#THE ONE WHEN HE SAID I LOVE YOU STAYS THESE ARE NOT EMPTY WORDS

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. ���I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part three.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

there is angst in this part !!!

summary: you and spencer have an absolute blast doing the livestream, but then you open your mouth. oh no.

word count: 3286

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

You had two days until the livestream, which means you and Ang would be conspiring nonstop for the next 48-or-so hours. That FaceTime call lasted much longer than necessary, and when you both came into the office today you were both clearly exhausted. But that’s okay, because you were not only going to get your friend back, but hopefully gain a partner in the process.

“Jeez, Peach, you’re looking rough today.” Spencer greeted you in the kitchen, and you immediately glanced up and around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear that. Just last night you were wishing he would call you Peach at work, but now it felt… strange. To actually have it happen. That must have been Angela’s doing.

“Yeah, I was up pretty late. I think I finally went to sleep around four just to turn around and wake up at eight. Plus, I was tossing and turning all night, so the sleep I did get wasn’t even restful.” You put a small amount of concealer on because your eyebags were so dark today, and it was still shoot week. Next week it wouldn’t matter all that much because you’d be in your pod locking in on other things, but since you still have three days of shooting to be done, you had to at least try and cover it up. You usually didn’t venture into the comments for your own mental, but you knew if you didn’t put something over them, someone would inevitably comment ‘wow y/n looks like shit today’. And of course, that would be the one comment out of all of them that you would end up seeing.

Spencer rubbed your upper arm lightly, offering more comfort than you expected from him as of late. It was nice. You let a smile spill across your face, but broke eye contact to stare at your shoes. 

“You want one of my Kickstarts? I know they make your stomach upset but maybe the energy might help?” He held an unopened can out to you, and you took it. He was right, you usually had a stomach ache after drinking a Kickstart, but you felt so dead it just might be worth it.

You popped the tab and took a sip, thanking him for his generosity. Angela had definitely talked to him more in depth than she let on, meaning she definitely knew more than she let on. So now you had to worry if she was conspiring with him as well. Not that she would do anything to sabotage you behind your back, but what if she coaxed both of you into a silly plan that will end up falling through?

//

The two shoot days before the livestream were both pretty much the same as always. You and Angela stayed up well into the night hatching a plan, Spencer let you drink his Kickstart and brought you coffee and Red Bull Thursday morning, the day of the stream. You picked up your energy for the shoots, and did your best to keep up with conversations and plans off-camera as well. Spencer was back to his usual physically affectionate self, and he had no trouble saying ‘I love you’ back when you said it first, if you said it first. Whatever Angela was doing behind the scenes on his side was working, because it almost felt like you didn’t need to do some big thing on the stream now. You had what you wanted: your best friend back. Sure, you want more than that, and as far as you knew, so did Spencer. But why introduce the potential of a severe falling out when this was working just fine? You’d been best friends with Spencer for nearly eight years now, that was all you had ever known. Friendship. Was it worth the possibility of losing all of this? Just to—what, gain a different label?

You said as much to Angela while you two were eating. The kitchen and eating area were fairly empty while everyone was setting up for the stream. Spencer, luckily, was needed on set so you knew he wasn’t around to hear you wax poetic about him. Again. As you seemed entirely incapable of doing anything else, lately.

“I don’t know, I’m just starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. Like, sure, I gain the new label of ‘partner,’ but what else is going to change? We already act like a couple anyway, according to you and Erin.”

Angela put her hand on your shoulder and looked into your eyes, piercing through to your very soul. “Y/N, I’m going to hold your hand when I say this, but you don’t just gain the label. You gain all the benefits and happiness of a relationship and you also don’t have to keep hurting yourself. You want to be with Spencer, and he wants to be with you. Instead of not allowing yourself that happiness, and pushing it down constantly to try and come off as ‘normal’, you can just be normal. Also, as far as I know, you and Spence haven’t kissed or gone on any dates and I do believe that’s a perk that comes with dating someone. Especially someone who already knows everything about you. Instead of you two having to tread the murky beginnings of a relationship, you can hop right into it because you both already know so much about each other. Sure it might not feel entirely different at first, but imagine how relieved you’ll be when you don’t have to stop yourself from complimenting him, or staring at him, or blushing whenever he so much as breathes in your direction.” Angela pushed her food around on her plate, pondering if she should keep talking. She was working hard to make this happen, because she loved you both and knew you both deserved to be happy with each other. But Y/N was stubborn, and Spencer was just… hard-headed sometimes.

You held your breath for a moment, letting her words sink in again. Angela wasn’t always so verbose but when she was, it was serious, and you had to really listen. And, of course, she was right. You keep hurting yourself by pushing these feelings away, and you know that they’re reciprocated, so why keep pushing? “You’re right, as always.” You beamed at your best friend, feeling hopeful that this would work.

You knew the stream was set to be starting in about thirty minutes, so you stood up to throw your trash away and get ready. But before you could walk away, Angela grabbed your wrist. “Just so you know, and you didn’t hear this from me, but everyone here wants you two to start dating. Erin sent those memes in thinking it would kick your asses into gear but it didn’t work as well as she thought it would, I guess. Also, a lot of Smosh fans ship you. There’s a few compilations on YouTube if you’re curious. Just some food for thought.” She smiled brightly before leaving you to ponder on that.

You decided to pop your headphones in and do a quick check on that “compilation” comment. You weren’t due to set for twenty more minutes, so you clicked on a five minute compilation titled “Y/N and Spencer being soulmates for 5 minutes and 28 seconds”. Soulmates. It was accurate, to you, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach. You only got a few clips into the compilation before you started to get a little too warm. You freshened up your face and deodorant in the bathroom, and set off for the stream.

//

Everything was off to a good start. You fiddled around with a few songs, and Spencer, of course, was holding perfect conversation with you while also getting a 96% on Expert mode. It was time to start executing your plan, and you knew Angela was right off to the side watching.

“Okay, so, I didn’t tell you this,” you started, glancing at Spencer, “but I did some extra training without you.” You smiled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t be mad at you.

“No way! Cheater.” Your best friend was gleaming at you, and despite his words, he seemed a bit proud. “You just wanted to impress me, didn’t you, Peach?” 

He definitely expected you to falter at the mention of your nickname while on stream, but you held strong. If you blushed, then you blushed. You didn't really have a say in that.

“Well, of course I did. Anyway, I made sure we added one of my favorite songs to the game while you were busy running around setting up, but it’s only mapped on Expert mode. You think I can do it?”

“I believe in you wholeheartedly.” You could tell from the smile on his face that he wasn’t joking. Well, here goes nothing.

“Okay, close your eyes because I have to scroll and find it and I don’t want you to see which song it is.”

“You said it was one of your favorites, right? Can I guess?” Spencer had both hands over his eyes, under his glasses, which made him look quite silly. And while he did know a lot of your favorite songs, you were pretty sure you hadn’t mentioned this one to him.

“Go ahead,” you urged, scrolling through the menus for a few seconds before asking Alex the best way to get to the song.

“Okay, let’s see here. Is it Andria by La Dispute?”

“Nope.”

“Avocado, Baby by Los Campesinos!?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ this time.

“Change by Djo?”

“Ah, there it is!” You had finally found the song, after a few too many minutes of scrolling around. The chat didn’t seem to be bothered by the current lack of commentary because they all still seemed to be reeling about Spencer calling you Peach. Which was fair, because mentally you were also freaking out a little bit. But you had more important things to worry about than the blush that was definitely painting your neck and face.

“I was right?” Spencer moved his hands, “Oh, no I wasn’t. I didn’t know you liked The Corrs?” He looked back at you now, and you thought you heard him comment on your blush. But you could rewatch later. For now, you needed to slay this song.

“Spencer, of course I like The Corrs.” You locked in on the song, hitting every single note with ease. You found yourself singing the song too, and Spencer joined in not long after you started.

“Can’t hide it! Can’t fight it! So, go on, go on! Come on, leave me breathless. Tempt me, tease me! Till I can’t deny this loving feelin’! Make me long for your kiss!” You were both singing your hearts out, and you were simultaneously shredding on the fancy guitar controller Spence had secured for Smosh. The chat was going wild, but neither of you thought to even ask about it. The song ended and you managed to get a 92% on Expert mode, while singing and conversing. That was the best you’d ever done on a song, and you had no doubt it was because your best friend was next to you singing with you. 

//

The stream ended after about an hour and a half, your voice hoarse from singing and cheering and yelling. You had picked Breathless by The Corrs because you knew you had never mentioned liking them to Spencer, but the lyrics of the song were just too accurate for how you felt. And you and Angela both knew you wouldn’t be able to actually get a confession out, so you were hoping the song was enough to give Spencer the push to say something himself. And him singing the song with you certainly did something to your insides, but these days everything that man did made your stomach flip. And you were okay with that. You could get used to that. Maybe you even wanted that. You wanted Spencer, unabashedly.

Angela pulled you down the hall away from your other coworkers to ask how you felt. “I don’t know how I feel, to be honest. It was nerve-wracking and stressful at some points, but I don’t know, singing one of my favorite love songs with the man I’m currently in love with was an incredible feeling.” You were so happy and so bubbly you didn’t even realize your wording.

Until you noticed Angela was staring at you.

“What? Oh, fuck. Okay, yeah, I didn’t mean to say that. Um, Just... I’m really high on energy right now, is all.” You let out a soft chuckle, trying to walk back your statement. But she had heard it, and Angela wasn’t exactly one to let things go. “Angela, please do not mention this until we have both clocked out and left the building. Then you can go crazy, but just wait until then. Please,” you quietly begged. It was going to come up again – no doubt about that. But you couldn’t do it while you were still here. You didn’t have anything left to shoot today but you did have some paperwork to do and some marketing stuff to work on, and Tommy asked you to be in a TikTok earlier in the week so that still needed to be done too.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But you will be hearing from me as soon as I park my ass on my couch at home,” Angela whispered back, attempting to meet your volume level but mostly failing.

“What’re y’all whispering about over here?” Spencer had come down the hallway, a Kickstart in one hand and your favorite flavor of Red Bull in the other.

“We’re conspiring on how to break YouTube's streaming rules on a livestream and get away with it, why?” You supplied, knowing he would appreciate a little joke after a somewhat-tense livestream. Maybe the livestream was only tense for you, though. You graciously accepted the Red Bull as he handed it to you.

He did laugh, luckily, and turned towards Angela, “I think Arasha would be a better co-conspirator for that. Y/N is too nice to break internet law.” He smiled at you now, and put his hand on your shoulder, his warmth spreading through your body.

He was always so warm, and you religiously ran cold. It was one of many ways you two fit together so well. You both balanced each other out in all the best ways, Spencer giving more where you had to give less, and vice versa. He always knew just what you needed, and just when you needed it. In so many ways, your friends were right. You were already a couple, basically, without the main perks of being together. You weren’t able to cash in on the parts of the relationship that you really craved – you wanted to kiss him, you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, you wanted to spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed with him and let him teach you all the video games you didn’t understand. You wanted Spencer in a way you couldn’t put into words. It was a visceral need deep inside your bones; an almost bothersome, unending ache. Your want for him outweighed any other emotion you could possibly feel.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it.

“Hey, Ang, can I talk to Spence alone for a second?” You smiled innocently, knowing she’d see through it.

“Oh, of course. I’ll talk to you later! Love you both!” She yelled, speed-walking away like her life depended on it. She was halfway down the hallway before she even finished her sentence.

Spencer and you turned to face each other, and suddenly your throat was quite dry. You remembered, gratefully, that he had brought you a Red Bull. You held a finger up to communicate that you needed a second, and then downed half the can in one go. You burped quite loudly afterwards, apologizing for the loud noise.

“You good, brother?” Your best friend inquired, his hand finding his favorite place on your wrist. He always touched your wrist when he was worried about you, a small gesture that always made you light up inside. Despite his overall relaxed demeanor, you could tell he was a bit anxious. His other hand started fidgeting not long after you asked Angela to leave.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, so I’m going to word vomit right now. I know you’re going to want to tell me to shut the fuck up, but please let me just puke it out and then I promise you can have the floor afterwards. Okay?” He nodded, and you started again. “I love you, Spence. You know that, right?” 

Spencer’s fidgeting picked up speed and you grabbed both of his hands in yours, hoping to quell any anxious thoughts forming. You rubbed your thumbs on the back of his hands, realizing once again how warm he was. “You know that, right?” You reiterated, needing the confirmation before you moved forward.

“Yes, Y/N. I love you, too. You also know that, right?” You could hear his voice shake a little, tempting you to try and hurry this up so as not to stress him out. You still wanted it to come out coherent and somewhat romantic, but you weren’t sure if you could handle him being so anxious. 

You smiled, intertwining your fingers with his before continuing on. “Yes, I do. But I’m also lying to you every time I tell you that.” Spencer’s face very quickly dropped at this, prompting you to remind him to let you word vomit and that everything was okay. After you two shared some deep breaths, you continued on.  “I say I love you, and I mean it, because I do, but… honestly for years and years now, I’ve meant it differently than you might mean it. I do love you, but not as a friend. Spencer, I’m so head over ass in love with you. I’m tired of fighting it, I’m tired of hiding it, I’m tired of everyone making jokes at our expense. If you don’t reciprocate, trust me, I understand. I won’t be upset. I just hope you can forgive me for potentially ruining this friendship. But, I need to be honest with myself and most of all, with you. I love you, Spence, and not as a friend. And I’m hoping you can be okay with that.”

You took a deep breath, letting your words wash over him while you tried to quickly recuperate from the intense reeling in your brain. If everyone else at the Smoffice was right, he did reciprocate. But now you weren’t so sure. He had been silent far longer than you expected. You pulled yourself out of your head to look at Spencer, finally, having been looking at his hands in yours to try and center yourself.

But, he was crying. “Oh, god, Spencer. I’m sorry, that was not cool of me, we’re at work. I’m sorry, I’m... I’ll go.” You disconnected your hands and ran for the office doors, not bothering to grab your bag or keys or phone. You just really needed to be away from everything right now. If he called after you, or if anyone did for that matter, you didn’t hear it. You needed to get out. And you needed to get out now.

You made your best friend cry.

After telling him you loved him and wanted him in a way he couldn’t give to you.

How badly did you just fuck everything up?

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

I'M SORRY aaaaaaaa

taglist: @lokidokieokie <3

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 5

Relic

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The more he gets closer to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Word count: ~4.6k Warning: None [not enough editing/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. Going to pretend to be some big shot writer and dedicate this chapter to the ones who encouraged me to keep writing. And my favourite reader (you know who you are, hopefully).

Previous Chapter: Shadow

The doorknob twisted under his fingers and Azriel gritted his teeth at the soft click. Mercifully, the door made no more sound. Darkness and quiet awaited him on the other side, while a haunting aura loomed behind him in the hallway under the fading sunlight. The hag was nowhere to be found.

Everyone except Ayla had known who he was, yet something changed after that day.

The last time he walked into the bar, Raya glared from across the room stopping him in his steps. She and Uri exchanged hissed whispers before the server led him out to the streets. He croaked out a “We’re closing soon anyway” with an apologetic smile and shut the rusty door in his face.

And, the hag—gone were the expectant eyes and the grateful smile when Azriel returned the next night. Instead, he faced a creature twice as large as him with knitting needles in one hand and jagged talons out in the other. 

Nonetheless, it warmed his heart and calmed his mind that Ayla was cared for.

Grumbled curses seeped through the wall on his side. His shadows wound tight around him. Clapping his wings close, Azriel wedged through the gap and shut the door carefully, praying it didn’t alert the hag.

A second passed and another. Sweet silence embraced him.

‘We’re closed.’

Azriel whirled around.

The room seemed to stretch far and long in the darkness with thick curtains shielding the windows. Stacks of wooden trays, empty glasses, and filled crystal decanters piled on the counter. Behind it, Ayla reached on her toes and placed a bottle on the shelf. A lone lantern burned a muted golden above the bar illuminating her.

‘I really need a drink,’ he uttered the first words that came to his mind, cursing himself for the senseless fool he was.

Her hand went rigid. Ayla stilled, and time and space froze with her. If not for the wisps of hair fluttering with her every breath, Azriel would have believed so.

None of their previous encounters ended on a good note. After the last time, he needed to clarify himself. If his mate deemed him vile, Azriel preferred she hated him from close. But in her silence, it struck him. She could be the one behind her friends’ defence, commanding them to keep him away.

‘Lock the door.’ She said a moment later, adding another bottle to the display. ‘I don’t want anyone else to believe we’re open yet.’

Resisting a smile, Azriel tested the knob again. He and her, alone in the empty bar—dreams truly did come true.

Once he settled across from her, Ayla faced him. She looked at him, unblinking. 

Azriel waited. So did she. He fumbled into his pockets and his fingers caught in the leather. His heart sank. He remembered stuffing a pouch with gold marks explicitly to bribe the hag if needed.  

Ayla laughed, the sound echoing through the air, chasing away every thought from his mind. She had blessed him with her smiles before. But this, it was beautiful—more so than her melodies, like the chime of a willow.

‘I was expecting your order.’ Her shoulders shook as she picked a glass from the pile. ‘Spare your money. The bar is still closed, remember?’

Heat crept up his neck. Azriel smiled yet ducked his head low. His shadows swayed on his shoulders as if laughing along with her. Traitors.

Ayla pulled a decanter from under the counter, simpler than the ones above, and poured a mouthful for him. He took the first sip and her eyes never left his face. 

A thick sweetness coated his mouth, the aftertaste lingering on his tongue. A drink was surely an excuse for his cause, but he expected a real one in a bar. Azriel almost said so when his throat tightened. His vision clouded. Bitterness exploded along the back of his tongue before morphing into a burn that settled in his throat. An undignified cough escaped his lips.

Amusement sparked in Ayla’s eyes. ‘I can find you something light if you’d like.’

‘It’s fine.’ Azriel cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse when he got the words out. ‘I didn’t expect. . .that. What is it?’

‘Poison. Didn’t your instincts warn you?’

His shadows danced along his back and wings, but they were quiet and calm. Azriel studied her blank face as he took a subtle sniff. It smelled quite like her—a jumble of spices and sweetness. 

Ayla laughed again. ‘I’m not daft to kill you in my own bar. It’s something Raya and Uri have been experimenting with.’

‘So it could be poison.’ Azriel smiled and tested another sip. It tasted easy this time. When she paused to fill his glass, he gave her a nod.

Her eyes fixated on his shoulders. ‘And for your companions?’ 

The wavering darkness stilled. His shadows that sensed the insensible and expected the unexpected, skidded down his back as though her question had rendered them awed. One ever wondered what they did for him or could do for them. In five centuries, no one asked what they wanted.

Their whispers quieted, and in that eerie void, Azriel seemed to hear a word echo back to him. Far, far away. Ayla.

‘Nothing.’ He dropped his gaze to the drink, smiling. It only served right that they suffered his agony too.

Leaving the liquor beside him, Ayla tended to her shelf. 

It was a cold, cruel world outside. A woman who hurt her and promised worse lurked beyond that room. A court wanted to whisk her away for a reason he knew nothing of. But Ayla had no worry. She drifted back and forth, shuffling the bottles in an innate pattern only she saw until the colours bled and blended into a seamless artwork, a mosaic of reds and browns and amber in the faelight.

How could she be so carefree while her life was in danger?

She preferred the lonely, Uri had said. Even with Azriel mere feet away, she was alone, in her own world—getting her bar ready for the evening, and he was content watching her.

Cradling a bottle against her chest, Ayla leaned back against the counter.

If he set his glass down and reached a little, Azriel could trail a finger down the arch of her spine. He could feel the smooth curve of her waist under his palm. A little lower, her shirt crinkled, right above the swell of her— He tore his eyes away and cleared his throat.

‘You don’t have to act tough,’ she said. ‘No one shall know the big bad shadowsinger can’t drink. It will be our secret.’

Azriel looked up. Ayla moved down the bar, away from him, towards the unattended pile. A teasing smile tugged at her lips. And her face lacked the hatred he believed she felt for him.

Had he been wrong? The times he met with her, she was polite—ignoring her threat—and she talked without hesitance.

‘You were gone for a long time. Where were you?’

‘Shouldn’t you know that already?’ Ayla wiped the glasses and stacked them on the tray one by one. The rings on her bracelet clinked with her every move.

‘I’m a spy,’ mumbled Azriel, ‘not a stalker.’

She chuckled, so light it was almost a breath. ‘Don’t the lines blur for you?’

Always a quick question thrown his way to draw the attention from her. Azriel was used to rudeness, anger, and even snark. But Ayla, she was something else. Her words were a weapon, sharp and precise, and always found their mark.

His shadows gathered over one shoulder, coiling and threading into dark ribbons, inching towards her. Ayla glanced at them and a smile curled her lips. With that, she shattered his resolve.

‘Drink with me,’ said Azriel.

Her hands froze and the smile faded. She peered at him, assessing him.

‘Drink with me, Ayla.’ He said again, only gentler.

For a breath, she didn’t move. Then she abandoned the trays, glasses and bottles, and walked back to him. 

