#I'm so glad she invited herself home with me

[irndad]

kiss me (under the milky twilight)- s.r.

a/n: this took so long and i'm so sorry! based on this post- reader has an ex that she keeps running back to, and spencer just wants her to see him. fake dating and hijinks ensue. VERY long. 4.6k words!! thanks to @fadingplaidtrashpatrol for ur thoughts and ideas!! masterlist // ask

The unraveling begins on a Friday. 

This is one of the rare Fridays where a full weekend is staring back at them, and Spencer is immeasurably pleased at his plans. He’s rented a Russian old movie, and his best friend had agreed to sit next to him on his shitty old couch while he whispers translations in real-time.

He loves spending time with her, a little hedonistically. She’s so kind, warm in both spirit and disposition, and Spencer treasures the time he gets to spend with her. Her desk adjoins his, and so one might assume that he could tire of her presence, but there’s something a little addicting about her, something he tries to have as often as he can. 

On this fine evening, she’s wearing an oversized sweater tucked into jeans- her position is mainly out of the field, and so she takes full advantage of the dress-code flexibility. Lovely earrings hang around her face, adorning her lovely features like a frame. 

Spencer’s more than a little in love with her. 

This has never really been a convenient fact, but Spencer’s used to wanting things he can’t have. And it was never really feasible not to want her- anyone who’s ever been in her presence would know this. It’s a foreign feeling, looking over at someone he’s lucky enough to know, and wanting them enough for that desire to turn into fantasy. 

“Spencer!” She greets him warmly, standing up to do so- if this wasn’t a workplace, if she was meeting him at the cafe like they do on Wednesdays, or his home, like she often finds herself in whenever he invites her, Spencer is certain she would wrap her arms around him in an incredibly warm hug. 

Because they are in the BAU, she believes it is inappropriate to embrace this way (which Spencer would argue isn’t true, given the way Morgan and Penelope are with each other, but if he told her that, it might be a little too obvious how desperate he is for her to touch him.)

The way she beams at him almost makes up for the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her. 

“I got you something,” he says in lieu of a response, clutching the bag of muffins in one hand. He’d woken up early to get her to stop by her favorite bakery, and it was worth it to see that look on her face. No one’s in the office now, the day long finished, and they’re getting ready to walk to his place. He lives so close by, and he’s grateful for this fact when they walk together back to his place. 

She grabs the bag, and he’s just so endeared by her, the giddy expression written over her lovely face.

“Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I do. You need to marry me, immediately.” She says to him, eyes closed in bliss, and even though she’s clearly joking, Spencer finds himself preening at her praise- wouldn’t it be incredible if she meant that? It sounds so pretty in her voice. I love you. 

He beams back at her, in a way he hopes doesn’t betray how much he wants. 

“I’m glad you like them,” he says back, his heart in his throat. 

“I have some news that you are going to be incredibly mad at me about.” She says, and a crumb is on her painted lip, and fantasy of kisses that he cannot have enters Spencer’s mind before he can shake it away.

“I could never be mad at you.”

“I think I have to raincheck tonight,” she says almost sadly, her voice apologetic, as though she has no choice in the matter.

“Is everything okay?”

He had picked up her favorite snacks yesterday night, tidied up his apartment top to bottom. 

“Josh texted me- he’s going through something and he needs me to come over-“

“He doesn’t need you to come over.” 

He rarely interrupts her, and he usually isn’t capable of being upset with her. He’s not really even upset with her now, but this is so exhausting, watching her deal with this asshole. 

It is a continuous surprise to Spencer that someone like her can be in a position like this.

Through Spencer’s eyes, the idea that anyone can not be in love with her is almost an impossibility. It’s not even his bias alone that makes him think this- it’s the truth of her. 

Josh is an asshole finance bro who works in the city center, and Spencer hates him more than most serial killers. 

He’s fucking careless with the thing Spencer wants the most in the world. Josh knows what it’s like to be with her, to be the person to falls asleep with her in his arms.  

Sometimes when Spencer can’t sleep, which is quite often, he pictures her soft cheek on her chest, pictures what she would feel like entwined with his own body, legs tangled with his and her fingers in his hair. It’s a sacred thing, this image- even though it isn’t real, Spencer knows he values the imagination of her presence more than Josh gives his attention to the real thing. 

They’ve “gotten together” and “broken up” and “started talking again” about 12 times respectively.

Spencer could kill him.

“Spence,” she sighs, shaking him out of his angry stupor, “please don’t be mad at me. He’s really going through something right now- he needs someone to be around. Besides,” she breathes out, “I can’t dump him. 

“Why is that?” He tries to temper his tone, but the memory of her mascara running down her cheeks as she sobs in his arms shoots through his mind, and manifests as a physical sharp pain in his chest. 

“That wedding is coming up,” she murmurs, looking down at her shoes. They’re scuffed, and Spencer thinks she might be embarrassed. Why should she be? He’s the asshole. “I told people I was going to have a date. Do you know how many people are going to be there, Spence? How many people are expecting me to bring my boyfriend?”

Her best friend is getting married. Spencer knows this because she’s told him, and told him gleefully when Josh had agreed to go with her. Spencer remembers thinking that he’d like to punch a wall.

Anyway. 

She’s the last of her friend group that’s not in a long term relationship, and in some twisted way, he kind of gets how Josh would be better than nothing, if you didn’t want to be seen as alone. 

“You don’t want to go alone.”

“Yeah, Spence.”

“I could go with you.”

It escapes his mouth without his permission, and he regrets it almost instantly. Because there’s no fucking way she’d go with him. He’s lanky and awkward and his blazers never fit and his ties are always tied wrong, and she’s beautiful and wonderful in ways he finds new ways to see everyday. He’s not a solution to her being worried about how she’s seen, he’d only make it worse-

“You would do that for me?” Her voice is small as she asks, and it shakes him out of his thoughts. He looks down at her, eyes softening at her lovely face. She looks touched, and he has to wonder, doesn’t she know?

He’d do anything for her. 

“Of course,” he breathes out, a nervous hand playing with the strap of his bag, “If it gets you to stop giving that asshole the time of day, I’d do it a million times.”

Her face shifts in a way he can’t read, and she swallows. 

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I want to,” he says, “Please. It would be fun, C’mon. You’re always saying I need to get out there and do things.”

“Being my fake boyfriend at my friend’s wedding is not getting out there and doing things,” she pouts, and his heart nearly jumps. It’s pathetic, but hearing her refer to him as her any kind of boyfriend is intoxicating. He wants to hear it, over and over. 

“It’ll be fun,” he says, touching her hand as it rests on the table, making intentional eye contact. She has been prettiest eyes. “C’mon, let me do this for you. I’m sick of this guy.”

She gulps again, an endearingly confusing gesture, and he finds the feeling a little desperate. Pick me, choose to be with me, even if it’s just pretend. 

“He’s going to be there anyway,” she breathes out biting her lip in a nervous gesture, “I- I’d owe you so much, Spence. It would make him jealous, I think.”

It’s a little hedonistic, how much he would enjoy that, he thinks. Someone would see her as his girl. He knows she might be doing this to get Josh’s attention, but still- the evening together seems like too lovely of a thing to turn down- too wonderful of a chance to not offer. He’d take a night of pretend over never getting to be with her at all. 

It’s enough to make him ignore that making Josh jealous is probably the reason she’s saying yes. 

“Okay, okay! Spencer, will you do me the honor of taking me to Julie’s wedding?”

“I would be honored. 

The weeks approaching the wedding are a bit of sweet torture. She’d had the idea that they could practice, whatever that meant, and the memory of it lives in his mind rent free. They’d been watching the movie, already touchier than most would allow of best friends. (She’s his best, Spencer’s just the tiniest bit resentful of Julie). 

She’d been sitting next to him on his worn out couch, her legs thrown across his, and true to his word, he was whispering the translation along to the movie. She smiled at him, watching his mouth move instead of the movie, and he felt tingly under her stare. How wonderful and bright it is, to be under her gaze. He kept speaking even though she wasn’t watching, because he imagines that if he stops, she might look away. 

Then, she had held his hand. 

Grabbed it really, fingers lacing with his own, and Spencer’s brain had short circuited. She has soft hands, he had thought to himself, and it was about the only thing he could manage to think. 

“We should practice,” she had whispered, even though it was just the two of them in the lowlight of his home, “Y’know, so people believe us.”

He didn’t say that he’s pretty sure no one needed to be convinced he’s in love with her. 

“Sure,” he had nodded, and squeezed her hand, “I think that’s a great idea.”

So they’ve been practicing. 

This has been in equal measures wonderful and torturous. She walks with him to work on half the days, with her fingers twined with his own, and Spencer finds it intoxicating that any passerby would assume he belongs to her. 

More than he already does, anyway. 

Her affection is her own, just turned up to 11. She’s gorgeous- this is a fact that was not instrumental in his love of her, but ornamental- still, this is hard to ignore when she touches him as much as she does now. When she’s out with the team at the bar, she rests her hand on the small of his back- he preens every time at this. This is simple, her domesticity, her claiming his presence as her own- it’s more than nice, Spencer realizes. It’s wonderful, to be wanted by her. Even if it’s not real.

On this night, they’re celebrating. They caught the unsub before he’d been able to kill his first victim. This is a rarity in their field, and she’d given the interview that had gotten the confession. It’s the closest to field work she’d gotten, and they’re all celebrating their win. Her win. 

She looks like a figment of imagination, lovely in a way he literally cannot believe he didn’t conjure up in fantasy. Her favorite song is playing out of pure serendipity, and Spencer likes that word for her. She is serendipitous as a whole. 

“Do you want something to drink, honey?” The endearment feels warm and natural as it comes out of his mouth. His hand is resting on the small of her waist, and he knows he’s being egregious with the practice thing. But this is so nice, her leaning into him, one drink deep and touchier than she is tipsy, and he loves this. He loves that under this pretense, he gets to know what she feels like in his arms. 

He hands her the water before she gets to answer, and she happily sips it. 

“Are you proud of me, Spence?” Her voice is immeasurably fond and he drinks it in like a man starved. 

“Of course,” he smiles at her. I’m always proud of you, he thinks. “You did so well, love.”

He’s not used to endearments, but she showers him in them. Before their little pretending, too. Called him dove, honey, darling. Packed an emergency lunch in his go bag in case he forgot his. She’s such a good friend, and he wants to be her lover more with each breath. 

He tries to return them, now. 

“Good,” she says serenely, looking at him in a way that kills him, because he will never, ever kiss her. She can hold him, and look at him like that, and he will never get to be with her, “I think my cider is too sour,” she scrunches her nose, and his heart swoops. 

“I’ll get you something sweeter, baby.”

“Yeah you will!” He hears Morgan laugh, and he flushes bright red. No one seems surprised, by how touchy they’d been. Even Hotch- he’d expected a talk, but then got a stern nod of understanding in its stead. 

She sips the sweet drink he got her, a little cherry on the step, and he thinks he’d do anything to keep looking at her. 

Five weeks to the wedding. 

He can do this. 

“Could you do me a favor, Garcia? I come bearing gifts.” 

Spencer’s snuck into her office- there’s not much to do today, but she hadn’t wanted to take PTO for no reason, so here she is, in her feathered and pink glory. 

“Is that a hot chocolate? From Dominicks? Ooh, you play dirty, Dr. Reid.” Penelope almost squeals, and despite his nefarious purposes, he finds himself joyful- it’s alwaysgood to talk to her. 

After a joyful, eyes closed and serene sip, she asks, “Alright, my sweet furry friend, what can I do for you?”

“Could you check on a Josh Collins for me?”

“Isn’t that your girl’s ex?”

“No,” Heat rises to his cheeks, before he can help it. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh, and my favorite color is black.” Penelope scoffs back, but begins typing furiously anyway. 

He needs to know what is so fascinating about this guy. Because lately he can’t figure it out. He’s always fucking hated the guy, even though he’s never met him. He never had to- she’d shown up enough times at Spencer’s door crying, been broken up with and brought back enough to know that this guy is awful. Doesn’t even come close to deserving the woman that she is. 

“He’s a financial analyst at a Marketing firm, went to state school for his Bachelor’s, says here that he played football in college, but I don’t think they met until after,” she says, “Oh, he has a scuba license. And skydiving! Looks like he’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie.”

It’s an evil thought. Is that what she likes? He finds it hard to imagine, picturing the moments where she’s wrapped up in his arms on a movie night- that always seemed to be her preference. In, not out. 

“Is that him?”

There’s a picture of him on Penelope’s screen. Josh is chiseled and strong, smiling brightly in a polo on a jet ski- this is a photo posted on his social media, and Spencer has met a million of this guy. They bullied him in school. Spencer as genius and he’s a lot of things, but that will never be one of them. It’ll never, ever be him. 

Good to know, anyway. Better not to fantasize about what he knows he can’t have. 

On the day of the wedding, it’s actually a 6 hour drive. She’d offered to get them plane tickets, but he enjoyed his time with her. He was also desperate to extend the time until the wedding was over, and she’s probably the only person he wants to be trapped in a car with. 

They’re sharing a hotel room. She’s booked two beds, which he’s honestly grateful for- if they’d shared a bed, he might’ve combusted. 

Still, there is so much intimacy. She sings in the shower. He imagines a world where he’d know that in domesticity, where after a night spent in laughter and something like love, she showered in his home. But that’s not how he knows it. He knows it because he’s at her best friend’s wedding, pretending to be her boyfriend. 

When she comes out of her bedroom, she’s gorgeous. 

She’s got a green and purple dress on, a cinched waist and a sweetheart neck, a dash of plum lipstick on her lovely pout, and he’d like to kiss that smile very, very much. She’s a delicate kind of lovely, saturated in sweetness, and it’s sweet torture to have her this close.

“You look...” He struggles to find words, an uncommon occurrence in his life, “Like a vision.”

It’s sentimental and warmer than he wished he sounded, but god- she’s stunning. She looks like she’s made of old film, beautiful in that way that’s just a bit too good to be true. He adores her more with each breath.

“You think it’s okay?” She speaks to him with her doe eyes adorned with a concerned expression. He wants to kiss it away.

“You look lovely,” he says, a vast underselling.

The ceremony is a lovely affair, and Spencer learns that she cries at weddings. The bride and groom have lovely, saccharine vows, and Spencer tries not to picture a wedding that he will never get to have. 

It’s a little bit impossible with her at his side. 

She’s touchier now, even mores then when they were ‘practicing’. Her hands are warm laced with his own, her head leaning on his shoulder, and he feels lucky to have even a piece of getting to be with her. 

At the reception, she is tackled by her friends, and he performs dutifully as the caring boyfriend. It’s not hard.

It’s a lovely night. His arms glued to the small of her waist, and he’s been introduced as her “genius FBI agent boyfriend” many times tonight. He turns bright red every time. 

“This is my boyfriend, he’s the smartest ever,” she brags when she’s half a drink deep, and he cherishes the ability to draw circles on the small of her back in this moment- his words fail him in moments of praise, and touch is an avenue that he is rarely allowed to use.

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified-“

“Which is a thing that humble geniuses say.” 

So he’s having a great tine. 

Her lipstick is transfer-free, and his cheek is proof. She’s so affectionate his heart keeps doing somersaults. There’s a signature cocktail with some pun in the couples name.

“I’m fucking obsessed with these, Spence,” she says, a light airiness to her voice that he recognizes as her tipsy voice, “Can you get me another, my love?”

“Yes, honey.” He smiles at her, and kisses the crown of her hair before leaving her in the company of her friends. He’s indulging a bit too much, he’s aware. He’s going to have to give up this up when the sun rises, like some fucked up fairytale where Cinderella never gets the guy because she’s not worthy of it without the pretense.

“Could I get the house cocktail?” Spencer asks the bartender, flashing a smile at her with the giddiness of knowing he will return to her.

Spencer had nearly forgotten that part of the reason he was here was because of Josh. 

Who is at the bar.

“Hey man- you’re the dude she brought, right?” 

Josh is actually about 2 inches shorter than Spencer, and Spencer makes the most of this difference. He’s a broad chested muscle man, but he looks woefully underwhelming. 

“Yeah, I’m the lucky guy.” Spencer replies in a deadpan tone, turning to face him with a stony expression. 

“Careful, man,” Josh says, and it’s a little pathetic how he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t care, “She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

“Really? Because it seems like you’d leave a bad taste in anyone’s mouth.”

“Whatever, dude. It’s clear that she just brought someone to make me jealous.”

“Actually, while I can’t read her mind, I imagine you’ve slipped hers entirely. Clearly your entire energy is based in whatever ego-driven shell your youth has shaped you into- and maybe one day someone will care enough about whatever tragedy made you the way you are, but I am deeply uninterested, and I’d wager she is too.”

He’s not sure if this is true, but Spencer’s noticed that in the time since their ruse has begun she hasn’t mentioned Josh. Not once. She might not love Spencer,  but she might not see Josh anymore. 

“Also, if you ever speak disrespectfully of my girlfriend again I promise you it will not end well for you.”

His voice is even and has an underlaying of quiet rage. It’s wonderful to call her that, even more so as she enters into his eye line.

“You looked mad,” she says in lieu of a greeting, her nimble arms wrapping around his waist with fluid ease, “Is everything okay?” 

It’s only then she sees Josh, and there’s something wonderful about knowing that she came here to check on him. Josh is about to say something, he can tell even though he’s only visible in the corner of his vision. 

It’s a calculated risk but he chooses to do it anyway. 

When he kisses her, he doesn’t know what to expect. It falls into line like puzzles into place, one of her hands falling to his waist and the other cradling his jaw with a delicate softness. She leans into him totally and this is an intoxicating feeling- her lips are so, so soft and it’s what he’s been fantasizing about since she first smiled at him and asked him to keep going when he was rambling about Russian literature. 

It’s actually better. 

When she pulls back, she scans the space. Josh is gone.

“Well that had the intended effect,” he says- it seems better than anything else, like confessing that the only reason he did it was that he could. He kissed her. 

She nods, clearly a bit frazzled, and fuck-

“I should have asked, fuck, I’m sorry-“

“No, no, you’re okay, um-thanks for getting rid of him.”

Her voice is hollow. 

Despite the awkwardness of the kiss, which Spencer cannot stop thinking about.

Did he imagine it, or did she lean in? Did she sigh into it? How is he going to ever get over the fact that he’s never going to do that again?

Her lipstick is grape flavored. Now they both know that. 

They get back to the hotel at half past midnight, and she’d been a little distanced- not so much they still didn’t look like a couple, but enough that Spencer knows. They’re winding down the artificial love affair, and all of the things he’s become kind of addicted to are going to go away. Her fingers running through the tendrils of his hair, her delicate fingers rubbing tiger balm on his temples when he’s got his migraines. Her cheek kisses, the honeys, my loves, sweethearts. 

Kissing her. 

When she drops her bag on the hotel bed and sits on the edge of it, he sits next to her. She’s been quieter, since the kiss. 

“Hey.”

“Hey back,” she replies, bumping her knee with his in fondness. 

“I’m sorry I surprised you with, you know.”

“Kissing me?”

“I should have asked- I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset that you kissed me,” she says, looking down at her shoes, “I’m upset that you only did it because you wanted to spite Josh.”

“What?”

“I know that this is my problem, Spence,” she says, “You never… led me on, you know? I know that this was always my thing to deal with. Being in love with you was never something that I thought would be a problem. But when you offered to go with me- to pretend to be my boyfriend, how could I pass that up?”

This makes no sense.

“I know,” she runs her fingers through her hair in a frustrated motion, “I know that it was never a good idea. But the idea of getting to be with you was just too much to turn down, even it it wasn’t the real thing. And now we’re going back to normal and I promise that I will go back to being your friend. It might take me a second, though-I might need some space.”

She needs space from him? Because she can’t transition away from being his fake girlfriend?

“You don’t need space from me.”

He’s so fucking bad at talking. 

“Spencer-“

“No, no,” because now he has a shot- now  there’s a reality where the pit in his chest doesn’t have to live there forever. He can be with her. Because for some crazy, insane reason, she wants him. “You don’t need space from because I don’t want space from you, okay?”

He sits next to her on the bed, eyes a little crazed with want with nowhere to go. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her voice is tempered, and he thinks he hears hope. 

“I love you. I am in love with you. I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known you,” he grabs her hand-it feels desperate to say and he sure he sounds it, “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to spite him. I did it because I couldn’t live with the idea that I would spend the rest of my life never have kissed you.”

He probably would say more- so many things are coming to mind, most of which are pleading. She’s the only thing he’s ever wanted this much. Before he gets to, though, she kisses him. 

It’s sudden, as all things of this nature are, but he pulls her close on instinct. She ends up on his lap, her hands around his neck, and it is so rare that fantasy lives up to reality. But this is better, the feeling of the weight of her pressed against him and the taste of her grape lipstick. 

It’s a minute when she pulls back, and it takes everything to not chase the contact.

“I love you too,” she says, the sweetness of it dripping from the sound of it. He wants to hear it again, and again, and again.

“For real?”

“For real.” 

When the run rises in the morning that follows, he’s wrapped around the length of her like a vice, right and close to him, Her head rests on his chest, and while there is another bed there, it’s clearly not seeing any use.

He’s never slept better in his life. 

[majinbangus]

What happens when soap's on again and off again gf finds out he got someone else pregnant? And do you think she would try to keep him from his children and reader?

Also I hope Soap tells his mom and she chews him out for not being better to reader 😭 (I also want Soap's mom know already that she's going to be a grandma to twins and just kept it from Johnny for reader's health too.)

i struggled with this one, but it turned out hopeful in the end i hope its good

"What're you doing here?"

You don't know what hurts more: the way he said that as if he doesn't want you there (which he probably doesn't; you don't want to be there, either, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less), or the apprehensive look he doesn't bother masking. He's never really been one to hide his emotions, but would it have killed him to pretend to be on amicable terms with you for at least a couple of hours? Dumbass.

"I'm doing great, MacTavish, thanks for asking." You go for an overly friendly inflection, but anyone listening in would be able to hear the biting undertone in your sarcasm. "How have you been? Wonderful, you say? That's absolutely grand. Glad to hear it. Truly, thank you for taking the time to welcome me into your home."

You attempt a smile, but from the way Soap's expression pinches at it, it more than likely comes off as a poorly veiled scowl. You can't bring yourself to care. You're more focused on keeping yourself from breaking down, rubbing your hand almost obsessively over your belly, trying to calm yourself with the soothing motion. Soap looks down at it, face flashing with something. You're tempted to call it regret. Whether that's for knocking you up or for hurting you just now or something else entirely, you have no clue. He clenches his fists.

"... Does my family know that you're... that I'm..?"

That's what he's concerned about? Fucking prick. You're half-tempted to announce it to his whole family now. You didn't even want to be at his family gathering in the first place, but Mrs. MacTavish insisted, and you adore his mother (so much so that you’re afraid of her, too). It's been months since you last saw all the MacTavishes in person (for obvious reasons), and you know if you refused another invitation, the woman, though getting up there in age, would've dragged you to the party herself.

