#and now a girl she spent at the LONGEST a week with but probably closer tk 2-3 days is the same level of emotional import as her sister

[thatneoncrisis]

oh captain my captain i didn't know what league of legends game was when i watched arcane. so i thought the plot was alright since i didn't (still don't) know the game lore. if it wasn't basically a prequel story, trying to aim the characters at the way they are in canon, do u think the plot and character arcs would have held up alright? or does that actually make the arcane canon story worse since it wouldn't at least have the existing canon as something it needed to land at eventually as an excuse for any "out of character" decisions? thank u

i wouldnt even call it a prequel story? its like a very elaborate au in a sense, one that feels comfortable changing things to a certain extent- clothes, personality adjustments, motivations, but they still have to hit certain beats. vi has to be an enforcer, jinx has to be a wild card harley quinn type, ekkos time powers ect ect. idk WHAT it is maybe the show needed more time or tighter focus or less characters but i just felt that like, some of the story decisions directly relating to LoL lore werent outright bad but didnt have a lot of time to breathe. the standout example being ekkos time thing, where when i watched that scene i assumed it was both a stylistic representation of a fight and establishing his and jinx's prior relationship (which is kind of too little too late considering they did not fucking speak once as kids pre time skip), and then i had to get a friend to explain to me for SEVERAL MINUTES that he literally died during that fight and it was supposed to be showing his rewind thing. it just wasnt clear at all and his character would not change in the slightest if he didnt have it. but you cant NOT include it so. *

really i have no clue the full extent of the story the writers wanted to tell and how much LoL is binding their hands on story beats. and i REALLY dont want to be inflexible considering i still have a full season coming up that might make me more receptive to certain decisions. but considering how much of the cast i REALLY like just straight up are not in the game, i think they are fully capable of making a solid story completely divorced from league

*someone in the comments told me apparently that Wasnt his time thing and my original read of the scene was correct so im not gonna hold it against the show.

[penny00dreadful]

Folie à Deux - Part 3

For @psychocatnerd

Rating: Explicit

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 AO3

Despite Eddie’s probably entirely accurate depiction of Steve and his complete confidence in his ability to ‘yes-and’ himself into oblivion, the longer he spent in the car, the closer and closer he got to his destination, the nerves got worse and worse.

It didn’t help that the only thing Steve had in his rich boy car, holy shit this thing ran smooth, was ‘Steve’ music. He had nothing loud and screaming to drown out his slowly mounting panic or channel the tapping of his fingers on the wheel.

Like, he had Queen, but there were only so many times he could play Stone Cold Crazy over and over before he needed something else. 

Robin had been adamant about gaining her own independence and while that hadn’t yet manifested in her own drivers licence, it had manifested in her taking the bus to and from Indanapolis, which meant that Eddie was left driving to the next town over, the bigger one, to go pick her up and take her back to Hawkins.

As the bus station came into view, Eddie tried his best to keep his cool. 

He checked himself in the rearview mirror and while, yup, that was still Steve staring back at him, maybe a little more dishevelled than he would usually look, he was pretty sure he could pull this off, actually.

All of that swiftly flew out of the fucking window when Robin got her hand on the passenger door and he had rapid fire thoughts running through his mind of oh fuck, what do I call her? Robbie? Bobbie? Bobbin? Bob? Buckles? Steve had some convoluted system of nicknames, what the fuck would he call her right now?

Robin opened the door, throwing her bag in the back and Eddie was out of fucking time.

“R- Bu- Bobbin!” Eddie exclaimed, a wide smile across his face. Fuck, this was all already going downhill. “How was the bus?”

Robin paused in her shifting, getting herself comfortable in the passenger seat, hands stuck on the seatbelt she had been pulling out and she turned her head slowly, looking at him with a critical eye.

Shit, okay. 

So maybe he hadn’t been as ‘expert’ as he had claimed to be, but fuck it. Nowhere to go but up, right?

“The bus was the bus, Steve.” Robin replied, still examining him like a bug under a microscope, her eyes digging in. 

He put the car back into drive and began to manoeuvre out onto the road, keeping his own eyes front and centre, knowing if he glanced over he wouldn’t be able to keep the strained smile he had on plastered over his face.

They fell into a bitterly uncomfortable silence. Robin was staring at him and Eddie was starting to sweat. Fuck sake, he was known as the guy who could talk until the cows came home and now, now was the time he ended up blanking out on anything to say?

The tension in the car was so thick Eddie felt like he was fucking choking on it, the quiet weighing down on him like some kind of accusatory blanket.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Robin and Steve be silent around each other. Fuck, what did they usually talk about? Girls? Boobies? Steve’s time at work? What happened in their lives since the last time they talked?

Fuck.

“How was college?” He tried, desperate for something to latch onto.

Robin continued to stare at him. Eddie wasn’t even sure she’d blinked yet. He could see her jaw move, like she was rolling around any potential answer in her mouth. He could feel her eyes raking over his face, his shoulders, where his hands were on the wheel. Ten and two, right? That’s how Steve drove, all uppity and proper?

Except shit, no, that wasn’t it. He was usually leaned back, an elbow on the door or something else effortlessly cool and relaxed.

The road stretched out in front of them and Eddie felt like it was going to be the longest god damned drive of his life.

“The week is long.” Robin said, out of fucking nowhere, nearly making him jump.

“The- wh-” Eddie stuttered. What the fuck kind of tense was that? “Like you had a long week at school?”

Robin took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. 

“Sure.” She nodded slowly. “Let’s go with that.”

Robin twisted in her seat, reaching for her bag in the back, keeping half her body in the front of the car. It was a move that Eddie was pretty sure Steve wouldn’t allow but by the time he had remembered that, she was already rummaging around.

Eddie heard a muttered “shit” coming from her.

“What? What is it?”

Robin pulled herself mostly back into the front, one hand still digging around in her bag. “Can you pull over really quick? I think I might have left something behind.”

Eddie took a quick glance out the window to the empty roads around them. Nothing but asphalt and trees as far as the eye could see. He wasn’t even sure of the last time they passed another car. Typical Hawkins shit. He pulled off into the grass by the edge of the forest and threw the car into park.

“What did you forg-” Eddie’s words got caught in his throat as the cold metal of a sharp blade was pressed mercilessly against his throat, not cutting but dangerously close to doing so.

Fucking hell he hadn’t even seen Robin move. 

She was leaning over the centre console, her body pressing in threateningly close, her eyes ablaze and her teeth bared. 

“What are you?” She hissed out.

Eddie had faced up against knives before, they weren’t anything new to him but there was something about being threatened by someone who he knew for a fact had faced down death and Russian soldiers and fuckign alternate dimension creatures and fought for her life that gave Robin an extra terrifying edge. 

Eddie threw his hands up in surrender. He probably could have moved a little slower, probably could have actively tried not to shock her but sue him, he was starting to panic.

“I’m-” He swallowed against his own will, feeling the blade cut in ever so slightly. “I’m Steve-?”

“No you’re not.” She snapped back. “You might look like him, but you don’t move like him, you don’t talk like him. You’re something else entirely. What are you? Are you Vecna? Where is Steve?! What have you done with him?!”

She was shouting at him now and Eddie was probably about five more loud words away from curling up into a ball so fuck it. Steve could be mad at him later for spilling the beans. 

“I’m Eddie! Steve’s fine, he’s back home!” He squeaked out, entirely undignified but that wasn’t exactly his top priority right now. 

“Bullshit.” She spat, pressing in just a tiny bit more. “You think I’m gonna believe some fucking… pod person-”

“No, no!” He had nowhere to back up, nowhere to go. Robin already had him up against the driver's side door and he could tell from the look in her eye that if he didn’t convince her soon, she wouldn’t hesitate. “It’s me, I swear! It’s- I’m Eddie!”

She didn’t waver for a second aside from a disbelieving quirk of her eyebrow. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Rob, please, I swear-”

“Prove it.”

“I… fuck.” 

Okay, Eddie and Robin, Eddie and Robin. They had things they shared together, right? They had that argument about music that one time? And like… there was the whole ‘Steve’ of everything between them because while Robin was a rambler and scatterbrained and weird she was a fucking genius in certain ways and far more perceptive than people gave her credit for.

“You and Steve have your entire first dance planned out for your totally real not for tax benefits marriage to Total Eclipse of the Heart. It took you a month to figure out one of the lifts and I nearly died when Steve dragged me into it one day when you weren’t there.” Eddie word-vomited out in a single breath. “I’m actually a big fan of romance movies and novels and we’ve talked about it extensively and you swore to never tell anyone but I have a suspicion you’ve told Steve because you tell him everything.” he hesitated, wilting a little under her still critical eye.

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that.” 

Eddie bit his lip, deciding to finally man up and go for broke.

“I’m hopelessly in love with your soulmate. And I want him to bend me over any available surface and buttsex me until I can’t walk properly anymore.”

Robin pursed her lips but it looked more like she was trying to hide a smile rather than preparing to gut him like a fish.

With a flick of her wrist, she retracted the pocket knife, relaxing back into her seat and sending him a crooked grin. “I would have expected you to do better with his hair. You certainly stare at him enough for it.”

Eddie’s mouth hung open, staring, trying to get over the fucking whiplash of her accepting the answer so quickly. 

Robin looked back over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well? Drive.”

“Your lesbian tried to kill me, Stevie.” Eddie called out into the Harrington home, letting both himself and Robin inside.

Robin shot off ahead of him before coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room, turning her head slightly like she was trying to listen for something.

There was only silence that answered him back and that wasn’t exactly the best way to convince Robin that he wasn’t some kind of body snatcher. 

Eddie felt his fingers twitch. He didn’t have any of his rings and he had nothing to fiddle with, nothing to nervously twist as he tried not to panic about the fact that Steve had run off somewhere with Eddie’s body.

Something had caught Robin’s attention though, and she took off again into the kitchen.  

Something clanked in one of Steve’s many unused garages. 

Rich people, what the fuck, man.

A mess of shaggy dark brown curls poked around the door and Eddie let out a silent sigh of relief that both his body and Steve were apparently fine, just fucking around in his garage for some reason.

Steve glanced between the two of them with wide, wide eyes, fuck were his eyes always that big? Did he look like that all the time?

Robin sighed out “dingus” as soon as she caught sight of him and the two of them fell into each other like they had been drawn together by some magnetic force, like she just knew it was Steve, how did she just know?

Steve had changed his clothes, switching the crop top and tight ripped jeans out for some kind of tank top and Jesus H. Christ. 

Steve had put Eddie’s body in those fucking gym shorts and while they did not look as good on him as they did on Steve, they… still weren’t half bad, actually. 

Damn, Eddie really needed to highlight his legs more.

If he ever got his body back.

“Birdie.” Steve muttered into Robin’s neck while he plucked her from the ground and swung her around himself.

Birdie, god damn it! The one name I didn’t fucking think of, of course.

Eddie huffed in almost mock irritation but if he was being honest with himself, there was some actual irritation there too. 

“Why doesn’t he get a knife to the throat?” Eddie scowled, turning his nose skyward.

Steve blinked. “Excuse me?”

Robin waved him off. “Because this is clearly Steve and he’s not acting extremely suspicious!”

Steve looked down at her. “You held a knife to his throat?”

“He was acting suspicious.” She said, completely unphased. 

“Did you call him a pod person?”

“He was acting like a pod person!”

“I was not-”

“Did you cut him?” Steve was leaning around Robin, still in his embrace, raking his eyes over Eddie’s neck.

“No, I’m not that careless, Steven.”

“Well it’s hard to know sometimes, Robert. You can barely carry a cup of coffee six steps without spilling it.”

“That’s not my fault! The human body’s oscillation rate-”

“Okay.” Eddie clapped his hands together in a move that was so reminiscent of Steve it almost scared him. “While this has been a lovely reunion, I am feeling very third wheeled, here and I don’t like it so I’m gonna start complaining about it.”

With a tilt of his head, Eddie was able to spot some kind of metal monstrosity in the garage over Steve’s shoulder. Something with bars and weights and cushioned bits. It looked like it could have either been a torture machine or an exercise machine. 

Or with some creative thinking, some kind of sex thing.

It probably wasn't a sex thing. 

Unfortunately.  

“Stevie, what were you doing while I was gone?” Eddie asked, wondering if he’d be able to like… do things with one of those machines now that he was in Steve’s body.

Steve shrugged, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Did you know you can squat, like, 160?”

Eddie stared at him, bewildered. “Uh… no? I did not know that. Why do you know that? How do you know that? What does that even mean? What-”

Eddie looked back to the home gym again.

No…

He didn’t…

He wouldn’t!

This was tantamount to betrayal!

“What have you been doing to my body, Harrington?”

Steve fixed him with what could only be described as a Steve Harrington smile, all sweet boy-next-door charm and standup citizenry, which was so fucking weird coming from his own face, scars and all.

“Testing it out.” Steve said to him, like he was an innocent angel. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t be mad if I explored a little?”

“That’s not what I meant, I didn’t mean jock shit.”

“What did you mean then?”

Sexy things! Do sexy things to my body while you’re in there!

“This is so fucking weird.” Robin was staring in between the two of them with both a sense of wonder and some kind of terrifying clinical curiosity. “You.” She pointed at Steve. “Follow me. Tell me everything. You.” She pointed at Eddie. “Stay here. You tell me everything once we’re done.”

“Separately? What is this? An interrogation?”

“Yeah.” Robin answered with an air of ‘duh’ around her. “I’m collecting the facts independently, dipshit.”

“Why am I dipshit and Steve gets to be dingus?”

“Because I said so.”

“This is blatant favouritism.”

Robin snorted. “Nice of you to catch up.” She patted him on the head again, leaving him pouting and steered Steve back into the garage, shutting the door behind her. 

Eddie had only managed to resist his impulses for all of four minutes, sitting on the couch and twiddling his thumbs before he finally broke. 

Steve and Robin could be in the garage for hours knowing the two of them, so he had time. He had time to be a little shit and that box in the back of Steve’s closet had been a box living in the back of his head since he had first laid eyes on it.

So, yeah.

Four minutes is all it took him to give into his impulses and tear up the stairs.

It was right where Eddie had left it, sitting innocently in the back corner. In all honesty Eddie had expected to come back and find it hidden but apparently Steve had been so preoccupied trying to figure out if he could bully Eddie’s body into doing some jock nonsense that the thought of the secret box at the back of his closet hadn’t even crossed his mind.

God, he hoped Steve wouldn’t take his body out jogging next. 

Maybe he could handle swimming, but jogging seemed like such a… task.

Eddie knelt down, his heart in his throat and repeated the motion he had that morning, slipping his finger under the lip of the cardboard box and lifted.

Oh.

He’d thought…

They told him it was gone…

But there it was.

Lovingly folded and gently placed in a small secret space at the back of Steve’s closet.

Denim and patches and pins and blood and grime.

His vest.

Steve had kept his vest.

Even after everything. All the bad memories attached to it, all of the hurt and pain that must have come from it. Steve had kept it. And told Eddie it was lost.

Why would he tell Eddie it was lost?

Why would he keep it?

Hidden away in the back of his closet like some kind of… secret shame?

Was Steve ashamed of keeping it?

Away from him?

Or was he ashamed of why he kept it?

What could have possessed him to keep something of Eddie’s so close yet so far away. In his bedroom but hidden like a secret.

Eddie looked closer, trying to figure it out, trying to put himself in Steve’s mind, which wasn’t as easy as he thought it might be, being in his body. But he wanted to know. 

Why did Steve lie about it, keep it and then hide it?

Eddie reached out, but stopped himself. It didn’t feel… right for some reason. The vest didn’t really feel like his anymore, it was… it was Steve’s. Steve bled on this thing, he fought and protected and suffered on that vest. Far more than Eddie ever had.

And anyway, he was making a new one so… It wasn’t his anymore. It wasn’t his right to take it. 

He put the lid back on and took a step back, staring at it, going through everything in his head.

What did it mean?

He knew what he hoped it meant, what he suspected it meant but he couldn’t be sure and he wanted so badly to be sure. 

Should he ask about it?

He didn’t even have to ask Steve, he could ask Robin.

But if he asked Robin it would almost definitely get back to Steve that he’d snooped and that he’d found something that Steve clearly felt like hiding. 

Eddie placed his hands on his hips and sighed. 

He didn’t really know what to do to move forward. 

Well… he knew what he wanted to do. 

He wanted to kiss Steve about it, that was what he wanted to do. 

But the thing was, he wanted to kiss Steve. All of Steve. 

He didn’t want to kiss Steve while Steve was him, in his body.

Not that… well. Not that Eddie would turn down the opportunity to kiss himself if it was handed to him. 

He was man enough to admit he was curious. Who wouldn't be?

But he wanted all of Steve.

It would feel almost incomplete were it to happen now.

Glancing over, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and all at once was reminded that they kind of had other things to be worrying about right now.

Like this whole fucking Jodie Foster Freaky Friday nonsense.

Yeah…

Yeah, it could wait.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 AO3

As always, my biggest thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

[jackshunters]

gonna hopefully watch ayaotd s3 in the next few days but before i do here’s a little headcanon dump about the curse of the shadows gang before a whole new group of gay ghost kids rots my brain!

• gabby and luke have known each other the longest, basically since they were toddlers. they were joined at the hip when they were younger, and all the adults did the whole ���they’ll get married in twenty years!” thing at them until it became clear that they were basically siblings.

• connor moved to town when they were in third grade, and luke and him became thick as thieves pretty quickly. they were the class troublemakers, the pair that every teacher dreaded having. luke was mostly a quiet kid before connor came around, but connor brought him out of his shell and dragged him into all of his shenanigans.

• connor, luke, and gabby were kind of an iconic trio all through elementary school. it was literally just the dynamic of two completely rational kids who turned into chaotic dumbasses when paired with their feral best friend.

• jai and hanna met them later in middle school. for a while, the girls and boys sort of did their own thing as they hit that phase of life, but the thing that brought the five of them together was a horror story writing assignment in their english class. that was the humble beginning of the midnight society. it wasn’t clear what they were yet, but the storytelling love they all had brought them closer together, and horror-movie-marathon nights initiated by hanna and connor kept the ball rolling, and pretty soon they started telling ghost tales of their own.

• connor shot up in height in the summer before ninth grade, joined the wrestling team, and started solidifying his mysterious-skater-boy vibe, and pretty soon most of the girls in the grade were fawning over him. luke was very clearly jealous, but not of the attention.

• but connor liked luke first, obviously. since eighth grade, and probably before that. but the only person he’d ever told was gabby.

• gabby, in response, had told him about her crush on hanna. both of them tried to play matchmaker for each other, but mostly they were both just hapless idiots about the whole thing

• connor started sneaking in through luke’s window when he was twelve, but he did it more often now when his dad went on trips and he was home alone. usually he’d have some pretense about a new place they needed to check out, but there were those times when he just ended up sleeping on luke’s floor—he slept better there than anywhere else, after all.

• around the beginning of freshman year, the group dynamics sort of wavered. the midnight society wasn’t official, and everyone was sort of doing their own thing, trying out different friends and clubs and groups. then, the five of them each found a formal invitation to the first official midnight society meeting in their locker—and from then on, they were as close as they’d been before. all of them deny writing the letters, but gabby secretly knows it was connor.

• gabby gets panic attacks sometimes, and luke knows this, and he’s one of the few people that knows exactly how to talk her down. they have a routine to go through to make things easier, and it’s never failed to work. (when luke’s start, after the shadowman, gabby returns the favor)

• luke joined the wrestling team because of connor. this much is obvious.

• gabby and hanna spent a few weeks volunteering together, mostly picking up trash by the waterfront. they were with each other a lot during that time, and this was when hanna first started crushing on gabby though. she wouldn’t stop denying it yet, though

• the midnight society sometimes does paired storytelling events among themselves, and connor and jai are always the most over-the-top pair. they just continue egging each other on and adding more aspects to their performance until it’s completely outlandish and insane and incomprehensible

• speaking of performances, connor is the resident theater kid and a complete and total dork about it. you’d expect him to be like, the one jock who’s in the school play and is all shy and awkward about it, but no, he’s a full-on thespian, completely running with every single scene, and he absolutely breaks into random song for kicks

• jai spends a lot of his time drawing superheroes and creating characters—but he keeps them mostly private, except with luke, who he’s making a comic book with. later on, he does the graphic designs for a lot of hanna’s flyers. seth’s room is covered in his art.

• speaking of, jai and seth besties for the win. post-series, jai and hanna are bickery-best friends, and seth latches onto jai as the one who always watches his magic tricks and talks comics and stories with him.

• connor gets more reckless the more he’s left alone. when it comes to the rest of the midnight society, though, he’s the de-facto older-brother of the group, the sword, the protector. as impulsive as he is on his own, he thinks every move through if the others are involved.

• luke hates it, though. that’s one of the only things they fight about—connor broke his arm falling off a roof, connor drove his skateboard into a wall, connor skipped class to hop on a train to who-knows where. luke worries, of course he does. he just wants connor to be more careful. connor secretly thinks it’s sweet that he cares.

• gabby’s the resident homework-helper, and hanna asks to study with her even when she doesn’t need it. jai picks up on this, obviously, and he teases hanna about it, obviously. how can he not?

• midnight society slumber parties are absolutely the best. they normally crash at hanna or luke’s place, and it’s complete chaos of sugary snacks and scary movies and massive pillow fights.

• after the shadowman, the sleepovers become way more frequent.

• when he was trapped in the lighthouse, connor tried his best to look after the kids that were stuck in the dark with him. that was what he did, after all. he entertained zoey and the others with stories about superheroes and knights and wizards, all named after his friends. the one named luke came to save them at the end, every single time.

• even after, connor couldn’t sleep for days—unless it was in luke’s room. then, the rest of the midnight society surprised him by sticking glow-in-the-dark stars and planets to every single inch of his ceiling. it got a lot easier after that.

[reidsnose]

love letters

overview: spencer has a wonderful idea after finding out that reader had never gone to her senior prom

genre: fluff fluff fluff

a/n: i mixed two ideas that have been sitting in my notes app for this lol but i think its sweet!! i wrote it a little rushed and definitely not bc im not getting a prom this year due to miss rona👀 LMAO but as always please lmk what yall think ab it :)

masterlist

-

the idea had fully occupied his thoughts the second after the words left your mouth.

it was "the buttcrack of dawn" as you had called it, though spirits were high on the late jet ride home. it was a rare but much needed positive end to the case, and everyone was happily chatting with each other. since the case was involving high schoolers, the subject fell on prom. everyone went around sharing their prom stories one by one, recalling awful dresses and questionable dates til the questions turned to spencer.

"what ab you, pretty boy, what was your prom like?" morgan asked, still smiling widely from recalling his own.

you watched spencer shift uncomfortably for a second.

"i uh..i never went to prom." he stammered, a tight lipped smile on his face.

"no! you just dont wanna tell us!" prentiss cried, throwing her hands in the air.

"i graduated high school when i was 12! why would i have gone to prom?" he reasoned.

"you had to have gone when you were older or something! everyone has!" jj countered.

"thats not true, i never went to prom either," you defended, subconsciously inching closer to spencer.

before anyone could even ask you to explain why, spencer got the idea. he mentally left the conversation after you gave your answer. he spent the whole rest of the ride home and the next couple of weeks brain storming and planning.

and casually after work one day, as he was walking you to your car, he asked you if you wanted to hang out with him that weekend; at his house.

you and Spencer had hung out before, but mostly at your house or at coffee shops; he didn't invite people over very often.

of course you agreed but you grew confused when he told you to dress fancy.

you raced home afterwards to raid your closet, looking for any fancy dresses you may have stuffed in there.

spencer spent the whole day preparing his apartment. he put up streamers and balloons. he made a playlist of all your favorite songs. and then he rushed to get his clothes from the cleaners.

and when you knocked at his door the breath that left your lungs struggled to come back after he opened the door.

he stood in a gorgeous suit, different than he had ever worn to work. he rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to the living room, revealing the adorable (albeit poorly made but its the thought that counts) decorations.

"um.. welcome to prom," he said, turning back to you, revealing a blushy smile.

he tried not to stare too much at you, but it was difficult. your eyes sparkled as you stepped inside and looked around. and the dress you were wearing fit you so gorgeously he truly couldnt take his eyes off of you.

"spencer, i..." you trailed off, enchanted by what he had done.

"sorry if it looks bad. or if you think its weird that i did this. i just thought cause neither of us went to prom maybe you wanted to have a little one with me? yeah now that i say it out loud maybe you hate it im sorr-" he rambled behind you.

you turned quickly to him as he got lost in his words, eyes glued to the floor. cutting him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him as tight as you could. you could feel the tension leave his body as he melted into the embrace, returning it gladly. he doesn't like to be touched by anyone really, except for you.

"i love it. thank you," you whispered, giving him one last squeeze before letting go.

he has a spread of snacks lying out on the coffee table which he has mooved to the corner of the room to make space for a makeshift dancefloor.

he turns on the music and you two start talking and dancing and laughing. two fools with four left feet completely and obliviously in love. well, oblivious the the other anyway.

a slower song came on, an old one that you had wanted to slow dance to ever since you were a little girl. and somehow naturally you two came together, his hand dropped to your waist, the other delicately cradling your own. your other hand found its way up to his shoulder, feeling as though a magnet was pulling you two closer. and closer.

he looked absolutely stunning. the soft lights he had strung around the apartment sparkled like stars in his eyes; its was...dizzying, in the most incredible way.

unbeknownst to you, as you stared at the stars in his eyes he was looking at his whole world that he had been somehow lucky enough to hold in his arms.

he held his arm out, allowing you to spin and when he pulled you back both of your arms ended up wrapped around his neck, and his around your waist. you were less dancing now and more...hugging. with your head pressed to his chest, he hoped with all his might that you wouldn't be able to hear his hammering heart. you most definitely could, but it was calming to know he was as nervous as you were. you smiled, listening more to his heart than the music he had played for you.

you were both sure that you could burst from pure bliss. the song ended a little too quickly for either of your liking and reluctantly you let go of each other. and suddenly Spencer was hit with the realization that he forgot something.

"oh my gosh," his eyes widened as he looked around the room.

"what?" you asked, mirroring him and looking as well.

"i can't remember where i left your corsage! i was gonna give it to you at the door but i forgot!" he exclaimed, running around the room checking shelves.

you smiled to yourself. he got you a corsage!

"ill help you look" you decided.

"please do," he chuckled.

"i thought you had an eidetic memory, shouldn't you know where you left it?" you joked, shooting him a smug smile.

"y/n, my brain was all jumbled to day and it wasn't just from being around you," he realized what he had said and quickly turned back to the shelf he was looking at, "could you check in my room please?"

his heart was racing at his own stupidity; how could he just say that so nonchalantly? he had been planning to tell you that he liked you for the longest time he cant afford slipping up and having it be anything less than perfect.

you slipped into his room, your cheeks warm from the idea that you make his big brain all jumbled. he probably didn't mean it like that, you were just looking too much into it.

you sighed as you crouched to look under his bed for it. you found a small wooden box that you slid out from underneath. it had your name on it.

is it normal to keep a corsage in a wooden box? you wouldn't know, you never went to prom.

you shrugged your shoulders, "i found it spence!"

with out thinking you opened the box, except instead of a band of flowers you were greeted with letters, all addressed to you. there were annotations written in the margins with purple ink. you furrowed your eyebrows as you scanned the various letters.

dear y/n,

today you complimented my glasses and my heart skipped a beat. thats dumb spencer dont start like that

dear y/n,

im in love with you. too forward

dear y/n,

you make life worth living. shes gonna think youre a creep

you felt a rush of euphoria fill your chest. did he really feel these things for you? your thoughts swirled in the most wonderful way. a wide smile broke across your face, butterflies running rampage through your stomach as you reread his words. his words addressed to you.

"oh thank God i really thought i lost-oh. oh no." spencer started as he walked through the door of his room immediately walking back out. you followed, blinking your watery eyes at him. "i can explain.

"i think youve explained enough, theres like 20 letters in here!" you chuckled, flipping through them.

"i didnt know how to tell you and i dont want to ruin what we already have and i-"

"it wasnt too forward." you stated, grabbing one of the letters.

"what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"in this one," you held up the letter, "you wrote dear y/n, im in love with you. and then you crossed it out and wrote that it was too forward but i dont think it was."

"youre not mad?"

"mad? spencer ive been trying to admit the fact that im in love with you since i realized it myself, why would i be mad?"

"youre..you feel the same way?" he looked back up at you, a hesitant smile pulling on the corners of his lips.

"more so," you beamed, stepping closer.

he wrapped his arms around you, "thats good or else the rest of this prom would have sucked."

you chuckled, pulling him impossibly closer to you as another perfect song played.

-

-

ultra mega super cool taglist

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @spenxerslut @violetspoetic @aperrywilliams @b-a-utiful @eevee0722 @srhxpci @reidemandweep @imdefinitelyfloating @random-human-person @gurkiloni @luvspence @calm-and-doctor @ssavanessa22 @singularityjc @sydnee-kom-spacekru @sydneekomspacekru

[ronsonlywhore]

❛ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿. ❜ remus lupin x reader

summary: you hate the thunder, so remus makes it go away. (or in which remus doesn’t really make it stop, but he holds you until it does.)

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

a/n: a thunderstorm woke me up this morning.. it was like all hell was raining loose, mother nature was not having it today </3 anyways yeah i was scared, that thunder was loud asf

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the crash of the thunder makes you bolt upright, pulling the sheets toward you frantically and interrupting the peaceful sleep you had managed to fall into. thunder booms again; you dive under the covers, but whether out of annoyance at being woken up or fear of the downpour roaring through the atmosphere, you’d rather not say.

earlier, the thunderstorm currently raging outside had been nothing more than a light drizzle with a few lightning flashes here and there. the thunder had been practically non-existent while you had gotten ready for bed, and it only started until you were half-asleep, too drawn within the tranquil oblivion you had fallen into to notice or care.

there was no way you’d be falling back asleep now, though. the rain hit the windows too heavily, the wind howled like it could knock down hogwarts’ seemingly sturdy walls, and...was it hailing, as well? great, you think, just my luck.

the thunder roars again, loudly resonating throughout the grounds, and you snuggle deeper into the blankets. in a bed a few feet away from you, you hear lily snore, clear as a bell even with the storm crashing through outside. that brings you a shred of comfort; maybe you could sleep away the downpour after all.

that reassurance is quickly snatched away when a particularly big clap of thunder manages to rattle the dormitory window, a feat that is not easily achieved thanks to the ancient magic keeping hogwarts upright.

when you were much smaller, storms like this one would have you bolting to your parents’ room in the middle of the night, your fear of the pitch-black, creaky old house after dark be damned. your mother would say you were getting too old to burrow into their bed but still let you climb onto it, while your father would just peek at you and fall right back to sleep, his snores succeeding in drowning out the horrible thunder.

the summer before your first year at hogwarts, when a particularly scary rainstorm had you running to the comfort of your parents’ room again, your mother blatantly refused to let you dive under her covers. she said you were getting too old, too big, and “whose bed would you dash to at hogwarts?” while your father snored away in sleep, your mother told you to go back to your room and be brave. so, determined to show the thunder who’s boss, you marched back to your own bed with your head held high. your confidence lasted a total of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and you didn’t sleep a wink that night. instead, you stayed up, too afraid to sleep, and spent the rest of the early morning thinking about useless things: your dolls and what clothes you would dress them up in, the mudpies you had left to bake in the sun which were surely ruined thanks to the storm, and how you would beat the mean little boy next door to the swingset at the playground the next day.

so that’s what you did now: you thought about futile things while curled up in your dormitory bed, things like lessons and essays you hadn’t started on, chapters you were supposed to have read but could do fine without, parchment and quills and ink you needed to have replenished the next hogsmeade weekend.

in the end, it was pointless; the thunderstorm raged on, and you had never felt more awake in your life. abandoning the hope that you could fall asleep, you quietly pull back the curtains of your four-poster and tiptoe out the dormitory, careful not to wake any of the other sleeping girls in the room. reaching the staircase, you sluggishly walk down to the common room, planning on starting the fire up again and sitting in front of it until the morning, maybe even sneak down to the kitchens for food if you felt up for it.

you stop short when you see a figure sprawled on the stuffy couch, their lanky limbs hanging off of it. as you cautiously step closer, a smile tugs at your face to see it’s remus, transfiguration book abandoned and left open on his steadily rising and falling chest, used parchment strewn all over the floor. you make your way over and sit down on the armrest, contemplating whether you should wake him up or not; he looked happier when he was sleeping, as cliche as that sounded. you wonder what he’s dreaming of.

another roar of thunder; you jump, almost falling off the couch, and decide that waking remus up would only be for the best...after all, you didn’t want him to wake up with a sore neck from having to sleep in that awful position, did you?

you gently shake him, muttering, “remmy...remus.” he doesn’t stir, though, and you take to poking his arm softly, then a bit harder as you start to wonder how heavy of a sleeper he really is. “remus!”

he wakes with a start, the book tumbling down to the floor as he sits up swiftly, calming down only when he sees you standing there expectantly. he rubs his eyes, yawning, and groggily asks, “(y/n)? what are you doing?”