Snagging the drink from between his fingers, she took a sip. Her brows pulled together as she pressed the back of her fingers to her lips and gasped. Azriel grinned.

‘Gods, that’s horrible.’ The veins along her neck strained as she swallowed again. ‘They should not be making that.’

‘A bar owner who can’t handle a drink. It’ll be our secret.’ Azriel poured another glass.

‘Ah, so it begins. Is this how you interrogate your suspects?’ Ayla crossed her arms on the bar. It brought her closer to him.

Azriel nodded. ‘Right after a meal of their choosing.’

‘Sure, sure. We don’t want to lose them to exhaustion. And when does the screaming start?’

There were two kinds of women—ones who idolised him and ones who feared him. Neither cared who he was underneath his mask of Night Court’s Torturer. And they definitely did not joke about it. 

Azriel chuckled under his breath.

Ayla drank again. ‘It’s still not my secret to share if that’s why you’re here.’

‘Not the part where you’re involved. That’s yours to tell.’

Her eyes didn’t waver. She observed him as though she could stir through his thoughts and pull them apart until she took what she wanted. 

After a long minute, she muttered, ‘I’m starting to see why you’re a spymaster.’ She tucked a fist under her chin. ‘I’ll tell you what. You find out where Hamra is and I’ll give you—’

‘She just passed the borders of Winter. If she moves west in the next two days, she’s heading to Autumn.’ 

Ayla blinked twice. Her lips parted and closed. She shook her head and slowly, a smile made its way onto her face. ‘Not a stalker,’ she mumbled, brushing the loose strands away from her eyes. ‘I met her five years ago.’

Azriel brought the glass to his lips and hid his smirk behind it.

‘I had to stop at an inn on my way back from a trip. I never do because they are always loud and crowded. That place was no exception.’ Her brows furrowed, yet her smile remained. She stared at the wood between them, ‘I almost left until I saw her. She was cursing at three men who were trying to hold her down and she was soaked in blood. I couldn’t tell whose it was. But she was fighting back. And those who wished to help were afraid of her.’

‘You helped her.’

Ayla nodded once. ‘Not right away. I wasn’t sure if she was innocent. But, she was cornered and outmanned. One of them even had a rope to tie her down like a beast. It didn’t matter though. The next minute, she was waggling a knife at them. Almost took an eye out of one.’ She laughed, shaking her head. More hair spilt from her knot. ‘I still don’t know where she got it from. After I had her cleaned and fed, she offered me gold for my horse and promised to let me ride him if I offered her protection.’

Azriel grinned. He expected nothing less from the spitfire of a child. ‘Who was she running from?’

‘Her sire.’ Ayla hesitated for a beat, then sighed. ‘Hamra is a half-nymph. When she came of age, many coveted her for her beauty and suitors poured in from every court. Her sire is a lowly lord. After he married a high fae to keep his bloodline pure, her mother hid her birth from him. But news of her existence spread when she bore more resemblance to him than her mother. Since Hamra carries his blood and passes as a fae, like any arrogant male, he claims to the right to decide who she weds and beds to further his lordly dreams.’

Different courts, different times, but the same tale.

Anger coiled in Azriel’s gut. Hamra was a mere child. Almost as old as when Mor endured the same or Gwyn.

‘Who’s her father?’

‘I’ve spoken more than I promised.’

‘And the woman, is she here on his orders?’

Ayla stole the drink from him and took a long sip.

‘Tell me the child is safe to travel alone.’

She lifted her chin, her eyes scrutinising him. The glass hung from her fingers by the rim. ‘And why do you care?’

Azriel didn’t know what trick she was playing. How could one not care? The sight of Mor’s naked body, bloody and bruised, on the ground still haunted him. He couldn’t condemn another to the same fate. ‘Shouldn’t we when her life is in danger?’

Ayla sipped again. Another minute of silence passed before she smiled. ‘You’re kind.’

The words felt wrong even from her lips. If she knew his true intentions, that the fae had been a pawn to get closer to her, she wouldn’t feel the same.

He looked away, ‘It’s not what people say about me.’

‘Maybe you’re listening to the wrong people.’

Her gaze was heavy on him. The urge to hide gnawed at his chest. But they were alone and his shadows had their own will around her. They peeled away leaving him exposed, bare and whole. 

Aware of the little time he had before they were interrupted, Azriel stole the drink from her. ‘Is that why you refuse to work for lords? For her safety?’

‘I don’t find them reliable.’ She shrugged, ‘Most are entitled and self-aggrandising.’

‘Rhys isn’t like them.’ At the least, not after one knew him.

Ayla clicked her tongue. ‘Your High Lord must pay you well if you endorse him while drunk.’

Azriel chuckled. He itched to defend his brother and convince her that he wasn’t as evil as she believed him to be. But he wanted to stay with her more. 

‘Why the bar?’ He asked instead. Her brows furrowed. ‘You make weapons and yet, own a bar.’

‘I liked the house.’ Azriel must have failed to mask his confusion because she added, ‘It’s in the middle of the city. I have a view of Sidra and the mountains from my balcony. And on solstices, I can see every celebration. The lights, the decorations, the music. For months, I tried to negotiate with the owner. But he wouldn’t sell it without the bar.’ She sighed, waving a hand between them. ‘You would know if you saw my house.’

His heart lurched.

‘Tell me this,’ she leaned forward on her arms. ‘Doesn’t it contradict your purpose if you declare yourself a spymaster?’

Azriel grinned. Of course, his mate would be bold enough to ridicule him. ‘I have others working for me. And everyone expects a shadowsinger to spy. There’s no point hiding it.’

Ayla rolled her eyes. ‘Excuses. Admit that you’re terrible at your job.’

’You don’t even know what I can do.’

‘You couldn’t find out where I was.’

‘But I found Hamra.’

‘She probably spotted you. Your shadows aren’t as subtle as they should be.’ She took the drink from him. The warmth of her skin grazed his fingers.

Darkness swarmed and writhed over his shoulders at the insult. A low chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Why the singing?’

Ayla frowned at the sudden shift. ‘You seem to be very curious about my life. Are you sure this isn’t an interrogation?’

‘You’re not screaming yet,’ teased Azriel.

She drew a breath and the corner of her lips twitched. ‘Among my people, women are supposed to be pretty things who do pretty things.’

Azriel waited for more. But she answered with silence.

Sire. Her people. Your High Lord. Her choice of words was strange for a commoner in the north, or even a lady. But she carried no markers of the southern courts. Even when she spoke of Hamra, she refrained from naming a place.

From the way she talked of her people, only two places came to his mind. 

Azriel knew the chances were slim but, for someone whose every word was calculated, she was bound to correct him rather than reveal the truth herself. ‘Autumn?’

Ayla grinned, ‘Do I look like I’m from Autumn?’

Hewn City then. Azriel hid his smirk by taking a sip. ‘I didn’t know making swords was a craft fit for a lady.’

‘Spoken like a true man.’ She exacted her vengeance by snatching the glass from him. Her gaze lingered on his hands as she drank and his fingers twitched on their own. 

He clenched his fists and turned away. He couldn’t bear that look from her—like he was that weak, helpless boy who cried for help, someone reduced to his past and ghosts.

‘We all have scars, shadowsinger.’ Her voice carried a note of tenderness. ‘You bear yours on your skin.’

When Azriel turned back, she was peering at his fists unfazed. She didn’t flinch away with disgust or cower when he caught her inspecting them. 

Ayla opened her palms to him. ‘May I?’

The last time she touched his skin, Azriel was too lost in her to notice. This, he wasn’t prepared for, nor could he forget.

‘You can refuse me,’ she said. Her hands rested on the counter between them as a sign of reassurance that the choice was truly his. 

Many had desired what Ayla asked of him. Even Mor at one time after she learnt the truth from Rhys. But it was Azriel who always chose who and when he touched, never the other way around. The only person he ever let feel his hands was his mother once the bandages were removed.

Slowly, he offered his hand to her. At the graze of her fingertips on his knuckles, he sucked in a sharp breath.

Ayla held his gaze, waiting, allowing him the chance to kill her curiosity. When Azriel didn’t resist, she comforted him with a smile before lowering her eyes. 

For a long time, she only observed, taking in every ugly ridge and wrinkle on his skin. She held his hand in both of hers, her fingers barely touching him. Her thumbs weaved through his digits and stroked his palm, eliciting a jolt through his spine with each traversed path.

We all have scars.

What scars did she possess? Were they a reminder on her skin like his? That thought alone birthed a hunger in him to inflict pain onto the world. 

How could anyone wish to hurt her? A woman whose eyes beheld compassion instead of pity for a cursed soul like him? The one who cradled his marred hand as a sacred relic deserving of her utmost care? The one whose face softened with a kind smile as she marked every inch of his scars with her smooth touch?

‘I wish,’ Ayla breathed, ‘they had treated you better.’

Azriel realised it then. Why Mother burdened him with a loveless life for five centuries. Why Mor didn’t accept him. Why Elain was never meant to be his. 

So he could belong to Ayla. And he would endure the heartache again for eternity if Mother promised him one lifetime with her.

Her fingers stilled, hovering over his palm. ‘Did they pay for this?’

Ayla’s face was that of an ardent believer of forgiveness—warmth radiating from her every time a smile adorned her lips. She cared for Raya and Uri. She protected a child endangering herself. She sheltered a homeless hag.

But Azriel had also witnessed her choke a male defending a fae. 

Which one was he—one worthy of her generosity or her wrath? 

Was he the same innocent boy deserving of justice after the blood he spilt with his own hands? Or was he a sinner for how he punished his half-brothers? What would appease the woman in front of him cradling his hand with a gentleness that rivalled a mother’s touch—that they were forgiven and shown the path of kindness, or they were ripped to shreds by his own tortured hands like they deserved?

No, the word inched closer to the tip of his tongue, ready to satiate his mate with a simple lie. One to keep her from running away from him. ‘Yes.’

The corner of her lips curled up, ever so delicately, and she murmured. ‘Good.’ 

When a frown etched between her brows, he knew her next question well. He grappled at everything he learned of her to lead her elsewhere. 

‘Can I see your dagger?’ She asked softly. 

Azriel almost laughed. One minute, his heart ached with the weight of his past, and the next, with joy and need.

Her back arched over the counter and she leaned low. She narrowed her eyes, prodding at his palm and pinching his fingertips. ‘Do you need special hilts? For your hands, the grip on them should be interesting.’

Oh, Azriel would prove his grip all right.

His shadows buzzed by his ears sensing his insidious thoughts. 

‘Maybe next time,’ he said, easing his hand out of her grip. What an idiot he was denying her the very thing he craved—her skin against his.

Her brow raised but she smiled. ‘Planning ahead, are we?’

It was neither a threat nor a refusal.

Refilling the glass, Azriel nodded at her wrist. ‘Did you make that?’

Ayla glanced at her bracelet before emptying their drink. ‘Orvin did. Leather and innovation are his specialities. I’m better with traditional weaponry.’ She poured another glass and Azriel grabbed it before she could. ‘I don’t carry weapons, so he made it for my travels.’

So close, the rings appeared more silver than gold but lacked the lustre of either. ‘What is it made of?’

‘It’s something I’m working on.’ Ayla threaded her third and fourth fingers through the rings and pulled, slowly revealing the cords. A trilling echoed in the air as they strummed from the strain. ‘See,’ she looked up at him, her eyes bright and eager. ‘It’s malleable under tension. It may not look like it, but it’s tougher than steel.’

She flexed her fingers and the rings whizzed back to the bracelet in a blink. Her smile widened.

Azriel set the glass down and reached for her wrist. Then, he stopped. When he turned to her, she nodded twice, extending her arm towards him. 

His fingers were thicker than hers. The rings barely slipped past his nails. The heat from her skin still warmed the metal. 

Ayla leaned close and Azriel held his breath. She curled his fingers, trapping the rings between his knuckles.

‘They are meant to be a little loose to manoeuvre them.’ She pointed at his half-closed fist, ‘You can’t get proper control if they’re snug. There’s also the danger of breaking your fingers during a fight.’

Azriel nodded and tested a little tug. His fingers trembled at the tension as though the cords fought back against him. Both times Ayla used it, she did so with an impressive ease that almost shamed his Illyrian strength.

She traced her fingers along the width of the bracelet. ‘Here’s where the tethers go. It remembers its form and reverts to it once you let go.’ Then she frowned, ‘But it’s not perfect yet. Leather gets worn out soon. We’re trying to replace it with metal but the slide and friction are hard to get around.’

Words tumbled out of her lips about metals and temperatures and mechanics. The more she talked, the further she edged towards him.

Azriel narrowed his eyes.

A smoky tendril teetered over her shoulder, one to the other. It coiled and wove itself with the loose ends of her hair, curving along her jaw carefully to not touch her skin. 

As the rogue shadow nudged against her collar, swaying too close to her ear, he gritted his teeth. 

Ayla looked up at his silence.

Azriel nodded, bringing his gaze back to her face. Or did she ask him something?

He stared at his hand, the rings still in his grasp. He coiled the cord around his fist like she did on that first night. She was right—he could tolerate the strain better. He tugged and her hand slipped on the table, almost knocking the glass off. She caught it before the liquor spilt on him.

‘Hey,’ she laughed—sweet and soothing. His shadows sighed at the sound. ‘Careful!’ 

Azriel released the rings, letting go of the tether, letting go of her.

But Ayla didn’t move back. She drank, smiling. 

Lights hit the crystals on the shelf right and their glow echoed around her like a gentle halo—turning her into the ethereal being she was. Her eyes sparkled with mirth and her cheeks flushed warm. She licked the remnants of the liquor from her bottom lip as she emptied the bottle and nudged the drink towards him.

Azriel willed himself to breathe. He placed his finger on the rim and turned the glass around. When he brought it to his lips, his tongue darted out to gather the wetness still stuck to it, where her lips had been not a moment ago. He took a long sip, savouring every drop of the burning nectar she offered.

Ayla stared at him—his parted lips, the column of his throat as he swallowed. Her inhaled breath stuck in her throat. As Azriel set the glass down, her eyes followed it before they flashed to his. 

Far, his mind screamed, too fucking far. 

But Azriel noticed the slight twitch of her lips before her gaze flicked to his side. A thread of shadow curled around his ear. 

A lock clicked beyond the wall. Ayla looked over her shoulder at the closed office door, sinking her teeth into her lip.

Raya, his shadows announced.

‘That’s my bartender,’ her voice took on a lower note, more melodious than ever. She swallowed a breath and turned to him. ‘We’ll be opening soon.’

Azriel waited. 

Ayla didn’t move.

He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. 

Metal clanked and scratched against the wood as her fingers splayed on the counter. When her lips moved with his, Azriel buried his other hand into her hair—her beautiful, silkened hair. 

He swiped his tongue on her lips, wide and hungry. Honeyed sweetness from their drink lingered on them, and beneath it, he tasted her. A shiver raked through him, every nerve in his body awakening at her kiss. When she gasped, he stole the little breath from between her lips. She didn’t resist. 

Gods, not once did she resist.

Azriel kissed her. 

He kissed her with every piece of his heart. He kissed her for the centuries he waited for her. He kissed her for the moments wasted between them, and the moments he would miss until next time.

Here.

Feet stomped close on the other side of the door.

Azriel pulled away, dropping his hands.

The door opened.

‘People generally rest in their bed,’ groaned Raya entering the room. Her mouth fell open when she spotted him, her wide eyes darting between him and Ayla.

Azriel only watched his mate. Her hair, ruined by his hands. Her cheeks aglow golden with a flush. Her lips pursed—wet, swollen, and all the more inviting.

But the light in her eyes, the playfulness, faded.

He stumbled back from the stool. 

‘Thanks for the drink.’

And he left without looking back.

[intrepidacious]

just fairer than death

summary: One night, you pull a dying sailor from the depths of the sea.

pairing: james norrington x siren!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: set right after james' canon departure; slight dubcon because sirens; brief blood licking; i think this qualifies as soft dark? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: crawling out of my void with this fic that absolutely no one asked for 🫶🏼 i first wrote this in may so that's how i'm doing at the moment. @brandycranby and @scrumptious-delusion thank you for actually making me finish this story, i love you both so immensely x

masterlist | read on ao3

It was said, among your kind, that there was nothing more dangerous than a sailor; for you were destined to either love him or kill him.

That is, if he did not kill you first.

Your life had already been long, then, and you’d never even seen a human up close. You’d learned to understand how the seas would change when they had to carry a ship, how the waves would moan under its weight, and you’d taken great pains to avoid watchful eyes in the dark every single time. The odds were stacked against you, and you weren’t ready to risk your life for a notion as abstract as love.

Others, you knew, had been bolder than you. Several of your sisters liked to venture out to take a closer look at a passing vessel and its crew, and some of them had never made it back afterwards. You didn’t like to think what might have happened to them.

It was worse, though, when they did return. Blood on their gills and flesh still stuck between their sharp teeth, a mad, angry, horrified look in their eyes. See what they made me do, it seemed to say. See how they conjure violence from thin air.

Passion, you learned, was a dangerous current to get caught up in.

Night fell early that day, like the goddess herself wanted to hide what was about to happen underneath a shroud of darkness. The sea was quiet. The stars were hiding as you let yourself get carried by the waves with your face turned towards an empty sky, far enough from the cursed ship to stay out of sight. The Flying Dutchman made you shiver in your scales, no matter how many times you smelled her rotten wood from afar. There was nothing good on that ship; nothing good could ever come from it.

You never knew what strange tides carried you closer. These waters had their own sense of humour, sometimes, cruel and biting like medusa venom.

A shout cut through the night, clearly audible even from where you were floating at a distance. Normally, you would’ve taken this as your sign to leave, but for some reason, you hesitated. An icy chill went through you and stopped you from slipping away into the safety of the deep. Instead, you turned your head towards the source of the sound.

Something had plummeted into the water.

You squinted. Yes, you could see several figures, their heads just bobbing above the surface as they moved hastily away from the abominable ship.

Good, you thought. Not even humans deserved the likes of Davy Jones.

Then the wind picked up. It carried the coppery stench of blood and steel mixing with seawater, and the fine hairs covering your neck stood up in response. Every cell of your body was screaming at you to flee, and yet you were unable to move, the ocean gently pushing you closer still.

You couldn’t see anything else in this murky darkness, but a few minutes passed in tense silence before you heard a hollow, ghostly laugh followed by another splash. The sea tasted of iron, too, now; and of something else.

It was that other, undetermined thing that made you swim closer against your every instinct. You were still far enough from the Dutchman to be out of sight, the tides moving in your favour, when you saw the shape in the water.

It was drifting away from the vessel as well, but in a way much more uncoordinated than the ones you’d seen earlier, barely staying afloat for another moment before the ocean swallowed it whole.

You did not hesitate this time.

Underwater, it was much easier for your eyes to make out the shape, sinking heavily as the ship’s wake pushed it down, down towards the bottom of the ocean. A muscle strained in your tail, your gills protesting as you shot through the waters to get a proper look before it fell out of sight. You still didn’t understand why.

Goddess help you, you should’ve known.

For something as terrible as a sailor, he didn’t look all that intimidating. He only looked decidedly lifeless, his eyes closed, limbs floating loosely. Blood tinted the water around him, coming from a hole in his chest that probably wasn’t supposed to be there. Then again, what did you know about humans?

You wondered if all of them looked this beautiful.

Then, like a shockwave, you remembered that they needed air to breathe.

Before you could consciously decide on it, you had grabbed the sailor under his shoulders and dragged him back up. He was heavier than a grown reef shark, unresponsive dead weight, the ocean refusing to loosen her grip on him.

Finally, you burst through the surface again, a gasp of relief escaping you when you spotted a sandbank not that far away. The Dutchman, thankfully, was far off in the distance by now. No ghostly eye saw you taking off into the opposite direction with the lifeless sailor the ship had spat out.

You couldn’t help but glance at your charge every now and again as you struggled to keep him afloat. He had lost part of his hair to the currents, and the rest of it had another colour underneath, dark like sea weeds. You could only hope that he didn’t need the upper part.

But need it for what, exactly? This man was dead; or at least mostly so. He still smelled slightly alive, and his skin was warm against yours.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to yourself as you tightened your grasp around his shoulders.

Careful, sang the waves. Do not play with things you don’t understand.

But what a ridiculous warning that was. You knew this man was in no shape to harm you, so how could your curiosity be something terrible?

After what felt like hours, your hands touched rock and sand. With great effort, you managed to heave the sailor onto it. No matter how much you scowled at the waves, his head kept rolling back under water, until you lifted yourself up and carefully put it in your lap.

Your tail was aching with exhaustion and your uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Breathe, you thought, holding his face in your hands, breathe.

The sailor didn’t listen, but then again, he was mostly dead.

You could feel your heart racing as desperation started to rise. What had you done this for, then, if he refused to cling to life after all? It was as if something had possessed you, and now that you were halfway through the motions it dictated, you’d been once again left alone with your thoughts and the rush of the sea around you.

Something compelled you to push a strand of wet, dark hair away from his face. No; he didn’t look intimidating at all.

Love him or kill him.

