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myouicieloz · 11 days

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Live my life

band!aespa x groupie!reader

Synopsis: It’s been less than a year since the band Aespa was created. Karina, Minjeong, Giselle and Ningning travel all over the country with nothing but a few gigs, little money and much love for the music. They’re far from superstars, and they still don’t have a lot to offer, and there’s something they can’t quite grasp: why you, the band’s most faithful fan, follows them blindly.

Warnings: smut. lowk confusing… but it’s the aesthetic

Word count: 9.9k

Notes: I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEAD 😤😤 I was obsessed w the MV as soon as it was out so I wrote this work!! it ended up being too long (lol) so i decided to split it in 2. I SHALL NAWT VANISH ANYMORE PINKY PROMISE.

pt.1 | pt.2

—

“Do you think it’ll fit?” Ningning’s hesitation is easily explained by the amount of suitcases hanging from the small hood of the car. The four girls agreed to bring each a single backpack of clothes for themselves, so the instruments and sound equipment could also be transported.

Clearly, it was still too much.

“It has to.” Winter answers, her tiny frame reaching up as she tries to grab one of the big suitcases herself. With Ningning’s help, she manages to do it, and they both stare at the car, wondering about an adjustment that would work.

Just as both girls imagined how to rearrange the space, Giselle and Karina stepped down the house's stairs, frowning.

Karina, is, as always, not amused by the struggle placed in front of her, but Giselle scoffs, judging her bandmates for not having things ready yet. They were supposed to pack their stuff in the car while she and Karina prepared their snacks and made sure all the windows and doors were closed, so they’d find no surprises once they got back home from their trip. Now, they’d leave later than expected, which would result in them facing the road at night— which was exactly what they were avoiding.

This day was starting to piss her off.

“What are you doing?” Giselle crossed her arms against her chest, trying her best to not sound as irritated as she was. They all knew, though. The girls know each other too well.

“Playing Tetris.” Minjeong stared back at her, with a tone that was just as presumptuous. “What does it look like we’re doing, Gigi? The space is obviously too fucking small for all of our stuff.”

Karina takes a step further before Giselle is able to open her mouth and give her friend a petty response. Her clumsy hands rearranged the suitcases so fast the three girls barely registered her actions, closing the hood of the car in a quick motion so everything wouldn’t fall off.

“Mhm, you won’t be able to see much of what’s behind the car, Gigi, but I don’t think it can get any better than that.”

The girls simply stare, impressed by Karina’s skills.

“So… problem solved?” Ningning asks, and they all nod.

Without a word, the four girls enter the small car, squeezing themselves as they prepare for their small trip. It wasn’t uncommon for the band to spend hours stuck in Giselle’s stepfather’s old 2000 Civic, but the lack of space was always annoying, making them all feel packed in like sardines. However, the vehicle was the only option they had to make their way to nearby cities to perform, so they avoided making any complaints.

The band was just about an hour into their 4-hour drive when Giselle pulled over, cursing under her breath.

“Fuck.” She mutters, biting her nails as she looks at the line of cars being stopped by the police, just a few miles ahead. Her face was even paler than usual, which set the girls on alert mode immediately— out of the four of them, Giselle was the least likely to panic at any unusual situation.

As soon as her body tensed, the Uchinaga felt long, lithe hands on her neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to soothe her, filling her with reassurance. Karina’s, naturally. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, why did we stop?” Ningning adds to Karina’s question, just as curious.

Minjeong’s brows furrow and she adjusts her posture, trying to stare at the horizon in the same position Giselle was, from the passenger’s seat instead. As always, she’s quick to understand the situation. “They’re stopping the cars ahead, but it’s just their normal procedure. They’ll stop us, of course, since we’re young girls traveling by ourselves with a bunch of luggage, but we’ve got nothing to hide, so… keep going, unnie. It’s fine.”

Seconds went by before Giselle grunted, a tense atmosphere hanging in the air while she fidgeted her fingers. Only then, her answer came, barely in a murmur. “I don’t have a license.” She could only hope they hadn’t heard her.

Judging from the way her bandmates’ mouths opened in shock they all started to speak together, though, they did.

Such a selective hearing, huh. She always had to yell at them at least three times for someone to get up from the living room and do the dishes, whenever they were home.

“What the fuck, unnie?”

“Do you really drive us illegally? Girl, we go everywhere by car!”

“I can’t believe you’re so damn irresponsible, I fucking swe—“

Karina stops their banter by out-screaming the two younger girls, a few minutes after Giselle had shrieked down on her seat so much she could merge with it anytime. “Wait! Wait.” Three pairs of eyes stare at her, inquiring. The quietness was odd, but it didn’t last much anyway. “I thought you had your permit taken last month?”

It’s Giselle’s turn to roll her eyes, then. “I literally told you that I failed. Do you pay attention to anything I say?”

Despite the situation they found themselves in, Minjeong and Ningning couldn’t help but giggle. It wasn’t news that Karina’s got her head up in the clouds, but her innocence was always funny to the girls. Despite being the oldest, she’s just a big puppy, after all.

And she looks outraged, ears red from the thought of being fooled by Aeri.

“What? we even celebrated!” Her face comes to the realization, as Minjeong tries to hide her laughter with a fake coughing fit. Winter’s blonde hair blows effortlessly when she turns her head to the window, in an obvious attempt to escape Giselle’s piercing stare. “Oh! Was that why you were being such a jerk the entire night, at the club?”

Giselle ruffles her hair in frustration but nods anyway. “Yes, that was the reason. Thanks for reminding us of that wonderful day, Jiminnie.”

Ningning taps on Karina’s shoulder, in hopes of offering some comfort to the desolated girl. She whistles, then looks from Aeri to Minjeong as if hoping they’d pull a permit out of nowhere and start driving again. Once it’s clear none of them would provide any solution, she does so herself, lifting her hips to grab her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll call Y/n.” Is all she says, clicking on the red number with 13 missed calls on the screen. “She’ll do something about it.”

Karina’s even more outraged, then, staring at Ningning in disbelief. She tries to reach out for her friend’s phone, but the maknae pulls her hand away with a huff. “Why do you even have her number, anyway?”

Sure, you’d be at their presentation, even if it were at a nearby town, hours away from where they lived. Somehow, you always show up. The girls couldn’t even remember when it happened; all they know is that they played at Ningning’s cousin’s club once, and from then on there you were, accompanying them in every step. You took pictures, edited videos to upload on their YouTube channel, and even helped them get some gigs every once in a while. It’s difficult for the girls to understand the reason you spend so much time and effort with them— a broke, nugu band who’s been doing this for a little over a year, yet there you were. Their first and most faithful fan, ready to drop everything to help them with any situation, at any given time.

Just like now.

Nonetheless, they had agreed to keep you at an arm's distance, only so the lines wouldn’t get too blurry. With time, they got to know you better, and it was noticeable you were as spoiled, obsessive, and explosive as you were sweet and passionate about the things you liked.

Truth be told, you scared them a little.

“I thought we had agreed on not talking to the psycho anymore,” Minjeong commented, resting her head on the window.

Ningning pauses at that, muting herself on the phone for a moment before answering, straightforwardly. “Well, do you want to get there or not?”

Her honesty is harsh enough that Minjeong lifts her palms in surrender, while Karina and Giselle share a knowing look. Ning’s right, naturally —what matters is that they get to the club on time.

“Fine,” The blonde sighs, turning to point at Karina. “But you’ll have to handle that nightmare of a weirdo. Don’t let her freak out or anything, like she did last time.”

“Why do I always have to do it?” Karina pouts, rolling her eyes. “Come on! What the fuck.”

Giselle giggles, grateful that Karina can’t reach out to punch her as she nods. “I agree… it’s a leader’s duty.”

With her brows furrowed and her rosy lips, the oldest member of the band looks much like a doll, adorable in all of her mannerisms. Even when she scoffs, it doesn’t come out nearly as rude and intimidating as she intends it to be. She still looks like a painting, so pretty Ningning pokes her playfully, brushing the irritation out of Karina with her ticklish fingers. Once she’s left ticklish in her seat, Ningning drops her phone, done with her call.

“Y/n said she’ll be here soon.” She announces, and the girls hum faintly in response. It’s enough for her to giggle, reaching out for her bag in hopes of finding a snack. “Don’t be too excited, damn...”

“I just hope she doesn’t take long,” Giselle mutters, ignoring the glares she gets by being to blame for their current situation.

“Well, if someone had just passed their driving test, we wouldn’t—”

The Uchinaga turns to Winter so fast her neck makes a weird noise. “Shut the fuck up, Minjeong.” Her tone is full of mockery, which is dangerous. Giselle gets irritated easily, but it’s hard to get her mad. Whenever she does, though… None of the girls like that. “I don’t see you driving around either.”

Minjeong, who’d rather die than recognize she doesn’t excel at something, puts a hand on her chest with the comment. Her face is quickly filled with red and, in a minute, she’s defending herself as if she’s just received a 5-year sentence.

As much as their banter is entertaining, Ningning still clings onto Karina on the backseat, resting her head on her unnie’s shoulders.

“I do hope Y/n arrives soon.” She tells her friend, closing her eyes despite the noisy background.

Karina smiles, ruffling the maknae’s hair with tenderness as she relaxes beside the oldest. “Don’t worry, Ning. She will.”

If there’s something she’s sure of, is that you don’t play when it comes to their band. Be it for good or for worse.

—

“Hello, cuties.” You say, tapping your knuckles on the driver’s window to gather attention. It works: the girls all jump in their seats, cursing under their breaths as they try to gather themselves from the scare. “Your knight in shining armor has come! Hurry, hurry! You’re running late.”

It had been less than an hour since Ningning’s call, so there’s no way you could’ve reached them so quickly. None of them say those words out loud, of course— some questions are better left unanswered.

“Here comes the devil.” Minjeong mumbles. The smile she gives you is drenched in feigned politeness, yet yours is sincere, bluntly ignoring her grumpiness with a wave of your hand.

“Hi, Y/n.” Karina greets you as the four girls get out of the car. You hug each one of them energetically, clearly pleased to be urged to help.

It doesn’t even bother you that Giselle, Winter, and Ningning only mumble, not paying you much attention. If only, your happiness would take long to wear off.

Still swooning, you gesture to the van that’s parked beside their car where a handsome, baby-faced boy waves at the girls with ease.

“My brother won this van at a bet a few days ago, and fortunately, he lent it to us. It’s more fitting for a band anyway.” You gesture at their car, still explaining. “Gyu can take your stepdad’s car back to your house, Gigi. Don’t worry.”

They already know Beomgyu from the previous times he’s dropped you off at their rehearsals and shows, so it’s nothing new. Although Giselle doesn’t seem convinced about your idea, she reluctantly gives him the car keys anyway. There’s no other option; she can’t just leave the car on the road, even though giving it to a stranger makes her uneasy.

“Thank you, Beomgyu-ssi.” The girls bow at him, thankful for the extra space, to which he simply nods.

The girls are quick to transport the suitcases to the van, stretching their legs out as they sigh with contentment. It’s like they can finally breathe, now that they’re not cramped in a tiny space. Even Minjeong is smiling, her little banter with Giselle being long forgotten by now.

Giselle is in the passenger’s seat, this time, and she’s surprised to see how easy it is to talk to a happy Y/n. You laugh and gossip over other bands the girls come across sometimes, and you tell them the entire story of how Beomgyu actually got the van. Time flies by while you’re on the wheel, and soon enough the four girls find themselves at the back door of the club, fixing their instruments for the time they go on stage.

—

“Do you get all those insane takes with this old-ass camera?” Ning asks curiously, holding the straightener against her hair as she watches you record Winter, who’s busy tuning her bass and pretending you don’t exist.

“It’s vintage, unnie.” You correct her, zooming in on the blonde girl’s delicate hands and her precise movements against the cords. “It has amazing quality, still.” Because Ningning is still staring, clearly waiting for a more direct answer, you add, “Yes. Pretty Much. Hey Minjeongie, look at the camera so I can get a better shot of you.”

All Winter gives you is an irritated look as she scrunches her nose and shakes her head. The girls enjoy arriving early at their events so they’re able to gather a few minutes of quietude, strictly to relax and focus on not letting the nerves overcome their abilities to shine on stage. You know that— it’s something you’ve seen them do countless times before. You find it adorable how they’d just close their eyes and try to control their breaths, fingers tapping their thighs to ease the anxiety that always comes with the wait of going on stage. No matter how many times they perform, the thrill will always be the same.

Although you don’t mind interrupting Winter’s time of focusing at all. Seeing you won’t give in, Winter scoffs, dropping the bass onto her lap. “Be polite, Y/n. Say please.”

Her intentions are as obvious as daylight. She’s mocking you, defiant like the insufferable being she is. Out of the four girls, Minjeong is the most stubborn, and you’re much alike. She was the one you got into most arguments with, none of you backing down from the opportunity of being right.

Said banter is the reason you turn and adjust the camera focus to Ningning, instead of giving in to the blonde girl. Yizhuo looks pretty as always, smiling at you as you kneel to get a take of her from a better angle.

You’re immediately interrupted by the same girl who was irritated by your presence just seconds ago. In a blink, Winter’s hands go to your chin, forcing you to face her with an assertive grip. “No. Film me.” Her porcelain skin shines against her dark eyes, who pop out even more, making her intimidating aura stand out in the small room as she adds with an icy, commanding tone, “And have manners.”

God, you’d gladly take her down just to get rid of that cocky tone.

“Stare at the fucking camera so you can have some decent solo shots, Winter unnie.” Your reply comes immediately, tone dripping with venom, “Please.”

Winter’s face is so red you’re afraid she’s going to combust at any second. She never spares hurtful words during arguments, and you’re ready for her to give it all. Disaster is set to happen until Giselle pops her head backstage, looking for you. Her eyes disappear and her cheeks flare up as soon as she meets your face, breaking the tension with a smile once her presence unintentionally ends the small battle you were having with Winter.

“Y/n!” She calls, handing out her hand to help you stand up. “Could you come help us with the drums, please? The guys from the bar are trying, but they’re so damn useless… We need you.”

You look away and Winter’s grip on you fades, although her trimmed nails still scratch your jaw as she lets her hand fall to her sides and returns to the couch, tuning her bass as if she had never been interrupted.

“Sure, Gigi. Let’s go.” It’s impossible to not smile back, allowing yourself to be guided through the narrow stairs of the place until you arrive at the stage. You don’t bother saying goodbye to either Ningning or Winter, knowing you’re going back to them as soon as you’re done.

The two younger girls are left by themselves, in silence for the first time since you arrived to pick them up, hours ago. It’s unsettling yet peaceful; not uncomfortable by any means. They’ve known each other for too long by now, so being with each other is more than natural— it’s one’s absence that is unsettling.

After giving her hair a few finishing touches, Ningning turns to her bandmate, pulling the chair beside her as she gestures for Minjeong to sit. Its leather cover is torn and the comfort is long gone, but they don’t mind. They’ve performed in far more awful places anyway.

“Okay, I’m done! Be still while I do your makeup, now, unnie.” Minjeong does as told, closing her eyes while the maknae starts moisturizing her skin.

The silence has Winter’s mind replaying the previous banter nonstop. She tries to stay silent, but the memory of your petty smirk is enough to leave her fuming, pumping with rage.

“Can you believe her, Ning? That fucking bitch, ugh. She’s so insufferable.”

“Oh, definitely.” Ningning smiles, thankful Minjeong has her eyes closed. She lets out a small giggle, still focused on brushing the concealer through her friend’s face. “God forbid someone puts you in your place, right unnie?”

She nearly doesn’t escape the highlighter Minjeong throws in her direction, now laughing freely as she continues with her task.

—

Aespa is a band of many talents.

The girls all met during sophomore year of high school, all trapped in detention for the day (as much as Minjeong would rather die than admit she’s ever gotten detention in her life). Even though they differ in personalities, in a clear contrast of cultures, manners, and experiences — their differences somehow added to each other until there wasn’t something missing anymore. The feeling of longing and loneliness that had accompanied them for so many years had finally ceased. After that, the girls found themselves at peace: the world was finally silent, as long as they were together. No matter how chaotic it was, Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning knew they’d like nothing else but to be together.

Luckily, they all shared two main passions: the love for music and the desire for attention, so being in a band together was something that happened rather naturally. The members all agreed, then, that Karina should be the leader. She was soft-spoken, calm, and had the experience in the industry the others lacked, from being a child model. It was the right decision: the oldest would do anything to protect her girls, and knew just the right people to ask for opportunities. They weren’t famous, nor did they make enough money to live off exclusively from the music, but it was enough, for now.

They had trouble understanding you, though. It was hard to grasp why on earth would they have someone so faithful, so committed to following their every move when they weren’t even famous? They didn’t have money, influence, or anything to offer you whatsoever. Yet you were always there, giving them your endless support without asking for anything in exchange. You could be a handful sometimes, sure, but still… your commitment was something that left the girls constantly wondering.

Because you’re special. The world will see this too, someday. is what you’d always answer, followed by a giggle and a wave of your hand, muttering about how it all wasn’t that big of a deal.

But as Giselle watches you help them relocate their instruments and set the tripods and cameras straight, she wonders if that’s truly it.

“Hey, Gigi.” You smile at her, looking down at the ground once you realize you’re the object of her piercing, focused gaze. “Are you and the other girls ready to go? Everything’s in order here.”

Now isn’t the time for that, though, Aeri reminds herself. As of now, the only thing she should focus on is her upcoming stage. Music is one of the many things she was strict with: she pushed herself to nothing but perfection, no matter where she was performing.

The other girls are quick to follow your call, grabbing their instruments and getting into their starter positions as they’ve done countless times before. They all adjust their mics to the perfect height until Karina is the only one left in the center, tapping hers to make sure she sounds loud and clear. Ningning’s hands fiddle with her drumsticks nervously, paddling along with her whole body— surely from the energy drinks she’s had minutes before, while Minjeong and Giselle stay each on one side of the stage, waiting for their leader’s cue.

Offering free tickets for those who arrived before 11 PM was a great strategy that many clubs implemented to fill up their spaces. And even though you’re well aware the girls are known enough to gather such a crowd without that stunt, you’re glad to have a full house staring at the small stage with expectation.

Karina waits until you’re done with your camera’s finishing touches up to speak, her voice echoing through the noise so easily that your hands stop adjusting the device’s focus to pay attention to her. With a smile so big her eyes grow small, her face is like a beacon, gathering all the focus to herself without the need for a spotlight.

“Goodnight! I’m Karina, and those are my bandmates: Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning.” She points to each of her friends, who bow and wave excitedly, still waiting for her cue. “And we’re AESPA! We hope you like our music, we’ve worked hard on our songs! Please enjoy.”

With that, Ningning taps on her drumsticks, as they’ve done countless times before. Minjeong’s bass and Giselle’s guitar sync with Karina’s voice as soon as they start playing, the melody echoing through the place like physical particles. Music is more than just a part of their lives: it’s who they are, how they express themselves, what they breathe, and it’s easy to forget they’re at a shitty pub and not at a fancy festival. As long as their voices and instruments are harmonizing together, the girls get lost in their passion and nothing else matters.

Even though they’re a new group— barely a year into the industry, original songs are not something that lack from their setlist. The public is screaming, the girls are jumping as they sing and dance along the rhythm and you try your best to capture their best angles, but the distraction in the form of a sin that is Karina prevents you from doing a good job. Her dark eyes glow in the dark, giving her an angelic aura as her strong voice reverberates through the place with ease, despite her shitty mic. It’s an impressive crowd they’re performing for, but she’s only staring at you. Preventing you to breathe or even move, afraid she’d lose her interest and look elsewhere.

No, you’d have none of that. Like all the girls, Karina was yours: you’d share her utter attention with no one.

So you stay at the front line, with your hands holding onto the camera as your head is held up in a frozen frame, looking at her.

You’d always look at her.

—

The afterparties are always one of the girls’ favorite events. The adrenaline rush is still present, giving them tons of energy to drink and party with strangers. They are constantly showered with compliments, being pampered, and indulged with all the attention they crave. It’s part of the reasons why they deal with music, obviously: Minjeong, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina. Because the desire to be seen and recognized for their music is a feeling they’ve been looking for ever since they can remember.

And that’s exactly what they were indulging in before hearing a loud crack from outside of the backstage room. The noise, followed by a bunch of ugly screams, startles the four girls, who exchange a quick, worried glance before storming down straight into the sideway alley.

“Damn.” Ningning whistles, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile coming from her lips. At her side, Minjeong and Karina are equally shocked and frozen at the scene unraveling in front of them.

People usually use the dark, space to smoke and get a break from the noisy, heated space of the club. Instead, the four girls find a huddle of girls so entwined with one another it’s hard to tell how many there are. Four, maybe five? Of them are vividly screaming, kicking, tugging, and pulling hairs. Despite the mess, the girls realize there’s one that keeps beating the shit out of them, which is impressive due to being gravely outnumbered.

As the commotion stops for seconds once the strangers become aware of the newer company, it’s easier to tell a specific head of honey hair apart from the others.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Minjeong’s murmur doesn’t come off nearly as disappointed as she intends to. If anything, she’s also holding back her laughter while you prove that one does not need that much muscles to win off a fight.

“Go Y/n!” Karina claps, cheering. None of the three girls make any move towards the scene, so Giselle turns her head towards them in disbelief.

The Japanese girl shrugs, quickly making her way onto the ground to break off the fight. She’s always been strong, and her time spent at the gym pays off as she grabs you by the waist and throws you over her shoulder, heading back to the backstage room as if you weigh nothing. Any attempts of resisting are useless, yet you don’t make Giselle’s job any easier— your kicking and screaming are now directed at her, hands curling into fists while you use your entire strength to hit her muscled back.

“Put me DOWN! I’m not done with those whores.” Your feverish voice is ignored by the four girls, who are used to your tantrums by now.

They know you’re naturally provocative, and never one to back down from a fight, even if you were in the wrong. And, somehow, you were good at it too: even if you left bruised and scratched, your opponents would somehow always turn out worse.

“Sorry ladies, we have some issues to deal with. If you excuse us.” As the group goes back inside, Ningning offers the poor beaten-up girls a calculated smile before closing the door on their faces. She doesn’t bother to check in on them— they’re strangers, after all.

You’re thrown onto the worn-out sofa with little care, suddenly staring at four serious faces. The funny atmosphere of the fight is long gone, so you cross your arms under your chest and grunt, face held high to put up with their judgmental looks.

This is their job, and they can’t have you causing trouble over anything. You’re associated with them by now, whether they like it or not. It’d be an awful occurrence.

“So, troublemaker, tell us.” Giselle is the first to speak, brushing the bangs out of her face. Even after carrying you for solid minutes, she still looks flawless, much different from your disheveled self. “What had you beating their asses out there?”

There’s a pout on your lips, and the defiant air in the room stirs up their nerves. It’s an annoying interruption of the fun they were having just now, and the alcohol makes it hard for them to stay patient.

Minjeong takes half a step forward, her hands messing up your hair even more. “Speak, Y/n. We have better things to do.”

She doesn’t coddle you, tone cold as it always was when directed towards you, but you don’t mind. If anything, you take pride in making her life a bit more difficult every time. You know they won’t give you their attention for much longer, though, which is why sigh deeply.

“I was defending your honor, you idiots!” You gesticulate towards the door, huffing. “Those whores were out there, talking about you, speaking the most vile things… I had to do something. You should be thanking me, and not look so pissed.” You roll your eyes, muttering the rest to yourself as you sink on the dirty couch. “You never acknowledge anything I do anyway.”

It had felt too hot inside, so you passed the backstage area to gather some fresh air at the alley when you encountered the group of girls. They were in love with the band, obviously, and were very vocal about the things they’d let the girls do to them: how their leather clothes were so tight and how hot they were… Hearing such things being said about your girls made your blood boil. They were yours, and no one else had the right to desire them like that. So you were quick to take action and make sure everyone knew who Giselle, Winter, Karina, and Ningning belonged to. As a matter of fact, It was a successful attempt: after the lesson you taught them, those girls would think twice before saying anything again.

Your gaslighting does little to the band; it’s easy to look further into your façade now that they know you. They don’t pity you in the slightest, well aware you’re one to be cautious around.

Karina smiles at your act. She can’t help it if the pout on your lips makes you so adorable, and your crossed arms are the reason your send nudes crop top rides up so your boobs are even more evident. “Which things, Y/n? What were they saying, exactly?”

“What they said doesn’t matter.” You huff, dismissing Karina’s question with a wave of your hand. “The important thing is that they’ve been dealt with, and your honor is intact. You’re welcome.”

The electronic music is loud, and it’s easy to feel the rhythm reverberating through the furniture, sending electric waves to your bones that rile you up even more. You’re energized, ready to go back to the crowd, drink, smoke, and stir up some trouble again.

Aeri must’ve been thinking the same thing since she merely shakes her head and leaves without a word. Ning is the next one to follow, proceeded by Minjeong, who rolls her eyes and points her finger right at your face.

“You’re such a menace, Y/n. Acting like an animal… you can’t behave at all.” You’re used to the disdain in her voice, so the only thing you do is mirror her snobbish stare as you watch her leave.

Unlike her bandmate, Karina’s eyes are kind— even though you’ve just messed up hard. You’re the only ones left in the room, you realize, as she holds out her hand to you. With her presence, the music ceases, and the only thing you can focus on is the sound of her heartbeat, and how her little chin mole goes up to match her smile, which is equally sweet.

Sweet, patient, and definitely too good for you: that’s Karina, a soul that should stay untouched, not yet ruined by the world and by other people.

Too bad that you’ve never been one to do the right thing.

You navigate towards her in a magnetic motion, taking her help so fast your bodies nearly crash once you get up from the couch. Instead of complaining or making fun of you for being so abrupt, Karina takes her free hand to your face, cupping your cheek before carefully wiping the dirt from your skin.

“Troublemaker.” She repeats Giselle’s words from earlier, although they sound almost reverent when said in her raspy voice, tired from the crazy routine they live with. “She’s a bit right, don’t you think?” The smirk on her lips is playful, and she toys with you. “You keep us on our toes, for sure. I guess someone has to.”

