#I’ve complained about this before but I will again

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you��re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[hurtblossom]

On thin ice ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female Iceskater!Reader

Summary : Lando is jealous of his girlfriend's iceskating partner.

Warnings : Angst, established relationship

The sharp scrape of skates against ice filled the cavernous rink, the sound bouncing off the empty seats and high ceilings. (Y/N) exhaled deeply, her breath clouding the chilly air as she steadied herself. Ethan skated toward her, his movements effortless, his presence as comforting as ever.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Ethan teased lightly, stopping in front of her.

She gave him a weak smile. “I can’t help it.”

“You don’t need to. You’ve got this.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, their fingers locking with the ease of years spent practicing together. They moved into the opening position of their routine, the soft strains of music echoing through the rink as they began.

Every spin, every lift, every glide was a testament to their hard work, their connection honed over countless hours of practice. Ethan’s hand on her back, his voice low and steady as he guided her through a lift, was nothing new to her. It was simply a part of the dance.

But to Lando, it was something else entirely.

Lando had been her biggest supporter in the beginning. When they first started dating, he’d been captivated by her passion for skating. He admired her dedication, often comparing it to his own drive for Formula 1. They bonded over their shared understanding of sacrifice and ambition, and for a while, it felt like they were unstoppable.

But as their lives grew busier, the cracks began to form.

(Y/N) had always made time for Lando, traveling to his races whenever her schedule allowed. She’d spent hours in the paddock, enduring the chaos and noise just to be there for him. She cheered the loudest when he stood on the podium, comforted him when he didn’t, and never once complained about the toll it took on her own life.

Lando, however, struggled to do the same.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did—deeply. But his jealousy over her partnership with Ethan was a wound that festered, growing more painful with each passing day. He hated the way Ethan’s name was always on her lips, the way she spent more time on the ice with him than she did at home with Lando.

He hated that Ethan got to see her in her element—the part of her life Lando could never truly understand.

The tension between them came to a head one evening when (Y/N) returned from practice later than usual. Lando was waiting for her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

“Practice ran over,” she replied, setting her bag down.

“With Ethan, I assume,” he added, his tone sharp.

(Y/N) sighed, already bracing herself for the argument she knew was coming. “Yes, Lando. With Ethan. Who else would it be?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he snapped, pushing off the counter. “It’s always Ethan. You spend more time with him than you do with me.”

Her jaw tightened. “Lando, we’ve been over this. He’s my skating partner. That’s all.”

“And I’m supposed to just be okay with that?” he demanded. “You don’t see how weird this is? How it looks?”

She crossed her arms, frustration bubbling to the surface. “How it looks? Lando, this is my career. I’ve been skating with Ethan for years—long before I met you. Why is this suddenly a problem?”

“Because I see the way he looks at you,” Lando shot back. “Like you’re more than just his partner.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank at the accusation, her chest tightening. “That’s not fair. Ethan and I are teammates, nothing more. You’re my boyfriend. Why can’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less pained.

She stared at him, her tears threatening to spill. “Do you even realize how much I’ve sacrificed for you? How many races I’ve been to, how many times I’ve put you first? And now, when I need your support, all you can do is accuse me of things that aren’t even true?”

His expression faltered, guilt flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

The words hit her like a slap, leaving her speechless. She turned away, unable to look at him. “If you can’t handle my life, then maybe you shouldn’t be in it.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Lando grabbed his jacket, his movements abrupt.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed in the empty apartment, leaving her standing alone, her chest heaving as silent tears streamed down her face.

—

The day of the competition arrived, but (Y/N) felt hollow. The weight of Lando’s absence pressed heavily on her chest as she laced up her skates backstage. Ethan sat beside her, his presence steady and comforting.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice calm.

She nodded, though her hands trembled as she tied the final knot. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

The arena was packed, the cheers of the crowd echoing off the high ceilings as they stepped onto the ice. She scanned the stands instinctively, half-hoping to see Lando’s familiar face. But he wasn’t there.

The music began, and she forced herself to focus, moving through the opening steps with precision. But her mind betrayed her, Lando’s words echoing in her head. “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

Her foot slipped slightly during a turn, the mistake small but glaring to her trained eye. Ethan caught her immediately, his grip firm as he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

They continued, but the mistakes kept coming—hesitant steps, uneven spins, moments of faltering confidence. Each one felt like another crack in her resolve, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill.

By the time the routine ended, her face was damp with tears. Ethan kept her close as they bowed, his hand squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

Backstage, (Y/N) sank onto a bench, her head in her hands as the adrenaline faded. Ethan sat beside her, his voice soft as he said, “You did great.”

She shook her head, her voice breaking. “I messed up.”

“No one noticed,” he said firmly. “You were incredible.”

But his words did little to soothe the ache in her chest.

When she returned home that night, she found Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as she walked in, his eyes heavy with guilt.

“I saw your routine,” he said quietly. “You looked beautiful out there.”

Her chest tightened as she dropped her bag by the door. “But you weren’t there.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there after the fight,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

Her tears spilled over as she stepped closer. “I always want you there, Lando. Even when we fight, even when I’m angry, I need you to be there. But tonight, you weren’t. And it broke me.”

He stood, reaching for her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I let my jealousy get in the way, and I should have been there. You deserved better.”

She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Do you even realize how much I’ve given for you? And the one time I needed you, you weren’t there.”

His voice was thick with emotion as he said, “I know. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

She stepped back, the pain in her chest unbearable. “I don’t know if you can, Lando.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and final, as she turned away, leaving him standing alone in the quiet apartment.

⁴

an : leave comments please 😞😞 i love to read them, i feel important

[bluebirdsfeathers]

Christmas with Agatha and Rio would include:

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Agatha x Rio x Reader.

Summary: warm cozy fluff for the holidays of reader spending Christmas with Agatha and Rio

A/N: writing this bc i’ve gotten sick again and it’s Christmas and i’m upset and in pain but hopefully i wont have to go to hospital again before the new year. Writing this made me happy :)

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

☆ You wake up first on christmas day and excitedly wake up Agatha. She’s grumpy at first until she sees the joy on your face.

☆ Rio had stayed up all night waiting to see the magical Santa. You didn’t realize she believed you when you told her about him.

☆ Rio and Agatha have never really celebrated Christmas before but want to make sure you have a good day.

☆ Rio had grown a tree in the living room and you all decorated it with crystals and other magical items. Presents were carefully wrapped and placed under it waiting for the big day.

☆ Opening gifts from each other. Each gift clearly had a lot of thought put into it.

☆ You were given some potions ingredients and a new tarot deck. Agatha a new collection of spell books, and Rio had a new knife.

☆ You and Agatha cuddle on the sofa watching christmas movies. Agatha complains loudly about the poor decision making of the characters.

☆ Rio refusing any help in the kitchen as she cooks Christmas dinner. Magically growing all the vegetables as she does. Her just wanting it to be perfect despite not actually needing to eat.

☆ After dinner all three of you sit by the fire. You fiddle with the new set of tarot cards you’d gotten, Agatha reads her new book and Rio sharpens her brand new knife.

☆ You enjoy some Christmas biscuits and a hot chocolate with your two favourite people. Repeatedly telling them how grateful you are they did this for you.

☆ Agatha confessing a love for the non-witch tradition of christmas. Saying they will definitely be doing this every year now. Rio agrees, despite still being disappointed santa isn’t real, even suggesting she could become some kind of Christmas Witch (lol)

☆ Before long it’s bedtime. You change into your matching christmas pajamas and snuggle up in bed. All of you tired from the long day full of joy, love and laughter.

[solxamber]

hiii just checked out the holiday event, savanaclaw 7 fluffy? pls & ty :3

This is one of my favorites from what I've written for this event :3

Patchwork Promises || Ruggie Bucchi

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

The hole in the roof of Ramshackle was mocking you. Each night, you stared up at the sky, praying it wouldn’t rain. And each morning, you woke up feeling groggier than the day before. It was miserable, and you weren’t shy about complaining.

“It’s not just a hole,” you lamented to Ruggie one afternoon, kicking a stray pebble. “It’s a metaphor for my life falling apart.”

Ruggie chuckled, his sharp grin breaking through. “You’re dramatic, huh? It’s just a roof, not the end of the world.”

“It is the end of my world,” you insisted. “I can’t sleep, and Grim keeps blaming me for the drafts.”

That was the end of the conversation—or so you thought.

A week later, Ruggie showed up at Ramshackle with a hammer, a bag of nails, and an oddly proud smirk.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he waltzed past you and headed straight for the gaping hole.

“Fixing your roof, obviously.”

“What—how—Ruggie, did you pay for this?”

He shrugged, climbing a rickety ladder. “Yeah. I’ve been saving up.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’ve been running yourself ragged doing side jobs! You didn’t need to spend that money on me!”

