#and i feel like no one is gonna remember her

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"You're gonna go far"

okay yall this is chapter one! if it sucks or doesn't make sense pls don't hate. might take it down later if i decide i hate it. likes, comments, and reblogs encourage me!!!I brainstormed this pretty fast so it might be messy.

lmk if there's any plot holes! This is the week following the failed patrol and Tiffany taking reader's credit. About 6 to 7 months after Tiffany moved in.

The first day after the incident, you had stayed in your room, nursing the bitter sting of betrayal. You couldn’t even remember the last time they’d acknowledged your existence. Tiffany, of course, was the shining star of the household. While you were holed up in your bedroom, processing the snakebite that had changed everything, Tiffany was out there, winning their favor with her charm, her sweet smiles, and her sugar-coated lies. You spent all night aching and feeling your bones shattering in your skin, feeling your skin peel off, and your teeth sharpen and make your mouth bleed.

The day started with her knocking on your door, her voice dripping with fake concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I heard what happened last night... but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just walk it off, right? Just a snake bite! You weren't even supposed to be on patrol, Dad said that you can't be part of the team. You're not skilled enough.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. How could you? It wasn’t a matter of walking it off. The venom inside you had begun to manifest, the snake-like power curling through your veins, but Tiffany's words twisted the knife further. You could see the smug look in her eyes as she added, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I know you’re upset, but let’s just move past it. You need some tough love”

You didn’t know what to expect when the transformation took hold that night. One minute, you were trying to cry yourself to sleep the next—your skin tingled, muscles shifting, twisting beneath the surface. The bite on your neck from the damn snake burned like fire, but something deeper, something inside you, urged you to embrace it. Again you felt your mouth burn, your body tingle, your skin shed and a searing pain from the waist down.

As you lay flat against the wall, your hands pressed against the cool surface you couldn’t help but grin, pain was better than numbness. You weren’t just Bruce Wayne's outcast daughter, nor were you the wannabe batgirl, as Stephanie liked to call you, you were something else now, something powerful.

The first time you ejected venom from your fingertips, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. It was cold, sharp, and terrifying in its power. It didn’t make sense. You could feel the agility coursing through you, every muscle in your body aligning with the new capabilities as if your very bones were made for this transformation. This wasn’t you anymore.

The idea of getting even, of showing them all that you weren’t weak or invisible, had always been a fantasy. But now, it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real, solid in a way that left you trembling. You weren’t just going to prove them wrong. You were going to become something they could never ignore again. And they would never see it coming.

But what now? The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, all of them—had given you nothing but pain and neglect for years. They didn’t understand you, didn’t care to. They couldn’t see past their perfect image of family long enough to see you. Now, with this power, you didn’t need them. You never did.

Except… there was Tiffany.

She was their new perfect darling, their shining star. Every time she took a step into their world, they’d fawn over her, ruffle her hair, praise her as though she could do no wrong. You had tried to be perfect for them, but perfection never got you what you wanted. It never got you love. It never got you acceptance.

She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d ruined your life. You'd tried to warn them, tried to tell them what she really was—what she was doing behind their backs. But they chose to believe her over you. They always did.

So it was time for them to learn. To know what you were capable of.

You wouldn’t hurt them but you would make them understand. You would show them your worth, show them what they had turned their backs on. No more hiding. No more being invisible. You’d be the storm they couldn’t control, the one they couldn’t ignore.

One by one, you would take back everything that was stolen from you.

The next day Bruce didn’t even acknowledge you when he passed you in the hallway. You wanted to tell him about the snake, about the strange scary things going on in your body, of the violent thoughts running through your mind but the words died in your throat in fear of ridicule. You stood there, heart racing, desperately hoping he’d say something, anything, just a hint of recognition. But he didn’t. Tiffany was at his side, her arm linked through his as they strolled past you. She was chattering on about some trivial matter, and you could feel the coldness in Bruce's demeanor. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.

It was as if you weren’t there. It hurt, more than you could have imagined. And yet it wasn't anything new.

Alfred, the one person who might’ve shown you compassion, didn’t even make you breakfast. You waited in the kitchen, hoping for something—anything. But no, Tiffany had already filled the void with her charming demeanor, sitting at the table with Alfred, chatting about some charity event.

You stood there, waiting. Watching. Silent.

Eventually, you turned and left. Alfred hadn't even looked up when you walked out.

Damian.

Your little brother who you tried so hard to bond withhad taken to sneering at you when you crossed paths with more anomosity than usual. His usual arrogance and distaste for you had only intensified. You had caught him once, whispering something to Tiffany about how "pathetic" you were. “Father’s blood runs through me, not through you,” he had muttered under his breath. You had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down right then and there. The venom inside you seemed to thrum in response, as if it recognized the cruel words, feeding off them.

Later, you overheard him tell Tiffany, “You’re far more worthy of being in this family than she’ll ever be.”

Jason, who you once thought of as a brother, the only one who could’ve understood you, had turned his back completely. You had tried to reach out to him and tell him of the pains at night, to apologize for whatever wrongs you’d committed, but all he did was glare at you. A snide comment about how “you wouldn’t know what it means to feel pain” and then he walked away, his back to you as he followed Tiffany down the stairs.

Your heart shattered.

Tim was... absent, but his absence was worse than anything. He made no effort to reach out, barely acknowledging you when you passed by. When you tried to speak with him, to ask how his day had gone, he merely gave you a dismissive shrug and muttered something about needing to “work.” Tiffany, on the other hand, always had time for him. She seemed to be everything you were not—everything they wanted. She was their perfect daughter, their perfect sibling. She was the one who belonged.

You tried to slip into the shadows, but the truth was, you felt like you were already invisible.

You and Duke used to be friends when he first came, till he realized Stephanie was much cooler than you. Maybe you could hang with them in the cave, maybe they could help figure out what was happening to you. Maybe even talk to Barbra and Cassandra!

The Batcave was eerily quiet when you worked up the nerve to enter. You were sitting at a workstation, trying to work up the courage to talk to any of your siblings but your thoughts kept drifting. Tiffany had completely woven herself into the fabric of the team, and everyone else, even Duke, seemed content to ignore you.

You and Duke had once been close. He’d been one of the few people who had ever tried to make you feel like you belonged in the manor. You remembered the late-night conversations, sharing stories and laughter, plotting out plans for how you could prove your worth to the family. But now, every time you glanced in his direction, there was nothing but distance and confusion.

you could feel his presence across the room. He and Tiffany were standing by one of the equipment stations, speaking in hushed tones. You tried to ignore them. It hurt too much to look at Duke, to see how easily he had fallen under Tiffany's spell, how effortless it was for him to ignore you now.

Tiffany was front and center, as usual. Her presence always seemed to command attention, like a star that everyone gravitated toward. You had grown used to the way they all fawned over her, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Duke, you’re up next,” Tiffany called out, a smile playing at her lips. Her voice was sweet, but you could hear the subtle edge beneath it. A tone that made your blood boil. She wasn’t just charming them, she was playing them.

“You know, I’d never say no to a challenge, Tiff.” he said, his voice almost affectionate.

“You’re the best, Duke,” Tiffany purred, clearly pleased.

You glanced at Barbara, hoping for something—a glance, a small acknowledgment—but her eyes were glued to her computer screen. She might as well have been miles away.

Cassandra, as usual, was focused on her training. She hadn’t ever shown interest in you, and today was no different. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver from the sparring targets she was working through, ignoring you entirely.

You sighed, not wanting to add to the already uncomfortable tension in the air. The weight of it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Duke and Tiffany’s conversation.

“I’m telling you, Duke,” Tiffany was saying with a laugh, “you’ve got this in the bag. You’ve been training for years, they’re never going to see it coming.”

Duke chuckled, clearly reveling in her praise. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure I trust the plan,” he said, glancing at the others. “You really think it’ll work?”

Tiffany’s smile was cold and calculating. “Trust me, it will. I’ve been working on it for weeks, and with your skills, we’ll have it done in no time. Just follow my lead.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up, even if you weren’t sure why you were still trying. You knew they didn’t care, but some part of you still clung to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d listen. You and Duke were friends, he wouldn't ignore you. You didn't want Tiffany to pressure him into a plan he wasn't sure of.

“Tiffany, why don’t you give Duke some space?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “He might want to work out his own plan, you know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Duke’s expression darkened, and so did everyone else's. Even Barbra glanced at you.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tiffany asked, her tone laced with mock sweetness. “I didn’t realize you had any input. I guess it’s cute that you think Duke needs your help.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I’m good, [Y/N]. Really. Tiffany’s got this. Don’t you have some... other place to be?”

Your mouth burned and your bones ached, since when did Duke treat you like this? What right did he have? You were friends, friends aren't mean to friends.

Your fists clench, "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" You spit out, unusually angry and brave.

His eyes softened for a second but then Duke looked up at you, his gaze colder than you remembered. “It’s not personal, okay? It’s just… you don’t really fit in with the rest of us."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Tiffany was the one with the skills. Tiffany was the one who was flawless. Tiffany was the one who didn’t need to try. Tiffany fit in.

You wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for why you were being discarded like this. You tried, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you silent. Duke wasn’t the person you had once leaned on. He wasn't your friend anymore. you could feel the deep divide between you both now, a gap named betrayal.

Before you could respond, Stephanie, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward. “Come on, (Y/N), don’t waste our time. If you don’t have anything useful to add, just leave. You’ll be better off on your own.”

Your eyes snapped to her. Of all people, you didn’t expect Stephanie to be so blunt. But here she was, her arms crossed and her eyes not even looking in your direction as she spoke.

Tiffany shot Stephanie a glance of approval. “Exactly, Steph. They’ll just slow us down. Maybe you should go back to the kitchen and bake something.”

The words were meant to belittle you, to remind you of the one thing they knew you were good at, baking, and nothing more. You felt your fists clench, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

Duke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. His silence spoke volumes. You could feel the finality of it, the way the space between you both had grown too big to bridge.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Tiffany continued, her voice smooth, "You’re not part of the team. Just let it go. It’s better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s manipulation was sickening. But what hurt the most was that Duke was going along with it. He had always been the one person who had made you feel like you mattered in this cold, detached family. And now? He was treating you like you were nothing. He had chosen her over you. The reality of it hit you like a t train.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing the lump in your throat, ignoring the burning of your eyes and the hole in your chest.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, the cold stares of Tiffany, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra burning into your back. no matter how hard you had tried, how many times you had bent over backwards to prove your worth, it would never be enough for them.

The final blow came that night on the 7th night after the incident and the day after Duke's betrayal.

Tiffany had won. You could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She won their trust, their love. Now, she was going to make sure you were out of the picture for good.

You overheard Bruce and Tiffany speaking in his study, a room you were never allowed to enter.

“I think it’s for the best,” Tiffany said, her voice sweet, almost too sweet. “She’s so... incompetent. Maybe a change of scenery will help her grow.”

“Maybe,” Bruce replied, his voice cold, indifferent. “But it’ll also keep her away from Gotham for a while. From the family.”

“It’ll be better for everyone,” Tiffany continued. “She’s been so distant lately, and honestly, I don’t think she fits in here. She doesn’t belong.”

“I’ll have Alfred make the arrangements tomorrow,” Bruce said, his tone final. “It’ll be good for her. A change of pace. A chance to learn discipline.”

And just like that, your life as you knew it ended.

You would be sent away to a boarding school in New York City. They didn’t even give you the courtesy of telling you themselves. Tiffany had already manipulated the situation, convinced them that it was for the best. That you didn’t belong. That you needed to be removed from the family.

Later That Night

You sat in your room, fists clenched, eyes burning with tears you refused to shed. You could hear Tiffany’s laughter echoing in the halls as she paraded through the manor, a crown on her head that wasn’t hers.

You weren’t going to cry. Not anymore. You weren’t going to beg for their attention. For their love. No. You had something far more dangerous now. Something that didn’t need them. Something that would show them all just how wrong they were. The venom in your veins burned brighter now. You could feel it coiling around your bones like a living, breathing thing. You would prove them all wrong. You would go to New York and never look back.

Ok I tried my best guys be nice! I just had so many ideas and didn't know how to execute them! Send in asks! I wanted to get the plot moving tbh

[sinstear]

abby dressing your daughter up exactly like her, just to see your reaction 🥹🤲🏻

ohkay fluff! yes, we love. this is perfect 🫶🏻 kinda all over the place.

abby’s memorized your work schedule completely since she started dating you, and she knows that in exactly 25 minutes she’s going to hear the keys in the door, you kicking off your shoes once you step inside and hang up your jacket and bag on the coat rack, and will be in search for her and your daughter.

tying the hair band around her hair once she finished the braid, abby smiled and kissed her forehead gently. “and what do we tell mama when she gets home?”

“uhm, to not mention the candy drawer beside your bed!” your daughter giggled and rubbed her eyes.

abby’s eyes widen and she’s quickly shaking her head with a nervous laugh. “not that, baby, anything but that, she won’t let me live it down.”

“eating too much candy is bad for you, mommy.” she huffed and abby could already hear your voice in the back of her head when you once told her that your daughter huffs, pouts and frowns just like abby does.

“i birthed her, and she copies everything you do.”

“it is, but—”

“you have to be in good health to take me to the park and to see the ducks, you can’t eat any more candy.”

“oh, is that right?” abby laughed softly.

“yep, i say so.”

before abby could reply, both sets of ears perk up at the sound of the key sliding into the lock, and the jiggle of your key chains had abby smiling. “remember what we said?”

“tell mama we love her!” she cheered quietly and brushed away wispy bits of hair in her face with a grumble. “and keep the candy a secret?”

“exactly, we’re learning, baby.” abby laughed and kissed her head a final time.

you’ve barely stepped foot in the apartment when you feel a force against both your legs, and you smile tiredly when you look down to find your daughter snuggling her face against your pant-covered leg. “well, hello there, baby girl— what are you wearing?” you blinked, looking at her outfit, finally realizing. 

“i look like mommy!”

you notice the light shade of green cargo pants, similar to abby’s but not the exact same, and you bite back a laugh when your eyes peer up to the black long sleeve shirt; abby usually wears white or a light green, and to finally top it all off, you notice the braid. “it’s very neat, i remember doing yours for you.” you commented softly towards your wife.

“years of practice, babe.” abby winked at you before smiling. “what do you think? little mini me, huh?”

“you look very adorable, baby,” your smile widens when she giggles and wraps her arms around your leg again. “now, let me take a shower, change out of these clothes and then we can take some pictures for grandad.”

“grandpa!”

“you and dad spoil her way too much,” abby commented as she watched your daughter run back into the living room. “remember the day she was born and he bought her an entire dollhouse?”

“ah, yes, jerry did have good taste in dollhouses, wasn’t it pink and purple?”

“something like that,” abby nudged your shoulder with hers and kissed your cheek. “which reminds me, dad’s coming over next week, was on about helping me fix the broken sink in the bathroom.”

“may i remind you that you broke it.”

“it was an accident!”

“you rested on the sink, trying to do a push up, or whatever the excuse you used was, and broke it, abby.” you deadpanned and shook your head.

“just too strong, huh?”

“something like that—”

“mommy! peppa pig is on!” your daughter called from the living room, giggles falling from her seconds later.

abby’s eyes light up and quickly clears her throat when she spots you looking at her with a smirk. “what’s the face for? just us watching peppa pig together.”

“strong until it comes to our daughter.”

“It’s hard to say no to her, baby.”

“well you better practice because you’re gonna be the one to tell her that me and you are going on a small vacation next week and that she has to stay with jerry for the weekend.”

“me? babe, you’re kidding right? babe, babe, come back!”

[ikebanaka]

This is a very good point about the actual purpose of SecUnits as far as the company is concerned, but I think the previous points about assigning Murderbot to PresAux still stand for two main reasons.

First, the PresAux team was a survey team for a non Corporation Rim polity, so while most clients would have data worth mining, the Company was probably pretty sure the data they could get would have minimal worth. That's because as a freehold polity, they're not bound up in the same politics and corporate games as CR polities, so personal data would be largely irrelevant, and because the survey data they were picking up was already basically cleared (and not supposed to have anything valuable like alien remnants lying around)

So, it's a good bet that the Company didn't feel it was necessary to send their best spy units. Even a SecUnit with mediocre spying ability is capable of extracting anything of worth a backwater freehold polity might be doing or talking about, right?

But second, the security bond. The security bond for a goddamn planetary leader is sky high. If the Company fucks up the security part of this contract they are gonna hemorrhage money, from both the payout and from potential future clients deciding to take their money elsewhere. And her group wants to take the absolute bare minimum security you will give her! They even tried to argue their way out of that!

You can't just assign any random SecUnit to these chucklefucks. No, you gotta give them a SecUnit that has a really fucking good record of saving lives, even when saving lives isn't the priority. Maybe even a suspiciously good record. Because if that planetary leader dies? Again, you are gonna lose astronomical amounts of money. Remember, her security bond is high enough they sent an entire gunship to retrieve her, and that's when they thought they could stick everything on GreyCris. If the blame were solely on the Company? That is not the kind of money the Company seems likely to write off as a payout, or the kind of reputation hit it could just walk off.

So yeah, you're right that MB kinda sucks at the job the Company really wants it to do. Which is actually a bit funny, and something I hadn't thought of before. But it is very good at the job in its job description, and to me it seems like that happened to be what the Company actually needed it for this one time.

Murderbot has extracted clients from a 9% survivable situation. It consistently extracts people from absolute bullshit alive and intact. There has to be at least one person in the company that is losing their mind about specifically Murderbot turning out to be rogue and being sold off

[azzifuddfanpage]

so competitive

————

hi guys new fic! Thanks for the prompt: Smut since they are both so competitive, maybe like them competing to see who can get each other off faster or more?

2.5k words tw: hella smut

theme: competitive gfs

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Azzi reclined her seat as far as it went.

“No way you are actually going to sleep right now.” Paige huffed in disbelief reaching over and tugging at one of Azzi’s braids. 

“I told you, if you were gonna spend all your time talking to her tonight… you’re not getting nothing.” Azzi pouted, closing her eyes and angling herself so she was facing the window. 

Paige glanced away from the road to look at the lump beside her. 

“First of all, she was literally my trainer Azzi. Second of all, you know damn well you won’t last long, you know I always make you finish fast.” Paige teased, rubbing her hand along her thigh, listening to Azzi’s breath shift as it grew closer to where she needed her most. 

Azzi snorted, “wanna bet?” She said competitively, sizing her up as they pulled into the driveway of their dorm. 

“I bet I can make you finish faster.” Azzi said, grabbing Paige's hand and moving it upward so it was resting on her breast. 

Paige looked over, gulping as she could feel Azzi’s hardened nipple through the thin material of her tank top. 

Her lips curved into a smile as she let herself squeeze the fatty tissue a little, smirking as Azzi let out a breathy moan. 

“Oh trust me. I know I can make you finish first.” Paige said confidently, rubbing her finger over her nipple that was now poking through her  shirt. 

“Alright we will see about that.” Azzi said smartly, shoving Paige's hand away and climbing out of the car.

When they got up to the dorm, Paige shoved Azzi onto her bed, and locked the door behind them.

“Alright wait.” Azzi started, putting a finger against Paige's needy lips before she was able to go to work on her. “We need some ground rules.” She continued. “We can each make one move, we go for the same amount of time, and then we will see who cums first.” Azzi finished running her finger along Paige's bottom lip and  pulling it down gently. 

Paige licked her finger and sucked it into her mouth seductively, letting her cheeks hollow out as she bobbed up and down on it, coating it fully in her saliva. 

“Deal, but only cuz I know ur not gonna wanna wait.” Paige smirked, pulling her mouth off her finger and admiring it as it glistened in the light. 

Azzi felt her knees grow weak under her- no way was she gonna give in this soon.

“Alright- my turn.” Azzi said, sitting up in the bed so she was facing her. 

Azzi moved towards her, pushing her down so she was on the bed, she slid her hands under her shirt and felt herself come in contact with her hardened nipples. 

“No bra huh?” Azzi teased, rolling one under her fingers, watching as Paige's eyes rolled back. 

“Take it off Paigey.” She whispered in her ear. 

Paige almost gave in but remembered how worth it would be to win….

“Hey no, it’s my turn now, you touching me was your turn.” Paige said, shoving Azzi’s hands away from her, fighting the bubbling urges in her panties. 

“Bruh.” Azzi said irritably, glaring at Paige as she smirked at her. 

“Don’t bruh me, princess.” She said, leaning over her and sucking on the sweet spot on her neck. 

“You know I know you better than anyone baby.” Paige said in between sucks, placing soft kisses along her jawline.

“Wild you would even wanna make a bet wit me when you know what I can do to you.” She paused, pulling the collar of Azzi’s shirt lower so she could press a kiss lower on her neck. “The way I can make you moan like no one else is in the dorm.” then another one over her clavicle. 

“The way I-“ Azzi squirmed under Paige, cutting her off. 

“Alright alright- times up.” She said laughing at the way Paige's eyes were completely dilated for her and her a trial of spit was connecting to her chest. 

Azzi ran her fingers through paige’s hair, trying to forget the need that was building in her core, and she hovered her lips over paige’s, watching as paige puckered hers for her so needily. 

Azzi smirked, giving in and mushing their lips together, letting her tongue slide out and run over Paige's lip begging for entry. 

Paige obliged, letting her lips part gently so Azzi could slide her tongue in and massage it against Paige's. 

The sounds of their wet tongues working against each other filled the air.

Azzi was so turned on, she couldn’t even think straight, unintentionally moving her leg which just happened to be between paige’s. 

Her knee dug into Paige's crotch, and Paige let out a sharp moan at the unexpected pressure on her clothed pussy. 

“Fuck” paige groaned, letting herself grind down on Azzi’s thigh for a moment, before regrettably pulling off. 

“Only one thing I said-“ Paige growled wrapping her hand teasingly around Azzi’s throat- gently so she wouldn’t hurt her.” Azzi smirked under her, proud of how worked up she was.

“Paige moved her hand down and let it travel down to her waist band, and moved her finger letting it rub against the edge, traveling her fingers down the seam. 

“Need you to be a good girl az and follow the rules.” Paige said, watching as Azzi’s head lulled back as Paige's fingers grazed over her clothed center. 

“Fuck.” Azzi groaned. 

Paige smirked, noticing azzis reaction, clearing a mixture of the added pressure and her words. 

“You like that baby.” Paige tested, moving her lips down so they were pressing into her lower stomach above her waist band. 

“You like it when I tell you how good you are, pretty girl?” She asked, running her fingers up and down Azzi’s inner thighs.

“Fuck paige, you feel so good.” Azzi moaned, feeling Paige's words go directly into her core. 

“I know baby- you like it when I talk to you like this don’t you.” She started, moving her fingers back up over her pussy, and back to the waist band to toy with it. 

Azzi was about to surrender, give in to the praise, but pulled herself away. 

“You really didn’t think you would win that easily.” Azzi laughed as Paige's fingers danced  at the distance between them, needing to be against Azzi’s heat.

Azzi straddled Paige, letting herself grind down on her, rubbing her clothed pussy against Paige's.

Paige let out a shaken breath as Azzi moved her hips.

Azzi smirked at Paige's needy reactions, grabbing her knee and propping it up so their legs were interwoven together and they were practically riding each other.

“Fuck- love it when you touch me like that pretty.” Paige groaned as the breath she was holding released.

Azzi felt herself melt under Paige's words. 

She whined a little, blushing as Paige's glossy eyes scanned over her.

“Shit you really like it when I baby you don’t you.” Paige tested, moving her hands so they were preventing Azzi from grinding against her pussy, but instead onto her hand. 

“You fucking slut.” Paige laughed as she could feel her wetness through the tight material of Azzi’s leggings. 

“You’re such a sucker for praise aren’t you baby.” Paige said, rubbing her fingers against Azzi’s heat, listening as Azzi moaned loudly. 

Paige chuckled, grabbing at Azzi’s back and pulling her closer to her chest, whispering into her ear, “you can give in whenever baby- lemme feel you.” 

Azzi let out another moan, feeling the wetness between her thighs increase. 

Azzi nodded reluctantly, letting Paige pull off her pants.

“Your turn.” She said, stubbornly.

Paige smirked, 

“Only one who can touch me pretty.” She teased, pulling off her pants and boxers so she was completely naked.

Azzi moaned at the sight of her naked cunt.

“Wanna taste you so bad.” Azzi whined under her gaze.

“I know baby- why don’t you just be a good girl for mommy and let me win and then you can taste me all you want.” 

Azzi rolled her eyes defiantly, even though all she wanted to do was feel Paige's sopping cunt against her lips. 

Paige leaned forward placing her hand against the soft flesh of Azzi’s pussy, gently running it through her folds.

She pulled her fingers back, separating them in front of Azzi’s face, letting her watch as the cum dripped down in front of them. 

“I know no one makes you like I do.” Paige smirked, moving the fingers towards Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi obliged, sucking down on them, moaning as she tasted herself on Paige's fingers.

Paige smirked as Azzi ran her tongue over them, flicking it against her, letting her spit spill down the side of Paige's finger.

Paige made eye contact with her, focusing on her movements, and bringing her spit coated finger to her own mouth, sucking it gently.

Azzi moaned, watching her.

Paige smirked, grabbing her hips and grinding her down against her bare clit. 

Both girls let out a loud moan at the contact, moaning as their pussies melded together. 

Paige’s hips bared down on Azzi’s, feeling as their clits pushed together.

“You feel so good baby.” Paige whined, applying more pressure to Azzi’s hips so she was rubbing against her at a harder angle.

Azzi replied with a gentle moan, feeling their slick grow between them.

“Turn around.” Paige said confidently, stopping herself from grinding into Azzi. 

Azzi was confused, her hips hovering over Paige's, desperate for more contact.

“I’m not gonna say it again. Turn around.” Paige ordered softly, moving her hands so Azzi could turn around on her.

“Now we really will see who finishes first.” Paige said teasingly, running her fingers against Azzi’s ass which was now in her face. 

Azzi moaned, realizing what Paige was trying to do.

She looked in front of her at Paige's throbbing cunt. 

She backed herself up, inching her own pussy up to Paige's mouth, feeding it to her, as she bent down to lick at Paige's. 

Paige let out a moan at the contact, sending a rush of cool air into Azzi’s cunt.

Paige grubbed at Azzi’s hips as Azzi’s lips attached around her soaking clit. 

Paige moaned loudly into azzi, running her fingers against her core, pressing a kiss at her entrance.

Azzi felt the warmth of Paige's tongue against her hole, leaning forward she ran her fingers through Paige's slick as her tongue flicked against her clit.

Paige, behind her, followed her every movement, puppeting what she did and attacking her pussy with her mouth.

Paige shook her head against her, letting her tongue wiggle against her pussy, feeling Azzi squirm under her.

Paige slipped her tongue inside Azzi, feeling around her warm cervix, as she separated her ass with her hands.

Azzi moaned into her clit, causing Paige to speed up, thrusting her tongue in and out of Azzi.

“Fuck I love it when you touch me like that.” Azzi whined, running her fingers against Paige, and slipping them into her hole to keep up with Paige's motions.

Paige's legs spread farther apart at the contact, feeling Azzi thrust against her. She moaned, sending vibrations through Azzi’s cunt. 

Azzi felt herself getting worked up, the feeling of paige fucking into her, causing her to push harder agaisnt paige, driving her fingers deeper into her.

Paige moaned, speeding up her own pace, fucking her tongue into her harshly, and moving her thumb to massage her clit. 

Neither of them would cum until the other did. 

“Fuck I honestly don’t know if I can hold it much longer.” Azzi said disappointedly, not wanting to lose, but the pressure against her clit, feeling of Paige's tongue hitting deep against her walls, and the taste of Paige's cum was all too much for her.

“Fuck me either baby.” Paige responded, her breath coming out in gasps as she pulled her tongue out and lapped up some of the cum that was spilling out.

Before Azzi could catch her breath, and focus on pleasing Paige, Paige's fingers dove back into her, thrusting into her with such speed that Azzi’s fingers gripped at Paige's walls to stabilize herself, hitting her g spot as she did.

Paige moaned, feeling her walls tighten as her fingers pounded into Azzi’s pussy.

Azzi could feel Paige tighten around her fingers, it getting harder to thrust in and out. 

Paige sped up to get Azzi to the same place, her cunt sucking in her fingers graciously. 

Paige pulled away to look at the way Azzi’s cunt absorbed Paige's fingers, sucking them in with every thrust, the squelching sounds of their fingers diving into one another, filling the air.

As Paige let out a yelp feeling her cum start to ooze out of her, Azzi’s legs started to shake with an overpowering orgasm of her own. Paige moaned, thrusting her fingers hard against her, Azzi’s too working hard.

Both girls released at the same time, fucking the cum out of each other.

Paige removed her hand from Azzi’s cunt, using her mouth to lick the cum up from her, savoring every last drop. 

Azzi followed suit, slurping up the white syrup that had poured out of the girl moments before. 

They lay there for a moment, catching their breath, Azzi’s ass still in Paige's face, and her face lying against her pelvic bone, hovering dangerously close to her aggravated cunt.

Paige let out a laugh. “Well I guess we are both just too damn stubborn to have a winner.” She paused. “I guess we will have to settle for a draw.” 

Azzi laughed. “I don’t know, felt like you might have came a little before I did.” She teased. Paige smacked her ass gently, pulling her off her so she was lying next to her.

“Whatever, at least I’m not the one with the praise kink, “good girl”.” Paige teased as Azzi’s face turned a shade of red.

Paige traced over her dimples as Azzi smiled bashfully.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, or you wouldn’t even have had a chance.” 

“Ya right, p, you were moaning just as I was.” 

They returned into a heap of giggles, and Azzi snuggled up against her, laying her head over her chest, tracing her name into her stomach.

“Even though I beat you, I know you still make me cum really well. So don’t let this L make you feel insecure.” Azzi said quietly. 

Paige laughed, shoving her head playfully. “Yeah alright big head, rematch tomorrow and we will see who’s talking then.” Paige teased, nuzzling herself against her and letting the night wash over her. 

[truelovepolinator]

Why I'm So Sure It's Luke

I've been pretty quiet here for a while. Much of that is because of the state of the world. I had a bit of a deep spiral last weekend about things happening in my country.

And I confess that the FB comment and funeral hubbub sent me into a corresponding (though temporary) Lukola spiral to which I was doubtless more vulnerable due to my already depressed state. Did I really have to lose my daily dopamine drip (aka, Lukola) just when I needed it most?