You rub your belly a tad faster, and his eyes dart down to the anxious movement again. "No, MacTavish, your family does not know you got me pregnant, so you can stop worrying. I... wasn't planning on telling them. Not now, at least. Or ever. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about stuff."

Perhaps it's the right call, perhaps not (it most likely isn’t), but the tension that visibly leaks out of his body offends you. 

"That's... probably for the best,” He exhales slowly.

“For you or for me?” You snark and he at least has the decency to wince.

“Hen… Princess–”

“Don’t call me that.” You curl your lips at him, teeth bared. A bitter kind of hurt grinds within your chest. He only called you that once before. For one night. It meant nothing to him, but everything to you. “Don’t pretend to care; you never called back to talk like we agreed. You’re such a prick, MacTavish.” 

“You never reached out, either,” He shoots back with a defensive frown that doesn’t feel justified. “And I have a reason for not calling back earlier…”

“Was that reason your girlfriend?”

His silence is telling.

You scoff with a derisive laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, it’s not like that,” He tries to protest, but you remain staunch in your acrimony. 

“Sure, it’s not.” You roll your eyes. “If it isn’t anything else, then what is it?”

“We,” Soap hesitates, breaking eye contact to focus on where your hand is on your stomach. He swallows, rephrasing himself. “After our phone call, I brought up what happened between us… Tried to explain what happened… Communicate with her since that was always a problem we had.”

“And?” You prompt after he falls silent for a few seconds, though you think you can predict where this story is going.

“She didn’t take it well.” He continues, “We’ve been fighting about it. Trying to come to a compromise, but she’d rather I cut contact with you.”

“You… don’t want that?” You smother any bit of hope you feel. You have to.

He doesn’t answer the question verbally, merely shaking his head. It doesn’t feel like a good enough response, but you can’t push him on it because then he’s talking again. “We’re not wanting the same things. Every conversation about it–” about you “–turns into an argument, and we’ve decided to…”

“Go on a break?” You fill in, but he shakes his head again, avoiding your gaze.

“I think it’s permanent this time.”

Oh. That’s… skeptical. After years of watching them go back and forth, it’s hard to believe the permanence of their breakup. You wouldn’t be surprised if that changed as soon as next week, or even tomorrow. But maybe it’s true this time. Maybe they won’t reconcile. If that’s the case, you are glad he’ll be out of such an exhausting relationship, but you won’t let yourself believe he’ll develop feelings for you. 

“I’m sorry,” You offer instead and Soap chuckles humorlessly.

“Do you mean that?”

“I don’t, but I know she was important to you.” Probably still is, but you won’t dwell on that. “I’m still upset with you, though.”

He chuckles again, a little more genuinely this time. It’s almost enough to make you smile. Almost. “Aye, I know. I deserve it.”

“You do.” And maybe a slap. A cathartic slap. Perhaps not for him, but it might do you good. “And you’re still a prick, but now that you’re not… occupied… Can we figure everything out?”

It’s small, but you can’t help that spark of hope that blooms in your chest at the soft smile he gives you.

“I’d like nothing more, Princess.”

(His mother heard the whole thing. She’ll discuss it later with the both of you. But for now, she’ll stay out of it and let you two work it out before getting involved. She just hopes her idiot son doesn’t mess things up with you. 

She much rather prefers you over his ex, after all.)

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Nine

A/N: Hello! I did not expect this chapter to be as long as it is, but there was just too much to squeeze into this one! Only one more chapter left! I want to thank you all again for your likes, comments, and reblogs! It means the world to me and I hope you stick around for more Jace fics after this one is over. Like before, please see tag list in the comments.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 5.2k Synopsis: Finally, all matters are put to bed as Jace meets with Baela, the reader meets with Rhaenyra, and Lord Blacktyde is dealt with.

Warnings: violence, blood, death

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Jace walks directly out of your chambers and heads for Baela’s. It is too early an hour to be visiting, but he cannot wait any longer. In this current situation, he needs to ensure your safety. Besides, he has put off this conversation with Baela for far too long.

He gathers his courage as he knocks on her door. To his surprise, Baela answers the door herself.

“Jace,” she says with a sigh, looking him up and down. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m sorry it’s so early. I—” he pauses, taking a breath, slowing down, “Can I come in?”

She doesn't respond, but holds the door open. As he walks in, his thoughts are of you, your smile, your hand in his, and it gives him the strength to finally face her. To finally tell her the truth. When he does, she’s already looking at him with a sad smile.

“I know, you know,” she says softly.

“Baela, I'm sorry. I never meant for you to find out from anyone else but me. You're my closest friend, and--"

“I mean,” she says, walking into the room, sitting down on a couch, motioning for him to do the same. “I knew, I think even before I knew. Your feelings for her . . .” she sighs, “It’s the kind everyone wishes they’ll find.” She is still smiling, but there is a hurt behind her eyes, too. When she meets his gaze, she laughs.

“Don’t you dare pity me, Jacaerys. I’m glad that you’ve found love with Y/N. You deserve happiness.”

“So do you."

“I know,” she says with a laugh. “I see the way you look at her. I hear the way Rhaena talks about her budding relationship with Lord Corwyn. I want the same for myself.” She sighs. “I used to think I might find that with you.”

“I love you, Baela. It’s just—”

“I know,” she says, smiling gently at him. “I don't feel that way either. I love you, too, just . . ."

"Yeah," he says softly. She is quiet for a moment, studying her hands.

“If I break our betrothal, I don’t want Driftmark," she says. Jace's heart leaps once. He meets her eyes, seeing a determined glaze in them.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“King’s Landing is my home, I don’t want to leave it.”

“Baela,” he says with a smile, “I wouldn’t have you anywhere else. During the war, you were my confidant, my advisor, I need you here.”

“I know,” she says with a smirk, “I’d like to be Hand.” A grin spreads across Jace's face.

“Done.”

When Rhaenyra invites you to her quarters, a horrible dread fills your bones. You think of the only other time you were summoned by her, when Lord Blacktyde arrived. There is little doubt in your mind that this meeting has to do with him.

You think she'll probably have Barun and his ship waiting for her command, waiting to send you off to the Iron Islands, never to see this family you have grown to love again.

At your arrival, a guard leads you into the queen's chambers. The room is warm, like Jace's tends to be, a trait that must run in the family. Rhaenyra is standing over her desk, her brow furrowed as she reads the scroll in her hand.

"Your Grace," the guard says, drawing her eyes up.

"Y/N," Rhaenyra says.

"Your Grace," you say, curtseying.

"You may leave us," she says, dismissing the guard. Once the door closes behind him, she gives you a small smile.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Baela has agreed to end her betrothal to Jace," she says, making your heart leap. "I asked my son to hold off on telling you until I could speak with you myself.

"I have seen the way you look at Jace, and how he looks at you. I know there is love there," she says, a soft look on her face. "He deserves love."

"Yes," you say quietly, reflexively.

"But he also deserves a long life, an easier one than the one he has lived thus far. The arrival of Lord Blacktyde has made me reconsider my initial approval." She meets your eyes. "Tell me why you should marry my son."

"My Queen," you say, taking a deep breath to hopefully squash the growing panic within you. "I don't know why I should marry Jacaerys. I know there are more advantageous matches out there for him. I have no titles, no relationship to offer your family that you don't already possess.

"But I do know that I love your son, more than anything in this world. And I know he loves me," you say, your voice cracking with swelling emotion, "It is an honor I do not take lightly. For so long, I tried to fight my feelings, because I know I'm not good enough for him, because of my past. But your son has shown me that the love between us, the admiration and trust, it is not commonplace. It deserves to be treasured.

"I don't know why I should marry him. I probably shouldn't. But if you grant us leave, please know that I will do everything in my power to make sure he lives a long, happy life."

She studies you for a long moment. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, waiting for some sign of her approval.

"What of Lord Blacktyde?" she asks. "If you are to reject him, he will turn his anger upon my family."

"I know," you say, dropping your head. "If it comes down to it, I would leave with him, if it meant keeping your family safe." She raises an eyebrow at you.

"That means a lot." She is quiet for another agonizing minute.

"I want to see more of Lord Blacktyde, to understand for myself the kind of man he is. Already, he has sullied his reputation after barging in here, making demands for you. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to lose his allyship. He is already ostracized in the Islands." That spark of hope leaps up into your throat.

"Your Grace?"

"If you would give up your happiness, your life, for my son, if you could walk away from your feelings, I can think of no stronger quality in a wife, and queen."

Jeyne is pacing in your quarters when you arrive back. The moment she spots you, she gasps, moving to your side.

"What did the queen say?" she asks. The tears that were threatening to fall during your meeting finally spill over.

"She said yes," you say, "Baela agreed to end their betrothal."

"And Barun?" Jeyne asks, her face flushing with excitement.

"I think she'll try to make some kind of agreement with him, she's inviting him to supper tonight to feel him out. Although, its my understanding that she wouldn't care either if the relationship falls through."

"Oh, Y/N," she says, wrapping you into a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Me too," you say with a laugh, wiping at your tears.

"Have you seen Jace yet?" she asks.

"Not since last night. I'm sure he knows, but I want to see him. To celebrate with him."

"Well, you'll see him tonight."

"Barun will be there, too," you say, "I won't be able to get close to him, to even let him know."

"The prince is clever," Jeyne says, "I think he found a way around Barun."

When you slip on the dress Jace sent, you are in awe. Jeyne always made sure you had beautiful, elegant dresses, but this one was of its own caliber. The beading made it sparkle in the light. The fabric clung to you favorably, the slightly lower neckline surely Jace's idea.

You feel absolutely beautiful, and stronger somehow. Clad in your future family's color, you feel some of their bravado embracing in you.

"If your father could see you now," Jeyne says, walking back into the room, also dressed in her finest.

"What would he think?" you ask.

"That he was a damn fool," Jeyne says, wrapping her arms around you. "He wanted the Vale, wanted its legacy to pass to your husband and sons. Look at you now," she says with a smile, "You're going to be queen."

You take in a breath. In your excitement, your love for Jace had overshadowed the fear of becoming queen. It's years away, but already, you worry what the people will think of you. Jeyne seems to notice your attitude change.

"It won't happen for a long time. You'll have time to prepare," she says, "But you'll be perfect."

"Thank you," you say, "For everything."

On the walk down to the dining hall, Jeyne tells you of her morning meeting with Barun. His terms hadn't changed from five years ago. He promised aid to the Vale in exchange for your hand. Jeyne had politely told him she needed to consider, and went on her way.

"How did he appear?" you ask.

"He cannot hide his emotions. He said all the correct things, but his face and voice held only frustration."

"I will be relieved when he is long gone," you say with a sigh, stopping in front of the doors to the dining hall.

"That day is near," she says. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The heavy oak doors open to reveal Jace and his family. He is joking with Aegon, but upon your arrival, he looks up. A smile immediately breaks across his face. He bids his brother goodbye and comes to your side. You can tell he wants to do more, but he only takes your hand and kisses it softly.

"You are beautiful," he says, warm eyes meeting yours.

"Thank you," you say. He transfers your hand to his arm and guides you into the room. "I had no idea you had such an eye for gowns."

"I don't," he says with a smile, "But this one was as easy find, once I pictured you in it." His eyes flick down to your chest. It dawns on you then, just how long it has been since you slept together. Was it really only a few days ago? It feels like longer now.

"I've missed you," you say lowly, "I--"

The heavy doors open again, this time revealing Lord Blacktyde. He stumbles almost instantly, and you realize he is already drunk. Jace must notice the way your body tenses, because he tightens his hold on your hand, just as you break away from him.

"Y/N," Jace says sternly, quiet enough for only you to hear. "He's going to find out eventually."

"Not here," you say, watching as Jeyne greets the lord. "Please," you say, glancing back to him. "For tonight, let's just pretend."

"Pretend that I'm not the happiest I've ever been?" he asks, making you smile.

"Yes. Just for this dinner. Tomorrow, we will figure out how to tell him."

"Very well," he says with a sigh. "Let me escort you to your seat, then." His mirth has vanished, and you hate that you can't celebrate this victory with him. For so long, you two have longed for this very moment.

As he guides you to your seat, you cross him and whisper, so only he hears, "I love you." He keeps his composure, but the look in his eyes conveys his response.

"Y/N," Joffrey says, sat to your right. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank--"

"Evening, Your Highness," Barun says, startling you as he sits in the seat to your left, the one Jace was about to claim.

"Lord Blacktyde," Jace says through clenched teeth. You exchange a look, but Jace is too smart to start an argument now. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table. Her eyes meets Jace's and she inclines her head to her left, the unoccupied chair there.

As everyone takes their seats, Jeyne, Rhaena, and Baela across from you, the younger boys further down the table, soft chatter breaks out. For the first time since you revealed yourself to her, Rhaena meets your eyes and gives you a soft smile.

"How is Morning?" you ask carefully, hoping a neutral topic might mend the gap.

"She's good," Rhaena says, "I should be able to fly with her soon, finally."

"Really?"

"Dragons grow quickly," she says with a shrug. "You should . . . come see her soon." A strange expression passes over her face.

"I'd like that," you say, with a smile. She cuts into her food, and you assume she's done speaking to you, until she looks back up once more.

"Red suits you," she says. It's as much acceptance as you'll get from her, but it means the world.

"Thank you."

"So," Joffrey says, pulling your attention to him. "Remember in the library, when you swore nothing had changed with you and my brother?"

"Yes," you say, glancing up the table to Jace. The prince meets your eyes with a smile.

"Care to make any amends to that statement?" he asks when you look back at him.

"No," you say, smirking.

"Even now, you won't trust me with your secrets?" Joffrey asks, a frown on his face.

"Today we are pretending," you say, "Ask me again tomorrow."

As the next course is served, you feel you must relieve Jeyne from entertaining Barun. Thus far, she has been one of the few to speak with him, save for a few remarks from Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"Are you eager to return to the Iron Islands, My Lord?" you ask.

"Yes," he says gruffly, his breath reeking of ale, "I can't stand the heat here."

"It's not so bad, one you get used to it," you say.

"I don't intend to. You shouldn't either."

"May I remind you, Lord Blacktyde, I have not agreed to any terms with you," Jeyne remind him.

"Yet."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't agreed to any terms, yet," he says firmly. Jeyne doesn't break eye contact.

"Of course," she says. She glares him down as she reaches for her glass of wine. He looks away before she takes a sip.

"What is it you find so desirable about the Iron Islands?" Daemon asks, drawing your attention down the table again. For a quick moment, your eyes meet Jace. He isn't looking at you, though, because his sole focus is on Barun. His fist is clenched tightly atop the table.

"Is it the never ending damp? The sunless sky? Or are the stories true, that the Islanders fuck the creatures of the sea?" Daemon asks. The room is quiet. Barun's face grows redder by the second. But before the tension can break, one of the younger boys laughs. Whoever starts it gets the other one going, too, and soon everyone starts laughing, too. The only one who doesn't even try to fake one is Jace.

"Say what you will about our customs, your Targaryen ones are much stranger," Barun says. Your laughter dies in your throat.

"And which customs would those be?" Rhaenyra asks.

"You forget yourself," you say quietly, hoping only for Barun to hear it. He turns to glare at you, his eyes bloodshot.

"You'll do well to learn to hold your tongue," he says. "As I was saying," he continues loudly, "Such strange customs. You married your uncle after all, Your Grace." Jace's knuckles have gone white.

"That must be why you've had such trouble finding a husband," he says, turning his full, horrid attention to you.

"How is that?" you ask.

"Because you're not related to them!" he says, punching the last few words as if he's a jester.

"Lord Blacktyde."

"If only you had just been a little blonder," he chortles. "Although, that rules doesn't apply to these two." He motions to Joffrey, then to Jace. Your prince's face is white with rage.

"Need I remind you who you are dining with?" you ask. Barun rolls his eyes. He seems closer now, as he looks at you. You can smell the alcohol and see the beads of sweat at his brow. You move closer to Joffrey.

"When we get home to the Islands, this back talk will not be permitted."

"I believe my cousin already told you nothing has been decided." You reach for your win glass, casually, needing to pretend all is well.

"King's Landing," he says under his breath. "Leave it to them to teach a woman such disrespect." You exchange a glance with Jeyne, both of you knowing you learned that trait well before King's Landing.

"And what is it exactly that you find so lacking in King's Landing, My Lord?" you ask.

“People claim the Iron Islands are barbaric, but when brother argues with sister, we don’t put the burden on the whole of the realm.”

“Would you call usurping our queen’s throne ‘arguing?’” you ask, your eyes flitting to the end of the table where Jace, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all stare coolly at Barun.

“I just believe that if things had been handled more rationally, I wouldn’t have lost so many good men.”

“People were lost on all sides,” you say, your wine glass nearly shaking in your hand. Tension tightens along the table. All side conversations have ceased.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he says to you. “You need to come to the Iron Islands. It’s not safe in King’s Landing.” He seems oblivious to the shifting mood of the dragon riders around him. Rhaenyra has a firm grip on Daemon’s arm, but the King Consort shares the same expression as Jacaerys. Barun leans in even closer, until your back is pressed into Joffrey’s arm, trying to put as much space between you as possible.

He continues, unbothered. “I mean, they couldn’t even protect their own children, how could—”

The glass in your hand shatters in your grip, jostling the rest of the table. Both Jace and Joffrey are on their feet with you, the latter of whom reaches for your hand. You pull it back, your focus solely on Barun. You aren’t alone in this, the entire family looks at him with cold-blooded anger.

“Apologize,” you say firmly. He laughs as he looks up at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Apologize,” you say. The glare he gives you is one that could kill. But before he can say anything more, he finally looks at the people around him.

“My apologies, I meant no insult,” he says with a forced smile.

“Of course,” Daemon replies, an equally vicious smile on his own lips.

You sit down, begging Jace to do so, too. His jaw is clenched so hard, you aren’t sure he’s actually breathing. You give him a look that says please, and finally he sits.

“Y/N,” Joffrey exclaims, reaching for your hand. Jutting from your palm is a large shard of glass. Blood drips between the two of you. “You need to see the maester.”

“I—”

“She’s fine,” Barun grunts, taking your hand from Joffrey. He drags the chunk of glass down your hand, lengthening the cut before pulling it out. You clench your other fist, and take in a quivering breath, but that is the only reaction you’ll give him.

“See? All better.”

“She’s bleeding,” Jace says plainly, looking at Barun in disgust.

“Haven’t you been told, boy? Girls always bleed.”

“I think I’ll escort Y/N to the maester," Jeyne says, standing quickly. You look nervously between Jace and Barun. You don't want to leave, fearful of where this anger might lead. “Y/N” Jeyne urges.

“Coming,” you say, standing up. Joffrey places his napkin in your bleeding hand softly. “Thank you.”

As you move out from between them, Barun looks as if he wants to stop you. His attention moves to the end of the table, and whatever he finds on Jace’s face stops him. As Jeyne leads you out of the room, you look back once, unsettled by what has happened, and usure of what is to come.

The maester has just finished stitching your hand when Jace walks into the room, Rhaenyra and Daemn following close behind. He doesn’t seem to care that Jeyne, his parents, and Maester Orwyle are there. The moment he is in front of you, he grabs your face and kisses you.

“I’m fine,” you say when he pulls away. He doesn’t respond, just takes your bandaged hand in his. He studies it for a moment, then kisses the back of your hand.

“Jace,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes. His hard exterior drops then, and he sits down next to you.

"How is your hand?" he asks.

"The maester says I'm lucky," you say, "I could have lost my grip if it had been deeper. He says it will only leave a scar." Jace looks livid.

“Did anything else happen after dinner?” you ask, hoping to change the subject as Jace’s hand holds your uninjured one.

“No, Barun shut up once you left," Daemon says.

“He’s revolting,” Jace says, giving your hand a squeeze.

“He is,” Jeyne says, joining your small group. “And I’m afraid he’ll only get worse, when Y/N rejects him.”

“He’s one man,” Jace say firmly. His thumb traces over your skin, both to soothe you and to remind himself that you’re there. “He is disgusting, but he is not invincible. We’ll arrange to tell him in a group and then send him back to the Iron Islands.”

“And if he threatens the Vale?” Rhaenyra asks. "Or dares to threaten us?"

“Then I will fly there myself and defend my future wife’s home,” he says proudly. "And ours." You meet his eyes and give him a gentle smile.

"We will meet with him tomorrow morning," Rhaenyra says. "Tell him firmly that Y/N rejects his suit, and that if he leaves willingly, the Iron Islands will be rewarded. Hopefully, that will be enough."

The plan is set. The next day, Barun will be informed by Jeyne, in front of Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Jacaerys, and a slew of Kingsguard, that she rejects his suit. It is Jeyne’s idea that you stay out of sight, and you don't fight her on it. Barun is possessive. If you were there, you aren’t sure what he would do.

But the waiting is agony. When the time comes for them to go down to the throne room, you are confined to your chambers. You can’t help but pace, worrying what might be happening.

It’s an hour before a knock comes from your door. Eagerly, you run towards it and whip it open, having dismissed your lady’s maid half an hour earlier, because her worrying was just as bad as yours.

Panic surges through you, though, as you open the door and find not Jace or Jeyne, but Barun. He stands outside your door, a menacing look on his face, his nostrils flared. On the ground next to him, is the guard assigned to your chambers.

“Lor-Lord Blacktyde,” you stutter, backing up as he presses into your room.

“Now you’ll see me,” he says. His face is red, his tread heavy. He radiates an anger so great you haven't seen before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Why not? Expecting whatever lousy lordling you’ve been seeing behind my back?” he asks, still stalking towards you. Step for step, you back up, too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells as your back hits the post of your bed. Quickly, you jump aside, putting some more distance between you.

“You forget yourself, My Lord,” you say shakily.

“I forget myself?” he asks with a laugh. “You were betrothed to me, but coming here made you forget your oath.”

“You married another,” you say, “How was I to know you’d kill her and come crawling back for me?” Anger flares in his eyes as he moves towards you. His hands reach for your arms, but you step back just in time. Barun catches his knee on the edge of a sofa, growling at the pain.

“This behavior will not be acceptable when I bring you to the Islands. You will be my wife and you will obey me."

“I’m not leaving with you," you say icily.

“The hell you aren’t."

“Let me remind you, that Prince Jacaerys promised war upon your doorstep, should you put up any fuss at my refusal.”

“The prince,” he says with a scoff.

“Should you comply, he will see that the Iron Islands are rewarded,” you say. Barun is silent for a long moment, considering. You think his anger might have abated, but when he looks up again, there is no life behind his eyes. They are dark like you know him to be, and you truly fear for your life then.

“The prince,” he says again. “The prince.”

“My lord, I really think you should leave now,” you say, moving towards your door slowly. As you take a few steps, Barun lets out a huff, his eyes locked on your movements. You stay still, waiting for your opportunity to react, when a pounding comes from the door.

“Y/N!”

“Jace!” you call back, immediate relief seeping through you at his voice. There might be more commotion in the hallway, but you can’t decipher any of it but his voice.

“You whore,” Barun mutters, drawing your attention back to him. “You fucking whore!”

“Please, let’s just end this peacefully,” you say, again stepping towards the door.