You pressed your hands to your face, overwhelmed. “Ruggie, that money was for you. You could’ve spent it on food, or clothes, or... I don’t know, something fun! Not my falling-apart house!”

Ruggie glanced down at you, his eyes gleaming. “Well, I wanted to. Couldn’t stand the thought of you shivering all night while some draft talks smack about your life choices.”

He jumped down from the ladder after hammering the last nail in place, brushing his hands off with a satisfied look.

“Tell you what,” he said, stepping close. “If you’re feeling guilty, I’ve got a repayment plan.”

You blinked. “A repayment plan?”

“One kiss for every thaumark I spent.”

Your face went hot. “Ruggie!”

He smirked, leaning in just enough to make your knees wobble. “What? It’s fair. And I’d say I deserve it, considering how many jobs I took on for this.”

“How much did you spend?”

“Eh, a few hundred thaumarks.”

“Ruggie!”

He laughed, tugging you into a hug before you could argue further. “Relax, I’m messing with you. But seriously—don’t feel bad. For you? I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Thaumarks come and go, but you…”

His voice softened, and he rested his chin on your shoulder. “You’re worth every single coin.”

Your heart swelled, and you hugged him back, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

“Fine,” you murmured. “But you’re still getting your repayment.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You tilted your head, kissed his cheek, and grinned. “One thaumark at a time.”

The laughter that followed was louder than any rainstorm that might’ve passed through the night.

Masterlist

[at-wicks-end]

in another life (you still would've turned my head) ; jw

vampire!john wick x reader fluff !! (lowkey a reincarnation au) ~2.5k words

notes: this fic is written for @treedaddymcpuffpuff for the keanuverse secret santa event hosted by @97keanu <333 i hope you like this!!! this is probably the longest thing i've written on this blog 😵‍💫 happy holidays🩷

John cares little for the snow. It’s not that he found it cumbersome or annoying; it’s just that when one has lived for as long as he has, shoveling the snow from the driveway becomes a little too tedious, even for one well-versed in tedious matters. Such was the nature of immortality—given enough time, even the most unique, spectacular experience becomes boring after a century. 

This task becomes herculean (or Sisyphean, John corrects himself) when said driveway was practically a third of the length of his entire estate, which was also in the middle of the woods. His eye twitches at the thought of the snow that would inevitably impede the driving of his beloved Mustang to the nearest town. With a heavy sigh, John casts one longing look at his car, as spotless and as pristine as the day he got it decades ago. He’ll wait for the winter to pass before he brings out his car for a drive. For now, he thinks reluctantly, he’ll walk. He has more than enough time anyway.

It doesn’t take long for him to get ready. All he does is put on his long coat and wrap a scarf around his neck before heading out. He has no need for it, but it’s easier to pretend to need it than to deal with the constant concerned looks from the townspeople as he walks around. It also helped him blend in with the rest of the people walking around, doing some last-minute gift shopping for loved ones at those ridiculously overpriced boutiques. John blows out the candles in the hallways as he walks to the foyer, running a mental checklist of the things he had to put out or turn off before leaving.

Dog—yes, Dog. Comments about his creativity are not welcome—approaches him with a wagging tail, the soft clicks of his claws on the hardwood floors reminding John that he had to trim them again soon. 

“Hello,” John says warmly, squatting down to pet Dog. “You can’t come with me tonight. I’ll be walking, and it’s too cold.”

Dog woofs once, as if to complain.  John chuckles to himself, ruffling his soft fur before straightening himself. “You’ll be fine. I’ve already fed you dinner, haven’t I? I’ll be back later.”

After one last brief round through the manor, John mildly regrets killing the last butler, if only so he had someone else to do the tedious tasks instead. But then again, the last butler turned out to be some vampire hunter wannabe who slipped silver oxide in his tea one night. That gave him quite the sore throat, John thinks bitterly, locking the doors behind him. The poor man was stupid enough to think that a little silver oxide would be able to take him down completely, and didn’t even bother to bring a weapon. Truthfully, it was a bit insulting.

John trudges through the snow, out of his estate and into the woods. It would take him half an hour to get to town, and by then it’ll be almost ten in the evening. The town and its warm lights strung through trees and lampposts will be winding down by then, shop lights shutting off one by one. All the better for him; the fewer humans around him, the safer it was. At almost three centuries of existence, John was already well-versed in resisting temptation, but it didn’t mean he was fond of placing himself in situations where he could potentially snap. 

Behind him, his manor fades into the darkness, looking abandoned and more dilapidated than it truly is. For a moment, John squints at one of the towers. Hm. he’ll have to take a look at the top window sometime soon; it looked to be on the verge of falling apart.

He walks through the forest in silence, with no other sound to accompany him other than the sound of crunching snow beneath his boots and the occasional birdsong. John allows his thoughts to wander, his mind flitting from events that had happened over a decade ago and wondering what he would do a week from now. The year was coming to an end, and Winston no doubt is itching to drag him to the Continental for the Winter Ball.

Yeah, right. John snorts. Invite a bunch of vampires to one place. Never ends well.

The previous year, the D’Antonio siblings caused quite a scene by bringing untrained, unmarked humans into the venue. The younger vamps could barely resist tearing the poor things apart. At the very least, it had provided enough entertainment for the rest of the evening, according to Koji, an old friend of his.

He should probably give him a call this Christmas if only to check in, John muses. And send over a gift for Akira. What does one give to a young vampling these days anyway?

He’s snapped from his reverie at the sound of grumbling. He freezes, straining his ears to understand what the voice is saying.

“...this is so stupid. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? God. I’m gonna get eaten by wolves…”

There are no wolves in the area, John can attest to that, but this human seemed lost. And most certainly not a local, if they were out in the woods at night. He purses his lips, turning his head from the direction of the voice to the general direction of the town. He should be close by now, and the blood dealer was likely there already. John could just leave the unknown voice there to fend for themselves and potentially freeze in the dark. 

But what the hell, he thinks. It’s Christmas. This can be his good deed of the year.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes a sharp turn to the right and makes his way to the voice. His eyesight meant that the dark of night wasn’t truly dark to him, but he supposes that to a human, this was close to pitch black. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a figure huddled by the root of a tree in the dark, angrily poking at what looked to be their phone. Humans and their smartphones, John sighs internally.

“Hello,” he says slowly, not wanting to scare them. “Are you lost?”

The human flinches, looking up at him with wide eyes. Moonlight shines on their face just so, and John swears his undead heart would be pounding if it still could.

Oh, he thinks, breathless. It’s you.

You really shouldn’t have come here, you think mournfully. Your roommate brought you along with her for the holidays, feeling bad that you were going to be left in the apartment by yourself. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until you got to her hometown and she promptly dropped you off at the local inn and said goodbye for the week. After asking around for fun activities to do (that had nothing to do with the holidays, thank you very much), one of the younger locals suggested geocaching, now that quite a handful of people were developing an interest in it too. He told you to download an app that should explain things better, and you spent the better part of the afternoon looking things up.

This is supposed to be your third spot to check out, but the signal got worse somewhere along the way, and now your phone is dead too. Just your fucking luck. Somewhere, someone must be actively praying for your downfall because what do you mean you’re now stuck in the middle of the woods at night? You groan, angrily poking at the black screen of your phone when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hello. Are you lost?”

It’s a true testament to your strength, your bravery, your iron will, that you did not shit yourself at the sound of the voice. You look up at the tall stranger with wide eyes, noting that holy shit this man is gorgeous and you probably look like you’ve been crawling through all sorts of nooks and crannies all afternoon. Which you have been. So. 

“Hi,” you squeak. Okay. He doesn’t seem like an ax murderer, judging by his nice clothing…? Every bit of information you learned in those true crime podcasts you listen to has flown out of your brain, leaving you looking up at the stranger with your mouth parted.

The tall, dark, and handsome stranger looks at you for a moment before offering you a hand. “The town is that way,” he gestures somewhere to the left. “I’m… John.”

You mumble your name, taking his hand in a daze. Of course, you would meet an absolute Adonis on the worst day of your life (an exaggeration). You try not to swoon at his firm grip, or how he easily pulls you upright without so much as a sharp exhale. Whew. This is a man, you think dreamily, nothing like those slimy finance bros back in the city. Perhaps it’s your turn for a Hallmark movie romance. You, the city slicker with a hatred for the holidays, and this man, the local who’ll teach you the true meaning of Christmas. 

He repeats your name quietly, nodding. “I’m headed to town. We can walk together, if you want.” 

“I’d like that,” you respond, feeling breathless all of a sudden. Get ahold of yourself, you think desperately. You can’t fold for the first hot man that you see in the woods!