“what are you doing?” you ask in response, looking curiously around at the bundle of parchment and quills scattered around him. the storm is far from your mind even if you can still hear it outside; remus has become the perfect distraction.

he yawns again and looks down at his watch. you notice he’s still in his uniform...has he not gone up to bed at all?

“i was working on the transfiguration essay due tomorrow...must’ve fallen asleep, i suppose,” he answers, and you realize that he hadn’t done it because of last week’s full moon; but remus was never one to make excuses for himself, even if those excuses were credible.

lightning flashes outside bringing with it another clap of thunder; remus’s attention turns to the window. to your surprise, he smiles.

“is it raining outside?” he asks as he moves for a better view. so much for a distraction, you think as remus exclaims excitedly, “oh, it’s more than rain, it’s a storm!”

his face lights up, or maybe it’s just the lightning continuing outside. he proceeds to stare, transfixed, at the downpour. “beautiful, is it not? how the lightning can be sometimes white, or purple, or maybe even both. how the thunder rattles the earth down to its core,” he says after some time.

beautiful? if beautiful meant terrifying and too intense for your liking then, “yes, i suppose it is,” you answer.

another thunder strike, probably the loudest one that night, makes you jump. remus notices, and, with an expression of concern on his face, says more than asks, “you’re afraid of the thunder...that’s why you woke me up.”

how could one person be so intuitive?

you shrug your shoulders and nod, mumbling, “ever since i was a child.” remus smiles, that warm smile that he had when he was sleeping, as he walks over to the couch again, sitting down and getting himself comfortable. moving the quills and his book out of the way, he looks up at you expectantly. “well?” he asks.

“well what?” you inquire back, confused.

he laughs. “my lap is open for the taking,” remus says and pats his legs. realizing what he’s offering, you scramble over to the couch, laying down and resting your head on his lap, finally feeling truly at ease for the first time that night.

remus picks his book back up again, and you ask, “won’t you be sleeping, too?”

he shakes his head and smiles gently. “no, i have to finish this transfiguration essay. but don’t worry; i’ll be here with you until you fall asleep.”

a few minutes pass, and remus starts idly drawing random shapes on your arm, soothing you until you’re in that state between consciousness and sleep. just as you feel yourself slipping away, thunder booms, and you flinch, the sound startling you.

remus is quick to lean down and press gentle kisses to your forehead, murmuring all the while, “‘s alright. go to sleep, my love.” you can hear the fatigue in his voice, and know he won’t last much longer awake.

the thunder goes away for a few minutes but comes back again, although you don’t notice it much with remus’s arms wrapped around you. you glance up at him one last time before closing your eyes, and see remus dozing off again, the small smile he gets in his sleep back.

content, you snuggle in closer; this might’ve been the longest night of your life, but could proudly say the storm didn’t scare you as much anymore, not when remus held you through the crash of the thunder.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: why does this feel like the longest thing i've ever written LMFAO. anyways i love remus lupin <3

taglist:

@gwlvr @eunoniaa @skaratjung @miraclesoflove @ronbrokemyheart @inglourious-imagines @iiclarixa @drachoesimp

if you wanna be added to my taglist, fill out the form here

[wzrd-wheezes]

George Weasley x Reader - Stay Here.

A/N: Hello! I’m back with another fic and this time it’s a George one. This is the longest fic I’ve written so far and the first time that I’ve written any smut (there’s only a little bit right at the end so if you’re under 18 don’t read it) please let me know if you enjoy!

Warnings: fluffy smut. its nothing too bad but don’t read if you’re under 18. there’s also a bit of angst and mentions of cheating in relationships. Quite a lot of swearing as well. 

2.5k words 

masterlist here

“Don’t fucking speak to her like that.” George step foot into their house, “if I were you, I’d let go of her arm and let her come with me. She clearly doesn’t want to be with a piece of shit like you,”

“No! You do this every time! Every single fucking time you tell me that it won’t happen again and it always fucking does,” Y/N yelled.

“It’s not like that! You know it’s not like that, babe.” Her boyfriend tried to calm her down.

             “Don’t you ‘babe’ me after what you’ve done. This is the third time now! What do you expect me to do, let you cheat on me time and time again and keep giving you chance after chance?” she stormed up the stairs and into their bedroom.

             “I didn’t cheat! Jess is just a friend!” he yelled, following her into bedroom

             “Last time I checked, you don’t fuck your friends,” she grabbed a bag from the closet and began throwing clothes into it.

             “You’re one to talk, that ginger little prick you’re friends with is constantly up your arse. He basically undresses you with his eyes every time you’re together!”

             “Don’t try and turn this around on me. George is my friend, and you know that. You’re just jealous because I enjoy spending time with him because he isn’t a dick like you are.” She turned around to leave the room. Her boyfriend grabbed her arm and pulled her back in, slamming the door shut and leaning against it.

             “I swear to god, if you don’t move out of my way…” she drew her wand out and pointed it at him. She barged past him and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She took her phone from her pocket and held it to her ear.

             “Please, please can you come and get me.”

 A short while later there was a knock at the door. Y/N rushed to get there before her boyfriend did but by the time she had reached the last step the front door had already been swung open.

             “What the fuck are you doing here?” her boyfriend spat.

             “I’ve come to pick Y/N up,” George replied firmly. Her boyfriend span around quickly to look at her.

             “Oh, of course you rang him,” he raged, “why aren’t I surprised?”

             “Jack, can you please just get out of the way,” Y/N pleaded, trying to get around him.

             “Why should I? so you can go to his house and fuck him like you’ve always wanted to,” he pointed at George accusingly.

             “Don’t fucking speak to her like that.” George step foot into their house, “if I were you, I’d let go of her arm and let her come with me. She clearly doesn’t want to be with a piece of shit like you,”

             “And why should I-”

George didn’t even give him time to reply before landing a harsh punch on his jaw. Jack staggered back a few paces, fury spreading over his face before launching himself at George. George fell backwards against the wall, holding Jack at arms-length.

             “Y/N, go and get in the car,” he strained, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

She did as he said and got into the passenger seat of his car. She sat in silence for a few moments before breaking down into fits of tears. What was she going to do? Her whole life had been shattered before her very eyes. She didn’t have anywhere to live now that she had walked out. After what seemed like an age, George returned to the car, slamming the door shut as he got in.

             “He’s a right foul, git, d’you know that?” he wiped some blood off of his lip. Y/N nodded silently and began sobbing again. George didn’t say another word the whole journey back to his flat. The pair sat in silence, Y/N gazed out of the window into the night, looking at all the lit-up houses and wondering if they were filled with happy couples. The car slowed as they arrived at George’s. He still had noy spoken a word. Walking round to the other side of the car, he opened Y/N’s door for her. It was as she stood up in front of him, he realised how broken she looked. Her eyes that used to light up at his jokes were bloodshot. Her normally rosy cheeks now tearstained. The girl that stood in front of him looked small and scared.

             “C’mon, let’s go inside.” He took her hand and led here through the front door.

George and Fred still lived together, their home was a place of sanctuary for Y/N when her and Jack used to fall out. She had spent countless nights on their sofa in front of the fire. As they walked through the hallway, she noticed the glow of the living room light peaking out under the doorway. Fred was still awake. George opened the door for her and ushered her through.

             “Where the bloody hell have you been? It’s getting la-” Fred’s sentence trailed off as her caught sight of Y/N, tears still leaking from her eyes. His eyes then glanced over to George, who’s nose was still a bit bloody and his lip now swelling up.

             “What the fuck happened?” Fred sounded astonished.

             “Jack and I broke up,” Y/N choked out, “I found out he was cheating on me again,”

             “He’s a right nasty piece of work,” Fred stood up, “d’you want me to go round there and sort him out?”

             “I sorted it,” George confirmed, sitting down on the sofa, “Chuck me that box of tissues will you, Fred?” He cleaned up the rest of the blood from his nose. Y/N sat down next to George. The three made conversation for a few moments.

             “I’m going to go to bed, give me a shout if you need anything, yeah?” Fred departed.

 Y/N and George sat in silence again, until Y/N spoke.

             “I’m sorry,” her words seemed to echo in the silent room.

             “What are you on about?” George raised an eyebrow at her.

             “I’m sorry that you always have to sort me out,” she sniffed, “I’m sorry that every single time Jack and I used to argue you had to come and get me. I’m sorry that he hurt you and I’m sorry that you have to put up with me being all upset,”

             “Oh, Y/N,”

             “I’m just, I’m really scared, George. I can’t go back there. All my stuff is there. I don’t have a home anymore.”

             “I know, love.” He looked sad, “but you’re away from him now. And in the meantime, you can stay here and you can have a job at our shop until we get you back on your feet.”

             “Really? You’d do all that for me?” she turned round to look at him properly. It was the first time in a while that George had really seen her up close. He’d always thought that she was beautiful and dare he even say, he’d always had a bit of a soft spot for her. But it just so happened that she had always had a boyfriend. Besides, George was certain that she didn’t see him in that way.

             “Of course, I would, Y/N, you’re my friend.” That last word seemed to ring in his ears as soon as it left his mouth. Friend. That was all that he was to her. Her friend. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder.

             “Thank you, Georgie.”

 Y/N had been living with Fred and George for a few weeks now. She filled her days by working long hours in the joke shop. She didn’t mind though; it kept her mind off of things and allowed her to spend some more time with the twins. She had grown even closer with them in the last few weeks, particularly with George. They would stay up late at night to speak to each other, even though they both had work early in the morning. If Y/N didn’t feel like she had a wedge of ice stabbed through her heart, she might have said that she was falling for George. She knew that it was probably going to take a while for her to begin to trust people again, for her to be ready to give her all to someone, knowing that they could take it all away from her, like had been done in the past though. Surely, though, if she was going to fall for anyone, George Weasley would be perfect. He was kind and patient and funny. He made Y/N know that he was there for her when she was feeling down. It was on one of Y/N’s days off from the shop that Fred confronted his brother about it.

               “You love her.” He said bluntly, as he refilled the shelves of Weather in a Bottle. George stayed quiet, “You do,”

             “I know, Fred. I know I do,” George looked distressed, “but she doesn’t see me like that,”

             “I know you’re my twin brother and everything, Georgie, but bloody hell you’re not as clever as me,” Fred teased, “It’s obvious.”

             “What is?”

             “That she likes you back, you muppet,” Fred laughed, “have you not seen the way she looks at you? Like you’re shining the sun out of your arse.” George chuckled, shaking his head at his twin. For the rest of the day he found himself smiling. All his thoughts were filled with Y/N, he couldn’t wait to get home. When he eventually step foot into their flat, they began their nightly routine of having dinner together and then chilling out in front of the fire. Y/N was sprawled out on the sofa reading her book, her head resting in George’s lap as he watch the T.V. For some reason, he felt nervous being around her, like he should make some sort of move or something.

             “You look tense,” Y/N sat up and turned to face him, “what’s up?”

             “Nothing, I’m just a bit tired that’s all,”

Y/N put her head against his shoulder, nudging her way in so his arm was around her. George shot her a quizzical look.

             “I just wanted a cuddle,” she shrugged, “sleeping on this sofa is killing my back,”

             “You can have my bed tonight if you want,” George offered smiling at her. She stood up and made her way out of the living room.

             “Night, then?” George said, puzzled.

             “Are you not coming? I’m sure we can both squeeze into your bed.”

 George grinned as he climbed into his bed next to her. They lay facing each other for a little while, neither of them muttering a word. Y/N’s nose was practically touching his, he could feel the warmth of her breathe on his face. She fluttered her eyes shut for a moment. George mustered up all the courage he could find and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Her eyes snapped open, and for a second, she looked a bit taken aback. George’s heart sank for moment, until her lips met his for the second time. She was kissing him. It was as if all of the fireworks in their joke shop had gone off inside of him. What started out as a sweet kiss deepened as George crept his tongue into her mouth. He could feel her lips smiling against his and she climbed on top of him. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull him closer to her. Y/N’s hands grabbed at the hem of his t-shirt, jerking it off of him. She trailed her kisses down from his lips to his neck. George groaned slightly. Her kisses moved down to his shoulder and she started making her way down his kiss, leaving fleeting kisses as she moved.

             “Wait, Y/N,” George mumbled.

             “What?” She pushed her hair out of her face so she could look at him.

             “This isn’t just… I don’t know how to say it,” he looked worried.

             “Just say it, Georgie,” Y/N moved so she was straddling him now.

             “I’m not just some rebound to you, am I?” he blurted out, “because I don’t want to do this if it doesn’t mean anything.” Y/N smiled at him.

             “Of course you’re not just a rebound,”

             “Good. Because I love you, Y/N, I really, really do,” he smiled, “it broke my heart seeing you all upset. I just wanted to be the one to make you feel better.”

             “You have, George. I promise you, you have. I think I love you too. I’m just so, so scared of getting my heart broken again,”

             “I could never do that, love.” George sat up, so that once again, their noses were brushing against each other. This time, he kissed her more passionately. Flipping her over so that she was lying beneath him, her hair splayed out on his pillow. He toyed with the hem of her shirt for a few seconds before removing it and throwing it onto the floor. Wet kisses were placed against her neck and he began moving down her body, leaving gentle kisses along the waistband of her pyjama bottoms before removing them as well. Positioning himself between her legs, he took a final look at the girl that lay in front of him before slipping a finger inside of her. She gasped and tangled her hands in his hair as he began to lap at her.

“You sure you want to carry on?” he asked.

             “Please,” she nodded.

             “If you change your mind, just tell me to stop, okay?” The girl nodded again. Quickly, he removed his underwear and moved so that he was hovering over her, his arms either side of her head. He positioned himself and entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust before he quickened his pace. Y/N gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his body against hers. George was moaning gently in her ear, whispering sweet nothings as he fucked her.

             “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

 The next morning, Y/N woke up with her body entangled with George’s. One of his long arms wrapped around her waist and his legs intertwined with hers.

             “Good morning, darling,” he smiled softly. His hair was all messed up from the activities of the night before.

             “Morning,” Y/N beamed back at him.

             “We better get up before Fred wonders where we both are.”

 As the pair entered the living room, they were greeted by Fred, who sat on the sofa staring at them with a knowing look.

             “I go to bed early one night and you two can’t keep your hands off each other,” he chucked, shaking his head at them jokingly, “I don’t even want to know what happened in there last night, all I know is that Lee owes me 5 galleons.”

             “Why?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

             “He didn’t reckon that you two would get together this side of Christmas,” he grinned, “I was right, of course, I knew it wouldn’t take you two long.”  

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Long distance

Summary: Falling in love with an Army Captain just weeks before he had to leave again, wasn’t something she had planned on. And Sy didn’t even know how much he wanted to have a family until she told him she was pregnant 2 months into his deployment.

Pairing: Syverson / Reader

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings: fluff; implied smut

A/N: I think this might be the longest fic I wrote that doesn’t include any actual smut. Let’s see if people read it anyways lol

Masterlist

His palms were sweaty. His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. He could feel the tiredness in his bones. Not only from the flight, but from the last 8 months. His last 8 months of being in the army. Now he was standing here, in front of the door that separated him from the real world. This wasn’t fear he was feeling. This was pure excitement. He had always wondered in the many years he served, how he would feel when he stepped through these doors for the last time, coming back from deployment. 

He pictured himself not knowing what to do with himself. Maybe he would build houses again, like he did back when he was younger with his father. Before he died. His brother had taken over the family business. He wanted to spend time with his brother. His family. Shaking his head Sy smiled to himself.

What he never would have thought was that after 8 months he would come back to a girlfriend he met only 6 weeks before he had to leave for his last deployment. And what Sy never would have even dared to dream off were the two twin baby girls he was about to meet for the first time. His twin girls.

10 months ago

“Sy….” She looked at him. The man she only met two weeks ago. He looked peaceful in his deep slumber. His face relaxed. Slowly her fingers brushed over his cheek, seeing him frown.

“Sy… Wake up.” She whispered, her face coming closer to kiss his cheek.

She heard him groan, his arm pulling her even closer than she already was, making her chuckle.

“Sy you told me to wake you up. Now….” She turned in his arms, crawling on top of him. “Wake up.” She kissed his nose, his forehead, his eyes, his chin. Slowly his eyes fluttered open. Tired blue eyes looked up at her.

“Why is your naked body on top of my naked body?” He asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Oh… I don’t know….” She grinned, pushing her boobs against his chest, making him groan. She could feel just how much he was enjoying this on her lower belly.

“Apparently you sleep like a stone, Captain.” She teased, making him smirk.

“You kinda wore me out last night, Peach.” His big hands landed on her ass.

“Oh… I’m sorry Captain Syverson. I’ll keep in mind to stop you the next time you drag me to your bed…” She pushed herself up. Sy looked up at her. The early sunrise made her appear like an angel. His angel.

“So why did you want me to wake you this morning?” She asked. It was sunday, and it was before 8 am. He knew that she was always up early. They had met only 2 weeks ago in the local grocery store. She had moved here only a couple months before for her job. Working as a english teacher at the local school.

He looked so out of place in his red shirt and cargo pants, standing in front of the ice cream, trying to decide for a flavour.

“You look like a nut kind of guy.” Were the first words she had ever spoken to him.  He had looked at her, with the intention of probably ignoring her words, when his eyes met hers. She had felt it there too. Like being struck by lightning through her whole body. She had invited him for ice cream the very next day. 

Shaking her head she thought it was best not to dwell on the past weeks and instead focus on the time they had left before Sy had to leave. She raised her eyebrow at him.

“I wanted you to wake me, so we can do this.” He grinned, before he pulled her down against his chest, his lips finding hers as he turned her so she was on her back with him on top of her.

“Let’s wear us both out some more, hm?” He whispered against her lips as his hand parted her legs.

9 months ago

Goodbyes were not something Sy was used to. Sure he said goodbye to his brother before he went back to wherever the Army wanted him. But this was the first time his heart felt this heavy as he had to leave. 

She looked beautiful in the driver's seat, focused on the street as she drove him to the airport as he held her hand. He had told her he loved her only three days ago. Never in his life had he told a woman he loved her, but he loved her. 

“Stop staring at me, Cap.” She mumbled, her words followed by a yawn. They had spent the whole night making love to each other. He knew she wasn’t wearing any underwear under the thin summer dress she had put on to drive him to the airport, and he desperately tried not to think of how easy it would be….

“I’m serious Sy.” She looked at him from her side. He grinned to himself, turning his head to look out of the window where he could already see the base approaching. 

“Can’t blame me for looking at you, Peach.” He said. 

The rest of the drive they were silent, hanging on to their own thoughts. He almost jumped in his seat when the car stopped and she killed the engine.

Turning in her seat she looked at him.

“I can’t believe I’m one of those girls…” She whispered, looking at him.

“One of what girls?” He asked, turning towards her.

“One of these girls who say don’t forget me when you’re away.” She sucked her bottom lip in, and he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. He shook his head, as he leaned towards her, kissing her deeply. He breathed her in, his hand on the back of her head, his fingers feeling the silk of her hair. 

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He whispered against her lips.

“Promise?” She asked. He nodded, kissing her again. Forehead against forehead they looked into each other’s eyes, savouring the last touches before Sy smiled.

“Don’t dump me for some third grader from your school. I know they are cuter than I am.” 

“Idiot.” She slapped his chest.

“Your idiot.” He grinned.

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you too.” He kissed her again, before he breathed in deep and opened the passenger’s door of the car.

8 months ago

“I was doing laundry today and for some reason, some of my panties seem to be missing.” She said. Sy was laying on his bed, his phone propped on his chest as he looked at her on the little screen. It was the middle of the night back at home, yet she always took time to talk to him, no matter the hour he called.

“Hmm…” He hummed, biting his lip in deep thought.

“You are so full of shit.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes with a smile.

“Don’t speak to your Captain like that.” He said sternly, his eyebrow raised, while his hand searched for the flimsy piece of fabric he stole from her, holding it in front of the camera.

“You're not my captain, Sy. You are a thief.” She let her head fall against the mattress, groaning.

“You okay, Peaches?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just a little unwell.”

“I wish I could be there for you.”

“But you are, Sy.” She smiled, turning in her bed. He saw her get under the covers, her head resting on her pillow.

“Talk to me until I’m asleep?” She asked.

“Of course.” He smiled.

7 months ago

Call me as soon as you can.

The message reached him in the middle of a mission. He only found the time to answer her two days later. The reception had been shit the last couple of days, so as soon as he was back at the base he excused himself and grabbed the satellite phone, dialing her number. 

“Oh my god Sy.” He heard the relief in her voice.

“Hey Peach. Everything okay?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

“I was worried when you didn’t answer.” She said. He sighed.

“I was on a mission in the middle of nowhere. So… You okay?” He asked again. He was met with silence on the other end of the line.

“Sy I’m pregnant.” The whole world seemed to stop as he heard those words. Blinking, he looked out of the dusty window of his office.

“You’re pregnant.” He repeated, at loss of words.

“With Twins Sy. You knocked me up with twins.” He could hear her crying. The ability to form words seemed to have left him. Here he was. Thousands of miles away from the woman he loved. The pregnant woman that he loved.

“Sy?” She asked quietly.

“Sorry. I’m just… surprised?” He asked.

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“Because we only know each other for like 3 months and you’ve been gone almost half of those.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I love you. You and our two… fuck. I’m gonna be a dad.” He ran a hand to his short hair.

“But… How? I mean we only had sex without a condom once and I made sure to pull out…”

“Apparently not fast enough Cap.” She sighed.

“How do you feel?” He asked her.

“How do I feel? Scared? Overwhelmed? Hungry? I have no idea how I feel. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. But… We’re gonna be okay. You. Me. The babies.” Sy said.

“You’re in on this? You won’t leave me alone with this mess?”

“I love you, Peach. We’re in this together.”

6 months ago

“I swear to god if you weren’t so far away I would slap your head.” She groaned, but had a small smile on her lips.

“Peach... “ Sy grinned. He was sitting in his office, about to have a briefing, but he wanted to see her before that. What he didn’t count in was her answering him completely naked.

“What? My boobs hurt. These little beans sure do start producing their food early.”

“God I wish I was there. I would find a way to make you feel better….” He hummed. He could feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight as she kept the camera on her upper body.

“Such as?” She asked.

“Mhh…. Massaging your whole body as long as you can still lay on your stomach… Making you forget about your boobs by making you cum…” He whispered. He could see her blushing, her nipples hardening.

“I hate you.” She pouted. He smiled.

“I love you too.”

5 months ago

“Dismissed.” Sy said. The men in front of him nodded and turned around, leaving one by one until only he remained. He sighed as he looked at the clock. Right about now a doctor would find out if they were having boys or girls. Or both. 

It was getting harder and harder for him to actually focus on the work he was sent here to do. His thoughts now always went back to, was he doing the right thing? Could he get home earlier to be with the woman he loved? Those weren’t thoughts he was used to. 

Before her, there was no way he would even think of going home earlier. He was going to  have a week off in a month, just in time for her birthday and he planned to surprise her. He already put his brother on packing his stuff. 

They talked about that it would be for the best if Sy moved in with her. She had the bigger house, and frankly he didn’t care where he lived, as long as he was close to her. Sy also thought about asking her to marry him. Because that was the thing people did when they were expecting, was it? But he wanted to do it right. And not just because it was the right thing to do. He loved her, there was no question in his mind about it. But if she agreed to be his wife, she deserved the wedding she always dreamed off. Even if he had no idea what she dreamed off, because that topic never came up in their conversations. A video call interrupted his train of thoughts. Answering the call on his laptop, he could feel himself getting nervous.

“Hey Cap.” He heard her voice, before the picture connected. She was still wearing the hospital robe.

“Hey Peach. How are you?” He asked.

“Tired, but excited. We’re about to find out what we’re having.” She smiled.

“We are?” He asked. She nodded at him, as someone took her phone. 

“Hey bro.” He saw his brother’s face before the camera showed her laying next to the ultrasound.

“Hello Captain Syverson. Are you ready?” The doctor asked.

“I’m excited.” He breathed, looking at the love of his life. He could already see that she was crying.

“Don’t cry, Peach. Dan, Goddamn it take her hand.” Sy said. He heard his brother chuckle, before Dan took her hand.

“Okay. Ready?” The doctor asked. Sy only nodded. He never even thought he would have the opportunity to be there. At that moment. He wanted to kiss her for including him. 

A sound he never heard before reached his ears.

“Strong heartbeat from both, as expected.” The doctor said. Sy smiled. He was hearing his babies’ heartbeats.

“They both look very strong, just like we want them to.” The doctor continued. 

“They are so big already.” She sighed.

“Still a long way to go though.” His brother said.

“Yeah. We’re around halfway through, still a lot of growing to look forward to. Now… Are you guys ready to find out what you’re having?” 

“Yeah.” She said, looking straight at the camera. He only nodded.

“Okay… Let’s see…” The camera switched to the little screen of the ultrasound. He could see the doctor’s finger pointing.

“Yup. There’s no doubt. You are having twin girls.” He heard the voice of the doctor.

“Girls?” She and him asked at the same time.

“Girls.” The doctor repeated.

“Wow.” Sy said.

“I love you so much, baby.” She took the camera and he could see her big smile and the happy tears in her face.

“I love you too, Peach.” He smiled back, wishing nothing more than being there so he could kiss her.

4 months ago

Today Sy would move in with her. They talked everything through and organized his stuff being moved to her place. What she didn’t know was that Sy would indeed be there for the move and her birthday the next day.

“She’s gonna freak out.” Dan said as he hugged his brother, after picking him up from the airport with the moving truck.

“I hope in a good way.” He sighed.

“Please. She’s so in love with you. I never once heard her complain about anything, and I’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately to organize your move and help her.”

“I know. It’s just… Why is this happening now, and not in half a year, when I’m here to help?”

“Because life has its own plan, big brother.” Dan smiled.

“Sissy, we’re here. I brought some help.” Dan called as he opened the door for Sy to step in.

“I’ll be right down. I felt like I need to pee for the millionth time today.” She called back, making Sy chuckle.

“You have an hour before all the helpers show up. I’ll be back then too.” Dan whispered to him, squeezing Sy’s shoulder.  He nodded, watching his brother leave as he slowly walked further into the house. He had been here often enough before he had to leave, yet he could see the little changes. She was making space for his stuff in her living room. 

Apparently they would keep his couch, because hers was nowhere to be seen. On the dinner table were so many pink congratulations cards. He picked one up, his thumb brushing over the glitter writing of “It’s two girl!” the “a” being crossed out on the card and a two written over instead. He smiled. He would be back in 3 ½ months just in time to see his girls being born. He would live in a house full of girls and he couldn’t wait for it.

“Dan, do you think it’s okay if I order just some pizza later? I really didn’t feel like….” He heard her voice behind her, followed from a gasp. Turning around, he smiled.

“Surprise?” He shrugged

“Oh my god, Sy.” She whispered, before she practically jumped into his arms. He pulled her close, his nose in her hair, as he breathed her in deeply.

“Hey, Peach.” He whispered.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her hands coming up to frame his face.

“Took a week off to be here for your birthday.” He said. He looked in between them, down to her growing belly. Slowly his hands ran down, until both of them lay on her belly.

“This is really happening.” He whispered, before he looked up at her again.

“You bet it is.” She smiled before she pulled him down so she could kiss him.

3 months ago

“I’m so tired Sy.” She groaned. “These girls are always having a party just when I am about to fall asleep.” 

Sy looked at her on his tiny phone. They had a visit from some military officers today and he had to shave. This was the only time he had to talk to her this week.

“Want me to talk to them?” He asked.

“You think they’re gonna listen to you?” She asked, chuckling.

“Hey, I’m their Dad. They better start listening to me.”

“Allright.” She grinned, changing the angle on her phone so it was laying on top of her belly.”

“Talk to them, baby.” He heard her say. Sy smiled.

“Girls. Leave your mommy to get some rest. She needs her sleep so you can grow to be healthy and happy little girls.” Sy said. He heard her laugh, before he saw her face again.

“I think it might be working, they stopped.” She shook her head.

“See? Already listening to their dad.” He grinned, putting the razor down.

“You look sexy like that.” She whispered.

“Like what?”

“Without a shirt. God I’m so horny all the time lately….” She sighed. He crocked his eyebrow.

“I thought the five days we spent in bed when I was there would had helped you with that.”

She shook your head.

“I just want to be fucked. I get wet looking at the weirdest things lately….”

Sy groaned.

“Don’t make me quit my last job just to come and fuck you.”

“Would you?”

“I would do anything for you, Peach.”

2 months ago

“I have bad news.” Sy groaned on the phone. He tried everything to not have to do this. He argued with everyone about it but there was no getting out of it. Frustrated he ran a hand over his short hair.

“What is it?” He heard her ask.

“I have to stay for a month longer, cause the Captain after me has to have surgery and won’t recover in time.”

“You won’t be here when the girls are born?” She asked.

“I’m so, so sorry, Peach. I tried everything. I talked to everyone. There’s no way of changing it.” 

“It’s not fair.” He could hear her sniff.

“I know.” He sighed.

“I want their daddy to be there when they are born. I want you to hold my hand. I need you, Sy.” She whispered. It broke his heart to hear her like that.

“I’m so sorry Peach.” He sighed.

3 weeks ago

It was the middle of the night when Sy was woken up by his phone. He tended to sleep on his phone lately, waiting for his Love to go into labour. Blinking his eyes open he searched for his phone before he answered.

“Baby?” He heard a weak whisper, followed from a grunt in pain.

“I’m here, Peach. What’s going on?” He asked, being awake immediately.

“It’s time. The babies are coming.”

He tried to stay on the phone the whole time. Yet he missed the actual moment of his girls being born because he had to work. He missed their first cry. Their first bath. The first time being held by their mother. But this was not the time to be sorry about everything he missed. He never had to leave them again, to be so far away. They had both agreed that it would be best if the babies stayed at home with Dan. Breathing in deep he stepped forward, the door opening for him. Immediately his eyes found hers. A bright smile graced her lips as she saw him. Quickly he walked over to her, letting his bags fall to the ground, catching her in his arms as she jumped, her lips connecting with his.

“I missed you. So much.” She whispered, clinging to him.

“Missed you more.” He whispered back.

“Okay let’s go home. I’ve only been gone for half hour, and I’m already going insane and feel like the worst mother ever.” She sighed.

“You are the best mother ever.” Sy said, picking his bags up from the floor as she began to walk towards the exit.

“And you’ll be the best dad.” She smiled.

It was a short ride from the airport to his new home. He could feel himself getting nervous the closer they got. And when she parked her car in the driveway he was a nervous mess.

“What if they don’t like me? They have no idea who I am?” He whispered. She killed the engine turning in her seat, taking his hand.

“They will love you, Sy. You are their father. The best father they could have dreamed of.” She kissed his cheek. 

“Okay. Let’s go and meet my girls.”

He followed quietly after she opened the door. Taking his shoes off, he grew more excited and nervous the deeper they got into the house. He could hear his brother’s voice.

“Oh there are my baby girls.” She whispered as they walked into the nursery.

“Were you the best girls for your uncle Dan?” She asked.

“They always are.” Dan answered. Sy stepped in, seeing Dan kneel on the floor, with his back to him. He turned around.

“Hey big bro.” He said, getting up. He hugged him quickly, but Sy didn’t really acknowledge anything as he looked at the two babies laying on a soft yellow blanket on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dan said.

“Thank you for watching them.” She called.

