#a bit dodgy fic

[the-one-who-lambs]

50 Lamb Questions

I'm answering these questions for how I write Lambert in The Risen Lamb and the Fallen God. These will contain spoilers, and I'll put them under a cut when I include them! There are so many things I've been wanting to talk about and this is totally enabling me.

1. Does your lamb go by any name other than The Lamb? If so, what?

Many readers have noticed by now that names are a huge theme in Risen/Fallen. A longer ramble that includes spoilers will be below the cut, but they originally had a name that was given to them by their family. Over time, they lost much of their identity, and with it, their name. (Lambert's loss of identity shows up in tons of other ways as well. It's a major question they have to grapple with over the course of the fic and guides their choices, for better or for worse.) As they worked to fit the leadership role they were thrust into, they eventually became just "the Lamb." The impersonal title encompassed much of what they had become, especially the parts of their identity that were out of their control: being an endling, the prophesied liberator of The One Who Waits, a leader of a civilization who needed to rise above the image of the mortals they commanded. These were the parts of themself they felt reduced to, and all they held onto for a long while.

In Chapter 6, "How to Be a God For Dummies," when they admitted to Narinder that they'd forgotten their original name, Narinder felt a twinge of guilt. If he'd asked them for their name more than a century before, maybe they wouldn't have forgotten, or maybe he would know and could have reminded them, but this was one of the moments that made him realize how downright selfish he'd been towards them. Despite how angry he was about their attitude and bitterness after the final boss battle, this kind of forced him to face the fact that much of the person that the Lamb had grown into was his fault and now he was suffering the consequences of that in a way he wasn't prepared to.

Did he get this through his mind completely? Absolutely not. He's stubborn to a fault, after all, and so are they. But he reckons with this just enough to want to give them a name. He names them Lambert in his head, tries to keep it to himself, and accidentally lets it slip at the end of the chapter. Thus, the Lamb got the name Lambert because Narinder gave it to them.

There is a lot more significance to this and all will be revealed in the story once Chapter 15 goes up. But since I'm using this as a writing warmup, I'm gonna give y'all a treat and spill below since it gets me excited. (Btw, Spring Break started yesterday for me, so I think I'm gonna get most if not all of the rest of the chapter done over it!! Manifesting)

I use names very particularly in the narration, though. For Lambert, this has meant that even after they receive their name from Narinder, I refer to them as "the Lamb" sometimes still. How they are referred to in the narration depends on the context of the setting, especially who is around them in a scene. When they're around followers, the narrative voice simply refers to them as "the Lamb." When they're around Narinder or Ratau, they're Lambert. Their followers don't get to know their authentic self; that's a privilege reserved for a select few.

With all that said, though... I'll get into some spoilery talk about this below the cut.

And since I'm having a fucking blast finally getting to talk about this, there's one more part of names that I'm gonna reveal ahead of time. Lambert's original name will be revealed soon as well, which forces them to choose between accepting the past and moving forward vs. continuing to blame themself for it, symbolically. Their original name and its significance is under the readmore as well.

SO.

Long story short, names are such a massive motif in Risen/Fallen because they not only reflect how a character is perceived by others, but also how they choose to take charge of their own fate.

There is… so much to this. But I wanna make sure I talk about this theme explicitly somewhere on my blog, even though it's all gonna be very clear in the story soon anyway.

The Mystic Seller, Vic, has known way too much for a long while now. About what's happening between Narinder and Lambert, but especially how they've orchestrated their own entangling in each other without them even realizing exactly what they've done.

Narinder named Lambert, yes, but Lambert named Narinder, too. This is mentioned a couple of times in the earlier chapters, but it's a game mechanic as well: when you indoctrinate him, his name is still "The One Who Waits." The Lamb has to make an intentional choice to return Narinder's name to him. What this means symbolically is up to the player, but in this fic, the Lamb (yet unnamed) does so as an act of mercy. Narinder himself doesn't quite see it as a representation of a second chance for a few years, because he takes it as pseudo-mockery at first, but ultimately the Lamb wants to force him to acknowledge that he is not bound to his past mistakes. He may be so set on holding himself to them (and holy shit does he ever, especially going into chapter 15, hint hint wink wink nudge nudge), but this frustrates the Lamb/Lambert in pretty minor ways... up until the scene that I finished writing about a month ago, when Narinder fucks up badly and hurts them both.

To each other, Narinder and Lambert come to see their exchange of names as something that simply shows how they've come to care about the other. But Vic keeps hinting to them that something about that is much bigger.

When you're interacting with ??? for the first time, it asks you to make a contract. This contract is sealed by giving it a name.

In the language of gods, bestowing a name upon someone else is much more than just a name. And because Narinder and Lambert have both given a name to the other, because they have turned this into equal and mutual exchange, they have made something much more binding than a one-way contract. In divine terms, they've made some sort of promise, some sort of vow.

What this means hasn't quite clicked yet for either of them, but this is only the first of two ways that Lambert and Narinder tie their fates together. Lambert's going to have a realization about it very soon, and when they do, they'll tie themself to him in that second way.

On Lambert's original name:

A bit of cultural history first! I chose their old name from biblical tradition and cultural Judaism. In Judaism, God has an actual name like people do, and "God" is more of a title. However, God's name is traditionally not spoken aloud out of respect. One interpretation is that God's identity is considered pretty much incomprehensible to humans, another is that using God's name in vain is avoided and so by extension it is not really used at all because one might feel that no praise would be great enough to warrant using it. So, in Jewish prayers, whenever the word "Yahweh" is written in text, people will avoid saying it and instead say something else like Adonai (Lord), HaShem (The Name), etc.

Similarly, Lambert became "the Lamb" to their followers because, as a cult leader, they needed to maintain this idea of perfection and so their identity (and all the flaws associated with it) was something that needed to be kept private. So I took the idea above and slapped it directly onto the Lamb. Lambert's original name is taken directly from God (Yahweh). But, I used the Latinized spelling of it instead: Jehovah.

So when my lamb is eventually faced with the choice between Jehovah and Lambert, they choose going forward as Lambert into a new future they'll be able to share with Narinder without being weighed down.

Is this blasphemy? Eh. Maybe. That's an issue for my rabbi and also for God if they're mad about it.

Anyway, my Lamb's names have gone from Jehovah -> The Lamb -> Lambert.

And I've been rambling about this for too long this has become too long of a "warm up" BUT ONE MORE THING

In Lambert's dream from Chapter 8, when Juno addresses Lambert and it comes out as a garbled utterance that they know was their name at one point, I left exactly seven spaces for the seven letters of their original name. :) This happens again during the flashback in Chapter 11.

[theemporium]

[11k] a seemingly random attack seems to be the start of a big problem for the new jersey devils and you find yourself one of the main targets. fortunately, you have one of the team's best as your appointed bodyguard. unfortunately, he seems to want nothing to do with you.

new jersey mob masterlist || nhl mob masterlist

warning: this is a mob au. topics and themes such as violence, blood, murder and gun use are prevalent and constant throughout the fic. please keep that in mind if you choose to proceed with this fic and the whole series.

.

“Did no one ever tell you as a kid that this much sugar is going to rot your teeth?”

“Well, brother dearest, considering you were the one who raised me, I think that’s a question you should be asking yourself.”

“You know, it’s kinda your fault her nickname is Candy,” a voice sounded from the background of the phone call. You beamed, almost imagining your brother’s face scrunching up at the callout. “Her sweet tooth is strongly encouraged by you.”

“Shut up, Jack.”

“Just pointing out the facts.” 

“No one asked.” 

“I assume you don’t want an eclair then?” You questioned, interrupting the bickering boys on the phone. The silence that followed made your grin widen. 

“Tell Peter to give me the biggest one.” 

“He always does,” you retorted, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as the small bakery came into view. “Tell Jack I’ll get him those lemon muffins he likes.” 

“You’re the best, Candy!” Jack’s voice rang through the phone. 

“I know,” you answered simply, letting the bell ring above your head as you pushed the bakery door open. 

You smiled when you saw Peter—a sweet boy, no older than his mid-twenties with ruffled hair and constantly flushed cheeks—standing behind the counter with a stained apron on and a determined look on his face that softened when he saw you. 

“The usual?” 

“You know it.” 

“Coming right up, Candy!” 

“Luke thinks Peter has a crush on you,” Jack’s voice came through the phone once again. 

“I’ll shove a cupcake down his throat before he can try anything,” Timo grumbled. 

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll do no such thing, I’d rather not get banned,” you said, grinning a little when you heard Timo scoff. “And as flattered as I am, he’s a bit too soft for me.” 

“I bet he wouldn’t be so soft if you—” 

“Zip it, Hughes.” 

You snorted. “I’m high maintenance. Peter couldn’t handle that.” 

“No one in their right mind can.” 

“I can think of a few who could.” 

Timo huffed. “It’s like you’re trying to make me feel murderous on a Sunday. It’s God’s day. I don’t kill on Sundays.” 

“Well,” Jack started. “You did kill that dodgy fisherman a few weeks back on a Sunday—” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“Pete is a good guy, surely you’d want her to date him over anyone else—”

“It’s like you have a death wish.” 

“He’s winding you up,” you snorted, making yourself comfortable since the bakery was empty and settling on the counter by the cash register. “And you fall for it every time.” 

“Whatever,” Timo grumbled, and you could almost imagine the frown on his face. “Why are you over at Peter’s anyways? I thought Nico sent you to Philly.” 

“Jonas went alone instead,” you shrugged, despite the fact the boy couldn’t see you. “Apparently back up wasn’t needed and the negotiations were going fine. He wants me to head towards Buffalo instead. They are avoiding his calls.” 

Jack snorted. “Leave it to Nico to send Candy instead of leaving a voicemail.” 

“I’m scarier,” you grinned. 

Timo laughed. “Yeah, just as terrifying as a pink poodle.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll suffocate you with my fur coat.”

“You wouldn’t be able to catch me in those heels.” 

“You underestimate me, Tims,” you grinned. 

He let out a disgusted groan. “Don’t call me that.” 

When it came to life in the mob, there were a few rules you had to always remember. 

One: never trust someone not sworn in. No matter what they say and no matter what they do to try and prove themselves, no man or woman not under that same oath and protection will ever have your back. 

Two: make alliances with your brain and not your heart. It sounded stupid but far too many times have people found themselves entering stupid deals and negotiations to get what they wanted, far too blinded by their own desires to take off their rose-tinted glasses. 

Three: always—and emphasis on the always—be alert. You never know when an enemy can strike. You never know who’s lingering in the shadows, ready to catch you off-guard. 

Unfortunately for you, it was the third rule you found yourself forgetting as the sound of glass smashing echoed through the small bakery. 

There was a ringing in your ears, muffling the sounds of screams and yells and gunshots as the world seemed to move in slow motion around you. You were distantly aware that one of the voices was your brother on the phone, the other Peter somewhere in the back. But you could barely focus on your own thoughts as you quickly dropped to the ground, your back pressed against one of the booths as the gunshots continued to rain through the shop. 

You cursed yourself for not being alert. You cursed yourself for leaving your gun in your car. You cursed yourself for not even peeking to see how many men were shooting before you ducked to safety. 

You were so far in your own thoughts that it took a while to realise the gunshots had stopped. 

You jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning to find Peter staring back at you with a pale face and wide eyes. His lips were moving but you couldn’t seem to process the words he was saying. 

“Calm down,” you managed to mutter out, placing your hand over his and squeezing. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

But the boy shook his head. “We need to get a doctor.” 

You blinked, your brain hardly keeping up with him. “What? Why?” 

Peter almost looked nervous as he spoke, as white dots began to blur your vision and his face morphed into blobs of colours. His mouth was moving, a pink and reddish blob that kept changing shape, as you strained to hear what he said. 

And then, your vision went black. 

…

“You were hurt!” 

“Timo—”

“Seriously injured! Hospitalised!”

“It doesn’t count as a hospital if it’s just in the house—”

“You were shot!” Timo gritted out through clenched teeth, his fists clenched at his side so tight that his knuckles were white. 

“Shot is a bit of an exaggeration,” you murmured under your breath. 

Timo turned on his heel, his eyes narrowed in a glare. “A fucking bullet went through you, how the fuck would you describe that?”

“An unfortunate occurrence,” you retorted despite Nico shooting you a look to behave, to not wind your brother up any further. “It hardly warrants the need of a babysitter.” 

“A bodyguard,” Nico corrected.

“Semantics,” you waved him off. 

“You were a part of a targeted attack against us,” Timo hissed, the vein on his forehead starting to pop out. “A bodyguard is exactly what you need right now.” 

“Everyone in this fucking room has been a part of a targeted attack,” you snapped back at your older brother. “News flash! It comes with the fucking lives we live! You are being far too dramatic over one little bullet wound.” 

“My mistake for caring,” Timo deadpanned. 

“It’s not the worst I’ve experienced and you know it,” you retorted, watching the boy’s mouth snap shut. You let out a sigh, a wave of guilt washing over you as you pushed yourself off Nico’s couch and walked closer to your brother. “I’m fine. I promise.” 

Timo opened his mouth.

“Timo,” you said in a softer voice, watching his shoulders drop. “Look, if anything weird happens in the next few weeks or if we have any reason to believe they will specifically attack me again, then I’ll agree to a bodyguard.” 

Timo looked conflicted. “Promise?” 

“Pinky promise,” you replied, grinning far too wide for someone who was barely allowed out of bed so soon. “Now, put your big boy pants on and go do something productive.” 

Nico’s brows furrowed together. “You know I’m the boss here, right?” 

“Send him somewhere far away for the week!” 

…

“You promise you’re okay?” 

“Geez, what are you, my mother?” You grumbled, your fingers dancing over the hangers on the rail as the boy followed behind you. “I’m okay. Doctor just said no strenuous activities.” 

Alex raised his brows. “Are you mentally okay? Emotionally okay?” 

“Forget my mother, are you my therapist?” You muttered, turning to look at the boy with narrowed eyes. “How much did Timo pay you?” 

Alex scoffed. “What makes you think he paid me anything?” 

“Because you never come shopping with me, let alone willingly,” you retorted with something quite triumphant in your smile.

“Yeah, well, shopping is a strenuous activity when it comes to you,” Alex grumbled under his breath, readjusting the countless bags and hangers in his hands. “I couldn’t let you hurt yourself any more than you currently are.”

You beamed, lightly patting his cheek. “That’s why you’re my favourite, Holtzy.” 

“Timo also threatened me,” he added, a small smile tugging on his lips when he saw you roll your eyes and turn back around. “He can be scary, even when he’s across the country.”

“Nico should’ve sent him somewhere further,” you sighed, shaking your head before turning your attention back to the dresses on the rack. “Speaking of, I thought Nico put you in charge of checking up on Peter.” 

“Jack and Luke wanted to take over,” Alex shrugged. “They wanted to make sure he was actually okay.” 

You pressed your lips together in a frown. “Is that even safe? Both of them to be seen with Peter?” 

“You think someone from Toronto is lurking in a bush outside the bakery, just waiting to see the three of them together?” Alex deadpanned, unphased by the look you gave him. He had been on the receiving end far too many times. “They’ll be fine. Nico wouldn’t have allowed it if it was unsafe.”

“Nico is also completely distracted by the fact Trouba supposedly wanted to meet to talk about some alliance or something,” you snorted.

“How do you know these things?” Alex questioned, his head tilted in curiosity. 

“I have my ways,” you grinned knowingly. “And I have my ways of knowing if you repeat any of this to anyone. Especially Curtis. He is such a gossip.”

Alex paused before nodding. “Yeah no, that is fair. You think he will take Trouba up on the offer?” 

“If the incentive is right.” 

“That was frustratingly vague.” 

“I know.” 

“Well, distracted or not, Nico would never let anything bad happen to Jack and Luke, or Peter by extension,” Alex said, sounding so sure of himself. “He has worked hard to keep Peter’s presence in Jersey under wraps. He wouldn’t let Jack or Luke ruin that, not when they were the ones who asked for it.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you hummed, waving him off. “You’re right. Blah blah blah. You done yet?” 

Alex rolled his eyes. “You asked.”

“Yeah but I was hoping you’d agree with me it was unsafe so we had an excuse to visit after this,” you retorted, flashing him an innocent smile over your shoulder. “Wanna split an apple pie?” 

Alex sighed but he agreed. 

…

Just like you assumed, the next two weeks passed without a hitch or whisper of another attack.

After Nico practically threatened to make Timo your round-the-clock bodyguard, you got the proper rest and care needed for your wound to mostly heal. You were still a little tender—and banned from your and Dawson’s weekly yoga sessions—but you felt close to your normal self, able to join some of the others on the less physical jobs, like visiting the factories and handling negotiations. 

Unfortunately for you, it was week three when disaster struck again. 

“I’m surprised Nico even let you step foot into this place,” you teased as you closed the car door behind you, finding the boy already rolling his eyes at you. 

“Sometimes a pretty boy has to do some dirty work too,” Jack replied, grinning boyishly as he looped his arm with yours before walking towards the warehouse. 

“Your ego truly astounds me,” you commented. 

“Says you,” he retorted, laughing as he tried to ignore your heel jabbing into his toes. 

It was a routine check-up, something that wasn’t meant to take longer than thirty minutes—forty tops, if you left Jack to do it alone and get distracted. But the shipment had just left and you needed to make sure nothing was left behind and assure no tracks were left behind. Nico preferred people close to him doing the checks. 

You had been mildly surprised that he sent you and Jack together, though, you had a feeling that the whole peace treaty with the Rangers was taking over Nico’s plate. 

“Everything looks good,” Jack said as he jogged back towards you, pushing some hair out of his face. “What about your side?” 

“All good,” you confirmed. “Let’s head back before Timo gets there. The dick made a bet with me that he would be back from Washington before us.” 

Jack paused. “Isn’t he meant to be staying the night?” 

You huffed. “Please, the boy has been like a fucking helicopter parent. Unless it’s on the west coast, he doesn’t like being away for a day because apparently something will happen to me if he’s not here.”

Jack shook his head fondly but his hand rested over yours, giving it a small squeeze. “He just cares, Candy.” 

You felt a flash of guilt in the pit of your stomach. “Jack—”

“Take it from a guy who lost a sibling, it isn’t fun,” he said, trying to smile and laugh through it but it fell flat. 

You frowned, not giving the boy a chance to run off before you wound your arms around him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you murmured softly. 

“I know,” Jack whispered, his arms wrapping around you in return. “He just wants to know you’re safe. God knows I’d freak out the same if it was Luke in your position.” 

“A pair of overbearing brothers you are,” you teased, pulling back with a softer smile on your face. “You’re a good brother. And a good friend.”

Jack raised his brows. “Wow, I didn’t even have to pay you for that compliment.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I meant you’re a good friend to Peter. How’s he holding up?” 

“A bit shaken,” Jack confessed as you both walked back towards the car, his lips turned downwards. “The damage to the shop wasn’t too bad, mostly just replacing the windows and cleaning up. But he’s freaked out that people are on his tail.” 

You hummed, nodding. “And you? How do you feel?” 

Jack couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’m not the one that got shot.” 

“Yeah but,” you paused, waving your hand around. “If Peter is freaked out—”

“Anything freaks him out,” Jack mused. “It was just a normal, run of the mill, everyday kind of event that happens when you’re in the mob. There’s nothing or no reason to believe it was anything but a fluke—”

BOOM!

You felt Jack’s body covering yours before you even realised you were on the ground. You managed to peek over Jack’s shoulder, your eyes widening at the sight of the warehouse—the same one you were inside mere minutes ago—bursting into flames that were growing and spreading and burning wildly. 

“Okay, I take it back,” Jack muttered, his eyes glued on the burning building. “Not a fluke. Definitely targeted. We are fucked.” 

You swallowed. “Dibs on not calling Nico.” 

…

“I knew it.” 

You rolled your eyes at the cock-sureness in your brother’s voice. 

“This is serious,” Nico spoke up, shooting Timo a look before he went on a rant—again. “That’s two attacks in three weeks. And we have no fucking idea who’s behind them. Or if they are even linked at all.” 

“It’s hard when we have a plethora of enemies,” Jesper deadpanned, raising his hands in mock surrender when Nico shot him a look. “Just saying.” 

“Stop reminding me,” Nico grumbled. 

“Guess we can cross the Rangers off our list though, right, Boss?” You teased, wiggling your brows despite the glare you were receiving. 

“Candy,” Nico sighed. “Your brother is right. I think it’s best to have a bodyguard around, just for the next few weeks until we work things out.” 

“Yeah because a bodyguard is sure gonna help when the building blows up, this time with us in it,” you deadpanned. 

“I’d be more observant than Jack,” Timo commented. 

“Hey!” Jack frowned. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” you quickly stood up, shaking your head. “You’re not going to be my bodyguard. I’m not having you hovering over me twenty-four-seven. You’re bad enough as it is.” 

Timo clenched his jaw. “Yes, I am—”

“No. She’s right. You’re not,” Nico spoke up, quickly interrupting you both. “But you are getting a bodyguard. Just to take precautions until we confirm whether you’re a target or if you just happened to be at the targeted places by chance. Maybe having another pair of eyes around you, someone who’s vigilant, will be insightful.” 

“I’m not five, Nico, I can take care of myself,” you insisted, your arms crossed over your chest. “A babysitter isn’t going to do anything other than be a nuisance.” 

“The bodyguard,” Nico corrected with a pointed look. “Is necessary and will not be negotiated.” 

“This is ridiculous,” you said to him. 

“And he’s going to be with you around the clock, always by your side,” Nico said. 

Your nose scrunched up. “No.” 

“Every shopping trip, every little run into town,” Nico continued. 

You could feel your skin prickling. “Nico—

“And I’m moving him into your room to sleep, armed and ready just in case,” Nico insisted. 

This time it was Timo who stepped in. “Woah, wait a second—”

“And I know the perfect guy,” Nico grinned. “Marino will be your bodyguard.” 

It was like a switch flipped in your head, your irritance and fight disappearing as you grinned at him. “Okay.” 

“I—” Timo narrowed his eyes at you. “Why are you suddenly okay with this?” 

“Because I know how to listen to my boss, Timmy, you should try it some time,” you grinned at your brother, patting his shoulder before you sauntered out of the office. 

“Stop calling me that,” Timo groaned as he followed you out. 

Jesper waited a few moments before your voices were clearly down the hall. “You did that just to stir some drama, didn’t you?” 

“Yup,” Nico answered quite happily. 

“Thank god, everyone was sick of the pining puppy dog eyes,” Jack grumbled from the spot on Nico’s desk he was sitting on. 

…

You had known John Marino for as long as you had been with the Devils. 

He was quieter than the rest, happy to linger in the corners of the room and observe everyone. It makes sense why Nico had chosen him as the role of your bodyguard, it was John’s nature to notice things most people missed. But, ultimately, it confused the fuck out of you. 

Because for as long as you had known John, you were also certain the boy didn’t like you. 