Your dreams of a budding romance, are crushed, however, when no further words are exchanged. Stealing glances at John’s (very handsome) side profile does nothing for your flushed cheeks, and his shy smile whenever he catches you staring makes you melt internally. The distant lights of the town coming into view make your heart sink. 

He appears to take pity for your plight and breaks the silence first. “Are you only visiting here?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly. Too quickly. You swallow thickly, trying to play off your embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, My roommate just brought me along, so…”

“I see.” He nods. “How are you liking this place so far?”

“It’s like a Christmas village,” you say with disdain. The corners of John’s lips quirk up.

“I’m hearing some distaste in your tone.” He notes, amusement in his voice.

You scrunch your nose. “I don’t like Christmas.”

“Oh?”

“I just don’t like it,” you shrug. “You?”

John pauses, thinking for a moment. “I don’t mind it. I don’t think too much of it.”

“Pretty hard to do when it’s so… in your face,” you quip. 

“I’m good at focusing on what truly matters,” he says coolly, his gaze suddenly serious. Your cheeks feel hot again. 

“Oh. That’s nice.” You mumble, looking away, feeling strangely flustered. Are all handsome men just way too intense for their own good? “Are you a, uh, local?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, tilting his head towards you with a small smirk. “A local of the Christmas village.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” You laugh, caught off guard by his sudden teasing. “It’s just not for me, I’m sorry!”

He laughs with you, his deep voice almost melting into the cold winter breeze. Something inside you feels warm at the sight of his smile, and it’s not just because you think this man is hot. He doesn’t feel like a stranger, you think curiously. He feels strangely familiar, as if you’ve known the sound of his laughter for years. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s begging you to take his hand, to savor the warmth of his skin against yours and⁠—

“We’re almost there,” he states, looking straight ahead.

Oh. Right.

“Thanks,” you say softly, looking at him. “For helping me back there.”

John only shrugs, his features warmed by the light from the lamppost just straight ahead. “I have a knack for helping strays.” He smiles as if joking. “And I think you’ll find that you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “‘Cause I met you, is that it?”

He gives you that smile again, as if he knows something you don’t. As if you should know what he’s talking about too. It should unnerve you, but it doesn’t. “Something like that.” 

The two of you eventually stop walking just in front of the stall selling mulled wine. “Well, this is me,” you say reluctantly. As charmed as you are by this man, you’ve retained enough of your common sense to not reveal just where exactly you’re staying for now. (If he wants to come up to your room for  a late night something, well… maybe you’re not totally against the idea.) “I’m gonna go walk around before I turn in for the night. You?”

“I’m meeting an acquaintance,” he replies, putting his hands in his pockets. Strange. He isn’t wearing gloves. 

“Good night, John.” You smile, reluctant to leave his side for some godforsaken reason. “I’ll see you around?”

“You will see me around the Christmas village, yes,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Good night, solnishko.”

Little sun. 

How do you know that?

You wave goodbye, dazed, watching as he disappears into the crowd. Your chest aches at the sight of him leaving, but you ignore it, deciding it’s time to turn in for the night after all. It’s been a long day of gallivanting, and getting lost in the woods did no favors for your poor feet. Sighing softly, you imagine the relief of finally taking off these godforsaken boots and warming up by the fire. You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.

Giving one last longing look in the direction John went, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. It’s just because he’s hot, you tell yourself. Yes, that’s just it. Nothing to do with how his voice makes your stomach do somersaults. 

(You will see him again, one way or another. Like John said, you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, even when you don’t remember him. John only allowed the night to slip from his grasp knowing that the universe will inevitably bring you back to him, as it has many times before.)

(As it will continue to do so, for as long as your soul remembers him even when your mind does not. For now, John is determined to make you fall in love with him all over again until you have to leave.) 

John watches you walk to the local inn from afar, hidden in the shadows. So you hate Christmas this time, he chuckles to himself. That’s alright. So long as you still like him, he can make it work.

He’ll make it work.

post-fic yap: there we go!! i have never actually experienced snow in my life so i'm sorry if it's not super accurate :')) i really wanted to add some more stuff but my health has been in the dumps so i just did my best🥲 again, happy holidays! i hope i did your prompt justice🥹

[kqutie]

THE PRINCESS' SEVEN MERCENARIES

CHAPTER SIX : THE FOOLISH GENIUS

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

chpt. sum. : Ari urges Jake to stay home with you and the team realises you know more than they thought about their own mission.

tags. : snow white and the seven dwarves au ; fairy tale au ; fluff ; domestic fluff ; angst if you squint ; a/b/o universe but it's not the central point ; disney princess reader and her seven sexy mercenaries hehe~ ; jake jensen centric chapter ; jake being a lovable dork again ; world building ; reader proving ; misunderstandings ; confrontation ; everyone feels a little betrayed ; Lloyd gets confrontational ; the truth will soon come out

length. : 7.8k

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Steve starts his day the same way, always, before and after you’ve made yourself a place in their lives. Each morning, he wakes up early, makes himself a cup of coffee and reads the paper while sipping at his morning joe — it’s the only time he can feel an ounce of normalcy and savours every peaceful second. Ever since you’ve willed yourself to prepare breakfast, lunch and dinner for him and his team, Steve has been there to see your efforts from the table. Sometimes it’s hard watching you milling about the kitchen from over his morning paper and the lip of his mug but it was also very heartwarming, knowing that he and his team were being taken care of for once. You dance about the area as if you’ve always lived there, and as if it’s completely natural for you to cook such a large breakfast each morning. The first day, you were happy to express your love for cooking if only to comfort his self-reproach.

“I love cooking and your kitchen is so beautiful; it’s a joy to cook in it!” Steve remembers your upturned lips and smiling eyes vividly, “I’ve always been familiar with kitchens, and I love to cook because it's such a comfort for me; please don’t look so troubled,” your soft words eased his nerves effortlessly, a rare occurrence for the Captain. Usually, he was kept highly strung from the responsibilities of keeping his teammates safe and their missions on track. Your calming presence was something he dared not complain about. Even your delicately hummed tunes were appreciated. Steve can’t remember the last time he’s had such a calm morning. For the first time in a long time, he was allowed to sip on a delicious cup of coffee and read his paper in peaceful silence without having to remain alert for when he urgently needed to rush somewhere with his men.

Judging by how you’re still preparing the breakfast ingredients, Steve expects he still has plenty of time before the rest of the men wake up and make their way downstairs; he plans on savouring every second of it. But he was mistaken at the sound of footsteps walking down the first-floor hallway and eventually down the stairs. From the general area where the footsteps originate, Steve reckons it’ll be Ransom.

The captain was soon proven right when his charming mercenary teammate emerged from the stairway and made a beeline straight for you. Steve smiles into his mug as he watches your morning exchange.

“Good morning, sweets,” Ransom softly whispers into your hair as he pulls you close by the waist. You happily return his embrace and kindly offer him a cup of coffee but Ransom declines with a shake of his head, “I’ll help you with breakfast,”

“Oh Ran, that’s so kind of you,” the merc glows at your praise and leans into your touch when you reach up to comb your fingers through his sleep-mused hair. Steve raises a brow. Peculiar. Ransom barely leaves his room without making sure he looks a little presentable, he’s particular like that. The only other person with a similar habit was Lloyd, however, the assassin was much more diligent. It was peculiar that Ransom, someone who often obsessed over his appearance, was coming to you with his hair barely combed, face unclean and still in his wrinkled pyjamas. The fact that he offered to help you prepare breakfast was even more astounding.

“So…may I?” Ransom asks against the skin of your knuckles after bringing your small hand down from his hair to kiss.

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you!” you chirp happily and Steve fondly watches as his Beta makes himself useful in an environment he doesn’t usually associate himself with. It was amusing to see him trailing behind you and obediently complying to your instructions, a similar image to the night before but Steve still can’t believe his eyes. The captain doesn’t know what you’ve done but he appreciates the positive change it’s had on the usually arrogant Beta.

With Ransom’s help, you were already setting up the table long before the others came down for breakfast and joined Steve in appreciating a mug of coffee while sat together. Today’s morning spread was an assortment of freshly cut fruits, buttered toast with a side of jams, egg, ham and cheese breakfast muffins, crispy bacon, tomato and cream cheese bagels, and coffee and tea. Everyone was free to assemble their own plates for breakfast and you were open to any suggestions they may have for future spreads. You liked offering a consistent breakfast but also enjoyed switching some items every now and then, today you added the egg, ham and cheese breakfast muffins. Steve thought they smelled amazing and eagerly awaited the others’ arrival so he could finally have a piece.

“I’ve been meaning to ask but are your newspapers tele-delivered, Steve?” you ask after placing the teapot at the table for everyone’s reach. You make a mental note of knitting a tea cosy for it later.

“Yes, it makes life much easier,” he answers, careful not to show his shock at your casual question. There’s a rumbling of footfalls travelling down the staircase and he finally sets aside his paper. He prepares to finally eat with everyone despite his distracted mind.

