "Was that really necessary?" she glares at him, hoping to bore holes into his head.

"Survival instinct. We both know you can kill me. And death by you seems much less pleasant than a laser."

"Of course," she breathes, all of the energy drained from her body, "I had to warn Usagi and Arisu, I was caught."

"Your heart is your downfall, Kutsuki."

She stares at him as he approaches, "And I'd rather die because of that than sacrifice three people just so I can survive."

"Three?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. He squats in front of her, taking a roll of bandages from his pocket, "I don't remember sacrificing three people."

"Don't play stupid," she says, flinching as he lifts her injured leg, "What the hell are you doing?"

He sighs, "Do you want your open wounds exposed?" She shakes her head, "Then let me wrap them," he lifts her leg again to start wrapping the fabric around it, "And I sacrificed the two of them so you could survive."

He ties a knot and motions for her to lift her shirt so he could wrap her waist. Hotaru complies, looking down at him, confused. She starts to speak, but he cuts her off.

"You're useful to me, as is Kuina. The three of us together could surely survive this place."

"What? Your brains and our brawn?" She asks sarcastically.

He shrugs, tying off the second bandage, "To put it basically," he stands, holding his hand to her, "Those should stay put now."

She accepts his hand and hoists herself back up, "Tell me why I should trust you."

He sighs deeply, humming to himself, "When you told me about Hatter losing his mind and Niragi becoming…impatient, I started listening in on their conversations. You were in much more danger than you realized. So if I wanted to keep you as an ally, we had to leave the beach quickly."

In two quick motions, he grabs her arm and pops her shoudle back into socket. Hotaru yells out, yanking her arm away from him. She stills for a moment, letting the pain subside before straightening herself.

Hotaru resolves to get out of the second beach alive first; resolving festering anger could wait.

“So, what are we going to do?” He blinks, watching her twist her hair up and tie it in place, "I'm guessing you already have an idea of who the witch is?"

He blinks again before answering, "The power has switched over from the generators to the main power sources,"

"So whoever set this up must be an executive member or militant. Someone with access to the power supply."

"Yes, exactly."

She pats his shoulder, passing him, "Investigate that, I need to find Usagi."

He catches her arm, "I'll find you afterward."

"Of course, you will," she says, huffing out a laugh, "We apparently can't stay away from each other."

🃏

For about the next hour, Hotaru searched each room in the main building of the beach. She didn't know if Usagi had checked them already, or if she had already found him. The only way to know was to find one or both of them.

"Arisu!" She calls out for the hundredth time, entering the next room.

She looks through an identical bathroom and an identical bedroom. Yet again, nothing. The smoke that had started to accumulate in the rooms had gotten thicker over the last half hour. Hotaru makes her way to the window, breathing through her sleeve.

Throwing the window open, she leans her top half out, breathing in the fresh air. People still ran through the courtyard, trying to evade the militants. The crowds had significantly thinned, leaving only a few stragglers. Bodies floated below her in the pool which had taken on a red hue.

Shots ring out from above her. Her heart almost leaps out of her chest, she covers her ears and ducks back into the room. After a few seconds, she tentatively peeks her head back out, her eyes widening at a familiar pink jacket and a girl hanging off the side of the building.

“Usagi!” she calls out.

The girl looks down, calling back before breaking through the window next to her.

Hotaru startles again before another person leans out of the window above her, “Kutsuki?”

“Tatta!” she beams up at the boy, thankful he had survived again, “Did you find Arisu?”

Usagi appears at the next window, her face now bloody, “He’s here! I’m untying him now!”

Hotaru sighs in relief, leaning on the windowsill, “All of you meet me downstairs, get outside as soon as you can!”

The boy nods before they both disappear back through the windows. For the first time in weeks, she was happy. Hotaru sprints from the room, not even shutting the door behind her. They just had to survive for 45 more minutes and she’d do anything at this point to protect them.

After safely reaching the first floor again, her eyes immediately landed on bloody footprints. She follows them down the hallway, finding another familiar face. She held onto the wall as she walked, several cuts across her mostly bare skin.

Hotaru hurries over to her, “Come on, sit down,” she says, guiding her to the floor, “What happened, Kuina?”

She stares at Hotaru as she starts checking her injuries, “You’re still here?”

“Of course I am, I can't leave you behind, can I?” she asks, checking the bottom of her feet. Her eyes widen, “What the hell happened to you?”

Kuina hisses in pain, “Glass on the floor, fighting for my life, what's new?” she starts to laugh before yelping as Hotaru pulls a piece of glass out of her skin.

“I’m sorry, I need to at least get the glass out. If you keep walking on it, it’ll cause more damage,” she says, trying her best to find every tiny piece, “And I can't carry you because of my leg.”

“You would carry me?”

“Yes,” she answers, wiping her hands on her shirt and helping her friend back up, “Do you remember that night they let you behind the bar?”

Kuina’s eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

She shrugs, “Yeah,” both girls laugh lightly, “I carried you back to my room on my back.”

“I do remember waking up there,” she says as they round a corner.

“I had to make sure you didn't choke on your own vomit,” she pauses, “Chishiya followed us the whole time and you started yelling at him for being short, he argued that maybe you were too tall. I couldn't stop laughing, I think that's the only time I've seen him smile, and you were passed out before we could even blink.”

Kuina stops suddenly, her eyes widening as she sees something at the end of the hallway. Hotaru’s eyes follow hers to a body laying in front of them. It wasn't just some random resident, her shorts, white shirt, and short hair made both of their hearts sink. A knife lay centimeters away from her hand, blood running down her forehead.

“Ann!”

Masterlist

[mere-mortifer-writing]

Sanji/OC - Small Death & Quick Demise

Read on Ao3🔗

Rating: Explicit Pairings: Sanji/OFC; minor Zoro/Luffy Themes: Strangers to Lovers | Sex and Violence | Dark Comedy | sub!Sanji x Dom!OFC Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content | Past Sexual Abuse | Murder

Luffy brings on board the Sunny a random pirate he picked up at a pub, showing a level of mindless trust that normal people only show towards stray kittens they saved from the side of the road. Max needs a lift to the next island, he says. Captain's orders, he says. Sanji loudly disapproves up until said pirate turns out to be heavily armed, covered in tattoos, and a very pretty girl, then he's simply in love with the whole idea. He makes a fool of himself more times than he thought possible, but things seem to work out well for him all the same—eventually. There are some gruesome, bloody interludes he needs to survive first.

Notes: As an incentive for myself to finish writing and editing chapter nine, I've decided to cross-post here what's already on Ao3! I hope people can forgive my misuse of the Sanji/Reader tag here but I've wanted to give this fic a fighting chance, and I think Sanji lovers in general might find enjoyment in a Sanji/OFC fic~ (Also, please check the Ao3 page for a more thorough list of tags and warnings if you need it!)

CHAPTER ONE (1/20)- Wordcount: 3k

“Listen, kid,” Maxine says through clenched teeth, enunciating each word like a thin blade aimed at a vital artery, “you’re acting real cute. That tells me you don’t know who I am.”

Said kid tilts his head at her. He’s considerably shorter than Maxine, most of his face occupied by these owlish eyes that peer up at her with no aggression, only amused interest. “Duh! We haven’t introduced ourselves.”

He extends a hand, the other rested on his hip. Maxine has a feeling she should recognize him. Young, dark hair, wide smile. Young, dark hair, wide smile…scar on his cheekbone?

And a straw hat dangling from his neck, the wide yellow brim framing his shoulders like a drooping halo.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmurs to herself.

The kid gives a firm shake to the palm that Maxine has instinctively raised, her aura of rabid aggression weakened by her surprise. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy,” he says, not that he needs to anymore, not when he's crafted for himself such an iconic look. She would have recognised him sooner, had it not been for his two-year-long disappearance from the rumour mill. 

Every newspaper article she's read about him flashes in rapid succession in her mind. The damn teenager who managed to bring down Enies Lobby and then survive unscathed a Buster Call; the rookie who made such a huge mess at Marineford that the Navy had to relocate the base—Monkey D. Luffy, bounty of four hundred million berries, and…

“The soon-to-be king of the pirates,” Maxine finishes, holding back a manic grin. Soon-to-be might be a stretch, but she is a fan of his impossible feats—and it can’t hurt to kiss his ass a little.

“That’s right!” Luffy agrees with enthusiasm, smiling like he does in his Wanted poster. “Now, can you put the knife away? Or do you wanna fight?”

“I really fucking don’t.” She slides the dagger back into the sheath strapped to her thigh, ignoring the hiss of disappointment from the blade as she does so. Sweet blood, great power, let me have him. “I don’t want to die,” she says out loud both to Luffy and that nuisance of a blade that never shuts up about blood. “And my name’s Max, by the way.”

“You were right, I have not heard of you.”

Rude fucking kid. Maxine very inelegantly snorts, and then eyes the entrance of the pub she just slid out of in a fit of paranoia. There was a woman in there who kept glancing in her direction, the dark and silent type, someone that looked vaguely familiar. If the sentiment is shared, then their connection is Maxine’s former captain, and she'd like to avoid word of her whereabouts getting to him. The other option is that Maxine looks ravishing in her three layers of clothes and long, unseasonable cape, so the woman couldn’t take her eyes off of her. While Maxine is not half bad-looking, she doesn’t feel very charming while cross-dressing as a guy—all her sense of style has to disappear in favour of outfits that hang off of her weirdly to hide her shape.

Chances are, it’s already too late to hide her presence on this island. But hey, if Captain McCreepy is to get intel on her anyway, it might serve Maxine well to be seen drinking buddies with Strawhat, the best the Worst Generation has to offer. 

“Tell you what, let me offer you a drink and you’ll hear all about who I am,” she proposes, pointing a thumb at the swinging doors of the crowded pub. 

Luffy shrugs, looking pensive, but from his easy-going attitude when Maxine had her dagger pointed at him (oops!) she gets the sense that he can be easily swayed if she finds the right nerve to press on. “I don’t know,” he mutters in a whiny voice, “do they serve meat here? And milk?”

Maxine blinks at him. She quickly recalibrates her perception of Luffy to include descriptions such as childish and a rare example of a non-alcoholic pirate; assumption to be tested. “They sure do.”

“And you’ve got money?”

“I don’t think you can drink my wallet dry if you stick to milk. So, yes.”

Luffy laughs, slaps a hand on her back like they’re old friends, and walks straight into the pub with all the surety of a man who could feasibly punch this whole establishment off its foundation if he wanted—let alone demand free milk all night long. “Awesome! You know, I was looking for Zoro cause he has my allowance, but I have no idea where he is and I was getting pretty hungry.”

“Roronoa Zoro, right? The swordsman?”

“That’s right, my swordsman. Now, he would probably spend all your money on sake, so I hope for you he’s not in here—”

Luffy talks her ear off about his crew until the food arrives. His stream of consciousness is interrupted by the meal, so Maxine takes the opportunity to fix her awful first impression. She apoligises for threatening to take his life, which even for her is a strong reaction for an innocent, if awkward, bumping of shoulders in the darkened street outside. Tense and jittery is not a good look on her. Luffy acts as unbothered by that as by anything else, licking his plate clean when it’s empty, loud and jovial and charismatic in a way she can’t put into words. She should find him annoying, but before she knows it Luffy has thoroughly endeared himself to her. Somewhere in the middle of all that Maxine caves in, removing the thin mask that covers most of her face, and asks the bartender for her own tall glass of milk to sip on like it’s fine brandy. After the first taste she smacks her lips, nods like an expert on the matter, and says, “This is a good brand, top-shelf.”

It makes Luffy laugh. Maybe that’s why, when she lets slip that she’s looking for a way to leave the island, he hesitates only as longs as it takes to swallow the food in his mouth to invite her on his ship. 

She wants to say yes, please, yes. I miss that life. I’ve heard about you. The Thousand Sunny looks beautiful in every picture I’ve seen on the newspaper. She settles on, “Sure. Why the hell not?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Sanji is attempting to enjoy the last cigarette in his pack slowly, committing to memory the flavour of his favourite brand, the one that can’t be found anywhere on this side of the Grand Line.

The night air would have been humid and clammy over his skin if it wasn’t for the ever-present breeze from the ocean. Part of the crew had wandered out into town after dinner, but Sanji wasn’t about to deprive himself of both solitude and clear fresh air by squeezing himself at a table in some pub. 

Mostly because it was never Nami nor Robin he was being squeezed next to, so why bother?

He leans onto the rail, sucking avidly on the last puffs of smoke before the filter starts burning. Since he’s in such a morose mood, he has decided to indulge it by staring off into the not-so-distant lights of the port town like he’s mourning something more serious than the finished supplies of his poison of choice. That’s how he catches the shape of Luffy walking back to the Sunny much sooner in the evening than his usual, and without the rest of the crew, either.