“The prince is going to save you?” Barun asks with a laugh. “Not only are you a whore, you’re stupid, too. He’s not getting close to you. And if he does, I’ll rip—” While he was rambling, you positioned yourself enough that while he is distracted, you shove an end table at him, catching him in the stomach. He hunches over as you run for the door.

The lock won’t turn, your hands are shaking so badly. You hear Barun approaching, and as you finally throw open the door, Barun’s hands grab your arms, pulling you back.

“Not so fast,” he mutters. You fall to your knees, trying to break away from him, but his grip only tightens, this time in your hair, as he drags you across the room. Jace runs in with Joffrey in tow.

“Let her go, Blacktyde!” Joffrey yells, his face paling when he sees you. Barun stops moving and lets go of your hair when he sees them.

“Oh, Y/N, look who it is,” he says. In response, you kick his leg, knocking him to his knees. You make to move from him, but he grabs your ankle in the last second. Jace and Joffrey run at him, pulling him back, but not before you get a kick to his face.

Barun punches Joffrey hard, knocking him against the far wall. As Jace continues to hit him, taking his fair share of punches, you struggle to stand up. As you do, you see Barun reach for the knife at his side.

“No!” you scream, running towards them. You grab the back of Barun’s shirt, pulling him back as hard as you can, until the knife falls from his hand.

“Stupid bitch!” he bellows, turning around quickly, his hand outstretched. Pain erupts across your face as his back-handed slap hits. For a moment, you cannot see anything. But when your vision clears, you see Barun, his hands wrapped around Jace’s neck, and in that moment, you know it’s one or the other. He is never going to stop. There is no deal to be made where he will be happy enough to let you go.

As you get to your feet, the knife on the floor glitters in the light. You take it in your hand, trying not to hear the sounds of Jace’s struggle, Joffrey's grunts of pain as he tries to stand. All your focus is on the move Jace taught you, so many months back, on the sparring grounds. The knife is much shorter than the sword you had practiced on, but the movement is the same. Your aim is the same.

Centering yourself, you get a tight grip on the knife. It is Jace or Barun, you remind yourself. Jace or Barun.

You lunge.

For a moment, looking at the knife wedged into Barun’s lower back, you think you’ve must have missed, angled incorrectly. But then, red starts to seep across his back. You step back as Barun drops Jace, who gasps for breath on the floor. Barun looks back at you, shock and betrayal etched on his face.

“You cun—” he coughs, dropping to his knees. He reaches around for the knife, but he can’t reach. Blood begins to pool from his mouth and it’s clear his strength is fading rapidly. While you still have the sense to do so, you move to Jace’s side, helping him sit up. Red marks mar his neck, but he is alive. You wrap an arm around him, and he does the same, both of you watching as Barun takes his final breaths.

For a moment, you just sit there in silent horror, watching the life fade from his eyes. The blood quickly pools around him, at the same time that your breathing quickens. Your adrenaline has cooled quickly. Tears now fall from your face.

Jace notices immediately, tucking you into his arms. He shushes you quietly as Joffrey comes to your side. He quietly checks in with him, noticing the blood dripping from his nose.

“You had to, Y/N,” Joffrey says quietly. The fact only makes your tears come more violently.

"He's right," Jace says, "You had to. He would have killed all of us.”

That night, you stay in Jace’s room. Neither of you want to leave each other’s side. Besides, your room is covered in Barun’s blood.

Jace leaves you alone only long enough to speak with his mother, but even that time isn't long. He is back minutes later, and the look of relief when he sees you again is unmistakable.

Jace holds you tightly when the two of you get into bed. Your arms wrap around him the same, but sleep avails you. Every time you close your eyes, you see Barun’s black ones. Every shift of the castle sounds like his pounding fist. Too often, you look up at Jace, the bruising on his neck, making sure he’s real, that he’s still there. Each time you do, he is already looking at you, too.

“Y/N,” he says softly, brushing your hair back with a gentle hand. “We need to get some sleep.”

“I know,” you say, snuggling closer to his chest. For a while, you are both silent.

“You saved my life, you know,” he says, whisper soft.

“Jace.”

“You did,” he says, the intensity in his voice bringing your eyes to his. “I can never repay yo—”

“Oh shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I told you, you saved me first, when you promised I could come here. And every moment after. Don’t forget you came to my rescue.”

“Y/N,” he says, hand on your chin, “I’m trying to say thank you.”

“Oh,” you say, smiling gently. “I’d do it again if I had to, for you.”

“I pray you never do."

“I love you, Jace,” you say, He smiles as he brings your lips to his.

“I love you, Y/N.”

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 92 (Conrad's First Love)

cw: Conrad getting pretty spicy 🌶️🌶️🌶️ and not with Heather; references to human and drug trafficking (not depicted).

Follows the events of this post.

As she passed him to put away her gloves, a stunning redhead at Pappy Murphy's Boxing Gym caught Conrad's eye. Though he'd been deep in another bout of anger and self-pity over the death of his mother years earlier, he stopped his workout. Every inch of his being compelled him to talk to her.

She turned with a smile before he could stammer a single word. "Hi, handsome. Did you want a better look?"

He nervously introduced himself and she told him her name. "Ximena." The word floated from her lips like a song. He was instantly smitten.

"Ximena, could I buy you a drink?"

They spent the day in a local pub. He told her everything about his mother's death and his distance from his father in the years since. She listened, but she had a lot less to say about herself. "I live here with my brother. I'm a student, and I'm the only caretaker he has. Our parents aren't around anymore, and it's been just Rafa and me for years."

He could hear an accent when she spoke, and most people in Britechester weren't locals, so he made an assumption. "How long since you moved from Selvadorada?"

Surprised by his guess, she turned defensive. "I don't talk about Selva."

He liked her too much to press and push her away, so they spent the rest of the day flirting and discussing their interests until Ximena invited him back to her place. "You make me laugh, Conrad Gordon. My brother's still at school and I want to get to know you better without all this noise. I hate the music they play in here."

Once Conrad followed her out of the bar and back to the small home she shared with her kid brother, Rafa, he started following her everywhere.

He lost his virginity to her a week after they met. That night, she told him why she left Selvadorada.

"I was going to die or they were going to kill me. I wouldn't let them sell me to anyone anymore, so I made a plan and left with my brother in the middle of the night to come here."

She showed him the scars left by the cartel, and a resolve to keep her safe coloured his already steadfast affection. He let her cut his hair when she said she wanted to show him how freeing it felt to change his look. "It's nice not to recognize the person in the mirror, sometimes," she said.

She told him she was a student, often meeting him at Larry's Lagoon to study but usually distracting him into other activities. One afternoon, she introduced him to an old friend, Jimmy Stefano. "Can you help him out around campus? You're in the same major."

Something about Jimmy Stefano rubbed Conrad the wrong way, but he assumed it was jealousy. Despite this, he would already do anything for Ximena and agreed to take Jimmy under his wing.

He called his father to say he planned to stay at school for Spring Break. "Sorry, I know I said I'd come home to see you."

Stephen Gordon laughed him off, but masked slight disappointment. He had no idea whether his son was flourishing or floundering at college, unsure how he'd been coping so far from home. "Don't worry, son. I'm just glad you sound happy. You're making me and your mother proud."

He skipped classes to spend time with Ximena, but made no mention of this to his father, of course. He spent time with Rafa when Ximena said she had late-night classes, taking him to the park to play pirate captain versus sea monster, and talking endlessly with him about video games.

Rafa wanted to become a pirate captain in Sulani or a game tester in San Myshuno. He had almost no memory of life in Selva before his sister left, but he knew it was "the bad place." He liked spending time with Conrad because he said his sister was too strict. "She just loves you," Conrad assured him. "Parents have to set rules, and she can't just be your sister. She has to care for you like a parent, too."

He realized then how important it was to be a model for Rafa, who needed guidance as much as anyone his age. Conrad had always had his father, but who did Rafa have besides Ximena?

Conrad discovered how she paid for an entire house for her and her brother by accident, stumbling on an argument between her and Jimmy Stefano near the campus fountain. "The deal was thirty pounds for three grand."

"They said if I didn't have five grand they'd only give me fifteen. They had guns, Ximena."

"They all have guns! Knives, too. Get your own and figure out how to use it. Watcher, please, don't screw this deal up for me, Jimmy."

"Who has guns?"

"The cartel," said Jimmy, so nonchalant, yet it still hit Conrad like a missile. His stomach turned as he read Ximena's expression. Every lie she'd told him unravelled with a look.

"Are you really a student here, Ximena?"

"No. They're my customers."

He'd had his suspicions, but he'd always told himself he was wrong. Ximena was supposed to be perfect. Hoping against hope, he still tried to play the fool. "What do you mean?"

She dragged him back home to tell him the truth - how she'd bargained with the cartel to escape a life of servitude to the men who ran product all over Simlandia. She refused to serve them, but her way out was to join them instead.

Conrad was angry, but he couldn't stay mad at her for long. As they lay in bed that night, she asked, "Are you going to break up with me because of what I do?"

"Not a chance. I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiled, resting her head on his chest as he ran a hand through her newly blonde hair. "You look nice without glasses, Conrad."

"You already gave me a haircut, Xime. You don't like glasses?"

"Conrad, you're very sexy. But you hide it and it's silly."

"If you're going to give me a makeover, what should I get you?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Ximena, I want to give you everything you could ever want."

She blushed. "I want you, Conrad. But since I already have you, maybe...jewelry? Like a ring."

"You don't wear any rings."

"Because none are special enough, Conrad."

He smiled. "Alright, that's one idea. But say I wanted to surprise you, what else did you want?"

"You could join me running product for the cartel. Our lives would be made, and we'd always be together."

"I don't want to run product for the cartel, Ximena. But I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be there for you. Rafa, too."

"Right, but what if I go? Rafa loves you, Conrad, almost as much as me. But what if the cartel moved me somewhere else? Would you come with me? Maybe you could be, like, my security. No running, just keeping me safe. Always with me and Rafa."

He'd do anything to protect her, but he didn't answer her that day, refocusing on his studies until he returned to San Myshuno at the end of the semester.

He'd missed his father more than he expected, and they went for walks in warm sunshine by the Spice Market. They talked about school, and Conrad talked about Ximena - leaving out details of her career and focusing instead on her relationship with her brother. Conrad rarely asked his father about work, but Stephen hinted he was inching closer to retirement. "Chester's daughter Nancy is ready to take over the company, but Chester's not quite ready to retire. I think she's plotting a coup, but you didn't hear that from me."

"What happens to you if she pushes out her own father?"

"Hopefully, a retirement package. Chester may not be ready, but I think I am."

On one of their walks, they passed a jewelry store, and Conrad made a beeline for the ring counter. A confident salesman smiled as the Gordon men walked inside. "Welcome. What are we shopping for today?"

"I'm just looking," Conrad said. "What rings do you have?"

The salesman beamed. "Are we thinking of an engagement?"

Stephen eyed his son carefully, but Conrad shook his head. "Not right now. Just like, for an accessory."

"I don't know, son. A ring says you're ready for forever."

Conrad took his father's words to heart, considering what forever with Ximena might look like. He wanted to be with her, but he wasn't ready for a ring. He left that day with a nice bracelet for her, instead.

"Even leaving with a bracelet as nice as that one...she must mean something. I'd love to meet her."

Conrad nodded. "She might be able to visit this summer, if she's not too busy with work," he said.

Stephen smiled and the Gordon men continued their walk, strengthening the bond nearly severed by grief before Conrad returned to Britechester for another semester. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOT FUN FACT: Conrad got crab lice from Ximena when they slept together for the first time, which is gross but also fitting I guess. And yet I didn't make it canon because it didn't quite fit the vibe. Plus, he wasn't supposed to find out that early on that Ximena was problematic.

WCIF Poses Used? Various from packs Old Souls Love Differently by @simmireen (when Ximena is blonde), Our First Time by @eclypt0sims (redhead), The Kiss by @simmerberlin (black hair) and Nights Like These by @sakurasims-world (also redhead).

WCIF Jewelry Store? Jewelry Store by Guinifere on the Sims 4 Gallery. Very elegant interior and comes with crafting tables, a vault, charging stations - very nice lot! Needs dressing up with completed jewelry on the counters and in displays to look really spectacular (and I of course went the lazy route), but I wouldn't if I was playing a retail career, and this is a great lot for someone who wants to be a jeweler!

[vickytaa]

Music keeps me alive. M.S. Chapter II

summery: y/n's father passed away, and she moved to Boston to finish school. She always keeps her headphones on, only she knows the reason why. What happens when she meets Matt?

Chapter I - Chapter III

As she arrived home, her mind couldn't stop thinking about how lucky she was to have met such kind people as Nick and Anna. She had only spoken to them for a short time, yes, but the fact that they had taken the initiative to approach her when she was alone and had continued the conversation until there was no more time was an act that would undoubtedly remain etched in her memory.

Her mother wasn't home yet, as her new job started at the same time y/n got out of school. Because of that, y/n walked to the kitchen, grabbed a piece of fruit, and returned to the living room. Without hesitation, she grabbed the TV remote, searched for Spotify, and played her favorite playlist. It was moments like these that she loved to enjoy some jazz while doing homework, reading a book, or simply enjoying some alone time to think.

The windows were shut, all the lights in the house were off, the only light visible was that coming from the fireplace in front of the armchair. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, the vibrations of the music filling her ears. Everything was perfect... well, almost everything. Y/n had always loved being alone, since she never had anyone to show her the beauty of the moment, or anyone to share it with. Why has this changed now? Should it change? It wasn't necessary, she'd always enjoyed being like this. Y/n thought as the hours ticked by.

After a long time of pondering, Y/n realized it was quite late, so she decided to skip dinner and go straight to sleep. She went to her bed, after putting on her pajamas, and closed her eyes to drift off into a long, deep sleep.

The next morning, Y/n got up as usual, got dressed, ate breakfast, packed her backpack, and got ready for school. "You look very happy, honey. It's so nice that you're enjoying going back to school," her mother said. " Thanks, Mom, Nick and Anna seem like really good people and I'm so glad I met them," Y/n smiled. Her mother returned the smile and hugged her tightly. They said goodbye and Y/n started her journey to school.

On the way, thinking to herself and listening to music, she realized her mother was right. She felt happier herself the day she came back from her first day of school. But this had just started, and it was too early to say that she already liked going as much as when she was little, but you never know.

While swapping a few things in her locker and backpack, Y/n felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned around and quickly noticed Nick and Anna standing beside her, and a little further back were Matt and Chris. Y/n took out her headphones and let them hang around her neck. "Good morning, ready for your second day?" Nick asked with his usual kind and welcoming smile. Y/n simply nodded, closed her locker, and started a conversation with the four kids beside her, about some rather irrelevant topic.

Whenever Y/n spoke, she felt everyone's eyes on her, but Matt's were the most noticeable. He looked at her as if he were really listening, paying attention to every detail, every movement. And she also noticed that her cheeks were getting redder and redder, but luckily it seemed like no one had noticed, least of all Matt.

The five of them entered the classroom and sat in their respective seats, except Y/n who switched places with another boy to be closer to her new friends. The class went by normally for everyone, except Matt. Just like yesterday, he was distracted by the figure with straight hair and headphones in front of him, because the seat she had found was right in front of him. Luckily, no one noticed, or so he thought. "Matt, you're going to look obsessed with Y/n if you keep staring at her like that," Chris whispered in his ear. Matt just looked at him with a serious look, as if telling him to shut up. Chris chuckled lightly and went back to paying attention to the class.

“And you will have to form groups of five members to present the first big project of the year," Professor Thomas dictated. And suddenly, Y/n felt four heads turn to look at her, who was thinking about what she was going to do because she didn't know if they were really going to invite her. She was about to stand up to ask the professor if she could do it alone when she heard a deep but soft voice call her name. "Yes?" she asked. "Do you want to... maybe do the project with us?" Matt asked, clearly nervous, but she was too. It was the first time she had heard his voice, and damn, she was going to remember that voice, it was unmatched, its tone of kindness and gentleness, its softness and feelings, all in a simple voice.

She quickly accepted and sat back down at her desk, this time turning around to face her classmates. "If you want, you can come to our house today, my mom will be there and she can make us some snacks," Nick suggested. Anna and Y/n quickly agreed. Y/n's eyes quickly met Matt's and for a second she could swear she couldn't breathe. Her cheeks were burning, and the air was stuck in her throat. It was such an intimate moment, between the two of them, and public at the same time, since everyone could see. Her heart started beating faster, but all she did was smile. Matt quickly returned the smile, and they stayed that way for a few seconds that felt like years, studying each other, without caring about anyone else, just the two of them.

Their little moment was interrupted by Nick and Chris's shouts as they fought over who knew what Mom was going to cook when they arrived. "You don't even know if she's going to cook," Matt said, interrupting their fight. "Don't get involved, Matt," Chris said and went back to arguing with Nick, causing Matt and Y/n to laugh.

Later that day, Y/n sent a message to her mom saying she was going to hang out at Nick's house. It was the first time she was going to someone's house who wasn't family or a friend of her parents. And she was very nervous, it was a little noticeable. The five of them walked to the brothers' house and when they entered, they left their backpacks, Chris and Nick went straight to the kitchen to see what Mom had cooked, while Anna went to the bathroom, leaving Y/n and Matt alone for the first time. "Why are you nervous?" Matt asked, he didn't know Y/n, so he didn't know why she was nervous. "It's the first time I've been to a friend's house," Y/n confessed. As I said before, she never had friends, so this moment was very special to her. "Were your parents that strict?" Matt asked, trying not to sound too surprised, because he was, and Y/n was 17 years old and had never been to any friend's house before, which seemed strange to him. "No, they always let me go wherever I wanted, I just... never had... friends." Y/n said, so low it was almost like a whisper. She had never said it out loud, that's why she was 'ashamed'. Being 17 and having 0 friends was something she felt very ashamed of, not because she thought she was a bad person, she just wasn't very outgoing, or it was really because the place where she grew up didn't let her make friends because of how toxic it was. "I- Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't know," Matt started to say nervously, his words overlapped and his ideas crossed. "Don't worry, I'm so grateful to have met you." Y/n smiled at him and the knot of ideas in Matt's head was undone just by seeing her smile. He returned it and once again they stayed like that for a few seconds, the outside world didn't matter anymore than the two of them. Matt looked at Y/n's lips and then back at her eyes, he wanted to kiss her, and it showed, but he couldn't, they had just met. Y/n noticed and did the same, this time she looked at his lips a little longer than he did. The tension in the air could be felt, and they both felt this push towards each other. "Matt, Y/n!! Come to the living room!!" They both heard Chris shout.

Once there, they started taking out their folders and Nick brought his computer. "Okay, so we have to do a presentation on some monument and recreate it," Nick said. "Uh, I have an idea, what if we do the Statue of Liberty?" Chris suggested, "But so many people are going to do it for sure," Anna said. "Yeah, Anna's right, what about Christ the Redeemer in Brazil?" Nick said, "I don't know, I think we should do something with more history behind it, what do you think?" Matt asked. Everyone nodded and thought. "What if we do the monument at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park? I think the story is very interesting, I was reading a book about a survivor and it's very moving..." Y/n said but stopped when she saw that everyone was looking at her with a smile on their faces. "Um, is everything okay?" she asked nervously. "If you want, we can do something else..." She couldn't stop talking from nervousness, plus no one was saying anything and everyone looking at her made her even more nervous. "It's a great idea!" Nick said happily. And so, they all started thinking about how they were going to do it, what they were going to say, among other things.

After a long time working, they decided to relax a bit and play board games, as well as chat and chat for hours. They laughed a lot and shared a lot of stories, everyone listening to the other when they spoke. Y/n felt very happy, too much, and comfortable, being there, despite not knowing anyone well enough, she felt like she had known them for years.

At one point, Y/n looked at her watch to realize that it had gotten quite late, and walking alone in a new neighborhood at night... let's just say it wasn't a good idea. Matt noticed her worried face and asked, "Everything okay?" Y/n's gaze traveled from the clock to Matt's eyes, "Yes, it's just a bit late and I don't know if I can walk alone at this time..." "I can take you" Matt said, this took her by surprise, 'being alone with Matt always became... weird' she thought. But she also wanted to spend more time alone with him because she found him an interesting person. "No, it's okay, really" "Guys, I'm going to take Y/n home and I'll be right back" Matt announced. Y/n said goodbye to everyone and headed to the door where Matt was waiting for her. They went outside and got into the car, Matt opened the door for her and quickly ran to his. "Thank you, really, you didn't have to" Y/n said, a little embarrassed. "Don't worry, it's nothing to me. Besides, I want to have some alone time with you to get to know you better," Matt said, looking into Y/n's eyes and they stayed looking at each other again. "Uh, I think we should go" Matt said, interrupting the comfortable silence that invaded the car.

Y/n turned on the radio, as she hadn't listened to so much music all day and already felt like something was missing. "And now we'll be playing 'There's a light that never goes out' by The Smiths" the radio voice announced. "Uh, that's a good song" Y/n said and started turning up the volume. "Do you like The Smiths?" Matt asked, looking at her. "I love them" Y/n replied. The song started and they both began to sing along to it. "And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die" They both laughed and sang along with the song.

When they arrived, Matt got out again to open the door for Y/n, who thanked him and hugged him without warning, which took Matt by surprise, but he quickly wrapped his long arms around her waist and squeezed her gently. "Thank you for bringing me back." Y/n thanked him, pulling away a little to say goodbye and go into her house. Matt just smiled and watched her go into her house. His heart was beating very fast and happiness overflowed from his face.

V: Uhh I can feel the tension building 👀

Masterlist:))

[vettelsvee]

YOU’RE INSECURE, DON’T KNOW WHAT FOR | Lewis Hamilton

f1 one shots masterlist | wattpad | ao3

lewis hamilton x reader

summary: george and carmen invite y/n over for dinner but also lewis, who happens to be one of y/n's biggest role models, is there.

word count: 1801

warnings: age gap. use of y/n y/l/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback is truly appreciated!

Faith felt excited and, why not say it, a little nervous as she made her way in her short blue floral-print dress with red wine bottle in her left hand towards the house that her friend Carmen shared with her boyfriend, Formula 1 driver George Russell. The young woman had been invited by the couple to have dinner with them, taking advantage of the break between the Canadian and Austrian Grand Prix.

No matter how much she tried to remedy it, she knew that her unease stemmed from the fact that, as her friend had told her, Lewis Hamilton, the host's teammate, would also be there. The redhead was passionate about motorsports and had been following the competition since she was a child, so that's why she was not only impressed to be friends with someone who was part of her biggest passion, but also to be able to meet one of her idols.

Once the girl arrived at the residence, she knocked on the door and waited at the entrance for a few seconds until she was greeted by Carmen, who had a wide smile on her face:

"Hi there!" shouted Carmen, stretching out her arms as if to give the girl in front of her a hug. "I've been really looking forward to seeing you. I've missed you, have I told you yet?"

"Carmen, we saw each other last week," Faith answered with a smile.

"I know, but I've missed you and spending time with you."