You greet everyone a good morning as they take their usual seats before returning to your conversation with Steve, “It really is convenient. And I appreciate that you have groceries tele-delivered straight to your cool storage too. Magic is so helpful, it’s as if you never run out,” you giggle and smile at Jake who eagerly starts chatting about the magi-tech such conveniences require. You speak of the technology with Jake easily, adding to the tech genius’ excitement more. Jake has never had anyone other than Ari to speak to about his tech before and even Ari doesn’t indulge him as much as you do. Even now, the breaded man smirks at the way Jake interacts with you – he’s happy their Beta finally has someone to talk extensively with; he’s always felt quite guilty for not accommodating his comrade’s interests more in the past.

You converse with Jake easily on the topic and even bring up magi-tech knowledge that the average person typically doesn’t know about. It was all well and good but it was very… suspicious.

Andy makes eye contact with Steve as they reach for a breakfast muffin together. In their periphery, everyone else seems to have picked up on the notion too. There’s a touch of conjecture in everyone’s eyes except Jake’s, who happily kept rambling on with you. Curtis is as stoic as ever despite his inner turmoil and Ari hardens his features. Only Ransom seems to be in denial and conflicted at the implications of your knowledge. He remembers your level of expertise the day before and struggles with himself as the rest of the team silently continues eating.

You shouldn’t know about topics like this. Tele-delivery is a privilege exclusive to noble families and highly decorated merchants who sell the service.

Steve doesn’t want to be suspicious of you but you weren’t giving him much of a choice. You look like an ordinary girl, although much lovelier and sweeter than the ones he’s met so far, that didn’t mean you came from a noble or merchant family, right? Women born to those families are usually married off by your age… but how old were you? Slowly, Steve was beginning to realise just how little they know of you and it seems everyone was coming to the same realisation also.

Looking about the table, there’s a silent agreement that this topic not be brought up in front of you to keep you blissfully unaware. Steve doesn’t want to believe you’re an unsavoury character, nobody else does but they’re all conflicted. If you were going to harm them, you would have already done so by now, you’ve had plenty of chances already. You could have attacked them in their sleep or one by one when Curtis was escorting you and while Ransom was home alone with you the day before.

“Jake, why don’t you stay home today?” Ari cuts in, catching everyone’s attention and Steve’s alarmed stare. Ari will always be a deviating factor. He’s a team player but when it comes to the topic of you, he’s shown clear favouritism and a determination to keep you close. Although this was going against their plans the night before, Steve still trusts Ari. He needs to trust Ari. They’ve all been together for several years now and the trust they have for each other is impossible to break. Steve has never been led astray by trusting in his comrades’ intuition so, despite the growing suspicions surrounding you, he doesn’t protest and succumbs to observing what may happen.

What was Ari planning?

“Me? How come?” Jake asks, oblivious to what had just transpired within the team. Instinctively, he meets eyes with Steve, their Captain, asking for silent approval of the change. Steve gives an accepting nod.

“I need you to feedback on information from your library of books,” Jake immediately lights up and nods so eagerly that his teammates worried his head would detach from his neck.

“Oh! Sure! That’s a really good plan, Ari,” the broad-shouldered alpha smiles beneath his heavy beard, always an appreciator of his Beta’s laid-back approach. He claps the tech genius on the shoulder and shares a meaningful look with him, both already understanding their plans.

“I’ll be counting on you then,”

“What’s this about, Ari?” Steve searches the lumbering man’s eyes for a clue but is met with a soft, relaxed assurance translated into a lazy stare.

“Jake has an extensive library on magi-tech and artefacts that would be useful to have while I’m in the field. It’ll be easy to narrow down our search if he has access to the info here. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for much quicker if we do,”

After a long pause, Steve nods, “Very well, if you believe that’s what’s best,” Ari grins but doesn’t escape Steve’s suddenly sharp, narrowed eyes, “I’m trusting you, Ari,”

“Of course, Captain,” Ari nods, voice firm and expression suddenly more serious. That was confirmation enough for Steve to ignore Lloyd’s grumblings. It also seemed to be the perfect assurance for Curtis and Ransom, who had, undoubtedly, become entranced by you from the time you’ve spent together.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

As always, Steve is the first out with his packed lunch and you deliver his kiss on the cheek as sweetly as ever. In that brief moment, Steve allows himself to forget his suspicions of you, reasoning that acting normal was the best step forward to keep you oblivious to their growing wariness. It was worrying, however, how little he cared for the deep affection he was fostering for you.

“Have a good day, Steve. Please stay safe,” You’re too irresistibly precious that, although Steve knows it’s in his best interest to maintain his guard, he’s desperately hoping that you aren’t guilty of willfully deceiving them.

“And you as well,” the captain utters ever so softly, only for you to hear. His soft blue eyes linger on you for a moment before briefly glancing back at his team’s tech genius. “Look after Jake while we’re gone, okay?”

With a giggle, you nod, “Aye-Aye Captain!” it was a playful saying but you made it look and sound so adorable. You even teasingly saluted him. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that he couldn’t resist kissing your forehead as he left through the door.

Next up was Andy, who’s grown the habit of kissing your knuckles first before leaning in to savour his kiss on the cheek. “Take care, Andy,”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” there’s an emotion that flashes in the neat man’s azure eyes, one that you can’t quite place as he allows his stare to delicately float over you. He regrettably ignores your adorable and curious head tilt to finally head out whilst adjusting his cuffs. Try as he might, Andy can’t feel anything suspicious about you. In his many interrogations of guilty targets, he has never seen such incorrupt eyes. You have secrets but that didn’t mean you meant them any harm – that was his conclusion.

Ransom is the third up, pushing past Curtis, Ari and Lloyd, leaving the latter openly grumbling to himself whilst glaring at the group’s machiavellian Beta. Rather than lean down for a kiss, Ransom holds your face in both of his hands and searches your innocuously bewildered expression.

“Ran–?” you voice but he presses your cheeks together, puffing out your lips in a way that makes your spoken words incoherent. His eyes are narrowed into a judging expression but there’s no malice in his stare. In all of his work as the group’s covert agent, he’s never been more perplexed by a person. You’re too unguarded and virtuous to deal any real harm to them and he can tell you don’t have ill intentions just by the look in your eyes so…why does the mystery surrounding your identity irk him so much?

“Sorry…” Ransom frivolously bats away the grumbling complaints of his teammates as they grow impatient behind him. You’ve brought your hands up to hold onto his wrists as he slowly eases the pressure mushing your cheeks together.

“I’ll see you soon, Ran, please be safe,”

No…There’s no way you’re dangerous — not when you’re smiling up at him like that.

Ransom is tempted to kiss your sweet lips but refrains at the last moment, your lips brushing against each other as he swiftly moves to kiss your cheek instead. He silently leaves your flustered state with a hidden smirk. Aghast by the display, Ari rushes forward and guides your eyes to meet his by tilting your chin up with his fingers.

“You’re not kissing him before me, are you, beautiful girl?” Ari almost growls in annoyance. He loves his teammates but he’s grown a slight possessiveness over you and the idea of being the first to embrace your pretty lips. It’s unhealthy, he knows it, especially when he’s been aiming to form an official pack so he forces himself to calm down. He controls his breathing and tempers his gaze but keeps your chin tilted toward him.

“Don’t be silly Ari…” you look to the side in embarrassment, “everyone gets a kiss,” the implications of your innocent words aren’t lost on him and, although his mind starts racing with flashing images, Ari chuckles lightheartedly at the prospect.

“You’re always so fair, darlin’...” he begins to lean down and aims straight for your lip as his words become a whisper, “I love that so much about you,”

“Oi!” Ari gets shoved aside just as his lips brush against yours but is too slow in securing the embrace. In his place, Lloyd stands, huffing and puffing.

“This isn’t some fairy tale princess kissing her prince type shit. We need to fuck off to work so stop holding up the line!” Lloyd glares as Ari simply laughs at him, not a trace of annoyance on his features despite the rude interruption.

“Lloyd–” Your sweet call of his name immediately steals Lloyd’s attention and everyone watches his figure bend down to accommodate your short height. He does it too quickly to backtrack from remembering breakfast and the uncertainty surrounding your character. He didn’t plan on accepting your kiss but now he had no choice; his body had him doing the opposite.

“Gimme my kiss then, I don’t have all day,” with a smile, thoroughly enjoying the grumpy man’s crabby facade, you rise to your toes and kiss him on the cheek. You know he wants to pull away quickly but you trap him by holding his cheek in place. Somehow, you wanted to affectionately dote on this grumpy man and it amused you to see his reactions each time — his ears always become such a bright pink. “H-hurry up, woman! I don’t have all day for this!” you smile into his cheek and prolong it a little more before finally pulling away.