Sanji squints, stuffing the butt of the cigarette in the empty pack. “And who the hell…?” he murmurs to himself, because a stranger is strutting towards the ship a step behind Luffy, evidently following his lead.

“Hey, Luffy!” Sanji calls out when the couple gets close enough. Luffy responds with an enthusiastic wave, and the stranger looks up at Sanji’s voice. Between the distance and the dark, all Sanji can gather is that he’s tall and lanky and ends at the top in a voluminous head of curly hair. For a moment he thinks Brooke might have somehow gotten meat back over his bones, but if that was the case, he'd be in the town square throwing an impromptu celebratory concert for it. “Picked up another stray?” 

Luffy laughs in that peculiar way of his, like some small part of him wants to hold it back but the rest is just fine being loud and obnoxious. Sanji watches him share a few words with the new curly guy, and he’s not at all surprised when, after a shrug from the stranger, Luffy wraps an arm around his waist and jumps directly onto the deck, legs acting as springs. 

They land behind Sanji, who turns on his feet to follow the move. They don’t hit the deck lightly, and the commotion attracts Robin out of her usual reading nook in the aquarium bar. The only other member still on the ship is Chopper, who's been snoring away in his bunk for hours. 

“Holy fucking—” the stranger mutters under his breath, and he almost falls on his ass when Luffy retracts his arm from around his waist with a curt snap of bones and muscles .

“Oh, hello,” Robin says pleasantly. She makes her way closer to them, shivering a little in her pyjama shirt now that she’s outside. “Who’s our guest?”

Sanji takes off his jacket and drops it over Robin’s shoulders, gaining a gentle and grateful smile from her. He tries to behave for once, and responds only with, “I was about to ask the same myself. Luffy?” 

Said guest, now that Sanji can study him under the pleasant ambiance lights of the Sunny’s deck, might be younger than he anticipated. The height, similar to his, is exacerbated by the wild curls at the top and a pair of heeled boots at the bottom, making him stand a head taller than Luffy—however, the timbre of his voice was that of a young boy, and his frame seems quite thin, even under the bulky layers of his outfit. A cloak secured over one shoulder easily hides most of his build, but what hinders judgement the most is the thin leather mask moulded to the lower half of his face.  

“Ah, Sanji, Robin!” Luffy exclaims, slapping one hand over the new guy’s back, who sways like a reed under its strength. “This is Max, we’re going to the same island next but I’m the only one with a ship.”

Luffy’s easy laugh fills the air again, and Max follows along with a hum of assent and quite the nervous tilt to his thin, sharp brows.

“Nice to meet you, Max,” Robins says, extending one arm to greet the freeloader Luffy brought on board. Sanji only sighs and wishes once again for another cigarette, happy to let Robin take over the pleasantries with this Max dude. This kid, probably. “As I understand it, you’ll be travelling with us for a little while?”

There’s no way that a stranger can detect it, but to Sanji the hint of cold distrust in Robin’s voice is as clear as an outright accusation. Sanji both approves and agrees, and not only because smart, charming Robin-chan can do no wrong: this guy could be someone to distrust. He could attempt, although also fail, to murder them for their bounty at the drop of a hat…and he might just be too young to grasp the consequences.

“Your captain offered, and he’s not an easy man to say no to,” Max comments, shaking Robin’s hand instead of brushing a kiss on the back of it like he’s supposed to do. Sanji sucks his teeth—is he the only man that knows how you’re supposed to treat a lady? 

“So you’ve heard of us,” Sanji says as Luffy struts to the stairs that lead to the dining room, which prompts the rest of their small group to follow. Luffy is not an intimidating person when you first meet him, as long as said first meeting doesn’t involve threats to his friends or his status as future king of the pirates—Max’s comment speaks of knowledge of what he can do, what he has done already. Difficult to say no to, indeed.

Max chuckles behind the mask, voice only vaguely muffled. “Of course I have, stories about you have travelled to every corner of the globe,” he says in a breathy tone on the trail of his laughter, and some alarm sounds in Sanji’s head at the sound of it. “And Miss Nico Robin," he adds, addressing her directly, "believe me when I say, meeting someone of your calibre is quite the pleasure.”

“Oh, my, you really are well-informed,” Robin responds. Sanji is at the top of the line on the stairs, Robin between him and Max, so he can’t see what kind of disgusting, lecherous eyes the man is surely dragging over Robin’s form. He seethes wordlessly but not in silence, huffing and puffing to make it clear that if this new random dickhead Luffy picked up tries something untoward with Robin he’ll kick his face in, stupid leather mask or not. 

They finally reach the galley, where Luffy has already poured himself a tall glass of milk, having bypassed most of the steps by jumping onto the upper layer of the Sunny.

“Gathering information was sort of my job on my old crew,” Max explains. Sanji frowns and hates him some more when he and Robin sit on the couch with not nearly enough room between them. “And your life story reads like a legend. I’m a little awestruck.”

“You’re a pirate yourself, then,” Sanji states, bringing the conversation back on a useful track. He doesn’t like the way Robin’s gaze flicks between Max and Sanji himself, as if she’s so very amused by something. “Who was your captain?”

Luffy immediately derails his attempt. “Hey, you didn’t give me any compliments at all!” he says with a milk moustache front and centre on his lip, not exactly a look conducive to inspiring fear and awe. “I’ve done plenty of crazy stuff, and my bounty is higher than Robin’s!”

“What can I say,” Max comments, leaning his elbows on his parted knees. His head tilts towards Robin, expression hidden by the dark curls that spring as if alive at every minute movement he makes. “My attention is better kept by dangerous women—no offence, Future King.”

Sanji fists clench in his pockets, where he’s stuffed his hands to avoid making a scene. However, it seems like a scene must be made. “As long as you don’t forget there are plenty of dangerous men in this crew as well,” he grits out between his teeth, moving a step closer to where Max is sitting.

“Ah, Sanji,” Robin starts to say, lips tilted up at the corner in a smile way less plastic than her usual, polite version. Sanji was gearing up for a staring contest with Max to instill in him the fear of God, but he’s called to watch her instead when she addresses him so gently—and either way Max is not looking back, working on taking off the cloak instead of cowering at Sanji's feet, like he should be doing.

“What is it, my dear Robin?” he asks, voice drenched in honey, “Perhaps you want me to kick this guy out of your personal space?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but it’s Luffy from behind him that breaks out into laughter, again, demanding his attention. Jeez, he’s in a really good mood tonight, uh? It’s getting on Sanji’s nerves.

He turns on his heels to face his captain, who’s swinging one foot off the edge of the table, bent in some improbable position comfortable only to him who has no actual joints to worry about. “What is it?” Sanji barks at him.

“I was wondering why you were acting so rude,” Luffy explains, “I’ve never heard you talk like that to a girl.”

Sanji shakes his fringe off his eye just so he can stare at him, dumbfounded, with both. “Yeah, no shit! What does that have to do with anything?”

He senses Max standing up from the couch before he even looks over his shoulder, the swishing of fabric, the thin sounds of metal buckles unlatching. 

Sanji turns to face him. He’s met by Max's cat-like eyes again, now crinkled by a jovial expression on an overall pretty, sun-kissed face. It goes from gently tanned to spots of red on the high cheekbones, on the bridge of the nose which bears the signs of some old wound. Without Sanji's permission, his gaze travels down the rest of his features, charmed by the chipped front tooth in Max's otherwise perfect half-moon smile—and then lower, to stare at his body, unencumbered now that Max has taken off the heaviest layer.

If the face wasn’t enough, if the voice hadn't already aroused suspicion, then the clear shape of Max’s curves would put the last nail in the coffin. The leather mask, the real culprit of this whole misunderstanding, dangles from two of Max's fingers.

“Ooooh, no,” Sanji mumbles to himself. 

“I know all about you dangerous men, too, Black Leg Sanji,” Max says, suggestive, mocking,  eyelids lowered halfway in a very studied move, one that works all too well on Sanji. “And you can call me Maxine, if you prefer.”

Max is a woman.

Sanji’s going to throw himself overboard.

[saltsicklover]

Part Ten

I realized while writing this part that the description used, while vague, is likely to not included all body types when it comes to the Reader. Sunny is described as fitting into a shirt that either Phoenix or Bob could fit into, and I want to preface this with the fact that I wrote this as a midsize person, who does fit into a Men's Size Large shirt.

I recognize that is not the case for everyone, and I do not intend for my writing to offend or upset anyone. I do not subscribe to the idea that a woman, like in Sunny's case, or any other person needs to be able to fit into their partner's clothing. I myself do not fit into my husbands clothing and that is more than okay! In fact, it is moreally neutral!

If any of this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter.

This blog is a safe space for everybody, and everyBODY.

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Tobacco, Smoking, Mention of Alien Abduction, Pet Name Usage (Honey), Bob being too sweet for his own good.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

Sunny woke to a blanket of darkness, the night sky still starving off the morning sun, the smell of cherry tobacco light in the air. Her body feels stiff, likely from the awkward position she awoke in. With a stretch of her arms, her elbows both pop, the sound unpleasant to her ears. She throws her legs over the side of the bed, untangling the sheets from her body as she goes. A gentle sigh leaves her lips as she stretches the lower half of her body, rolling her ankles and flexing her toes. 

After a moment, she takes in the sight of her dress. The skirt is wound around her upper thighs, no longer covering most of her lower half. The sticky nametag from the night before is still stuck to the fabric. She looks around the room, eyes searching. Then she spots the small, crudely folded pile of clothes at the end of the bed. 

Sunny pulls her dress over her head, the fabric causing static to dance up her body. She throws the now wrinkled dress over the bottom of the bed before slipping the shirt over her naked top half. Who needs a bra, right? The shirt fits around her body, pulling just a little tighter around her butt. The dark navy shirt sports the words US NAVY across the chest, the navel emblem underneath. It's well warn soft, like it has been through the wash a little too much. Sunny then slips on the shorts. They are short, the t-shirt falls past them, down to the tops of her thighs. 

Sunny then pulls all of the pins from her hair. The relief is almost immediate as each pin finds itself in a pile on the long dresser across from the bed. Sunny runs her fingers over her scalp, letting her hair puff out of the twisted style she had it back in for almost twenty four hours. 

Sunny's eyes ache and the bloodshot color surprises her, even in the low light of the room. It shouldn't. Every woman has spent a night crying and paid for it in the morning, but the deep circles under her eyes and the reddened whites of her them take her aback. That's when the thirst hits her- the dehydration from crying having wrung her body of the extra moisture. 

She eyes the bathroom door with a thin lipped expression. Sunny could go in there, but there's always a chance that Bob didn't close his door. She couldn't chance waking him by flickering on the light, and she didn't trust herself to find her way around the new environment in the dark. Her luck, she'd knock something over and wake Bob. She couldn't have that, so her gaze flickers to the door to the hallway. 

No one is going to be up this early, she justifies, before slipping out the door. She closes it behind her as softly as she can, the click of the lock catching her attention. Sunny's eyes go wide at the sound. She sputters for a moment before jiggling the knob back and fourth, attempting to open the now locked door. 

"Fuck," she whispers hastily to herself, her forehead coming to rest against the cold wood of the door. She jiggles the handle one more time before deciding to venture to Natasha's room. When she gets there, she knocks, her knuckles as quiet as possible on the hardwood. 

No answer. 

She tries again, a little more forceful this time. Her knuckles hurt. 

Nothing. 

"Fuck," She mutters again. Sunny chances a look towards Bob's door before deciding better of it. She is not going to wake him just to get back into her room, and with Natasha out cold, she has no other choice up to go back to her previous task, getting water. 

Sunny patters down the hallway, keeping her footsteps as quiet as she can outside Bob's door before she disappears down the stairs. Her hands follow the textured walls, searching for a light switch when she meets the bottom. The kitchen is just to her left, the light switch not too far away. 

She flicks in on before going through the hanging cupboards. It feels strange, going through someone else's house like this. It's not like she is snooping, but somehow it still feels like an invasion of privacy. 

Spices, no.

Tupperware, no.

Plates and bowls, no. 

Cups and mugs, ah ha!

Sunny grabs a mug from the shelf. It reads, "Proud Pilot, Prouder to not be Air Force". She can't help but chuckle a bit dryly at the saying. Definitely something Natasha would say, she thinks, as she fills the mug with water from the tap. 

The water goes down like it's the first drink she has had in months. She grimaces a bit at the taste, having become accustomed to the water in Colorado, rich with natural minerals. Water here tastes different, maybe too smooth. She drinks another two glasses anyway before filling it up for a fourth time. Sunny wraps her hand securely around the mug before flicking off the light and returning to her bedroom predicament. 

