#apparently they get to drink the real deal on set

[solxamber]

1800-Curse-Control || Lilia Vanrouge

You decide to open a hotline for curing curses with Lilia. It goes exactly how you imagined it would—maybe even a little better.

“Lilia,” you said, rubbing your temples as you leaned against the counter in Ramshackle’s disaster of a kitchen. “Grim’s eating me out of house and home, literally. If I can’t afford the repairs soon, the roof will cave in. But all he cares about is premium tuna! Do you know how much that stuff costs?”

Lilia, who was casually floating upside down for no apparent reason, looked entirely too entertained. “Ah, the plight of a homeowner,” he said, grinning. “Why not turn your misfortune into opportunity? I’ve been told I have exceptional customer service skills, and I’ve been dreadfully bored. Let’s open a hotline for removing curses!”

You blinked at him. “A hotline. For curing curses.”

“Yes, my dear beastie,” he said, flipping upright midair and landing gracefully. “Think about it! This school is crawling with fools who drink unlabeled potions, poke magical artifacts, and anger vengeful spirits just for sport. You’d be rich in a week!”

“…I hate how much sense that actually makes.”

“It’s a foolproof plan,” Lilia continued, already pulling a notepad from somewhere to scribble down ideas. “I’ll handle the exorcisms and the cackling, naturally. You, my dear entrepreneur, can be the charming face of the operation. We’ll call it—hmm—‘Curse-B-Gone.’”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, ‘Hex Hotline.’”

You considered it. On one hand, it sounded completely ridiculous. On the other hand, there was that third-year who accidentally swapped his voice with a frog’s last week and the freshmen who kept mysteriously sprouting feathers.

“…How much are we charging?”

“Ah-ha! I knew you’d come around!” Lilia said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see, we’ll need tiers. Minor hex removal? Hundred thaumarks. Major curses—hair-growing hexes, spontaneous transformation curses—those will start at Five Hundred.”

“And what about something, like, really bad? What if someone’s whole body turns into a pumpkin or something?”

“That’s a premium package. One thousand thaumarks.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, I’m in. But if this flops, you’re buying Grim’s tuna for the next month.”

Lilia smirked, his fangs glinting mischievously. “Deal.”

By the end of the day, you’d set up a magical hotline using some weird orb Lilia “borrowed” from the library, a vaguely threatening poster campaign across the campus (“Cursed? Hexed? A jackal-headed god show up at your dorm? Call us!”), and a suspiciously well-stocked supply of anti-curse materials Lilia claimed were “leftovers” from his youth.

You weren’t sure whether to feel excited or like you’d just signed up for the most bizarre mistake of your life. Either way, you couldn’t wait to see how this would go down.

The orb hotline rang for the first time, glowing ominously on the rickety desk in Ramshackle. You and Lilia exchanged glances.

“Answer it!” he whispered, like this was some spy mission and not a cursed customer service line.

With a deep breath, you picked it up. “Uh… Hello, this is the Cursed and Confused Hotline. How can we—”

“YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” Ace’s voice screamed on the other end. “HE’S GOING TO KILL ME THIS TIME!”

You winced, holding the orb away from your ear. “Ace? What happened?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE TEA!”

“Okay, and?”

“And I might’ve…accidentally used that weird sugar in the Heartslabyul pantry, the one that glows in the dark? And now Riddle’s head is covered in, like…peonies. Big, pink peonies. They keep growing whenever he gets mad, which, uh, is always.”

You slapped your forehead. “You cursed your housewarden?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Ace wailed. “I thought it was sugar, not cursed fertilizer! Look, can you just fix this before he declares ‘off with my head’ for real?”

“Ugh, fine. Where are you now?”

“Hiding in the rose bushes. He hasn’t found me yet, but I think I heard him sharpening a guillotine.”

“Classic Heartslabyul,” Lilia said cheerfully, already packing his so-called emergency kit.

When you and Lilia arrived at Heartslabyul, it was pure chaos. Riddle stood in the center of the garden, his face as red as his hair—and also half-obscured by an explosion of giant pink peonies blooming out of his head like some cursed bouquet.

“TREY!” Riddle bellowed. “GET THE GARDEN SHEARS!”

Ace was crouched in a rose bush nearby, whispering frantically. “Please tell me you brought an anti-cursed-flower spray or something!”