You could count on one hand the amount of conversations you shared with the boy, and even those conversations lasted thirty seconds at most. And for a majority of those thirty seconds, it was you talking and him saying three words in response, if even that.

You had eventually accepted the fact that some personalities just clashed, that maybe you were too loud or too energetic or too extroverted for John’s liking. You tried to tell yourself you were okay with it because, at the end of the day, he was still polite and curt with you. 

But you would be lying if you said a small part of you wasn’t offended that you were nothing more than a glorified acquaintance with John Marino. 

So really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that you were going to use the next few weeks with him to get him to like you. Or figure out what the hell his deal was. 

“You think John hates you?” Dawson repeated, like that was the detail he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around in your whole plan. 

“Hate is a strong word,” you said in response. “I’m simply going to get him to come out of his shell a little. With me specifically.” 

“Not the kinda coming he wants to do with you,” Dawson muttered under his breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing!” Dawson quickly cleared his throat. He turned his gaze back towards the corridor the two of you were currently walking down. “How do you plan to get him out of his shell?”

“I don’t need a strategy to make friends,” you mused, grinning a little when the boy rolled his eyes in response. “My plan is to not have a plan. I am sure with the time spent together, he will eventually open up.”

“That still sounds like a strategy,” Dawson commented but you didn’t get the chance to reply, the door to Nico’s office swinging open and a beaming Nico taking the focus of your attention instead.

“Candy, brilliant, you’re here!” 

You blinked. “Yes, you asked me to be. You literally sent me a text ten minutes ago—” 

“Anyways!” Nico spun around, still grinning a concerning amount as he wandered back into the office, a few of the other boys already inside. “I don’t like the idea of waiting around for another attack to get answers.”

Jesper raised his brows. “Meaning?” 

“Meaning I want both attacks investigated separately so we can see if there are any dots joining,” Nico stated simply, leaning against his desk. “Bratter, you and Jack are on warehouse duty. I want to know everyone who stepped foot in that place in the last month.”

“Bit hard to do when the cameras blew up with the building but sure,” Jack grumbled.

“Candy,” Nico’s eyes shifted to you. “You and John will be on the bakery.”

“Is it really a good idea to send her back to the bakery?” Timo interrupted, stepping forward. 

“I’m not ignoring it for the rest of my life because of one attack,” you told him. “Me and Johnny can handle it.”

“Johnny?” Timo repeated incredulously before spinning around to find John, who was standing near the back of the room with a blank expression on his face. “Since when were you Johnny?” 

John only shrugged in response.

Timo’s eyes narrowed. 

“As I was saying,” Nico spoke up again. “This is how we are doing it.”

“What about the rest of us?” Timo asked.

“You have other jobs to do,” Nico said simply. “I am not putting our lives on hold over a few attacks. We continue everything else like normal. I don’t want it to get out that we are concerned over these attacks, they will make us look weak.”

Jonas’ lips twitched upwards. “And god forbid you look weak before you have the chance to woo the Rangers—”

Nico had elbowed him in the gut before he managed to finish that sentence.

…

“You’re staring.” 

You blinked, wondering for a few moments if you had imagined the boy speaking. The two of you had been sitting in your room for the better part of the last two hours, combing through the security footage from the bakery that Peter had sent you. 

And in that time, John had said two words, a simple ‘on it’ when you sent him half of the security footage to watch over.

Somewhere in that time, you found yourself sitting against your headboard, watching the boy sitting at your desk with narrowed eyes like you would somehow be able to figure him out through observation. 

Clearly, that didn’t work very well.

“Staring is considered a compliment,” you replied, watching the way his lips twitched upwards. You waited for him to turn around and go back to the footage, but you were surprised when he leaned back in his seat to look at you. 

“And are you?” He questioned, watching your head tilt in confusion. “Complimenting me?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m wondering why you’re here.” 

John raised his brows. “You are aware you were shot a few weeks ago, right?” 

“Yes but you didn’t have to say yes to Nico,” you pointed out. 

John stared back at you for a few moments before he spoke. “I wanted to, Candy.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to reply before he turned back around, his focus returning to the hours of security footage he had been watching minutes before.

…

It took a little over three days to watch all the footage from the bakery’s security cameras just for it to come up with no leads. The warehouse was no better, with no real evidence or clues on who set up the attack. 

Nico was trying to keep a brave face and pretend like it wasn’t that big of a deal but you could see that it was unsettling him. Someone clearly had a target on the Devils’ back and the reason was unclear, which made it ten times harder to anticipate what the next move would be. And with the deal with the Rangers coming up, the last thing any of you needed was a weakness to be exposed. 

“We will figure it out,” Nico kept saying whenever it was questioned by some of the other members, the ones not as privy to the inner circle talks in his study late at night. “We will be fine.” 

You were pretty sure he was trying to convince himself of that fact too.

“We need to do something,” you said around a week after the investigation into the attacks began, lying on your bed with your head hanging over the edge. “How the fuck have we not found anything?” 

“Because whoever is behind it is good at covering their tracks?” Jack suggested from his spot beside you on the bed.

“Or because we are trying to catch them with little to no evidence,” John added, standing by the door of your room with his hands obediently behind his back. “You know, since everything was either burned or destroyed or has a million bullet holes in it.”

“Will you sit down? You’re stressing me out,” you muttered to him.

“No,” John stated simply.

Jack snorted. “He is jealous I took the bed.”

“I am not.” 

Jack shot you a knowing look. “He totally is.”

“There has to be something else,” you sighed, your eyes fixed on the massive pile of clothes you had thrown over the back of your desk chair. John had wrinkled his nose at all the sequins and glitter, a look which soured when you suggested he add some colour to his outfits. The constant all black was starting to make you feel angsty. 

“We’ve tried everything, bar kidnapping random people off the street and interrogating them,” John retorted.

“My plan was way more nuanced than that,” Jack insisted. “Stop making it sound dumb.”

“He can’t make it sound dumb if it is dumb,” you pointed out.

John’s lips twitched upwards.

Jack scoffed. “Since when did you two agree with each other?”

“Since you became an easy target,” you retorted, hissing when the boy reached over to pinch your arm. “Ouch, asshole.” 

“It was deserved,” Jack insisted.

You turned your head to look at John. “I thought my bodyguard was meant to protect me.” 

“Because Jack and his noodle arms are such a big threat,” John deadpanned.

Jack quickly sat up in bed. “Woah, now wait a second—” 

“It would take more than a second to fix your noodle arms.” 

Jack narrowed his eyes at the boy. “I do not know why Luke likes you so much.”

John shrugged in response. 

“Is Peter’s shop still under renovation?” You questioned, interrupting whatever weird staring contest the two of them were doing. The mention of his friend was enough for Jack to tear his eyes away from John to focus on you instead. 

“What? Yeah, they are,” he nodded with his lips turned down. “Why?” 

“Good,” was the only response you gave, quickly swinging your legs over the side of the bed as you sat up. Both boys looked at you with confused expressions, watching as you hooked the straps of your heels on one finger and reached for one of your coats with the other hand. 

John straightened. “What are you—”

“Hurry up, Johnny, we are leaving in five,” you stated, grinning when you noticed him let out a heavy sigh like he accepted the fact he wasn’t getting answers from you.

“What about me?” Jack called out.

“Don’t know and don’t care!” 

…

Peter’s Bakery was a cute and quaint shop that didn’t stand out amongst the others on the street. It fit right in with the friendly, homely neighbourhood and was a huge hit with the locals. It was a simple place, hidden right in plain sight. 

Despite the connection to the Devils, there was no reason for it to be targeted in an attack. 

“Eighty percent of Peter’s customers are locals,” you told John as you walked towards the bakery, your heels clicking against the cement in a melodic pattern. It was comforting, something to hold onto as memories of the last time you were here flooded to the front of your mind.

“So?” John questioned, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses he had slipped on before the two of you left the house. You could bet your bottom dollar that he was already analysing everything, probably had been since the second the two of you got out of the car.

“Ten percent are people from surrounding areas and the remaining ten are tourists from states excluding the ones in the immediate surrounding area,” you continued. “And the chances of the attacker being a local is slim to none so—”

“You think the person behind all this visited the bakery before the attack?” John finished for you.

“Bingo, Johnny,” you grinned at the boy, watching as he simply pressed his lips together. 

“And you think he is just going to remember every customer he interacted with?” John asked, the judgement clear from his voice. “We already combed through the CCTV footage, we know there was nothing weird—”

“That was on camera,” you pointed out. “They could have given a different vibe in person.” 

“A different vibe?” John repeated in a dubious tone.

“I don’t see you jumping with any better ideas,” you retorted as the boy just sighed in response. “Cheer up, Johnny, the ever present frown is going to give you wrinkles.” 

John didn’t get the chance to even try and respond before you were pushing the door to the bakery open. Despite the damage to the shop, the bell above the door remained intact and dinged as the two of you walked in. It was a mess, with cans of paints and planks of wood and tools sprawled over the place, but the vague smell of cookies still somehow lingered in the air. 

“Sorry, we are closed for—oh,” Peter poked his head out from the back of the store, his lips twisting into a smile when he saw you. “Candy, I didn’t know you were stopping by.” 

“We just had a few questions for Jersey’s favourite baker,” you smiled innocently. 

“We?” Peter repeated, his eyes glancing past your shoulder like he was noticing John for the first time. A look passed over his face before he cleared his throat. “Marino.”

“Perry.” 

“It’s Peter.”

“Whoops.”

“Play nice,” you pouted, lightly elbowing John’s side before turning your smiling face back to Peter. “Excuse him, he gets pissy if he misses his afternoon nap.”

John’s jaw clenched as Peter laughed. 

“Come on in,” Peter smiled back. “I’m all yours for the next hour before the builders come back from their lunch break.”

“How convenient,” John murmured under his breath, lifting his hands in mock surrender as you shot him a look before the both of you followed him into the back of the store. 

…

“So, that was useless.” 

“No surprise there.” 

Your eyes narrowed into a glare, your mood only souring further when you found the boy wasn’t even looking back at you. His gaze seemed to be glued ahead, his jaw still clenched like it had been the whole time you had been in the bakery.

“What is your problem?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around your body as the wind began to pick up. “You have been in an awful mood since we arrived.”

“I’ve been completely normal,” John answered. Those stupid sunglasses on his face were starting to piss you off. 

“You have not,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You were fine joking around with Jack back in the house but the second we left, you were in a downright horrible mood—hey!”

“Keep your voice down,” John grumbled, his hand now locked around your arm as he tugged you closer to his side. 

You let out a snort of laughter. “You’re funny if you think—”

“Someone has been following us since we left the bakery,” John said, his voice low and barely a muscle on his face moving as he spoke. “Lower your voice and follow me.” 

And for once, you listened. 

There was a growing temptation to look back. To just take a peek over your shoulder and see the face of the person who was following you, to try and get an idea of who it was. There was no coincidence that the two of you were being followed the second you left the bakery, the same goddamn place you were first attacked. 

You wondered if it was the same person. You wonder if they were the one that shot the gun that hit you. You wondered if—

“You’re spiralling,” John’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Am not,” you retorted, but it sounded weak to your own ears.

“Lie better,” John insisted, his hand tightening around your arm as he spoke. 

It was like you could hear the footsteps behind you now, like they were loud and clear the second John had pointed them out to you. When you sped up, so did they. When you slowed down, so did they. They were matching your moves and following the two of you and the car was too far away and you couldn’t call for backup without alerting the person and—

“Shhhh, breathe for me.” 

You blinked before you even realised what was happening. Torn out of your own spiralling thoughts, you found yourself pressed against a wall, the cold bricks jabbing into your back but the comfort was the least of your problems. John was pressed up against you, not an inch of you exposed to the rest of the world as he kept you pinned between him and the wall.

You lifted your head to watch his side profile, watch the way he kept his eyes on the entryway to the alley he had pulled you down before you even realised what was happening. You watched the way his cheeks flushed pink, probably from the nipping weather (though it was hard to care about that when he was like a furnace against you). You watched the way he looked so focused, so in his element. 

It was hard to doubt Nico’s choice when you were seeing John do just what he did best.

“I think it’s all clear,” he eventually said, breaking the silence that had been lingering since he dragged you into the alley.

You swallowed harshly. “You sure?” 

“Have I given you any reason to doubt I wouldn’t take your safety seriously?” John asked, turning his head so he was finally looking at you. You watched him closely, watched the way his eyes darted over your face and lingered on your lips for a moment too long before returning to your eyes.

“No,” you replied honestly.

“Then there’s your answer,” he murmured, lingering for a few moments before he took a step back. “Let’s go back to the house.”

You tried not to think about how cold you were the second he stepped away. 

…

Things were starting to heat up with the Rangers deal.

Which, considering the faces of everyone in Nico’s study at that current moment, was incredibly fucking shocking. 

“You’re actually going through with it?” Jesper was the one to speak first, staring at Nico with wide eyes. “I thought we were just entertaining them to see what they want.” 

“Yes, and I listened and I agreed to it,” Nico said as he leaned back in his chair. “So we are going forth with the deal.”

“We have been fighting them for years,” Jack piped in, his brows furrowed together like he was trying to piece together a deal he didn’t even know the terms of fully. You weren’t even sure Nico knew the details of the deal yet. 

“Exactly,” Nico nodded. “And look how much we have lost, both of us. It’s time to turn a new leaf.” 

Jack flinched. 

You pressed a hand between the blades of his shoulders, leaving it there until you could feel the boy slowly start to relax under your touch.

“This isn’t sustainable for either of us,” Nico continued, though it was softer this time. “We need to start thinking about what’s best for the Devils.”

“And buddying up with the Rangers is the solution?” Jonas asked, no judgement in his voice (yet). Just curiosity.

“Not just with them,” Nico admitted. “I want to start solidifying our relationships.” 

And it was that exact reason that Nico decided to send you to Pittsburgh. 

The members of the Steel City mob were not ones the Devils knew well, nor did they have much of a history with. It was good, in the sense that there was no awkward bad blood to get over (read: like the current Rangers deal Nico was trying to pull). But it also meant there was no reason for either group to want a relationship.

Not unless you were Nico Hischier and Sidney Crosby, suddenly interested in creating an alliance that would somehow benefit both groups involved.

It was weird travelling with John. Usually when Nico sent you on missions like this, you were alone. On the off chance you needed back up, it would be Timo or Dawson or Jack by your side. It should have felt unsettling to have John, but it was comforting.

It was comforting to know he had your back, that you didn’t have to spend the whole trip looking over your shoulder. 

And it was better than when one of the others were with you. John let you take control, let you do the talking, let you sit across from Sidney and say what you wanted without trying to cut in or take over the conversation. 

It was comforting but also such a mindfuck to know this was all from the same boy who practically avoided you until a few weeks ago.

Where was this John before?

All in all, the meeting went well. There was still a lot to discuss, to negotiate, to consider. But it was the start to an alliance between the Devils and the Penguins, a welcome and positive start. And that was more than enough for an overnight trip. Sidney had even been kind enough to offer a place in one of the countless establishments owned by the Penguins.

“Two rooms?” He said like it was a nicety, rather than a fact he already knew.

“One,” John corrected, his face remaining blank as he spoke. But there was a hint of ‘no further argument’ in his voice.

Sidney’s lips twitched upwards. “One it is, then.” 

…

The hotel room was nice. More than nice, if you were being completely honest. 

It felt far too fancy for a single night’s stay but you assumed the Penguins were wanting to keep the good relationship going, to show they were serious, to show how well they could treat those they shared a good alliance with. It felt more like a studio apartment than a hotel room.

And despite it all, there was only one bed.

It had taken around thirty minutes of arguing before John accepted that the bed was large enough for you both to share for the night. He had been insistent he could use the couch by the window, that it was big and comfy enough for him. 

It made you want to scream. 

You didn’t get it. You really didn’t fucking get it. 

If someone had asked you a few months ago, you would have bet your life on the fact that John didn’t like you. He was clearly quite quiet and reserved, preferring to keep to himself. You would have assumed the reasons he stayed away from you were just that—that you were too loud, too out there, too flashy.

And then he became your bodyguard. And there were these moments where you thought you were seeing a different John, a John that you could get along with. A John that would maybe even be able to handle how loud and out there and flashy you were.

Until moments like this, moments where it felt like he would rather be anywhere but beside you. Where it felt like he was here out of obligation because of Nico’s orders. 

“Why do you hate me?” 

It had been over an hour since the two of you turned the lights off and settled down for the night. If you were being honest, you assumed he had fallen asleep a while ago but it still hadn’t stopped you from blurting the question out into the dark room, to get it off your chest before you felt like you would explode.

You hadn’t expected to feel him tense up beside you. You hadn’t expected him to still be awake.

“What?” 

You remained silent.

You could hear shuffling from his side of the bed. You wondered if he was turning to face you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look.

“Candy,” John said, his voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “What makes you think I hate you?”

“Because what else am I to think?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke. “You ignored me before this, before Nico told you to watch over me. You barely said three words to me in the years I have been here and—”

You cut yourself off. The silence remained for a few minutes and you wondered if he had genuinely fallen asleep in that time. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look.

“I don’t hate you,” John whispered. “I never did.” 

You let out a shaky breath.

“You were just so…you,” John confessed. “It was intimidating. I guess I didn’t think I was interesting enough.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

“I never said my reason made sense,” John retorted and you couldn’t help but snort a little. “I promise that I never hated you, Candy. Nobody could hate you.” 

You swallowed. “And I’m meant to believe that?” 

“I would never lie to you,” John said confidently. “Never have and never will.”

“Okay,” you whispered as you reached your hand back. It took a few seconds of patting the space between you both before you found his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “I don’t hate you either.”

“That’s reassuring.” 

“Goodnight, Johnny.” 

“Goodnight, Candy.” 

…

“We think we have found a link between the attacks.” 

“We?” 

“Apologies,” Nico corrected, letting out a sigh as Jesper glared at the side of his head. “Jesper thinks he has found a link.” 

“It’s a guess,” Jesper admitted after a few moments as the lot of you surrounded the map that was currently sprawled out over the length of Nico’s desk. “But it’s better than nothing.” 

“What makes you think they will even attack again?” Jonas questioned as he glanced between the circled locations with a frown.

“We don’t,” Nico answered.

“Well, we can assume they will try again considering none of the other attacks ended with what they wanted,” Jack spoke up, catching your eye as he sheepishly shrugged. “Sorry, Candy.”

Timo’s frown deepened.

“Each of these locations would fit their agenda,” Jesper said as he rapped his knuckles against the map before frowning. “If we have guessed their agenda correctly.”

“You will have,” you assured, squeezing the blond’s shoulder with a smile. “Good job, Bratter.” 

“We are going to have these locations on a constant patrol for the next week,” Nico said, frowning down at the map like he was already organising the patrol schedule in his head (even though Jonas would be the one to have a printed and laminated version on the notice board in the foyer by that very evening). “We are due another attack soon, if these people are sticking to a schedule.” 

“Dibs the club by the Italian place,” you spoke up, flashing Jack a grin where he let out an exaggerated groan. “Their garlic bread would be the perfect stakeout snack.” 

Nico opened his mouth but Timo was already talking before he had the chance to say anything.

“What makes you think you’re a part of this?” Timo asked with a frown.

You raised your brows. “Maybe the fact I am in this room right now.”

“No,” Timo shook his head. “Absolutely not. You’re not getting involved in this.”

“Timo—”

“You are one of their targets,” Timo gritted out between clenched teeth. “It would be fucking stupid to put you on patrol. We may as well hand you over on a silver platter.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you said. “I’ll be with John—”

“No, I am being realistic,” Timo corrected. “You’re staying behind. End of discussion.” 

You could feel your temper starting to rise, feeling that itch under your skin that was biting to fight back. “What? You suddenly don’t trust John?” 

“No, I don’t trust you,” Timo retorted, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “You’re a liability, Candy.” 

You froze for a moment before scoffing. “Wow. Wow.”

To his credit, Timo did look apologetic the second the words settled in the room. “Candy, I didn’t—”

“What? You didn’t mean it?” You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head. “No, you meant it, Timo. You meant it just like you meant it in San Jose and look where that got us.”

A look of hurt flashed across your brother’s face. “That’s not fair—”

“Whatever,” you gritted out, stepping back when he tried to reach you and turning on your heel before anyone else had the chance to say anything. You turned and walked towards the door and kept walking, blood roaring in your ears and tears welling in your eyes with every step. 

…

“Got room for one more?”

John didn’t wait for your response as he settled down on the spot beside you. He glanced around, letting out a hum of amusement as he took in the full brunt of your wardrobe. It had been its own room at one point, before you had taken it over and connected it to your bedroom. Now, it was full of rails and shelves bursting with clothes and shoes in so many colours that John was surprised his head didn’t hurt the second he walked in. 

He leaned back against one of the set of drawers, laughing a little when he felt a couple of feathers brushing against the back of his neck. “Do you actually wear feather boas?”

Your lips twitched upwards. “I got them when Luke and Curtis bet fifty bucks that I didn’t have them ‘in my collection’.” 

John smiled a little. “So you have them to help Luke in a bet?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t be silly, I was helping Curtis win the bet.” 

John did laugh this time, a proper laugh that caught you by surprise. Not that he seemed put off by the way you were blatantly staring at him. Instead, he nudged his shoulder against yours and just smiled. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” John asked in a soft voice. 

“I just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words to describe everything racing on inside your head. “I was just so pissed off and he wasn’t listening to me and I…I knew it would hurt. I wanted it to hurt.” You paused. “Does that make me a bad person?” 

“Maybe,” John whispered. “But I don’t think he was a great person at that moment either.” 

“I know the San Jose stuff upsets him,” you whispered, pressing your cheek further into the fabric of his shirt until his cologne and the vague scent of fabric softener was the only thing you could focus on. “He regrets it every day. He regrets that he left me behind that day, that he thought I was too much of a liability to go away with him.” 

John pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “What happened in San Jose wasn’t your fault or his. It was them. It was the Sharks and their twisted morals over there and—” 

“I’m his sister and I almost died because of a decision he made,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you spoke. “He will always blame himself, even if no one else thinks it. Even if he is the reason I’m alive now and we got out of there.”

John didn’t say anything. 

“Just like I will always blame myself for trusting them blindly,” you muttered, swallowing the words that felt like they were stuck in the back of your throat. “I forgot the basic rules of this life. I forgot then and I forgot when I was at Peter’s when the attack happened and—” 

“Candy,” John murmured, his arm winding around your body and pulling you further into his side. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

You pressed your face further into him, your tears beginning to soak the shirt he was wearing but he didn’t care. 

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Candy,” John continued, his lips pressed against the top of your head as he left a lingering kiss. “None of it was your fault.”

You stayed silent. 

“And you’re not a bad person. You’re allowed to get angry and upset. You’re allowed to lash out.” John pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Your brother loves you and nothing will ever change that.”