She knocks on Natasha door one last time on her way by, her ear pressed to the cold wood. She can hear Natasha snoring softly on the other side. The sound brings a small smile to her lips as she tucks that little factoid in her back pocket to use for later. 

Then, Sunny walks back to her door. She tries the handle one last time and it doesn't budge. There is nothing she can do now, unless she wants to risk waking Bob- she doesn't. So, she slides her back down the door, leaning up against it. She pulls her knees to her chest, head leaning against the door jamb. She rests the mug next to her, letting her finger dance over the rim, taking in the light smell of cherry tobacco from down the hall as she fights off the ever growing urge to sleep again. 

---

Bob couldn't sleep. No matter how often he turned over, adjusting his body or the sheets around him. He flipped the pillow so often that neither side was cold, he stared at the ceiling until he thought a hole might open up and suck in through. He prayed for sleep, and when that didn't come, he asked the universe to grace him with an alien abduction. Anything to get him out of his mind and closer towards rest- and if that meant that he needed to be abducted and put to sleep so that another life form could prob him for scientific gain, so be it. 

When the aliens didn't come either, Bob finally decides that he needs to get out of his bedroom. He pulls on his clothes from the night before, finding them each in their own degrees of inside out and wrinkled. As he pulls his belt through the loops of his jeans he can't help but let his gaze drift towards the bathroom door. He knows that Sunny is not more than fifteen feet away, just on the other side of the bathroom- which is another reason he needs to get out of his room. Hell, he needs out of the house. So, he finishes dressing, pulling his shirt over his head and replacing his glasses as he heads for the door. 

The sight of his cowboy hat on the hook next to the door stops him in his tracks. He looks at it for only a second before swiping it off the hook and continuing his trek out of the house. He knows his home like the back of his hand, so he navigates it completely in the dark, disappearing out of the front door with almost no sound. 

Darkness still has ahold of the sky, it's blueness deep and cavernous. Bob swears he can almost make out Cygnus, the swan, but the light pollution from the city makes it difficult to be sure. As Bob climbs into his truck he yearns for the clear sky's of Florence; the ability to see the constellations without difficulty. 

He remembers being able to see Sunny's face, with the light of the moon and stars on their prom night. He remembers how the low light shown in her eyes and off the embellishments of her dress. He remembers how he hair looked with the light of the moon shown upon it. 

The thoughts come faster than Bob can stop them, and he finds himself itching for just a bit more of her, a bit more of that night, a bit more of his life before he blew it all up. His hand drifts to his back pocket in search of his cigarette case, but he comes up empty. 

Bob huffs in exhaustion, turning on his heel to walk the block back to his house. He's thankful he didn't make it further before realizing his mistake. He retraces his steps slowly, slipping in the front door silently. He is met with expectant darkness as he stalks up the stairs, his boots feeling heavier with each step, weighing him down. 

What Bob didn't expect, however, is Sunny's sleeping form propped up against the door of the guest room, her head leaned against the door jamb. Bob blinks a few times from his spot just atop the landing as he tries to make the scene before him make sense. He can't make out much more detail than the way her body is slumped against the door and the way her forehead is pressed against the jamb, but he looks at her anyway, truly taking her in for the first time since her arrival. 

He dares a few steps closer after she doesn't stir at his presence. His boots sound impossibly loud against the hardwood floor. Suddenly, Natasha's idea of a carpet runner for the hallway didn't seem so silly. 

From closer up, he can take in just a bit more detail. The way her hair has fallen into her face and the clothes she has changed into. His heart beats just a bit faster as he takes in her new clothes, from the barely there shorts that stretch around the fullness of her thighs to the t-shirt that hands loosely around her shoulders. The partially obscured graphic causes him to lean forward just a bit, squinting his eyes. 

The large, golden crest the peaks out from beneath her arm makes his heart hammer against his chest, his ribs almost cracking under it's pressure. Bob knows that shirt, and he knows that if Sunny were to lean forward the words "NAS LEMOORE" would be printed across the back, right across her shoulder blades. 

Bob bites at his lips, sucking them back into his mouth, between his teeth. Natasha has never been stationed in Lemoore, not that Sunny would have known that to, but the fact that she now lays in it, asleep on the floor makes Bob blush red. His feelings are all tangled up in his chest, knotted together and pulled tight. 

But the longer he looks at her, the more uncomfortable she looks with her back pressed against the door. So, Bob takes a leap of faith, stepping closer and closer to her before he kneels down beside her. He carefully takes her wrist in between his thumb and fingers, lifting it slightly to move it from atop the mug. He takes the mug in his other hand, moving it down a few feet and out of the way. He sets her hand carefully over her stomach, sandwiched between it and her knees, right along with the other. 

Carefully, he brushes a thumb across her cheek, his touch barely there. Her skin is just as soft as he remembers and he can't help his but let his thumb run over her cheek once more. 

"Sunny," He whispers, his barely making it to his own ears. 

She doesn't stir. He shakes his head to himself, a feeling of longing deep from within now bubbling to the surface, coming to sit just under his skin. He lets out a deep sigh before trying again. 

"Duchenne, honey?" The name feels foreign to his tongue but the term of endearment feels right at home. 

Sunny still doesn't stir. So, Bob debates his next move. He could wake her, and risk her yelling at him again, or worse, punching him. Not that he wouldn't deserve it. No, he couldn't chance a bad reaction. 

Plan B, he thinks, he could hook his arm underneath her bent legs and slip his other between the gap of her body and the door. He could pick her up and take her back to bed himself- but that seems like a bad idea. What if he woke her? How would she react? 

Bob's eyes drift to Phoenix's door and he decides that's the best option. So, he stands, moving towards her room. When he knocks, he can hear her snoring from his side. He knocks, but there is zero surprise when she doesn't wake. Bob tires the nob but it doesn't move, not that Bob is surprised by that fact either. She has always slept locked in her room and nothing short of an alarm at full blast, right next to her ear would be enough to wake her. 

So, Bob turns back to Sunny, left with only one real choice. So, he squats down next to her, lacing his arms around her body and lifting her from the ground. She makes a small noise at the change but doesn't wake. Her head rests against Bob's shoulder, her cheek pressed against the softness of his shirt. 

He bends a bit to open the door, but the knob doesn't budge. Bob lets out a sigh, the pieces falling into place. She has been locked out, of course, that damn lock has been temperamental since he moved in, but never bothered to fix it. 

So, he walks her down the hall and into his bedroom. It's strange to hold a woman in a room he has never invited one back to- it's even more strange that the woman in his arms in the one he has held a torch for, for so many years. 

Bob tries not to let himself think about that fact for too long before he is carefully opening the bathroom door and carrying her through. When he finally gets her back into her room, he places her carefully down on the sheets. They have gone cold in the time she has been gone, so Bob pulls the sheet and comforter up over her body. He stares down at her a second, brushing her hair from her face. Her lips curl up at the corners and the sight warms Bob's heart. 

Quickly, he disappears back out into the hall to retrieve the mug of water from the ground. He places it on the bedside table, right in reach for her. Then, he grabs a hanger from the closet. Bob takes her dress from the bottom of the bed and carefully threads the straps over the arms of the hanger. He hangs it up on the nob of the closet door, right in her line of sight. 

Then, Bob chances one more look at her sleeping form. He lets his eyes trace down the slope of her nose and over the plump ridges of her upper lip. He watches for a moment as she breathes just a bit deeper as she snuggles further down into the blankets. 

"Goodnight, honey," Bob whispers, before disappearing back into his room, his heart still stuttering in his chest. 

As he closes the door, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. There stands a man he hasn't seen in years, looking more like a kid staring back at him. He is all consumed by the sight of himself, from the hat on his head to the clothes he wears. Bob slips his glasses off, leaning closer to the mirror. A deep, doe eyed expression stares back at him, his brown eyes swimming with the sight of himself. He looks older now, than the last time he recognized himself like this, but he recognizes himself none the less.

He leans against the countertop, hands planted firmly on the edge of the sink. It might be his proximity to Sunny, or the clothes that fit around his muscular frame, but his lips quirk up into a hint of a smile. His eyes dart around his own face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, and for the first time in God only knows how long, he likes the man staring back at him. 

And somehow, he feels just a little bit closer to the man he yearns to be; a good man. 

~ Once an Asshole TAG LIST ~

@harperdoodle

[android-anthology-hub]

A Robot and a Girl - Part 1

I've been working a lot on polishing things up for this series, including doing a full rewrite of all three chapters of the first story in this series.

So let's start things off with a bang.

You'll also be able to read this over on Fiction Press, and Tapas.

Edit: Unfortunately, because Tumblr has somehow become even more broken, posts with certain images can't register in their tags! And Tumblr removed the ability to have line breaks without having to code them in HTML by hand a long time ago. So, unfortunately, the Tumblr version of all of these stories are going to be without those linebreaks! Which sucks! THANKS STAFF!

The stylus shifted about in D'Anna's grip as she trailed along the pages of her notebook. Her knuckles stood out against her dark skin, gold-alloy joints smoothly shifting with every curve and line. She followed along the edges of the coat in her memory. The image lay over the page before her eyes, like a digital ghost.

It had been difficult to get it out of the tower security systems. Tanu had tried to piece it together as best they could. Lines of loose code bled into the image of the man, roughing up the edges of his coat. 

But still, she sketched them in. A little flourish of her own. She kept her focus on the notebook in her hands-

The light panels overhead flickered, and the trams rumbled down the center of the corridor. The door beside her opened and shut as people moved past along the side of the transport lane.

-and the security door across the way.

Every flash and tone of the signal light ran ahead of the next wave of sound as it crashed through the corridors like a current. Passengers rode past on the transport lanes. Cargo runners raced somewhere over their heads. And people gathered at the lane crossings. The rumble of the trams faded down the corridor, the crossing gates opened, and the crowd rushed away. The signal flashed again as another wave gathered-

D'Anna glanced back and forth from her sketch to the crowd. 

-the cargo runners racing by-

There he was. Stepping right into the crowd as the lights changed-

-and the crossing gates opened. D'Anna watched as the man approached the door across the corridor. Circuits silently whirred to life in her eyes, tracking the man as he unlocked the door - scratching down the code as he punched it in - and slipped inside.

It looked like the info she'd gotten from Tanu was right on the mark-

She brushed her thumb over a name she'd written on the same page, Rosi.

She'd made a promise, and she planned to keep it…

She tucked everything away, the gates sliding shut behind her as she crossed to the other side.

-now she just had to stay on him.

D’Anna’s breath turned to fog in the cold air of the hall as she trailed her mark.

The man tugged his coat tighter against the cold, the steam of his breath glowing in the cold lighting of the panels overhead. Dark green spread across his shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale gray that wrapped his arms and waist. It wasn’t too uncommon to see on an engineer’s coat… But she could see a white synth-silk scarf poking out over his collar.

That kind of fabric wasn’t cheap. Hardly something she’d see on an engineer this far down in the city. He was owned, whether he admitted it or not. That scarf was as much a collar as a comfort, paid for by his patron. But who paid him didn’t matter-

Another door slid open with a click, the engineer more focused on pulling his data card from the lock and tucking it away than on the hall. D’Anna followed close behind him as he stepped through.

Too close. Dammit, she was too close!

The door failed to close when it should have, the engineer’s heel grinding to a halt on the concrete floor.

She had to be quick. Think of something…

D’Anna tucked her hands away in her pockets as he turned, quickly speaking up, “I’m sorry, sir. I would have announced myself sooner, but my employer prefers discretion.”

-what mattered was the job.

With a cautious frown, he looked her up and down, nervously adjusting his scarf.

If he knew she was lying, he didn’t show it. He was too twitchy for her liking…

He kept glancing at her wrap-tunic, eyeing the synth-silk with a thoughtful tug of his scarf.

Sometimes it paid to keep a few of her old things.

His voice was low and ragged, “What sort of work, ma’am?”

He waved a hand over a sensor by the door, shop tables lining the wall next to him lighting up all at once. The light was just as cold as the hall, old metal arches casting shadows along the curved ceiling of the narrow shop. A pair of mech tables formed an island in the center of the room, their mechanical arms and cables neatly folded away.

It seemed innocent enough, a mechanics shop like any other. And yet, it felt wrong. It was too clean and put together, almost like a showroom. What was it hiding?

He chuckled as he looked back at her, waving to the selection of parts that sat neatly on his table, “We can work with whatever you might need: Mechanical, Cybernetic, even Mechatronic.”

Every piece had its place like he was proud of his work. He probably was. But it wasn’t good enough. Come on. If he could just show her where he could be keeping them…

“A mech,” she said, earning a pause from the man as he looked at her more carefully. “It’s my employer’s understanding that you’re in supply.”

The engineer frowned in thought as he picked an eye from the table, the gold-alloy iris shining under the light as he turned back to her. She stared at the eye as he rolled it in his hands, thankful for her tinted glasses.