“Always. I’ll be over for dinner tomorrow, yeah?”

“See you then.” She called, sitting down on the floor. Sy just stood there, staring down.

“Come on now. Meet your daughters.” She smiled. He looked at her, then slowly got closer and sat down on the floor.

He had seen the many pictures she had sent to him but nothing compared to the sheer beauty of the two girls laying in front of him. Slowly he reached his hands out, brushing with his fingers over their cheeks.

“Meet your Daddy, Maya and Eva.” He looked up at her, as she picked Maya up. 

“Come sit in the armchair.” She said to Sy, who still wasn’t able to form any word. He got up to sit in the chair as she carefully put Maya in his left arm. In awe, and afraid to drop her he looked down at his girl. His right hand carefully brushing over the little girls cheek. 

“And here is Eva.” She said, wanting to put her in his other arm.

“No. Come sit on my lap with her in your arms. I wanna have all my girls with me.” He whispered. Softly she smiled, sitting down in his lap, Maya in her arms as his arm came around her waist looking down at both of his baby girls. 

“They are beautiful.” He whispered.

“They are. And right now they are very calm. I don’t think I have seen them this calm.” She whispered back. 

“They are so tiny.” 

“Yeah. But they are gonna grow up.”

“Not on my watch.” He said, making her chuckle. They continued to sit like that for a while, until Eva grew a bit restless.

“I think someone’s hungry.” She said, bringing her knuckle to the little girl's lips who began to suck immediately.

“Can I…” Sy asked looking up at her.

“Let’s go to bed, so I can nurse them both, yeah?” She asked. He nodded and she kissed his forehead, before she got up from his lap.

Sy fell asleep in the arms of the woman he loved more than his own life that night. The woman he only met a year ago, but gave him everything he ever dreamed of.

“I love you, Peach.” He murmured before he dozed off.

“I love you more, Captain.” She smiled back, before she dozed off too.

[caramelcal]

Songwriting and Fake Dating {3}

Word Count: 2.2k

a/n: hey guys! hope you all enjoy this one as you enjoyed the last one...

this is dedicated to charlie’s mustache. rip :(

also thanks to the person who originally requested this, legend behavior hahah :) hope you guys are having a wonderful night lovelies x 

disclaimer: I do not condone the use of my work/writing without my permission. The only place this has been posted is on my (rosemoonmist) tumblr account. This has not been posted on any other platform either. If you see any plagiarism of my work please let me know! <3 People work hard on their fics, so don’t steal them ty.

taglist:@gia-kerks​ @phantompogues​ @thesweetestsinner​ @honeyheartzz​ @ifilwtmfc​ @hoechx​ @merceret​ @katrin-okay​ @diosa75​

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Another line is drawn right through the words he tried to write. Luke wants to throw his notebook at the wall. He can’t think, or write, the words just aren’t coming to him anymore. He claws at his hair as if pulling on the strands will allow his brain to breathe and come up with the lyrics he had been trying to write for the past two hours. It used to be so easy but he knows why it isn’t working. It wasn’t rocket science.

The words came easy when he was with you, maybe it was the excitement of having someone to write with, or maybe it was the emotions that you both pulled from. It just wasn’t the same anymore. It’s almost like you were the inspiration, the lyrics, and now that you were no longer there, the lyrics weren’t either. Even if you guys didn’t know each other that long and you weren’t the closest, you guys seemed to click and you wrote so much better with each other.

Maybe he just needs a breather. That’s what Luke banks on, that once he goes outside and caught wind of the fresh air, the words will come back. He places down his guitar and his pen and sets out for outside.

Before long, he finds himself sitting on the back porch, one knee up next to his chest and the other splayed in front of him. His eyes are trained upon the dark sky, watching the stars. He barely hears the quiet footsteps that approach him but he sees them sit down beside him, knees up to their chest, hugging them.

“Carrie,” Luke acknowledges, not even looking towards his step-sister when he breaks the silence between the two.

“Luke.”

They fall back into another silence for a few moments, simply watching the stars together. However, Luke’s attention isn’t really on the stars anymore as he thinks about the girl beside him. He remembered when his mom first told him that she was getting remarried and that he was going to get a step-sister. He remembers when they met, and Carrie was just a little too entitled for his taste, and Luke was a little too “street” for hers. They didn’t exactly get off on the best foot, and there were times that there was still some friction in their relationship which certainly wasn’t helped when Luke joined Julie and the Phantoms, but there were times that they were okay; when they shared a sibling bond.

It was hard for both of them to get used to each other, and their parents getting married. For Luke, it had been just him and his mom for a while, so he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive for this new life, not only for him to have a new step-dad and step-sister, but in case this man hurt his mom too. Yet, for Carrie it was different, it had always just been her and Trevor after her mom died during labor. She didn’t know what it was like having a mom, and she didn’t know if she wanted it. Arguably, she was scared; scared that her dad would no longer have time for her and would be spending it all with Emily but that definitely wasn’t the case.

Actually, everything worked out quite well, and soon enough Luke and Emily were moving into the Wilson’s household. It was a strange experience for Luke like he was invited into a whole other world. They came from very different backgrounds, Luke and Emily had never been well off, but Carrie never had to worry about not being able to pay the bills or anything to do with that, so their personalities were quite different. Yet, over the past few weeks, they had become significantly closer and spent more time talking to each other. Luke would show Carrie the songs you guys wrote, and Carrie would show Luke the choreography that you guys had been working on.

They knew exactly why they had become closer, they weren’t stupid. It was all because of you, you were their common ground. You brought the two siblings together.

“You miss her,” Luke comments, breaking the everlasting silence as he glances over at his sister. She isn’t facing the sky anymore and is instead looking down at her legs. It’s been two weeks since you and Carrie fought, where Carrie kicked you out of Dirty Candy, and she hadn’t spoken to you since.

Carrie is quiet for a few moments, almost as if she is battling herself on whether or not she should answer Luke, but she does, quietly, “Of course I do, she’s my best friend.”

A silence fills the air yet again, and Luke doesn’t know whether or not to answer Carrie. The girl has never actually opened up to him before, so for her to tell him that she was missing you was something that was new territory for the both of them. He knew that she missed you, you would have to be insane not to and he was pretty sure this was the longest that Carrie had ever gone without talking to you, so it was like life had been shifted entirely.

“You miss her too,” It’s a simple statement that Carrie makes, but it makes Luke sigh. He does, of course he does. He can’t even write without you.

“She won’t pick up my calls,” Luke says, ducking his head down as he traces the patterns on the ground of the porch. At this rate, he’s probably called you like twenty times in the last week but he always gets sent to voicemail. He knows it’s intentional, but every time he picks up his phone and presses the dial button, there’s a part that hopes you’ll pick up; that you’ll come over and wrote songs with him.

“I won’t pick up hers either,” Carrie admits, biting her lip as she continues to watch the sky, “The dirty candy girls have been bashing her, for putting the band in second place. I just want to scream at them to stop.”

“You should, it isn’t y/n’s fault. She was on her way to the studio that day but I dragged her up to my room. She lost her best friend for just helping me out with a dumb song.”

Carrie knows that Luke feels guilt for all of this. All three of them are miserable without each other and they all know it. Yet, they’re all filled with too much pride to apologize, or even to pick up one another’s calls. They know that they can’t go on like this, because as it goes on they all just feel worse and worse, but no one seems willing to make the first move.

“She always goes out her way to help others, huh?” Carrie says, reminiscing on the number of people that you have helped in the time that you guys have been friends. She remembers the way you give the Dirty Candy girls your water and snacks when they forgot theirs, meaning that you would often to without, helping old people cross the street and just being generally helpful.

You were always so eager to help anyone and everyone, no matter who it was, and that was something that Carrie always admired about you, “Most helpful person I know.”

After Luke’s statement, they are enveloped in another silence, both watching the sky peacefully before a shooting star flies overhead. They don’t speak of it, simply enjoying one another’s company which isn’t something they often find themselves doing. Deep down, they both like each other’s company, and each other, but they never say anything, both too stubborn to do so.

After a few more minutes, Luke gets up, lightly patting his sister on the shoulder, “You should answer her calls, Car.”

. . .

Being a waitress was actually surprisingly fun for you. Normally, you enjoyed serving customers, interacting with people and it was a way to get some extra money. However, right now you wanted nothing less than to be out of here, despite having hours left of your shift; in fact, you had just started.

Normally, customers were respectful and nice, but this one...this one was testing your limits. What made it worse, was that it was none other than Kayla, Carrie’s replace best friend for you and she was shouting, trying to embarrass you in front of not only the customers but in front of your colleagues as well. She’s with a few other friends, but Carrie isn’t there.

Passing you a smirk, she wipes her hand across the table, purposefully making the cutlery drop, “Pick it up, waitress.”

The rest of her group snicker as you try to hold the embarrassed blush that rises to your face. Closing your eyes momentarily, you sigh, “Kayla, I know I haven’t been the best band member but-”

“I don’t think you get it, y/n,” Kayla cuts you off, standing up and walking right in front of you, “Carrie has already told you that you’re done. I hope you would at least have a bit of dignity and to accept that instead of coming begging to me after Carrie didn’t pick up your calls.”

After she says that, Carrie obnoxiously chews on her gum, the other girls snickering. Looking around at them, their eyes on you as they laughed let you clearly know that you were no longer friends with any of the Dirty Candy girls. They were only friends with you to get in with Carrie and it makes you feel dumb that you didn’t realize that beforehand.

“Pathetic,” Kayla spits, looking up and down at the sight of your ducked head.

“Hey, watch it would you Kayla? I think you forget that even though Carrie is annoyed at y/n right now, as soon as she gets over that y/n will be right where she belongs in Dirty Candy again and as Carrie’s best friend,” Julie speaks up from the booth beside them, eyes squinting at the girl, “I think you’re letting this all go to your head too much.”

“You have no idea what Carrie is like, Julie. Plus, even if you told her that I was being a bitch to y/n she won’t listen to you,” Kayla snorts, rolling her eyes at the other girl.

“She’ll listen to her brother though, and we all know that he’ll believe me over you,” Julie responds sassily, Alex and Reggie who were beside her sharing glances. Often, they didn’t like to get involved in drama, and Julie didn’t either but just hearing how these girls were treating you made them feel horrible.

“Whatever,” Kayla says, rolling her eyes again before standing up, “Let's go girls, there seems to be a loser convention going on in here right now.”

Kayla doesn’t seem to be embarrassed, but you know well enough that she is getting out of there before she shows it. The girls are quick to follow behind her, all brushing you off and acting better than you as they pass.

Yet, you don’t pay attention to them for long as you turn towards the girl, giving her a small smile, “Thanks, Julie.”

“No problem, y/n,” Julie smiles, turning her head towards you sweetly. Noticing Alex and Reggie looking at you, you give them a shy wave and a smile before your attention is turned back towards Julie, “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course, what’s up?” You’re prepared to take Julie’s order, considering that is what you expected her to want you to do but what she says next surprises you.

“Don’t be too hard on Luke, he really didn’t mean to get in between you and Carrie. And we just wanted to say that even if you don’t get back in with Dirty Candy, our band will always be open for you.”

. . .

It’s much later in the night, the café empty apart from you, humming softly a tune from a song you can’t remember the name of. You’re dancing a little as you give the tables one last wipe down before making your way behind the counter again. It was your turn to lock up for the night, the other waitresses already away home but you actually liked it when it was like this.

You didn’t even have the lights on as you took of your small apron-like thing and hung it up. Reaching for the keys, you stop when you hear the bell ringing, signaling that someone had entered the shop. Could they not read the closed sign?

“Sorry, we’re closed right now-” You say, whirling around and meeting hazel eyes, voice cutting off when you saw who was standing there. Clearing your throat, you shift awkwardly between two feet, “Luke.”

“Hey y/n,” Luke says softly, his hair is messy under his navy colored beanie, but you know you can’t talk, yours probably looks a lot worse. He takes a step towards you before speaking again, his voice still soft, “We need to talk.”

[lunaekalenda]

So I have this idea for the longest time now and I would like to see if you can make something out of it 😂

STORY TIME! Marley has something similar to the witches trial going on and witch!reader runs away to Paradis, joining the scouts and she and levi get all lovey dovey. After a while, they discover that she's from Marley and think that she's betraying them, so they make a pact with Zeke to give her back in exchange to leave Paradis alone. Soon everyone realize that she didn't betrayed them and was about to be burned. Fluffy ending where she's saved or angst 😈

wooooow i'm buYING IT!!!!!! i love witch concept omg, i hope you like it!! <3

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❁ levi x witch!reader

❁ mention of death, witches trial, death by burning, stitching :'), mention of con sex, season 4 and manga minor spoilers.

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You were only five when they burned your neighbor in the public place. It was a cold day, your mother's arm around your shoulders, her gaze searching silently the other witches of your coven. They were looking at their friend, their superior, being licked by flames. But she was totally straight, her eyes fixed on the cardenal. He was smiling.

Now you're running out of Marley. The trials are more and more popular. They judged half of your coven. Your mother told you to leave, to use your power to escape. So, after taking something to eat and a cape, you started running. Running until you saw the ocean. You look at both sides, making sure there’s no one around you, before closing your eyes and concentrate in the sound of your crow, possessing it’s body. You start to fly, searching land to stop at. You look around, a little island can be seen some kilometers away. You’re tired oof running, but you think you can arrive there. You keep flying, more and more tired. You’re near, but you can see tents in the beach. There are tents. And people. Your mind starts to panic. Transforming in front of this people will make you suspect. You look to the little forest near the beach. It seems empty. You fly towards there, really really tired. You start to notice how your body gets heavier. And, faster than you thought, your human body was back, making you fall into the ocean. The water enters on your nose and ears, and makes your dress heavier. You swim, but you’re so tired, and your head hurts because of the impact. You let your body connect with the sea, the waves hugging you. 

“Please, take me to that island, mother Ocean.” the salty waves start to rock softly, making you near to the beach little by little. Your eyes start to close, the sweet movement of the sea relaxes you. You’re so tired...

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“It’s a girl, captain.” You hear the voice of a boy near. Also, some people mumbling around. You start to open your eyes, finding a girl pointing you with a gun. The boy who talked, extremely tall, looks at you again. “She’s awake.” There is a lot of people around you. Boys and girls, all dressed in black, are talking about the girl that appeared on the sea.

“Who of you took her out of the ocean?” a deep voice is heard. You stay quiet, the brown-eyed girl keeps pointing her gun at you. A man enters your vision camp. His grey eyes examined you from above. His gaze was serious.

“I did.” a black haired girl talked. “What should we do with her, Captain Levi?”

Levi looks at you, and you keep your eyes on his. His eyebrow raises.

“Should we kill her?” a boy says.

“No! we should interrogate her!” someone says. 

“Tsch, shut up you all.” The man keeps looking at you. His sharp features make him look so attractive... “From where do you come?” he asks. You have to think, or use your powers. It’s highly improbable that they count with another witch on their team, so no one is going to notice how you research a close town. You choose a blonde boy. You concentrate in his brain, searching info. Armin. 19 years. Shinganshina district.

"Shiganshina district." you say. Levi looks at you, trying to know if you’re telling the truth. He clicks his tongue. The blonde boy looks to the girl with a scarf, and she looks to a long-haired boy next to her.

“Do you know her?” Levi asks. The three of them shake their heads, but it was easy to change their opinion. 

Change people’s memories is not that hard for a witch of your level. Just making your face appear in one of them’s memories.

“Oh, I know her!” the long-haired boy talks now. “I think her family lived behind me.”

Levi looked at him, and then back at you.

“Sorry for you, but you can’t go back to Shinganshina. You’ll have to stay here for a bit.” A person with glasses shows behind him.

“Levi, let me talk to her.” they ask. He helps you to get up, but you still feel the gun pointing at your back. “I’m Hange Zöe, the Commander of the Survey Corps. You’re in our camp, near the coast. Since we don’t have information about you, you’ll be held here. You can choose to be helpful for us, either training with our soldiers to help us, or doing some paperwork or cleaning. I’m sure Levi can help you in any way.” The man keeps being on your side. “Then, what do you choose?” They ask, smiling at you.

“I work as a tailor, so I guess I can help with...”

“Oh, so you can sew wounds!” They say.

I wasn’t going to say that... you think for yourself

“Well, I only sewed clothes, but...”

"We need help with that, so you'll stitch the survey clothes and soldiers!" they say. Levi sighed and then reached your back with his hand.

"I'll show you your dorm."

Since a lot of soldiers where living there, as Levi told you, you got a shared room with a couple girls of the military. Sasha Braus and Mikasa Ackerman where your new roommates. Mikasa is really aware around you, just in case you're a traitor. Sasha, in the other hand, is really close to you, although she was the one pointing you with a gun. The first weeks you stayed there, it went really well: Sasha showed you the camp, presented to you the people and sat with you for eating. You tried to not use your powers that much, just in real emergency cases. All this time, you felt gazes on you, curiosity or hate gazes, but one was more heavy than others: a pair of intense grey eyes. Levi Ackerman had his eyes on you since you arrived here, months ago now, maybe because he's a Captain and has to neutralize every single danger he sees. Maybe that's why you feel him when you eat, run or work. He also goes and sits near to you, doing paperwork while you sew someone's coat.

"You're good. I'm sure your stitches won't leave a scar." he says. You keep sewing the coat, this time is Connie's coat. His gaze totally fixed on the letters he has on his hands. He has been looking for you for half a year now. He also has a strange flirty game on going, he likes to get closer to you and look at your body, but then he acts cold for a while. You sigh.

"I don't think so..."

Unfortunately, you had the opportunity to try on him days later, after an attack. His back needed stitches. So, there he was, half undressed and covered on blood, waiting for you to start bounding him. You started to pass the sew. The sensation of the needle trespassing his skin was horrible, but you tried to make your best. He didn't say a thing, with a piece of cloth in his mouth. You felt his jaw bitting the cloth with strength, trying not to move. You thought his endurance of pain is in levels you didn't know a human could reach.

You could have cured him with magic, but if they know it, they'll probably send you back to Marley, if they don't kill you in the moment. Once you finished, he stayed there, sitting, with some saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth after releasing the cloth. He passed his hand fast, cleaning it.

"Try not to move..."

"I got my skin stitched a hundred times and fought five minutes after." he says. "But thank you."

All the hours he spent by your side, doing paperwork and that stuff, you realized you found him attractive. His voice, his grey eyes, the way he looks at his friends. You want to be looked that way.

No, you want more.

Maybe it was a stupid idea. But you felt so attracted to him, like if his aura was calling yours. Your hand reached his back, the way his muscles tense with the touch. He looked at you from above his shoulder. You traced a little drawing on his skin, a no-sense form down his back. Surprisingly, he didn't ask you what the hell where you doing or moved away.

You wanted to know if he was even just a bit interested in you, but using magic will break totally the moment. So you kept moving your hands on his skin. It was warm, almost hot. He sighed. His hands dropped the shirt he was about to put on, and his muscles started to relax. At the same time, you got closer to him. Maybe he needed to unburden. Maybe he has been there for months, in need of a girl like you to help him. Your hands moved to his shoulders, dangerously near his neck. He raises his head, eyes closed. He's enjoying it, no doubt. His bony hands are now on his legs.

"Captain..." you ask quietly. "Are you feeling good?" he hums in answer. His back is totally relaxed now, and his eyes are still closed. The way he has his head, thrown back, lets you see his adam's apple, another attractive point of him. You wanted to kiss the point of his neck where it connects with his shoulders. His lips, always on a inexpressive facade. You wanted him to be a mess, asking for more. You wanted his bony hands marking your waist and his fingers ruining your hair. "Do you want me to stop?" your voice goes out like a whisper. He breathes in, deeply.

"No." His voice is raspy. He looks at you again, his grey gaze shining with... maybe interest? curiosity? desire? Maybe a mix of those three. "I never got someone to massage me after a battle. It feels nice."

Your heart skips a beat when you hear that. Was it your opportunity to tell him you feel attracted to him?

If it wasn't, you didn't care.

"Well, I could do this to you a hundred times, Captain." Your hand goes up and down his back, being careful with his stitched wound. "I was getting kinda confused, Levi..." you say. His back tenses again, but he lets you continue. "Why do you lend closer to me, but then act cold for days? I never got it." He takes a deep breath again.

"I'm a Captain. I'm in charge of a full squad of humans. Really good but kinda dumb humans." he says. "They're my responsibility and my team. I can't get distracted and lose a single one of them." he says. You nod, understanding.

"Wow, that's..." That's exactly how covens work. In Marley, witches are the worst of the worst. And the Island people, demons. You thought maybe you're not that different, after all. "That's amazing, Levi."

His eyes shot open after hearing that. You weren't telling him his sword abilities are amazing or his control of the ODMS. You were telling him his way, his human being, was amazing. But he called you a distraction. You stand up. But his hand reaches your wrist.

"Oi." he calls you. "Come back here."

"I don't want to distract you, I understand your..." his voice interrupts you.

"You asked why I always act cold with you, right? Because if I didn't have to go and kill those damn titans and marleyans I would had kissed you a while ago." he says. So, after all, he does found you interesting, at least.

Your mum always said that a boy only wants a girl because of sex. That's why she obligated you to wear vanila perfume, one that she made. It shows you the true intentions of the people around you. You concentrate on Levi's aura.

You're not going to lie. Levi's aura is a bright red. He finds you attractive, and now he wants you. But even your aura looks like that.

So, two adults that want each other, what could go wrong?

That's why you kissed him. His lips quickly adapting to your pace, owning the kiss. He catches his breath.

"Are you sure about this?" his voice is even lower, his eyes darker. You nod. He caresses your blushed cheek with his thumb. Minutes later, your dress was mixed with his shirt, as well as your breath was mixed with his.

"Your back..." you told him. He was above you, so attractive. His sharp jaw tensed when your bodies touched.

"My back is fine." he says.

His hand traveled down your waist, your hands tangled on his hair, and his name was just a repetition on your mouth.

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Next morning, Levi is still asleep when you wake up. His handsome face is close to yours, and one of his hands rests in your back. You get up silently, dressing fast. You search your necklace, the one with magic properties.

"Searching this?" he asks. Your necklace is on his hand. "Witch." he adds. He gets up, totally undressed, and takes his pants from the floor. Starts to pull them on.

"N-no, you're..."

"We have been in a lot of missions on Marley." he says. "And all the prints in the streets advertised people about women with this necklace." he gets closer to you, really close. His eyes are fixed on yours. "Did you bewitched me?" You shake your head. Twice.

"I didn't"

"I've heard some witches work for Marley's government as spies." he says, looking at your necklace. "Are you also fucking the Marleyan commander?" he asks. He was being mean. "Lucky you, a man is coming later from Marley. Maybe if I give you to them, they will stop attacking us, hm?"

He was angry. He has his reasons.

He wanted to stop talking when he saw the first tears running down your cheeks. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He was angry, thinking you bewitched him.

"You slept with me because you witches need a intimate bond to enter on my brain, right?" you shake your head again. He was so wrong, you never wanted to hurt him.

"Levi, I..." he put your necklace on his pocket. You were weak without it.

"Tell that to Zeke."

Zeke Jaeger.

Was him the same Zeke?

Zeke Jaeger never, never, absolves a witch.

"But he's going to kill me." you cry. Levi keeps getting dressed normally. He doesn't say nothing. How could he be so blind? Your necklace was always there, when he was cursing on your neck because of how good you felt. It was there.

But he found it this morning, when he moved and collided with your body.

Zeke landed on Paradis that afternoon. Levi told Sasha to look up for you, and the girl had his gun pointing at you since you came back from Levi's tent. Sasha and Mikasa didn't believe him.

"But if she is a spy, she should have tried to enter the archives or get information from Hange or Armin."

"And she even cured Levi a couple times!" Mikasa says.

Levi thought about it when you were going back to Marley. The pact is done, but, making rewind, you were never a dangerous person. Even Sasha asked you from where you were and she told Levi you were escaping from Marley! He's feeling bad now. He should had listened to you. And, fuck, he had your necklace. You were so easy to kill now. He knows they were going to judge you tomorrow morning. If they're fast enough...

"Damn!" he yells. Hange, sitting on the desk next to him, gets surprised. Levi goes out of the tent without a word, entering the cantina, where Sasha talks with Niccolo, adoration on his eyes, and Mikasa tells Eren to eat more. He searches the crowded table.

"Jean, Mikasa, Sasha. We're going on a mission."

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Moving on Marley at nights is so easy. The amount of drunk people and drunk guards is huge, so entering the prision is quite easy for Paradis' demons. Guided by Levi and his blades, the other ones enter on the prision were you're kept, your arms and legs bonded to a corner. Levi runs on the corridor, searching your cage. He found you easily: your pretty body snuggled on a corner and your low crying sounds making his heart break.

"Y/N!" Sasha says quietly, but with happiness.

"Sasha?" you ask. You see her ponytail bouncing behind her. And also all the other's figures.

They came. For you.

Even Levi is there.

His gaze is low and he's not looking at you in the eyes, as he usually do. Sasha looks around and tells Jean to look to the other corridor. Mikasa and Levi examinate the door.

"It's closed with magic." you whisper. "A witch that works for Marley did it. That's why there's no place for a key." Levi keeps looking at the ground.

"Isn't your magic strong enough to undo it?"

"They made me enter here without my necklace. They know it has all my power inside. Without it, I'm a human."

Levi reaches his pocket quickly, taking out the blue necklace.

"Oh, Captain you have it!" Mikasa says. Levi nods in silence, putting his arm between the bars. You get up and walk towards him. Your hands are really close, but you'll never be close enough to touch him. He swings the collar towards you and you take it, putting it around your neck once again. You feel how magic runs again on your veins.

"Are we going to see how she makes magic?" Jean says, truly amazed.

"Is she going to shine or transform?" Sasha asks at the same time.

"Now you should be able to open." you say. Jean and Sasha look at the other.

"What? Without thunders or lights?"

"Well, she's bleeding." Mikasa says. It's true that unmaking a curse is more tiring than making one, and the ones made to capture are really strong. That's why your nose is bleeding a bit. Once you're out, Levi takes a tissue for you.

"Thanks" you whisper. He also takes out a letter, written with his elegant handwriting. "For Zeke" it prays.

"No one in this door. We can leave." Jean says.

Outside, Levi takes you from your waist, and elevates the two of you with his ODM.

"Sorry." you both say at the same time. You let put a little laugh. "I should have told you the truth."

"You deserved to be listened." he says. His face is buried on your hair. He has you by his side now.

"Tie?" he laughs a bit.

"Tie"

After this, Zeke found the letter, of course. He was there, at Marley, getting angry because of a girl with a dangerous necklace.

Necklace that is stored in a drawer, while your head rests in the Captain's shoulder, back again at Paradis.

[vidalinav]

Nessian Headcanon #12: Family Edition

Since I keep seeing baby headcanons I wanted to make a list of my own :D which I’ve briefly touched on in other posts but...

Cassian and Nesta have a boatload of children (5 at the end of it all I think). The others start joking that they’re building their own army. But what really happens is that they end up taking in many children over the years because they travel often with the work they do and they see so many conditions and there’s wars and all sorts of circumstances. It’s inevitable that kids don’t have homes but they have a giant house and unending resources and the House is like a big nanny itself so they think it’s fate. 

Nesta is actually the one who brings most of the children home. The first one is a 9 year old girl, who is the angriest kid alive. Has something to do with the plot of a story I’m writing, but Nesta is basically entrusted with this kid. She’s the grand niece of someone she ends up knowing and she’s pretty magically powerful so her family would have ate her alive, so she’s asked to keep her safe and whatnot. Her name is Magda but she goes by Maggie. She does not like Cassian whatsoever in the beginning, and she is horribly rude to Nesta. But Nesta does not care at all, she’s like okay get it out, say worse. Like she’s so chill, because she knows how it feels to be that angry. Maggie and Nesta end up being really close to the point where Maggie does not like being away from Nesta and gets very protective of her even to other members of the IC. She’ll fight first and ask questions later. Cassian and her form a bond actually not by fighting at all, but because Maggie does so many experiments that end up going awry. She’s a fae and has got magic up the wazoo and she’s a book nerd, and she’s kind of a trouble maker, and Cassian thrives. He loves her because she’s like a smaller more diabolical version of Nesta. The House is amused by their antics usually. 

Nesta ends up getting pregnant for their second child and this kid is the only one they actually have on their own. Her name is Lyra, and Maggie thinks that it’s hilarious that Cassian lives in a house with all girls. Maggie is about 12 when they have her, and Maggie at first does not take kindly to Lyra, because she starts feeling like they have their own family and she’s just the kid who eventually is going to have to go back to her other family (because that’s a plot too that I won’t go into to) but they try so much to include her, because Maggie is their child. No question. Nesta ends up telling Cassian that she’s pregnant by giving him an enchanted painting, which is the work of all three Archeron sisters. Elain for seeing what the child would look like, Feyre for painting, and Nesta for enchanting it so that if they have more children the picture will get bigger and there will be room for Feyre to paint the others. So one big family portrait. In that picture, Maggie is tucked in between the two with the baby/toddler. Dark hair, big blue eyes... maybe hazel. Maybe one of each (I’m really not sure). The best parts of both Nesta and Cassian though. She’s so gorgeous. Prettiest little girl. But yeah going back to Maggie, they ask her during this picture time (probably solstice present time) if Maggie wants to be an Archeron. (Another headcanon for another time, but Cassian marries Nesta too and becomes an Acheron). So, does she want to do this? Absolutely, and at this point she already start calling them mom and dad and just referring to them as such, so that’s their kiddos. 

Third and fourth are siblings. They’re from the continent. Maggie is 14, Lyra is close to 2. The siblings are brought by Nesta who is doing some thing that I cannot say because I have not made it up yet, but she finds them at the scene of a Massacre in hiding. The oldest is close to 6, the other is probably 1-ish. The oldest will not let them take the baby from her. The baby is a boy. They don’t speak the common tongue, which is any issue, but they hire a tutor to both talk to the little girl and then also to teach them ALL (everyone in their household) the language that the two siblings speak as well as teach them how to speak the common Prythrian language. So everyone ends up learning. The little girl is taken under the wing of Maggie, who is the perfect older sister/camp counselor as she likes to refer to herself after there’s more kids. They don’t know her name for the LONGEST time, because she won’t speak at all, but she ends up loving Cassian because he makes her laugh and he brings her a thousand stuffed bears because at one point she won’t stop crying and he brings them home and makes funny voices with them, and carries her on his shoulders, and she has the sweetest giggle. But eventually they end up naming her Ursella which she ends up going by Ella when she gets older, because her nickname with Cassian is little bear. They do ask her later when she talks if she remembers her old name and her birthday since they don’t know, but she doesn’t say that she does, which may be a lie, but Ella happily goes by Ella, and they give her a choice to choose one random day in the year to be her birthday, but she chooses to celebrate her birthday on the day they brought her in. She calls it her re-birthday.

The baby boy they name Nico. It’s actually a common Illyrian name and Cassian knows that the little boy is technically not Illyrian but it is his first son, and he really wants to give him that piece of him. Cassian does ask him when he’s about 10 if he’d prefer a name that’s based on his own culture, because they make sure that’s very integrated in their home life, because of course Cassian loves his culture and Nesta has that anthropological eye, so she knows and learns so much and they just love their children so much that they want all of them, every piece that they come with. But Nico likes his name, and he’s his dads through and through. But he LOVES Nesta. He’s a momma’s boy for sure, which I guess just makes him similar to Cassian. He does not like learning though, so Nesta usually has to teach him herself instead of having tutors, and she spends extra time with him going through his lessons. Lyra and him grow up together closer to age, so they pick on each other A LOT, but ultimately they grow up to have that relationship like I can pick on you but no one else can. They’re super close. If you want one, you find the other. They both will be together somewhere making a mess of things. Ella is the one who usually is like would you please be loud somewhere else. She ends up getting into music--playing instruments and so she generally prefers quietness to study and practice. Violin is her forte. 