You ignored him and approached Riddle cautiously. “Uh, Riddle? You’ve got—”

“I KNOW WHAT I HAVE!” Riddle shrieked, a few more flowers blooming on his head. “I demand immediate remedy! Or else—”

“We’ll fix it,” Lilia cut in, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in centuries. “Now, let’s see…” He pulled a vial of glowing liquid from his kit. “This should do the trick.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, eyeing the suspiciously fizzing vial.

“Of course not,” Lilia said, popping it open.

He dumped the liquid over Riddle’s head without warning. The flowers immediately shriveled up and disappeared.

Riddle blinked, touching his head in astonishment. “…It’s gone?”

“You’re welcome,” Lilia said with a dramatic bow.

Ace peeked out from the bushes. “So…he’s not mad anymore, right?”

Riddle’s death glare answered that question.

“RUN!” you yelled, dragging Ace out of the garden as Riddle shouted about punishment for “sugar crimes.”

Back at Ramshackle, you slumped against the desk. “We’re never doing house calls again.”

Lilia just laughed. “Oh, but the drama! I live for it!”

The hotline orb began glowing again, pulsing with a foreboding, bluish light.

You groaned. “If this is Ace again, I swear—”

Lilia waved his hand. “Come now, it’s probably another entertaining disaster! Answer it!”

You reluctantly picked up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What’s your—”

“FIX. THIS. NOW!” came Azul’s shrill, panicked voice.

You blinked. “Azul? What’s—”

“I CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE WHAT HE’S DONE THIS TIME!”

“Oh, come on, Azul!” Floyd’s voice cut in, cackling in the background. “It’s a masterpiece!”

“Masterpiece?” Azul screeched. “You flooded the dining room and filled it with—WHY ARE THERE EELS IN THE SOUP POTS?”

“Because it’s hilarious!” Floyd howled, clearly having the time of his life.

Jade’s calm voice joined in, oozing politeness as always. “To be fair, Floyd has a point. The eels are thriving in there.”

Azul sputtered like a broken faucet. “THRIVING?! THEY’RE STEALING PEOPLE’S FOOD!”

“Sounds efficient to me,” Floyd said. You could practically hear him smirking. “Dinner and a show!”

Lilia perked up. “Eels in soup pots? How creative!”

“Don’t encourage him!” Azul barked. “Do you know how much it costs to repair the water damage he’s caused? The walls are dripping! The chandelier is dripping! I AM DRIPPING!”

“That’s not cursed,” you said, trying to hide your amusement. “That’s just Floyd being—well, Floyd.”

“Oh, no, it’s cursed,” Azul hissed. “Every time I try to remove the eels, the water level rises. They’re like aquatic squatters! Fix it or I swear I’ll—”

The sound of something massive splashing cut him off, followed by Floyd’s uncontrollable laughter.

“HAHAHA! He slipped into the soup pot! Jade, did you see that?”

“I did,” Jade replied, his voice as smooth as ever. “It was quite elegant.”

“AZUL’S AN EEL NOW!” Floyd cried. “Eel bros for life, baby!”

The orb started vibrating violently.

“Get. Over. Here. Now.” Azul’s voice was barely a whisper, the tone of someone seconds away from an aneurysm.

You sighed and grabbed your bag. “Let’s go before he implodes.”

When you arrived at Mostro Lounge, it was exactly what you expected—and somehow worse. The entire dining area was flooded, eels swam lazily in the soup pots, and Azul was perched on a chair, drenched from head to toe and glaring murderously at Floyd, who was happily paddling through the water like it was his personal playground.

“Finally!” Azul barked, waving his wet hand. “Do something! Anything!”

Floyd, half-submerged in a soup pot, waved at you. “Hey! You wanna join the eel party? First rule—no rules!”

Lilia clapped his hands. “This is magnificent chaos!”

Azul groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll double your pay if you fix this immediately.”

You glanced at Lilia, who was already pouring a suspiciously glowing liquid into the water.

“This should work,” he said cheerfully.

The water started to drain, the eels vanished in puffs of smoke, and the room returned to normal—except for Floyd, who now floated upside down in midair, spinning like a cursed top.

“Whoa, this is AWESOME!” Floyd laughed, twirling like a maniac. “I’m a flying eel!”

Azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you said “I’m charging you extra for emotional damages.”

The hotline orb flared up again, casting a frantic purple glow. You groaned, mid-sip of tea.

“I don’t know if I can handle more insanity.”

Lilia, perched upside down on the couch, grinned. “Nonsense! Chaos keeps the heart young. Answer it!”