You were a simple creature steered by fate as much as anyone, and right now, you were a helpless guppy between her fingers. You wondered what colour his eyes might be.

He was so heavy on you, like his weight was trying to remind you of the odd reality of this situation. You had no idea what to do, and so you kept staring at him.

Like small fish lured in by photophore, your fingers trailed inevitably downwards to that strange hole in his chest. Human blood smelled the same as yours, and it had the same colour, as far as you could tell; but it was warm.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand back and licked it up.

An involuntary sigh left your lips.

Sweet. Maddeningly sweet. Even after just a few drops, you could see why your sisters would lose their minds over this. You could feel your mouth watering as you savoured the taste, your mind going blissfully blank.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

Your heart was beating a frenzy as you heaved the sailor up in your lap and leaned over his chest, dipping your tongue against the hole. Each lick of blood intensified the gentle buzz in your head, a giddy lightness spreading through your limbs, your chest, your very core.

Just before you lost yourself entirely to this sensation, you heard a low rumbling noise. Gurgling, like stuck water. The sound faded again almost instantly.

Around you, the wind picked up, the waves rumbling menacingly, and you looked up to see the clouds darkening overhead. A storm was coming, after all.

You went to continue your meal and found that the hole had closed up.  Soft, reddened skin covered it like it had never been there in the first place. Only a small, shimmering scar remained, and you traced your fingers along it in wistful wonderment, blinking as you wiped your mouth and came to your senses again.

How strange, indeed.

Still, your appetite had been wet, now. You looked at the sailor’s face again, craving more of his sweetness. Maybe …

Slowly, you brushed your lips against his, breathing into him as you carefully nipped at his flesh. He tasted like the sea, here, salt and brine and something else entirely, something that made you press closer as you exhaled into him.

Perfect, you thought because you’d never felt anything so true, all things falling into place for the first time in your life. It sent a pleasant tingle up your spine.

A sound again; this time, it reverberated in your mouth. The sea lashed at you but you ignored it, pushing into the noise as if going to smother it, and then something moved in your lap and the mostly dead sailor grunted weakly against your lips.

You flinched backwards as he sputtered before you, his entire body convulsing as he coughed up seawater and blood. Each rattled breath ended with another fit of coughs until finally, he calmed, slumping back into his previous position in your lap.

It was then, for the first time, that he opened his eyes.

They were green, green like the deep sea on a particularly fine day, green like a palm leaf on the beach at Whitecap Bay, green like shards of smooth seaglass, polished and shimmering. Even in the darkness, they were bright, and they were looking up at you in confusion.

You were confused, too. Something very odd was happening, and so you leaned in and you did the only thing your mind could think of at that moment. You pressed your lips against his once more.

Again, you were filled with that feeling of rightness as you pressed closer, as his mouth gently moved against yours as if in an unheard question before answering you in equal. Yes, yes.

You didn’t understand but this was the way things should be, how they were always meant to go, how—

Cool hands pulled your face away and an involuntary whine escaped you. The sea green eyes had darkened, softened, and they blinked at you several times before the sailor asked, "Am I dead?"

"Not anymore," you said, making to move closer again. He didn’t let you, his hand solid against your cheek.

"I don’t—I’m not sure what happened." His voice was hoarse with the salt of the ocean. His thumb kept tracing your cheekbone like he wasn’t able to comprehend you were actually here. "I thought I was dead."

"Does it matter?" you asked. Your voice was gaining a sing-songy quality entirely of its own accord, and it made his seaglass eyes glaze over a little.

He made to sit up and even though some deep, primal instinct didn’t want him to withdraw even a little, you helped steady his shaking arms until he was upright. Still, your tail was relieved at the lifted weight, giving an involuntary spasm that splashed in the water.

The sailor barely seemed to notice, even as he looked around at his surroundings. The wind howled and dark waves kept lapping at his legs as he tried to get his bearings.

It was a long time before his eyes settled on you again.

"Who are you?" he said, and there was wonder in his voice, incredulity.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You told him your name, quickly, without even thinking about it. Your kind wasn’t usually supposed to share this information; names held power, after all. But this was different. He was different.

"What about you, sailor?" you asked softly. "What do they call you?"

"I … James," he said, his brow furrowed in concentration, like he wasn’t all that sure at all. "Admiral James Norrington of the EC … the EITC. I think."

"Don’t think," you said, putting a hand on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat in there, fast enough for it to sound as if he, like some creatures, had three of them. Unlikely, of course, but what did you know?

In time, he might spare one of them for you.

For some reason, that thought didn’t shock you.

"I should …" he said, his eyes half-shut again. You wanted to kiss away that frown. You wondered if his smile was as magnificent as you imagined, hidden somewhere beneath that stern face. "There was something … someone …"

It broke your heart, the way that worry weighed on him. You needed to take care of him. Take him somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest.

"Don’t worry, James Norrington," you said gently, slowly leaning in once more; he didn’t stop you. "It’s going to be all right."

This time, when your mouths connected, he sighed, like he was letting go of whatever burden his memory was trying to remind him of. This time, his arms came around you and wrapped tightly around your shoulders so that when you slipped into the water, he clung to you, your lips still moving in perfect tandem. He tasted divine.

Yes, you thought, maybe there was a point to these stories about sailors after all.

But this one … he was good. He was yours.

And you intended to keep him.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! remember to stay hydrated and reblog the fics you read to make a writer smile today 💛

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon was a light sleeper, he had to in his line of work, but he wasn’t just a light sleeper when he was on duty, but at home too.

So when one night he was woken by a clanging down in the kitchen, Simon sat straight in bed, clear headed and focused on locations the reason for that noise.

A small smile slipped on his face, someone was stupid enough to break into his home, must be Simon’s lucky day.

“Stay here, I’ll take care…” He whispered into the dark room, hand patting the space next to him only to find it cold.

You weren’t there.

Simon’s blood froze.

The smile was gone.

His mind ran with a million questions at the same time. Did something happen to you? Were you in danger?

Without hesitation he slipped out of bed and out of the room.

He searched the guest rooms but found everything empty and quiet. So Simon sneaked downstairs, seeing lights on in the kitchen.

To be honest, Simon shouldn’t be surprised. He should absolutely not be surprised to look at the clock on the wall to see the time being three in the morning and you, sitting on the counter, in one of his shirts and your unicorn slippers on while snacking on a freshly opened bag of shredded cheese.

“And here I thought someone broke into our home.” Simon announced his presence and stepped next to you, realizing that you had been daydreaming while eating.

“Damn, don’t scare me, Si!” You complain and cough harshly as you felt some shredded cheese making its way down your windpipe.

He laughed and patted your back, helping you to take a deep breath again. “Sorry, sweets. Like I said, thought we get robbed. What happened that caused me to wake up? Usually you’re quite as a mouse eating your shredded cheese.”

“You left the salad bowl out, I haven’t seen it, ran into it with my fat ass. Sorry for waking you. Know how much you love your sleep.” You mumbled and leaned against his side.

“Mhm… but not as much as eating shredded cheese with you at three in the morning.” Simon grinned and stole the bag of cheese from your hands. “That’s for waking me.” He ate half the bag before handing it back to you. “And that’s for making me think we were getting robbed.”

He stole a sweet kiss from your lips when you were closing the bag of cheese, grinning when you accidentally let it fall to the ground in surprise.

If anyone asks where I was, five words, Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail. Sorry <3

[ohdeerfully]

alastor request HAI can it be based on the fact that alastor doesn't sleep, and it's his lover finding out that petting his ears during cuddling makes him fall asleep.

thank you for your service

yess i love sleepy alastor thank u so much anon :D!!

Goodmorning, Love

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You were well aware of the Radio Demon’s sleep habits. Or, well, lack of sleep habits. You often spent nights in his room, where he would sit with you in bed until you fell asleep and go do whatever the hell he gets up to late at night. You always woke up in an empty room, and often so in the middle of the night, struggling to rest again as a greedy tightness gripped your chest in worry and disappointment.

You understood, though, and tried your best not to let it get to you that you didn’t have his warm body next to you when you woke every morning. But you couldn’t help that twinge of sadness. You weren’t particularly needy or clingy, but would it kill him to stay in bed with you for a single night? And to have a slice of domestic bliss as you woke up?

Obviously. 

You roll your eyes as you lay, staring up at the ceiling. You had just gotten ready for bed, and now waited for said demon to join you for a few hours. Your fingers tapped, impatient, against your chest as you hummed absentmindedly.

“How lovely,” You heard him speak. Tickles of that radio static that always followed him clung to your exposed skin, which was signal enough that he had entered the room had he not announced himself. “What a siren you are, luring me here with that hum of yours.”

You smiled slightly at his comment, scooching over slightly to encourage him over. He obliged, joining you under the covers. He still wore his usual outfit, which made sense considering his tendency to go away all night. You purse your lips at the thought, slightly chewing on the skin.

“Why the face?” Of course he noticed your expression. He always noticed when any emotion tickled your face. You appreciated the genuine tone in his voice, the typical buzz of radio barely detectable in his words. He always got a little softer and kinder when he was alone with you like this.

You appreciated nights with him, being able to see a side of him that nobody else would live to spread word of. You enjoyed feeling a little special, especially to somebody like him.

“Do you think you could stay in,” You asked cautiously, fiddling with your hands as you inched closer to him, pressing your body against his. Even laying, he still seemed much taller than you. You gingerly guided his head down, against your chest as you spoke, hoping the multitasking would keep him from sitting up and rejecting your intimate gestures. “Just for a night. I miss you all night long.”

He allowed his head to lay against you. He did feel tense, of course, letting the back of his head be exposed in this manner as he lay vulnerable on you. It was a strange feeling, but not one he cared to consider for too long. 

“(Y/N),” He began with a sigh. “It’s impossible for me to get much done during the day, what with all the running around Charlie does. Somebody has to keep an eye on that young princess. I prefer to stay awake to get my own errands done at night.” 

I know that, you wanted to say and interrupt his explanatory ramble. You wanted to beg him to understand, just this once. You held in a sigh, watching as his head gently rose and fell with every breath you took. Maybe you should just take this submission from him as good enough.

You gingerly began tangling your fingers through his red hair, brushing out any kinks he may have gotten throughout the day. His tense body seemed to ease slightly, becoming more and more relaxed as you weaved your fingers through the locks.

“You have really soft hair, Al,” You commented, changing the subject. You figured there was no use convincing him. You let your fingers lightly trail upwards, up to his ears. You grazed them slightly with a finger. You touched again. When he made no motion of dislike, you fully began rubbing them. Petting him. You smiled to yourself at the idea of petting the feared Radio Demon. “And your ears are even softer.”

“I try to take care of myself,” He responded proudly. There was another hint of something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. But it seemed heavy. “A well groomed man is a successful one.” You absentmindedly agreed as you stroked the velvety fur of his ears, switching back and forth between them and his hair. You had a preference for the ears, though.

You sighed and began humming quietly again. He rarely got so… comfortable, even around you. He always had some sort of guard up, always had his shoulders squared. He almost never became so… loose and vulnerable.

You noticed the clippings of radio frequency had stopped, which was a noise that was ever present in his wake. You had a suspicion why it disappeared, a small grin forming on your face.

Yes, the Radio Demon never slept. But that was a choice he made, not a curse that prevented him. Even demons get tired. You don’t know how Alastor makes it day by day without a wink of rest, but it was apparent that exhaustion had built up in him. He just needed to relax for a second.

You graced your fingers over his fringe, and craned your neck in a way to get a glance at his face. Yeah, you were right. 

He laid there, eyes shut, features relaxed with the lightest grin playing on his face. Even in sleep, you complained. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was the sound of his deep, slow breathing and occasional twitch of his velvety ears. You briefly wondered what the Radio Demon would dream about.

Would he be aggravated with you when he woke up, realizing you had practically cast a sleep spell on him? You didn’t, but the rate of which exhaustion took over may as well have been some sort of magic.

You shut your own heavy eyes, exhaling lightly as you continued to comfort yourself with the texture of his fur and hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You craned your arms and neck as consciousness came back to you, but an unfamiliar weight kept you from getting that good stretch in. Momentarily confused, you blinked open and looked down.

Red and black hair, more of a mess than usual, still took place on your torso. This was a first, and your chest felt like exploding with the glee of seeing Alastor still resting with you. He somehow looked even more relaxed than the night before, his cheek flush against your stomach, squishing his lips up slightly. A light grin was still there.

You gently brushed your fingers over his face, trailing a line around his features with an index finger. His eyes squeezed for a moment, and that static ambience of his slowly, quietly, returned. It was a noise that you had learned to find comfort in. He slowly opened his red eyes, a confused and sleepy daze clouding them. There was a wrinkle in his brow as he roughly propped himself up with an elbow, looking up at you with a furrowed expression.

“(Y/N)..?” He trailed, pausing to take in a shuddering morning yawn through a confused smirk. “Did I… Dear, what time is it?”

You looked at him tenderly. Oh, how cute he was, sleepy like this. Composed like an exhausted kid. Something even you have never seen before.

“Yeah,” You responded to his unspoken question. “It’s probably seven a.m. or so. I dunno.” There wasn’t a clock in your immediate line of sight.” “A.m. …” He said slowly. He sat up fully, looking down in disappointment at his wrinkled day wear. He quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes and managed to bring some composure to himself, but that lick of exhaustion was still prominent. Especially under his eyes.

“Yeah,” You said again, a light chuckle following. “Goodmorning, Al.”

He wasn’t obviously upset, it seemed. Though he probably was too tired to think about it too much yet. Maybe later.

“Well… Goodmorning, love.” He responded, still with a hint of confusion in his voice. “I suppose I accepted your plea from last night.” He brushed at his clothes while he spoke, trying to flatten out the creases that were brought on through a night of rest.

“Maybe more often?” You asked, twiddling your thumbs in anticipation. You already knew the answer, but it was okay. You knew how to keep him in now. You mischievously smirked as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Unlikely.”

[hadersversion]

I. i can fix him (no really i can)

“he had a halo of the highest grade, he just hadn’t met me yet.”

pairing: rafe cameron x innocent pogue! reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ minors dni!! language, soft rafe cameron because my boy just needs some love, slow burn!!

mood board!

“hey,” i said, nudging him with my foot. “hey, rafe, i think it’s time for you to get up.”

i look down at the boy who was passed out on the ground of the beach. his shaved head covered in sand as beer bottles surrounded him. his eyes fluttered open at me, staring at me. “w-where the hell am i?” he said, slowly sitting up.

“the beach, it’s 6:30 in the morning.” i sigh, looking at my watch. “i assume you were at a party here last night and got ditched on the beach by your friends.”

i watched as he looked around the empty beach and groaned, covering his face with his hands and yawning. “fuck.” he mumbled to himself. he ran his hands down once before looking back at me. “thanks, for uh-….”

i laugh to myself. “making sure you were alive? don’t mention it.”

he nods with a smirk. “yeah, that.” we stay there in silence. “i’m sorry, w-what’s your name again? i recognize you from your friends i just…”

“y/n y/l/n.” i nod at him.

“y/n y/l/n.” he repeats back at me, not once breaking eye contact with me.

i feel my face heat up, not knowing what i’m feeling in this exact moment. this is rafe fucking cameron, kook prince and sworn enemy to my friends. he’s not a good person. i know who he is and i should hate him, but when his eyes pierce through me like that…like he knows all my secrets….that’s when i start to question reality. “well, i should get going.” i say, pointing awkwardly to the beach.

“it’s 6:30 in the morning, where could you possibly be going?” he asks, pushing his knees up and resting his arms on them.

i sigh and look around, feeling like i’m in the hot seat. “uh…it’s uh…it’s dumb, you wouldn’t wanna know.” i try to dismiss him.

“no, i wanna know, tell me.” he says, sternly.

i bite my lip and sigh. “towatchthedolphins.” i say in a fast whisper.

“what was that?” he asks with a cocky smile, making me blush. “i couldn’t hear ya, could ya speak up?”

“i’m watching the dolphins!” i say more clearer, looking down at him. “i’ve been waking up early and watching the dolphins. this is like their prime time, so i like to sit and watch them while i have my breakfast.” i admit to him.

i wait there, expecting him to laugh or do something heinous that rafe cameron would do to a pogue. but he doesn’t. he just nods. “cool, i didn’t know that was like a thing.”

did i take one of kie’s edibles this morning by accident? did i actually never wake up to my alarm and i’m still tucked away in bed? or did rafe cameron just have a super normal reaction to something i said to him?

“yeah, right now is the best season for it.” i inform him with a shy smile on my face.

he continues to stare at me with those fucking perfect blue eyes. he rakes over my body once and stands up. did he just check me out? “well, y/n, enjoy those dolphins. i should probably get home before my dad has a bitch fit. thanks again.” he waves goodbye to me before staggering away towards the exit of the beach. my body lets out a breathe that i didn’t even know i was holding and i start to feel tingly inside.

what the fuck just happened?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

after that, i seem to find rafe cameron everywhere. as i ride my bike to work, go to the beach, hang out with the pogues. he’s clouded up my brain and i have no idea what to do. it’s not like i can tell anyone, i’d be marked with a scarlet T for traitor. but my thoughts can’t stop themself from being infiltrated by him.

“yo, y/n, everything cool?” jj asks me, sipping from his beer.

he snaps me from my rafe cameron brain rot, taking me by surprise. “yeah, everything’s alright. sorry, just a little tired.”

a whole group of us hang out by the beach at the boneyard, the usual pogues, some kooks who we invited in to fuck with, and the vacationers. everything was going alright, until i saw him.

“ain’t no fuckin way.” i hear jj spit.

rafe and his friends stroll up to the party, with a few girls scattered around them. i feel my face goes hot as my friends spit their remarks about him.

“what makes this douchebag think it’s okay to just show up here?” i hear kiara say.

“i don’t know but i don’t like it.” john b adds in.

my eyes can’t seem to leave his figure. he looks just as handsome as i remember from the beach. i know i am staring but i just cannot seem to care. but my brain short wires when he looks up, meeting my gaze with a cocky smirk. shit.

i feel my face get darker as i quickly avert my gaze down to my feet. "uh, i'm gonna get a beer. anyone want one?" but before my friends can even answer my question, i quickly make my way over to the coolers. once i know i am out of their sight, i take a well needed deep breathe and try to ground myself. my brain feels fuzzy with thoughts of rafe cameron but i have to push them down.

i bend over to grab a beer from the cooler when i hear a familiar voice behind me. "mind if i grab one?" i quickly turn my head to see rafe, staring into his blue eyes like they were the goddamn eighth wonder of the world.

he's so close yet so far away, i can smell the expensive cologne he has on. my brain gets off of autopilot and screams at me to put space between us, which i attempt to do. but before i can think, i'm tripping over my own feet, almost falling back. but i feel rafe's large hand quickly land on my lower back, saving me from the tumble.

"woah, there, did you already have that much to drink?" he jokes.

i stare at him, my face probably matching the color of a budweiser can. "i...uh...i..um..." i feel myself babbling on, unable to form a single thought as he has his hands on my body. "s-sorry about that. but i...i've only had one beer, i'm just a total klutz sometimes i swear."

he keeps his hand on my back, i can feel him slightly rubbing it, sending goosebumps all over my body. he keeps looking into my eyes, which seems to be his favorite hobby at this point. "well, i'm glad i caught ya." we stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity, until i remember where i am. who i am here with.

my friends.

i frantically look around, making sure they aren't looking at me dying under rafe’s touch. i pull away from him quickly.

"don't worry they aren't looking." he reassures, grabbing my beer and opening it for me. "i assume it's your friends you are looking for." he hands me back the cold beverage, our fingers brushing against each other.

i quickly snap my hand back and look up at him, he has a small smile on his face as he looks down at me. "sorry, but, i mean...you understand, right? my friends don't like you, you don't like them. if they see me talking over here with you...it'll be a whole thing."

"i didn't peg you as someone who cares about what other people thought about them. i don't know, i mean you did admit to me very easily your love for dolphin watching." he smirks as he grabs a can of beer and opens it. "just saying."

i want to hide away forever. "p-please don't mention that to anyone else. please." i beg with an awkward smile.

"i won't, i won't. don't get so freaked out." he takes a long sip of beer. "it's kinda cute." he says so nonchalantly.

did he just call me cute?

this is a prank, this is merely a big joke to him. it has to be.

i can tell i took too long to process what he just said because he nudges me lightly with his elbow. "did i lose you there?"

i shake my head and laugh. "sorry, i'm all good." we stand there, sipping our beers in silence. "why are you here?" i ask with no hesitation, which earns me a wide-eye reaction from rafe. "that was rude but...like for real, why? you never come to pogue parties. i thought we were too beneath you to ever join us."

"i mean, you have a point." he looks down at me with a smirk, which makes me flip him off. he chuckles at me and sips his beer. "honesty?"

"please." i say.

he sighs and looks around. "i'm here to see you."

i choke on the sip of beer i'm taking, too shocked at what he just told me. i watch as he steps forward in concern and tries to put his hand on my back, but i move away quickly. i cough agressively before turning to him. "i-i'm sorry, what?" i almost laugh in his face.