John held you in his arms as the two of you sat on the floor of your wardrobe. He held you as you cried and cried until you couldn’t anymore. He held you until keeping your eyes open was too much. And then he carried you to bed, taking his spot in your room and letting the silence settle over the room until the next morning. 

The apology from Timo didn’t really come in the form of words, maybe because you and your brother both knew that more than words were needed. It was at the next Devils Sunday dinner. He didn’t say anything as he placed a box on your plate (a box you recognised with the logo of Peter’s Bakery) and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“We will never let them win,” he murmured, the same words he whispered that fateful night in San Jose before the two of you escaped. 

“Never,” you whispered back.

Timo just smiled, soft and genuine and just as forgiving as it was apologetic, before he settled down in his spot at the table.

He didn’t even say anything about John’s arm wrapped around the back of your chair for the duration of the whole dinner.

…

The days passed and still no attack came.

The deal with the Rangers was becoming more serious. Not that you doubted Nico’s word at all. It was just…rivalry against the Rangers was all you had known. You heard whispers about them when you were on the west coast. You saw the extent of their violence when you and Timo fled to New Jersey. 

It was hard to imagine a life where that violence wasn’t instigated, wasn’t retaliated against, wasn’t sought out. 

“It will work.” 

You raised your brows, watching the way Nico was nodding to himself as he glanced over the papers in front of him. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” 

Jack snorted. “More like Jesper. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“He doesn’t trust them,” Nico corrected.

 “And, to be fair, they have given us no reason to trust them,” you added.

“Just as much as they should trust us,” John deadpanned, once again refusing to sit down as he stood left to your chair. 

“They need it as much as we do,” Nico pointed out. 

“What stock could they possibly need from us?” You questioned, watching the way the boy paused before clearing his throat. Your eyes narrowed at your boss, like it would be enough to see the thoughts whirling around in his head. “Nico, what did you agree to?” 

Nico let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “A marriage.” 

Jack blinked.

“A marriage?” You repeated, hissing. “Are you crazy? You want to join us to them forever like that?” 

“It’s an alliance, Candy,” Nico stated simply. “The idea is that it would be long lasting.” 

“But a marriage, Nico,” you shook your head. “They wouldn’t just accept a random marriage, not unless Trouba thought he could find a way to get into the top circle. Who did you offer up?” 

“Why? You offering yourself?” Jack asked, his lips twitching upwards. 

But the joke fell flat when John stepped forward, stepped closer to you. “No. She’s not.” 

Your eyes widened a little at the biting tone in his voice. “Hey—”

“You are not marrying any of them,” John gritted out through clenched teeth. “I refuse.” 

“You refuse?” You repeated, your head tilting as you turned to look at the boy in disbelief. “Pretty sure it’s my decision, Johnny.”

“Yeah, Johnny,” Jack said, his eyes glittering in amusement. Not that you could see it, with your focus now turned to the other boy. But John could see it. He could see it and could see the way Jack was actively holding back his laughter. “If Candy wants to marry one of Trouba’s men, then who are we to stop her?” 

John’s jaw clenched, an emotion you couldn’t quite read shining in his eyes. “No.” 

Nico sighed deeply.

Jack snorted. “You’re not even being subtle about it, bud.” 

You whirled around. “Subtle about what?” 

Jack simply lifted his hands in mock surrender. 

You turned back to look at John, a mix of emotions flooding through you when he failed to meet your eyes. “I thought you never lied to me.” 

“I’m not lying,” John said, his eyes locked on Jack, who was beaming in response. 

“No, he’s just omitting to tell the truth,” Jack retorted.

“Jack,” Nico said in a warning voice.

“Oh, come on,” Jack whined, turning to pout at the older boy. “We all know John is just—” 

“Enough,” Nico interrupted, shaking his head. “Go to Peter’s.” 

Jack frowned. “What?”

“I’m telling you right now to go stake out at Peter’s tonight,” Nico said—or, more accurately, commanded. “I want you to stick to the post for the rest of the night.” 

Jack opened his mouth to argue but noted the glare Nico was sending him and—smartly—decided to keep his mouth shut. He glanced between you and John, muttering something under his breath before he jumped off his spot on the desk and made his way towards the door.

“And just to be clear,” Nico spoke up before Jack could leave the room. “Candy is not the one marrying a Ranger. None of you are.”

John’s brows furrowed together. “So who is?”

“Me.”

…

You hadn’t said a word to John since the two of you left Nico’s study. 

It was one thing to make a deal with the Rangers. It was another for that deal to include an arranged marriage, something that seemed so archaic and old-fashioned for Nico’s taste. But for Nico himself to be involved? To tie himself to the Rangers in such a way? 

It was fucking mind-blowing.

You could only imagine the kind of girl the Rangers would offer to play the part of Nico Hischier’s wife.

But despite the revelation, your mind was reeling for a very different reason. And said reason happened to be just behind you, dressed in all black (no surprise there) and looking like a damn kicked puppy at the silent treatment you had been giving him.

John watched you with careful eyes as you swung the door to your bedroom open, barely acknowledging the small ‘ooft’ he let out when the rebound of the door almost hit him in the face. 

“Candy–” John started the second the door clicked shut behind him.

But you barely gave him the chance to continue, already spinning around on your heel to glare at him. “Do not even try it.” 

“I meant what I said when I told you I would never lie to you,” John said, staying rooted in his spot even though his stomach twisted at the hurt written across your face. “I have never lied to you. I swear on my life.” 

You watched him for a few moments, a muscle in your jaw ticking before you asked him something that completely caught him off guard. 

“Why did you take this job?”

John blinked. “What?”

“Why did you take this job?” You repeated, keeping your eyes locked on him as you took a step closer. 

“You know why,” John said, swallowing harshly. “You were a target and Nico appointed me as your bodyguard—”

“That’s not the only reason,” you said bluntly. “There is more to it. You know it. Jack knows it. Hell, everyone but me seems to know it. So what is the reason?” 

John let out a breath. “I can’t tell you.” 

You took another step towards him, eyes narrowed in determination. “Can’t or won’t?” 

John could feel his chest tightening. “Candy, please.” 

“You may not have been lying before but you weren’t telling me the truth,” you questioned, pausing when you were right in front of him. “Why did you take this job?” 

John shook his head.

“John,” you rasped. “Tell me.” 

He kept shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will change nothing!” John frowned a little, clearing his throat as he lowered his voice. “Because I can’t do anything about it.” 

You blinked, confused. “What?” 

“Can we please just drop this?” John whispered, his voice cracking a little. 

“No,” you shook your head, determined. “What won’t it change?” 

John pressed his lips together.

You sighed. “Johnny—”

“Us,” John finally muttered out. “It won’t change us. It won’t change how I feel about you. It won’t change the fact that you’re you and you’re Timo’s sister and I shouldn’t want you but I really fucking do and—”

“Kiss me.”

John blinked, stuttering over his choked breath. “Candy, you don’t mean that.”

“Did I stutter?” You retorted.

“We can’t,” John tried again, but you could see his resolve crumbling. You could see the way his eyes dropped to your lips, the way they lingered on your mouth. 

“Says who?” You asked, watching as the boy failed to find a response. “Kiss me, Johnny.”

John waited one, two, three seconds before he surged forward, before his hands cupped your face and his lips were pressed against yours with a passion you had never experienced before. You barely had a chance to grip his shirt before he was tugging you closer, before he was tilting his head and deepening the kiss and moaning against your lips like it was the hottest thing he had ever done in his life.

In some ways, it was. 

Years of fantasies and feelings and thoughts and dreams lead to this moment. Years of John keeping his feelings hidden, keeping them locked away, thinking he never stood a chance. Years of him hopelessly pining and wanting and wishing. Years of just loving you just how you were. 

His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, tilting your head to match his pace as his other hand slid down to wind around your waist and pull you closer. He heard the little gasp you let out, felt the way you fisted the fabric of his shirt, listened to the little breathless ‘Johnny’ you sighed against his lips.

He felt feral. 

He hadn’t even noticed you slowly leading him deeper into the room, step by step, until your knees hit the back of the bed and you were dragging him down with you. Only then did the last few minutes seem to hit him like a freight train. He pushed up onto his elbows, chest heaving with soft pants and face flushed as he stared down at you. 

“Candy—” He started but you quickly placed your finger over his lips..

“I want this. I want you. I don’t want to hear whatever noble bullshit you have been telling yourself to hold yourself back. I just want you, Johnny,” you said, breathing heavily as your eyes lingered on his kiss-swollen lips before returning to meet his gaze. “If you don’t want this, then I get that. But only if you don’t want this. Nothing to do with my brother or some bullshit sense of morality or the rest of this damn house.” 

John swallowed, lifting one hand to slowly push some hair away from your face and tuck it behind your ear. You waited with a bated breath, watching as his eyes took in every single detail of you before he leaned down to kiss you—sweeter, softer than before.

“I want you more than you could ever know,” he whispered against your lips, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he spoke.

“Kiss me again,” you murmured, pushing your cheek further into his touch.

“Whatever you want, Candy,” John murmured before leaning down to kiss you again. 

…

The attack happened three days later. 

It was anticipated, just not on a warehouse you were expecting. The knowledge that the pattern you thought you had noticed was actually false laid heavy on all your shoulders, as the realisation of something much bigger than any of you were anticipating settled. This went beyond a few targeted attacks, this went beyond you. 

This was the start of a war, and even if none of you wanted to say it out loud, you were all thinking it.

“What now?” Jack asked as you all stood around Nico’s study, staring helplessly at the map laid out on Nico’s desk.

“We prepare ourselves,” Nico said, his voice sounding heavy and tired. You didn’t even blame him. He had been keeping on a confident front, letting the others think that they had this all under control because he couldn’t spiral. He couldn’t let them all think there was a reason to panic. You could only imagine how much harder it was getting with each passing day, with each attack.

Jesper raised his brows. “So you’re breaking the deal with the Rangers?” 

“No,” Nico shook his head, letting out a long sigh. It had been a recurring argument between the two of them for the last few weeks. “If this means what we think it means, it would be more beneficial to us to have the Rangers as allies.” 

“Unless they are the ones behind it,” Jesper retorted.

“I’m going through with the deal and that’s final,” Nico said, raising his voice a little. It wasn’t a lot. But it was enough for everyone else in the room to fall silent. “And if you keep being pissy about it, I’ll make sure you sit next to Timo at the wedding.” 

Jesper gaped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Nico’s eyes glimmered. “But I would.”

“Woah, why is that a bad thing?” Timo scoffed, looking between the two of them with a frown. “I’m a fucking delight.”

Suddenly, everyone else looked away. 

Timo’s frown deepened. “What? What is everyone not telling me?” 

It was at that very moment Luke walked through the door, foil packet rustling loudly as he shoved his hand in it and kicked the door closed behind him. He paused when he noted the tension in the room, glancing between everyone with pinched eyebrows.

“Damn, I didn’t know getting snacks for a team meeting was illegal.”

“Rusty!” Timo whirled around, his eyes gleaming. “Did they tell you too?” 

“Tell me what?” Luke questioned before his eyes widened. “Oh shit, they told you John finally grew a pair and made a move on Candy? Huh, you’re much calmer than I—”

“JOHN DID WHAT?!”

Luke paused, his lips parting in realisation. “Oh. Whoops.”

Timo whirled around to look at you and then John, seeming to finally notice the arm the boy had wrapped around your waist. He gasped loudly, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his chest. 

“And you all fucking knew? Oh god, the betrayal! It hurts! It physically hurts!” 

“I am not sitting beside that at the wedding,” Jesper said, shaking his head. “Look how dramatic he is being!”

“He will mellow out by the wedding,” Nico responded, looking far too amused by the theatrics playing out in the middle of his study. 

“It’s Timo. When the fuck as he ever mellowed out?” Jesper retorted with a scoff. 

You turned to find John watching your older brother with a pinched expression. It would have made you snort if you couldn’t feel the way he was gripping your hips, like he was ready to put you between him and your dramatic brother.

“Welcome to the family, Johnny.” 

John’s nose scrunched. “I take it all back.” 

You snorted. “Too late. No returns. You’re stuck with me.” 

“It’s not you I want to return,” John retorted, pulling you closer to him. “I’d do it all over again if I could be stuck with you for the rest of my life.” 

“Sap,” you grinned, looking far too pleased with his admission. “Even if you have to take on my brother?” 

John’s eyes softened as he turned to look at you. “Nothing could scare me away from you, baby. Nothing.”

You beamed. “Good, because you have about thirty seconds before Timo realises he has free will and a gun in his left holster.” 

There was a lot that was uncertain about the future, but you were pretty damn confident that John Marino was not one of them.

.

[stevesgother]

I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :) 

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.” 

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself. 

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’. 

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

-

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color. 

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

- 

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

-

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to. 

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time. 

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

-

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?”  It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

[unsolvedjarin]

I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.

Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.

gif by luchitohamilton

EVERY UNIVERSE.

pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)

summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.

word count: 4k

note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵‍💫

content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning

part of this series but can be read without!

“Ready?”

A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”

Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”

“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”

“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”

The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.

“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.

“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.

“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”

“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.

“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.

“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”

He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.

“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”

You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”

His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”

“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”

“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.

“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.

You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”

“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.

“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.

Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.

The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…

“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”

The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.

Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.

“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.

“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.

“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.

“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”

What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”

“Negative, focus on the race.”

Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.

That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”

“Copy. Is it the car?”

“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”

The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.

You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.

There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.

As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.

You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.

Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.

The next few seconds were a blur.

You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.

The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.

“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.

On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”

“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”

Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”

“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”

“Injuries?”

“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”

“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.

“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.

The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.

“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”

You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.

Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.

“Better?”

You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.

“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.

The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.

“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.

“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”

“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.

“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.

He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”

“Any other fun observations?”

Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”

He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”

The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”

Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”

“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.

“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.

“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”

“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”

Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”

“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.

“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”

Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.

“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.

“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”

You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”

Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.

The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.

Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”

Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”

The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”

“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.

Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”

He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”

You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”

“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”

You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”

The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.

“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.

Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.

The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”

“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.

Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”

You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.

You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”

Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”

“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”

“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”

“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”

Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.

“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.

“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.

“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.

“I was here the whole time.”

“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”

“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”

You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.

“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”

Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”

You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”

“We have the same salary in our contracts?”

“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”

Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”

“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”

“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.

That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.

“You know, I’m glad I found you.”

The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”

“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”

Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.

“No, I think we do.”

“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”

Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”

Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”

Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”

Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”

You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”

“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.

“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”

Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”

Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.

Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.

[wooahaeproductions]

Forging the Threads of Time (teaser)

Professor/Greek God Hephaestus Wonwoo x Reincarnated Female Reader

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, college au, reincarnation au, fantasy au

Word Count: 246 (full fic ~4k)

Warnings: none for teaser, tbd for full fic

Rating: 18+

Summary: Wonwoo never expected to meet the mortal love of his life ever again and you never thought you’d feel so drawn to your welding professor.

A/N: I'm surprised this is my first teaser ever but I felt you guys deserved it since I've been a little less active lately. This is a teaser for my fic for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab cohosted by me and Aeris @beomcoups. Also thank you so much to the super talented @aaagustd for the amazing banner! ~Maren

FULL FIC HERE

Wonwoo hadn’t been banished to earth for long, a bitter taste left in his mouth after what his mother and supposed wife had done to him. He had taken to frequenting speakeasies, some fancy, some considered a bit dodgy. That didn’t matter when all he was seeking was alcohol to ease the injustice he felt. And that’s when he saw you, a bartender at one of the fancier places he had gone to. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt drawn to you, and from the moment you looked at him, he could tell you felt it too.

From then on, he only frequented your speakeasy. Then, he began to date you. For the first and only time, Wonwoo had fallen in love with a mortal.

In the present, Wonwoo tossed and turned under the covers as images playing in his head invaded his sleep, images of you. Images of the first time he met you at the speakeasy, of when you got married, and unfortunately of your last moments in the hospital when your mortality proved itself to be all too real.

He awoke with a start, feeling unsettled. He hadn’t dreamed of you in decades, at least it felt like decades. He couldn’t be sure, since time passed differently for him. You had been mortal but Wonwoo was not. He was immortal, a god. The god Hephaestus to be exact, but he hadn’t gone by that name since the moment his mother banished him.

©️wooahaeproductions

All works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works.

[etherealily]

𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆, 𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩.

My other Felix fics, if you have the time.

this might be one of my favourite things i've written. hope you enjoy! happy v-day💌

Queued + not proofread!

Felix Catton + fem!reader. Warnings : Cussing. Drugs. Long.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You don't want to fix him, but you do, anyway.

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Okay, okay, so he beat someone up on campus, so fucking what?

It's called being a good fucking person. Look, you do not let some utter chav get away with cat-calling a girl in the middle of the dining hall, and then a frat party, where she might have been roofied if she'd have been dumber (thank god she wasn't), and in a fucking library, just because she couldn't cause a scene. Three strikes and he was out.

But apparently, so was Felix.

"No, Sir, I'm telling you, he was--'

"Professor Walker."

Professor. Asshole. "Professor. I apologise. Professor, I'm telling you, he was being absolutely dodgy!"

"Mr. Catton, I'd advise you to stay calm--"

His fist slammed on the table, the pens on this useless waste of a PhD's desk bouncing, seemingly in tune with Felix's blood pressure. "YOU are a philosophy professor, yeah? Don't bloody talk about practical shite to me, and don't tell me what to do about what happens in the real world, when your whole career is telling people to overthink everything and keep their heads in the clouds!"

Uh, whoops.

His adrenaline shot down as fast as it had shot up and all of a sudden, he was acutely aware of his ranking in this shithole.

Student.

He's lucky he wasn't expelled.

Because the philosophy 'professor' said "young minds often reject new ideas".

Figures.

He got let off with a warning, an extremely disappointed voicemail from his mother (Felix, dear, you know philosophy was my major, that was a horrid joke to make), to sit in on one month's worth of philosophy lectures - surprisingly, without charge - and a mandatory weekly anger management session for the rest of the academic year.

That last bit was what he was most chagrined about.

He did not need a bloody shrink. GOD. He was fine. He just couldn't handle the philosophy 'professor' telling him to 'stay calm' when he was perfectly calm. Maybe he knew that would set him off. Any class with Felix in it is sure to get more listeners. So maybe it was this Professor Walker mooching off his campus-wide popularity.

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Having to miss classes wasn't exactly on your bucket list, but your body was far less used to Oxford winters than you'd expected, and so the flu decided to scrape a week off your lectures. You made up for it, though, being a swot on your first free week of Uni, and not needing to catch up on much.

However, there was definitely no chance your professor took too kindly to your absence, seeing as psychology was your major, and she expected you to be there, rain, hail or shine. Star student, you were not, but the only one taking it seriously, you were.

So here you were, sitting in front of her as she regarded you. "You need extra credit."

"Yes, Professor."

"Your career path?"

"Uh... undecided."

"Career focus?"

"Psychology.' That, you knew.

She hummed, shaking a packet of sugar before ripping the corner. You watched the tiny, crystalline cubes get engulfed by the brown of her coffee.

"You should try going into therapy."

For a moment, you almost chewed her head off.

"As a career.", she clarified, almost snorting as she saw your expression. "You interact well with people, and you have a good grasp on the subject." Ah. Say that properly, bitch.

"Here's what I'll do.", she declared, taking a large sip of her coffee - you were almost 90% sure she'd made it Irish earlier - before sliding a small, stapled pile of papers over to you. "I'll give you all the tools you'll need. See if you can get them memorized and come back for a solo quiz later this week. Then, you can begin conducting."

Conducting?

You skimmed your eyes over the stack of paper. Weekly mandatory anger management sessions. Split second, and you thought it was for you, because maybe she had heard you mentally call her a bitch.

"An extremely hardworking and well-scoring student recently got into an altercation on campus, on grounds.", she explained, and you nodded, your eyes not leaving the stack of paper.

'Conducted by' : blank. You supposed that's where you were supposed to sign.

"Although we have a strict policy against harrasment and conflict, none of the three parties involved has openly stated discrimination. The only solid thing the university has got is a confession from the initiator and witnesses from the side of the victim. But given his clean record so far, we have resorted to only this. Sessions to contain any such future outbursts."

Who even was this kid, and why was he your form of extra credit? "But I'd be using him as a lab rat, basically."

"Come again?"

"I'm not qualified or licensed to conduct these sessions, so I don't think--"

She waved you off, the bint. "It's a mere formality, no need to put stock into it. That's not to say you can slack off, half-arse it, either, but he's had no history of violence and is known to be a relatively good-tempered student."

Then why the fuck?

"We figure he can be let off easy - we'd never take sides, so this is off the record, but he was justified - and you can get extra credit, and the victim can be appeased. Quiet and a win-win-win."

The coffee now completely drained, she watched you think it over while staring blankly at the space in which you needed to sign your name. Inhaling deeply, she leaned over, gently prying it from you and flipping the page. "This bit, very important. Sort of like an NDA. No, maybe... an ANS. Agreement Not to Sue. But less official."

"This looks more like summat he should be signing. Basically, since I'm not a licensed therapist, if he doesn't get better, or gets more fucked, the Uni isn't to blame?"

"You need to sign it, too. You'll have to record the sessions, as well."

"So you know I'm not 'half-arsing' it?"

"So we know he's coming to them. But yeah. That too.", she smiled, tilting her head. "You in?"

Well, yeah, you kind of had to be, seeing as she cut marks for your absences out of sheer fucking spite.

You nodded and so did she. "Brilliant! Sign here."

Scrawling your sign - that you came up with in the eighth grade instead of fucking having fun like a kid - on the blank spots her manicured nail hovered over, you bit the inside of your cheek. Was it weird that they weren't telling you who it was?

Was it weird that the sheet had been blank when it was brought to you, meaning whoever this bloke was, he had no clue what was coming?

Uh huh. Yeah.

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

"A student?! A first year fucking student? I'm getting a kid-shrink?"

"It's a mere formality. Given your record, we're sure you don't even require these sessions--"

"Professor! Come on! Can't we just say I took them?"

It's quite interesting how chill a philosophy professor can actually be once you get to know them personally. And Walker was cool, as Felix had come to find out in the past couple days of knowing him.

"Afraid not. But I'm sure she's been adequately trained by the psychology in-charge to handle these sessions."

"Why can't the in-charge do it? Would actually do summat!"

"She's busy."

He scoffed as he was handed a stapled stack of papers. "What's this, then?"

"Read it."

He did, for a while, before looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "What is this, a Liability Waiver for if she bollockses my mental health by accident?"

"More or less."

Sweet lord. "Oh, fantastic, so I'm a scapegoat, a trial for this first year, am I? See if counselling is her 'thing'?"

"You know, a more positive attitude towards this, and you might not have to go the whole year.'

"What, sayin' she'll give up?"

Walker looked almost amused, snorting. "No. I'm saying you might actually get a solution for your rage issues."

"I don't have--'

"You could learn a thing or two, Felix. Learn to calm your temper - no matter how non-existent you claim it to be - and learn how to be happier."