As Lloyd grouches to himself with your lunchbox tightly clutched in his hand, Ari tries to make his way back to you for another kiss on the cheek. The bearded man is already puckering his lips in a mock kiss, clearly trying to push Lloyd’s buttons and succeeds when he barely makes it to you thanks to Lloyd yanking him away by the collar. Ari laughs and teases Lloyd as you giggle at the display.

Curtis silently comes up to you while distracted and hugs your waist so that when he stands to his full height, he lifts you with him. Smiling down at the mercenary, you hug him around the shoulders and allow him to press his face into your neck where he’s reminded of your intimate moment at the village square and savours the calming effects your fragrance has on him.

“Please take care, Curt,” you whisper into his ear and he grunts, stoic as ever when you pull away. You take a moment to caress his cheek with your hand and look into his steel-grey eyes before sweetly kissing his cheek. You then kiss his forehead and utter your wishes (“I hope you have a good day,”) against his skin.

“We’ll be home soon…” Curtis utters gently in his rough voice after finally setting you down. He walks out to join the rest of the mercenaries and you wave at them with a bright smile as they leave. You don’t stop waving until they can no longer be seen through the trees. When you finally turn back into the cottage, however, you’re met with Jake, who has his arms wide open for you to run into if you please.

“E-even though I’m not going out today…Can I still get a kiss too? Please?” he asks with a pout but grins brightly when you nod and run over to fall into his arms. Easily, you press a kiss to his cheek and move to pull away when— “Can I have another one?” he wasn’t satisfied with just one cheek being kissed and, thankfully, you were willing to appease him. “Can I get two more?” you give him a look but when he utters the magic word ‘please’, you can’t possibly say no. “A-and just one more?--”

“Oh Jake!” he giggles freely and mischievously, relishing in the idea that he’s the first person to see you so adorably faux-frustrated. You give him one final kiss anyway and leave him feeling like he’s walking on air. Never before had such a beautiful lady indulged in his antics the way you did. There’s no animosity coming from you, only acceptance and affection.

Life can’t get better than this~

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Jake had a self-collated library all about magic, artefacts and modern tech in his room. It was a personal collection he was rather proud of and eager to finally store on physical shelves and admire freely. He always felt rather pleased with himself when he looked upon the collection, many of his editions were special, annotated with auxiliary details by the original authors themselves. He’s even personally written several of the observation journals within the collection. They were never officially published and purely stemmed from his interests. So proud he was of his collection that he couldn’t resist bringing down the books to show you. He would have happily brought down more but limited himself only to the relevant material needed for his coordinated search with Ari. He’s confident you’ll be able to keep up with his musings the same way you did during breakfast.

He’s so excited!

Getting to talk to such a beautiful and intelligent lady with a honey-esque voice and kind warmth was heaven on earth for a loser Beta like him. Jake knows that, compared to his other teammates, he barely stacks up but you treat him fairly and with the same sweetness. He never feels left out around you. In his eyes, you glow like the sun. Even more so now that he knows you’re just as interested in magi-tech as him. Have the gods made a more perfect woman than you?...

You promised to look over his books with him after you cleaned up the kitchen and did some of the laundry, which was perfect considering Ari was on call with him that morning. Jake expertly coordinated the search with the lumbering man who took on-site images of any potential artefacts and swiftly copied any paper trails that could prove useful to their mission. Thanks to Ari’s suggestion that Jake stay home for the day, it was much easier to reference certain aspects of the artefacts they were looking for and focus their search efforts.

The morning was a fruitful and busy one. As the grandfather clock’s face gradually reached noon, Ari called off the search and promised to feedback to Jake when he finally returned to base and had lunch to refuel him. Jake was then reminded of his carefully prepared lunch and the growling of his stomach. He finds it far too easy to get caught up in their operations, especially when it concerns a topic he was so passionate about.

“Don’t worry about me and eat your lunch, Jake,” you assure, stepping into the kitchen with your apron on, “I’ll make something simple but yummy for my lunch today and I’ll join you in a bit,”

“Okay,” Jake concedes, no longer feeling as guilty for starting his lunch first but still expecting a call from Ari —if not during lunch then after. While your back is turned, he goofily smiles at the note you had written and suppresses the urge to fall back and kick his legs in the air. "Just a small reminder: you make the world a better place."

Despite the wariness fostered by your seemingly innocuous exchange with Jake that morning, the mercenaries still made the time to regroup at their city-centre base to eat your lunch together. It’s become a silent ritual now. Nobody spoke a word in a collective attempt to evade their propagating scepticism of you. For now, all they wanted to do was guiltlessly savour your palatable cooking again, maybe even for the last time – that was a thought they all shared but one that didn’t comfort them, not even Lloyd, who silently opened his boxed lunch first.

“I hope this lunch helps you conquer your day…” Lloyd mutters to himself. Rather than store away your note as he had always done, he crumples it in his hand, motivated by the lingering bitterness of unwarranted betrayal in his chest. Nothing about you is confirmed but that didn’t mean your words and actions weren’t dubious – Lloyd knew he shouldn’t have allowed himself to get soft like this, that was his mistake. He beats himself up mentally for being unable to resist you that morning and dreads the notion that it may be too late for him despite his denials. The merc no longer felt hungry but ate your lovingly prepared lunch anyway. It would be a waste otherwise.

“A tasty pick-me-up for my favourite person,” Ransom smiles down at your sweet note and carefully savours his lunch. He doesn’t want to be stubborn about you, he knows that you’re a good person; his doubts can’t be easily shaken now.

“Today’s special ingredient: all my love,” Ari bites down on his lower lip hard. The squeal of joy he was tempted to let out at that moment would be too embarrassing, especially for an over 6-foot, heavily bearded alpha like him. He eagerly digs into his lunch and happily awaits his call with Jake. Maybe if he hurries, he can put in his call for feedback before the mid-day debrief and everyone leaves to resume their missions.

Andy enjoys reading his notes from you in his head, only whispering it to himself aloud when he reads it the first time. He likes to read your note a few more times before finally relenting to his aching stomach, “Every bite is proof of how much I care,” It’s hard not to smile while eating your delicious food. It tastes better when he ignores all the sour uncertainties about you.

Curtis rarely smiles but the mercs are treated to his rare, chaste grins every time he reads your lunch note. The stoic guard resists the urge to look up and face his smiling teammates whenever he does — he cares deeply for you but you getting him to smile is quite flustering, "Lunch made with love for someone who’s truly special." Curtis doesn’t believe he will ever grow accustomed to your sweet gestures but he doesn’t mind.

Steve tries to ignore your note this time, knowing that it’ll make him smile and his heart flood with warmth. He knows that he must avoid your affection at all costs, he needs to remain the most level-headed amongst his team. However, just as he’s finishing up his last few bites, the guilt has already weighed down his stomach significantly and he can’t resist reading your elegant handwritten note for the day, "I thought of you while making this—hopefully it’s as wonderful as you are!" Steve would be a monster if he didn’t smile at your sweet words and, thankfully, he isn’t one.

In his periphery, Ari sees the team diligently packing up their lunches to sit around the main table with Steve. Their mid-day debrief was drawing near and he rushed to call Jake. He turns his voice up to be heard aloud by everyone else.

Lunch finished later than usual for you but quickly got back to sewing beside Jake as soon as possible. While you sew, Jake takes diligent notes on a spare pad of paper, drawing from the open books piled up around him. His gaze remains focused, silent and studious, it was a side you rarely saw in the goofy, excitable Beta but was one you appreciated seeing in him. Smiling to yourself, you return your attention to your sewing just as Jake’s small shell-shaped magi-tech device rings atop the coffee table. He reaches out to answer it and Ari’s voice filters into the empty air.

“Afternoon Ari! How’s work?” Jake begins with an unfaltering grin.

“Afternoon Jake, it’s all good,” Ari happily greets over the specialised device, “How’s the weather at the cottage?” Report on current affairs.

“We have some clouds,” There’s company who can hear. The mercenaries tense up knowing that you’re near enough to pick up on their conversation. Ari and Jake will have to keep their dialogue highly censored so as not to reveal anything. Andy can easily hop on the call and take over as he was the better speaker but only Ari and Jake had adequate knowledge of the magical artefacts so they were better suited to conversing.

“I see, it’s been cloudy here too,” Everyone can hear. “At least there’s no rain,” the two lightly chuckle, “Did you get a chance to water the peonies as I asked?” Speak cautiously.

“Not yet, but I will in a bit,” Jake carefully eyes you in his periphery and almost sags in relief when you’re too engrossed with mending Steve’s torn-up shirt. “The peonies will be watered generously but I could never do a better job than you,” It’s safe. I’ll keep you informed. Hearing Jake’s assurance, the mercenaries relax ever so slightly. Due to their limited codes, it’s hard to pinpoint how safe it was to speak openly but they trust their Beta. They’ve all survived off of their trust in each other, if Jake says it’s safe, then it’s safe.