"i'm pretty sure you heard me, y/n. i'm here for you." he admits.

i stare at him, waiting for him to laugh, admit that it was a joke, or even a ploy to mess with the pogues like some kind of goddamn trojan horse. "you're serious?"

"i think you would know if i'm lying." he shrugs.

i stand there, unable to wrap my head around what he just said to me. "you're so full of shit." i blurt out.

he just laughs. "am i now?"

"you're here to see me? the girl whose name you couldn't even remember a few days ago?" i cock my eyebrow at him.

"is it so horrible to believe?" he questions. i look at him, trying to tell if this is real or fake. he waves his hand in front of my face. "i lost you there again."

"i'm sorry, it's just...i'm me...and you're you. we exist on totally different planets...universes." i tell him.

"yet here we are, right next to each other on planet earth." he says.

he got me there.

"y/n!?" i hear kiara yell.

rafe turns his head to the voice calling my name and then back to me. "that's your cue to leave, i think."

i cannot turn away from him, too dumbfounded about the past 5-minute conversation we just had. "you're not slick." i say, starting to walk away backwards so i'm facing him.

"i didn't think i was being slick!" he says, with his hands up in his defence.

"i see through you and your lies, rafe cameron! i really do!" i yell at him as i get further away.

"yeah, i'd like to see you try, y/n y/l/n!" he shouts back, smiling at me.

i crack a smile back to him and flip him off before walking into the crowd, looking for kiara.

she comes up and puts her shoulder around me. "you all good? was he bothering you?" she asks, looking back to where rafe and i were.

i follow her gaze and see rafe still standing there with that same look on his face. "no, he wasn't. i'm all good, i swear." i say honestly. "just having a small talk."

"with the kook prince? no one ever just has a 'small talk' with rafe cameron, y/n." she says, squeezing me tighter.

"well i guess i'm the first person to ever do so." i shrug and continue to walk back towards the boys, trying to hide the stupid smile rafe cameron put on my face.

[multific]

Moonlight 

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warnings: childbirth (no detailed description)

Summary: Aemond loves his little wife, so naturally, when you give birth to your first son, Aemond falls in love even deeper. However, when a simple refusal of his breaks your heart, it will be difficult for him to win you back.

It was hard to keep you close. You were much like Aemond, a true fighter. You had a fire in you which couldn't be questioned. A fire towards him, pure love. And now, fire towards your son.

Aeren was only born a week ago, yet you protected him fiercely like a dragon.

And you refused to let the small child out of your hands.

When Aemond was allowed in the room, he saw the blood, he heard your screams and many times, he wanted to barge in but he knew he couldn't.

So, once he was allowed in, someone informed him that it was a boy and that you were in bad shape. 

Aemond could see it, you looked beyond tired, yet you smiled.

But your smile didn't last long.

Aemond refused to hold his son. 

"Give him to me." he heard your voice as he looked from the woman holding his son to you. You looked angry. Way too angry.

It was too late when Aemond realised what he had just done.

He refused to hold his own child.

And since then, you didn't speak a word to him.

You slept in a different room with your baby, sometimes, late at night, he heard the cries. He wanted to get up and go to you but he couldn't, his guilt was overbearing. 

"You should put a leash on her, brother. If I had a wife like that, she wouldn't be sleeping in another room." Aegon taunted his brother daily. 

One day, you were in the gardens, walking with your son in your arms when Aegon spoke up.

Aemond never heard his brother speak with such longing.

"I truly wish she was mine." 

Aemond looked at his brother who was watching you.

"But she's mine." was his simple and firm reply.

But you truly weren't.

You used to be, now, you just sat next to him during dinners. 

One night, you excused yourself, and he followed you.

In an empty corridor, he spoke up.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he knew why. He very well knew why.

"I'm sorry, My Prince." you turned and looked at him. "I believe you are mistaken. I'm not avoiding you, I just hate to see the disappointment on your face." this surprised Aemond. "I gave birth to a child you refused to even look at. I loved you, Prince Aemond, I truly did. But I love my child more. And if you cannot look at him, you won't get to look at me. Fill your bed with whores for all I care. Goodnight." 

"You are mistaken." he said, not letting you leave, but you did grab the handle. "You-You were in that bed, crying, screaming and bleeding for hours. I couldn't do anything. And when they let me in, the blood... so much... they told me you were weak, you survived but you needed a lot of rest. How-How could I hold my child when the love of my life almost died? How could I look at him when I was worried to even look at you? I feared you would die giving birth. I was shaking. I feared losing you and my child. That is why I didn't hold him. I was scared." you stood there, your hand on the door, you looked away from his eyes.

"Then you could have just fucking say so, Aemond! For fucks sake!"

"That is not very lady-like."

"FUCK lady-like, you made me believe you hate me and our son! I believed I disappointed you since you wanted a daughter."

"I said I would be happy either way. My emphasis was on a girl because I feared if you had a daughter, you would see that as disappointing my bloodline."

"You are fucking terrible at communicating." you opened the door and walked into the huge room in which you stayed the last couple of weeks.

Aemond followed you, and watched as you walked over to the small bed and picked up your son. "Next time, you should just tell me. Letting me assume things clearly don't work out." 

"Of course." a small smile found its way onto his lips, next time, it was the promise of a future, a promise of more, something he could work towards. He walked over to you after closing the door. "I wish to hold him." you handed him the small child who didn't even stir in his sleep. "Aeren you named him I recall." Aemond's attention was now fully on his son as you decided to leave the two alone after watching them for a couple of minutes.

You got changed and when you arrived back, Aemond was sitting on the bed, his son on his chest.

"Some nights I heard his cries. It broke my heart but I broke yours far more. I apologise for not being clear and for causing you pain. I am truly sorry."

"I'm sorry as well. I should have asked." you said as you sat down next to him. "I will have to feed him soon."

"I will stay here with you."

You smiled as the moon shined through the window, illuminating the room a little more, helping the fire so you could see your husband's face.

"I love you so much Aemond."

"I love you too, My Queen." you giggled, moving closer to him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You two kissed in the moonlight until your son made it clear that he was hungry.

It all made you look towards a better future.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Read Between the Lines

Request: anonymous said: "I was wondering maybeeee if you could write some protective bf Tyler ( because i would be swooning ) maybe either someone keeps hitting on her so he steps in or someone maybe in another storm chasing crew is being mean so he steps in and defends her <3 idk"

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: language, mild fighting i guess?? slight angst

A/N: sorry I haven't been posting as frequently! I started work up again and ya girl has been BUSY. Anyyywayyy, thank you for reading! please keep the comments coming! I love to see all your requests and I promise i'm getting to them as quickly as i can :)

“Need anything?” Tyler asked, leaning against the hood of the truck in a way that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is. 

“I’m good,” you said, offering him a gentle smile before brushing a few loose strands of hair from your sticky forehead. 

“You wanna come in with me then?” 

You shook your head– the idea of sitting in a stale diner with no AC was just about as unbearable as the thought of driving another second. “No, I think I’ll stretch my legs out here.”

“Okay,” he said in a tone that indicated you’d be missing out. He gave the truck a pat before adding, “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” you assured him. 

He offered one final nod before turning and following Dani, Boone, and Lily across the parking lot. Dexter also stayed behind. Instead of shitty diner food, he’s opted to take a nap inside the RV accompanied by his noise canceling headphones and a fan blasting right at his face. 

You were exhausted, down to your bones. You and the rest of the team had driven nearly six hours that day tracking a cell that hadn’t ended up amounting to anything. You were stiff and tired and irritable– just like everyone else. But you hoped that some time alone outside might help at least level out your mood.

You extended your arms over your head, groaning when you felt something lightly pop in your back, before craning your neck from side to side. The air was stifling– thick and humid with little to no breeze for any sort of relief. The heat hadn’t broken in nearly a week, and unfortunately for just about everyone, the truck’s AC didn’t work as well as it used to. 

The parking lot to the diner was relatively empty. Aside from the crew’s RV and truck, there was an SUV parked in one of the front spots and a small sports car with a steady cloud of smoke pouring out the cracked window.  

You let your eyes wander past the diner parking lot at the sprawling field across the road. The windmills were agonizingly still in the stale air– like even they were desperate for some reprieve. 

Your eyes fell shut as you took a few deep breaths, trying to get your bearings. 

Your peace lasted for about thirty seconds. And then the sound of blaring music and screeching tires had you turning your pulsing head. Instantly, you rolled your eyes at the sight of the familiar vans pulling into the lot beside you. 

Merrill Anderson and his crew started chasing in the area almost thirteen months ago. You knew because each and every moment that you’d known about their existence had been more painful than the last. 

Anderson was a meteorologist out of Texas that wore a cowboy hat almost as big as his mouth and an inflated ego to match it. He made sure you and everyone else around him knew that he had a PhD, and therefore, in his opinion, was automatically more entitled to chase. Him and Tyler had hated each other from the moment they met while chasing an EF2 in Arkansas– their feud only grew each time their paths crossed. 

Anderson was grinning at you through the window as soon as his van rolled by. You did your best to avert your gaze– hoping that lack of eye contact would avoid any sort of conversation. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. 

“There she is,” he announced, boots scuffing against the dirt parking lot as he hopped out from the driver’s seat. 

“Now what're you doin’ out here all by yourself? Your team finally leave you behind? Realized they didn’t need two uni drop outs on their team?” he asked, tone already dripping in sarcasm. 

He was an antagonizer who got off on provoking others. And although you and Anderson had your fair share of unpleasant exchanges, you knew he only ever bothered you to get under Tyler’s skin. 

Tyler’s biggest weakness was that he was endlessly protective of the people he loved. You saw this particular trait as a strength– but you knew that Anderson fed off Tyler's anger, which you could only imagine was his intention now. Thankfully Tyler was in the diner– hopefully gorging on raspberry pancakes as you spoke. Because if he were to see Anderson talking to you– you knew this whole interaction would escalate quickly. 

“Anderson,” you sighed, leaning casually against the hood of Tyler’s truck. The smile you forced on your face was almost painful. “So lovely to see you, as always.”

You hoped if you withheld from his taunting, he might move on quicker. 

Instead, to your despair, he backtracked from his van to stand across from you. “You guys go ahead,” he instructed his crew. “I’m gonna spend some time with my friend here.”

They nodded before heading towards the diner, leaving the two of you alone. 

“You should teach that hillbilly- boyfriend of yours some manners. If I remember correctly, last time I saw him, he drove through a puddle to splash me.”

You bit back a grin as you recalled the moment he was referring to. “I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose,” you lied (it was absolutely on purpose). 

Anderson chuckled. “You know– I don’t know if we’ve ever had a conversation just us, without him lingering around. You’re much more pleasant. Both in conversation and in looks.” 

You felt a chill run down the length of your spine at his words– but the way he was looking at you was infinitely worse. You watched as his eyes flickered from your face to your chest– currently more exposed than you would like in the tanktop you wore in the stifling Oklahoma heat. You wished you had grabbed a shirt to cover up in– but they were all either dirty and packed away somewhere in your duffel. 

Clearing your throat, you stood up straight and crossed your arms, attempting to shield yourself from his lingering gaze. 

“Oh, hey now darlin’, don’t cover up. I’ve been stuck in the van all day with these jokers, this is the most action I’ve gotten all summer.” 

You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as you tried desperately to remain level headed. Anderson was a jerk– and he’d definitely make you uncomfortable… but you couldn’t imagine that he’d ever actually do anything to harm you.  

Then again, you’d never interacted with him for longer than a minute or two with Tyler and the rest of the crew at your side. This was uncharted territory that you didn’t care to explore. You felt your earlier determination to handle him on your own fade away with uneasiness.  

You turned your head towards the diner, hoping you might catch Tyler’s gaze through the window or something. Of course you were too far away for that– all you caught was the glare from the sun. 

“You know I’m not used to seeing you in clothes like this, usually you’re all covered up,” Anderson whistled. 

As soon as he took a step closer, you instinctively moved too. Except your legs collided with Tyler’s truck– preventing you from actually going anywhere. For some dumb reason, you felt obligated to hold your ground– to not let him see how uncomfortable he was really making you. But with each passing comment, you grew more and more fearful. 

Anderson now had his body angled towards you with a look that could only be described as predatorial. “God, it’s true you don’t know what you’re missin’ til you see it. We should have these heat waves more often if it means I get to take a look at this every day.”

You tried and failed to remain stoic. You wanted to yell– to tell him to shut the fuck up. But for some reason, your body and brain weren’t connecting. 

“C’mon, where is she?” he taunted. “You know, your sweet side has its perks. But I much prefer ‘em a little spicy.” 

He took another few steps closer to you. It was subtle, but you noticed. Anderson was so obviously getting a kick out of whatever the hell he was doing here, and you were doing a piss-poor job at withholding from it, like you’d originally planned. 

“Why don’t you come on back in my van with me,” he winked. “I’m not sure how your hillbilly does it, but I can show ya a real good time.” 

Get away from me, you wanted to scream. But your mouth wouldn’t move– your voice was lost somewhere inside of you. And all you could get your body to do was lean away from him slightly. 

“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” he cooed. He was so close that you could almost smell his breath. Your brain told you to fight– to shove or kick or do something to get him away from you. But all those previous instincts you had to fight back faded into paralyzing fear. 

Anderson reached across the space between you to move a loose strand of hair from your face as you began to tremble. “And don’t be afraid, baby doll. I don’t bite… too hard. Owens ain’t gotta know–”

“Anderson!” 

Your head snapped at the sound of a familiar voice… Not just any familiar voice– Tyler’s voice. He was currently storming across the parking lot with a look of pure hatred across his face. The second his eyes landed on you– undoubtedly and obviously terrified, that anger only intensified. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” he demanded. His eyes were narrowed and shockingly darker than their normal shade of sage. 

“Here he is!” Anderson taunted. “Her douche bag in shining armor.”

You couldn’t help but notice Anderson didn’t step away. In fact, if anything, he looked like he was about to step closer, just to really test his limits. But then, to your relief, you saw Boone, Dani, and Lily storming out of the diner in Tyler’s wake– all coming to your rescue. 

In an instant, Tyler was there, stepping between you and Anderson– forming the protective barrier you needed to finally feel safe again. Without thinking, you fisted the back of Tyler’s T-shirt for good measure. 

“Easy, Rambo,” Anderson sneered. “I was just tellin’ your sweetheart here how much I enjoy her new look. Who knew she had all this hidin’ under those baggy shirts? That the reason you keep her hangin’ around, Owens? I knew she had to be good for something–”

But Anderson didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Because before you knew what was happening, Tyler was lunging forward and connecting his fist with Anderson’s nose. 

The crack as it broke was deafening, you released Tyler’s shirt to cover your mouth in shock. Tyler hit him with enough force that he went staggering back a few steps, his hands instantly moving to cup his face. 

Tyler was still shaking off his hand when Anderson stood up straight, blood pouring out of both nostrils. 

“Damn, that bitch must be as good as she looks if she’s worth all this,” Anderson continued to taunt. Even with a broken nose, he didn’t back down.  

Without even hesitating, Tyler moved to strike again. But as soon as he did, Boone and Dani were both stepping in front of him to break things up. 

“Easy, T–” Boone said. 

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tyler snarled in warning, pointing his finger over Boone’s shoulder. You’d never quite heard his voice so malicious or threatening before, and even though it was in your defense, it sent shivers down your spine.   

Suddenly, Lily grabbed your hand from the side, causing you to flinch. “It’s okay,” she said, tugging you a few steps away from the chaos– like she knew how badly you needed space from everything. “You alright?”

You nodded, flustered.  

“Next time you want to settle this without your little army of strays, you let me know, Owens. And next time you want a good time, Y/N, you know where to find me,” Anderson said, offering you a wink that churned your stomach. With that, he wiped some blood from his nose and began sauntering back towards his van. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Tyler snarled, still being physically held back by Dani and Boone. 

“Yeah, and he’d deserve it. But he’s not worth catchin’ a charge,” Boone said. “It’s been a slow season and we don’t got the kind of money to bail you out of jail.”

“Take a breath, T,” Dani said. “He’s walkin’ away. Take a breath.”

You watched Tyler slowly come back to his body. He listened to Dani and took a deep breath– his shoulders visibly relaxing when he exhaled. It seemed to be enough for his friends to finally release him. 

As soon as he was free from their grasp, Tyler turned around– his attention landing on you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his previously menacing voice now laced with so much care and concern. He stood in front of you– his body blocking all views of Anderson and their vans. His hands moved to cup your cheeks gently. 

“I’m fine,” you said, attempting to convince yourself more than anyone else. But even you knew it didn’t sound convincing. Your voice subtly cracked on the final word. 

Tyler stroked his thumb along your skin. The look on his face told you he didn’t quite believe you as his eyes flickered down to your trembling hands. Thankfully he didn’t ask more. 

“I gotta say that was a nasty right hook, T,” Boone said, clapping Tyler on the back as he approached. “I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“What’d that asshat say to you?” Lily asked. “You looked really shaken up when we saw you out the diner window.”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, too embarrassed to repeat his taunts. You were shocked by how self-conscious you suddenly felt with everyone’s eyes on you. Anderson’s previous words had made you incredibly aware of every inch of yourself– like there was an electrical current humming underneath the surface of your skin. 

“Just the usual shit,” you tried to brush it off.  

You felt grateful when they didn’t push. 

Eventually, the crew disassembled– everyone focused on getting their stuff together to hit the road again. Anderson didn’t reemerge from his van, but as you sat idly in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, you didn’t take your eyes off from where it was parked– like you were anticipating some sort of retaliation. 

You remained hidden from the team– feeling so awkward and uncomfortable– like you didn’t want to be perceived or noticed by anyone. And you hated that Anderson’s words were the ones to make you feel that way. You couldn’t find any shirts in your duffel bag that weren’t disgusting. And currently you didn’t have the time or patience to dig through your second bag in the RV. So instead, you wrapped your arms awkwardly over your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible just as Tyler climbed into the front seat. 

“Everyone else is riding in the RV, it’s just us,” he said, eyes lingering on you. 

“Okay,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. You wondered if he ordered everyone in the RV so that you’d feel more comfortable. You made a mental note to thank him for that later, he was always so good at reading between the lines.  

Tyler instantly noticed your uneasiness. “Baby, what’d he say to you?” 

You shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze out of sheer embarrassment. “I mean, I think you caught the gist of it at the end there… Just a lot of that.”

You heard his loud exhale. “Just say the word and I’ll barge into that stupid van and kill him right now.”

The corner of your lip tugged into a small smile. “I just want you to stay here,” you admitted. 

He nodded solemnly. Without another word, Tyler passed you something he had scrunched up in his fist. It was one of his T-shirts– like he knew you wanted to cover up without even having to say it. You took the shirt– the thanks you wanted to offer him remained stuck in your throat, but Tyler didn’t seem to mind. 

Instead, he pretended to fiddle with the radio while you silently slipped the shirt on. Almost instantly, you felt like you could relax underneath the fabric of his clothes. 

You curled your arms around yourself and tucked your knees to your chest. When Tyler asked if you were ready to head out, you nodded without another word. 

…

It was only seven when you arrived at the motel. Tyler went into the lobby to book the rooms while everyone else hung back. Boone and Lily were going on and on about using the pool later that night, but once you’d grabbed your bags from the truck, you sort of tuned it all out. 

Tyler found you sitting on the curb once he’d passed out everyone else’s room keys. He picked up your duffel from the ground before speaking for the first time in almost an hour. 

“You ready for bed?”

You nodded, offering him your best attempt at a convincing smile.  

“C’mon,” he motioned his head to the left. “We’re upstairs.”

Tyler led the way to your room– and even though this was a dingy motel, you’d never seen anything more perfect. The shades were dark, the AC worked, and there was a single, plush-looking queen bed in the middle of the room just screaming your name. 

Tyler let you shower first. And when you emerged from the bathroom, all the sweat and grime finally washed from your skin, he was gone. But in his place, he’d laid out one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers on the bed for you to use. You almost teared up at the sight of just how thoughtful he was… Still reading between the lines. 

You’d spent the entire duration of your shower trying to convince yourself that what had happened earlier wasn’t that big of a deal. Anderson was a jerk– of course he was going to say some jerk-ish things. It shouldn’t have been a surprise– and yet, you couldn’t shake the discomfort you felt. It was like all the words he’d said to you had nestled underneath your skin and made a home for themselves. 

In an attempt to shake the thoughts away, you quickly shrugged on Tyler’s clothes before sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Almost as soon as you sat down, you heard the front door to the motel open up. Tyler stepped into the room carrying his own bag and a couple of water bottles he must’ve grabbed for the two of you. 

“Better?” he asked, handing you one. 

You nodded and cracked it open. “Much.”

Tyler sighed before joining you on the edge of the bed. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I-” you started and then stopped. Your hands were shaking, but you jumped when you felt Tyler’s hand close around yours, steadying them. His touch gave you just an ounce of courage to speak. 

“It wasn’t even anything that bad–” you admitted. “I meant it earlier, you heard the worst of it… I just, I don't know, I can't explain it. But everything he said made me feel so gross… and dirty, and…” And, well, you didn’t quite know what else. Words were hard to come by tonight. 