She doesn’t mind. If anything, Karina misses your presence when you’re gone— which is thankfully, a rare occasion. Sure, you’re stubborn, spoiled, and very annoying, but the band somehow needs you to keep their engines running. She knows the other girls feel the same way about you too, even if they’re good at not making it known.

Being with Karina feels right. She’s Aespa’s peace, their leader, and their oldest member. And, just like everybody that has ever met her, you long to be around the older girl.

“Let’s go back to the party, Jimin unnie.” You tell her, crossing your arms behind her neck. If there’s anything she’d want you to do, you would. Gladly. “I want to dance.”

She smiles back at you, looking at the half-open door before nodding. “As you wish, Y/n.”

—

Aespa’s hotel room for the night is precarious, to say the least. The wallpaper is peeling from the walls, the furniture is dusty— and the small dining table seems to barely handle your laptop and media equipment. The bed makes too many weird noises at the slightest movement, and the smell of mold is a bit unsettling for those with a decent sense of smell.

It’s Minjeong’s job to deal with their spending and to book their stays, whenever the band wanders off their hometown. Her father works as a treasurer at a well-established company and has taught her how to handle her own money from a young age. Sometimes, though, she tends to spend too little, given the fact that they still did not earn much with their performances, and the five girls would end up in situations like the current one. Not that they truly minded: they had two rooms to sleep in and breakfast by the morning, which was more than enough. They would handle the rest.

Karina, Giselle, Ningning, and Minjeong are all rockstars, it’s natural for them to thrive under attention. They live for it, and you love to record their pretty faces. Out of all the experiences of being with the girls, getting to take pictures and videos of their performances and looks— be it before, during, or after their shows. Editing might also be a pain and sometimes feel like a chore, but it was also something you enjoyed doing.

Besides, the praises and the proud, enamored look Giselle, Ningning, Karina, and Minjeong gave you whenever you updated something new to their channel and social media was something you looked forward to, naturally. In fact, you’re so focused on your task that you barely notice a sudden wave of hot breath on your shoulder.

“How far are you, yet?” Karina’s wet hair clings to your neck as you breathe in her post-bath scent, so refreshing. You’re unable to see her sulk behind you, but her whiny tone is enough for you to figure her feelings out before she adds, “Also, why am I the one with the least videos, Y/n?”

You don’t even stop your work to look at the vocalist, who stares at your laptop’s screen with expectation: the answer is obvious to anyone who has ever had the privilege of getting to know Aespa's leader."

“Because I’m always too busy looking at you to focus on anything else.” The words leave your mouth immediately, exposing facts. “But I’ll improve for next time if that’s what you wish.”

Doing anything after Karina opens her mouth is impossible. Her angelic voice and sharp moves draw all the attention to her immediately; one would be completely insane to not be mesmerized by her. By all of her.

“It is.” She nods, still so close you’re able to feel her body pressed against you through the chair’s cracks. Like a kitten, Karina purrs, finally breaking the tension between you by pressing small, wet kisses to your neck. “Y/n…”

You’re doomed. You’ve known that ever since she left the bathroom, with wet hair and red, swollen lips that did little to hide what she was up to while the shower was running.

Karina’s long, purple-painted nails scratch your neck, forcing you to pay attention to her— as if you’d do anything else. You’re quick to comply, closing your laptop as you stand up and walk away from the oldest member, onto your backpack. Her confused brows are adorable, but the realization comes soon once she reckons the camera on your hands. By then, there’s a dirty smirk on both of your lips; you know she loves this as much as you do.

“Are you up for another show, doll?”

Karina nods, suddenly shy from all the dirty thoughts going through her head. Her skin throbs, and there’s a familiar sensation building up in her core from the anticipation.

After waiting for the camera to be well adjusted and centered in front of the bed, with the familiar red dot announcing the recording, she turns around, removing her robe with practiced ease. The silk fabric of her robe cascades from her back, exposing her milky skin in its most perfect form. She’s indeed like a doll; body still untouched, announcing it’s been a while since she’s had any fun, and her Venus dimples flare up with every step she takes towards the bed. Her curves are perfectly enhanced by her sensual walk— she knows so, grabbing her hair out of the way so you’re able to get a clear shot of her body.

You’re so lucky to even have the privilege of looking at her. Karina seems to think the same thing; her knowing smile turns malicious just as she sits on the bed, spreading her legs out for your delight. Playing around with her is almost a routine, by now: Karina needs something, someone to be her stress-relief, and you’re more than eager to help.

However, seeing her bare and so eager to welcome your touch was something you’d crave forever. No matter how many times it happened: you’d always be hungry for the slightest glimpse of her pretty pussy.

And it was no secret that Karina loved to show off, so you drink on her like you haven’t had a single drop of liquor in ages.

It had indeed been too long.

“How do I look, baby?” Her voice is soft, calm as she looks deep inside your eyes and taps on her pussy with two of her fingers. A small strand of wetness lingers between her fingers and her slit, and she takes her fingers forward to make a show for seconds longer. It’s only when the strand dissipates that Karina brings her fingers into her mouth, taking them in ever so naturally. You don’t even register the whine that comes from your lips once she releases them with a ‘bop’, right after licking them clean.

“Absolutely stunning.” Your answer comes in a heartbeat, which pleases her deeply. In a blink, you’re in front of her on the bed, although still careful to not cover up her frame for the camera. Not that you have to worry about that; Karina is well aware of her best angles. “As always.” You lick your lips, eager to have your mouth on her, licking every part of her body until she’s more than satisfied, coated with your saliva.

But you know better than to touch her without permission, so you simply wait, aware she needs more indulgence than merely a few words. You run your hands up and down her legs, ever so obedient, hoping she’ll allow you to touch her.

Instead, her fingers go up to her chest, groping her big, voluptuous breasts. She’s so evil— Karina knows how obsessed you are with her boobs, “You caused so much trouble today, Y/n… I shouldn’t let you touch me at all.”

Her feigned innocence only adds to your desire, dampening your pussy even more. Even though you’re burning up, you can’t help but be in awe by how much of a goddess she looks, and it takes everything in you to not just grab her by the ankles and suck on her clit until she was screaming and leaking white from her pussy. Still staring at you, Karina twists her nipples and moans, biting her lip as she breathes in deeply.

You’re already throbbing yourself, and she’s done nothing. That’s the amount of power she has over you.

“I’ve been bad.” You nod almost eagerly, ready to do whatever she commands you to if it means you’ll get to pleasure her. “Can I still have you, though? Promise to make you feel super good.”

At first look, Karina might be the most inviting one out of all of the girls, but you know better than to fall into her trap: just like her bandmates, the leader thrives on playing games, manipulating people, and fooling around. Thankfully to both you and her, you’re happy to indulge in all of her wishes. So you add, battling your lashes at her as you take off your clothes yourself, not bothering for a command on this matter. “I’ll do my best for unnie…”

Karina’s eyes darken at the sight of your naked body; it’s so empowering to know she’s just as affected by you, and she runs her fingers through your hair with practiced ease. Taking her silence as an encouragement, you lie down until your face is lined up with her soaked cunt, blowing warm, rapid breaths onto her sex.

She smiles, then, caressing your cheek before giving it a light tap. “Go get the strap, baby.” Your smile fades immediately, and you contemplate ignoring her words until she’s changed your mind before your cheek is met with more of Karina’s fingers, her touch stronger this time. “Now.”

You huff, muttering incoherences because she’s such a bitch, ruining all of your plans, but still do as told, grabbing the strap without much further fussing. With the toy in hands, you return to the edge of the bed, staring at her with a puzzled look on your face.

“Are you going to use it?” You ask, curious. Taking Karina’s cock was something you always looked forward to, and the sight of her pounding onto you was enough for your walls to clench, eager to welcome her.

Karina launches forward before you even finish your question, grabbing your thighs with practiced ease as her fingers brush your pussy. The surprise touch makes you let out a loud moan, which stirs up a laugh on the older girl.

“If only you’d behaved today… I had so many things planned for us to do.” Karina’s voice sounds almost regretful, making you kneel once again, “No, baby. Tonight’s only about me. Now suck.”

There’s little time for you to think her thoughts through. Your mind goes blank, and you open your mouth to give her a show this time, reversing the roles. Always eager to please, you gag on her cock. Saliva drips onto the sheets as she shoves it down your throat, but you don’t seem to care, emptying your mind to give her will over you to use you like a toy. She’s not sweet or slow by any means— Karina’s innocent smile, welcoming posture, and puppy-like personality make a good disguise for hiding how dirty she is. Part of her tells herself it’s wrong, and that’s why she tries to reject how much her body craves rougher actions, but the truth is that the hiding and the expectation also turn her on.

Those thoughts hover in your mind as you bob on her strap, looking at the leader through your lashes while you gather all your focus on giving your best for her. You try to look your best, and give your best for Aespa’s leader: she deserves nothing less, after all. It seems to be enough for Karina, who sighs at the sight of you staring from behind your lashes with your hair all over the place ever since her tangling hands went to your scalp, encouraging you to keep going for so long you’ve lost track of time.

“Beautiful. You look so beautiful like this, baby.” She murmurs with a low, sultry tone as she takes the strap from your mouth and seals your lips in a slow kiss. You’re starved for her; your boobs press together when you deepen the kiss, desperate for more. At this point you’re already soaked, leaving a deep, wet spot on the sheets— and your skin burns. “Don’t be rude. Say thank you.”

Such a tease, she is. You roll your eyes at her trying to rile you up, and she laughs. “Don’t even.” You mutter, rolling your eyes at her.

Karina’s hands go to your thighs, caressing your skin as she motions for you to get up once again. “You’re so stubborn.” She chants, adjusting the strap on you. Per her request, you lay back on the bed as soon as you’re done, somehow managing to sink under the shallow pillows.

There’s such a mean smirk dancing around her lips. Your cunt aches and it’s borderline painful; sweat covers your body and you’re nearly sure you’ll go insane if you don’t give her all the pleasure she’s worthy of very soon. All you want is to eat her out until she’s breathless, porcelain skin all marked begging for you to stop. Then, you’d lick her clean, making her cum so many times there’d be plenty of milk dripping from her hole for you to drink on. All yours. She’s all yours to tend to.

“Why don’t you just let me do it already…” You whine, drawing your head back when she grabs one of your nipples and twists— the friction feels so good it sends a hit of pleasure straight to your pussy.

Instead of indulging your needs, Karina laughs, and there’s a hidden mockery in her tone that only adds to your frustration. She comes close until her hips rest on your thighs, with the strap being the only thing that keeps a distance between you. Before you’re able to test her patience even more, she positions the dick on her entrance, slightly rocking back and forth so it hits deliciously against her clit.

“You can look.” She says, grabbing your shoulders to steady herself. “But you can’t touch. Understood, baby?”

Karina’s eyes, big and expressive, stare at you with feigned innocence as one of her hands caresses your jaw, lifting your face so you’d stare at her. Having her making such luscious sounds so close to you is like a death penalty. Karina’s mouth hangs slightly open, and you gulp whenever she aligns the fake dick with her entrance, giving you a serious look that makes it clear that she expects an answer to her command.

A huge bitch, she is. A hot, sexy, and huge bitch. It’s nearly impossible to stay still, but you can see the challenge in her eyes as soon as she cocks her head at you. Although her little act of defiance is silent, her intentions are as clear as day: she wants you to humiliate yourself: to beg for forgiveness so you’ll maybe get granted the privilege of touching her.

So you smile back, placing your hands on your hips and doing nothing else, even if you’re itching to run your tongue all over her body. “As you wish, unnie.”

Karina is so wet, of course she is— it’s not hard to leave her drenched. The dick slides in easily, and she takes her time with taking down its inches. Your grip on her hips turns slightly stronger at the sight of her looking so angelical, as her big, soft boobs are all in display to your face. That earns you a censoring look, and you move your hands with another eye-roll. There's nothing more you want but to touch her.

After a few breaths, Karina finds a steady pace, bouncing on your lap. The gushing sounds of her pussy that echo through the room are nearly pornographic, and you find yourself letting out desperate whimpers, too.

“So good.” She murmurs, lost in pleasure. Her grip on your shoulders tightens, and you feel her muscles tensing up.

You can’t help it— watching her pleasure herself is almost too much. Without much thinking, your fingers make their way to her clit, circling her hardened as you study her, testing out the waters. She lets out a gasp at the sensation, closing her eyes to enjoy the way her lower abdomen kept building up the tension. The tingling sensation increases with the rhythm of your strokes, along with her moves, and it doesn’t take much further for Karina to cum.

Just as always, Karina’s strong voice fills the room as she takes her head back, clenching her pussy once the waves of pleasure hit her with strong motions. Her entire body trembles, and she relies on you to keep her steady.

“You look the prettiest when you cum.” You tell her, after a few moments of silence.

The laugh she lets out is weak, more like a giggle as Karina sighs deeply, carelessly throwing herself on your side of the bed. She turns to you, then, so close your noses are nearly touching, disregarding your words as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “And you can’t ever behave, can you?”

You mirror her smirk, pecking her lips before shaking your head. “You like it that way, though.”

The two of you stay in a comfortable silence, one you don’t mind at all. The girls have had some busy, tiring weeks, and you know Karina needs rest. She’s tired—they all are, so the tension relief was well welcomed by the oldest girl. Despite being all sweaty and breathless, Karina is much less anxious now that you’ve helped her relax. She runs her fingers through your body, taking her time until she reaches your pussy. It delights her to feel how soaked you are: she’s aware of the amount of power she holds over you, and the fact that you’re gulping, still throbbing yourself, is something so empowering to her.

It makes her insides tingle all over again, asking for more.

“Jimin…” You whine again, opening your legs to give the girl better access to your entrance. You need her to touch you or else you’ll explode.

Two of her fingers enter your cunt before you can cry any further, hitting a fast pace without warning. The action is well welcomed, and you hold her wrist, motioning to go further. But Karina loves to make you frustrated; it’s almost as if she thrives on it: just like they made their way inside, her fingers are gone, and her mean smirk is back.

“You haven’t behaved at all today.” She repeats herself, laughing as she kisses your pout away. You bite her lip in response, which makes her pull your face away, although she’s still giggling. “You’ll get nothing tonight, baby. I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at her, “You’re such a fucking liar! You’re not sorry at all!”

Karina turns her back to you, making a show of ignoring you as she grabs the covers just as a big yawn hits her. “Goodnight to you too, pretty. Sleep tight,” You roll your eyes, ready to give her a sneaky remark when she adds, “Oh, and don’t forget to turn off the camera. We don’t want you running out of battery or anything, do we?”

“You’re such a bitch.” Although you still get up and do as told, knowing she’s partially right.

Karina waits patiently for you to return to bed, with her small eyes and big smile. The sensuality and roughness from earlier have been replaced by her usual bubbly self, which you adore just as much. It has always been amusing to you how easily it is for her to just switch back and forth from the luscious, gorgeous woman she is to her puppy personality, and you adore her either way.

You hop into her arms, humming when she fills your neck with small, wet kisses.

“You have to behave, silly.” Is what she tells you, biting your skin gently. You’re one to bruise easily, you both know it as much. However, you say nothing, allowing her to do as she pleases. “Otherwise you won’t get a reward.”

“We’ll see about that.” You murmur, happy to get lost in her cuddles. “I sure need something after that torture session.”

Your words cause you to be pushed back, although you know Karina’s only joking.“Oh my God! Go to sleep, Y/n. Goodnight.”

“Ugh.” Is all you answer, closing your arms around her waist.

“Y/n.”

“Right, right.” You sigh, “Goodnight, cutie. Can I get a kiss?”

The hand that goes through your face is enough of an answer.

“Sleep. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” She commands.

And because it’s Karina, you obey. You’d always hail the band’s leader.

Your personal camgirl.

—

Breakfast has always been something you’d skip if you could. It’s a pain to wake up so early, and you need at least an hour to be somewhat presentable and another two until you can properly talk to anyone. However, the soon you leave this shitty hotel the better, so you resume sitting beside Giselle and Ningning while they talk excitedly. You chew on your bread with scrambled eggs with perhaps too much patience, still marveling at how composed they look despite running on 5 hours of sleep.

“So, we’ve got good news. Amazing news, actually. Like, the greatest news ever.” Ningning’s nearly jumping in her seat, her eyes darting from you, then Giselle, Minjeong, and finally to Karina multiple times in seconds. Yizhuo plays with her hands, nudging Karina while nearly dying of anxiety. “Unnie, would you please tell them? Go, go.”

The excitement in her tone captures enough of your attention; you, Giselle, and Minejong collectively sit up straighter, exchanging a confused look. The fact that they know as little as you do is comforting, and stirs up a nice, warm feeling of being included within your heart. The girls could be harsh and a little mean sometimes, naturally, but there are times when they’re also very sweet.

Karina laughs, pinching Ning’s cheeks. Even though Ningning pretends she despises it, you love to baby her and spoil her rotten.

“You can do it, Ning.” She encourages her baby girl to speak up, loving the smile that brightens up the maknae’s lips after the command. “Go ahead, tell them what we’re doing next.”

With her leader’s blessing, Ningning lets out a happy squeal and launches herself upwards. The upper half of her body hangs on the breakfast table as she looks around before whispering as if the topic is top-secret.

“So, this guy approached me after our show.” She stops abruptly at your reactions, waving her hands, “Hey, don’t make such faces! He wasn’t a weirdo or anything, I promise. Anyway, he came up and said he worked for AKT Music Ent. and that he liked our music and thought we had potential.” Ningning pauses, looking up to her leader for reassurance. Once Karina nods, giving her a knowing smile, she adds, “And then I told him to talk to Karina, of course, because she’s our leader and all… but basically, he invited us to compete at The Box, next month. Can you believe it?”

“You’re fucking with us.” Minjeong answers, in awe. She looks at Karina, with her mouth still slightly open in shock. “Please tell me you’re serious. That this isn’t a joke or anything.”

Karina has a proud look on her face as she nods. “It’s a thing. We’re doing it.”

“HELL YES!” Giselle screams, laughing loudly. She reaches out her arms and squeezes you and Ningning in a tight hug, her embrace so strong it’s borderline suffocating. Not that you mind— if anything, it fills you with warmth to be with them in their first big accomplishment. “WE’RE PLAYING IN THE BOX! OH MY FUCKING GOD. WE ARE AMAZING!”

Minjeong and Karina laugh at her reaction, just as happy from the news. Taking part in the event is an amazing opportunity for them: the mere thought of performing at the stage is enough to give them goosebumps, both of fear and excitement.

The Box is a week-long competition where the top 3 winners get a 2-year long contract, each signed with one of the Big 3 music companies of the country: SM, JYP or YG. It’s an elite program where successful bands have gained popularity and recognition, like SNSD. It’s set at a big, open area at the countryside and held much like a festival: the event has become more and more capitalized with every passing year. The companies make sure to hold a big show out of the entire thing, broadcasting the events that happen simultaneously 24/7— numerous interviews, commercials are shot by the participants to support the sponsors of the competition, which helps them to make their debut on national television. There are various foods, restaurants and parties being held at all times. It’s also a great opportunity for fans of nugu bands to personally interact with them, and actually super nice to meet other bands and artists. Besides the main goal, being at the event alone is a huge honor and opportunity for the band to grow as artists. They certainly won’t take for granted.

Minjeong claps excitedly. “We need to celebrate!”

“Absolutely.” Giselle agrees, looking in disgust at the men who kept sitting at the nearby tables even though it was still fairly early, and the Diner was still empty. “At home, though. Let’s get out of here, please.”

The five of you exchange a knowing look, collectively getting up at the same time as you grab your belongings and hurry to leave the shitty hotel. Your hearts are filled with pride, and you couldn’t be happier for them.

“You deserve this.” Is what you tell them, breaking the steady silence that reigned in the car. The girls look at you, all returning from dreamland.

Even though their only response is a faint hum, the satisfaction on their faces tells you they needed to hear that. “This is only a result of your hard work. All the hours of practice, the shitty-ass places you played at before, the No’s you’ve gotten… It’s going to work out, trust me.”

Karina’s arms go to your neck, in a gentle caress as she adds, looking at her bandmates. Her best friends. “Y/n is right. We got this.”

There’s nothing they can’t do, as long as they’re together.

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7seas-of-ryy · 2 months

Text

I Need You | Part 5

Author’s Note: *F/C = your fav color* I'm enjoying writing this so much that I've been writing in ALL of my free time!! :) Have more parts started already so hopefully I won't keep you all waiting too long!

Summary: Maybe if you pretend to be alright, then it will be?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions scars, let me know if I need to add any others :)

The next morning you woke up determined. You would prove to everyone that you were ok. But first, you would need to get out of bed, bathe, and then get dressed... all on your own.

You slowly dragged yourself out of bed, your bones creaking from the lack of movement for so long. Madja may have healed you but you could still feel a lot of the pain. And there were large welts over your body where the deepest cuts had been. You would have some pretty nasty scars soon.

It took way too long to get up and walk towards the bath. You might never make it down to the group if you don't get dressed and go right now. So opting out of bathing, which may have not been the best idea, you grabbed some clothes instead. You got dressed in what you would normally wear. Because you needed everything to be normal.

You slipped a nice F/C dress on, brushed down your hair and braided it back. You walked over to the mirror in your room to check yourself over and that's when you really saw the marks covering your arms.

You gasped and ran your fingers over each mark. Air seems to vanish from your lungs and tears sprang to your eyes. No. You grabbed a hold of that feeling and shoved it deep down inside of you. You would not break.

You heard a creak and whipped your head around to see the shadowsinger standing there. You don't know how long he was there but you knew he made the noise on purpose to make himself known. You watched as his eyes moved along your arms, surely he was disgusted with you.

"Y/N-" He started

"Stop" You interrupted him

He cleared his throat, then waited a minute, "I uh came to see if you needed anything, I can bring you some food" the male gently spoke

"No thank you, I'll be joining you all today. I'll be down in a minute" you gave him a smile, hoping he would buy it.

He eyed you suspiciously but didn't push any further and left your room.

Grabbing a sweater to cover up as many of the marks as you could, you began downstairs. The stairs were just another challenge you needed to get through. You managed to make it down one deep breath at a time.

Before you entered the kitchen, you forced a smile on your face. Walking to grab some coffee, you could feel all eyes on you. Azriel, Cassian, Rhys, Feyre, Mor, Nesta, Elain, Amren, and even Lucien were all watching your every move.

"You got yourself dressed and came down on your own." Rhys stated simply

"I am not a child. I know how to clothe myself," You snapped at him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it... I just..."

"Y/N I found the most interesting book on the history of the Day Court but it appears to be in one of their old languages. I was wondering if you could help me translate it?" Lucien asked

You felt grateful to the male for changing the subject.

"Yes, I would love to help" you were happy to have something to focus on

You didn't notice Azriel looking between you and Lucien, softly glaring at the male.

As you went to sit at the table, you stumbled slightly, a sharp pain shooting up your leg. Everyone jumped up to help you.

"I'm fine, just tripped on my dress. Seriously, I promise" you gave a small smile to them all as you sat at the table.

You could feel a small shadow wrapping around your ankle and climbing your leg exactly where the pain had been. You smiled softly at the comfort, then remembered that you didn't mean enough to him for him to even show up. A scowl quickly overtook your face and you shooed the shadow away.

Conversation started amongst everyone. You were sat next to Nesta, who started telling you about her most recent smutty book she had read. At least she was treating you like everything was normal.

Besides the fact that you could barely look at Az, you wanted to forgive him. You wanted to take his guilt away but that was a lot harder than it seemed. Avoiding him seemed to be the best option for now.

Eventually everyone started heading off to whatever work they had to accomplish that day. Azriel took off in search of any answers. You, Rhy, Cass, and Lucien were left at the table.

"Until we can figure out why this happened to you, we think its best you stay here, where you're safe" Rhys said

"I will stay with you and we can do research from the house so you'll still be helping" Lucien added

You were about to reluctantly agree, knowing your limits, when Azriel's shadows started to appear and their master not too far behind.

"Eris is here" he said coldly

"Bring him in and be nice. He's the reason y/n is alive." Rhys replied

The spymaster returned quickly with Eris.

"Y/n I had no idea that was going to happen, I need you all to believe that." Eris started out

"Why have you been ignoring our requests to meet?" Rhys countered

"I was trying to figure out what was going on, just like you. These past few days have been rough. I couldn't just go around asking questions, it would raise suspicion... But, I figured out why they attacked and kidnapped her." the autumn court male stated

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

@darkbloodsly @xtreme-shipper @rcarbo1 @shamelessdonutkryptonite @anna-reader-blog

@favsrachz @julesvanslutta @kitsunetori @i-am-infinite @cat-or-kitten

@tele86 @popcornlauncher @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @anxious-cactus @amara-moonlight

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@saltedcoffeescotch @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @mp-littlebit

#azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader

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puckinghischier · 6 months

Text

Jersey Talk

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader finds herself engaging in a lot of jersey talk

notes: part 3 of my lil unnamed nico series!! i loved writing this part and hope you enjoy it as much as i do 🥹 also, i didn’t really proofread so ignore any mistakes. and just a disclaimer, i don’t claim to know everything there is to know about any of the players mentioned in my writing, so if there’s inaccuracies on timelines or personality traits, just ignore them and assume it’s for the plot 😌

p.s.!! i’m thinking about starting a tag list for this/any of my writing i post so if you want to be a part of that, let me know!!

part 1, part 2, part 4

[6.4k]

You absolutely love how foot travel friendly New Jersey is. Coming from an area where foot travel is virtually nonexistent, the change is a welcomed one. You appreciate being able to simply grab your favorite totes, your headphones, and make the fifteen-minute walk to the small corner store. Surely in the winter you’ll feel differently about the five-block trek, but hopefully you’ll have your car by then. For now, the comfortable Autumn air makes the walk enjoyable. The fresh air, the beautiful buildings, and the surprising friendliness of the strangers you pass on the street make you feel like you made the right decision in relocating your life to the garden state.