"Brilliant. A first year is going to teach me about the joys of non-reactivity, then? Brilliant. We'll see her keep her temper when a girl's being near groped in front of her, hm?"

"We'll need to have you sign there and there and twice on the last page, please."

"She got this before me?", he muttered, glaring at the signatures already present on the pages. "So she got to decide whether she wants to deal with me, not the other way around!? Unbelievable."

"Sign, please, Felix."

He grumbled under his breath, attempting to recall whether he'd ever even heard your name before, as he messily signed something that was probably not his signature, on each page. He has no clue what his signature is. He figured he'd sort it out when he takes over the family estate (or business), or whatever.

"None of these look the same."

"Well, this is hardly official is it? 'S long as my name's there, it's not a problem, yeah?"

"You're gonna give me a migraine before my first week as your student advisor.", he muttered, accepting the sheets back anyway. "Okay, good. Sessions start Saturday."

Fucking spectacular, now this girl was taking his weekends away.

WEEK 1

Your pen twirled between your fingers and the inside of your cheek practically split open with how frequently you'd been resorting to chewing on it lately.

You'd passed the solo quiz that your professor had set up for you, and she'd declared you 'adequately trained' to take these sessions.

Okay? And? What, were you supposed to jump in joy?

Late. This arsehole, 'Felix Catton' was his name. You just... try as you might, you couldn't place a face to the familiar name. And that face was almost ten minutes late.

But one thing you would not do is get up and leave until the hour was up. Work ethic. Wait till the last moment. With any luck, he wouldn't show up at all, and you could complain, and get extra credit some other way--

The door exploded open, and shuffling, throwing-off of a coat and grumbled-settling-down was heard, as you looked up from your notes.

"You're the first year, then?"

Oh, THIS GUY?! Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, you remembered him!

You nodded. "Yes. Uh, just a second, Mr. Catton.", you muttered, angling the video camera right, ignoring the scoff it elicited from the junior.

"I'm two years older than you."

"What would you like me to call you?" That plug from the Christmas party who tried to overcharge me?

He watched you fiddling with the device for a bit before sitting up, one leg crossed over another as he huffed, playing with his rings. "Felix is fine."

"Felix it is, then.", you mumbled, finally getting the thing to work, before clearing your throat and sitting up. Here we go. "So, Felix.", you began, trying to smile off the awkwardness. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and--"

"Do you wanna know why I'm here in this bloody session?"

You glanced over to the camera for a second, feeling like you were in a fucking Office episode, before nodding, gesturing at him to continue. Fuck, if this shite went on the record and he said summat so unbelievably stupid you were at a loss for words, you could kiss your extra credit goodbye.

"I punched a lad. Hard, till his nose bled and he couldn't stand up without support."

You nodded, flicking through the file of information you'd received from some advisor of his, Professor Walker. Nice chap. "Yes, I see that. How does that make you feel? Did it make you feel powerful?"

"Mhm.", he hummed, nodding as he glared at you, a sort of smirk on his face, like he thought this would have you freaking out about his sadistic tendencies. It's funny he thought you cared.

"Happy?'

"Very."

"I see. But one thing that's conveniently missing from your file.", you replied, eyes flicking accusatorily to the camera before reaching his eyes once more. "Is why you did it.", you stated, your fingers intertwining as you looked at him with rapt attention.

This seemed to throw him for a loop, the self-satisfied grin fading for a moment.

"Why'd you want to know, sweetheart? So that you can record me confessing to the crime on tape?", he mused, gesturing at the camera before reclining back in his seat, his arms crossed. "Because I'm sorry to disappoint your wide-eyed, freshman dreams, but I've already said it, on the record."

You frowned, tilting your head softly for a moment. "No, I'm asking, because I truly don't know. They wouldn't give me your identity, let alone your case."

"Well, I hit a lad. For cat-calling a girl."

He observed your face almost twitch for a moment, and he figured you were about to throw the camera at him, but instead, you switched it off. "And they're punishing you for it?", you asked, leaning your forearms in front of him, basically whispering although the camera was off.

Huh. Whoa, maybe you were on his side.

"Yeah, isn't it mental?", he scoffed, leaning in, too. "I figured I should get some sort of medal, y'know? Maybe a commendation from the dean."

"I wouldn't go that far, but it's good, what you did.", you laughed, softly.

"Exactly!", he huffed, a genuine smile now on his face as he leaned back, rubbing his hands over his jaw. "Wow. I- sorry, love, but I didn't expect us to, like, agree."

"No, no, yeah, totally! I thought you were a hotheaded twat. I didn't expect...", you exclaimed, gesturing at him. "Reason."

"Right. Well, okay, great! Uh, phew, yeah?"

You nodded.

"So, yeah, this is cool. We'll just... you'll take care of it, won't ya? Thanks, you're a peach.", he grinned, standing up and not believing his bloody luck!

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

Turning, he frowned. "Well, we agree. So you'll talk to your in-charge, and say I don't need it, yeah? Oh, oh, you want me to stay the hour so you can, like, log it in. Yeah, yeah, got it.", he mumbled, nodding eagerly.

"What? No." He was, uh... clearly not on the same page as you.

His smile faded slowly. "What?"

"We've got weeks left of this."

"Yeah, but. Wait, I thought you agreed with me."

"I do. It's bonkers to punish you, but, it's mandatory, so."

"'So'? So, go do summat about it, then!", he cried, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Tell 'em there's nothing to work on!"

"I'm not just going to--"

"WHY?!"

You almost flinched. God. Maybe he did have anger issues.

"WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU?!"

Oh, oh-- uh oh. He didn't even know why you were doing it, and you were sure he'd blow five gaskets if he did.

"Just finish it, stop causing unecessary problems!"

"No, seriously! What's in it for you?"

"SIT DOWN!"

For some reason, that, he listened to.

He slumped down.

"Shut up and do what you were instructed to do." Lord knows where you'd got the balls to talk to a junior like that.

Reaching over to turn the camera back on, you began again. "What would you like me to call you?", you repeated.

"How about I call you something and we can workshop sm'n out for me later?", he grumbled under his breath.

"Sorry? You weren't audible. What was that?"

"Nothing. Felix."

"Felix.", you echoed, nodding. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and live an overall, controlled and more fulfilling life and have a more fruitful experience here at Oxford.", you read off the script, jaw clenched, mirroring his dirty look.

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you, freshie."

"I'd like it if you adressed me by my name. You already know it from the sign-up form for the sessions, but I am happy to repeat it if you wish.'

"Sign-up form?", he scoffed, looking directly at the camera. "Is that what they're calling it on the record?"

"That is what it is."

"Sweet Lord, it's a Liabil-- hey.", he grimaced, narrowing his eyes at you as you kneed him from under the table.

"Right. Y/N. Am I supposed to call you 'Doctor', too, freshie?"

"Just my name is fine."

He rolled his eyes, his hands fiddling with his rings. "Let's begin with your recount of the incident."

How many bloody times?! He was about to explode.

~~

You ended the session at exactly one hour, because you couldn't take this moron anymore, for fuck's sake.

He didn't object.

Shutting off the camera, you wordlessly packed up your things, stuffing them into your bag.

"Are they payin' ya?"

You snorted, zipping up your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. "No."

"Fuckin' snake."

"How am I a snake, Felix?", you sighed, tapping an impatient foot on the floor.

"Pretending you're on my side and that. Was that just to get information for the therapy part of it? Because that was a bitch move."

"What? No, I genuinely think it's odd that they're punishing you for something like this."

"Then why?! What could they possibly offer a fresher? They wouldn't increase your scholarship for shite this petty, so-- wait. EXTRA CREDIT?!", he gasped, standing up startlingly quick. "You're doin' this for a couple points of extra credit ?! WHAT?!"

"So what if I am?", you asked, schooling your face and your voice to be the picture of calm. "Either way, these sessions are mandated if you don't want this to escalate. It'll be over before you know it."

"EXTRA CREDIT?!", he practically shrieked, as he followed you out the door. "How bloody pathetic! You're going against what you know is right for extra bloody credit?! Just fucking study!"

"It'll be over before you know it, Felix."

"For the rest of the academic year, I have to come to you every Saturday and listen to you blabbering on about how to 'take deep breaths and count to ten'.", he scoffed, incredulously, easily overtaking you and obstructing your path in more ways than one.

"Doesn't always have to be a Saturday."

Oh, he was about to actually get anger issues.

"This pisses you off, too! Come on, admit it, fresher! You don't like this any more than I do!", he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

You sort of liked pissing him off. Gave you much more to work with, sadistically. Reaching into your bag, you handed him the tiny blue journal you'd bought. "Here."

"What is this?"

"It's for noting down your feelings. You will have to fill at least one page every day and bring it back to me during our sessions."

He gaped incredulously at you as you shouldered past him. You're giving him homework?!

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

WEEK 5

"You're not taking off your helmet?"

"No. Bothers you?"

You glanced at the camera for a second, before shaking your head, the corners of your lips turned down in feigned and exaggerated indifference. "No."

"Because I'll keep it on, mud and all. I fell on the way here."

"You fell?"

"Yeah. Helmet's now my coping mechanism. Calms me, y'know?" That made no bloody sense!

"So you're keeping it on."

'You wouldn't deny me my coping mechanism, would you, Y/N?"

You sucked on your teeth, shaking your head once more. Dirt on the desk, dirt on your laptop, dirt-- FUCK!

"No, it's alright."

He grinned slyly, nodding, before sliding the journal over to you. "I filled it."

"Entirely?" It's only Week 5, what the hell?

"Yes, actually. I'm an overachiever."

You raised a brow, taking it from him and placing it next to his file.

"So. How are we doing today?", you asked, once again intertwining your fingers and placing them on the desk as you leaned closer to the imbecile.

"You're not readin' it?"

Oh, please, like you had no clue what was in there. "No, actually, I've got to directly submit this to both your advisor and my in-charge."

"What?"

"Yeah, protocol. That's why I said to take it one week at a time so we can monitor progress, but it seems you're an 'overachiever' - your words, not mine."

"Can I have it back?" His tone was almost nervous, and you were now even more certain what he'd actually bloody written in there.

You almost smirked before you remembered the presence of the camera. "You want it back, Felix?"

"Yeah, I think I, uh, used a couple of profanities."

"That's alright, I'm sure they'll understand."

"Can I please have it back?"

You shrugged, holding it out for him to take, letting him tug on it for a moment before you released it from your grasp. "Would you like another one? Since you've filled this one?"

"I'll buy my own."

"Very well. I ask again, how are you doing today?"

He huffed, momentarily looking like he was actually prepared to answer honestly. "Great."

"Great.", you echoed, your pen twirling between your fingers. "And define 'great' to you."

"Not shite.", he said through gritted teeth.

"In more elaborate, less crude terms, please, Mr. Felix.'

"I am doing well today. Not bad.", he mumbled, playing with the buckle of the helmet he'd so adamantly kept on that was now seeming a bit too bloody tight. But he couldn't take it off. Not when it was clearly bothering you. "Nothing particularly terrible or triggering has occurred."

"And is that always the standard you measure your experiences on? 'Not bad'? If nothing 'terrible or triggering' has happened, it's a 'great' day?", you asked offhandedly, noting it down. 'Not shite'.

His eyes darted up to you. "What?"

"I said, is that always the stand--"

"No, I heard you. Just... isn't that what everyone does?"

"Do you think it is? Do you think it's what everyone does? Have any of your friends told you it is what they do?"

"What do you do?"

"Me?" Were you allowed to answer this? Is that against some therapist rule? You weren't sure, and you couldn't really ask your textbook right now, could you?

He nodded, mildly intrigued.

"Personally, for me to count a day as 'great', there should be an equal balance of absence of bad things and presence of good things."

"Well, then, I fell off my bike, but I did well on a test. Is that, in your books, a 'great' day?"

"Depends. Which do you weigh more? Is falling off a bike worse than getting a bad grade, or is getting a good grade better than staying upright on a bike?"

"Getting a good grade."

"Well, then, I suppose, there's your answer."

Huh. This was an odd perspective he's never exactly... heard before. Wait, no! This shite is not working, fuck off, fresher!

"Whatever."

"Whatever indeed.", you nodded. "You seem to have a better attitude this week, to the session." He did not. But it would piss him off if he thought that you thought this was working.

"I do not."

"Oh, well, then, pardon me, my mistake. So, tell me. Why do you think it is, that you're not particularly interested in these sessions?"

"Because I don't have anger issues. If a bloke catcalls a girl once, it's whatever - still bad - but whatever. Happens. But if he keeps doin' it, almost roofies her at a party and constantly tailing her, and then tryin' to score in a fucking library, just because she can't yell out at him, that's, like... creep behaviour!"

You nodded. "Yes, you mentioned this, in the first session, and also to your student advisor, it seems.", you replied, tapping the tip of your pen at the bit of the file that mirrored what he was saying.

"And you think that that's a therapy-worthy answer."

"Why do you not think you're going to get anything out of these sessions, Felix? Even without anger issues, per se, everyone could use some guidance in controlling their emotions and resolving conflict peacefully, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I would not agree. I think that if you're being an absolute prick , then no amount of peaceful talking is going to do anything. You need to get physical. Teach a lesson."

"I see. And you know this works because...?"

"Because he's shut up, hasn't he?"

"Right, but maybe he's still doing it. Perhaps not to that particular girl, but how do you know for sure you've 'taught him a lesson'?"

"Because- well.", he muttered. Shut up, fresher! "He's not that daft! He wouldn't risk another beating!"

"If he's daft enough to do it three times even after she expressed disinterest, Felix, I'm sure he might be 'daft' enough to 'risk another beating'."

He tsked, taking off the bloody tight fucking helmet, and running his hands through his hair. You watched the brown spill through the gaps of his fingers, before your eyes came back to his face. "You're frustrated?"

"Yes, I'm frustrated."

"What do you usually do, when you're frustrated?"

"Certainly not sit in a room with a fresher and 'talk about it'!"

"Right, I suppose you don't.", you replied, smiling. "So what is it you do?"

"I dunno, smoke?"

"Smoke?", you asked, tilting your head, noting it down. "You smoke?"

"Yeah, I smoke. What, you going to turn this into a cancer-awareness session?"

"I'm simply trying to understand you, Felix."

"What is this, like a first date, you learn shite about me, and see if I'm worth anything in your eyes?", he scoffed.

"Would that make it easier to open up?"

"No! God! What high school did you go to? Idiot."

"Oh, so we are going with the first date thing?"

"No- I- you're so stupid! I don't actually care what high school you went to! It was rhetoric!"

His outburst, oddly, was not followed by a calm and infuriating retort, in fact, you just looked back at him, disappointed, it looked like. But that was impossible, because that would mean you gave a crap, which, you couldn't. You did this for extra credit like a fuckin' try-hard, right?

The silence almost devours him whole as he looks into your eyes - why were they so... he didn't even know, that look you were giving him just... freaked him out.

"Time's up. You can leave."

What?! No, no, no, he just got here.

"Already?"

He heard the video camera shut off. "Time flies when you're actually working with me, Felix, y'know?"

"Don't get used to it, I had a shit day.'

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I won't. Have a nice rest o' your weekend, Catton."

WEEK 10

"Hello again, Felix."

"Hi."

"You seem cheery today."

"Yes, actually. I went out last night. Downed a couple pints with the lads. It was fun."

"I'm glad you had fun."

He nodded, pursing his lips as he rocked back and forth, awkwardly.

"Yes, so. If you don't mind, I'd just like to go back to some things that were left unfinished in some of the previous sessions. Let's circle back to your mention of what you do when you're frustrated. Smoke. Anything else?"

He sighed, rubbing his temple as he looked up at you. 'No. Well, if you're talking about last night, uh, drink, yeah, sometimes, but never to change my mood or whatever."

"I see. So that's all you do, when frustrated?"

"Yeah. Smoke."

"How about this. Next time you feel frustrated, instead of picking up a pack of cigarettes, pick up a pen."

"What, write down my feelings like a thirteen year old girl?"

"No, draw. On paper, on a desk, on your hand, who cares? Draw."

"Draw?"

"Yeah. It's worked for me, and you seem to be responding slightly better when I give you real life examples of what's worked and not worked for me, so."

"What, the bike thing from Session 5?! Because I-- Oh, please, you're not that bloody smart! Anyone could've said that, doesn't mean I'm 'responding better' just because you said it worked for you, you're a fuckin' fresher, everything you read in your stupid little psych textbooks would work for you!", he snapped. He didn't even know what half of that meant. He just wanted to say something.

"See, it seems that this is more what you do when you're frustrated, Felix, per my observation. You're free to correct me if I'm wrong, but since our previous sessions, this sort of insulting defensiveness is what I feel you resort to."

"'M not defensive. I just think this is pointless."

"Yes, you've made that quite apparent."

"Well, then how about you just declare me fixed?"

"It's not about declaring you, alright, it's about finishing the minimum duration provided to us by the University."

"Fine."

Silence. "So. I ask again. Why not draw?"

"Fine, I'll draw."

"Alright. Thank you, Felix. Time's up."

"What?!"

"Just kidding. You've only been here five minutes. How about... and humour me here...", you muttered, reaching under the desk and groping around until you pull out two sketchbooks. "We draw right now?"

"What, and then you analyse how fucked I am in the head?"

"Or we just draw. We don't even have to talk.", you replied, handing him the sketchbook. God, this better work. You'd had to draw info from child psych books for this guy.

~~

It took barely five minutes for him to begin talking again.

"What are these pencils?"

"Don't ask me, they're all Oxford-provided."

"What a joke. You know, when I was a fresher, I didn't even let myself think of borrowing anything from Uni, I got all my own shite, and even if I lost it, I'd ask it to be sent over from home."

"Really?" Fucking rich boy cunt.

"Mhm.", he hummed, the scratches of his incessant scribbling almost grating in the silent room, but also comfortable, somehow, blending in with the smooth swish sounds of your own, lazy strokes. "Only the best. Can't afford mistakes, can I?"

Can't afford? You'd researched him enough to know that little existed of the sort for him.

"I suppose you can't."

"Y'know, I fucking lost my shite third week of freshman year. How about you?"

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking." You were, in fact, not. Your assignments were all overdue by now, and you were having to pull all-nighters that bled steadily into mornings because of this new extra-credit task you'd taken on, and to top it all off, none of the other Professors seemed to care that the Uni was milking the two of you. Abusing your need to improve your grade - although you shouldn't fucking need it -and subjecting him to these sessions with none of his own volition.

"That's good to hear. How close are you to offing yourself, then?", he mused, raising a brow and licking the back of his molars as his eyes slowly reached yours. Fuck. He was onto you.

You tsked, reaching over and shutting off the camera. "You know I have better things to do than edit this to cut out your little quips, right? I really can't have you talking about offin' yourself."

"Oh, so you're also a drown-in-alcohol kind of person, I see."

What in the everloving fuck-- "God, get a fuckin' life, mate.", you muttered, reaching back up to switch the camera on after silently glaring and counting down from three.

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking.", you repeated.

"Huh. Really?"

"Yes. Why, is your school year not going okay?"

"No, it's going spectacular. My parents pay for an afternoon to go off once a week for a useless fresher to tell their son to meditate."

You chose not to respond to that, instead pursing your lips and continuing to draw. A flower, it seemed, your hands wished to create.

"Why do you even need extra credit?"

"I was sick, and I missed a couple classes."

"Oh, and you flunked the tests?", he asked, reaching over to grab your pencil out of your hands and use the eraser on the back of it, before tossing it back to you. Prick, and if that smirk was any indication, smug prick.

"No, actually, I'd already finished a good chunk of the syllabus content my first couple weeks so I did fine in my tests."

"So why?"

He looked genuinely curious. So genuinely curious, that you actually felt like this was a first date and he was an annoyingly inquisitive romantic candidate.

"She just didn't like the absences." Plus, everyone else just took Psych to slack off.

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, well, you beat up a creep for a girl and they're punishing you, so."

His eyes flicked over to the camera momentarily. "That's on the record."

"It should be."

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Normalcy is hard to achieve because it's never truly been attained.

Now, this kind of knowledge is only acquired when you take a philosophy class - like you - but since Felix was a PolSci-stuck-up-arsehole, it really didn't strike him that the life he'd lived before you had neither been normal nor happy.

Which is why when he found you and a couple of your friends hanging out by the lawn of a frat party, passing around a spliff, he just couldn't resist.

"Is this your coping mechanism, then?"

He reveled in the groan you replied with.

"Ladies, if you could excuse us?"

You rolled your eyes as all your mates nodded slyly before scrambling up. With hungry and suggestive looks at him and then you, they waved subtly. Spectacular. They already thought you were hooking up and now... fuck.

"Ah. I think we're gonna need that, if you will.", he called, winking as he grabbed the spliff from one of them, before settling down next to you. "See? I'm a celebrity. You should bring that up next time, see if you can't do anything with it."

"What?"

"Like, ask me about that. Incorporate it. 'How's it feel, Felix, being the life of the party, and the apple of everyone's eye?'"

"Incorp-- do you think this is a game? Like this is a play?!"

"Well, yeah. It's basicall--"

"GOD, you absolute prick! I'm here freakin' out about the syllabus, tests, and stayin' up to analyse and collate your bullshit and I have to submit it and study resources for it and--", you paused, catching your breath and glaring at him before taking a hit to calm your nerves. "And you think it's a story, like an improv session, where we add off each other.", you mumbled the last bit out.

"What are you, burnt-out from this shite?"

You didn't respond and he watched the smoke flow above the two of you. "God. You are. What sort of a freshman's burnt out by second term?"

"The kind that has to be a shrink to some anger-issued arsehole."

"Hey, c'mon, you-", he huffed, tilting his head at you. "You don't have to put too much effort into this, it's a formality."

"To you!", you yelled, sitting up in frustration, your elbow on your knee and your blunt in your fingers.

He sat up, too, sighing. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

"Worth nothing."

"Yeah, I can tell.", he muttered, hiding a scoff. "Gimme."

You rolled your eyes, but handed him the spliff nevertheless, which he grumbled as he took a drag of. Knees elevated to his chest, he exhaled the smoke. "This is good. Is it American?'

"How should I know?"

"You don't care what sort of weed you smoke? This actually is one of your coping methods?"

"For the love of-- lay off, man!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's a joke!"

"You're a joke!"

He almost laughed at that. Almost, because he'd had quite fucking enough of you. He didn't forget who he was just because you might have changed his perspective a little. He was still Felix motherfucking Catton, a motherfucking Upperclassman. And when he was a fresher, he had to treat his Upperclassmen with utmost respect- no, reverence - so he'll be damned if he's gonna let you sit here and call him a joke.

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up."

"Why?"

"NOW, FRESHER, NOW!" Okay, the startle in your body language made him feel the tiniest bit bad, but still, it was exactly what had been done to him, and he wasn't all whiny about it.

"Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up!", you mumbled, straightening out your shirt. "What?"

He had no clue what he wanted you to stand up for.

"So. The reason I had you shoot up..."