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled. He released your hand to wind his arm around your shoulders, tugging you to his chest instead.  

It wasn’t until he shushed you that you even realized you were crying, but it came out in a rush. You clung to him, instantly impressed by his ability to just make you feel so much safer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he assured you, only squeezing tighter. 

“I don’t know why this bothered me so much–” 

“Because Anderson is an asshole and he intentionally said some gross shit to shake you up,” he answered for you. “You’re allowed to be upset by that.” 

You exhaled against his shirt, and when you licked your lips, you tasted salt. 

“I’m the sorry one,” he said. 

“What?” you shook your head. “You don’t have to be sorry–”

“I should have been there.”

“You were there,” you reminded him. “Unless I blacked out or something and I was really the one who punched him in the nose…”

Tyler chuckled softly, you felt the vibration against your chest– instantly soothing you. 

You sighed after a moment, trying to decide if you wanted to share what was really bothering you. You bit the inside of your cheek. It was so tempting to keep it to yourself, but more tempting than that was the idea of finally feeling a little more at ease again after just telling Tyler the truth. 

“I just–” you paused again. “I–” 

“Hey,” he said. You looked up at him briefly. “It’s just me.” 

That was the problem– it was Tyler. And you didn’t want Tyler thinking less of you because of what had happened. 

“I didn’t fight back,” you said quietly. “I just froze up– it was like I couldn’t even think straight. And he kept going and going, and I just stood there– taking it.”

Tyler ran his hand up and down your arm reassuringly. “What are you talking about?”

“It just felt like…” your voice tapered off. 

Tyler waited a moment before asking gently, “Like what?” 

“It just felt like I didn’t do anything to stop it,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d heard you. “Like I let it happen.”

“Baby,” Tyler sighed. “Baby, no. Anderson is such a jackass, it wouldn’t have mattered what you said–”

“But I could have told him to get the fuck away from me–”

“You were just trying to keep yourself safe. Baby, we can’t control how we react when we’re scared. It’s fight or flight–”

“Or freeze,” you mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Or freeze. I’m pretty sure fawning is one too, now,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter– what matters is you can’t control that you froze. Just like–”

“Just like you couldn’t control punching him in the face?” you asked. 

You glanced up just in time to see Tyler’s lips tug into a smile. “Exactly,” he said. 

“I just wish my fear reaction was a little more effective,” you pouted. “Freezing didn’t do much.”

You let your eyes fall shut when Tyler tugged you closed to his chest. “I guess it’s a good thing you have a douchebag in shining armor to come help whenever you need it,” he smirked. 

“Thanks for protecting me,” you said quietly. 

“I’ll always protect you, you know that,” he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

You smiled against his chest. You really did know that. “And thanks for punching him in the nose.”

Tyler snorted. “Anderson’s had that coming for a long time.”

[sanguineterrain]

crushin' | jason todd

Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)

the divider

"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.

You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.

"Good. Then you're gonna do this."

You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.

"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."

"Wow," you say. "Babs, I... I don't know if I should have this kind of power."

"No, it's cool. I have dirt on everyone in this family, so really, it's my power. You're the only one who gets to see the vault."

You look at her. "You scare me."

She grins. "Thanks! Anyway, you're free to go. They'll be back from the mission soon, so our job is pretty much over."

The computer beeps. She checks the notification and types back. Then she hums.

"Or, you can, y'know, join us for dinner. Alfred keeps wondering when you'll do so."

You press your lips together. "I dunno, Babs... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. Seriously. And you know what I just found out? Jason will be here too."

Well. That does certainly stop your refusal in its tracks. You haven't seen Jason properly since he returned. You feel a pang of guilt at that; true, he's never at the Manor, at least not when you're around. But you could've reached out by now.

Still, being able to see him again properly is a wonderful opportunity. One you can't pass up.

"Okay," you say. "I'll join you all. As long as Alfred's okay with it."

She rolls her eyes, smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. C'mon."

You follow her to the elevator Bruce got installed for her. In the Manor, most of the family are sitting down to dinner. Damian and Cass are on one side of the table. Bruce is at the head. Alfred is still bustling in the kitchen.

You start to pull out the chair next to Cass, but Barbara startles you.

"That's Dick's chair!" She smiles sympathetically. "Sorry. He's particular. Isn't he, guys?"

"Yes," Cass says. "He's comfortable here."

"I've no idea what you're referring to, Gordon," says Damian. He nods at you. "Hello."

You smile. "Hey, Damian. That's fine. I'll sit next to you, Babs." You sit in the middle of three chairs, with Barbara on your right and an empty chair on your left.

"Hi, Cass. Hello, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," he reminds you. That's not happening. It feels way too weird to call him Bruce, even though you've known him since Jason was Robin. Just, no.

Cass smiles. "Hello. Glad to have you."

"Where's Tim and Duke?" you ask.

"Thomas is at university," Damian says. "Drake is probably with that idiot clone he calls a boyfriend."

Bruce looks up. "Tim and Connor are dating?"

"Good God," Barbara mumbles.

"Well, yes, Father. They've been dating for quite some time, even shared a room together. Last month, Drake went undercover in Atlantic City and the clone—"

"Old man! Where are you?"

"Jason, just—"

"Shut it, Dickhead."

The grandfather clock swings open, revealing the Cave entrance. Up stomps Jason, followed by Dick. Jason has a smear of purple goo on his forehead, but otherwise is clean. His back is to you.

Jason points an accusing gloved finger at Bruce. "You owe me a new bike, new guns, new gear, new phone, new—"

"Jason, slow down. Why exactly do I owe you new things?" Bruce asks.

"Because Tweedle-Dum here didn't scan the fuckin' spaceship that landed in Syracuse and melted my bike with purple goo!"

"It said it was empty," Dick says tiredly. "How was I supposed to know an abandoned ship would spit goo?"

"Okay, alright, boys, don't fight. Yes, Jason, I'll compensate everything you lost in Syracuse."

"Yeah, you will. And a new fridge." Jason thinks. "And a new TV."

"Master Jason," Alfred begins, walking into the dining room with a dish of roasted potatoes. "You may continue your bargaining with Master Bruce after dinner. Wipe that alien sludge off your face and have a seat."

Jason sighs. "Alf, I appreciate the invite, but you know I don't dine with most of the folks at this table. Gets real fuckin' crowded."

"Master Jason, watch your language," Alfred says sternly. "We have a guest. Behave like the young man I raised you to be."

Jason scoffs. "Who, Barbie? She doesn't—" He turns and stops, staring at you.

You smile, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."

He swallows, eyes wide. "Hi. Hey."

"Aren't you staying for dinner?" you ask, confused. "Barbara said you were."

"I—" He glances at Barbara, then looks at you. "Uh. Well. I don't really..."

"C'mon, Jay, you guys should catch up!" Dick says brightly, already seated.

Jason's mouth sours as he turns to Dick. You pull out the chair next to you and tap the seat.

"You can sit next to me," you say, looking up at Jason.

He immediately turns back to you, lips parted. "Oh. I—y-yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Master Jason. The goo," Alfred reminds, raising a brow. "And hang up your jacket."

Jason quickly backs up and bumps into the table corner. He winces.

"Right. I'm gonna... yeah. Be right back."

Jason disappears down the hall. Dick grins wolfishly at Barbara.

"You're amazing," he says.

"I know," she says, shrugging.

Alfred serves the last tray of vegetables, then sits. Jason soon returns, gloves and jacket away and goo-free.

"Did you style your hair, Todd?" Damian asks.

"No. Shut it." Jason scoots in his chair, glaring at his brother. But when you pass him the tray of roast, his expression softens. He smiles at you.

"Thanks," he says, and puts three slices on his plate. "Great roast, Alf."

"You haven't tried it," Alfred says, but looks very pleased.

"Don't need to."

"We're very glad you're here, Jason," Bruce says. "All things considered—"

Jason holds up a hand. "Ah-ah. I'm not here for you, old man. Save the speech for another day."

"And who are you here for, Jason?" Dick asks, propping his chin on his hands.

"None of your beeswax, Dick."

Dick shrugs. Damian begins to talk about an art project in school. You pay the appropriate amount of attention until Jason nudges your arm.

"Hey," he says, nodding at your empty glass. "Didja get something to drink?"

"Oh." Heat creeps up your neck. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't know where to get the drinks."

"'S okay. Alf doesn't put out drinks anymore 'cause everybody drinks something different. You just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I'll get it for ya."

"Jason, you don't have to—"

He holds up a hand, smiling. "C'mon, none of that. You're a guest. Orange Fanta, right?"

You blink. "You remembered."

"Uh." His cheeks go pink. "I mean, yeah. No biggie. I'll be back."

Jason stands. Immediately, the others pounce.

"Are you going to the kitchen?" Dick asks.

"No," Jason says.

"Can you get me another Diet Coke?"

"Todd, if you're going to the kitchen, I would like another lemonade, please," Damian says.

"I just said I'm not going to the—"

"Master Jason, will you please bring this into the kitchen?" Alfred asks, holding up an empty tray.

Jason heaves a sigh. You wince.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He shakes his head and winks. "Nah, 's not you."

Obediently, Jason takes the tray and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a Diet Coke, which he tosses at Dick, who catches it with one hand, and a bottle of lemonade, which he throws to Damian who also catches it with one hand and a scowl. Finally, Jason opens the Orange Fanta for you and gently pours it into your glass, then sets the half-full can next to your plate. He sits down.

"Of course they get special treatment," Dick mumbles into his drink.

The table rattles, and Dick winces, squinting at Jason. The table rattles again, and Jason hisses.

"Boys," Bruce says wearily. "Enough."

"Yeah, Jason," Dick says, sticking his nose up. "Y'know it's my birthday soon. I deserve a brother who doesn't kick me."

"Oh, I'll tell ya what you deserve," Jason begins.

"Are we doing laser tag?" Cass pipes up from the end.

"'Course we are! Everybody's gonna be there." Dick looks pointedly at Jason. "Except my own brother. He refused."

You look at Jason, who's got a nasty glower aimed at Dick.

"You're not coming?" you ask.

Jason's expression melts away when he turns to you. "Uh, I mean—"

"No, he's not," Dick says, pulling the saddest pout you've ever seen. "He said he wanted nothing to do with my stupid birthday."

"Those weren't my exact words."

"They were very close," Damian says.

"Shut—"

"Jason, I can't believe you aren't going to Dick's birthday," Barbara says, shaking her head.

Jason's mouth falls open. "Et tu, Barbie?"

"You should come," you say, touching Jason's arm.

He immediately looks at your hand. You slowly remove it, smiling sheepishly.

"Then we can be a team," you say. "We're playing doubles. I'm horrendously bad at laser tag, but I bet we'd win together. I'd watch your six."

"Leaving them in the lurch, Jason?" Barbara tuts. "So unlike you."

Jason heaves a sigh. "For God—okay. Alright, brother mine. You win."

You beam. "So you'll come?"

"'Long as you and I are a team," Jason says, a little shy.

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Of course."

Dick looks at you. "You should join us for dinner every night."

You laugh bashfully. "Thanks, Dick."

Dinner goes on. Bruce excuses himself early, as do Cass and Damian. Soon, it's the four of you plus Alfred cleaning up after dinner. You and Jason are loading the dishwasher when Jason hisses. He pulls out his hand, revealing a thin red cut on his palm.

"Are you okay?" you ask, hovering worriedly.

"Yeah, 'm fine. I'll take the tray—"

"Jason, no," Dick says, herding him away from the dishwasher. "You have to get that wrapped immediately."

"What are you—dude, it's a tiny cut—"

"Yeah, but there was food on there, and you have no idea what can get into the wound and make you sick," Barbara says seriously. "You need to get it cleaned right now."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. There's a first aid kit in the closet."

"There isn't!" Dick says, shooing Jason toward you. "Alfred hasn't restocked it. You have to go to the Cave. You should both go."

"Yes, great idea," Barbara says, looking at you. "You have medical experience, don't you?"

"I mean, a little, but—"

"More than us!" Dick says, shoving you both towards the hallway.

"I don't think so..."

"You take care of Jaybird here, he needs that hand," Dick says cheerily, opening the Cave entrance. "Go on, go."

"Christ on a bike," Jason mumbles, and heads down the stairs.

You follow, confused and concerned. The entrance slides closed. Jason goes to the medbay, muttering under his breath as he digs through one of the drawers with one hand. You join him, searching the top drawer for the antiseptic spray.

"Is the cut really bad?" you ask, trying to get a better look.

"No. My brother's just an idiot. Nothin' new."

You pull out the spray, some gauze, and a bandaid. Jason nods in thanks and goes to take it.

"I can do it," you say. "I do have medical experience, after all."

He snorts. "Fine by me."

You both sit on the edge of a cot. You turn to Jason and pull his hand into your lap. He inhales sharply. You stop.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Y-yeah. Fine. Sorry. I don't get touched a lot." Jason's mouth screws up. "Ugh. That sounded weird."

You laugh. "It's fine, I know what you meant."

He scratches the back of his neck while you clean his hand. He has big hands. Bigger than you remember. They're deeply scarred and calloused. You rub your thumbs over the pads of his fingers without thinking.

"You got soft hands," Jason says quietly.

"Heh. Thanks. The computer life."

He hums. "I didn't know you were working with Babs."

The guilt swims back full force.

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've reached out, Jason. I-I basically ignored you. Not on purpose! I just... I guess I wasn't sure where we stood and I thought maybe you'd be mad I was working for Batman after everything and I was afraid that we wouldn't—"

"Hey, whoa. 'M not mad." Jason finds your gaze. You frown. "I'm serious. I don't mind that you're working for Bruce. I mean, hell, I do too, on occasion. Mostly I just bitch at him."

You giggle. He smiles. You're still holding his hand. You don't really want to let go. Jason doesn't seem to want to pull away either.

"Well, even so, I'm sorry for not reaching out. I did miss you, Jason. And I'm glad you're back."

He clears his throat, ducking his head. "Huh. Well, I missed you too. And y'got nothin' to apologize for. I could've asked about you."

"Well—"

"Uh-uh, no, I'm the king of self-deprication. Y'can't take that from me," Jason says, eyes dancing with mirth.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine, fine. Can we say that we both could've reached out?"

"That's agreeable. And, uh, while we're clearing the air, I'm so terribly sorry 'bout my dumbass brother."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, huh. Hm. Well, funny thing. I kinda had a, um, crush on you, before. And Dick has it in his head that I... that I have a chance now. So... yeah."

"Before?" you ask.

You don't know why you're disappointed. It's not like you knew. Except maybe if you had, you wouldn't have missed out. Maybe you wouldn't have lost so much time.

Jason glances at you. "What... why are you sayin' it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wish... that I..." He shakes his head. "Forget it."

"Jason," you say, barely a whisper.

He looks at you. His eyes flick to your lips, just for a millisecond. "Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

A beat. Your heart falls.

"Yeah." Jason nods. "Yeah, kiss me."

You heart soars.

You hold Jason's face, still holding his hand. He gingerly touches your neck with his uninjured hand, strokes behind your ear with his thumb. Every nerve alights. You're kissing Jason Todd. The boy you've loved since you were thirteen.

"They did it! They're kissing!"

Jason growls against your mouth. You know it's not aimed at you, but it makes lightning shoot down your spine. Wow.

"'M gonna kill 'im," Jason mumbles.

You smile and pull back, just an inch. "It's nearly his birthday. At least wait till next week."

"Hm." Jason kisses the corner of your mouth. You like him so much. "Fine. Y'know you can convince me of pretty much anything? Wield that power carefully."

You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason braces you with a hand on the small of your back.

"I'm very flattered, but I think you're confused, Jay." A kiss to his jaw. "It's you who has a hold on me."

[roanofarcc]

A LITTLE LIFE

pairing. tyler owens x fem!reader

summary. when a storm tyler is chasing changes course, putting you and your daughter in the direct line of danger, tyler drops everything to reach you. 

warnings. established relationship, descriptions of injuries, reader gets hurt, angst w/happy ending.

word count. 2.7k || masterlist

You watched as Tyler slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and patted his pockets to ensure he had everything he needed for his latest storm-chasing adventure. 

“Are you sure you have everything? Did you pack your charger? Because-” Your husband cut you off with a gentle chuckle. 

“It was the first thing I packed,” he said. The one time he had let his phone die while on a chase nearly sent you into cardiac arrest. He hadn’t sent you his usual indication that the chase went well and he and the rest of the Wranglers were just fine. You were in a fit of panic until Lily called you with words of reassurance and a promise to scold Tyler for his forgetfulness. Since then, you always bugged him to ensure he had his charger and that he used it. 

But he had gotten a lot better about checking in since you had your little girl. The reckless Wrangler pumped the breaks just slightly, calling every night he was away to hear the little baby babble before he fell asleep. He’d taken a rather long break from chasing when she was born, but you knew he missed it dearly. And while you’d miss him, he promised to keep his trips to a couple days tops and he’d come home the second you felt overwhelmed or needed help, no matter the size of the storm they were after. 

You were nervous to let him go, but you always had been. Yet, Tyler’s love for the dangerous weather wasn’t something you wanted to stand in the way of. He was doing what he loved, with the people he loved even more. You were proud of him and his friends for sticking to their guns and doing everything they could to help the people affected by the storms. 

Tyler moved to stand in front of you and your little girl, who you held on your hip. She was all smiles as Tyler kissed her cheeks. “You keep an eye on your momma for me this weekend, okay? She’s a handful.” 

You playful rolled your eyes. “Right, because I’m the one who refuses to sleep at bedtime.” That had been an ongoing battle. Your little girl liked to stay awake all night and nap off and on through the day, leaving you and Tyler on the backward schedule too. 

Tyler pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling away too soon for your liking. He looked unsure of himself, eyes flickering between you and your daughter. “You sure you’re gonna be all right?” he asked, for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. He always checked before he left, over and over again just in case you changed your mind, but you never did. 

You placed a hand on his cheek, smiling in reassurance. “I promise,” you said. 

He nodded, kissing you once more as he muttered, “I love you,” against your lips. 

“I love you too.” 

With your baby’s backward sleep schedule, you had managed to put her to sleep by mid-afternoon. She slept soundly in her crib, and you collapsed on the couch with a tired sigh. The TV droned on, playing some old sitcom that you’ve seen a million times, lulling you to sleep slowly before it overtook you completely. 

The gentle breeze swept in through the open windows, filling your home with a springtime sweetness you thought would remain throughout the weekend, sprinkled with a few rain showers throughout. But as you slept, the pretty blue skies started to shift, changing into something much more sinister. 

The storm was glorious. Tyler’s veins were filled with adrenaline as they followed the twister down an empty backroad, watching as it gained speed. Boone stayed steady filming it, hollering in excitement the whole time. They didn’t get a chance to catch their breath until the tornado was choked out, dissipating before their eyes like it had never been there at all, but leaving behind a clear path of destruction across the open plains. 

The weekend was supposed to host a slew of storms just north of Tyler’s home, and he and his team felt pretty good about their luck based on the first tornado they caught. Maybe it was a little superstitious, but they often used the first storm they chased as a baseline for how lucky they’d be during that outbreak. 

Meeting back up with the rest of the Wranglers, Tyler watched the sky with his hands on his hips, his mind split between the storms and you. Even though he had been chasing since your daughter was born, he was still a little hesitant, especially considering how much of a hassle it was to get her to sleep through the night, but you were just as supportive and wonderful as ever. His responsibility to you and your daughter was his first priority, but his responsibility to the Wrangles was second. 

“We got another big one brewin’ southeast,” Dexter said, eyes glued to the radar. Peering over his shoulder, Lily watched it too. The fixed small smile on her lips faltered before her brows furrowed. She patted Dexter’s shoulder to get him to step aside from the device. 

Tyler could tell she was thinking hard about something, her lip pulled between her teeth and shoulders rolling back. 

“Lily,” Tyler said. “What is it?” 

“It’s heading right for town.” 

Boone’s face pinched in confusion. “What town?” 

All Lily had to do was look at Tyler before he felt a cold twist of dread overtake his body. The storm was heading straight for you. 

You were exhausted. So much so that you didn’t wake up until a loud crash jolted you out of your slumber. You shot up from the couch with a gasp, heartbeat quick in your chest. The curtains that framed the open windows whipped around wildly as a harsh wind blew through screen. It pushed over the vase of flowers that were resting on the end table in front of the window, leaving broken glass and water strewn across the floor. 

You hurried over to the window, only to be assaulted by the violent wind and rain that seemed to be coming down sideways. Cursing under your breath, you went around the living room, closing the windows and blocking out the loud howl that rose goosebumps on your skin. 

Thunder rumbled loudly, rattling the house and waking up the baby. You hurried down the hall, scooping up your daughter with her woven pink blanket. As you tried to calm her down, the sirens rang out with a fury. 

Tornadoes were as common in spring as rain, but your nerves never vanished whenever the sirens sounded. You had been lucky, always just out of the direct path of the storm resulting only in a fallen tree or ruined patio furniture, but nothing too damning. Yet, you never wanted to take your chances, try to outsmart the force of nature by testing your luck. And you had another person to be responsible for. So, you grabbed the diaper bag hanging on the back of the closet and started toward the basement. 