The next boy comes about 4 yrs later. Maggie is 18, Lyra is 6, Nico is 5/6 ish. Ella is 10. The boy is about 12. He’s Illyrian and Cassian finds him this time and takes him to Nesta first, but Nesta is like why are you asking lol this is our new son. He’s a “bastard” unfortunately. I hate that word. But he has learned to fight, Cassian found him in the fighting pits in an Illyrian camp a couple hours away from Windhaven, and the situation was so much like his except this kid was never given a home like he was. So, he spent a good couple of weeks trying to get on his good side enough for him to trust him and to want to go someplace safer and warm. He hates Cassian a lot at first... while at the same time being like you’re the hero I’ve heard about. So admiration but also a touch of resentment and anger at the world. Cassian doesn’t know what to do with that, because still to the day he does not handle emotion like Nesta does. He understands it but he doesn’t know what to say, what to do, his go to is always training, but training is not what this child needs. So again, this is Nesta’s forte. Interestingly enough, she’s very gentle with kids. She’s empathetic, soft, but not condescending. She gives everyone the same respect so it helps a lot when he sees that and he’s never had a mom before who tucks him in or makes sure he’s feeling well. His name is Julian. I forgot that part and it turns out he’s HATES fighting. But he really likes plants. So he ends up spending a lot of time with Elain when she visits. He’s fascinated by them and ends up having his own garden. But because Nesta is magical in this headcanon (because she’s more witchy in my fics) he learns A LOT about poisons. Not because Nesta teaches him, but because he finds her books and reads them and starts growing them. This becomes a problem, because when Julian doesn’t like his tutors or teachers, he starts trying to poison them. Like not killing them, but he knows which will give stomach aches, which will give rashes. Nesta is both proud and reprimanding. 

I do feel like they might have more, but I don’t know for now I feel this is good for their set family. Five in total for their first gaggle of children lol. But all of them are asked if they want to be an Archeron. All of them say yes. All of them have each other’s back even if they have screaming matches on the daily. The house is mostly chaotic at all times but the House loves having people in it and laughing and being filled to the brim with stuffed animals and train sets and plants and music and family members coming in and out since Nyx visits often because he’s an only child for a very long time with Feyre taking more of a position in court rulings and Rhysand just being generally busy because you know High Lord/High Lady stuff. I don’t see Feyre being a stay at home mom but I also don’t see Rhys being a stay at home dad, but they’re also rulers so I peg them for both being working parents, which they feel guilty about A LOT at first, and it’s something that they struggle with in the confines of their own identities and their relationship, because they love Nyx and they know they’re parents but that’s not all they are, and without having the gender role of one parent staying home it’s very difficult for them to both rule, but Rhys does not want to stop being a high lord and Feyre is bored too often and she wants to rule and she knows she can, and she has that title for a reason and wants to utilize it. So it’s a hard time, with lots of arguments, but Nyx ends up mostly going with Cassian for a good amount of the day when he’s older and they have more kids in the house, and Nyx doesn’t really know that Feyre and Rhys had this problem, because he’d just prefer to be around the other kids and it ends up working really well. 

Cassian ends up being more of the stay at home parent. I don’t know why but I feel he just gives me that vibe where forget the courtier business, if there’s no war and if the armies are generally taken care of which he does, he wants to stay home and raise his kids, which is very surprising since he’s the one who doesn’t ever take vacations. He wants to be there for every moment no matter how awkward or loud. That’s his family and he’s waited so long for them, and it’s not even about him not having that family early on, it’s because he genuinely would rather be with his kids. He’s the one who as soon as they got the siblings was like I’m going to have to take a step back, because he saw his kids every day but he just didn’t want to be away for long periods of time, and at that point he’d already taken several steps back on working, so it became more of a done deal then. He still is the general, but he gives more responsibility to Devlon and to other people he’s trained over the years to step up. So generally, Cassian will work a couple of days a week for a couple of hours or just go quickly in the evenings, go over reports if the kids are in class with their teachers, and more during certain times of the year, but he’s generally more of a family man. 

Nesta in my fic/headcanon ends up being a queen as well as a leader of the witches and the founder/leader of the Valkyrie and she owns a shipping company and she’s the cauldron’s guardian which don’t ask me to explain, it’s in this fic I’ve barely written. But she’s a “I can bake the cake and eat it too” type of person to me, and because of her magic it is easy for her to do it all because it’s like a full time job. She goes home after a certain hour and she’s back with her kiddos, and most of her jobs have other people who have a handle on things as well. So she’s not an island, but she loves having the purpose and the drive, because as much as she did like being in the library and being in Velaris and having that day to day slice of life, she likes and yearns for adventure. She’s a go-getter and is not necessarily ambitious for power, but she’s got the whole world to discover and she can have anything she’s willing to work for. She wants to be and see it all. Cassian is endlessly proud of her and is like that’s my mate, my wife. My mate. My wife. And they both end up getting what they want without having to sacrifice their own ideals. Their marriage is a collaboration and it ends up working phenomenally for the two of them and their children. 

But ultimately it’s really the House that makes it possible. Because who cooks food and cleans and supplies every need and wish and whatnot? The House. Who baby proofs? The House. The House is like I’ve always wanted a big family and boy does it get a big family. 

[the-young-and-forgotten]

Christmas With You

@just-a-belgian-girl’s request: okay so bc you said i could send in a christmas request: can i request a fic for either remus or sirius (your pick) where reader learns he doesn’t have anyone to go home for christmas to? like, the other marauders don’t know that and they’ve left already, and he’s left all alone. so reader invites him to come spend christmas with her and her family. he accepts, and her family is just so accepting and loving bc both boys definitely deserve it and cute fluffy ending?

Walking into the Great Hall, you see Sirius picking glumly at his food. The Hall was relatively empty because everyone had gone home for christmas. You, sirius and two third year hufflepuffs were the only ones left at the school.

You sit down on the bench next to him in silence. A few minutes crawl by, you grow extremely bored of it. “Wrackspurt got your tongue?” you say out of the blue. He finally looks at you, eyes glittering in amusement. “Wrack-what?” You wave away the question, answering with one of your own.

“Why are you alone? Where are the rest of the boys?”

He sighed and went back to picking at his food. “They had to go home. Their families wanted them to spend some time at home.”

“Oh.” You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly and open your mouth to say something, before Sirius speaks over you. “Tell me, why aren’t you at home?” You laugh aloud at that.

“I thought I wasn’t going home this christmas, so I didn’t catch the train. Turns out I am, so my parents had to arrange with Dumbledore for another one.”

Sirius stares at you intently before asking another question. “What time does your train leave?” “11am tomorrow.” He nods his head in understanding, offering you some of his untouched plate. Picking up a small piece of toast you pop it into your mouth. “Say” You speak through the food in your mouth. Sirius takes one look at you and makes a revolted face. You laugh and quickly swallow before continuing where you left off.

“My family has a spare bedroom, if you want to come over for christmas! They wouldn’t mind!” Sirius’ face lights up in poorly contained excitement. “Really?! You mean it?” He grabs your hand, bouncing up and down in his seat, making you laugh. “I gotta warn you though, my family can be very crazy and loud.”

...

The two of you stood outside Hogsmeade station, waiting for the train. Sirius was feeling more nervous than he cared to admit. ‘What if her family didn’t like him? What if he messed everything up? What if -’ “Hey!” You say, interrupting his thoughts, “feeling nervous?”

He smiles weakly, grateful for the distraction. “Just a little bit.” “Don’t worry” You give him a friendly shove, “I’m sure my family’s gonna love you.”

By the time the train rolled up, you were frozen to the bone. Running onto the train, you instantly sigh with relief when the hot air hits you. Sirius follows behind, looking green. “Who knew the guy who has won Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup for the last 6 years would be nervous to meet a girls family?”

He looks away, pouting “Shut up..” he mumbles.

Shaking your head, you take him by the hand, dragging him the compartment you and your friends normally sit in. “Did you bring anything to do?” You inquire. “It’s gonna be a long 8 hours.” He spreads himself out on the seat opposite you. “I figured I would just sleep most of it.” You pull out your book and settle into your seat. “You do that then.”

Even though Sirius said he was going to sleep, he goaded you into playing a few games of chess. Needless to say, he was an extremely sore loser. “You cheated. Go to jail.” “But that's Monopoly” “Yeah, there’s a jail now. Go to it.” Then he flipped the board. You discontinued playing.

Halfway through the ride, He decided to run up and down the train to stretch. Of course fell over and almost broke his arm. So he just lay there for the rest of the way and slept.

When the train pulled into Kings Cross Station, you stepped on him to wake him up. He tried to grab your foot to pull you down, but he just succeeded in injuring his hand even more. He finally got up, complaining.

As soon as you stepped off the train you felt almost every bone in your body crack. “Try and sound more like a glowstick there love.” Sirius remarked, walking next to you. You just stared him down and cracked your neck.

You turn away before he could retaliate, looking around for your parents. They were in the corner, looking as nervous as the first day they brought you here. “Mum! Dad!” You run up to them, wrapping them in a big hug. You turn back to Sirius and grab his hand to pull him closer. “This is my friend Sirius, he didn’t have anyone to go home to so I brought him home with me.”

Sirius felt even more nervous than before, struggling to meet their eyes. When he did look up, he found them smiling broadly at him. Your mum stuck out her hand to Sirius “I’m Marie Deverport but please just call me Marie, my husband is Samuel.” Sirius hesitantly shook it, absolutely filled with butterflies.

“We’re happy you’re spending Christmas with us! Though, we would’ve liked a little more of a heads up before.” She looked pointedly at their daughter, who hung her head in shame. “But now matter now” Samuel said, waving you and Sirius through the barrier. “Let’s get home.”

When you arrived at your house, Sirius started staring at it in wonder. “It’s so small… small and cosy-looking.” He rushed up the drive, eager to investigate. As soon as it opened, three little kids ran out, screaming at the top of their lungs. They surrounded you, smothering you in hugs and kisses. They kept glancing back at Sirius, whispering stuff which you just laugh off, blushing a little.

Marie let Sirius into the house, telling Y/n to show him around. You walk up to him, hair frazzled and panting a little. “Sorry, my siblings are a handful.” He smiles down at you “I love them.” You smile back at him and lead him up the stairs to his room.

You lean against the doorframe, as he inspects his room. “Christmas Day is a few days. It’s gonna be hectic around here. Sorry about that.” He turns to wink at you “You know I thrive on chaos” you laugh and shove yourself off the frame. “I’ll leave you to unpack now.”

...

Sirius was loving every minute he spent here. From making burning gingerbread cookies, to showing your siblings how to skate. He wished he could stay in this Christmas forever.

Soon, Christmas Day came. Sirius woke up to you frantically dancing around his room singing ‘it’s Christmas’ all in one note. Once he was awake enough for you, you dragged him down to the tree where the two of you and your siblings covered the floor with wrapping paper.

He was overwhelmed by the gifts he got from both his Hogwarts friends and your family. He stood up and asked if he could stand outside for a bit. Outside he drank in the fridged air. Eyes closed, face tilted up towards the cloudy sky. The snowflakes tickled his face, but he didn’t care.

Yeah sure, he had the boys. He had Hogwarts. He had Potter Manor. But never in a million years did he think that a small, mostly muggle family would accept him. Someone who’s family had been killing their kind for centuries. These last few weeks had been so calm and simple for him. For the first time in his life, he lived without magic and saw the beauty in it.

He heard the front door and close softly from behind him. He hastily wiped off the few tears he had on his cheeks. You walked up to stand next to him in the falling snow.

“You okay Siri?” “Yeah, just… overwhelmed.” You snort a little “Overwhelmed by what?” “Just how a simple muggle family can accept me, someone who has come from the longest line of dark wizards and witches.” “Yeah, but you’re not them Sirius.” “I know.” “So stop thinking you are and Just be Sirius. No pure-blood, no Black. Just one of the infamous Marauders.”

The words cut deep, making him emotional again. He looked at you, the snow was in your hair and caught in your eyelashes. You looked ethereal. He blushed a little. When did you start looking this beautiful?

He opened his mouth to say something to distract himself, but you beat him to it. “Let’s go inside now yeah? I don't want to catch a cold and I want you to enjoy the rest of Christmas with me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @just-a-belgian-girl @loonyvee @kashishwrites @lilgoddesshines @probably-peeves

[myhockeyworld87]

Ruined - Jamie Benn - Part 2

Word Count: 5,716

POV: Jamie

Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW, talks about losing virginity

Notes: Here is the next part right away. Hope you guys enjoy this. Happy Reading!!!

Ruined Masterlist

Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, you headed down to the kitchen to whip up a quick protein shake before Tyler got there for your morning workout. With the season just around the corner, you’d pushed training into high gear, Tyler coming to your place every morning before you’d head off and workout with your trainer. In just a few short weeks training camp would be in full swing and you wanted to be in your best shape to make a run for the cup. But the Stanley Cup wasn’t on your mind as you turned the blender on, the grinding sound echoing through the empty house. Empty was the keyword there. You were tired of being alone, tired of going out to the clubs, ending the night with some mindless hookup. Maybe it was the fact that Jordie had finally popped the question to his long-time girlfriend Jess and the two seemed blissfully happy, that was making you want to settle down, or maybe it was seeing your sister with her little girl and longing for a family of your own. Whatever it was, you wished that you could just meet the perfect woman and fall madly in love. 

 The problem was you were too picky. They were either too tall or too blonde or maybe it was not blonde enough, then there were the ones that didn’t talk or were too chatty. You seemed to find something wrong with each and every woman you dated. Hell, your longest relationship only lasted six months and you’d only kept her around that long for appearance sake. You wanted a meaningful relationship with the girl of your dreams. It didn’t seem like much to ask for.

 “Hey, I see you're getting new neighbors.” Tyler’s voice brought you out of your musings and you glanced at him as he walked into your kitchen. “Well not neighbors exactly, since it’s like two houses up, but the woman who’s moving in is hot as hell.”

 “Do you mean in Doc Lundin’s place?” Dr. Lundin had been the team doctor for the Stars for the last several years and had finally decided to retire. You’d heard his practice had been looking at a young and upcoming doctor to take his place but didn’t know that they’d hired anyone. 

 “Yep,” Tyler finally answered. “Must be the new doctor’s hot wife. It’s a shame she’s married because, DAMN!” He gave a low whistle of approval. “I’m telling you, I’d be all over that.”

 “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

 “We’re in an open relationship.” All you could do was roll your eyes, for all Tyler’s relationships were open, at least on his end. “But hey, if you wanted a crack at her, I’d give you first dibs, since it’s been a while.”

 “Gee thanks,” your sarcasm was not lost on your best friend.

 “I’m just saying it’s been a bit since you’ve gone out with anyone.” This you already knew and were just contemplating moments ago. “Maybe we should go for a run while she’s still out directing the movers.”

 “Why don’t we leave the new doc’s wife in peace at least for a day or so.”

 “You’re no fun.” Tyler downed half your drink but luckily, you’d made enough for another glass, before you headed out to your pool house that had now been turned into a gym. The two of you spent the morning and afternoon training before Tyler headed back to his house.

 It was just after dinner when you decided to go for a run, now that the sun was setting and the Dallas heat wouldn’t make your shoes melt to the pavement. You thought you’d head up to see Jordie and Jess, who only lived about six blocks away. It would be a short little run, but still, a way to get some exercise in. As you stepped out of your house, it was still a bit steamy, so you tossed your shirt off, and flipped your cap backward before heading up the street. The moving truck seemed to be gone, so you guess whoever it was that captured Tyler’s attention was busy inside unpacking. You were so absorbed in checking out the house you didn’t realize that someone was coming around the corner at you until your bodies collided. Your hands immediately went to her hips to steady her. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching…” you started to say while she was apologizing to you at the same time. It wasn’t until you looked at her face that recognition hit, then all words died on the tip of your tongue. “(Y/N), is that you?” She didn’t need to answer for you to know that it was her. This was your (Y/N), the first girl you ever kissed, the first girl you ever slept with, and the only girl you ever loved. Though you’d ruined all that. Standing there, you took in all of her features and you were reminded of how much you’d loved her back then. How much that first and only time with her had meant to you. 

 You’d been so nervous driving all the way to Vancouver with (Y/N), but she was more nervous. So, you took her hand and held it the whole way, occasionally dropping kisses here and there. The foot that wasn’t driving, bounced uncontrollably up and down with anticipation of the night to come. You were pretty sure you were wearing a hole in the flooring of the car. It had to be the longest car ride you’d ever had. “Did you maybe want to get something to eat before we head to the house?” You asked (Y/N) hoping to break some of the silence that was filled only by the stereo in the car. 

 “Yeah, we could do that.” She glanced over at you and gave you a weak smile.

 “(Y/N), we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You totally meant the words you’d just spoken, for you in no way wanted her to feel pressured about having sex with you. This should be something you both wanted.

 “No, I want to. Don’t you?” Her voice picked up a little bit, the sound more reassuring than the smile she gave only moments ago.

 “I want to, too.” God, you sounded like an idiot. “I went to the pharmacy and got protection, so you don’t have to worry.”

 “Oh, you didn’t have to.” This time it was your turn to look over at her, trying to see if you misunderstood her statement before scanning the road again. “I’m on the pill, have been for a while.” She said by way of explanation. “My mom thought it would be best, once she found out I was actually dating someone, but we can use the condoms too if you want.”

 “I mean…uh…” were you really having a conversation about birth control methods? You supposed it was the adult thing to do. “If you think we should, we can.”

 (Y/N) turned in the seat to fully look at you then. “Ok, so this will probably sound stupid.” Your head bobbed back and forth between the road and the girl you were in love with.

 “(Y/N), nothing you say is stupid. You’re the smartest person I know.”

 She leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Thanks,” she took a deep breath. “Anyhow, I kind of don’t want to use a condom if we don’t have to, at least this time.” You weren’t quite following her thinking so you remained silent for her to explain. “Like, it’s both our first times, so there’s not a chance of us getting a sexually transmitted disease or anything. We just really have to worry about getting pregnant. Which since I’m on the pill, and before you say anything, I take it the same time every day, so no worries there. I think we’re safe on that account.” You nodded your agreement, for it was just like (Y/N) to be so precise about something. “But the real reason I don’t want you to use it is…” she hesitated, almost as if she was embarrassed to tell you why. She certainly had to know that there was nothing to be ashamed of, especially with what the two of you were about to do. 

 “Just tell me (Y/N). I promise I won’t laugh or make fun of you or anything.” You squeezed her hand giving her a little added courage.

 “I just want to feel you.” Her face started to turn a combination of pink and red, which looked totally adorable on her. “You know nothing in between us. I just really want to know what it feels like.” Fuck, you wanted that too. 

 “Yeah, that does sound nice.” You tried to downplay it though inside you were a jumble of nerves now, and thinking about what it would feel like to be inside her only made those magnify. What if you spent the moment your cock dipped inside her pussy? What if she didn’t cum? There were so many thoughts whirling around in your head, that you were ready to explode, and in more ways than one. 

 “So, then you agree? No condom.” (Y/N) asked you, drawing you back to the present.

 “Yeah, no condom.” The car grew silent again and you could feel your hand sweating as it held (Y/N)’s. There was only about another half-hour left in the drive. “So, where were you thinking to get something to eat.” You changed the subject hoping to take both of your minds off what would happen later. You stopped off at a little burger joint that (Y/N)’s family always went to when they were in town. You couldn’t stop grinning at each other all through the meal. It was really quite ridiculous. 

 Afterward, you headed over to the house. You carried both your bags in. “Umm…where should I put these?”

 “Oh, I don’t really have a bedroom here. I just sleep in one of the guest rooms, so we can just use one of them. They’re upstairs.” You followed her up the stairs, as she led the way to the bedroom. Inside was a massive four-poster king-size bed that had curtains draping down from it. Both of you just sort of stared at it for a full minute, letting the weight of what was about to happen sink in. “You can just put our stuff over there.” She pointed to the window that had two chairs sitting by it.

 It was late in the afternoon and you weren’t really sure if you should wait until dark to do this or start now. Everything felt too planned out, except for the exact timing. “Did you want to…” you trailed off, unable to put your thoughts into words. 

 “Oh…umm…yeah,” (Y/N) answered and you took a step closer to her. Your hands went to her waist, as you pulled her closer to you, before dipping your head down to kiss her lips. It was awkward, just like it had been the first time you kissed, but then your tongue slipped inside her mouth and you felt her melt into you. She pulled back though suddenly. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She stepped over to her bag, rifling around inside. “I brought these.” She pulled out a couple of glass candles. “I thought…well I don’t know what I thought, but you know, they always have them lit in the movies.”

 You smiled over at her, taking a couple of them and setting them on the nightstand and dresser. “Do you have something to light them with?”

 “Oh, one sec.” She took off downstairs and you could hear her rummaging around the empty house. You gazed at the bed. Should you turn the covers down? Maybe take some of the pillows off? You were contemplating what to do when (Y/N) came back in. “I found a couple more, and this.” She held out a pack of matches and you took them, lighting the candles that she’d placed throughout the room. She pulled the blinds down on the windows and it cast the room in a romantic glow, which reminded you of the item you brought to add to the romance.

 You pulled your mp3 player out of your bag and found the love song list you’d created for tonight and turned it on. You prayed that (Y/N) wouldn’t think that it was cheesy. When you finally turned around, she had the most adorable smile on her face. As you took the couple steps to close the distance between the two of you, she took a step back, and suddenly all those nerves from the car ride were back. “There’s just one more thing.” This time she grabbed her bag and headed into the bathroom. 

 While she was in there, you shucked off your shoes, then decided to get rid of your socks as well, since it would just be awkward to have them on. Grabbing the small bottle of Listerine, you had packed, you swished it around in your mouth then looked around for someplace to spit it out. There wasn’t any, so you just swallowed the small amount, coughing as you did. Lastly, you threw off the sweatshirt you had on. The fewer clothes you had to take off the better was your thought. You were tugging down the plain black t-shirt you had on, when (Y/N) stepped back into the bedroom, clad in a short silk robe. Your mouth went dry. Thoughts of what was underneath or what wasn’t filled your brain, both the one in your head and down below. Fuck, you needed to think of something else or this was going to end before it even started. You tamped down the lust that was threatening to boil over and walked towards (Y/N). “You look,” you shook your head trying to come up with the right word but there was only one. “Beautiful.”

 “Thanks,” she mumbled back as a blush stained her cheeks. “I’m nervous.”

 “Me too,” you admitted and you wiped your palms off before reaching for her. They slid around her waist then up her back as you looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

 “Yeah,” she breathed out knowing that you were asking if she still wanted to have sex. You kissed her then like you had so many times in the past. Her arms slid up around your neck and you deepened the kiss. When you heard her moan, you let your hands roam to the belt of her robe, which came easily undone. Your hands roamed up her sides where you felt her lace bra. You were dying to know what she looked like in it. All the times that you and (Y/N) had done anything sexual together, she’d never been completely naked nor had you. It was always something hurried in the back of your car or on the couch when no one was home. Now though, you could drink your fill of her as you were alone with nothing and no one to interrupt you. 

 Gently, you pulled back from the kiss so you could gaze at her. Her body was covered in white lace, and you wondered if she had done it on purpose; sort of a nod to giving her virginity away to you. Unconsciously, you licked your lips as you took in the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was sheer perfection. “Damn,” you hissed out. “How did I get so lucky?” She giggled at your comment then let the robe slide off her shoulders; the view now even better than a second ago and you were finding it hard to breathe. 

 You felt yourself get hard just standing there staring at her. “Jame,” she said breaking you out of the spell. 

 “Yeah…uh…sorry.” You blinked hard, then took her hand and led her over to the bed, where you kissed her again. Slowly, you leaned her back onto the mattress, as your body hovered over hers. This part was nothing new, you’d made out with (Y/N) hundreds of times. It was what came next you were unsure of. Her hands slid under your shirt, and she bunched it up so that you could climb out of it. It fell to the ground somewhere in the bedroom. She then reached for the button on your jeans, but you knew if she took them off now, you’d be done. So, you rolled her to her side and followed her, unclasping her bra the minute her back was free. Your legs tangled with hers and you felt her hips gently rock into your thigh. She wanted this just as much as you did but you needed to make it good.

 Last night, you’d pulled Jordie aside and told him of your plans, purely so you could ask his advice. He’d chirped you, of course, for not having done the deed with (Y/N) sooner. But when you threatened to just leave, he stopped. He gave you a ton of information, go down on her first to help her relax, make sure she was wet before you even tried to stick your dick in her, go slow because it will probably hurt her, and the last bit was, make sure you didn’t bust your load too soon. The last part was the one you were truly worried about.

 (Y/N)’s bra now forgotten, you focused your attention there as you twisted both of your bodies so that she was now lying flat on her back. Kissing your way down her neck, you first took one nipple and then the other into your mouth. She moaned and it went straight to your groin. Thank god you still had your jeans on or you’d had spent right then and there. There were times you’d spend a good hour, just toying with breast but tonight was not going to be one of them. Working your way down her stomach, you kissed her right above where her panties were. The cute little white lace panties barely covered her pussy, and your mouth salivated just thinking about tasting her. You hooked your fingers around the elastic at the side, then started to shimmy them over her hips. (Y/N) rose up to help you rid herself of the flimsy garment.

 Setting back on your heels, you drank in the sight of her bare body. You’d never seen her totally naked before, so you took a moment to just drink in the sight of her. One leg slightly bent, her arms off to the sides, but fidgeting as you gazed at her. “Jamie?” Her voice wobbled slightly and you could tell you were making her somewhat nervous, yet you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

 “Sorry,” you said a blush coming to your cheeks. “You’re just…perfect.” She smiled, then sat up, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss that had you wanting more. “Lie back,” you told her after kissing her breathless. She did and you took your hands and glided them from her ankles to her inner thighs; spreading her legs wide, so you could settle in between what you knew was your own little piece of heaven on earth. You grinned up at her before laying your tongue flat against her sweet little pussy, then licking between her folds. Her hips bucked forward even at the first contact. Your smile growing wider knowing that you were turning her on. You couldn’t help looking up at her as you flicked your tongue back and forth over her clit. Her hands fisted into the sheets and she moaned out something that you couldn’t quite hear. 

 Spreading her pussy lips with your fingers, you dipped your tongue inside her. “Jamie,” she cried out, and then you felt her hands threading through your hair urging you to continue. She tasted so sweet as you licked up and down her slit then flicked her clit. When she was wet and wanting more, you slid a finger inside her, mimicking what you wanted to do with your cock. Just the thought of being able to slide it into her warm and wet pussy had your cock hardening to granite. Fuck, you needed to get her off, so that you could feel her wrap around your dick before you lost your load. You made that come-hither motion, finding that spongy little spot up inside her. “Oh God,” she moaned out and you felt her legs start to tremble, as your hands kept them from clamping down on your head. Your tongue worked tirelessly on her little nub, alternating between flicking and sucking on it, as you fingered her. “I’m gonna…cum.” (Y/N) barely got the last word out and you felt her pussy spasm around your finger while her whole body bucked upwards. You felt a rush of wetness hit your lips and as much as you wanted to lick up every bit of her essence; you didn’t. 

 She slowly came back to reality with you, as you moved back up the length of her body until your lips were locked with hers. This time when her hands went to your waist you didn’t stop her as she undid first the button then the zipper. (Y/N) tried to help you shimmy out of your jeans but it was no use, so you rolled off her and wiggled out of them yourself. Her giggle went straight to your groin. “We have time, Jame.” You knew she was right but this was a moment you’d been waiting for, for a while now. You tossed the jeans and then your boxer briefs to the floor, before rolling on your side to face (Y/N).

 “I know…it’s just…” you couldn’t quite put it into words, but she nodded her understanding, bringing her hand to your cheek and slowly kissing you. Your hand roamed up her bare back, pressing her close against your skin. She felt so soft and supple in your hands, and you rolled her onto her back, your body looming over hers as your lips and tongues molded together. She moaned into your mouth, and you broke the kiss looking down at her. There was a questioning look in her eyes at your actions. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can tell me no right now and we’ll stop.” It would kill you, but all (Y/N) had to do was say the word.

 “I want this Jamie. I want you.” She cupped your face and brought it down to mere inches above hers. “I love you.”

 Your lips spread into the widest smile that ever graced your face and it had nothing to do with her saying yes to sex. “I love you too, (Y/N),” you told her and although they were only five words, they were the truest thing you’d ever spoken in your life. This wasn’t some fleeting crush that a sixteen-year-old boy had on a girl. This was true love in every sense of the word. You’d known your feelings for her the first time you’d met, now they were just intensified and what would happen next would bind you two together. 

 Her legs fell open, letting you work your way between them. Taking your cock in your hand, you slid it in between her damp pussy lips. She gasped, breaking the kiss and allowing you to stare into her eyes. “Let me know if I’m hurting you,” you hissed out as you nudged forward just an inch. Her walls surrounded your cock and it felt like heaven. Jordie was right, you just wanted to push all the way into her and shoot your load, but you couldn’t or wouldn’t do that to (Y/N). This had to be good for her too. She bit her lip, which made you wonder if she was in pain or if it felt as wonderful for her as it did for you. Another inch forward and you felt a barrier in your way. You knew enough about the female anatomy to know what it was and that going forward would change everything, not only for (Y/N) but you too. You leaned down and gave her another kiss, hoping to ease some of the tension that you could feel coursing through her body. When you felt her relax a bit into the kiss, you pressed all the way forward burying yourself deep inside her. (Y/N) froze and you pulled your head back to look at her, as all the blood in your body went directly to your penis. It took every ounce of your being, not to move. Sweat beading across your forehead as you asked, “Are you ok?” You couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. She had to be, right? 

 Finally, she inhaled deeply and it was as if you were taking a breath with her as the two of you were finally joined as one. “I think so…I...just need a second.” God, you weren’t sure you could last that long. Her breathing started to even out, as yours became irregular trying to keep your body in check. “I think…” she wiggled and you hissed in a breath. “Yeah…I’m ok…maybe if you…” she didn’t finish what she was saying as your hips moved of their own accord, just a thrust in and out.

 “Fuck.” You were cursing more at yourself for moving than anything else, but damn if she didn’t feel good. 

 “It’s ok,” (Y/N) moaned out, her arms reaching around to your back urging you on. “Keep doing that.” Those words were like music to your ears and you found yourself surging forward back into the warm cavernous heat of her pussy, then pulling back out. 

 “God you feel so…” Good, just didn’t seem like the right word, but at the same time, your brain wasn’t exactly looking for another one. Your cock started to twitch, your balls getting that familiar tightening. You couldn’t cum, not yet, you’d only been inside her for a few minutes. You wanted this to last longer; wanted her to cum too, but there was no more fighting it. “I think I’m…”

 “Yes, Jame, cum inside me.” That’s all it took and you thrust one last time before shooting your load in her as she reached up and kissed your neck. Stars clouded your vision, as your climax hit you. A strangled groan leaving your lips. You’d never came that hard in your life, as you collapsed on top of her.

 It took a second for you to basically regain consciousness. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m probably crushing you.”

 (Y/N) laughed. “Actually, I kind of like it.” Your laughter joined hers until you started to wonder if it was appropriate for sex. You could feel your cock softening inside her, so slid it out of her as you rolled to your side. She whimpered slightly.

 “Fuck, baby, did I hurt you?”

 “No, I mean…it was a little uncomfortable at first but…then it felt so good.” She was on her side now gazing at you.

 You brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “Sorry, I couldn’t last longer, so you could…well you know.” It still felt awkward talking about getting off, even after what the two of you had just done.

 “Don’t be. It felt good, Jame…really good….and maybe,” she ducked her head down into your chest, suddenly shy and mumbled something incoherent.

 “Babe,” you said, lifting her chin with your thumb and index finger. “I can’t hear what you said.”

 There was the cutest blush on her cheeks. “I just thought…maybe we could do it again. Like later tonight and well maybe tomorrow before we leave.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, her words were like a dream come true. Damn right, you wanted to do it again; as many times as she’d let you.

 “Yeah, baby. I definitely want that.” Your lips connected with her, and after what the two of you had just shared, (Y/N) not only stole your heart, but your soul. That night you made love to her again, only then you made sure she came with you, just like you did in the morning before you left. Those twenty-four hours would forever be embedded in your brain and your heart, and as you dropped her off at her friend's house, so she could maintain her cover you knew that you would love only (Y/N) for the rest of your life.