Luckily this grocery run was fairly light, only needing to pick up some essentials until one of the boys gives you a ride to the larger chain grocery store on one of their upcoming off days. You really just needed the ingredients to make dinner tonight, making good on your promise to be their personal shopper and occasional chef in exchange for a place to live. You even stopped in a small bakery about a block from your apartment and picked up a few assorted pastries for a sweet treat later, knowing how much Luke loves his dessert.

As you walk into the apartment, courtesy of your shiny new key Jack gave you last week, you see both him and Luke on the couch, each with one hand on an iPad held out so both could view the contents on the screen. You assume they’re watching game film, preparing for their game later in the week against the Rangers. Your assumption is confirmed when you hear the unmistakable sound of sticks slapping against pucks and ice coming from the iPad in question.

They’re both so engrossed in the game film on the screen that they have no clue that you’ve even walked through the door. You make your way to the kitchen to unload what’s in your hands, putting away what little groceries you bought. Once you’re finished in the kitchen, you make your way back out into the living room, wanting to catch up with your roommates on how their midday practice had gone. As you walk towards the living area, rounding the loveseat adjacent to the sectional where the boys sit, Luke catches your moving figure from the corner of his eye. His body jerks slightly, clearly startled until he notices its only you.

“Oh my god you just scared the shit out of me,” you hear him exhale, holding his hand to his chest.

You just chuckle as you see Jack whip his head up, confused as to what Luke was referring to until he saw you sitting down, tucking your feet up under your legs to get comfortable.

“When did you get home? Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asks, pausing the game film and sitting the iPad on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

“No, you two were just lost in hockey land when I came in. I went to the corner mart a few blocks down to get stuff to make dinner, then put it all away before coming in here. Thought I’d give you guys a few more minutes before I came in here and interrupted,” you replied, resting your chin on your hands that are placed on the arm of the loveseat.

“Well, you have our full attention now. What’s up?” Jack leans back into the couch once again, stretching his arms above his head.

“Just wanted to talk to my boys. See how practice went today. Figure out how you guys are going to fare against the Rags,” you throw in a small dig at their biggest rival team.

“The Rags? Since when do you participate in hockey talk?” Luke chimes into the conversation, laughing slightly at your attempt to assimilate into the world of hockey.

“Since I overheard a conversation at this cute little bakery down the street. While I was waiting in line there was a man in front of me with a Devils hat on and the guy working the counter was asking him about his thoughts on the game this week. He was talking about how much he wishes ‘the boys can pull their heads out of their asses and beat the damn Rags’ and I thought it was funny. Figured I should probably adopt the local vernacular if I want to fit in around here. You know, participate in the Jersey talk,” you recall with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two brothers let out a little chuckle at your story, amused at your attempt to insert yourself into their world. The two of them and Quinn taught you a lot about how hockey is played and the rules over the years, but their hope of you fully getting involved in all of the aspects of hockey and the fanbase quickly dissolved. They would sit and force you to watch reruns of games with them over the summer at the lake, and you would sit there and whine because of how badly you wanted to go out on the boat or drive the golf cart down to the local ice cream shop, not listening to a single word the trio would say to you. Once you made the decision to move in with the two youngest brothers, you figured you should probably put a little more effort into the whole hockey fan experience, considering you would likely be attending games on a regular basis.

“Well, we’ve been preparing for the Rags, so that old man in the bakery can rest easy knowing we’re working our asses off, which our heads aren’t in, by the way,” Jack speaks, correcting the stranger’s statement.

“Yeah, we’re doing really well, actually. We keep splitting the team up and forcing one half to mimic the Rangers and some of their techniques, so we’re actually getting really good at stopping them from getting the puck into our zone. Plus, our goalies are putting out some insane stops during practice, so I really think we’ve got this in the bag,” Luke adds, excited to showcase their hard work.

You’ve noticed that practices must have been hard for the boys this week. A lot of naps and ibuprofen consumed. You haven’t really seen much of them, if you’re being honest. They’re usually gone by the time you wake up in the mornings and so tired by the time they come home that they go straight to the couch or their bedrooms and fall asleep. By the time they wake up from their naps you’re usually already cooking dinner, at least getting to chat a bit while you cook. After finishing dinner they’re back to the couch, watching game film or heading back to the arena for various events and strategy meetings. They go to bed fairly early, considering all of their early morning starts, so evenings are usually spent in your room by yourself watching tv or catching up with your friends back home. You suppose you should get used to spending time by yourself, though, knowing you’ll be here by yourself more often than not during the season.

They had a game in Boston a few days prior, leaving you with your apartment to yourself for the first time in the two weeks you’ve lived with them. They were only gone for one night, but it was definitely lonely. You really haven’t been here long enough to have an abundance of people to call up anytime Jack and Luke were unavailable, so you had passed the time by exploring the area around your apartment complex a little, finding the perfect park to go sit at to soak up some much-needed sunshine. You couldn’t hide your excitement when the two brothers returned home the next evening, though. You got up from the couch and ran over to the door, ready to greet them and ask them all about the game (you had watched it on tv, but you really just wanted to talk to someone after a full day with no one’s company but your own), but you were greeted with tired eyes and frowns, despite their win the previous night. You simply gave each of them a hug and then sent them off to bed, knowing once they got some sleep they would be up for conversation.

This is why, right now, even though you have zero knowledge of what preparing for a rival hockey game consists of, you’re taking in every word the two have to offer about the subject. You’re just happy to have a few uninterrupted minutes to sit and talk with them.

“Good! That’s great! Really…good,” you say, giving a thumbs up and awkward smile after failing to come up with a better response to Luke’s statements.

Luke just laughs, appreciating your attempts at interest in their jobs.

“You’re coming to the game, right? We put back a ticket for you, but if you can’t make it that’s okay, too. Got you a pretty sick seat, though. Glass seat, right beside the net,” Jack reveals, raising his eyebrows a bit, as if trying to convince you.

“Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you exclaim, a little offended at the mere thought you’d skip out on such a big game for them.

“You won’t be disappointed, I swear. We’re gonna kick some major Rags ass,” Luke adds, excitement showing at the idea of you being in the crowd.

“The real question here shouldn’t be if I’m coming to the game or not. It’s whose jersey am I going to wear?” you throw out, poking fun at the two.

“Pshh, c’mon that one’s a no brainer. You’ll obviously wear mine, I’m your favorite,” Jack waves off your words, fully confident that you’ll agree with him.

“I don’t know, Rowdy. I feel like plenty of people will have 86 jerseys on. It is Moose’s rookie season, maybe I should wear his so he feels included.”

“Yeah, dickhead. You have a whole arena full of people wearing your number, she should wear mine. We all know it’s the better number anyways,” Luke retorts.

Jack rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back an insult at Luke, but he’s cut off by a knock at the door. You look over at the two boys to see if they know who might be at the door, but both of their faces mirror your confused look. So much for your uninterrupted time with them.

“Did you guys invite someone over? Or should I be worried that there’s a murderer standing on the other side of our door right now,” you ask.

“Well first of all I don’t think a murderer would knock on the door. They would probably pick the lock or something. Isn’t the whole point of murdering someone to do it when they don’t see it coming?” Jack responds, standing up. “Second of all, it’s probably just Nico. I had mentioned watching game film together at practice earlier and he told me he’d see how he was feeling later. Kinda forgot about it, if I’m being honest, but this is around the time he wakes up from his post-practice nap.”

You sit up a little straighter when Jack mentions his teammate and captain. You hadn’t seen him since your first night in town about two weeks ago. You’d caught little bits of information about him in passing from both Jack and Luke, but tried to keep your questions about him to a minimum. The two of you were still practically strangers, not having had any reason to communicate after that night. You assume he’s been as busy as Jack and Luke, coming and going far more than you. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t even run into him once. You figure his captain duties keep him far busier than even Luke and Jack.

You hear the front door open and then two sets of voices making their way down the short hallway. You look over to see Nico in a hoodie and sweats, a hat hiding his long hair. You think back to that night at the bar when his hair was uncovered and he was having to push it out of his eyes for most of the night, wishing you could catch a glimpse of the brown locks right now. The two were continuing their short conversation from the door, so Nico had yet to acknowledge you or Luke yet. You look away, starting to pick at a loose thread on your socks, knowing you needed to avert your eyes before you were caught staring.

Unknown to you, Luke had already noticed your stare, observing how fixated you were on his captain. You look over to find Luke staring at you, an undecipherable expression on his face. You give him a puzzled look, as if to say ‘what?’ and he responds by simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Oh, hey you two. How’s it going?” Nico’s voice pulls you from your silent conversation with Luke, noticing Jack was no longer next to him.

“Hey, man. How was your nap? Your shoulder okay?” Luke asks him, adjusting his body slightly on the couch to make room for Nico to sit down.

You turn your head to look at Nico once again, a small hint of worry surfacing. He doesn’t look injured? His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and he’s not holding it in pain. You watch as he sits down to see if even the smallest wince makes its way across his face as his back comes to rest against the plush cushions. If he’s in any sort of pain, he’s not letting it show in his actions.

“Yeah, perfectly fine. Don’t give yourself that much credit, kid. You don’t hit nearly as hard as you think you do,” Nico chuckles, taking his hand and tapping Luke on the knee a few times.

“Trying to hurt your captain before a huge game, Luke?” you speak for the first time since Nico entered the apartment. “Maybe I should wear Jack’s jersey on Saturday.”

“I knew it! See, my jersey is clearly the better choice, Moose. Sucks to suck, huh?” Jack interjects with a grin, walking from the direction of the kitchen, glass of water in hand.

“Now c’mon, Y/N, that isn’t even fair. It was an accident!” Luke cries out. “We were running drills and I was trying to stop, but I misjudged and ran into Nico. He didn’t even hit the glass that hard, you heard him!”he argues, looking between you and his brother.

“All I’m saying is, it won’t look good if the rookie is the reason the captain can’t play against public enemy number one. Then you’ll become public enemy number one, and I can’t be caught at a game wearing the new public enemy’s jersey. I’m already a newcomer, I can’t tarnish my reputation this early,” you hold your hands up in defense.

“What have I just walked into?” Nico asks, eyes darting between the three of you.

“Well, right before you walked in, we were talking about which jersey Y/N was going to wear to the game on Saturday. I told her the obvious choice was mine, but she decided to spew some bullshit about there being too many 86 jerseys already, so she should wear Luke’s since he’s new and needs to feel included,” Jack uses finger quotes around the last part of his sentence.

“Well, she has a point.”

“See! Even Cap thinks so! That’s it, you’re wearing my jersey, Y/N. Cap’s word is final,” Luke leans back, taking in his assumed victory.

Your mind wanders back to Nico’s words he spoke to you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, wondering if Luke’s statement includes those words, too.

“Maybe I should be fair and not wear either jersey. Just go down the roster and pick a random name and then buy it,” you joke, watching the brothers widen their eyes like you just told them you ran over their childhood pet.

“That’s…not even funny. How dare you even joke about something so important,” Jack stares at you, seriousness painted on his features.

“C’mon, Y/N, that’s just…that’s just cruel,” Luke emphasizes the last word dramatically.

“I think you should do it. In fact, I have a spare jersey I think you can wear,” Nico adds, looking at you with mischievous eyes.

“Oh, well that actually sounds lovely, Nico, thank you! What better way to show my support at my first Devils game than sporting the captain’s jersey?”

Jack and Luke both turn their heads to glare at their captain sitting between them. If looks could kill, the poor Swiss man would be six feet under right now. The Hughes brothers don’t play around when it comes to their jerseys. You remember when you had gone to one of Luke’s games while he was playing for Michigan, wanting to buy a Michigan jersey in support, but the gift shop had run out of Luke’s number once he announced his contract with the Devils. You knew you could have simply asked him for a jersey, knowing he had several lying around his dorm room, but the trip was supposed to be a surprise.

You were forced to buy a random jersey with some lesser known last name on it, because you still wanted to show up in Michigan attire. You don’t even remember whose name and number it was, but you remember the look on Luke’s face when he saw you during warm ups, going from pure joy to disgust in seconds. He skated off, going to the locker room briefly before returning with a yellow Jersey that he then threw over the glass to your seat, motioning for you to put it on. You just laughed and did as you were told. You’ve had similar arguments with both Jack and Quinn over threatening to wear a teammates jersey over the years, but you just like to poke fun at how protective the three are over you. Jack explained to you that they want you to wear their jersey’s because it shows their teammates that you’re to be left alone, knowing the reputations of their fellow players.

“Cap, please don’t make me kick you out of this apartment right now,” Jack looks at Nico with complete seriousness.

“Maybe I need to work on my body checks in practice tomorrow, Cap,” Luke tries to threaten.

Nico simply laughs, shaking his head at the sudden unity between the two bickering brothers.

“Alright, chill out you two, all jokes. Unless…” You trail off, standing up.

“No, no unless. You’re wearing one of our jerseys, preferably mine. Hey! Where are you going, this is serious!” Jack yells after you as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Unless you want to starve tonight, someone has to start making dinner. Plus, I have some jersey shopping to do,” you say, hearing Nico’s laughter ringing out once more as you enter the kitchen.

———————————————————————————

“Hey, Nico! Are you staying for dinner? I need to know how much pasta to make!” you shout from your spot by the stove, having just sat down a large pot of water on the hot eye.

You walk over to the cabinet to grab the box of pasta and a couple jars of sauce, waiting for an answer from the living room. You decided to go with just simple spaghetti and salad tonight, not really in the mood for having to prep a ton of food and spend an hour and a half cooking. Jack will probably complain about the amount of carbs he’s consuming, but he’ll get over it. As if he doesn’t burn enough calories from practice and his personal workouts he does on a daily basis. Luke will just be happy to have something that isn’t chicken, seeing as that’s all you made for the first few days of your new living arrangement, trying to stick to the meal plan Jack had the nutritionist send you.

After the third night of some form of chicken and vegetables, Luke was quick to inform you that no one on the team follows the meal plan so strictly. You also learned that Jack is going through some phase of eating nothing but chicken or steak and brown rice, Luke revealing that’s what the two mostly lived on during the weeks leading up to your move. You had told Luke he should learn to cook for himself, and then he wouldn’t be forced to eat what Jack or you decide to make if he doesn’t like it, but he had rolled his eyes and told you “this was the agreement, right? We won’t let you pay rent, so you told us you would contribute by cooking. So really, I’m just helping you fulfill your roommate duties.”

You still don’t have an answer from the three in the living room. You figure they’re too busy with game film to hear you, so you decide to just make enough for Nico, too. You can always pack up the leftovers and have them for lunch the next few days if needed. You dump what you think to be the proper amount of pasta for four people into the pot once it reaches a boil, then work on pouring the sauce into a pan to let it heat up. You cheated on the salad, too, deciding to just buy two bags of salad mix, dumping the bag into a large bowl and adding the small packets of toppings. You’ve just dumped the now done pasta into the colander in the sink, turning to put the pot back onto the stove to cool off a bit when a voice causes you to nearly drop the hot pot in your hands.

“It smells delicious in here,” Nico announces his presence, walking through the doorway towards the fridge.

You settle yourself before setting the pot down safely on the stovetop before speaking. “You know, I really need to get on ordering those squeaky shoes if I want to avoid a heart attack by 25.”

Turning your body, you see Nico hunched over looking in the fridge, arm reaching towards a water bottle before raising up, flashing you a smile.

“Nah, even if you buy them I wouldn’t wear them. This is like, our thing now. Me sneaking up on you, you getting mad, me getting a good laugh out of it,” he stands back at his full height now.

“How comforting that you find enjoyment out of my jumpiness. Such an admirable trait to have,” you grumble, taking the pasta from the sink and transfer it into the pan filled with sauce. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, seeing as it looks like I made enough to feed the entire team, but I think I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. See how funny that is.”

This earns another laugh, Nico moving to lean against the counter opposite of you, watching you try to combine the sauce and the pasta without making a giant mess.

“Why don’t you just put it back in the pot you cooked the pasta in. You’ll be able to mix it easier.”

“Because apparently that would have been too easy,” you step back and huff, wondering why you didn’t think of that before you created an overflowing mess of sauce and noodles.

Nico makes his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way. He picks up the pan and dumps the contents into the pot sitting next to it, not spilling a single drop.

“There, now you can mix it easier and it won’t spill out over the sides and cause an even bigger mess,” he states, placing the dirty pan in the sink behind you.

“Okay, captain chef, next time you’re cooking dinner, since you clearly have more kitchen skills than me,” you tell him, making your way across the kitchen to collect plates to sit on the table.

Nico just chuckles as he watches you grab the plates, sitting one in front of each chair around the small dining table that sits in the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here, please tell me its almost done,” Jack enters the kitchen, Luke trailing behind him.

“It is, just finished actually,” you look up, Nico carrying the pot of steaming pasta from the stove to the table, careful not to drop it.

“Rowdy, grab the salad over there by the sink for me while I grab some forks for everyone,” you move towards the silverware drawer, walking around the Swiss man in your kitchen, having to turn your body slightly as he steps back from the table.

“Well, I better get going, my leftovers aren’t going to heat themselves up,” Nico announces, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

“Cap, are you crazy? Do you not see how much food Bouy made?” Jack places the bowl of salad next to the pot of pasta, taking his seat at the table.

“Jack, I’m being so serious right now, if you keep using that stupid nickname for me I will sneak laxatives into your protein shakes.” You take the seat across from Jack, Luke falling into the seat to your left.

“Well, as long as it’s okay with Bouy, I’d love to stay.” Nico walks back over to the table, taking the seat next to Jack, smirking while avoiding eye contact with you.

“I know where you live, so the threat extends to you too, Cap” you glare at Nico.

The rest of the meal is mostly filled with talk between the three hockey players, you chiming in here and there, until Jack shifts the topic of conversation to you.

“So, what’s the update with your new job? You have everything lined up and ready to go?”

“Yeah, talked to them earlier today, actually. They said they’d have my office ready in about a week, so I should be starting not long after that.” You shrug, not wanting to bore them with the details of the corporate scene in New Jersey.

“Where are you going to be working?” Nico asks, genuine interest present in his tone, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I got offered a position with a small publishing company not too far from here, actually. Mostly independent, up and coming authors, but still exciting,” you reveal, perking up a bit at the opportunity to talk about your passion.

“Was super worried I wasn’t going to be able to use my degree after college, seeing as the market for English lit degrees isn’t too wide unless you want to teach. At least, that’s how it is back home. After I graduated and Jack offered the spare room here, I applied to a few positions here in Jersey and a few in New York, willing to make the commute if needed. Only heard back from one place, though. And it just so happened to be a thirty-minute drive from here, so I accepted and started packing,” you explained.

“It was meant to be. The gang back together once again,” Jack beams.

“Well, the gang minus Quinn. The fucker just had to end up in Vancouver of all places,” Luke grumbles, still upset the oldest Hughes is so far away.

“Lucky for us I can work remotely if I ever need or want to, so this summer at the lake we can all be together again,” you try to cheer Luke up, knowing how much he wishes the three brothers could have played on the same team while making their dreams come true.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack celebrates. “This is going to be the best summer at the lake house yet. We’re all grown, most of us legal drinking age, but don’t worry, we won’t tell if you won’t, Lukey,” Jack winks over at Luke, knowing the underage drinking rule has never really applied in the sacred space of the lake houses, “and we’ll all finally be there together again after, what, like 6 years?”

“It’s been awhile, at least that long,” you try to think back to the last time everyone was there together.

It was the summer before Quinn got drafted. Quinn had signed to play hockey at Michigan a few months before everyone was set to arrive at the summer oasis. You remember being so proud of him. You couldn’t wait to finally see him and congratulate him in person, knowing how hard he had worked for it. You figured things would stay the same for a few more years, expecting him to come home every summer for the next four years before moving on to the NHL. You had no clue that he would be drafted only a summer later and that it would be the beginning of the end for the summers of fun at the lake house.

“Nico, you should come up this summer! It’s always such a good time!” Jack pulls you from your reminiscing.

“I mean, maybe. I’ve been talking to my parents about flying home during the off season this year, since I didn’t make it over there last year. But I could probably come for a few days, at least,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You try to picture Nico at the lake house, hat covering his hair, swim trunks and a t-shirt covering his body. You picture him lounging on the boat in the sun while Jack takes everyone out for a midday ride, finding a secluded spot somewhere on the lake to stop and swim for a while. You picture him trying to wake surf, wondering if he’d be instantly good at it or if he would end up wiping out in the water. You picture him sitting around the fire at night, a light hoodie on to the mask the chill that never fails to make an appearance on Michigan summer nights, the glow from the fire illuminating his face just enough for you to admire him. You picture him with a slight sunburn on his nose, tan skin glowing from being in the sun so often.

You must have been lost in your thoughts for longer than you realized, because you came back to the conversation with several calls of your name from the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to us anymore? Or do you really not want Cap coming to the lake house?” Luke looks over at you, slightly waving his hand in front of your face.

“What? No,” you say, looking around at the expectant faces surrounding you. “I mean, no I don’t care if he comes. It would be fun, yeah. If he can make it, of course. You heard him, I’m sure he’s excited to see his family.”

“I’m sure I can work something out. Have the best of both worlds. These two have talked about the infamous lake house so much I’m curious to see if it really lives up to all the hype,” Nico leans back, nodding his head towards both Jack and Luke.

“Then its settled! Cap is coming to Michigan this summer!” Jack cheers, throwing his arms up in celebration.

You laugh in response to Jack’s excitement, noticing that everyone seems to be done eating, plates clean and glasses empty. You stand up and start to take some of the dishes to the sink, setting them in there before walking back over to the table.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, I think now would be the best time to tell you that you and Luke have dish duty tonight.” You clear the last of the dishes off the table.

You watch Jack’s face fall, while Luke’s does a sharp turn in your direction. You turn your back to them to walk back over to the counter, opening the cabinet below you to find Tupperware to store the leftovers in.

“On that note, I better get going. Have some laundry I need to get done before practice in the morning,” Nico stands, bringing over a few stray pieces of silverware you seemed to have missed.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cap. You heard her, she cooked, we clean,” Jack turns to look at his captain as he makes his way to the sink.

“No, I said you and Luke have dish duty tonight. Nico’s name was never mentioned. Guests don’t do the dishes, Jack. I know Ellen raised you better than that.”

“Nico is hardly a guest. He’s over here all the time!” Luke chimes in, opening one of the drawers by the sink, grabbing a towel to dry dishes with.

“He doesn’t pay any rent for the apartment, therefore he’s a guest. Just accept your fate, you two. You’ll survive, I promise.” You hand the pot you just emptied to Jack, taking the food in your hands to the fridge a few steps away.

“You don’t pay any rent, and you’re not a guest,” Jack mumbles, hands covered in soapy suds.

“Exactly! That means I don’t do the dishes, either. I knew you’d catch on eventually! And they say you’re just a pretty face,” you shut the fridge door, looking over at Jack with an amused grin.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jack whines.

“C’mon, man, you walked right into that one,” Nico adds, laughing at his teammate.

Jack glares at the taller man. “I thought you said you were leaving, that you had laundry to do or some shit.”

“I am, I am,” Nico throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll walk you out, Nico. Leave the children to pout while doing their chores,” you jest, walking toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N. Ten times better than whatever I would’ve found in my fridge,” Nico says as you pass through the living room.

“Anytime, Cap,” you use his title, blaming Jack and Luke for the new habit. “After all, I owed you for rescuing me from sleeping in the hallway.”

This earns another one of those laughs you love to hear fall from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he follows you down the small hallway towards the front door.

“I feel like you definitely had to put in more effort on your end of that deal,” he steps through the door you’re holding open.

“I’ll just wait until you owe me a favor, then I’ll make sure to cash in some extravagant request,” you joke, leaning against the door as he stands in the hallway.

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

Nico takes his apartment key from his pocket and unlocks his door, opening it and stepping inside, turning around to face you once again, his stance mirroring your own in his own doorway.

“So, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday, then?” He stalls a goodbye.

“Yep, I’ll be there. Still deciding which brother I’m going to piss off,” you reference the earlier argument over whose jersey you’ll wear.

“Oh, that reminds me-“ Nico says before propping his door open, leaving you alone in your doorway, confused as to where he could’ve gone.

After about a minute of you standing there, wondering if he was going to come back, he returns, holding a red jersey in his hand.

“Here, figured there’s no sense in you going out and buying one if you really wanted to mess with their heads.”

He hands you the jersey, stepping back into his doorway. You unfold the jersey and notice the big black C on the upper left corner of the jersey. It was a solid red jersey, the team’s symbol in the middle, two black stripes on the forearms of each sleeve, more black accents on the shoulders of the jersey. You look up at him, a little surprised.

“I- I can’t take one of your jerseys, Nico. What if I mess it up, or spill something on it? I’ll just wear one of the ones I have. This looks too nice to risk it,” you attempt to hand the jersey back across the hallway.

“No, I insist. I think it’ll be fun to mess around with them a little. Especially Jack, since he seemed so convinced you were going to wear his. They’ll never even see it coming,” Nico refuses.

You run the idea through your head for a second, thinking about how it would be a funny little dig at the boys. You also think about the implications of wearing a jersey that doesn’t belong to one of Hughes brothers. It’s harmless, though, right? Nico said it was just a fun way to get under their skin. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Y/N’ you think to yourself, trying to kick your habit of creative narratives in your head.

“Okay, but if I end up getting kicked out of my apartment I’m knocking on your door to sleep on your couch,” you finally agree.

“My door’s always open for you.”

You look back down to the jersey in your hands to hide the blush that appears on your face at his words. You know you’ve only known him for a short period of time, tonight being the first real chunk of time you’ve spent in his presence, but Nico is making it really hard for you to keep your feelings for him casual. You’ve always had a habit of getting a case of the heart eyes fast, but you’re trying to be normal, for once.

He’s likely just being his normal, personable self and you’re letting every smile and joke go to your head, placing more meaning on them than is warranted. There’s just something about him, though. He’s extremely attractive, for one. But it’s more than that. From all that you’ve learned about him through Jack and Luke, and the easy conversation that has flowed between the two of you from the moment you first spoke to him in the hallway, you can’t lie to yourself and say you’re not drawn to the Swiss captain.

Your mind circles back to the idea of wearing his jersey this weekend and what Jack and Luke will think. What if you seriously hurt their feelings? What if it affects how they play because they’re mad at you? What if they ignore you the whole game? You know the two brothers love you, but you also know how petty they can both be when mad.