It was half-finished, but home to an emergency stock of supplies if worse ever came to worse during tornado season. Usually, you stayed calm during storms, either reassured by Tyler or able to talk yourself out of any worry as the storm passed by without too much rocking of the house. But Tyler wasn’t there, and it was your first big storm with the baby. 

Panic welled in your chest, pushing against your ribs as you sat on the old cot set up in the far corner of the basement, beside the shelf of food, water, and a radio. Your baby girl had stopped crying, lulled by you gently rocking her. Flipping on the radio, you listened as the weather overhead worsened. The weatherman only confirmed your fears when he listed your county as being right in the path of the increasingly powerful tornado. 

With one hand, you fumbled around in your pockets, in search of your phone, only to realize you had plugged it in not long after Tyler left. It remained upstairs. You heard the howl of wind increase and you knew you’d missed your window to safely venture upstairs. Instead, you were stuck, huddled in the corner of the basement silently praying your luck hadn’t run out and the storm would switch its path or disappear before it reached your home. 

But your luck seemed to have run out. 

Tyler was sure he’d never been so terrified of a storm before. Normally, he found the beauty in them, but he also had seen their destruction firsthand. It was always devastating to see people’s homes flattened and watch them in a desperate scramble to find their missing loved ones in the rubble. That was why they put their money towards helping those people; it wasn’t much, but it was the only way he knew how to help. 

It was a different kind of heartbreak when the devastation plagued a familiar place. As soon as he turned down the little gravel road that led to his neighborhood, he felt violently ill. It was like a swift punch in the gut, nearly causing him to double over at the wheel. The homes he had memorized along the street were gone, old trees completely uprooted, and cars overturned and totaled. 

“Oh my God,” Lily muttered from the backseat, bringing Tyler slightly out of his increasing panic. He didn’t know what he expected, based on the damage leading down the road toward your guys’ home, but nothing prepared him for seeing his little house in ruins. His mind didn’t even register what was happening until he abandoned his truck, running across what used to be the front yard. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered, unable to say much of anything else as he climbed over the rubble of the house. His chest felt impossibly tight, like his heart had been flattened alongside the homes, because his heart wasn’t in his chest anymore, not really. His heart was with you and your little girl; he’d given it away to you long ago and then again when he held his daughter for the very first time.

And neither one of you were anywhere to be seen. 

The Wranglers started to yell your name before Tyler found his voice and joined them. He peeled through the debris, numb to the pain in his hands as they cut against the mangled pieces of what once was a house. With each second that passed that he couldn't see you or hear you, his whole world seemed to darken around him. 

In the very back of his mind, he held a worry of something happening to him while he was chasing; he was as careful as he could be, making sure to only get into situations he could get himself and his team out of, but he never had considered he’d one day he at risk of losing you. 

Tyler had never considered having a little family of his own until he met you. He’d never felt so at home with a person since you crash-landed into his life. And after you two married, and you told him you were pregnant, he was faced with a brighter future than he’d ever imagined for himself. The idea that he may have lost it so suddenly was excruciating. 

“I got ‘em!” Boone yelled above the blood rushing in Tyler’s ears. Boone was on the other side of what used to be the house, grasping a bloodied hand that poked out of the rubble. “I need some help over here!” 

Tyler sprinted across the yard, as did the rest of the Wrangles. Lily, Dexter, and Dani ripped back the pile of debris while Boone and Tyler pulled on your hand, helping you out of the basement. You landed on your knees, one hand still clutching Tyler’s while your other was holding onto the baby. 

A cry of relief left Tyler’s lips as he fell to the ground in front of you. Your hand wasn’t the only thing that was bloodied, it ran down the side of your face and stained the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Baby,” he muttered, carefully grasping the sides of your face to get a better look at you. Your eyes were a little unfocused, red-rimmed, and watery. He wiped some of the blood off of your cheek, causing you to wince in pain. “Are you okay?” Clearly, you weren’t, but he needed to know if there was more damage than the cuts and bruises. Your eyes instantly fell onto the baby in your arm, panic taking hold of your features. 

“I-I don’t know,” you cried. You pulled back the blanket slightly from your daughter’s face, and there were a couple drops of blood smeared across her delicate skin. “I don’t know,-” Your voice caught in your throat, resulting in a shaky sob. 

Carefully, Tyler took the baby, who looked up at him with a quiet contentness, despite the chaos. She babbled quietly, reaching up toward him. He let her wrap her little hand around his fingers and quickly looked her over for any injuries. When he wiped the blood away, he quickly realized it was yours, not hers, which made him both feel relief and panic at the same time. 

“There’s EMTs comin’ in now. I’ll grab one!” Dani said before she took off down the road where the sirens wailed. 

Boone kneeled beside Tyler, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Do you want me to take the kid to get checked out while you wait here, with her?” Tyler nodded, passing off the baby to Boone, who smiled kindly down at her and started talking nonsense in the way that always made the little girl smile. 

Tyler’s full focus was on you as your shock started to wear off. You grabbed a fist full of his shirt, struggling to breathe as you tried to speak. “I fell asleep,” you choked out. “S-She went down for a nap, and I fell asleep. I didn’t…” A sputtered breath fell from your lips as Tyler held you close, hand placed firmly on the back of your head and the other rubbing something circled across your back. 

“It’s all right,” he whispered against the side of your head that wasn’t cut. “You’re okay.” 

You buried your head into his chest, sagging against him. “I’m sorry,” you said between hiccups. 

Confusion flushed Tyler. “What in the world are you sorry for?” He was the one who was sorry. He knew tornados were unpredictable, that was all a part of their nature. But he felt like he should have known the storm was coming for you, even if it was something completely out of his control. You had done everyone right; he left you alone. 

You didn’t answer, though. Instead, you squeezed your eyes closed just as Dani led an EMT back to where you two sat in the front yard. Not too far, Tyler could see Boone holding onto your baby girl while she was looked over too. By the little smile on her lips when Boone made a funny face, Tyler knew she was okay, and that was all thanks to you. 

You had to spend a couple of hours in the hospital, getting a couple stitches and diagnosed with a minor concussion. Other than that, both you and your daughter were okay. 

Since your guys' home was torn apart, the three of you posted up in one of the nicer motels just outside of town. You lounged on the bed, smiling softly as you watched Tyler and your daughter engage in a riveting conversation of nonsensical words and babbles that almost sounded like words. He felt your gaze and met it from his position at the end of the bed. 

The bumps and bruises would fade, and homes could be rebuilt; the most important thing was that all three of you were okay. Your little family, something you only wanted to protect, was still standing strong. 

Tyler scooped the baby girl up in his arms before he moved it sit right beside you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he did the same to your daughter. You rested your head on his shoulder, brushing a gentle finger across the little girl’s chubby cheeks. 

“We’re okay,” you whispered, like a reminder to yourself. 

Tyler wrapped an arm around you, pulling you impossibly close before he repeated, “We’re okay.”

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ SUDDEN CHOICES! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...when you thought your marriage couldn’t fall apart more than it already was, you’re facing the reality of it all. Forced to deal with a broken heart and taking care of your child, you’re left with the ultimate decision of choosing to stay or choosing to leave

INFO...toji x fem!reader, reader and toji have a child, angst, marriage problems, mentions of cheating, arguing, crying, threatening to divorce, comfort towards the end, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Toji stared at you from across the room, a defeated look on his face as you held your crying child in your arms. A sour look formed on your face when you looked back at him. You two had been arguing again, he’s lost count of how many times you’ve gone back and forth with each other. The thickness of the room made him feel like he was suffocating, stuck.

“We can continue this conversation tomorrow,” you harshly say, rubbing your baby’s back gently, trying to soothe him back to sleep.

“How about we just drop it?” Toji sighed, turning away from you. You had caught him talking with his coworker alone in his office, which wouldn’t be a problem if they’re faces weren’t two inches away from each other and her hand was placed so comfortably on his chest. You caught them when dropping off his lunch that he’d forgotten at home.

“Drop it?” Your eyes widen in surprise. “You want me to fucking drop it?” You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Yes! I want you to fucking drop it! Is it so hard for you to stop arguing for one fucking day?!” He shouts, voice echoing off the four walls of your home. The babies cries start back up again, and Toji lets out another tired sigh. And he can’t even look at you anymore, not when you stare at him with such emptiness, tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell—”

“You never mean to do anything anymore, do you?” You reply through gritted teeth, stomping past him to make your way to the babys room. You slam the door behind you, silence engulfs the room and you stand there alone, consoling your child as hot tears pour down your cheeks. “It’s alright, baby boy, just sleep.” You kiss the top of his head, shushing him.

Rocking back and forth on your feet, you stare into space, the thought of what would have happened if you hadn’t brought him his lunch plaguing your mind. The girl…she was young, beautiful, something that you feel you’d lost along the way. It’s part of the reason you think Toji has been so distant with you. He’s lost attraction to you, maybe even lost love for you. And every time you bring it up, he denies it with the roll of his eyes. He’s doesn’t comfort or reassure you. It’s like he’s bothered by you and your child.

You barely see him anymore, always at work or drinking at the bar with his friends. Hell, you can’t even remember the last time you actually got to spend time with him. Sometimes you wondered why he even asked to marry you, and you wonder why you said yes. It was clear your marriage was falling apart right before your eyes. He says he loves you but you don’t feel it, see it. You feel nothing. Just a bunch of empty words to make you think everything is okay.

You look at the shining diamond ring on your finger, watching as it glistened in the light. The day he asked you felt like something out of a fairytale. It’s a moment every girl thinks about, the day the one she loves asks her to be theirs forever. It what you’ve always wanted. A marriage, a family, and now that you have it…would little you be disappointed it’s not like what she imagined? Would she ask why our husband acts that way? Why he’s always making us cry? Why he’s never here? It’s strange to think about.

You thickly swallow, blinking down at your hand. Is it even worth it anymore? You don’t know Toji anymore. It’s like he’s a ghost. Tears spill from your eyes, a stoic look on your face. The door to the room creaks open and you can feel him standing behind you, his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head. He looks over to your child, his son sleeping soundly on your shoulder. He slowly walks over to you, worried at how oddly silent you are. “Mama?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. You’re still looking down at your ring, dried tears on your cheeks. His eyes flicker between your face and your ring, a concerned look in his eye.

“Here, lemme see him.” He gently grabs the baby from your arms. As soon as he does, you quickly exit the room, walking away without saying a word. The baby stirs in his arms and Toji strokes his cheek with the pad of his finger. “It’s alright. I’m sorry for yelling. Im sorry if I scared you.” He stares down at his son and Toji feels a wave of crushing sadness wash over him, like a dark cloud. He kisses his son’s cheek before placing him in his crib, turning the nightlight on and turning off the room light. He shuts the door softly, making his way to the bedroom where he finds you sitting at your vanity in the bathroom, staring at yourself while you wipe your makeup off.

“Mama, can you talk to me?” He leans against the doorway, the silence from you making him itch for something, anything.

You halt your movements and slowly turn to look at him. “What do you want me say? You asked me to drop it, so I did.” You shrugged, sniffling, looking away from him.

“I’m not cheating on you. I know what it looked like.” He walked over to you, his footsteps heavy. “She’s just—”

“You’re gonna tell me she’s just friendly, she’s a co worker, I walked in at the wrong time. Am I about right?” You slam your hand down on the vanity. “I’m sick, Toji! What even is this?” You stood from your seat, the chair scraping against the floor of the bathroom.

“What are you even talking about, y/n?” Clear signs of frustration show in his expression.

“You’re never home. We barely talk to each other besides arguing. You never touch me, make love to me, most of the time you can’t even look me in the eye! You sleep next to me and don’t even hold me anymore!” The tears your tried your hardest to hold back come flowing out with ease. The anger boiling inside you allows your words to be sharp and powerful. “I can’t…” Your voice breaks. Toji goes to reach for you and you push him away. “Don’t.” You shake your head. “I don’t want your touch if I have to beg for it.”

“You’re my wife, y/n. My wife. I married you,” he exclaims, eyebrows raised.

“And what does that mean to you exactly?” You ask. “Genuinely, what does it mean to you? I need to know.” You stare into his eyes. “You say you love me but I don’t feel it, I don’t see it. So, please be honest with me, Toji. If you lie to me one more time…I’m leaving.” You were tired, over everything.

“I love you, y/n—” Toji stops his words when you take your ring off of your finger, placing it in his hand. “What…what are you doing?” He’s quick to ask. “Mama, don’t walk away from me.” He follows you out of the bathroom. “I’m not lying to you.” He squeezes the ring in his hand.

“You are,” you calmly say. “You’re lying to me and yourself. You may love me, Toji, but you’re not in love with me. Not anymore,” you explain. “Did you fall for someone else or did you just wake up one day and realize I wasn’t what you wanted anymore?”

“What are you talking about?” He shakes his head. “Mama, look at me.” He grabs your hand and slides the ring over your finger. “I am in love with you. I’m lying to no one. Not you, not me. What is this about, huh? Is it about her? I’ll fire her. I’ll do anything.” He’s practically begging, his grip on your hand growing tighter, the other cupping your cheek, trying to get you to look at him.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” You break down, sobbing. “I’m so tired of this.” You try and pull away from him but his hold on you is strong. “Why do you only change when I threaten to leave? Why can’t you just change on your own? Why do I have to yell at you and cry to get you to realize?” You hit his chest once, and then once more, and then again. And Toji stands there and takes it. “Why don’t you want me anymore?” You cry.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest while you sob in his embrace. You hate the way he still brings you comfort despite being the sole reason of your pain. You feel conflicted. Should you stay or should you go? Does he mean everything that he says? By now, you think you would’ve learned your lesson, but it’s hard to leave someone you dearly love, someone you’ve grown accustomed to, been so intimate with. Imagining a life without him is hard, especially now that you have a child together. Leaving brings in the conflict of having to explain why you and Toji aren’t together, why your child only sees one or the other, and every holiday and birthday is now split into two.

Toji knows he’s grown distant with you. He’s aware. But never in a million years did he mean to make you feel like you weren’t enough for him. He regrets turning down every conversation you’ve tried to have with him about it, because in his head it was no big deal. His entire reasoning being the fact you two were arguing a lot more and he needed space. Which, now thinking about it, is a stupid reason. As for his co worker, he could care less about it. Toji knew she was overly friendly and he’s told her about you, about your family. He drew a boundary that she wasn’t respecting. Not once he cheated on you or thought about it.

Though, that doesn’t mean he’s the perfect husband. Not at all. He can lash out, say hurtful things and come off as selfish. Clearly. Your muffled cries fill his ears and he just holds you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. Im so sorry,” he says again. Slowly, he sits both of you on the edge of the bed. “We’re okay, mama. We’re alright. I promise.” He kisses the top of your head, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go. Toji doesn’t remember where things went wrong, but he didn’t want your marriage to continue down this path.

You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes immediately search yours and he can see how broken and tired you are. It shatters him. “You promise me?” You nervous bite the inside of your cheek. He wipes your tears and just with the touch of his hand he can make everything feel better, giving you hope.

“I promise you,” he says barely above a whisper.

“I miss you, Toji. I miss us.” Your lips quiver with a frown. His arms wrap around your waist, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you both hold onto each other, hearts beating in sync against your chests.

“I’m here now. I’m sorry.” He heavily sighs. “I’ll make this right. I’ll do whatever you need to me to as long as you don’t leave. I can’t let you go—can’t let either of you go.” His voice begins to waver at the thought. His breath hitches, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Can we lay down?” You mumble. At your request, he climbs into bed with you, laying you on top of his chest. It felt good to be so close to him again, something you haven’t felt in months. And Toji realizes he didn’t know what he was missing until he had you back in his presence again. Not in only in a physical sense, but mentally and emotionally as well. He drapes the blankets over the both of you.

“I won’t go into work tomorrow,” he blurts out. “We’ll spend the day together. Maybe ask Gojo to babysit for the day?” He suggests.

“What will we do?” You ask.

“Whatever you want, mama. We’ll have the whole day.” He intertwines his fingers with yours. You sit in silence for a few, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “You’re important to me. I need you to know that.” He caresses your back. “You listening?” Toji peeks down only to find your eyes shut, you’re quickly asleep, chest rising and falling with each breath. A small smile quirks at the corner of his scarred lips. “We can continue this conversation tomorrow.”

taglist (comment to be added):

@valleydoli @zxnxy @screechingbasementprincess @lexluthorbutnotbald @lynxslokley @briyah0 @levisjinchuriki @maiiluvs @levizonlywife

[luvsfics]

WHAT THEY DON’T KNOW — house of the dragon

Davos Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

[ forbidden love, sex content, oral sex, semi-outdoor sex ]

Description: The long-going feud between house’s Blackwood and Bracken won’t stop her from loving the man her heart desires, even if he is on the other side of the dispute.

Authors note: he might not be benjicot Blackwood but he’s still my man. And yes, I’m doing this instead of writing chapter 4 of serendipity…

The young lady Bracken sighed as her brothers messed around the field, a little too close to the barrier stones that separated the lands of house Blackwood and Bracken.

“Can you even get that thing up?” One of the brothers laughed. Aeron pulled the hilt of his sword from his belt, “Well enough for killing Blackwood’s” he smirked.

She only rolled her eyes, weaving daisies together to make a crown, bored of her brothers yet not enough to stay inside with her family back home.

She missed her lover. Though, she could never say it out loud, for she would be cast aside by her own family, she was in love with a Blackwood, and he loved her too.

“Bracken!” A familiar voice shouted. All of the yellow clothed siblings looked towards the men, a fluttering feeling filling her belly as she saw her lover stepping towards them.

“Put the boundary stones back.” Davos demanded.

“We didn’t move them.” Aeron said as he moved towards the Blackwoods. Davos scoffed, “Oh, did they move themselves then?”

“Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass.” He continued.

Even when angry, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. She constantly had to bite back a smile whenever she was around her family when she thought about him or saw him.

“The assize of Riverrun-“ Aeron began, “fuck the assize, and fuck you.” Davos smugly said, annoyed at the Bracken man.

“This is our land.”

“It’s Bracken land.”

The Lady Bracken finally stood from her rock, smoothing out the sides of her dress, flower crown in hand. She slowly stepped towards her brother, Aeron.

He turned away from the Blackwood boy, walking away from the situation. The Bracken girl’s eyes never left her lovers and his gaze finally met hers, almost softening instantly.

“Babe-killer.” Aeron mumbled under his breath as he passed his sister.

“What did you say?” His head whipped towards the Bracken boy. Aeron sucked in a breath, stepping back in front of his sister in a way of protecting her.

“Your false queen, Rhaenyra, is a kinslayer.” She gulped at her brother’s words. She knew what her lover would think of this, she worried of his words that would come later that night when they saw each other.

He knew she never agreed with her family, yet he always had something to say.

“Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?” Davos bit his tongue.

“Well then, let me tell you.” He said as he stepped towards the Bracken’s. “Aegon Targaryen is no true king…just as you are not true knight.” He got into the boys face.

“You’re both craven, little cunts!” He exclaimed as he pushed the man back. She gasped a quickly stepped out of the way, Aeron pulled out his sword, pointing it at the man before him.

“Aeron!” She shouted.

Davos began laughing, stepping towards the blade, “you wouldn’t dare!”

She quickly broke up the men, “stop this at once! It is merely stones, they can be put back!” She tried to explain.

“Sister-!”

“We will put them back.” She looked between the boys before settling her eyes on her secret lover. “They will be put back, I promise you.”

His gaze lightened, “they better be.” He said as he pulled away, commanding his brothers to follow him back home.

“Why would you do that?” Aeron asked.

“Would you rather die over stones?” She scoffed.

“Fuck-“ she gasped as her lover flicked his tongue over her swollen bud, one hand gripping his dark locks under her skirts and another gripping the wooden barrel beneath her.

The torch light of the empty stable, much far away from the homes of both lovers, shined against her pale skin. Her dress falling down her shoulders.

His tongue entered her dripping entrance. The moans that escaped her were loud and needy as she through her head back in pleasure.

“Davos, please- my love!” Her hips began grinding onto his face, chasing the pleasure he brought her.

His hands gripped onto the soft flesh of her thighs, eating her cunt as if it would be the last meal he would ever have.

The feeling of her peak blinded her, forcing her to see the light. Her noises were louder than ever before as he brought her to her high.

Her heart beat rapidly as she came down to earth, giggling at the bubbly feeling she felt expanding through her.

Her lover stood from her skirts, licking his lips of her essences. His smile was intoxicating, his hands found their way to her waist as he pulled her into him, his lips meeting hers in a passionate kiss as she jumped down with shaky legs to the ground.

“I love you-“ he mumbled into her mouth.

She pulled away from his lips with a smile on her face, “and I love you.” She pressed her forehead to his.

His hungry lips found hers again in a sensual kiss. He began yanking the dress down her shoulders and she reached to unlace the bodice.