 Now, here she was fourteen long years later back in your arms. You shook yourself making sure that you weren’t dreaming. She still looked the same, only better; all hips and curves and things that made men lay awake dreaming about at night. As you took in her features, it struck you then. All those other women the ones you’d found something wrong with all the time; didn’t have anything wrong at all. It was just, they weren’t (Y/N). They were only filling a void from the time that you’d ruined everything until now. She was the woman that everyone else had to measure up to, only now she was someone else’s. Fuck, the thought made your head spin. Had it truly taken fourteen years to get her back only to lose her?

 “Hello, Jamie,” she finally spoke and her voice washed over you taking you back to that day and the way she’d called out your name when you were inside her. Your cock hardened instantaneously. She was pressed close to your body and you wondered if she could feel it. 

 “It’s so good to see you.” They were the first words out of your mouth that made sense but they were also the most truthful. It was just too bad that the look on her face didn’t reflect the same. “Sorry, I’m just in shock seeing you is all.”

 “No, I get it.” She replied. “Do you live around here?”

 “Uh…Yeah, I’m the white house right there.”

 “Oh,” she seemed to be taken back by this knowledge, which was probably understandable. Especially given the fact that her husband was going to be your new team doctor. Nothing like having your ex be your new neighbor. 

 “What about you? What are you doing in Dallas?” Though you knew the answer, you needed to hear the words come out of her mouth as confirmation, for until you did; you held out that small hope that there was a chance to make things right again.

 “Um…well.” It was then that she stepped out of your embrace. You hadn’t realized how naturally she fit back in your hands and that of their own accord they didn’t seem to want to let go. “I just moved here.”

 “Kind of got that with the moving truck and all,” you replied, your hand going to the back of your neck at your awkward comment, though she did smile at your words. 

 “Yeah, I suppose that did give it away.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another. It was a nervous habit of hers that you remember from back in the day.

 “It was hard to miss, but I knew the old owner quite well since he was our team doctor. In fact, I heard our new doc was moving in. I guess I’ll be seeing you and your husband around more.” There you’d finally said it. It was like ripping a bandaid off. Sure, it hurt and all but once it was off the sting started to fade, only this time it didn’t, as a look of confusion crossed her face.

 “Husband?”

 “Oh sorry, my bad. I just assumed you were married. Fiancé then?” Either way, it was going to be awkward as hell seeing her at games and functions, let alone out in their yard. Maybe you’d need to look for a different place. Tyler had just moved recently, you’d have to get the name of his realtor.

 A look crossed her face, and you remembered seeing it once before. It was when you’d tried to talk to her after the whole gossip fiasco. She was angry and you had no clue what you said to make her that way, but this was not how you wanted the conversation to go. “I’m not married or engaged, for that matter.” So it must be a boyfriend then, though that didn’t explain her displeasure with you at the moment. 

 “Geez, (Y/N), I’m really sorry. I just assumed that for you to move all the way here you’d be engaged or married to the guy.”

 “There is no guy Jamie. I’m the new doctor.” A look of shock crossed over your face. Why hadn’t anyone told you she’d gone to study medicine? The obvious answer being you tended not to ask about her when you were back home, only because it hurt too much to think about her being with someone else. Though she wasn’t with someone else, it was just her, and she was now your team doctor, who you’d see almost every day. “I can’t believe that you’d think the only reason I’d move her was for a guy. Incredible! You haven’t changed one bit have you?” 

 “It wasn’t…I didn’t…” She started walking away, just like before when you’d tried to explain what had actually happened. “I just assumed…”

 “Yeah, Jame, you just assumed! That what, I couldn’t be smart enough to earn the MD after my name, or that I’m still only good enough for a quick roll in the hay.” You went to answer but she held up her hand and took a deep breath. “Save it, Jamie. I’m a professional and that’s what I’ll be when I see you at the arena or out, but other than that…we have nothing to say.” With that, she left you standing there speechless as she jogged back up her driveway and into the house. And here you thought you had a second chance, that things weren’t totally ruined between you two. Maybe they weren’t. If anything, her position on the team, meant that you’d be seeing a lot of each other, something you were definitely ok with. You might have messed up all those years ago, and somewhat today, but now you had a chance to turn everything around. Maybe things weren’t quite ruined….yet.

[catrasredemption-moved]

Adora and Catra adopting Finn either as an orphan or abandoned kid like them?

It wasn’t so much that anyone thought Adora or Catra would be any good with children. (They also didn’t think they would be terrible with them; the couple just wasn’t the first choice for taking in an orphan.) But the child’s furry little body and pointed ears had immediately made Scorpia think of Catra, and who would know more about a part-cat person than someone who was one herself?

“I’m not sure this is a great idea,” Adora was slowly saying as Catra peeked into the small room where Bow and Scorpia were sitting with the child, attempting to teach them how to play cards. There was something so profoundly sad in their eyes. Something Catra recognized.

“I’m not either,” Glimmer admitted. “But the Fright Zone is still being rebuilt and there isn’t really anywhere for them to stay right now, and they seem kind of... skittish. It’s just until we find their parents.”

“And if you don’t? If they’re dead, or don’t want them?”

“Then we go from there. But the kid still needs someone in the mean time.”

Catra slipped into the room, leaving Adora and Glimmer to their debate. “Okay, you put down a nine, so that means - oh, hey Catra,” Bow said cheerfully when he saw her approaching the table. The child looked up, ears twitching slightly at the sight of the woman.

“Hey.” Catra sat down across the child, giving them a small smile. “Deal me in.”

“You got it.”

It was a well known fact that everyone hated playing with Catra - she knew all their tells and easily called their bluffs. But Bow wasn’t going to fuss in front of the kid when they were trying to gain their trust.

Catra leaned conspiratorially across the table, grinning. “Okay, so first thing you gotta know - Scorpia’s tail twitches when she’s bluffing. She can’t lie to save her life. And Bow’s left eyebrow goes up when he has a bad hand.”

“It does not!”

“Oh really? How’s your hand this round?”

“It’s great, thank you very much.” But Catra saw his eyebrow twitching. She winked at the kid, who laughed a little.

“The game’s all about being a good liar. Everyone has a tell. The trick is making sure no one knows what yours is. So, who’s starting?”

“I will,” Bow said, picking cards out. “Clockwise around the table.”

“So you’ll go after me,” Catra told the child, who nodded.

“Two threes,” Bow said proudly, putting the cards down.

“End,” Catra said immediately, throwing down an eight. Bow groaned. “Eight is the card that ends the entire round. So back to Bow.”

Bow frowned, looking his cards over. Finally he put two more down. “Two tens.”

“Two kings,” Catra said proudly. Bow groaned. “The only thing that beats a king is a nine or an ace. Got either of those?”

The kid searched their cards, frowning, then slowly put an ace down. “Pass,” Scorpia sighed.

“Nice. Good job, kid.”

The tips of their ears turned red, but they smiled shyly. “Top of the round,” Bow said, putting down a nine with far too much smugness. Catra simply raised an eyebrow and put an ace down. “Oh come on!”

“Pass,” Scorpia said sadly. The child hesitated before slowly putting down an eight.

“You’re a quick learner,” Bow said, grinning. The child’s eyes flicked to Catra, then back to Bow, and they nodded.

They went through this four more times, until Catra and the child were both down to two cards. Scorpia still had most of her hand, thanks to some well played eights blocking her before she even got a turn, and Bow had five cards left. Bow put down a nine; Catra immediately tossed an eight in front of it.

“Aw man,” Scorpia groaned, resting her head on the table. The child giggled, trying to hide their smile behind their cards. Bow looked at his four remaining cards, then at Catra, who was smiling smugly. He put down a king. She threw down her last a card. An ace.

“First out,” she said, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed behind her head. Bow glared at her before turning to the kid.

“Catra’s out of cards, which makes her the winner this round, so she’ll be king next round - er, queen, I guess. You’ll probably be out next, which will make you the richest. Then I’m guessing I’ll be the poorest, and Scorpia will be the beggar.”

“I’m always the beggar.”

Adora was biting her thumbnail, thinking. “I dunno. Catra, what do you - Catra?” She turned, surprised to find her wife was gone. There was laughter coming from the other room; Glimmer grabbed Adora, and they teleported over to peek in. Catra had joined the card game, and was clearly having a good time teaching the kid how to rile up Bow.

“Wow.” Glimmer sounded impressed. “I thought she was the one who’d be terrible with kids.”

"Hey, it’s okay. They’re all jerks.”

Adora paused at the sound of her friend’s voice, then slowly peeked around the corner. Catra was kneeling in front of a small girl nursing red hands and raw knuckles. Adora recognized those wounds - belt across the knuckles. She must have been caught misbehaving.

“You gotta ice them, or they’ll swell and it’ll feel worse. C’mere.”

The girl scooted forward uncertainly, offering her hands to the teen. She winced when Catra put the ice pack on them. “I know, it sucks. What’d you do?”

“F-Force Captain Octavia caught me drawing during class,” the girl whimpered. Catra rolled her eyes.

“She’s the worst, isn’t she? Hey, you know how she has that eyepatch?” The girl nodded. “That’s because of me.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. Clawed her eye when I was eight. It was an accident, kind of, but she was trying to grab me so I attacked.” She left out the part where she spent a week in solitary. The girl was looking at Catra like she was a goddess. “What’s your name?”

“Kana.”

“Cool. I’m Catra.”

The girl’s eyes were roaming now, fixing on Catra’s head. She sighed. “You wanna pet me, don’t you?” Kana nodded. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Just don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

Kana nodded eagerly, standing, one small hand scratching Catra’s ears. Adora watched for a moment with a small smile before turning and going back down in the other direction.

“I’m not surprised,” Adora said with a small smile, nudging the door open and stepping inside. Catra looked up and caught her eye, grinning.

“Hey Adora.”

“Hey. Having fun torturing Bow?”

“Absolutely. Kid and I have beaten him twice so far.”

“You’re helping them cheat, aren’t you?” Bow grumbled. Catra just shrugged, smiling innocently, then looked back to the child.

“We can’t keep calling you kid. You got a name? I wouldn’t leave it up to us, our track record with names is pretty freaking awful. Adora tried to convince me that my name was Catra Applesauce Meow Meow for the longest time.”

“We were four.”

“Catra Applesauce Meow Meow.” Glimmer sounded transfixed by the idea. “How did I not already know that? I need to have known that like five years ago.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again? Glimmer?”

“Finn.”

The small voice almost went unnoticed over Glimmer’s annoyed huff. But Catra had good ears. She looked back at the kid, who met her gaze. “Finn, huh? That’s a cool name. Do you like it?” They nodded. “Finn it is, then. Wanna play another round?”

Finn’s eyes flickered to the new arrivals, then back to Catra. “Is it okay?”

“Of course.” Catra leaned across the table as if to convey a secret. “You can watch me beat the queen of Bright Moon and the savior of the universe at a card game. It’s pretty great.”

“Bring it on,” Glimmer said, grabbing a seat. There were no other chairs in the room, so Adora simply nudged Catra and made her move until they were sharing, one of Catra’s legs thrown casually across both of Adora’s.

“Finn, do you know anything about your parents?” Adora asked carefully as Bow dealt the cards again. Finn shook their head. “Well... would you maybe want to stay with us for a bit? Me and Catra, I mean. But we live in the castle.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “You guys live here?” they asked in awe.

“Yup. Possibly not for much longer if Bow’s dads have their way. But then you’d get to live in a giant library.”

“Which is really fun,” Bow added. “Trust me, I grew up there.”

Finn was chewing their lip, eyes on the table. “I... I dunno.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Catra assured them. “Just... spend a night or two here and see how you feel.”

The child looked at Catra again. They trusted her. The realization went around the table in shock, save for Adora, who was just smiling. She wasn’t surprised. Catra was easy to trust when she didn’t have her walls up.

And she was trying. * * * * * * * * * * * The bed was empty when Adora awoke, some time around three a.m. She yawned, eyes searching the room for any sign of Catra, and finding none. There was also no Melog, which made her feel slightly better. Wherever Catra was, she wasn’t alone.

And she wasn’t that far, it turned out. Finn had been put in the suite next to theirs; Adora peeked in, and saw Catra asleep on the floor next to the bed, curled up in a blanket nest. Melog had tucked himself into bed with Finn, who was cuddling the alien cat as hard as their slim arms would allow. Something about the sight ignited a warm, fuzzy feeling in Adora’s chest. She slipped into the room and went to join her wife. Catra stirred slightly as Adora settled in next to her.

“Didn’t want to leave them alone?” she guessed in a whisper. Catra shrugged, yawning, and nestled closer to Adora. “Softy.”

“Shut up.”

[parkersbliss]

Chaos On Set | T. Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland X Female, Chaos Walking screen writer, reader

Warnings: no-no words, Tom being a bit of a pervert, but in a cute way? and fluff so fluffy you might get cavities.

wc; 2.5K

Synopsis: Tom really really likes you, but he doesn’t know if you feel the same. Especially when you can never get a moment together.

Request: Heeeeeey soo I don’t know if you take requests, but your writing is AMAZING and I was wondering if you could do a Tom Holland x reader where she wrote the screenplay for the movie he’s in (maybe Chaos Walking, if you know what that is, if you don’t, no sweat!😁😁) and he really likes her, and just make it fluffy and stuff? Idk, but thank you!!! Your writing is amazing, keep it up!! 😁👌🏽❤️

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List 

—

Tom was smitten for you. It was quite obvious to everyone on set, except, well, you. It wasn't that you didn't like him (you did) it was just that being a screenplay writer has you pulled to every part of the set. It was hard to even get one moment alone with Tom. You enjoyed working with him, he was a phenomenal actor and took your advice seriously, but when you're the screenplay writer of Chaos Walking it was like the whole world wanted a piece of you. Any time spent with Tom was either watching him on set or revisiting his lines. There was never a moment for you to catch your breath, not even in the morning. It was always get up and go. This morning had been particularly rushed as you spent the night tweaking a few scenes on set. The best part of being the screenplay writer was not having to dress all fancy. Although, you did just in case you saw Tom. This morning, you didn't care all that much. Instead, you slipped on a pair of lounge shorts and a hoodie, throwing your hair up and popping on some sunglasses to conceal any signs of lack of sleep. Yawning, you grabbed your script full of notes and walked onto the set. You immersed yourself in the script, going over the scenes for today and reshoots that were taking place.

"You look comfortably," Tom greeted. He was already ready for the day, clad in a dirt-covered gray (it might've been white, who knows) tank top that did nothing to hide his toned arms. His hair was still short from shooting Cherry a couple of months prior, but he pulled it off.

"Uh, yeah, late-night," You mumble, trying to straighten your wrinkled hoodie. Tom finds it adorable as you try to look a bit more presentable to him. He watches as you pull at the frayed edges of your clothing, small pout as it refuses to straighten up. You tug at it a few more times before huffing and giving up.

"So," He starts, rocking back and forth on his heels, his cheeks flushed. "What do you think of the movie so far?"

"Are you kidding me? It's amazing! You're a great Todd. It's like every girl's dream to watch book characters be brought to life."

He laughs, eye crinkled slightly, "I thought every girl's dream was an all you can buffet."

You tap your chin, pretending to think about it, "yeah that too."

Tom smiles, fiddling nervously with his fingers, trying to think of what to say next. He's not sure if you've ever had a conversation this long before.

"I really hope we can become friends," You blurt out, instantly regretting it. Tom's taken back, eyes wide as he tries to think of some type of witty reply. What if he wants to be more than friends? Scratch that, he does. But he knows that you've only known each other for two weeks and this is the longest conversation you've had.

"No," He said, watching as your face fell. "I mean, uh, shit, best friends?"

You give him an awkward smile, a little shocked at his first reaction. "Okay."

"Okay," He repeats, nodding his head slightly. "Yeah, okay. I should go. Not that I want to, but they need back on set. I mean, I think they do. They probably do," He rambles on. You giggle slightly as he continues spitting nonsense. You place a hand on his exposed bicep, "I get it, Tom. You can go, I have to be on stage three anyway."

Tom's staring at your hand on his arm, he's internally panicking but you don't know that. At least he doesn't think you do. He's probably sweating ten times more now. "Right, yeah, I'm sorry for keeping you. I should really pay more attention to that. I, uh, I'll see you around?"

You smile softly at him, a slight pink tint to your cheeks, "Yeah, I'll see you around." You pull your hand away from him and give him one last smile before jogging to the other stage.

"You couldn't be more obvious," Daisy jokes.

Tom sighs, dragging his hands down his face, "Do you think she knows?"

"Honestly, no. Shocker really."

Tom rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder with hers playfully. "Whatever."

Daisy wiggles her eyebrows at him, making kissy faces. Tom pushes her away, "Okay, okay, I get it! What crazy thing are we doing today?"

"Into the woods we go!"

"Lovely."

...

"(Y/N)!" Tom calls out as he jogs toward you. He's soaking wet, a navy shirt thrown over his form, slowly staring to dampen. His hair flopping haphazardly around his head. You stand up from your chair, hand outstretched. You were called over to supervise the scene Tom had just finished, which involved a very dirty pond of water. It had been three weeks since you first decided to become friends and it was safe to say, it had worked out. You spent a lot more time around each other, becoming much more comfortable and holding conversations longer than five minutes.

"Nuh-uh mister. I don't want your dirt, water, sweat mix over my nice shirt."

He pouts, arms falling to his sides, "You care more about a shirt than me?"

"Yes," You deadpan. Tom rolls his eyes, taking a few steps closer to you, while you take a few steps back.

"Tom," You warn as you back up against your chair. He grins at you and wraps you in his arms as you squeal.

"You're cold!"

Tom laughs into your neck, his wet hair tickling your chin and you try to push him off you, but he's much stronger and clings to you like a koala, his arms secure around your waist. Ultimately, you stop trying to pry him off accepting the fact you're soaked and he wasn't moving anytime soon.

"You're warm," He murmurs.

You roll your eyes, "Are you going to continue to hug me or let me change out of my now soaked clothes?"

Tom raises his head from the crook of your neck, giving you a loopy smile. "What's the rush? We're done shooting for the day."

You sigh out of relief, "that's great, but you're still cold."

He groans and finally pulls himself off of you. Your clothes are now soaked and sticking to your shivering body. Tom's eyes widen when he notices your bra peaking through your see-through shirt.

"What?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow at Tom's blushing face.

He clears his throat, still staring, "Your uh, your bra," He mumbles. You barely make out what he says, but follow his gaze to your now see-through shirt.

"Oh my god," You gape, then add, "Stop looking, Tom!"

He turns around immediately, "sorry!"

"Give me your shirt," You said.

"What?"

"I can't walk around set like this!"

"I can't walk around shirtless!"

"Have you seen yourself, Tom? Yeah, you can. No one's going to complain. Just give me the shirt, please."

Tom blinks in surprise at your comment, he stumbles over his next few words, "I -- uh, um, okay."

He strips his shirt off, struggling a bit as the fabric clings to his skin, now a bit soaked through. When he eventually gets if off he hands it to you and you do the same, balling your old shirt in your hand. You take a few moments to admire Tom's back muscles, before coughing. He turns around and you grow hot as you eye his toned figure. My god, he was built like a god. Is this even legal? You wonder, still staring at his abs.

Tom laughs, "so I can't stare at you in your bra but you can stare at me topless?"

You shake your head, tearing your gaze away from his perfect form. "yes indeed, now I'm going back to my trailer to change into something not soaking wet."

Tom nods his head, pushing back some of his wet curls, "Okay." He almost mentions you giving his shirt back, but he decides you look much better in it anyway.

"Uh, one thing," He said, causing you to turn around. "Do you, maybe, want to watch a movie later?"

You grin at him, "I'd love too, but only if there's food involved."

"Deal."

...

This wasn't a date, right? No, it wasn't. Tom never said it was, but he wanted it to be. He sits nervously on the sofa, knees bouncing in anticipation of your arrival. It wasn't a date, but it was still the girl he really likes watching a movie with just him and only him. Tom's hair was still slightly damp, although now he wasn't shirtless and instead slipped on his classic midtown hoodie from Spider-Man and a pair of sweatpants. There's a knock at his door and he almost falls off the couch. Tom clambers to the door, swinging it open and leaning against the doorframe pretending he didn't just trip on his way here.

"Hey," You said smiling. You reflected Tom's choice of clothing in only a pair of sweatpants and wrinkled tee, but by god did you pull it off. Tom blinks, tearing his gaze from you. "hi."

"Are you going to invite me in or...?"

"Right! Yeah, of course. Come in." Tom steps aside, holding the door open for you and letting it shut softly. You toss him a lopsided grin over your shoulder.

"So, what are we watching?" You ask, flopping down on the couch, instantly wrapping yourself in the blanket Tom had left out.

"Oh... uh, do you wanna watch Spider-Man?" He scratches the back of his head, cheeks tinted pink.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, "Are you trying to impress me with your acting skills?"

Tom scoffs, grabbing a pillow from the couch and hurling it at you. "No, I'm obviously showing off Robert's skills."

You playfully roll your eyes, flinging the pillow back at him. He catches it with ease. "Whatever, I haven't seen it anyway."

Tom gasps, "What?"

You throw your head with back with laughter at the expression on his face. He's jaw is hanging wide open, eyebrows knitted together in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I just bruise your ego?"

Tom clicks his tongue, throwing the pillow back at you, hitting you square in the face. "no, but I think I just bruised your face."

"Very funny."

"I get it from my dad."

You purse your lips together, thinking of some type of witty comeback. "yeah, well you didn't get his height."

Tom places a hand on his heart, faking hurt. "Alright, well--"

You cut him off with a pillow to the stomach as he doubles over with an oomph. You howl with laughter as he glares at you.

"Oh love, you don't know what you're in for," He smirks.

"Wait, Tom--" You don't finish your sentence as Tom flops onto you, pillow separating your bodies and you squeal. Tom lays on top of you, pillow resting on your stomach as he grins at you.

"Tommmm," You whine, trying to push him off. He doesn't budge and you pout, resting your arms at your side as his lay by your head.

"Sorry, love, you started it."

"What about the movie?"

"Honestly you're getting an even better view of me like this."

"I only want to watch it because of Zendaya."

"Fuck you."

"You wish."

There's a heavy silence as you take in Tom's comment and the irony of your position. Tom wiggled his eyebrows seductively, smirking.

"Get off me, you weirdo!" You said, finally pushing off of you. He lands on the floor with a satisfying thud and you peek your head over the sofa to check on him. A hand shoots up to grab you and pulls you down on top of him. Tom groans as your body weight land on him, now realizing what a stupid move he had made. Your heads smack together and you wince in pain.

"Shit, sorry love," Tom apologizes, reaching up to hold your head in his hands. He hesitantly places a soft kiss on your temple and you instantly melt in his touch. His hands slowly travel away from your head to wrap around your waist and hold you captive.

"Tom?" You question, arms resting on his shoulder, simultaneously playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hums, "Yes?"

"Can we watch the movie now?"

He laughs, the vibrations rumbling in his chest, and instinctively you snuggle closer to him and his warmth. He sits up, almost knocking you off, but his arms keep you secure in his lap.

"Yes, we can, but you have to get off me."

Your ankles cross over his waist, "No, I don't wanna. You're warm." You said, face buried in his neck. Tom's happy you can't see the blush on his face as he stares at the girl in his lap. He slowly stands up, one arm still holding you close to him as the other picks up the remote. He turns the movie on, sitting down on the couch. You pick your head up from his neck, glancing at him only to find him already looking down at you. Tom pushes back a few stray pieces of hair from your face and your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second.

"Can I- Can I kiss you?" He asks, breath tickling your face.

"Please," You whisper. His free hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing over your cheekbones before he dives in and seals your lips with his.

...

"Baby!" Tom exclaims, jogging toward you and picking you up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Bubs, I was only gone for an hour," You laugh, combing your hand through his curls.

"Still too long," He murmurs, kissing your lips.

"Tom!" Daisy calls out, walking toward him. "We need you back on set. You know, if you can detach yourself from (Y/N) for five seconds."

"She's right, bubs," You said, prying him off you.

He whines, "But babyyy."

"No buts, Mister. You have a job to do and so do I."

"Yes, your job is to give me your undying love."

You give Daisy an apologetic smile as she fake gags from behind Tom.

"No, that's my job later. Right now I'm the screenplay writer who's telling you-- the actor -- to get your ass back on set before they fire both of us."

Tom groans, knowing you're right, "wait, you're not coming with me?"

"No, bubs, I have to be on stage five."

"I'm starting to think they're keeping you from me on purpose."

"I can see why."

"Hey!"

You cup Tom's cheeks, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Kidding, now go fulfill my dreams."

"I think you should fulfill mine."

"Tom," You warn.

He laughs, grabbing your hand and squeezing it lightly before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "'m joking."

You give him a pointed stare, "partially," he adds.

"I'll see you later."

"You and that ass most definitely will," He winks.

"don't make me write Todd a death scene."

"Joking! Again. I love you!"

"Uh-huh, you just love this ass."

"Well-"

"don't, I'm leaving now," You said, tugging your hand of out his grip and walking away.

"Sorry baby! Love you!" He calls out.

"Yeah, yeah I love you too. Now seriously, get back on set before they fire us."

—

🏷 Taglist: @harrymysunflower @peterspideyy @cams-lynn @runway-to-my-aid @yoinkyourheart @keenmarvellover

strike through- tumblr won’t let me tag you

[the-darklings]

—𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓'𝒅;

—PART XV. | BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBER’D

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 20k+ (the longest yeah boi ever)

summary: “One day you will thank me for this.”

warnings: PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-destructive behaviour (aka your girl is absolutely going through it but it will get better), angst, swearing, some suggestive stuff happens in this one.  

notes: might have taken 3 weeks & lots of rage but WELCOME TO CHICAGO PART 1! 

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 13 | 14 | . . | 16 |

gif credit (x)

“Father, please—”

“Quiet.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. That’s the worst thing. He doesn’t have to. One word and it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room.

You look towards Gianna but she looks only at her father, her expression blank.

Cassian is tense as a bowstring next to her. There is conflict in his expression but he is Camorra. He is sworn in and regardless of the friendship you’ve built—

“You will depart this household at once,” Giovanni says and steps closer towards you. His eyes are pitch-black. “Let’s see how long you last, viper. Your protection that was so kindly bestowed upon you by my son is hereby terminated.”

“Father, I can vouch—”

“I said quiet,” he speaks again, colder this time, and Santino’s mouth snaps shut at once. “You have done plenty already. I’ve just about had enough of your decadence, boy.”

Then, Giovanni D’Antonio’s head slants towards you again and he regards you like he’s considering whether it would be easier to kill you here and now or later.

“Hector.”

A dark shadow moves from behind the Camorra head, always the obedient dog, and halts at his side. Step is staring at the floor, stricken. Julian’s eyes are full of sadness, his shoulders curved downwards. Dario’s lips are pressed into an unhappy line, his knuckles popping from under his skin. None of them move or interfere. They know better than that. They are Giovanni’s men. They owe no loyalty to you.

“Yes, capo?”

“Get her out of my sight.”

Hector moves without hesitation. You don’t try to fight him when he grips your forearm, his cool rings pressing into the flesh of your skin.

Your eyes find Santino’s across the room. His jaw is clenched so tightly you can almost hear the grind of his teeth but he’s silent.

Something crumbles in your chest.

You had hoped that maybe—

“Move it, sweetheart.”

You turn to go.

“If you take so much as another step, Santino,” Giovanni’s merciless, soft voice reaches your ears and you almost halt. “The consequences that will follow will be of your own making.”

Silence greets every echoing step after that and no one tries to stop you.

Alone.

Again.

.

[NEW YORK CITY, 3.5 YEARS AGO]

Your eyes crack open and for a moment all you can see is blurred, muted colours above you.

The Continental room ceiling greets you like an old friend.

The sour odour of herbs and old sweat mixes in the air when you try to inhale and your face scrunches in disgust.

Your skin feels dirty and cold to the touch. You’ve spent the last several hours on the floor no doubt sweating out the toxins in your body while going through several fits.

Wrong dosage. Again.  

Trying and failing to roll onto your side, you huff a weak breath. Your throat feels raw and dry and you ignore the painful cramping of your stomach.

The elixir wasn’t clear enough again. You’ve spent almost two days trying to distil it till it was clear enough to mix and used the best alcohol you could find in the city—

Shit.

It doesn’t matter, you think and close your eyes again. You’re still delirious but there’s always tomorrow.

Welcome back, Kishi murmurs lovingly into your ear the moment darkness appears behind your eyelids.  

Your nightmares begin moments later.

.

You heave painfully, your shoulders curving harshly as you gasp for breath.

Wrong fucking dosage.

And too many zootoxins. Goddamn viper venom. Goddamn stupid chemistry. Acetylcholinesterases must be having a field day ravaging through your body as you stay curled pathetically over the toilet, losing whatever little water you had consumed in the last several hours.

Pathetic, Kishi hums from beside you, his ghostly hands caressing your hair soothingly. No wonder he left you. No wonder he doesn’t love you.

“Shut up.”

You suppose the blood you see should concern you.

It doesn’t.

.

You’ve kept the dress you wore to his wedding.

It still smells like him.

It torments you as much as it gives you comfort.

.

Foxglove is a remarkably beautiful flower.

It’s also a rather deadly, beautiful flower.

Cardiac glycoside.

Interesting.

You scribble a new formula, your brain aching but still functional after your last failure.

Too obvious? Perhaps. It lacks finesse, sure.

But you don’t care much for finesse anymore.

You just want results. And you will get them. Even if it means bleeding yourself and this world dry to get them.

You hate so beautifully, Kishi compliments with a sigh, his dark eyes glimmering in the low light.

You simply prepare yourself for another count of agony.

Such is the price to pay for power.

.

The dress doesn’t even smell like him anymore. It’s been months.

You still like to pretend that it does.

.

John.

You turn the viper ring on your hand.

John.

He’s not coming back, Kishi tells you from beside you and you both ignore how his throat spills blood. He doesn’t care about you. No one does.

“I know.”

His rough fingers caress your cheek.

You might be crying but you can’t be sure.

You’re at the bottom of the pit and there is nothing but darkness and quiet here.

Even if you wanted to get up. You don’t think you can.

You don’t want to, either.

Easier…

Easier to let things wither and die.

But I’m with you. I will never leave you, little viper. I will hate you forever.

Kishi rolls over, his fingers wrapping around your throat, his mouth a sneer, and his eyes dark. His throat is open, gushing, and red rains everywhere.

His hands tighten around your throat.

You don’t try to stop him.

.

Freezing water splashes against your face and body.

You wake up with a strangled scream, scrambling across the dirty floor.

A puddle of sick lays not too far from you and you blink away the wooziness, trying to locate a weapon. Your heart sits in your throat as you attempt to find the culprit, too, and your eyebrows knit when your eyes snag onto two men standing before you.

“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” Winston drawls, a hint of coldness lacing his scornful tone. “Saves us the trouble of cleaning up.”

Charon says nothing but the bucket in his hand paints him as the guilty party.

You try to wipe the water from your eyes but it takes several tries to lift your hands to your face due to muscle weakness.

“What—”

A weak croak and you pause, forcing your unused vocal cords to work.

Winston looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of you and approaches the window, pulling back the curtains with a swift jerk. Light explodes across the room and you flinch, ducking your head down as you block it with your palm.

“What are you…doing here?” you finally force out, your throat sore and blood stinging your tongue.

Ulcers from the chemicals. Great.  

“Considering that no one has heard from you in days, and you won’t let anyone inside without a threat of violence,” the manager explains, every word as icy as the last. “That left me with little choice but to check on you myself by forced entry. Do you plan to waste away here forever?”

The window opens with a crack and you shoot a glare towards Charon who moves around the room calmly. He opens doors and windows, letting the room air and you scowl at them both, still curled on the floor.

Your body aches and your muscles feel shaky with exhaustion. You haven’t left your room in days though. How funny it is that you feel more exhausted now than when you used to do jobs back to back with little sleep and danger around every corner.

“Get showered and dressed,” Winston instructs sternly, glancing at you only briefly and something in your stomach twists. Are you truly that repulsive to him that— “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. Charon, handle the rest.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Winston only manages a handful of steps before your choked words stop him dead, “You’re not my father. Don’t order me around.”

With your head bowed, you imagine your glare is even more vicious when he eventually does look back at you. His own expression is cool, composed as always, and he hums thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not,” he agrees easily, his expression as hard as his voice. “And be glad for it. Because I reassure you that if you were, I would not be putting up with this behaviour. Ten minutes, dear.”