“Just don’t overdo it,” Ari replies, slightly worried for his carefully grown peonies. To ensure you don’t grow suspicious, Jake will have to water his peonies at the front of the cottage later on but their tech genius doesn’t have the greenest of thumbs — whatever, this was for the team. He can always grow more peonies but he can’t sabotage everyone’s final mission to secure retirement.

After some time passes, Jake suddenly groans in frustration and momentarily distracts you from the sewing, “⏤Replicas have been made and it’s making things very difficult,” your attention is immediately stolen, quickly prompting Jake to snap his head towards you and smile with his teeth.

“Sorry about that, princess. I didn’t mean to worry you, just a little stressed out about work,” Jake apologises, making it obvious to the rest of the team that you were actively listening now and they silently thanked him for it. Especially Ari; the alpha didn’t want his pack to turn their backs on you, not when they’ve barely given you a chance. You may still be a total mystery but that didn’t eliminate the knowing feeling in his chest and the instinctual pull he had towards you.

“Replicas?” you ask before you can stop yourself. At the slightly uncomfortable look on Jake’s face, you bite your lip guiltily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop like that.”

“It’s alright,” Jake rubs the back of his head bashfully. “H-How much did you hear?”

“Only the end bit, about the replicas. Are you doing some sort of investigation on replica artefacts and tech?” you ask with an adorable head tilt that made Jake’s heart pound like crazy.

“I-I guess you could say that,”

“Wow, that sounds very important. You must work on a lot of forgery cases from all the notes you’ve made,” you nod towards his tireless notations and heavy books.

“Haha! Guilty. The winner deserves a prize~” he teases to which you playfully bat at his shoulder. You’re smiling as if you’re not bothered at all by that deduction so he runs with it and makes sure the team is well-informed of this: follow along. Jake has to remind himself to school his features first. He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes normally anymore. He felt like an utter criminal for lying to your face like this. So he focuses his attention back on his messy array of notes and books.

“What artefacts or tech are you looking into? Maybe I can help?” From breakfast, Jake can tell you have an expansive knowledge of magi-tech and artefacts. He knows he should think the decision over more but his words are spilling past his lips before he can think to stop himself.

“That would be great! Thanks!” Jake’s brow suddenly becomes sweaty as he reaches for a worn book with aged pages left open at a particular spread. The movement draws your eyes to the illustration displayed on the two-page spread.

“Oh…” Jake raises a brow at your shocked expression, “For such an ancient artefact to have replicas is astounding…” you utter to yourself, loud enough for your voice to reach Ari and the rest of the team, who were anxiously listening in on you and Jake. They opted for staying quiet so that you divulge as much information as possible. Knowledge is power, no matter the source.

“You know this artefact?”

“It has such a rich history, I’m surprised not many more people know of it,”

Jake chuckles in slight embarrassment, “I only have these old artefacts books on it. And modern tech books aren’t much help; I left those upstairs,”

“It’s alright,” you assure with kind understanding, “It’s one of the oldest artefacts but back then information on it was scarce since the owners didn’t want to divulge too much,”

“How do you know all this?”

You shrug your shoulders and look away shyly, “You’d be surprised at what kind of information you’ll find on the same thing but from a different genre. History books are better at knowing the origins of these artefacts more than these magic books, they are more for showcasing its mechanisms and specifications,” Jake nods along, leaning towards you ever so slightly.

“That makes sense,”

“It’s a beautiful piece of magical technology, one of the first of its kind – hence the ‘artefact’ classification. And, despite its dark past, it led to a massive turning point in history,” You begin to retell your teachings from the generous staff who had taught you behind the Queen’s back. Ernest and Abigail kept your mind sharp and well-learned from the many books the royal library held. Abraham, the palace mage also helped educate you, specifically on your magic capabilities and especially on this history of magic, artefacts and modern magi-tech. He thought for sure that he would no longer be needed at the palace; with no King to aid in magic and a Queen with no desire to support the true heir, he was ready to pack his bags. However, the Queen regularly appeared before him with questions on magic so he could stay. Grateful for the mercenaries’ generosity in letting you stay, you happily provided Jake with the same teachings of Abraham.

An incredible amount of years ago, many people detested those with magical abilities and for good reason. The ability to control and use magic freely came at a heavy price, soul corruption. Over time, an individual with magical abilities would become selfish, greedy, violent and unloving towards others — the human heart and soul can be easily degraded by magic, but not certain metals and other materials. Once that was learned, powerful sorcerers imbued their magic into ordinary objects which would then become magical artefacts.

Jake eagerly listened, as did his teammates on the connecting side of the magi-tech device they were using.

However, there was a small group of people who didn’t get corrupted by the magic ability they were gifted with. The modern-day royal family are the descendants of those same people. It seemed that these individuals were gifted with a high affinity and tolerance for magic, granting them power to rule over the kingdoms. They proved themselves worthy rulers by creating artefacts that protected an entire city of people. Those same artefacts stand to this day, all located at the central point of each kingdom’s capital. The rulers’ natural talents were never challenged nor their rule, thus starting the monarchy.

However, anomalies with magical power did occur within and outside the royal bloodline. And without an explanation, many wrongdoings were committed.

“Because magical prowess became an exclusive trait to the royal family, those who had magical powers but were not born into royalty were treated poorly and executed. But, if you remember, before the monarchy was ever established, others were also gifted with magical affinities. Now that it’s exclusive only to royals, those who weren’t were punished.” you and Jake shared a sad look, “The reasoning was so that the magic user doesn’t get corrupted by their magic but it can’t be denied that magic had become such an exclusive privilege of the royal families that pride was also a factor,” Jake shakes his head in disappointment. His love for magic, artefacts and magi-tech made the history you were telling him hard to swallow. He can understand why this wasn’t common knowledge, although��such rich historical books were also hard to come by…

“It also didn’t help that we, as humans, have a bad habit of gossiping about strange events in search of an explanation. The ‘anomaly’ of a ‘commoner’ having magical abilities was so taboo that it warranted execution, especially when rumours began to spread that those high-magic-affinity people were the illegitimate children of the royal family. Nowadays, it’s no longer stigmatised as it’s been extrapolated that some individuals are just more magically inclined than others. But this was only after King Kloros.”

“What about him?”

“King Kloros was found to be infertile later in life when his five-year-old son, Prince Leto, was found to have no magical powers. Usually, royal children display magic as young as a month old but five years is the benchmark. Since Prince Leto wasn’t magically inclined even at five years of age, the King confronted the mirror of Aleth, named after the Sorceress and Queen Alethea who created the mirror to tell only truths when asked a question. It was found that Prince Leto was not his true son at all but was born out of his Queen consort’s affair. Outraged, King Kloros banished his Queen Consort, he could no longer look into Queen Consort Anwir’s eyes. To the surprise of many, he kept Prince Leto as his heir; he had grown to see the boy as his true son already. He also knew wouldn’t be able to have a son of his own anyway but wanted an heir regardless. Years later, however, Prince Leto, at 7 years of age, developed magical abilities regardless of his heritage and that was when King Kloros decided to banish prejudice against all magic users, vowing to find ways to prevent his son from being corrupted by the magic. It was found that as long as magic users practised the flow of magic within them and released them into objects regularly, they were less likely to be corrupted, which is why most sorcerers help create magi-tech products or participate in healing the sick,”

“Thank goodness for that,” Jake voiced playfully after thanking you and you both giggled. With scrutiny, Jake focused on the ancient pages showcasing the Mirror of Aleth, “But I do wonder… why don’t more people know about the mirror despite its influence on King Kloros and, therefore, the world as they knew it,” Jake mumbles to himself.

“It’s probably because it only did one thing. Yes, it generated a huge wave of influence but that ‘huge wave’ completely masked its original impact.” Jake nods beside you, “I also read somewhere that it only responded to true descendants, as in, the royal family so it’s been kept securely at the Okisha Kingdom’s Palace vault. As honourable people, they like the use the artefact’s abilities sparingly — they understand how damaging it is to know all truths, hence why Queen Alethea made sure the mirror only responded to descendants of the royal family,” All mercenaries tensed at the mention of their client but only for a millisecond; you were only reciting your knowledge. The intel they were given by the Okisha Kingdom’s mage was very lacking compared to your intelligence. However, that only made them more curious and cautious of you.

You move to continue your sewing but Jake, hypnotised by your voice and knowledgable insight, hurries to keep you talking, “Would you know how to identify the real one from a replica?”