Think, Felix! Think!

"...Is actually quite simple, really. I'm sure you've already guessed."

"You want to get my mind off it or summat."

Sure. "Good. You're smart. And how will I be doing that?"

You shrugged. "Take me on a joyride on your stupid bicycle or summat.", you grumbled.

Sure. Let's go with that. Better than Felix's idea of making you do jumping jacks, like his seniors had done to him.

"Wow, maybe shrinks really can read minds. And at least you have one of your own.", he replied, flicking your forehead as he shepherded you over to the exit of the party. Yeah, he didn't think through how far you'd have to walk before you actually reached his bike. Oh, well. Better for him.

"So.", he began, arms swinging exaggeratedly at his side. "Have you heard anything from your in-charge yet? Walker won't tell me anything."

You shook your head. "It's all the same. 'Received tapes. Good work. Keep going.' Like I'm bloody angling for a gold star."

"Well, you're angling for the college equivalent of a gold star, which is a smidge of extra credit."

Shrugging, you seemed to agree. It was a pleasant sort of... stoned sort of quiet for the rest of the walk until his bike came into view. "There it is."

"That's the bike you fell off of after you aced your test?"

"Yeah."

"How?", you scoffed, buckling up the little helmet he offered you "Thing looks brand new."

"What, you were expecting some post-war, ancient bike?", he snorted, clambering onto the seat.

"Yeah, I thought it'd be some rusty, squeaky, rickety thing. How's this supposed to work? Where do I sit?"

"On your own bike's seat.", he replied, gesturing to the rest of the bicycle lot.

"I don't have a bloody bicycle! I'm normal! I walk to classes!"

"How close is your dorm?!"

"Quite."

"Well...", he huffed, taking off his helmet. 'Well, okay, so, just... take one."

"Take one?"

"Like... a random one. Borrow an unlocked one."

"Steal, you mean."

"Semantics."

"I'm not stealing."

He groaned. He had way too much of a heart to punish you like his seniors did.

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

"Could you slow down?!"

He watched you grumble before you slowed down, allowing him to jog up next to you. "I'm going to hold onto the handlebar because I wouldn't put it past you to steal my bike and then ask me 'how did that make you feel?' in the next session."

You actually had to stop the bike to laugh for that one.

"Oh, she acts human.", he remarked, crossing his arms across his chest as he regarded you. "Alright, it's not... that funny."

But you just didn't stop laughing.

Well, until you started crying.

Maybe that weed was laced. Yeah, he was feelin' a bit off, himself. Shit.

"I mean, fuck, Felix, mate, you- you know I don't think you should be antagonized like this, yeah? You're... you, you're good, you- you helped a girl, and your anger issues are good!"

Okay, clearly the laced weed was hitting you both at the same time, somehow. Either it was causing him to mishear some sympathy from your end or causing you to express sympathy. Either way, somehow, you were both oddly on the same page.

"I don't have anger-bloody-issues.", he gritted out, tapping his fingers impatiently on the handlebar.

"No, mate, you do, but, like, they're good, you don't have to get all touchy about it. I like it, personally. Think it's good. You're stickin' it to the man and all that."

He scoffed as he shifted closer, flicking your - well, his - helmet back a bit. "You're on thin ice, 'mate'! I told you, I don't have anger iss--"

"You're yellin' at me right now!"

"I'm NOT--", he cut himself off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're pissin' me off."

"Everything pisses you off! That's why they're called anger issues!', you retorted, and he swore he was close to pushing you off the bike and seeing how many minutes of meditation you'd employ not to uppercut him.

"I don't need your shrink bullshit, and you can't do it anyway! I don't get how you're burnt out, y'know? You half-arse everything!"

He barely knew you outside of these sessions. He was straight up lying, but he wanted to prove that it wasn't that easy to keep your calm when provoked. Especially not by some smart aleck swot-freshman who thinks her psych major means she can read his mind and give him lip.

Ow ow, ow. Fuck. He needed to sit. down. The 'weed' was definitely about to make him pop a blood vessel, because did he just see three stars in the sky run down in front of him? No. Can't be, yeah?

"D'you think...?", you groaned, hastily removing the helmet. "D'you think there was summat in the punch?"

"Think it was the weed."

"Weed doesn't-- oh."

He nodded, gently steering the bicycle to the nearest bench, which was barely a hundred paces away, observing your feet elevated and the pedals rotating on their own as he tugged it along.

Grunting lowly as he sat, he held out a hand for you after you leant the bicycle against a nearby streetlamp. You slumped down next to him. "This is why I don't take Donna's weed, but she swore it was clean."

"Some friend she is."

"Hey."

"Oh, please, come on. She lies to you, gives you laced weed because, what, she thought she knew best on what would calm you down? That's not what a friend does."

"What does a friend do? Take you on bicycle rides across campus?"

"I mean, sure. Why not?", he asked, gesturing around. "It's fresh air, yeah? We had some talkin' happening, as well, sorted out our differences and that, yeah?"

You chuckled, softly, shaking (and lightly clutching) your head. "And what did we sort out?"

"That you're a bit of a cunt. And I'm a twat."

"Second one is accurate."

"That statement just proved the first one.", he retorted, before scoffing and breaking into a fit of breathy giggles. "Fuck."

You watched the world spin for a while, a dizzying amalgamation of shapes and stars and colours and suddenly you were aware of the clothes on your body, the wind in your hair, the saliva on your tongue, the beat of your heart.

And that's when you did it. You weren't sure what you expected or why you did it, but you just ended up kissing him like it was summat you were meant to do next, like a script. Like clockwork.

He, to say the least, was surpised it was you who initiated it. Honestly. He'd always been a very daft person when it came to... well, boundaries, for one. Sane actions, for the other. However, there was something less daft and more... crazed about this drug-induced haze you were clouded in that rendered his self-awareness moot.

And so he kissed back.

Ravenously.

This, it seemed, according to the faux marijuana, was all he ever fucking needed. Poof, no anger issues. And for you? Poof, no stress.

It was wrong, to say the least. Not due to anything besides the fact that there was no logical person who'd put you two together. He groaned softly, almost reverently, as he gripped a couple locks of your hair, a wordless direction for you to get your idiotic arse over here. And you did. The kiss didn't break. You guys should get an award for that impressive feat.

But the real award should be for your desperate, bruising grip to sobriety, the one that eventually led to you pulling yourself away from his lips, breathlessly.

"I know what you're doing."

He wasn't one for biting his lip, so he bit down on yours, instead. "Yeah? What's that, babe?", he asked, fiddling with the button of your jeans.

"You're tryin' to get off the hook of these sessions by claiming conflict of interest 'cause of this."

Oh, fuck, he hadn't even thought of that. Would've been so fuckin' smart, and plus, he'd have got a lay out of it. But he didn't exactly feel like giving a premature end to these sessions that he'd - never fucking admit - grown sort of fond of.

"Or maybe, I'm trying to get off, period.", he whispered, kissing at your cheek.

"Yeah, right."

"Trust issues much?", he murmured, his hand gently sliding into the front of your jeans. "Maybe next session, we should work on that, sweetheart."

Fuck.

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No one ever tells you this - lest you experience some form of joy in life - but waking up to good smells rather than any form of sound is heaps better, calmer, lovelier.

And you woke up, not to the sound of your alarm, but to the smell of goddamn butter and toast. Like, fuck, okay. Damn. This is what life should feel like, then?

You groaned, almost ready to scream at how at peace you were, before getting out of bed, rubbing your face. You shot right back in, though. Right. You were starkers.

"Felix?!"

God, you hoped it was actually him and you hadn't had some sort of adventure after him last night.

He practically left skid marks, the way he rushed to the bedroom doorway. "Uh huh?"

"Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"Oh, I put them in the wash."

"Felix--"

"Just kidding. They're in that drawer, there." Across the room.

"Could you get them for me?"

He smirked. 'Yeah."

"'Yeah' as in you will, or 'yeah' as in you could, but you won't?"

His smirk dissolved into an almost fond simper. "You know me so well."

"I'm not walkin' out naked."

"See, what is it with you girls, gosh! As if I didn't see everything last night, now you're suddenly all coy?", he teased, yanking the drawer open and tossing you your clothes, rolling his eyes before turning around so you could change. "Last night count as a breach of, uh, what is it...?"

"Not breach. But Conflict of Interest. Yeah. So, I'm guessing you're free, now. No more sessions."

"Mm. Shame, that. I had some really interesting things written in there.", he replied, pointing to a blue notebook on the bedside table.

"Like what?"

"Like... me realising I'm falling in love with you.", he whispered, softly, hand on his heart. He paused long enough for you to begin to question whether this was dedication to his joke or an actual, sincere fuckin' confession.

"Fuck! Wow! Gullible much? I'm joking, obviously! What, you think I'd have some, like, ten lines written every day, like 'Oh, my love, oh, my love, XOXO, Felix!', or summat?"

"Well, I don't bloody know! Your'e scarily good at the poker face, y'know?"

"Why, thank you, thank you very much.", he preened, tipping an invisible hat in your direction.

"Makin' French Toast. You vegetarian? Or vegan? Nah, I don't care, you're eatin' this."

Groaning, you got up, took his offer of an unused toothbrush, and let him escort you to the bathroom. "These rich-kid-dorm-suites, I swear--"

"Jealous much?"

"I swear to fucking god, you better stop saying 'much' after everything and thinkin' it's funny!"

"Anger issues much?"

"Arsehole much?!"

He giggled, waving at you before scrambling over to the kitchen to make sure his French toast was stil intact. Not before he grabbed your imaginary 'flipping-off' from the air and brought it to his heart, as if you'd blown him a kiss, instead.

Fucking hell. You had to now spend a. money, on Ibuprofen, b. time on coming up with an explanation as to how this happened and why you still deserve that extra credit, and c. energy on having to deal with this Felix Catton guy who you'd apparently come to be relatively fond of.

Spitting out your paste and gargling the remnants out, you walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where Felix had laid out the toast on crappy paper plates. "Left over from a party, figured I'd use 'em."

"Thanks.", you nodded, sitting down and biting a bit off one. "It's good."

"Thanks.", he parroted, dropping the last onto his plate before turning off the stove and sitting opposite you. "So, it just violates it all? Just 'cause we shagged, you can't 'fix me' anymore?", he asked, gulping down a sip of orange juice.

"Yeah, summat like that. I might, like, be more inclined to let you off the hook or whatever."

"Mm. What about your extra credit, then? Why don't you just act like this never happened?"

"Couldn't. In good conscience."

"But then you'll be extremely stressed. Might go back to Donna and her laced weed.", he pointed out, taking a bite. "Over the summer, you'll have to catch up on your missing assignments, yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Oh, yeah, I do.", you whined, your forehead on the heel of your palm.

"Come to Saltburn, then."

"What?" What was he talking about?

"My family estate. Come to Saltburn. It's a change of scenery, and it works wonders, I swear. You'll finish everything by first week of summer vacation, and the next month or so, it's all just you-time."

"Why would I come to Saltburn?"

"I just told you."

You sighed. Logically, yes, it did make sense for a change of view. But. You didn't exactly want to get dragged into whatever a normal day for Felix Catton (and Farleigh Start - his cousin, apparently!) looked like.

"It's full of old shite, though, like, ancient stuff. Cobwebs, dusty, grimy, stuffy-- hey! Stuffy and boring. You'll fit right in.", he grinned cheekily, winking as he continued to chew.

Well, fuck.

"Suspicious much?"

'Much'. You were going to strangle this guy in his own mansion, you're sure.

"Seriously, think about it, just us, ice-cream, the sea, summer. Who knows, you could go in a loser and come out with a boyfriend. Moi."

"Oh, please.", you snickered, and he followed suit.

"I just might tell you what's in that diary. XOXO, Felix, yeah, but what'd I write before it? A confession of my love? A death threat? A riddle? Poetry? Secrets?", he mused, waggling his fingers as if to spook you. "Ooh."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as you took a sip of the orange juice.

"Come on. Come to Saltburn. Worth your while, I promise."

Well, fuck.

[stormyelliotwritez]

fic where ftm reader is logan’s gay (re)awakening when he sees r in his 2000 pickup truck blasting old rock in his flannel and jeans and logan just heart eyes and needs to be with this man Immediately.

(i say reawakening bc lets be real hes like 200 he mightve already realized hes a 🚬 before but needed like. a reminder)

AAAAAAHHHHHH literally my fav trope ever - i did a similar one to this btw called logan and his hot guy friend - also i made reader a handyman type guy coz funsies

He may be a bit ooc but i ain’t sure

i need to get more photos coz i keep reusing them

Old rock and a 2000’s pickup truck? 😍

It had been a long long day and Logan was walking home from the job he’d gotten after all that multiverse shit when a 2000’s pickup truck parked at the lights. He walked up next to it and raised an eyebrow as he heard the music. It was old rock or dad rock as Wade would say. He walked past the window and saw you. You were wearing a red flannel and faded blue jeans. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to like a guy.

He wandered home in a daze, only thinking about you in that pick up truck. Wade asked him if something was wrong and he couldn’t even answer. He just mumbled a no and then grabbed a beer. You looked so good in that flannel. He only saw you for a moment but you were his type alright.

A few days later, he took the same route home, hoping he’d see you and he did. You were parked this time with tools in the backseat. Against his better judgement, he walked up to your window and tapped on it. And against your better judgement, you rolled the window down and smiled at him.

“Your truck is a beauty,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks, I fixed her up myself,” you said back before patting the dashboard lovingly.

Logan took a glance at the tools in the back of your truck and chuckled to himself. “You a handyman?”

You nodded. “Guilty as charged. You needing something fixed?”

He chuckled. “Well now that I think of it, we’ve had a dodgy tap recently, my roommate and I.”

You chuckled and nodded. “I could drop by and see if it’s an easy fix?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, bub. We just live in the top apartment at the building with the blue door just over there so feel free to drop by whenever.”

You nodded and smiled again. “Well I gotta be off. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

Logan smiled and waved as you drove off. He pumped his fist in the air, mimicking Wade, and grinned. Hell yeah, he was gonna get to see you again.

He walked back to the apartment and this time, he grabbed a beer and joined Wade on the couch. “You gotta skedaddle tomorrow so go work or something,” was all he said to Wade before the soccer game started.

The next day, Logan stayed home and made sure Wade was out the door by 8. The clock struck 10 and you knocked on the door like well… clockwork. He quickly opened the door and let you in.

“Hey, you’re here,” he smiled, “wasn’t sure if you’d turn up.”

You smiled and held up your bag. “Well I like getting paid.”

“And I like getting my tap fixed.”

You got to work and soon enough, you’d found the problem. You fixed it and when you stood up, Logan was standing in the doorway. He had a grin on his face and a beer in each hand. You hadn’t noticed how hot he was before but now he was standing there, wearing a white singlet and a brown flannel and looking super duper hot.

“That for me?”

He nodded and handed it over. “For a job well done, bub. And I’ll pay you as well of course.”

The two of you sat down and both had a beer. A bit after Logan finished his, he grabbed the money and handed it over. You stood up and contemplated leaving before turning back to him and chuckling awkwardly.

“You seeing anyone?”

Logan smiled and shook his head. “Thought you’d never ask, bub.”

You sat back down and leaned towards him, a smile on your lips. “Would you want to be seeing someone?”

“Is that someone you because I would love to be seeing you,” he said with a smirk as he leaned towards you.

When you leaned backwards and stretched, your shirt rode up and he saw your binder. He nodded to himself and leaned in a bit closer. “Haven’t dated a guy in a while so you wanna break me in again? We could listen to some rock?”

You chuckled and licked your lips before standing up and pulling your chair to next to him. You sat back down and shamelessly grabbed ahold of his hand and ran your fingers over it. “Absolutely, handsome.”

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thanks for all your hard work, I’ve found so many good fics through here.

Do you have any recommendations for human au fics where Crowley and Aziraphale have known each other for a long time before becoming romantically involved. Could be acquaintances or co-workers or even friends, but looking for a good rec without a real meet cute/strangers-to-lover situation! Thanks so much :)

Hi! We have #friends to lovers and #childhood friends tags which you can check for lots of fics like this. Here are some more to add...

be mine tonight (be mine forever) by artenon (T)

Aziraphale knows he’s a solitary person. He knows Crowley may very well be his only true friend. He doesn’t mind this. He does, however, very much mind learning that his coworkers have a betting pool on whether he’ll be coming alone to the department holiday party next week. He especially minds when he learns that the reason there is a betting pool in the first place is because their intern, young Newton Pulsifer, is the only one naïve enough to believe Aziraphale might have a date. ----- In retaliation to a bet made against him, Aziraphale asks Crowley to be his date to the office holiday party. Certainly there are no flaws to be found in this plan. Certainly the secret love Aziraphale has been harboring for Crowley for the past several years won't be an issue. Certainly not.

Slipping by AppleSeeds (T)

When Aziraphale's friend and colleague Crowley asks him out at their work Christmas party, Aziraphale turns him down, having only ever thought of Crowley as a friend. Months later, Aziraphale's feelings for Crowley have changed, but due to a series of increasingly ridiculous misunderstandings, they both become convinced that the other isn't interested in a romantic relationship. (They're just adorable, oblivious, and pining, that's the whole fic.)

Wanna Bet? by Mimsynims (E)

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t find my name’?” “I’m sorry, sir. We have bookings for all of your colleagues, but your name is missing. Unfortunately that means there’s no room set aside for you.” “Right…” Crowley could guess who had made the ‘mistake’. “But surely there’s another room available? It doesn’t have to be on the same floor as the others’.” He would actually prefer it if it wasn’t.  “I’m afraid not, sir. Due to the conference all of our rooms are booked already.” The young woman on the other side of the counter looked genuinely distressed. “Most hotels within the vicinity are.” Crowley sighed and furrowed his brows. He didn’t even want to be here in the first place, and now he didn’t have a place to sleep? Knowing Gabriel, it would be no use asking to be allowed to go back home.  “Let me check something…” The woman brightened again, a small smile growing on her face. “Yes. It’s not ideal, but it seems that two of your colleagues have been placed in double rooms. Perhaps you or someone else can consider sharing?” Anyone want to guess who he ends up sharing a room with? ;)

On The Side by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale is far too pure of heart to be anybody’s bit on the side. Or so Crowley thinks. But when his friend starts seeing walking red flag Jim, with his dodgy smiles and mysterious past, Crowley does everything he can to protect Aziraphale from disaster. His own heart might just end up being collateral damage.

i've found a way (a way to make you smile) by curtaincall (T)

Crowley worked in Sales. He had never intended to work in Sales. It had just sort of happened. One moment, there he’d been, a newly minted university graduate off to change the world, exquisitely useless Philosophy degree in hand, and now here he was, having sauntered vaguely downwards into a Hell that consisted mainly of cold-calling new customers and sucking up to existing ones.   AU based on The Office.

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

- Mod D

[whatthefishh]

PTSD fr

new chapter

Chapter 10: The Pain of Morality

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary:

You and Steven agree to meet after class in his office. Things get a little out of hand.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded, minor mentions of alcohol addiction and depression.

Word Count: 4.4k

Steven: For the record I wish I could buy you a coffee for class.

Steven: Do you think someone would think that was weird?

Steven: I’m just gonna do it.

Steven: If anyone says anything we can just make something up.

Steven: Nevermind please ignore me. S’probably not a good idea.

You smiled down at your phone while you imagined the mental back and forth Steven must’ve done in the morning while trying to decide whether or not he should get you a coffee. Despite the fact that he couldn’t get it for you, your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of his texts. You wondered how often Steven was thinking about you. One thing was for sure, you were always thinking about him.

You: Don’t stress about it. See you in a bit!

You: <3

Steven: Meet in my office after class? Forget your knickers. Can you wear that skirt I like? :) <3

You sent him a thumbs up before finally getting all your things together and heading out the door. A love-struck smile took over your face while you walked to the lecture building. You had a skip in your step, unable to stop thinking about Steven and the weekend you’d spent together. You wondered when the next time you’d be able to get alone time with him again. Not only were you plagued by the nagging need between your legs, you also just wanted to be in his presence without a care of who might see you.

You’d worn the skirt he’d asked you to wear, despite the chill in the air. Not wearing any panties to class was also a little bold, but you meant it when you told Steven you’d do anything for him. You felt so connected, like nothing else mattered to you. All you wanted was to be around him as much as possible, and give him anything you could to make him look at you with that gaze of longing you craved.

“So we’re clear?” Marc asked, looking at Steven through the reflection of his paperweight.

“I’m gettin’ so tired of having to tell you the same thing over and over mate. I’m not breakin’ up with her. You can pester me all you like, but she’s staying.” He protested, typing on his laptop as though he weren’t bothered by the words Marc was saying.

“Steven…” He took his glasses off his face and slammed them on his desk in frustration. One of the lenses popped out.

“Look what you’ve done.” He grumbled, holding the lens up to the frame, unable to pop it back in easily “gonna need to make an eye appointment now, damn it. Would you just piss off already?”

“I don’t need to tell you why this is dangerous Steven. You’re going to get us killed. If they find out about her, she might get hurt too. You’re putting everyone in danger and-”

Marc continued talking but Steven heard nothing when he saw you walk through the doors to the classroom. There you were, breathtaking as ever, wearing exactly what he’d asked you to wear. He wondered if you really did leave your panties behind. He gulped harshly, lips parting while he stared.

There was that look he always gave you, like his entire world stopped moving. Steven tucked the curl that normally sat in front of his face away so he could look at you better. It took everything in you not to run to him and let your body melt into his right then and there. If not for the other students starting to file in behind you, you might’ve stolen a kiss or two.

He made it impossible to focus, being as effortlessly attractive as he tended to be. He fell into rhythm, pacing back and forth slowly while discussing the topic from the textbook you hadn’t studied enough of. The more he talked, the more you wished his mouth was working over your cunt, forcing you to arch your back and scream his name into his apartment. At some point he wiped his lips, and all you could think about were his thick fingers pumping in and out of your hole, stretching you out.

He looked at you, and you saw a smile form over his lips, unable to contain the way you made him feel. He kept talking to the class, not skipping a beat, but you noticed his cheeks turning several shades of red every time your eyes met.

Class felt like it lasted forever. You’d been thinking about all the things you and Steven would do once you were alone in his office. You were feeling needy, desperate, and you were sure you were dripping down your thigh by the time Steven finally ended the lecture. You had to stop yourself from flat out running to his office. When you got there, you closed the door behind you quickly. You dropped your bags before practically throwing yourself at him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Thought you were gonna be talking about–” he interrupted you sassing him with a kiss, “Queen Mary forever.”

Steven’s tongue tangled with yours in his heated desperation. He stole your breath, one kiss at a time. He groaned deeply as he parted from you for air.

“Queen Elizabeth.” He corrected you.

“Mmm,” you moaned into his mouth when you went back in for more.