“Stop overthinking it. I can see you getting lost up in that head of yours. It’s a harmless joke. They’re not going to freak out on the ice or anything. And if they do, I’m in more danger than you are,” Nico reassures you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You better at least score a goal if I’m risking being homeless for you,” you tell him, looking back up at his face.

“How about I do you one better. If you promise to wear my jersey, I’ll score a hatty for your first ever New Jersey Devils hockey experience,” Nico offers, his eyes flashing with something you assume is delight at a challenge.

“Well then you better work on your slapshot tomorrow morning, Captain. I’ll be holding you to that Saturday night,” you take the bait, knowing how difficult a hat trick is to pull off.

“No need, I know I’ll have the right motivation night of to get it done,” he winks at you, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. “And if I don’t, consider it your IOU for that extravagant request you might need one day,” He responds, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, the nonchalance of his body language making you hope for his failure, just so you can think of some ridiculous task for him to perform.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get right to brainstorming,” you respond, trying to prevent your thoughts from spiraling yet again.

Nico lets out a small laugh, standing up straight and placing his hand on the handle of his door. “Think hard. Let me know what you come up with. Have a good night, Bouy, see you Saturday.” He shuts the door before you can berate him for using the nickname you hate.

You walk back into your apartment, door shutting behind you, going straight to your room to hide the jersey before either of the boys see it. You think back on the entire interaction, a smile on your face at the possibility of being able to have Nico do anything you ask him. As you’re walking past the kitchen you hear Jack’s voice.

“Luke, am I stupid or did Y/N call me stupid earlier?” he recalls your earlier comment about him being ‘just a pretty face’.

“Think about how you worded the first part of your question and you’ll have your answer,” you hear Luke respond as you make it past the kitchen unnoticed, making you stifle a giggle so you won’t be discovered.

Oh how you loved being back with your boys.

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lushrue · 3 months

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hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 2!

part 2 of this au finally! i'm so glad people like it! comment if you wanna be added to the taglist, already planning pt 3 so there will be more where this came from 💗

your name was announced through the loudspeaker as you skated onto the ice, all covered in sequins and polyester. you’d always thought it was a little bit silly, the conventions around figure skating costumes. that fit that Margot Robbie threw in I, Tonya about the ridiculousness of it? yeah, you’d had a moment like that once or twice. the rough fabric scratched your arms, the glint of the sequins drew focus away from your expressions. but you still felt elegant as you set your mark at center ice, hitting your starting pose in the silence before the music began.

breathe in, breathe out. focus. momentum is everything, remember your character, focus going into your jumps.

in the moment before your routine started, you flicked your eyes up and scanned the crowd. it was something that you’d done ever since your first routine that you took to competition. usually, you were looking for your parents, their smiling faces and the flash of your mom’s digital camera. now, though, it became more curiosity, finding a spot to let your eyes settle when you weren’t looking at the judges’ table. it was then that you saw them. four big, brutish hockey players sat shoulder to shoulder in the stands. the one with the mohawk (soap, you remembered) lifted his hand to wave at you, only for the man beside him (kyle, you guessed from this distance) to swat it down.

the shock must have played out on your face, because you saw price smirk as your music began playing. you let the sound seep into your bones and just like that, it all melted away and you skated.

…

the four of them watched pretty intently for the first few seconds of your routine. price was focused on the placement of your body, how you kept your center of gravity in the middle at all times. he had to admire how precise you were in your movements, like you knew the physics behind all of it. for all he knew, you did. he could tell you were skilled and he liked that about you. talent recognizes talent, or however the saying goes.

kyle was simply admiring your choice of music. Moonlight Sonata, though basic, was like black coffee, he thought. a classic choice that never really got old, but so many things could be added to it to make it new and exciting. and watching you skate to it, he felt like he’d never heard it before. he watched your face more than anything else. you were so expressive, a story playing out in your eyes, and he soaked it all up. it was like reading a novel, and this one was a page-turner.

ghost was watching the lines of your body. it was like you were painting the air as you moved, each flick of the wrist and lift of the leg deliberate and purposeful. it all served to make a pretty picture. every now and again, he’d look at the thin lines your skates left on the ice, the swirls and curves detailing everywhere you’d been. much prettier than the harsh notches he left behind when he stepped out of the rink, he thought. just like you, they were delicate.

soap was far less interested in the artistry or skill of it and more focused on you. the way your hair moved as you spun on the ice, the way your costume clung to your skin. he couldn’t even act as if he wasn’t watching disrespectfully, thinking of what your body might look like under the spandex and sparkles. you lifted your leg and began spinning, and soap thought he might keel over right then and there. ghost nudged him as he adjusted himself on the bench, a silent gesture that told him to behave.

johnny gestured to price behind kyle’s back, getting his attention. “didn’t i tell ya, cap? a right beaut, that one,” he said, earning himself a flick to the head from ghost. price chuckled, turning his attention back to where you were winding up for a jump. two turns in the air and you landed perfectly. he knew you would, you talented thing. “yeah. a beaut,” price responded, a small smile curving his lips.

...

you skated remarkably, in your opinion. it was a relatively simple routine, but with every completed skate, regardless of skill level, came a sense of accomplishment. as you hit your ending pose, you made eye contact with your hockey players in the stands again. ghost’s face was unreadable from this distance, but you caught the pleased expressions of the other three as they clapped for you. soap had a glint in his eyes that spelled mischief and made something in your stomach tighten. kyle was looking at you like the artist you perceived yourself to be, almost how you imagined someone would look at their favorite painting. and price’s face had pride written all over it. you caught an almost imperceptible nod from him, as if to say well done.

you bowed to both sides of the rink and skated off the ice, a performer’s smile on your lips. it wasn’t entirely fake, not like it had been at some competitions. this time, it was born of the idea that four of the men you’d been watching, nay, pining after for a month were finally turning their attentions to you. for the first time in a while, you wondered what someone besides the judges thought of your routine. the worst part was, you needed them to like it. you felt the intense need to please them, keep them coming back for more.

the four of them found you in line for the concessions, grabbing a hot chocolate to soothe your cold bones in between programs. your free skate was coming up next and you knew you’d need a little pick-me-up before then. as you thanked the high schooler who’d poured your drink, you turned to walk away and almost collided with a wall of solid muscle. price, you’d realize as you looked up. “told ya we wanted to see ya, bonnie!” soap’s voice chirped from behind the broad shoulders of the team captain.

you glanced around him, noticing kyle and ghost stood off to the side. kyle was all polite smiles and ghost looked as though he was aware of how much space he was taking up, supremely uncomfortable as people brushed past him. soap was stood off to the other side of price, arms crossed over his chest. then your eyes turned up to the captain himself, feeling a sense of pride radiating off of him. you weren’t sure why; this was a man who barely knew you. but it made your stomach flutter all the same. “good performance you put on out there, love,” he said, the rumble of his baritone voice more compelling when it was directed at you. you’d seen the boys scramble to follow his orders before during a game, but you’d thought it was just his rank on the team. no, you realized, it was definitely the voice.

“thank you,” you replied sheepishly, clutching the warm styrofoam cup in your icy fingers. “i’m glad you all liked it.” kyle spoke up, stepping a bit closer to where you stood. “liked it? i loved it! you’ll have to tell me more about how you choreographed it, the musicality was insane!” “easy, garrick,” ghost’s voice rumbled from where he stood, a bit muffled by the black surgical mask. “don’t wan’ to scare off our pretty bird.” oh, you could get used to that. you spoke up, your eyes flicking between the four of them. “actually, i still have another program to skate.” you hesitated, almost worried you were being too forward. but then you continued. why not live a little, take some risks? “if you all wanted to stay, that is.”

you didn’t have to tell them twice.

taglist: @cadotoast

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vbecker10 · 2 months

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Language (Part 5)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Captain Rogers thinks you curse far too much at work so he came up with a way for each word to cost you fifty cents no matter where you are in the Tower. You are desperate for it to stop and go to Loki to see if he has a spell or trick that can help you outsmart J.A.R.V.I.S.

Warnings: swearing lol... obviously?

You groan and open your eyes to the sound of your phone alarm. The sun has just started to rise, but you need to go home and get ready for work.

"Please turn that off," Loki mumbles against your back.

"I'm sorry," you whisper and let go of his hand, freeing yourself from his embrace. You turn off your alarm and sit up, yawning.

"It's too early," he says, still half asleep. Eyes closed, his hand finds your waist and he gently pulls you back towards his body.

"I have to go home," you tell him but make you no attempt to pull away again.

"No," he says simply, his arm holding you in place.

"No?" you giggle at his unwillingness to let go of you. "I need to shower and get changed. I'm still wearing my clothes from yesterday."

"I have a fully functioning shower," Loki mumbles and you can hear the sarcasm in his voice despite him being so close to falling asleep. His legs intertwine with your legs and his hand holds yours as you both easily settle into the comfortable position he held you in all night. The God of Mischief adds, "And I am perfectly capable of conjuring clothing for you."

"I don't have a toothbrush or anything," you tell him, enjoying the feeling of Loki trying to keep you from leaving.

"Y/N, I can summon anything you need," he reminds you gently.

"I guess that's a good point," you say, having already made up your mind that you aren't going home before work.

"Please stay," he whispers close to your ear.

You smile and squeeze his hand, "Okay."

"Go back to sleep," Loki says softly and you nod, closing your eyes.

You take a sip of your coffee as you sit on Loki's couch, your eyes follow him as he paces and talks excitedly. You can't help but smile at how confident he looks compared to last night.

"That might actually work," you say when Loki finished explaining his plan.

He chuckles and sits next to you, "Of course it will work. Why do you seem so surprised?"

"If I say it's because your other ideas didn't go so well, are you going to turn me into a frog?" you joke as he drinks his coffee

"You are utterly obsessed with the idea of being turned into a frog," he rolls his eyes but his smile remains.

"No, I'm concerned that it's a very real possibility," you explain. "I've never been friends with anyone who could do that."

"Ah, I see you are assuming we are friends now," he says a bit sarcastically.

"We're not?" you ask him, unsure what you and Loki are to each other after last night.

"Do you want to be friends?" he wonders, setting his mug on the coffee table.

"What are my other options? " you shrug, hoping he will give you some hint as to what answer he is looking for.

Before he can respond, there is a loud knock on his door. He sighs deeply and rubs his temples then looks at you, "That will be Thor." He notices the confused look on your face and smiles, "There are only two people who have ever bothered me when I am in my apartment and one of them is already in here."

You giggle nervously, "That's fair. Guess the plan starts now?"

He smirks and nods, "Are you ready? I promise I won't turn you into a frog."

Steve and Natasha sit at the far end of the table reviewing the agenda for the morning briefing. Tony, Bruce and Clint stand near the window placing bets on how much money you will be fined today for your swearing. The discussions are suddenly silenced when Thor slams open the door to the conference room. Everyone quickly turns to face him in surprise.

"Woah! Calm down point break, no need to break down the door. There are plenty of donuts for everyone," Tony gestures to the box on the table.

"I don't think that's the issue," Bruce says when Thor takes a step to the side to reveal that Loki and you are behind him. You look down at the ground and fidget with your fingers while Loki glares at his brother.

"What's going on?" Steve asks, standing with his hands resting on the table.

"Thor is overreacting to a simple deal I have made with Y/N," Loki says calmly and you nod.

"She made a deal with you?" Tony asks. "What, was the devil busy?"

"That almost hurt Stark," Loki smirks.

"What did you do to her?" Clint asks, obviously very concerned for your wellbeing.

"Y/N came to me last night after the Captain enforced his new policy regarding her swearing," he explains.

"Seriously Y/N, you thought Loki would help you?" Clint asks you.

You nod.

"I did help her," Loki answers for you. "There is no need for this concern you all share. Y/N is fine."

"Why doesn't she tell us she's fine herself?" Natasha crosses her arms over her chest.

Loki looks at you then back at the team as they gather closer around you both, "She cannot."

"Why not?" Natasha uncrosses her arms slowly and looks at you with growing concern.

Thor answers before Loki can, "He took her voice."

"What?!" Clint, Tony and Steve all shout at once.

Loki smiles, "Don't worry, I'm keeping it somewhere safe." He holds out his hand and a small glass vial appears, a light gray cloud swirls around inside of it. The God of Mischief places it on the conference table in front of you as you rub your throat slowly.

"Absolutely not! Give Y/N her voice back, Ursula," Tony orders.

"How dare you. I am not some common sea witch," Loki glares at him, clearly offended.

"You understood that reference?" Steve asks.

"I read," Loki rolls his eyes. "Besides, I cannot do that. We made a deal, Y/N and I made a perfectly reasonable trade."

"What could you possibly trade for your voice?" Clint asks you but you can only shrug in response.

"That is between Y/N and myself," Loki answers for you.

"I can't believe this is happening," Bruce takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose.

Loki sighs, "There is no need to worry. If Y/N asks, I will be more than happy to reverse the deal."

"How is she supposed to ask? You took her damn voice," Natasha points out.

"She can write," Loki says as if the answer was obvious.

You smile at everyone and give them two thumbs up as enthusiastically as you can.

"You must certainly are not fine," Steve insists. "I can't believe you would do this to get around J.A.R.V.I.S."

"This has gone on long enough," Thor says as he takes a few steps forward and picks up the glass vial.

"Be careful with that brother," Loki warns him and takes a step forward. You shake your head and bite your lip nervously. "This is not like the magic of Stark's fairy tale. If you break that, Y/N's voice will not be released to her, it will simply cease to exist."

"You have got to be kidding me," Tony says, rubbing his temples.

"Give it back to me," Loki says sternly, holding his hand out towards Thor.

"Don't mess with that big guy," Bruce says, his eyes on the vial in Thor's hand.

You watch anxiously when Thor pulls away from his younger brother. "Remove the spell from Y/N," the God of Thunder demands.

"To do that I will need the vial," Loki counters and takes another step forward, closing the distance between them. Loki reaches for it but Thor pulls his hand away, holding it just out of reach.

If you weren't so concerned about the safety of the vial, you might be able to appreciate how much they simply look like bickering brothers and not two Gods arguing over your voice.

Tony steps in, "Thor, give it back to the sea witch."

Loki glares at Tony, "I do not have the patience for you today tin man."

He looks back at Thor and without a word, he flicks his wrist, sending his seidr towards his brother. The green cloud surrounds his hand in an attempt to pull the vial free but Thor clenches his hand and pulls violently against Loki's magic.

"Stop!" Natasha yells.

Your eyes go wide and you cover your mouth with both hands as the vial slips free from Thor's grasp. Loki's seidr doesn't react fast enough and the small glass vial falls to the floor at the older Asgardian's feet, shattering into pieces.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mischief2sarawr @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @loreniscrying @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @blackhawkfanatic @slut4tonystark @dracoswhorexx @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @anukulee @latriacy @trojanaurora @babygirl-panda19 @catsladen @stargazer-luna @rcailleachcola @lunarlopt @gruftiela @bolontiku @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @lokischambermaid @clemthecustestmonster @lovinglokilaufeyson

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daydreaming-nerd · 7 months

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The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 3

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: thank you so much for all the feedback! I am loving hearing your guys thoughts and I'm having so much fun with this

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring.

Warnings (so far): SMUT (consensual), oral (female receiving), mentions of SA.

Word count: 2730

(all photos are from pinterest)

The following day was another quiet day, and though Rhysand had stayed up with me all night like he promised, I didn’t hear from him in the morning. I avoided my brother at all costs and Lucien as well and spent the morning and afternoon getting ready for the ball at the Autumn Court that would be taking place tonight. I was sure to pick my dress carefully, opting for purple again.

I used to not care for balls, most of the time I would show up and not have anyone to see save for Viviane and Kallias who always had each other to dance with. This of course left me to dance with Lucien or not dance at all. I always left bored and feeling more lonely than I had been before I got there.

I knew tonight would be different not just because of Rhys, but because of Eris. My brother has made it very clear at breakfast that I was to dance and charm Eris all night. The thought made my stomach churn and my eyes water, but I knew better than to disobey.

From the second I walked into the ballroom I could feel Rhysand. The mass of people swirling and dancing around under the gargantuan chandelier made it near impossible for me to find him. I nearly reached out with the bond before my brother grabbed my arm harshly.

“Remember sister, you are to charm Eris whatever means necessary,” he growled in my ear so only I could hear.

“I will, now I’m going to find Viviane.” I glared and sauntered off to do just that.

The ballroom was impossibly packed but finding Viviane’s ice white hair among the crowd was easier than I thought it would be.

“Well you two look amazing,” I beam walking over to where her and Kallias are being wall flowers. Her dress looks like it was made entirely out of frost, and cascades down her body like it was made for her, knowing how Kallias likes to dote on her it probably was.

“Me? Look at you! Purple is your color,” she smiles.

“So, are there any eligible bachelors for me to romance tonight?” I laugh taking her arm and walking around the perimeter of the ballroom with her and Kallias.

“No one worthy of note, but you know how picky I am when selecting a suitable man for you,” she giggles.

“That’s true, you’re a worse critic than I am,” I smile. We promenade around the dancefloor until we run into one of Viviane’s friends and she stops to talk. I take it as my opportunity to glance around the room looking for a particular High Lord and finally I find him.

He’s at the edge of the room wearing black as usual, conversing easily with two Illyrians. Their wings take up most of the space around them. The one with longer hair is obviously drunk as he lets out a laugh that reverberates throughout the room, the one with the shorter hair, swathed in shadows, simply shakes his head and smiles. Rhysand has yet to see me and to draw his attention I give the bond a tug, the first time I’ve ever done it.

His head snaps up in my direction and I see the corner of his mouth curl.

By the cauldron, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, my mate.

“Why thank you my lord, I seemed to remember you had a certain affinity for the color violet,” I muse back to him and I swear from this distance I can see his eyes light up.

The Illyrians next to him turn their heads to look at me, the one with the long hair gives me a knowing smirk and I quickly turn my head back to the conversation Viviane is having.

I hear Rhys chuckle in my head, They don’t bite darling. Well Cassian might, but only if you ask him to. He muses over the bond.

“An interesting proposal, I’ll keep it in mind,” I say back trying to hide my smile.

You little minx.

Before I can say anything back I feel a hand on my back, I turn to find Eris there, a hopeful look in his eye. He takes my hand and kisses it in greeting.

“Y/n, what a pleasure it is to have you in our court.” he smiles.

“Of course, my brother and I were very honored to receive an invitation,” I say, trying to sound as chipper as possible.

“You were the first invite we sent, by now I’m sure your brother has told you of my feelings towards you,” he smirks.

“He has brought them to my attention, and I must say I’m flattered,” I smile.

“Might I have this dance?” he asks, my eyes flit to Rhysand for half a second, but it’s long enough that I can see the rage simmering in those violet eyes.

“Of course,” I say, taking Eris’ hand and allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor. His hand spreads over my waist almost obsessively as we waltz around the room.

“You really are quite the sight to behold y/n, I can see why your brother keeps you locked up in the Spring Court,” Eris praises me.

“I regret that he does so, if I had been allowed out more I would’ve found out much sooner how amazing of a dancer you are,” I smile flirtatiously.

“Among one of my many talents my dear, though you’ll find out soon enough about those,” he whispers in my ear.

We dance on and on swirling about the room to the music. From the corner of my eye I can see Tamilin and Beron watching the two of us and for the first time in a long time Tamlin almost looks happy. However it’s not long until I see his eyes catch on to a beautiful brunette that seems to grab all his attention. My skin starts to buzz again and it isn’t long until a large hand claps Eris on the shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” Rhysand asks Eris smoothly. His words say one thing but his eyes look at Eris like he would cut off his hands or other important body parts if he were to say no.

“Of course,” Eris says, passing me off to Rhysand and taking his leave.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I snap at him.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand to watch another minute of that,” he says cooly.

“Someones jealous,” I muse.

“Very,” Rhysand confesses with a small smile.

As we sweep across the dancefloor, the feeling of his hand on my waist is all too familiar and I can’t help but remember the last time it was there. I look to the side to find the two Illyrains standing at the edge of the ballroom watching us.

“Who did you bring with you tonight?” I ask Rhys.

“My most trusted friends and members of my court, Cassian and Azriel. Azriel is my spymaster and Cassian is the general of my armies.” he explains. “I grew up with them, they are like brothers to me.”

“Do they know?” I inquire further.

“That we’re mates? Yes. I think Cassain would start a war for you already,” he chuckles.

“Interesting, I would’ve thought they’d be upset,” I say, turning my head back towards Rhys.

“You are not my court’s enemy, your brother is. You aren’t damned by association, and besides they are my brothers, they want me to be happy.” Rhys explains further.

“It sounds like you have quite the amazing family,” I acknowledge and he picks up on the longing in my phrase right away. “I doubt I’ll be treated the same here in the Autumn Court.”

“Why would it matter how the Autumn Court treats you?” he questions.

“Because I’m marrying Eris,” I sigh, keeping my head down, unable to meet the sadness I know resides in his eyes now.

“What?” he growls and for the first time since I’ve known him I’m afraid of him.

“My brother has decided to marry me off to Eris for political gain,” I explain further.

Rhys takes my hand and drags me off the dancefloor, at this point people are so drunk they don’t even notice. He leads me to a room off the ballroom and closes the door. I take a moment to look around at the dimly lit study, filled with old books and mahogany furniture. I lean against the desk and look at Rhys.

“You’re not going to marry Eris,” he fumes.

“You say that like I have the option to say no,” I retort as he closes in further.

“If you marry Eris he will destroy you from the inside out, you will become nothing but a breeding vessel to give him sons.” he tells me.

“I’m going to be the same thing to any Lord my brother marries me to,” I sneer at him.

“That’s not true,” Rhysand shakes his head.

“Oh really?” I scoff.

“It wouldn’t be that way with me. You would be my wife, and my High Lady as well as my mate. You wouldn’t have to be sexually assaulted in your own home, or barricade yourself in your room to be safe! You would have rights and freedom and you would have Cassian and Azriel and a family that loves you!” he yells passionately, getting closer to me. “And you would have me, and I would love you too.” he confesses quieter.

A tear slips from my eye as I take in all that he’s said. He looks at me from just an arms length away, waiting for me to say something back.

“Rhysand I can’t-” I start to say.

“Don’t you dare say that you can’t,” he says, stepping forward and caging me into the desk, his mouth dangerously close to my own. “If you were mine there’s not a person in this world that would dare to touch you. You know that.”

I feel a hand go to my waist and he uses the other to wipe the tears from my eye. A different kind of tension fills the room as his breath fans my face leaving kisses where my tears once were.

“Rhys please,” I rasp out lightly pushing him away. His hands on my waist tighten.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now y/n,” he says tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. He’s right, I do want him to kiss me but I can’t even form the words to ask him that. “I thought so,” he says and then his lips are on mine.

I taste all of him and need all of him. He pulls me so close to him I think I might melt into his skin. I throw my hands around his neck like he might be ripped away from me at any given moment. I feel his hands leave my waist and fly to the desk behind me. The next thing I hear is the clattering of glass, books and paper. He lifts me up and places me on the desk positioning his frame between my legs.

“Rhys,” I moan as his lips find my neck.

“I love it when you say my name,” he groans into the kiss, using his body to press my back into the desk and anywhere that isn’t concealed by my dress gets goosebumps from the cold surface. “I need to taste you,” his hands travel down my body and he sinks to his kneels before me, never breaking eye contact.

“What are you doing?” I ask earnestly.

“Have you ever had a man touch you here?” he questions back, his hand ghosting over my clothed core, my breath hitches.

“N-no,” I squeak. He lifts up the many layers of my skirt and bunches them around my waist.

“And have you ever touched yourself here?” he further inquiries rubbing a hand over my undergarments.

I’m too embarrassed to speak, I just give him a shallow nod.

“Probably while you’re reading all those dirty books right y/n darling?” he smirks loving how the pink tints my cheeks. “And do you want me to touch you here?”

I give him another shallow nod.

“I’m gonna need to hear words darling,” he persists.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly I spit out, “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he taunts me.

“Yes I want you to touch me there,” I whine.

He lets loose a feral grin before I feel him gently pull down my undergarments, taking his time to let his fingertips brush down the expanse of both my legs while he does it. He pulls then off over my heels and discards them. I watch him intently as he lowers his mouth to me and licks a long stripe clean up my pussy flicking my clit at the very top. My back arches off the desk and I let out a moan.

“Shhh darling, we can’t have other people knowing what sinful things you’re allowing me to do to you right now. Especially poor Eris, he’ll never get to hear you moan like this for as long as he lives,” Rhys smirks before disappearing under my dress again to feast on me.

My back arches again and my hand flies over my mouth to cover my own moan. I feel Rhysand bring one of his hands up to grasp my free one. A touch so simple, yet so intimate. His tongue swirls hungrily over my clit and it takes everything in me not to scream. I squeeze his hand tighter and he chuckles, sending a vibration through my pussy.

You taste amazing, like you were made for me. He says into my mind.

I squeeze his hand harder at his word. I had spent most of my life reading books about this, sex and romance. I assumed all the women writing them were exaggerating how good it could be. In the spring court it was always seen as a pleasure for the male, not the female. But the way Rhys is using his tongue on me right now, has me seeing stars which I know is no coincidence. His mouth closes around my clit suckling it.

“Rhys,” I breathe out.

Fuck darling. I lied, I like it when you say my name, I love it when you moan it.

“Rhys I’m gonna,” I cry trying to keep quiet.

Cum mate. I want you to cum all over my face. He growls into my mind.

It was almost as if he compelled me to. My back arches off the desk for the final time and I use my hand to stifle any sound that comes out of my mouth. He works me through my orgasm and when my body stops shaking he places one final kiss over my clit. His head pops up from under my skirts, his eyes shown with satisfaction as he licks the remnants of my arousal off his lips.

I was on him before he could even speak, pulling him by his neck and kissing him hard. I fumble for the strings on his pants and he grabs my wrist to stop me.

“No, not tonight,” he states. I immediately feel disappointment, the sedition I felt earlier had long left me the second that man licked his lips.