“Well, that depends,” he started, slowly turning his back. He tossed the eye behind him, inquiring over his shoulder, “What model?”

D’Anna caught it on reflex, her joints glinting in the shop lights. She did her best to ignore the gleam in his eye and the self-satisfied smile on his face. He was getting a little too curious…

“An RC-N unit,” she said, keeping her voice gentle as she set the eye back in its place on the table.

“Workhorse,” he mused. “Now why is an expensive android like you coming here? And all for a mech that’s easy to order anywhere?”

“As I said, my employer prefers discretion,” D’Anna said with a frown. “And a workhorse isn’t the only model they’re looking to get, even if you’d have to reset their cores.”

She was pushing him, but if he took the bait…

He hummed thoughtfully, striding over to the far end of the wall as he spoke, “Very well, miss…?”

“AT-S-039,” D’Anna lied, earning a chuckle from the man.

“Tower staff, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see why your employer would wanna keep things quiet,” he said, eyeing her over his shoulder as he rummaged for his tools. “Folks up in the towers have reputations to uphold.”

“Yes, they do,” D’Anna said, her eyes scanning around the shop as she approached a tool chest embedded into the opposite wall.

“Well-” the engineer said as he came up behind her, core resetter in hand, thumb waiting on the trigger. “-you’re in luck, ma’am. I came into an RC-N unit recently.”

She heard the tell-tale click and crackle of electricity, spinning around in time to block the prongs of the resetter with her hand. Lightning arced from the three metal prongs, surging up through her arm, and into her shoulder as it threw her back. She slammed into the drawers behind her, shoulder screaming from the impact. She clutched at her arm, limp and numb from the jolt. Her hand was smoking…

“Took the shock to your arm and not your body. You’re pretty quick,” he hummed, giving the resetter another crackling click as he loomed over her. “Now, why are you here?”

She groaned as she tried to flex her fingers, “Looking for someone…”

D’Anna cried out as she slammed her arm into the drawers, shocking some sensation back into the limb.

The engineer just shook his head with a ragged chuckle, “No one else here but us. Not that it matters.”

Sparks arced across the triple prongs as he lunged for her.

One good jolt, and she’d be out like a light. She’d have to be quick.

She jabbed him in the arm - alloyed knuckles slamming into muscle - and sent the tool clattering to the floor. She surged up from her place on the ground. Her burned hand ached as another punch to the button of his chin sent him stumbling back into the mech table, head rattling.

“You…!” he sputtered, leaning against the table as his head spun.

She closed the gap in a single lunge, stepping like a boxer as she hooked an arm under his ribs. With her whole weight, she yanked him up and drove him back down onto the floor. She hauled him up by shirt and scarf, her joints whirring as she held him tight. He grabbed her wrist as he tried to stand, his feet scrambling against the floor. But she wouldn’t budge.

“You’ve got a storage space somewhere, don’t you, sir. Somewhere out of sight,” she kept her voice a soft-spoken threat, knocking his footing with a firm shake that ripped his collar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the engineer snapped, looking back at the tool chest embedded in the wall.

“It’s behind there, isn’t it, sir?”

She shook a yes from him before she threw him onto the floor again. She grabbed his collar and dragged him back over to the worktable, harshly propping him against its leg.

She yanked off his scarf, the man groaning as she tied his hands to the table, “W-Wait. Wait!”

“Don’t worry sir,” she dismissed him with a shake of her head. “I’m sure you’ll get yourself out in an hour-”

-maybe three, if she was being honest. But now-

D’Anna sighed and rose to her feet, her eyes scanning over the walls and floor as she approached the tool chest.

-she had a door to find.

She frowned at the wall as she looked it over, muttering under her breath, “Now, how do you open…?”

She could see the way the tool chest moved, her eyes picking up the grooves it left behind.

But she couldn’t find the lock…

She closed her eyes as she ran her hands along the sides of the chest, focusing on the contacts in her palms. As her hand trailed halfway down, she felt it, a gentle signal pinging against her palm.

“Data lock,” she hummed, feeling out the interface. She looked back at the man, still struggling against his scarf as she spoke, “Your card’s the key, isn’t it, sir.”

It wasn’t a question.

His data card wasn’t hard to find. No one’s was really…

She paused as she pulled it from his pocket, a softer green than his coat. But it was the emblem etched into the plastic circuits that caught her eye. A white oval with two flattened sides, three diamonds cut out along its center. 

She knew it well.

“Mr. Archer,” she said with a frown, curling her hands into a fist. “Now why is he funding a chop shop?”

“Wouldn’t know,” the engineer coughed, trying to get the wind back in his lungs.

“Yeah, you do,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.

“Who are you?” he asked, staring at her as she looked back.

“I don’t really know myself, sir…”

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Brotherhood (2)

Directly following the events of Double Helix, Danny enrolls in Bayville High school and joins the Brotherhood of Mutants. He's not sure if they actually believe he's a ghost and not a mutant, but at least they don't care enough to challenge him on it, and that's good enough for him. This is a direct sequel to Double Helix (linked above), and some parts may be confusing without the context of the original fic. I suggest you read that first.

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week 2024, Day 5: The Owl House X-Men Evolution | Shell

I have seen exactly two episodes of The Owl House, and that was like four years ago or something, so I was not confident in my ability to write a crossover for it. Also, from this chapter on, it's unedited and I'll come back to edit later. I just want to actually finish this fic tonight.

I tried to work in a theme of both Danny and Wanda "coming out of their shell" throughout the fic. You can also read it on AO3.

Chapter 2: Transition

Previous

[Warning for mental institutions]

"You guys got any plans for the long weekend?" Lance asked as he sprawled out on the shabby couch in the board house. "Kitty told me she and some of the X-dorks are going on an educational retreat to the California redwoods. They decided on it yesterday. Can you imagine being able to just up and fly to the other side of the country on a whim."

"And for educational purposes, yuck!" Toad agreed. "If I had my own jet like they do, I'd go to Vegas!"

"If you could afford a jet like they have, you wouldn't have to go to Vegas," Lance said. "You'd already be rich. If I had my own jet, I would use it to go to all the concerts I'd normally miss because they're too far away."

"I don't need a private jet to go wherever I want," Pietro bragged. "If I want to go to a concert, I'll run right in past security and no one will even know."

"And if that concert is in Europe?" Lance asked. "Or Asia? You know, across a massive ocean? Can you run there?"

"Okay, point taken, but why would I wanna go to a snooty European concert anyway?" the speedster scoffed. "What about you, Danny?"

"What do I need a jet for? I can already fly," he said. "Not that I use it for major travel much. Maybe I should. That's what my cousin does. She flies all over the world."

"Hey! We should do something fun this weekend!" Toad declared. "Maybe sneak into a concert, or go somewhere cool! Show those X losers we know how to have a good time while they use their fancy private jet to go learn things."

"Sure, I'm down," Lance agreed.

"Sorry guys, I'm gonna pass this time. I actually do have plans this weekend," Danny said. "I'm gonna fly upstate and visit a friend. I haven't seen her in a few weeks."

"Her?" Pietro repeated with a smirk. "This wouldn't happen to be a girlfriend would it?"

"It's not like that," Danny said. "She's a friend. She's a girl. That's it."

"Uh-huh... sure," Toad said, sounding unconvinced. "You dog."

"Lay off," Danny said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we gotta get to school. Long weekend's not here yet."

Toad groaned.

"Buck up, we've only got one more day," Lance pointed out.

When the long weekend finally arrived, Danny filled his pockets with all the things he wanted to bring, said good-bye to the Brotherhood, who barely acknowledged him as they argued about what to do that weekend, and took off. He flew north, toward the mental institution. It had been almost three whole weeks since he'd last been there, but he remembered the way.

Honestly, he hadn't expected to go back so soon, and Wanda probably wouldn't be expecting him either, but it wasn't like he was gonna be an inpatient this time. He would turn invisible and pop into Wanda's room to hang out with her. It hadn't even been that long, really, but he missed her.

Thinking about her in that room all alone again, without anyone or anything to distract her, it almost made him regret leaving in the first place. He should have been more considerate. Even though she said she'd be okay, leaving just because he didn't like Xavier was selfish.

When, after almost a full day of flying, he finally caught sight of the building, resentment gripped his chest. He hated this place. If it weren't for Wanda, he wouldn't have even stayed as long as he had. And if it weren't for her, he definitely wouldn't have come back, ever. No matter what.

But he did. He came back. For Wanda.

Sneaking in went just as planned. No one saw him. No one heard him. He was a ghost, after all. The moment he saw Wanda, he realized that he'd missed her even more than he'd thought.

"Knock knock," he said as he appeared in her room.

She jumped in surprise, but when she saw him, she smiled. "You scared me."

"Should I have said 'Boo', instead?" he asked. "I totally should have. Missed opportunity."

She chuckled slightly and shook her head.

"You seem to be doing pretty well, all things considered," he noted.

She was still wearing a straight jacket, but it looked looser, like whoever had put it on her wasn't as worried about her getting out. Her small smile still seemed genuine. Three weeks on her own again hadn't sent her straight back to her darkest place, it seemed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I've been taking your advice. Whenever I notice myself getting stuck thinking about the bad memory, I try to think of three good ones. It's hard sometimes, but I think the more effort it takes, the better it works, because it keeps me distracted for longer. Yesterday, I remembered reading that book with you. You know the one. I tried to imagine an ending for it where they were both arrested as war criminals instead of having a happy ending. Do you want to hear it?"

"Absolutely," Danny confirmed.

In truth, he hadn't even thought about that trashy romance novel in ages. It was largely forgettable for him, but if it helped Wanda better navigate her emotions then hell yeah he wanted to hear her ideas for an alternate ending.

In her version of the ending, there was a huge trial. The kings of both sides agreed that the Warlock and Sorceress were guilty of crimes against Arvenia, and sentenced them to live the rest of there lives in a deep, dark dungeon where the lovers could only communicate by having rats deliver notes between them.

Then, after years of planning their escape one note at a time, they broke out and took over the world together, killing the kings and terrorizing the people of Arvenia to keep them in line.

"Ooh, plot twist!" Danny said when she got to that part. "I like that you made them the villains in the end. They should have been the villains from the beginning."

"I agree," Wanda said. "It was stupid that the book just gave them another villain to blame for all the bad things they did and fight off, rather than acknowledging their crimes."

"Totally!" Danny emphatically agreed. "Oh, I just remembered! I brought you some stuff."

He reached into his pockets and pulled out all the stuff he'd brought. He pulled out a deck of cards, a book of MadLibs and a pen, a sheet of stickers. He wasn't sure what they would have the most fun with, so he'd just  brought a bunch of random junk. Lastly, he pulled out a necklace, a black choker with an ankh charm.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Your first goth accessory," he said. "I found it in a random box in the attic where I'm staying now."

"No, I mean what's that symbol?" she asked, repositioning herself so Danny could put the necklace on her.

"Oh, it's an ankh. The Egyptian symbol for life, I think."

"Life, huh? Doesn't sound very goth."

"Well, you would be wearing it ironically," he said. "Most of the other gothy stuff I found had crosses, and seeing as your Jewish and all...." He shrugged. "Felt like it would be disrespectful. So, do you like it?"

"Yeah, I like it a lot," Wanda said. "You know," her voice became suddenly softer than before, like she was nervous. "Professor Xavier is going to come tomorrow. I think tomorrow might finally be the day he takes me with him."

"You think?" Danny asked, excited for her despite his hatred of the professor.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I've been doing a lot better lately, and I have a really good feeling about it."

"That's awesome, Wanda!" he told her. "In that case, let's call the necklace a good luck charm. I'm rooting for you. I know you can do it."

"Thanks."

"You know, I also found this totally sweet red leather coat when I was rooting around in the attic," he said. "Ankle-length, flared collar, and it's your favorite color. Once you're ready to give up the straight jacket, I'll bring it to you as a congratulations present. What do you think?"

"I think you're really trying to motivate me."

"What can I say? I miss my friend."

"Then we have a deal," she agreed. Tomorrow is gonna be the day. I just know it."

Danny grinned widely at her. 

For the rest of the day, they mostly played MadLibs. They tried a few card games, too, but with Wanda's hands restrained, the only thing they could really do was collaborative solitaire, and that got old fast. Danny stuck little ghost and bat stickers on all the latches on her straight jacket while he told her about the school he was going to, and the board house. How he'd picked the same city the Xavier Institute was in so he could see her again when she enrolled there.

"They're all mutants at the board house," Danny told her. "I don't know if they actually believe I'm not, but they don't push it. They don't even call me a mutant by mistake. I don't know, maybe it's 'cause they're afraid I'll do something, or maybe it's 'cause they just don't care enough to argue with me, but either way, that's better than I ever got from Xavier."