He tasted so good you wanted to devour him. You pushed Steven back against the desk. He reached under your skirt and started circling his fingers around your clit, wasting no time finding it. You gasped, closing your eyes while resting your forehead against his chest.. He pressed some gentle kisses against your temple, the tenderness causing your stomach to swoop on top of your heady desire. You rolled your hips into his fingers further, desperate for more friction.

“Feeling needy today, love?” He asked, lips moving against your ear now.

“Yes-mmm-yes.”

You lifted your head again to meet his gaze. He leaned back against the desk and removed his hand from your cunt so you could straddle his knee. Steven kissed you again, deeper this time, reaching up to cup the back of your neck and pull you in tight.

You started grinding on his thigh, groaning into him with every pass of his lips over yours. You tipped your head to the side, exposing your neck for him to suck on, drawing more soft whimpers from your lips. You grabbed on to his shirt tightly, rutting forward over his leg, feeling the brush of the fabric against your sensitive clit.

“Oh, Steven,” you whined in his ear.

“Yes, love, does that feel good?”

You nodded, “mm…mhm”

“Good. Can feel you soaking through my slacks, use me however you want, dove. Take what you need,” and he meant every word, wanting nothing more than to hear his name fall from your lips when you finally came undone.

He continued sucking on your neck, reaching his hands under your skirt to squeeze your rear tightly, helping you slide over his thigh faster. You wished you could fuck him, right there and then, but you knew it was too risky in his office, especially with how loud the both of you were. You reached up and grabbed the back of his curly head tight while keeping your other hand gripping his shirt. Steven moaned into your throat, churning his hips lightly against you. You felt how hard he was, how hungry his movements were to get inside of you again.

“Mm, can’t wait to have you again, are you free this weekend?” Steven was almost growling in between his words.

“Yes…of course, I’ll be there.”

He wanted you so badly. Steven’s fingers were leaving divots in your ass cheeks, holding onto you tightly, helping you move faster against him. He loved the way your heat felt on his leg while you dragged your pussy lips over the fabric of his pants. Your skin tasted so sweet under his tongue as he continued leaving sloppy kisses over your neck. Your throat vibrated in a low moan.

“I’m so close,” you whispered softly, “then I want to taste you, Steven.”

Steven’s breath caught in his throat. He stopped kissing your neck to cup your cheeks and force you to look in his widened eyes.

“Y-you want to…love, do you mean…you want to put it in your…” Steven’s body trembled with excitement.

“Wanna know what you taste like.”

And then Steven’s lips were crashing into yours again, you were almost there, the tingling was washing over your body in a colossal wave–

The heels came in rapidly, so fast that you hardly had time to register Steven’s quick moves. You could only gasp as he pushed you back. The handle on the door behind you turned and you pulled your skirt down fast. Steven’s face was panicked as he scrambled to the other side of his desk, sitting down quickly.

“Steven your hair!” You hissed in a whisper, noticing what a mess you’d made of it.

“Stevie!” 

Donna, the dean of the university, walked into the room like a storm.

Steven didn’t like Donna. She’d hired him for the position, but made it abundantly clear to him and everyone else that he was the only candidate. Based on her constant attitude, he assumed that she didn't like him. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was late for the interview, or if it was because she was just a tough woman to get along with, but she clearly had a chip on her shoulder with him from the start. It also didn’t help that she called him Stevie the entire time, despite him correcting her over and over.

“I’m going around to all the…” She trailed off when she turned and noticed you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you’ve got…happenin’ in here.”

She looked you up and down. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Did she think something was suspicious about you being in there? Surely not. It wasn’t weird for a student to be in their professor’s office, especially since you had on record that he was a tutor for you, all she had to do was look it up. Maybe having the door closed was a red flag, and maybe your hair was a little disheveled, but there was nothing to suggest you were doing…what you were doing.

Steven felt all his blood run cold. ‘Whatever you’ve got happenin’ in here,’ she’d said. 

She knew…it was so obvious that she could tell something was happening between you and him before she walked in. He saw her look you up and down, making a face of disgust. The panic was starting to set into his bones, his leg bouncing under his desk. 

Donna always makes that face, Steven told himself.

But this time it was different. This time…Marc’s fears were being realized before Steven’s very eyes. Marc had warned him on several occasions that if they were caught, it could mean their death. Earlier, before you’d walked into class, Marc reminded Steven that you were at risk if something went south too. This stupid affair could get you hurt.

Steven looked at you, and you looked back at him helplessly. His lips pressed into a thin line when he finally realized what he needed to do, his heart dropping into his stomach. He never should’ve slept with you. Marc was right. He never should’ve crossed that line, never should have asked you to watch Gus, never should’ve brought you into their fucked up life. This was all his fault. Now he had to suffer the consequences and drag you down with him.

“This is it, Steven. You’ve been caught, what are you going to do now? Hm?” Marc’s tone held a self-righteous air that Steven didn’t appreciate, though he deserved it.

“Donna, we were just discussing the paper due on Wednesday that I’ve assigned in my class. What can I help you with?” Steven was trying to divert the conversation away from you.

“Just going around to all the departments and checkin’ in. I can come back.”

She kept looking over at you, and then back to Steven. Even if she didn’t think something was actually happening, she certainly was acting like she was suspicious of you being there. You gulped deeply, turning your eyes to Steven again. You felt the anxiety catching in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Yeah, yeah that would be great. I’ll come to your office this afternoon.” Steven said with a friendly smile.

“Sounds like a plan, Stevie, I leave at five.” She looked you up and down one more time before leaving the room.

You let out a huge sigh of relief followed by a nervous laugh. You ran your hands over your face and shook your head, looking over at Steven who was just staring blankly at the glass paperweight on his desk. What you didn’t see, was the one-sided conversation happening in Steven’s reflection.

“That was too close. I know you don’t want to do it, Steven, I know, and I’m so sorry.” Marc was being sincere, and Steven could feel that. Marc did feel bad for him. “I know you care about her, but that’s why it’s time to let it go now, before it gets worse. The longer you keep this going the harder and more dangerous–”

“Steven.” You said, seeing him look up at you with glistening eyes. “You okay? I was talking to you.”

Steven was looking at you and thinking about how you had no idea that your world was about to shatter around you. There was still time for him to let it go and keep pretending like nothing was wrong. If Donna did suspect something, and this affair went public…

He would rather leave you with a broken heart than see you dead.

“I-I’m sorry I was just…just thinking about…” He gulped, standing up and pressing his palm against the desk to stabilize himself. He looked at the wooden surface, clearly averting his gaze from yours.

He would rather walk over a mile of hot coals than say what he needed to say.

“Yeah, that was close. We’ll just have to be more careful next time. Can’t believe-”

“No, love, no.” Steven looked right at you now.

You watched a tear fall down his cheek, he wiped it away quickly. 

“We can’t have a next time.”

Your body seized in place. Your feet stepped forward, despite your voice getting stuck in your throat. You replayed his words in your head as if you hadn’t heard him clearly. Can’t have a next time. Immediately your bottom lip began to quiver. This couldn’t be real. Surely, you’d misheard what he said. You’d both known that this was a risk, that was why you avoided it before giving up on fighting the gravitational force pulling you towards each other. Was he really running away in fear over almost getting caught once?

“W-what do you…Steven, what are you saying?” You felt tears threatening your own eyes. He couldn’t be saying what you thought he was saying. .

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He pressed his lips together tightly, “please.” Steven’s face broke into a sob. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Steven, where is this coming from? We knew this was risky when we started!” You got closer to him, desperate to get to him, but he put up a hand in protest. Lowering your voice to a desperate whisper, you pleaded with him. “Don’t…don’t do this. We can be more careful next time, we–”

“No, you have to go.” He said firmly, “You have to go, and you have to forget about me. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, and I never should’ve dragged you into this.”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m a kid? I’m twenty-one years old, I chose to do this, you can’t–”

“Yes I can!” Steven shouted at you for the first time since you’d known him. “You don’t know a thing about me. I’m not the man you think I am.”

The room was filled with a silence that tore through your soul. You had nothing to say to that, and frankly, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to talk to him after he yelled at you. Several emotions played out on Steven’s face before he finally looked away from you, and you could tell there was no more negotiating with him. He was right, you didn’t know anything about him. You knew that he was a history professor, that he was from London, and that he liked literature and art. You’d always felt like Steven was hiding something based on the way he didn’t want you at his apartment in the beginning, and you hadn’t forgotten how short he was when you tried to talk to him about his brothers.

Since you could see that this wasn’t going to end well, you went for a final stab, a last attempt to make him feel guilty for doing what he did to you; for taking what he took from you.

“You know, you should be fucking disgusted with yourself.” You started crying despite your desire to appear strong. “I gave you everything.” You grabbed your bags. “Is this what you do? Jump from college to college fucking your virgin students? Or just the stupid ones?”

“I’m sorry.”

You huffed on your way out the door on shaky legs, not taking another look at him. You slammed the door behind yourself harshly, half wishing the entire building would collapse around it. For good measure, you kicked it and then rushed down the hall to get to your dorm. You had to get away before anyone saw what a mess you were leaving his office.

Steven quickly ran to the door, locking it before turning and sliding his back against it, dropping to the floor in a slump. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Even when Steven found out he was part of a system within Marc’s mind, he hadn’t been this upset. This felt like his chest was caving in, like it was hard for his lungs to function. He simply wished he could pass out so he didn’t have to feel the heartbreak. He started sobbing noisily, letting out pained wails that Jake nor Marc had ever heard from him.

Your words had stung. Those final remarks you’d made in your pained anger, though petty, had twisted the knife in his self-inflicted wound. Steven didn’t blame you, you had every right to be mad. In fact, if you’d walked up and struck him, he probably would’ve understood.

Marc started stirring around restlessly, but he approached Steven like a big brother would a younger one. He’d never intended for Steven to get hurt, or you for that matter. He only wanted to protect the three of them, and make sure that they could survive in this new life they made. Marc and Jake had worked everything out so perfectly, and then you’d come along and swept Steven right off his feet, screwing up the whole thing.

“I know that was tough Steven, but you did the right thing,” Marc said in a gentle tone.

Jake remained quiet, but Steven could feel him there, present just below the surface.

“I can’t do this. I can’t teach here anymore. I’m gonna see her everywhere I go. Oh God…I took her…I took her innocence from her not two days ago! Marc…” Steven started breathing heavily, clutching his chest tightly. “I think I’m gonna have a panic attack.”

“You’re not going to have a panic attack, you’ll be alright, just breathe through it.”

“No, no Marc, I really hurt her. Did you see…” he took a labored breath, “did you see the look on her f-face? I broke her heart. We have to go somewhere else, I can’t ever look at her again, I might die. I have to get a new job.”

“You’re not going to die, and you can’t just leave your job, alright? It’s a good job, Steven. We had to work really hard to get you in here. You didn’t exactly…earn your PhD.” Steven started hyperventilating, “I don’t wanna sound like a jerk but, if you’d just done what I said from the start–”

“No, no, no Marc, no!” Steven stood up and started pacing, wringing his hands in front of him, “you think I didn’t know the entire time that what I was doing was wrong? ‘Course I knew! I just…” Steven stopped and looked out of the only window in the room down to the courtyard below. “I think I love her, Marc.”

The voice in Steven’s head stopped while Steven broke down again into another flurry of tears and sniffles that he couldn’t control. Marc knew Steven loved you, he could feel it seeping into the crevices of their mind. Saying the words I love her out loud was what broke Steven to a point that even Marc was worried they may never see him again.

When Marc came to the front, something he hadn’t experienced in weeks, he took a deep breath before wiping the tears from his eyes. He still felt the damp spot on Steven’s pants from where you’d been grinding on him before Donna interrupted. Marc wished more than anything that it hadn’t come to this, but he was back in control again, and he was going to have to clean up Steven’s mess until he came back.

Marc looked at his own reflection in the paperweight, and he only saw Jake staring back.

“I can’t feel him.”

“I know…but he always comes back. We just have to wait.”

----

If there was ever a good time to use your sick days at school, it was while you were curled up in your bed emptying box after box of kleenex. You felt pathetic, crying endlessly over Steven, but he’d hurt you more than you could form into words. Virginity was one of those things that you only had one rule for…give it to someone you love. You didn’t care about waiting for marriage, but you wanted to wait for the right one, and you thought you had.

When Layla asked you what was wrong, you were grateful that she was respectful enough of your boundaries not to press when you told her you didn’t want to talk about it. In truth, Layla probably was someone you could trust with this. You’d been roommates since your first year, and you were good friends. She’d kept secrets for you before, but not one of this caliber.

The thought crossed your mind to tell the dean the truth. You thought about going to her and letting her know that Steven had taken advantage of you. It wasn’t all his fault, you’d been very persistent, but a part of you, the part that felt angry, wanted to make him suffer the way you were suffering. Making him lose his career might be satisfying, but you knew that feeling would only be temporary, and you’d end up feeling guilty before long. Not to mention, you recalled reading that students could also be held liable for their inappropriate actions. You were an adult after all. You’d made your choice to sleep with your professor, and now you had to live with that.

You spent the next day in and out of sleep, waking up only to hear his words replay in your mind, and crying yourself back to sleep. You pulled out your phone on Wednesday morning.

You: Can we please talk? I can’t accept that this is over. Not after this weekend.

You had sent that on Monday after going back to your dorm. He didn’t answer. You don’t know what compelled you to go to class that morning. You thought perhaps it was the small part of you that hoped Steven would see you and completely change his mind, realizing that he was wrong. You also wanted him to see your tearstained face and feel guilty for what he’d done, but when you steeled yourself and walked through the classroom door, he wasn’t there.

You should feel relieved. You should be glad that he didn’t want to show his face after what he did. But you weren’t. One of the other history professors was able to cover the class on Steven’s behalf. You felt a pit settle in your stomach. Was he missing class because of you? The only thing this told you was that Steven was a coward and a pig; only intent on sleeping with you and then dropping you like you were nothing.

So why did you still feel like he was something? Why were you still thinking about all the times his face softened when he saw you, into the most loving gaze anyone had ever shown you? The way he always treated you like you were so important, taking you on a date to the art gallery and stuttering when you said sweet nothings that took him off guard. Something wasn’t adding up in your mind. The way he had treated you all this time didn’t add up to someone who just wanted to fuck you and dump you right after.

But that’s what he’d done.

By some miracle, you held yourself together for the day, getting through your classes. You weren’t completely free of tears, and you’d had to go to the bathroom a few times to wipe your tears, fix your makeup and go back, but you made it. That was the important thing.

It was dark when you walked back to your dorm that night. You recalled the times that Steven had walked back with you, and you’d never felt so alone. 

You weren’t alone though. There was a stern set of eyes that watched your every step, making sure you made it back in one piece. When he saw you get inside safely, a satisfied smile spread over his face. He would make sure you were safe whenever he could, despite knowing Marc would prefer they all pretended you never existed.

Jake could never forget you existed. He wasn’t able to get you out of his head, even if Steven had cast you aside. Jake knew how to keep a secret, and he intended to keep you. He would make sure you wouldn’t lose yourself to the pain Steven had caused.

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[autumsometimes]

Leather and Lace

Hiiii I don't know if there's really a market for this but I started True Blood and saw the lack of fics about this fine ass viking vampire. It made me bring back my pen from retirement and I hope you enjoy.

I'm a OG fanfic writer so I live and die by outfit inspo pics rip polypore. Link: https://urstyle.fashion/styles/3753633

After making the decisions that led her to venture away from her comfortable life in the Midwest town she grew up in, to ending up back in Louisiana only this time visiting a girl she’d became instant friends with after a drunk night of bonding during a college spring break; Y/N no longer believed anything else she did would be too far out of her comfort zone. 

Hence why she’d allowed her instant friend Hadley to convince her to join her for a night on the town at a popular vampire bar in Shreveport. Y/N herself didn’t personally have any strong feelings about vampires positive or negative. Her interaction with their kind had been incredibly limited, as they aren't as ingrained in society in the Midwest as they seemed to be here in Louisiana. Though, as someone with a unique racial history she wasn’t prone to judge an entire group of people based on the widely publicized and scrutinized actions of the few, so she was open to making a connection.  

The somewhat dodgy looking bar “Fangtasia” Hadley brought her to seemed to be a local hot spot as the line to the door had wrapped itself around the building before the doors were even open. “No wonder you wanted to leave so goddamn early,” Y/N laughed, “Is it always this busy?”

“This is actually pretty slow for a Friday night, probably because there’s been a few ‘vampire suspected’ crimes over in a town nearby. Nothing you should need to worry about though! Ironically they’re pretty attentive to humans here.” 

“Hmmm if you say so girl, I feel like my outfit is already doing that attention grabbin’ for me.” Y/N gestured to her cute neutral ensemble, paired with a stunning stiletto brown boot and matching purse, and directed Hadley with her eyes to the others in line. “I didn’t get outfit memo of leather subculture meets Evanescence.” 

“Yeahhhh girl I’m sorry, I should’ve let you know they really play up the traditional vampy monster vibe. Your whale tail kinda fits in tho!” Hadley spun her around, pointing out her tasteful bow accessorized thong peaking over the waistline of her skirt, “And look at that hair! The length, the volume, pure seductress vibes.” Her hair cascading down her back, gently moving with the motion of her spinning. 

Throughout their chatting the line no longer remained stagnant, and Y/N and Hadley were “politely urged” to move forward, by those behind them in line. As they neared the door, Y/N took note of the woman guarding the entrance. She had a strong European angled face, the perfected appearance of “natural” blonde hair and deep set blue eyes. She made no attempts to hide her fangs, while playing up her vampire allure with customers as they entered the club dawned in what could best be described as a “BDSM gothic slut” ensemble. However, the feature that Y/N was most interested in about her was the killer pair of “So Kate” pumps adorned on her feet.  

“I love your shoes!” Y/N stated as they reached the front of the line, before the vampire could even begin to speak. “Those are the legendary ‘So Kates’I don’t know how you manage to work at a bar and wear those all night long.” 

The woman seemed to be a bit taken aback by her forwardness in interacting with her, “Well aren’t you just sooo cute? I can wear them all night long because I’m dead sweetheart. Let me see some ID.” Y/N and Hadley complied handing over their their respective ID’s. 

“You know they’re also known as ‘Killer Kate’s’ kind of fitting, no?” Y/N smirked as she waved them into the bar after verifying their ID’s. The woman gazed back with a sly grin a slightly amused expression “You’re an interesting one” Y/N simply sends her a smile back accompanied by a short inhale of a laugh and heads into the bar with Hadley. 

As they enter the bar Y/N begins to take in the atmosphere and abundance of a world unknown to her. She takes note of the “vampy” vibes Hadley described earlier the decor of the club adorned in traditional blacks and blood red tones. Now she wasn’t a prude by any means, Y/N was no stranger to nudity as she’d love a good jaunt to the strip club with her girlies back home, but something was off about the dancers on display in the club. Perhaps it was raw perverse nature the dancers portrayed themselves as prey in, with a grossly predatory eye of the onlooker. They seemed to play into the idea of them as a “meal fresh for the taking” leaving nothing to interpretation, a very literal display towards the targeted vampire audience. That alone had offset the room’s vibes there was something more that Y/N sensed. 

While vampires had only come out of the coffin 2 years prior, Y/N had been able to sense something “off” about certain energies ever since she was a young girl. Up until the confirmation of there being supernatural beings in the world she simply dismissed it as her being a intuitive scorpio queen. With the news of other beings existences she’d begun to explore that ability of hers as potentially more that just deep astrological stellium influences. Her honing into that intuitiveness and energy sensing allowed her to get a clear feel onto the vibes of the room in her present situation. Y/N started to feel a clenching in her gut making her tense up, something telling every nerve in her body to synapse and to be on the utmost alert. The energy was powerful, dark and looming, almost as if it was commanding over the entirety of the room. Although the energy was fearsome in its rawness, there was something about it that was also thrilling. Y/N pulled herself from her thoughts and maneuvered her eyes to venture beyond taking in the foreign space but to focus on finding just who or what was outpouring this energy. 

“Girl are you okay? I know it’s a lot to take in, we can take a breather outside if you want?” Hadley further snapped Y/N from her trance and she nodded her head to her friend in response.

“Oh no I’m fine girl, it’s just so much to take in! Let’s go grab a drink, I’ll probably feel more settled after one or two of those.” She grabs her friend’s hand and heads in the direction of the bar.

Y/N ordered a drink along with Hadley and as soon as it was placed in front of her she turned around, acting as if she was mindlessly sipping on her drink while raking her eyes across the crowded room. In her observation, Y/N noticed a section of that room that was separated off, yet seemingly had the best seat in the house to get a full look at the ongoings in the bar. In the section there were three ornate chairs, and in the center chair presided a being for lack of a better term. Man or vampire didn’t seem to encompass the raw dominating essence he emitted, and with one look she instantly knew this was the source of the energy in the room. He seemed to command the very essence of the room while not even being engaged in the ongoings within it. He was typing away on a phone with a disinterested expression on his face, with his hair pushed back seemly like he’d continuously been running his fingers through it. He had on a low cut black tank top accompanied by a black jacket and a necklace. The mere dominance his aura presented was something alone that should have instilled her with fear, but that spark of thrill earlier was ever-present along with the signs of danger. Y/N could sense she was ogling at this point and refocused on the conversation Hadley was attempting to hold with her “-just so hot you know?” 

“Oh girl for sure” Y/N shifted her eyes to focus on her friend’s face, and flagged down the bartender motioning for another drink. “Eric Northman had you in a trance huh?” Hadley giggles referencing the direction Y/N has averted her attention from. 

“Who’s Eric Northman?” Y/N playfully raises a eyebrow at Hadley. 

“The vamp you were just ogling, he’s a very important figure in the vampire community and not just because he owns this bar. I get it though, he’s a total smoke show, anyone can get lost in looking at that.” 

“It’s not that I was ogling for something like that-” Y/N furrows her brows at Hadley’s suggestion and carefully chooses her words as to not come off as strange, “- it’s just that there’s this raw energy radiating off of him in waves. Like this intense ass fucking power and his ability to control the room without being present within it beyond a physical sense is so—”

“Mhmm whatever you say girl.” Hadley laughs at her friend’s flustered state, “The first big bad vampire boy you see and you’re already crushing on him”

“Bitch shutcho ass up, let’s go dance or something. I thought you were gonna show me a good time girl?” Y/N grins as Hadley eagerly drags her to the dance floor seizing the opportunity to get her friend engaged. 

Allowing to get herself ensnared into Hadley’s shenanigans Y/N submits herself to be swept up into the impromptu dance floor beginning to surround the dancers preforming on the platforms in the center of the room. While the bar atmosphere in the sense of its powerful energy, and fashion choices was foreign to Y/N, the music wasn’t a complete unknown to her. Y/N playfully joined Hadley in dancing to a upbeat song, swaying and loosening up the tension in her body. Y/N grabbed Hadley’s hands and they took turns swinging their arms together dancing to the beat, along with preforming a few exaggerated spins and twirls. After a good few songs working up a sweat on the dance floor with their goofing off, the vibes of the songs began to change along with the dancing going on around them. No longer were there others harmlessly dancing to the music as the duo was a moment ago, instead the music had changed to a slower four count beat with a seductive base. Y/N recognized the tune as Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater” and rolled her eyes with a grin. “Isn’t this a bit ironic to play in a vampire club?” Y/N leaned over and spoke into Hadley’s ear. 