Short answer: Absolutely not.

I had already started to pull myself out of my Lukola spiral by Monday (the other spiral is still very deep), and video and photos of Nic that emerged on Tuesday and Wednesday shored me up until I was back to effing rock solid.

I often see things I don't agree with, even on the blogs of folks with whom I usually agree, and I simply move on most of the time. I don't comment. I feel no need to argue with people in their own blogs. In friendly spaces, I'll sometimes share counter opinions because I believe respectful dialogue and debate are important — and have all but disappeared in this era of instant blocks. And we all want to share information and opinions that help us fine tune our perspectives.

But if they're clearly dug into an opinion that I view as wildly wrong, there's little value for me in arguing with them. Let them think what they want. It's not my job to change anyone's mind.

The jakola takes are the easiest to ignore for obvious reasons. I've written extensively about JD's role in Nicola's life and there's no need to do so here. (Feel free to read my other posts if you need clarity around N & J's non-romantic relationship.)

Instead, the takes I find the most frustrating are from the Lukolas who have lost hope, the so-called "realistic" ones who think that we "just have to accept that they're not together," and maybe even that "Luke is with Ant."

To this, I respectfully say, we absolutely do not have to accept any such thing because the evidence is fully on our side.

Truth be told, I suspect I'm most vexed by these posts because I used to be one of those "realists." In late summer/early autumn, I had fallen victim to the fake narratives created by the paparazzi shots of both Nic and Luke, all designed to imply a certain narrative without either of them actually saying those things were true. I always believed NicLuke belonged together. However, I reluctantly accepted that "I guess Luke is probably seeing her" and "not sure about that guy, but the photos of Nic and him do look cozy."

I understand the impulse to surrender. It's so hard to have faith, to keep believing in something when there's an apparent narrative being constructed in the public eye that tells you you're wrong. It's painful (and feels delulu) to keep believing when you've been let down repeatedly by pap photos you assume are true.

It's very easy to accept a false narrative if you don't have the energy to dig in and really pay attention to all the signs and information available when you look for it. (This is true on the world stage as well, and we should all think very critically about the stories we're being told, but I digress.)

I wrote extensively and in gory detail about how and why I'm so sure about Lukola in my blog post "Nicola and Luke Are Absolutely Together...," which I'll link here for anyone who wants persuasion or reassurance. I won't rehash all of that here, but I do want to touch on a handful of milestones & crumbs, many of which are recent, that make me quite sure about Luke being the man in Nicola's life.

One of the recent assertions I saw was that we need to let go of the significance of the Claddagh ring. (I'm not putting anyone on blast. I can't even remember who said this, and I think it was someone I like, so no offense.) But I could not disagree with this more.

Claddagh rings are worn to represent relationship status more than anything. Yes, they can be given in friendship, but the orientation of the ring on the wearer's finger is fundamental to understanding the ring. Only someone with no connection whatsoever to its heritage or meaning would throw it on willy nilly in any direction they pleased.

Not everyone follows the rules closely. I wore mine for years, on my left ring finger, heart down when I was free, heart up when I was taken. I only stopped wearing it when I replaced it with my engagement ring. (Obviously, I was not following the traditional 4 steps.)

Some wear it just on a single hand, whichever they choose. Some might wear it just while single (even engaged), then replace it when married. Some use it to indicate engagement and marriage when that time comes, others focus solely on taken or not. Admittedly, not everyone follows every step closely.

However, Nicola is from Galway where the ring originated. She is deeply proud of her Irish heritage. There is no chance she would put that ring on any finger with the heart pointing toward her heart unless her heart was taken.

Now, let's remember that she picked that ring up while she was in Galway during the World Tour. She modeled that ring in Chupi photographs, with the heart pointing up (heart taken) wearing the same outfit she wore to the screening. The same screening where she hugged her mother to within an inch of her life, then introduced her mom to Luke. That was the most tearful, emotional intro I've ever seen between a guy and his platonic co-worker's mom, huh?

Hypothetically, could her heart have been taken by someone else at that stage? Well, do you really think a secret significant other — who was important enough to warrant a "heart taken" ring orientation — would be okay with Nicola not only getting the ring while she's physically with Luke (and flirting heavily), but also making that showy, deeply emotional introduction between her mother and Luke? If you were her secret, non-Luke SO, would you be okay with it?

There is literally no chance.

Chupi told us that ring was to commemorate Season 3 of Bridgerton. Again, would a secret, non-Luke SO be fine with her wearing a ring that symbolizes her Polin season with Luke as a symbol of this secret, non-Luke SO's love?

I won't even bother digging into the symbolism of the rings on the hands, but say it were true that she just wanted it to commemorate a special season. If her heart weren't taken, that ring on her finger would have pointed down. She told us the moment those photos were snapped that her heart was taken, and logic tells us that, at that moment in time, it could only have belonged to Luke.

Since then, lots of things have happened. There were pap photos galore, all telling a very different story, right? Again, it's very easy to accept a false narrative when it's spoon fed to you. But gosh, wouldn't those pap photos also provide excellent cover for two people in love, possibly nesting together, who also wanted to keep their love very, very private?

I talk a lot more about this in the above linked blog (and others) and I'm not going to tackle it here. If you don't want to believe it, that's your prerogative, but if you're curious about whether it could possibly be true, I encourage you to have a read.

So set aside the adjacents for now and focus exclusively on our girl Nic. What we know is that she wore that ring consistently through the summer and early fall, on her right hand, heart pointing up (heart taken). Then, in October, she switched it to her left hand.

Again, not everyone follows every traditional Claddagh step, but Nicola is a Galway Girl. If she's been wearing it consistently on the right, then suddenly switches it to the left where she continues to keep it consistently, she's not oblivious to the meaning of that switch. That switch is deeply significant.

Remember, the left hand is traditionally the hand where it's worn to indicate engagement (heart down) and marriage (heart up). And when she switched, she kept the heart pointing up.

Does that absolutely mean she's married? No. As always, we don't know any of them personally, so we can't say for sure. But simple, not-a-reach logic tells us that the way she's worn that ring is significant.

With that ring, Nicola has told us in no uncertain terms that she is in a significant, committed relationship (possibly engaged or married since October). And she's been in that relationship (or at least committed in her heart to that relationship) consistently since at least June (really, late April/early May when she commissioned it).

Will we ever know exactly what happened last summer while she and Luke were apart (Sorrento, Spain, Malta, etc.)? No, we won't — and frankly it’s none of our business (as curious as we may be).

But we know that Nicola's heart was taken by the same person throughout. Because logically, would she really have been so into Luke in June when all of the above happened (commission, putting it on, meeting mom)... then break it off... then, by October, find a new person to be so committed to switch her ring to the left hand? The math just doesn't math on that one.

It was Luke in June and it was Luke in October. And she's still wearing that ring in the same direction as of Wednesday night. So yes, it's still Luke.

But I promised you more recent hints and crumbs to support my certainty. Honestly, @frantastical has this stuff so magnificently catalogued that you really should check out that incredibly comprehensive "Multitude of Morsels" if you haven't already.

Still, here's a small handful of (by no means comprehensive) things I've seen with my own eyes in just the last month that have told me I'm sitting in exactly the right restaurant on exactly the right ship:

New Pink News story posted with an old quote (that would have been approved by Nic's team) where Nicola says, "That's all I want, is the girls and the gays. And Luke."

Both Ryan Wheeler and Shondaland openly shipping Lukola ("get married for real")

Nic's year-end photo dump threaded through with Luke, both directly and indirectly

Luke's year-end photo dump threaded through with Nic

Even one of Nic’s Doctor Who photos, which isn't associated with Bridgerton at all, managed to nod at Luke

Video clip re-emerges of the Featherington women giggling when Bessie teases, "Well, two people fell in looove, I gueeessss," then they all giggle and agree that they can't say who

Both of them unaccounted for over Christmas and New Year's (days that are usually spent with significant others) while the adjacents were both accounted for on both holidays

Old story somehow emerges in which Nicola says Luke makes everything better, and Luke says about the "friends to lovers" story that "that's what happened to us when we met." (I'm probably slightly paraphrasing, but close enough.)

Nicola turns up with a tan

Luke turns up with a tan

Luke comes online very briefly, just long enough to congratulate Nic on her SAG nomination, cheering on his queen, and then he's gone

Nicola posts a birthday photo that appears to be a cozy dinner for two with several hints of Luke, most notably the red and yellow flowers (red is for love; most people focused on yellow being for friendship, and I think that's true, but I also very much think it's for Polin. And either way, "friends to lovers" or "love and Polin," those flowers say Luke.)

Luke likes a Jack Rooke post about Big Boys. Bearing in mind that JR is one of Nicola's longstanding, closest friends, this clearly suggests Luke is getting to know him

Nicola swoops in to distract from last weekend's mess with a new, obviously staged pap drop (based on weather, likely from a while in the past and kept on hand for when it was needed), once again protecting Luke and his family

And then there are a handful of crumbs and hints that point to something else that I've been reluctant to talk about. I still won't get into it here, but I will say that there are definitely recent things that are suggesting to me a very specific, very happy story. These include:

ETA: Photo of Nic with two Dunkin drinks & two straws (drinking for two?)

"Shit Stirrer" tee-shirt, holding shirt just so with photo cropped very particularly (who exactly is the shit stirrer in that photo?)

"May your 2025 be as happy as this potato made me" (which potato?)

Video with the hot water bottle

Big Boys (clearly wearing the ring)

And that is literally all I will say about that. But let's just remember that all of this has taken place while Nicola continues to wear that Claddagh ring on her left hand, pointed toward her heart. Even in those silly pap photos with Jake from Monday.

The only times we've seen her without it were when she wore special, fancy jewelry for events (showy hand jewelry that she could prominently display by placing her hands in front of her stomach instead of on her waist or hips). Every other time, it's either there or her hands are (perhaps intentionally) hidden.

Doubtless some "realistic Lukolas" will read this and say, "But you're ignoring all the photos of Jake and obvious proof of how close they are."

To which I reply, "Yes, I am." Because I've written loads about that relationship, what it is, why it is so heavily documented, and what they each get out of it (other than friendship). Again, if you want to know more, feel free to read my blog. But those photos mean nothing to me because I understand the truth that lies beneath them. I have absolutely nothing against Jake. I think he's been a good friend to Nic, but that's all he is.

Meanwhile, we've seen nary a peep from Luke except to cheer on his girl, and going back a bit further, that very happy looking S4 selfie with Nic. Has anyone ever noticed how much more he smiles with Nicola than anyone else? His actual smile ratio with Nic compared to literally anyone else is off the charts.

So, yeah, it's Luke all the way. I don't know for sure when it started (might tackle that in a different blog), and I'm not sure how many times they've pressed the on/off button before locking in, but I absolutely believe they are fully locked in now. The evidence is everywhere.

As always, I say these two things. First, we know nothing for sure until Nic or Luke or both of them together make it absolutely, incontrovertibly clear to us. So could I be wrong? Yes, it's certainly possible. If I'm wrong, I'll admit it, and I admit right now that I will be heartbroken. I'm not going to front about this. But I don't think I'm wrong.

Second, you are very free to draw different conclusions. However, if you wish to do so, I invite you to consider the evidence as presented first. Especially if you've given up the ship because you're afraid to believe.

Have no fear, Lukolas. The evidence is on your side.

[clappingandcheering]

(Percy Jackson X Reader)

"New Feeling"

Warnings: Smut, pure smut, no protection (always use protection; this is a story), teasing, rubbing, overstimulation (ish), chocking, first time squirting, mentions of piss (but not actually piss). I think that's all? This is technically my second smut so I hope it's good...

Percy has always driven you crazy, making you die with want and need, but tonight you were getting the worst of it. He had gotten scolded by some God you couldn't remember, and he wanted to vent it out somehow. You were his 'how'.

Percy was now using one hand to keep your head pushed into the pillow while the other held your waist, guiding you slicked pussy onto his dick. Your moans were muffled by the pillow that consisted of both your drool and tears; your flushed face and dazed eyes were enough for Percy to cum right then and there, so he had to keep you pressed into the pillow so he could continue to wreck your perfect body.

"Being such a good fucking girl for me, hmm?" His voice was laced with lust and mock as he thrust into you relentlessly, sending shivers down your marked and bruised spine, the praise making your pussy clench harder around him. "Fucking liked that, didn't you? like being called a good girl, don't you?"

All you could do was moan in response—even that was hard with the pillow, but you managed. His pace was even, and his stokes were hitting all your right spots as they stuffed you to the brim and then left you empty again, his veiny dick making your brain fuzzy.

He wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you back so you were pressed against him. He marked your neck while mumbling your name, Oh, so deliciously, leaving you in complete bliss and awe. His hand tightened and left you with little to no air, but under the circumstances it was more like no air; his thrust picked up their pace, and your pussy clenched at the feeling before you blacked out and went limp. Percy continued to ravage your body as he let go of your throat and pressed kisses on your neck, using his hands to support you while you half came back from the lack of oxygen.

"Percy, I can't...too—fuck—much."

He continued pressing kisses into her neck and moving a hand down to her clit rubbing it with the perfect amount of pressure. Your squeals and whines filled his ears, beckoning him to continue while your hand made weak attempts to push him away after sensing a new feeling in your stomach, one that you've never felt before.

"Percy—stop—I think I'm going to pee—wait!" Your hands desperately clawed at his in an attempt to stop him from rubbing your clit.

"Just do it—beds already messy." He was right on the edge of cumming his mind way to far with lust to even think properly and form a proper sentence; his words were slurred and you could barely register them.

All of a sudden he pushed into her deeper, chasing his high, but the foreign feeling in her stomach suddenly snapped with the movement, and with a loud squeal that was only just dimmed by Percy's other hand, your pussy squirted all over the sheets and Percy's dick.

Percy's thrusts faltered, and he groaned into her neck after seeing what happened. He stopped his hand and moved it up to her breast, groping them before slowly sliding out of her, trying not to overwhelm her too much.

"Shit—what was that? Are you okay?"

Your pussy was throbbing and still raised in the air while the clear liquid ran down your leg along with his cum.

"You...prick!..I told you I was gonna pee..." He shook his head breathlessly and then rubbed her ass gently in a comforting way.

"Don't know if that was piss, baby." Your face contorted to confusion as you attempted to sit up and turn to lean your back against the headboard.

"What do you mean?" He shrugged and then spread your legs, going down and licking a long, smooth stripe while you let out a moan and weakly attempted to push him away.

"Not piss!" You frowned and then pushed his head away.

"Freak." She crossed her arms.

"Whatever you say, but that was hot as fuck, and I definitely want to see it again." His smirk was way too confident considering you were worn the fuck out.

You guys went another round before heading to bed.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I No UD AU I SFW I Aged Up Characters I Fluff

I have no idea how many words this is, I banged it out right here in the Tumblr app. I was possessed by a demon, I think. Anyway! Behold! Baker!Eddie and Smitten!Steve for your viewing pleasure...

***

"Sir? Your drink."

Steve, startled back into the moment, blinks at the barista as she holds out his latte. He takes it from her, apologizes, and starts to walk away but...

"Sorry again, but, uh, is that Eddie Munson by any chance?"

She turns to look through the pass through window into the bakery. "Yeah. Why? You need him for something?"

"No!" He winces. "Sorry. No. I just haven't seen him in years. We went to high school together. I had no idea he worked here."

She smiles like she's placating him, 'fascinating' that smile says. "He's the owner, actually. His brownies are world famous."

"No shit? That's awesome. Good for him."

He doesn't get a response to that, so he leaves her alone to finish making other people's coffees.

What a weird coincidence, Steve moving to this neighborhood and finding...well, not an old friend exactly, but a fellow Hawkins High survivor.

***

Two days later, Steve is still thinking about Eddie. His goofy hairnet, the flour dusted up his arms, the adorable apron, decorated with skulls, of course. His smile. With the dimples and everything.

"Ugh."

He's gonna go back. Probably make a complete ass of himself.

"Ugh!"

Maybe he'll go just for another look. Eddie won't even notice he's there.

***

He doesn't get a chance to sneak in and out, Eddie himself greets Steve as soon as the bell goes off above the door.

"Steve Harrington is the mystery alumni?! Can't believe you saw my ugly mug and decided to come back. Wait..." He raises a suspicious eyebrow. "Are you stalking me?"

Steve sputters in horror, feeling caught out, but Eddie just laughs at him, throwing his head back, sending his already loose bun jiggling. Steve breaks into a nervous sweat.

"I'm just fucking with you, man. Come here, let me get a look at you."

Jesus Christ, why is this more nerve wracking than buying pot off the guy behind the school?

Because now you're aware of the reason why he flustered you in the first place, dumb ass.

He steps up to the display counter anyway, trying to be unobtrusive to the people in line. "Hey, Eddie. How are you?"

His smile could lure people into the fucking ocean. "Livin' the dream. You? What brings you to Chi Town?"

"Oh, I just moved in a couple doors down, actually. This neighborhood is great. Super friendly, great shopping, cool bakeries." He motions around them.

Eddie gives him an 'Aw shucks' wave. "You're just saying that because Lilly's salted caramel latte is to die for. You haven't even tried the other wares."

He glances down at the glass case. Normally he doesn't do sweets for breakfast but Eddie's 'wares' do look pretty good. "I hear your brownies are world famous."

His eyes light up, despite how cool about it he's trying to be. "I mean, we were featured on a British travel show... No biggie."

"That's really cool, man. Congratulations."

He casually wipes at the counter with a tea towel, the epitome of nonchalant. "Thanks. You wanna try one?"

"Sure." He glances at the selection but there are so many and they all look good. "Recommend anything in particular?"

Eddie bounces on his toes for a second before whirling around and rushing off to the back. His hair is pinned up in that bun but Steve remembers how it used to trail behind him when he moved, as though working with Looney Toons physics.

When he reappears, he's got a wax paper bundle clutched between two hands. "Voila! Salty Turtle Dog."

"Salty Turtle Dog?" Steve confirms, moving to take the thing from Eddie's presenting hands.

At the last second he pulls back. "You're not allergic to nuts, are you?"

There's a joke there but he's not ready to make it. "Not so far, no."

"Cool." He allows Steve to finally take it from him.

The unwrapped package is still steaming warm. It's been a really long time since he's had a fresh out of the oven brownie. He pinches a bite off with his fingers and pops it into his mouth.

"Oh my god," he groans, head rolled back in pleasure. It's like crispy, gooey, salty, caramel heaven. "What the fuck did you put in this?"

"Blood of a virgin. And walnuts."

"I'll take the whole pan." He shoves another bite into his mouth before he looks up to see Eddie watching him, a pleasant smile upon his face and a bit of color on his cheeks. Embarrassment rolls through him as he realizes he's been moaning like a cat in heat for the last half minute. He rushes to save some sort of face. "It's good. Really good."

"Thanks." He calls out to the new girl making coffee orders, getting Steve another latte. "The secret ingredient is actually the flakey salt on top."

He looks down and sure enough, flakey salt on top. "Neat."

"You working nearby? I'm not usually in during the lunch rush but you could always stop by. We do sandwiches for the lunch menu."

"Nah, I'm Uptown. About fifteen stops." Unfortunately, he thinks, desperately wanting another excuse to stop by. He'd already checked, they close at 3pm. He doesn't get off till 5.

Eddie nods, wiping at the counter again, though it's not dirty. "Doing what?" He looks Steve up and down, noting the button up shirt and khaki pants.

Steve cannot tell Eddie Munson he does data entry, he'll never want to talk to him again. "Uh, boring office shit. Tell me about this," he waves around the bakery, "how did you get into it? Baking."

That makes him laugh. "By accident. You remember my...side gig?"

"Of course." The first time he had to buy directly from Eddie, after he and Tommy parted ways, Steve nearly chickened out, he was so scared of Eddie.

Turns out fear wasn't exactly the thing churning in his gut.

"Well, I got curious one night, thought I might try my hand at edibles. Sounded like a safer option to be transporting around school, ya know? I started small, chocolate chip cookies, but eventually I started branching out, brownies, cake, whatever. And they were a huge hit. My friends actually loved it so much we made the classic mistake of eating too many in one sitting. I'm talkin' like a whole pan in an hour-"

Steve winces in sympathy.

"Yeah. Long story short, I met the devil that night and he pointed out to me that I could, in fact, make baked goods without the weed. Ya know, brownies for eating purposes."

Steve giggles against his will. "Helpful."

"Right? And now here I am, ten years later, averaging four hours of sleep a day, but really, truly livin' the dream."

"That's really cool." Steve has always been attracted to people who have passion. Probably because he hasn't been passionate about anything in his entire life. "You should really try to work on your sleep schedule though. I learned that the hard way during school."

"I'd love to but it's impossible. I'm too much of a night owl to sleep at night and I have to be here at 4am, so I'm usually crashing out after work and sleeping till 2 or 3pm."

"Aww, that sucks. If we lived together, we'd never go to bed at the same time."

It occurs almost immediately that that's an insane thing to say to a virtual stranger. Eddie is frozen solid behind the counter, eyes taking up forty percent of his face, silent as the grave.

Steve turns tail and marches right out of the shop.

***

He swears an oath to never return to Eddie's shop, on pain of death, but then he remembers he left half his brownie sitting on the counter and left his latte too. Without paying! The embarrassment is overshadowed by the guilt, so much so that when Saturday morning rolls around he finds himself standing outside on the sidewalk, waiting until he gets confirmation that Eddie is there to go in.

He is, passing back and forth across the kitchen window behind the counter, bobbing his head wildly to some unheard music.

Steve desperately wants to get to know this version of Eddie, so similar but so different to his high school self. Maybe he'll forgive Steve for being such a weirdo and they can be friends. Eddie doesn't seem the type to hold a social faux pas against a guy. He once made a giant dick out of paper mache in Advanced Art. They made him destroy it before Steve got a look but he heard all about it. Five feet tall, they said. Veiny, they said.

He shakes the thought away and steels his spine. Now or never.

The bell dings above his head. He waits. Nothing dire happens. Eddie doesn't leap out from the kitchen, pointing a finger and screaming 'Creep!' Not that Steve thought he would... But you never knew.

"Hello. What can I get for you?" The barista greets, pleasant but by rote.

"Umm. Salted caramel latte? Medium. And, uh, whatever brownie Eddie recommends."

She gives him a look, confused, before something clicks. "Ohhh." She then turns and shouts, "Eddie, your guy is here!"

Steve goes to correct that horrific statement but the loud clattering of a metal bowl hitting the floor cuts him off. Eddie swears, loudly, before his head pops around the pass through.

"I didn't say that," he frantically tells Steve, "she said that. Not me. Dana! Don't say shit like that."

"What? I thought you said-"

"If you finish that sentence, his order comes out of your paycheck."

She scowls. "Whatever." Her scowl doesn't lessen when she turns back to him. "Was that all?"

Steve glances up at Eddie in the window. "Brownie?" He asks, articulately.

"Get him a Valencia." He turns back to the kitchen, only to pop up again a second later, sans hairnet, and ask, "You got five minutes?"

Steve will hang out all day if Eddie asks, but he can't say that. "Sure. I'll be over there." He points towards the window seats.

"Cool. Be right back."

Steve pays and takes his latte and his not fresh out of the oven brownie and moves to the aforementioned table. It's after the morning rush so there are only a few other people scattered around. The closest person is a student doing homework, and thankfully has headphones on. He's pretty sure whatever conversation Eddie wants to have is going to be embarrassing.

His hours old Valencia brownie is still to die for, tangy this time but soft as hell. If Eddie lets him come back he's gonna get as big as a house.

He's halfway through his breakfast when Eddie flops down across from him. He's lost the apron this time too, looking sexy as hell in just a regular black t-shirt and jeans. Still every inch a rockstar even if he's not shredding a guitar. And he's got a little smudge of batter across one cheek... God...

"Hi. Thanks for sticking around."

"No problem. I'm off today."

"Right. Saturday."

"Right."

They stare at each other, painfully awkward, until they both make it worse by trying to speak at the same time.

"I'm sorry about-"

"What did you mean-"

"Oh, sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. You go."

"No, you, seriously."

Steve slaps both hands over his face and whisper shouts until he feels like he's not gonna run out the door again.

"You know what?" Eddie quips. "It's not important right now. How's the brownie?"

He's so sweet. God dammit.

"Really good. Is it orange? Is that what the crunchy bits are?"

"Yeah, candied orange. How's the latte?"

He hesitates a second too long and Eddie cracks a laugh.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't fire someone for being straight but I swear they can't work a milk steamer for shit. I can't prove it yet but I know it's true."

Holy shit, the implications of that... There were rumors about Eddie in school, of course, but you had to take everything said about him with a grain of salt. Just because he's implying that he's queer doesn't mean he's single or that he's open to dating Steve in particular. He decides to focus on the other implication.

"So Lilly is queer? Is she single? I've got a lesbian I desperately need to get laid."

Eddie snorts. "Oh yeah? Wait a minute. Buckley? Holy shit, you still talk to her?"

"Talk to her? I just left her on the couch eating an entire sleeve of my Oreos." He sips his mediocre latte and grunts in annoyance. "If she doesn't get over Penelope soon I'm gonna stage an intervention."

"Oh no..." Eddie makes a face.

"What?

"Penelope Williams? Works at the stationary shop on Ashford?"

What the hell? "Yeah? How did you know?"

"Lilly is on her second date with her tonight." He winces even harder, as if it's somehow all his fault.

Steve just laughs. "Why does every lesbian in a five hundred mile radius know each other?"

"Witchcraft, probably. Ouija boards?"

He pops the last of his brownie into his mouth and nods. It's as valid a reason as anything else. He decides to keep the news of Penelope moving on already to himself. Rob just stopped sobbing into his neck three days ago, and he's been waiting on her to feel better before he tells her about Eddie.

"You think if I had Rob come over and put the moves on Dana, she'd make a better latte?"

Eddie cackles. "Couldn't hurt to try."

They smile at each other. It doesn't feel weird, it feels nice, like they can do this, be friendly. Or it would've been if Eddie didn't open his mouth and blurt out, "Did you mean what you said the other day?"

Steve throws his head back and groans. When he looks back, Eddie is waiting patiently for a response. "I'm sorry, okay? Sometimes my brain to mouth filter is busted."

"No, it's cool." He waves Steve's explanation like it's nothing. "I meant, like, was that meant to sound like...what it sounded like?"

Steve cocks his head. He's not sure how else what he said could be interpreted. Like, did Eddie think he was obsessed with sharing a bedtime with Robin too?

He catches Steve's confusion, leans in and whispers, "I just didn't think that was...an option for you..."

"Ohhh," he drawls. Right. "Yeah. Uh," he looks around to make sure no one is listening in, "I'm open to all kinds of...options."

He watches as Eddie processes this, does a frankly upsetting amount of lip licking, and then looks up from between his lashes. "And the thing your brain didn't filter was me being one of those options?"

Fuck. It was embarrassing right up until this exact moment, Eddie looking at him like that. He feels his throat constrict as he tries to swallow.

"Is that okay?" He whispers.

They're leaning really fucking close together - Eddie smells like cinnamon and Camels - so whispering to stay inconspicuous is stupid at this point. Neither of them seem to care.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie draws his name out long and meaningful, as though that's answer enough. Steve supposes it is, coupled with the look he's sharing.

"Five minutes ago."

"What time do you get off?" Eddie practically twinkles at him. Steve groans. "Oh my god, what time do you get off work?"

"Oh." Steve chugs the dregs of his adequate latte. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Not to your place if Robin is still on the couch."

Steve blushes from top to bottom. God dammit, he used to be slutty, why is this so hard? "Right. Your place?"

"All clear." He flashes Steve a grin, full and tempting. Like Steve isn't a sure thing.

They scramble out of their seats and head for the door. At the last second, Steve stops.

"Wait, I almost forgot." He grabs his wallet and starts fishing out a ten. "I forgot to pay last time."

"Keep your money."

He looks up. "What?"

"I wasn't gonna charge for that stuff anyway."

"Okay... But...Why?"

He shuffles in place, all sheepish for some reason. "I kinda over-charged you for the weed. Every time you paid. For years."

Steve is so gone on him already, he just finds that charming.

***

Later that night, while Eddie is asleep, Steve slips the ten under his pillow.

It'll become a back and forth in-joke they share for years.

saw this on instagram (yes, instagram) and i can’t stop thinking about steve recognising eddie at a bakery and immediately falling in love with the guy he kinda had a thing for in high school but never allowed himself to think about too much. like, he’s always had eddie in the back of his mind since finishing school but suddenly seeing him has him all heart eyes and also kind of surprised with what eddie ended up doing with his life. idk, you can think about the statistics, i’m not a writer (please someone write something and tag me 🙏) but THIS will be in my head all day at work

[iamsebastiansstan]

like one of your girls - NAC x fem!reader

summary - “Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in.

wc - 6k - MINORS DNI !

warnings - lots of dirty talk as always, crying during sex, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f), creampie, aftercare 🥹

A/N - I dedicate this chapter to @hoffmansgirl because he's literally doing it rn girl like literally !!! anyways, this update was fast but I probably won't be writing much for the next few weeks, I GOTTA STUDY lmao come tell me what you thought of this, any and all feedback is appreciated <3 enjoy!

taglist - @blackynsupremacy / @lalavenderangel / @nicholaschavezbby /

PART 1

Waking up next to him is like a dream she never wants to wake up from. She’s watching him as his eyelids flutter open, his nose scrunches up, as he stretches his strong arms above his head and groans adorably while looking at her through squinted eyes. 

“You been awake long?” he asks her, and she shakes her head no. 

He’d spooned her last night, she remembers, they both needed that closeness without crossing too many lines, and already she’s feeling withdrawals, missing having his body heat along her back. It isn’t awkward now, but the tension can definitely be felt in the air.

“Good. When do you need to get back to New York?”

She thinks about it for a minute, heart beating fast. Is he asking to be polite or is he asking so they can make plans to see each other? She hopes to God it’s the latter.

“On Wednesday. I made plans with some friends to hang out while I’m still here.”

He hums, scratches the back of his shoulder. 

“Wanna give me your number? I’d quite like to see you again.”

Trying hard to keep her screaming internal, she reaches over to the bedside table and hands him her phone, watching as his nimble fingers type in his digits before pressing the call button. 

“Think my phone’s dead but the call should’ve gone through. Now we can text each other.”

She smiles warmly. “I’d like that.” 