Then he’s gone, and the distant clank of his shoes fades down the corridor.

You wish that didn’t sting but it does.

.

The first sip scorches through your throat and you choke down a mouthful, pulling the glass away from your lips with a grimace.

“What the hell is this?”

“Bruichladdich.”

Ignoring the agony in your mouth, you scowl at the man before you, and force yourself to take another sip. Winston’s frown deepens as he watches you shrewdly over his glasses. You don’t care much for it. With how strong this drink is, it will probably knock you out with a few more sips and that’s the goal. Better than whatever the hell this is.

Intervention, little viper, Kishi speaks from beside you and this time you almost jump for a different reason. Kishi and his torture belong in the pit with the rest of you. Not here.

The lounge is suspiciously empty as you and Winston sit facing each other on twin leather sofas. In fact, only Charon lingers by the bar and you know that Continental lounge is rarely this quiet.

“May I ask what it is, exactly, that you’ve been doing as of late?”

The question is restrained but something simmers in that gaze as he pins you under his heavy scrutiny.

“Working.”

Winston’s eyebrows jump. “Oh! Working. Is that what you call it?” he wonders coolly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks to me like you’re just poisoning yourself repeatedly.”

Scoffing, you lower the glass and ignore the frailness of your own grip. Your longer than usual nails tap against the glass and you force yourself to swallow over the pain in your mouth. Your tongue keeps poking at the little wound inside your cheek and a sting of copper follows swiftly after.

Your hands are as cold as your feet. Your hair still damp from a quick wash in the sink—because there is no way you could have forced yourself to shower today of all days—sits around your head like a crown of black ice.

Just like when I drowned you over and over again, Kishi recalls happily and you grit your teeth, turning to face the fireplace and soaking in its warmth.

“That’s how Mithridatism works, Winston,” you inform him, your voice still a husky, raw mess and you swallow another mouthful even though the drink goes down like a hot knife. Better to feel this pain. Something to ground you. “It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware of how it works,” the man barely waits long enough for you to finish before speaking and you fall silent. “It’s an art of discipline and brilliance. Given a different set of circumstances, I might have even praised you on your foresight. However, given how idiotically reckless you are being that can wait.”

Your grip on the glass tightens and you drag your attention back towards him.

“Why am I here?”

“It’s your birthday,” he says tightly, his eyes flashing. “But you had no idea, did you?”

Oh.

No—no, you didn’t.

Time has become…nothing.

A stream of existing and not existing. Of being lost, adrift.

You miss the sun.

You miss the dream that you could belong. That you could be a part of something and have companionship and trust.

You miss him.

John. Your John.

You miss him so much it makes you feel sick with longing for something that will never be yours again. He’s happy. Happy without you.  

“I know what I’m doing.”

Quiet, hollow words. You both know that.

“You’re killing yourself.”

There it is. The thing he’s been trying to avoid voicing out loud.

His words devour everything. Even Charon goes quiet behind the bar and you stare at the manager blankly.

Raising your trembling hand, you drown another gulp of your drink before placing the glass on the table and standing unsteadily to your feet.

“No one would care anyway.”

You step past him.

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” he calls after you, his mild words full of something you don’t dare to class as concern. Not from a man like him. “Don’t let it consume you,” he adds, quieter, when you fail to respond.

You don’t reply to that, either.

Nor do you believe him.

.

You find flowers in your room the next day. You had planned to get them for research into a potential paralyser formula that’s been knocking around your mind for a while now.

There is no note attached to them.

But you don’t need it to know where they came from.

You suppose it should make you happy.

But there is nothing inside your chest.  

.

Some nights it feels like your bones are made out of all the nightmares living underneath your skin.

Some nights you think you will swim.

Other nights you think you will drown.

And you know all about drowning.

.

Humming weakly, you shake the vial in your hand till the liquid inside goes from dark blue to red.

Finally.

It’s a potent, haunting sort of colour. Thick and striking as it rolls in the confines of the glass it’s encased in. It reminds you of—

Just like when you tore my throat out, Kishi mutters in wonder, leaning his face closer as he squints at the vial. Shoulder to shoulder. Your only companion. I bled red just like it.

He’s still bleeding. He hasn’t stopped bleeding. He will never stop bleeding.

And you can still taste it in your mouth. Except you’re no longer sure if it’s his blood or yours.

Toying with the pencil between your fingers, you roughly cross out Baba Yaga and write Kishi on top of the crumpled sheet of paper instead.

Then you tilt your head back and drown it whole.

.

There is everything and then there is nothing.

.

.

.

Distant voices. Urgent. Hands on you. Shaking, pulling.

Then nothing again.

.

“—cannot go on like this—”

“—there is nothing you can do, sir—”

“—dead soon—called—only option—”

“—use her—can’t—he will not—”

“He will.”  

.

You wake up bathed in sunlight.

It almost makes you cry because for a moment you can’t help but think that you’re dead.

A faint rustle of paper reaches you, and you slant your head weakly.

Winston sits on an expensive leather armchair, his legs crossed and pen between his fingers.

This isn’t the hospital wing that lives beneath the ground floor of the hotel.

You know this room.

You just can’t believe the man next to you is sitting here with you.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” is the first thing to leave your mouth. A half-forced whisper on your tender throat. “I wasn’t.”

It’s true.

But you have no idea how to convince him of it.

The air seems thick with a thousand unsaid things and Winston lowers the newspaper from his face, taking off his glasses and placing both on his lap.

His expression is empty as he examines you.

You curl further into the clean, crisp sheets around you as the silence continues. An IV is attached to your arm and you cringe at the sight of it. Your skin is suddenly so itchy you want to tear it away from you but know better than to try.

“I know you weren’t,” the man voices, at last, his words steady. “You were punishing yourself instead. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You believe that you’re not good enough—that you are deserving of pain. Better to make yourself hurt than to let anyone else do it. Am I wrong?”

Your eyes sting but you don’t speak, staring at his gleaming shoes.

“Are you hoping that you will drown everything else out?” he questions but it’s not accusatory.  If anything he sounds like he’s trying to engage with you in a way no one has before. “Never give someone else the power to destroy you. Hurting yourself will not erase what happened to you at Tokyo nor will it bring Jonathan back,” he continues, his voice grim after several moments of deafening silence between you.

You flinch at the name, your eyes closing in shame as moisture clings to your lashes.

Curtains flutter in the slight breeze.

Why did he bring you here?

“You will be staying here from now on.”

Your eyes fly open and your head snaps to him as panic fills your veins. “No—you—you can’t kick me out,” you mumble thickly, trying to rise, your fingers tangling between the sheets. You try and fail. “I pay for my stay. I—I haven’t broken any rules. You—”

Please, don’t throw me out. Please. I have nowhere else to go.

Winston’s expression creases. “I am not throwing you out,” he pacifies quietly but a shadow seems to have settled across his weathered features. “You are welcome to come back whenever you can afford it again.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and noting your confusion the man continues with a twist of his lips that would be biting normally, “When was the last time you picked up a contract, dear? It’s been months. Viggo Tarasov never gave you much to begin with and now…well. Your account ran dry two weeks ago. You likely have another two weeks at best before the Russian comes looking for you. He will expect you to pay up. It’s rather good that you already have your next job lined up though.”

That gives you a pause.

“What?”

Some of your panic has retreated but in its place blooms unease.

Winston tuts and stands to his feet. The newspaper is still in his hand and he slips his glasses into his pocket.

The look he gives you next makes you feel like you will have no choice but to comply with whatever he says next.

“You already know where you are,” he tells you knowingly, his eyebrow arching slightly. “Your employer is ready to see you.”

Santino D’Antonio hasn’t changed since the last time you saw him.

Which was before John and his wife. Before the wedding.

It was the night you decided to take a leap and hope for the best with your decision to come back to New York. Not like you could stay in Rome. Not with Camorra protection null and void.

Not with Tarasov demanding payment as usual.

Last time you saw him, Santino offered you to go to Paris with him. His own version of an apology. For not doing more to stop Giovanni. But no one could. The entire room could have stood in defence of you and it still won’t have changed a damn thing.

Last time you saw him, he had taken your hand in his and with that familiar arrogance and burning eyes and kissed your knuckles, asking only one question, “Come away with me, cara mia?”

You had refused him then.

And you would still refuse him now.  

You will always refuse him because he’s not John.

That thought makes something deep down ache.

The Italian rises when he sees you emerge onto the terrace.

Your arm is hooked around Winston’s as you walk. Normally, you might have commented on how seeing the manager of all the people here is hilarious. You know that there is no love lost between the two so the fact that they have gone through the trouble of collaborating on this…

Do they really think you’re that helpless?

A lost cause?

You don’t have enough energy to ask.

Every step closer is a metamorphosis of expressions though.

Santino seems to go through a thousand emotions in those several seconds it takes you to cut across the terrace. Your steps are shaky, your muscles aching, and you’re sweating.

A tart bitterness still coats your tongue and your grip on Winston tightens.

The older man presses closer—just a touch—but the silent comfort that gives you is immeasurable. Surprising.

Ares stands behind Santino and her expression is stoic as she takes you in. Unlike Santino, her emotions are guarded.

They both look ready for a funeral. The atmosphere that greets you is near suffocating.

You sit down awkwardly, practically falling into your seat as Winston sits down beside you. Santino is the only one left standing but he seems frozen in place.

You see his fingers flex, his Camorra ring gleaming in the golden rays of the sun when he finally lowers himself in the seat opposite to you.

It’s too late for lunch but too early for dinner. Wine and fresh coffee are always present on the heir’s table though—this you know to be an absolute that never changes.

“Ciao, cara mia. A pleasure to see you as always.”

You blink. Right.

“Santino.”

Those brilliant green eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong with your vo—”

Winston clears his throat loudly and Santino falls quiet, frowning deeply. He tugs a napkin free and drops it on his lap carelessly, peering at you.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife but you simply stare at the table.

“I have a job offer for you, bella,” the man begins amiably, folding his fingers on the pristine tablecloth before reaching for a glass of wine beside him. He’s frustrated, angry even. The cords of his neck are tense and the subtle clenching of his jaw betrays him. The way he taps his fingers repeatedly against the table and doesn’t seem to notice even more so. “One that I think you will find most beneficial.”

New York is so damn noisy. The traffic reaches you even up here. It’s a serenade of concrete, shouting, rushing people, laughter, arguing—

“Bella? Are you listening to me?”

You blink again, squinting at him. “Sorry,” you mutter shortly, ignoring the way Winston is dead silent, Ares is glaring at some distant point over your head, and Santino is gripping the wine glass so hard you can almost hear the cracking glass from where you sit. “It’s been a rough few days. What,” you exhale, your voice raspy and try again, “What exactly did you want?”

The Italian’s head slants, his demanding gaze drilling into you with enough intensity to keep you focused for at least a second.

“A job,” he repeats, slower this time, his voice colder, too. “I will require you in Chicago in two weeks time. In peak condition. Which you are currently not,” he adds the last part with such deliberate slowness that your bristle, something flickering in your gut.

It lasts only a second before fizzling out.

Yet between the rays of the sun blinding you both, it’s hard to miss the way he latches onto that brief moment. His navy suit accents the severe curve of his shoulders and the unmissable tension there.

“Not interested.”

A furnace, a volcano—Santino D’Antonio looks ready to shatter this world under his too-expensive shoe. Something whispers to you that it’s not anger directed at you, however.  

Winston speaks before the Camorra heir can. “You need this job. It’s not a question of want or preference, I’m afraid.”

But you don’t want it.

Santino is just another reminder. A stark reminder that you don’t belong anywhere.

John didn’t want you, Camorra didn’t want you, Tarasov only needs you as long as you’re making him money, Winston is just doing his duty as the overseer of New York.

You belong in the pit with Kishi who seems absent for once.

Maybe it’s the brightness of the sun. He fears the light as much as you do now.

“It’s an undercover mission,” Santino endeavours to explain even though his voice is strained, deepening his accent. “Information gathering only. There are several individuals who have been, ah, causing problems for our trade as of late shall we say. It will be low risk, clean exit but no loose ends. What say you?”

He’s lying.

That’s for one.

Your eyes meet his stare and he leans closer like that can somehow keep your attention on him by doing that.

He’s lying.

So he either thinks you’re an idiot or he’s being purposely misleading due to Winston’s presence here. There is something else going on that he doesn’t want the manager of the Continental to know.

That calculating glimmer in his eyes is telling enough.

“No.”

You’re tired.

Downright, bone-weary type of exhausted.

Swaying, you stand to your feet.

“Tarasov is going to hunt you down—”

You don’t let Winston finish, turning to go. “I don’t care.”

A loud scrape of a chair fills the air and loud footsteps stalk after you. Deliberate. Furious. You ignore them, continuing on your way albeit sluggishly.

“And what are you going to do, hm?” Santino hisses from behind you, his fury spilling over. “Will you go cry a bit more about how your precious Johnathan left you? Will you just give up and go lock yourself away again?”

Your feet halt but you don’t turn around.

“D’Antonio.”

Winston’s warning is icy but Santino doesn’t heed it. That fire rages in him too brightly, scorching everything in its path. “When have you become such a coward, I wonder, hm? I knew a fighter, a tornado of a woman, now you can’t even look people in the eyes. Pity. To think that you have given up so easily—”

Fire doesn’t frighten you—it never has.

It’s a second, a breath, a heartbeat—

A blade stills against the curve of that elegant neck, and you stand face to face, seething when your eyes meet. It’s an echo from years ago, of your first meeting, and just like then Santino D’Antonio leans into danger, into the cold promise of death, into you and smirks. “Ah, there she is,” he purrs, enraptured, his voice a silky caress. “Are you going to kill me, cara mia?”

“I’m considering it.”

He raises his hand casually, stopping the guards who are no doubt ready to do their jobs and remove the threat—remove you.

“Yet you know that you cannot,” he dismisses, his voice still silky, smug. “For if you do the wrath of Camorra will rain down upon you till there is nothing left. Besides, it might be in bad taste to kill your host and friend, no?”

Friend?

You lean closer and Santino’s lips part at the proximity.

“I’m not staying here.”

His eyebrow cocks up and despite the residual anger you feel radiating from him, he still manages to sound effortlessly pompous when he speaks next. “You can’t afford to go back to the Continental,” he points out sharply and tilts his head, unruffled despite the bite of the blade against his pulse. “But if you prefer to sleep with the scum of this city then, by all means, be my guest.”

He’s right.

You have nothing. No home, no safe space to call your own, just nothing. John was your home once but he’s gone now, too.

For one hateful moment, you consider slicing Santino’s throat open just to have a quick out. But the truth is that you can’t.

He’s helped you too many times.

He helped John. He helped you. He gave you security when no one else could. He offered his hand despite everything—despite the fact that you still refuse to warm his bed to this day in spite of his clear eagerness for it. He keeps helping without pushing you.

For that alone, you know you owe him.

Ripping the blade away from his neck, you spin on your heels and stagger away, your skin damp with sweat.

Blood is rushing loudly in your ears and your tongue feels dry and bloated in your mouth as you stumble into the apartment. You manage a few steps before slumping against the wall, your breathing laboured. Wiping clumsily over your face, you take a moment to appreciate the suffocating silence your departure has left behind.

You linger just long enough to hear Santino’s clear, bitter command that rings like a death knell across the terrace.

“Postpone everything. We are staying in New York till this is sorted.”

.

You’re holding on.

But barely.

Just barely.

Maybe not even at all.

.

Winston leaves twenty minutes later.

He stops by the guest room you have claimed as your own and watches your prone figure on the bed.

You don’t turn to him, don’t say anything, either. You want to be angry that he’s as good as threw you out. That he’s forced you into this situation. That you found your clothes moved into the sleek closet behind you but not your solutions or poisons.

They don’t trust you.

They might believe the fact that you weren’t trying to end your life, but they don’t trust you not to do more harm.

The anger you felt only minutes ago in Santino’s presence has fizzled out and died. Darkness has cocooned you in its embrace once again even though something restless still scratches under your skin as always.

Even now, there is no peace.

“Let me come home.”

You don’t realise your slip up till you hear the older man exhale; a weary, ragged sound. You wonder what he must be thinking. If there’s some code he has to follow in a situation like this.

Home.

What sentiment.  

What’s the protocol for this?

“Your death will not be on my hands,” he says at last, cruel and kind all at once. “One day you will thank me for this.”

And then he leaves.

.

Ares knocks on your door by the time dinner rolls around.

You don’t answer.

She comes in anyway. Her stare as hard and uncompromising as always, and the dour expression on her face only makes you blink and press your cheek back into the pillow.

Dinner?

You don’t move.

She signs again.

Sits on your bed and repeats it.

And again.

You don’t move.

Eventually, she leaves and you’re relieved that she’s gone.

A distant, angry voice sounds from somewhere in the apartment several minutes later but it cuts out quickly.

Somehow the silence that follows is even louder.

.

You could leave. You should.

But there is nothing for you out there but death.

No weapons, no solutions, and a weak body.

You won’t last a day.

For one foolish, pathetic moment you consider calling John just to see if his number is still the same. If maybe—

You curl under the covers and sink deeper into the dark.

.

Ares comes to call you for breakfast the next day.

You pretend that you’re asleep.

She brings you a tray of food and leaves it on the table.

You don’t touch it.

.

You pick at some of the food eventually.

But you don’t leave your room, spending endless hours curled under the covers, thinking.

Let Tarasov come.

It’s finally perfect. The poison you’ve created just for him. Just a touch more lethality and it will be ready.

You can’t wait to see him erode into nothing.

When he is dead—and one day he will be—you will delight in every second of dizzying triumph that will follow the stilling of that dark heart.

One day, he will die with terror in his heart that wears your name.

.

John. John. John.

.

Kishi has been absent for so long that you’re surprised to see his grinning face appear in your nightmares.

Hello, viper. I’ve missed you so dearly.

He cups your cheeks, grinning wider, wider—

His face morphs. Raven hair. Dark, thoughtful eyes that you love—

John leans forward and sinks his teeth into your neck.

Blood spills down your chest.

Your scream is silent.

.

Hands try to hold you down as you trash, your skin slick with sweat, and clothes sticking to your skin.

“Wake up,” a voice urges. “Open your eyes!”

You do. A scream climbs up your throat but you force it down, your eyes frantically seeking the figure above you.

A familiar pair of green eyes stare down at you. Wild with an emotion you have no name for.

His fingers hold you by the forearms but his grip relaxes when he sees you’re lucid.

Gasping for breath, you twist from underneath the covers, shaking his arms off and dash for the bathroom. Your knees crack against the gleaming tiles and the content of your stomach empties itself in a brutal lurch. Next several moments are full of your suffering. Tears sting your eyes from the pain, and you bite your lip, your limbs still twitching as your stomach rolls.

You feel him hovering behind you.

“Cara mia?” there is a question in that breathless address but you ignore him. “Are you well enough to stand, at least?”

He sounds frustrated but his voice is still calm—just barely.  

Footsteps draw closer to where you lay half slumped over the toilet, your eyes closed.

You feel so drained that even tears won’t come. The skin of your neck feels dirty and torn. Faint traces of the feverish nightmare still cut into you and you shiver.

Hot fingers settle on your shoulder, light and cautious, and you snarl, jerking away from the touch. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re unwell,” Santino shoots back tightly, his eyes blazing and body rigid. He’s clad in only a clean, white shirt and trousers but you don’t care to ask what the time is. “What is happening? Is it the poison? Did you take something—”

“Shut up and get out!”

“You need—”

“I don’t need you!” you scream; a raw, awful thing that leaves you gasping. You want to claw at your own skin but can’t—shouldn’t. “I don’t need anyone,” you add in a broken, quiet whisper and it’s like that awful hotel room all over again.

His expression darkens, strains. For the first time, Santino D’Antonio looks unsure of what to do. It’s like that finely honed arrogance with which he carries himself has abandoned him. Here, in this cold, dark bathroom he simply glares down at you.

“Very well, bella,” he says, his words biting, low. “Wallow in your misery alone if you must. But we are eating breakfast together.”

The last part isn’t up for negotiation.

A brief spark of anger ignites, nothing more than a tiny ember. Egoistical prick.

No response greets him.

He lingers for a few, expectant moments but you don’t move. The only dialogue between you is your shallow breaths and the weight of his overbearing regard.

Go, leave. Everyone always does.

You don’t feel yourself drift away.

.

The next morning, it’s the blinding sun that awakens you once more.

You’re back in your bed.

At first, you think that last night was a bizarre dream until you rub your face, and catch a whiff of vinous scent staining your skin.

Santino.

There is a feeling—

It flees as everything else does now—too fast for you to grasp onto it.

You don’t get up for breakfast.

.

You don’t get up the entire day.

Or the day after that.

.

It’s been at least a year and a half since Tokyo.

Yet it still feels like you’re drowning.

Maybe you’ll never stop.

.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Your eyes crack open and you lick your cracked lips, turning towards the doorway.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him inside this room aside from that night when he woke you up from your nightmares.

He’s been sending in Ares to deliver you food and water, to try and engage.

“What?” you mumble, blinking sluggishly.

Santino stalks into the room and aggression lines his every step. He’s trying to control it, keep calm, and his hands buried inside his pockets say a lot. Behind him, Ares walks in with a tray of food. She moves closer towards you and places it on the bed before sitting down at the foot of it, the tray now between you.  

Much to your surprise, the heir of Camorra does the same.

He looks beyond uncomfortable, his mind clearly somewhere else, but Ares starts first by picking up a mango slice from one of the many plates, and placing it inside her mouth. She chews slowly and stares at you expectantly as she does.

She’s clad in dark burgundy today as is Santino and you know that colour holds a special significance at Camorra but you can’t think of one right now.

They’re both not used to this, you realise distantly, making an effort for someone.

This is weakness. This is something that’s ruthlessly crushed and disposed of at Camorra. Such...inability would never be tolerated.

Yet they’re trying.

Santino is scowling at a wall but he’s chewing his fruit obediently. Ares is doing the same.

It’s awkward.

No one speaks.

And yet—

Your fingers stretch towards the strawberries.

Santino’s eyes snap to your hand, focusing on the motion and you still briefly before pinching one between your fingers. Your head barely lifts from your pillow but you bring it to your lips, nibbling on it cautiously.

It’s delicious. Sweet and zesty taste explodes against your tongue the moment you bite down on it. It’s taken days for the wounds inside your mouth to close but now the full extent of your taste receptors seems to have come back.

No one speaks but the tension in the room seems to ease a touch as you continue nibbling away.

You manage three strawberries that morning.

Every single one of them feels like scarlet, gushing victory.  

For the first time in months, you don��t taste blood in your mouth.

You only taste the sweetness of life.

.

It’s hours later, long after they’ve both left, that information crawls up from the back of your mind.

An heir apparent and his right hand wearing burgundy outside of Camorra duties. No deaths, no coronation, no birthday or births to warrant that very deliberate choice of dress code.  

This is something else.

Burgundy they wore in a show of favour, companionship, respectful implication that they consider you an equal and are seeking an alliance.

All while you laid in bed with greasy hair, dark circles under your eyes, stale breath and vacant eyes.

Something deep down flutters at that. You try to grasp onto that spark with whatever little strength you still have left but it’s so hard.

Everything is so hard now.

.

Warmth.

Your nose presses into it, curling against it and you sigh faintly. There is something so comforting about having someone else in the bed with you—

Your eyes snap open and you scramble backwards, your legs tangling in the sheets.

Santino lays on the other side of the bed, one hand resting behind his head. He’s relaxed, his clothes immaculate as always—pale blue, cotton shirt and trousers, no doubt all designer—and Rolex gleaming around his wrist as he taps his fingers on his chest in a careless rhythm. His eyes drag slowly from the spot he was observing on the ceiling to you, and a slight smirk curves his lips.

A spark again and it flares enough to work your tongue.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks at the sharpness of your question and you don’t miss the trace of surprise in those green depths.

“This is my home, cara,” he says pleasantly, his voice a lovely roll of syllables, and you’ve forgotten how effortlessly charming he can be. “I am resting.”

“Get out.”

It’s hardly a demand. It sounds more like a strangled, detached whisper.

His eyes roll at that, effortlessly dismissive and condescending.

“Hm. No.”

You claw deeper to dig out that ember of your old self back. The one who would have sliced his skin for using that tone. Thrown him off the bed without warning and threatened him for good measure, too. If only to see that smug gleam in his eyes after. Listen to him throw a deliberate, heated comment about how attractive you are when angry while his eyes drag over your figure with obvious desire.

The same dance.

Always trying to get under your skin.

Even now.

“Get out.”

His eyes spark. Eager. Coaxing.

He sits up unhurriedly, his chin lowering as he looks you right in the eye.

“Make me.”

A deliberate challenge. Everything since you’ve come here has been deliberate. From his actions to his words. He’s trying to get a reaction. Even more so than he used to before. Before it was about him and his ego. Now you have no idea what he’s trying to achieve with his goading.

“What are you doing?” you demand even though it sounds faint and takes more effort than it’s worth. “Trying to piss me off on purpose?”

He leans closer and your eyes narrow when you come face-to-face. This is the closest he’s been to you in months. Since Rome. Since before whatever little control you had got buried with your heart at John’s wedding.

“Yes, cara, indeed I am,” he admits easily, shameless as always, facing you unflinchingly because it’s who he is. He never shies away and expects the same from you. “Be angry with me. Rage, yell, scream till your lungs give out. Anything is better than this.”

A knot forms in your chest at his angry, disgusted hiss at the end. At the way he waits, agog—waits for that fire to rise up and match his own.

Play with me, come on, those eyes say and you stare at him flatly, your mouth tilting downwards.

“What do you know about it?” you breathe quietly, and there is a muted sort of rage there. It prickles your skin, and your fingers knot in the sheets beneath your palms. “Poor little D’Antonio with his mean daddy who won’t shower him in praise. You have it so hard. Mansions and cars and a mountain of wealth. Freedom to do whatever you want.”

If he wants to play this game, you will indulge him.

His expression smoothens, growing colder at your words, and he leans back a touch, his chin tilting. The moment of almost ends and the cool, collected heir is all that’s left.  

“So quick to pass judgment, cara mia,” he points out softly, icily. Still, his eyes drag over your weary features and there is determination there. “Join me for breakfast.”

“Why?”

His lips curve and he leans forward without warning again, his breath tickling against your ear. “Because I asked nicely and I rarely do that, no?”

You shove him back with your hand and he hums, seemingly entertained.  

“Asshole.”

He stands to his feet, not a stitch out of place, and stretches to his full height, glancing at you before offering you his hand.

You ignore it, pulling the covers back yourself as you stumble to your feet, trying to find your balance.

“Better,” you hear him acknowledge, and flip him off without looking back as you stride towards the bathroom on shaky legs.

His chuckle sounds immediately, pleased, and you make sure to slam the door shut extra loud behind you.

You didn’t have to get up. You didn’t even think you had it in you to do so.

You cup your hands around that ember inside your chest protectively and soak in its warmth.

Just for a little while.

.

“You’ve gotten worse.”

Stabbing a fork into the fluffy pancake on your plate, you don’t answer.

The sun is bearing down on you both, warming your neck as you sip on your juice without engaging him. It tastes good. Freshly squeezed and organic no doubt—only the best for the Italian prince.

Santino exhales forcefully. He’s not used to being ignored and he doesn’t like it.

Good.

“You weren’t like this when you were staying with us,” he tries again and you ignore the resentment you can hear coating his words. “He did this to you.”

Your head lifts, your mouth a hard line, and find Santino half leaning across the small table towards you. He always does that you realise suddenly. Like he’s being dragged closer by an invisible rope.

He’s right though. Even if you hate the fact that he is.

Camorra for all its awful brutality and endless ambition had been a safe haven. It had been routine and focus and purpose. Most days you were so busy you had no time to think about anything else. You were hunted and wanted to change that.

So you shed your skin—the skin that was soft because you hadn’t realised just how much John had shielded you from before—and became a hunter yourself.

The Hunt had been a poetic slaughter—a baptism of blood.

Giovanni D'Antonio allowed you space under his roof because you had been relentless. So relentless to return the favour that with time he might have even offered you a place in his ranks and tried to buy you out from the Russian.

Camorra had been a twisted hope of belonging somewhere.

It had been friendship and hope.

Had.

“Why burgundy?” you ask him instead because it’s been plaguing you. “I have no position of power for you to seek an alliance with me.”

He blinks, exhaling, and then his mouth quirks. His features soften a touch and you ignore the fact that he appears beyond pleased with you.

“You remembered.”

Only because his family and the endless list of traditions and laws infused into the very foundation upon which that empire of blood and bones stands is fascinating. You’ve always been eager for knowledge because that’s what keeps you alive and both heirs had obliged you happily.

Many things they kept from you because you were still seen as an outsider but it hadn’t mattered.

Santino never lacked enthusiasm when it came to you wanting to know more about Camorra.

Because he’s proud of his family. Because he’s proud of his position in it. Because if he’s capable of love you think that Camorra might be the only thing he truly loves.

But articulating all that seems exhausting so you offer him a half-hearted shrug in response.

Still, this seems to have brightened his previously foul mood and he rests his chin on his folded fingers, his elbows digging into the table as he peers at you. His ring glints in the sunlight, momentarily distracting you.

“My intention is exactly what you think it was,” he reveals calmly. “I need you to come with me to Chicago, cara mia. This job is rather important to me personally.”

“Important enough to lie Winston about it.”

His smile is slow coming this time around and all teeth. A sinful, wicked soul residing inside a shell of a man with golden skin, dark curls and piercing eyes. Handsome, dangerous package. A temptation very few have resisted, you know as much.

“Perhaps,” he purrs gently and you force yourself to lower your eyes back to your food. “But I need someone like you. An individual who can deliver and be discreet about it. Besides what Winston doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, no?”

I need you.

You wonder if he’s realised that he’s said it twice in a span of less than five minutes. There is no emphasis on words or deliberate pauses. No indication at all that he’s said them on purpose. In fact, he appears entirely focused on your conversation, his voice smooth and steady.

“What is it?”

He seems even more pleased with your show of interest.

“It wasn’t entirely a lie, bella,” he says breezily, leaning back in his seat as his hands lower back onto the table. “It is undercover. Every five years operational managers from our world meet for a conference of sorts. Everything from food to clothing to weaponry is discussed. Hands are shaken, deals are struck, ah you know how it goes, cara, no? This year this very special event is being held in Chicago. We will attend it.”

You stare at him as you chew and swallow before forcing another bite of pancake into your mouth. You feel full already but you’ve only eaten half of one. You can—need—to eat more. Easier to do so with this distraction, with those eyes tracking every bite you take.

“You need me to kill someone.”

Not a question and those round, pleasant features draw into something remote, downright chilling. In that look, you see something else, something bloodthirsty. It makes you remember the words you associated with his name before your first meeting.

Charming. Power-hungry. Not to be trusted.

Fitting even now.

No, looking at him right now, it’s more fitting than ever.

“Yes,” he admits lightly with a pleasant little hum but his eyes rage. “And I want him to suffer.”

Interesting.

“I could go in alone—”

“No. You will never make it. This is a High Table related event and the security there will be unlike anything you have ever encountered,” he rebukes, and his words wash over you with the intent that tells you he’s been waiting for this moment for a while. “My name is your ticket inside. But most importantly Continental style rules apply. No bloodshed. It’s neutral ground for trading. No one can know it was you or the consequences will be...severe.”

There is more he’s not telling you.

“What do I get in return?”

Santino D'Antonio raises the espresso cup to his mouth and watches you over the rim like he’s already won. “1.5 million USD, cara mia. Agree and it’s yours. You have till twilight to decide.”

.

Charon stands beside Winston as the manager goes through the documents in front of him.

The concierge notices you first, his glasses reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace as you approach.

Winston’s attention follows several seconds later and the man straightens when he sees you, slipping his glasses off as you halt before him.

You haven’t seen him in days. Almost two weeks, in fact.

He takes you in with a critical eye before gesturing to the unoccupied seat opposite to him.

Slipping smoothly into the space you both observe each other for several moments.

“So,” Winston begins, his tone loaded. “Is signor D’Antonio dead or did you finally grow weary of his company?”