“Rhys please,” I whine.

“As much as it makes my cock twitch to hear you beg for me, I won’t let the first time I fuck you be on Beron Vanserra’s desk.” he chuckles, and leans in close to my ear. “Because when I’m inside you for the first time my mate I want to hear every strangled cry and moan I pull from your body. And when I cum inside you for the first time I want to hear you scream my name so loud all of Prythian knows just who’s mate you are. Is that clear?”

Butterflies hit my stomach and all I can do is nod slowly every coherent thought in my brain long gone. All I can think of is how badly I want him to make good on his promise.

“Good girl, now let's get your panties back on before a certain High Lord of Spring starts to miss you,” he smiles.

Taglist: Taglist: @heyyitsnat21 , @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson , @randomperson1234sblog , @local-fangirl09 , @bleh-81 , @annaaaaa88 , @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris

#rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand fluff #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand smut #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you

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penelopepine · 2 months

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Elephant in the Room Pt. 3

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: John and you hooked up after a night at the bar. You two after that never saw each other again. At least until 12 years later when Price discovers that 9 months after your time together you had given birth to not one baby, but two. Word Count: 1592 Content: angst

Price honestly isn't sure what the best thing to do in this situation is, but he decides to softly knock, almost a tap, against the door once more before calling out your name, "I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, but I need to talk to you."

It goes quiet on the other side of the door, and for a moment John thinks that you, fairly so, left him standing there alone talking to himself. That is of course before the door is swinging open revealing you once more. Your eyes are bloodshot and cheeks are stained with tears. He also sees what once was confusion on your face is now replaced with anger.

You take a step towards him with one arm raised. It's obvious that you're going to hit him, and while Price could very easily block it he lets you strike him.

The sound of flesh connecting rings out through the quiet as you slap him across the face. Your breath is heavy as you growl out, "Did you do it? Did you take him?"

He takes the hit in stride; you're hardly the strongest person to ever smack him before. Taking in your words though Price does feel a slight spark of anger in his chest at the idea of him doing this purposely. Although he supposes it does look very suspicious that he would show up right after Andrew was taken from your point of view.

The labs luckily don't make any moves, simply watch the interaction in silence. "I promise you I didn't do this. You can think whatever you want about me, but I wasn't the one who took him. I have an idea who did though." He stares into your eyes, trying to show you that he isn't lying. "If we could all go inside I promise to explain what I can."

"All?" It was at that moment that you finally seemed to take notice of the three other men behind him.

John steps to the side letting you have a better view of them, "these are my men; they're here to help."

Looking at you though you don't seem to take in any of his words. You shake your head slightly before turning, and walking back inside; leaving the door open for them to presumably follow you.

Silently you make your way into the dining room, and take a seat at the table. "Sit, please." Your voice is firm, but clearly exhausted. He sits down on the opposite side of you while Soap and Gaz sit on both sides of him. Ghost on the other hand stands in the corner next to the doorway. “Explain.”

"My team was sent a video of Andrew." John for once found himself lacking confidence, and unsure of what to say. He wanted to tell you the truth, but in your current state being blunt may only hurt you further right now. "They made demands of me and my team for his safe return. A highly skilled team is looking into the video as we speak, and I will be going to get him back as soon as I can."

"Why did they take him to threaten you? How did they connect him to you?" You ask after a few seconds, "He has never even met you before." Your voice cracks as you try to speak.

"Nothing is confirmed as of now, but I have an idea of how they found him. We'll keep you updated when new information comes to light. I assume after they found him they thought I had simply hid my family from any paper trail that led to me."

"So everything that's been happening is all because of some misunderstanding!" Your anger shining through with every word, "What now? I'm supposed to just sit here and wait; what's to stop them taking Amelia as well if you don't do as they say?"

“That’s actually why we’re here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ghost is surprisingly the one to speak up, “It means you and the kid are being relocated. Time to start packing the essentials.”

"Lieutenant!" Price quickly repremans, "What he meant to say is that it is no longer safe for you two to stay here while this situation is still active. We'd like to move you both onto base; a house is already set up for you."

“You’re serious?,” You asked, voice rising in disbelief, “We have to leave our home?”

“It’s for your safety; I wouldn’t be asking this of you in any other situation.”

“I just can’t believe that you-.” You begin to say before being cut off by a young feminine voice.

“Mom?”

Price quickly looks toward the voice, and there standing in the doorway is Amelia.

She looks quickly around the room, taking in and analyzing all the strangers in her home. Pausing once her focus is on him. He knows Amelia is a smart kid, and that with him in front of her there is no way she doesn't know who he is. It's obvious when it finally clicks in her head. Her shoulder tense and her eyes look sharper. "What's going on?"

Before she has even finished asking her question you are standing and rushing towards her. You bring Amelia into your arms, and begin to guide her out of the dining room. "Let's go talk in your room." You say before addressing him once more, "I'll be down in a bit. Uh feel free to get yourself something from the kitchen. I'll be down to discuss this more shortly."

No one says a thing as they watch you make your way around the corner and out of sight. The silence only lasts for a second though before Gaz is speaking up, "Cap, you solid?"

Price takes a defeated breath, “How much have I messed this whole thing up?”

“I’d say this conversation is actually going quite well. She could have refused to listen to us entirely.”

Soap is next to speak, “If anything I’d say Lt. is the one to make her hostile against him.”

“She wasn’t going to like being told she and her daughter have to leave their home. That anger of being told that was directed at me rather than the captain. I’d say I’m the only one who helped him during that conversation.” Ghost states back.

Before Soap can say anything further Price interrupts them, “Enough you two; you’re not about to start arguing right now.”

The room lulls back into silence before Gaz asks him, “What are we gonna do if she doesn’t agree to come with us?”

"We'll stay here then until she does," John wasn't sure what else could be said to convince you to come with them, but he would stay here with you both until he did, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Before more can be said you're striding back into the room once again; coming to stand across from him. "You're going to get Andrew back?"

"I won't rest until I do."

You give him a final nod and say, "We'll go with you; to the base. I'll go start packing I suppose then." With that you're walking out leaving Price stunned with how almost simple that exchange was.

The rest of their time spent there was filled with helping them pack their bags into the cars. Soap and Gaz talked the most to you both at this point; not wanting you two to be scared of them. Hoping to be a friendly face in a new location.

John wanted to try and talk to Amelia, but this situation was already overstimulating and he didn't want to add even more on top of that.

Finally everything was packed and ready to go. Laswell had texted him as well letting him know that the house was now fully set up for his girls.

His girls. Isn't that a nice thought.

It was at this moment though where John took a pause. You two had gotten into one of the vehicles and as much as he wanted to be with you both he wasn't sure if that would be the best right now. Being away right now might be better. Without much more thought to that he climbs into the other car; Ghost getting into the passenger's seat. He watches as Soap and Gaz climb into the car you're in before pulling out down the road back to base.

It's a quiet drive; neither one feeling particularly talkative. After so long though Ghost surprisingly does speak up. "You should have got in the car with them."

"Thank you for your input lieutenant," irritation was clear in his voice.

"You need to talk to them."

"That's ironic coming from you; someone who never wants to talk."

"I'm not the one who discovered they have a family this morning."

John tightens his grip on the steering wheel, "I think it's best to not overwhelm them right now."

Ignoring what he just said, Ghost continues, "Time heals all wounds they say. The sooner you have an honest talk with them the sooner the healing can begin."

"Time is not always enough; sometimes you have to amputate to heal." He retorts despite knowing that Ghost is only trying to help him. "If that means by the end of this they need to leave me to heal then so be it."

Ghost gives him a hard stare before fixing his gaze onto the road ahead. The rest of the drive is silent.

Taglist: @zarsghost @lulurubberduckie @mafer383 @7thsthings @sazifer

#x reader #task force 141 #fem reader #john price #john price x reader #john price x y/n #angst

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madschiavelique · 1 year

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : so you were called for back-up on a mission with gwen, hobie, pavitr and miguel. you get him out of a tight situation, he drags you in a dark street, you get back to the team, you get shot in the thigh, and miguel starts sucking on the bullet to get it out of your skin :D (or most simply, how you got wounded and miguel is playing healing vampire)

content warnings : blood, bullet (if there are others please do tell so that i can add them !), biting (literal), miguel licking you, no use of Y/N word count : 5,3k

note : the spider babies feel like a lil found family to me, so i had to make them goofy in this. i thought about miguel’s bites not only being poisonous, but also in another dosage a great pain killer (i have strictly no idea about how realistic all this is but here have fun reading this besties). this stands as the first part of a 3-shot that i am writing for my bday which is in 4 days hehe (crying), also i didn't proof-read this and english is not my first language :D, enjoy

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

Although this wasn't your first mission, you couldn't help but feel like a frozen steak being thrown into a hot pan. You weren't always flung into the thick of the action, of course, but today you were, because you'd been called in as reinforcements with Pavitr.

Miguel had taken Hobie and Gwen on this mission, hoping to get Gwen more used to the terrain. You had arrived a little after her, and for the moment you had restricted access to the field. But today was clearly an exception. You and Pavitr had been called in as back-up, and you immediately took the portal to the dimension in question.

As soon as you emerged from the portal, your spider-senses alerted you to the need to throw yourselves to the ground to avoid the rush of bullets that had been fired in your direction. Exchanging surprised glances, you began to crawl to the side of the building that seemed to be opposite to where the incessant gunfire was coming from, hoping to avoid being riddled with bullets. Because although Swiss cheese was appetising, it wasn't in your plans to become one.

Pavitr tapped his watch.

"Miguel, we're here, where are-" but he had no need to ask the latter's whereabouts, since right in front of them swayed Hobie and Gwen, who seemed to be fleeing... A bride?

It was a bride armed with some sort of personally optimised cannon that was firmly strapped to her body, and if your instincts were right, it would appear that her ammunition was not as simple as that commonly sold, and you dreaded to know what would come out if she fired. She moved with a sort of jet-pack, following your friends at breakneck speed, her long white veil rippling like a trail left behind an aeroplane. Immediately, the two of you began to follow to join them.

"Hey, Hobie! Gwen! We're here!" you shouted.

Suddenly, the bride's head swivelled in your direction, her big red lips stretching into a smile as her eyes widened like two big marbles. Ouch, maybe shouting your presence in the middle of a fight wasn't the right decision.

You could already hear Miguel's voice echoing in your mind: "You should have taken advantage of the surprise and used it to your advantage instead of letting the whole town know that two Spider-Men had just joined the fight!"

But hey, what's done is done, and you'll certainly remember to be more observant on your next mission.

"Ah, Miguel's little minions have joined the party! Honey?" she shouted as you both reached Gwen and Hobie, "we've got some newcomers, I hope they're on the guest list for the ceremony. It would displease me greatly if we had to eliminate them just for that reason."

"After all, murder and marriage are the same if the two people know each other and it all ends in death," you say, your eyes falling for a moment on the absolutely enormous cannon she seems to have programmed to shoot you.

"Marriage is just another contract to life anyway," replied Hobie, to which you nodded sharply. "Anyway, with her chemtrail theory flying around behind her, I'm worried."

It seemed that the anomaly was not a single anomaly, but rather a couple of anomalies, which was probably why these two had been asked to provide support.

"Where's Miguel?" asked Pavitr, all still running.

"Oh bloke, you're not going to believe your eyes when you see him," sneered Hobie.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I took a few photos of the occasion," said Gwen, "but nothing beats seeing it for real."

A loud bang sounded, and you turned to see what had just happened. The face of the building you were standing on was melting: the bride had fired a bubble of acid that had burst against the wall and was biting all the adverts that were stuck to it.

"Destroying propaganda? Bonkers, I'm starting to reconsider this," Hobie huffed.

"Miguel's further down the avenue, on that street over there," said Gwen. "Go and see him before he comes, it's well worth a look.

When the mystery is too great, you don't dare disobey, so while they were busy evacuating more civilians to reduce the number of casualties from the mission, you set off in the direction you'd been told.

You swung out into the street, and as you rounded the corner, you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The great Miguel O'Hara, the man at the head of the Spider Society, guardian and master of the inter-dimensional balance of events, was pasted up and looked like an Egyptian drawing in the process of running, or the typical chalk drawing you would draw on the ground at a crime scene, all covered in a gooey fluffy substance.

You swung over to him, and he noticed your arrival. You landed on the edge of the wall he was stuck on, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

"If you want to say something now is the time to shut up." he said, teeth clenched.

"Gwen was right, it's definitely worth the trip. Comfortable? Need a magazine? A snack perhaps?"

"Hilarious, are you going to mess with me like this for much longer or are you planning to help me out of this situation?"

"My intentions were of a slightly more agreeable nature," you huff, walking towards him on all fours.

The substance surrounding him seemed to be a kind of solid foam that kept swelling slowly. You drew out your claws and began to cut the foam from his arm.

"Lovely couple over there, real synergy between the two of them. Shame almost half of marriages end in divorce."

"You get sentimental about enemies? Keep your sensitivity out of the fight and concentrate."

"Focus on foam? Honestly you know your Marshmallow Man costume lacks realism."

He let his neck tilt back until it touches the wall, murmured between his lips: "todos me vais a matar."

A small smile stretched across your face, the poor guy must have felt like he was babysitting, and although you were older than all the other teammates, hanging out with them brought out your absurd and more childlike side, your inner child in a way.

You managed to dislodge quite a bit of foam, but it was taking too long, it was thick and had the consistency of snow whose surface had crystallised.

"I'm pulling your leg, jefe" you say, the little use of the Spanish name making him react. What, You've got to make a profit from duolingo after all. " Okay, pull in your tummy."

"What?"

You raised your arm in the air, your claws extending a little further. Lately you'd been trying to see how far you could push the limits of your costume, and the increase in your claws was one of them. It was a bit painful, but if it meant Miguel could get out of this situation and get home safe, then you might as well take it. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't fail...

Then, with a sharp, wide stroke, you sliced through the foam. The cut was perfect, and Miguel, who was just as surprised as you were, popped out of his spot as if he'd just stepped out of a mould.

" Well," he turned to you, dusting off the few remnants of foam still clinging to his body, "observations?"

This was an exercise that Miguel inflicted on every recruit during their training or recruitment. It was simple: he selected a small anomaly to keep things simple, and asked the recruit what observations they'd make to neutralise the target. Except that, in this case, the anomaly wasn't so minor. You were racking your brains.

"I didn't see the husband, but I did see the bride. She's got a jet pack that should be neutralisable, it'll slow her down in her movements, but you'd have to aim carefully to do that. Her only power is her weapon, except that as it's attached to her it's going to be complex..."

Then you remembered her attire, and especially the long veil firmly placed on her head.

"Her wedding veil, you should be able to pull it down and hold it still."

Miguel nodded, you didn't know how to take the look he was giving you through the mask, but you hoped he was satisfied with the answer.

"The husband's pretty much the same, except-" but he didn't finish his sentence, suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you instead into a much darker, narrower adjacent alley. He leaned against a wall, looking down at the street you had just left.

"Here's the husband," he murmured.

The suddenness of the gesture took you by surprise, of course, and you seemed unable to think straight. Not just because you were so close that your bodies were pressed together, but because all your senses, all your nerves, seemed to come together in one and the same place in your body, a place where it felt like sparks were flying: Miguel's hand was placed on your waist.

Through the thin but hard-wearing fabric of your suit, you could feel the heat from his fingers spread across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and up to your neck and cheeks to warm them. His grip was firm on your flesh, and you tried to calm your breathing, which had been racing as fast as your heart at this closeness.

His second hand still had your arm in its embrace, and the simple thought occurred to you: what if his hand came down your arm to meet yours?

You looked up at Miguel's profile, watching the street you were on, alert. You took a deep breath as you watched him, his scent coming to you through the mask as earthy, pungent. And he turned his head towards you.

The distance separating your two faces was small, terribly small, and you wondered at that moment how the scene would have unfolded if neither of you had masks on. Would he have paid any attention to the way you were looking at him? Would those dark eyes have sparkled? Would you have been able to feel his hot breath on your face?

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate's increased."

The sentence refocused you for a moment as if you'd just plunged into icy water, your reverie no doubt perceptible through the suit. You lowered your eyes, glancing at the placement of his two hands on you, blinking rapidly as you tried to pull yourself together. Quick, an excuse, anything.

"The others," you breathed, using the card of concern for teammates, "I wonder how they're holding up."

"Uh huh..." he murmured, the answer only half satisfying him, his gaze piercing yours through his mask as you felt his hand tighten on your waist, another shiver running through your body. You didn't really understand why he'd maintained this seemingly intimate embrace, but to be honest, you weren't against the idea of this position for a few more moments.

It felt good to be like that, to share someone else's closeness.

He was so big, he seemed to engulf you with his size and thickness, looming over you, and so much strength and threat in one body aroused as much interest in you as it did fear.

Pull yourself together, for God's sake, what's Miguel, your boss? He's got better things to do than that, than get close to you, than get intimate with you...

He seemed to be inspecting you strangely, and the intensity of this gesture made you look down even more, the ground suddenly seeming very interesting to look at. But if he had anything to say on the subject, it could obviously wait until the mission was over.

"The way's clear, let's go," he says, finally letting go of his hold on you, "before these idiots do any more damage than they already have."

And with a thump, he pulled a web and propelled himself into the air. A gasp escaped your lips, the sudden sensation of not being touched leaving you feeling grey. You took a deep breath, trying to refocus your thoughts on the mission and not on the irreplaceable sensation that Miguel's hands had left on your body.

You dashed off in your turn, following him to join the others.

Not far away you could hear Hobie shouting: "They're pissing on us without even making us think it's raining!" Hobie, charming as always.

Needless to say, it was a fairground. Miguel threw a web in the bride's face and found the other three on a roof. Furious, he pointed his finger towards the corner of a building that was on fire, from the bottom of which civilians kept coming out, coughing, some even injured.

"Who did this?" he asked, his throat rumbling in frustration.

"You did," Hobie answered point-blank.

"Bravo," he growled sarcastically, "it's good to admit your mistakes."

"It's paradoxical communication," he informed you, avoiding a projectile that you couldn't identify, no doubt another munition of dubious composition from the bride's weapon, who seemed to be hurtling towards you with intensity.

" I Leave it to you for two minutes and you destroy everything," Miguel murmured as he began to run towards the enemy.

" Submerged by their numbers of two we couldn't do anything," pleaded Pavitr.

"Gobsmacked, maybe she's rebelling against a terribly phallocratic world," Hobie says as he dodges a huge snowball as big as himself launched from the cannon.

"Darling? Maybe it's time for dessert, what do you think?"

Shit, here comes the husband too. He was equipped with a jet-pack just like the groom, but his weapon was much less sophisticated than his wife's, a simple submachine gun, which didn't make it harmless, quite the contrary.

"Great idea! It's time for the icing on the cake," and with these words she seemed to throw portions of sweet and colourful cream towards your group.

"Come on, dance! Dance!" ordered the husband.

"No! I don't wanna dance, I'm from the town in footloose," you blurted out, trying to pull a simple web towards the cannon of the bride's gun.

You didn't succeed, but threw a second one anyway, taking the risk of standing still for a few moments to improve your aim. The web shot out and hit the barrel of the weapon. Yes! but the celebrations were short-lived, as a rush of bullets came crashing towards you, and even in your haste to escape, you were hit in the thigh.

A strangled little grunt vibrated against your teeth and lips, you didn't know exactly what it had struck in your leg, but the pain was sudden and stinging. Still, you followed the others a little, with difficulty. Every simple movement was a painful tug.

The group eventually stopped in an empty courtyard, to deliberate, talk strategy and how to organise themselves. The landing on the ground was a little abrupt, and you staggered back to your feet towards the group.

"Hey, you all right?" Hobie asked you.

"Never been better," you said, giving a thumbs up, your nose wrinkling at the next step.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're walking like a Disney witch," said Patvir, raising an eyebrow.

"Bollocks, your thigh!" pointed Hobie as he came towards you.

You looked down, the bullet had of course pierced the fabric of your suit, stretching the elastic material over your bloody thigh from the hole the bullet had punched in your thigh.

"Calm down," Gwen said in the distance, chatting to Miguel, "let me take care of this, Miguel."

"Like you've taken care of everything else so far, Gwen?" he said, his hands resting on his hips.

"Miguel?" called Pavitr.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned his head suddenly towards where you guys were.

"Can't you answer 'yes' like everyone else?" gasped Pavitr.

But Miguel was already coming towards you, he must have seen the impact in your thigh.

"Nice icing on the cake, eh?" you said, laughing slightly at the situation. After all, ridicule poisons fear.

But the shots were already ringing out and they were coming towards you.

" Okay," breathed Miguel, "Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, try to immobilise them. The husband is easy to neutralise, just hit his jet-pack and take away his weapon. For the bride, try to take her towards the river, if you make her fall into the water she will start to sink with all her layers of clothes and the weight of her dress. Pull her by her veil if you have to, but go ahead. The first one to do even a little unintentional damage again will end up with his back broken like a glow stick, got it?"

"I don't take orders," Hobie refused.

"Hobie, you take care of the bridegroom with Gwen," Miguel continued as if he wasn't listening to him any more, moving closer to you. He tossed him his multidimensional cell device, as if he was worth reaching for.

"Why does he only come and ask me things once a day, as if I were a vitamin?" Hobie huffs before launching himself into the air.

"Oh, you know, that's what we love about him, his boundless empathy," remarked Gwen before shooting a web and leaving in her turn.

"Why do I always get the less interesting ones," said Pavitr before leaving as well.

Miguel turned to you, taking off his mask. His brown hair was dishevelled and he didn't even put his hand through it before ordering:

"Sit.

You'd have liked to contradict him, to say that you could definitely wait until you got back to HQ and received treatment there rather than slowing down the mission when you'd literally been called in as backup. And here you were, the backup turned liability in the situation, so contradicting him wasn't really in your plans.

You backed away, leaning against the wall and letting yourself slide with difficulty against the bricks as you tried to put as little weight as possible on your damaged leg. With a muffled whimper, you reached the ground, stretching your bad leg further as you bent the other. You took off your mask in turn, no longer able to hide your expressions of pain. The sensation you'd had at first had been sharp, but now it felt like your thigh was on fire and the wound was licking at your skin like flames.

Miguel came forward and knelt beside you. His gaze was riveted on your thigh, and when his gloved hand came to rest beside the wound, you stiffened your back and couldn't help breathing in through clenched teeth. His brown eyes looked up into yours, watching your expressions through the wild strands of his hair. But it was also simply a look for permission to continue his gestures.

"If it hurts too much, use your mask," he said, his eyes returning to the wound.

The mask? In what way would the mask be- ah, so... You watched your mask, hesitating for a moment. What Miguel meant by that suggestion was biting your mask. Since you were probably going to grit your teeth, you might as well not hurt yourself too much and tear them up by biting into something. You wavered at the thought, preferring not to damage any more of your costume. You'd already dented it with your punctured thigh, but ripping your mask on top of that? No, preferably not.

His thumb felt your skin, and he pressed down on a spot that threw you so hard that your hand immediately grabbed his wrist. You were breathless, almost nauseous from the pain, and you opened your frowning eyes again to meet Miguel's gaze, which had stopped all movement of his hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes and nose stinging with the tears that threatened to spill from the pain. He breathed, his eyes falling on your hand, then straightened towards yours:

"If you don't let me touch it, I'll pin your hands down with my webs, is that clear?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a shaky breath and removed your hand, which seemed ridiculously small compared to his.

"Well, the bullet's really not deep, so it should be fine."

Honestly, you didn't know whether it was better for you to know what was going to happen, and you were somehow grateful that he wasn't detailing his operation to you, even though he was doing it mainly out of lack of time.

His two hands came to grip your thigh to hold it steady, he gave you one last look, then lowered his head close to your thigh, and you saw a flash of white gleam from his long, sharp fangs before they sank into your skin. A strangled cry drowned in your throat as you felt them ooze something wet, liquid seeping into your skin and blood.

Miguel's bites weren't just poisonous, they could also be incredibly helpful in situations like these, where they acted as both a mild painkiller and a kind of antidote that accelerated the healing process. And although the painkiller aspect wasn't performing well enough for your liking, you were still quite happy not to feel like you were in complete agony.

The sensation of his lips on your flesh, however, previously drowned out by the sensations of all your aching nerves, became much clearer. Their softness grazing your skin with more intimacy than he was aware of.

He hadn't bitten down on the wound, to prevent the bullet from moving any further, and you took a deep breath when he moved away, pulling his fangs out of your skin. His tongue cleaned them, and he glanced at you as he did so, just to make sure you were all right.

Please tell me I haven't become a big walking tomato, you thought. Now apparently the most important phase would begin: extracting the bullet. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, still feeling pain, then nodded to allow him to continue.

He bent down again, coming dangerously close to the wound, to your raw flesh where warm blood was dripping. The bullet wasn't far from the surface, luckily the suit had played a large part in cushioning it.

He breathed in lightly, then put his lips to the wound. A current of electricity ran through your body as all sorts of sensations mixed together in one place. The burn on your thigh had just met the slightly sticky wetness of Miguel's saliva and the warmth of his mouth and lips as he began to draw.

You realised what Miguel was doing, he was sucking the bullet out of your flesh. His tongue flicked lightly around the impact, and his fangs, still a little elongated, lightly traced your skin.

Your breath was erratic, and you tried to stabilise it, but the sensations seemed so extreme that the task was complicated. The thing about spider-senses is that your senses are heightened, so the slightest movement of Miguel's lips, tongue or fangs sent shivers through your body. He drew back to spit out the excess saliva and blood that had mingled before coming back and sucking harder. You could feel the bullet coming out little by little, still biting your lip fiercely until you felt a metallic taste, and were insistently reconsidering the choice of biting into your mask. So you switched to the side of your index finger, biting it as your frown of pain intensified.

Then Miguel pressed his lips a little harder, and your body had to grab hold of something. Then, inadvertently and with many mental 'oh no's attacking your being as soon as the gesture was made, you grabbed Miguel's hair.

His eyes immediately looked up at yours, wide, questioning the gesture, and the sight made you feel as if your heart had fallen into the warmth of your stomach. His brown eyes had a flash of red and peered through his long lashes, their colour blending perfectly with his blood-smeared cheeks.