They don’t keep their eyes off each other as they get dressed, him slipping into last night’s clothes and her into some fresh ones, and she can feel the want for him pool deep in her stomach, bitter at everything they didn’t get to experience yesterday, glad about what they did get to do.

“Hey, just one second, (Y/N),” he stops her as she’s about to leave the room and she turns, looks up at him when he steps close. “I’m gonna take the advice you gave me yesterday, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re a second option, a rebound, anything like that. I enjoyed yesterday immensely.” 

Her heart flutters at his consideration, but she only smiles and puts a hand on his cheek, stroking his skin softly. 

“I’m not here to make your life more complicated than it needs to be, Nicholas,” she assures and means it. “I enjoyed it too, and I’d love to see you again if possible. If not, then no hard feelings. We can be honest with each other. Friends get to do that, no?”

His nod is slow, the relief basically radiating off of him as he grabs her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles before opening the door for her, following her out.

Nicholas doesn’t stay for breakfast, but he kisses Cooper’s cheek and thanks him, hugs her with a quiet promise to text her, and soon enough she’s perched on a bar stool at Cooper’s kitchen island, spooning cereal into her mouth and doing her best to dodge his suspicious looks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says through a mouthful.

“Not looking at you like anything.” 

She levels him with a look, unimpressed.

“Ask what you want to ask or shut up entirely, Coop.” 

A slow smile spreads across his face, seemingly shy but his blazing eyes betray him as he asks, “Did you fuck him?”

She expected this, so she answers calmly. 

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The question makes her stop for a moment, unsure how much she’s allowed to say.

“I think you know why. Are you mad?” 

He rolls his eyes, takes her hand in his.

“No, of course not. I’d be happy for both of you. But I know that you’re both,” he shoots her a meaningful look that she expertly ignores, “in a rough place in life right now, and I’d hate to see you take it out on each other.” 

She nods, understanding where he’s coming from.

“Is Nick going to get the same speech?” she asks, only half joking.

“A much stricter one, I can tell ya that!” 

She laughs as she gets up along with him to clean the mess from their breakfast up before she goes to meet with her aforementioned friends, heart fluttering the entire time at the prospect of Nick messaging her. 

*** 

She’s sitting in the park and sipping on her smoothie when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. Tuning out her friends’ laughter for a minute, she takes it out to see that it’s from Nick, making excitement bubble up in her chest. She opens it immediately, not expecting anything, when suddenly the words make her want to choke on her own spit.

not to be too forward but I just made myself come to the thought of how tight your throat would be around me. I’ll be thinking about that for a long while.

Two seconds later:

hope you’re having a wonderful day. 

Trying not to seem like the mess he’s turned her into within seconds, she does her best to fight off the mental image his message is creating in her mind and reply somewhat coherently. 

You’re a fucking dickhead, do you know that? I’m out and about and now I’m dripping. Thanks for nothing.

His reply doesn’t take long, has her taste blood from where she’s gnawing her bottom lip open. 

that’s how I want you baby, all the time. see you soon. 

She’s distracted for the rest of the day but when her friends ask her about it, she chalks it up to her stressful college courses and tight deadlines. Despite the butterflies dancing in her belly, she’s had a nice time, and when she walks into Cooper’s house later, she’s got a beaming smile on her face. 

“Honey, I’m home!” she shouts, taking off her shoes and hanging up her handbag by the door. 

“Honeys, please!” comes Stuart’s voice from the living room and she grins as she walks in, presses a kiss to the tops of their heads. 

“Missed ya at the party yesterday,” she says and plops down on the loveseat across from where they’re cuddled up on the couch. 

Friends is on. She hates that show.

“Yeah, I was sad I couldn’t make it, but Cooper is throwing a pool party tomorrow, so I’ll still get some fun in.” 

She’s surprised at hearing about yet another event, but she’s not complaining. 

“And drinks,” Cooper reminds him helpfully. “Lots of drinks as well.” 

They chat a little, watch a small part of some movie that’s on when Stuart switches the channel, stay up until it’s hard for her to suppress the yawning. Bidding them goodnight, she stands up to go into the guest room when Cooper calls out her name.

“He’ll be there tomorrow,” he lets her know, a kind little smile on his face, and she nods gratefully before ascending the stairs, ready for sleep.

The next morning, she doesn’t overthink it, mainly because she refuses to give up so much power so soon.

It’s just her usual routine; the shaving, the skincare, the comfy bikini, a midi dress over it. No make-up, just her necklace, she refuses to get dolled up for a pool party. From what she knows, it’ll be a much smaller affair than Friday’s party was, and she’s looking forward to it.

“I’ll handle the BBQ, could you just make the salad dressing and carry these out to the patio, (Y/N)?” Cooper asks her, and she obliges gladly.  

They set everything up rather quickly, the guests start arriving soon, and she tries her hardest not to stop in her tracks when she sees Nicholas walk out through the glass doors of the living room, hugging everyone he knows before he spots her. The way he rakes his eyes over her body before settling on her face makes heat creep up her neck, and she knows that it’s got nothing to do with today’s temperature. 

“Hey, stranger,” he greets her, wraps his arms around her to give her a good squeeze.

“Hey, you,” she smiles, inhales his fresh scent, enjoys having him in her arms again. “How have you been?” 

The breath he exhales as he pulls away is deep, it lets her know that things have gone down, but the private smile he gives her makes the oncoming worry in her mind disappear. 

“I’ve been alright so far, I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

She nods, cheeks warming. “Okay. Come find me.”

She allows herself to be open, truthful in her wants, and he chuckles at that, squeezes her shoulder.

“Always.” 

They don’t sit next to each other during lunch, but they keep glancing over the table and finding each other’s eyes, and every single time it happens, it makes the heat coil tighter in her stomach. He looks fucking good today, ruffled hair and a loose button-down that he keeps open, muscular chest flashing at every turn. At some point he puts his sunglasses on and turns his head straight in her direction, but she can’t tell if she’s being stared at or not, faltering during the conversation she’s trying to have with one of the girls at the party. 

When they’re all full and satiated, they go and find their own things to do: some go to swim a few laps or just cool off in the pool, some go to lounge by the grass and read, some stay at the table and keep drinking and chatting. She decides to walk over to the big tree at the back of the garden, finding a comfortable spot on the outdoor sofa under it and laying down, head comfortably resting on a small pillow. It’s not like she’s hoping he’ll find her there; she knows he is going to come and join her eventually. She just needs a little breather yet again, getting easily overwhelmed in big groups of people.

“And here you are, sneaking off again,” she hears his voice after Lord knows how much time has passed, and she can’t help the slow smile that spreads across her face. 

“My social battery empties quickly,” she starts to explain as she watches him sit down at the end of the outdoor couch, but what she doesn’t expect is for him to grab her legs and drape them over his lap, rubbing up and down one foot lightly.

“D’you mind?” he asks, eyebrow raised. 

“No, ‘s comfortable.” 

They sit in silence like that for a little, just looking at each other, and she can feel a lump grow in her throat. Never has she wanted somebody as badly as him, and the restraint she has to show is otherworldly at this point. 

“What happened, Nicholas?” she dives straight in, direct as always, watches him exhale deeply.

“Well,” he laughs, no humor behind it. “I had that conversation with her yesterday.” 

“Yeah? How’d it go?” she asks, heart in her throat. 

She thinks back on what he told her, that he’s scared to give in to his ex, that he might let her convince him to try one more time, one more moment, one more fuck, and she feels pathetic for how scared she is that he’ll tell her that this is it, it’s over between them before it even started. 

“She took it well. I hate hurting her, I really struggled, but she… she didn’t put up a fight,” he explains, and a wave of relief mixed with guilt washes over her, has her breathe easier. “She knows, I think. We both do.” 

“You still love her, though, don’t you?” she presses, winces when he grabs her foot and digs in, massages at a sore spot.

His smirk tells her he isn’t sorry.

“Yeah, I do. But she isn’t mine to have anymore, and I am so okay with that.” 

“Do you feel bad about Friday night?”

He scoffs, pulls her foot up to his mouth and presses a kiss against it, has her gut clenching from the motion, so intimate, so familiar. 

“There’s nothing I’ve felt better about in a while, I’ll be honest.” 

She nods, at a loss for words. Wanting to jump him right here, but cautious considering their surroundings. Wanting to have him but wanting to keep building the tension to see what happens when he snaps. 

It’s hard having a filter in his presence, so she blurts out, “How many more times have you thought about me having you down my throat since you texted me yesterday?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Nicholas chokes and throws his head back, eyes shut as if it’s hurting him to think about it.

“I need to know, Nick.” 

“Last night again… then this morning, as I was getting ready to come here.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Last night before or after you went to see her?” 

His brown eyes are wide when she looks into them, they’re honest and sincere, which is why it hits so much harder when he tells her, “Both.”

“Fuck,” she breathes, sits up and pulls her legs to her chest, needing to collect herself. “You’re a bastard, Nicholas.” 

“I can’t help it,” he smirks, reaches out to lay a hand on her knee but not moving closer. “What about you? Did you have to help yourself out at all?”

She nods dumbly, unable to look away from his face.

“Last night, as well. Three times. I couldn’t sleep without it.” 

A bite to his lips tells her he’s imagining it, thinking about it.

“Did you give yourself any fingers? Or did you only play with your clit?”

“M-my clit, didn’t put anything inside of me.” 

She feels the increase of her pulse, feels the tingle in her core at the way he looks at her, devours her with his gaze.

“Why not, little girl?”

“I want the next thing to fill me to be you, Nicholas,” she confesses, lays herself bare and relishes in the devastation her words cause him, the way his jaw drops, his brows raise. 

It’s safe, she reminds herself, he’s safe. She can be vulnerable with him, can let him throw her against the wall and trust that he’ll pick up the shattered pieces to put her back together. 

“You’re killing me, do you know that? The things I wanna do to you…” he trails off, stares into the distance for a moment. “I’ve never wanted to do them to another person. I don’t even fucking know you.”

“No, but you see me. And I don’t need to know what those things are, Nicholas. I feel them. And I want them, too.” 

A harsh puff of air leaves his nose before he’s leaning back, gazing at her, face resolute.

“Go to the room upstairs and wait for me there, will you?” 

She nods, mind and heart racing, does as she’s told as she gets up on shaky legs, knees nearly buckling. Making sure her walk isn’t too fast as not to rouse suspicion but fast enough to show him that she wants this, so he can see- and he certainly is watching her ass as she’s leaving- that she’s on board with what he’s trying to do.

She meant what she said: she doesn’t need to know, she feels it. 

Arriving in the guest room, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, nerves getting the best of her and leaving her nearly dizzy. She splashes some cold water on her face before cupping her hands and letting the water from the tap fill them, bringing them to her mouth and swallowing mouthfuls before she turns it off. The image that greets her in the mirror is one she hasn’t seen often: a woman delirious with lust, eyes glazed over and cheeks blotchy. 

A sound from the outside makes her dry her face off quickly before stepping out, seeing Nicholas shut and lock the door, eyes dark.

They say nothing as he stands across from her and puts a hand on her cheek, runs his thumb across her lips, smiles when she takes the very tip of it between her teeth and bites down gently.

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?” he asks, and she nods as he pushes his finger deeper into her mouth, presses down on her tongue and leaves it there. Her hands find his torso, his chiseled muscles to hold on to lest she loses balance, and she sucks his digit into her mouth deeply, hollows her cheeks as they keep staring at each other. “You’re a good cocksucker as well, though, hm?”

She shrugs cheekily, smiles around his finger when he chuckles. She pulls away, then, kisses the tip of his thumb. 

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?” 

The way he rolls his eyes playfully is so sexy, takes away some of the suffocating seriousness that has crept into their dynamic without breaking the tension, without diminishing the spark they have. 

Large palms frame her face as he looks at her deeply, anticipation forcing her mouth to open in a gasp, and that’s when he takes his chance, claims her mouth in a kiss so sensual that it has her moaning into his lips. It doesn’t take long for his tongue to find hers and he licks at her muscle, lets her in and deepens the kiss, makes it dirty but so full of lust and devotion that she can’t help but stand on her tippy toes to chase after that sensation. 

His hand finds her throat, grips it lightly yet makes her feel breathless, a dirty chuckle against her lips breaking their moment.

“You’ll let me in there, won’t you, baby?” he rasps, drives his finger down the front of her throat. “All the way inside?” 

She nods, stupid with want. “Yes, please let me. I need to taste you, Nicholas, fuck.” 

He kisses her again, then, toying with her mouth as his hands unzip her dress, pull it off her body, leaving her in only her bikini.

“Kneel in front of the bed, with your back facing it,” he instructs, burying his head in her neck and nibbling lightly, grinning at her gasp.

She does as she’s told, has little control over it, kneels obediently and looks up at him with a wet pout on her lips. Remembering what he told her last time, that no woman could ever take his cock down here throat, believing him. Despite its length, what probably causes trouble is the veiny thickness of it, the very thing that makes cunts drip for him being the reason for locked jaws and hurting lips.

The walk over to her is deliberately slow, he’s letting her stew in her desire for him, but she can’t even complain, not when she gets to observe even his most miniscule movements uninterrupted. The first thing she does when he’s right there is fall forward and bury her face in his crotch, over the material of his linen shorts, inhaling deeply. His clothes smell clean but there’s a musky undertone, something so distinctly man that it has her mouth watering.

“Shhh, there you go, get your fill,” he whispers, drives his hands through her hair and she’s so grateful he’s letting her express her desperation how she needs to. 

The balance of her body barely allows her to get up on her knees, but she manages, presses open mouthed kisses along his torso, as far up as she can reach. She licks into his navel, kisses down his happy trail, moans as she traces her tongue along the waistband of his briefs.

“Fuck, I’m so hungry for it,” she breathes, “please give it to me, I need it so bad.” 

Nicholas chuckles, a sound that hits her right in the chest, and untangles the strings of his pants. She’s glad he’s decided to take his shorts off completely, wrapping her hands around his thighs as soon as he’s stepped out of them and mouthing at his hard cock through his briefs, tongue tasting a salty wet spot and groaning into it.

“Jesus, (Y/N), you’re like a woman possessed,” he growls, all pride and no disgust, and it spurs her on to reach up and pull his cock out, get his underwear out of the way so she can really revel in everything his manhood has to give.

He discards his shirt as well, then, and there he is: her personal Greek God in all his glory, naked flesh for her to devour. 

A tear makes its way down her cheek and she’s done with waiting, needs for him to own her. 

“Please,” she breathes and smiles wickedly as he grabs his cock, pumps it once, twice before holding it by the base and- 

And slapping it across her face, the hit harder than she anticipated, making her cry out with nasty hunger.

“Again,” she begs, and he obeys with a wide-eyed stare, slaps her one more time, two more times before hooking his thumb in her mouth and pulling it open, praising her when she automatically sticks her tongue out.

Nick traces the leaking head of his cock over her tongue, and she could cry when the salt hits her tastebuds, the warmth of his flesh mixing with the wetness on her muscle.

“This is what you were made for, baby,” he says, praises her, talks as if he’s far away. “You’re so fucking beautiful, just waiting for me to ruin you, huh?” She nods her head before shaking it, making sure his precome coats all of her tongue, moans when he orders, “Suck this cock, sweetheart.” 

Not needing to be told twice, she engulfs the thick tip in her mouth, sucks on it as she moves her tongue down to coat his length in spit, to ease the way, to make it easier for him to claim the depths of her throat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses above her, hands not ceasing their movement in her hair, and she sees it as motivation to keep going. The louder he is, the louder she wants him.

Some men like a mix between a willing mouth and two skilled hands, she knows, but today she wants to show him just how hungry she’s been for his cock since she met him, so she works her lips around him, determined to not need her hands for this. She sinks deeper and deeper, lets the accumulated spit from her mouth coat him, doesn’t mind the strings of it escaping and dripping down her chin, makes sure she keeps her eyes wide and on him as he’s struggling not to squeeze his shut.

“Halfway there, baby, you’re so fucking good f’me,” he moans, “Messy little girl, just like that.”

She lays her tongue out and takes a deep breath before pushing down stubbornly, eyes screwing up as he goes deeper and deeper, watching his slack jaw and wide eyes marveling at something he’s always wished to experience but never could, not with the women he’d been with before. Relaxing her throat and feeling him push through that last bit of resistance as she fights against her gag reflex, fights to keep it deep within her chest, fights through the pain it brings her not to openly cough at the intrusion in her body. She can’t stand it, not for long, and she has to pull away with a chest-wracking cough, trying to collect herself but delirious with the need to prove her devotion to him.

“Baby, that was amazing, just-“

“Fuck my throat, Nicholas,” she rasps through the tears, gets in position again and takes his cock in hand this time, jerks him a little until she gets herself under control again.

“(Y/N), are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be stopping until you give me a signal, no matter how much you cry, okay?”

Jesus Christ. She nods, determined. 

“I’ll tap your thigh twice if I need you to really stop, okay?” 

He bends down and kisses her deeply, wipes at the tears on her cheeks.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers before straightening back up, gripping her by the hair and growling, “now open that fuckin’ throat for me.”

It’s animalistic, the way he takes her mouth, pushes his cock deep and keeps snapping his hips up, moaning loudly as she chokes, as she holds onto her own thighs just to have something to grip while he uses her. Inch by inch he fucks himself deep, groans her name, “My good girl, that’s right, show ‘em how it’s done,” knowing exactly how to spur her on, how to give her the strength to fight through her body’s struggles.

She’s gargling out spit, face wet and messy, when he finally, fucking finally manages to bottom out, bury her nose in his trimmed pubic hair, almost doubling over when she then sticks her tongue out until the back of her throat starts burning to lap at his balls with the tip of it, just to show him that there’s nothing stopping her from satisfying the hunger she has for him. 

“Ho- oh my fucking- ugh,” he moans, the tightness of her sending him into overdrive, the way her choking and swallowing around his cock stimulates his sensitive head making tears spring to his eyes. 

He grabs her by the hair and rips her back roughly, letting her breathe heavy for a minute before diving down to claim her lips in a bruising kiss, in awe at this woman kneeling in front of him.

“Fuck, that felt good,” she laughs manically against his mouth, tears and snot dripping from her face, but they don’t care, they’re reveling in the way they can mess each other up.

“You okay, baby? Your voice is fucked,” he smiles as she nods eagerly, clearing her throat.

“More, please, fuck my face just a little more,” she begs, watching his eyes widen at her request, but she doesn’t care. Now that she’s gotten a taste, she wants more. 

One hand in her hair and the other one on her jaw, he pushes between her lips again, keeps pushing until he’s in all the way and pulls her off again, watching her splutter and cough for a second before reeling her in again. Nicholas seems to enjoy that, watching her struggle with her throat full, struggle to catch her breath after, but whenever her eyes meet his in a silent plea, she sees the fire in his gaze burn that much brighter before he goes in to fuck her face again.

“No more,” he pants, grabs her by the arms and pulls her into a standing position, steadying her as her legs give out from having knelt for so long. “Fuck, I almost came down your throat.”

“Why didn’t you?” she pouts, face a total mess but causing him to smile at her warmly regardless.

“Don’ wanna, wanna shoot my load inside of you,” he mutters, makes her cheeks heat up.

“Next time, though?”

He laughs, kisses her swollen mouth.

“Promise, baby.”

Nick makes quick work of her bikini and gets her naked and sprawled across the bed in record time, writhing under his heated gaze as he just stands here, cock hard and dripping with her spit, watching her.

“Spread your legs for me,” he instructs, eyes raking over her form, and with a shy bite to her lip she obliges, parts her legs and lets him look at where she’s sloppy wet for him. 

“Need you so bad, I’m all swollen,” she whines, watches as he positions himself between her legs, kisses along her stomach up to her tits.

The first nipple he takes into his hot mouth gets a quick bite shortly after, making her hiss, before he moves over to the second, giving it attention while she rakes her hands through his hair, lost in sensation.

It’s all she’s ever wanted and more, the fucked-out state of arousal that has her mind feeling honey sticky and slow, completely out of her own body. She focuses on his weight on top of her, the way his spit on her nipples paired with the cool air in the room gives her gooseflesh, and soon enough she’s whimpering as he trails his kisses in the direction of her center.

“Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in, licks her in broad stripes and has her throwing her head back in ecstasy.

All the blood rushes to her center and despite not even having been touched properly, the tension burns, makes her clit tingle where it’s being loved on by his clever tongue, and she can’t help but bury her hands in his hair and push her hips up into his awaiting mouth. Nicholas eats pussy like it’s the most decadent thing he’s ever had, like it melts on his tongue, the way he pushes between her inner lips and slurps at the very source of her arousal. By now he knows how much she loves the attention on her little nub, so he sucks it into his mouth, taps his tongue against it until she’s arching off the bed, only being held down by his bulging arms. 

“N-Nick, fuck, fuck no-,“ she’s trying to push him off, the buildup of her climax making every limb tingle, but he holds on, holds her steady until she’s crying, begging, “please, let me come for you, please, please, pl- fuck-“

A hum of confirmation, the vibration of it hitting her core, is all it takes before she’s coming hard, pulling his head closer and trying to bat him away at the same time, and the minute her high decreases and her muscles relax he’s on her, kissing her lax mouth, pushing his tongue deep and letting her taste her pussy on his sinful lips. 

“Y’taste sweeter than I could’ve imagined,” he’s breathing hard against her mouth, “sweetest pussy just for me to take, ain’t it? Fuck, I need to be inside of you.”

The “Please,” punches out of her, already wrapping her legs around his torso so he’d slip in easier, giving him all the access and shouting into his shoulder as he slides his cock into her in one go, fills her up until she can feel him in her lungs. She pushes at his chest so he’d pull away, look at her, grabs him by the face and hisses “What the fuck are you, who the fuck- what are you doing t- to me?”

Nicholas’ laugh is amazed, top lip curled over his perfect teeth as he focuses on drilling into her hard, watching her lose her mind under him, watching her give herself over to him without a care in the world. He angles his hips just so, pelvic bone brushing against her clit with every thrust, making her see stars.

“You’ll come for me like this,” he promises, voice shot, “you’re so gorgeous, fuck. Look at you, can’t believe you’ll come for me again, I’ve got you-“

“Nick, please,” she cries, terrified of what her mind is making her body do, “I can’t-“

“You can and you will,” he snaps, grabs her by the face and pulls her close, kisses her pouting mouth. “Come for me, (Y/N), I wanna see you lose it.” 

She doesn’t pass out this time but she kind of wishes she did, because the groans and moans and pathetic whimpers that rip out of deep within her are sounds she’s never going to unhear now. If it were with anyone else, she’d be mortified, but he just talks her through it with pride in his voice as if she were his girl, his to coach and use and fuck and lo-

But isn’t she? She sure feels like it. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl, that’s right, oh I’m gonna come, baby-“

“Fill me up,” she whispers, lax now, letting herself be used and moved like a rag doll, “I wanna feel you dripping out of my pussy for days.”

“Oh shit, (Y/N)-“ and that does it for him, apparently, as he pushes in impossibly deep and spills inside of her, moaning into her neck and holding her close, filling her body and mind and heart, and dear God, she’s a fucking goner. 

The room smells like their sex, like musk, heady and dazed, makes her head spin where she’s laying under him and wondering what the actual fuck just happened. Nicholas’ breathing is labored but he’s still pressing lazy kisses against her temple, arms still around her spent body.

After a moment, he peers down at her. 

“You okay, baby?” he whispers, like the atmosphere is something fragile.

She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods.

“Was it too much? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head no.

He chuckles deeply, leans down to kiss her mouth and she can’t do much more than to let herself be kissed, can’t reciprocate.

“Talk to me, love, c’mon,” he requests gently, and when she hears that little nickname, hears the care in his voice, her lip starts wobbling and her tears start running freely down her cheeks. “Oh, baby,” he soothes, lets her cry in his arms, holds her through it.

She’s heard of people crying after sex, especially after intense sex, but it has never happened to her. Laying here, though, on these ruined sheets, face and body and her fucking insides sticky with him, after having been used so mercilessly and still having him hold her like she’s something precious, talk to her like she’s something to be cherished? She can’t take it, the turmoil of the last few days, the last few weeks, paired with the experience of his mere existence sending her into overdrive. 

“Let it out, I’m here f’you,” he whispers, shushes her, kisses her head, and soon enough she runs out of tears, only sniffles where she’s hiding in his neck. 

Nicholas pulls away, props himself up on one elbow as his other hand keeps stroking her hair, her face, anything he can reach. He’s got a small smile playing on his full lips as he looks at her, and she smiles back, exhausted but satiated.

“’m sorry for this,” she croaks, voice barely there.

Before she can say anything else, he interrupts her, shushes her with his thumb on her lips. “Please don’t,” he says, eyes kind, “I’m so honored that you trust me enough to fall apart like this. Seriously, (Y/N), this is not a small deal.” 

She clicks her tongue, eyes welling up with tears again.

“I know,” she whimpers, takes his hand in hers and kisses it. “I know it isn’t, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with this. I- Nicholas… What the fuck?” 

He brings her to his chest, holds her close, kisses the crown of her head.

“None of that now, baby,” he whispers, “Now I gotta give you some good aftercare and then we’ll clean up, okay? We can talk later, when we’re both in our right minds. That sound good?”

She nods, says, “I don’t wanna go back to the party,” but it’s muffled against his full chest. 

He hears her anyways.

“We don’t have to; we’ll just stay here." 

Cleaning up is a quiet affair, they keep each other close at all times, standing under the shower together and just washing each other, hands trailing across the other with no intent to take it further. It’s intimate, it’s connecting, and it’s exactly what she needs to come down from the rollercoaster he’s put her through. Nicholas rummages through the closets on that floor until he finds clean sheets and changes them while she stands next to the bed, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, watching with a small smile as he wrestles with the fitted sheet.

“Too many workouts today,” he grumbles as he pulls it over the corners of the bed, “I haven’t consumed enough calories today for this level of exercise.” 

She giggles at his silliness before she lets herself fall onto the bed, holding her arms open for him to crawl in, settling his head on her boobs.

“Naked cuddling is my favorite,” she whispers to him conspiratorially and he nods eagerly, agreeing.

“Same, don’t nearly do it often enough.”

She’s ready for a nap, she realizes as she lets her eyes fall shut, and soon enough she’s slipping away softly, clutching him tightly.  

Unsure if she's dreaming or not, she hears a soft, "I've got you, my sweet. Always got you."

[fandomnerd9602]

Just a Little Drive

Country!Wanda x Reader

She couldn’t believe her luck. As an early wedding gift, you bought your country girl Wanda her pa’s old 1950s Pontiac GTO. It was old and rusted but Wanda was immediately crying.

“It’s just like how I remembered it” she gently ran her hands over the rusted surface. Her mind went ablaze with the memories of her pa and ma driving her and her brother Piet through the countryside.

You and Pietro spent the next few weekends slowly restoring it. You worked on reupholstering the interior. Pietro worked on the engine. The two of you worked to scrap all the rust off the body of the car. Wanda worked on finding the radio and the perfect shade of hot rod red to put on the car.

She and Pietro regaled you with tales of your life with your ma and pa. It was amazing to hear tales of familial love and affection. While you never got a chance to meet them, you felt that you got to know thru the tales that the twins told.

Within a matter of weeks, you, Pietro and Wanda got the Pontiac restored; it looked like it was taken right off the car lot. Wanda was ecstatic.

“Oh it looks even better than it did back when Pa drove it!” Wanda exclaimed, tears beginning to stream down her face.

Pietro and you look at her with a little bittersweet smile. “I know Ma and Pa would give anything to be here with you, sis” Pietro says.

“I-I found the car online” you explain, “I figured we would have it for our family vehicle, you know…keeping a part of them alive with us on our wedding day”

Wanda hugged you both tightly, “thank you.” A little giggle with her country twang escaped her lips. She felt so blessed to have two amazing people in her life.

Later that night, you were putting the finishing touches on the detailing in the garage. You felt a familiar presence sneaking up behind you as you completed the job.

“You can’t sneak up on me anymore, my country girl”

Wanda giggles, standing there in her comfy set of Bewitched PJs, the ones you got her for her birthday. “I had to try, city boy” she smirks at you.

“I hope this little wedding gift is okay”

“It’s more than okay, baby. It’s perfect.” she smiles at you.

You open the back door for her. Wanda gladly slips into the car of her childhood.

The radio turned on. Wanda couldn’t help but giggle. The song practically described her to a T…

(She’s Everything by Brad Paisley)

She's a yellow pair of running shoes

A holey pair of jeans

She looks great in cheap sunglasses

She looks great in anything

She's, "I want a piece of chocolate"

"Take me to a movie"

She's, "I can't find a thing to wear”

Now and then she's moody

She's a Saturn with a sunroof

With her brown hair a-blowing

She's a soft place to land

And a good feeling knowing

She's a warm conversation

That I wouldn't miss for nothing

She's a fighter when she's mad

And she's a lover when she's loving

And she's everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

I talk about her

I go on and on, and on

'Cause she's everything to me

Wanda couldn’t help but giggle. Your country girl moved into your lap, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck. “My city boy” she whispers before kissing you hungrily. You wrap your arms around her waist, gently running your hands up and down her back, kissing her with the same equal passion.

She's a Saturday out on the town

And a church girl on Sunday

She's a cross around her neck

And a cuss word 'cause it's Monday

She's a bubble bath and candles

Baby, come and kiss me

She's a one glass of wine

And she's feeling kinda tipsy

She's the giver I wish I could be

And the stealer of the covers

She's a picture in my wallet

The cabin of the Pontiac filled up with the sounds of laughter and giggles between you and your country girl. The windows quickly fogged up. Wanda’s hand hit the back passenger window. She tried to catch her breath.

“You’re gonna take my breath away, city boy” she giggled as she kissed you tenderly.

“You constantly take mine away, country girl” you respond.

“Gettin’ kinda sinful.” she smirks, “you better make an honest girl outta me”

You kiss her knuckles and look at the engagement ring on her finger. “Well we got a month or so. Best decision I ever made.” Your gal giggles and kisses you again.

Someday when I'm ninety

She's that wooden rocking chair

I want rocking right beside me

Every day that passes

I only love her more

Yeah, she's the one

That I'd lay down my own life for

And she's everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

She's everything to me

Yeah, she's everything to me

Everything I ever wanted

And everything I need

She's everything to me

You kiss her nose, allowing yourselves to be happy and blissful as you held each other in the backseat of that old Pontiac.

“You’re everything to me” you whispered into the crook of her neck.