With that said, the brunette ushered in her guest, who timidly entered and looked around. Despite it being an informal dinner, she noticed that they had taken the time to decorate the house with some hanging lights and freshly bought flower pots. Moreover, the table was elegantly set, and the appetizing smell of food filled her nostrils.

When she found herself face to face with Lewis chatting animatedly with Russell, she knew she was in paradise.

Had she died and been welcomed into heaven with open arms?

"Faith!" exclaimed the blue-eyed man upon seeing his girlfriend's friend. "Come, come, let me introduce you two," he said, waving his arms for the girl to approach. "This is the seven-time world champion, Lewis Hamilton, although I'm sure you know him well."

The girl felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest from how fast it was beating.

"Lewis," she expressed with a stutter that the brunette found quite cute, offering her hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you. I've been following you since you started in Formula 1 and, since then, you've been my biggest inspiration."

"The honor is mine, Faith," Hamilton responded, giving her a hug. "George and Carmen have told me a lot about you, so I'm glad to have finally met you."

As the night progressed, the four of them conversed animatedly, and on more than one occasion, Lewis and Faith talked alone, mainly because the couple acted as matchmakers for them. They realized that it wasn't just their passion for the world of motorsport that they had in common, but much more. It was undeniable that there was great chemistry between them, and both wanted and hoped to continue that kind of friendship beyond that dinner.

The gathering lasted until the early hours of the morning, and Faith panicked when she discovered on her mobile phone that it was two-thirty in the morning; although she didn't owe anyone an explanation, the next morning she had to act like a responsible adult and tidy up her small, but chaotic, apartment.

As she got up from the table, followed by Carmen and George, she thanked them both for their hospitality. Lewis, at that moment, realized that the young woman planned to walk home, which worried him.

Quickly, he approached the girl:

"Hey, Faith," he began to say, "let me take you home. It's not safe for you to go alone this late at night. There's crazy people out there, you know?"

The girl felt flattered by the proposal from the Brit, although she also didn't want to be a bother to him. Also, she liked being an independent woman.

"Thank you, Lewis," Faith replied, "but I can take care of myself. Besides, my house is just about three streets from here, so it's not even a ten-minute walk."

Hamilton didn't give up easily. The girl with whom he had gotten along so well that night, apart from being sleepy, was a bit tipsy from the very good wine she had brought. In conclusion: a magnet to attract any pervert.

"I'm sure you're a completely independent woman," the brunette continued, "but I can't leave you alone this late. And make it clear that you're not a burden to me either," he insisted. "Let me take you home, please."

The redhead stared at the pilot. His eyes showed honesty and, especially, concern. She realized that, as stubborn as he might be, he was only concerned about her safety.

After a few brief moments that were for mere show, she agreed.

"Okay, Lewis. If that will make you sleep better tonight, I guess I'll have to accept your very kind offer."

With a relieved smile, mentally patting himself on the back, Hamilton and Faith, after saying goodbye to George and Carmen, headed to the parking lot where the pilot had parked.

During the short car ride, they continued chatting and laughing, enjoying each other's company pleasantly, feeling increasingly comfortable with each other's company.

As Lewis's car parked in front of the apartment building where the girl lived, he carefully turned off the engine and turned to her, placing his arm on the passenger seat.

"I guess we've arrived," the Mercedes pilot said, with a timid smile on his face.

Faith returned the smile in gratitude for the man's gesture.

"Thank you for bringing me home," the girl clarified. "The truth is, I really appreciate that you insisted on bringing me back. I felt much safer with your company."

Before the girl proceeded to get out of the vehicle, Lewis gently took her hand, giving it a kiss.

"It's been a pleasure spending time with you tonight," he confessed, "well, and also getting to know you. Would you mind giving me your phone number, so we can stay in touch?"

"Of course," Faith replied, "I would love to see you again."

After exchanging phone numbers, they said goodbye with the hope and promise of seeing each other again. Without a doubt, the moment Faith entered the apartment building, climbed the stairs to her own, and entered, she knew that the dinner at her friends' house had marked a turning point in the relationship with the man she considered her idol.

The months went by, so did the relationship between Lewis and Faith, who tried to meet the driver whenever his schedule allowed them to.

The truth is, what started as a friendship between idol and admirer had ended up becoming something deeper. They talked every day, and knew each other even better than they knew themselves.

One day Lewis, with the intention of clarifying the non-dating relationship between him and the woman he considered his girl, decided to invite her to the next Grand Prix, which would take place at Silverstone. Faith, knowing that she couldn't continue hiding her feelings, gladly accepted the invitation.

The race on Sunday was a piece of cake for Hamilton, who secured the first victory of the 2023 season thanks to an engine failure for Max Verstappen, the championship leader, which forced him to retire from the race. It seemed surreal, but both the redhead and the brunette thought that, perhaps, she was the lucky charm of the seven-time world champion.

"Congratulations, Lew!" the girl shouted with joy as Lewis approached the members of his team.

After a brief nod, since he couldn't express much more with his helmet on, he went to the podium to receive his prize and then proceeded to do the corresponding interviews. Once he had fulfilled his duties as the winner, he quickly sent a message to Faith, telling her that they would be going to have dinner that same night to one of the man's favorite restaurants.

Obviously, Faith accepted, and a few hours later she found herself arm in arm with Lewis entering a private dining area at said restaurant.

While they enjoyed some dishes that were already customary for the Brit, but a pleasant surprise for the girl, there was a moment when Lewis stopped eating and began to stare at his companion intently.

"Faith, I want to be completely honest with you," the young man began, his voice full of emotion. "I am deeply in love with you, from the moment I met you; and, from what you have indicated to me over these months that we have continued our relationship, I know that you feel the same way too."

Faith knew that her companion was right, and at that moment, she felt her whole body tense up. What would a person with worldwide fame and an impressive status in the world of sports do with a girl like her, who worked as a waitress in a bar?

She had no doubt that serving drinks didn't measure up to racing at 300 kilometers per hour every other weekend.

Lewis noticed that Faith was starting to overthink things, he could tell by her face. Therefore, he took her hand and continued speaking:

"I know you're worried because our lives are poles apart, but I want you to know that I don't care at all about what people might think if we take the next step," he explained. "The only thing that matters to me is you. You're insecure, and I don't know what for."

The redhead looked at Lewis, giving him a look that gave her enough confidence to confess her feelings:

"I'm also in love with you, Lewis," she finally admitted, "but I'm afraid I won't be able to live up to what you deserve."

Lewis got up from his seat, approached her, and hugged her, trying to comfort her.

"I can't promise you that everything will be a bed of roses," the pilot declared, stooping down to her level, "but I assure you that I'll be walking alongside you to make the journey easier for us."

Faith nodded, agreeing with Lewis, finally realizing that fear was preventing her from moving forward with her life.

"You're right, Hami," the girl said. "Fear is paralyzing me."

"So... does that mean you're officially becoming my wonderful girlfriend?"

A mischievous smile appeared on Lewis Hamilton's face, who had finally achieved what he had desired so much since that dinner he had been invited to by his teammate and his girlfriend.

"Of course," Faith replied. "I'm ready to become Formula 1 newest favorite wag."

[roosterforme]

The Curveball Part 4 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob ends up on thin ice with Molly after Bradley ends up on thin ice with her sister. But all he can think about is the perfect night he spent with her and how he'd be crushed if he didn't get a chance to do it all again. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, 18+

Length: 5300 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

Bob was trying his best to be in the moment at the Hard Deck, since he was the one who invited Molly's sister out for a drink. He wanted to say thank you for all the hard work she put in while Bradley was away. But he was so distracted. 

Molly had spent the entire day sending him selfies while she was at work, and some of them were definitely rated mature. Bob had almost broken his phone earlier trying to minimize a photo of Molly's pierced nipples when Coyote walked over to him. She had snapped the photo of herself in the bathroom at the hospital when she was on break along with the caption I miss you, Bobby <3

The little heart at the end reminded him that he had already said he loved her. He assumed she hadn't heard him, but it made him blush just the same. And now he was at the bar with her sister and Bradley, which should have been fun, but he just wanted to get home and see Molly. 

Bob watched Nat and Jake both relentlessly flirt with Team Mom, but there was no way she had eyes for anyone except Bradley. And then he wondered what it would be like if he brought Molly here. He wanted to, because he already wanted to be with her all the time. But...Bob looked around at all the guys, and that feeling of self doubt was back. Jake was handsome and charming, and probably the kind of guy Molly was used to being with. 

When Nat offered to buy a drink for Team Mom, Bob cut her off, glad for the distraction. "No, it's on me! It's the least I can do since you gave up so much of your time this week to fill in for Bradley. What do you like?" And while he was up at the bar, waiting patiently for Penny to fill his order, Molly's sister ran out of the bar, followed closely by Bradley. 

"What happened?" Bob asked, holding two beers while Jake rubbed his forehead with his fingers. He mumbled a response and walked away, but when Bradley finally came back inside, he looked like he was ready to kill Jake. 

And then the barrage of text messages from Molly came through. Bob's eyes went wide as he read them.

Are you aware that your buddy Bradley is actually a fucking dickhead? I can't BELIEVE what he did to my sister! 

Seriously, Bob. Why didn't you warn my sister about him?! What the fuck! He called Everett baggage!

Please tell me you're not like him!

You know what? Maybe I don't want to find out. 

Bob called her immediately, but she didn't answer. When he got her voicemail, he said, "Mo, please call me back so we can talk, okay? I don't think Bradley meant any of what he said. He's not a bad guy. And I... don't think I could ever do anything to hurt you." He contemplated telling her he loved her again, but he ended the call before he could. 

He was already home for the night when he got one last text from her.

I'm not coming over. 

Bob collapsed in his bed, raking his fingers through his hair, wondering if this, of all things, was what would cost him his chance with her.

--------------------------

Molly was having a wonderful evening with Everett. They painted huge masterpieces on poster boards and left all the messy brushes in the kitchen sink. Molly secretly loved leaving an innocuous mess for her sister to clean up in her otherwise spotless house. It kept her on her toes. 

"Movie time? With ice cream?" she asked Everett, checking the time. Of course she'd let him stay up late. That's just what aunts did. 

"There's ice cream?!" he shouted, sprinting back into the kitchen.

"Of course there's ice cream," she replied, kneeling in front of the freezer. "I know all of your mom's secrets. She thinks she's so sneaky, but you can't get anything past me." After removing all the healthy, pre portioned frozen dinners, Molly hit the jackpot. There was a gallon of fudge ripple and a gallon of vanilla raspberry. "See?" she asked Everett, holding them both up.

"Fudge ripple! Fudge ripple! Fudge ripple!" he chanted, and soon they were watching a PG-13 movie with two spoons stuck in the ice cream carton. 

"Want some more?" she asked, passing the carton to him.

He took a bite and said, "I don't think my mom wanted me to watch this movie."

Molly sighed and shook her head. "I'll cover your eyes for the scary parts, okay?"

"Okay!" he agreed.

Molly took a few more bites before she asked him, "You like Coach Bob, right?"

"Oh yeah, like a whole lot," he replied. "Almost as much as I like Coach Bradley."

"That's a lot," Molly muttered. "I like him, too." She was smiling as Everett looked at her. 

"You should probably marry him," he said seriously. "I heard my mom say that Coach Bob is smart and nice and that she never thought you could do so well."

Molly scoffed and rolled her eyes. "That sounds exactly like something your mom would say, and that's exactly why we are eating her overpriced ice cream without her. Now close your eyes for the scary part."

About twenty minutes later, Everett was sound asleep on her lap while she finished the ice cream. Then she carried him up to bed, starting to get a little nervous that her sister would be back soon. She tucked him in, turned on his nightlight, and then hightailed it back to the kitchen to hide the evidence of the empty ice cream carton. 

But when she got home, Molly could tell something was wrong and went right into protective jungle cat mode. "What happened?" she asked softly as soon as she saw her sister's tear streaked cheeks and quivering lips.

After a few minutes of being held in Molly's arms, she was able to whisper, "Bradley told all of his friends that he'd never date me, because I have baggage."

"That fucking prick. Does Bob know about this?"

"Probably," she said softly against Molly's shoulder. "He must."

"I'll call him right now," Molly said vehemently. 

"No, please don't. You had an immaculate first solo date with him last night which ended in a hot makeout session. I don't want the three ring circus that is my life to start messing up yours."

It had been more than a makeout session, but Molly wasn't going to correct her. She was so into Bob after being intimate with him, that she was devastated now. Because Molly knew she would ditch him in an instant, even if it would hurt, in order to support her family. 

Molly kissed her sister's cheek and promised, "Your life is not a three ring circus. And Everett is not baggage. And Bradley isn't worth your time if that's what he thinks. Now let me help you get changed for bed."

-----------------------

Bob barely slept, and he was wide awake before his alarm went off on Saturday morning for the tee ball game. He hadn't heard another word from Molly. Even if she wanted to yell over the phone, he would have loved to hear her voice. 

When he arrived at the ballfield, Bradley was already there. "You look like shit," Bob told him, and he could hear the disappointment in his own voice. 

Bradley closed his eyes briefly. "I feel worse. Promise."

"Did you talk to her?" Bob asked. Bradley didn't hang around at the bar last night after things blew up, so Bob really wasn't sure exactly how bad it was.

"She doesn't want to talk to me. I'm such an idiot."

Bob just kind of shrugged as he set things up for their game against the Tiny Blue Jays. "Molly is angry, too," Bob informed him. "She's barely texted me back since yesterday."

Now Bradley looked sincerely upset on Bob's behalf. "I'm so sorry."

"I'll figure it out," Bob mumbled. "And you need to apologize to Team Mom until she forgives you. Did you tell her that you said all of that stuff a long time ago? You barely even knew her then."

"Yeah, but I still said it," Bradley replied, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "And between the slap to my face and the valid points she was yelling at me, I didn't get a chance to try to explain myself. But she's not going to want to hear it anyway."

Then Bob felt his heart lurch as he looked up toward the parking lot and saw Molly and Everett headed his way. "I'll be right back," he mumbled and headed for her immediately. 

Everett ran past him, calling out, "Hi, Coach Bob!" before continuing on to Bradley. But Bob had his sights set on Molly and her beautiful face filled with indignant anger.

"Molly," he gasped, wanting to reach for her as she came stomping to a halt in front of him. She was glorious. God, he was in love with her.

"Tell me you knew," she demanded. "Tell me you knew Bradley was trying to play my sister." She was practically vibrating with concealed rage now. "Tell me you fucking knew he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as them."

Bob swallowed hard, and her eyes flashed. "Molly, he loves them. I don't think he would do or say anything to intentionally hurt either of them." 

"He has a sick way of showing it," she spat. "He called Everett baggage."

Bob held his forehead in his hands. "I think Bradley just needs to talk to her. He's so crazy about them, he's really beating himself up."

Bob watched Molly glance past him to glare at Bradley while he helped Everett get ready for the game. "He can rot," she said, but her voice was softer now. "And so can you if you agree with what he said." 

"I don't," he promised. "Please, Molly. I...I missed you yesterday as soon as I dropped you off at your car. I missed you all night. I missed texting with you until one of us fell asleep."

She looked up at him, eyes searching his face. She muttered, "I missed you, too," and then she was heading toward the bleachers. 

----------------------------

Molly was finding it hard to keep giving Bob the cold shoulder after another day. She was spending a lot of her time with her sister and nephew, sleeping over there and taking Everett out to keep him entertained.

She didn't feel any better after she blew up at Bradley. In fact Molly felt worse, because she sensed that Bradley really was sincere in the way he just wanted to apologize. And he clearly doted on Everett. Maybe he really did just want a chance to apologize, but Molly knew her sister wasn't ready to listen yet.

Her phone went off, and she reached for it while she was making coffee at her place late on Sunday morning. 

Coach Cute Glasses: I miss you, Molly. 

She groaned; the gas station flowers were in the vase right next to her, and she was trying not to look at them. Casey never did anything like give Molly flowers. He'd given her some hickeys and exactly two orgasms. But he also hadn't been friends with anyone who hurt her sister. 

She moaned helplessly. Her body was betraying her. She wanted to spend another night curled up with Bob, all warm and protected. She wanted to feel his even breathing and listen to his soft voice as she fell asleep. "Damn it," she whined, typing out a message to him.

Miss you, too. Any chance I'm still invited to your place? 

Molly was weak for Bob. She knew that already. Just one night with him, and she was constantly daydreaming about him at work. His rough hands. And how sweet he was. And how he wanted to be exclusive with her already. And his big cock. 

Coach Cute Glasses: You are always invited. Please, Molly, anytime. Do you want to spend the night with me? 

Molly snorted as she read the text, but another one was already coming through.  

Coach Cute Glasses: I didn't mean that the way it probably sounded! I'd just love to see you. I would be so happy if you wanted to come by, and even happier if you wanted to stay with me all night. I liked how it felt to wake up in bed with you. 

Molly tucked her phone into the pocket of her scrubs. He could wait it out for a bit. That sort of thing was good for a man. Especially one who was that eager to see you. But by the time she parked at the hospital, she texted him back. 

---------------------------------

Bob was in such a panic. Molly was coming over. And he wasn't sure if she was upset with him or just Bradley. He wasn't sure if she was planning on staying over. 

"I'm sorry," Bradley told him for the hundredth time when he called him. "I'm sorry if I blew it for you."

"I'm going to talk to Molly in a few hours," Bob said, rushing through the parking lot to his truck. He was running around, grocery shopping, trying to distract himself. 

"Can you tell her I miss her sister and Ev?" Bradley asked.

"I'll try," Bob promised as he got into his truck and ended the call.

Molly worked until 8 o'clock. He had a few hours to kill before he'd see her, so he wasn't quite sure why he was rushing. Then he stopped for more gas station flowers and cleaned his already spotless condo. He tried to eat dinner, but he couldn't stomach anything except toast. And when he finally heard her ringing the intercom button, he ran to answer it.

"It's Molly," she said softly, and he quickly let her into the building. He stood with his front door open, and a minute later, there she was. She had changed after work, and she looked stunning. No make-up at all and just some jeans and a crop top, but Bob felt suddenly short of breath. He wanted to run his hand along the flower tattoos on her side, and kiss her there too. 

"Molly," he whispered, fighting the urge to blurt out another I love you. He needed to keep it together right now. "Come in."

She walked past him and looked slowly around his living room and dining room while he closed and locked his door. He didn't have a lot of stuff, and suddenly he felt a little ridiculous that his place was so sparse. 

"Very clean," she muttered, her voice and clothing filling the space with so much color and warmth as she examined the gas station flowers. "I wouldn't know how to keep up with it," she said, turning and smiling softly at him. 

"I missed you," he blurted out, and her smile grew.

"Tell me more," she demanded, turning to fully face him. 

Bob swallowed and took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. He was afraid he was going to stutter or say something stupid, but Molly just smiled at him, her all-knowing eyes gentle on his face as she waited.

"I...can't get you out of my mind. I called the runway attendant Molly by accident earlier, because I was thinking about you. Phoenix, my pilot, will never let me live it down."

Molly's laughter had him taking a step closer. "Tell me more," she said, also taking a step toward him. 

"I can't stand the thought of you being upset with me," he said sincerely. He ducked his head and added, "Thursday evening was one of the best nights of my life. Because I spent it with you." He paused, finally daring to meet her eyes.

"Oh, keep going," she said with a nod. "You're doing great."

"I want you to believe I'd never be friends with Bradley if I didn't think he was a good person. And I think he just got a little mixed up. Your sister and nephew really threw him for a loop, you know? But he really loves them."

Molly hummed and shrugged. "I guess I could relay that message to my sister. But I also have a message from me to you."

Bob took a deep breath. "What is it?"

"I missed you, too. I can't stop thinking about you either. And Thursday night and Friday morning, you were so sweet to me, I just want more." Then she kissed his chin and took his hands in hers. "I want you to touch me."

Bob pulled her close as she placed his hands at her waist. He would never get used to being around her, not as easily as she seemed to already know how he operated. She looked up at him, gaze open and earnest. Soft fingers gliding up his arms, tucking into the short sleeves of his tee shirt and gently squeezing his biceps. She placed three soft kisses to the corner of his lips, and he was done. He had to fight the invading thoughts of her nipple piercings and the way her body feels and looks when she's whining for him in her bed beneath him.

"Molly," he begged, but he wasn't sure what he was begging for. 

"Bobby?" she asked softly, pushing one hand through his hair and keeping his gaze focused on her. "I think I need you to fuck me."

"Oh," he groaned, turning her and pushing her back against the wall. He caged her in, and she looked absolutely delighted. 

"If you want to." Her voice was soft and sweet, and her gaze was anything but.

"Honey," Bob managed between ragged breaths as she let her hands come to rest on his abs. She was messing with him. Messing him up completely. She knew exactly what she was doing, but meanwhile, Bob was new to this game. But he was a quick study. A fast learner. 

So when Molly licked her lips and pouted, saying, "You don't want me Bobby? I thought you wanted to be the only one," he was ready for her. 

He wedged one thigh up between her legs, and she gasped. Then his mouth was on hers, rough and demanding. She was grabbing for his shoulders, rubbing herself all over him. He could feel her teeth, digging into his bottom lip, not hard, but definitely not soft. When she released him, she licked his lips until her tongue was in his mouth. 

Bob was rock hard, and try as he may to keep control in this moment, he couldn't. Because Molly was stroking him through his pants and tasting his mouth. Her nose was rubbing along his as she whispered, "Do you want me, Bobby?"

He reached down, wrapping both of his hands around the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up into his arms. Then her lips were on his neck and her arms were wrapped around him as he took her to his bedroom. She was on her back on his bed, kicking her shoes off while her little top rode up so Bob could see the soft undersides of her breasts. There was too much to admire here, and he froze up. 

When Molly's hands found the zipper of her jeans, she whispered. "I want you to say it, Bobby. I want you to tell me everything you plan to do to me." And then her hand was slipping inside her underwear, and she was stroking herself as he watched. 

"Mo," his voice was hoarse. He pushed her knees apart and settled between her legs, bending to kiss her wrist before pulling her hand free of her jeans. "I want to put my mouth on you."

The smile that curled along her lips as she started to shimmy out of her jeans and underwear should have made him a little nervous, but he was beyond help. Her bare pussy was right there, and she smelled so good. As soon as her jeans hit his floor, Bob's face was buried in her. 

"Alright, Lieutenant Floyd," she moaned softly. "Okay." And to Bob's delight and dismay, Molly's hands were on her own breasts, pushing her shirt up and playing with her piercings. She tasted so good as he ran his tongue through her wetness and sucked on her clit. But soon he was rutting into the bed, the sight of her fingers on those little barbells spurring him on. 

When Bob slipped his tongue inside her, Molly's back arched off the bed as she started whining for him. "Bobby, I want your big cock." He grunted in response, willing to give her anything in this moment, and shocked by how much he liked her dirty talk. 

He worked the zipper over his painfully hard erection and scrambled to get himself free. And then he was rocking into her at the same time he got his mouth on her nipples. 

"Yes," she hissed softly, head tipped back with a soft giggle on her lips. He was fucking her, and it felt just as perfect as it had a few days previously. Like her whole body was made for him. Like every response from her perfect lips was just what he needed to hear. "So fucking big."