"I'm glad you found people who accept you," Wanda said. "I hope when I go to the professor's school, I will too."

"Me too," Danny agreed. "And hey, even if you don't find them there, you'll still have me."

She smiled at him. Her smile was always small, burdened, a little sad behind the eyes, but it was honest. Danny liked that about her. She never tried to hide anything.

That night, he crashed in her room. Despite being fully padded, it was not very comfortable, but it was better than trying to fly through the night and ending up sleeping in a tree somewhere. He said 'see ya later' and left early in the morning to make sure he wouldn't be seen when the orderlies came to get her for her meeting with the professor, and promised to meet up with her again soon.

Then, he spent another day flying back to Bayville.

"You're getting back a little late, aren't you?" Lance observed when Danny finally returned to the board house. "Did you get to spend some quality time with your girlfriend?"

"Again, not my girlfriend, but yes, I did," Danny responded. "How was your... whatever you guys decided to do this weekend?"

"Oh, we ended up not being able to decide, so we just ordered pizza and stayed here all weekend," Lance answered. "So that was... that."

"Oh, yeah, those X-Men are gonna be soo jealous of the weekend you had."

"Shut up!"

It wasn't until a couple days later that news reached the Brotherhood of the X-Men's newest member. It came by way of Lance's budding relationship with Kitty.

"Really!? The X-Men have a new member?" Danny repeated excitedly when he heard the news after school.

"That's what Kitty said," Lance confirmed. "Apparently she's not gonna start at Bayville High for another few of days so she can get settled, but yeah. I don't know anything about her, though."

"I'm pretty sure I do!" Danny said. "I gotta go!"

"What?"

Danny didn't bother to explain. He went ghost, made a quick pit-stop in the attic to grab something and then flew straight for the Xavier Institute. He'd never actually been there before, but Tabitha told him where it was a while back. Apparently, she used to be an X-Men trainee before she joined the Brotherhood, and she was still friends with some of them.

Turrets rose up out of the ground the moment he got past the gate. Probably motion-activated. Danny easily avoided getting hit by turning intangible and staying that way until he'd flown straight through the front door. It actually took a while. The grounds were huge.

By the time he got through, there was a group of mutants waiting for him, suited up and ready for a fight.

"Relax, I'm not here to fight," Danny said. He held up the paper bag he'd brought with him. "I'm just bringing a friend a gift."

"Who are you?" demanded a guy with a weird visor. Scott, probably. He seemed like Scott.

"What do you mean who am I?" Danny asked. "You know me!"

"Like, I've never seen you before," Kitty said, crossing her arms. 

How they expected to protect their identities when they didn't even wear masks, Danny had no idea.

"What are you talking about? I—" He stopped himself abruptly. "Oh yeah, my bad," he said, and let the rings of his transformation wash over him, revealing his human form. "Recognize me now?"

Judging by their gasps, the answer was yes, but they didn't stand down.

"What are you doing here?" Jean asked. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with the Xavier Institute."

"I don't wanna join, but it's not like I hate you guys or anything," Danny said. "This just isn't the place for me. And I already told you why I'm here. I'm brought a congratulations present for Wanda. She's your new member, right? Or trainee? Whatever."

"How do you know that?" asked a fuzzy blue mutant that Danny didn't recognize until he started talking. That German accent was unmistakably Kurt.

"Well, when I saw her the other day, she said she felt really confident that she was going to be able to join you guys soon, and then Lance said Kitty said you got a new member, so I figured it must be her."

The others all glared at Kitty.

"What?" she asked. "It's not like it was gonna be a secret for long anyway. We, like, all go to the same school!"

"I wasn't aware you and Wanda were so close," came a familiar voice.

Danny turned to see the professor wheeling in and had to school his face to avoid scowling at him.

"We're friends," he said. "Can I see her or not? And keep in mind if you say no, I'm just gonna find her anyway."

"As long as you haven't come with ill intentions, I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to see her," the professor said. "We're all mutants after all, and a sense of community is important."

"I'm not a mutant," Danny muttered, his scowl finally breaking through.

The professor responded with a tight smile. "Jean, why don't you show Danny to Wanda's room."

"Of course, professor," Jean agreed. "It's this way."

She headed up the stairs and Danny followed.

"So do you and Wanda know each other from the institution?" Jean asked. "I mean, sorry, that's probably personal. I hope you don't mind me asking."

"It's fine," Danny said. "Yeah. Security couldn't exactly hold a guy who walks through walls, so I would sneak into her room sometimes and we'd hang out. She always wanted to be able to come here. I could never really understand it, but I'm still proud of her, you know? I may not agree with you guys, but you're good people. For the most part. I'm not quite sold on Scott, yet."

Jean chuckled. "I guess we can't really ask for more than that." She stopped in the hallway and knocked on a door. "Wanda, you in there? You have a visitor."

The door opened seemingly on its own.

"Danny!" Wanda's voice called. "I didn't think you'd be here so soon."

"I came as soon as I heard, and I guess word travels fast," he replied. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, come in," she said.

"I'll leave you to it," Jean said, as she backed away into the hall and closed the door behind her.

"You look good," Danny said.

Her clothes were a bit mismatched, but it was the first time he was seeing her without a straight jacket, and that was a huge improvement. She was also wearing the choker he'd given her. Her hair looked recently washed, and was neatly combed and tucked behind her ears. 

Even the way she held herself was more confident, happier. Not being in that rotten mental institution was already having a positive affect on her, it seemed.

"I brought something that'll make you look even better." He held up the paper bag.

"The coat?" she asked, rushing forward excitedly to take the bag from him.

"I hope it fits," he told her. "It looked about the right size."

She let the bag drop to the floor as he pulled the coat out and smoothly slid it on. It looked like it might be a little wide in the shoulders, but other than that, it fit like a glove.

"It's perfect," she said.

"I also found some earrings that match the necklace," he said. "I slipped 'em in one of the pockets. I know you don't have pierced ears, but I figured if you ever did, you might like to have them."

She patted the pockets until she found what he was talking about and smiled when she pulled them out. Then, she laid them gently on her dresser.

He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile so much, and so unabashedly. It wasn't the tiny, hesitant smile she'd worn before. She was really coming out of her shell.

"Careful," he said. "Looking at you now, I'd almost think you weren't consumed by rage."

Her smile fell. 

That had been the wrong thing to say.

"I am still angry," she said. "I can't stop it. But... you were right. I didn't need to control my anger. I just had to stop letting my anger control me. Now I can be angry and happy at the same time. Angry and excited. I feel more than just anger now. It feels good."

"I'm happy to hear it," he told her. "So how's this place treating you so far?"

"I have a roommate!" she replied instantly. "Her name is Rahne. And tomorrow, when they're done with school, she and some of the other girls are gonna take me to the mall for new clothes so I don't have to wear stuff from the lost-and-found anymore."

"That makes sense," Danny said.

"Do you wanna come?" she invited.

"I... would... but I might ruin the mood," he said apologetically. "Some of them don't trust me since I'm technically part of the Brotherhood, and we're... enemies? Rivals? Something like that. Plus, you don't want a guy tagging along on your first girl's shopping trip. Trust me. You'll want the full experience."

"You have a point...."

"I'll enjoy the surprise of seeing your new wardrobe when you come to school in a few days," he said.

They hung out and chatted for a little while until Wanda's roommate came back and Danny figured that was his cue to go. As he left her new room, he had the distinct pleasure of telling her he'd see her at school.

He could feel eyes on him until he was all the way off the manor grounds. They may not have hated him, but these X-Men sure as hell didn't trust him either.

Whatever. He didn't care what they thought about him. As long as they took care of Wanda, and left him alone, they were alright in his book. So far, so good.

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 60: The Waiting Game

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @anotherunreadblog​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @averyhotchner​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @abzidabzy​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @hellofutur​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @foxesandmagic​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xovalliegirlxo @sam-i–am @kmc1989 @midmourn @choosejoyangel​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message

When Montserrat woke up from her Nyquill-induced nap, she very quickly realized she slept way more hours than she intended to. It was past noon, almost four. Granted she was truly well rested but that was not the point. She still felt mentally exhausted and wasn't equipped for what had to come next. She had to finally call Lucia and tell her what happened — it was the worst conversation she ever had with the woman. Lucia was livid with Montserrat, to say the least.

"How could you not tell me before!? Why are you barely telling me!?"

Montserrat could barely give her reasons when Lucia went on a rampage in the Spanish and English language to the point where Montserrat couldn't dream of understanding. The only thing Montserrat managed to hear was that Lucia was on her way to the hospital and pretty much cut all ties with his son's girlfriend.

Great. That would be fun explaining to Rafael when he woke up. It was definitely about the last thing he needed in his life right now. After that, Montserrat soon found out that somehow Casey had gotten involved with the whole thing.

"Yeah, that was my fault," Kara said with a hand raised in the air. "I suggested it."

"Why?" Montserrat couldn't understand what a robbery had to do with her cousin at the moment. Then again, she was only really thinking with about a 50% capacity.

Kara understood her mistake too late and was left squandering for a reasonable excuse (otherwise this time Sonny would have a true reason to kill her). "Well, uh, Casey's another prosecutor and she'll maybe take the case? If they find the guy?"

"It's just not her case yet," Montserrat insisted, although it seemed like the heat was now going more towards the situation rather than Kara (or Casey for that matter). "Nobody's been murdered."

"And it'll stay like that," Kara jumped on the chance to provide actual support to her friend. It was hard thinking this could turn into a homicide case rather than attempted murder. "You'll see."

Montserrat would've been more convinced if she didn't have other things on her mind. She kept getting voice-mail for Lucia's number, only reiterating how angry the woman was with her.

"She'll come around," Kara kept insisting as well, "She's stunned, like you were when you first got the call. It's just different. She's his mother, after all. Give her some days."

Montserrat nodded only because there was nothing else she could do, but it didn't mean it wasn't nagging at her in the meantime. "I need to go back to the hospital," she told Kara after lunch. She did Kara the solid of sticking around for that mealtime but it was about all she would do now. She'd been away from the hospital for way too long.

"What are you talking about? It's only been a couple hours," Kara pointed out. She would rather Montserrat stay for a bit more until she was less anxious and stressed.

"It's past noon now!"

"So?" Kara would love to hear an adequate reason why the time even mattered. "Montserrat, you need to rest."

"I already did!" Montserrat exclaimed. "Way more than I planned!"

Kara's eyes flickered to the side for a moment. The nyquil was still under wraps. Her phone started ringing and seeing it was Sonny, she urged Montserrat to wait for another 5 minutes. "Just let me take the call and see what's happened, okay?"

Montserrat groaned. "Fine! But I am leaving as soon as you're done, with or without you!"

Kara nodded and hurried to take the call. Montserrat took the first seconds to try and calm herself down. She didn't want to actually fight with Kara, not with anyone for that matter. They were all walking on eggshells around her already, thinking she was a ticking time bomb. It was hard staying afloat not knowing what the next day would bring, or even the next hour. Tears stung get eyes just thinking about the uncertainty.

Hearing the knock on the door somehow startled her greatly. She went to open it, presuming it would be Sonny on the other side only to find her father instead.

"Dad!" She gasped, stumbling back a step.

"Montserrat, how — woah! What's happened to you?" Thomas of course referred to his daughter's face of anguish.

Immediately, Montserrat whirled around, eyes wide as she took a few steps away from her father. She tried wiping her eyes quickly. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I got the day off and since it's been a while, I thought we could have lunch,, but..." Thomas trailed off, reaching forward for his daughter's shoulder. He gently turned her around and saw the same face as before, only this time it was slightly redder from the fervent rubbing at the eyes. "Now I'm seeing it's longer than I thought. Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dad," Montserrat shook her father's hand off her shoulder. "Just a rough day, that's all."

"No, no, no," Thomas shook his head, "Don't try to kid me. I know you, Montserrat. You've been crying and it looks like it's been going on for a while. What's happened?"

"Nothing, sheesh!" Montserrat exclaimed. Of course she would've been more convincing if her voice hadn't shaken towards the end. How the hell am I a detective? "Look, I can't do lunch today. Can we schedule another day?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Thomas declared, crossing his arms, "It looks like you've got explaining to do, young lady."

Montserrat glared at her father. This was the last thing she needed right now. Despondence, anxiety, and anger mixed into one did not bode well for anybody in the room. "Dad, I don't have time for this. Can we do this another day, please?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at his daughter. Usually it was all he needed to warn her she was crossing a line with him.

She still knew that.

But she didn't back down this time.

"You've got 5 seconds to tell me what's going on with you," Thomas warned. "Five…four…"

Montserrat gawked at her father with incredulity. "Dad, you can't treat me like I'm five—"

"Three…two—"

"Dad, seriously!"