“You’re everything to me” she whispered back.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @revanshand @russianredassassin @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @dudesweet17 @texaswolf23 @arsenysworld @moonlit-imagines @moonlit-ficrecs @olsenmyolsen @idkwhatever580

[angellic4l]

boys, bets, and sobriquets - d.m

in which; fem!bau!reader and derek make a deal that causes an argument 3 months later

content: tw! reader has something similar to an anxiety attack but it isn’t specified as that! flirty!derek, bau!reader, hurt comfort (?), angst, fluff, there’s a ‘bet’ made, reader has a shitty date, swearing/cussing, they argue ofc, one bed trope.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: my first ever request!! i’m so honoured and just happy that someone trusted me with their vision, i hope this is what you wanted angel! kisses!

Faint sounds of the regular office shenanigans danced around the bullpen; soft clicks of computer keyboards, Reid flipping the pages of some obscure novel at a super human speed, Andersen brewing a pot of coffee, and the scrawl of your pen on a case file all coming together to sing the corporate symphony.

One noise was missing though, the sound of Derek’s chair moving side to side as he talks to everyone and anyone possible rather than actually doing his work. His voice rings out from by the glass doors and your head rises from the manilla folder to see what’s going on. His eyes meet yours, an arrogant, self-satisfied smirk on his face, one that tells you he actually got the new receptionist’s number.

Morgan takes his seat across from yours, looking at you expectantly, awaiting your questioning of his absence or why he’s so happy. Instead, you shake your head at him but the smile on your face betrays your mock disapproval. With a soft sigh, your hand loosens its grip around the pen, letting it drop to the oak desk beneath you.

“Alright, I’ll bite. You got the receptionist’s number, I’m guessing?”

“Number? No, no, baby girl, I got a date and her number. You underestimate my charm.”

“Right, I forgot that you were such a CasaNova.”

“I prefer the term irresistible, sugar.”

“This actually works for you? The whole cocky womaniser thing?”

“I’m not cocky. It’s called confidence. And a little sweet talking.”

“Oh, I’m sure they all love your ‘confidence’. I refuse to believe any respectable woman would fall for that,” you tease, tone making it clear you’re joking.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t fall for all of this,” he retorts, hand gesturing from his face down to his torso.

“In all seriousness, I really wouldn’t. You’re not my type, D.”

“Not your type? Sugar, don’t play with me right now.”

“I’m not! I just wouldn’t fall for it, it’s not my thing.”

“Let’s make a bet, then. I flirt with you-“

“Absolutely not,” you scoff.

“Let me finish! I flirt with you, you flirt with me, and we’ll see who falls first.”

You ponder his words for a while, going through it in your head. Morgan’s physically attractive, sure, but almost everybody thinks that. With your time at the BAU, you figure if you were going to fall for him, it would’ve happened already. Fuck it, why not?

“You’re on, Morgan. Be warned, you’re gonna fall in love with me.”

That little bet was made 3 months ago. You remember it like it was yesterday because it was the day you subjected yourself to the worst fate possible. Falling fast and hard for Derek Morgan.

Now, every time he flirts with you and you flirt back, it just stings. It’s like a cruel snippet of what could be if he liked you back, if you swallowed your pride and let him win, if you would just tell him. Instead, you reciprocate the flirting, keep your pride intact by never admitting anything, and keep your feelings for him a secret.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A ringing noise rouses you from sleep, the soft vibration of your phone reverberating throughout the oak nightstand to the left of you. It’s not the sound of your alarm, and based on how the only light your eyes had to adjust to came from your phone, you suspect it’s a phone call instead. Another case, presumably.

Tired limbs scramble to find the phone, your hands fumbling until they feel it beneath them, and you pick up without even looking at the contact name. Sleep has yet to leave your body, still lingering like a phantom, so your voice is groggy when you speak.

“Hello?”

“Hi, angel. You know I hate to do this, but Hotch needs everybody in the office in 30. Urgent case,” a soft, saccharine voice rings out, one you recognise as Penelope’s.

“M’kay. Be there soon, Penny. Love you.”

“I love you too, dear,” she says before the line goes dead, leaving you in silence once more.

As you pull the phone away from your ear, your eyes catch the time displayed on the phone: 2:36 AM. A groan escapes your lips when you realise it had only been 5 hours since you left the BAU, 3 of which you’d been asleep for. Being called in after just coming back from a case was annoying, but this soon was just infuriating.

By the time you were at the BAU, it was safe for anybody to say, profiler or not, that your mood was absolutely sour. Since Penelope had called you back in, your day had only gotten worse. While in a rush to get ready, hands flying everywhere to rag clothes on, you’d managed to lose an earring. On the way into work, someone had cut you off at an intersection, causing you to slam on your brakes, ultimately sending your coffee all over the passenger seat.

Operating on 3 hours of sleep was easy enough, standard for most FBI agents, especially for you. That wasn’t the issue here, no, it was the fact that you’d been called in after just returning from a week’s long case, the act somehow triggering an infuriating chain of events for you, leaving you earringless, coffeeless, and bitter.

Once everyone else had arrived, it was clear they could sense the sourness radiating from you, only sharing small greetings instead of sparking up a conversation. Hotch announced the briefing would be done on the plane to save time, prompting everyone to grab their go-bags and start to move.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After shoving your go-bag into the overhead space, more aggressively than needs be, you take a seat around one of the tables and watch as the others follow suit. Everyone seems almost hesitant to sit next to you, hovering before sitting somewhere else, disrupting the order of everyone’s usual seats. It’s sort of understandable, it’s obvious that you’re in a mood of some sorts and they’re probably just trying to give you breathing room, but it’s only annoyed you a little more.

Morgan ends up taking the seat next to you of his own free will, considering there were still 3 empty seats he could’ve sat in. Usually, you’d be happy to have Morgan sit next to you, but most of your conversations involve playful flirting, something you’re not in the mood for right now.

What doesn’t help is your growing feelings for him; on a normal day, playful flirting is hard because you know it doesn’t mean anything, but today isn’t a normal day. Today, you’re pissed off and tired, and the thought of entertaining something that’s only going to make you feel worse is utterly dreadful.

Maybe he’ll spare you, you think, he knows that you’re not in the mood for it, so he might just leave it alone and not say anything. Hotch’s voice steals your attention from the thought, pulling your focus to the case at hand instead.

The briefing moves fast, ideas being bounced around like a ping pong ball being bounced off the pegs in an arcade game, everybody collaborating with different theories, or building on someone else’s. Garcia searches what she can based on the few things you can all profile for certain, but it’s clear that this case won’t be an easy one.

The killer is experienced, that much is obvious, but that means he’s killed before. Where, none of you are sure because VI-CAP doesn’t have a match for the M.O you’ve all decided on. It’s not looking good for the BAU, the case is probably going to span over a week and the thought makes you even more annoyed.

Garcia’s face vanishes from the plasma screen across from you as the team starts to spread out throughout he jet, following the end of the briefing. Majority of the time, you’d sit yourself at the back of the jet and listen to music until you fell asleep, or talk to somebody, but you’re too tired to move from this chair.

Apparently, Morgan shares the same sentiment, unmoving from the spot next to you. Any and all hope of him leaving you alone starts to dissipate, knowing that Derek’s chatty, especially with you, has you dreadfully anticipating his conversation. With your luck, or lack thereof today, it comes.

“Hey, pretty girl. How’s my favourite bombshell?”

“Okay. ‘M just tired.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right, sunshine?”

“Morga-“

“-‘Cause, you haven’t given me any of those sweet names, you’re not even looking at me, and your body language is telling me you’re pissed. What’s wrong, sugar?”

Morgan’s analysis fills you with fear - sure, he’s a profiler and even if he wasn’t, it’s obvious you’re in a shitty mood, but it’s not that - you make sure to hide any tells of the anxiety you’re experiencing. If Morgan can rattle all of that off with so much as one look at you, he’s been profiling you for a while. That means he knows. He knows that you like him. And he still flirts with you anyway?

Even if you didn’t think it possible, you’re even more pissed off with that fact, hell, you’re angry. Who on Earth flirts with someone they know has feelings for them? It’s cruel, hurtful, and disrespectful, none of which you thought Derek was, but clearly you’ve wildly misjudged him.

“What happened to ‘we don’t profile each other’? God, you’re such a dick, Morgan.”

“Hey, what? Mama, what is going on with you?” He asks, clear exasperation and confusion written on his face. You bite down a scoff because of course, he’s playing dumb to it.

“The fact that you’re asking is evidence enough. So obsessed with your own pride that you can’t even see what you’re doing to the people around you? Really? God, Morgan, it’s like you don’t even have eyes,” you snap, tone sharp and cutting.

“Mama, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Back up for a second, obsessed with my own pride? Is this you talking or are you in one of those ‘man-hater’ moods again?”

Morgan’s use of the words ‘man hater mood’ take you back to an incident last month. You bristle at the fact he’s bringing that up, even more so that he doesn’t believe you’re actually mad at him.

It was a Saturday night and you had a date planned, one that, due to the demands of the job, had been rescheduled three times. This time was lucky, though, because you had no case, no paperwork, and no reports due. The guy was lovely, so understanding every time you’d had to reschedule, and he was handsome, too.

Once you’d left work, giddy and smiling to yourself on the drive home, the only thing going through your head was how excited you were for the date. A week before that, you and the girls had gone shopping together, scouring D.C’s small boutiques and high end stores. While with Emily in one of the boutiques, the cutest outfit had caught your eye, it was perfect; your favourite colour, exactly your style, and looked incredibly flattering when you’d tried it on. The girls convinced you to wear it on your date, commenting on how gobsmacked the guy’d be, so you bought it.

After restyling your hair and slipping into the beautiful outfit, you were putting your shoes on at the front door. Midway through slipping your shoes on, your phone buzzed on the side table in the hallway, with bated breath, you crossed your fingers and wished it wasn’t a case. What was on the screen was infinitely worse, though.

date

hey, i don’t think this’ll work. you’re too unreliable for me. kinda crazy you cancelled 3 times for ‘work’ and can now suddenly meet up because we changed it to a restaurant.

To say you were in a foul mood the next day would be the understatement of the century. To cancel because of his reason was insane for many reasons, but the two that pissed you off the most stuck. One - that the date had changed on his accord. The weather wasn’t the greatest, so instead of the picnic in the park that was planned, he’d asked if you wanted to go to a restaurant instead. Two - that he cancelled right before the date, as if he’d just suddenly had a change of heart when he’d clearly summed you up as a gold digger long before.

As you’d walked into the BAU and sat at your desk across from Derek’s, he didn’t notice your mood straight away because he hadn’t looked up yet. So, he operated as usual:

“Good morning, angel. How’s the prettiest lady in the whole FBI?”

“Ugh, don’t even. I’m really not in the mood today, D.”

With that he looked up and his brows immediately furrowed in concern at the annoyed expression on your face, dark circles under your eyes, and the way the light in your eyes had dimmed.

“What’s up? Someone I have to beat up?”

“I hate men. Fucking hate them. They’re all so grimey and disgusting and fucking horrible.”

“Don’t generalise us, sweetheart. What have I ever done to you?”

Instead of giving him a verbal response, you just shot him a glare before turning on your computer and carrying on with your day.

Contrary to your own belief, you could get even angrier than you were, even more annoyed than you thought possible for the already shitty day you’ve been having, and Morgan’s the main reason for this revelation at the moment.

He’s still looking at you, awaiting your answer to his question with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, you turn your head to look at him, tongue poking the inside of your mouth in some futile attempt to control it. It doesn’t work.

“Wow. You genuinely don’t believe that I could be mad at you, that it’s some other guy’s fault, huh? I’m not in a ‘man hater’ mood, I’m just mad at you! You don’t see what you’re doing Morgan, you’re oblivious to it, and it’s pissing me off.”

“Baby gi-“

“-Just leave me alone, Morga-“

“- Fine.”

A scoff leaves your lips, bitter on your tongue as it escapes because you know you shouldn’t have said it. You know you shouldn’t have opened your mouth, told him how you feel in such a snappy way. You’re in a bad mood, having let the small things get to you, and you like Derek so much that his pet names and his flirting spark fire where they should leave warmth.

As if on cue, he rises from the seat next to you and walks down the aisle in a huff, sits down in an empty seat, and shoves his headphones in. Great. On top of your so-far shitty day, you’ve managed to push away the one person who makes everything instantly better. Probably squashed the tiny chance of him ever liking you back, too.

A sharp pang in your chest leaves you feeling sick, the hurt manifesting itself as something physical deep inside, and you wish you weren’t so difficult. Instead of talking, just simply saying today was going horribly and it had affected your mood, you’d let your astringent tongue take over.

The child inside of you wants to curl up in the fetal position, cry a million rivers over a boy, feel sorry for itself while simultaneously picking at every insecurity she harbours. Instead, you opt for sleeping, a temporary escapism from the shitty position you’ve put yourself in, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After landing in Montana, you’re woken up by Emily’s gentle hand on your shoulder, shaking you ever so slightly. The rest of the team was already making their way off of the jet, go-bags in hand, walking off in a line due to the small aisle. Once your limbs were a bit more awake, you stood up and followed suit.

The team went from the jet to the SUV’s, making their way to the Livingston police department. Your car was semi-silent, the only noises to be heard are the small murmurs of Reid and JJ in the back of the SUV and silent melodies from the radio.

You’re in the passenger seat next to Hotch, while Morgan sits to the left of JJ and Spencer. Usually, he’d be involved in their conversation, cracking jokes and laughing his ass off with them. Instead, he’s silent. The absence of his voice rings loudly in your ears, guilt taking root in the ashes of the previous anger that once burned. It’s your fault he’s not being himself, you just had to open your mouth when you were in a mood, didn’t you?

Eyes watch him discreetly through the rearview mirror, his arms crossed over his chest, half sunken into the leather seat, brooding. Derek’s demeanour and body language is far from how he usually is, distant and angry instead of present and bubbly. He looks so different when he’s like this; distant and angry, far from his bubbly self.

For the rest of the day, it stays the same, Derek seemingly not himself, the same surly expression on him all day. Every time you look at him, it hurts - knowing that it’s because you couldn’t control yourself, you let your emotions take over rational thought - and the pangs of guilt become excruciating by the hour.

By the time Hotch decides to call it a night and have everyone head back to the hotel, your heart physically hurts with all of the guilt that’s pressing on it and the longing tugging at it. All you’ve wanted for the past 3 months is for the flirting between you and Morgan to be real, to have him feel the same way about you as you do him. At some point, the flirting started to weigh you down, leave you with an empty feeling in the deep pits of your stomach, and a yearning so strong that it seemed pathetic.

Realistically, the silly ‘bet’ was only ever going to go one of two ways. The pair of you would have distanced, one of you would’ve pushed the other away so that you didn’t have to experience a taste of what could be before it was ripped away from you. Alternatively, all restraint one of you had would’ve snapped, the fight to not let the other win, the pride you both held so dearly would’ve lost i’s fuel, resulting in a confession from either side. In some weird, twisted way, it’d managed to be both of them on your end.

Without realising, a sigh escapes your lips as you walk in a huddle with the team into the hotel’s lobby, pulling you out of your own thoughts. Head snapping up from the red carpet beneath your feet, your eyes lock with JJ’s, who’s giving you a questioning look. You find yourself responding with a shake of the head to tell her it’s nothing, then averting her gaze before she can tell that something’s up.

The group of weary, exhausted agents make their way to the front desk, all of you moving in a similar fashion to that of a pack of zombies.

The view would be funny if all of you weren’t aching for some much needed rest. Majority of you collapse into some couches while Hotch and Rossi go to get the keys from the front desk.

Both men return to the waiting area in the lobby after about 5 minutes, 4 sets of keys in hand. When you finally look up at them, your face contorts in confusion as to why there’s only 4 sets of keys when there’s 7 of you. As your lips part in anticipation to start asking questions, your brain answers them for you, recalling the information that was relayed to you all on the way to the airstrip, seemingly forgotten in the haze of your guilty, self-deprecating thoughts.

Shit.

Considering the case was so last minute, there were only 4 rooms available at the nearest hotel, so Hotch let everyone know they’d be sharing. To avoid any arguments and prolonged delay to sleep, everyone had agreed to pair with the same person as the last time you’d all had to share rooms. Hotch and Rossi, Emily and JJ, Spencer got his own room because of his aversion to germs, and you and Morgan.

You and Morgan. In a room together.

Clearly, the universe wasn’t done with sending you a chain of awful events today, because this had to take the fucking cake. Being in a room with Morgan has never been a bad thing, but you’ve also never argued with him and basically confessed that you like him. The words never explicitly left your mouth, but surely he’d figured it out a while ago based on your body language, right?

Hotch distributes the keys to someone from every pair, snapping you out of your thoughts once more as he holds a pair out to you. Tiredly, you take it before standing up and grabbing your bag with your other hand. Today has been long, excruciatingly so, you can just go to the room and fall asleep in your own bed. You think, an attempt to ease the unease that’s residing within you.

A gloomy Derek trails behind you, almost reluctantly if your profiling skills were still intact while being this tired, the sight sends another agonising sting of guilt through your heart. As shitty of him as it was to have profiled how you felt and still carry on flirting, he isn’t the only one who has blame in the situation - you agreed to the bet, you could’ve called the whole thing off, confessed your feelings and let him win, but you didn’t - you had your share in the whole thing, too.

The door lock clicks when you turn the key, opening the door to your new home for god knows how long, but you drop said keys on the floor when you get into the room. Similarly, Morgan comes to a stop behind you when he takes in the sight before you both, silence enveloping the room as you both remain still.

In the middle of the room, in between two windows, stood a double bed with an oak headboard. Not two single beds, or two twin beds, hell not even a bunk-bed like the one you’d both had to share in some dingy motel, no, it was a double.

Sharing a room with Morgan was okay before, you’d done it plenty of times in smaller towns or when the coordinator messed up the booking, but the pair of you had never shared a bed. It was even worse now because you weren’t on speaking terms, now that you’d basically confessed your feelings for him, now that you’d figured he profiled it a while ago.

When you realise you’ve been standing eerily still for a while, you can’t move to break it. Fear consumes your limbs, blocking any and all signals from your brain to the central nervous system, keeping you in place. The only thing you can think about is Morgan’s reaction to this; what does he think about it? Is he mad? Is he gonna walk out? How does he feel about what happened on the jet?

Suddenly, you realise you haven’t even thought about his reaction to anything you’d said, only going as far as to read his body language and determine he wasn’t acting like himself. You hadn’t thought about whether it’d be the end of your friendship, that he’d stop talking to you every day, and everything the two of you were would just fade into the background.

Unbeknownst to you, your hands had started shaking, induced by the onslaught of thoughts swirling in your head, trembling by your sides as if in a deadly chill. Morgan, however, notices the tremors of your hands almost immediately and steps in front of you before dropping his bag and taking your hands into his.

“Hey, hey, angel girl, I need you to breathe with me, okay?” His voice is soft and soothing before he mirrors a deep breath, exaggerating the sound and movement of his chest to draw your attention.

In response, you nod your head before taking a shaky breath in unison with Derek’s strong ones. Something wet rolls down your face, a tear escaping your lash line that you hadn’t even felt forming. Your hands stay in Morgan’s as you take deep breaths together, the raggedness of yours drifting away with each new intake of oxygen.

Once Morgan has deemed your breathing to be stable enough, he drops one of your hands before lifting his, now free, hand to your face, thumbs scooping away your tears.

“You’re okay now, sweetheart. You’re okay,” he almost whispers, voice so soft and sweet it might make you start crying all over again as the previous guilt kicks in once more.

A sniffle comes from you while he walks you to the bed, hands still intertwined, which he uses to gently pull you into a sitting position next to him. His thumb caresses your knuckles, running over them in a soothing motion, soft skin on top of yours grounding you.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you now, sweetheart?”

“Are you gonna stop pretending that you don’t already know?” You quip, turning your head to the side to look at him.

“Y/N, I am telling you, I really don’t know. It’s been racking my brain all damn day. If I’ve done something wrong, you can tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Another quip is on the tip of your tongue, but as you look into his brown eyes, really look at them, you realise he’s being genuine. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. Oh god, you owe him the biggest apology.

“You really don’t know?”

“Not a damn clue.”

“God, I feel stupid. This is so dumb.”

“Hey,” he lifts your chin with his fingers, “nothing you say could ever be dumb to me, pretty girl.”

“I’ve had such a shitty day. Like a really, really shitty one where everything goes wrong and I just let it all get to me. And then you profiled me on the jet and I thought you knew, but you don’t know, and I’ve been so, so horri-“

“-Wait, hold on, stop. Know what, angel?”

“..that you won. I lost,” you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting to see the recognition in his face, but it doesn’t come.

“I like you, Derek,” it comes out so quiet and meek, it’d be a miracle if he even heard it, but of course he does.

His reaction isn’t what you were expecting at all, not in the slightest. Instead of some cocky smirk, or an ‘I told you so’, he’s smiling. Genuinely smiling, pearly whites out and all, looking at you like you’re the only thing ever. He laughs and shakes his head before caressing your cheek.

“Both of us won, sweetheart. I like you, too,” he confesses, still gazing into your eyes as if they’re full of everything he’s ever wanted. Morgan tilts his head to the side before asking, “Garcia really didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you shake your head as if to confirm it, and then his words fully register, “Wait, she knew?!”

Before Morgan’s had the chance to say anything back, your hands darted into your pockets, searching for your phone until you’re pulling it out of your pocket. Just as you’re about to call her, Derek’s grabbing at your phone, causing you to wave your arm around to stop him from getting it.

“Hey, no, stop. Don’t you dare. Not yet,” he laughs as he continues his mission to steal your phone from you.

“No, ‘m gonna call her. Would you stop that? Derek!” You manage between giggles.

With both of you moving around so much, he leans too far, body going towards the bed, and wraps an arm around your waist to bring you down with him. Both of you are laughing while fighting over the phone, a fight that you’re still very much winning. That is, until he starts tickling your sides causing your laughter to grow louder and your grip on the phone to grow looser.

The phone falls onto the bed above your head, and he doesn’t even try to grab it, he just resumes his ministrations in your poor sides, tickling away. At some point, he’d end up hovering over you, so when he stops tickling you, you just stare up at him while catching your breath.

Morgan brings one of his hands up to your face, pushing a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear, before caressing your cheek once more. Both of your arms come up, hands locking behind his neck, and the both of you are leaning towards each other. Slowly, he leans down, lips ghosting over yours.

“My pretty girl. It’s about time, huh?”

Without giving you the chance to answer, he captures your lips with his, moving them softly over yours in a sweet, slow kiss. You kiss him back with the same saccharinity, savouring the feeling of his kiss, hands moving from his neck to his cheeks instead.

Due to your previous shortage of breath following his tickling ministrations, the kiss ends sooner than you wanted it to with Morgan pulling away so that he didn’t suffocate you. A petulant pout forms on your lips, to which he just shakes his head.

“Impatient are we, sugar?” He teases, grinning down at you, eyes full of adoration for you.

You hit his chest softly, pathetically really, considering you’re trained in hand to hand combat but the intention was never to hurt him. It serves as a warning, followed by a verbal one, of course.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me, not be mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m not being nice because I want you to breathe? That’s some pretty good logic there, sugar.”

“You know, you haven’t actually asked me to be your girlfriend yet. I could find someone who’s nice to me, instead.”

“Don’t you even think about it, silly girl.”

When he sees the determination on your face he drops his head down a little bit and sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before he lifts it again to look at you.

“Do I really have to ask? That’s so high school.”

A scoff leaves your lips before you deliver another soft hit to his chest, seemingly shocked at his words.

“Yes! If you don’t ask, it’s not real. Did you even watch rom-coms?”

“Alright, alright. Baby girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Morgan’s hands move to start tickling you again, prompting you to backtrack quickly.

“Morgan, no! Stop! I was kidding! Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend, now stop!”

A shrill shriek can be heard from somewhere in the room and you both jump up, bodies going into fight or flight. Morgan’s just about to reach for his gun in the holster when-

“FINALLY! OH MY GOD!”

Penelope’s voice comes from somewhere on the bed, loud and excited, but not loud enough to say she’s in the room with you both. Evidently, you remember faster than Morgan does because you pick up your phone from the bed to see that you had, in fact, called Penelope and she’d been on the line for 5 minutes. With a resigned sigh despite your smile, you and Derek just share a look that says; ‘Tomorrow’s going to be fun.’

taglist: @i-padfootblack-things (requester, ily), @floraisunwell (proofreader, ily!!), @darkmatilda

[opt1mistic]

NOT IN THIS UNIVERSE

synopsis: ellie wanted to be her, she wanted to be the person you loved, the person she could go to when she needed to talk, she wanted to be your girlfriend. she tried, she really did. but you just didn’t want the same thing. did you even remember all those times she talked—tried to talk to you? it hurt so much, ellie doesn’t know what to do with herself, with her life. will she ever move on?

warnings: angst, crying(ellie), dina comforting ellie, mentions of a heart attack, reader has a gf, blah blah blah blah… not proofread!! wc: 1k

note: soo this was a request from like a really long, and on my old blog(i wrote it but forgot to post it…heh..)i think this is really bad and some of thee worst angst ive ever written but i cant stop thinking about it for some reason so i’m posting it..

masterlist | ellie masterlist

You were just so beautiful and so irrevocably irresistible to ellie. She just couldn’t seem to stop being so in love with you, she stuck to you like glue, like you were the paper and she was the liquid glue that wouldn’t stick. The paper just kept rejecting the glue.

She’s tried talking to you but you just won’t take the conversation, Ellie will say ‘hi’ and you’ll say ‘hi’ back and it just won’t go anywhere. If a question comes your way from Ellie you'll either nod or not even acknowledge it. It was quite rude if I’m gonna be honest, but you were really just not interested, at all. So Ellie just stopped trying, and stood from afar and looked at you from time to time.

When you were on the way to class, Ellie would be by a wall just watching you walk by, with someone else’s hand in yours. You’re leaving class, and Ellie's behind you also leaving the same class, and again, clinging on to someone else’s arm. Why couldn’t it be her? Why didn’t you like her? it was unfair, unfair that you were dating her and not Ellie.

Ellie wasn’t wanting to force herself onto you, because, well, then you definitely wouldn’t like her. And she also didn’t want to seem or be a creep who’s completely obsessed with you, and she wasn’t honestly, she just loves you, has loved you for so long now.

It hurt loving someone who didn’t reciprocate those same feelings. The only feelings you did reciprocate were the ones you have for your lovely, little girlfriend. I mean you looked like you truly loved her, with how much the two of you were spotted together. Anyone and everyone who talked about the two of you would say something along the lines of “ughh they are just so cute, i could never see them two apart.” and Ellie would nod along, agreeing because you and your girlfriend were cute together, and Ellie could also never see the two of you apart. But she also loved you and wanted to be that person for you. But I guess that place was already taken.

Maybe if Ellie would have talked to you at the beginning of your first year of college when she first saw you, but something told her that it was wrong. Maybe it was faith or something else. But it hurt Ellie very deeply when she found out her chance to be with you was gone, because someone else had gotten it, and now has the key to your heart.

Ellie often cried at night after seeing you with her, it tormented her, that you were being touched by someone else, that you let someone else’s lips touch your own. It tortured her, messed with her head. She’d sit on her bed with tears falling from her eyes, and Dina next to her, comforting Ellie, telling her to forget about you and just move on.

“Ellie, you need to move on, she made it obvious that she’s not interested. and she’s already dating someone. just move on and find someone else that you can actually be with.”

“I can't, dina. i-i i just can’t, you don’t understand,” she sobbed out to dina shaking from the pain you were causing her. Ellie’s cries were loud, possibly heard by her neighbors. She just couldn’t let you go. “I just loved her.” more yelps and helpless cries left Ellie's lips.

The next day she would wake up with such puffy eyes that if they were any more puffier she probably wouldn’t be able to see anything. Ellie would go to her class and see you again, and that fucking girlfriend of yours, and she just break something, dig her knuckles into something and break it. But instead of breaking something she just cried, cried and cried, until she couldn’t, until nothing would come out.

She cried out all her tears for you, and she had none left for you. And maybe it was meant to be like this, that you and her weren’t supposed to be or end up together ever, in any universe, you were just meant to be strangers and nothing more. You were meant to walk past Ellie everyday and not know that she even exists. Forgetting and erasing all those times she has tried talking to you and know her as only a nobody.

and possibly it was faith that she never talked to you that first time she met you, maybe it was meant to be like this. Ellie will continue watching you pass her by in the corridors and watch as your girlfriend kisses you.

Ellie was going to move one and find someone who acknowledged her and wanted her the same way she wanted them. And she’ll never forget you, she will always remember you and keep you close to her heart so that every time she thought of you a piece would break off. and stab her and leave her to bleed out to death.

And she will start to forget you, but then one little thing will trigger the thoughts of you and it will stab and kill her over and over, and over again, until you have no heart to stab with the knife in your palm. And the power you have over her will be completely gone with Ellie's heart, because you were the one who was going to hold and squeeze it forever.

Until there is not a beating heart left to squeeze, Ellie will be dead, of whatever killed her, old age or maybe a heart attack. In the state she is in at this very moment, it feels like a never ending heart attack. She could feel this crying feeling in her chest that feels like millions of heart attacks all at once. That almost brings tears to Ellie’s eyes, but nothing ever comes out anymore. And all this just because of you. And will anything ever fill that empty void that you left in her— in her heart?

©opt1mistic

[lucimaaie]

calling ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - you finally take ellie to meet your parents.

warnings - "your mom" gets used a lot, awkward ellie cause i love her that way, 3k word count, a bit of angst

playlist | spidey masterlist

With Ellie feeling better, things had gotten to be a new sort of normal. As normal as they could be considering. Yeah, you still woke up at night haunted by the sinister reminders of her getting hurt and she still snuck off in the wee hours of the morning to do ‘research.’ Neither of you wanted to talk about it. Other than that, your relationship was as good as can be. 

So good that you had decided to call up your parents again and set a date to have dinner with them at the end of the week, along with Ellie of course. Insert minor anxiety that climbed its way into your mind and spread like a bad virus. How would they react to her? Would they ask about the injury? You could imagine the embarrassment when your dad shamelessly went into his passionate rant about how high the crime rates were these days. 

Despite your anticipated unease, you had laid out your and Ellie’s clothes days before, bought at least something to not come up empty handed, and ran down your list of no-no topics at least twice. You knew your constant reminders were starting to annoy Ellie, but you wanted everything to be perfect. If not perfect, at least peaceful. 