Y/N had a few drinks by this point and was a bit more relaxed so she began to sway her hips in a more sensual nature along with the beat while tastefully running her hands along the sides of her body. Y/N dramatically flipped her hair and dropped to her knees, popping her butt a few times before swaying her hips on her way back up. Hadley looked at her friend with her jaw dropped and a look of awe on her face. “Girl now you know I’m not no fuckin’ prude” She laughed and continued to dance, running her hands through her curly hair letting it gracefully fall down her back.

“I know it’s just you seemed so out of it, I didn’t think I’d be seeing this girl tonight” 

“I came out to have fun and dance. I still intend to do so even if in the most unlikely of places.” Y/N pulled her friend in close and spun around giving Hadley a friendly show of dancing on her while dropping low and popping back up again. 

Hadley laughed and joined in, the both of them moving their hips in synch against each other and dancing to the rhythm of the beat. Y/N grasped Hadley’s hands and turned around continuing to sway against her friend as the music continued on. Suddenly, Y/N felt that intense aura again, only this time she could tell that energy was focused in the direction of her. Instead of leading with fear like her body still was screaming at her to do, she allowed herself to be pulled into the thrill. She decided to play out a few more sensual dips, and tricks as the onlookers in the crowd grew beyond simply the man on the throne she’d come to know as Eric. Soon their duo was being intruded upon by others trying to join in on the “fun”. Y/N felt a body creep up behind her accompanied by a hand on her waist. Y/N quickly shut that shit down by turning around and lunging at the man with a sneer and a kiss of her teeth “Boy if you don’t back the fuck up off me!” She raised her perfectly polished nail adorned pointer finger and began yelling in his face disregarding even a potential fear over what race he may have been. 

His expression quickly changed to fear in her display of upset and scurried off with a muttered apology under his breath. “Go back to whatever fucking hole you crawled out of you bum! Touching up on strangers like that, who the fuck raised your dumbass?” She yelled in his direction as he ran off like a coward. 

Y/N then turned back to her friend that had seemingly become instantly infatuated with a new dance partner in the duration of her less that pleasant interaction; a pretty little vampire girl. Y/N made eye contact with Hadley and sent her a knowing smile mouthing to her that she’d be over by the bar to take a breather. She took a seat at the bar and ordered a single tequila shot along with an ice water. While she wanted to have a little bit more fun before leaving, she knew to play it safe a get a water as she may be having to grab a cab back to their hotel alone knowing Hadley. After feeling his eyes on her while on the dance floor Y/N fought hard to remain her composure and not be tempted to once again look in his direction. It was incredibly hard for her to resist the temptation, as he’d clearly be enticed by her energy as well hence the staring. There was just something about this man that had her ready to completely disregard any of her self preservation skills. She shook her head and downed the shot needing a little boost to give into her impulses. She then grazed her eyes over towards his little throne setup, only this time her observation was met with one of his own. Her eyes immediately locking with his, that powerful energy stare once again directed towards her. Not one to have a inferiority complex, she started him back down looking at him through her buzzed haze, eyes slightly drooped yet still showcasing her own sultry intensity. 

After what seemed like an eternity of them deadlocked staring at each other; she cocked her head in his direction as if challenging him to make another move. Off to the side a drunk bar attendee knocked over a drink, deterring her focus onto the commotion occurring at the bar. She quickly turned in her seat chugged her glass of water and stood, intending to make her way to the bathroom to freshen up when she felt a presence behind her. Y/N turned and came face to face with the European bombshell bouncer with the excellent shoe taste. “You indeed are a interesting one, he’s requesting your presence” she motions toward Eric, leading Y/N to glance past her shoulder to see his ever powerful gaze remaining on her watching their interaction. 

Y/N then takes a seat crossing her legs, and resting both of her elbows against the bar with a lean, pretending to ponder the proposition as if she was given one. “If he’d like my company he can ask me himself. No doubt he’s gotta be at least one hundred years old, he knows chivalry has yet to die correct?” The vampiric woman almost snorts and the young girl’s brazenness. “Now I’ll admit I’m not that familiar with your kind, but I’d wager that he can hear my answer correct? No need for you to continue to play his messenger pigeon for me.” 

“It is clear your interaction with our kind is incredibly limited as you say. You have no idea the level of disrespect you infringed on someone very old and very powerful.” Y/N shrugged in response. 

“I’m willing to find out, and it seams I won’t need to wait long as the message was clearly received” She gestures to the man rising from his throne and within a blink he was arched over her invading on her personal space invoking his powerful aura. 

His energy was radiating in waves, causing the nearby bar goes to freeze up as the interaction went down. The humans in close range seemingly to be feeling the psychical effects of his energy, some full on shaking in fear. Nothing immediately was exchanged via words between the two only silence filled the air as she met his fierce slightly crazed gaze.“You were correct in your assumptions. Yes, I could hear your conversation, and yes I am at least over one hundred years old. In fact I’m ten times that, and I don’t fucking beg. Join me.”

“Well aren’t you just a peach! What a way to ask for a lady’s company” Y/N sarcastically pats his cheek, grabs her purse and heads towards the section. 

Her demeanor with the vampire so far had been a gamble, yet Y/N knew when to fight her battles and when she was pushing it. She chose not to toe that fine line of further testing limits at the moment and complied with his request. As she entered the section containing three chairs, she debated about trying her luck taking a seat in the designated subtle but decisive throne but settled into a different seat in the section. It was if as soon as she sat down the stares from onlookers ceased and everyone within the room was able to “breathe” again. She glanced in the direction of where she had just been sat and watched the man she knew as Eric talk in hushed whispers with the vampire woman. Both of then wearing a somewhat amused expression but more so was present on the woman’s face. Once again in seemingly the blink of an eye they both were present in the section where she now sat. Nothing was said, only a tense silence filled the air. “I’m the sheriff of this area, something that may mean little in your human ways but carries an immense amount of power within the vampiric world. Disrespecting me in my position, in my bar, will not be tolerated again. This is your first and only warning,” He once again encroaches upon her personal space and speaks the words mere inches away from her face, “I will not have a repeat of his event” his words each emphasized by his intense look of finality. 

Y/N couldn’t help but to quip back “Who the fuck said there’s even going to be a chance for us to interact again?” 

Eric’s expression shifts after a moment in which Y/N notes a trace of confusion, after a beat he and he says “You’re very intriguing for a breather” 

“And you’re not very courteous for a old man” In which the nearby woman full on breaks letting out a deep laugh, not surprising with how amused she’d been throughout their limited interaction. 

Eric turns toward her with a look speaking something, without saying anything indicated her presence was dismissed. As she exits the section she makes it a point to introduce herself to Y/N “The name is Pam, I look forward to seeing you around sweetheart” as she laughs and vanishes in a second with vampire super speed. 

Eric continued to rake his eyes over Y/N not even attempting to be discrete with his observations. “What’s your name?” 

“Y/N, and yours?” 

“Eric Northman, what are you?” 

She scrunches her face in annoyance “I’m biracial black and white. Why? Is that is problem for you?” Her words dripped in confrontational attitude at the subject. 

“Not that kind of what are you, what sort of creature?” Eric chuckles at her display of attitude, finding it endearing. 

“Uhm human as far as I know” She looks back at him confused. 

He once again leans into her space, and breathes out “Interesting” 

“Why? What makes you think otherwise?” 

“Hmm nothing, I must’ve been mistaken” 

“Mhmm okay sure, is that all you wanted from me? You sure know how to show a girl a good time by making all these demands to make her answer a dumbass question but not give her any answers back” She rolls her eyes and slouches back into the chair. 

In response, Eric makes a display of dropping his fangs and grabs her face pulling her closer to him by her chin. Y/N knew she was testing his patience at this point, but she was growing restless at this continued inconvenience his dominating presence offered throughout the night with little reward as to that thrilling appeal. “Must you keep testing me?” He speaks through clenched teeth, his fangs on full display. 

Silence hangs in the air in response, as Y/N doesn’t have the energy to keep squabbling with him. She could feel his actions kindling her anger, deciding he needed to be the next one to make a move because she no longer could guide whatever this tension was any further. With a few more beats of silence and lack of action on his part she sighed. “I should really be getting back to my friend.” 

Eric loosens his grip on her face gently moving her face in the direction of Hadley and the vampire girl from earlier making out on the dance floor. “This friend of yours doesn’t look like she’d like to be interrupted.”

“Well in that case, I hate being on display like this and it doesn’t seem like we’re getting anywhere with whatever the fuck is going on between us here. I, unlike you, don’t have some weird authority kink fetish. If you’re going to demand my company can we at least converse without all of these prying eyes” She gazes into his eyes not looking away as she speaks with an intensity of her own letting him know she means business. 

“We can continue our conversation in my office. Come.” He drops his hand from her face while putting his fangs away and holds a hand out for her to take. 

Y/N was surprised he complied that easily given his behavior from earlier, but it seems as he sensed whatever was going on between them would continue to be stalled under the current social conditions. She placed her hand into his and he gently guided her down the stairs out of the section towards the direction of his office. As they were walking she used it as a opportunity  a good look at him, now that she didn’t have to try and be coy about it. He was strikingly tall with a firm a muscular build. His skin while pale a reflection of his vampire nature, yet still had a thermal glow as if he was alive. His jaw was firmly set, and looked like a piece of history hailing back to the time of the nordic vikings. Y/N found herself being pulled further into his allure  beyond his raw dominance he was very attractive. As they near the door to what Y/N assumed was his office, he turned to Y/N with a cocky grin “You’re attracted to me.” 

As they were in motion when he abruptly stopped, and Y/N lacked the vampiric reflexes he had she ended up stumbling into him. He steadied her by grabbing her waist, “Well yes, I wouldn’t be entertaining your demanding ass if I wasn’t. Why are you pointing this out now?” She looked up at him, taking no issue with his hands still resting on her body. 

He leaned down to huskily whisper in her ear “I can smell it. Don’t worry though you smell good enough to eat.” His fangs once again making an appearance, grazing over her ear as he finished speaking. 

Y/N couldn’t help but to deeply inhale at his tone and closeness along with what was said. She took an additional breath to steady herself and spoke “Let’s continue our conversation and we’ll see if you get a chance to have a taste.” Grasping onto his arms holding onto her waist she softly removes them from their position. 

Eric allowed her to guide his arms from their resting spot upon her waist and reached for her hand again. He opened the door and ushered her in behind him guiding her with their intertwined hands, shutting the door behind them. Y/N let go of his hand and took in his office, it was cluttered as to be expected of a bar owner. However everything seemed to have a specific place, and was very clearly organized. It seemed as if Eric didn’t just desire control socially, but with his possessions and personal spaces as well. Eric had taken a seat on a green loveseat tucked away in a corner of his office, once again eyeing her. “Come, sit.” He motioned for her to join him. 

Y/N took a seat next to him on the loveseat trying not to be awkward about their closeness. As if sensing her discomfort Eric, being himself, pulled her closer by grabbing her legs and placing them into his lap. “You entice me, and I haven’t felt that way about a breather in centuries.” 

“I’ve never felt an energy like yours, it’s so domineeringly raw and powerful. The very way you carry yourself is just unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered.” She replied earnestly, and his fingers began to rub circles where they rested on her thighs. 

“You could feel my energy?” He leaned even further into her space. 

Y/N nodded “I felt it as soon as I entered the bar, it’s what lead me to you even though almost every bone in my body was telling me not to. The danger just wasn’t enough to deter the thrill I felt urging me to find the person or being this energy belonged to.” 

“So my energy enticed you as well?” He spoke not moving any further away from her space, seemingly inching closer as she spoke. 

“Yes, I mean I don't know? There was just this pull I felt to you, it’s how I was about to tell you were watching me while I was dancing.” 

“Fascinating, and you’re sure you are a human?” He breathed. 

She softly nodded once more getting lost in his hooded gaze. “So it’s safe for me to have a taste?” His eyes flickering back and forth between her eyes and lips. 

“I guess so? I’m not really sure what’s considered safe for vam-“

Eric wasted no time connecting his lips with hers, her mouth quick to move in response to his prompting. Their tongues danced languidly with each other, only the sounds of their lips smacking and shaky breaths could be heard throughout the room. Y/N wrapped her arms around Eric’s broad shoulders running her fingers through the hair at his nape. Eric’s hands moved from her thighs to shifting her body underneath him on the loveseat, pulling her taught against his body with one and guiding her head into the kiss with the other.

Y/N’s stomach was fluttering, the pent up tension between the two exploding in a moment of heat that had an incredible intensity but was only the mere minimum of exploration as far as their physical connection could go. Sensing so, Eric pulled back ever so slightly brushing his lips against hers before scattering them upon her jawline. He continued to kiss further down her neck, while he let his body sink into hers, the hand that was once supporting body now her toying with the bottom go her shirt. Y/N lightly tugged on Eric’s hair indicating for him to pull back, and removed her hands from his locks allowing her to arch her back off of the sofa and maneuver herself to remove her shirt. She haphazardly tossed her shirt somewhere across the room and was left in a lace strapless bra. Eric returned his mouth to her body moving from playfully scattered kisses along her neck to more aggressive nips as he neared her cleavage. Y/N heard the sound of his fangs dropping and looked at him through her drooped lusty gaze. His eyes were locked onto her own with a look on his face that as to be pleading for a taste. She sends him a nod, affirming their wordless exchange and he sinks his fangs into her flesh. There’s a moment of white hot pain causing her to gasp and arch into his touch. He pulls her body flush to his own, with a gluttonous groan sucking up the blood pouring from her wound. Soon the pain dips away into pleasure and Y/N let out a breathy moan “God, Eric…”

After a few minutes he releases from her chest with a pop, lapping up the remaining blood with his tongue. He shifts to sit up, lifting her legs in the air and making a seductive show of unzipping her boots with his teeth leaving them to accompany the discarded shirt somewhere in his office. He makes quick work of removing his jacket and shirt, following suit with Y/N’s bra. Y/N gasps with the speed in which he does so, her nipples pebbling at the sudden exposure to the cold air. Eric then descended back onto her body, tracing tantalizing kisses down her torso working his way down to her waist still confined by cloth. Eric hooked his fingers into her waistband and made quick work of removing her skirt and tights. Y/N complied as well by lifting her hips off of the sofa in effort to aid him. Soon she was left bare beyond her black lacy thong “Cute” Eric smiled and found himself almost diving into the apex between her thighs. 

His kisses in the area were feather light as if testing the water, wanting to be attentive to Y/N’s needs and comfortability. He focuses his kisses towards her center almost teasing, waiting for her to express her desire. His nose bumps her clit through the scrap of fabric causing Y/N to whimper in response. “You smell so good”

Y/N makes a small squeak and rasps “Eric if you don’t stop fucking teasing me” 

He laughs and gives her thigh a tap before slipping his fingers into the fabric, signaling for Y/N to move up for him to remove her panties adding them to the ever growing clothing pile on the floor. His eyes lock with her glistening core and he quickly closes the distance with his mouth licking a line up her cunt. He uses two fingers to part her lips languidly running them up and down her slit gathering her juices. In a split second he inserts the set of fingers into her core, and connects his mouth with her swollen bud suckling it between his lips. Eric lets out a moan that vibrates against her core, stimulating Y/N even further causing her to let out a mewl. She attempts to squeeze her legs closed in response only to have Eric remove his fingers from her pussy and wrap an arm around each thigh prying her open. Y/N couldn’t even form words at the feelings he’d invoked from her in the span of a few mere seconds. The way in which he was devouring her was like he was trying to absorb her entire being the way he had submersed himself in her. The noises he made and he continued to mouth over her heat were almost animalistic, as if nothing could keep him from savoring this meal. He was a man starved, and she was a seven course meal ripe for the taking. Y/N in a breathless haze gripped only his hair pushing his head further into his feast. His tongue continued to make use of her clit, pushing her further towards her peak. Y/N felt her breath quicken, releasing more incoherent noises and moans in response. Eric ceases his movements and pulls his mouth away from her clit with a pop, leading Y/N to drop her fingers from his head. “What the fuck?” She pants struggling to catch her breath after the interruption looking at him with murderous intent. 

“I want you to come on my cock” He pulls away from her using his vampiric speed to ride himself his remaining clothes. 

His somewhat gentle and calming demeanor had vanished, this was now a man that was all predator staring down his freshly captured prey. He grasped Y/N’s hips pulling them flush against his own. Y/N let out a sudden yelp at the change up, the surprise momentum of her being dragged forward while still recovering from their earlier actions leaving her a bit dizzy. Eric on the other hand was a man on a mission, he moved one of his hands to align his tip with her core. In one stroke bottoming out, causing Y/N to cry out and grasping out at Eric’s shoulders leaving crescent indents open his back. “Fuck, me” She groans, feeling so full. 

“That’s what I plan to do” Eric pulls out slamming back into her body. 

He grabs her leg lifting it over his shoulder, leading Y/N’s eyes to widen at the feeling of him reaching into her core even deeper. “Holy fuck,” Y/N’s jaw goes slack and letting her head fall back in pleasure. Eric sends her a cocky grin licking a line up her leg as he fucks into her. 

His cock brushing against her g-spot with every thrust has Y/N completely disregarding her earlier orgasm denial. The mere intensity of their connection brought tears to Y/N’s eyes from how good it felt to be joined with him. Not only were they psychically joined but their energies seemed to be intertwined as well, this was what that potential she needed to explore. That thrilling feeling drawing them towards each other she felt was not for naught, as the experience of their bodies conjoining, almost transcended the existence of time and space. It felt purely otherworldly or ethereal. Eric dropped her leg and connected his mouth to her lips. The tender kissing from earlier instead replaced with teeth clicking, and tongue sucking a complete filthy display. Y/N began to feel her peak approaching, moaning into Eric’s mouth. “Gonna, come”  

“Yeah? You’re gonna come on my cock like a filthy fucking fang banger?” He growls slightly pulling away from her face to get a good look at her.  

Unable to speak Y/N nods, feeling herself beginning to dissolve into pleasure. Overcome with the feeling rushing through her body in waves making her muscles spasm she falls into bliss. Eric falls in suit, joining her in the throughs of pleasure. Y/N lies there with Eric on tip of her, with his arms still supporting her keeping her from falling. She lies there attempting to catch her breath for a bit, before she speaks “Well that was fun.” 

Eric pulls out of her as and she clenches her face up a bit at the sensation, before gently flipping them on the couch with her body now laid flat atop his. Eric grabbed a piece of her hair playing with it in between his fingers. “Can I see you again?”

Y/N pretended to ponder before leaning into his space “Yeah I think you can.” She pressed a playful peck against his lips. 

“There’s a shower in the bathroom over there, go, I’ll join you in a few.” He motions to a separate door in his office sitting up. 

Y/N nods and heads off, wanting to rid herself of the blood, smell of sex, and sweat. Eric playfully gives her ass a tap as she heads off. As soon as she enters the bathroom, Eric pulls on his discarded pair of underwear and summons Pam into the room. “God it smells like sex in here, I wager your interest in her was justified? You don’t usually take to breathers like this, even the bold ones.” Pam complains as she enters his office. 

“She couldn’t be glamoured, her blood was like the nectar of gods, and her eyes glowed when she came. She’s something other than human, and I want to find out.” 

[mysticeclipses]

Your Arms Are My Home

This fic was inspired by this lovely art by @nekrosmos

I'm so nervous to post this, this is my first time writing a COD fic in three years, so I apoloigize if the characters seem OOC, I'm still trying to get a grasp on the characters

The scratching of a pen on paper and the idle ticking of the wall clock was all Price had been hearing for the past few hours ever since returning back to his office after a meeting alongside Kate, the two of them having spent almost half the day arguing with some knobhead General overseas who had been trying to convince the two of them that his dodgy half-baked plan was worth sending Ghost, Soap, and Gaz out to lead the entire operation. It was basically a suicide operation from the information that Price and Kate were getting, and there was no way in hell they were going to let some cheeky git send their team to the grave just for the General to get a medal for his cowardice.

Price tried to keep his composure, he really did, but this General just would not shut up about his awards and his medals and his accomplishments. In all his years of being in the military, John had never met someone whose head was shoved so far up his own arse, yet somehow, he could still tell left from right in that dark tunnel. It was really starting to grate on his and Kate’s nerves, but the second that General dared suggest that Ghost, Soap, and Gaz would be better off on his team than with the Task Force? That snapped the last little bit of restraint Price was holding onto, the sound of his fist slamming against the table making Kate jump from shock before he began laying into the cocky prat.

Now, Kate has seen Price angry plenty of times before. You don’t get to be the captain of Task Force 141, have to deal with the shenanigans of practically having to parent your lieutenant and sergeants while out on missions, and not blow up on them every now and then. But this was an anger that Kate had never seen on Price before. The man was shouting at the top of his lungs, the muscles in his neck were so tight you could see them stretching under the skin, a vein on his forehead was visibly pulsing, and it was a miracle he hadn’t thrown a fist through the screen. It probably wouldn’t have helped anyway, not when Price looked like he wanted nothing more than to wring the General’s neck until his head popped.

After more swear words than Kate could count, she finally got up to put an end to Price’s angry rant before he actually did decide to punch the screen where the General sat with a gobsmacked expression, looking like a child who got scolded by his parents for the first time. Now, she had to yank Price away from the table just to finally get his attention on her, and while she’d never admit it to his face, she found it admirable that Price would defend his boys in such a way. Showed just how much of a leader he truly was compared to the man sitting on the other side of the screen. But there was no point in continuing the conversation with both of them so riled up, even if Price had made it clear that he would not be sending his team to the General in his own way, so she sent him off to cool down while she tied up any loose ends with the General before sticking it to the man and ending the call.

So that’s how Price found himself in his office for the past few hours, having paced around the room several times before trying to smoke to relieve his anger, just to turn his focus on the pile of reports he still hadn’t finished. The cigar was still clenched tightly between his lips, having been reduced to a useless nub overtop a pile of ash at this point, yet he still wasn’t able to shake the annoyance and anger that was coursing through his veins with a violent intensity. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were his team. Simon, Johnny, and Kyle were his boys. He wasn’t going to let just anyone take his team out on just any mission, much less someone who’s plan had been thrown together haphazardly with no real concern for the lives that were at stake and guaranteed almost no one would make it out alive. What a damn coward that General was, how he hadn’t been stripped of his position was a cock-up to Price.