That almost makes you smile.

“Neither.”

A twitch of his expression but it’s so slight that you can’t quite read it.

“Yet here you are,” he notes calmly and something lingers in his tone, in his gaze, too. “Out and about. Looking better as well.”

Do you?

You don’t feel like it but you haven’t been feeling much of anything lately.

“I need access to my room,” you decide to cut to the chase and tap your fingers against the table as your eyes slide around the room. Few pairs of eyes skitter away under your attention. Good. This is the legacy of your bloodshed. “I need to prepare.”

Winston exhales and his regard changes. “You agreed then?”

You don’t look at them but you can tell both men are tracking your every breath. “In theory.”

You don’t elaborate further because Winston knows better than anyone that business and confidentiality are key.

“Wonderful. Though I would take this moment to remind you what kind of man you are dealing with.”

Your eyes slide back to him and you do smile this time even if it feels hollow. “You mean the very same one you threw me at?”

Winston’s expression doesn’t so much as shift. “Do you expect me to apologise? Because I have no intention of doing so,” he voices curtly and you don’t feel surprised by his words. “I took a gamble that paid off. But Santino D’Antonio is vain, bloodthirsty and arrogant. You would be wise not to trust him.”

Typical Winston. Always three steps ahead of everyone else.

A small scoff escapes you at his words and you lean back into the comfortable, plush seat. “Believe me,” you state coolly and tap your foot against the floor, once and then again. It takes a lot of energy—just like this entire trip has with your weak muscles and heavy head—but you force yourself to do it anyway. “He’s at the very bottom of the list of people I would ever trust. I know what he is.”

Just as monstrous as the rest of you. Maybe even more so.

But you’re not here seriously considering his offer because he asked nicely or offered you a mountain of money that will feed Tarasov’s greed.

You’re here due to the unspoken thing you can’t help but wonder if he’s even aware of.

The initial two-week deadline is up in less than two hours and yet he’s made no other preparations. Has taken no extra precautionary measures in case his plan backfires and you don’t agree. Despite how he keeps stressing that this job is so important to him, he’s waiting on you.

In Camorra, there is no such thing as “irreplaceable”. If someone is unavailable or incapable other options are sought out with startling ease.  

He believes that you will do it.

It’s not about his need for you.

It’s that belief.

It…

It makes you want to fight, too, and you don’t know why but you want to at least try.

Winston takes a sip of his drink, considering you and bobs his head once. “Good. It’s still better than being alone.”

He reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a keycard, sliding it across the smooth mahogany table. Something in your chest ceases at the sight of it, at the fact that he’s had it on him this whole time.

“You figured that I will agree.”

It’s not a question but he still replies with a calm, “Not at all. I hoped that you won’t disappoint, of course,” he notes and there is a brief glimmer of a smile before it’s gone. “And you haven’t.”

You’re both quiet for several moments after that. Charon says nothing as always.

Your unsteady fingers wrap around the card eventually, and you stand with a nod in their direction, straightening.

“Charon. Winston.”

The older man salutes you with his martini. “Bonus fortuna.”

You turn to go and wonder what it means that men like Winston and Santino D’Antonio have more faith in you than you do.

LaGuardia airport appears in your sights half an hour later.

Santino’s men greet you at the entrance of the airport.

Private check-in, private everything. Security is nonexistent when you’re flying with a man of such power and influence.

Ares greets you outside the private jet and you watch a slight grin transform her steely expression into something a bit more cordial.

He is waiting for you inside. Good to be working with you again, pretty viper.

She goes slower than usual so you catch everything, and you appreciate it because you’re still learning ASL. Not to mention the fact that it feels like your brain is just barely functioning.

“Likewise.”

Climbing up the stairs, you nod at the flight attendant who beams back you when you pass her to get inside.

Even the vast, luxurious space can’t seem to contain Santino D’Antonio and his larger than life presence. Every line crisp and tidy, he hardly looks any different than usual. But tinted shades hide his eyes as he stares out of the window. Those long, graceful fingers tap restlessly against the table and you take him in for several stolen seconds.

His head snaps in your direction when you enter the plane and he stills at the sight of you.

You can’t see his eyes as you approach but feel the intensity of his regard all the same. “1.5 mil was it?”

You both know it’s not about the money. It never has been with you. But it’s easier to pretend that it is. If only because that’s safe and familiar.

Santino slips off his sunglasses with a slight chuckle, looking up at you from beneath his lashes as you plop down tiredly in the seat opposite to the heir. It’s like sitting down on a cloud.

He folds the shades and hooks them on his shirt pocket with practised ease. He seems to have a penchant for making every little gesture appear effortlessly elegant and pretentious at the same time.

That little quirk of his lips remains though.

“Indeed it was, cara mia,” he says and extends his hand towards you. “A deal is a deal.”

You grasp his warm hand in yours with the intention of shaking it but as always Santino acts on his own accord. He lifts your palm to his lips and kisses your knuckles instead, his heated breath tickling your skin as he peers at you. That ghost of a smirk is softer this time, and you pull your hand back with a roll of your eyes.

He considers you for a moment before glancing over your shoulder and nodding only once. Behind you, the crew prepares for take-off.

“How long were you going to wait for me?”

Santino’s head slants in thought but his expression is serious. The switch surprises you somewhat but you wait, ignoring the fatigue in your bones.

Ares passes you both with a wave and two guards behind her, heading towards the back of the plane without so much as a backwards glance and you blink.

Deliberate again. Clearly, Santino has something he wants to discuss in private.

He appears deep in thought, going between looking out of the window and you as the jet leaves the ground below. It’s a smooth and trouble-free take off because Santino always hires professionals of the highest degree. Certain things are routine with this man and there is a certain degree of comfort to be found in that.  

“You lied to me.”

It’s been long enough that his voice startles you and your muscles tense, your mind immediately flying to all the weapons you have on you.

He seems to notice the way your body locks up just for a moment before relaxing again and his gaze darkens.

“What?”

“When I check in after you left Rome,” he begins and you suddenly understand what this is about. “You told me that you were back at the Continental safe and well. Working.”

You did.

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort tightly, guarded. “I was working.”

“Oh? Is that so? Work.”

Ignoring the scorn in his voice, you give him a fair warning, “If we are to do this job together,” you state icily, a warning ringing through your words. “Then you don’t ask me anything. Better yet, don’t talk about the past at all.”

That dangerous flame licks across his features, tightening his expression. For a prolonged, charged moment you simply survey one another. He saw it after all. How terrible it can be.

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the flight to Chicago.

.

The presidential suite is as grand as all other places Santino usually stays at.  

The spacious, high-ceilinged room is located on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking over the beautiful ravine that is Lake Michigan.

The sleek, white walls somehow manage to add dimension to an already large square footage by still remaining welcoming. Decorated tastefully with glossy cabinets, lavish loveseat and colourful armchairs to not detract from the massive canopy bed sitting in the furthest corner of the room. The velvety covers and plush cream pillows have never seemed more inviting and your eyes linger on it the longest.

There’s just enough bold colour sprinkled through the room to remove the clinical factor such bright space might bring to mind, and you peek an adjoined en-suite bathroom hiding behind one of the doors you walk by.

It’s curious how despite Santino’s life back in Italy being rooted in tradition whenever he stays anywhere else, he always chooses modern, contemporary designs.

This is the height of luxury—a welcoming card, cuvee white brut champagne, fresh fruit and chocolates already laid out in a neat manner—and behind the connecting door to your right lies this room’s twin image.

“We can discuss further details tomorrow, bella,” Santino says but doesn’t look at you as he does so. “You should rest.”

You wonder if he can tell that you’re standing upright by sheer will alone. There is a tremble in your knees as you move and your steps are heavier than usual.

You’ve grown weak.

The muscle that has been forged through years of brutal training has softened and diminished.

When did you allow yourself to become this?

When did you let Kishi win?

Never give someone else the power to destroy you.

But you have done exactly that. No matter how much you’ve been trying to dress it up, this fact still stands.

You have been punishing yourself.

It should make you feel something, you imagine. Furious, upset, determined, sad.

Anything at all.

Instead, you just feel tired.

Tired and cold, and like something has been raked right out of you, leaving a hole behind that might never be filled. A hole that you can pour happiness and hope and sadness into and it still won’t matter. Because nothing can fill what’s bottomless. Nothing can fix something like that.

You want to try but—

But you’re not sure if you’re strong enough.

Nodding your head, you head towards the bed without a word.

Santino slams the door to his half of the suite with enough force to rattle the hinges.

.

Water slides down your throat, scratching and tearing at your vocal cords as you choke on your screams.

You’re jerked back by the hair and Kishi smiles, caressing your cheek with stiff, cold fingers.

Your hands are dirty, viper, he hums lovingly and grabs you by the back of your neck, you are dirty. Time to get you clean.

You jolt into wakefulness as hands drag you forward abruptly and your forehead connects with a solid chest instead.

“Calm, shh, you are awake,” a voice urges with gentle but instant fingers digging into your shoulder blades. The comfort of that touch is so familiar that deep down it makes you gush with agony, some distant loss you can’t name. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

“John,” you sob, blindly clinging to that warmth, to silent strength there. “John.”

The figure freezes, tenses. A few shallow breaths follow and then a hand settles on the top of your head. Those muscles relax gradually and careful fingers stroke your hair. Soothing. Slow.

“Don’t—don’t leave,” you beg weakly and cling tighter, tighter because you love him so much and it hurts— “Please don’t leave m-me.”

That grip tightens and holds you closer, cocooning you in warmth. For once, the ever-present chill in your soul seems to ebb, fade just a little.

“I won’t, amore,” he reassures softly. “I won’t.”

You believe him.

.

You dreamt of John last night.

Of comfort and him staying. Fingers smoothing over your hair in that achingly familiar manner he used to touch you with when it was just you two alone. When you managed to mangle that iron-like willpower of his by leaning into him, seeking him out.

Remembering that warmth makes you both devastated and happy. It’s like a soothing balm against wounds that refuse to heal. But it’s also a knife cutting deeper and deeper.

You swore to yourself that you would let go but—

That, too, is hard.

A folder slides across the table surface and towards you, hitting your hands and you jump in your seat, rigid.

Ares shoots you an apologetic look as she goes to stand in the corner of the private breakfast room, clasping her hands in front of her, and you squint at the folder, forcing yourself back into reality.

“What’s this?”

“That, cara mia, is information about your target,” Santino explains over the rim of his espresso but his tone remains dispassionate. There’s something odd about him today but you don’t care enough to ask him. “Read it carefully.”

Opening the manila folder, you move several pieces of paper aside, blinking at the pictures of a stern-faced man. They’re black and white but they reveal a male who looks no more than five years older than Santino, his features handsome in a hard, rugged sort of way. His short hair is either brown or black and though all photos are too far away to be able to tell for sure, his eyes appear dark, too. Brown or hazel if you had to make a guess.

He’s handsome, but there is something about his features that makes you think of Tarasov. Makes you think of enough charm to get by but preference for brutality instead.

His face tells you that trusting this man would be unwise.

“Who is he and why do you want him dead?” you question after a moment of analysing the pictures.

Rafael Conte

A part of you can’t help but wonder what this man has done to evoke the wrath of the Camorra heir. Though, as always, it likely has something to do with greed and egos.  

Santino doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he spreads jam across his toast but there is something…violent about the way he drags the blade across the perfectly toasted surface. Something about the way his hair is unstyled today and a few messy, loose strands fall into his eyes. Something about the way his movements are jerkier than usual, less refined.

He’s back in a full three-piece this morning but a voice at the back of your mind whispers armour. Because this is different from those two weeks you spent at the penthouse. He rarely wore a suit at all during that time. There was something more open and casual about him then.

“Oh, you aren’t killing this man,” he finally speaks and you frown minutely at the way he lowers the butterknife back onto his plate a little too loudly, then sighs, and looks up at you with forced calmness. “We will be using him to get to your actual target. We need to be very careful about what we do here, cara mia. This man can lead us to the man he serves, and it’s him that I need you to dispose of.”

Still frowning, you look back towards the pictures. Santino’s attention lingers on your face but you ignore it.  

“Why wait this long?”

“What do you mean?”

Your head slants and you regard him with a knowing, calculated look. Santino doesn’t answer you, however, he simply stares back, and the look in his eyes challenging. You know he wants you to engage and so you do. After yesterday, after that fleeting memory of warmth, you feel like you have the strength to do so.

“Why wait for some obscure event with a ridiculous level of security when you could get rid of this man on a Tuesday afternoon while sipping lemonade in your parlour?”

Because that’s easy and clean. Because he won’t have to lift a finger and get needed results unless—

“Tell me, bella,” Santino begins, interrupting your racing thoughts and his index finger traces the rim of his cup lazily. “Have you heard of an organisation called the Black Dragon?”

Your tongue works quicker than your mind. “John—”

The words die in your throat; a feeble, pathetic crumbling of syllables.

The temperature inside the bright, sunny room seems to fall by several degrees.

Santino’s fingers are still, his attention focused on his cup. His toast remains untouched.

Forcing down the lump in your throat down, you force out a strained, “He’s told me about them before. Private organisation. Janitors of the High Table, right?”

“Indeed,” he intones coolly in reply and taps his fingers again, more agitated this time. “We are here to kill its current leader. A man by the name of Andre Boutin. The issue, however, is that if you search for a definition to word ‘paranoid’ in the dictionary that man’s name will be under it.”

He lifts the cup back to his lips again but those bright viridescent depths zero in on you. A shadow lingers across his features, and once again you can’t help but feel like he’s not being completely honest with you—there is more to this than he’s letting on.

“He never leaves his secret little lair unless the High Table forces his hand,” Santino continues and cuts a neat piece of his toast before biting into it. It doesn’t surprise you that like a true, refined heir he chews and swallows before speaking again. “Hm, but he will have to attend this event. Signor Rafael is his right-hand man. Aside from the standard proceedings, there will be…exclusive invitations into certain circles. We are to get Rafael’s attention and penetrate his. That’s the only way to get to Boutin, bella, and it’s crucial we do so. Tomorrow will be our only chance.”

“No traces?”

His eyes narrow and he nods his head once, dead serious. “None, not even a whisper of one,” he says solemnly, his heir ring tapping against the ceramic of the cup once, twice. “You are to be beautiful but harmless. I know Rafael personally. I will get you close enough.”

But he never places himself in the firing sight. Never dirties his own hands. Just how desperate is he to see this man dead to do so now? At an event that will have so many eyes from the highest circles of those under the High Table on you no less.

“You mean you need me to act as your whore,” you deadpan and go on before he can interject. “You need me to fool them, pull the wool over their eyes. But what if someone recognises me?”

Santino looks like he’s biting back a sigh and inclines backwards into his seat, staring at you. Those loose curls fall into his eyes and for a moment they distract you. “I would prefer if you did not use such…phrasing, but I suppose in a sense, yes,” he tells you and you stab a piece of melon with extra vigour before placing it between your lips. For the briefest of seconds, the man before you focuses on that tiny little movement before his attention shifts. “I also recognise the, ah, dangers. It does seem likely someone might but I’m not trying to hide you, carissima. You have spent a year with my family. You by my side is no longer a novelty. It might even be expected in certain circles.”

He pauses at that, his lips parting like that realisation is just hitting him, too.

You by his side is nothing new. You by his side. He says it with such ease, such boldness—like it’s as obvious as the sun rising every morning.

A silence that follows those words is different somehow. Almost like you have both become intimately aware of each other’s presence in your lives and all the time you have spent together.

“You don’t want this attached to your name,” you say frankly, at last, forcing casualness into your words. “Only a handful of guards with you. All this secrecy. This goes beyond killing a lackey of the High Table. What did this man do, Santino?”

Because he would never take such a personal risk unless he had no other choice. But that’s also why he needs you. A clean, untraceable kill. Even if people were to suspect him there would be nothing to stick on him personally. Clever, unprincipled bastard.

“That,” the Italian mutters, his voice wooden. “Is of no importance. You are here to kill Andre Boutin and that’s all that matters. Do you think you can you do that for me, bella, hm?”  

This is personal. That much you do know.

But something about this challenge fills you with determination to hold onto that warmth from last night.

Maybe wherever John is, his spirit is still looking out for you.

So for now at least, you decide to let the topic go. He does have a point after all. You’re not getting paid to ask questions.

“Sure I can,” you demure slyly and smother your grin against the glass of juice in your hand. Santino blinks, seemingly taken off guard by the unexpected teasing, at your spark of energy. “Anything specific wardrobe wise you want me to wear? Aside from the obvious.”

Something bold yet tantalising enough to make most people in that little get together hate you and want to fuck you in the same breath. Such is Santino D’Antonio’s way. He has to court attention at all times. You cannot be seen as less. When it comes to appearance Santino never spares expense. What a spoiled prick.

His gaze sharpens at your words, and that heat returns as he scrutinises you.

He hums quietly, his eyes dragging over your figure before saying, “Green. Wear something green,” he instructs lightly and when he meets your stare next, you do feel something inside you settle and still. “But I need them to look at you and feel like they can’t breathe.”

Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.

He hasn’t.

You had wanted to say that to Santino last night but couldn’t.

John hasn’t—

But hasn’t he?

It’s a destructive cocktail of anger and bitterness and doubt churning deep inside your chest. A part of you misses John with an intensity that shakes your bones; fracturing them and unmaking them with swift, expert proficiency. Another part of you hates him. He let you believe that he loved you but then chose another woman over you the moment a possibility of a normal life came up. Better drop the dead-weight. Better to erase the messed up, traumatised weakling from his life. Be done with it.

No, John hasn’t robbed you of anything.

He gave you a different sort of fire.

A flame of rage and longing all fusing together to create something far more devastating.

But last night…

You’ve almost forgotten what that’s like—being carefree, smiling, doing something so simple yet freeing.

Santino D’Antonio had given you a moment of yourself back without realising it. You’re not quite sure what to do with that knowledge. With the memory of your messy dance and that whisper of wonder in his eyes as he took in your smiling expression.

A knock resonates again your door and your head slants in the direction of the sound. “Come in.”

Ares pokes her head in first before stepping into the room already dressed in a tailored suit. It’s a dark, patterned number mixing black and deep grey tastefully. The black shirt she wears underneath is neatly pressed, and the pin she bears under her throat in an illusion of a tie is of Camorra making. She looks amazing and carries herself like she knows it, too. Dark makeup around her eyes accents the piercing nature of her blue eyes and you click your tongue.

“Trying to outshine me?” you joke but she doesn’t reply, taking in your appearance as well. Smiling, you run a hand down the body of the dress and towards the shimmering skirt. “What do you think?”

Her eyebrows jump up deliberately, staying that way as she signs with her eyes still on you. You fulfilled the brief.

You’ve certainly tried.

Your hair and makeup have all been done by expert hands because you didn’t trust your own. Not right now. Not with muscle weakness and the tremors.

You’re glad that this mission is not an active job that will require fighting your way out of a situation. Right now, you can admit—even only to yourself—that you would be more of a liability than an advantage in a physical fight. You can’t be seen shedding blood at this event and perhaps this is the best kind of job to ease yourself back into things.

That dedication to see an assignment through was bred into you by John, and now that you’re here no matter how empty things might feel, a part of you wants to see it finished no matter what.

It’s refreshing.

Wanting something.

“Where is Santino?” you ask her, turning to go, double-checking all your weapons—what few you could sneak in—are all on you. “I haven’t heard him in his room.”

Ares waits for you by the door as you approach, shrugging. He went ahead. He will meet us there.

“Is Piero with him?”

Ares nods and you both leave the room together, heading down the hallway.

Another security measure. Every invited person is allowed to take but one guard with them. Two, if they come with a plus one which in Santino’s case is you. A measure introduced to appease the inherently paranoid nature of the people attending but also avoid any potential…disagreements. When you have one guard you are far less likely to start making a nuisance of yourself.

A car is waiting for you outside when you and Ares exit the foyer, and you know the venue is only fifteen minutes drive from the hotel. You’ve made sure to analyse the site as much as possible.

A hotel and casino in one, Paradise has served as a hotspot and neutral meeting ground for anyone seeking an audience with Chicago’s Outfit and their Boss. The word is that you either make a deal with them or you don’t leave Paradise alive.

You suppose it’s just your luck that Chicago Outfit and Camorra have a long-running alliance from as early as the bloody 20ties era. Back when Italians have first set their sights on powerhouse cities like New York and Chicago amongst others, waging deadly wars amongst each other for territory.

An enemy of a friend is always good to have, Santino had told you with a secretive little smile and a dangerous air of viciousness thick in the air.

You can’t help but wonder if this has—to some degree—been planned for even longer than you first suspected.

If this gathering only happens once every five years and always in a different city and continent, just how long has Santino waited to put this plan into action?

Chicago. A city ruled by an Italian-American crime syndicate and ties to Camorra.

The Black Dragon. Janitors of the High Table. Trained killers who answer only to their leader and the Table.

You. A mission to kill the current leader Andre Boutin. A man who always hides as if fearing something.

What did this man do?

How do the puzzle pieces fit together?

The car rolls to a stop and you blink out of your stupor, glancing ahead and see Ares turn towards you from the front seat.

Ready?

You bob your head once and inhale deeply, letting the oxygen sit in your lungs for several seconds while she exits the expensive vehicle and opens the door for you. You take her offered hand with a silent squeeze of thanks.

From this moment on, you are no longer you.

Your heels hit the damp pavement and the Vipress steps out.

Ares shadows your side as you trek up the extravagant staircase to the Paradise hotel, ignoring the flurry of snowflakes that settle in your hair. The attendants greet you both, checking your name on the guest list, then weapons, and you’re both ushered inside with polite, stiff nods. Your coat gets taken at the door and you dip your head in a cool, disinterested manner—just enough to appear polite.

Ares is a silent phantom by your side.

The gathering has started already. S will be waiting for you by the staircase to the ballroom. You both need to be seen.

Should we not go straight for the target?

S believes appearing innocuous first is your priority.

Your eyes sweep over several individuals around the foyer who shift at being caught staring, clearly uncomfortable at your signing, and you suppress a remorseless smile. Good.

Santino wasn’t exaggerating though, most people around are unfamiliar to you. These people are the wheels that keep the underworld business rolling but they are not Tarasov or Giovanni. These people are at the top of their own food chain but under the Table, they are specks only.

The grand staircase leads up a level where the hotel rooms are located and downstairs where the ballroom and casino can be found.

Ares moves a step behind you as you descent slowly, taking your time with the gown and the shoes. A dull twinge of weakness still locks your knees and you force yourself to focus on your every move.

Just like the woman behind you warned, Santino waits a little away from the main staircase, chatting with the burly, brown-haired Piero in hushed voices.

He’s striking tonight.

Admittedly, Santino always looks good—he takes special pride in his appearance, you know that much—but today he made an effort and it shows.

The suit he wears is as dark as the richest night, tailored to fit him to perfection, and the light reflects a peculiar shine of the material whenever he moves. His hair is neatly combed and those unruly curls pulled back but you can already see a few rebellious strands trying to free themselves. The white shirt he sports under the suit is blinding and a satin bowtie rests around his throat, pulling the dignified image together.

His black dress shoes might as well be mirrors.

Santino looks like an arcane, sinful dream and you know many recognise the Camorra heir as he stands there with an air of effortless arrogance.

His eyes flicker away for a second, scanning the room and snag on you just as you reach the final step, your dress skirt dragging down the polished marble and falling against your legs as you walk with deliberate slowness towards the heir.

Santino doesn’t have to fake his reaction and that’s good—too many eyes on you.

He stills and you note the slight downwards dip of his shoulders as if whatever oxygen he did have in his lungs has fled.

His lips parted, he watches your approach unblinking and with pulse-pounding sort of intensity. He doesn’t bother masking the raw desire in his regard, either, and there is a nudge of surprise when you feel a flicker of warmth in your chest in response.

You’ve missed this. Being seen by someone. Being desired openly and without shame.

Not pausing, you walk right up to him and wrap your arms around him, resting your nose against the smooth skin of his neck.

Santino goes stiff with surprise and you tilt your head so your lips brush against his ear, “There are eyes on us. Wrap your arms around me right now,” you direct quietly and pull him closer with a smile. “Touch me as if we’re lovers.”

He does.

His right arm snakes around your waist before trailing up your back, his burning fingertips brushing against your bare shoulder blades. His breaths are shallow but he leans in and presses a brief kiss against your shoulder as his hand drags back down the arch of your spine. Slow, wanton. You have to suppress a genuine shiver despite your best efforts to play your own little act.

Pulling back, you remain right against him, meeting his stare and Santino’s eyes wander over your features, guarded.

The reservation is surprising. Is he gauging what he can get away with without you snapping at him?

He gave you a brief, a job to do. You intend to fulfil it. The last thing you need is to be caught as well. That means playing the part to perfection.

“Looking quite handsome, darling,” you tell him with the slightest curl of your mouth. Your fingers skim over the velvety material of his bow tie and you glance at him from under your lashes. “Am I to your liking tonight?”

He licks his bottom lip and his sizeable pause generates amusement deep down that you don’t let anyone see. For once the man with a silver tongue has nothing to say.

“Yes, amore,” he says thickly and his stare doesn’t stray from you. “You are breathtaking.”

Clever bastard.

He might as well be undressing you with his eyes but that’s the point.

The black gown you wear glimmers like a thousand little jewels—and indeed every inch of the light material is stitched with little gems that depending on light reflect silver or dark green. The dual-chrome aspect makes every step you take a visual feast and thin spaghetti straps made out of strings of tiny gems glitter in the light as well. The cut at the back of the dress dips all the way to your lower back and Santino’s fingers press into your skin. Tracing, lingering.

Leaning back slightly, you reach for your clutch, pulling out a silky piece of cloth that matches the reflective green of your dress.

Santino’s hand still rests securely against your lower back, and you peek at him as you place the handkerchief in the otherwise empty suit pocket. With delicate fingers you smooth the pocket square into neat lines, dragging your palm deliberately down his chest after. You stare at each other for several moments, ignoring everyone else around.

Well, not you. You’ve already counted the exits and the guards present with every guest in the nearby vicinity. Taken stock of most of their weapons, too.

Who is the biggest threat? John’s low voice questions in your ear and you take note of that as well. Keep them in your sight.  

Santino, on the other hand, looks like he can barely recall where he is.

“Shall we?”

Before he can answer another voice speaks first.

“Santino D’Antonio. It has been a while,” a deep voice calls with an accent you can’t quite place. It almost makes you think French but there is a sprinkling of something else there. “Giovanni couldn’t be bothered to attend himself?”

There is an accusation in that question and you control your expression. Letting surprise show now won’t be in your best interest. You are a shell, a plaything, a snake in the garden.

Still, not many would have the guts to speak like that about Giovanni D’Antonio—and to his son no less.

You only turn towards the owner of the voice after Santino does, and his grip on you tightens briefly before relaxing. You’re still practically hip to hip and behind you, Ares and Piero slip closer; a subtle manoeuvring.  

Tucking yourself into Santino’s right side, you give him room to shake hands with the man who comes to a stop before you. He’s taller and broader than you both and that handsome but stern face makes your instincts prickle in real life even more so than the pictures did.

“Rafael,” the Italian greets smoothly, and yet you can hear the subtle contempt in his tone as he drops the man’s hand. “Always a pleasure to see you. Father could not attend. Business with the Triad, I’m afraid.”

You have no idea if that’s true or not but regardless Santino says it with enough conviction that even a priest would believe him.

Your mark doesn’t look convinced though.

Rafael Conte in his immaculate grey two-piece suit eyes Santino with cool disdain that hides behind a ghost of a smile. Clearly, there is no love lost between the two. So much for knowing the man personally.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” he states flatly, and his dark eyes slide towards you. He looks you up and down like a butcher assessing livestock and you work to keep your expression open and friendly, shy even. “Your plus one, I assume.”

“Wonderful, is she not?” Santino poses icily and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Rafael’s eyes linger on the skin of your thigh that peaks from between the slit in your dress. Then they drag towards your hips and deep plunge of your neckline before he finally meets your stare. The entire assessment lasts no longer than a scant few seconds but whatever he observes he seems to find lacking.

“Not your usual type,” he intones in deliberate, clipped Italian. “Couldn’t find an attractive model to fuck instead?”

The air crackles with tension as two men stare at each other, silent.

This isn’t going like expected, so reading the situation and its potential deterioration, you decide to gamble, “Actually,” you begin sweetly, in equally deliberate Italian, and Rafael’s attention snaps to you. “Most nights I fuck him so thoroughly that he doesn’t want to leave the bed the next morning. Isn’t that right, Santi?”

You’ve never called him that before and you sense the minute twitch of his muscles in reply.

His fingers sink into your hip firmly but his words are calm, genial. “I have nothing to complain about,” he admits mildly, turning to look at you and you meet his reticent gaze with a slight, coy smile. “You always impress, principessa.”

Turning back towards your mark, you find those inky eyes focused on you and blink innocently.

“This one has a mouth on her,” he says, his words terse and he looks you up and down again. “Might get her into trouble one day.”

Santino smiles but it’s more of a predator baring his teeth in warning as he presses you closer to him. “Ah, it’s a rather delightful mouth I reassure you, and I could never resist a bit of danger, Rafael. You know how it is.”

The muscular man scoffs. “Your lack of self-control is well known, D’Antonio,” he notes briskly, and the sarcastic bite of his deep voice is offset only by the easy smile he flashes you both. It softens his forbidding expression but doesn’t hide the contempt. “I certainly hope you’re here to do some actual business instead of wasting everyone’s time. But do enjoy your evening,” he adds with a purse of his lips.

He brushes past your party without another word, every step purposeful and you can practically hear the grind of Santino’s teeth beside you. Placing your hand on top of his, you pull his attention towards you.

“A dance, darling?”

He doesn’t reply, simply wrapping his arm tighter around your waist and leading you both towards the ballroom where the main event is being held. Behind you, Ares and Piero fall in step behind you.

The room itself is massive and decorated in tasteful greys and silvers—Chicago Outfit’s colours, you recall. A canopy hangs across the ceiling, a million tiny fairy lights creating an illusion of the night sky. Your gaze swings towards the massive dance floor where a glistering chandelier hangs suspended above the already dancing guests. In fact, the vast space is already full of people milling around and chatting business. Champagne, whiskey, bourbon and wine are only a couple of the drinks you spot being poured around the room. Later, when the masks fall away, you know everything from cocaine to ecstasy will be served just as openly.

Across the room, you spot the entrance to the private casino section but know that it won’t be in use till later. After these civilised people do their song and dance of being normal.

Santino cuts straight towards the dancing guests, only giving Ares and a vague tilt of his head to indicate that the plan is now in motion.

The said plan was always to catch Rafael’s attention here. Running into him this early had never been part of your previously discussed play.

A strain weighs across Santino’s face when he pulls you on the dance floor just as the live band finishes playing a song and starts another.  

His arm settles around your waist and you step closer towards him, your fingers lacing together.

He settles you into a rhythm smoothly and you spin across the shiny floor with other patrons.  

“What was that?”

His quiet, indignant question doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his attention remaining on the attendees and you fight back a sigh.

“I was getting his attention,” you murmur in reply, giving his palm a measured squeeze. “Now we’re on his radar. He will watch us twice as often. We will dance and dine and have a great time,” you explain evenly and that familiar focused calm thrums through you. When your eyes meet next, you add a meaningful, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Hand in hand, you spin in a slow circle and his eyes find yours.

“Trust is not a currency I deal in often, cara mia.”

You part, your palms grazing as you circle each other, and you hold his heavy stare.

“See how this whole trust thing works is that you have to give some away before any can be given back,” you remind him when he pulls you back to him, and this time you stand close enough to smell his cologne and count his eyelashes as they flutter when he fleetingly looks towards your lips. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

He notices the mocking edge to your words and his eyebrows arch slightly when he draws you closer.

“Are we not friends, bella?”

You give him an honest answer. “Hardly.”

Something flickers across his expression but it’s gone in an instant and his answering smile is uncaring, forced.

“Such a cruel tongue you have.”

Smiling pleasantly, you hum, “I keep it especially sharpened for you.”

This time, the sharpness recedes and something more honest is left in its place as Santino dips you and unlike last night, this time you’re ready for him. Perhaps the awkward practice paid off after all.