The dress became undone and fell off her body, leaving her in a shift. The Bracken girl unpinned his cloak from his shoulders and slid it off, laying to on the ground below them.

She shrugged his undershirt off of his torso, her fingers finding their way to his breeches, unlacing the pants as they knelt down onto the cloak.

He threw off his breeches as she pulled her shift off of herself, revealing their bare bodies to each other.

He took her bare beauty in for a brief moment, truly not understanding how she could be apart of such a horrible family, yet be so perfect.

“My beautiful girl.” He smiled as he quickly tucked his head into her neck, bringing them to lay onto the cloak. She laughed at the feeling of his lips on her skin like a feather tickling her.

He leaned over her body, pressing a sweet kiss onto her smiling lips. His hands shifted her thighs up to rest on his hips.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

She nodded, taking his cheeks into her hands and gently pressing their heads together. Intimate moments like this, she cherished.

She gasped as his cock pushed against her entrance before sliding in gently. He bit his tongue at how tight she was, no matter how many times they did this, she was still so tight.

He began pumping into her tight, sopping cunt. His head fell into her neck with a groan, his hips not stopping their growing pace.

Her moans were music to his ears, conformation he was doing well.

“My love-“ she whimpered into his ear, planting wet kisses onto his neck. Her walls tightened around his cock as he continuously hit the deepest and most pleasurable part of her core.

Her back arched into him, her tits pressed themselves against his chest. “Davos-“ she gasped.

“Go on, my sweet- cum for me..” he groaned. Her cunt spasmed around his length, her mouth fell agape at the feelings of her peak taking over her for the second time that night.

His thrusts grew quick and erratic, he was close as well. “Fuck-“ he groaned, gripping onto her thigh with one hand and holding himself up onto the hay above her.

He quickly pulled out of her cunt, his hand flying down to his cock, pumping himself onto her stomach. His cum painted her belly in white streaks.

He fell down to her side and laid their panting next to his lover.

She pulled her handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and wiped herself and her belly from their spend.

The Bracken girl snuggled her body into her lovers side, head resting on his chest. Her fingers danced on his chest, drawing random shapes onto the warm skin. He pulled her in close with his arm, his own fingers caressing the skin of her bicep.

“So, your uncle really declared for aegon?” He broke the comforting silence.

She sighed, “must we really talk about this now, right after you fucked me so good?” She raised her head from his chest with a smile.

“Only asking, my love. Your brother is a foul prick, calling the rightful heir a kin-slayer when-“ he started before she forced her finger onto his lips to silence his rambling.

“Please, shut up about our families.”

He took her hips into his grasp and turned them over to where he was on top and she was below him, “you’re lucky I love you.” He smiled as she giggled at his words.

He sealed his confession with a kiss, the lovers worried of no one, miles away from their homes and under the roof of an abandoned stable, in the comfort of the night sky.

[txrii]

But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader

based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift

word count: 2,131

warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol

summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so i’m not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!

The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on. 

Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier. 

As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tyler’s. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didn’t like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, “See you later, sweetheart.” Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/N’s father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/N’s father gave no response other than pursed lips. 

Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. “Hey, daddy,” Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, “When are you going to let that boy go, huh?” Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, “I really wish you’d give him a chance, daddy. It’s been almost a year. He’s not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -” 

She was cut off by her father’s sharp reply, “I know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see what’s really going on. He’s crazy with all these stunts.” Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, “I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want. I just wish you’d just have one conversation with him, then you’d see he really isn’t that bad.” Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, “Y/N, you’re going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days you’re going to go out on one of these chases,” he emphasized “chases” with air quotes, “and you’re not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.” Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, “Daddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!” As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her father’s pleas behind her.

Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous “Tornado Wrangler” and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldn’t be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.

The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didn’t take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, “Y/N Y/L/N, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going out there.” Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. “Daddy, I’ll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t get us into anything he knew he couldn’t get us out of.” Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. “Y/N, I just want what’s best for you. I’m tired of hearing about this boy and his stunts…” The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father, of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic. 

Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Tyler said, hoping to ease the man’s mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasn’t listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, “You ready, baby?” Y/N gave a grin, “Floor it, Ty.” And then they were off.

The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of his sight; he promised her father he’d keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You can open your eyes now, sweetheart. It’s done, it’s gone,” he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.

Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, “What are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. There’s no way I’m going to change his mind about you now.” Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, “I’m sure he’ll understand, sweetheart.” As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers. 

Y/N’s father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, “Hi, daddy.” Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/N’s father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her father’s eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shook his hand, relieved. He’s once again caught off guard, however, as Y/N’s father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.

A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, “Oh my God, they should see their faces!” Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, “Fuck ‘em. You’re my lady, and that’s all we need.” He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand. 

Y/N smiled back at him, “Me and my wild boy.”

[softspiderling]

picture of you in an invisible locket | j.v

summary:

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion.

OR; loving jacaerys velayron means more than loving just him, something that you are painfully aware of

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: none :)

word count: 2,5k

author's note: my first jacaerys fic! ngl it was super hard to jump from obx to hotd bc i wanted my writing to feel authentic to the fandom/show??? yeah obx and hotd could NOT be any more different tbf. i have a bunch of ideas for jace but if you want you can send me some requests! also tagging @zyafics and @sunderlust bc they've been encouraging me to write for jace ily guys. happy reading and pls leave some feedback/comments/nice words!!! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The light of the torches were flickering as you walked down the hallway, your shoes clicking against the marble stones that lined the ground. It was nearly midnight and a lady of your rank shouldn’t be awake at this hour, much less out of her chambers by herself, roaming the halls.

But you were hungry.

You hadn’t had much to eat during dinner, trying to avoid him as much as possible, which is getting increasingly more difficult. Usually, he wasn’t so persistent, opting to stay close to your father during dinner, exchanging information about their culture, or drinking with your brother. Tonight, however, it seemed like he was on quest to find you whenever you were standing idly by, asking for a dance. And of course, you couldn’t decline for no reason, as it would appear rude or even slight, so you busied yourself with other - much less distracting - dance partners. By the time he was approached by one of your guards, inquiring about his training, and you saw your chance to sit down and eat in peace, the table had been cleared for the last course. While you did love cake, your hunger couldn’t be stilled by a mere dessert and you spent the remainder of the night famished, longing for some hearty food.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled of hunger again, and you picked up the skirt of your night dress, hastening along to the kitchen. When you finally reached the stair case that led down to the kitchens, you hurried down the steps, letting yourself into the kitchen, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind you.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you headed to the pantry, searching for bread and butter and if you were lucky, some smoked ham. You were so focused on your search, you didn’t even notice another presence lingering in the doorway of the pantry.

You heart nearly stopped when you finally did see him, your gasp echoing in the empty kitchen.

“Prince Jacaerys!”

The crown prince of the Seven Realms was standing in front of you, arms behind his back and brows raised. You forced your heartbeat so calm down, hand still clutching your chest.

“You gave me a fright,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have been waiting for your arrival. You took quite some time, I was certain you would be here an hour past.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits, growing wary at his words. “And how did you know that I would come to the kitchens at this hour? I do not make it a habit to skulk around the keep at night.”

Jacaerys chuckled dryly, his beautiful dark curls bouncing as he shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“Given how you occupied the dance floor with various dance partners earlier, I did not see you sit down for supper once. You were certain to still your hunger somewhere.”

So he did notice.

You acted nonchalant, turning away from him eyes searching shelves in the pantry.

“Searching for this?”

Jacaerys brought a loaf of bread from behind his back, wrapped in a cloth. Your eyes gleamed, taking a step forward to reach for it, nearly bumping into him as he took a step forward as well, breaching into your personal space. Your heart stopped, feeling his hot breath fanning on your cheeks and the prince’s lips tugged into a grin.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, moving the bread out of your reach. “You do not expect me to give this away without a price now, do you my lady?”

You took a moment’s pause, considering his words with caution.

“… What sort of price do you speak of?”

“How about…” Jacaerys begun. “A kiss?”

With a small breath, you faltered, looking up at him through your lashes, your shoulders slumping.

“Jace.”

“Ah, now we are back to Jace?”

Snatching the small piece of ham and the butter that sat in a small marble bell from the shelves, you walk back into the kitchen, knowing Jacaerys would follow you. Making a stop at the counter, you spread your findings on it, waiting until Jacaerys stopped next you, loaf of bread still in his hand.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You danced with every single man at your brother’s name day celebration except for me,” Jacaerys pointed out. You shrugged with your shoulders, an act you would never do in front of other people, but this was Jace.

“I was merely being a good host.”

“Don’t insult me, my lady. I saw your grimace when Lord Ren twirled you over the dance floor while stepping all over your feet with his barbaric dance moves.”

Seven hells, he got you there. You never were able to keep your real feelings hidden when it came to Lord Ren. He was just too insufferable. Pursing your lips, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were still a lady after all, you had some manners.

“Will you give me the bread when I admit you’re right?”

“I should not,” Jacaerys sniffed. “Because I know I am right, I do not need a confession. I just want to know your reasons.”

With a huff, you snatched the loaf of bread out of his hands, reaching for knife in the wooden block. You cut out several slices, maybe with more force than necessary.

“You know my reasons.”

Jacaery is quiet next to you and you dropped the knife on the counter, wrapping the rest of the loaf up again. You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread the butter on the bread slices, knowing he was waiting for you to elaborate, and after a few more moments, you broke, the knife clattering against the wooden surface.

“Jace, you know I… Have a deep affection for you.”

“As do I for you.”

The two of you both skirted around the big word, not quite bold enough to say it yet.

“I do not wish to give my father the expectation to marry me off to you.”

“I’m the crown prince, surely your father would not have any grievances against a match.”

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand. Isn’t a match born out of affection and not duty what you have been wanting?”

“Jace, this is more complicated than me harboring any affections for you-” you started, but your words were cut shot by Jacaerys speaking your name.

“If it’s about leaving home, I promise King’s Landing is not as bad as it seems. And on dragonback, it is only a three day journey. When I first left, I got terribly homesick as well, but-“

“I do not wish to be Queen!” you exploded, falling into Jacaerys’ words and he took a step back at your outburst, surprise flickering over his face. You let out a long, deep, breath, hand clutching at your chest, calming yourself down.

The kitchen is eerily calm, neither of you spoke, the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. Your voice is quiet when you finally spoke again.

“I am the youngest child of my father, Jace. His only daughter. My oldest brother is betrothed and to be wed in less than a year’s time, the second oldest is courting his partner to be betrothed. I was not trained to rule, to have any responsibility or to represent my house. You are the crown prince, set to inherit the Iron Throne, to rule over seven kingdoms. Seven, Jace. How exactly do you expect me to fulfill the role of a Queen consort?”

Jacaerys’ mouth was parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Which you understood. You have never shared your feelings about his position as heir before, how you resented it a little for it was the only reason you couldn’t let yourself be matched with him.

“I’m not fit to be Queen.”

“I… Didn’t know that you felt this way,” he said, his voice tight. “I can’t shirk my duties.”

“And I am not asking you to,” you assured him. “I just can’t… Be the wife you need.”

“What if-”

“Jacaerys, please.”

Your voice was pleading, knowing discussing this any further was no use. You weren’t fit for a Queen. Jacaerys’ face shut down, and he put his mask up, before nodding, ever the understanding prince, much to your luck. “Of course. Whatever you wish for, my love.”

His love.

“I will see you on the morrow.”

Reaching for your hand, he grasped it gently with his, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before stepping back, letting go of you. As he departed from the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, your breath shaky. You knew you hurt him, disappointed him, but this was so much bigger than the two of you.

You breathed out deeply, hoping the sorrow would leave, but it didn’t. Reaching for the bread, your appetite had gone, but leaving it would be wasting it, so you bit into your dinner. And as you ate, you couldn’t help but think that the bread tasted like ashes in your mouth.

The next few days, Jacaerys seemed to respect your wishes to keep his distance. You still saw him around the keep, occasionally walking with your father, mostly though you saw him accompanying your brother as they conversed quietly, but intently. You wondered what they were talking about. Whenever you saw him, you noticed that Jacaerys kept his gaze away from took, and you couldn’t help but feel saddened, even though this was what you asked him for in the first place.

You missed his company. Especially at night. Despite the fact that you had never crossed any lines, or did anything improper - spending the dark hours at the library talking, exchanging stories about your childhood, maybe coming very close to a kiss - you were still a maiden. Of course you spending time with him alone was unseemly, and your father would betroth you immediately would he find out. It might be better for you, that Jacaerys kept away.

It was the end of the week when you saw him again. You were sat in the dining hall, at another feast your father had called for. It was the night of the departure of the representatives of House Blackwood, though even if it weren’t, you didn’t doubt that there would still be a feast. Your father didn’t need an occasion celebrate.

Your demeanor was polite, bht curt, hoping that it would deter any lords from asking for a dance, but of course Lord Ren was keen on offering you his hand.

Giving him a polite smile, you let him lead you around the dance floor, already forming some sort of excuse in your head when someone stepped to you, offering you his hand.

It was Jacaerys.

“May I, Lord Ren?”

“Of course, my prince.”

Lord Ren bowed to Jacaerys and you bowed your head out of respect before Jacaery placed a hand on your waist, his other finding your hand. You couldn’t help but feel relief that Jacaerys had freed you from Lord Ren, but you tried to keep your composure.

“I thought we talked about this, Jacaerys,” you muttered out between gritted teeth, as to uphold the image of a happy lady, dancing with her guest.

“We have.”

Jacaerys replied easily, never missing a step as he spoke, despite keeping his eyes on you. Ever the perfect prince.

You turned away, not being able to hold his eyes on you, your stomach churning.

“I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, Jace,” you said quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear you talking to the crown prince in such a familiar way. “I wish things were different- That I was different.”

Jacaerys’ hand tightened on your waist, and he used that to pull you closer.

“I spoke to your father, and he gave his blessing for our betrothal.”

Your eyes widened at his words, as you hadn’t expected them, the shock evident on your face. You had told him about your fears of being Queen consort and he just disregarded them.

“What?”

“I know you’re afraid that you won’t be able to fulfill your duties as Queen, my Queen consort. My mother will teach you, I will be by your side. My mother is set to live a long life and by the time I will inherit the throne, you will be properly trained. And I swear on my life, you will make the best Queen consort the realm will ever see.”

Stunned, you blinked your eyes at him, as if this all was a dream. Never before had you experience someone being so stubborn to prove you of your own worth.

“It hurt me greatly when you told of your reluctance of our match, because I cannot fathom that you see yourself anything less than you are.”

As he spoke, Jacaerys kept his gaze ahead, but he finally he turned to look at you, his eyes softening.

“I will not force you. This is your choice. If you do not wish to marry me, you won’t have to. Just know that I believe in you and what you will be able to do as Queen consort.”

You were trying so hard to find the right words, your feet stopped working for a second and you stumbled, but Jacaerys was quick to tighten his grip around you, keeping you upright.

“I- don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“Say yes?”

Jacaerys looked down at you, his eyes hopeful and you felt your resolve melt away, especially because it looked he had planned it down to the last detail.

“Yes, okay.”

Jacaerys smiled at you before turning to the side, giving a curt nod and that was all it took for your father thrust his jug into the air, the ale spilling over the rim.

“I am thrilled to announce that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of the Seven Realms, has asked my daughter for her hand in marriage… And she has accepted!”

The raucuos cheers that followed after nearly deafened your ears and you hid your face in Jacaerys’ chest - an act of affection you allowed yourself now that the two of you were betrothed.

“This couldn’t wait until we were in closed chambers?” you whispered, pink tinging your cheeks. Jacaerys shook his head, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“There’s no backing out of it now, my love.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: thoughts?? :)

[pathologicalreid]

cryptic | S.R.

You and Spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams.

who? spencer reid x fem!AFAB!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort a little bit) content warnings: oh geez. pregnancy, periods, weight, medical inaccuracy, cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, NICU, hospitals, maybe a little ooc i'm not sure, breastfeeding, reader is running solely on oxytocin, crying. word count: 6k a/n: does anyone else have an irrational fear of this? is it just me? that's why i wrote this anyways. also i wrote this MONTHS ago so if it's bad i'm not culpable. (yall voted for unhinged fluff, here it is) anyways i'm calling this part of my "spencer reid dilf agenda".

him

In his work life, Spencer faced fear every day – that was part of the reason he loved life with you so much. The two of you had just moved to your first house together and were still unpacking boxes when he was called away to upstate New York for a case.

You weren’t frustrated with him; you merely kissed him and encouraged him to go save the day.

So, when he told you last night that you must’ve hurt your back trying to move the couch, he didn’t think anything of it. He just told you to rest and to let him know how you were doing in the morning, but when the morning came, there was a break in the case. Spencer had completely forgotten that he was expecting your call.

As the team waited in the police precinct, he didn’t wonder why Hotch answered a phone call and furrowed his brows at Reid until he called him over to talk in private.

For once, his overactive mind went blank when Hotch explained to him that you were in the hospital and that he should call your best friend, Ivy.

In a daze, Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket to find that he had missed two calls from you and thirteen calls from Ivy. Isolating himself in an abandoned office, he looked at your friend’s contact and pressed the call button.

The phone didn’t even have a chance to ring before Ivy answered, “Spencer! Oh my god,” she said, sounding relieved to be hearing from him. “I am so sorry for calling your boss. I pulled his number from Y/N’s contacts – I didn’t know how else to reach you, and I- “

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, teetering between panic and impatience. “She told me she thought he had just pulled a muscle moving,” he explained, wondering what could’ve happened.

On the other end of the call, Ivy took a deep, shaky breath. “She’s okay, but you have to come home,” she whispered, keeping her voice down.

Now he was leaning closer to panic, “Where is she?”

“Northern Virginia Hospital,” Ivy responded. “When you get here, call me, and I’ll bring you to her,” she told him.

Spencer took a deep breath and left the empty office once he ended the call, very nearly running into Hotch, “I need to- “

Holding his hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture, Hotch nodded, “There’s a flight going out, Morgan will drive you to the airport. Don’t worry about anything here,” he instructed him, gesturing over to where Morgan was standing with the keys to one of the SUVs.

After promising to call when he could, a thirty-minute flight, and a ten-minute taxi right, Spencer called Ivy back.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet through the receiver, “are you here?”

He turned around in the lobby of the hospital, “I just came in the front entrance; what wing is she in?” He asked. Which wing would a back injury be in?  He supposed it depended on the severity of the back injury.

She cleared her throat and there was a soft rustling before Ivy answered, “Stay put, I’ll come to you.” Her words came out quickly as if she was trying to prevent him from going looking for her.

Then he began to lean closer to impatience, nonetheless, he waited the couple of minutes that it took for Ivy to come out of an elevator, motioning for Spencer to catch up before they took the elevator back up. “Ivy,” Spencer said, “What is happening?”

“She called me at six this morning, saying that she thought she had pulled a muscle in her back and couldn’t sleep. I told her to take some ibuprofen and try to rest, and if she didn’t feel better by lunch, I’d bring her to urgent care. She called me again at ten and told me something was seriously wrong, but she didn’t know what,” Ivy informed him, her voice sounding distant. “She was crying, and I’ve never heard her sound so scared. So, I called an ambulance and met her here while she was triaged…” Her voice trailed off as they exited the elevator.

Spencer’s heart ached at the thought of you being so scared, but it still didn’t answer his question: What happened?

Ivy sniffled and wiped her nose, “Spencer, have you ever heard of a cryptic pregnancy?”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers, “She’s pregnant?” His words came out as a whisper, a mix of emotions flurried through him.

Your best friend smiled softly at him, “No, she had a baby. That back pain? She was in labor.”

Questions popped into his head quicker than he could ask him. He took a trembling breath, “Where are they?”

She led him around the corner, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “She’s in postpartum recovery, the baby’s up a floor in the NICU. It all happened really fast; you know? Anyways, they kind of whisked the baby away while saying things about Apgar scores that we didn’t really understand.

They stopped for a moment to get Spencer a visitor’s badge before he motioned for Ivy to continue.

Ivy shrugged in response, “She was kind of inconsolable after that, they gave her something to calm her down, but she keeps asking for you,” Ivy said, stopping outside of a door.

Spencer peeked through the blinds to your room. You’re awake, lying on the white bed, absentmindedly picking at the hospital bracelet around your wrist.

“If you need a minute before going in there, take it. Once you go in there, you need to be strong or brave or whatever,” Ivy instructed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m not saying you can’t be confused or upset, I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m saying she just gave birth unmedicated without ever even knowing she was pregnant, and they haven’t come back with an update,” she said, looking at Spencer like she was assessing a threat.

He nodded in understanding. Maybe when his head was clear he’d thank Ivy for being so protective of you, but he just nodded. “I need to be in there with her,” he insisted.

Ivy acquiesced, letting him know that she was going to go to the house to get clothes and was going to the store. At that point, Spencer had only been half listening to her.

You didn’t move on the bed when he opened the door. He looked at the whiteboard on the wall, his heart clenching when he saw the words ‘Baby Reid’ written below your name. Spencer quietly walked closer to you before he pulled a chair up so that it was at your bedside and took a seat. He could see tear tracks on your cheeks, “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your eyes closed, and two more tears streaked down your cheeks. There was an IV in your wrist and your vitals were being monitored. It wasn’t until Spencer leaned over and smoothed your hair back that you really started to cry.