He pushed those little, silver barbells around with his teeth and tongue, tugging a little bit until Molly was gasping his name. When he sucked harder on her nipples, she was screaming for him. And when she came on his cock, holding his face against her breasts and shaking beneath him, Bob could hardly believe he'd been able to make her orgasm again. 

"Molly," he gasped. "I love the way you shake."

"Oh my god," she moaned as he fucked her through her little tremors. But then she was sitting up, kissing his face, and Bob slipped out of her perfect warmth as she moved to kneel on his floor.

"What are you doing?" he whispered as she guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. She pulled her shirt over her head, and ran her hands up over his thighs. Bob's pants were pulled down to his knees, and Molly pushed them to his ankles before wrapping her pretty lips around his cock. She settled in between his legs, and Bob could only stare at her and try to memorize the obscene sounds they made together. 

Molly was good at this. She was good at everything. Bob tried to keep up, but her mouth felt too perfect. And then she popped up onto her knees and started running the tip of his cock along those pretty piercings. "Molly!"

"You like that?" she asked coyly, but Bob was hypnotized by the look and feel of the barbells on his erection. With a soft groan, Molly squeezed her perfect breasts together, sandwiching Bob between them. He thrust himself up closer to her mouth, and sure enough, she parted her pretty lips and licked him. Bob continued to do this until he was grunting and Molly's saliva was dripping down her chest, making the sensations even more spectacular for him. 

Slick saliva, wet breasts and Molly's mouth. "Oh!" he grunted, stroking her cheek with his knuckles as she sucked on him. But when she took his tightening balls in her soft hand and gave him a little squeeze, Bob came hard, without any warning. He watched in alarm as his cum spurted all over her lips and cheeks while she giggled. Molly jerked him off until he was gasping for air and wishing he had enough in him to coat her whole body, because it looked that pretty.

She licked her lips and opened her eyes, and Bob watched as his cum dripped down from her eyelashes, along her cheek and landed on her nipple piercing. Molly took his hand in hers and ran his fingers through the mess before guiding his hand up to her lips. She tasted him there and ran her tongue between his long fingers and across his palm. 

"You made the mess," she whispered before sucking on his thumb for a beat. "Now you have to help me clean up."

"Gladly," he promised, nearly rocketing off the bed as she set his hand on her breast. Bob used his wet thumb to collect his cum from her piercing and then he let her take his hand between her lips again. But then he was on the floor with her, pushing her gently onto her back as she laughed. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, but the words died on her lips when Bob licked his own cum off of her chest before kissing her and letting her taste it. He held both of her wrists in his hands above her head, and he was treated to the sights and sounds of Molly. She was rubbing her pussy along his soft length as she licked his cum from his mouth, and Bob just enjoyed making out with her on the floor. Everything tasted like him and smelled like Molly, and he listened to her soft laughter. 

His hands and shirt were a mess of cum, and Molly's pretty face absolutely lit up for him when he whispered, "I like the way I taste on your skin."

"Bobby. You fucking deviant," she moaned, taking his face between her slightly sticky palms and leaning up to kiss his lips. She wrapped one leg around his waist to keep his body against hers, and Bob let his cheek come to rest on her chest. He'd never been called anything close to that before, but he could tell he'd lose himself in the moment with Molly over and over again like this if she'd keep letting him. 

And then he blurted out, "You're not mad at me then?" while she combed her fingers through his hair. 

She hummed in contemplation. "No, I'm not mad at you, Coach Bob. I'm pissed off at Bradley, and I'm trying to protect my family. But I'm not mad at you."

Bob sighed in relief and ran his fingers along her pretty tattoo. He had found it actually painful the way she'd been avoiding talking to him, but he could see where she was coming from. 

"That makes me happy. And I can understand you wanting to protect them. They are where your loyalty lies."

"Don't fuck with my family," she whispered softly as she turned her head, and Bob glanced up at her as she swiped at her eyes. "I hardly have any left."

Bob could sense that she wanted him to change the subject, so he kissed her soft skin and said, "I like your tattoos."

She laughed sardonically and said, "Thanks."

"Did you get the carnation tattoos because it's your favorite flower?" he asked, running his index finger along the colorful ink.

"No," she told him. She was quiet for a moment, and Bob started sweating before she asked, "Did you know that there are different flowers that coordinate with your birth month?" 

Bob had heard of this before. "Sure," he told her, wondering where she was going with this. 

Her voice sounded a little rough, but her fingers were still soft in his hair as she said, "My parents were both born in January. Carnations were their birth flowers. That's why I have the tattoo. And kind of why I love the gas station flowers."

"Oh," Bob said, about to add that she didn't need to talk about it if she didn't want to. But then she rolled a little closer to him as he sat up, and she pointed to the other three flowers mixed in.

"The morning glory is for my sister's birthday. The chrysanthemum is mine. And the pretty red rose is for Everett's birthday in June. I got that one the day after he was born. It's actually my favorite one."

"It's beautiful," Bob told her, running his thumb along the chrysanthemum and meeting her eyes. 

"Listen," she told him, kissing the tip of his nose. "I'm protective of my sister. She took care of me when our parents both died. I moved in with her while she finished college. She shared her bed with me and made sure I ate. She sold my parent's house and gave me most of the money to pay for nursing school and a new, reliable car. And the fact that I can occasionally help her out a little bit now is really important to me. So if you think I need to castrate Bradley, you should probably just tell me now, okay?"

Bob laughed in spite of himself. "Maybe a kick to the nuts, but castration is probably not necessary, Honey. He's beating himself up enough, I can tell you that much. And I honestly think Bradley would jump in front of a moving car for Everett." 

"See, now that's what I like to hear," she told him, sitting up and draping her arms around him. Her skin was a little sticky from his cum, and Bob let her push him back until he was laying on the floor underneath her this time. She settled her chin in his chest and looked up at him. "Now tell me when your birthday is, Lieutenant Cute Glasses. I want to know how your flower would look in my tattoo bouquet."

Bob could feel his cheeks warming up. She wanted to know what a tattoo in his honor would look like on her perfect skin. And now she was just lounging right there on him, naked as the day she was born and just completely flawless. And she was waiting, just like she always did. Waiting until he was ready to say what he was thinking, but never rushing him.

He laughed softly and shook his head. "I have the most embarrassing birthday," he told her, and she cocked her head to the side. 

"Oh," she sighed. "April twentieth?" 

"No," he told her. "Worse. Leap day. February 29th."

"Oh! No, that's such a good one, Bob!" she insisted. "And your flower would be a violet. So pretty!"

But he just kept shaking his head. "Mo, you don't understand, Honey."

"Then explain it to me," she whispered, kissing his chest and stroking his skin. 

"My name is Bob. B O B. Bob. I got the nickname Baby On Board during flight training a decade ago, because I was technically five years old...."

She blinked at him a few times before she burst into laughter. Bob waited while Molly rolled around on the floor, gripping her sides and gasping for air. "And technically how old are you now?" she managed to ask through her laughter.

Bob waited until she calmed down a bit more. "Eight."

"Eight!" she screeched. "Don't say that to me! We've had sex!" Her laughter had Bob chuckling too now. "How old would you be if you had a birthday every year?" she asked, eyes wide as she giggled.

"Thirty two."

"Thirty two! Perfect," she sighed, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I'm not going to get arrested then."

Bob rolled his eyes and whispered, "I think a new flower would look pretty good in your bouquet."

And now Bob was thinking about a violet tattoo on her skin next to the other pretty flowers as Molly curled up on his bedroom floor with her arm wrapped around him. 

---------------------------------

Bob without Molly....it just doesn't make sense. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing!

PART 5

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[libraryofgage]

The Prince and the Metalhead

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse One (you're here!)

Despite the title, this series will focus a little more on Steve growing up in Genovia for the first few parts. That being said, there will be Steddie because this whole thing was inspired by my desire to write a modern royalty AU.

So, ya know, it's coming lol

For now, just enjoy Steve being raised by our favorite queen.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

Clarisse stares at the two-story house from the driveway. It looks incredibly...American. It's American in a way that Amelia's home and city aren't. This house is the Ideal American Home, the kind people are told is the goal in life, the kind with no personality and no distinguishing features compared to other houses on its street. It's the kind of house she'd never see in Genovia, and she's glad for it.

"Your Majesty," Joe says, pulling her attention from the house to her driver. "If you are nervous, may I suggest returning another day?"

She knows exactly what he's doing. It still works. She still pulls herself together, rolls her shoulders back, and raises her chin. "A queen is never nervous. She is simply calculating her approach."

With that, she opens the door and gracefully (the kind of grace that comes with years of practice) steps out of the car. She smooths down her clothes, takes one more deep breath, and strides to the front door. Joe is just a step behind her, always a step behind her, as she rings the doorbell and waits.

A few moments pass, the blinds in the window next to the door shift, and then the door is pulled open. A young boy, certainly no more than ten, stands before her, looking nervously between Clarisse and Joe.

And could you blame Steve? The only visitors he gets when his parents are gone are secretaries that sweep into the home, make sure he's alive, and leave right after. Nobody rings the doorbell, nobody knocks, and nobody knows he's alone in the big house, just like his parents told him it should be.

"Hello," the lady says, her accent vaguely European and similar to his father's. "Are you Steve Harrington?"

If she knows his name, maybe she's been sent by his parents. She looks fancy enough, and the guy with her looks scary enough. Steve grips the door tighter and nods once. "Yes, ma'am," he says, his voice soft and barely a whisper so he doesn't upset her.

"Good. Is your father home?"

"No, ma'am."

That makes her pause, her lips tugging down in a frown, and Steve wonders if he's already failed whatever test this must be. His father will give them sometimes, in the rare moments he's home, and it's always to measure how polite Steve his, how proper, how cultured. This must be a new kind of test, a way for his father to further measure him. He gathers himself, takes a subtle breath, and asks, "Would you like to come in?"

"You don't know who we are," the man suddenly says. "Why are you inviting us in?"

Oh. He's failing this test already. Steve bites his lip, ducking his head. "It's polite to invite people in," he says. "But, um, could you tell me your names first?"

He glances up to see that frown on the lady's face deepen, and his stomach starts to churn. "Yes, of course," she says, clearing her throat before continuing, "I am Clarisse Renaldi, and this is Joe."

Steve looks between the two of them before slowly nodding. "Please, come in," he says, holding the door open. The two adults are hesitant but enter the home anyway, watching Steve as he shuts the door silently and locks it. "This way, please."

He leads them to the living room, looks at the books and papers spread on the coffee table, and blushes. "I'm sorry for the mess," he says, quickly sweeping everything off the coffee table and holding it close to his chest. "I was doing homework and didn't expect visitors. Please, sit. I'll get some tea."

With that, he turns on his heel and hurries out of the living room. He presses his back against the wall, eyes closed and heart racing as he listens to the man and woman talk. "He's very polite," the woman says, sounding pleased and surprised.

"Too polite," the man replies, "What ten year old says things like expecting visitors and offers to make tea?"

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and hurries to the kitchen. He puts his papers and books on the small table there, climbs the stool in front of the sink to fill a kettle with water, and then climbs the stool in front of the stove to place it down. He turns on the burner, watching the flames jump before getting cups, a teapot, tea leaves, and a tray to place it all on.

In total, the process from heating the water to pouring it over the leaves in the pot and carrying that to the living room is no more than eight minutes. It still feels like an eternity, though, when Steve knows each second is a mark against him. "I'm sorry for making you wait," he says as he enters the living room, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. He pours a cup for the woman first, then the man, and then himself, careful not to spill a drop.

"Did you make this yourself?" the woman asks, picking up her teacup and taking a polite sip.

When Steve nods, he gets a tiny smile in return. And then the man says, "Aren't you a little young to do these things?"

Steve has been taught how to answer questions like this, ones that imply his parents aren’t doing enough to raise him. He picks up his teacup, holding it in his hands and letting the warmth transfer to his palms. “I like making tea,” he says, keeping his voice steady, “so Mother taught me how to use the stove safely.”

Joe looks ready to say more, but Clarisse clears her throat. He shuts his mouth, picking up his own cup just to do something. “When should we expect your father, Steve?” Clarisse asks, placing her teacup back on its plate. She’s seated on the edge of the couch, her ankles tucked together so her legs are at a slant and her back perfectly straight. 

He can’t lie. If they stay, they’ll know he’s lying when his father doesn’t return. Maybe they just want to see his father, and Steve can let them think his mother will be home soon and convince them to leave before she is. He decides this is a good plan and says the extremely familiar words, “He’s away on a business trip.”

That earns him a frown, but before he can try to fix his mistake, Clarisse nods once and asks, “What about your mother, then?”

Steve tenses, dropping his gaze to his teacup and scrambling to find an answer. He swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, takes a sip of his tea, and feels his stomach twist when he still doesn’t have anything to say in response. 

“How long have your parents been gone?” Joe asks. 

The question pierces through him so harshly that Steve’s hands twitch, tea splashing over the edges of the cup and onto his fingers. He hisses at the temperature, quickly setting the cup down and getting a tissue to wipe the tea away. 

“What do you mean gone?” Clarisse asks.

“There are no cars in the driveway and no adult shoes by the door. We passed the kitchen on the way here, and only one set of dishes is in the drying rack. Stools have been placed wherever a child might need to reach something too high for them otherwise. Dust is on the shelf with adult books, but the smaller shelf with movies appropriate for children is clean, implying regular use. Finally, my men have informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington boarded a plane headed for Hong Kong from London.”

Steve’s eyes widen as Joe speaks, his stomach twisting ever tighter with each word. When Clarisse looks back at him, his eyes begin to sting and he looks down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice quiet as he clenches the hem of his shirt. 

“What on Earth are you apologizing for?” Clarisse asks, sounding so insulted that Steve shrinks in on himself. “You are not to blame for your parents’ incompetence and negligence. Of all the things your father has done, abandoning you to fend for yourself is unforgivable.”

Oh. She’s…angry for him? Steve looks up, meeting Clarisse’s eyes and wondering why she cares. And then, because he thinks she can’t possibly be any angrier, he takes a risk by asking, “Why are you here?”

Clarisse pauses, blinks twice, and then gathers herself. Her shoulders relax some, but her back remains straight. “I am Clarisse Renaldi, Queen of Genovia, and your grandmother.”

Steve stares at her, glances at Joe to see if this is some kind of joke, and then looks back when all he gets in return is a blank stare. “My…grandmother?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“Yes. Your father, Richard Harrington, is my son. He was…well, he involved himself in troublesome schemes and had to leave Genovia and the line of succession. We keep tabs on him, of course, but all contact is otherwise restricted.”

None of that surprises Steve. He’s heard his father complaining when he has a bit too much whiskey, muttering under his breath about betrayal and being forced from his home and that it was only a few million he took. 

“I…still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Yes, well, the Crown Prince of Genovia has recently passed, and you are next in the line of succession. So, I traveled here to meet you and bring you back to Genovia for a proper education befitting a Crown Prince.”

Steve is staring at his lap again, his mind turning. So much information has been given to him, and he can only focus on the part that makes his heart speed up with hesitant hope. “Would…would my parents go with us?” he asks.

“Your father is still barred from Genovia. Your mother is welcome, though.”

“Does she have to go with us?”

He looks up in time to see Clarisse pause, tilting her head as she considers him for a moment. “No, Steve, neither of your parents must accompany us,” she says.

“Will I ever be alone?”

“The royal family employs upwards of 300 staff to keep the palace running smoothly,” Joe says, nodding once to confirm that number when Steve gives him an incredulous look. 

“Members of staff will be assigned to you as well,” Clarisse adds, smiling softly when Steve returns his attention to her. “At least three maids, several private tutors, at least one playmate for social development, and a personal team of security to keep you safe.”

Something lifts from Steve’s shoulders then. He’s not stupid. He knows his parents aren’t good. He learned that last year when he realized that other kids’ parents picked them up from school and gave them hugs and surprised them with pizza nights and just smiled at them. Steve looked at those parents, thought of his own, and quietly accepted that they either sucked or he just hasn’t figured out what will make them love him yet.

A tiny part of him knows that nothing will.

“Will you be my new mother, then?” Steve asks.

He watches Clarisse’s surprised expression morph into something unsure. “I will certainly be taking on a parental role,” she says, the words slow.

Steve looks down again, trying to ignore the disappointment that stirs in him when he realizes she’s just trying to spare his feelings. She won’t be a mother; she’ll be like his teacher. She’ll be someone who makes sure he learns what he should, eats when he should, and passes him along to the appropriate person when there’s a problem. 

Still, she’s nicer than his own parents, and Steve won’t be alone if he goes to Genovia. If nothing else, it will be better than this empty house and his absent parents. “If I packed right now, can we leave?” he asks.

When Clarisse agrees, Steve excuses himself and goes to his room. 

Once he’s out of sight, Clarisse looks at Joe and says, “He’s a very mature child.”

“He shouldn’t be.”

Clarisse nods once in agreement, looking down at the teapot in front of them and wondering if Steve has ever burned himself on it. “I believe he’ll take to being royalty well,” she says.

When she looks up, Joe is frowning. “If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?” he asks. When Clarisse nods, he clears his throat. “Before he can be royalty, he needs to be a child. For his own good, he needs a parent, not someone taking on a parental role. You may not be his mother, Your Majesty, but you are his grandmother. You have the ability to give him the unconditional care and love he’s been deprived of so far.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Clarisse admits, frowning slightly in thought. “I just…”

“You are worried he will be like his father.”

“Yes.”

“He is not his father. You cannot project the wrongdoings of Richard onto Steve. It is unfair to him and you. He deserves a fresh start, one that is not burdened by his father.”

“I will think on it,” Clarisse says, already knowing she’s going to do as Joe has suggested. “In the meantime, look into parenting books. If nothing else, Steve’s maids and tutors can review their contents as he grows.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

--------------

Genovia is small, but the palace is huge. It towers over Steve like something out of a Disney movie, and he almost falls behind during the brief tour through its halls. He manages to catch up, though, meeting Clarisse’s stride just in time for her to gesture at a set of double-doors and say, “Beyond these will be your rooms.”

“Rooms?”

“Yes, more than one,” Clarisse says, smiling down at Steve as she leads him past the doors and into a sitting room. A group of people are already gathered there. Most of them are adults, but a few younger children are playing with a Lego set in the corner and a girl and boy his age are standing with the adults. “These are your personal staff members.”

Before Steve can say anything, one of the women steps forward, her smile warm and her face framed by her brown hair. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Joyce. I’ll coordinate your schedule and make sure your rooms are taken care of. My husband, Jim, will be the head of your security team, and my eldest son, Jonathan, will be one of your playmates,” she says, pointing to her husband and then the boy his age.

“Feel free to call me Hopper, Your Highness,” her husband says.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jonathan adds, smiling politely in a way that Steve painfully understands as fake and forced.

Joyce steps back, and a black woman steps forward. “My name is Sue. I’ll be in charge of your education. That means I’ll be arranging your tutors, making sure your lessons match what a child your age should be learning, and overseeing your Royal Education with Her Majesty. My husband, Charles, will be your science tutor.”

Steve glances at Charles when he waves and nods in greeting. His smile, at least, seems more genuine than Jonathan’s was, and Sue is so straightforward that Steve finds it refreshing. 

The last woman steps forward. She’s a little heavier than the other two, and she’s wearing an apron that has stains smeared across it. “Wonderful to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Claudia. I’ll be in charge of your diet and medical needs. If you’re allergic to anything or just plain hate certain foods, let me know.”

She steps back, leaving only the young girl. With a grin, she moves to stand in front of Steve and holds her hand out. “Name’s Robin,” she says, “I’m supposed to be your friend, but Her Majesty and I’ve got an agreement that I can ditch you if you suck. If I stick around, I’ll be trained by Hopper to be your personal guard.”

It’s so sudden and blunt that Steve can’t stop his grin as he takes Robin’s hand and shakes once. “To make things fair,” he says, “I should get to ditch you, too.”

Her eyes light up, and Steve thinks he’s done something right, which is an odd but welcome feeling. She lets go of his hand but stays by his side, standing close enough that their shoulders brush as Clarisse gestures for Joyce to take over the tour. He’s introduced to the children playing with Legos first, bombarded with their names (Dustin, Will, El, Lucas, and Erica) and which parents they belong to, before moving on to the rooms. 

In total, he has five: the sitting room, a classroom, a small library, an empty room that he can do whatever he’d like with, and his bedroom. The bedroom has its own bathroom with a shower attached, but there are extra bathrooms in the other rooms, too. He’d count his closet as another room entirely, but he’s not ready to admit he really has six rooms. 

He’s still too overwhelmed by the giant bed and the rooms that all belong to him and this group of people that will always be around him. He turns to Clarisse, ready to thank her, when she smiles at him and says, “There is one more thing.”

Something else? There’s more? What more could there possibly be? What else could he be given? Steve watches as she walks to the door that leads into the bathroom, steps inside, and comes back out holding something that squirms slightly in her arms. 

She quickly deposits the thing in Steve’s arms, and he stares wide-eyed at the Rottweiler puppy that starts sniffing at his hands and neck. “What?” he asks.

“She’s yours, Steve. Rottweilers are very loyal dogs, so she’ll stay by your side. They’re also loyal and protective. Once she’s grown, she’ll keep you safe, too.”

“What am I then, chopped liver?” Robin asks, pouting slightly as she looks at the dog. She leans closer to it and yelps when she gets licked. 

Steve can’t help laughing, holding the dog closer to his chest. “Does she have a name?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s Dart!”

Steve looks over his shoulder at Dustin, meeting his curly hair and slightly gummy smile. Next to him, Claudia flushes slightly and hurriedly says, “You don’t need to listen to him, Your Highness. You can name her whatever you’d like.”

“No, I think Dart is good,” Steve replies, looking down at the dog and gently scratching behind her ears. She perks up, her entire body wiggling with excitement, and Steve feels something hopeful and optimistic settle in his chest.

--------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv

[seelestia]

we missed you, welcome back!

i had a thought for a few days now and then i saw that you were back and i just had to share this

so imagine that you wake up in teyvat one day and you speak a different language bc they probably don’t speak english in teyvat, and no one understands you, but then there’s the smart haravatat ppl like alhaitham and faruzan (idk if there is anyone else) who use their smart language brains to figure out how to talk to you, i think that would be super cute

.💭

BRAINROT ANON— my comrade on tumblr, i missed you too!! i'm so honored that you thought of me aww :') you knew i'd be glad to brainrot with you anytime!! /gen. i focused less on how they communicate with you, but rather more on the events surrounding this concept. hope ya don't mind! so good to see you again <3

extra note: this was written from a platonic pov! yk those movies where a protagonist helps out their 'otherworldly' companion to go back to their home world? yeah, that's what i'm going for here. movies like 'home' and 'cj7' came to mind immediately. that's us and faruzan!! oh, and alhaitham is here too, i guess. /j

-

imagine waking up one day to find yourself transported to the middle of the hypostyle desert. the sun burns, scorching hot on your skin then suddenly, it's gone? oh no, some strange turquoise lady is peering at your face with disapproval. you suspect she thinks you're a reckless traveler who forgot to bring ample supplies to a place like this. “███ ███ ████ ███?” she says and you realize you don't understand a word.