Reluctantly, you picked it up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What did you do, and how bad is it?”

“It’s me! It’s Epel!” came the desperate, whisper-shouted voice of the Pomefiore freshman. “I need your help—immediately! I’ve got the worst curse of all on me.”

“Worst curse?” you asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Vil,” Epel said, voice shaking. “And Rook.”

“...Epel, those are people, not curses.”

“They are when Vil finds out I repurposed his limited-edition face mask jars as apple cider mugs for the guys in Savanaclaw!”

Lilia burst into a delighted cackle. “Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“Not fantastic! Vil’s gonna flay me alive!” Epel hissed. “And Rook’s hunting me down like a rabbit in the woods. Please, ya gotta help!”

You tried not to laugh. “How exactly do you want me to help? I can’t exactly—”

A loud thud echoed through the call, followed by Epel screaming, “He found me! NO! PUT THAT BOW DOWN!”

“Bonjour, my friend~!” Rook’s voice came through, as smooth as velvet and disturbingly cheerful. “Ah, how beautiful the chase! Like a fox cornered by the hounds, our petit pomme has finally been found!”

“ROOK, NO! DON’T HAND ME OVER!”

“Oh, petit lapin,” Rook said, unbothered, “the punishment will only make you stronger. Think of it as a trial by fire!”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE STRONGER, I WANNA BE ALIVE!” Epel shrieked.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Rook, what exactly are you planning to do with him?”

“Ah, worry not,” Rook replied. “I am but a humble messenger delivering him to justice. Vil has been most patient.”

“HE CALLED ME A PEASANT AND THREW A HEEL AT ME, THAT’S PATIENT?” Epel howled.

Lilia leaned forward, thoroughly entertained. “Rook, at least let us have a word with Epel before he meets his doom.”

“But of course!”

“HELP ME!” Epel screamed the moment Rook handed him the phone. “Distract them, hex me, I dunno, CURSE ME INTO A TREE OR SOMETHING—”

“Epel,” you said firmly, trying not to laugh, “you’re going to have to face Vil eventually. What’s the worst he could do?”

“THE WORST? Oh, I dunno, exile me to a skincare bootcamp for the rest of my natural life?”

Rook’s voice floated in. “Imagine it, petit pomme: cleansing facials, detoxifying baths, and no more cider mugs. A new you!”

“YOU STAY OUTTA THIS!”

You sighed. “I can offer one thing.”

“Anything!”

“An apology. I suggest you start practicing now.”

“An apology?! I called Vil’s collection overhyped snake oil. I’m DOOMED!”

“Not if you run fast enough,” Rook chimed in cheerfully. “Shall we test your stamina?”

The call ended with Epel’s scream, followed by the distinct sound of someone bolting at full speed.

“Well,” Lilia said, smiling. “That was worth every second.”

Jamil’s voice crackled through the orb strained and absolutely done.

"Hi, yeah, it’s me again."

You rolled your eyes. "Let me guess. Kalim tried to throw a party?"

"And Cater," Jamil growled, the sound of something crashing in the background. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to manage one chaos gremlin? Now imagine two. They’ve cursed half the dorm—random objects are coming to life, and singing. And I don’t mean pleasant singing. I mean like if a banshee and a kazoo had a love child."

Lilia leaned in beside you, eyes glittering with delight. "Oho, this sounds entertaining! What did they do this time?"

Jamil sighed deeply, as if he’d just aged ten years in the past ten minutes. "Kalim thought it would be fun to 'spice up' a party by enchanting the decorations. Cater encouraged him, saying it would make a great Magicam post. The result? The curtains are now tap-dancing, the chandelier won’t stop singing old sea shanties, and the punch bowl tried to bite me."

Lilia clapped his hands. "This sounds like an excellent way to spend the afternoon! Let’s go!"

You groaned. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you’re the only one who can keep Lilia from making things worse," Jamil deadpanned.

Arriving at Scarabia was like stepping into a fever dream. The furniture was waltzing around the room, the ceiling fan was chanting, "Spin me right round, baby, right round," and the aforementioned punch bowl snarled at you as you walked in.

Kalim, of course, was having the time of his life, clapping to the rhythm of the furniture parade. Cater was filming everything, laughing as he tried to get the chandelier to do a TikTok dance.

"Do you see what I have to deal with?" Jamil hissed, his hair practically frazzled.

"Let’s fix this before someone dies," you muttered, pulling out the anti-curse toolkit Lilia had handed you on the way.