You were so desperate for a foothold that your body hadn't given a second thought to what it should be gripping. He just froze, for a few seconds that seemed as long as minutes. You calmed your breathing, taking advantage of the respite from his movements to relax a little. Worried, you looked up at him again, dreading his reaction.

But nothing, no 'what the hell are you doing', no 'stop that immediately', no 'that's inappropriate', no reprimand, nothing. Your fingers in his hair relaxed, they were much softer than you'd imagined, but your hand didn't leave its place. You felt both his hands tighten around your thigh, making you swallow hard. He just gave you one last look before flicking his tongue around the wound and continuing his suction.

Your fingers reflexively gripped his hair again and Miguel let out a low rumble from his throat that vibrated up your thigh and into the bullet. The sensation was such that you suddenly turned your head to the side, closing your eyes tightly until you saw stars. The tears that had welled up started falling, determined.

Miguel's hot breath washed over your bare, rosy skin, turning visibly purple with the repeated suctions Miguel left in his path. His normal teeth were biting into your skin around the bullet to create the pressure that would eject it.

You locked your fingers in his hair again, and felt his hands tighten their grip on your thigh as a low hmpf vibrated against your skin again. Then he drew in harder, and pressed his teeth in deeper, and you felt your finger beading with blood as your teeth pierced your skin.

And then, at last, you felt the bullet come out. A deep sigh poured from your lungs as you eased your hand from his hair to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. He stepped back, his eyes looking into yours, his cheeks and nose all covered in blood, and between his reddened teeth was the crushed bullet.

You looked at him like this, your cheeks heating up violently. He spat the bullet out to the side, then looked back at your thigh. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw as he let go of your thigh, bringing one of his hands up to wipe his cheek with the back of it.

"Put some webs on it, that should be enough to last us until we get to HQ."

His eyes scanned yours, tired, reddened, a tear still running down them. He wiped it away with the back of his index finger, letting it fall onto the fabric of his suit. The gesture was gentle, almost like a caress as his finger gently traced your cheek.

"You did great, muñeca", he said, his voice soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

The nickname gave you a warm, soft feeling in your lower stomach. He straightened up, his mask in hand, the other stretched out towards you, ready to be seized.

No comment on the pulled hair? You were afraid he'd mention it, or were you afraid he wouldn't mention it at all.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

You looked at your thigh for a moment, then did as he instructed and pulled a few webs over the still open wound. Then, looking up, you grabbed Miguel's hand to help you up. You breathed through your teeth, the pain was still there, but now that the bullet had been dislodged and Miguel's pain-killing venom was coursing through your veins, the ache was lessened.

You were swaying slightly and Miguel's reflex was to place his hand on your waist to steady you. He gave a retentive tt-tt.

"Try to stick to the webs, do as little walking or running as possible," he said before putting his mask back on, which you in turn did. "Ready?"

You bobbed your head, putting your weight on your good leg, "ready.

With a nod, you both took off.

Soon you found Pavitr who had managed to catch the husband who, on closer inspection, had one of his eyes as white as a half-cooked egg. Perhaps this explained his random aiming. In any case, he was huffing and puffing like a rhinoceros.

"It's about time," Pavitr yawned, "your leg?"

You gave him a thumbs up.

" Where are Gwen and Hobie? " Miguel asked.

"Further down the river like you said."

"Well, you can go back to HQ, we'll take care of the rest- can you go on?" he said, turning to you.

"Yep, the only thing that could stop me would be myself."

"Was that the philosophical moment?" asked Pavitr. "That deserves a few lyrical songs, doesn't it?"

"It's pathetic," admitted Miguel as he left.

You followed him, Pavitr entering a portal to return to 928.

"Are you trying to destroy our pseudo-friendship?

"Pseudo-friendship?" he chuckles, "you mean how I removed that bullet with my teeth, and you-"

"Ah, the amnesia's getting to me!" you cut in, continuing along the road faster than him until you reach the river where, hanging from a lamppost on the quayside, the bride was dripping wet and stripped of her weapon. She seemed simply stunned, and Gwen and Hobie were standing in front of her, still tense from their fight.

You approached the two lads, smiling at Gwen who had finally succeeded in her training.

"Good job!" you said, raising your fist to her height, which she banged in a friendly manner, doing the same for Hobie.

"Hobie?" called Miguel in the distance.

"Don't move," said the latter, "it's like with bears, if you don't do anything they'll leave."

"This is the right way," affirmed Gwen.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Miguel, who had finally reached your level.

"It fell into the water," he replied simply.

"What?" asked Miguel.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's behind you," he said, pointing with his chin at the wet weapon on the ground.

"So, how did it go?"

"I wouldn't go into details," Hobie sighed.

"What are you trying to accomplish here?" Asked Miguel.

"I don't want to listen to you; malicious criticism hurts my self-esteem and praise leaves me sceptical."

Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, murmuring "Voy a matarlos."

"I hope one day you'll understand what I've just said," he whispered, climbing up the lamppost to unhook the bride and place her in another multi-dimensional cell.

"Did you hear anything?" you asked ironically.

"Oh no, I didn't hear anything, did you?" questioned Gwen to Hobie.

"I've got an ear infection."

You smiled at this conversation, watching Miguel fiddle with his watch.

"How's your leg, by the way?" asked Hobie.

"I've still got the bullet, I'm going to be ringing airport buzzers for the rest of my life."

"Huh?" exclaimed Gwen.

"Just kidding, everything's fine."

"Why do you have to be like that? In situations like this, 'I'm fine' is the standard response," she huffed.

"I'm on a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and gut-wrenching regret." You affirmed.

"Huh huh, diets are bad," Hobie remarked. "It's just another way for capitalism to prove that their system is superior to you."

"Well, come on, let's go home," Miguel called.

His eyes fell on you for a moment, and in the space of that glance the vision of his crimson eyes, his fangs glistening with your blood smeared across his cheeks came back to your mind. You entered the portal, and soon enough, as you got into the lift, the horizon formed as far as the eye could see, with towers sunk like daggers into the belly of the sky, and so high that, from sleep, you could plunge into the clouds.

And now you couldn't think of anything else but Miguel.

part two >> late night training

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #astv miguel #miguel astv #astv #astv x reader #spiderman atsv #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman

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whytheylosttheirminds · 2 months

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I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 6)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

(Prologue and Ch. 1) // (Ch. 2) // (Ch. 3) // (Ch. 4) // (Ch. 5)

One Year Earlier…

The car door opened just a crack, an attempt to keep the torrential rain from getting on the nice leather interior. Your mother struggled to enter the front seat without bringing the elements with her.

“Just get in,” Ward encouraged. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to get an invoice for detailing,” she explained.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

She gave him a knowing look, now fully inside the car and safe from the storm.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” your mother said.

The windshield wipers squeaked against the glass as they swished rapidly. Your mother folded her hands in her lap as she took in the luxurious vehicle with judgment. Ward picked up on her distaste, but simply chuckled and shook his head. He had given up any attempt on getting her to like him back when they were in high school together. She had always thought him a showman, putting on a display she wasn’t interested in watching. He may have the rest of the island fooled, but she saw straight through him.

She flinched as he reached across her, calming when she realized he was only opening the glovebox. He pulled out a stack of envelopes held together with a thick rubber band. He dropped them in her lap unceremoniously, right on top of her folded hands. She didn’t pick the stack up right away, looking down at the one on top with a deep sigh.

“How many?” She asked.

“Seventeen,” he placed his hands on the wheel as if he was bracing himself. “They’re still coming once a week, like clockwork.”

“Have you read them?” She mumbled, still staring down, her eyes running over the handwriting, a prominent frown on her face as she studied the familiar little curve at the top of each letter “a”.

Ward’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, as they arrived at the conversation he was waiting for. “No, I haven’t, and neither should you. No good would come of that.”

Faint tears began to form at the crinkled edges of her eyes. The moment she felt them she pushed them away, sitting up straight and shoving the stack of letters into her purse.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, clutching her purse firmly to her lap.

Ward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could have this conversation before losing his cool completely.

“We did what we had to,” he reminded her. “Look, I don’t like it either. But it was what’s best for both of them. And it’s too late now. We need to move forward. They will, too…eventually. Trust me.”

She looked him square in the face as she grabbed the door handle, preparing herself for the mad dash back to her own car across the vacant parking lot.

“I will never trust you, Ward,” she swore.

With that, she opened the door. She had one leg out, ready to hop down from the truck bed, when he grabbed her arm aggressively, making her gasp.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“I already have.”

Now…

Rafe looked up at you nervously, his eyes running up and down your face, looking for any reaction. He was on one knee in front of you, holding up the promise ring you were sure you’d never see again. The sight was so surreal you didn’t know how to react.

You were slowly coming back to earth after the heavenly feeling of being intimate with Rafe again. All of the emotion that had clouded your mind was clearing and the events of the past few days came back into view. Rafe spitting on the waiter he’d thrown in the dirt. The disgust on his face when you’d first said his name on the beach at the island club. The way he had pushed himself off of you just a few hours ago before sending you running out the door crying. The man who was kneeling in front of you right now was not the boy who had first presented you with this ring over two years ago.

But still, he had the same desperate vulnerability in his eyes now as he’d had then. That day you had thought surely the next time he presented you with a ring, it would have a diamond on it and he’d be asking you to marry him.

The image of you in a white dress, Rafe waiting for you expectantly at the end of the aisle, flashed across your mind. Suddenly, it wasn’t you in the white dress you saw, but your mother. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to the moment, realizing that your mom’s rehearsal dinner was tonight and you had told her you would make it. She said she didn’t want you to, but she always said things she didn’t mean, and this might be your last chance to fix things with her.

“What time is it?” You blurted out.

Rafe blinked back at you in surprise. He had prepared for either a rejection or an embrace, not to give you the time.

“I…uh, what?”

“I left my phone at your house,” you explained. “Do you know what time it is?”

Rafe reached into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding the ring and checked his phone.

“It’s four,” he informed you.

“Shit,” you walked around him and headed towards the door of the lifeguard tower. “I have to go!”

Rafe stood, shoving the ring back in his pocket. “What? Why?”

He followed you out the door of the small office. Once you were on the porch of the tower, you looked around quickly for any sign of the beach patrol you had been dodging, but the coast was clear. You turned back to him, blushing slightly at the sight of him hurrying to buckle his belt.

“It’s my mom’s rehearsal dinner,” you told him. “I need to get ready, I don’t even have anything to wear. Shit!”

You descended the steps of the tower quickly, side stepping the rotted spots in the wood. Rafe followed you down, catching up with you at the bottom and rounding you so he was blocking your path to the beach’s exit.

“You’re still going?” He asked, his tone a swirl of anger and hurt.

You blinked back at him, feeling like the answer was obvious.

“Yes? It’s my mom, Rafe,” you said defensively.

“Didn’t she kick you out?” He questioned.

“Kind of. I mean not technically…it’s complicated, Rafe. You know how she is,” you struggled to explain.

Rafe rolled his eyes slightly before looking over your shoulder, nodding.

“Fine,” he said. “C’mon, you can come get ready at my place. You can borrow something from Sarah.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved that his frustration hadn’t escalated any further.

You rode back to Tannyhill on the back of his bike, wearing his helmet, relieved that your identity was shielded from the nosy looks from his neighbors as you passed. You wondered how many girls they’d seen Rafe bring back to the house on his bike over the last two years. Your stomach twisted at the thought and you subconsciously squeezed him tighter, your arms around his abdomen.

You followed Rafe into the house wordlessly, nervously picking at the skin around your fingernails, wondering what had suddenly made him go so quiet. Once inside the door, Rafe dropped his keys on the table in the foyer and walked toward the kitchen. You stood there for a moment, taking in the house. You ran your hand along the back of the couch, Rose had gotten a new one, and you hated that anything had changed, even something so small.

After a few minutes, when Rafe still hadn’t come back from the kitchen, you took it upon yourself to walk up to Sarah’s room, searching through her expansive closet for something to wear. You settled on a short black dress with spaghetti straps. It’s certainly not something your mother would have picked for you to wear, but showing up underdressed was better than not showing up at all, right?

Rafe skulked in the kitchen for a while, slowly twirling the glass of bourbon he’d poured himself, but not taking a sip. He couldn’t believe you were still going to your mother’s rehearsal dinner. He had been naive, thinking that your mother kicking you out and the moment you’d shared in the lifeguard tower had finally sealed your return to him. Maybe you would never fully be his, maybe he would spend forever fighting to be first in your life. He hadn’t fought enough before, he should’ve gone after you, should’ve tracked you down. He threw back the bourbon in the glass and slammed it onto the counter with a sense of purpose.

As you leaned closer to the mirror to apply some mascara you found in Sarah’s bathroom, Rafe appeared in the reflection behind you. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms, watching you. Once you had finished applying the makeup, you stood and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. You offered him a small smile, but his face remained still as solemn eyes held your gaze. Your smile faded when you felt the intensity of his look. You stood there for what felt like hours, just looking at each other. A look full of history, of unspoken words. The more you looked at him, the quieter the noise in your head became. All of the questions, the worry, the mystery faded and all that was left was him.

After a while, Rafe dropped his crossed arms and stood up straight, now folding his hands behind his back, emphasizing his firm chest under his t-shirt. He began walking toward you slowly, still not dropping his eyes from yours in the mirror. Goosebumps rose on your skin and your heart rate spiked, but you didn’t dare look away.

Once behind you, his chest less than an inch from your back, he dipped his head low and placed the softest kiss on your shoulder. The gesture was so tender, watery tears pricked the corner of your eyes. The brush of your soft skin against his lips undid him, and now it was him who was sniffing you, nose nuzzled into your temple, inhaling the scent he had craved so desperately for years. The glory of you invading his senses undid him and he had to place his hands on your waist to steady himself.

You leaned back into him as one of his arms snaked around you, his hand flattening against your stomach. He began peppering kisses up and down your neck, and you let your head drop back to lean into him. His other hand slowly crept up your torso until it rested over one of your breasts. It wasn’t crass or harsh, nothing like the way he fondled you on the couch just this morning. His touch was revervent, the way you hold something you lost and thought you would never find.

You watched the embrace in the mirror and he continued dragging his lips over your skin. He was wrapped around you like a snake, completely enfolding you. Your eyes lingered on his arms, enchanted by the sight of his large, veiny hands on your body. Those hands that you knew so well, even after all this time, you could pick them out of any lineup. You never managed to unlearn him. You’d know him forever, even if you never saw him again. Your heart swelled with emotion at the thought.

The sensation of Rafe nipping at your earlobe pulled you from your thoughts and your knees went weak. You reached an arm up behind you and ran your hand over his shaved head, nails lightly scratching his scalp.

“Thought you hated my hair,” he chuckled into your ear.

“It’s just different,” you breathed as he squeezed you under his hands just slightly. “You’re different.”

At this, he looked up and met your eyes in the mirror, his chin rested on your shoulder. He looked bashful.

“Bad different?” He asked, an edge of vulnerability in his voice.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you admitted honestly.

“What can I do to help you make up your mind?” He teased, easing some of the intensity of the moment.

You smiled back at him in the mirror and he ate it up, heart soaring at his ability to change your mood with just his words. Maybe if he kept talking he could convince you to stay, to ditch your mom’s rehearsal dinner and never leave his side again.

“I dunno,” you shrugged, challenging him with your eyes, hoping he would pick up on the hint that you want him to take control of the moment.

“Would this help?” He grips your breast tighter, making you gasp at the sweet pressure,

“Mhm, I want more,” you closed your eyes and laid your head back full on his shoulder, surrendering to him.

He pulled the thin strap of your dress between his teeth, dragging it off slowly to reveal more of you. Once the strap has fallen fully down your arm, he licks a strip up your neck. When his warm tongue filled the shell of your ear, you sighed blissfully. When he pulled his mouth away and blew gentle air against the moisture he had just left, you fully swooned, swaying into him.

He rocked with you and started rubbing his hand over your stomach, your hips, the curve of your ass.

“You want me to keep touching you like this?” He asked, genuine interest in your answer.

“Yes, I love it, Rafe,” you said. “I need you.”

“Tell me where you need me, baby,” he groaned into your ear, your eyes now squeezed shut so you could take in the perfect sound of his voice.

“Everywhere,” you were losing your ability to stay engaged in the banter, the feeling of his hands too electrifying.

Rafe notices how you’re fading, and decides not to ask any more questions. The hand on your ass moved further down, to the hem of your dress. He ran the pads of his fingers over the soft, plush skin of your upper thigh. He lifted the hem up until he found the edge of your panties, hooking his thumb over the waistband and leaving it there for a moment. He kissed your jaw sloppily and started dipping the rest of his fingers under the thin fabric one at a time.

You braced yourself on the edge of the sink with one hand, while the other slid down his forearm until you found his hand, guiding it to feel the wetness now dripping between your thighs.

The realization of how wet he made you mixed with the feeling of your silky cunt hit him like a truck. He groaned and pushed the hardness in his pants against your ass. Your other hand shot to the sink edge for stability as his hand took over, his fingers beginning to dance over your clit.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

“This what you want?” He asked, his voice huskier than it had been a minute ago, as the feeling of your soft curves pushing against his erection sent shock waves through his body.

“Baby…” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“Missed hearing you call me that,” he confessed.

You opened your eyes to meet his, but saw that his were now clenched shut as he focused on making you feel good. In the reflection, you caught the clock on the wall, your mom’s rehearsal dinner was beginning soon.

“Rafe,” you tried to pull his attention.

“Y/n,” he moaned, misunderstanding your tone.

“No, Rafe,” you tapped his arm to get him to open his eyes. “I have to go, I’ll be late.”

Rafe shook his head. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He said it a bit harshly, his fear manifesting itself into anger as it so often did.

“But-” you started to protest, but were cut off when he sped up the movement of his fingers, pinching slightly and rolling your sensitive clit between his fingers. “Fuck!” You nearly yelled as your body jolted forward.

“That’s it, just let me finish what I started,” Rafe said, his thumb taking over circles on your clit while his first finger reached down to dip into you.

You tried to talk, tried to tell him how good it felt, but no words came from your open mouth. Your knuckles were white from your tight grip on the sink. You pushed back into Rafe, wanting to share the pleasure you were feeling with him, but he pulled his hips away from you.

“Nah, not right now,” he said. “I’m on the clock here, baby, I gotta focus.”

He plunged a second finger into you and curled them upward, finally hitting your favorite spot that he knew so well. He had spent so long memorizing how to unravel you, he couldn’t forget if he tried.

Soon enough, he succeeded, and you unraveled completely. Rafe watched with unblinking eyes as your orgasm had you bent over the sink, crying out his name. He pulled you toward him, holding you up, as he whispered reassurances into your ear.

“Rafe, I-“ you cried.

“I got you, baby,” he cooed. “I always got you.”

Finally, your breathing steadied and you came back to earth. You turned in his arms and his hands rested on your lower back. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a grateful kiss to his lips.

“You still my girl?” He asked earnestly.

“Always.”

You said it without really thinking, and immediately wondered if you shouldn’t have. Rafe clearly couldn’t see the doubt on your face as his own was filled with relief and affection.

Just as he leaned forward to kiss you back, his phone dinged in his pocket. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the interruption and you giggled, delighted that he only wanted to be with you right now. He reluctantly checked the text.

“Your car is ready,” he explained.

“Oh, good!” you had honestly forgotten that your mom’s car was even gone, the morning feeling like a lifetime ago.

“I’ll go get it for you,” he offered. “You might, uh, wanna redo your makeup.”

You turned quickly to look at your reflection in the mirror, the mascara you had just applied was smeared from the sweat Rafe had caused you to break.

“Oh my God,” you laughed. “I look like a racoon!”

“A cute one, though,” he said, planting a quick kiss to your cheek before exiting the room.

You blushed at the simplicity of the moment, and the sweetness of the comment. For a moment, you let your mind drift into some delusional future where this is your home, and you are his girl, and none of the past two years happened.

But they did happen. Your bubble burst and you were suddenly back in the real world. This isn’t your house, and there were so many obstacles in the path to the future you were still inexplicably clinging to. The biggest of them being that you weren’t sure you actually knew the man you just promised yourself to. The man who yells and fights and gets arrested. The man who managed to break your heart and stitch it back together in the span of a few hours.

The man who never answered any of your letters.

It started so innocently, you wandered down the spiral stairs to the floor Rafe’s room was on. You walked around his room with your arms crossed, taking in the familiarity of it. You opened his top dresser drawer, immediately closing it again, feeling strange about poking around. But you had to know.

You began rifling, opening every drawer and digging through it, not even bothering to set them back to the way they were when you were done. You told yourself you were just looking for the letters, curious if he had read them or kept them sealed, or even ripped them to shreds. But if you were being honest, this wasn’t just about the letters. Rafe still hadn’t given you the answers you were looking for, about what happened to his dad or how he ended up getting arrested. You were too scared to bring it up again, the whiplash of his mood swings today making you dizzy. You figured if you were going to get answers, you’d have to dig for them yourself.

You made it through Rafe’s room without finding anything significant. He had a few joints rolled up in his desk drawer, but there was nothing that satisfied your craving for understanding.

You repeated your desperate actions in his bathroom, then Ward and Rose’s room, where it appeared Rafe had been sleeping, a mystery you’d solve another time. You made your way to Ward’s office, the room you were never allowed in when you were kids. You dug through the desk drawers, the filing cabinets, the old antique hutch - nothing. Then you remembered a time in high school when you and Rafe had snuck in here, needing to find some spare cash for concert tickets you had begged him for. Rafe had snuck into his dad’s safe, behind the painting on the wall.

You slowly walked over to the painting, wondering if this was officially going too small. You didn’t remember the passcode to the safe, so maybe it was pointless, but something in you told you to try. You slowly pulled the painting from the wall, eyes widening at what you discovered behind it.

On one side, a gun. On the other, a pile of gold, diamonds, precious stones - a real life treasure chest. Apart, they could have many meanings. But next to each other, tucked away in a manner that was clearly not meant to be discovered, they told a story. You did not know how that story began, but you had the sinking feeling it hadn’t ended yet, that it was still unfolding, and that the moment you opened this door you had unwittingly become a character in it.

Without really thinking, you reached out and picked up the gun. You were surprised at how cold it was against your skin. Your eyes widened when you realized how strange it was that you had even touched it, and you subconsciously held it further away from you, as if it was a cursed artifact. Something about the weight of it in your hands sent a chill down your spine. You were overcome with a sense of darkness, as though something sinister had entered the room. But when you lifted your gaze from the foreign sight of a gun in your hand, you found that the only thing that had entered the room was Rafe.

(Chapter 7)

a/n: she's aliiiive!!! I'm so sorry it's taken so long, life is crazy. I missed these two so much. If you're still here THANK YOU for sticking with me!!! I know this chapter is shorter than the others, but I had to get something posted and this is what I have. The rest of the story lives in my brain, alive and well and will be posted at some point I promise!! I think I have 3 or 4 chapters until I've told the full story.

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yawnderu · 10 months

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Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part IV

1 2 3 4 5 6

Simon doesn't cry. The last time he cried was out of shock, coming home to see his entire family executed by who he thought were his allies, his friends, his comrades. Simon doesn't cry, but you can see how broken his soul is in the way his hands delicately hold you close to him. You can feel it in the way his heart is beating fast in your ear, his lips pressing gentle kisses on the top of your head while you're barely conscious, too tired from the late-night conversation you had with him.

The man who broke you a year ago is the same man whose touch pieces your soul together, his warm hands doing nothing but serve as a reassurance that he's here. He's here, alive, and he's not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He waits until you're snoring softly to gently settle you back down in bed, taking one last look at your peaceful sleeping expression before getting up from bed slowly, leaving the room and walking in the dark towards his baby's room. He closes the door behind him, approaching the crib with footsteps so quiet one would think he's still the ghost, but he's not, not when he's here. He's just Simon.

"Hey, sweet girl." He greets in a whisper, leaning down in front of the crib to look at his daughter. What a fucking sight, he thinks; brown eyes focused on the way his tiny girl is holding a bunny plushie close to her, wearing the skull pattern pajamas he bought her a few weeks ago. Simon has strong genes— the baby looks like a girly replica of him, her dark brown hair framing her pretty face, nose slightly rosy from the cold. He adjusts her beanie, lifting the blanket enough so more of her body can be covered even while she's asleep. His hand hesitates when he feels the baby stirring awake, taking a step back before her brown eyes open, peering at him.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He whispers, afraid to wake you up even while you're an entire room away. His big hands reach out for the baby, cradling her in his arms as he walks around the house until he reaches the living room, not bothering to turn on the light to not bother his baby. She's calm— not crying, simply babbling as she looks up at him, her hands balled into fists, too used to holding something. Simon can feel her tiny nails digging into his bare chest, yet he doesn't mind, gently rocking his girl under the comfort of the dark living room, the moonlight illuminating enough so they can both look at each other.

"Papa." His heart almost stops when he hears the little girl say her first word, looking down at her with wide eyes and a proud smile. He almost thinks he imagined it until she repeats it louder, tiny hands pulling on his dog tags. His hand dwarfs the baby's head as he presses her closer to his bare chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of her tiny body against his. He never thought he'd be a father— hell, the idea itself never went through his head even when his family was alive, yet ever since he first saw his baby girl? Simon fell in love.

"Papa's here, Astrid." He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead, her tiny balled up hands now holding his cheeks and pulling slightly on the stubble, making him groan in pain, something she finds amusing, a cheeky giggle coming out of her.

"Gentle." He reminds her, pulling her away so she's not able to keep torturing his scarred cheeks. He smiles down at her, one of his hands coming up to gently pinch her chubby cheeks, another giggle coming out of the tiny girl. She’s an angel— rarely cries and is always giggling, her gummy smile full on display for anyone lucky enough to see her.

His pretty angel. A split image of everything Simon could have been if he had a normal family and rather than feeling bitter about it, he feels happy. Happy to be able to see her grow, to give her and you the life you both deserve, even if you're not together.