"The air's gonna be blasting. You're gonna thank me for this." You were knee deep in the front closet you'd stacked up boxes neither of you wanted to deal with. That was including puffy ass jackets that caused you overheat even in winter and others you have no what demon compelled you to buy. 

"Who wears a jacket inside in the summer?" Ellie yelled from the kitchen. 

"People who have lived in a glorified icebox all their life..so me!" You yelled, thoughtlessly ripping through boxes to rummage through them in seconds. Nothing came up. You groaned, pushing them back to as much a neat state as you could, when the sound of a heavy clatter made your head snap in the direction of it. 

The luminescent blue made your limbs stiff as you started to remember where you’d seen it before. That glow that lit up the whole hallway in spite of its small size made your stomach churn in recognition. You didn’t want to think about that night, so you hastily reached for the orb and threw it into the first open box you saw, shutting the closet door behind you. 

“Bad news.” You came around the corner in what you hoped was a composed stroll.  “You might have to freeze your ass off.”

"Oh no, how will we survive in 70 degree weather?" Ellie murmured from the other side of the living room, using the window’s reflection to button up her shirt all the way up to the collar. She gnawed on her lip, brows furrowed in concentration, allowing you to sneak up on her. Or at least try. She always seemed to have a sense around these things. 

You placed your head on her shoulder, taking in the scent of her. Her natural smell was easy to pick out even under the sweet, citrusy lotion she had stolen from you. You took in a dramatic whiff and nosed at her ticklish neck just to hear her try to hold herself back from laughing. As expected, Ellie’s shoulder came up to shut your head out.  “Alright, alright.” You leaned your head on her back instead, wrapping your arms around her waist. 

“You ready to go?” 

“Ready is generous.” She talked through a deep sigh, swatting off imaginary dirt off her shirt in an attempt to make herself look presentable. She could fuss with her shirt for hours if you let her. If you had been tossing and turning, she had been grinding her teeth in and out of her sleep. 

Your hands came up to grab her wrists. “I don’t think choking one a button on is gonna get you outta this.” Your hands on her shoulders turned around to face you. A grin came to your lips as you undid a button or two, adjusting her collar so that it looked natural. One look at her confirmed she was indeed ready to meet the tough pair you’d been raised by. “You’re ready.” Before she could protest, you subdued her with a peck and keys in her hand. 

Ellie opened her mouth, starting to come up with a reply to your blind confidence in her, but she came up with nothing. She’d let you have your way this time. 

The modest stature of your childhood home gave no justice to the bustling energy on the inside. Ellie’s eyes searched the exterior, taking in all the signs that a family had been here: a worn porch swing, a wreath with artificial bright yellow flowers, cracked paint on the door, light shining through every window. 

The scrambling behind the door at your knock kickstarted a wave of anxiety through her body. She hadn’t even realized it was that noticeable until you squeezed her hand and began drawing tiny circles on the inside of her wrist. Before she could squeeze back the door opened, revealing your mom.

“Hi, Ma.” She’d never seen the woman, but she could feel the quiet grace ruminating from her serious face. The moment she laid her eyes on you, her features softened into a smile that resembled yours. She dragged the two of you in before wrapping her arms around you tight. “God, I was wondering if I’d have to get you a police escort to make you come down here.”

“It hasn’t been that long.” You were sheepish as you set down a container of rolls. They were store bought rolls and weren’t fooling anybody, but you were taught to never come up empty handed and you’d rather save yourself a mountain of questions from your mom. 

Your strong willed energy being nerfed by your mother almost made Ellie snort until the attention was placed on her. “And this is Ellie.” Your mom’s voice was filled with awe and interest Ellie didn’t know what to do with. She let herself be pulled into a hug as tight as the one she shared with you. “And how are you, Ellie? With the injury and everything?” Your mom dragged her to the living room, probably to seat her and start the interrogation. 

“Uh, I’m alright. I’m healing.” Ellie glanced between the fireplace and the woman’s warm eyes. It’s not that she hated it, the opposite actually, she just had no idea how she should feel. She hoped the wringing of her hands was subtle. 

“That’s good. I actually have something that might help—“

“You don’t have to—“ Your hand on her shoulder cut her off. She resisted the urge to sigh in relief at your presence, though she was glad you hadn’t left her to the wolves. And glad she hadn’t said that out loud. 

“It’s better if you just let her get it.” You sat next to her handing her a glass of water, leaning back against the couch with ease. 

“Get what?” The hairs on Ellie’s neck seemed to stand up when she recognized the deep, stern voice of your father who had appeared from the hallway like he was gunning to catch her doing something she shouldn’t. While she felt she should straighten up and put some respectful space between you, you hadn’t moved an inch. 

Intimidation was nowhere near your face as the man wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Hi Dad,” You mumbled into his arm, unaware of your girlfriend’s internal debate just feet from you. 

Her eyes widened when his focus was now centered on her. Her mind was chaotic deciding what she should do in his presence. Should she stand up? Hug him? God, no. What was she even supposed to talk about, work? She was pulled from her thoughts as he held out his hand. She quickly took it and returned both his firm grip and eye contact.  “Alive and well,” 

“That’s me.” She pressed her lips together in an attempt to look like she wasn’t shitting her pants trying to figure out how to impress your parents. She relaxed when he sat down and followed suit. 

There was a lull in conversation as Ellie sat there, not quite sure what to talk about for the millionth time this evening. She looked as stiff as a board, trying not to touch you (for once.) You’d have busted out laughing if she wasn’t so nervous. Instead, you slipped your arm around hers and filled the silence before your dad’s attention was gone to the TV.  “So, dad’s what’s for dinner?”

“Let’s see,” He leaned forward, grabbing the towel that was about to fall off his shoulder. “Mashed potatoes, broccoli rice casserole, baked chicken–” And just like you got him talking. About food, but still it was progress. You knew that quietness was only to save himself the air he needed to drill questions at Ellie later. “Actually, lemme go check on the casserole.”

“How’d I do?” Ellie whispered as soon as he left the room. 

In the interest of making her feel better–and not spitting out your water– you held in the urge to laugh at her paranoid behavior. “Just fine, hun.” You intertwined your fingers with hers, something you’d probably be doing the whole night just to get her not to run, and kissed her knuckles. “They’re not serial killers, I promise,”

“Your dad’s probably checking for the gun right now.” She mumbled, tracing the natural lines in your palm. For a while, you stayed like that and it wasn’t bad at all. Ellie had been looking around in search of signs you grew up here and each one made her want to squeeze you and never let go. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Your mom appeared from the kitchen, ushering the both of you to the dining room. The table was small, only having the space for the four of you and maybe one other person if you had a sibling or a friend. Four steaming plates were set around a small bowl of pinecones that were inexplicably never out of season in your house. 

Ellie had been sure to make some effort to eat throughout the dinner, but the lingering anxiety sitting in her stomach hadn’t exactly gifted her with an appetite. Her focus stayed on your hands linked under the table and endless amounts of questions from your parents. One part was gentle on your mom’s part and the other firm though your dad tried to bring it down a notch by you and your mother’s instruction. Both of them wanted to know her life story up until the moment she met you which was sweet and slightly if not very overwhelming.

Somehow she had gotten wrapped into a conversation about the job industry just from a question about what she wanted to do when she graduated. “And now they’ve got this AI stuff they’re using and that’s only the start. Soon enough-” Ellie was trying her best to keep up with your dad’s passionate rants about the future of the job industry and all, but she started to zone out.

“Dad, I think we’ll be okay for now.” Your attempts to calm him wouldn’t get him off his high horse. Once he started talking, it could be an hour long lecture. You had been on the receiving end of them enough to know. 

“But you use it for homework, don’t you?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, having finished his food a long time ago. 

“You’d get a call from Dean if I did.” 

“Enough of the AI talk, I think we all get the point, babe.” Your mom came to the rescue. “Why don’t you tell Ellie about your job instead of why you might lose it–which you won’t.”

Your dad leaned back in his chair, stomach practically poking out from all the seconds he’d had between his rants. “Alright,” He wiped his hands once more and then leaned forward as if he was giving a statement on TV. She glanced at you for help that she very well may need later if your dad got as passionate about his job too. “I’m the police captain, which essentially means I’ve worked this precinct enough years to boss anyone around.”

“Which means you don’t do any work.” You mumbled as you tore apart your third roll in the past hour, grinning at the deadpan look you’d earned from your father. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” He turned his attention back to Ellie. “That’s what happens when you stick it out in one job long enough. You get to make some of the decisions. You keep that in mind when you graduate.” 

“Uh, I will.” Ellie cleared her throat, squeezing your hand. She had become somewhat comfortable during dinner, but she was still on guard with the amount of part of lectures your dad had administered throughout the night. That didn’t stop her from sharing a few snickerd with you when he wasn’t looking. 

“I think you’ve imparted enough advice on us for the year.” 

“I gotta deal with bug theme vigilantes, but at least I’m getting paid for it.” 

“You mean the, uh..what’s her name? Spider..Spiderwoman. That’s her name.” Ellie seemed to perk up at the mention of her alter ego. She hadn’t even needed to glance at you to know this was one of the topics you hoped wouldn’t come up. 

“Yeah, that’s her.” Your dad’s voice was full of disdain. The same disdain you had to listen to whenever you called home and simply asked about work or the news. It stopped when they had developed something of a working relationship now destroyed by Ellie’s absence these past few weeks. “The great hero of New York. Where is she now?” He grumbled. 

Tenseness swept over half of the table at the mention, the topic a soft spot in both you and Ellie. No one knew how much she yearned to wear the suit again, how restless she was starting to feel without the very thing she had devoted herself to for more than half a decade. 

Ellie had tried to be subtle in her exit, making up some excuse about needing a refill in her cup. Your parents pointed her to the direction of the kitchen without another thought about it. Though you couldn’t read her mind, it was obvious the spontaneous mention shook her. You grabbed your plate, about to excuse yourself until your dad took the plate from your hands and stacked it on his. There goes your excuse. 

Ellie had been zoning out a while, lost in her head when your dad walked in and set the plates in the sink. She found herself on edge, readying herself for another rant about how much of a coward she was. To her surprise, that wasn’t his intention at all. 

“I was told not to give you a talk, so I’ll keep this short.”

Her eyes flicked up to your father, then to the tile for a few seconds just to return to him again. She hadn’t seemed to process what he said until he tilted his head, searching for something. She had no idea what he was looking for and it only made her more nervous, if that was possible. She seemed to be nothing more than a big ball of nerves tonight. Your parents were nice people and she was grateful you allowed them to meet her, but she couldn’t ignore the big red and blue elephant in the room. You knew. They didn’t. 

“You know, she was worried sick when we came. We could barely get her to take a nap or eat.” It didn’t take a genius to know what he was referring to. The fact that he brought it up was making her feel any better either. 

“I know.” Ellie shifted on her feet, pulling her arms over her torso. She couldn’t focus on finding the right balance of eye contact or not looking how she felt. Her mind was working overtime to try to find what to say. It was enough to struggle to get you to trust she was safe, she hadn’t thought about your parents. Though an apology felt inadequate at this moment. 

“What I’m trying to say is she cares for you. A lot.” Your dad wrung out the towel and placed it over the counter, turning around to mirror Ellie’s position against the counter. “I mean, you’re the first one she’s brought home.” Something of a smile crossed your dad’s face. It shouldn’t have been such a strange thing to notice. No matter how tough he made himself out to be, at the end of the day, he was nothing but a dad protective of his daughter. She could never be mad at that. There’s nothing she wouldn’t give to experience that again. 

“Don’t mess it up.” His sternness came back to snap her out of her mind. 

She pushed herself off the counter. I’ll try my best, she thought. No, that wasn’t good enough for you. “I won’t.” 

“I will be holding you to that–”

“Dad! Ellie!” Your voice boomed from the living room. The confused pair moved fast past the abandoned dining table to the TV. The set up of panels from the news were familiar save for the live feed of the demon masked assailants wreaking havoc on a traffic-infested road in the middle of the city. And just to add to the chaos, a significant prison transfer was taking place on the same road. 

Ellie had been too focused on the screen to realize your dad had already grabbed his gun and his car keys on the way to the door. He was the police captain, of course he was on his way to the danger. Her only problem was working up the excuse to get there herself. Her eyes came to yours, somewhat asking for permission. Her heart ached at the visible stress in your body, the way you squeezed your hands together. 

“I’m gonna go–” 

“Ellie’s gotta run to the lab,” You blurted, surprised yourself by the words that came out your mouth. There was no amount of regret that could take the acceptance back. Why would you when there were people in those cars, praying they don’t lose their life to today’s batch superpowered criminals? That’d be selfish, would it? Thought that justification did nothing to soothe your worries. 

“I’m coming back, I promise.”

thank you for reading!

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards Prelude pt. 2

pairing: gambler/drug dealer!yoongi x grad student!fem!reader, surprise pairings rating: mature MDNI! 18+ only. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked!!! genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to e2l mafia/bodyguard au summary: he shows up a second time. but does he stay? warnings/tags: oral (f. receiving), usage of sl*t, motorcycle riding, angst, bantering, dialogue heavy, smoking, implied drug dealing/usage, tiny bit of fluff, flashback of secondary school relationships, referenced underage drinking wc: 12k 😭 im sorryyyy huuuuuge ginormous humongous thank you to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo for her extraordinary commentary and feedback that never fails to make me smile, as well as @syllviere for her emotional support lol and bouncing ideas with me for this fic. could not have done this without y'all and I’m so grateful for your friendship <333

prologue l ch 1. play nice l prelude. strangers 1/3 l prelude. 2/3 l prelude. 3/3 l

Boys. They’re so messy.

All four of you had been in the hotel room for only 15 minutes but already the floors and counters were littered with beer cans and food containers. Jin would’ve had an aneurysm if he’d seen how quickly things had turned into chaos.

You were sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sulking as you watched your brother get ready. He was choosing which snapback better matched his outfit while Tae leaned over the sink in the bathroom, smearing a charcoal pencil under his waterlines. Jimin, on the other hand, was on the bed opposite you, laying on his back with his phone in the air, playing some game. He’d been the first to get ready.

“Can’t I go? Please?” you whined.

“No,” Jungkook huffed, saying your name in a harsh tone.

“Why not?”

“Because Jin would skin me alive if he found out I took you to an underground poker game.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Tae intervened, stepping out of the bathroom, flashing you a wink. “You’re gonna cave just like you always do, so save yourself the trouble. You know Jin hyung would never do anything to his two precious babies.”

“You’re too nice to her,” Jungkook grumbled, fixing his small gauges.

“She’s so cute, I can’t help it!” Tae exclaimed, your brother rolling his eyes.

“She’s just my lame, annoying sister.” Your jaw dropped, entirely hurt, and Jimin sat up to look between you and your brother with a frown on his face. If only you could hug him without Jungkook throwing a fit. His hugs always made you feel better.

“You’re so mean!” Tae came to your defense. “She loves you and that’s why she wants to go everywhere with you. Maybe you should be nicer.”

Jungkook shook his head defiantly, narrowly missing the pillow you chucked at him. But then he looked at you with a grimace, and you shot up on your feet with a smile. The familiar look of reluctance.

“Don’t wander off or be a pain in my ass,” Jungkook pointed a stern finger at you to which you stuck your tongue out before giddily bouncing over to the bathroom where Tae was finishing up with his hair.

“Thanks, Tae,” you murmured softly as you stepped up next to him.

“Of course, little angel. I always got your back.” You smiled at his soft elbow nudge in your side. “He’s really the lame and annoying one. Not you.”

“I heard that!” Jungkook called out in an offended tone.

“Good!” Tae shot back, grinning widely as you giggled. “Go get ready. We have to leave soon to catch the bus.”

****

The bar was musty, smelling of cigarettes, gross men, and booze, and the dim lights had a green smokey film floating underneath, creating a spooky atmosphere.

“Guys, do you really think we should be here?” Jimin asked nervously, wringing his hands. You stared, wanting to hold one of them.

Tae turned around from where he was standing beside your brother and hopped over with a smile, hooking an arm around Jimin’s neck.

“Aw, it’s okay, Baby J. We have my big pitbull to protect us, remember?” Tae jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Jungkook. Jimin shoved him away.

“How about this?” Tae booped his nose, and you found it cute the way Jimin wrinkled it in response. “When I win, I’ll use the money to replace your shit car.”

You stifled a laugh as Jimin kicked at his shin and Tae skipped away with a laugh, stopping beside your brother who was rolling his eyes at your antics. But he smiled shyly when Tae slung an arm around his waist.

Jimin looked grateful when you hooked your elbows together, both of you sparing a look at your brother to make sure he didn’t notice. Jimin quickly pinched your cheek that flushed under his touch, heart racing when he soothed it with his thumb.

You’d get around to telling them eventually.

Jungkook got in a small argument with a server who thought his ID was a fake, and her eyes widened in shock when your brother turned around to reveal the family emblem permanently drawn on the back of his neck, hidden by the lid of his hat. Your stomach churned at the sight. In a few years, you’d have to get the same tattoo. The very reason why you hated crows.

The server ran off to retrieve the owner, who walked briskly towards your group, eyes hardened.

“Do you know what the boss would do to me if he found out I let you kids in here?” The bar owner exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around as if Jin was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Jungkook shrugged, adjusting the snapback. “Besides, I just turned 19, so I’m legally allowed to be here.”

“What about your friends?” Your brother glanced back at the three of you. Jimin looked like he was about to throw up and Tae consolingly rubbed his back.

“He’ll be 19 in December, and they have IDs saying they’re old enough.” Jungkook pointed at Tae, and then at you and Jimin.

The man nodded at you and you did your best to maintain a calm demeanor. “Even her?”

“She’s my kid sister, she goes everywhere with me. I’m basically her permanent babysitter.” You flipped him off.

“You’re making me walk a tight line, kid,” the owner sighed. “But alright, come on.”

“You’re the man,” Jungkook grinned, looking back and beckoning you three to follow him.

“Hopefully not a dead one anytime soon.” Your brother laughed as he walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Nah, you’ll be good.”

As Jungkook led the way through the bar towards some stairs in the back, ignoring the side-glances you all received from the grown men playing cards, you noticed Tae looking around, scanning every table, every face.

“Who are you looking for?” You asked when your brother got caught up ordering a drink.

“Oh, an old friend of mine from back home.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?”

“Yeah," he nodded with a wistful frown. "It was a long shot but I still wanted to see if I could run into him. He brought me a couple of years ago and taught me how to play.”

A sad look appeared on his face, so you didn’t think he wanted to talk anymore about it.

At the poker table downstairs, Jungkook sat down among the men like he owned the place, Tae right beside him. You pulled up a chair to sit behind them as cards were dealt and chips stacked. Jimin disappeared into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a while.

When the first river was dealt, Tae leaned back to whisper into your ear,

“Remember, it’s all in the eyes, little angel. You can always tell someone’s true feelings in their eyes.”

You nodded, intently watching Tae and your brother play, paying attention to the other men as well, trying to catch their tells.

Jimin returned with a tight smile on his face, and you both squeezed onto the chair, taking his hand into your lap since Jungkook was too engrossed in the play.

Your brother won a few rounds, smug as ever, but Tae won more and just gave Jungkook subtle nudges of his shoulder and whispers in his ear. You reminded yourself to tease him about the blush on his face later.

When the game ended, Tae emerged victorious, and all four of you celebrated with some shots at the bar, Jungkook making you vow that you’d never tell Jin.

Back home, Tae kept his promise to Jimin and bought him a nicer car. Still old and used, but less prone to breaking down.

For your birthday, he gifted you a keyboard, and it became one of your most prized possessions. With it, you composed a piece for Jimin who recorded and saved it on his phone, often playing it in his car whenever you two got some alone time, holding hands over the gearshift while you avoided looking at each other.

Some of your favorite memories. Ones that shaped you, seared a forever nostalgic hole in your heart. Ones that feel like they existed in another lifetime. Ones you’d give anything to relive.

The hotel room is smaller than you thought.

The queen-sized bed is located in the middle of the room, facing the terrace that has a clear view of the ocean. Around the corner of the foyer and hallway closet, is the bathroom; on the other side of that is a small nook with a mini fridge underneath an L-shaped counter, two armchairs on either side. It’s cozy. But cold. Quiet. You’re getting tired of being alone.

Your bags are wet, so you unpack everything to check that nothing’s ruined, rushing to get out your sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, you’re relieved that there’s no water damage. That would be very fucking unfortunate and you don’t need a panic attack right now.

After being caught in the rain, stuck in a basement with greasy men and cigarette smoke, and fucked in a cleaning closet, a hot shower is just what you need. But you don’t scrub your skin too hard. His touch still lingers.

You can still feel the tingle left by his fingers digging into your hips, hand wrapped around your wrist, mouth molded against yours. You don’t want to lose that feeling. Even though you lost him.

You want to scream at the top of your lungs. Why the fuck did you let that man go? You know, in your heart of hearts, that you’ll never meet someone like him again. You won his money - he didn’t owe you a goddamn thing and yet he came after you when he thought you were in danger. That had to mean something, right?

The thought of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up makes your hands feel clammy, despite the steamy shower stall. Who knows what intentions those men had, aside from forcing you to give them the money back. You can fight, but your odds were against you with a group of vengeful thugs. And you don’t have your knife - it would’ve gotten confiscated at the airport and it means too much to you to risk that.

But you do have another weapon, pretty much guaranteeing that you could’ve walked out of there alive. With one flash of the back of your neck, those guys would’ve backed off and run for the hills.

You don’t mull over if Yoongi would join them; instead, spend the rest of your shower fuming, hot water incomparable to the burning in your veins. Because of him, mostly. For being such a jerk even though you didn’t do anything wrong, even though you tried being nice to him. For acting like you’d been the bane of his existence but still fucking you. And for sending you into a confusing whirlwind but not leaving you any time to catch up. And still making you want him.

Maybe you’ll just go to bed and forget him. Do some sketches, get a headstart on upcoming assignments, and go home tomorrow pretending that there isn’t some strange crack in your soul left by a man you just met.

You’re just about to start your skin care routine when three knocks rap on the door. You freeze. It’s almost the middle of the night, who the fuck- Oh, shit. Wait. It can’t be those guys. Wrapped up in a robe, you tiptoe out of the bathroom, mind racing as you formulate a plan if it is them. Pressing against the door, thinking about the possibility of shimmying your way off the balcony since you’re only on the second floor, you peer into the peep hole, heart flatlining when there isn’t a group of thugs outside, but a familiar mop of orange hair.

What the hell is he doing here? Whatever the reason is, you’re way too relieved that it’s him. Teetering on elated, everything you’d come to peace with in the shower wiped away at the sight of him standing outside your door, hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes.

You swing open the door just as he turns for the stairs, like he’s giving up. His eyes are wide when he faces you, narrowing as they fall on your robe-covered body.

“You just keep turning up, don’t you? Were you a stray cat in a past life?” You tease, snickering at his glare as you lean on the door. He sighs, stuffs his hands further in his jacket, glares harder at the threshold.

“I lied to you about the buses.” You smile softly at his confession.

“I know. They run till midnight.”

“And I don’t have a friend’s place to crash.”

“I figured that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t tell you what he’s here for, if he wants something. You already told him you’d give him money, you have more than enough, but you’ll be disappointed if that’s the only reason why he’s at your door.

“So, what? You showed up just to tell me that you lied?”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head before snapping up to meet your gaze. The fire in his eyes is blazing. “For this.”

And suddenly he’s crowding your space, large, warm hands holding the side of your face. Again. And you barely have time to blink much less breathe before his lips crash onto yours. You thank your lucky stars.

He backs you into the wall behind the open door, and your heart runs in your chest when he starts kissing you just as hungrily as before. But this time, he makes the effort to angle your face with his in a way that he can kiss you passionately, with purpose, with heat, with his tongue meeting yours, exploring between your lips, into your mouth, like he’s trying to steal your breath away and you let him, kiss him back with equal fervor. He kisses you deeply enough that you can feel the effects all the way down to your toes, almost to the point of having an out of body experience, nothing you’ve ever felt before. He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping.

And you don’t want him to, but when you lift your arms to loop around his waist, bring him closer, his jacket is cool and wet, and his body vibrates beneath the layers. You break the kiss to catch your breath and tell him he feels cold, but apologies tumble through his swollen, pink lips.

“Shit, I don’t know what I was thinking, I should-” He takes a step back and you think he’s going to run again, so you grab the side of his damp jacket to keep him in place. Keep him near you.

“You’re shivering.”

He stiffens, but the back of his shoulders visibly tremble. You move past him to close the door, gesturing for him to take off his shoes.

“Do you want to shower?” He regards you for a moment, shoulders tense, and then nods, once. Directing him to the bathroom, you offer a small, warm smile but just as he reaches for the handle and opens the door a crack, you stretch your arm to land a hand on the frame, effectively blocking him.

“Admit that you think I’m pretty first.”

His eyebrows furrow, he blinks, and then swivels on his heels to head for the front door. Your loud laugh echoes after him.

“Have fun sleeping in the rain!”

He exhales a frustrated breath and another snicker fills the space in response as he turns back around.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ll be lying. For once.”

“Wow, pretentious, much?” he quips.

“Stubborn, much?”

His lip curls. “Annoying brat.”

“Grumpy jerk.” It’s enchanting, how quickly you match each other’s energy, hostile but with no real bite.

He scowls and tilts his head up to the ceiling, like he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. And your delighted grin glows at him.

“So, what’ll it be?” His glare flickers to you with a piercing glint.

“You’re pretty,” he grumbles, and even though you heard him, you lean forward, cupping your ear, wanting to hear it loud and clear.

“Hm? What was that?”

He speaks through clenched teeth. “You’re really fucking pretty. So there.”

“Dude, why do you look like you’re about to pop a vein?” You cackle and he runs a hand down his face.

“If it makes things any better, you’re not too bad looking yourself. I’d even go so far as to say you’re handsome. Like really fucking handsome,” You mock him and grin when he glowers at you. You nod to the bathroom.

“Get in there.” Twirling around, you just miss the way his cheeks tinge a subtle shade of pink.

As the door closes, your cheeks buzz with a dopey smile you can’t drop, color painting a part of your soul that’s been dormant for a long time, awoken when he showed up on your doorstep because he wanted to kiss you again. 

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” you call out. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? They’re on the sink.”

“Haven’t I done you enough favors?” From his one small moment of vulnerability, you forgot that he’s a fucking asshole.

With a huff, you knock on the door rapidly, holding your breath as the handle clicks and the door swiftly swings open to reveal Yoongi’s dark, narrowed eyes. Are you disappointed that he’s only dressed down to a black-tee, still in his jeans? You’ll never admit it. One more glance would show you that they’re unbuttoned, belt removed. The same jeans that were smacking on your ass back in the-

“Were you hoping I’d walk in on you naked?”

He cocks his head with a slight smirk. “I was hoping you’d walk in here naked.”

Oh, he’s smooth. Pulse dancing, you school your expression to conceal how flustered you are.

“Maybe I would’ve if you were nice. Can I have my clothes?” You hold out your hand and he glances down at it, a sigh leaving him as he brings his arm into view, passing over your sleep clothes. You snatch them with a cheeky smile and walk away to change. The door doesn’t shut until you’re around the corner.

Fully dressed and pretty much ready for bed, jet lag starting to get the best of you, you’re sitting at the white counter next to the window, re-checking all the designs in your sketchbooks when the door opens and Yoongi’s bare feet pad on the floor. You tense with the urge to turn around and see whether or not he’s appearing as what you’re imagining in your mind. Towel wrapped low on his hips, chest bare, body lithe and sleek and beautiful. When he passes behind you, the air around you thickens with his musk, the clinging scent of hotel soap and shampoo. Your legs cross under the table.

He stands adjacent to your seat, and you sneak a glance up at him peering down at your sketchbook, shaking a small towel over his wet hair. But he’s wearing a damn robe, sash tugged tightly around his waist, his clavicles and center of his chest just barely peeking out, two chains accentuating it. One is medium-length and studded with tiny diamonds, the other a long collection of stainless steel beads that hold two dog tags from his military service. 

You retract your gaze and pretend to draw, cheek warming against your fist. He’s so attractive, it’s not fair.

“Are you an architect or something?” he asks as he drops in the seat across from you, towel falling around his neck. His tone sounds accusatory, like he can’t fathom you being in that kind of profession, but you don’t take it personally. You figure it’s just another one of his asshole-isms.

“No, I’m just minoring,” you reply without looking at him. “These are some sketches I’m playing with for my thesis project in the spring.”

“How proactive. They’re, um,” he clears his throat. “They’re pretty decent.”

He’s still leaning over, so with a bashful smile, you slowly push the book to his side of the table, permission for him to examine more closely.

“Thanks. My friends and I are talking about opening up an architecture firm after we graduate, and they’re looking at me to take care of the business portion of it.”

“Hm.” He sounds indifferent, but he glimpses at you while you talk, so you think he’s at least listening. As soon as you stop, though, his eyes return to your sketchbook. And he’s not just flipping through them. He takes his time with each page, each design, even the messier ones with all the frustrated scribbles and eraser marks. Sometimes he leans in and squints to get a closer look at the smaller details and… No one has looked at your pages like that. Not even your friends. Or brothers. The only exception is your professors, but that’s for a grade. Something glimmers in your chest. Something warms.

You change the subject so you don’t dwell on it.

“What did you major in?”

Your question sparks a slight frown on his face as he flips a page. “I didn’t go to college. Not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “Then, what do you do? Or you just gamble for a living?”

“You and all these questions.”

“Fine. Be boring,” You huff, crossing your arms.

“I work on cars,” he reluctantly mutters. Perking up at that, you sit a little straighter.

“You’re a mechanic?”

He hums in acknowledgment and you launch into a mainly one-sided conversation about your favorite makes and models, wishing you could tell him about your brother’s extensive car and bike collection. You smile when he at least indulges you in his current vehicle choice - an Elantra. Ooh. Sporty.

You’re a tad too giddy when you ask, “Do you race?”

“I can. But I don’t.”

“Maybe one day I’ll beat you at that too.” He just sighs and shakes his head, and you wear your shit-eating grin as the conversation comes to a stand-still. Now that you’re not sure what else to say and he doesn’t seem too keen on entertaining more questions, you wait for that awkward tension to settle between you but it never comes.

It’s just… quiet. Except for the sound of your breathing as you ponder explanations for why your heart is pounding that doesn’t have to do with the man sitting across from you, still engrossed in your sketches.