His words make you think in silence as all of the listening men await your words with bated breath. Steve, Andy, Jake and Ari anticipate what your valuable intelligence may provide them in their mission, preferring to disregard their suspicions for the time being. Curtis and Ransom look at each other momentarily and keep their ears perked as well. Lloyd, however, tries to tune out your voice as much as possible; he feels a pang of sickening betrayal every time you innocently add to their suspicions because how could you possibly know all this bullshit?!

“I would first consider why replicas are being made — potentially to throw off whoever’s wanting to snatch the original, a decoy perhaps?” that’s a line of thinking you would rather return to at a later time for its many possibilities, “And then I would think about what the most telling signs would be of a fake…” you gesture to Jake’s open book and politely ask if you could touch it; you only do so after he gives a nod of permission. With that simple but considerate gesture, Jake thinks you’re even more of an angel now — he’s head over heels! He doesn’t allow just anyone to touch his prized possessions lightly but he trusts your delicate hands. “Notice how the mirror is made of only precious materials?” Jake nods eagerly, ecstatic to know you were just as vigilant as him in that observation. He hopes you can give him some sort of explanation as to why that is; he has his personal theories but they’re only that, theories. Another’s insight, especially from one who’s as knowledgable as you is very valuable. “Do you know why most ancient artefacts are only made with precious metals?”

“Not a clue,”

“It’s because magic can corrode materials as much as it can a person’s heart and soul. Precious metals are precious because they corrode very very very slowly, to the point that it’s barely noticeable. Nowadays, all magi-tech products only need to be installed with imbued magic crystals to work,” Jake has a eureka moment in his head and restrains himself from jumping on you with a scream of joy. That’s a better explanation than anything he’s come up with before. And is one he can use when training or creating his own magi-tech devices after his retirement with the boys.

“That’s amazing! All we have to do is see if the materials are made of precious metals or not!”

“Exactly!”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Jake and Ari were able to make progress with their specific mission thanks to your precious intel. Ari stiffly worded his gratitude over the device and swiftly ended the call, leaving Jake to bite at his already short nails. Unphased, you returned to sewing Steve’s shirt. Glancing at the grandfather clock, it was still early afternoon so keep with your sewing but regularly glance at the clockface so that you don’t start on dinner too late. While you did that, Jake was drowning Ari’s peonies from anxiety. The tech genius can only imagine what his team would do as soon as they arrived home for dinner that night. He tends to lose track of many things when magic, artefacts and magi-tech are involved so he could hardly restrain himself when you talked overtly about the ancient artefact with Ari and the boys on the other end. As you revealed everything you knew to him, you also revealed it all to his teammates. It’s safe to say that he was expecting the worst-ever reaction from them.

He’ll protect you with his life! Even against his own! He loved the team but he’s never felt such a strong connection to someone else before. You’re the first lady to ever turn his way without a judgemental look in your eyes; you’re not dissuaded by his dorkiness and zealous interest in magic, you lean into it and happily discuss the topic with him. You’re a rare jewel he would rather sacrifice his life for than ever part with.

Jake slowly loses himself in thoughts of you and your wonderfulness. He was just beginning to smile goofily when he was subtly alerted by a breach in the barrier. They were home early! Rushing inside, Jake beelines it to you.

“Jake?” you ask with a slight tilt of your head as if to say, ‘What’s wrong?’. Jake knows what’s wrong but he’s not going to tell you anything. You stand when Jake keeps striding towards you without a word. You don’t know what to expect but it’s not to be lifted from the ground and into his arms as if you weighed nothing.

“There’s no time, Princess!” Jake turns on his heel and steps towards the back of the house but freezes up when the front door slams open. You gasp and jump ever so slightly in his arms from freight but smile over his shoulder at the sight of the mercenaries arriving in the living room with their shoes still on.

“You’re home early, today,” you beam from over Jake’s shoulder, “how was work? I’m afraid I don’t have dinner ready yet–”

“Quiet!” Steve commands firmly and in a volume that shakes the cottage walls. His eyes are like dull, blue stones, cold and hard as they drill into you. It sends a chill down your spine, “Turn around and put her down, Jake,” Jake turns but doesn’t let you go, only holding you closer.

“Sorry Cap,” Jake apologises without any meaning, “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Ari smiles at the gesture and nods in approval from his place beside Ransom.

“Put. Her. Down. Now!”

“No!”

“Wh-what’s going on?” you whisper, blinking back tears from the frightening visage of Steve. He was always so kind and warm to be around; this is the first time you’ve ever seen him so loud and cold.

“She’s not a bad person, Captain!”

“Then who is she?!” Lloyd barks from Steve’s right, stepping forward to sneer at you with much more animosity than you’re used to. His confrontational step forward makes you reel back and turn away from him in fear, “Tell us your real name!” Your obvious fright makes Lloyd stutter ever so slightly but protecting him and his mismatched pack will always be his top priority, not you.

“I-I have told you my real name!” you defend, wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck and leaning into him for comfort.

“You’re scaring her, Lloyd!” Ransom counters, stepping out of the group to stand closer to you and Jake. Curtis does the same but silently, his tall, broad stature as imposing and dangerous as ever. The two have been able to see your true character in the time they’ve spent with you — even though you have secrets, that doesn’t mean you were untrustworthy; everyone has secrets.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s the thief!” Lloyd points an accusing finger at you.

“She’s not the thief!”

“You don’t know that!”

“And what makes you think you do?!”

“ENOUGH!” Lloyd and Ransom looked ready to shout at each other until the sun rose again if it weren’t for Ari cutting in. “Screaming and arguing with each other isn’t going to sort anything out! Plus our angel isn’t any less frightened!” Ari steps up to stand beside your curled-up form in Jake’s arms. “If she meant any harm, she would have done something by now. She deserves to have a say,” Ari gives a pointed look at Andy who smiles at the bittersweet notion that the heavily bearded alpha chose now to recite his personal philosophy.

Everyone turns to Steve, who contemplates the situation. A long pause draws out for what feels like an eternity before their Captain finally turns to their negotiator.

“Andy?” Steve asks. He truly can see things going two ways. He was ready to kick you out for the betterment of his pack but seeing Jake, Ari, Ransom and Curtis firmly standing at your side made him second-guess himself. Trust in the team. Lloyd was too heated. Andy was the only other level-headed Alpha he could fully rely on.

“...Let her speak for herself, Captain,” Andy can’t shake Ari’s reminder of his personal values. With a bit of work, his teammate could make for a great negotiator, “She deserves to have a say,”

Steve nods and meets your eyes with a hard but warmer stare, “Tell us the truth,”

Not seeing a way out, you nod and bite your lip with some insecurity. “Alright…”

navi. | series masterlist | seven. the lumbering repairman →

a/n : this is a pretty long chapter, primarily because of the world-building lore I wove into it. I hope you enjoyed it and the read. The series is slowly getting more interesting so things will pick up from here. Look forward to future updates hehe~ In the meantime, Happy holidays, my darlings!

If you're interested, here's a little note on the names involved in the lore drop:

Chloe, the name, means 'fertility' and is derived from the Greek name Khlóros - I took the ‘h’ out to sort of take away from that meaning somehow and better fit the infertile king.

Leto, the name, means 'hidden' and has Greek and Latin origins

Alethea, the name, means 'truth' and has Greek roots

Anwir, the name, is Welsh, meaning 'liar'

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

[n0vazsq]

Not ever | Marc Bernal x Reader

pairing . . . marc bernal x gf!reader

summary . . . Marc was always somehow clingy, but after his injury, he became a bit too clingy

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.6k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . died also idk anything about ACL injuries so i js treated it like a broken leg

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . Marc Bernal was a stubborn man, but you’d learned by now that stubbornness came in many forms.

Before his injury, it had come in the form of determination; hours on the field perfecting his form, late nights reviewing game footage, and a strong power to push through any challenge.

But now? Now, his stubbornness was all about you; keeping you within arm’s reach, clinging to you like his very life depended on it.

"Amor," he called softly from the couch, his voice laced with despair. He was propped up on a fortress of pillows, his leg elevated and wrapped securely.

Despite his injury, he still looked annoyingly good, hair slightly messy and those brown eyes glinting with mischief. "Where are you going?"

You paused mid step, holding his empty water bottle. "To the kitchen. You drank all your water, remember?"

"But what if I need you?" His eyes widened, and he gave you a look so pathetically sweet that you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"Marc," you said, trying not to laugh. "I’ll be gone for two minutes."

"Two minutes is too long," he protested, holding out his hand. "Come here. Just for a second."

You sighed, walking back to him. The moment your hand touched his, he pulled you down onto the couch, his arms wrapping securely around your waist. "Marc! You’re supposed to be resting your leg!"

"I am resting," he said, nuzzling into your neck. "See? I’m very comfortable now."

"You’re impossible," you muttered, but you couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto your face. His arms tightened around you as if you might disappear if he let go.