He lays down on the couch with the baby resting on his chest, the chain and metal of his dog tags enough to keep her distracted as he admires her under the moonlight seeping through the window, wanting to memorize every single detail on her tiny face. The pain of losing a second brother to him is still there, yet this tiny girl heals his soul and gives him hope.

Johnny would have loved you. He thinks as he looks at her, imagining Johnny playing with his baby. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he thinks of the tiny girl pulling on his mowkhawk, her bad habit of pulling on people's hair something he became too familiar with, his buzzcut not saving him from his baby's surprisingly strong grip. His mind inevitably goes back to his family, thinking of Joseph playing with his baby, of Tommy experiencing being an uncle, or Beth and his mum gossiping with you while looking at Simon, proud smiles in their faces. He can't help the way his eyes sting, slightly rimming with tears in the company of his baby.

His eyes close as he takes a deep breath, allowing a stray tear to roll down his cheek while the rest dots his long eyelashes. His hand plays with his little girl's hair, the other one firmly holding her close to his bare chest while she babbles on, her innocence a complete contrast to who he is.

"Mum?" He begins, eyes still closed and voice shaky.

"This is my baby, Astrid. She's four months old... lovely girl, ain't she?" He speaks quietly to nothing, imagining his mum is there, watching over him, a bright smile on her lips.

"I still haven't won her mum over, but I'm trying. I'm gonna marry this girl, mummy, I know I will." Simon doesn't cry, but his stomach muscles tense as he holds back a sob, not wanting to startle the baby resting on him. Her silence finally makes his eyes open, tear-rimmed circles of darkness softening when he sees the peaceful sleeping expression on his baby.

"I love you so much." He confesses in a whisper, his short nails gently massaging her scalp, his warm chest working as a personal heater for the sleeping baby. His back is starting to hurt but he's not going to risk waking the girl up, simply closing his eyes again and focusing on getting some sleep. With how badly he has been sleeping since he came back, he doesn't even realize when he drifted off to sleep, only being awoken hours later by the smell of pancakes and tea.

He looks down at his chest, finding a blanket covering him, but no sight of his baby. That's enough to send him in a panic, immediately getting up and looking around the living room, his fast-beating heart only slowing down once he sees the baby sitting on a highchair in the kitchen, your back turned to him as you hum and prepare breakfast.

"Bloody hell— you scared the shit out of me." He lets out a deep breath, trying his best to calm down as he starts walking towards you, one of his hands resting on your waist as you look over your shoulder and shoot him a cheeky grin.

"You scared the shit out of me when I saw the empty crib." He gives you an apologetic smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head and laughing as he narrowly misses the kick thrown to his arse.

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#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #dad!simon riley #dad!ghost

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eureka-its-zico · 1 year

Text

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 8.7+

A/N: This chapter is mostly filler from 1.04-1.05. This chapter also, once again has a POV from Zoro. I kept going through my options of what I could do to possibly give these two idiots more alone time and this was the result. The beginning, and introduction, of Sanji begins right at Chapter 5 and I already have too many ✨ideas ✨ that I know what to do with. Also, I did add in Zoro working out. It’s a brief mention, but I just found it weird he didn’t have any of those scenes (probably for damn good reason). As always, thank you guys for all the love and support. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story🖤 Much Love, Jenn

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Previous Next

“I don’t know, Doc. You’re starting to look a little pale.”

“And green.”

You’d been hugging the side of this particular railing since you’d sailed out of port. It was your first time ever on a ship and it wasn’t going too great. You’d heard about seasickness and even had sailors come asking for Naan’s Elfroot to chew to stem the tide while they were out at sea. You always thought they were being ridiculous. How bad could it be?

Well, if your dry heaving was any indication - pretty bad. Of course, Zoro just had to make it worse.

You glanced up from looking at the water that was gently tapping the side of the boat to the growing bane of your existence. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans while the other rested on the hilt of his swords. He looked effortlessly cool as he watched you with - was that a smirk?

He’d changed into a yellow shirt with fine detailing of gray lines running horizontally and vertically, which matched perfectly with his gray pants.

Zoro was more of a fashionista than he’d let on.

“It’s just the reflection of your hair,” you shot back at him.

You could feel the next wave of nausea thrashing around in your stomach and you prayed you could keep it down. You were going to lose more cool points if you hurled again. Zoro squinted over the sun's rays to regard your current state. He must have been able to tell you were 0.2 seconds from hurling because, instead of replying, he simply twirled his finger indicating for you to turn around.

You did as he instructed, but made sure to follow it up with a middle finger salute.

“Man, you two always like this? You just met.” Usopp asked.

Usopp tried doing the dotting friend routine by patting you a few times, awkwardly, on your back. It felt more like he was trying to get a burp out of you than soothe you.

“It’s because they like each other.”

Nami pranced out of the galley and chose violence. It only took both you and Zoro to register her words before you both shouted:

“I don’t like her.”

“I hate him!”

Nami wrapped her arms around herself as she looked you both over. A devious smile tilting the edges of her mouth and you had to look away before it turned into the shit eating grin you’d come to expect.

“I’m sure you both do,” she teased.

You wanted to prove to her that you meant it. Zoro would be the last person you would say you liked, like- like that. The man was literally the biggest pain in the ass you’d ever met.

“Usopp,” you croaked, “can you get my bag, please.”

“I’m on it, Doc.”

At the sound of his feet hitting the deck, a groan of discomfort resonated in your chest. How could anyone think that sailing was fun? This felt like the absolute worst.

When you first entered the Going Merry you couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. You’d heard Usopp tell you stories since he cleaned it everyday. It was as finely crafted as he’d described, and the white ashwood against the walnut was a stark contrast but complemented each other beautifully. There wasn’t another ship like the Going Merry and a one-of-a-kind ship should belong to someone as extraordinary as Luffy.

The minute you’d cast off into the giant blue you’d almost panicked. What if this was a mistake? You’d never been out in open water before nor had you ever left Syrup village. This could either be one of the greatest adventures of your life or a disaster. The only thing that kept you from flinging yourself over the side and swimming back was when you’d walked the stern and the glint of the sun shone down on the water.

The sun’s rays illuminated the water like light reflecting off a crystal glass. One minute it was the deepest blue. The color was solid enough that your reflection was easy to see and in a matter of seconds after a ray of light touched its water, it took on a cornflower hue that made the water translucent.

You’d been able to admire it for all of three seconds before you were embarrassing yourself over the port bow.

“I’m back, Doc,” Usopp spoke softly as he placed a soft hand on your shoulder. He lightly tapped the bag against your hands to try and coax you to grab it. “Do you need me to get you water or anything?”

“Water is not going to help. It’ll make it worse.”

You thought he was trying just to be his usual monotoned “Hi, I’m Zoro and I could care less,” self, but when you finally peeled your forehead off your forearm and looked at him he wasn’t even looking at either of you. He was curled up, like a lazy cat, against a couple of crates with his eyes closed and faced tilted towards the sun. With his hands infamously stuffed inside his pockets.

“It would?”

You nodded your head only once in recognition before you started searching through your bag. Your hands started scrambling inside it a soft, “No,no,” building into a frenzy before you stopped searching.

“I’m guessing your magic little root isn’t in there.”

Zoro was still sitting without a care while you felt like you wanted to throw yourself overboard.

“No. It isn’t.”

Mental note: Ask Luffy to stop at Irkhaven Isle to get supplies.

Suddenly, Zoro stood in one graceful motion and walked off towards the galley.

Ass.

You turned back to the Going Merry’s railing and held on tight. Your stomach felt like you’d swallowed glass and got punched, it was so empty. Another groan was building in your chest when a cold bottle touched the back of your arm.

The coolness to your skin sent a yelp of surprise from you, and sent you whirling to the presence beside you. Zoro was leaning back against the railing, looking as calm as ever, with a beer extended out between you.

“Isn’t it a little bit too early to be drinking?”

He rolled his eyes as he switched positions. He was now mimicking your current position against the rail but looked effortless and was still holding that damn beer out to you.

“It’s for you.”

“For me? Zoro, I don’t think now is the time to be drinking-“

“Just drink it,” he growled, an obvious annoyance replacing his earlier calm.

What hell, what was a beer going to do? At most, it would at least give your stomach something to actually throw up instead of dry heaving yourself into a six pack.

You reached out and took it from him. Zoro continued to watch you as you placed the bottle to your lips, waiting for you to take a sip.

“Could I get some privacy here?”

Zoro rolled his eyes but did as you asked looking off into the southside of the ship. You took that moment to take a long pull from the bottle. Surprisingly, it was damn good beer. You waited for the bitter aftertaste to kick in, but found it replaced with the tang of citrus. You immediately took another drink and another. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the middle of the bottle that you noticed the ship had been rocked a few times by the waves and yet…

You went to turn your attention back to Zoro and found him already staring at you.

I am not blushing.

You turned quickly to look back out at the ocean with both arms leaning over the railing as you took in the picturesque view. You couldn’t believe beer was making your sea sickness disappear. Out of your peripherals you waited for him to turn away from you. Unable to say it to his face as you played with the label that was peeling off from condensation.

Alcohol. It was brilliant. You were sure your body was still feeling sick, but the depressant in the beer wasn’t allowing those receptors to acknowledge it. Tilting the bottle at him you asked, “How’d you know this would work.”

“It’s how I survived all my boat trips. Old guy I’d met aboard my first ship when I was seventeen taught me that trick.”

“Is that why you have so much booze? Cause you have a weak stomach?”

Your question came off worse than you intended. You genuinely weren’t trying to insult him. He’d just helped you. Zoro has helped you.

“No. I just like to drink.”

His tone was void of all emotion. The little bit he’d given you quickly washed away and you wanted to kick yourself.

Foot meet mouth. Mouth meets foot.

You weren’t very good at this. The only friend you’d ever actually had was Usopp. The both of you know the tone of the other and every secret in between. You’d tried to make friends with the other kids in town, but holding up a frog as a friendship gift didn’t seem to go over too well. And on that wonderful trip down memory lane…

You straightened up and took a smaller sip from the beer before you leaned down to pick up your abandoned satchel.

“Thank you, Zoro.”

The both of you stared at the other until the silence was washed out by the squawking of seagulls and the rush of water. Even now in this weird game of chicken, you knew you would be the first to give. His dark eyes staring straight through you until you felt exposed. You tipped the bottle for good measure and turned on your heel to make your way inside the safety of the kitchen. Your hand clutching the bottle close as your brain tried to make sense of what happened.

Zoro helped you. He didn’t have too and for all intents and purposes you were surprised he didn’t just let you suffer, but he’d chosen not to. What did that even mean? He was just being friendly. It didn’t mean anything more than that.

Instead of dwelling on the question, you sat down in the corner booth and took another pull from the bottle.

——————-

After you finished your first bottle, you found another, and another until you’d ended up blissfully passed out in the booth. You were vaguely aware that Luffy and the crew had come into the galley at some point. The sound of Usopp and Luffy struggling to talk over the other was what forced you out of your nap.

“We all know who the Captain is.”

“It’s me.”

Two voices rang out as one with each ending in a high-pitch of surprise. It was his first day and already Usopp was trying to stir up mutiny on the ship. If you weren’t interested in staying unconscious you were positive you would’ve smiled.

“Just call me Captain Usopp.”

“We already know I’m the Captain.”

It didn’t surprise you they were still giving out declarations of who was Captain. You waited for it to become a campaign, like when Townsfolk ran for Mayor, but the sound of Nami’s laughter followed by - was that Zoro?! - ended both men’s rant.

“See, this is what it’s all about,” Luffy’s voice chimed in. “From now it’s going to be smooth sailing.”

He was his usual happy sounding self. You were willing to bet it was infectious, making everyone’s earlier laughter remain in the small creases by their eyes and the raise of their lips. Luffy was indeed a Captain and one of the best kind.

Enjoying the moment abruptly ended, however, when you caught the sound of a whistle outside. It grew more intense by the second. Whatever it was, was slicing through the air with a force that was audible. You weren’t sure why it took so long for your brain to register that it wasn’t a natural sound. It was rectified, however, when something violently slammed into the Going Merry and sent everything trembling.

Your back immediately shot up off the cushion of the booth. Eyes open wide as you stumble to your feet watching Nami and Zoro do the same.

“What in the hell was that?”

“Luffy opening his damn mouth,” Nami replied as you followed behind her.

You were wondering how Luffy’s mouth could have anything to do with the current sounds coming from outside. Your response died in your throat the minute you got out onto the deck. You followed them to the stern of the ship and finally saw what was waiting for you all was a very large, very metal, Marine vessel trailing behind you.

All the blood drained from your body and whatever buzz you’d had left over from earlier was now completely gone.

“It’s the marines! We’re under attack!”

Nami rushed to the wheel to begin to try evasive maneuvers to get you all out of the way of the oncoming cannonballs. Another shot rang out from the marine vessel and you waited to be struck by steaming metal and found yourself vaguely relieved when it crashed into the ocean a few feet from you.

“How did they find us?”

“Does it matter? They’re trying to blow us out of the water!”

What the hell were you supposed to do?

What in the hell could anyone do against being shot at by cannons and a marine vessel that was gaining on your small ship by the second. You could see three figures standing at the bow of the ship, eerily watching as if waiting for something - or someone - to appear.

Luffy grabbed the telescope and peered through the lens. You all waited for him to give an order and what he said next surprised everyone.

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa!”

“Did you just call that guy grandpa?” Zoro asked, his eyes carefully watching Luffy as he glanced through the telescope back at the ship.

He didn’t answer right away. The sound of another shot being fired made all of you space out from one another. You could feel the tension singing through your nerves. The adrenaline was demanding you to move or do something else besides just hopelessly stand like a damn target. The fight or flight in you erupted to life with one key thought hoarding every inch of clarity besides one: run.

This time when the cannon came crashing down it came right at the edge of the stern. An eruption of water covering you in a fine mist of water. You didn’t get a chance to decide on what to do when another shot rang out.

“Hit the deck!”

Usopp’s scream was frantic enough you didn’t ask why, and did as he instructed and became one with the wood. Seconds later, the sound of speeding metal whizzed by you and smashed into the railing behind sending wood fragments everywhere.

You couldn’t stop the scream that tore its way from your lips as your body curled in on itself.

What the hell did I sign up for?

You could hear the sounds of feet clumsily finding their footing again as everyone began to get up. You wanted to stay where you were, but the sharp sound of Zoro calling you a coward resonated inside your chest.

You could do this. You could totally hundred-percent do this.

It was your turn to begin to get up from your place on the stern deck, and just as you moved to your knees someone offered their hand for you to take. Color you shocked when you looked up to find that hand was attached to Zoro. You must have been staring too long because he looked away, hand still out, and grumbled, “You going to keep staring at it or take it?”

Yup, and there was the Zoro you’d grown to know and loathe.

“It just burns you up inside to be so helpful, doesn’t it?”

Your voice oozed with sarcasm as you took his hand - maybe a bit too aggressively - and started to get up. Zoro saw your passive-aggressive hand smack and did you one better. He pulled you quickly to your feet, but that quickness came at the cost of your balance. Your feet couldn’t catch their footing back on the deck and you ended haphazardly colliding into his chest.

As fast as it happened, it was equally as fast that you both dislocated yourselves from each other.

“Is everybody okay?”

“I think so.”

“No. Not okay. Not even close to okay.”

“I second, Usopp,” you said.

You weren’t sure why you raised your hand. It could’ve been you just really needed them to know that no - no, this was definitely not okay.

Luffy took your concerns with a grain of salt, however, and ran over to the cannon - the only cannon - on deck. You’d only just meet him, but Luffy didn’t strike you as someone who held onto any ill will. So, you were surprised to see the determination burn in his eyes and the scowl to cross his face.

What did your grandpa do to you?

If you weren’t mortally in danger of drowning at any minute or being shredded in half by a cannonball, you might have asked.

“Usopp! Fire back at them!”

“Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?”

“I like that idea, actually,” you chimed in, a hand scratching the back of your neck. “That’s a solid plan if I ever heard one, Usopp.”

“Run from the marines?”

Luffy looked between the three of you. He couldn’t believe that Usopp, Nami, and you were apparently so quick to not want to put up much of a fight. You did enjoy not being a sea decoration.

“No. Never! Nami trim the…sail thing. Let’s sink their ship!”

“Wait, what? Are you crazy?”

You had to back up to stand next to Zoro as Luffy waved for Usopp to join him on the stern. The two of them grabbed a hold of the cannon to bring it towards an opening in the back.

“Let’s sink their ship.”

“Luffy, we don’t have time for this!” Nami interjected, but Luffy wasn’t listening. “They’re going to come up alongside us! If they do, we are finished.”

“Our odds keep sounding better and better,” you mumbled as you made your way over to Nami.

“You are our Navigator. Do something.”

Nami let out a groan before her whole demeanor changed. No longer was she trying to flee or get Luffy to see reason. Suddenly, she turned to Zoro and ordered him to go down and pull the sheet in. He didn’t waste a second before he brushed past you and down the stairs.

You waited for her to order you to do something, anything, but she must have known it would’ve been like explaining math to a baby. You didn’t even know what she’d even just asked Zoro to do. Apparently, neither did he.

“Which way is port?”

A heavy sigh left her as she shouted back, “It’s the left!”

“Have you ever loaded a cannon before?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve loaded tons of them,” Usopp replied coolly.

You had to give Usopp props. He was literally the master of bullshit and could keep a straight face even though you both knew the only thing he loaded was his imagination.

“This is just a different model I’ve never seen before.”

“Usopp, you load the cannon in the barrel. Light it and then get the hell out of the way!”

Following Nami’s directions, Usopp rushed forward towards the barrel. You thought he was going to make it when the ball slipped out of his hand and landed with a heavy thud on the deck. You rushed forward to grab it before it rolled down the stairs, but didn’t notice Usopp rushing to join you in the hunt. What neither of you failed to notice was that the vibration from dropping the cannonball dislodged the others.

In a split second, you and Usopp collided into one another and when you stepped back to stand up your heel caught a ball. You had barely enough seconds to lean yourself forward as you slipped down the stairs, taking each stair with a thud just like the cannonballs.

Your knees slammed into the edge of one of the stairs, but the balls under your hips kept you slipping. You tried bending your knees to slow your descent only to have them successfully bump every step on the way down.

“Oh shit, Doc are you okay?” Usopp shouted down after you.

“I’m fantastic,” you grunted as you came to a stop before the last steps.

You weren’t trying to remove yourself from the stairs. You could feel the pain in your knees growing with each passing second. You were willing to bet when you stood up, that dull throb that was beginning to resonate under your skin would shoot out like lightning the minute you stood up. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten who was at the bottom of the stairs with you.

“Are you going to get up anytime soon or do you enjoy just laying there?”

You were ready to tell Zoro where he could shove his swords when a gruff voice you’d never heard cut over the chaos.

“Pirate vessel, by order of the marines, lower your sails and submit to my authority.”

You were willing to bet a million berries if that man wasn’t Luffy’s grandpa that wouldn’t even be an offer on any table. Ever. The sound of Zoro’s boots coming closer caused you to peel yourself up just enough before he - did he really just step over you?

“Oh, you asshole,” you seethed.

You scrambled to your feet to chase after him when you noticed another cannonball headed straight for the Merry. But where was the sound of the gunpowder? What felt even more unbelievable was what came after.

Sure, Luffy told you he’d eaten a Devil fruit. He’d told you his body was made of rubber but seeing was believing. You watched as Luffy began to inhale air and his body blew up like a…balloon. Luffy was becoming an actual balloon of skin until the cannonball landed in the center of his stomach. He took the entire impact and flung it back at the marine vessel. One minute, you could hear the return fire whistling through the air. The next, you watched as the crow’s nest above the mast exploded and seconds later it came crashing down.

Everything grew silent aboard the Merry as you all registered what you’d just witnessed. You were still staring at Luffy and back to the now very much on fire marine ship when Usopp’s surprised laughter cut through the silence.

“That was amazing! You just saved us!”

“You didn’t tell me you could do that.”

You could feel your own smile slide across your face as the adrenaline began to bleed away. The aftershocks of the thrill of battle - no matter how unsuccessful - left you feeling ready to do it all again. Or take a nap.

You were joining in on the laughter as you looked back at Nami, and at Usopp who was jumping in excitement with Luffy. You looked over at Zoro and found your earlier excitement drained from your body. Sure, you’d seen him smirk and look like the grumpy cat who ate the canary, but you’d never seen him smile.

Sometime during the battle the wind had tussled up his hair making him appear like he’d just woken from a nap. It made him softer, less broody, and the grin that lit up his face actually reached his eyes and scrunched his nose.

It was safer in the village.

You wanted to say the thought was because of what had just happened. Even as Luffy ordered Nami to get you out of the area, you knew it wasn’t because of the danger. Hell, as much as it was a mess of a first battle, the adrenaline of it all was demanding for a release. Maybe you’d be able to use that as an excuse for why your heart was beating so wildly as you watch Zoro run a hand through his hair.

The ship suddenly felt too constricting. It didn’t allow enough space between you and the swordsman who resided on this ship. You tried to shake your head clear of all those thoughts and turned to run after Luffy. You called his name as you carefully took the stairs down after him.

“Something wrong, Doc?”

“No, no,” you waved him off. “I just - I wanted to ask a favor.”

“You can ask me for anything.”

You weren’t sure if you would ever get over how genuine Luffy was. Every word he said to you he meant it. You could probably tell him you needed the sun, and whether physically attainable or not, you knew Luffy would try his absolute best to bring it to you.

Because Luffy was just that kind of Captain.

“Would it be a bother if we stopped at an island? I’m in need of some supplies.”

———————

Luffy didn’t hesitate to say yes to your request to stop at Irkhaven. It only took you all of four seconds to explain what it was, where it was, and why you needed to go before he sent you to Nami to give her the coordinates. While you’d never physically gone with Naan to harvest the ingredients you’d grown up using, she made sure to tell you often how to get there.

Just in case the day came she couldn’t.

What you hadn’t expected as you walked through fields of lavender was to have Zoro trailing behind you.

“How much longer are we going to be out here?”

“Until I have enough of everything to last us a while,” you called over your shoulder.

You didn’t need to look behind you to know Zoro was shooting daggers into the back of your skull. While he hadn’t been happy being volunteered to go with you onto the island, he hadn’t argued with Luffy either.

You stopped midway out of the lavender fields and took out your small knife to begin cutting gently through the stems. After you had a good enough bundle, you sheathed the knife back in its place on your satchel where you reached inside to grab a pre-cut piece of string.

You could still feel Zoro watching you, as you tied the lavender together in a tight bundle.

“I wasn’t aware picking flowers was life-saving medicine.”

This time you did look over at him. Zoro, the strong and proud pirate hunter. The demon, Luffy said was his nickname. Looking at Zoro now, even in an endless field of lavender, he resonated power. You held no doubt he had earned such an intimidating name through grit and blood-soaked swords.

He looked out of place next to you in a place meant for healing and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was more what he projected than who he was. While Luffy told you happily about the scary parts of Zoro (which Luffy by no means actually saw as scary) he’d also mentioned Zoro never went without a specific sword.

Remembering Luffy’s words, your eyes quickly darted down to the white-sheathed katana. If you had to put money on it, that was the one that held a deeper meaning to him. It was the one he clutched the tightest and his hand fell on absentmindedly.

Once you knew the bundle was secure, you playfully poked it in his direction.

“It does heal. It calms the mind and spirit. It creates restful sleep.”

“It stinks.”

“You are absolutely impossible,” you grumbled, your eyes rolling as you turned away from him.

You placed the bundle inside your satchel and started forward. You didn’t need to look back to know that Zoro would be behind you. This time you were leading him towards an eyeline of trees you’d spotted a few feet back. They looked promising to hold green chiretta.

“So, why did Luffy send you with me?”

You came out first from the field and onto a path that was being taken over by the vegetation.

“Because you don’t know how to protect yourself.”

“I can too.”

“A pot doesn’t count.”

You spun on your heels, satchel swinging, and caught it with your forearm just before it swung into your hip. You were pleased to see the unexpected action had caught him by surprise. Not the typical surprise that Usopp, or others, gave where it might be exaggerated or a gasp and step back. No, Zoro’s was the briefest flinch in the corner of his eyes. Blink and you would’ve missed it.

“Hey, that pot kicked ass.”

“You got lucky.”

“Okay, Mosshead, then what do you call this?”

You lightly tapped your cheek to indicate the very noticeable bruise that was just beginning to fade from his left cheek.

“I call that luck.”

You let out a huff as you turned and faced forward. Leading him towards where you needed to go and reminding yourself that you needed to focus on the task at hand. Not Zoro.

“You carry a knife with you but you don’t use it.”

He stated it as a fact. Not a question. Zoro already knew that it wasn’t used for self-defense.

“I use it to treat and clean infected wounds and forage for ingredients.”

“But not for self-defense.”

You found yourself whirling on him again and this time he was prepared. His hand resting on the edge of his sword and hand infamously tucked inside his pocket.

“I’m a doctor, Zoro. I follow Naan’s oath to never do harm to anyone-“

“And what if to help someone - yourself - it meant that you had to take a life to save theirs?”

He’d taken a step towards you. His whole body radiated with an intensity you hadn’t been prepared for. You could feel your muscles straining to stay in place; to not retreat. Zoro had closed what space you’d had between the two of you until all he’d left were a few measly inches.

“I try not to let it come to that.”

“You don’t always get to decide like that, it's not how the world works. You keep thinking like that and you’re going to be a liability.”

Your eyes narrowed in on him and you felt yourself get on your tippy toes without thinking. Your index finger pressed into his stupidly hard chest as you looked up at him.

“It is not a liability to give a shit about people, Zoro. To care about who they are with their own wants and dreams. What makes someone a liability is not knowing who is worth that effort and who isn’t.”

You dropped back down onto your heels and turned to stomp your way into the trees. What did he know? So, you weren’t exactly a swordsman or incredibly stretchy, and while Usopp wasn’t necessarily the bravest man on the planet he was a damn fine shot. Nami could kick ass and was the best navigator. What did you bring to the table?

No. You wouldn’t let him make you think that way.

You hadn’t realized you’d gone farther than intended into the forest of trees until you noticed not only the green chiterra growing all over the sides of them, but also what looked like gold cap mushrooms. One that you knew to be poisonous.