It’d be nice if he gave you an indication that he was interested in doing anything besides this and kissing you, but you suppose the fact that he accepted your invitation to shower instead of just fucking you in the foyer and hitting the road again is indicative of he can now at least stand being in your presence.

“So, fixing cars makes you enough to gamble a few million won away at an illegal poker ring? All in one night?”

He glances at you with a glare, flipping another page. “Okay, smart ass. What do you think I do?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you pretend to think. “Sell stuff.” He doesn’t look at you, a slight down tick at the corner of his mouth.

“Stuff.”

“Substances?” Narcotics is the word you want to say, but don’t. Scrutinizing another drawing, impassiveness covers his face.

“And would you have a problem with that?”

“Do I seem like I would have a problem with that?” His attention flits to you for a small moment and then stays down.

His silence is enough to say that he doesn’t want to talk any more about it and you won’t press him even though you’re a nosy little shit because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But you do want to let him know that you’re not one to judge.

If he is a dealer, you know just how easy it is to get into but so much harder to get out of.

“Well, whatever it is, shit’s tough out here, and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, y’know?”

He doesn’t say anything after that and so you let it go. But there’s still something else on your mind.

“Can I ask another question?”

“No,” he deadpans, and you ignore him.

“What was your plan after you dropped me off?”

He brings your book to the edge of the table and sits back in the chair.

“I was gonna go to a sauna, but I forgot I gave the rest of my cash to the cab driver.”

Your brow quirks inquisitively. “Cab? Weren’t you just on a motorcycle?”

Whole body stilling, he focuses on nothing for a moment before quietly grumbling,

“I paid him so he’d tell me where he took you.”

You gawk at him as everything sinks in. A ring of promise glows around the surface of your heart when you realize he went out of his way to find you.

To look out for you. To protect you. And expected nothing in return. Despite the fact that you kissed him, showed him you wanted more, he didn’t try to invite himself up. Just took off into the night without looking back. Like he didn’t just save your life. Like you don’t owe him for fucking stabbing someone for you.

“You really came looking for me,” you marvel. “Why?”

His jaw clenches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“I don’t have to answer that.” Ugh, he’s so fucking difficult, with this wall around him that you desperately want to infiltrate.

“You and your attitude,” you scoff. “What’s your problem?”

When he doesn’t respond, you reach over to pull your sketchbook out of his grasp, slamming it closed on the table. You repeat your question with a harsh glare and he returns it with equal intensity.

“You,” he admits darkly, eyes hardened. “You are my problem.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His lips pull into a line and he stares at his flat hand on the table. You sit back again, dejected fingers rubbing over your sketchbook, watching him refuse to look at you.

You stand up before your brain gives the command, feet gliding around the table, heart pounding with each step, and end up next to his chair. He stares up at you with a pinch between his brows as you nudge your knee against his, and even though he looks confused, he turns away from the table to give you more room to stand in between his legs. Jet lag be damned, you dip a knuckle under his chin, holding his head up. His pupils on you are so dark, more than they’ve been all night as he doesn’t blink.

You can’t tell if he’s nervous, or scared, or upset, or a combination, similar to the complexity running in your veins.

“You’re the annoying one.” You stick a knee next to his hip, a hand on his shoulder, a pretense to lowering yourself into his lap. He cocks a brow.

“You can’t even tell me you want me.”

“You think I came back for what? A hot shower?” He says it so sarcastically, you almost laugh.

“Yeah, and a place to stay,” you murmur, resisting the temptation to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

“I would’ve figured something else out. Not my first time with nowhere to go.”

You frown at the thought of him being stuck in places where he wasn’t comfortable. Or safe. Even if he only came back so he wouldn’t end up spending a night in the rain, you would let him stay. You might put him up on the floor but at least he’d be inside.

When he doesn’t say a word, your other hand falls on his shoulders to finally settle yourself in his lap. his chest heaving in a deep breath. As you sit over his crotch, his hands flex, but remain dangling off the arms of the chair. Your eyes fall to the chains glinting on his pale chest and you hook a finger around the diamonds, lifting the small circular pendant, noticing a tiny inscription. You glance at him, silently asking for permission to study it. He just stares so you take that as a yes and lift it to get a closer look.

For my sonja, MYG

A soft smile on your lips, you drop the pendant and trail down to the tags that sit on his sternum and examine the carved information.

Huh. You have the same blood type.

“Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?” The question pours out of your mouth, testing out his full name on your tongue. He squints at you with mirth.

“It’s a little late to ask that.”

Shrugging, your thumb runs over the metal tags, waiting for his answer.

“I’m not a stalker or a serial killer. Good enough?” It should be. But you have to be sure.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

A few beats of silence pass, and vines of trepidation for his truth start to creep up your spine. But then warm, calloused yet soft hands coast up the sides of your thighs to rest on your hips. The vines spark with flames, traveling over every cell of your skin, ignited by his simple touch. Trepidation becomes suspense.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

The implication should scare you. That he hurts people. Maybe even does it for a living. But you know, peering deeply into his dark, brown eyes, that he isn’t a threat to you.

He stabbed someone right in front of you, and instead of being afraid like you should’ve been, you ran away with him. In the middle of the street, soaked to the bone with piercing rain, you grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him like your life depended on it.

And you’re about to do it again.

Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your heart dips when he flinches away, ever so slightly. What the fuck has this man been through? You drop it back on his shoulder, smooth it slowly, daringly, down to his left pec, fingers under his robe. Your breath hitches when you feel how strong his chest is, throat tightening when your palm radiates with the fast rate of his heartbeat.

Too fast to be normal. Too fast to hide that he’s affected by you.

“Do you want me?” you whisper, voice scared of rejection. His jaw ticks, his hands moving to your waist, pressing you forward and down on the solid erection forming beneath you. You gasp.

He grits his next words through clenched teeth, like it’s hard for him to say them.

“I wanted you the second you sat down at that goddamn poker table.”

Just like that moment in the rain, before you got on his bike and held onto him while he drove you into safety, you don’t think before crashing your lips onto his. He opens his mouth to welcome your tongue, and you lick over it with meaning.

The two of you set in motion a greedy and lascivious rhythm of sloppy tongues and experimental grinding hips. His fingers curl into the plush of your ass, encouraging the roll of your center over his erection, ruining your shorts with arousal. He sucks on your bottom lip, moaning when your hand sneaks into his lap and boldly squeezes his twitching length.

“If I suck your dick, are you gonna leave me on the floor again?” you challenge over his mouth.

He pulls away with a frown and a cross in his brows as he looks at you silently expecting some kind of an apology. But he doesn’t even open his swollen mouth, just pushes at your waist until you stand up from his lap, and before you can question what he’s doing, he kisses you again, gripping your waist as he walks you back to the bed. Hands slipping up to your ribcage, he lowers you down, heart hammering to the surface of your chest as he holds himself above you, one hand on your side, the other pressing into the comforter next to your head. 

Warmth pools in your belly as his chains fall in between your breasts, then slide to rest on the base of your throat. You smile in between his lips, lifting a hand to tangle in the links.

“You better not break my jewelry,” he utters, tongue nudging your bottom lip to encourage your mouth open, and without opening your eyes or breaking from his enticing mouth, you grab his hand and encourage it towards your breast, shirt covering your pert nipple.

He softly squeezes a handful of your tit and you arch into him with a moan, his lips between yours curving up in a smug smile. Kissing you once, twice, he drags his mouth down your jaw, to your neck that you strain so he can bruise and bite at your skin. You curse when he moves to mouth over your clothed tit, gently pulling your nipple between his teeth to test out your reaction. You bite your lip with a moan and reach up to curl your fingers in his hair, squirming when he flattens his tongue over the tiny sting.

“So sensitive,” he smizes, cocksure. He laps at your tit once more before nosing down, fingers bunching up your shirt to reveal your stomach, moan escaping you when his lips graze your bare skin.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?”

He shrugs and you roll your eyes as he stands to drag down your sweats, your lungs constricting with every inch of skin he unveils. You know he already fucked you, knows what your pussy feels like, but he hasn’t seen you yet and your cheeks heat at the thought of baring your everything to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he muses when your legs close in their bent form after he fully removes your sweats, tossing them back onto one of the chairs.

You shake your head in denial, but your eyes that refuse to open, refuse to see him staring at you, say otherwise.

“Where’s that dirty girl who wanted to get fucked in a closet by a stranger?”

“Don’t you mean slut?”

“Fine,” he smirks. “Bring back the dirty slut who practically begged me to fuck her in that closet.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t act like a prick anymore.”

Smirk falling, he averts his eyes, tilting his head to the side as his hand smoothes over your lower stomach, fingers dipping into the hem of your-

“Cute panties.”

“They’re shorts.”

“You call these shorts?” He snaps the fabric strained around your thighs. “Leaves little to the imagination.”

“Well, that’s good for you, right? Aren’t you too old to have an imagination?” He quirks a brow, lifts his head to level you with an entertained gaze.

“Says who?”

“Society,” you shrug, and he exhales an unamused huff.

“Wow, good argument. You should sign up for a debate team.”

“I was actually on one in school.”

“So why aren’t you any good?”

“Oh, shut up!” You admonish, and he snickers. If you really think about it, it’s crazy how easy it is to fall into conversation with him like this. And incredibly insane how it does really funny things to your heart.

A stuttered gasp pours from your lips when he cups your heat, rubbing his flattened fingers back and forth. You hiss when he pokes over your covered hole, panties/shorts soaked with your arousal.

“Damn, you get so wet for me,” he muses, tongue poking past his teeth as he pulls your panties to the side. Fuck, just that movement alone is enough to put a flutter in your stomach.

“A little grinding on my lap is all it takes, huh? Or do you just really like being called a slut?”

“Screw you.” His dark chuckle shamefully turning you on, he pulls back his fingers to circle feather-light around your clit. You pull your lips in and shut your eyes to lock away a moan. “We’re getting to that.” His hands slide under your ass, eyes trained on you as he pulls off your garment, and you take a deep breath when he pushes your legs apart.

“Scoot up.” With his hands holding your thighs, you wiggle your way back until your head nears the edge of the mattress, lust coursing through your blood as he lays down in between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. You relax into the soft comforter as he starts off with dragging his lips on the inside of your thigh, humming as he goes along, and arousal builds at the vibrations on your skin. Glancing down at the appealing sight of his head between your legs, you’re tempted again to run your fingers through his soft locks.

“You could really use a root touch-up,” you think out loud. He huffs, breath hitting a spot on your thigh where he was sucking a small mark.

“Ah, hell. Can you be quiet?”

“Just saying.” He clicks his tongue. 

As you break out into a laugh, your expression drops when his dark eyes fixate on you and he spits, loudly, right on your hole before dragging his tongue in a thorough, languid lick through your folds. Back arching with a moan, your hand flies into his hair, pulling a low growl from his throat. He pauses at your clit, nose nudging it before he sucks in a breath, tightens his hold around your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy.

He consumes you, flicking his tongue in some places and slurping in others, going back to the ones that you respond to more - it’s like you just served your pussy to him on a gold fucking platter and he’s savoring you like it’s his last meal.

Fingers tangled in his soft, damp locks, you use your other hand to stifle your whines that he’s drawing out with his expert tongue.

“Don’t hold back for me, dollface,” he insists over your clit. “You can’t get us caught this time.”

Resolve crumbling, you barely register the fact that he called you ‘dollface’ as your hand smacks onto the comforter and unrestrained, needy moans fill the room. He grunts in response and your trembling thighs squeeze around his head as he latches onto your clit, suckling and licking to add fire to the flame in your gut.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you whimper, muscles tensing as the impending snap looms closer.

“Mm, say my name just like that,” he purrs, tongue flicking on your clit.

“You mean you want me to?” You antagonize, not entirely brain dead yet. “After all that grief you gave me about-”

He suddenly draws back, forcing you to groan at the orgasm he just snatched away, hips involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

“Say my fucking name,” he demands.

“Do something that will-”

His mouth wraps around your clit and he starts sucking in rapid motions, not stopping even as you writhe and squirm with pathetic cries, strong arms immobilizing your thighs.

“Yoongi- Yoongi, please!” you shriek, coming with another wanton wail of his name, gripping his roots, and a low, rough growl licks into your pulsing cunt.

Vision blurring with tears as he continues his assault on your clit, you sob at the threat of overstimulation, pushing at his head until he detaches. He kisses your dripping slit one more time just to have you jolt and curse, and then finally lets you catch your breath.

“You got a condom?” he asks after your blood pressure has simmered down to a somewhat normal level and you can comprehend your own thoughts again.

“Um, no?” you rasp, glancing down to his slick mouth and chin. “I thought you had those on deck.”

“I used my last one.”

“When?” You manage to joke. He glares at you through his bangs, shaking his head, and you don’t do well to hold back a laugh. “Oh. Bummer.”

He sighs, and then dots kisses through your folds before latching onto your clit again. Pumping his long fingers into your cunt this time, he gets a little lazy, but it doesn’t make it any less sensational. You lose count of how many times you come but you’re sweating and dripping and just a mess by the time you pass out.

You wake up on your stomach feeling heavy, but so, so good. Lifting your head, you look around, wondering what year it is. You’re still in the same spot you fell asleep in, but there’s a robe laid over you, covering your lower half. Over your shoulder, Yoongi is back at the table, scrolling through his plugged-in phone, and you silently thank the universe that you weren’t just dreaming him up. Because that would be devastating.

Rolling over, you slowly sit up and shift towards the edge of the bed, legs feeling like jelly before you even put any weight on them. You stand up with the robe and nearly lose your balance.

“You alright?” his gravelly voice carries across the room.

“I think I almost died,” you admit as you walk around the bed, rubbing your eyes. He smirks at his phone, looking a little too proud of himself. “How long was I out?”

“Like an hour?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That jet lag really got to me.”

“Jet lag, huh?” He frowns and you playfully roll your eyes.

“You can take the credit for knocking me out.”

You walk away from his cocky grin to head for the bathroom.

After doing your business and admiring the subtle marks he left on the inside of your thighs, you realize how exhausted you are. From the plane, from all the events of the day, from your however-many orgasms, and you should be spent, ready to sleep like a rock through the night.

And yet, there’s a hunger gnawing in your chest. A greed in your gut. He gratified you beyond your imagination, and you still haven’t gotten your fill. But he ran out of fucking condoms.

You wrap the robe around your waist as you head back to the table, avoiding his gaze as you squat over your duffle.

Rummaging through it, you know a condom isn’t going to be anywhere in there no matter how badly you want there to be. Damn it. Are you that desperate? For that man, with that devilish tongue and monster in his pants? Hell fuckin’ yeah.

“You looking for something?”

“Oh, uh, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,” you stutter, tucking back a piece of your hair as you rise. “Do you think we can go to the convenience store? It’s only a couple miles away.”

“It’s kinda late.”

“It’s open all night.”

“Fine,” he sighs, standing and taking his used towels to the bathroom, shoulder just barely brushing yours as he passes you.

When both of you are changed, he lingers in the doorway of the bathroom where you’re standing in front of the sink, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and you don’t anticipate him to step in and appear mere inches behind you. You watch him fix his mussed hair, not sparing your reflection a single glance. Without the mirror, you’re not sure if you would’ve even noticed his stealth presence unless he touched you. You can’t even hear him breathing. And it makes you shiver. Just as nervousness sprouts at his proximity, you twist around to make an escape, immediately regretting it when you come face-to-face with his devastatingly handsome face and dark eyes that dart down to your lips. On pure impulse, you reach up to tussle his hair and scurry away as he turns around with a sharp, “Hey!”

Next to the front door, his glare sears into you as you lean down to put on your shoes, laughing when he nudges you so that you lose your balance. You guess you deserve that.

***

He parked his bike near some bushes in front of a stone wall farthest away from the main lot of the hotel, close to the ocean. You can’t help but skip towards it, excited to go on a ride again. When you reach it and glance back to see that he’s still catching up, you impulsively swing your leg over and settle into the leather seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he approaches you with a glare. You shoot him a sheepish grin over your shoulder.

“Can I drive?”

“That’s something you ask before you get on the bike.”

“Oh. Well, can I?” With a shake of his head, he sighs and you half-expect him to scold you off, but instead he grabs the helmet resting on the rear seat and holds it out to you.

“Put this on first.” Pressing your warming cheek into your shoulder to hide your shy smile, you reach back and accept it, slipping it on. He looks reluctant as he slides onto the seat behind you and you twist forward, a throb rushing down your spine when his hands slide onto your hips and he adjusts himself to sit pressed lightly against you. He leans forward and you’re encased by him as he sticks the key into the ignition, shows you the switch that will bring the bike to life by tapping it twice, hand returning to your hip once you turn it and the engine rumbles alive loudly, vibrating beneath you.

Revving the handlebars, exhilaration flows into your veins as you look down at all the specs on the dashboard.

“You know how to ride, right?” He mumbles into your ear, sounding skeptical. You smirk.

“Remember what happened the last time you misjudged me?” Before he gets a chance to respond, you grasp his hand and pull it around to your stomach.

“Hold on tight,” you say in the lowest pitched voice you can muster in a poor attempt at imitating him from earlier in the night. He sighs and moves his other arm around your waist, and just as your heart starts to beat out of your chest, you kick back the stand, find your balance on the pedals, and rev the engine before taking off down the road, secretly wishing this road stretched on forever.

His fingers curl into your covered skin, presses his chest into your back and it encourages you to lean forward and go faster. You go a little too fast, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you any indication that you should slow down. And when you arch your back, the hard length poking your ass tells you that he doesn’t mind the speed at all.

You pull up to the convenience store in under five minutes, the parking lot empty and Yoongi tells you to park it off to the side. 

“I think you liked that more than I did,” you say after hopping off the bike. He stays in the seat as you remove the helmet and hold it out, grinning up at him.

“You like it when a girl rides your bike, Min Yoongi?” You lilt teasingly, the biggest shit-eating grin on your face clashing with his fierce glare.

“Go get your shit, you brat,” he grumbles, teeth gritted.

“You’re not coming?” You glance down at the glaring problem in the front of his jeans. “Oh, I guess you need a minute.”

His lip curls and he digs his foot into the pebbled asphalt, making you leap away with a giggle when he kicks a small pile at you.

Walking backwards, you blow him a kiss, laughing your way into the store when he returns it with a middle finger. A smile remains on your face as you start looking around for the toothbrush you lied about not having. At one point you realize that your cheeks hurt from still smiling. Is that the effect he has on you? It’s been a minute since a man, (or anyone, really) has made you smile like this.

Perusing the aisles for some midnight snacks, the doorbell chimes and when the cashier offers a monotone welcome, you perch up on your tiptoes to spot a black beanie making its way to the opposite corner of the store.

As you lean into a fridge for some drinks, he steps up into your periphery, and you take a quick glance, smiling at the bandana that’s wrapped around his face again.

“You want anything?” He shakes his head and you sigh, closing the door and turning around with a hand on your hip.

“Can you not be difficult for once and just pick something? Because I don’t share.”

He steps up to you. “I know you’re not calling me difficult.”

“I am.” You challenge, unintimidated despite being nearly nose to nose. “Get something.”

Keeping his glare on you, he reaches into the fridge and pulls an item out to drop it into the basket. You roll your eyes at the fact that he didn’t even look at it and grab a few more of what he picked, letting the door slam shut.

You pinch the bandana and give it a few gentle tugs, getting right in his face. “Is this what you stuffed in my mouth earlier?”

“Yes. And I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Maybe I just want to shut you up.”

“There’s more than one way to do that.” His dark eyes flash.

“Keep it moving.”

He lingers behind you as you finish shopping, but disappears once you head to the checkout. When he comes up behind you and casually tosses something on the counter next to your snacks waiting to be scanned, your whole face floods with heat as you stare at the box of condoms. A 12-pack. Large. You gulp, and the flush seeps down to your toes. This is what you came for, but a flood of embarrassment streams into you at the thought that he planned the same thing, or he caught onto you. To offset some of the flood, you swipe the box and hold it up to him.

“Don’t you need these in a smaller size?”

His eyes flicker up but he doesn’t look at you. Just turns and walks away, leaving you to fight down a laugh. Glancing back at the cashier, you’re grateful that her face hasn’t changed, even as she rings up the condoms. She could probably care less if you robbed the whole store.

Rushing out to the empty parking lot, you’re met with the loud revving of the Ducati and the sight of Yoongi wearing his helmet, looking over his shoulder at you through the open visor.

“Min Yoongi, don’t you dare leave me here!” you yell, stopping in your tracks when he flips down the visor, throws up a peace sign and zooms onto the street.

Your jaw drops. That. JERK! He can’t be serious. You run out to the end of the lot, looking up and down the empty stretch of road but he’s nowhere in sight, just the descendo of the engine hanging in the air.

The engine grows louder and he zips by you, sitting straight, one hand on the throttle, the other in the air, pointing a finger at you. Is he… laughing? It’s your turn to flip him off and you almost scream his name again when he suddenly pulls a sharp u-turn and heads back your way. You don’t expect it, but you’re incredibly impressed as he starts drifting in wide circles around you, his leg coming down to balance himself as the bike sharply turns, showcasing just how experienced he is and fuck if that isn’t attractive. And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Turning you on. But you pretend to be unbothered, crossing your arms as if this dangerous man on this dangerous bike isn’t looping around you like a vulture honing in on its prey.

“Are you done?” you tilt your head once he skids to a stop a few feet away in front of you, ignoring the ringing in your ears caused by his incessant drifting.

He switches off the engine and leans up, flipping the visor to reveal the top part of his face, arms dropping and crossing.

“Are you?” His dark muffled voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“What?”

“Done making a fool out of me.” Blowing a raspberry, you walk up to him, set the bag behind him with a wide grin.

“I don’t think you need me to do that.” He stares at you over his shoulder for a second before twisting around to grab the handlebars and just as he turns the ignition, your hand halts him by his elbow.

“You’re not gonna leave again.”

“Then get on.”

You watch, mesmerized, as he takes off the helmet and runs fingers through his hair, casually holding it over his shoulder for you to take.

This feels better, sitting behind him, arms around his waist, head between his shoulder blades so you can watch the trees lining the road and spot lights of the street lamps go by in a blur.

Alive. You feel so fucking alive. The danger of riding on this bike, trusting this man with your life once again. Stretching out your arm, you let the wind fly freely through your fingers, helmet blocking your periphery from catching the turn of his head for a few seconds before focusing back on the road.

He parks the bike in the same spot as before and you get off and return the helmet.

“Usually when guys go out of their way to show off like you did, they’re trying to compensate for something. Just letting you know.”

He looks at you with night in his eyes as he steps up in front of you, peering directly into your soul, and the pit of your stomach rolls with heat.

“You know damn well that I don’t have anything to compensate for,” he says slyly, eyes flickering to yours in a way that enthralls you. Oh, this cocky bastard. If only he wasn’t so fucking right.

“Or maybe you need to be reminded.”

“Isn’t that why you got these?” you ask, shaking the bag in his face.

“I also need to restock my wallet.”

You scoff, pointing at yourself. “And I’m the slut?”

He grins and your cheeks heat when he just stares for a moment, then takes off in the direction of the hotel without another word.

**

As you reach the stairs of the building to your room, he stops and you turn to him looking down to the stretch of neatly tailored lawn sitting across from the buildings, a few tables and chairs with closed umbrellas spread out in front of the stone wall, the dark ocean a pretty view from afar.

“It’s about to rain, so I’m gonna go smoke. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.” He turns away and your heart cries to go after him, like some clingy, ankle-biting dog.

Stopping after a few steps, he looks back at you pouting and tilts his head.

“Don’t you do what you want anyway?” The dark night can’t hide your bright smile as you bound up to him.

He settles on the table closest to the short-stacked stone wall, wiping off the seat with the end of his sleeve before sitting down and taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. You want nothing more than to sit in his lap again, and, thankfully, there’s an old spot of something white and dirty on the opposite chair that the rain didn’t wash away.

So without warning, you approach him and ignore his repeated look of confusion as you invite yourself into his lap again with an arm around his neck.

“Um, there’s a chair over there.”

“It has bird shit on it,” you reply simply, adjusting yourself to sit sideways, legs hung over his knees. His arms hover in the air.

“So?”

“Would you sit there?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Disregarding the click of his tongue, you lean over to try and snatch away his cigarette, but he holds it up out of your reach.

“This is my last cigarette and you already owe me one.” You sigh indignantly and lean back against the armrest, gawking as he pats the box against his palm to discharge the final cigarette, crushing the cardboard as he lifts the stick to hang loosely between his lips. He fires it up with an attractive flick of the lighter and cup of his hand around the end, sucking in a drag and letting the stick sit between his teeth as he pockets the empty box and lighter. Smoke filters out of the corner of his mouth as he removes the cigarette with two fingers, blowing the stench to the side, away from you. A string tugs from your heart at the considerate gesture. You redirect your attention to the design on the front of his jacket, grabbing the side to inspect it more closely.

“Is this a tiger?”

“Mhmm.” Is his response, tone disinterested as he flicks ash. Some falls on your thigh and he lightly brushes it away. His touch burns.

“Your favorite animal?” He shakes his head, still doesn’t look at you, blows more smoke away.

“It’s just a design.”

As you watch him smoke, the cigarette slowly withering, he lifts his hips to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, crotch rubbing the back of your knees, making your thighs squeeze together. He multitasks checking his phone and taking a drag, a frown appearing at something he does or doesn’t see on his screen. A thought occurs to you that creates a sinkhole in your chest.

“Are you expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?”

“Why, would that piss you off?” He remarks in a mocking tone, and you start to get up but his arm around your waist and a throaty chuckle traps you in place.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you if I had one. I would’ve still wanted to, but I do have a bit of self control over here.”

“You? A man? Self-control?”

“We’re not all disgusting pigs,” he mutters.

“Well, you’re a rare breed.” Lifting his head mid-drag, his eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk on the corner of his lips.

“So I bet you feel real lucky you met me.”

“Is your- oh wow, look at that,” you pretend to muse, putting your hands up to the side of his head as if measuring it. “Your head’s getting bigger. Not a good look for you.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves your hands away, unlocks his phone to scroll through his messages that hold no new notifications. Staring at his screen, the desire to have your number and thread on there increases, a lump forming in your throat, unsure if you should cross into that boundary.

“No girlfriend,” he assures you, locking his phone to let it fall face down in his lap. “I’m checking to see if my deposit came through. I’m shit broke until then.”

Your eyes rove over his side profile, going back to that scene in the poker room, how blankly yet confidently he slid all of his chips into the center of the bet, thinking he had the winning hand.

“I could tell you’re a pro at poker, why did you put so much at risk?”

He sighs and looks away, staring across the compound as he takes another drag.

“Because you really sucked at first, and I thought you were just some dumb, overzealous kid who didn’t know what she was doing playing with the big boys like that. But you’re good, Angel. Too good, and I fell for it.”

“You’re the dummy,” your tone is soft, touched by his genuine admission and acknowledgement of your skills. You press a finger into his temple and push a little. He leans away with a small smile.

“I know.”

The ocean is dark and covered in white-caps, brewing in preparation for the storm. Listening to the waves crashing down below, you think back to your musings in the shower.

“Maybe I owe you for stabbing a dude for me.” Wind blows in your direction as he peers at you unsurely.

“I’m no hero.”

You shrug. “I just want to pay you back for going through all of that trouble.”

“Wouldn’t it make me a prick to take your money for something like that?”

“Not if I’m offering it.”

As you wait for him to argue, your phone buzzes in your hoodie and you quickly pull it out, anxiety flashing when ‘biggest bro’ flashes on the call screen.

“Oh, hang on, sorry, my brother’s calling.” You clamber out of his lap and stand, answering when you’re a few feet away.

“Hey,” you say quietly, somewhat relieved to finally hear from Jin. Even though if he knew where you were, he wouldn’t be. “What are you doing calling me on my regular cell?”

“Well, honey, I haven’t heard from you otherwise and oh, I don’t know. Wanted to make sure you’re still alive. Is that okay? How were your summer classes?”

You smile, start pacing in front of the stone wall. “I barely survived, but I made it out. And I’ve made a lot of progress on my project ideas.”

“That’s good to hear, kiddo. Send me some pictures of your designs one of these days. Any other good news you want to tell your big brother?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm. Like are you seeing any booooooys you might want to bring home some day?”

You cringe, a bit spooked by your brother’s 6th sense for knowing everything that goes on in your life. You spare a quick glance to the boy sitting behind you on his phone, turning your back to him just as he looks up at you, and walk a little further away.

“Like you’d approve of them,” you grumble. You’re sure as shit he wouldn’t approve of that man, especially if he found out about your little tryst in a fucking cleaning closet, at an illegal gambling ring no less. What Jin doesn’t know won’t kill him.

“Well, not if they’re jerks!”

“I could bring home a literal prince, and you and bro would interrogate him like he was threatening national security.”

He laughs. “Oh, come on. You know I want you to find someone nice who makes you happy.”

“How can I do that if I move around every eight months?” you ask defensively, that bitterness for your situation enforced onto you by him and your father bubbling to the surface. “I don’t think I’m gonna meet anyone who’d want to be with me like that.”

Silence hangs over the line. “You never know.”

You roll your eyes. He underestimates the kind of men that are around everywhere you go. They barely want to stay the night, much less follow you to the ends of the earth. You feel a prick of wonder if the man whose eyes you can feel on your back would.

“Well, either way, I’m too busy to date. Maybe I’ll have to wait to move back home to settle down,” you rush out, eager to put an end to this topic. “Speaking of which, do you think I can come back to see bro for his birthday?”

You can sense through another bout of Jin’s prolonged silence a big ‘No.’

“It’s not a good idea, honey. Not right now, he’s not doing well.” Jin takes a deep breath. “He almost relapsed.”

Your heart drops and you have to squat to combat the nausea filling your gut.

“That just makes me want to come home even more.”

“He doesn’t want you seeing him like this.”

Your palm lands against your forehead. “So what, am I just never going to get to see either of you again? Like I’m just gonna go the rest of my life living abroad? Do you know how much I hate the idea of that?”

Dead air meets the line again and you stand, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he might never let you.

“We’ll talk more about that when you finish with school, I want you to focus on your studies. Don’t worry about your brother, he’ll be alright.”

You do worry. You worry so much about him, sometimes you can’t sleep at night. You almost tell Jin that you’re in Jeju, that you could take a flight home tomorrow and just see them real quick but you have a feeling he would be less than enthusiastic and might turn it into a whole lecture about how irresponsible it is for you to fly back home unannounced. Among other things.