[translation: did your water storage run out?]

imagine the confusion on faruzan's face when you mumble a few sentences? noises? grumbles? she specializes in semiotics (and ruins), not speech pathology so how is she supposed to know? anyway, she graciously takes you in! and brings you back to her residence. yes, yes, how generous, applaud her later but she cannot hand you over to the akademiya just yet. (who knows what they'll do with you? you're obviously not of this world.)

imagine trying to communicate with faruzan using other means besides language. one of them includes pointing at the fresh apple slices on her kitchen counter. she gives them to you and notes how you say 'tenk yu' (?) which she takes as a sign of gratitude. of course, she also jots it down in her notes alongside her observations. how interesting.

and she manages the grand feat of roping alhaitham in, somehow someway. he's a youngster (everyone is a youngster if you're one hundred years old at this point) far too solitary for her liking — plus, notoriously hard to convince but that helps: he's someone who won't tattle! that's her logic here. she even had to invite him over for dinner and introduce him to you herself! ugh, she really had no more funds left to spare... so this better works.

it did, oddly. alhaitham's first instinct is to question and his deductions conclude that you are far too genuine (for lack of a better word) for all of this to be a ruse. the way you pointed at his fit and gave him a thumbs-up he assumed that you meant to say you thought it's “cool”.

alhaitham observes you; when you speak, none of the words sound familiar to his experienced ears and trust him, his quota of languages exceed many. he is not here to brag, so don't twist it. nor do you seem to understand anything whenever he or faruzan speaks. you don't even react in the slightest when he mentions or addresses you directly, only a tap on the shoulder works. it's safe to assume you do not know teyvatian language.

the guy in gray green turns to madam faru with a hum. she taught you to refer to her that way. it took hard work and lots of apple slices. “██... ██ ███ ████ █ ████?” he asks.

[translation: so... do you have a plan?]

“██ ███ █████!” she puffs out her chest in determination.

[translation: in due time!]

he sighs.

you blink, eternally confused.

[tonyspank]

HEART 3

Summary: And till the very end, it was always heart.

A/N: I HAD TO. also quinn is not really ghost face because i said so (i was too lazy to add her)

Warnings: death, stabbings, murder, rushed writing and.. yeah i think that’s it. Words: 4.5k

Part One Part Two

Tara Carpenter was a good girlfriend. And yes, you two were officially a couple. Everyone knew about it, including Kayla and Frankie.

But you didn’t care about them, you cared about Tara. And she definitely cared about you. Everyday she’d text or call you to see if you were okay if she couldn’t physically do it herself in person. She’d also come to every practice you had, forcing Chad third wheel on the way back home.

And she even invited you over to the ‘core four’ hangouts.

Everyone was fine with it, well everyone except for Mindy. It’s not that Mindy didn’t like you, she just didn’t trust you… enough.

Sam had even told Mindy to get over it, she liked you. That had to mean something, she trusted you with her sister, and she even trusted you herself. Anika liked you, Chad obviously liked you, Ethan liked you, Quinn liked you and she called you a sex magnet but not without earning a glare from your girlfriend.

Even though your girlfriend was great, absolutely magnificent. You didn't get to prepare yourself for what has been happening the past few days.

One of the core four hangouts, also including Anika, Ethan, Quinn, and even the cute boy from next door ended into something horrible. The news had announced that your film study teacher had been murdered, and shortly after that Sam and your girlfriend got attacked by Ghostface at a bodega.

You tried your best to comfort your girlfriend or be there in any way possible.

This is exactly how you found yourself leaning into Tara as Mindy ranted to your friend group about who the killers could be.

"Are you okay?" You mumble into Tara's head, placing a kiss on it. She nods, giving you a small smile before softly grasping your jaw, and placing a quick kiss on your lips. You pull away, returning a smile.

You look away from your girlfriend only to see her sister watching you two, she smiles at you and you return a tight-lipped one, turning back to Mindy.

"Okay! Nerds listen up!" Everyone's chattering stops, and they all look at Mindy.

"As terrifying as this all is, I'm actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time." She says, fixing her shirt.

Chad hums, looking down at his notebook with a pen in his hand.

"It's fine." Mindy takes in a deep breath, "Okay! The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel." Anika raises her hand, "Um. What's a requel?" You nod along, confused as well.

"You're beautiful sweetie. Let's hold questions to the end." Anika blinks in response, giving her girlfriend a tight-lipped smile.

Sam speaks up, "Stab one took place in Woodsboro. Stab two took place in college."

You see Chad write stuff down in his notebook, as Tara says something beside you. "So we think that the killer is trying to copy the movies?"

"That is one possibility." Mindy answers, "Hero's now in college, check! Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list." Mindy adds, staring at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, looking around as you point at yourself. "Why'd you look at me?"

Mindy ignores you, "And or body count! Check, check, check, and check!"

"I don't like this." Ethan voices, shaking his head you nod in agreement.

"But it just can't be about Stab Two." Tara furrows her eyebrows, "Why not?"

"It would make sense if this was just a sequel, but we're not in a sequel. Because nobody just makes sequels anymore!" Mindy looks at the group, who all have confused looks on their faces.

"We're in a franchise!" She lifts her arms with a smile on her face, "And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise." Anika sighs at her girlfriend.

"I had a feeling," Sam mutters.

"Rule one! Everything is bigger than last time."

You point at Chad's notebook, "Hey, might wanna write this down." He looks at you before hurrying to write in his notebook. "Right!"

"Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count, longer chases, shoot-outs, beheadings. You gotta top what came before to keep people coming back."

Chad lifts his head from his notebook, lost. "Beheadings?" Mindy nods, "Beheadings."

"Rule two! Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. The franchise only survives by subverting expectations. If the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities—," Ethan raises his eyebrows at Mindy's words.

"— You can bet the opposite will be true here."

"Can I guess the next rule?" You speak up, Mindy points at you, "No." You frown.

"Rule three, no one is safe. Legacy characters? Cannon fodder at this point. Usually bought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia. It's not looking too good for Gale and Kirby. Oh, and that's not even the worst part!"

"Oh! This is the part where she tells us the worst part." Chad says not even looking up from his notes. "The worst part is! Franchises are just continuing episodic instalments designed to boost an IP. Which means main characters are completely expendable now, too."

"Wait, does Tara count as a main character?" You question, with a frown on your lips.

"Y/N, I've let it go before but you've gotta stop interrupting me, dude!" You thin out your lips in embarrassment.

"Anyways! Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Elen Ripley, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond, I mean, even Luke Skywalker all died so their franchises could live on! That means it's not just the friend group, any of us could go at any time... so yeah Y/N especially your girlfriend and Sam."

Tara and Sam eye each other as Ethan joins in, "Wait? Any of us?"

"Yeah."

"Am I in the friend group?"

"Yeah."

"Am I like, one of the targets?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Am I gonna die a virgin?" Confused looks fill everyone's faces, "Um..." You mumble looking at Tara who just stares ahead, pretending she didn't hear.

"That was a weird overshare... but it brings us to our current suspects. Ethan!" Mindy stands in front of Ethan, a large smile on her face. "The shy dorky guy, who no one expects because he's so shy and dorky!"

"Okay, wait! Why am I on the suspect list because I'm randomly Chad's roommate?"

"Roommate lotteries can be juked." Ethan rolls his eyes, "You could've fixed it to get next to us!"

Mindy then walks over to Quinn, "Quinn! The slutty roommate, a horror movie—," Mindy Gives a Chef's Kiss, "—classic."

"Sex-positive, but... thank you?"

"Mm-hmm. How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" Quinn looks at Sam who nods at her, "I answered their ad online?"

"Okay! Say no more! You've already implicated yourself enough!" Tara immediately speaks up for her roommate. "It was an anonymous ad, Mindy. And you know we vetted her, plus her dad's a cop."

"And that makes it more likely that she's the killer. Because having a cop dad is a great cover! Do you not remember how these movies work Tara!" Tara looks away at Quinn who asks, "Is she always like this?"

Sam tilts her head side to side, "Anika." Anika blows Mindy a kiss, who reciprocates it straight away. "Never trust the love interests." Anika’s face falls blank at her girlfriend’s words.

"Which brings me to Y/N Y/L/N, the star female wide receiver of our college team. Never in a million years would someone suspect you because you're so popular, smart, awkwardly cute, and also randomly dating Tara."

"Are these my suspicions or are you flirting with me?" You joke, a small chuckle leaving your lips. "Mindy we didn't randomly start dating, Chad introduced us… kinda.” Tara defends you.

"It's easy to become friends with Chad, especially if you're on the football team!"

"Hey!" Chad adds in, slightly offended.

"Y/N, weren't you raised in Woodsboro? And didn't you talk about our old friend Amber Freeman before on social media? Or did you think no one here knew about that?"

You frown for the one-hundredth time today. "Mindy, Y/N never wrote those DM's and so what she's from Woodsboro? She has nothing to do with Ghostface." Tara insists, Mindy holds up her hands in surrender at the tone of Tara's voice.

Sam clears her throat, "Okay! So, we have our rules and we have our suspects."

"But wait, wait! What about you guys?" Ethan says, motioning to Chad, Tara, Mindy, and Sam.

"I mean, I think it's pretty safe to rule out the four of us—" Mindy crossed her arms proceeding, "—who went through this last year in Woodsboro."

Chad smiles, pointing his pen at Mindy. "Agreed."

"Um, not agreed," Quinn adds. "What if the trauma you all went through caused one or more of you to snap?" Sam eyes her roommate, shocked.

"Yeah, or the fame you got from the killing made you thirsty for more?" You shake your head at their words.

"Let's be honest here, the theories online about Sam—" Ethan tried to imply, but you cut him off, immediately. "Don't fucking go there, Ethan."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

"Okay!" Anika joins in. "She's right though. I mean, face the facts. If we're all suspects, you're all suspects."

Everyone in the group begins eyeing each other, silently.

Well, until you speak up.

"Can we please get something to eat now?"

-

As you said before. You never prepared yourself for what's been happening. Long story short, Anika's dead, and so is Quinn.

And Ethan was not there when it happened.

Then Gale Weathers shows you, your friend group, and an FBI agent a Stab shrine. Was it cool, fuck yeah? Would it have been cooler under different circumstances, fuck yeah!

And then after that, you find out Sam and Tara stole a police car, only to arrive late to their destination so Gale Weathers is now dead.

Ethan was there, but you weren't.

You had extra practice drills. But you were there on the train, being in the same cart as Mindy and Ethan. It felt creepy, and it felt as if Ghostface was right there.

Mindy ended up getting attacked under your watch, well Ethan's as well. Ethan took care of Mindy while you tried your best to make it to Stab's shrine, but you were five minutes behind everyone else.

"When was the last time anyone even used this place?" Tara asks, trying to make small talk with Chad. "It's old."

Chad chuckles, reaching for the small box of candy in front of him, Tara does the same, their hands touching. "Sorry. You can have them."

He tried handing them to Tara, "You think I want these?" They turn, facing each other fully.

"They're like a hundred years old." Tara jokes. Chad laughs, looking down at his feet, and Tara cracks another joke. "Maybe that's your thing?"

It's weird. The tension, the way Chad's staring at her. She looks away, "I actually—"

Chad hastily connects their lips, and Tara kisses back. But she slightly pulls away realizing what she's done.

"I'm sorry— I can't. Um, what about Y/N?" Before Chad could apologize, Tara lets out a shriek feeling a sharp pain in her upper back.

Chad pushes Tara away, his heart dropping seeing the masked killer he's been running away from this entire time. The killer tries to slash Chad but he successfully ducks in time.

Ghostface tried again, but Chad blocks it, throwing them into a movie poster. Glass falls everywhere, and they're now wobbly on their feet. Again they try attacking Chad, only for him to dodge and attempt to throw a punch.

Ghost faces dodges it well, leaning back. Chad takes their moment of weakness to kick them in the stomach and they fall onto the ground, he kicks them again before rushing to Tara's side.

"Come on!" He helps the dark-haired girl up, running towards the exit, only for the door to fly open by Sam. Sam screams along with Tara, "It's Kirby! She's the killer!" Sam informs the group, freaking out.

The trio runs into the middle of the shrine searching for an exit.

Tara points at the upper balcony, "Hey, what about that? There's an exit door! Maybe it leads to the roof or something?" She rushes out at the end.

"It's only one way to find out, let's go! Let's go!" They all walk towards the latter only to be met with a Ghostface jumping from the stage.

Ghost Face missed all three stabs at the group in front of them, dropping their knife. Pulling out another one, they slice whatever's in front of them, only to behead a mannequin.

"Beheading!" Chad shouts. Chad then tackles Ghostface before picking up a camera. "Smile for the camera motherfucker!" He hits the killer with the camera and then runs off with Tara and Sam.

Ghostface then chases the three in a narrow hallway, getting met with a camera to the face again.

Now back where Tara and Chad started, they try their best to fight off the person in the black cloak, Chad dodges all their attacks, while the Carpenter sisters grab their arms pushing them into the wooden counter behind them.

Tara groans hitting her own back as Chad punches Ghostface in the center of their mask.

They fall onto the ground and Tara takes this as a chance to kick them in the face, Chad picks up a gumball machine, holding it above his head, but before he could smash it onto the killer he's stabbed into his side by the second Ghostface.

He lets out a huge shout, and Tara screams ready to run and help, but Sam holds her back. "Nooo! Chad!"

Chad's now on one knee, surrounded by the two killers. They bring him onto both of his knees, facing the siblings, they show no mercy, stabbing him anywhere and everywhere.

Tara lets out another scream, watching Chad bleed out from his mouth until he finally drops out.

The two killers face the girls, wiping off their knives in sync. Sam then opens the door, pushing Tara through. Again, they're in the middle of the shrine. One Ghostface appears through the curtains of the stage, and another appears in their path as they try to escape, motioning "No" with their knife as they shake their head.

Sam picks up two bricks, giving one to her younger sister. "Sam!"

The killers come closer, "Ready." Tara let out small cries, unable to form a word as she had no time to process the death of her friend.

"I need you to be ready. Ready?"

Tara swallows, "Look at me." Sam instructs, she immediately listens looking at her sister. "I'm ready."

"Come on motherfucker!" Tara shouts at the Ghostface in front of her. Before anyone could attack, gunshots are fired. The two Ghostfaces duck down along with the sisters.

"It's okay!" Kirby says, with her gun out. "Stay the fuck back!" Sam yells at the blonde woman, "We know it's you, Kirby." Confusion fills her face, "One— One of them knocked me out."

"Kirby stop! Get away from the girls!" Officer Bailey says, pointing his gone at Kirby.

"What are you doing?" She questions, raising her gun at the man. "Did you kill Quinn? Did you kill my daughter?"

"Jesus Christ! Whatever he's been saying to you don't believe him. He's probably the killer."

Ghostface appears behind Officer Bailey, and Kirby's eyes widen in fear. "Behind you!" Gunshots go off, and Kirby's body drops.

Sam and Tara's mouth drops in shock. And the Ghostface pauses their stabbing motions. Wayne thins out his lips, putting away his gun.

"Good job." All Tara and Sam can do is stare ahead in shock, not believing the sight in front of them. "Both of you."

"You?" Tara mumbles. He shrugs, "Yeah, of course, me. Frankly, I expected more from the two of you after what you did to us."

"What do you mean us?"

The Ghostface on the left of Wayne begins to take off their mask. Revealing none other than the shy dorky boy, Ethan.

"Ta-da!" Wayne chuckles, and Ethan smiles. "Mindy was right! It was easy to juke the roommate lottery. I mean all I had to do to meet you was room with the conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad!"

"Fuck it felt good to kill him!" Ethan yells out, the smile still on his lips. He raises the mask in his hand, "This was your grandmothers Sam. Nancy Loomis? Really runs in your fucking family, doesn't it? Speaking of family."

"Wait for it!" Wayne buds in, "My names not even Ethan Landry!" Wayne laughs, "Is it, Dad?"

"Dad?" Tara furrows her eyebrows, confused. Wayne continues laughing with his son.

"Wait. If it's you two, that just leaves..." The Ghostface turns its head to Sam, and she believes the worst. "Mindy?"

Ethan looks over to his right, and they pull off their mask. Revealing Tara's girlfriend, you. "Hey, Sam."

You smile at the older Carpenter, "Wow! I really made an impression on you, huh? You thought it was your own friend over me!"

"Y/N..." Tara says, her voice barely over a whisper. "Hey, love." She can't help but let out a cry, eyes watering.

You fake a frown, "Baby."

"Why!" She shouts, letting her emotions take over. "I loved you!"

"And I love it when you cry! You look so pretty." She glares at you through her blurred vision due to the tears in her eyes. "How could you."

"How could I not? It was so easy becoming that fuck heads friend, and it was even easier getting close to you. Literally, all I had to do was fight a drunk frat boy to get you interested in me!"

"Why?" She repeats, and she doesn't know why. You weren't the girl she fell in love with.

"Quinn, still alive. But she didn't want to get her hands dirty so I did it for her. Gale? Me. The two fucking creeps who killed your film study teacher? Me! Chad, well, that was me and Ethan." You laugh, Ethan looks at you smiling.

Sam shakes her head, she couldn't believe she ever trusted you, not only in general but with her sister. She felt guilty and disappointed in herself.

"Oh, and I got Stu Macher's mask. He's pretty funny." You walk away with Ethan, parting in separate ways. Ethan puts Nancy Loomis's mask on the mannequin wearing her clothes, "Nice."

"Which leads," Wayne reaches inside his jacket. "Your fathers." He holds up Billy Loomis's mask, "This what we've been counting down to Sam."

Sam glances at the mask then back at Wayne, "We're gonna need you to put it on." Sam slaps the mask out of his hand, earning a cut to her arm by Ethan.

"Ooh," Ethan says, laughing. You laugh as well watching the scene unfold across the room.

"You stay the fuck away from her!" Sam holds her arm, looking around at the killers surrounding her. "What is this? Why are you doing this?"

"Ethan, they're still not getting it!" The two of you smile at the siblings in front of you. "They should know better."

"Look, I don't know what you believe but I didn't commit those murders in Woodsboro. It wasn't me."

Wayne rolls his eyes, walking closer to the two. "Oh! We know that. Of course, you didn't! What did you think that this was based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? Come on, who do you think started the rumors of you in the first place."

You raise your hand, "It was pretty simple. Especially how you fucking tased the shit out of me in the middle of a frat party."

"It's not enough to kill someone these days, you have to assassinate their character first." He begins, "Dad finds your horribly disfigured body, some poor sap says on the internet Sam took matters into her own deluded hands."

"Exactly! That's why it's the perfect alibi! Based on the truth." Bailey adds on, pointing at Sam. "You're a killer."

Sam aggressively shakes her head, shouting. "No! No, I'm not!" Ethan joins in, "Yes you are you killed my brother!"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, unclear of what's going on.

"His brother died in Woodsboro, in the hands of you, Sam. Along with Amber."

Sam looks at you, then Ethan and finally Wayne. "You're Richie's family." Ethan stabs Sam's chest, "Ding! Ding! Ding! She's finally starting to get it!" Everyone breaks apart, and Tara pushes a mannequin out of their way.

"It was only when I saw those photos—" Tara takes a swing at you with a brick, you dodge it easily a jolly smile on your face. "—of what you did, I knew, I knew you had to be punished!" Ethan cuts off Sam’s path to escape, holding a knife to her face.

"Along with anyone else, that stands in our way." Sam looks at the knife with hooded eyes, then back at Ethan. He presses the knife against her throat, "There she is! There's the fucking killer."

"Real great parenting job by the way," Tara speaks up from in front of you, Ethan grabs her angrily. "Shut the fuck up!" He yells, pushing her. You furrow your eyebrows following behind him, why was he using so much strength to push her?

"Have I been the perfect father? No. Overindulged by these movies, it's a bit Too dark for me but Richie loved them, he loved them, he even made a few of his own."

Wayne turns around and Richie plays on the big screen. Walking up the steps to the stage, "Did you know? There's a very special bond between a father and his first son, that's why I helped him build his collection."

"This is was all his?"

"He was a very passionate collector, I built this as a tribute to him which is why this is where you die, you and anyone who had anything to do with the death of my son. Because everyone dies!"

"Yeah, your son. So pathetic," Wayne tilts his head, "What? That's not true."

"He was a man baby, who made his girlfriend do all his killing." You clench your jaw, angrily.

"He was a strong feral young man."

"He was a limp dick little fuck who cried before I slit his throat." Ethan raises his knife, "Shut your fucking mouth!" He runs up to Sam only to be met with a brick to his face, then gunshots are fired and Wayne falls onto the ground. You look at Tara before looking back at Kirby, rushing over to her and stabbing her in her stomach.

She shrieks in pain, causing you to smile. Something hard knocks you upside your head, and you fall to the side with a groan.

Sam removes the knife you plunged into Kirby while you stand up, "Hey, Samie." Sam quickly raises her knife, attempting to stab you in your chest but you block it, grabbing her shoulder and pressing your thumb inside her wound. She yells out, trying her best to overpower you, leaning in she gets close enough and stabs you, swiftly pulling out the knife before repeating multiple times.

"Fuck!" You fall back.

"Sam!" Tara calls out, climbing up the ladder. Sam makes her way to her sister, climbing up as she tries her best to make it to the exit.

The structure under Tara breaks, and Sam immediately grabs Tara's arm. You and Wayne are now back up, laughing at the situation.

"I can't! I can't! I can't grab on!" Tara cries, trying her best to latch onto her sister's arm, but the blood leaking from her wounds is making it nearly impossible.

You jump up at Tara, swinging your knife at her feet. "I thought you loved me, Tara? How could you kiss Chad? I should fucking stab you again!"

"Fuck you!" She seethes, "Fuck you!" You reply. You continue taking swings at your girlfriend's feet, noticing that Ethan has made his way to the balcony.

"You guys are fucked now!" You laugh.

"Sam! Sam. Let me go." Tara lets go of her sister's arm, only being supported by Sam holding onto her. "Sam, let me see my girlfriend!" You shout at her.

"Trust me. You have to let me go." Sam looks at the knife in her belt pocket, taking it out and hanging it to Tara. Tara falls, and you take the chance to stab her in her stomach.

Her face squeezes in pain. You let go of the knife that’s plunged in her stomach knocking out the knife in her own hand, now grabbing both of her hands you pin them above her head. You straddle her, a huge smile on her face.

"Do you remember this position?" Tara tries her best to fight back, but you are obviously stronger than her. She begins to cry again, overwhelmed. You can't help but stare at her, feeling your heart drop. Why were you doing this, especially to her?

"I love you, Y/N. I didn't want to kiss Chad. I wanted you, and I still do. I love you, please—"

"Shut the fuck up!" You switch your hold on her hands to only your right hand, and your left hand shakily reaches for your knife.

Tara lets out small cries, pleading with you.