You put it in the back of your mind. You weren’t here to get things to harm people. That wasn’t who you were and you wouldn’t let this newfound journey, or anyone, change that. You unsheathed your knife from your satchel and started carefully scraping off the moss from the bark of the tree.

“I could train you.”

Those four words stopped you mid-scrap. It had been roughly a few minutes - only a few - since you’d both been silent. You expected the rest of your time out here collecting ingredients to go relatively dull with you both pouting in your respective corners. Out of everything you could’ve expected, those four words were most definitely not it.

“Huh?”

God, you really needed to get it together.

Zoro grunted out a, “Fuck me,” before he gave you his full attention.

“I said I could train you. If you want.”

Was it possible that Zoro, the demon pirate hunter, was nervous? You couldn’t believe it, and for that exact reason you didn’t think twice about it. However, you couldn’t pass up the chance to tease him. Just a little.

“Did Roronoa Zoro - the demon pirate hunter - just offer to teach me how to kick ass?”

This whole entire trip was turning into one unexpected thing after another. The last thing you would’ve thought you would earn from your teasing was a grimace, maybe a smirk if you were lucky. Instead, your words generated an actual smile from the demon himself and you were devastated.

“I thought you said you never heard of me?”

Oh, right. He was talking and he needed you to word back. Right. You could do that.

“Luffy,” your voice cracked on your captain's name and you pretended to cough to clear your throat. “Luffy was telling me about the first time you guys met. It was truly a riveting moment.”

“Okay, let’s back up,” you began, your fingers motioning like a wheel. You’d been sitting with Luffy at the table eating breakfast. What had come over you to ask about how he met Zoro was still currently pending investigation. Luckily for you, Luffy wasn’t going to question you on why you wanted to know. “Did you just say you met him tied up inside the marine yard?” “He’d given himself up. Never told me exactly why he’d done that actually.” Luffy was perplexed for all of a millisecond before he sank his teeth back into the dry meat in his hand. “Oh, well I’m sure he was happy you let him down.” “Actually, he told me to get lost.” Yup, you were choking on a piece of toast. Luffy just stated it like it was useless information. Not that his first mate didn’t tell him to essentially fuck off during their first meeting. “He told you to get lost?” “Yeah, he did.” “So, why did you even bother staying there? You could’ve just left.” A smile began to grow on his lips. It wasn’t his usual radiant one that could rival the sun, but a thoughtful one. It told you the memory of meeting Zoro meant something special to Luffy, and it made you regard the interaction a little less harshly. “I couldn’t just leave him there. Not when he has a dream to fulfill.” While you were still debating on whether Luffy was a real person, there wasn’t any denying that he searched for the good in people. Whatever it was he’d seen in Zoro told Luffy he was a good guy. “So,” you drawled out the o, “he told you to get lost and for some reason your brain heard those words as, ‘follow your dreams’.” “He isn’t a bad guy, Doc. I know Zoro is more than just a pirate hunter with a scary nickname. He is someone with a dream, just like you, and I’m going to make sure he reaches it.”

Looking at Zoro now, you could see what Luffy saw in him. Sure, he was quick to anger and even more quick to say shit without thinking it through, but who wasn’t at times? You had experienced first hand the good that lived inside of him.

He’d helped you when he didn’t have to when you were sick. He shared a part of himself, a small part but still a part, to see who he was underneath all the attitude. While you weren’t in the business of hurting anyone, you debated on whether letting him train you would at least make you useful enough to save other members of your crew - maybe Zoro - if something came up.

You did hit someone with a pot and punch Zoro in his face. What could learning a few moves going to do?

“Alright, demon pirate hunter, I’ll consider it.”

—————————

He wanted to throttle Luffy.

The way you kept looking at him - saying his nickname - was stirring something foreign in his chest. He may not know exactly what it was but he didn’t have too. His body was telling him plainly he should take back his invitation to spend more time alone with you. You were only going to get in the way of his goal.

All of those made sense why he should retract his invitation and head back to the Merry. And yet…

“If it pumps up your ego, I’ll say it as many times as you like. For a price.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him and it was so unexpected Zoro wanted to laugh. His offer to help train you had been in the back of his mind, but when he went to offer it, it’d gone rougher than he’d intended. He hadn’t meant to make you feel bad - to call you a liability. It wasn’t that he thought you would be an actual liability for Luffy.

You were a liability for him.

The way you were looking at him now, the smile on your face, gave him all the warning he needed to know you were a dangerous wildcard. He’d made a promise to Kuina and you felt like the one thing that could keep him from it.

Whatever the feelings you were stirring in him were something he needed to be wary of. Zoro wasn’t going to have any of it. He made a promise a long time ago and he wasn’t going to let you or anyone else get in the way of him keeping it.

He was so lost in thought that he wasn’t aware you’d gotten so close. It wasn’t until your fingers slid over his ear, placing something behind it, that he was jolted back into the present.

“Oh, shit I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Your voice was breathy and sweet with your wide eyes looking up at him with something dangerously close to reverence. Close like at the dinner table. Close like when he’d tumbled out of the well and landed on top of you. Zoro still had the way your body felt under him burned into his memory. One he’d tried to erase with the bottles of liquor that now sat empty inside his room.

His hand moved up to feel what you’d placed behind his ear, and his fingertips were greeted by the soft give of flowers.

“Did you seriously just put flowers in my hair?”

Your response was maddening. Zoro watched as you brought your hands up to join your shrug, as if he wasn’t standing there, flowers now pinched between his fingers.

“I think you look cute.”

Cute.

“Yeah. That’s not me.”

In a show that it wasn’t him, that you and your stupid flower giving were just another nuisance, he opened his fingers and let them fall to the ground. Zoro watched as your eyes that had been brimming with sunshine were darkened by clouds of sadness. Even your earlier giddy step was replaced by slouched shoulders that suddenly looked as if the world weighed heavily on them.

“Okay.”

Your reply was meek. If he wasn’t straining to hear it he would’ve missed it. You didn’t give him another glance or yell at him for being an ass. That was what he had expected; what he was still waiting for. Zoro had known you for a couple of days and within that time came to learn you were the most maddening person he’d ever met - second to Luffy. This? He didn’t like this. He liked it better when you fought back. When you told him what an asshole he was and when you touched him without thinking.

Zoro watched as you went back to gently maneuvering your knife under the bark; skilled hands that removed pieces of that weird-looking fungus. You pulled an empty glass from your bag and, with the same gentleness, pushed it past the lip of the bottle to hold it inside.

Cute.

That’s what she’d called him.

I am not cute. I’m the demon pirate hunter, Roronoa Zoro.

He could feel his jaw flexing at the thought. Cute. Zoro has been called many things in his life, but cute was never one of them. His hand clenched and unclenched on the Wado Ichimonji as if asking - begging - what he should do.

He couldn’t stay here much longer. Zoro didn’t know what to say and you obviously had no intention of speaking to him anytime soon.

“Fuck this,” he whispered as he stalked off back out of the trees.

He made it to the edge of the clearing where the sun fully broke free from the shade of leaves when you called to him.

“Try not to get lost, Zoro. We both know you’ve got shit directional

skills.”

He refused to admit he was happy to hear you say something. Even if that something was your usual shit-talking. Zoro grunted as a reply and quickly went back to walking out of the clearing when something - small and pure white - caught his eye out of his peripherals.

It was huddled against the bark of a tree. Its petals were open and stark against the darkness. It took him a moment to recognize those white petals. What he found amusing was how the flower always seemed to be carrying its own weight on its shoulders; the neck of it dropping down like it’d just received devastating news. Zoro didn’t know why he gently plucked it from its resting spot. He couldn’t explain why after that he turned to head back in your direction.

Zoro was trying to get away from you and here he was bringing a fucking flower back. You turned at his approach, your mouth already forming over some word. You never spoke what it was you wanted to say and you didn’t seem like you wanted to try either.

Zoro placed the snowdrop behind your ear. Perfectly placing it to where the hanging bulb hugged the top of your ear to hang against your hair.

“You left to go find flowers?”

Zoro shook his head. He stepped back just enough to see how it looked. He was a dumbass for doing this.

“No, I was going to head back to the ship-“

“Figures-“

“When I saw this snowdrop by itself,” Zoro continued over you. “It made me think of you.”

“That feels oddly specific.”

He didn’t like how you were looking at him. More accurately, he didn’t like how you looking at him was making him feel.

“It’s a snowdrop. They’re one of the most delicate flowers in the world.”

There it was. The darkening of those previous clouds now cracked to life with the spark of your anger. Zoro had to admit, he enjoyed getting you all riled up. What he wouldn’t tell you, is because they only grew at certain times and usually in the snow, it made them one of the most resilient flowers because they could grow under any conditions.

“Are you calling me delicate?”

A huff left him as his eyes rolled up into the treeline.

“I was trying to apologize earlier.”

“Oh.”

You’d started all that storm building just to deflate but also-

“You sure have a way with words,” he teased.

“My bedside manner is not the best, I’ll admit. I once told a dying man a joke about a pirate and marine having an entanglement. Naan said it probably wasn’t the most appropriate time.”

For some reason, Zoro could picture it. A man dying and you, being your nervous self, trying to make him laugh to ease his passing. The thought of it alone made a smile curl at his lips, and he tried to gently shake it away. To look at anything else but you.

“What do I gotta do to hear one of these world-famous Doc jokes?”

He waited until his face was neutral to look back at you. Both hands rested on his swords as he watched you fill the bottle to the brim and place it securely inside your satchel.

“For that kind of service? You have to be dying.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You were a pain in the ass. A pain in his ass. From the moment he met you until now and probably would continue to be. A pain that made him think of things outside of his goal. You made him think past his promise. Who was he if he didn’t keep it? He should’ve never offered to train you or willingly spend more time with you. He was going to have to take it back. It didn’t matter if it hurt your feelings or made you hate him. Maybe that’s what he needed to do to make you hate him-

“What are you doing?”

Zoro prayed that his face was devoid of any emotion. The panic that bloomed in his chest didn’t spread to where you could see. You’d placed your hand over your chest in a way Zoro knew too well.

“I,” it was the first time Zoro ever heard your full name. “Promise to be the biggest pain in your - Roronoa Zoro’s ass - from now until whenever.”

For the second time, his hand was clutching onto the Wado Ichimonji today. While you spoke, Zoro could swear he saw flashes of Kuina standing behind you. The look of disappointment growing on her face.

“You made a promise.”

Zoro couldn’t bring himself to speak. He couldn’t trust what he would say. So, he simply turned back on his heel and made a beeline back for the edge of the trees. This time when he reached it he didn’t stop. He had to get back to the safety of the ship where he could barricade himself from you behind wooden doors and booze because Zoro could really use a drink.

————————-

It has been two days inside the fog. Two days of Zoro avoiding you like you carried the plague back with you from Irkhaven.

When you’d made that promise it was only meant to be good fun. You replayed over in your mind to see if you’d said something wrong - done something wrong to warrant the sudden extreme cold shoulder.

Besides the time you’d been with Nami and Usopp, all of you shared thoughts about the naval battle that had happened and, who could forget, his very real vice-admiral of a grandpa. Who could launch cannonballs like paperweights. After that, Zoro didn’t come around you or close to you.

Sure, you would see him when he lounged on the deck napping like a cat in open spots. Hell, if Zoro wasn’t sleeping he was either drinking or training. You’d catch glimpses of him on the upper deck lifting weights with his arms and, sometimes, his mouth.

The first time you saw him lifting eighty pounds with his teeth, you had about a thousand questions racing through your mind. If you thought he would answer you if you spoke, you might have asked him.

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It shouldn’t have even mattered whether he talked to you or not, but he’d offered to train you. Why bother asking to do something that required his time if he wasn’t willing to give it? These sorts of questions had been your own personal plague since he’d begun to give you the cold shoulder.

You’d been sitting with your legs hanging out of the side of where the cannonball had blown an unfortunate hole through the Merry’s railing. It killed you to see her so broken; her intricate leafling design ruined all because of what felt like a family spat. Letting out a sigh, you pulled your legs out from over the side with a hand holding onto the rail so you didn’t fall into the sea.

Once you were securely standing without fear of going overboard, you wrapped the leather cord that secured the pages of your journal around it. You were just finishing up tucking it in when Usopp began to shout, “I see something.”

How anyone could see anything in this mess was beyond you, but then again Luffy was at the front of the Merry using his nose to guide you guys out of the fog so…yeah. Stranger things could and did happen.

It was enough to garner your attention and bring you walking up to join the rest of the crew that had assembled.

“I see nothing,” you stated.

“I don’t know how anyone could see anything in this soup,” Nami agreed as she stirred the ship in the direction Luffy called.

“You guys don’t see the red lights? How can you not see them?”

“Because, Usopp, I don't have eyes like an Eagle.”

You could feel the happiness your comment brought him as he continued to point in the direction of said light.

“Just keep your eyes posted right here in the center and you’ll see it, Doc.

“3 degrees starboard, Nami and keep it straight.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t sit up there Luffy,” you called up to where he sat, legs wide, on the Merry’s headpiece. “What happens if you slip?”

“You're his crew mate. Not his mother. He doesn’t need you coddling him.”

You turned to find Zoro standing a few feet behind Usopp. He wasn’t looking at you but he’d just spoken to you. His first words in two days and it didn’t surprise you in the least they were his usual asshole tone.

“Oh, so he can speak. What a shocker.”

Zoro side-eyed you but still refused to acknowledge your presence. The soft bruise that was there two days ago at Irkhaven was all but a faded memory. You were tempted to make it a fresh one.

“Okay you two let’s focus on-“ Usopp stopped mid-sentence as his eyes scanned over something in the distance. “What’s a baratie?”

You looked where he was and finally saw it. Red neon was bleeding its way into the fog. It was enough to make you forget about Zoro, your lack of clean clothes, or what had happened the last couple of days. It was land. You were finally going to actually put your feet down on something solid that wasn’t just the Merry.

Nami stirred the Merry in and easily parked it at the next available dock. Immediately, people rushed out to begin tying the ship's ropes to posts to secure it in place.

“Is it just me or does this look like a restaurant?”

You meant your question to be open-ended. To allow anyone to answer in case what you were seeing was in fact a floating restaurant in the middle of the ocean. However, you were leaning against the rail next to Nami, with whom you pressed arm and arm.

“I think it is.”

You were all still staring over the railing when Luffy asked excitedly, “Do you guys know what this means?”

“We stock up on supplies and keep going so the marines can’t find us?”

“We head back to Syrup village where it’s safe?”

“No - let’s go eat!”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You didn’t have much in the way of something to wear at an establishment like this. You were willing to bet you couldn’t just walk in wearing - or smelling - like you all did. You were getting ready to tell Luffy you’d hang back on the ship when you felt a hand gently wrap itself in yours.

Glancing down at your interwoven hands and back up, you found Nami, her lips together in a soft smile, as she gave you a light tug to follow her.

“Come on. You can borrow some of my clothes.”

You let out a raspberry, your hand squeezing hers briefly in relief.

“Nami, you are a lifesaver.”

“That fish better have a bar.”

You weren’t going to say it out loud, but you agreed with Zoro. You were going to need the blissful ignorance of alcohol to make it through a dinner where you possibly ended up sitting next to him.

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

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are welcome.

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vetteltea · 9 months

Text

Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back.

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously.

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll.

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters.

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around.

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic.

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing.

He simply cannot stand for that.

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement.

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features.

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks.

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles.

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about.

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp.

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that.

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket.

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health.

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly.

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital.

Love is a scream for your name.

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome.

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in.

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital.

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving.

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife.

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.”

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married.

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside.

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes.

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now.

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight.

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further.

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about.

Love is notes left on a coffee cup.

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up.

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men.

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-”

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake.

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.”

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him.

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care.

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital.

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe.

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman.

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.”

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.”

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust.

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come-

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that.

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial.

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him.

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible.

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him.

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too.

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more.

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose.

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch.

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks.

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is.

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall.

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up.

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise.

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid.

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy.

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you.

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item.

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding.

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you.

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of.

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed.

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric.

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again.

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet.

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours.

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days.

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature.

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present.

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly.

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough.

“Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife. At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence.

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress.

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another.

“And Mrs. Leclerc?”

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you.

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything.

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again.

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.”

He needed to speak to you.

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend.

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard.

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault.

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore.

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor.

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.”

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds.

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint.

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you.

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much.

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared.

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too.

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps.

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues.

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.”

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer.

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now.

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?”

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting.

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes.

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

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janeyseymour · 7 months

Text

Love Thy Neighbor- pt 8

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Summary: Melissa is worth it. You know that now.

WC: ~2.2k

“You sleeped without me?!” your daughter looks absolutely enraged, and her voice cracks as she screeches out her question.

“Slept,” the two of you correct quietly.

“I don’t care about your stupid grammar, Momma!” she stomps her foot. “You cuddled with Miss Mel all night while I didn’t! That’s so rude of you, Momma!” She storms out of the room before you can get another word in.

You exhale deeply before throwing the blankets off of you. “I guess I should go talk to her.”

“How’re you feeling?” the redhead asks you quietly. She presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.

“Better,” you tell her honestly. “Not one hundred percent, but I can work today I think.”

She nods before letting you get out of bed. While you expect her to also get out of bed and head for her own apartment to get ready for the school day ahead of all three of you, she follows you into Ellie’s room. Your little girl has thrown herself dramatically on her bed and is sobbing hysterically.

“Oh, good lord,” you grumble to yourself before making your way over to her bed. You pull her into your lap and start rocking back and forth slightly in attempts to soothe her. “Sweet girl, Miss Mel was just helping to take care of me while I was sick. That’s all it was.”

She looks up at you with those big, sweet eyes of hers, tears still streaming down her face. “But you were snuggling without me while I was all alone!”

“Because you were already asleep in bed, hun,” Melissa lays a gentle hand on her back and starts rubbing in small slow circles. “And I was just trying to make sure that your momma was okay after being sick all day.”

Ellie starts crying even harder at that. The two of you look at each other, beyond confused. You thought telling her that Melissa was just taking care of you would help to placate those big feelings she’s having right now.

“Sweetness,” you whisper as you press a kiss to her head. “What’s the matter, my little love?”

Your daughter hiccups out a sob as she looks to her bedside table. You immediately see where her eyes land: on the framed picture of your now broken family. “Daddy used to take care of you when you were sick!”

Your heart breaks in your chest- you know how hard this has been on her, even if she usually is such a happy-go-lucky kind of kid.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, also trying not to get too upset at her words- because she’s right. Jared used to be so good at taking care of you when you weren’t feeling yourself. You’re quickly brought back to the times when you were pregnant with Ellie, and he was the most doting man that you had ever seen when it came to making sure you were as comfortable as you could be. He had bought various teas to help with the morning sickness, sat with you while you did succumb to the morning sickness, held you during times where you just didn’t feel like you anymore because of your growing and changing body, massaged away a lot of the pain you felt in the later months, and then… when you were in labor with Ellie, the nurses had told him that he was one of the most supportive fathers they had ever seen. But now that was gone. You shake your head and also your thoughts.

“I know, baby,” you whisper, voice cracking just barely. A tear falls down your own cheek. “I know.”

You feel the bed dip under Melissa as she sits down too, and then there’s a warm arm around your waist and the gentlest thumb brushing away your tear. “I’ll leave the two of you, but let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Stay,” Ellie whimpers. “Please. Please, Miss Mel. Momma and I need you.”

Today, both of you take a half day. Ellie needs all of the love and care that she can get in this fragile state of hers. So you two simply just hold her as the world slowly passes around you. The morning is spent with all of you making a deliciously sleepy breakfast, basking in the warm spring sunlight and air on your back porch. You and Melissa let the warmth of your tea soothe your souls while Ellie quietly sips from her cup of milk before relaxing back into your hold. You let her blow bubbles and dance around through them without a care in the world as you watch. You even go and grab your guitar from the living room before beginning to strum it softly as you let the music take you to another world. You quietly sing the song that your little girl owns- ‘You Are My Sunshine- before shifting to ‘Here Comes The Sun’.

You remember the many times that Jared would sit there and blow as many bubbles as your little girl wanted while she danced through them and popped them, the sweetest little baby giggles erupting from her sweet, sweet soul while music passed through your own. You remember the way that Jared used to watch you and Ellie with such wonder.

But now, you think that those times might be replaced with the warm, soft mornings and days filled with you and the redhead sitting with you hip to hip and just letting the world pass by as you watch the many bubbles fly through the air in such a carefree way. Those old times might be replaced with a beautiful woman who is looking at the two of you like you’re hanging the stars, the sun, and the moon as the sunlight hits her face and hair perfectly to make her look like an angel.

When you walk into the staffroom, Ellie on your hip and clutching a stuffed animal, your coworkers smile at the three of you softly.

“Feelin’ better?” Janine asks Ellie gently. Your little girl nods before tucking her chin into your neck.

“We needed the morning to collect ourselves,” you sigh as you sit down. You thank God that your half-day coincided with lunch, so you have an extra thirty minutes to ground yourself before walking into your classroom. Ellie clearly needs it too as she clings to you for most of the lunch period.

“Alright, little girl,” you whisper when it’s time to go collect your kids. “Time to go spend the afternoon with Mrs. Howard.”

Ellie eyes her teacher before shaking her head and trying to bury herself in your jacket.

“My love, I have to go pick up my kids and teach,” you tell her. “I’m sure Mrs. Howard has a fun afternoon planned, and she wants you to join her.”

Barbara nods and smiles at the six year old, but she still continues to cling.

“Why don’t you walk her down, and I can pick up our kids?” Melissa suggests. Ellie quite likes that idea, so you nod.

“Thank you,” you whisper, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezing it. You head out with Ellie while the others begin to make their way down to the cafeteria to collect the students.

“So… you had a half day the same day as Y/N?” Barbara raises a brow.

Melissa shrugs. “Ellie needed some extra love this morning.”

“Are you sure nothin’s going on between you and Y/N?” the kindergarten teacher asks.

Melissa smirks. “I won’t say there isn’t nothin’, but there isn’t somethin’ yet either. You know?”

“She’s worth it?” Barbara asks gently.

Without hesitation, the second grade teacher nods. “She’s worth the world, Barb. I plan on giving it to her if she’ll let me.”

“Good,” the kindergarten teacher smiles. “It’s about time you put yourself out there again. And she’s a good one.”

“Her and Ellie have me wrapped around their fingers,” Melissa sighs with a soft shake of her head. The two enter the cafeteria and collect the kids before parting ways for the afternoon.

Your afternoon is easy. Your kids are glad to have you back, claiming that their morning sub was the most boring person they’ve ever met. Before you know it, dismissal is upon you, and you’re leading the kids outside to see them off until tomorrow.

Melissa stands next to you the entire time while you hold your daughter tightly to your body. She helps you gather up all of your things before you head towards her car.

That night, you finish off the soup that Melissa had made, and then you’re curling up on the couch like you usually do. Ellie grips your shirt in her fist as she falls asleep on you, and then you set her in her bed before making your way back out to the living room. Melissa is waiting for you.

“I guess we should talk,” you say softly as you settle in next to her. Your bodies melt together like they were made for each other- something that you had only felt with Jared before.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Are you okay? After this morning?”

You nod, although the sad look in your eyes tells the redhead differently. “Just… lots of feelings.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You tell her all about your marriage- how it had been like a fairytale; how Jared was a handsome and loving man who practically worshipped you. How he doted on you like crazy while you were pregnant with Ellie, and how you were so sure that he was going to be the one you were going to grow old and senile with.

“And then… it wasn’t so magical anymore,” you whisper as you look down at your hands in your lap. “He started coming home later, smelling like other women’s perfume. He stopped kissing me, stopped hugging me. Stopped telling me that he loved me. I found him fucking our babysitter in our own bed while Ellie was down for her nap one day when I came home to grab my lunch.”

“Oh, hun,” Melissa gasps softly.

“I- I was willing to forgive him,” you whisper. “If only for our daughter. But he… he wanted out. Told me that it just wasn’t working for him. He didn’t want to be a father anymore. He left the next week. It’s only been about half a year, and while I hate him more than anything… he was all I knew for a really long time. We started dating when we were in high school. I grew up with him, and it’s taken a lot of time to adjust to life without him.”

“I’m so sorry hun,” the redhead says softly.

You give her a sad smile. “But then we came here, and that all changed.”

“Yeah?”

“You… came into our lives so easily and effortlessly. It’s like you were made to be in our lives,” you admit quietly as you wrap an arm around her waist. “And I- I want to give this a shot if you want to.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” she tells you quietly as she kisses your head again. “Having you and Ellie is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I just ask that we keep things on the low for a bit… nothing is really going to change other than the fact that we’ll ‘officially’ be dating, but I want to have El warm up to it, and if everyone at work knows… good lord.”

“You know I’m a private person,” she chuckles softly as she tightens her hold on you. “That’s just fine with me… although Barbara has already been asking, so we should probably tell her.”

“That’s okay,” you laugh quietly. “I know she’s your best friend. Will she be okay with it though- Mrs. Barbara Howard, woman of God?”

“You know that woman has practically adopted Jacob at this point,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “She actually told me to go for it with you- that you’re good for me.”

Your jaw drops open slightly. You knew Barbara thought you were a good teacher, and a relatively decent single mother, but to be good enough for her best friend; her work wife? Wow.

“Don’t act like Barb doesn’t love having you and Ellie around- she’ll be Aunt Barb by the end of the summer if she can help it,” Melissa chuckles.

“You think we’ll still be together by the end of the summer?” you ask quietly, nervously.

She shrugs. “We’ve practically been dating since I started making you dinner anyway… you’ve always been my girl, even if you didn’t know it.”

“Melissa Schemmenti’s girl,” you whisper, a shy grin dancing across your lips.

That night, Melissa spends the night again, although Ellie is sandwiched between the two of you. She presses a soft kiss to your daughter’s hairline before pecking your lips sweetly.

You know the two of you have a long way to go… but this one love story just might be worth all the risks in the world, and you were willing to take the leap for Melissa.

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