“Whatever.” You peek back to where Yoongi’s staring at his dark screen.

“Hey, don’t be like that, okay? This is just something we-” But you’re over this. There’s no point in arguing with him. He never lets you win.

“Sorry, I’m gonna go now.”

“Honey, I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” you lie in a grumble. “I’m kind of with someone, so I should probably get back.”

“Oh?” his tone changes to curiosity. Oops. “Who is this ‘someone’?”

“A friend. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hmm, alright,” he sounds unconvinced. “Well, be safe, you hear? And don’t let me go this long without hearing from you unless you want me to go gray with worry.”

“Don’t you already dye your hair?”

“Yah, you little punk! I’ll get you back for that one.”

“Sure you will. I’m hanging up now. Love you. Tell bro I love him too and that it wouldn’t hurt to call me once in a while.”

“I will. Love you too, honey. Call me in a couple days.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, says bye, and waits for you to hang up.

Dropping the phone from your ear, you stare at it while contemplating whether or not you should call Jungkook, but turn and head for Yoongi when you doubt he would even pick up.

You sit back down on his lap like it has your name on it. He huffs in annoyance but still wraps his arm around your waist and rests his hand holding the nearly finished cigarette on your knee.

“Does your brother usually call this late?” he queries, voice soft and a touch hesitant.

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“You eavesdropped on me earlier!” You smile, stretching your arm on the back of the chair.

“He thinks I’m still abroad.”

“Are you supposed to be?”

“Mhmm. I was gonna go home and surprise my other brother for his birthday, but turns out that would be a bad idea.”

“Damn, two brothers? That’s gotta be tough.”

“Yeah, they’re both older. And annoying as fuck.”

“So you get it from them.” You can’t argue with that.

“Why’s it a bad idea to go home?” he asks softly after a stretch of quietude, waves crashing in the distant background. Your cheek turns to look at him, mildly bewildered, his eyes flitting between you and the ground.

“Are you trying to get to know me or something?” you deflect. Because that’s not a can of worms you really want to open right now.

“No, just making conversation.” He shrugs, a pout on his lips that mirrors the one that appeared when he told you his name.

“You didn’t want to do that earlier.”

“Fucks’ sake,” he mutters under his breath, ducking his head to lift the cigarette. “It’s easier for you to just call me a fucking jerk.”

“You’re a fucking jerk.” He chuckles while taking a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

“And I’m trying not to be one right now, okay?”

“Well, don’t wear yourself out.”

“You’re gonna do that for me when we go back in, right?” He cheekily winks, demeanor doing a 180, and you mimic being annoyed but really you’re imagining all the ways you could do just that.

“Y’know, you have a really good libido for such an old man.”

His smirk flips to a scowl and when you laugh at his disdain, he pushes at your waist, a little harder than you think he meant to because you end up slipping off of his lap and onto the ground with a surprised squeal.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaims, reaching down for you as you groan in mild pain from your ass falling on the hard, wet lawn. You glare up at him when he visibly can’t hold back his amusement while he tries to grab your elbows to help you up but you only slap his hands away.

“I didn’t mean to push you.” He’s still laughing when you manage to get up and walk away but he grabs your wrist and you look back to see him throwing down his cigarette, a grin on his face as he doesn’t let you out of his grip.

“Hey, c’mere.”

“No,” you mumble stubbornly.

“Is your ass okay?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would.”

“Get lost.”

“No.”

He tugs you close and smirks now that you’re speechless, hands daring to go lower, waiting for you to have a problem, but you don’t, just allow him to glide his large palms to your ass.

“Feels okay to me.” He gives a squeeze and even though heat creeps down into your gut at the lust pooling in his eyes, you put your hands on his chest and push. He steps back with a grin and lunges after you with a hand on your elbow, laughing lowly when you playfully fight him off but he doesn’t let go.

Then a bolt of lightning strikes the atmosphere, freezing you in place, and he steps up next to you, unphased as you wait for the impending clap of thunder. Rain cascades from above and you both look up to the sky, droplets falling on your faces as you stare at the night darkened by the fast moving storm clouds. Your eyes lock and you share a look that reflects something you can’t describe - A boom shakes the world around you, nerves jumping and driving you to take off back towards the hotel, not realizing until you look over your shoulder that Yoongi’s hand is in yours as he runs behind you, a wild smile on his face.

Just as you reach the stairs, you glance down with wide eyes at both of your empty hands.

“I left the bag!” you exclaim, flinching as lightning flashes again. He looks over the distance you just crossed and jogs back over without hesitation or urgency despite the heavy winds.

Hugging yourself as you shiver under the onslaught of stinging rain, you silently beg him to hurry up as he strides back over to overshadow you, staring down with a furrow between his brows and a blink at your lips. Even though you want to interpret the way he’s looking at you through his wet bangs sticking on his face, you want to get the fuck out of the storm but as soon as your foot turns to dart up the stairs, his hand curls around the back of your neck and pulls you forward until you’re up on your toes. Pulse stuttering and eyebrows rising in shock and awe as his mouth collides with yours, you’re rendered still and breathless as he steps up to press your drenched bodies together, kissing you fervently, tipping your head up for a better angle. Storm water pours between you, and you both taste it after his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, droplets rolling down his face and into your mouth and you drink it up along with the taste of him. You don’t know what’s gotten into this man, but whatever it is, you’re living for it. You just wish, in this moment, you weren’t in the middle of a storm having the life kissed out of you.

“We’re gonna catch a cold if we keep making out in the rain,” you murmur, lips still brushing his.

“You can’t get sick just from some rain,” he retorts. You roll your eyes and tip up to kiss him chastely before twisting around to run up the stairs, not looking back as you shakily unlock the door. When his presence emerges behind you, a nervous smile breaks out on your face as you finally turn the key. The sky roars again, forcing out a laugh of adrenaline as you barrel into the door to hastily get inside.

.

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Thank you so much for reading!! This is a terrible place to cut off but I had to split this into another part I'm sorry this chapter is taking a lot out of me and I started a new job so I'm dealing with the adjustment.

prelude part 3 will be out soon so we can move on lol. And it will be mostly smut 😅 and some yoongi pov

Comment or send an ask if you enjoyed reading and/or if you want to be added to the taglist!! (Pls have some indication on your blog that you are an adult or I will not add you!)

Feedback is appreciated - I’d love to know your thoughts!! And i love to yap in general lol

xxx - claret

masterlist

taglist:

@polarnightmyg @mar-lo-pap @wonh0oe @lixies-favorite-cookie @viankiss @futuristicenemychaos @busanbby-jjk @jajabro

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 3

Chapter three - Raspberry

Chapter 1 II Chapter 2

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. Sorry it took so long to update this. I tagged everyone who showed interest in future parts and/or asked to be tagged. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. 

Jamie sleeps like a rock. It’s a new discovery for (Y/N) as she tries to unravel herself from his tight grip. She doesn’t remember falling asleep cuddled up to each other, in fact, she doesn’t remember falling asleep at all. It’s like one moment they were talking about the baby and the next she wakes up to the sun pouring in through the window and Jamie’s quiet snores filling the room. And his arms wrapped around her like a vice. 

God that man is clingy. 

And, whereas with any other man, this would scare her off, there is something about Jamie that makes the whole thing endearing.

Maybe it’s the fact that they are not dating, not even trying to. It takes some of the pressure off. All she has to be is a good mum and a good friend and while those two things are hard enough as they are, at least there are no romantic feelings involved, no expectations to uphold when it comes to being a girlfriend, a partner. 

Jamie sleeps like a rock, doesn’t even so much as twitch when she slips from his grip and rests his arm back on the side of the bed she used to occupy just moments earlier. Even the squeaky floorboard doesn’t wake him as she makes her way downstairs. 

A sweet smell permeates the air and makes (Y/N)’s mouth water. This heightened sense of smell is both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse. Most smells make her nauseous these days. Not today though, this one just makes her hungry. It smells of sugar and vanilla and all things sweet and warm.

Simon’s smiling face greets her as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. She wonders if this man ever stops smiling. He’s the personification of a ray of sunshine.

“Good morning, come have a seat. I’m making waffles.” 

Waffles. (Y/N) can’t remember the last time someone made her waffles for breakfast. Dad did, sometimes when she was little, and stayed with him for the weekend. But then the waffle iron broke and he never got around to buying a new one. So pancakes and bacon it was. Beans sometimes. Sausages if he was feeling particularly fancy.

“I’d love some, thank you! It smells amazing.” 

“Yeah? Oh, thank god. I was afraid the smell would be too much and make you feel sick. Only realized that after I poured in half the vial of vanilla essence though.” 

The sheepish look on his face puts a smile on (Y/N)’s face. It’s nice someone cares about those little things.

“Never had to deal with anyone pregnant so I don’t know these things but I had a quick Google last night and it says 8 weeks means a heightened sense of smell. Also, the baby is the size of a Raspberry.” 

If she didn’t know any better, (Y/N) would swear that Jamie and Simon must share some DNA. Both of them so clumsy in the way they care but infinitely endearing. 

“Yeah, Raspberry or Blueberry or Kidney Bean. So tiny." 

“Crazy isn’t it? To think it’s gonna be a proper human soon enough.” 

She nods her head in agreement as Simon places a plate stacked with two thick fluffy waffles before her. 

“You’re telling me. I know this is all happening inside my body and it’s still insane to think about. Doesn’t feel real.” 

Simon regards her with soft eyes. There is warmth in there but something else. Something she can’t quite place. Georgie had the same look last night. Like they know more than she does. And fuck, maybe they do. They’ve done this before. Lived enough of life to know what the hell they are doing. 

“Are you alright? “

(Y/N) was never big on sharing her feelings with anyone, let alone strangers. Life, and both her parents really, have taught her that talking about your feelings only makes you vulnerable. And being vulnerable usually ends in pain. So what you do is you take your insecurities, your fears, your sadness and you put it in a tiny little box and then you put on the lid. You tie a ribbon around it with a neat bow on top and then you take that box that holds your feelings and you bury it. And then you spend your whole life living like the protagonist in an Edgar Allan Poe story and that box becomes a beating heart under the floorboards of your life. 

And the beating never ever stops. 

“Sure. I’m good.” 

She thinks he knows she’s bluffing but lets it go anyway. Opening up to Jamie is scary enough, takes up enough of her bravery. Simon is lovely and if she was another person altogether she’d love to share her worries with him, he seems like the best listener. She’s not someone else though, she is just herself and she can’t bring herself to talk. 

“Okay. Just want you to know that if you need anything or — anyone. Georgie and I are always there to help. I know I’m not Jamie’s real dad but I do feel like that is my son. I don’t have children of my own and I only met Jamie when he was a pre-teen already so I don’t know much about babies but if you guys let me I am sure I can be a phenomenal grandad. My mum always used to say I was already born a little old man so this feels like I finally get a chance to be what I was always supposed to be. My time to shine has come.” 

A harmony of their laughter fills the kitchen. God, is this whole family made up of the sweetest people on this entire planet? Do they make them in a damn factory or something?

“I will hold you to it. When the baby is screaming and I need some sleep I’ll come drop them off with you then.” 

“Oh, I’ll be ready with some bedtime stories and lullabies.” 

“You are sweet, Simon. And I really appreciate the offer. God knows Jamie and I don’t know the first thing about being parents so we can take all the help we can get.” 

“Do you want to hear a secret?” 

“Sure.” 

“No one knows what they’re doing. As long as you try your best that’s all that matters. Kids are forgiving if they know you care.” 

People always say that but there’s a little part of (Y/N) that believes those words to be untrue. Did her mum try her best and this was the outcome? Or did she just not care to do more, to be better? And which of those scenarios would be worse? 

Jamie’s sleepy voice pulls her from her spiraling thoughts. “Morning, love.” 

He places a soft kiss on the top of her head. So sure, so unbothered as if they do this all the time. Is this what it feels like? Being able to show your feelings and show affection without wondering what consequences it may bring? Without fearing that it makes you too vulnerable? 

His hand finds her stomach and gives it a soft rub “And good morning to you, baby.” 

It will never not be endearing to her to hear him talk to the baby. And neither will the way he pronounces the word ever lose its magic to her. That is his pride and joy there. His babeh. 

“Aw Waffles, sweet!” 

As Jamie plops down next to Simon and stuffs his face with vanilla waffles, leaving a slight dust of powdered sugar on his lips, (Y/N) is certain that all his worries are unjustified. 

Jamie is all his dad and none of his father. Every inch and every fiber of him is a product of the love that Georgie and Simon have raised him with. He is them in the way he smiles and cares and the way he feels joy so freely and unabashedly.

And if only a smidge, only a sprinkle of that love is extended towards her child, that kid is gonna grow up so adored it won’t know where to put all of that love. 

“Think I’m gonna throw up.” 

“Like pregnancy barf or meeting mum nausea? “

Leave it to Jamie to put a smile on her face even when the world around her seems to crumble and fall. 

“You gotta stop calling it that.” 

“Alright, but you have to tell me which one it is so I know if I should hand you a barf bag or give you a pep talk. I’m getting awfully good at them if I dare say so myself. Learned a lot from Ted, yeah?” 

If this was just the pregnancy making her nauseous everything would be so much easier. Ginger drops and rest would do the trick. But this is so much worse. This sharp feeling cursing through her veins, gnawing at her bones and devouring her like a hungry wolf. There truly is no one capable of breaking your heart like your own mother.

“Let me hear that pep talk then.” 

As he navigates the car up the long driveway, flanked by big ornate mansions with brass iron fences and perfectly symmetrical hedges, Jamie regards (Y/N) from the corner of his eyes.

“Okay, well you don’t need to worry. Things are gonna be just fine. You know why?” 

“Why?” 

“Cause mums love me and middle-aged women love me. It’s cause they think I’m charming,” he says and glances at (Y/N) for a second. That radiant cheeky smile of his taking over his features. Oh, she hopes their kid gets his smile. “Which I am.” 

“So charming, really.” 

“You’d know,” Jamie replies and nods his head in the direction of her belly.

His laughter echoes through the car as she gives him a soft slap against the shoulder. There’s just something about Jamie that makes life feel a little lighter, a little more effortless. Even if it's just for a moment, just pretend. It does take the heavy weight off of (Y/N)’s heart for a second. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of the gorgeous white house (Y/N) pointed out to him when they turned into the street. The lawn looks immaculate, the hedges are trimmed to perfection. This plastic palace all grand and gaudy. It never felt like home even though (Y/N) spent most of her life growing up in these very halls. 

But really what is it that makes a house a home? Love and laughter and memories you want to return to. This is just four walls and a roof. 

“Hey,” Jamie speaks up and places a hand gently on hers. “It’ll be alright but even if it won’t it will.” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean — look if she reacts badly, that sucks. But you have me, yeah? Always. Me and Rebecca and my Mum and Simon. Once we tell them I know the team will be obsessed with our baby, they’ll love her so much.” 

“Or him.” 

“Or him, yes. Ted is going to freak out, I know he’s going to want to hang out with our kid all the time. Roy? He’s already the best old geriatric uncle the world has ever seen. He won’t admit it but he’ll be really happy for us. Sam, Issac, Keeley, Higgins? All of them will be just a call away if we need help. I’m not sure about coach Beard though, he scares me not gonna lie.” 

“I think he’s hilarious actually.” 

“It’s because you’re smart and understand his jokes.” 

“You’re smart too!” 

“Nah, I just talk a lot and hope I end up saying the right thing. Anyway, what I mean is, this is your mum, yes, but in the big picture, she is just one person. And if she doesn’t love our baby there are so many other people who will. This baby will never, not for one second have to wonder if they are loved, because they are. So much.” 

And as easy as it is for him to make (Y/N) laugh, as easy it seems to be to make her cry. Good tears though. Tears that say “I believe you that things are going to be alright”. Tears that say “thank you.”

“Jamie Tartt, of all the footballers that could’ve accidentally knocked me up, I am so glad it was you. You are going to be the best dad.” 

“And you’re already the best mum. Well tied with my mum, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

(Y/N)’s childhood home feels cold, Jamie notices. There are hardly any pictures and those that are there are posed and awkward. He can tell it’s (Y/N) on those pictures but they don’t feel like her. There is no happiness in them, no joy. None of that sarcastic charm she exudes. He passes by a lifetime of being told how to sit and how to smile and what to do and probably what to say as well. It makes him feel miserable. And it puts things into perspective. It makes sense now, her worries and fears. If you grow up surrounded by nothing but the cold you eventually start wondering if you’ll ever be capable of creating warmth.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” (Y/N)'s Mum asks as she sits down at the head of the table. There’s something scary about this woman. She demands attention like a god-given right. She extends nothing in return. Her eyes are sharp and intense. It makes Jamie feel like she can see right through him down to all his insecurities and faults. She’s fucking terrifying. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

He hates the way (Y/N)’s voice has become so small and timid ever since they stepped foot into this mansion. Hates that there is nothing he can do to make it better and take this weight off of her. Nothing but be there. So he does that at least. Be there in all the ways he can be.

It’s so silly really, how his heart beats just a little faster when he touches her hand underneath the table. When she welcomes the soft gesture. When she returns his gentle squeeze. And when she links her fingers with his. 

So silly. Stupid little treacherous heart.

“Well, I gathered that much. I just wish you would’ve called ahead of time so I could’ve made some food.” 

“Made some food? Since when do you cook?”

The look her mother throws at (Y/N) could freeze a lake solid. It’s mean and chilling and Jamie wishes he never would’ve pushed (Y/N) to come here. Hates himself a little for putting her in this situation.

“I did attend several cooking classes last year. See, if you’d visit me a bit more often you’d know that.” 

And if she wasn’t such a raging bitch, maybe (Y/N) would visit her more often, Jamie thinks. Fortunately, he’s gotten much better at impulse control lately, well ever since Ted arrived really. The old Jamie would’ve blurted out those thoughts with no care of any consequences.

The old Jamie probably wouldn’t have stepped up to be a dad though. 

“Anyway, I would’ve liked a little warning. Especially if you’re bringing someone.” 

Being at the receiving end of that icy glare feels awful, Jamie decides as (Y/N)’s mother regards him with a mix of disdain and humor. Her eyes sparkle with a sense of smug superiority. Jamie is used to people underestimating him. They think he’s stupid. Some dumb footballer with straw filling the places where a brain should be. Quite honestly it doesn’t bother him, never had. He’s the first to admit that he can be dumb when it comes to certain things. He’s no poet and he has never been particularly good at math. But this woman and the way she looks at him rubs him the wrong way. She knows nothing about him and yet she thinks she’s got him all figured out. Flesh and bones and all. 

“Yeah uh, sorry about that. It was a spontaneous thing really. We would’ve called — “

“Sure, whatever you say. James was it?” 

His name sounds like venom dripping from her lips. James. He hasn’t been James since the moment he was born and Georgie first kissed his tiny head and whispered “You’re my little Jamie.” Not that he remembers that but it’s a story his mom has recounted to him many times.

“Jamie, yes.” 

“Right, Jamie.”

An uncomfortable silence settles upon the room. It crawls into the cracks and crevices of their conversation. It spreads and festers and discomfort grows around them like mold on damp walls. 

“Mum, we’re here because I wanted to tell you I’m pregnant.” 

The confession shoots through the silence like a bullet. Cuts through it like a knife through a flimsy ribbon. If this was a movie they’d put in a freeze frame or underlay the scene with some dramatic musical score. But this is real life and it comes with no editing and no soundtrack.

No, it just comes with a bellowing laugh from (Y/N)’s mother. It’s not the kind of laughter that makes you want to laugh along. The kind that makes you feel like sunshine has erupted inside your ribcage and wraps you in a warm blanket. It’s not like (Y/N)’s laugh. This one is mocking. It’s ridiculous. It’s meant to make you feel small and dumb. It breaks his heart to know this is the laughter (Y/N) grew up with. 

“You can not be serious. Pregnant?” 

A short, quiet “Yes.” leaves (Y/N)’s lips. Jamie gently squeezes her hand in return. I am here. He says. I will always be here. She squeezes back. He hopes it means “I know.”

“You stupid little girl.” 

(Y/N)’s hand grabs his more tightly. A lifeline to hold on to. Crescent moon shapes stamped into his skin. But if this is the price he’ll have to pay in order to be a good partner in all of this then he’ll pay it 10 times over. Of all the things in this world, all the ways to describe her, stupid is not one Jamie would ever think of. 

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that.” 

Maybe a little bit of old Jamie is still there. The good parts. The protective, opinionated parts maybe. Not reckless but brave.

“She is my daughter and I will talk to her as I very well please. But you’re right. She is not a little girl, she’s a grown woman. Which makes this even worse. You should know better, (Y/N). Getting pregnant by some — some guy.”

“Some guy? Excuse me?” 

“Well you’re not her boyfriend, are you? You are just some guy with no obligation to her. And if you wake up one day and realize what a massive mistake you made then you can just leave. She’ll be stuck being a mother forever.” 

It boils his blood to hear those vicious words hurled at him and (Y/N). Mistake? Sure this baby wasn’t planned but they’re not a mistake. Not for one single second did Jamie think of his child as a mistake. A surprise. A shock even. But never a mistake.

“I know you don’t know me and quite honestly I don’t think I want to know you either but I can tell you one thing. That is my baby and I love it now and I will always love it. It is not a mistake. You can judge me, you can judge her and you can judge our decisions but stop talking about my child like that. That is just uncalled for. I know my word doesn’t mean anything to you but I was here from the moment (Y/N) told me she was pregnant and I will be here for the rest of my life. That is a promise.” 

She has the audacity to scoff at him and completely ignore everything he just said. Instead, she moves her cold hard gaze towards (Y/N).

“What do you want me to say? Congratulations? Well, you’re not getting those here. Your father would be so — “ 

Before she can finish the sentence a shrill screeching sound cuts her off as (Y/N) pushes away from the dining table.

“I gotta get out of here.” 

“Oh, what is this now? You’re just going to leave because you don’t get the reaction you hoped for? I can pretend if that’s what you want me to —”

“Mum, I am not running. I need to go! I am nauseous as fuck and if you don’t want me to empty my stomach onto your dining table just let me leave. I didn’t come here asking for your approval, I just thought you should know you’re going to be a grandmother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go throw up in your bushes.” 

Jamie is hot on her heels, grabbing both their jackets and (Y/N)’s bag in the process as he rushes after her. Though even in the chaos and hurry he doesn’t miss the look of absolute shock and bewilderment on the older woman’s face. It feels like a small victory but it does paint a little smile on his lips.

“Oh don’t do that. I’m disgusting.” 

“I’ll be watching you push out a whole damn baby. This is nothing compared to that.” 

If it weren’t such an absurd situation, that comment probably would’ve sent her spiraling but really it’s the least confusing part of today. Of course, Jamie wants to be around for the birth. Now that he mentioned it, (Y/N) thinks she shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, he’ll be there. He’s been there for it all so far of course he’ll be there when the baby enters this world.

It’s almost a little dreamy and magical to think about. Almost. Because life doesn’t let her think too much about it before it sends another wave of vomit up her esophagus. 

“I don’t mind holding your hair while you puke, you're growing a whole human it’s the least I can do. But I gotta ask you something.” 

“What’s that?” (Y/N) asks and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. Desperate times, desperate measures. At least that’s how she tries to justify it to herself.

“Is that hedge purposely cut to look like a dick?” 

He nods towards one of the boxwood trees at the edge of the property that (Y/N) has no doubt her mother hired a gardener to trim and shape and care for. 

“Holy shit, it does.” 

“And cut too. You think your mum knows?” 

And suddenly the nausea is gone and forgotten about and in its place, a flurry of giggles takes over. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Jamie asks once they both calm down a little.

Is she okay? Not really but this too will pass and it’s not like she expected anything else from her mother. Ever since (Y/N) was a little kid she remembers her mother dulling all her joy and whimsy. Why should things be different now? 

“No. But I will be.” and when he takes her hand in his and places a soft kiss on her knuckles, for the first time since turning into this very street, she truly believes in those words.

“Good. Now do you wanna go home or do something else?” 

“Home sounds good but uh — do you want to stay? Watch a movie or something? I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

Another kiss to her knuckles sends her heart into a little frenzy. Teeny tiny somersaults all around her ribcage.

“Yeah, can I pick? “

“Fuck no.”

“Alright, was worth a try.”

“It was a dream? That’s it?”

The ending credits to The Wizard of Oz play on her little TV screen as (Y/N) and Jamie sit on her couch, a bowl of microwave popcorn long devoured and now empty resting between them.

“I mean, you can interpret it however you want.” 

“Meh, didn’t like that one very much. Next time we should watch the Muppets treasure island. That’s a good one.” 

There truly is something so sweetly endearing about Jamie’s childlike qualities. His unintentional goofiness and his ability to make even the worst day turn into an okay one. An “all in all kinda good” one.

“Okay, fine. Next time we’ll watch the Muppets. It just — my dad had the Wizard of Oz on DVD. One of the few movies he had. So whenever I’d stay with him we’d watch it together. I think I just wanted to feel close to him today.” 

“Hey,” Jamie chimes up and gently nudges her shoulder with his. “I didn’t know your dad but from what you said about him he seemed like a fun guy. A good guy. So I think your mum is wrong. He’d be proud of you. I know that.”

And for the second time that day (Y/N) thanks whatever cosmic power there is for putting Jamie in her life. For making him the person who goes through all of this alongside her. For making him her partner in this crazy adventure. For making him the father of her child.

“Thanks, Jamie. I really appreciate that you stood up for me and the baby. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just froze. Every time I talk to her I want to say so many things but they get stuck somewhere on the way from my brain to my mouth.” 

“It’s okay, I get it. It’s like that with my dad too. We’ll just have to be each other’s voices then I guess.” 

“That sounds like a good plan to me.” 

He does it again then, that tiny insignificant kiss on the top of her head. It means nothing.

But it means everything.

“Hey uh — I’m not really tired yet. Do you wanna start that Muppets movie now?”

“Uh yeah? Absolutely. I’ll never say no to Kermit. He is THE frog.” 

Just a little while later, while Kermit and Miss Piggy sing a love song on screen while hanging off a cliff, (Y/N)’s eyes fall shut, her head resting gently against Jamie’s shoulder. 

For the second time in less than 24 hours (Y/N) falls asleep in Jamie’s arms. And though she might not realize it right then, she has never felt more safe and secure ever before.

Maybe things really will be alright.

“Now I know that life can take you by surprise, And sweep you off your feet. Did this happen to us, Or are we just dreaming? Love led us here.”

@captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy - @zbeez-outlet - @burnafter-reading - @britbratface - @labellapeaky - @mavisvermillion-first - @ladygrey03 - @charlesgirl16 - @cantbecreative - @nerdgirljen - @qardasngan - @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

[richeeduvie]

✭ UNDOING ✭

PART ONE? // The Sickness That is a Daughter

AN ARCANE FIC: JINX AND SILCO (featuring a Sevika who's actually soft for a hot minute??)

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WORD COUNT: 6.8K

Powder gets very sick, but not sick enough to believe she can't help with every little thing. In his frustrated attempts to convince his ward otherwise, he scares her. Sometimes, the idea that Silco only wants Zaun's respect feels like a fantasy, a lie so tasteful that he almost forgets he likes to be feared.

But not in that moment. Never with her.

(Based on the headcanon that Silco only started to wear makeup to not scare Jinx when she was little Powder. Sorry blog regulars had to pop this one out...probably not gonna write more Arcane stuff but I HAD this idea and I needed to GET IT OUT I'M SORRY LALO AND ROMAN LOVERS…tell me what y’all think tho)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Silco never put much thought into how little Powder would feel about his face. At this point in life, people either ignore it or fear him because of it. Sometimes it's a neutral, sometimes an advantage. He makes do with what Vander gave him. The girl only questioned it once, a couple days after he took her in all those months ago. It'll be...

A year and some already. And how he's weakened so readily. There is no guilt in the way Silco came to accept his feelings for her. His child that has so much fire, sometimes he's so desperate to nurture it, but other times, he just wants to watch it burn. It's alright. He'll never go anywhere.

"...What's with the eye?"

He took it as a moment to be cheeky. It wasn't his first day on earth, he remembers what children become comfortable with. It was just...he didn't know why it came easy, the desire to see her, Powder Blue, almost-daughter of brother betrayal, comfortable with him. But it's how he ended up where he is now. An almost father.

He's not going to deny it for the sake of ego. Like his deepening care for Powder, it's not beneficial for him.

If you are to not consider the blooming of his flamed heart and angry, coiling bones beneficial.

"I fell on my cigar."

Silco played it seriously. Powder stared before she giggled. Her knobby arms splayed out on the table as she rested her chin there.

"Come on, I'm not stupid. No WAY you fell on your cigar. Your eye would stink like shit!"

His lips flattened into the first smile he ever gave her.

"Language."

Silco was already natural in his discipline (although with every downward tilt of Powder's head, he finds every consequence for her actions slipping away), even when the corners of himself flashed Vander over him - through the water, holding him down and down and down. And he didn't feel the need to tell Powder the truth about what happened to him, to hurt Vander's blue-haired...scrawny extension. Looking at her toothy smile meant not even a thought of hurting her like that.

Is this what being a parent is? Having someone you never want hurt in a world of fatal things? Why would he do this to himself? Why doesn't he end up claiming it's so he can hone in on her growing, literally explosive talents? Why is it so obvious that it's growing into a braided bond that's noosed around his neck. He'll accept the hanging.

But now...now she's hurt. Sick, at least. In this moment, with the way he's feeling watching Powder tiny in the bed, sweating -- confused, he almost regrets taking her in at all.

How could he choose to feel like he's going to rot and burn all at once at the first, first sight of her in pain? It feels like his own sickness. Who'd choose to feel like death with your body still upright?

Fathers. Even if Silco doesn't think the word yet.

"Powder, where does it hurt the most?"

Silco doesn't blink as Powder turns her body on her side, somehow curled and stretched all at once. Her little, round and bug-eyed - a face he's become familiar with, twists. The familiarity makes a difference with how he wants this over now. He thinks, at least.

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere. All alright. I suppose we'll work with that. When did you start feeling like this, how long was it before you came into my room and told me you weren't feeling well?"

Powder blinks hard, but up at the ceiling instead of Silco. "I was...my throat was sore in the morning, I thought it was gonna go away. It always used to go away when they could find things to make soup. But then I started to get sweaty...even though its cold. Why is it cold? I wanna pull my hair out."