Gently, Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, and you leaned forward into him. He just held you, running a hand up and down your back as he gently shushed you, “I’m here, darling. I’m here.”

“I had a baby,” you rasped, so quietly that Spencer wasn’t sure if you were telling him or trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t a dream.

He was quiet for just a moment, letting a few silent tears stream down his own cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

You hummed, leaning back ever so slightly, closing your eyes when Spencer kissed your forehead. “I tried calling you,” you whispered, looking up at him with watery eyes and lifting your hands so that you could wipe away the tears.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he tried to apologize. There was no way for him to navigate this situation, but if he felt this lost, then he couldn’t begin to fathom how you were feeling.

Shaking your head, you waved off his apology, “Did you catch the bad guy?”

He nodded, smiling at your question, “Yeah, we got him this morning. That’s why I didn’t get your call,” he said as he took your hand and intertwined your fingers. “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? Do you need water?”

A slight smile grew on your face at his concern, a fact that made his heart soar, “I should probably eat something.” The smile faded quickly, “We should probably talk, right?” You asked, leaning forward in the bed to reach for a pile of papers at the foot of the bed.

Noticing a pained look on your face, Spencer set a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it,” he said, guiding you so you were lying back on the pillows. “Please be careful,” he reached for the papers and handed them to you.

Quickly, you flipped through the stack of papers that was now in your lap. “I’ve been thinking, you know, and they gave me all of these papers with my options, but we have space at the new house. I work from home most of the time anyway, and we can afford it and- “

Spencer cut you off, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed them again.

Studying you, he watched as you visibly relaxed into your hospital bed. He followed your gaze as you looked out the window of the hospital room, “Spence,” you breathed as a nurse wearing pink scrubs walked into the room.

She looked at him, “Hello, are you dad?”

Dad. He was a dad. Spencer nodded enthusiastically at the nurse.

“I’ve got these bracelets for you two then, they’re to help keep little families like yours together,” she says, loping the white bracelets around both his and your wrist. “Baby’s got two,” she lets you both know. “So, Baby Reid had a hard time breathing at first, but we up in the NICU cleared some of the amniotic fluid from her lungs and everything is looking much better now. Another nurse is bringing the bassinet now…” her voice trailed off when someone knocked on the door.

He wanted to make sure he had heard the nurse correctly. Did she say ‘her’?

The door opened, and it was the tiny hat with the bow that gave it away. She wriggled on the white sheet in her bassinet, looking around her new surroundings. Spencer looked from you to her and couldn’t help the tears that pricked his eyes. It was an emotion that he couldn’t quite place.

Noticing the way you leaned forward, the nurse spoke, “Would you like to hold her?”

“I- Can I? Is she okay?” You asked nervously, for the first time that day, Spencer heard the fear in your voice.

Nodding, the nurse wheeled the bassinet closer to you, helping you move your hospital gown so that you could do skin-to-skin. As she did so, she talked about bonding with a newborn, but Spencer was so enamored watching you that he wasn’t really listening. “We’re estimating that she’s about thirty-five weeks, so she’s late preterm, but she should be able to go home when you do,” the nurse informed you, making sure you were comfortable holding the baby before she stepped back.

The concept of being in a home surrounded by boxes with a newborn stressed him out, but then the tiny baby on your chest let out a squawk and he returned to just watching the two of you.

Both of the nurses left to give the three of you time, and you turned to Spencer, “What was thirty-five weeks ago?” You asked, gently rubbing your thumb over your newborn’s back.

“Exactly? July sixteenth,” he responded, watching your daughter as her eyes shut. “She fell asleep,” he observed, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

You hummed in response, bending your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “She needs a name,” you murmured, “we can’t keep calling her baby.”

Spencer leaned over the edge of your bed, “Do you have any ideas?” He asked, even though he already knew you’ve been keeping a list of baby names in your phone for years.

Shrugging ever so slightly, you peered down at your daughter, “All I know is that her last name’s gonna be Reid.” Your eyes flittered up to his, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll sob, and our daughter is asleep on me, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

“I just love you so much,” he told you softly.

“We can do this, can’t we?” You asked him nervously, narrowing your brows. “She doesn’t have a name. Our house is a disaster. Oh… Spence, we don’t have a car seat. We can’t take her home if we don’t have a car seat.”

Realistically, Spencer knew that you had at least twenty-four hours before you were released from the hospital, maybe forty-eight, given the circumstances. He also knew that you knew this, and he was afraid the events of the day were beginning to take a toll on you. He wasn’t going to say that, instead, he leaned forward and comforted you, “We’ll figure something out, I promise, okay? The name thing we can do.” He encouraged you to take one step at a time, “What about Ivy?”

Your head snapped up, “Really?” You asked, staying conscientious of the newborn on your chest.

“She was there for you through all of this when I couldn’t be,” he shrugged. “Did you know she dug through your contacts on your phone and called Hotch when I didn’t answer?” He watched a small smile tug at your lips, “I just think we should honor her in some way.”

Nodding, a full smile bloomed on your face, “Absolutely.” There was a brief silence, “Do you need to call Hotch? You can step out if you need to. We’re fine alone. I mean just for a little while not for- “

That was the second time you had nearly worked yourself into a panic. Spencer set a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, angel. Don’t stress yourself out, okay? I’ll handle it.” He promised, after all, you had already done the hard work.

You paused and took a deep breath at his encouragement, leaving the both of you in silence while you caught your breath. “What about Eleanor?”

He smiled and looked at your sleeping baby, “It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The first time Eleanor, who had quickly been nicknamed Nell, cried with the two of you in the room was also the first time Spencer held her. He had been too nervous before, not that he’d tell you that, but when her wails started and he saw you wincing as you sat up in the bed, he instinctively picked her up.

He was still in his work clothes. Granted, he had taken off his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt had been undone, but it didn’t seem to bother Nell, the baby had quickly hushed upon contact. “Sit back,” he gently instructed, “Are you in pain?”

You nestled back into the pillows, “Just a little, they said it’s normal.”

Nothing about this was normal, Spencer wanted to say, but he knew you were well aware. He handed you the baby, knowing that it had been two hours since she last ate and that was likely why she was crying. According to the nurses, she was a good eater. He took their word for it.

Spencer watched you rock gently as Nell ate, you were staring off at nothing, so he asked, “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m wondering why you’re not more freaked out,” you admitted, looking down at the newborn.

He leaned back in the chair, “I don’t know. I work best under pressure and with a little bit of chaos. It’s also highly likely that the entire situation hasn’t fully sunken in yet.”

You nodded understandingly, “It’s a lot to take in. If you think about it, most parents have months to fully prepare and wrap their heads around it. It’s been about ten hours for me. Maybe six hours for you.”

Nodding, Spencer watched intently as Nell fell asleep, her tiny fists falling and quiet coos coming from her. He heard you say something to him, but the words didn’t process. “What?”

Giggling quietly, you cocked your head at him, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replied honestly. You seemed like you were taking to parenthood exceedingly well, he was afraid he wouldn’t match up.

In the end, it was your understanding smile that prompted him to agree. “Unbutton your shirt,” you ordered, laughing at him when he looked bewildered. “Skin-to-skin isn’t just for moms, Spence. Besides, I want you to bond. I want her to know who you are even when you’re away for work.”

He obliged your request, undoing his shirt so that he could gently place Nell on his bare chest. She squawked while she was being moved from parent to parent but quieted again as soon as she was being held, “she’s so small,” Spencer remarked, marveling at the tiny creature on top of him.

You nodded sleepily, “Four pounds, fourteen ounces. She had to fit behind my ribcage somehow.”

The oddness of the situation began to find a place in him. Were there changes in you that neither of you had noticed? Your period was always irregular, there was no significant weight change, and even morning sickness had seemed to totally pass you by. “I can’t believe we had no idea,” he murmured as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Nell’s head.

“I went to the doctor three months ago for chest pains, do you remember? I took an at-home pregnancy test just in case and it came back negative. The nurses here told me that there’s a less than one percent chance of that happening,” you informed him, slowly starting to mumble.

Spencer looked up at you to find that your eyes were fluttering shut. “You should sleep. I’ve got this.”

You grunted in protest, “but what- “

“No,” he interrupted. “She just ate, she’s sleeping, and you’re exhausted. I can spend some time with her while you sleep.”

Sleepily, you grinned, sliding down on the bed, and settling your head on the pillows, “Daddy’s girl,” you whispered.

He loved the sound of that.

you

You had always known that Spencer Reid was perfect, and as you watched him fall into the role of father, that knowledge became concrete. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and kept your gaze on the two of them, not daring to disturb the peace. Instead, you watched in awe as he held your daughter, softly speaking to her as if she could fully comprehend what he was saying.

For all you knew, she could understand what he was saying. She was Spencer’s kid, after all.

Gently, he whispered to her and one of her little fingers gripped his index finger. “Your palmar reflex lets you hold my finger like that, Nellie. It’ll go away when you’re six months old,” he softly swiped his thumb over her back as he murmured to her. “I don’t usually like surprises,” he admitted to the infant, “but you and your mama might just be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You grinned, reaching your hand out and touching the green armchair, “I love you.” He reached out a hand to hold yours. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?” You offered. Your body still ached, but getting some sleep had made you feel loads better.

“I don’t think I can,” he answered candidly. “I feel so…”

“Wired? Stressed?” You suggested.

He shrugged slightly, “I was going to say hyperaware, but yes,” he responded.

You wheeled the empty bassinet closer to him, “Set her down. Babies can sense stress. Take a minute, catch your breath,” you told him.

Reluctantly, Spencer placed Nell in the bassinet, adjusting the hat on her head while you watched him. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly.

Your shoulders drooped involuntarily, “When was the last time you slept, love?” After years with Spencer, you know he would go days without sleeping in order to break a case. His lack of a response answered your question well enough. Quickly, you pressed your call button and asked if a nurse could take Nell to the nursery.

Once you made sure the baby was taken care of, you moved over in the hospital bed and patted the open space. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he told you.

That was the problem with Spencer. He would always put you, and now Eleanor, ahead of himself. It made your heart ache. “Spence, this has been the craziest day, and I can tell you haven’t slept. So, get over here and lay down with me,” you instructed.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer kicked off his shoes before lying next to you in the hospital bed, “Do you promise to wake me if you need anything?” He asked as he gingerly pulled you into his arms, afraid of hurting you.

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I hate that saying,” Spencer whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your hairline.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed into him, “I promise, angel. Get some sleep.”

You startled awake, looking to make sure you didn’t wake Spencer. Your chest ached as you sat up, cringing at the noise your papery hospital gown made. Gingerly, you placed a hand over your heart, feeling the pounding of your heart and listening to the beeping of the monitor, cursing the screen for making so much noise.

This had happened earlier before Spencer arrived, and the doctor had given you something to calm down then.

When you came into the ER, they thought your appendix was bursting, but when they did an ultrasound, they found that you were in active labor. There was no time for an epidural, they didn’t have time to give you anything for the pain. A kind nurse held your hand and quickly explained what was going to happen.

Within thirty minutes, you arrived at the hospital, gave birth, and had your baby taken to the NICU.

It was too fast; your brain was so overwhelmed that it had shut down. It seemed like a ridiculous thought; how did you miss the birth of your daughter?

Hiccupping back a sob, you felt a comforting hand on your back, but the fact that you had woken Spencer up just made you cry harder. He wrapped his arms around you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed, rubbing small circles on your back. “I love you so much, you know that, right? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he comforted you. “It’s okay, it’s just all catching up with you, honey.”

You pulled away, wiping the tears from under your eyes. “It’s okay,” you repeated his words.

“What do you need right now?” He asked, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to make a list? Do you want to move around?”

Nodding absentmindedly, you watched as Spencer pressed the call button and got up, helping you stand. Your legs shook, and you felt a bit like a foal, but it felt good to be out of bed. You haphazardly finger-combed your hair before stepping into hospital slippers and leaving the room. For now, the nurses instructed you to just walk around the maternity ward.

As the two of you walked around, you made several lists. Things you needed to buy. People you needed to call.

By the time you’d returned to the room, Ivy had returned. Spencer opened the door for you and helped you sit on the end of the bed.

“I’ve come bearing gifts,” Ivy greeted, grinning with bags in her hands. She gestured to a suitcase, “First, clothes for both of you. I just grabbed whatever I thought might be good. Toiletries and stuff too,” she said, rolling the suitcase off to the side. “I grabbed a couple of newborn outfits, but again, I was kind of flying blind. The lady at the department store was extremely helpful.” She handed Spencer a bag of baby clothes. “I got a car seat, the same lady recommended it, she was probably getting a commission, but it’s in my car. I have approximately zero idea how to set it up, but I figured, Spencer has a doctorate in engineering. He can do it.”

You glanced blearily at your best friend, “Ivy, you didn’t have to do all of this. This is too much,” you confessed, holding a tiny onesie in your hand.

She dismissed your insistence with a wave of her hand, “I also got this.” Ivy held out a small stuffed duck. “I know it won’t do her much good now, but I couldn’t help myself.”

After you changed out of your hospital garb, you looked at Spencer, “Go call Hotch, we’ll be good here for a while.” You gestured to your best friend, who was filtering through the suitcase she had packed, trying to find your hairbrush. At your request, he told you he’d also ask the nurse to bring Nell back down so that Ivy could meet her.

Once he was gone, Ivy sat behind you on the bed and brushed through your hair, tucking it out of your face, you were finally beginning to feel a little bit more like yourself by the time she had finished.

You watched intently as the nurse arrived at the door, “Do you want to meet her?”

Ivy nodded enthusiastically, lips parting as she observed the small baby. “Is that her name?” She rasped, looking at the card on the bassinet, Eleanor Ivy Reid. “That’s not funny, don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, keeping your voice down as Eleanor slept. “It’s not a joke, and for the record, it was Spence’s idea,” you informed her, reaching into the bassinet, and scooping up the now-swaddled infant. “He’s so grateful that you were there for me, and I am too.”

She smiled, “I’m always going to be here for you two – you three now. Number one babysitter,” she said, pointing to herself. 

You sighed and looked from your friend to your daughter, “She’s got a whole FBI unit of babysitters.”

“I’ll be here when they’re away – when Spencer’s away,” she reminded you, carefully adjusting the hat on the baby in your arms.

The last thing you wanted to think of was Spencer being gone, leaving you to take care of a baby you weren’t ready for.

Ivy must have sensed your nerves, “Hey, you know I’m always in your corner, right?”

You nodded slowly, “It’s just all catching up with me. I have to call my mom. I have to call my boss. How do you retroactively apply for maternity leave?”

“One thing at a time,” she said soothingly. “Right now, just enjoy your time with your perfect little family. I’ll call your mom for you,” she offered. “If your boss gives you any grief, he’ll have to deal with me.” Standing up, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to go get food, do you two still have the same orders from the deli?”

Confirming with her, you moved so that you could feed Nell, watching her as she looked up at you. “She’s right, you know? You are perfect,” you cupped her head with your hand, looking up to find Spencer watching from the doorway.

“Hotch says congratulations,” he spoke gently, striding over to your bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed. “He also said to let the team know if we needed anything,” he let you know, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He continued to let you know that Hotch had offered to figure out Spencer’s paternity leave, and while you felt bad about giving Hotch something else on his to-do list, it felt nice to have one less thing on yours. 

You nodded, “Ivy’s gonna call my mom, so that’s two things off of our list.”

Spencer squeezed your shoulder, “They asked if they could come to visit, but I didn’t want to answer for you.” He moved back to the armchair, “I just said we’d let them know.”

“At the very least we’ll send a picture,” you murmured. “I’m surprised you’re not researching newborns right now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer shrugged, “I asked one of the nurses if I could get access to the hospital library.”

You snorted, “Of course you did.”

No one from the BAU ended up visiting while you were in the hospital, mainly because the idea of too many people in the one hospital room made you anxious, but both you and Eleanor had been cleared to go home. Eventually, you would have to allow visitors.

“Spencer, you can go the speed limit,” you said from the backseat of the car, not taking your eyes off of the baby in her car seat.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, “This stretch of road is bumpy. I don’t want to wake her.” Despite his anxieties, he was taking to fatherhood remarkably well.

You shook your head, “She’s already awake, babe.” She looked around her new surroundings, spending part of the six hours a day that she was awake going home for the first time. Part of the beauty of a newborn was that they slept for eighteen hours a day, but only in about fifty-minute bursts.

Spencer kept glancing back, and you made a mental note to get a mirror for the rear-facing car seat.

As he turned onto your street, you sat up slightly. “Who’s here?” You asked, looking at the cars in your driveway. You recognized Ivy’s car, but none of the others rang any bells.

“That’s JJ’s car, and that’s Morgan’s truck,” Spencer told you as he pulled into the driveway. Once he got out of the car, he ran around to where you were sitting. He opened the door, taking the car seat out of its base before helping you out of the car. “I had no idea they were here,” he said curiously.

You hummed thoughtfully, looking at Eleanor in her car seat. There was a part of you that felt horrible, you didn’t have anywhere for her to sleep set up. Another part of you knew that she’d be just fine sleeping in your arms while Spencer set something up. “Far be it from the BAU to abandon one of their own in their time of need,” you murmured, stepping through the front door as Spencer held it open for you.

Setting the carrier on the coffee table, you undid the clips so that you could hold the baby. As you lifted her, her legs scrunched up until you held her to your chest, at which point she settled.

“Where are they?” You asked, gently rubbing Nell’s back as she started to fall asleep on you. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen, across the counter, there were bottles set out to dry, along with other various baby things. “Oh, Spence,” you breathed.

There was a distinct lack of boxes in your house, they weren’t entirely unpacked, but there were much less than there had been when you left. A crash from upstairs got both of your attention, Spencer’s arm instinctively going around your waist.

Together, the two of you walked upstairs, finding members of the BAU in one of the rooms that was going to be a guest room setting up a nursery. “Hey?” You said, peeking in through the doorway.

“Oh my god!” Penelope said, “Wait, crap, sleeping baby.” She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified at the idea of disturbing the sleeping infant.

You smiled, looking around suspiciously, “What’s going on here?”

Rossi waved a finger at you, “Your best friend is a drill sergeant is what’s going on here.”

Confused, you turned around to see Ivy with her hands on her hips. “I thought you weren’t coming home until the afternoon,” she explained, “I was going to have them all out of here so you could have a nice peaceful house.”

“You enlisted the BAU to unpack our house?” You asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Ivy shrugged, “It started as just asking a question, but we all came to the same conclusion. The two of you were never going to ask for help, so we had to take matters into our own hands.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, “Plus, they have kids, so they actually knew what you needed,” she gestured to JJ and Hotch.

You leaned forward to give her a one-armed hug, keeping yourself mindful of the baby. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Penelope hugging Spencer.

JJ stepped forward, “I’m around. Any questions you have,” she assured you. “How are you feeling?”

Laughing nervously, you looked up at Spencer, “Still reeling.”

The rest of the team laughed too, which brought you some semblance of comfort. “I almost thought you were playing a prank,” Emily confessed.

“No, you definitely thought they were trying to prank us. You didn’t believe them until they sent the picture,” Morgan said, exposing her.

Appalled, Emily rolled her eyes, but you spoke up, “I’m not sure I would have believed us either.” Had you not experienced it firsthand, you definitely would’ve been skeptical. Eleanor was going on two days old, and you had still woken up wondering if it was all some kind of dream.

Spencer had previously told everyone that no one could hold her. He was concerned about germs. You echoed his concerns, just maybe not as strongly. So, instead, everyone just cooed at her until Spencer gently ushered you into your bedroom.

You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted a bassinet set up next to your bed. Gently, you set her down while Spencer pulled the bedding down, “You should rest,” he told you softly.

“Spence, I just spent the majority of the last two days in a bed. I’m tired of bed,” you responded, sitting down on the ledge of the bed.

He hummed in response, “You just had a baby.”

Reaching out, you took his hands in yours, “Moving around will be good for me. I promise not to do anything to tear my stitches. I’ll just show Nell the house.”

“Babies don’t recognize their surroundings until four to six months, so she wouldn’t recognize anything you showed her anyway,” he told you.

You narrowed your eyebrows at him, “Spencer."

He held up his hands in concession, “Right, overbearing.”

“Hey,” you said softly, “We’re still figuring this out, right? So, we’ll take it one step at a time.” You offered, having already had an in-depth discussion about being okay with making mistakes. “Why don’t we go check out the nursery?” You stood up, watching as Spencer carefully picked Nell up, cradling her in his arms.

You led the way into the hallway to find JJ, Morgan, and Ivy finishing the nursery. Morgan and JJ moved the crib to a different side of the room while Ivy placed books on a shelf.

Ever so slightly, you leaned into Spencer, glancing at the sleeping infant in his arms, you reached over and cupped her head with your hand. “This is your family, Nell,” you whispered, smiling when Spencer leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

That was your first lesson in parenthood, it really does take a village.  

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