Your hand hovers over the knife, and you look back at the girl under you. Your eyes begin to water and you notice yourself crying, "I'm— I'm sorry Tara, I'm so sorry!" Due to the emotions you're experiencing, your strength fades away and Tara overpowers you grabbing the knife next to her shoulder, stabbing you in your chest.

She pushes you by the knife and you fall onto your back, taking out the knife, she repeatedly stabs you again.

You watch her, tears coming out of both of your eyes. Your mouth begins to fill with blood, and she stops. "Tar...Tara." You attempt to speak, blood flying, closing her eyes as it splats on her face, replacing the freckles that you loved so dearly.

"The... note." Tara drops the knife beside you, "The n..." You try and repeat, Tara brushes your hair out of your face, uncontrollably sobbing on top of you. Reaching under your cloak, she feels your pockets, reaching inside and indeed finding a note.

Her bloody and shaky hands unfold it, and it reminds her of the night she wrote her first note to you. You send a weak smile, slowly feeling yourself let go.

"hey love, i'm sorry. i know when you're reading this it probably doesn't feel like the rest of this note is true, but it is. as each day passed i would've never thought that with you, i'd feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to share my fears, and to tell you how much i love you.

my love for you grew stronger, deeper, and more profound than i could have ever imagined. i'm sorry again that it had to be this way.

thank you for giving me your time and love, i'll always love you tara.

from y/n—"

"Heart." She finishes with a mumble, her gaze leaving the letter and then landing on you. She breaks down again, rubbing her fingers over your slightly cold face.

"I love you too, Y/N."

[littlest-w01f]

Little Family

Cassian x Luna

CASSIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: When Cassian comes to pick Feyre up from her work, he sees a new girl with her, a girl who sits to herself silently and doesn't talk to any other children, his whole world shifts on its axis when the girl's mother walks in to take her home

Cw: None

part one - part two - part three - part four

Luna stood outside the Riverhouse, holding Nova by her hand, her heart beating rapidly at the thought of meeting the Inner Circle of Night Court, the sun had set a few hours ago, leaving a blanket of darkness over them as the stars twinkled over them.

Luna couldn't decide what to wear, whether to be formal or not, not that she had many formal dresses, to begin with. She had dressed Nova in her favourite skirt and top, something her daughter wanted to wear everywhere, a habit that made Luna laugh, seeing Nova grab the same pair whenever they were going out to spend time together, the few hours they got.

For herself, Luna had chosen a rather simple dress, it was black, full-body, with a deep V-neck, the fabric clinging to her soft stomach, and love handles, just slightly tapering at her waist.

Luna took a deep breath, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, each beat echoing the nervousness coursing through her veins. She looked down at Nova, who seemed oblivious to their current situation, twirling around happily in her favourite skirt and top. The sight brought a small smile to Luna's lips, helping to calm some of her nerves.

As they approached the entrance of the Riverhouse, Luna could see the lights flickering within, casting an inviting glow onto the cobblestone path leading up to the grand building. A sense of anticipation filled her, mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension. It was her first official night in the Night Court, and she needed to make a good impression.

She turned to look at Nova again, her little face so innocent and carefree.

"Oh, you're here!" Feyre's joyous voice called as she winnowed to Luna and Nova, greeting the mother-daughter duo, "I was waiting for you looking out the window." Feyre reached to hug Luna, which the female returned with a smile of her own.

Luna hugged her friend back, "I was half debating leaving..." She laughed slightly as Nova was rolling on the balls of her feet in excitement.

"It's okay," Feyre whispered reassuringly. "You've got this."

Luna nodded, taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart. As she released Feyre, she looked down to see Nova bouncing with excitement. Seeing her daughter so happy helped to ease some of Luna's anxiety.

"I'm glad you came," Feyre said, smiling warmly at Luna. "We're all very excited to have you here." She glanced down at Nova, who was now hopping from foot to foot. "And especially Nova, of course."

"Thank you," Luna replied, returning Feyre's smile. "I'm excited to meet everyone."

Cassian approached from behind Feyre, "Evenin', sweetheart." He gave Luna a cheeky smile, his hands folded behind his back.

Luna blamed the heat that gathered on her cheeks from his greeting on the mating bond they shared, "Evening Cassian..." She smiled, watching Cassian and Nova blow air in each other's direction by the flutter of their wings in a form of greeting.

Feyre cleared her throat discreetly, shooting Luna a teasing glance. "Shall we get inside?"

"Well, you get inside, I have somthing to gift Nova." Cassian smiled, watching the faeling jumping up in excitement.

"You got me something?" Nova asked, her big brown eyes sparkling.

Luna watched on with a smile as Feyre left to go inside, not before giving her a not-so-subtle wink. Cassian moved his hands forward and had two boxes in his hands.

"This is for you..." He handed a box to Nova, who instantly opened her box and jumped up and down, seeing the pendant.

"Oh Mother, Oh Cauldron I've wanted this one for so long!" Nova rushed to give Cassian a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist, 'thank you's leaving her lips as Cassian hugged her back, avoiding her wings.

Luna couldn't mask her surprise when Cassian handed the second box to her, "And this is for you." And then watching Cassian picking Nova up before throwing her in the air as she squealed and then setting her down.

"You got me a gift too?" Her eyes were wide, hand on Nova's shoulders as she came back to her to stand by her mom, tugging on her skirt to have her put the necklace on her.

"Of course... You thought you saying you wanted nothing would stop me?" Cassian smiled softly, "Open it."

Luna opened the box, a soft gasp leaving her at the necklace, made of gold, a moon charm with little diamonds like stars on the chain of it. "It's... so beautiful." She looked up to Cassian, surprised to see him blushing.

Cassian shrugged, trying to ignore his flushed skin, "Because you know... Your name is Luna... Moon." He was nervous when she didn't respond, "Maybe I shouldn't have... I didn't want to be weird..."

"It's not weird." Luna said instantly, "It's rather sweet."

"I would've bought it at the store you worked at," He rubbed the back of his neck, "But you are a horrible at sales, not letting me buy you something."

"Ass!" Luna playfully hit him, "How much did it cost anyway?"

"I think it's better not to tell..." He smiled, offering Nova a hand to walk with him inside as Nova grabbed Luna's to pull her with them.

Luna sighed, walking with Nova, "So, it's pretty expensive." She guessed.

"Hush now, dinner for now." Cassian playfully rolled his eyes, "Nova, tell your mama it's time for dinner."

Luna raised her brows as Nova began to pull her to the house, "Come, ma, time for dinner."

Luna felt crazy to worry. When she had arrived, everyone fell into a normal atmosphere, as if she was their closest friend. Nova currently sat in the High Lord's lap, who had summoned his wings, making conversation with her daughter, telling her how his father too was High Fae while his mother was Illyrian.

Rhysand had shown his regret, seeing Luna's clipped wings, said wings just stubs on her back, and Luna had soothed his tension, he was trapped Under the Mountain, there was nothing he could've done.

Cassian sat beside Luna, who kept giving her comforting looks throughout the dinner. He had put the necklace her got her around her neck, while in the hallway of the house. The entire Inner Circle wasn't around, which also took part in calming her nerves, besides the High Lady and Lord, there was only Cassian, Azriel and Mor present.

Luna allowed herself to relax a bit more as the evening wore on. The food was delicious, and the company was delightful. Even though she was still nervous, she found herself laughing and engaging in conversation more easily than she expected, having everyone at the table interested in what she had to say, Mor especially, who kept complimenting Luna's dress every chance she got.

Every now and then, she would catch Cassian's eye, and he would give her a reassuring nod or a warm smile. His presence was comforting, and she appreciated his support.

After dinner, when they moved to the sitting room for drinks and dessert, Luna found herself drawn to Feyre and Mor. They were quiet but attentive listeners, and Luna enjoyed sharing stories about Nova and her, who was engrossed in conversation with Cassian and Rhysand, while Azriel watched her, his eyes on her wings.

"Mama! Rhys says he can teach me to fly!" Nova rushed to her mother, and Luna looked at the Illyrians, her eyes soft, she had been unable to teach Nova to fly higher than her own hight, since her wings were clipped and limited her ability to catch her if she fell.

Luna's heart swelled with pride at her daughter's confidence and eagerness. However, she couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety at the thought of letting Nova fly with someone else. Despite her worries, she knew it was important for Nova to learn and experience things beyond what she could teach her alone. With a deep breath and a loving smile, Luna leaned down to speak with Nova privately.

"Do you really want to learn to fly?" When Nova nodded eagerly Luna turned to Rhysand, "You wouldn't mind teaching her?" He asked curiously.

"Nonsens, darling," Rhysand chuckled, his tone reassuring, "I'd love to teach her."

Feyre looped her arm through Luna's, "And you should feel better Azriel didn't offer," She gave the Shadowsinger a glare but there was a playfulness in it, "He pushed me off a mountain side."

"What!" There was nothing but concern in her beings as she looked at Azriel, "Don't do that to my daughter..."

Cassian cut Luna off, joining in the conversation, "Relax, sweets, he won't, I'll be there too, alright. I'm sure Nova wants me there."

Luna froze a little as Cassian wrapped as arm around her, drinking his wine, she found herself leaning into his touch before she pushed the thought away, instead watching Nova and Cassian interact.

She wondered if he had told anyone about their mating bond but the way everyone around her was so nonchalant made her think he hadn't.

"Look Nove! You're already flying!" Cassian called as he threw her in the air the she giggled the way down, her wings fluttering and Luna's heart filled with warmth, knowing Cassian truly liked Nova, and not just for the sake of her being his mate's child

{General Taglist: @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Little Family Taglist: @littlelunatica @journalofthedamned}

[delphi-shield]

Variations on a Theme

Claire Redfield x Leon Kennedy wc: ~2.6k post-vendetta, pre-death island. short fic that wouldnt leave me alone so i had to write it down. might write a continuation. happy sept. 30th, i miss my babies. dividers from @/adornedwithlight

summary: Sherry organizes a memorial service; Claire and Leon try to put aside their grief to mourn the way she does.

The call comes through at 11 PM the night before. Leon ignores most calls to his personal cell after nine, but for Claire, he makes an exception.

She never calls without purpose. Not anymore. There had been nights in the past when it had been anything and everything and the nothing in between that had kept them up until early hours of the morning. Calls crammed between operations and meetings, voicemails that still haunted his inbox. They had been better at this once.

The small talk hadn't been so stilted and forced like it was now. No ‘hey, I saw that report on Bali - was that you?’ because Claire would have known. He would have told her everything – or mostly everything. Leon would have redacted the parts that could get her into trouble. He'd leave out hostage scenarios gone wrong, spare her the inequity of his work even though she's sure to find out on her own.

Somewhere along the way, he'd started redacting so many details that his recountings had boiled down to ‘I'm glad to be back’. Somewhere along the way, Claire had stopped pressing for more.

Claire doesn't bother feigning interest in his last operation this time. She doesn't need to - TerraSave already put out a statement condemning the outcome.

She's good at small talk, always has been better at people than him. Conversation flows from her, connections come easy. He'd always admired that about her. Now, though, she's floundering. His short, to the point answers have her at a loss. That's new. Usually it just pisses her off.

“What’s going on, Claire?” he asks for the second time in their short conversation.

She lapses into silence. Redfield family trait - they love to go quiet on you when they've been found out. Like they're waiting for you to move on - like you'll forget if they just don't acknowledge it.

“Sherry's organized this memorial service,”  Claire finally broaches. “For - y'know. I think it would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Of course he knows. He's been dreading this kind of thing since Terragrigia, since the gritty details of bioterrorism had been shoved in the average American's home. It's not hard to put two and two together, to realize what the Raccoon City incident had been. Maybe the public would never know the full extent, the involvement of the government, but there's footage of a hunter on LiveLeak, for fuck's sake. You could cover this shit up in the 90's, but they hadn't been on top of things when the century had turned, when more information than ever had been pumped to the general populace. Now it was like sticking a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

He didn't think it would be one of their own who did this, who dredged up Raccoon City's bloated corpse and put it on display. He thought some well-meaning intern, some politician looking for a bump in numbers, trying to seem empathetic might pull this stunt – but one of their own?

He can't tell if it's a dim sense of betrayal that's twisting his gut into knots or if it's anger. He's carefully curated his life to avoid this. The month of September is his memorial. He doesn't need the cameras, the spotlight - he doesn't need other people sobbing out their grief right next to him, not when he keeps his tight to his chest.

Jesus. Sherry couldn't have asked him herself? Not in person, God no – but sent him a calendar invite or emailed him a flier - something that would give him plausible deniability. Something he could ignore, slide into the recycle bin, claim he never received and curse technology. Sorry, Sherry. All this new technology is just tough for me to keep up with. As if he's not got the latest and greatest in hand at all times.

“Are you going?”

Claire is quiet on the other end of the line.

“It would mean a lot to her.”

Leon snorts. “That's a ‘no’.”

Claire's huff is almost lost through the phone, but he can picture her pout well enough. Lord knows he's the cause more often than not.

It's not just that he hates this kind of thing, or that he's still hot off the heels of Benson's death, that the media could have a field day with him showing up to an event like this. If the wrong people hear about this, they'll all be lambasted as nutjob conspiracy theorists. If the wrong people have found out about this, it could get dangerous fast.

Leon does the only thing he can think to. Deflect.

“She shouldn't be doing this shit,” Leon points out. “Raccoon City is still classified.”

He can feel Claire roll her eyes from the other side of the phone. He bites his tongue. Improvement, he thinks. A month ago he would have cut loose, blown this whole conversation up.

“She's not releasing classified info, Leon. It's a memorial.”

“Brass is gonna have a problem with this, and I don't know if I can bail her out.”

“She got it cleared months ago. You'd know if–” Claire stops herself. She's trying, too, he realizes when she swerves around the giant crater that was the way he'd spent a year drinking himself into oblivion. “You’d know if you actually checked your email.”

Damn. She's got him there. Maybe Sherry already tried the calendar invite and the flier. In his mind's eye, she's still 12 years old, ruddy cheeked and gap toothed - clicking clumsily around a computer to make a flier, sending it to him, waiting–

He stops that train of thought, pins the ache in his chest on a recently cracked rib.

“Nobody asks Valentine to go to this shit.”

“Jill's busy.”

“And I'm not?”

“Can you just show up for Sherry?”

“Can't we just take her out for ice cream after or something?”

“She's not–” 

Claire pauses on the other end of the line. Leon's not as good at this as he used to be, can't tell if she stopped herself so she doesn't laugh or so she doesn't snap at him.

Inhale. Shaky exhale. He can hear her struggling not to smile.

“She's not a kid anymore.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. He's seen her in the field. She’s a powerhouse, full-grown and owning it.

Man up, Kennedy, he thinks. Do it for your girls.

The thought sends a jolt skittering across his skin, raises the hair on his arms. He hasn't thought of them like that in years - not sober, at least.

“I'm not sitting on the stage,” he says firmly.

“Me either.”

“And I’m not giving a speech.”

“I don't think it's a media thing,” Claire says, the way one might try to calm a spooked horse. “She just wanted to do something for people like us. It's gonna be low-key.”

Claire has a very different definition of ‘low-key’ than he does, but he hums all the same.

“All right,” he relents. “Send me the details.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his phone to vibrate. She was ready for that, probably planned on sending it to him whether he said yes or no.

She sounds cheerful, reveling in her victory, when she winds up the call with the promise to see him next week. He can count the times Claire has been happy to see him lately on one hand; when he tosses his phone back to his nightstand, he counts that as a win.

The week flies by as if September 30th couldn't get there quick enough. Usually, the week of the 30th dragged - every hour of every day dedicated to a remembrance of the last normal hours of his life. Mourning is on hold for now - he’s saving it all up for Sherry's big event.

Claire texts him a reminder two days before. He types and retypes a response over and over, and somewhere in the revisions he realizes it's not just about him. She doesn't want to do this either. Not alone.

See you there. Ice cream after.

Leon’s locked in now. He prays for work to run long, for an emergency to crop up that sends him across the country - but the office is quiet. He's grateful not to run into Sherry, grateful that he won't have the chance to open his mouth and ruin things. There will plenty of time for that later.

You promised, he tells himself the morning of, phone in hand, debating on calling in sick. His feet are leaden when he dresses, hands heavy at the wheel of his car. He's in a daze the whole day, barely remembers driving to work. If anyone notices, they don't call him on it. He’s ghosting through another September unseen.

But the end of the day forces him back into his body. He'll be late if he sits in his car any longer. The engine turns over despite his prayers. He promised, he tells himself. He can't make them do this alone.

The park Sherry picked out for the memorial service is close to the office. He could walk, but he's not going to limit his options in case things go south, wants the ability to get in his car and bail. Halfway there, he realizes he's been followed. He stays in his car, watching the suburban in the rearview when they pull in a few spots down. Leon only relaxes when a gaggle of kids burst from the sliding door, run off ahead of their mother.

Claire's waiting for him when he hops out. She leans against her bike. Her hair is down - shorter than he remembers. Her thick jacket thrown over the seat of her bike, leaving her in a black turtleneck and a pair of orange corduroys.

“You know it's not formal, right?”

“I'm coming from work. Cut me some slack.”

Claire laughs, ducking her head. She pushes off of her bike and waves for him to follow. She swishes into the park ahead of him, her steps only faltering until he catches up to her side with a handful of long strides. Side by side like this, there’s enough room to slot Sherry in between them. Wherever she is - probably off playing party planner.

He always thought she’d be good at that. Sherry’s good at making sure people are taken care of, making sure they have what they need. She’s got a quiet sort of intensity that can spook people, sure, but she’s fun and exuberant - she could have had a shot at a real life, if things had been different.

She reserved a little gazebo for the event. White chairs in a handful of neat lines, a little charcoal grill off to the side, picnic table lined with candles and framed photos. It’s sweet, the way she’s done everything up. Probably put hours into this, getting things just so. She’s done a good job, honest.

Leon just can't stop checking every angle. He's braced for the sight of a flash - camera or muzzle, he's not sure which would be worse. Couldn't Sherry have picked somewhere more private? Couldn't she have rented out the basement of some bar, given him an excuse not to show? Sorry, Sherry, I'm working on myself - can't put myself through the temptation.

No. Of course not. She'd probably considered that already. The kid is too considerate for her own good. Rented out a gazebo just so no one had to face their demons.

Claire pauses at a row of chairs, gesturing for Leon to sit. He forgets to smile when he tears his eyes away from a suspicious copse of bushes. His hand ghosts against the small of her back, urging her to go first. He needs to be on the end, needs to be able to get to his feet quick when something happens.

If, he reminds himself. If something happens.

Claire slips into her seat without protest. Maybe the occasion has her feeling off, too. He tries not to read into it.

Leon lets out a low whistle as he sinks into his chair. “There's more people than I thought there'd be.”

“I know,” Claire hums. “Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones.”

How many people had been there? How many had been on the streets, had escaped by the skin of their teeth? How many of these people were here to mourn someone who had wasted away before their time?

His eyes lock onto hands and mouths, tries to match them to ones he sees in his dreams. Teeth snapping, hands teasing at him, pulling him under a writhing mass of rot, ichor spilling into his mouth, choking him.

Claire nudges him, leans closer. Her shampoo wafts across him, the stench of decades old decay that stings his eyes soothed by cherries. Her fingers light on his wrist.

“Still doing ice cream after? I know a place.”

If they were here for anyone else, he'd have grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out to the parking lot. They'd cut the shit, go get ice cream and pretend things weren't complicated. He'd get butter pecan and Claire would tease him for being basic. Ice cream is a fifteen minute treat, but they'd linger until the parlor closed, until the workers were shooting them dirty looks.

But they're here for Sherry. Leon makes himself smile, mouth thinning.

“Yeah. After.”

People file in, some alone, the same haunted look that he wears well, others with whole families. There's maybe thirty people - small number on paper, but packed in like this makes it feel claustrophobic. He scans the crowd for Sherry again and again, searching for a glimpse of her. Claire’s hand stays on his wrist, heavier now. He wishes he could turn his hand and capture hers. He doesn’t know how to.

“She still comin’?” He murmurs to Claire.

“She better. This is her thing,” she grumbles back. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He knew she wasn’t all-in on this whole thing.

Before he can call her on it, Sherry beats down the center aisle, clambering up the steps of the gazebo. Leon clicks his tongue, sits a little straighter. There she is, digging Claire out of a moment of weakness once again.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Sherry starts, shuffling note cards in her hands. 

Claire lets out a coo under her breath. She leans closer, presses against Leon’s arm to whisper, “she’s so nervous. Look.”

Leon doesn’t need to be directed to see the tremble of Sherry’s fingers, but he looks anyway. Public speaking isn’t the issue, he knows that much - it’s got to be the topic.

Leon sits a little taller. He nudges Claire’s knee with his own, a silent ‘watch this’. He coughs into his fist, louder and longer than necessary.

Sherry tracks the sound instinctively. Her eyes light on them in the crowd. The apples of her cheeks bunch up, smile so wide that she's transformed right back into that little girl he knew, that clung to his hand and swung his arm as they walked down the road. Her words trail off, pause long enough to be noticeable but not to be awkward.

“I’m so grateful that each and every one of you have taken the time to come here tonight,” she continues, her eyes lingering on Leon, flitting back to Claire.

There. That’s his good deed for the month.

“You’re buying,” he whispers to Claire once Sherry’s eyes have finally drifted away.

Claire snorts. She pats his arm. He can see it all over her face - yeah, right.

Yeah, right. His girls are gonna burn an ice cream-shaped hole in his wallet by the end of the night.

[jsluvtzu]

Hiaaaaaa, I love your first Sana fic, she asked me if you can make a sub!gip!mina and dom!reader fic.

Thank you for your time!

the party isn’t over

sub!g!p mina x dom!reader

summary: she’ll do whatever it takes to get what she wants

cw: smut, edging, thigh fucking, degradation, jealousy, men dni

wc: 1.3k

a/n: thank you for the request, anon! i’m glad you enjoyed it :) this was sorta rushed so i do apologize 😭

it was a busy night for you as you were responsible for getting the shareholders to agree to your boss's new business branding contract. the party was filled with six-figure company owners, investers, and tech developers. any rich person you can think of was there that night. 

the music was loud, and the warm, ambient lighting made your company building look more inviting than it did during work hours. you made your rounds around the room talking to each person, charismatically hypnotizing them into eventually signing the contract. of course your girlfriend, mina, was clinging to your arm the whole time. you had a glass of champagne in your right hand, sipping it every once in a while, with mina to your left side, desperate for a taste of your attention.

you had been so busy trying to make your boss happy, you paid no mind to the fact that you were wearing the perfume mina loved on you, and the tight, figure-fitting dress that mina loved, oh, and how could you forget about the black lace panties mina knew you were wearing when she saw you bend over to lace your heels earlier? 

everything about you was driving mina absolutely crazy that night, she couldn't help but feel the bulge under her skirt grow just from a simple look at you. just hearing you talk business and using big finance words that she knew nothing about was so attractive to her. she wanted nothing more than for you to just fuck her right there while you whisper in her ear with that same sultry voice of yours.

mina was growing restless by the minute. the uncomfortable throbbing between her legs growing increasingly unbearable the more she stayed by you. but of course, you were too wrapped up in your money making mindset to notice your girlfriend's neediness. 