"Your hair is fine where it is. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Why did you wait until you were at your absolute worst to crawl into my bed and make me feel like death is coming onto me instead?

Silco noticed that this morning, or yesterday's morning, the way there was no natural cheekiness or child-like intensity, a searing fire that is Powder. What a terrible thing that is. The years will come to pass and the man wonders if she can twist all the things that she is, all the things that will happen to her into something of normalcy. He doesn't think that ideal, they're - she, they're fine as is.

"I told you, I thought it was gonna go bye-bye, like how everything goes away."

Powder sniffles. Silco does not move for a dragging moment, just until he reaches out his thin, cold palm to press to her forehead.

She's burning from the inside.

"Not everything, little girl."

Powder mms. Is it a whine of pain, or a whine of annoyance at the idea she's being corrected? Silco wouldn't know at this point. Maybe one day, when the whole of her grows into something fiery, invasive, jerking, something so insanely nerved, and something he'll always want to take care of to the point where Sevika will see it pointless to mention how much of a problem the girl is.

Silco sighs, eyes closed, ears pierced at the sound of Powder's pained whimpers.

"We'll find you a doctor."

"...A what?"

Silco opens his eyes, head tilting. What? "A doctor, Powder. Because you cannot go five minutes without throwing up, and I'm afraid you'll sweat off a pound you can't afford to lose."

"I don't know what that is. I don't want one."

That's when the man runs his thumb over the sweat of her forehead, wading in the thought that...this - is this really the world the children of Zaun grow up in? He knows it's a hell he's trying to maintain, trying to change for the better, for all of them - so he very much knows that its people aren't going to have the best access to easy, decent health, but he wouldn't have thought it so far that Powder and others wouldn't know what a doctor is.

Unfortunately, he hopes it's her sickly delirium, making her believe she doesn't know what a doctor is. But if not, this is why he's doing what he does, so Zaun can thrive.

Powder coughs. It's nearly manic, all in her throat. Silco kisses her forehead. He doesn't know what else to do because he's not a doctor and might as well have taken his injector and placed it over his heart with the way he's feeling at the sight of her right now.

"We'll make you soup."

It'll be nothing, he won't put Powder in a life where she has to hope that her guardians are able to find things to heal her. That's not a life this wild thing deserves.

Powder coughs again, it's heavy.

"And you'll see a doctor. Or, a doctor will see you. They can only make you feel better. Unless you try to bite them like you did Sevika when she came to check on you, then they'll put you down."

A false meanness that can only bring her smile, or at the very least, a whine without pain.

Powder jolts upright.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

Silco shushes, it feels like a smile on his tongue.

"I'm fooling you, little girl. But I'm not going to beg you to behave nicely once they come."

"I'll pull their hair out if I can't pull out mine. And don't ever lie again."

Powder's not teasing, it's an order for Silco. And he understands, being lied to is the worst feeling - next to what his heart wears now.

He wouldn't underestimate the child as if she couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Alright, I'll remind them and myself to be on our best behavior."

Powder, limbs mangled and sickly face hardened, simply ploofs right back into the bed, coughing again. She nuzzles her head into Silco's pillows. It's only him observing how she's coating his bed with her sickness. He's not angry or frustrated, he accepts it like he accepts the noose.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

Silco can't place the exact moment when his ward stopped asking for things and started to take them. He's just aware he's never put much effort into stopping her.

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"No."

He already knew that. Powder didn't ask to sleep in his bed when she crawled into it a few hours ago, he had to realize there was a tiny body tossing and turning in his bed at the sound of terrible coughs and snotty sniffles. Silco wasn't dreaming, so it wasn't as if she was a bother anyway, but since she's grow into his home and life, Powder has found the habit of sleeping at his side when she feels like it.

It crosses a boundary he didn't know was there, but with her nightmares, the bug-eyed little face that walks in against the Zaun's night light...Silco can't deny her.

"You already know how to wear an aura of impose, hm?"

"Of course I do. You should know that already, silly. Don't be silly."

Powder's voice goes high, still child-like in its scratchiness. Silco wears a genuine smile that, although small, is one he can't afford.

"I'll be whatever I want to be and you'll be just fine by tomorrow, or the next day."

If Janna wants peace in this world, Powder will be healthy very soon. Silco will come to hurt the things in front of him, against logic, against morals if it means he can release the pit of what he feels looking at his sick child. But he's not in the wrong.

That's only if she doesn't get better. And she will.

"Don't be silly, silly, silly-"

Powder hacks, Silco smile drops. The way she's spilling her words, there's nothing intentional about it. There isn't the intensity that grows with her in weight and height, it's just...sickness. Sickness growing with every droplet of sweat and clammy glance at him.

"Silly. I'm not silly either-"

"One of our people has been feeding our information to enforcers."

He would've known Sevika was coming down the hall a mile away if it were any other night. He only turns his head, hand resting on Powder's ankle.

"What?"

"Everything went as planned...except for the fact there were about two dozens of those fuckers swarming where the trade was supposed to take place. Your paying customer was trapped, it was hell trying to get to him and fuck, I think he was holding his breath the entire time."

Silco looks to the wall. He feels a tiny but harsh squeeze to his hand on his knee. Sevika stands straight, hand ready to point and fist in her incoming ramble.

"You said Piltover's goons would be one less thing to deal with in terms of trading and building all of this now that we have Marcus's dick choked. I believe it, but there is no possible way that what I had to deal with today was a result of the topside's peachy genius investigation techniques. They had to have gotten a tip, I don't think Marcus has the balls to go against you for the sake of his morals yet."

Silco doesn't make a movement, something natural in an attempt to not reveal what he's thinking.

But he squeezes the tiny, clammy hand over his.

"You sound right. So be right. You'll find out who it is and bring them to me, and you'll get your due for today."

There is a sudden boiling of rage at the idea someone is betraying him. Again, only this time, it'll be so much easier to bring whoever the rat is to justice. So, he won't put so much of his feeling, said rat doesn't deserve his anger. He won't rage in front of Powder.

"We need your...recognizable personality. Some locals took advantage of the situation and stole twenty cases of Shimmer."

"Are you-" Silco stifles his own words. Still, the ability to control his anger in situations like this for Powder hasn't come naturally just yet. "Twenty? The enforcers were the problem. The rat is the problem, but also the fact you can't stop addict gutter trash from thieving our supply?"

"Not gutter trash, Silco. A mid-level gang, you could almost call them an organization."

"Who are you calling gutter trash-"

"Powder, rest."

Sevika shrugs harshly, she might as well act like a child herself and roll her eyes.

"...I'm not calling them gutter trash, that's the whole damn point, kid-"

"She's sick, Sevika."

"Yeah, no shit. She's sicker than before. Her immune system has made her even more of a problem for you, who knew-"

Silco stands. His movement is a as quick as an impulse and his fist is as tight as the way Powder held him the day he found her.

"Sevika, do you forget yourself? When did it become so easy for you to allow yourself excuses. An organization? Oh my. What are we to do but...oh, b-but shiver and crawl into our favorite hiding spaces?" He rolls his shoulders. "Will you continue to lessen your failures by blowing up the egos of our competitors? Or will you do your job and burn them in flame and duty to get back what our networking customers have paid us?"

Sevika stares. Her silence means Silco's harsh, teething words were successful. Productive. As the way of a boss. Her hand drops.

"That's why I need you. You don't think bloodshed was my first thought? It's easy, it gets the job done, but yeah...they're an organization. We get the Shimmer back with blood on our hands and we have the issue of their surviving crew coming after us."

The woman, brown-skinned and harsh-eyed, takes a step or two closer. Silco does not miss the way her sights flicker behind him at Powder's coughing.

No, not coughing.

Rasping. Rattling.

Silco turns to Powder in the bed, sitting back down as quickly as he stood up. His palm engulfs the skin of her cheek.

"Powder, breathe. Cough and breathe. What is wrong?"

"...My throat," The little blue one blinks hard, as if her vision isn't quite there when she doesn't. "My lungs are being silly."

She giggles herself into more rasping. Silco's mouth parts, worry flared at the nose and in the way his usually slicked-back hair falls over. Of course, he doesn't have it gelled in bed. Powder likes to pull on it sometimes when she has sleepy questions concerning dreams or memories. Things that frustrate him in the night, things that are answered with "Why don't you go to bed and figure it out yourself?"

But Silco wants to strangle the feeling at the pit of his chest, the feeling -- the need to make sure she doesn't fall asleep. Why would he not want to her to rest when she's like this?

That's only if something this sickly would make sure she doesn't wake up again, and the thought eats away at me, as if she isn't just a girl I took in only a year ago, my life would go back to what it was before.

"Powder. How about you look at me, hm? What's wrong? Will you tell Silco what's wrong? Powder."

No. No, it wouldn't.

"...We don't have the image or the name right now. You know that, you know we can't just kill whoever we want and expect Zaun to fear to the point of submission. We need time for that. We need to play the waiting game. You go into their spot, make a deal of long-term trading for the twenty cases. They'll see that's a better investment than twenty cases now. We play the submissive for now, and then...we burn them. We burn them when your name grows with whatever empire you fantasize about."

Whatever Sevika's saying, suggesting - Silco knows she's right. It's why she's his number one in his mission, his dream for Zaun. But her plan isn't colored right in his head, it's washed out by the little one. He feels no guilt or frustration over it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Fine. But not tonight."

He can feel Sevika's eyes widen and body shrug up in her own frustration.

"Not tonight? They could scab all the supply by tomorrow!"

"It doesn't matter how many cases we get back, does it?" It's venom on the man's tongue. He won't regret it later. "We'll be selling it back to them in your plan of long-term tradings and dealings. So yes. Not tonight. Sniff out the rat and go. Before I change my mind just to punish your failings of today."

Silco press the back of his palm to Powder's cheek and forehead. If she was a fire just ten minutes ago, there's a hell inside her now.

She whimpers. He shushes.

"When I tell you she's becoming a problem, half of the time, I don't mean that as an insult to her. And you know that."

Silco does, but he won't admit it to the one-armed woman who does mean it as an insult to Powder the other half of the time.

"If her fever's so high to the point where she can't understand what's being said around her, then we should've gotten a doctor hours ago. But you can let her rest. She's not going to die within the three hours you're gone-"

"Sevika. Do not assume what I'm thinking. It isn't smart. Nor needed."

"I can help."

Somehow - and suddenly, Powder's sitting up. She almost falls over, she would've if Silco didn't hold her by the shoulders. He squeezes them, head coming lower.

She can barely hold her own head up, let alone her whole body.

"We can all go. We don't have to wait for a millionnnn years, Sevika. That's stupid. And I do know what's being talked around me. I know because I can tell you that we can just make em' go.....boom."

He didn't think he'd have to deal with Powder's need to be needed tonight. The vomit, the rotting fear, and the coil of seeing her sick, something going wrong with the deal? Yes, he could handle and assume all those things would be things to deal with, but the little girl's so sick that Silco didn't possibly think she'd manage to bring up her extreme desire to be useful, to have anything to do if it means her guardian trusts her.

He doesn't know when he noticed Powder's need to be needed, but it's trickled into the business end of his life. Always the little girl asking for him to bring her bombs along just in case they're needed, and she's always hoping things get dire enough that they will be.

Maybe his feelings will change later on, but there's nothing much he feels comfortable with having her do. To pick her satisfaction over her safety is something Silco has done on more one occasion, but not tonight.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Powder, you have to rest for when the doctor comes. And what has happened tonight...one day,"

It feels natural, need to lower his head more and press his forehead against hers. Blue against black.

"One day, you'll set every fire that is needed. But not tonight. That doesn't mean your work is put to waste...but you need to rest."

"...No. I can go. I can bring the bombs I showed you, I can-"

"No. You can't. I think you're aware of that, child-"

Even though she's a sickly sixty-pounder, Silco finds it difficult to hold her down by the shoulders when she fights against him.

"No! I can help, I promise! Do you think I'm gonna-I'm gonna ruin everything?!"

"No, Powder. I don't doubt that you can be of use, but you're sick, and we're not going tonight anyhow."

His convincing feels genuine, it feels like a second talent, but Powder doesn't take. She squirms - Silco's nearly thankful Sevika doesn't take this moment to mutter or sigh, his frustration boils with every weak fist his child throws at him.

"You're lying! You think I'm gonna ruin everything!"

"I never said that, who's the liar now? Is it still me? You-"

He exhales low when trying to put her down into the bed. "You need rest. You know everything hurts, you know you can barely get out of my bed. You're not stupid, Powder, so stop pretending you are."

"You're only not going tonight because of me! I'm already ruining it! I don't want to! I promise I don't! I can stop being sick-"

She's right about why Silco has no thought of leaving tonight. Sevika might agree with the child for the first time since she's taken home here.

"Powder. Enough."

Her head jolts suddenly, off to side...as if something on the bed has interrupted her breaking tantrum. It happens sometimes, she'll be talking to him, it's a conversation that's not turning to be an enjoyable one, and then...she'll be looking past him, or behind herself - like someone's shouting her name, as if she can see ghosts.

Who doesn't? But if Silco were to turn back to see whatever Powder's looking at, he always thinks he'll see a monster of hell himself. That's how real Powder's tension comes to when she's like this.

"Shut up! Shut up! I know I am! I'm trying not to! That's why I want to go! Aren't you listening to me?!"

She breaks free from Silco's grasp, pushing her body back into the headboard. It sounds harsh. All so harsh and pained for a girl who shouldn't even be sitting upright.

What she's never done when she's like this is talk. Silco doesn't think she's screaming at him.

"Go away! Get away from us!"

This girl is so much more than he could imagine. It's the worst thing. The best thing. He'll see. It doesn't matter anyhow.

But here, it's the worst. It's Powder terrified and rageful at whatever's colored the room, whatever she can only see. He can admit it. He doesn't have the faintest idea of what to do. But he needs to see her stop screaming, stop acting like she's in pain.

His heart can't handle it.

"You know what? I'll call a doctor."

Sevika's off in quick, heavy footsteps. Silco runs his hand through his hair, standing up and over Powder.

"Powder. That's enough. Whatever you're hearing, ignore it. You need rest, it's no use..." He couldn't know now. He'll have to learn, and still, he won't regret this. This girl, even if her insecurities kill him with a heartbreak he would have never had in his lifetime. "Arguing with them. It's pointless."

"Just take me with you! Please." Powder puts her hand over hear ears. "Or at least my bombs? Please!"

"No. I told you. I'm not going. That is final. And do not make this about you and your false ideas of destruction. I choose to stay. You are my responsibility. That is not a fault. It is a fact. I get to decide what I prioritize. Not Sevika. Not you. Do you understand?"

Tears fall from her grey bug eyes. It's only his frustration that allows Silco to not turn into a pond at the sight. He stands tall.

The order gets the girl to look at him, it feels like a stand-off. Not just between him and her.

And she's lost when she flinches, eyes squeezing shut with all the frustration her little body can hold.

"SHUT UP! THEY'RE SAYING YOU'RE LYING! THAT YOU'RE A LIA-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Silco, in the piercing silence, doesn't realize how close he's gotten to Powder's face in his shout. Their noses nearly touch.

Her eyes are open, only to flinch again when she stare back into his. It's not the air she's yelled into. It's him, it's all him.

He's sure of it when Powder attempts to look him in the eyes - the eye again, only to whimper and turn away, like something horrible will happen if she's to stare at it for too long.

It's a fatal whimper, a fatal avoidance of him and the eye, the monstrosity he's come to embrace at his iris, at his soul...it's fatal. It kills whatever strength he had to distance himself from her.

It's fatal to his strength in general. He's hurt. Janna forbid, Janna who hates his soul so, he's hurt at her fear.

"Powder. Look at me."

There was a point after Vander's betrayal, after his recovery that Silco couldn't dare to look at a mirror. He despised what his brother in arms turned his face into, but no...in a way, he can thank the false friend for what he did. The breaking and poisoning of his eye only revealed what Silco was underneath.

A body to be imposing. Feared. Respected. All for the man who wanted to see Zaun freed from Piltover. But for the first time since, Silco can't handle the thought of being seen a monster.

Not with his little one.

It's grating, the growing panic at the way she won't look at him.

"Will you look at the man who wants to give you everything?"

It's the first time he's admitted it by word and not just by thought. He gets down on one knee, inhaling sharp when Powder flinches under his hand touching her shoulder.

She lies flat on the bed, turning over. They sit in the heavy silence for a bit. Silco, smooth in word as he is, can't do much but curse his panic and hurt.

"I want to give you everything. Will you let me, Powder? Will you let the old man give you everything you want?"

She wants to be needed. Trusted. He'll find a way, not knowing that he's never had the same desire - except with her.

"...A doc's coming. One of the...medicinal kind, if you understand what I'm saying."

Silco closes his eyes when he hears the rasping grow from Powder again.

"Did you hear Sevika? Someone's coming to make sure you feel better. You'll feel better, and you'll stop scaring me so, hm? We'll stop scaring each other."

He sighs when the only response is more rasping, his forehead falls against her back. Her shirt is cold with sweat.

The three of them fail to move until Silco half-heartedly decides it's time to fall away from the girl after a waiting minute or so, give her some time alone before the doctor comes. But it's possible she won't be alone, he doesn't know how to fix that. Except to be the real thing in the room with her.

"Those types of healers, they're vials are expensive."

Silco stands and turns to Sevika, already at the doorway with his arms very, very slightly bend at his sides. "That concerns me how?"

"Kids get sick. It's not the end of the world, she might be better by tomorrow if you knock her out right now."

Silco will not accept the word might when it comes to Powder. Never.

"You can go, if you want."

He puts his hands behind his back. Sevika's brow furrows.

"What?"

"You don't need me, only my word. If you want to be fun with it, play it as if you're going behind my back. I'm sure growing drug empires that happen to be made of gutter trash don't appreciate loyalty as much as I do."

Silco leaves her there, no care the woman's in his personal chambers. He needs to be sure the girl will never come to fear him again, because what happened tonight can never happen again.

There's not enough people in his path to bury the rage in if it does.

For now, it's a wall when he turns the corner. He can't know Sevika keeps herself watching Powder's rattling body curled on his bed.

She sighs, walking over. She could know how the tiny, blue-haired soul of sickness and pale-born tragedy blinks in confusion. She knows the weight creaking on the bed isn't Silco's.

"I know what it's like to be a daughter, kid. Most women do. Sometimes...sometimes daughters are problems. You can't beat it. And it doesn't mean anything to the people who love you most of the time. You'll see." Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees. "What I'll have to deal with that man in the years to come if he doesn't make the right decision of booting you out of our lives is what you'll see so clearly. You'll be so fucking happy. Peached. Watch."

Sevika looks down. Because fathers never make the right decision. They never care about the problem that is a child that latches onto you and pulls down into the water until your lungs drown. They don't even think to regret it when it becomes their end.

It'd be beautiful if it wasn't so stupid.

"I hope when you get better, you make it so you're less of a problem for me. Hopefully, all this sickness is making you feel for a more grateful approach to what you have."

Sevika gets up, bed creaking under her again.

"You better not tell Silco I sat on his bed."

She leaves in silence, both in lack of word and thought. Powder curls.

"I will."

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Silco sits in his chair, holding up the compact. He can't remember the last time he cared to use this. He stares into the orange flame of his eye, blinking at the mirror.

There's no embarrassment when powdering on the foundation. He simply covers the rot of his eyelid and cheek. If this is what it takes for Powder to not be afraid of him, then so be it. It doesn't even matter if it was only because the situation was a cocktail of anger and already well-born fear. He won't take the chance.

Silco can't waste his time remembering when he'd be so strong to have never cared in the first place. He can't trust little Powder to stay strong at the sight of his scar, but he can let her know he is to be trusted. Always.

He patters it along the skin until it almost looks like...the face of an approachable man. Huh.

"Ta-da."

There's no tone but a lack there of in his voice. He stands up, taking his injector out of his pocket and into the hall.

The doctor, the healer said Powder was infected with a quick-acting virus, nothing too dangerous as long as the needed medicine is regularly given over the course of a few days. Silco didn't take it with smiles and praise. No, not when the little one was out of it for the entire check-up. He trusted the doctor to be right, but it didn't change the fact that seeing her so ill meant a loss of logic on his head and heart.

Silco, on his way to his room, stops at the doorway of Powder's. It's a moment that sits with him.

He opens the door, looking at the colored, messy space that is hers. It's decorated with drawings (the walls and papers all over the floor). There's no chance Vander ever thought to teach her to make a bed. Silco's not sure he could get her to learn now.

But the bombs strewn about the floor are what truly belongs to the girl's mind. With every passing day and chance he takes on her, Silco can see the fire of her brain, what destruction she's able to take on with every creation.

"You, you, you, little girl."

It's a prize. Her mind is prize. There is even no even when it comes to Powder and her mind, there is not fault he can accept with a "despite". No, it's just her that he'll watch grow into something bigger than what he could know now.

He picks up one of her bombs, studies it in the light of Zaun. The room's getting cramped, he'll have to find her a space for her toys.

The one he's picked up is pink, butterflies and monkeys doodled all over what could kill an entire building of people with a pull of its string. What's under his shoe is a drawing.

Of him. Or he thinks. It's obvious her true talent lies in her explosives. But it's a man suited in red and black, one eye bright with orange and hair pushed back.

Silco does not smile, he just picks the drawing up. He folds it into his pocket. He leaves Powder's room, her bomb in one hand and the injector in the other.

"Janna! Silco, sorry."

Sevika's always in a hurry, she's nearly slammed into him on his way out into the hall.

"Gonna get rid of the kid with her own stuff? I never mentioned to be that cruel-"

"I tell you. Do not forget yourself." The woman stills, licking her lips. It's defeat on her face. "You are going?"

"Yeah. I'm going. And I thought about your jab. It works. If I pretend this is me going behind your back, they might feel inclined to not pull this shit again when their dealings gotta be dealt under your nose."

Silco smirks, although half of his face can't give into his knowing amusement. "That is a benefit. Yes. But there's been a change of plans." He hands Sevika the bomb. "You'll play for a moment or two, let them think they're on top. Everyone deserves something like that before they're blown into mist."

Sevika's head jolts in a tilt.

"Wait. No. That's not what we agreed. That goes against everything about what we planned-"

"What you came up with. And it was the best idea of the hour. But I thought on it...you want the name, Sevika? You'd like our image seared into the minds of our enemies, present and eventual?"

Silco closes her palm over Powder's creation.

"You give them a show."

The woman can't bear to look at him. Silco can't bear to care. "We don't need to play waiting games when we have ticking time bombs. Any Zaunite organization with half a brain won't think to do us misjustice after it's shown we’ll blow any wrongdoers to pieces. And if they do end up at the door with all those misjustices...see the previous statement."

Silco's off to his room, there's no argument to be lost on him there. His hand tightens over his injector when he reaches the door.

He does understand wanted to be needed to certain extents. Zaun did not ask for him specifically in their quest for freedom, he put himself in the role of a revolutionary because he had to.

His understanding, his need to see Powder happy is why he turns the injection device over in his hand as he pushes the door open.

He creeps into his own bed, careful not to wake the girl with a bounce and tumble out of it. He leans up against the headboard, hands on his lap with his legs straightened out in his sitting up.

He looks to the sleeping child beside him.

"Powder. I have something for you to do for me."

Silco's aware he's stated that she should be asleep. But assuming a restless little girl is awake instead of off in a dream is the smart thing.

"M' not Powder."

"No? Who are you then?"

Powder, or apparently not-Powder, rolls her head. Maybe she's sleeptalking through her dreams, actually.

"M' a...Jinx. M' Jinx. No Powder."

Silco's head leans back, eyes still on her. "Ah, I see. Or...we'll see about that. Jinx or Powder, I have something for you." He watches her turns over, eyes close, palms rested into a gentle fist.

"Sevika sat on your bed."

Most definitely sleeptalking a dream. He taps her nose. Her eyes blink open. For the sake of his heart, he'll ignore the drying tears.

"Would you like to help me with my eye?"

Powder blinks again, this time in confusion. "Your eye? It looks..."

The man lets head tilt down at her. "It looks what?"

Cleaner.

Powder sits up. "Nothing. I don' know. What about your eye?"

"You've seen me with this before, yes?" Silco gestures to his injector. She nods. "This is what I use to put medicine into my eye. I need it to lessen the pain. I can do it, but lately I've been struggling. These types of device require steady hands, accurate hands. Would you like to do it for me? For tonight?"

He nearly regrets this whole ordeal when Powder jumps up as if her lungs weren't rattling away a hour ago.

"Powder! Calm yourself, this is not what you do to get you better. Do you remember what the doctor said-"

Powder snatches the injector from Silco, studying it over above her head. "Duh! I can help-" She begins to hack.

Maybe this should've been saved for the morning, just like how he won't tell her about the use of her bomb until then. When she can fully take in the praise and pride of the moment.

"Powder. Breathe. This can wait til tomorro-"

"NO!"

Powder sniffles after her short but powered cry, like even she understand that was an intensity she shouldn't have allowed herself.

"I can do it now and then we can go to bed."

We. Silco's lips thin like he'll smile.

"Alright. Come closer, follow my instructions."

She does, her knees press into his thigh. When he's guiding her tiny, still clammy hand over his eye socket, Silco realizes it isn't the brightest idea to give a small child a needle to inject into his literal eyeball.

But it'll be her satisfaction over his safety now, he supposes.

"You place it right here, just let it rest for a bit. And then you'll push this." The man puts Powder's other hand over the end of the injector. "It works as a syringe, if you've ever seen one."

"I used to find them on the street all the time! Vander almost knocked out when I stepped on one and started to feel funky. Turned out it was just something called a coincidence. It was just dinner from the night before."

Huh. Her mentions of Vander have lessened, but not died not. Silco doesn't know how to feel about that.

"You have a habit of making your guardians take care of your terrible illnessness?"

But he will not deny her the mention at this time.

Powder shrugs.

"I guess. Now. Do I push in?"

Silco prepares himself, breathing in. "When you're ready-"

And maybe the girl's never not ready, because she just needled his eye with no hesitation, but it was precise. Silco grips the sheets as the shimmer bleeds into him. He won't scare Powder in his rage or in his pain. He does not grunt or groan.

After the pain subsides, Silco looks to Powder staring up at him. Waiting. Nervous. Sitting on her calves.

"...Did I do good?"

"You did very well. You're a natural."

He goes to grab his injector from the girl, but she pulls it to her chest. She ploofs on the bed, eyes already closing.

"Goodnight, Silco."

Silco blinks. He didn't think to make it a patterned thing for her, just tonight - to make her feel better after his slew of mistakes and whatever her head put her through.

"I'll need that back at some point."

"No."

Powder doesn't even shift. Silco sighs.

If Sevika wants to go on about problems with Powder, this is the only one, cause he will need it back at some point and the idea to deny her this isn't a strong one.

"There will be days where you won't be able to do it. Nothing wrong with that, but I don't expect you to do it everyday."

"I don't think so. Goodnight."

Her hand tighten around the injector. As tiny as they are, Silco doesn't think he'd be able to take them from her if he tried.

He sighs, putting the deep-red blanket over her.

He kisses the blue of her hair.

"Goodnight, Powder."

Silco goes to lie beside her, a sleep falling on him so quickly and he won't know that's the exhaust of being a father.

He won't know the closed-eyed smile his little one gives besides him, as smirked as his few can be.

[quondam-et-futurus]

bbc merlin writers hate parents (transcript below the cut)

[Video Description: four characters, all played by the same person in different outfits, are having a conversation.

Writer 1: Okay so here are our four protagonists. They’re young, they’re hot, we’re putting a twist on the tradition, telling a different version of the story, cornering the youth market. Which means we gotta figure out what’s up with their parents. First up, Arthur, ideas. Hit me.

Writer 2: Well obviously we gotta have Uther there--

Writer 3: Obviously.

Writer 4: Obviously

Writer 2: But what about his mom? 'Cause in the legends she was married to another man…

Writer 3: *sucks in through teeth*

Writer 4: Mm. Can’t have that.

Writer 1: no, no, this is a family show!

Writer 2: Soooo… dead?

Writers 3 and 4: (crosstalk) Dead, yeah, dead.

Writer 1: Right. So. What about Merlin?

Writer 3: Well. If Arthur’s mom is dead he should definitely have a mom, right?

Writer 4: Yeah, makes sense

Writer 2: Yeah, like a mom we like, but we basically never see 'cause she’s in a different town.

Writer 4: Yeah, exactly!

Writer 3: Buuut I’m thinking for his dad that maybe he’s just sort of gone? Like not dead, but....

Writer 2 (offscreen): Basically dead.

Writer 3: Basically dead, yeah, exactly. Then if we need to kill him off later we can just have him show up.

Writer 1: Love it. Who’s next?

Writer 2: Morgana.

Writer 1: Right... right. And she’s gonna be Uther’s ward... So obviously both of her parents gotta be dead.

Writer 3: Oh yeah, super dead.

Writer 2: In the ground for years.

Writer 1: Great, I love it.

Writer 4: Uh By the way, have decided if she’s gonna be Arthur’s sister? Or if there's gonna be kind of a flirty vibe between them. Because I don't remember where we landed on that.

Writer 2: Eh, don’t worry about it, we’ll figure it out if we get a season two.

Writer 1: okay, nice, so that just leaves us with Gwen, right?

Writer 4: Yeah, and I mean, I don’t see any reason why she can’t have just two totally normal, perfectly alive parents, both present and named and everything.

Writer 1: Huh.

Writer 4: Just... You know, all our protagonists are kind of… lacking relevant parents, and we want to feel very, like, realistic to how it feels to be a young person in the world, like really connect to our audience on that level. And we’ve got some great variety, like, being out on your own for the first time, or living up to family expectations... But I just think it would be really nice to just show another side of that that's just a family with two nice, supportive parents caring about their daughter and being there for her as she starts a career.

Writer 3: ...

Writer 1: ...

Writer 2: ... Dead mom.

Writer 3: Dead mom!

Writer 2: (pointing at each of the other writers in turn) Dead mom? Dead mom? Dead mommm?

Writer 4: (crosstalk) You know, now that I’m hearing you say it, it actually sounds so much better.

Writer 2: And we kill off her dad at the end of season one.

Writer 1: Yes, yes.

Writer 4: Yeah, no one wants parents in the story it ruins all the adventure!

Writer 3: Uther should definitely live for, like, way too long though, right?

Writer 1: oh yeah, are you kidding me, with Anthony head on board? He’s in it for the long haul no doubt.