"One—"

"I SAID STOP!" Montserrat unintentionally yelled at her father.

Thomas was dumbfounded with such a frantic reaction from his daughter. Tears were coming to Montserrat's eyes and though it was partially out of guilt, there was something deeper going on. "Montserrat," he tried again, softly, "Sweetheart, what's—"

"Can you just go? I'm actually leaving right now too," Montserrat gestured to the door behind Thomas. "I have to—"

"Montserrat!" Kara called from the hallway seconds before emerging. "Sonny says he'll be by in 15 and he can take us to the hospital."

"Hospital!?" Thomas exclaimed.

Kara's eyes widened. She had no idea they were no longer alone. "Oops…"

Montserrat let out a heavy sigh. "Dad—"

"Why do you need to go to the hospital!?" Thomas started demanding. "Are you hurt?" He went to check himself but Montserrat swatted his hands away.

"Dad, stop!"

"Why do you need to go!? Do you feel alright? What am I saying — it's obvious you're not feeling well! You've been crying!"

"She has," Kara agreed solemnly.

"KARA!" Montserrat said loudly enough to make Kara flinch. "SHUT UP!"

"Don't yell at Kara like that," Thomas reprimanded his daughter, "Answer my question. Why are you going to the hospital right now?"

"Because…" Montserrat racked her head for a good answer that wouldn't give away such a terrible situation.

"Are you hurt?"

"No!"

"Then why—"

"Oh, just stop!" Montserrat resorted to pleading, something downright shocking to her father. "Please! Just stop!" Tears rolled down her cheeks as the weight of each of her problems finally culminated into one heavy load on her shoulders. "I'm not hurt! At least not physically because trust me, everything else right now hurts! I'm going to the hospital because my boyfriend's there because he's been shot, okay!? He's been shot and he hasn't woken up since it happened and I want to be there when he does — if he does! Now please stop berating me and just—" Montserrat ran into her father's arms where she finally burst into tears.

Thomas was utterly stunned. For the first couple of seconds, nothing of what Montserrat said had sunk in so while she hugged him, his arms were awkwardly on either side of him. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, he met Kara's gaze. She nodded to confirm everything Montserrat had said. Her grim expression helped sell it too.

"When...when did you get a boyfriend?" Thomas looked down at his daughter but at the question, Montserrat only whimpered and retreated further into him, desperate to be hugged back. Thomas slowly did so, bringing one hand over her back and the other behind her head. "O-okay, um…that's...that's...bad..." He sighed. He was terrible when it came to things like these. Montserrat's teenage years had been quite an adventure in terms of boyfriends and dating but now at 30? He didn't know which age was worse. "I'm—I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he ultimately said, "Really. I — how did this happen?"

Montserrat pulled away to take a deep breath. Her face was stained with tears. "A robbery. The guy was trying to rob the shop Rafael was at and then he just shot...he shot…"

Kara remained absolutely silent and lowered her head. It killed her to keep the truth of the situation a secret from Montserrat. But if she knew the truth, it would make her feel even worse, she reminded herself.

"Okay, okay," Thomas cupped Montserrat's face, "Wipe those tears. We can go to the hospital right now."

"You'd come with me?" Montserrat sniffed. "You're not mad I didn't tell you—"

"It does not matter right now," Thomas said, "Besides, you're a grown woman — as tough as that is to deal with — and you can make whatever choices you want."

"I was going to tell you. That's why I asked about having dinner, remember?"

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, and I told you I was going out on a trip for a whole month. Okay, that was my fault then."

"Dad, you would really like him. I mean, he's sort of a smart-ass but then again so is Gael."

Thomas let out a low laugh. "Oh, is it just Gael?"

"Of course, why do you ask?"

Thomas barely held his next laugh in. "Right." He gave Montserrat a kiss on the forehead. "Are you ready to go?"

Montserrat nodded fairly quickly. "Yes, please, let's go!"

"Kara?" Thomas looked at the blonde behind them.

Kara waved them off with a hand. "I'll wait for my boyfriend. He was already on his way. Plus, I think there'll be a lot of talking done on that drive."

Thomas wholeheartedly agreed with her. His eyes drifted over to Montserrat who had the energy to appear more nervous than before. "Ready?"

Montserrat wasn't so sure anymore. Still, a ride to the hospital meant she would practically do anything.

~0~

Thomas started slowly, cautiously, and for that Montserrat appreciated but it didn't make things any less awkward nor tense.

"Dating your co-worker — isn't that against the rules?" Thomas wondered out loud. He stopped at an upcoming red light, giving him the opportunity to glance at his daughter.

Her tear-stained face was finally getting a glimpse of light. She had stopped crying for the moment — she just needed to clean her face.

"Not if you disclose," she answered quietly, "Which we did."

"Ah, okay, um...when was that?"

"Dunno, two months ago? Time sort of blurred…"

"Time 'blurred'?" Thomas let out a small chuckle.

Montserrat glanced at him, eyebrows knitted together. "What?" Her voice couldn't go any louder than a quiet tone. If not, she would've demanded the explanation.

"Nothing...it's just...usually when you feel like time has 'blurred', it's because you've been having a good time," Thomas explained. At the green light, he was no longer able to look at her.

Maybe it was for the best.

Montserrat shifted in her seat. She was not about to go into detail about her relationship to her father. "It's been different," she left it at that. It wasn't a lie but it didn't outright expose her either.

Thomas hummed. "I can see that. I've never seen you so distressed over someone like this."

"To be fair, none of my other boyfriends have ever been shot."

Thomas let out a small laugh. "True, but I also meant in general. I've noticed you've been more, uh, content lately. Because I don't know what made you leave behind your old job and place in Queens, but I know that you haven't been happy in a while. I like the change."

"I'm sorry for that," Montserrat mumbled, eyes downcast. However painful it was for her, she imagined it had to have been hard for her father as well. She wasn't the kindest to him in the beginning. She did what a victim typically does: push people away. She thought she did it perfectly. She left her old friends in Queens, her job. She put distance between her father, her brother, even her nieces, and Kara. She became a good liar, indeed.

"I wasn't expecting an apology," Thomas clarified, "And I certainly didn't need one. I'm your father. I just want to know that you're okay."

Montserrat smiled lightly. "I can tell you that before all of this, I was more than okay."

Thomas nodded. "I believe it. You were...happier, more than I'd seen you in a very long time. I would love to say that you were your old self again but it still isn't like that."

"Dad, I don't think I'll ever be the same as before," Montserrat said, figuring it was best to shatter that dream right now than let it keep going without a future. "But that's okay because the way I felt before all this, it was damn great." Her breathlessness was enough to take her word for it. It sounded like even she couldn't believe it.

Truthfully, sometimes she still couldn't.

It took very little for Montserrat to become accustomed to the idea of always feeling miserable on the inside and overall like she was simply floating through life. She had resigned herself to the idea that it would always be like that from now on. But things changed again and she couldn't be more grateful. It would be beyond cruel to lose it all again. Actually, Montserrat couldn't see herself getting past it all over again if she lost Rafael.

"No more tears," came Thomas' voice.

Montserrat snapped out of her thoughts to find there were new tears rolling down her cheeks. "Sorry," she sniffed, wiping the tears off with the backs of her hands.

"No need to be," Thomas told her, "I'm so sorry this is happening, sweetie. But let's have some faith that it'll be okay in the end."

"To be honest Dad…" Montserrat let out a low sigh, "I don't really do the 'faith' thing a lot anymore."

Thomas nodded silently. It wasn't much of a surprise. "The things you see at your job can't leave much hope in the world, I know."

"Mhm," Montserrat nodded. She could let her father believe it was all because of her job. It would be easier for him that way.

"But in times like these...who do you turn to for strength?" Thomas asked curiously. "People pray to God, or other saints or something. What do you pray to?"

"Nothing," Montserrat admitted. It had been a very long time since she turned to any type of religious prayer. She was non-practicing Catholic at this point. Don't tell Lucia. "Right now, I just think about Rafael and how he's strong enough to come back. You should see him in action, Dad. If I were that guy who shot him, I'd run. I've been on the receiving end a couple times and Rafael doesn't play. And I've only gotten a small taste of the real thing. He's scary. Ask Kara."

Thomas let out a small laugh. "Knowing you, you probably kept it going."

Montserrat nodded. "Hell yeah. He's not right until I say he's right." She shifted in her seat. "Although right now, I'd give anything to hear his smart-ass remarks. An argument. Anything."

Thomas stretched a hand out until he was able to find Montserrat's. "It'll be okay."

Montserrat didn't say much after that. She couldn't wait to see the end of the drive and be at the hospital again. Nick had tried sending her messages but it didn't look like the service in the hospital was doing so well. All his texts were coming in as 'incoming message'. It left Montserrat even more anxious. What if something happened while she was away!?

She practically ran through the hospital, leaving her father to do his best to keep up. "Nick!?" She called as soon as she saw the man in the waiting room. "Your messages weren't coming through! Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded, eyes flickering past Montserrat to her father.

"That's my Dad," Montserrat said dismissively. She had no times for introductions right now. "What happened!? Is Raf—"

"He's awake," Nick thankfully cut Montserrat off. He presumed that she had assumed the worst with his answer.

The relief that washed over Montserrat was monumental and yet so short-lived. Nick didn't understand why.

"I wasn't here," she whispered, eyes falling, "I wasn't here for him. God — I told you people I shouldn't have left!"

"Montserrat, you needed to rest," Nick said, "Besides, he woke up like 15 minutes ago. His mom's in there with him right now." Apparently, he'd something really bad because Montserrat's face had paled to a ghostly shade.

"What?" She asked, sounding like she'd lost air as well. "N-n-n-n-no, tell me she just got here too. Please."

"Uuh…" Nick was utterly confused but he still had to answer with the truth and it was not what Montserrat wanted to hear. "She got here an hour ago."

"Crap," Montserrat let out a heavy sigh.

"Montserrat, what's wrong?" Thomas asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You should be happy!"

"I am," Montserrat clarified, "But you don't understand. Lucia got very upset with me because I didn't call her immediately when this happened. I called her this morning instead because I thought there was no reason she should lose sleep when I was already here, waiting to hear how the surgery went. She didn't agree. She thought she should've been notified immediately."

"Okay, well, that was then, this is now. Things will change now that Rafael's awake. She was probably very scared too."

"I bet she was," Montserrat agreed, "But she's Rafael's mother. Where do you think he gets his temper from?"

Nobody would answer her. It was better to stay quiet and to help move things along, Olivia arrived shortly afterwards. She'd gotten the call from the doctors themselves as was protocol.

"Is he capable of answering?" She asked the two detectives.

"He might be too tired to remember things right now," Nick said, "I was with him for 10 minutes and he barely said anything about what happened."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it," Montserrat said. "And he shouldn't if he's not ready."

Olivia nodded with her. "Yes, but it's worth asking, don't you think?"

The detective in Montserrat would make her agree but the civilian side of her made her shake her head. That was the part of her that wanted everyone to stay the hell away from Rafael until he was all better.

"There's his mom," Nick said when he saw Lucia emerging from the hallway.

Montserrat immediately pressed her clothes down as if Lucia were going to point them out and add to her fuel against Montserrat. She made herself front front center when Lucia joined them.

"How is he?" She immediately asked the older woman. "Is he — is he talking? Does anything hurt?"

"He had a bullet in his body so yes, he is in pain," Lucia answered sharply enough to have Montserrat wincing each time.

"Excuse me," Thomas cut in just as Montserrat was about to go on. He moved around Nick and Olivia to stand beside his daughter. "There's no need to be that kind of rude. You're both stressed and frightened."

"And who are you?" Lucia demanded, eyebrow raising.

"This is my father," Montserrat said hastily, truly wanting to avoid any kind of confrontation.

"Thomas Novak," Thomas introduced himself, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to my daughter like that."

Lucia didn't appreciate the tone used on her either. "Lucia Barba," she introduced herself in the same tone as Thomas, "And your daughter knows exactly why I'm upset." She crossed gazes with Montserrat.

"I'm sorry," Montserrat reiterated, sighing. "I didn't want you to go through a sleepless night. You nor Catalina."

"Don't take decisions that don't belong to you," Lucia retorted, "When it comes to my son, I need to be informed about everything that happens to him. I don't know why I didn't get the call in the first place. Do you?"

Montserrat lowered her head. She preferred not to answer for the moment.

"There's no need to argue," Olivia stepped in as well, "We all want the same thing, don't we? For Rafael to get better?"

"Of course," Lucia said incredulously. How dare they think otherwise?

"Okay," nodded Olivia, "Then I'd like to see him right now. I think Montserrat as well."

Montserrat nodded fervently. "I do," she said.