The world tilts and then he pulls you back to him, an array of colours blurring your sight, and for the briefest of seconds, all you can see around you is him. Him and the crooked dip of his grin as he peers at you.

“I have missed this,” he admits in the space between you but even over the dancing guests and the music, you hear him. “This you. Could she perhaps be persuaded to stay, hm?”

It would be so easy, you can’t help but think, allowing yourself to tangle in his web. Allowing yourself the privilege of forgetting John and Kishi and Tarasov—of forgetting every dark shadow that haunts you. He almost makes it easy. Easy to breathe and forget. But you now know what it is to be broken apart when you allow someone else to complete you.

Never again.

Never with a man who will no doubt exchange your company for someone else’s soon. Winston had a point. Santino’s favour is bound to come with an expiration date. One day, he will grow bored of you or resentful because he’ll realise that you will never give him what he truly wants.

One day, inevitably, he will let you down. Replace you. Leave.

It’s simply who he is.

Pivoting on your heels, you turn your bodies in a different direction, your steps unfaltering as you move across the floor.

Santino blinks, his silent scrutiny letting up as he squints at you.  

“Are you trying to lead, cara mia?”

“Not trying,” you murmur slyly under your breath, a slight smile lingering across the seams of your mouth. “Succeeding.”

The soft set of his lips part and this time his grin shows teeth, dimpling his cheeks. He swiftly pushes your bodies apart, spinning you, and your skirt flares around your legs before he yanks you back to him, your bodies colliding. His arm envelops you immediately, keeping you pressed to him and the warmth of him seeps into you as he watches you through hooded eyes. His thumb caresses the bare skin of your lower back and a shiver crawls down your body as your warm breaths mingle.

You’re out of breath due to acute exhaustion still gnawing at your bones but—

“I could give you anything you want—anything at all. Power, money, jewels, pleasure,” he whispers faintly, leaning closer, and you fight to ignore the sultry drag of those words. “The world. All you need to do is ask.”

With his power—with the power he might still inherit—you imagine he could.

But—

“And what would you want in return? For me to be your pretty, obedient pet?” you whisper back but your voice lacks all the heat his has. Something far more critical twists your words and you meet his gaze, your faces inches apart. “Warming your bed whenever you feel like it until something more exciting comes along? No, I know how this game works, Santino. Men like you collect women and use them to appease your overinflated egos until we’re no longer interesting to you. Then you throw us out like trash. Even though the problem is rarely us but rather your inability to emotionally connect with another human because all you want or care about is fleeting excitement of the chase. Cheap sex on the side. Sorry to disappoint you but I’m no one’s pet.”

His jaw clenches, a ripple of emotions flitting across his features.

“I don’t want a pet.”

Low, wary.

But you push because you don’t believe him. Trust his word even less despite the fact that any and all promises he’s made so far, he’s followed through with.  

“Then what is it that you want?”

He stops. You’re the only two unmoving bodies in a sea of movement.

Those vivid green eyes glow with something you have never seen before as he studies you.

It is desire but—

He reaches up and caresses your cheek; nothing more than a whisper of a touch.  

“You.”

A breath rushes out of you.

A lump forms in your throat but you don’t move or speak. It’s like you’re both locked in your own private little bubble and the sheer intensity of Santino’s gaze leaves you with no escape. Your muscles seem to have stiffened up with disbelief. He’s always made it clear what he wanted but…

“Santino D’Antonio! It’s good to see you again.”

He exhales and whatever it was that you saw only moments ago is gone, leaving a far more familiar sight of a proud Camorra heir behind.

He turns to greet an unfamiliar man approaching, his grip on you loosening but not dropping entirely, and you remind yourself that you are nothing to him. Nothing more than an object of desire, a trophy to win, a conquest his damn pride won’t allow him to drop till he succeeds.

You hate the fact that for a second—just one—you had believed him.

Your eyes flicker over the crowd, a blur of faces, before a large man next to a bar catches your attention.  

Rafael Conte takes a slow sip of his drink that dark stare boring holes into you.

Your lips curl.

.

Santino does talk business.

He really has covered all his basis and found a legitimate reason to be here—be here and appear unsuspicious as well.

Camorra is one of the wealthiest families in the world and there are plenty of individuals eager to do business with them.

Santino talks—ruthlessness and charm weaving effortlessly—shakes hands and deals business. Number start blurring somewhere in their millions.

You stay by his side through it all. His grip around you is resolute, secure. It’s surprising how natural the fit is, comfortable. Especially because any and all foreign touch since Tokyo makes your skin crawl with disgust. You’ve only ever fit this well beside John but thinking about him now stings terribly so you push the thoughts of him away.

Instead, you focus on your role entirely. Submerge yourself in it so wholly that you can almost believe that’s truly all you are: your job.  

A mindless girl who is desperate for any scrap of attention from the powerful, handsome man beside you.

Fingers ghosting over his neck, leaning into him, giggling in his ear and playing with his fingers—you embody the desire you’re supposed to represent. Santino’s replies are rarely verbal but any and all attention from you always seems to distract him, shattering his concentration.

His fingers rub circles against the swell of your hip in response, and other times he wraps his arm around your shoulders. His cool Camorra ring grazing the skin of your arm as he traces random patterns on your skin.

People stare discreetly. You know by this point more than a few have recognised you. No one dares to comment though.

You imagine that to them you look completely caught in each other. Sharing breathing space and suggestive whispers; heat and something carnal, something only lovers could ever fully grasp.

Buying into the rampant tension between you must be easy.

You succeed in your mission.

Two hours in, a waiter approaches a spot where you and Santino sit—you draped over his lap and arms around his neck while he discusses weaponry with some Romanian crime syndicate representatives—and delivers a scrap of paper with a simple message.

Join us for poker and business, D’Antonio. Your plus-one can come along as well.—R

.

You’re in trouble.

Big, fat trouble.

Not because Santino is gambling three million away—though you imagine losing that won’t be in your best interest—but because this intimate setting is even more intimate than you ever would have suspected.

No guards, for one.

The game itself is between six players—counting Santino—in a small closed-off booth section of the casino. Your game is not the only one ongoing but you doubt this kind of money is being thrown around anywhere else. Every man playing seems to have brought their plus ones as well, including Rafael himself. A tall, stunning woman with glossy black hair, beautiful brown skin and shrewd almond eyes.

The problem is that unlike you, these women don’t have to pretend. Their interest is genuine, and when twenty minutes into the game you notice zippers being unzipped and hands starting to wander, you feel something inside your chest shrivel up.

Santino’s grip on you remains and you find yourself clinging to him for a different reason. At first, you play at being shy, burying your face against his neck. He notices, dragging his long fingers down your leg gradually, trying to calm you, as he considers his cards silently and takes another drag of his cigar. He’s purposely trying not to draw attention to either of you. It both amazes you and gives you a sense of reassurance. Perhaps there are some lows that even he won’t stoop to.  

The only issue is that Rafael Conte won’t stop staring at you.

He knows that you’re not too drunk or high enough to stop your hands from exploring. He’s been keeping track of your leisurely sips of champagne the entire evening. If he doesn’t suspect something is not right yet, he will soon. He’s smart. The same chilling, ruthless smart that reminds you of Tarasov.

If you don’t do this…

It all would have been for nothing. Another failure. If Rafael suspects something is amiss, if he thinks that you are here for any other reason other than being Santino’s lover—

You will never get access to Andre Boutin.

Fuck.

Something cold and slippery rolls inside your stomach at the muffled groan a man closest to you lets out, and the woman wrapped around him titters.

I—

You can do it, John reassures you gently, gripping your shoulder but you blink and it’s Santino’s hand on you instead.

Your eyes meet in the dim light and his hooded gaze is solemn, cautious. He, too, can see how this situation is escalating. Either you adapt or retreat.

All this preparation. You can’t help but wonder if he would still force you—

Fuck this.

And John.

And Santino.

And Kishi and Tarasov and every other asshole that’s ever hurt you.

They can all go to hell.

You’re more than this.

You didn’t survive Tokyo and John’s abandonment just to break apart now. To fail yet again.

Enough.

Enough.

It’s not real, it’s just an act.

Shifting, you practically straddle Santino and feel his breath hitch when your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head back for better access. Your lips press against his jaw, neck, your other hand tugging on his bowtie till the silken material comes loose between your fingers.

His pulse pounds against your mouth and you kiss that golden skin, sucking on it, your lips tingling. You’ve never been physically this close to him before and the heat of him envelops you, his free hand sliding up your back and settling against the arch of your neck. Those strong digits sink in, firm and eager, but he doesn’t push you closer until you lean into him further. You’re chest to chest. Your fingernails scratch against his scalp deliberately and a small sigh escapes him, warming the blood in your veins.

“D’Antonio.”

Tugging on his shirt, you undo the first two buttons in a second, peppering eager little kisses against the curve of his collarbone. The scent of his musky his cologne sinks into your senses, making your head swim and your lips part, your tongue swiping against the skin—

Santino’s hand tangles in your hair and he pulls you back, his wild stare pitch black. With your fingers buried in each other’s hair, you gaze at him for a heated moment, and he at you. Reaching out, you let your fingertips lightly trace up his neck, pausing on his adam’s apple. You draw a lazy circle with the tip of your nail and his breaths grow heavier. Leaning even closer, you let your fingers trail up his chin before your thumb settles on his parted lips.

He’s staring up at you like he has never seen a sight more divine, more sublime, and the heat between you is sweltering.

You’ve forgotten what it is to feel like you’re burning, igniting, coming apart.  

“D’Antonio.”

This time his self-restraint doesn’t hold, he jerks you to him till you’re fully on his lap, your foreheads almost touching as you eye each other. His fingers slip from your hair, dragging downwards till he’s grasping the side of your face, his own fingers mapping the shape of your lips as he guides you closer. Like a magnet, you follow his pull. Your mouths hover over each other and the tip of your nose nudges against his cheek, mirroring his eagerness. You grasp onto his hair firmer, those strong strands like silk in your grip. If you pull hard enough, if you kissed him, would he moan—

“D’Antonio, do you mind?”

The haze lifts and you see Santino blink as if snapping himself back to reality, his breaths are laboured, heavy, and you know that you’re hiding him from sight. This slip-up, this moment of hungry eyes and needy touches, is for you alone.

He looks you up and down, as if memorising the sight of you like this—so close to being his—before licking his lips and swallowing as he gathers his composure. His elevated breathing and blown pupils betray him, however. His appearance is dishevelled in that gorgeous, seductive sort of way and a stab of satisfaction follows the realisation that you did this to him.

He slides you carefully to one side and you release your grip on his hair, wrapping both arms around him instead as you smile slightly.

The Italian doesn’t look away from you, giving Rafael only a distracted, “Hm?”

“Make your next play, then feel free to fuck her if you must,” the man drawls, and you focus on Santino and his hair and his eyes because the careless way Rafael speaks about you sets your teeth on edge. Keep calm, keep calm, this is not Kishi. “In fact, after that little display, I’m pretty sure I won’t mind a sampling myself. See if she’s really all mouth.”

Your nails sink into the back of Santino’s shoulders and it takes sizeable effort to keep that bashful smile on your face. The heir finally looks away from you, his attention turning towards your mark, his features hardening.

“Come again?”

Rafael Conte chuckles, a rumble of a sound that unsettles you. “Don’t be shy, D’Antonio,” the man speaks, amused. “You do mine and I’ll do yours. What do you say? Unless mine is not to your liking? I can get another one in here. Two? I’ve heard you’re into that.”

No one else in the room so much as shifts or protests. This is a typical party code for them. Swapping deals, drugs, women, and whatever else they please.

Your skin crawls, those words dousing whatever heat your moment with Santino has managed to awaken in you.

Don’t let him talk about me like that. Don’t let him touch me. Don’t, don’t, please don’t—

Those words burn at the back of your throat and you grit your teeth to hold them in. You can’t risk breaking character like this but—

Kishi grins from the shadowed corner of the enclosed room and you suddenly feel sick.

Santino is quiet for a moment.

You watch his side profile with a halted breath, and another beat of silence follows before a slight smile finally tugs one side of his mouth upwards.

It’s a dangerous, dark thing and your stomach twists into knots.

Please—

“No one touches my woman,” comes his silky, cold declaration and those long fingers rest on the bare skin of your thigh; possessive, protective. “No one.”

The terror and revulsion in your veins ebbs, ebbs, his words echoing—

You don’t care about how untrue they are. That you both know that you’re not his in any sense of the word nor will you ever be.  

The conviction, the threat, the protection—those are real.

For the first time since Tokyo, since John, you don’t feel alone.

A peculiar sort of hush falls over everyone at that.

“In fact, hm, why don’t you go and freshen up, principessa?” he suggests and lifts your chin with his index finger so he can look you in the eyes. “I’m almost done here. We can go back to the hotel after. I’ve missed those pretty sounds you make when I’m inside you. Yes?”

He can see it.

And feel it, too.

The way your skin has gone cold and clammy. How a tremor shakes your muscles. How you grip onto him but your eyes keep skipping towards every shadow in the room. How your serene, sensuous demeanour is no doubt splintering right in front of him.

He’s giving you an out.  

Your nails sink into him briefly and you force yourself to act, force yourself to continue on.

Cupping the side of his face, you press a lingering kiss to his cheek. There is nothing sexual about it. Only a distinct feeling of gratitude that strums through you with the same intensity your earlier interaction did.

Your eyes flutter close briefly, the tip of your nose pressing into the smell of his aftershave, and you image to everyone else it might look like you’re simply clinging onto him, unwilling to be parted.  

Standing on stiff legs, you straighten your spine, and don’t flinch as Santino continues the performance, staring up at you, lowering his cards so he can touch your knee. He rubs a soothing circle there and his lips twitch.

“Don’t take too long now, hm?”

Your hand trembles when you reach for him, and you hope that the darkness of the room helps to mask it. Despite that, you still manage to swipe back unruly strands of his hair that have fallen into his eyes. Like a refined feline, he arches into your touch, a faint smirk appearing, and you rearrange your facial expression into something unassuming.

Trying to speak fails, so you simply dip your head once, and pull away from him. It takes everything you have to keep your footsteps steady and unhurried as you exit the small room.

The world around you splinters.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Look at you.

“Shut up.”

It’s a choked, weak mess of an exhale. It hurts to talk and you grip the sink harder, your knuckles straining under your skin as you wheeze.

Your frightened eyes reflect in the mirror and you note how your expression crumbles in despair. Just hours ago, you had looked at your reflection in the hotel room mirror and felt beautiful for the first time since Tokyo. Since something was tarnished and stolen away from you.

Now mascara smears under your eyes and your waxen expression betrays you.

You need—

John.

You need John.

I need you. I need you. Where are you?

Kishi sinks his bony fingers into your arm and you flinch, jerking backwards. The incandescent bathroom lights scorch behind your closed eyelids, and you grapple for the running tap, letting the freezing water pour over your hands.

It hurts more, petrifies you more, but it also keeps you lucid, coherent enough to hear the bathroom door opening behind you.

“So—sorry, it’s busy! Could—could you please use—”

“The Vipress.”

You freeze.

You’re trembling but your head tilts upwards, and in the mirror reflection you see Rafael Conte leaning against the bathroom door with his arms folded over his chest.

Those dark eyes narrow and the grin on his face makes you become terribly aware just how unprepared you are for this type of confrontation. He’s taller, stronger, and heavier.

While usually, that would hardly bother you—both John and Cassian have taught you plenty of ways to take down individuals who severely outclass you in a physical sense—that was then.

The husk of a person you have deteriorated to is not as confident in her skills.

How he even found you is beyond you. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, didn’t bother finding Ares in the crowd of people because she was instructed to mingle and collect information. You purposely didn’t go in the casino bathroom or the one right outside the ballroom. You went through the bother of trekking halfway across the hotel just to find a secluded bathroom far away from the main event.

Just your goddamn luck.  

Keeping him in your sight, you straighten.

Where is Santino?

“The viper that never strikes twice. I wondered why D’Antonio would bring you,” the man says after you keep silent and his smile turns more cutting. “But then I realised that this might be something more than just business.”

“This—this is neutral ground,” you force out, trying and failing to keep your voice even. “There is nothing—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man snaps, stepping from the door and you twist around, glaring at him. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know he’s up to something. You will tell me what, or I will send your head back to Viggo Tarasov as a present.”

Your hand flies down but he’s faster.

A pistol appears in front of your face just as your fingers wrap around a blade strapped to your inner thigh.

“I don’t think so,” the man growls and steps closer. “Drop it.”

The water from the tap keeps running noisily, and you try to calculate how quickly he would be able to pull that trigger. Would you be able to throw your blade faster? Or would he react quicker?

Don’t let him corner you, John warns sternly, or you will lose.

You let the blade drop. Rafael marches towards you, shoving the barrel of the pistol under your chin, tilting your head. He glowers at you, the heavy set of his eyebrows pinching. “Why are you here?”

“Get fucked.”

His palm connects with your cheek, a flare of agony numbing the right side of your face. He jerks you closer by the hair, pressing the barrel painfully into your cheek.

“I will blow your fucking brains out, princess,” he warns harshly, and shakes you once, your teeth clenching. “Is D’Antonio really worth dying for? Answer me!”

Your knee drives between his legs and you duck when his grip on your hair loosens, ignoring the painful tear. You strike his arm, the pistol slipping but he grabs it just before it falls, kicking you in the stomach as you slam against the sinks with a loud thud. You gasp in pain, trying to grab onto the edge of the basin to straighten yourself, but your weak muscles struggle to obey and Rafael grabs you by the throat. He slams you into the mirror and then again.

And again.

The mirror cracks and you choke down a sob of pain, everything blurring.

“You know,” the man pants, and his grip on your neck tightens, choking you. “I expected more from John Wick’s partner. His little protege. But you’re pathetic.”

He slams you against the mirror again. “Tell me what D’Antonio is doing here,” he demands, giving you another shake and you feel something wet staining the back of your head. “Tell me or I will drown the truth out of you.”

A handkerchief gets pushed into the sink, trapping the still pouring water, and you let out a whimper of pure terror.

No—no—no—

Rafael grasp you by the back of your neck, and you kick at him but your muscles are frail with exhaustion and panic, failing you when you need them most.

The man hits one of your legs and you crumple, your face flying towards the half-full sink as you let out a sob. No matter how much you struggle or try to push yourself back, you’re not strong enough.

Another brutal shove downwards.

You’re never—

The bathroom door slams open with a deafening bang.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

A slight chuckle against your neck. “D’Antonio. Slow as always.”

The grip on you loosens and you slump to the floor. Footsteps step over you, but Rafael’s gleaming shoes don’t miss your trembling digits. He steps on them on purpose and you flinch as the sink overflows, spilling water all over the white tile floor.

“I will skin you alive for this.”

You can’t remember ever hearing Santino so furious before.

“Sure you will,” Rafael remarks and the mirth in his voice is clear. “You know my father always told me to never trust you D’Antonio’s. He said that you all have the devil in you. Especially your psychopath father and that frigid bitch you have for a sister. You’re just the leftover people tolerate because they’re scared of your father. After San Diego, I knew my father was right.”

“What’s the matter, old friend,” Santino wonders in Italian, his voice honey and rage all at once. “Can’t handle a bit of competition, hm?”

Your forehead slides across the tiles when you turn your head, a wall of tears blurring your vision as you try to blink them away. Violent shivers wreck your body as water roars in your ears and your body convulses. Blinking, you try to tighten your bruised fingers into a fist. It’s then that your eyes snag onto an object an arm length away from you.

“I sure can. Because I don’t fear weak fuckers like you,” Rafael shoots back coolly and you hear the cocking of the pistol as he aims it at Santino. “I would be lying if I said that I will not enjoy this.”

Santino.

A meeting in a church.

“I always get what I want.”

A favour without a charge.

“I’m not doing this for him but for you.”

An offer of help.

“You can stay with me, cara mia. My home can be your home. It will not be for free but no harm will come to you.”

Burgundy suits.

“I need you.”

Arms around you, something in his eyes you have never seen before—something genuine.

“You.”

You slam into Rafael with full awareness of what this will mean.

“Fear me.”

You plunge the poisoned blade deep into his neck.

. . .

an: can you believe Santino D’Antonio really hit that high this early on and then....just never been able to hit it since lmao. amazing. anyway whooooooooooooo babey!!!! if you read this in one sitting, please pat yourself on the back, soldier. sorry that I didn’t have time to reply to everyone about the last chapter. life has just been a big ‘ol mess as you all know, and I’ve been really busy and blocked so if this chapter reads funny....well then......though, as always, I’m super excited to hear your thoughts. :D

as always you’re all incredible, amazing, and the best so please take care of yourselves! <333 

[cycwrites]

Waking Aubrey - A Fic Tease

Waking Aubrey

A/N: For @smolletts 

Even though I’m a little early for the day of your birth, I’m 84 years past due on my Staubrey origin story. In an attempt to appease you, I give this likely unsatisfactory fic tease of a single scene as a poor attempt at an offering.

Aubrey visits and stays with the girls for their final Thanksgiving in the Bella house and causes a certain brunette a wee bit of confusion. Takes place during my as yet unwritten PP2 story, “About Damn Time” aka “Rise of Staubrey”.

Also on AO3

 ------------------------

~S~

Stacie carefully carried the giant brimming mug of coffee up the attic stairs, deliberately stepping on the one that creaked; it was something she usually avoided purely because scaring the shit out of Beca by materializing behind her was one of her favorite past times. But when she reached the top of the stairs, the figure was still asleep, half on her stomach at the edge of the bed, one hand drawn up to rest under her cheek. Stacie set the coffee down on the small table in the center of the only open floor space and made her way to the bed where she knelt and gently moved a blond lock of hair that was draped over Aubrey’s nose.

It was weird. This was a wake up process she had done a million times with Beca or Chloe over the past two years, but she found she was nervous. She told herself that it was because she didn’t know if Aubrey would be mad, which was true, but it was because she really was trying to do everything in her power to not make Aubrey uncomfortable this trip. It was the longest that Aubrey had spent at the house in over a year and they’d never been alone in it like they were this morning.

Not anything was going to happen. They’d had their moment years ago and Aubrey had made her stance clear, no matter what Beca and Chloe sometimes let slip when they were in a drunk Bella pile in this very bed. It was a declaration that Stacie had been more than fine with for almost a year and a half. But recently she’d felt something inside her changing, a wistful feeling that twisted through her when she’d find Chloe at the center table in the kitchen talking to Aubrey over Skype. She was doing her damnedest to ignore it but now Aubrey was here in the house for a week and Stacie was nervous for the first time in her life.

Realizing that she’d been staring at Aubrey, taking in the edges softened in sleep, Stacie forced herself back to the task at hand. If Aubrey woke up and caught her leering like a creeper, Stacie would never forgive herself.

“Aubrey.” She waited but all Aubrey did was purse her lips for a second before they went lax again and Stacie decided it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. (It edged out a sleepy Beca blindly grabbing the finger Stacie had been using to bop the end of her nose and cuddling it to her chest.) She used her tried and true method and gently ran her finger from between Aubrey’s eyes and down along the tip of her nose. “Aubrey.”

“Mfph.” Aubrey’s lips pursed again and she wrinkled her nose, making Stacie almost coo at how fucking cute she was.

Stacie hated to wake her for a variety of reasons, but she was under strict orders from Chloe on when it was to be done. She leaned closer, like she was afraid of being overheard. “Bree.” She ran her finger down Aubrey’s nose again, lightly tapping the end of it like she would a stubborn Beca. It was a nickname she used sparingly even in her own mind, bringing up memories of her dorm room and a single night behind closed doors. Without thinking she let her fingertips graze Aubrey’s cheek and cup it gently, something she could never do while Aubrey was awake and definitely shouldn’t be doing while she was asleep. Even as she went to pull her hand away, Aubrey’s hand slid from under her to cup the back of Stacie’s neck and tug gently. Startled into freezing she jerked her eyes up and found sleepy green ones smiling at her.

Too shocked to stop it as Aubrey pulled her down into a soft kiss.

Just like she had that morning after, before they were once again Captain and Bella. Soft lips, warm breath against her face from an even softer sigh as Aubrey pressed close. In the back of her mind Stacie realized she had been chasing kisses like this since then – in a general sense as she rarely had a ‘morning after’ anymore - but no one had ever made her feel like Aubrey had.

Like she was making Stacie feel right now.

Too overcome with feelings she thought didn’t exist to stop herself from closing her eyes and returning it for several long heartbeats before guilt slammed into her.

Trying not to jerk herself violently out of temptation range – the sudden urge to slip between sheets warmed by Aubrey’s body almost too strong to ignore – eased herself back to find Aubrey’s eyes were closed again and her breathing on the way to evening out. She was thankful she had a moment to pull herself together even as she berated herself for her kneejerk acceptance of the kiss. She knew it wasn’t something Aubrey would’ve done if she was awake. Hell, she didn’t even know if Aubrey really knew it was Stacie she was kissing.

What it would mean for either of them if she had.

Or what it would mean to Stacie if Aubrey thought she was someone else.

She sat back on her heels, trying to calm herself before she reached out to gently shake Aubrey’s shoulder. Arm’s length was better. Arm’s length would let her pretend until she was in her room and could sort out the maelstrom of her thoughts.

“Aubrey. You’re late for practice.” If she’d known the reaction she’d get, Stacie probably wouldn’t have picked that particular phrase. But it worked.

Aubrey’s eyes shot open and she flung the blankets back. Her feet were already swinging for the side of the bed and Stacie had to scramble to avoid them. She awkwardly crab-walked backward until she could get her legs out from under her but they still tangled together and she fell with a thump to her ass. Aubrey halted, wobbling at the suddenness of her get up and go becoming a hard stop, and looked down in confusion.

“Stacie?” She blinked as if Stacie would vanish. “Why are you in my room?” Stacie started to laugh and let herself fall back to the floor, needing the outlet for a variety of reasons. Aubrey looked around the room, the confusion still lingering. “This isn’t my room.”

“Nope.” Stacie crossed her hands on her stomach. “I’m sorry.”

Aubrey sat back down on the bed heavily, blinking at her. “For?” She shook her head. “What’s going on?”

“I’m an asshole.” Stacie sat up and crossed her legs. “I tried waking you up and when it didn’t work, I told you that you were late for practice and you practically kicked me in the face getting out of bed.” She looked up under lowered lashes and eyed Aubrey, wondering if she remembered that first attempt or not. And if Stacie should tell her if she didn’t.

“Oh.” Aubrey blinked at her then yawned. “Yeah, that’d do it.” She stretched and Stacie averted her eyes, not trusting herself with an Aubrey clad in an old Barden shirt and a pair of shorts. There was a lot of leg on display and the memory of them wrapped around her back was too close to the surface. “Holy shit!”

Stacie winced, sure that Aubrey had remembered the kiss. “Look, before you say anything…”

“I overslept!” Aubrey said it indignantly, her eyes locked on the clock beside the bed that said it was 9:30. “I never oversleep! The alarm is usually a ‘just in case’ factor. I’m always awake by 7.”

Stacie let out a breath and hoped Aubrey didn’t hear it. “That’s Chloe’s fault.” Aubrey looked at her, one brow high and Stacie grinned at the indignant familiarity of it. “She turned off your alarm when she got up for her early class and gave me strict instructions to wake you now if you weren’t up sooner.” She held up one hand as Aubrey gave out a grunt of annoyance. “She said you never get to sleep in as a fancy Director at the lodge, cause someone’s always needing something from you. And you’re on vacation and going to start it right.” She hesitated, her lips pursing. “And since you did sleep until now, I’m going to say she’s not wrong. You needed the extra rest - especially since we were all up semi late last night.”

Aubrey sighed, shoulders that had been ramrod straight relaxing. “She’s right. You’re both right.” Her lips twisted in a way that reminded Stacie of Chloe. “I hate it when that happens.”

“When people other than you are right?” Stacie felt on more solid ground with the teasing. It was familiar. Safe.

“Yes.” Aubrey said crisply then grinned. “Especially you two. The only way it’d be worse is if Beca was right too.”

Stacie rolled over and pushed herself to her feet. “Then you’re going to love this.” She took the coffee from the table and handed it to Aubrey. “Beca told me that if we’re going to let you sleep late, I need to bribe you with coffee so you don’t make us do cardio over the holiday.”

Aubrey laughed and carefully took the mug in her hands. “I hate how well you all know me.” She took a sip and her eyes closed in bliss. “Okay, no I don’t.” She opened one eye. “You got my blend, didn’t you?”

Stacie pulled out one of the two chairs at the table and sat down. “Beca did.” Distance.

“Chloe tell you how much cream and sugar?” Aubrey let her eye close again as she took another cautious drink.

“She didn’t have to,” Stacie shrugged. “I remembered.”

“You did?” Aubrey didn’t look up and Stacie tried not to wonder if that meant something.

“Sure. It’s how I take mine.”

“Oh.” Aubrey said again, this time sheepishly. “I forgot, I guess.”

“You’ve been running an entire lodge,” Stacie laughed. “You’ve got a lot of things crowding your brain.”

“I’ll say,” Aubrey muttered behind her cup before looking back over and smiling. “Thanks. For the coffee and letting me sleep in.”

“You’re welcome, Bree.” Stacie bit her lip much too late to stop the nickname from coming out. “They’ll both be back before lunch and the others later in the afternoon. Chloe thought we could all drive into town tonight for dinner instead of cooking, since we’ll be making so much on Thanksgiving.”

“That sounds great.” Aubrey set the mug down on the bedside table. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything just to let me sleep in.”

“Nah.” Stacie shook her head. “I’m done with classes till after the holiday. Thought I’d keep you company.”

“Oh.” Aubrey said a third time and this one had the least inflection of them all and worried Stacie the most. Then Aubrey smiled and Stacie’s mind settled before it could race down a path that would lead her to thinking Aubrey would rather die than be alone with her. “Just like old times.”

If Stacie’s chuckle held more relief than amusement, Aubrey didn’t react. “Except this time I won’t have books spread across the counter while you make amazing pasta sauce from scratch.” She paused, considering. “I don’t suppose you’d give me the recipe for that?”

Aubrey sniffed. “Posens do not reveal their family secrets to just anyone, you know.” She lifted one brow as she narrowed her eyes. “Are you worthy of that trust? Many have tried. All have failed.” She was clearly trying not to smile and it was infectious.

Feeling giddy, Stacie lifted her hands. “I mean, I think so.” Aubrey hummed thoughtfully as she stood up and stretched again, her shirt riding up slightly on her stomach before Stacie could look away. Though, to be fair, it had been directly in her line of sight and surely she couldn’t be blamed if she made a comment about Aubrey’s tan, right? She cleared her throat and sighed dramatically. “Okay fine. I’ll settle for you making some before you leave so I can freeze the leftovers.”

Aubrey laughed. “That’s a deal, at least.” She turned toward the suitcase that was sitting on top of the dresser against the back wall to pull out neatly folded clothes. “I’ll think about the other.”

“I can live with that.” Stacie stood up and moved toward the stairs. “I’ll figure out your weaknesses later and bribe you with them.”

“Good luck,” Aubrey called after her. “I’ll come find you after my shower; you can tell me how things are going with the rest of the girls.” She looked over her shoulder when Stacie stopped at the top of the stairs to look at her. “Chloe and Beca have kept me updated, of course, but Chloe’s only a few steps away from a freak out and Beca…” She frowned, looking for the right word. “Beca’s distracted. It’s weird. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong between them, do you?” Stacie knew her best friends were fine as a couple, but Aubrey also wasn’t wrong. There was definitely something else going on in the DJ’s head that Stacie hadn’t been able to figure out.

“No.” Aubrey said it immediately and with as much confidence as Stacie had in the fact. “But there’s…”

“Something.” Stacie finished for her. “Alright, I’ll be downstairs. No rush.” Aubrey smiled at her then turned back to the suitcase as Stacie made her way down the stairs.

For the moment, she had decided not to tell Aubrey about the kiss. Knowing her former Captain and one-time lover as she did, Aubrey was guaranteed to react with extreme embarrassment. It would likely make her uncomfortable in Stacie’s presence if she didn’t outright leave - and that was if she didn’t hold Stacie responsible for it. Stacie knew she’d confess what had happened at some point, it was the right thing to do.

But maybe not until she had worked through it herself.