Honestly, where did that General get off telling Price that his team would be better off not under his leadership? Where did the man find the gall to say such a thing while knowing he hadn’t seen a warfront ever since getting such a position? John. Did that man know nothing about Price and his boys? The people they fought against? The life or death situations they constantly encountered? The bond that had been forged through victory and loss over years of working together? John. Even if Price had made the offer, his boys would never agree to work with such a General once they heard that prat’s plan. John! They may be a little crazy, but they weren’t stupid by any means, and anyone thinking they’d agree to go on a mission or operation that wasn’t thought out completely was an insult to their intelligence. John! That General was lucky he didn’t decide to fly out to their base to have the meeting in person, otherwise he would’ve been lucky to leave with his face symmetrical and his medals shoved up his–

“Johnathan!” Price was snapped out of his angry thoughts by a familiar Russian accent, nearly falling out of his chair before grabbing the edge of his desk to steady himself, a hand clutching his shirt to steady the sudden lurching of his heart as he finally met the worried gaze that belonged to none other than Nikolai. “Bloody ‘ell Nik, coulda knocked instead of scaring the life outta me.” Price huffed, finally taking the cigar nub out from between his lips and setting it on his ashtray. “I did knock. Several times actually, and you never answered, so I simply let myself in.” Nik huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a moment to look over Price in his current state. Price’s hair was tousled as if he had run his hands through it countless times, his brows were scrunched tightly together, the skin of his lips had clearly been chewed to no end, and Nik could see the anger still coming off of Price in waves. His desk didn’t look any better, what with the pile of ash that Price was brushing into the small bin, papers scattered everywhere, and several broken pens laying in a heap next to the pen cup.

Looks like Nikolai got here just in time. He didn’t want to imagine what Price’s office would look like had he been left to stew in his emotions for much longer, the broken pens were testament to his slowly growing anger that he wasn’t able to shake off easily. “You need to take a break. It’s almost midnight and I can tell you haven’t eaten. Go take a shower and get out of those clothes, I’ll clean up in here, and we’ll get something to eat before I even think of letting you back in this office.” Nikolai’s words earned a gruff scoff from Price as he got up from his desk chair, cracking his neck and back a few times before turning his attention fully on Nikolai. “I’m fine Nik, just got...caught up in my own thoughts. I’ll be done in a few minutes.” Price muttered, barely able to hold eye contact with Nik before he began pacing back and forth behind his desk again, only stopping when Nikolai’s form appeared in front of him.

“This is not up for discussion, you are getting out of this office to clear your head and calm down. Now come, you need a shower.” Nikolai didn’t give Price any chance to snap back with a snarky remark or escape him, taking the man’s arm in his hand as he started pulling him out from behind the desk, ignoring any fighting words or resistance while dragging Price to their shared room. “Laswell told me what happened during your meeting. You are mistaken if you think I’m going to let you fester in negativity.” Nikolai continued to ignore Price’s words, which had turned into another string of less aggressive curses now aimed at Kate for telling Nikolai about his outburst, tugging Price into the room and shoving him in the direction of the shower. “You will not leave until you have showered and have changed into something comfortable. Now go.” Nikolai’s tone left no room for an argument, much to Price’s annoyance, muttering under his breath as he trudged into the shower while resisting the urge to slam the door behind him.

Nikolai couldn’t help but let out a sigh as he watched Price disappear into the shower, only turning around to leave once he heard water pouring through the shower head, running a hand over his slicked back hair as he moved back into Price’s office. It didn’t take too terribly long to clean up; simply dumping the broken pens into the bin that he deemed unsalvageable, pocketing the pens he believed he could fix, and organizing the papers and folders scattered across the desk. Honestly, Nikolai was surprised there weren’t a couple fist marks in the old wood, especially not when he remembered how Kate had described Price in his rage. He wished he was there to see it go down, as there was something about a truly angry Price that made Nikolai’s heart stutter in his chest and his throat go dry, but he couldn’t think about that right now. There were more important matters to be focusing on right now.

Once Price’s desk was cleaned and organized, Nikolai headed back to the bedroom to see if Price was done with his shower, walking off towards the base kitchen when he heard the water was still running. Determined to take another weight off Price’s shoulders, Nikolai began rummaging through the fridge and cabinets for ideas on something to make. After scrounging around a bit, Nikolai managed to find enough ingredients to make a half-decent goulash, grabbing the largest pan he could find so he could make a good amount for the both of them. It didn’t take long for the kitchen to fill with the smell of cooked meat and spices, and on more than one occasion, Nikolai had to swat away an all to eager Soap who was trying to steal bites of food when he wasn’t looking, soon spooning two healthy portions of goulash into bowls before carrying them back to the bedroom. He was nice enough to leave the rest of the goulash out for someone else to have, to which Soap promptly swiped the pan and scurried off before anyone else could get their hands on it.

Stepping into the bedroom, Nikolai was pleased to see John sitting on the edge of the bed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, damp hair plastered to his forehead, silently handing him the bowl of food before joining him on the bed as the two began eating in silence. Eventually, John spoke up with a mouth full of food, wiping some sauce off the corner of his lips in the process. “Damn, this is some good nosh Nik. How’d you manage to make this on base?” Nik couldn’t help but laugh at John’s words, though he knew that this was likely the first time in a while John had gotten to eat a proper meal. The man lived on military rations more often than he really should. “When you are not busy yelling at generals over video calls, I can show you how to cook simple dishes. Good bonding activity too.” Nik promptly earned a punch to the shoulder for his words, though he didn’t miss the way the corners of John’s lips turned up in a hidden smile, admiring the way his eyes still crinkled slightly with the expression.

“You’re a cheeky prick, you know that Nik?” This earned another laugh from Nik as he finished the last of his goulash, waiting until John was finished before taking both bowls and standing up from the bed. “да. Comes with living life the way I have.” He simply set the bowls on the nearby dresser before getting undressed, tossing the clothes to the side much to John’s dismay before going back to the bed, promptly getting under the sheets before picking up the remote and turning on the television. “Lay down with me, maybe we will find something better than your strange task challenge show.” “Oi! Taskmaster is a good show! Watch it, or you’ll be sleepin’ on the bloody floor!” The threat was void of any real malice as John slipped under the sheets next to Nik, promptly swiping the remote so he could turn on his show, as he wasn’t in the mood to watch another convoluted Russian drama that would be impossible to follow.

It didn’t take long before exhaustion began to overcome John, as with his anger finally simmering away to a meaningless feeling, he found himself wanting nothing more than to get a half-decent night of sleep. Wiggling out of the hoodie, John threw it onto the nearby chair before getting comfortable on Nik’s chest, the side of his face resting on the thick, plush chest hair while he took in the soothing scent of cologne that stuck to Nik like a blanket, instinctively leaning into the hand that began gently running through the loose strands of his hair. “You are a good captain, John.” Nik hummed quietly after a few moments passed, stirring John from his muddled thoughts, tired blue eyes gazing up as if silently asking where such a thing was coming from. “You are intelligent, driven, protective, and you fight for what you believe in. The way you stand up for your team, the way you protect your team, the brotherhood that you have with your team, it is something that isn’t always seen in this line of work. You were right to yell at that mудак for thinking he deserved your team. Though I wish I was there to hear everything you called him.”

That earned Nik another punch to the shoulder, this one having much less force behind it thanks to how drowsy John was getting, which prompted Nik to turn the television and lights off before getting comfortable under the sheets. With his arms wrapped tightly around John, practically ensuring the man wouldn’t be able to get out of bed until morning, Nik placed a tender kiss to the skin of John’s back, nuzzling up behind the man so his chest was flush against John. “Goodnight, моя бабочка.” Nik mumbled before finally dozing off, his face pressed into John’s shoulder blade. For a moment, John simply stared at the wall across from him, and he couldn’t help but think about Nik’s words. He was a good captain, better than most he had met, but it was moments like this he appreciated most. The tenderness, the domesticity, the adoration he shared with Nik, he wouldn’t trade this for the world. He’d take another bullet, fight another psychopath, spend long nights going over plans, if it meant he could return to Nik’s arm. This was his home, his team was his family, and he’d protect it with his life. John gave Nik’s hand a gentle squeeze before finally allowing his eyes to close, slipping into blissful sleep.

[sitp-recs]

🎶 Sitp Recs - Wireless 2024

I’m so happy I found some time to check Wireless over my summer hols. There’s still a lot to read but I decided to post my favorites as I go because it’s always more fun to rec before reveals come up. Has anyone read these yet? Make sure to check the full collection HERE and feel free to jump in and share your own favourites! Next up: long fics!

Fic:

🗞️ crawlin' helpless on the floor by @stationintern (M, 1.5k)

It doesn't take much to torment a man when he's three broken contracts away from being out of a job and down a newspaper.

📱 How to Begin by @wolfpants (E, 8k)

Harry is completely, pathetically besotted with his flatmate, Draco. Fuelled by liquid courage, he finally makes his move when he's absolutely sozzled. What could possibly go wrong?

⚖️ When the Flood Comes by @academicdisasterfic (E, 10k)

Nine years on from the war, Auror Potter is upholding the Ministry of Magic's rule of law. Senior legal counsel Draco Malfoy is challenging it. And absolutely nothing is as it seems.

🏠 Two Houses by @tackytigerfic (E, 11k)

Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently? Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.

🇫🇷 The most he’s ever said by @fastbrother (E, 16k)

It takes them twenty years.

🪩 Closing Time by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 18k)

Draco’s been invited to Neville’s stag party in Bristol, and he's confident he knows what to expect. There’ll be too many Gryffindors, for starters, plus a few humiliating team-building activities, some dodgy clubs, and a truly preposterous level of alcohol consumption. But… a drunken Harry Potter climbing into Draco's bed when he’s having a wank? No, he definitely didn't see that coming...

🔬Heartbeat by @saxamophone (E, 23k)

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs.

Art:

🌅 ghost (might as well be gone) by @dragontamerdame (G)

Draco Malfoy retired from the Auror force and left England a decade ago, but he still receives the Daily Prophet. Today’s issue provides closure on the one case he was never able to officially solve.

🛋️ A Quiet Life by @getawayfox (T)

After their relationship becomes public knowledge; after being hounded by the paparazzi; after Draco says enough is enough and leaves London; Harry’s more than happy to follow. After all, a quiet life is all he’s ever wanted.

🛏️ MY FRIENDS SAY I SHOULDN'T SEE YOU ANYMORE by @bichol (T)

Both Draco's and Harry's friends don't approve of their little... dalliance. But it's so hard to stay away from each other! Could this be a bit more than just casual?

[tgmsunmontue]

Get your motor runnin' - 1/6

Bradley, a bit of a (very talented) grease monkey and Jake, who has been sent to see him because he's apparently the best mechanic Maverick knows.

A longer fleshed out fic at the request of @poetryandpickles based on their idea in this post. Likely going to be 3-4 parts and likely an excuse for lots of smut. Just as an FYI.

PART ONE

                It’s been a busy week but he’s managed to clear the bulk of the work, ordered parts actually arriving early or on time like some damned miracle. He’s managed to get people’s vehicles back to them before they expected, which always makes for happy customers. He has a loyal base, and he knows they recommend him wider afield. It keeps him busy and the bills paid. He likes it, positioned in the small area of Oak Hills. Close enough to both China Lake and North Island to enable visiting if he feels like it but not close enough that anyone can just pop in. Not that that stops Mav, but he suspects he could live in another country and Mav would still find a way of turning up unannounced.

                He hadn’t intended to become a mechanic, but he had sort of fallen into it. Time tinkering on cars with Mav and his struggle to remain focussed in the classroom had meant when he’d raised the idea of entering an apprenticeship with a diesel mechanic Mav had been incredibly supportive. After insisting he get his GED. That had been the incentive he’d needed to act, and then he’d finished up and entered his first year. He’d worked hard, and it had paid off, his boss involving him in more and more challenging jobs and Bradley grew into someone that could often tell what was wrong just by listening to the engine.

                Then he’d been encouraged to undertake further study, which he’d balked at, because study. But then learning about auto electrical work tied in so nicely with what he was already doing it didn’t even seem like study, simply common sense and he’d become the best damned mechanic Robbie had working for him, a fact he’d been proud of. Then he’d decided to start up his own business, sat down with Mav and Ice and talked about his parents’ house and life insurance and then they’d agreed. Robbie had a friend that was selling up and now he’s been here four years, and he thinks the locals might actually start calling him a local too soon. Any day now.

…            …            …

                Jake’s not sure why he’s driven all the way out here, he’s driven past three other mechanics on the way to this garage and it’s only because Maverick had recommended this place that he’d kept the address in his GPS and followed it out here. For nearly two fucking hours. Who drives a dodgy car two hours to get to the mechanic? He’s hot and tired, the air conditioning unit in his car broken, well, not broken but it’s leaking something Jake doesn’t want to look too closely at but which he hopes is water. The trunk of his car now fills up with water when it rains, which had been an incredibly unpleasant surprise to find when he returned from his most recent deployment. He likes water, but he doesn’t need or want it in his car.

                He pulls down a dusty road and looks around, a little worried suddenly that Maverick has sent him on a wild goose chase and he’s going to end up the next victim of a mass murderer. But no, there it is, a large shed with four roller doors, all open in deference to the summer heat. There’s two different types of tow trucks parked up out front, one looking large enough to tow a truck, and there’s also large earth moving equipment parked up and he wonders if he’s in the right place. Then he spies it, the sign declaring it as Bradshaw’s, and that’s who Mav had sent him to see. The best mechanic he knew, apparently, which Jake considers high praise coming from someone like Maverick Mitchell. He parks up and gets out, leaves the door open just in case he needs to run and make a fast get away; heads inside toward where he can music coming from a radio, Meat Loaf singing about love.

                “Hello?”

                He can see a body under an old van and he walks closer, repeats his greeting and hopes the guy isn’t too old. He doesn’t want to give him a heart attack or something. Then the creeper is coming from out beneath the beaten-up van and it’s legs legs legs and for fucks sake, who needs legs that long? This guy apparently, and the legs are clothed in grease-stained coveralls, but they’re tied around the guy’s waist, which is now appearing, and he’s wearing a threadbare white tank, and it’s damp with sweat, so damp Jake can see fucking nipples. He’s seen porn that starts like this.

                He swallows roughly, takes in the broad chest, arms, muscles and shoulders all appearing like he’s watching in slow motion and okay, the long legs make more sense now if they have to carry all that around. He thought that he might cause a heart attack but now he’s starting to wonder if he’s going to have one instead. He wasn’t expecting this. He’d been expecting someone Maverick’s age, or older. Jesus. He thinks the heat might be getting to him, because it suddenly feels much hotter than it was a few minutes ago.

                “Can I help you?” the guy asks, and he’s just lying there looking up at Jake, not even bothering to stand although he has raised his head a little and Jake can see his abdominal muscles and he was not prepared for this.

                “I’m,” he coughs to clear his throat, which is of course as dry as the desert. “I’m looking for Bradshaw?”

                “You found him. How can I help?” the apparent Bradshaw repeats, and he’s bracing and rolling off the creeper, coming to a stand in front of Jake, wiping his hands on a cloth pulled from his back pocket and Jake doesn’t know if it’s helped remove anything or just smeared it around some more.

                “I, uh. My car’s got some issues. My CO, uh, commanding officer, he said you were the best mechanic he knew.”

                “Of course he did.”

                “Do you know him?”

                “Maverick? Yeah, you could say that.”

                Jake is surprised he guesses right, then again he supposes some people would consider knowing Maverick a bad thing, and this man looks a little resigned and he wonders exactly what this guy has done to earn Maverick’s high level of admiration, because he’s never met a man harder to please.

                “So he sent you here, without calling first to check to see if I had time to work on it. Do you have another ride, or a place to stay?”

                “Uh…” Jake blinks. He hadn’t thought of any of that, and he’s two hours away from his base accommodation in North Island. “Shit.”

                “Let me take a look. Might be able to get her fixed up straight away and get you back on the road.”

                If he can do that, then he really is the best mechanic.

PART TWO

[giselleloversclub]

jeno fics rec !

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

@thatsatricky1

Y/n didn’t have a lot going for her, rising student loan debt, a shared dodgy apartment and a shitty bank job that didn’t pay well. Could her life get any more downgraded? Apparently it could, in the form of a group of well known bank robbers deciding the bank she worked at was the perfect and simplest heist they could do for a change.

wc: 2k

! its just the preview i couldn't find the entire fic but just the preview is already too good !!

personal fav !

RIDIN' WITH YOU

@luvyeni

request. Can I request a biker jeno where the reader is almost ran over by him on a motorcycle and they start knocking into each other from there

streetracer!jeno x fem!reader

wc. 5.7k

! smut !

VOGUE LIKE THE LEE'S

wc : 3.3k

Genre: fluff, some angst, suggestive

lee jeno x carrie (oc)

SUMMER OF LOVE @lattaeyongs

The summer of 1997 was a weird time. As a person living in the modern era, you’d completely forgotten what it was like to live in the ‘90’s. In May 1997, you listened to the Backstreet Boys, flipped through TV Guide, and had an answering machine which seems so archaic now. But that isn’t the only reason why the summer of 1997 was weird. That summer was the time you fell for your brother’s best friend.

word count: 15.2k

personal fav !

MY FIRST AND LAST @leejenowrld

meet lee jeno, campus heartbreaker, fuckboy, secret nerd. he’s the notorious guy that everyone wants but he only wants you —a shy, introverted stranger who appeared from nowhere, turning his life upside down. what starts as a reputation-defying connection swiftly evolves from strangers to friends and to intense, immediate love. it’s a twist the two of you never saw coming, the opening of your hearts to someone unexpected. but as personal struggles and external issues threaten to derail your connection, the once-confident jeno is left shattered and ensnared in the tumult of a love story gone awry.

wc :37k

ALL NIGHT LONG

@writemekpop

You’re pregnant, and the baby’s kicking makes it impossible to sleep. Luckily, Jeno knows just how to take care of you.  

Word count: <1k

AFTER ALL THIS TIME

@leejenowrld

you run into jeno, your ex, at a college party. despite a tough breakup, the spark between you never faded. after a night of reconnecting and reigniting, you realize some feelings are too deep to ever truly go away.

wc : 8.2k

! smut !

CRUSH CULTURE

@lulujeno

liking jeno was a mistake. kissing him didn't make it any better.

wc : 6.3k

LOVE IN A JAR

jeno loves you so much, it is hard for him not to find you in the smallest of things that surround him. he never thought he could taste love, until he fell in love with you.

bf!jeno x female!reader

wc : 1.7k

YOUR WOUNDS WRAPPED WITH MY LOVE PT2

@slytherinshua

fluff. tiny bit of angst. mafia au.

wc: 1.5k

fiancé!jeno x reader.

WHEN IT CLICKS

@lelengerine

jeno x reader

friends to lovers

wc: 1k

MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE ?

@cupofwyn

it was all self-inflicted pressure when the spotlight finally turned to you as the final member of the family to experience a love story—the miracle that has been passed down from your parents down to your siblings and the privilege of love in marriage that has been jealoused upon the ton of high society. though the world might have run out of love stories available for you when your family took it all to their delight, or so you thought.

⠀lee jeno!prince × fem!reader

wc : 10.3k

WASTED ON YOU

@ericscroptop

after a fun night out, your boyfriend takes care of you like the gentleman he is.

wc : 3.4k

bf! jeno x gf! reader

PRIVET BUT NOT SECRET @hhie

instagram story au ?

jeno x reader established relationship

SILVER PLATTER

@odxrilove

when you get confessed to in front of your friends and band members, not everyone seems to think it's funny.

jeno x fem reader

wc : ~3k

RISK PT2

@saythenametotheworld

Firmly convinced that Love-at-First-Sight is a hoax, you never expected to be proven wrong when the universe decided to throw you, quite literally, into Lee Jeno's lap.

Lee Jeno x Reader

wc : 14.7k

[bridenore]

HD Wireless 2024 recs

Here are some of my favorite fics from @hd-wireless 2024. Listed in alphabetical order.

Closing Time by @sweet-s0rr0w [18k]

Draco’s been invited to Neville’s stag party in Bristol, and he's confident he knows what to expect. There’ll be too many Gryffindors, for starters, plus a few humiliating team-building activities, some dodgy clubs, and a truly preposterous level of alcohol consumption. But… a drunken Harry Potter climbing into Draco's bed when he’s having a wank? No, he definitely didn't see that coming...

Heartbeat by eight_of_wands / @saxamophone [22k]

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs. Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

How to Begin by @wolfpants [8k]

Harry is completely, pathetically besotted with his flatmate, Draco. Fuelled by liquid courage, he finally makes his move when he's absolutely sozzled. What could possibly go wrong?

The most he’s ever said by @fastbrother [16k]

It takes them twenty years.

Say When by @lqtraintracks [24k]

When Auror Harry Potter is sent in undercover to determine if Draco Malfoy is laundering money through his BDSM club, will he be able to keep up the ruse and close the case? Or, more to the point, will he keep from falling in love?

Too Good At Raising Hell by @the-sinking-ship [87k]

When Harry Potter walks into Draco’s nightclub looking like trouble, Draco can’t stop staring. He really ought to train his dick not to react so enthusiastically to red flags, but where would be the fun in that?

Two Houses by @tackytigerfic [11k]

Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently? Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.

Us, infinite (unfortunately) by @thecouchsofa [77k]

It’s very fitting for how Harry’s life has gone thus far that he gets trapped in a time loop without rhyme, reason, or warning. To make matters infinitely worse, the one other person stuck on the same hellish chronological ride is Draco Malfoy, git extraordinaire.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[murdknux]

I’m also curious to know more about your other AU, the cyborg Murdoc one!

oooh i was waiting to tell more about this AU!!

SO Cyborg!Murdoc was created by the real Murdoc. This takes place in a universe where Noodle is able to make her way back to 2D and Murdoc before they set off for PB after El Mana. But I suppose her close brush with death, and then nearly dying themselves to good ol' Bruce Willis made Murdoc start to think about his mortality. The idea that one day he'll be dead and perhaps before he's ready makes him cook up a terrible idea to create a cyborg in his likeness.

Cyborg!Murdoc is programmed to manage the band in Murdoc's absence and protect the other members from threats like pirates or dodgy producers lol. Murdoc spent a long time programming him to act like how the real him does. BUT, Murdoc is unable to finish him in time and a cannonball fired into PB from the Black Cloud pirates knocks him into a coma (ironic).

(excuse the extremely old unfinished art) 2D is left pretty distraught by the whole thing, so he spends a lot of time in Murdoc's room/workshop where he discovers his cyborg under a sheet. He manages to turn him on, but because he's incomplete Cyborg!Murdoc is almost entirely mute and lacks some of Murdoc's particularly mean qualities, with his main programming having to do with protecting everyone.

this is mostly from a fic that I was writing about the AU, but also never finished lol

it was gonna be resolved with Murdoc waking from his coma and destroying Cyborg!Murdoc. However, 2D had formed a bit of a trauma induced, parasocial bond with Cyborg!Murdoc (since he wouldn't yell at him and wanted to protect him, not torment him like the real murdoc did). So 2D is left pretty distraught for the years after that