"y/n.. i don't feel good, let's just go home please." mina whined in your ear and hugged your arm tighter. "i can't leave yet mina, i still have to talk to a couple more people. can you hang on for another hour?" you were slightly concerned about her, but even more exhausted from putting on a fake persona with those stuck up assholes. mina shook her head and gave you a small pout while she grabbed your hand and moved it down to her crotch, letting you feel exactly where she wasn't feeling good. "need you..", that was the moment you realized what you were doing to your poor needy girlfriend. you were the reason she was feeling so uncomfortable. "mina, i'm working. i'll make it up to you when we get home yeah?" you moved your hand out of her grip, kissing her on her forehead and leaving to go talk to yet another rich snob. 

mina watched as you walked away nonchalantly, basically seething with anger and sexual frustration. she smiled to herself when she thought of the perfect plan to get your guaranteed attention. she confidently walked over to a random girl in the corner across from where you were standing, making sure she was in your line of sight. 

you saw mina in your peripheral and shot quick glances at her while also maintaining eye contact with the ceo in front of you. you saw how she laughed loudly at that girl's jokes, grazing her arm with light touches. mina was way closer than she needed to be to her, and then it clicked. she was trying to make you jealous. you scoffed as you took a sip of your drink, staring daggers at mina blatantly eye fucking that girl in front of you. eventually you had enough of her antics, excusing yourself from the conversation and speed walking over to your girlfriend, grabbing her arm with force. "so sorry to bother your extremely interesting conversation, but can i just steal my girifriend away for a bit?" you asked with the biggest, fakest smile on your face, not really giving the girl a chance to answer. 

your grip on mina's arm was enough to cut off circulation, making her slightly whimper. you dragged mina all the way to an empty office a few doors down from the lounge, shoving her through the door and slamming it closed with her against it. "you're such a needy fucking slut that you couldn't even let me do my job for five minutes without having to take care of you first huh?" your breathing was heavy and you enunciated your words with a squeeze to mina's throat. mina whined at your degrading words, feeling like she could burst at any moment. 

you ran your hand over her groin, rubbing gently and observing how her eyes struggled to stay open. "y/n- please. need you to fuck me." you hummed at her pleas for your touch, enjoying how desperate she was for you. "you're gonna make me fuck you right here? in this very public office? i bet you're too fucking horny right now to even care if we got caught right baby?"

sliding your hand under mina's skirt, you pulled her cock out of her pink panties, moving your hand down her length and back up to the tip, teasing it with your thumb. "fuck y/n, f-feels good" she bit back her moans and dropped her head down. you spread her precum around her whole cock, feeling it twitch in your hands. "aw, is my poor baby gonna cum just like this? so needy and dumb." mina ground herself by gripping the hand you had on her hip, unable to contain the loud moan she let out. "you can't be too loud love, you don't wanna be seen like this do you? getting handfucked in public. how humiliating." you shushed her with a deep, hungry kiss, moving down her jaw to her neck, holding back the urge to mark her up just yet.

"should i mark you right where everyone can see? hmm? let everybody here see how much of a pathetic slut you are?" you whispered right in mina's ear and felt her knees get weak against you. she whined and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut when she felt your pumps getting faster. mina gripped your exposed shoulders and dug her nails into them. she was practically only focused on cumming at this point, grinding herself on your hand, relying on your strength to hold her upright. "please, please, y/n, gonna cum, fuck- please" her frantic begs were like music to your ears, but they only encouraged you to give her the opposite of what she wanted. just when you felt her getting close, you stopped your movements and laughed at her confused moans.

"be patient, love. you wanted my attention so i'm giving you all of it now." you kissed her cheek and waited for her to calm down from her denied orgasm. after you decided it was long enough, you adjusted your dress up to expose your thighs and pressed them tightly together, grabbing mina's cock and sliding it between them. chants of your name immediately fell from mina's lips as you watched as her head fall back onto the door behind her. you slowly grinded yourself back and forth on her length, relishing in the intimate skin to skin contact. you could tell mina was close again, already sensitive from her previous stimulation, so you moved your hips faster, gripping mina's throat again, squeezing lightly. "i bet that bitch you were feeling on earlier can't fuck you like this." 

soon after you said that, you felt mina cling onto your hips, clawing at your flesh as she finished and moved you along her cock herself to ride out her high. her moans were stuttered and she could barely form a single word other than your name. you kissed her and laughed at how she was unable to kiss you back. "let's go home." you said smiling, carefully tucking mina's cock back into her panties for her. you slid your dress back down and kissed her one more time on the lips before grabbing her hand and opening the door. you both took the back way out of the building, sneaking into your car. the contract wasn't even that important anyways.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 68 (A House Fire with No Fire on Spooky Party Day?!)

While Heather and Conrad got ready for guests to arrive, Malcolm sent a few pictures of Ash dressed in his bunny costume. Going trick or treating in the building today, he reported. Heather smiled.

Glad you're all having fun, she wrote back. Civility with her son's father could be nice.

Focused on the party, Heather was determined to redeem herself after her botched attempt to throw a Spooky Day party back in high school. This time, she made sure to note it was a costume party, and all her guests confirmed they'd show up dressed accordingly!

Her youngest sister, Hazel, arrived early with her fiancee, Nicola. They were staying the night in the upstairs guestroom, excited for a short getaway on the coast before their upcoming wedding.

"The decorations look great!" Hazel gushed. "Spooky record player!"

"Does anyone smell fire?" Nicola sniffed the air. "I hate fire."

"I don't smell anything," said Conrad. The only thing he smelled was his spinach and cheese omelet.

They went about the afternoon and finished setting up for the party. Conrad left for a short walk with Gord, and the fire Nicola smelled finally materialized in the bedroom! Heather, Hazel, and Nicola ran toward the flame, screaming incoherently, until Heather finally grabbed an extinguisher and put out the blaze.

From the delayed fire, they suffered damage to a bathroom countertop, mirror, Heather and Conrad's bed, and a bedside table. A cluster of wall hangings also burned, but considering how long the flames had burned invisibly, they were grateful the damage hadn't been any worse!

(I assume the lack of a visible fire for so long was a glitch, but I'm also at a loss as to how it started. They lost a decor hairdryer in the blaze, but it doesn't even plug in. Sorry for walls down in the second shot when the fire finally showed up, but I was kinda flabbergasted!

The fire actually looks like it started in the bedroom - I thought bathroom at first, so we could blame the Scare Seeker lot trait which was on when the fire began! Also yes I bought a bassinet in anticipation before they lost the baby and it's just sitting there waiting. Didn't burn!)

They managed to replace the damaged furniture, clean up, and get changed into their costumes before guests arrived. Conrad had time to finish the spooky cookies, and Heather handed out candy to a few trick or treaters. One in particular made her smile.

"What planet are you from, Master Yoda?"

"Everyone knows Yoda's home planet has never been confirmed," scoffed the masked child. Impressed, Heather gave her extra candy.

Just like in high school, Heather painted herself blue to dress as a Twi'lek, determined this time to get at least one picture of herself for all the effort. She was all dressed up and prepping some last minute treats in the kitchen when Conrad the Sexy Mailman walked in.

"Say, there, sexy alien lady. Did you have any mail you need delivered?" He shook his hips in his tight bicycle shorts, and Heather nearly abandoned the stove to drag him to the bedroom.

"Don't tempt me. This blue paint will get everywhere."

Instead, they posed for a couple photos to send back to Malcolm.

Tell Ash we say hi. Happy Spooky Day!

Heather carved pumpkins as guests arrived, while Conrad challenged one of his coworkers to a game of chess. They'd invited all Heather's siblings, but Kris and Holly were busy with their newborn daughter, Tetra, and couldn't make it.

But Uncle Karl arrived in a gladiator suit with his husband Mortimer. "They send their love and asked us to bring home some spooky cookies and candy!"

Heather's high school friend, Dylan, arrived with her husband Gavin, and Heather greeted them with a smile. Gavin's rented spacesuit made for an awkward hug, and Dylan showed up in the same Twi'lek costume and blue body paint as Heather. "I'm so glad you could make it. And you got my text!"

"I don't know why you were afraid to wear such a revealing costume by yourself. You look great! But I have come all the way from the planet Ryloth to join you here on Simlandia for the evening's festivities. I look forward to observing human behaviour in such a strange environment."

Heather laughed. "How's life with two kids under four?"

"Way harder than life with just Pearl," said Gavin. "Whenever Darrell cries, she starts crying, too. Thank goodness her mom agreed to watch the kids tonight. If Dylan and I don't let our hair down a little, we might go insane."

"He's exaggerating...kinda. We love them, but we're happy to get out of the apartment for a while," said Dylan, sipping her Spooky Day-themed 'blood' cocktail.

River and Cass showed up with her mother Bella Goth, and Everett danced the night away with Spencer. Even Heather's parents, Daisy and Neal, stayed until late.

Taking a break from dancing to Latin Pop tunes blasting from the Grimophone, Everett joined Heather outside. She was carving a pumpkin and enjoying the temperate evening, and Heather's costume nearly knocked him over with nostalgia. "You still look incredible in blue paint. Hope you got some pictures this time."

"This was a much more successful Spooky Day party than my first attempt, thank you very much."

"You and Conrad are great hosts."

They caught one another up on their sons and laughed together in the moonlight, but after everything they'd been through, and where they were in their lives now, their high school kiss under the stars was a distant memory.

"It's funny, you and Malcolm both dressed up as pirates this year. And Malcolm Landgraab as a pirate is just...there's this old story about a pirate queen who cursed the Landgraabs," she said.

(I put Malcolm in a pirate costume on purpose, Everett just appreciates giving me symbolism with Heather's two past loves dressed in the same costume that happens to remind her of the curse she fears will harm her son!)

"I'm not a fan of Malcolm Landgraab, but I trust in the Watcher far too much to put any stock in curses."

Heather shook off the conversation. A priest couldn't talk to her about curses or raising the dead. For the first time in her life, she couldn't talk to her best friend. She glanced through the kitchen window, where Conrad was chatting with Bella Goth. These days, he was the person she could tell everything.

Before he stood to head back inside, Everett smiled. "It's nice to know you know how to throw a costume party, after all," he teased. Heather laughed to herself.

Though she'd worn the same costume as she did back in high school, she was such a different person now. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[isabel3710]

So a little while ago I wrote a one-shot for @rocksibblingsau. Basically I rewrote the TrollsTopia episode 'Bad Hair Day' to include Rock Branch and I thought I would share it will all of you!

I don't know if I'm going to post it on AO3 yet so let me know if I should.

-----------

Two Rock Trolls were sitting in an angler bus, even though they weren’t talking to each other the silence wasn’t awkward. One of them was Branch, the Prince of the Rock Trolls. He was sitting at a table and reading. The other one was one of his best friends, Petra, she was sitting on the couch and plucking away at a guitar.

Branch glanced out the window, “looks like we’re almost there.”

“Great” Petra said “I can’t wait for the concert.” 

“And to see Val and Demo,” Branch added.

“Yeah sure” she agreed “but if it wasn’t for Bad Hair Day agreeing to perform in TrollsTopia then we wouldn’t be going at all. Thanks for that by the way.”

“No problem,” Branch grinned. 

When Poppy extended an invitation to the popular rock band to perform in the new mixed genre city they were originally were going to say no. But then Barb found out and managed to convince the lead singer, Billy, to accept.

Branch and Billy were close and Billy knew that Branch had been wanting to visit his friends in TrollsTopia ever since they moved but had been too busy to properly justify it. That was part of the reason why Branch hadn’t been to any Bad Hair Day concerts recently, so his sister decided to kill two birds with one stone.

He was still a little annoyed at her for making him take a break but she, rightfully, pointed out that things weren’t (probably) going to fall into anarchy if he was gone for a couple of days. And if things did fall into anarchy then Branch knew she could handle herself.

It wasn’t long before the bus jolted to a stop “looks like we’re here” Petra said “are you coming?”

Branch stood “of course I am.” 

The two Rock Trolls stepped out into the bright sunny forest that Pop Village and TrollsTopia was located in. Branch squinted in the sunlight and sighed and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. He did not miss this. 

“Did you really grow up here?” Petra asked.

“Unfortunately” Branch sighed “come on, let’s go find Val.” 

It didn’t take long before they spotted Val talking with a pink haired troll, Poppy. Branch remembered how his friend mentioned how the two of them had become close since she moved there. Not friends, yet, but Branch figured it wouldn’t be long until they were.

The two walked over and they could hear Val speaking “Anyway, I wanted you to meet Petra, my best friend from back home. She follows Bad Hair Day to all their shows!”

Petra stepped up besides her “guilty as charged!”

“You’re her best friend?” Poppy repeated, then she spotted Branch. “Oh my gosh, Branch! I didn’t know you were coming.”

Branch braced himself as he was forcibly pulled into a hug, he sighed. “Hi Poppy.”

She pulled away and Branch turned to Val “hey Thundershock.”

“Hey Branch” Val said with a grin and the two did the handshake/fist bump combo they came up with when they were kids. “Glad to see you were able to make it, thought for sure you wouldn’t.”

Petra laughed “I’m pretty sure Barb would’ve tied him up and forced him onto the bus if he hadn’t gone willingly.”

Branch was about to respond with a sharp wit when he was interrupted “oh my glitter!” It was Poppy “I can’t believe I didn’t know you two were coming, I would have made personalized gift baskets for you.” Poppy then pulled out two baskets full of cupcakes out of her hair “luckily I always have extras!”

She handed him and Petra each one and they both looked at each other, they both knew that they wouldn’t be eating these. Branch still remembered how sweet Pop Troll food was, and cupcakes and other deserts were worse. 

Petra turned to formally address Poppy “You must be the troll Val’s told me so much about. The one who got her to go to girls’ night.”

“Eh. Wasn’t that big a deal. We made friendship bracelets!” Poppy grabbed Val’s hand to show off the matching bracelets. 

“K, Poppy, you’re full-on double rainbow. Gonna need you to dial it back down to a single.” Val turned to her two friends “Come on, you two have gotta see Rock Hollow before the show.”

“You go on ahead” Branch said “I’m going to meet up with Demo. But I do want to see it later.” 

“For sure,” Val said, “I’ll catch you later.” 

The two girls left, leaving Poppy and Branch alone. “It’s really good to see you” Poppy said “you look different than the last time I saw you.” 

“Do I? I’m just in my concert attire.” 

Branch’s hair was pulled back with a cloth headband, which would showcase to the other rock troll concert goers that he was there to chill and didn’t want to participate in things like moshing or crowd surfing. He had swapped out his normal, fabric leaf vest for a dark blue leather one and underneath was a gray ‘Bad Hair Day’ band shirt. 

“So you like Bad Hair Day a lot then?” She guessed.

Branch nodded “oh yeah, the lead and I, Billy, we go way back.” 

“So you’re here to support him?” She asked, “that’s so sweet!”

“I’m also here because I like their music and I want to see my friends,” he raised a brow, “so I’m gonna go find Demo now.”

“Oh right!” She said with a laugh “well have fun.”

He hummed and then remembered the gift basket and handed it to her “also, you can have this back. I’m not going to eat any of them.”

“Oh” she deflated, Branch waited for her to get upset or tell him that he was being rude. But instead she perked up “well thanks! Ooh! Maybe I can give it to Petra so she can have double the cupcakes.” 

Branch blinked as she ran off, huh, seems like having different types of trolls around affected her and made her more accepting than he thought it was going too. 

—---------

Later Branch was sitting with Demo outside of the stage where Bad Hair Day was going to perform, the two were helping to educate the non-rock trolls on proper concert etiquette. 

“So, let me get this straight” a Techno Troll said “if someone doesn’t want to mosh then you don’t pull them into it?”

“Yes” he said with a sigh “how would you feel if someone pulled you into a large crowd of people without warning. Especially if you didn’t want to.”

“Oh, that makes sense” the troll said “thanks!”

“Branch!” He turned to see a pink Pop Troll running at him.

He took a step back before he could be rammed into “yes Poppy?”

“Petra wants Val to leave TrollsTopia!”

“Yeah, I know” Branch said, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Demo trying to sneak away.

“What?!”

He sighed “Petra is one of my best friends, of course she told me about her concerns. I’m worried about Val too.”

“What do you mean?” Poppy asked.

“What I mean” Branch said “is that ever since moving here Val seems like she’s being forced into changing.”

“No one is forcing her” Poppy said “she’s just opening up more.”

“Did you know that she was supposed to come back to Rock Volcano City to visit over my birthday?” Branch asked.

“What?” Poppy said “no! When was your birthday? Did you have a party? Why didn’t you invite me? I could have helped.”

“Poppy, stop!” He held up a hand “I didn’t have a party, it was meant to be a hang out with friends and family. And I didn’t invite you because one, you would have made a big deal over it. And two, we aren’t that close.”

Poppy pouted “but-”

“Stop,” he interrupted, “and let me finish.”

“Right” she nodded “sorry.” 

“As I was saying” Branch sighed “Val was supposed to come but she didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because of you” he said bluntly “when Demo arrived, without Val, he told me that you convinced her to stay because of some kind of event.”

“What event?” Poppy tilted her head.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Branch said “the point is that because of your influence and pressure Val and I haven’t seen each other since she moved here.”

“So you want her to leave TrollsTopia?” Poppy asked.

“I want to make sure she’s making the right choice and that she is changing in a way that she wants too.” Branch said “if she is happy with who she’s becoming then I’ll support her.”

“Well can you tell Petra not to try and convince her to leave? Poppy asked.

“No.” Branch said “not only do I not want to but I also know that I won’t be able to.”

—------------

The show was due to start in about a half hour so a line was beginning to form so people could try and be the first ones to get their tickets checked. Branch and Demo were also in line, neither one of them bothered to get to the front and were just having a good time getting caught up. 

Then Branch spotted Petra approaching, without Val, and he stepped away. “Petra? Where’s Val? I thought you two were hanging?”

“We were,” she said, looking annoyed, “but Poppy kept showing up and just now pulled Val off into a musical number.”

“Seriously?” Branch sighed “well, you’re in luck. I think I have something that will help.”

He reached into his hair and pulled out four lanyards, Petra’s eyes went wide. “You got us backstage passes?!”

He chuckled, “Bill was very excited to hear I was coming to a show.” Branch passed over two to his friend “Demo and I will meet you in there.”

“Thanks man,” she said, “you're the best.” 

“I know!” He called after her as she ran off. Then he turned and threw one of the lanyards at Demo, laughing as his friend stumbled back and barely stopped himself from falling over. 

“Backstage passes?!” He exclaimed “my royal rockness,” he gave Branch an overly dramatic bow “I thank you.”

“Yeah yeah” Branch rolled his eyes “lets just go.”

As they headed to the backstage area there was the sound of something exploding, the two rock trolls glanced up at the sky before turning to each other with a shrug and headed backstage. 

—-----------

During the show Petra and Branch were watching Poppy and Val talk. “So,” Branch said, “Val’s staying.” 

Petra nodded “as long as she’s happy.”

“Yeah” he sighed “I’m just glad Poppy isn’t forcing her to change.”

“Did you two talk about her visiting more?” She asked. 

“We did,” Branch said. “She was pretty upset about missing my birthday so she’s planning on visiting in a couple of weeks to make it up to me. Also, she’s been putting off meeting with Barb to update her on how TrollsTopia is doing so she’s gotta do that.”

Technically each section of TrollsTopia wasn’t part of any Trolls Kingdom (except for the Pop area), but since it was so new the leaders of each Tribe liked to stay updated on how it was doing.

“Oof” Val said “is Barb upset?”

“She probably should be,” Branch admitted, “but I think Barb’s more impressed that Val has been avoiding her for so long, and getting away with it.”

[deezbin]

•𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆•

!idol!Han taesan!×!normal gf!

Warnings: kissing

Synopsis: Y/n visits Han Taesan's studio for the first time

Wc: 10k

As Y/n stepped into the sleek, modern studio, she felt like she was entering a creative wonderland. The gleaming instruments and plush furnishings seemed to radiate a warm, inviting energy that made her feel right at home. Han Taesan, the charming lead singer of boynextdoor, greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Welcome to my sanctuary, Y/n," he said, offering her a tour. "I'm so glad you're here. I've been wanting to show you around for ages!"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she followed Taesan through the studio, taking in the various instruments and equipment. He showed her his favorite guitar, a beautiful acoustic with intricate carvings on the neck. As he strummed a few chords, the melody seemed to dance in the air, filling Y/n with a sense of wonder.

"Wow, this is amazing," she breathed. "You're so talented, Taesan. I can't believe I get to see you in your element like this!"

Taesan chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, Y/n. I'm just passionate about music. It's my everything. And I'm glad you're here to share it with me!"

As they explored the studio, Taesan showed her his favorite songs, the ones that held special meaning to him. Y/n listened, entranced by his stories and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music. She couldn't help but feel a connection to this talented idol, and she found herself falling deeper in love with him by the minute.

Finally, they reached the vocal booth, a cozy space with a microphone and a comfortable chair. Taesan gestured for her to sit, and as she did, he pulled her close, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Want to hear a secret?" he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. Taesan began to hum a soft melody, his voice vibrating against her skin. She felt like she was melting into his embrace, the music wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

As they swayed to the music, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony, Y/n realized she was falling deeper in love with this talented, charming idol. Taesan's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with a hint of mischief.

"Want to create some music together?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Y/n's cheeks flushed, but she nodded, her heart racing with excitement. Taesan grinned, his eyes sparkling with joy. Together, they began to create a beautiful melody, their voices blending in perfect harmony.

As they sang, their creative energies merged, their love song echoing through the studio. The music seemed to take on a life of its own, filling the space with a sweet, tender energy.

Finally, they finished, their voices fading into silence. Taesan turned to her, his eyes shining with adoration.

"That was amazing," he whispered, his breath caressing her skin.

Y/n smiled, her heart full of joy. "You're amazing," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Taesan's face drew closer, his lips inches from hers. Y/n's heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. And then, in a soft, gentle motion, TaeSan's lips brushed against hers.

The kiss was like a whispered promise, a sweet vow of love and devotion. Y/n felt like she was melting into his embrace, their hearts beating as one.

As they pulled back, gasping for air, Taesan's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with love and adoration.

"I've been wanting to do that for so long," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Y/n smiled, her heart full of joy. "I've been wanting you to," she replied, her voice barely audible.

And with that, they sealed their love with another kiss, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

As they sat together in the vocal booth, wrapped in each other's arms, Y/n knew that she had found her soulmate in Han Taesan. And as they gazed into each other's eyes, their love song echoing through the studio, she knew that their love would last a lifetime.

"Let's make some more music together," Taesan whispered, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/n nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. "I'd love to," she replied, her voice barely audible.

And with that, they began to create again, their love song filling the studio with a sweet, tender energy. As they sang, their hearts beat as one, their love growing stronger with every passing moment.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the studio, Taesan turned to her with a smile.

"I'm so glad you're here, Y/n," he whispered