"I’m injured," he reminded you, his tone almost whiny. "I need my girlfriend to take care of me."

"I am taking care of you," you replied. "That’s why I need to go to the kitchen, so I can bring you water and snacks and everything else you’ve been demanding all day."

"I haven’t been demanding," he said bitterly, though the effect was ruined by the way his lips were brushing against your shoulder. "I’ve been… asking nicely."

"Uh huh. Sure."

Marc pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Kiss me, and I’ll let you go."

"You’re bribing me with kisses now?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It’s not a bribe," he said, leaning in closer. "It’s motivation."

You rolled your eyes but indulged him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He hummed in satisfaction, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as if to keep you there forever. When you tried to pull away, he pouted.

"That was too quick," he complained.

"Marc, your water…"

"Stay," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always made your heart flutter. "Just for a little while. Please?"

You sighed, knowing you were fighting a losing battle. "Fine. Five minutes. But then I’m getting your water."

"Deal," he said quickly, his grin triumphant.

He pulled you closer, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was slower, deeper, and so full of affection that it made your chest ache. His fingers laced through yours, holding your hand tightly as if to attach you to him.

"You’re so clingy," you teased when you finally broke apart.

"Only with you," he admitted without hesitation. "You’re my favorite person, mi amor. Why wouldn’t I want you close?"

Your heart melted a little at his words, and you couldn’t resist brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "You’re lucky you’re cute," you said, and he laughed softly, the sound warm, making your heart beat slightly faster.

"I’m lucky to have you," he corrected, his voice serious now. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’d survive," you said lightly, but he shook his head.

"Not like this," he said, squeezing your hand. "You make everything better, even when I’m stuck on this stupid couch with a torn knee."

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could say anything, he shifted, pulling you fully onto his lap. "Marc!" you yelped. "Your knee!"

"It’s fine," he said, his hands settling on your waist. "You don’t weigh anything. And this is much better, don’t you think?"

You glared at him, but he just smiled up at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you," he countered smoothly, leaning in to nuzzle your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away when he was looking at you like that, his gaze so full of love and adoration that it made your heart skip a beat.

"Maybe," he admitted, his smile softening. "But you love me anyway, right?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. "Yeah, I do."

"Good," he said, pulling you down for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, and so full of emotion that it made your chest ache. When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering closed.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "So much."

"I love you too," you said softly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. His eyes opened, and he looked at you with so much tenderness that it took your breath away.

"Stay with me," he said again, his voice pleading. "Just for a little while longer."

You knew you should get up, that he needed his water and you had other things to do, but in that moment, nothing else mattered. You nodded, settling against him as his arms wrapped around you securely.

"Just for a little while," you whispered, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"That’s all I need," he said, his voice soft and content.

For the rest of the afternoon, you stayed there with him, his arms holding you close as if to remind you that you were his, and that he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

As the hours passed, you found yourself completely wrapped up in Marc's presence, your body nestled comfortably against his. It wasn’t just the physical proximity; there was something about the way he held you that felt so secure, so comforting.

He didn’t want to let go, not even for a second. It was almost like his need for you was more than just emotional; it was something deep. You could feel the way he’d tighten his grip on you when you tried to move, pulling you back toward him with a quiet insistence.

"Amor, you’re not going anywhere, right?" he murmured into your hair, his lips brushing against the top of your head. The soft sound of his voice, laced with a quiet desperation, made your heart flutter in your chest.

You looked up at him, giving him a soft smile. "I’m not going anywhere, Marc."

He gave you a small, satisfied smile, but it didn’t last long before his lips were finding yours, the kiss gentle at first, testing, almost as if asking for permission.

His hand came to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. When you responded, kissing him back with the same tenderness, he deepened the kiss, his body pressing closer, his knee injury forgotten in the heat of the moment.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor every second. You felt his breath quicken as his hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as he kissed you harder.

There was no rush, no urgency, just the overwhelming feeling of him needing to be close to you. His lips were soft against yours, his kisses lingering as though he couldn’t bear to pull away.

When he finally did, it was only to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closed like he was memorizing the way you felt.

"I just… I need to be near you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your fingers, the simple act of touching him grounding you. "I’m not going anywhere, Marc. I’m right here."

His arms tightened around you again, pulling you onto his lap, despite the injury. You felt his breath hitch as he shifted carefully, but he didn’t let you go.

"Good," he murmured, his lips brushing your neck in a tender, slow kiss that made your heart skip a beat. "I’m so lucky to have you."

"You’re lucky to have me?" you teased, lifting your head to look at him. "I think the luck’s all on my side."

Marc laughed softly, his hands gently caressing your back as he settled you more comfortably on his lap. "You have no idea how much I love you," he said, his voice filled with a sincerity that made your chest tighten.

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back to look into your eyes. "You’re everything to me. And I want you to know that. Every day, always."

You could feel your heart swell at his words, your own emotions rising with every touch, every kiss.

You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him in for another kiss, deeper this time, as if you could convey everything you were feeling without words.

Marc kissed you back with equal intensity, his hands moving to your waist, gently pulling you closer.

"Stay with me like this forever," he whispered between kisses, his lips tracing over your skin. "I never want to let you go."

You smiled, kissing him again, more passionately this time. “I’m not going anywhere, Marc,” you repeated, as if your words were a promise, a vow.

And he believed you.

[driftingballoons]

Hey man good for you

[novelconcepts]

We used to be a society. HQ fan galleries. Screencaps of every frame of every single project. Promo and photoshoot images at qualities that would rupture a caveman’s brain.

Now I’m out here taking precision screencaps on my phone of Tumblr gifs, praying like hell they’ll be crisp enough to use as drawing reference.

[giddlygoat]

being adhd is crazy ill spend all day worrying that i’ve forgotten something, triple checking my calendar and my messages to make sure i haven’t missed an appointment or left someone hanging, and it still happens anyway. incredible

[tariah23]

Last night, my boss called me out of the blue (he’s never done that before. It was like, almost 9pm and my sister and I were out eating at a restaurant in Chinatown. Well, we’d just left tbh.) asking if I was “coming in today?” And if “I need my hours,” like man, what? And tried to joke about the times where I’d text him to ask if I should still come in because the weather is bad and I can’t work the pool if it’s raining. They literally know this. I’ve been sent home because of the rain at least 5 times now, bro, stop playing with me. He said some shit like “you aren’t just doing that as an excuse to call off, right hahah?” And I just feel like that since they want to fire me, he’s trying to come up with an excuse to do so. He tried to take a jab at me asking by about the weather as an excuse to go into possibly “calling off too much,” even though I’ve never missed a day of work since starting this location. The only days I’ve missed are the days where they’d send me home because of the rain and that one weekend because I was gone for vacation, so they can’t use my attendance at all. I’m late sometimes (only because I’m tired of this place, man. I’m so unmotivated but I need the money orz. The good thing is that the leasing agents and those in higher positions aren’t there on the weekends. Only maintenance and the concierges and they don’t give a shit. I doubt they’d tell on me about being late since most of the concierges hate it there, too. They could gaf.) but my boss sounded like he was trying to see if I was going to coming in today (why wouldn’t I? I’ve been working the weekend for weeks now, what are you talking about 🗿…) so that he could try to have someone new work the pool to give them a chance to get used to it so that they could push me out/ fire me. Jokes on them, I might just call up my main boss on Monday and tell her that I’d like a new assignment because the work place has become hostile and it is now, making me feel uncomfortable.)

[feralsneeze]

Not sneeze just mental health rambling in the tags

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[no1ryomafan]

Doing my damnest to not be the most pettiest bitch imaginable right now especially because no one has said anything recently to fucking provoke this and I just woke up out of a not so good sleep so that’s probably a indicator I shouldn’t speak BUT:

Can I just say as much as I try to respect peoples preferences I genuinely get annoyed by the people who specifically dislike ZX for “not being mega man enough” or actually criticizing the Toku aspect when MEGA MAN WAS ALWAYS TOKU INSPIRED.

I genuinely don’t wanna come off as a elitist who knows more then anyone else-this fandom has dealt with enough people like that-and I know why what inspired mega man only appeals to me but also even if it was also confirmed in a single interview it’s actually kinda baffling how people overlook the clear toku influence this series had since day 1. ZX is not that weird for making this aspect more apparent and if anything is more so bracing the roots of mega man in its own unique way.

Also in general the take of “this isn’t like the original” is so dumb to me applied to a series like mega man because GASP how dare something tries to be different but in a way that also still stays true to elements of the series! The horrrrror!

Like do you realize how no fun allowed you sound.

[chibipandaao3]

Not all side characters need to be paired

Not all pairs need to have stories

Not all shows need to have side couples

That is all

[ct-hardcase]

can’t tell if I’m mad that I still care about eighth as a character or mad that I care about him less