"Don't bother him with the unnecessary, please," Lucia warned as the two women started walking around her.

"I would never," Montserrat said sharply. "But I do want to catch whoever did this to him. And I will."

She followed Olivia down the hallway, preferring not to look back. She couldn't take whatever look Lucia must be giving her right now. She didn't have the head for it either.

"Montserrat," Olivia called twice before she was heard, "Forgive me for intruding but, have you taken some time for yourself with all this going on?"

"Are you kidding? I slept way more than I should have!" Montserrat exclaimed. "He woke up and I wasn't here!"

"I don't mean that," Olivia shook her head. "With this kind of stuff, I presume you would want to go see your therapist?"

"I don't have time for that!" Montserrat said dismissively. "I need to be here!"

Olivia suspected that mindset long before she got the courage to ask Montserrat. "It's important that you take care of yourself first. I'm sure Rafael would say the same thing."

It honestly didn't matter to Montserrat right now. She just wanted to reach the damn room herself and see with her own eyes that Rafael was awake. That's all she wanted. Olivia must have seen it because she didn't mention therapy again for the rest of the walk.

They didn't make a sound when they finally entered the room. If Rafael was really asleep, neither wanted to wake him. Questions would wait. But, as soon as they were in sight, Montserrat saw Rafael wide awake. He seemed a bit dazed but lucid enough to recognize them.

Montserrat forgot all about her conversation with Olivia and rushed forward. "Hii…" She said breathlessly, "You're still awake! You should be sleeping."

"I've done enough sleeping," Rafael muttered, sounding a lot more like himself than Montserrat (and Olivia) expected. He was definitely irritated enough to be himself.

Montserrat grinned widely at his response. She absolutely loved seeing him act like he usually would — it meant he was getting better! She reached for his hand, immediately gripping it. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I-I should've been, I know, but…"

Rafael watched Montserrat in a more dazed manner again — his mind went in and out with all the meds he was on.

This, Olivia presumed and since Montserrat seemed too upset with herself to notice, Olivia decided to cut in and help them both out. "Now, Montserrat, I think it's okay," she started slowly, watching Montserrat lower her head out of utter guilt, "You had to go home and rest too." Olivia looked at Rafael who was still trying to make sense of Montserrat's long ramble. "She was here all of last night and Carisi and Amaro and sent her home to sleep and eat."

"Well — why are you apologizing then?" Rafael glanced at Montserrat, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. "It's not like I noticed, right? I was in surgery. At least that's what my mother told me?"

"Is that all she told you?" Montserrat asked rather curiously and slightly worried. She grabbed a chair and sat down beside the bed.

"She said a lot of things but honestly, I tuned her out," Rafael drew in a breath, "The mess might be a blessing in disguise, you know."

"Ha…" Montserrat smiled lightly. That sounded a lot more like him. It truly relieved some of her anxiety. "Still, I'm really sorry. I did want to be here but I…I sort of overslept and…"

"I promise you that I am okay with that," Rafael said, smiling for the first time. "I don't want you forgetting about yourself because of me."

"I'm good, I promise," Montserrat assured, nodding her head fast. She brought their interlocked hands to her mouth, kissing his hand. "I just want you to be okay now. I've been a little crazy."

"A little?" Rafael's smile widened.

"Shut up," Montserrat said hushedly, letting out a small chuckle. She missed this so much. All the nerves were washing out as a familiar warmth flooded her insides.

At the same time, Olivia's phone started buzzing. "I'll be back," she told the two before taking the call.

Montserrat scooted her chair closer to the bed. She held onto Rafael's hand, still keeping her smile. This is all she wanted. Rafael was awake, seemingly recuperating and already taking jabs at her. In all her thoughts, she missed Rafael studying her. He noticed something he truly wished he hadn't. It led to his question.

"How are you?"

Montserrat blinked at first, puzzled with the question. "What — me?" She laughed. "Môj drahý, I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine."

"I'm on some strong medication but I assume you just spoke Slovak but even then…I don't buy it," Rafael said, shaking his head. "You went crazy over me."

"You were shot," Montserrat said, still frazzled having to say that. "What did you think I would do? Happily pass the night with your scotch?"

"Did you save me some, by the way?"

"Rafael," Montserrat warned him not to play jokes right now. "You were shot. It's not funny."

"Oh, I'm not laughing at that," agreed Rafael, "But I am trying to lighten the mood here. I don't want you to worry about me."

"Not right now," Montserrat shook her head, "Don't ask me not to do that when you're here. You have no idea how scared I was when I got the call."

"They called you…" Rafael said, as if realizing something.

"Um, yeah…" Montserrat cleared her throat, "Why did the hospital call me first? Your mother, uh, she was pretty pretty confused about that too."

"Yeah…" Rafael nodded, "Uh…I was going to tell you sometime…definitely not here but…"

"I don't think I've ever heard you ramble so uselessly…" Montserrat laughed almost immediately after saying that.

Rafael deadpanned her for a straight minute while she laughed. "I think I deserve to be cut a little slack, right?"

Montserrat nodded as she did her best to sober from her laugh. "Of course, dear."

It was too late as Rafael was already properly annoyed. "You're my emergency contact," he said in a huff.

Montserrat gasped lightly then, eyebrows raising with pleasant shock. "Am I really?"

"Yes, but you're making me regret it—"

"No, no, I promise I'm good! That's nice to hear, I…" Montserrat could feel the familiar spread of butterflies in her stomach. "When did you…when did you decide to do that?"

"I don't know, a bit back? Is that — are you okay with that?"

"Of course! Yes!" Montserrat was a smiling mess, a deep difference from the past day. She leaned over, carefully, and pressed a kiss on Rafael's lips. "Thank you for that trust in me." There was something else she wanted to desperately say to him but she felt the timing was off and perhaps even imprudent on her part.

Even if Rafael said nothing of it, Montserrat still noticed the subtle scrunch of his nose and the twitch of his mouth every now and then from the pain he obviously felt. He just didn't want to tell her about it — it wasn't shocking for her. He barely got used to the idea of asking her for help in far less serious situations so this situation would require a lot more effort from his side and she wanted to make it as easy as possible for him.

"Do you need anything?" She asked him, "I don't know, like a drink or something? And by that I mean water, of course."

"Damn, and I was just about to ask you for some scotch…"

"I would smack you right now if you weren't hurt!" Montserrat sighed and shook her head. "So listen, I really hate asking you this right now but I need to help so…about that night…"

Rafael already started turning his head away from her. He knew exactly what was coming.

"Do you remember what happened?" Montserrat wanted to be as cautious as possible for his sake. It was physically painful enough and now he would have to deal with any mental trauma he suffered from that evening.

"...a little," he did answer albeit in a low mutter.

"Okay, um, well there is that cashier — Clara?"

At the mention of the young woman, Rafael immediately looked back at Montserrat. "Is she okay!?" He truly didn't remember much after hearing the sound of the gun firing. He was in and out of consciousness but he did have slight memories of the young woman terrified in the shop.

"Yes, she is," Montserrat nodded, smiling lightly. "Did you know she's a med student? I was told she helped keep you stable while the ambulance got to you guys. She called 911. I absolutely love her."

It was Rafael's turn to smile. "Should I be worried?"

Montserrat let out a weary sigh but her broad smile defeated any attempt to sound annoyed. "Shut up."

"I want to tell her thank you," Rafael said a moment later. "She was so scared. I may have yelled at her."

"Lots of people react differently in situations like those. It's a flight or fight thing — you chose fight, she chose flight. All involuntary of course. But please, don't ever choose to 'fight' with a robber."

"Oh, but you can?" Rafael countered on the spot. His smirk didn't help. "You carry — you do that for a living. The way you feel right now is what I always feel about you..."

"I know, I know," sighed Montserrat. This was a conversation she didn't like having because Rafael always had the right. His concerns were right, his points made sense.

Rafael gripped Montserrat's hand as much as he could, which wasn't very much if Montserrat was honest with him. She wouldn't tell him. "I'm not arguing, I'm just telling you this is something we can't control," he told her. "I'm sorry I worried you. I didn't…I didn't see the guy getting up…"

"So you do remember some things, then?"

"Yes…but it's still mostly fuzzy…" If there was one thing Rafael didn't want to do right now, it was having to lie to Montserrat. His gaze lowered to their interlocked hands, which fueled his reasons all over again. "I don't know what they put in my body but I couldn't even tell you my birthday right now."

Montserrat smiled sweetly at him. "I'll make a full list about you when you get home. We can go over it together." She scooted her chair even closer to the bed. "Because when you get out of here, you have two choices about what's going to happen."

"Oh, do I?" Rafael blinked, bemused with the revelation.

Montserrat nodded. "Yup. You have a bullet wound and you need to take care of it. You won't be able to move around so easily — you won't be working," she said the last part as a full on threat in case he had the idea of even discussing the matter. "So, when you get out of here, you can either come home with me where I can help you out."

"Not happening," Rafael said on the spot. "You live with Kara and by extension Carisi. Haven't I been through enough already?"

Montserrat deadpanned him for a short minute. She was honestly expecting a response like that. "Then your other option — and your only other one — is that I come stay with you at your place for a while."

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Yes, of course. I want to help you and I can't do that if I'm at my own place."

"Montserrat, that's sweet of you and I appreciate it but I don't need help —"

"Yes, you do," Montserrat nodded. This was also something else she anticipated and was well prepared to handle. "Raf, you can't live by yourself right now. Until you can go up and down the stairs on your own, I will be staying with you."

"It's not that the idea of having you around isn't pleasant — because it is — but I don't need you giving up your time just to take care of me." Even as he said it out loud, Rafael thought it was ridiculous. "I can manage on my own. I always do."

"Tough luck because it's not just about you anymore," Montserrat countered with a wry smile, "To your misfortune, and mine, I like you very much. With all your sarcasm and hard attitude, but I like you."

Rafael rolled his eyes at Montserrat. It was, of course, nice to hear something like that but it still didn't take away the feeling of impotence either. There were many things out of his control and Rafael was not used to it.

"Montse—"

"Let me do this, please," Montserrat insisted earnestly. "You're right. I was dead worried about you and, yeah, I want to be close to you for the next couple days because of it. I promise I'll try not to bombard you, okay?" She squeezed his hand in hers. "Please?"

This was a battle he had already lost and Rafael knew it. For all he knew, half her things were already in his apartment. That's not the worst thing that could happen. No, no it absolutely wasn't. Rafael sighed. What he would have given for this conversation to be part of a much better situation than the one they were in right now.

"You can go back home anytime, alright?" He said, instantly earning a beam from Montserrat. "You don't have to stay more than you want and you definitely don't have to do anything for me."

"I don't understand how you graduated from Harvard. You're seriously so stupid," Montserrat said quite honestly, which prompted a hard deadpan from Rafael in return. Montserrat let out a laugh in the next second. "But I want you just the way you are! I missed it all!" She leaned over to give him another kiss. "I missed you," she whispered afterwards. "I know it's insane to say that when we saw each other — what, yesterday? — but I really did miss you so much."

Even while saying it, she still sounded so afraid like he would fall under again. Rafael felt so guilty even while knowing this was way out of his control.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he insisted for her sake. He wished he could get up from the stupid bed and show her — ease her fear and worries. "I don't want you worrying anymore, okay? Calmada."

"I cannot be calm when you're in this situation," Montserrat promptly huffed. "You went ballistic when I had a scratch on my back! I have every right not to be calm about this. Who did this to you? Do you remember anything about the guy?"

Rafael's mind was slow with all the medication, so coming up with a good excuse was even harder than usual. Luckily for him, Olivia returned at that moment.

"Sorry, that was Rollins," the Sergeant said, "She and Fin are going through some possible witnesses." She approached the foot of the bed slowly, both hands in front of her. "Do you think you can give your statement right now?"

Rafael shifted, and in doing so felt a jab of pain on his side.

"Or we could wait…" Olivia said, mistaking his shift for uneasiness.

"I'm good," he said immediately. He glanced at Montserrat, and a moment later he was asking her: "Maybe I do need something after all."

Montserrat nodded. "Anything," she encouraged, "What do you need?"

"A damn glass of water," he said, "They pump meds all night and day and I don't get to eat anything. I'm so thirsty."

"I'll go see what I can do," Montserrat smiled slyly, "Flash my badge and all."

Rafael smiled at her. He knew very well that she would. "Thank you."

"Of course." Montserrat gave his hand a pat then stood up, turning to Olivia. "Keep an eye on him?"

"Oh yeah," Olivia pressed a finger to her cheek then pointed at Rafael.

Montserrat still left with some reluctance, especially when Olivia mentioned that Lucia was asking for her.

"My mother's still here?" Rafael asked, eyebrows raised.

Olivia nodded. "Oh yeah, she's made it clear she's not stepping away for a while."

"She should go home, like you all. I don't need babysitters," Rafael said, shaking his head.

"Oh no, you're not paying Montserrat with that coin when she's had to deal with your mother."

At Olivia's words, Rafael turned his head slightly. "What do you mean by that? Has she been giving Montserrat a hard time?" He wouldn't put it behind his mother given the situation.

Olivia reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. Novak made the call to inform your mother about the situation earlier in the morning. She didn't want Lucia going through a sleepless night like her, much less your grandmother. Lucia didn't like that."

"Is she kidding?" Rafael snapped, not at Olivia but at the situation. "She just told me she hasn't told my grandmother anything about this." He loved his mother, he did, but sometimes she could be a…

"Montserrat didn't tell you?" Olivia assumed with Rafael's reaction. "She probably didn't want to add to your stress."

"Of course," groaned Rafael, although he soon stopped when he discovered it hurt him. "I'll have a word with my mother."

"Sorry," Olivia said guiltily, "I didn't mean to…you know…"

"No, I'm glad you did," said Rafael sharply, "Because Montserrat wouldn't tell me." Nobody would make her life harder than it had to be, not if he could help it. "Don't even tell her that I know."

"Understood," nodded Olivia. "So, about the case…"

"I need you to do something for me," Rafael said out of the blue, startling Olivia.

"Uh, yeah, of course…" Olivia nodded slowly, "What-what do you need?"

Before answering, Rafael's gaze flickered to the door. Montserrat would be away for a while, hopefully. "I need you to close this case."

"Excuse me?" Olivia tilted her head, presuming she heard wrong.

"You heard me," Rafael said, meeting her gaze. "I want the case closed. Cold case, if it must be."

"I don't — I don't understand…" Olivia rubbed her temple, "You want us to…"

"Close the case, yes," Rafael nodded. 'That's exactly what I want you to do. It's my case, and that's what I'm asking for."

"Why?" Olivia never thought she would have to have this kind of conversation with him. If there's anyone who always said what he wanted, it was Rafael. This made no sense. "Are you still processing what happened? Do you need —"

"I already processed it and this is what I need to happen," Rafael said, sounding very sure of himself. "I know what happens next and I'm not doing that."

"Because of a trial? Rafael, you know that's the natural order of thi—"

"I know," Rafael cut Olivia, his sense of impatience growing. "Believe me, Liv, I know what happens next. I know that you will eventually catch this guy and it will go to trial. I know that their defense attorney will start playing tricks and turn things around for their benefit."

"So you're afraid?" Olivia guessed. "That's also normal…"

"I'm not afraid," Rafael clarified, "I would gladly go along with every part of the process but this isn't about me. It was never about me."

Olivia was utterly lost. She rubbed her forehead relentlessly, leaving faint red marks on her skin. "You're going to have to explain this a little better because I'm not understanding. You don't want us to proceed with the case, you don't want a trial, but you're not scared?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Rafael confirmed, "And you, as my friend and more importantly the Sergeant here, need to help me."

"Why? Why do you want me to do that!?"

"Because that man worked for someone I get the feeling has been watching us for a while now."

Olivia presumed that the struggle she saw in Rafael was for himself. His hands balled into fists on either side of him. His lips pursed together enough to scrunch his nose automatically. But once again, Olivia was wrong because as Rafael had said earlier, this wasn't about him.

"He's been watching Montserrat," he spat darkly. The idea sent him into a frenzy and the only thing stopping its full fledged form was the aching throb he felt on the side of his stomach.

Olivia looked at Rafael both curiously and alarmed. "Why…why would you think that?"

"Because that man told me," Rafael replied, giving the impression that he remembered exactly what happened last night.

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"You and I are the only ones who know what happened to Montserrat before she transferred here, so this should be easy to understand," Rafael said, only taking a moment because he abhorred what he had to say next. "That man who hurt her — he's watching her. I don't know how, I don't know when, but he's still got eyes on her."

Olivia was keenly aware of the rising noise from the machine beside the bed. One of them was connected to Rafael's finger — a blood pressure measure. "I think you need to—"

"It makes sense now, what Little Tino told Montserrat when we visited him in jail. He told Montserrat that there was a rule in place…"

The beeps got slightly louder.

"Raf—"

"Nobody lays a finger on the redhead," Rafael repeated the words he now hated himself for. He completely missed them at that moment. A deep scowl marked his face. "He has rules, Olivia, about her, about Montserrat — in his eyes, she belongs to him. I can't — he's just—"

"Rafael!" Olivia snapped to get his attention. She moved to his bedside, urgently motioning him to calm down.

"Liv, we can't let him keep watching her," he told her, finally sounding what he truly was: frightened. He was scared, but not for him. "We can't let this keep going. He's—"

Olivia nodded and once again motioned him to calm down. "You need to take it easy. You have stitches. They can burst," she reminded him. She grabbed Montserrat's chair to sit down. "Okay, you're going to have to walk me through this so that we're on the same page about what happened. Only then we can decide how to proceed from here."

"Fine, whatever, but you can't tell Montserrat anything about this."

"I can't promise that but we can work together to come up with the best solution," Olivia said.

It wasn't good enough for Rafael. He needed to hear it out loud…but he knew he was asking the impossible from Olivia. He'd been on that side plenty of times. It was hypocritical of him to be asking the same thing he denied so many times before.

Yes, he was being hypocritical.

Yes, he was being unreasonable.

But he just didn't care.

He didn't care about anything, not even the frikin stitches throbbing on his side right now. The only thing he cared about was currently outside, getting something he asked her for. She was all he cared about. So damn everything else.

[a13x-128]

BLESSINGS CHAPTER 3

A/n: hello!! it's been a moment but i've been busy and exhausted and overall just so unmotivated to contine editing this byt hopefully i'll be able to continue this! After all my school year is coming to an end and i'd love to write more about percy<3

This is a pretty unedited chapter cause other than the fighting it's pretty alright and not that horrendous.

please comment if you would like to be tagged into the rest of this fic and if you have any suggestions for what direction this fic will go (preferably after tlt considering it's practically done on wattpad) then feel free to leave suggestions!

also theres a new seperator cause i deleted the old one...shhhh

AFTER DINNER EVERYONE WAS A LOT MORE EXCITED THAN USUAL.

Finally it was time for capture the flag.

Annabeth and two of her siblings ran into the pavilion with a silk banner. Clarisse did the same with her friends.

Y/N and Annabeth locked eyes, Y/N slightly nodded and Annie did the same.

Chiron hammered his foot against the marble.

"Heros!" He announced. "You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magic items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed but not bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed."

Everyone went to arm themselves, armour and swords and whatnot.

Y/N only ever needed armour from having νεκρός and stealing Asha's sheild from still not having her own.

Y/N didn't ask what Luke's plan was, instead she went her own way. She knew that Clarisse wanted to batter Percy and she wanted to prove her own theory right, plus she'd also help if need be.

So after venturing into the forest, she made sure no one was around and focused on exactly where she wanted to be, the creak.

She took a deep breath in.

"5...4...3..." She counted down in her head to make herself calm before...

She was behind Percy, appearing and groaning at the throbbing pain in her head that had now accumulated.

"H-How the heck did you even get there?!?" He yelled, startled by her sudden appearance.

"Uhm..don't worry about it." She didn't dare grab her sword as she heard the damn ares kids.

"Cream the punk!" Clarisse yelled as her and 4 other Ares kids came bursting out of the forest.

Y/N groaned and pushed him to one side, to make room for them both to actually fight.

Two of the kids went straight for Y/N and Percy looked a little panicked, where was her weapon? He didn't have enough time to ask the question before Clarisse and the other two came after him.

Y/N used her shield to block the first attack and quickly stepped out of the way of the other. She was trying to make distance between herself and them but they were pretty relentless with the attacks.

But one of the kids faltered. Swinging his sword, missing and taking a little too long to recover.

So Y/N used that to her advantage, smacking him the head with her shield, it didn't knock him out but it made him stay down.

As for the other? She was a little better at fighting. Y/N still didn't have enough time to get her sword, she'd probably be skewered if she even tried.

She had missed the entire conversation between the three other Ares kids and Percy, though he was backed up by the creek now.

"Percy! Go In the creek!" She yelled, he listened but more so fell as she saw that he'd also been attacked, on his arm.

Y/N's yelling distracted herself, the Ares kid hit her with the hilt of her sword, aiming for her lungs. That made her violently cough, trying to get the air back in her lungs.

Though the daughter of Ares grinned like a lion catching its prey.

"It's over for you."

She tried to take a step forward but something seemingly hit her in the head, despite the fact that nothing was even behind the girl.

"Apparently not." She said breathlessly, Y/N stood up. And as she did so, the other girl collapsed to the ground unconscious.

She turned back to the fight happening in the creek, Clarisse looked like she was seething. And called him an idiot? Something like that.

"A trick!" Clarisse shouted. "It was a trick."

Then Y/N heard yelling, elated screams, and she saw Luke sprinting toward the boundary line with the red team's banner lifted high.

He was flanked by a couple of Hermes guys covering his retreat, and a few Apollos behind them, fighting off the Hephaestus kids.

Clarisse muttered a dazed curse.

Their side exploded into cheers. The red banner shimmered and turned to silver. The boar and spear were replaced with a huge caduceus, the symbol of cabin eleven.

Everybody on the blue team picked up Luke and started carrying him around on their shoulders

The game was over and they won.

"Not that bad, reaper." Annabeth said, taking of the cap to become visible beside Y/N.

She looked at the blonde and just groaned. "You could've helped more, asshole."

"You two were fine."

"You set me up!" Percy yelled.

He obviously felt angry. He wasn't even fazed by the fact that she'd just been invisible.

"You put me here because you knew Clarisse would come after me, while you sent Luke around the flank. You had it all figured out."

Annabeth shrugged. "I told you. Athena always, always has a plan."

"A plan to get me pulverized."

"I came as fast as I could. I was about to jump in, but..." She shrugged. "You didn't need any help, Y/N was there."

She deadpanned at the blonde, even she'd found it a bit difficult from not having enough time to actually get her sword.

"That doesn't count! She didn't even have a-"

"What happened to your arm?" Y/N cut him off.

"Sword cut," He said. "You already saw it."

"No, It was a sword cut, Percy, look at it."

The blood was gone. Where the huge cut had been, there was a long white scratch, and even that was fading now.

"I—I don't get it," Percy said.

Annabeth was thinking hard. They could almost see the gears turning. Clearly something clicked in her head and Y/N just sighed, knowing that she was unfortunately right.

"Get out the creek." She said.

"What—"

"Just do it already." Annabeth continued.

Annabeth cursed and nervously glanced at Y/N, who looked just about as anxious as she was. They both realised that there must only be one thing that could actually explain this.

A howl ripped through the forest.

There on the rocks was a massive hellhound. everyone froze at the sight of it.

There was only one way a monster like that could even get into camp in the first place, by summoning it. Though Y/N didn't want to believe that someone here would actually do something like that.

Chiron shouted something in Ancient Greek, which Percy would realize, only later, he had understood perfectly: "Stand ready! My bow!"

Y/N took her earring out which turned into a sword, Annabeth drew her dagger.

Annabeth tried to stand in front with her dagger but the damn hell-hound was too quick and leaped over her and Annabeth.

It was looking straight at Percy.

"Percy, run!" Y/N yelled, trying to push him away with her shield but it was too late of a reaction.

Percy stumbled back as the hound ripped through his armour and into his flesh. It made a horrible sound and looked like it hurt even worse.

Chiron fired arrows into the beast, it fell dead at Percy's feet.

Y/N looked at him as if he was a dead man walking.

"Di immortales!" Annabeth said. "That's a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don't...they're not supposed to..."

"Someone summoned it," Chiron said. "Someone inside the camp."

Luke came over, the banner in his hand forgotten, his moment of glory gone.

Clarisse yelled, "It's all Percy's fault! Percy summoned it!"

"Be quiet, child," Chiron told her. They watched the body of the hellhound melt into shadow, soaking into the ground until it disappeared.

"You're wounded," Annabeth told me. "Quick, Percy, get in the water."

"I'm okay."

"Like Hades you are!" Y/N stepped forward, shaking off her shock. "Chiron watch this."

"I'm not sorry about this." She put her hand on his chest, shoving him backwards.

Instantly his wounds started close and he started apologizing as everyone just looked absolutely shocked.

Percy," Annabeth said, pointing. "Um..."

By the time he looked up, the sign was already fading. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

"Your father," Annabeth murmured.

"This is bad, really really bad." Y/N added on.

"It is determined," Chiron announced.

All around him, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it.

"My father?" Percy asked, completely bewildered.

"Poseidon," said Chiron.

"Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

@jemy-blacy24