"Or before someone posts this to Magicam and the entire world sees it," Jamil added grimly, glaring at Cater.

It started smoothly enough—well, as smoothly as any curse-breaking session with Lilia could go. The two of you worked to unravel the enchantments while dodging flying pillows and shrieking party streamers.

Then, of course, you made the mistake of touching an enchanted lamp.

It burst into song—loud, off-key, and somehow extremely personal. The lyrics were all about your lack of a love life and questionable fashion choices. Before you could fight back, it tangled itself around your arms and legs, dragging you upward toward the chandelier.

"Hey, uh, Lilia? Little help!"

Lilia, ever the dramatic savior, leaped into action. With a mischievous grin, he sliced through the magical binds with a well-aimed spell and caught you mid-fall.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering in your chest. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, his fangs showing in a victorious smirk. He cradled you with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible given his stature.

"You alright there, my dear?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

"Yeah, I’m fine," you muttered, face heating up. "Just…you know…trying not to die."

But your brain wasn’t focusing on that. It was too busy processing the fact that Lilia was holding you like you weighed nothing, and you could feel your pulse quickening. Damn it, why is my heart beating so fast?

He tilted his head, studying you with an unreadable expression. "Are you sure? Your face is a bit flushed."

"Nope! Totally fine!" you squeaked, scrambling out of his arms as soon as your feet touched the ground.

Jamil, watching the whole thing from across the room, rolled his eyes. "Great. Now you’re cursed too."

"Shut up, Jamil."

It took another hour, but the dorm was finally back to normal—or as normal as Scarabia could be. Kalim apologized profusely, Cater promised to delete the footage (he didn’t), and Jamil looked like he might snap at any moment.

As you and Lilia walked out, you tried to calm your racing heart, but he leaned in with a knowing grin.

"Quite the adventure today, wasn’t it?"

"Sure," you replied quickly, hoping your face wasn’t still red.

He hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder what’s got your heart racing so much. You’re not catching feelings for your favorite partner-in-chaos, are you?"

"Not a chance," you lied, your heart betraying you with another treacherous thump.

Lilia just chuckled, and you couldn’t tell if he believed you—or if he was just letting you stew in your own embarrassment for fun.

The enchanted orb buzzed frantically, and you groaned as you reached for it. The second you accepted the call, you heard Deuce.

“HELP! WE MESSED UP BAD!”

“Deuce?” you asked, already dreading the answer. “What did you do this time?”

Jack’s voice came through, exasperated and growly. “It wasn’t just him. I was there too.”

“Great,” you deadpanned. “So, what kind of mess am I cleaning up now?”

Deuce gulped. “We, uh… were practicing some spellwork for exams—”

“Right by the Spelldrive practice field,” Jack added grimly.

Your eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me you—”

“Destroyed the field? Yeah,” Deuce admitted miserably. “But we didn’t mean to! The explosion was an accident!”

You heard a sharp, angry voice in the background: “AN ACCIDENT?! YOU DESTROYED HALF THE FIELD, YOU LITTLE—”

“Leona’s there?” you asked, already standing up.

Deuce nodded frantically. “He’s so mad. Please come before he kills us!”

“Stay put,” you said, grabbing your things. “And pray he doesn’t finish you off before we get there.”

The Spelldrive practice field was a warzone. One goalpost was completely obliterated, sand smoldered in random patches across the ground, and an entire section of the bleachers looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

Leona was standing in the middle of the chaos, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Deuce and Jack, who were huddled behind a tipped-over bench like it could save them. His team stood a safe distance away, clearly too smart to get involved.

You arrived with Lilia in tow, who was already grinning like he’d just stumbled upon the most entertaining show of the year.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Lilia mused, surveying the carnage. “It’s like an abstract painting of destruction.”

“Not helping,” you muttered, jogging toward the scene.

Leona’s sharp green eyes locked onto you. “Finally. You gonna fix this mess, or do I get to turn these two into sandbags?”

“Leona,” you said, stepping between him and the disaster twins, “We’ll handle it. Just… don’t murder them. Yet.”

Leona snorted. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Lilia hummed a jaunty tune as he began waving his hands over the destroyed sections of the field. Slowly, the sand settled, the goalpost reformed, and the bleachers stopped looking like they’d gone through a blender.

Meanwhile, you kept Leona from pouncing on Deuce and Jack, who were watching Lilia work with wide eyes.

“You two better hope I don’t find out about another ‘accident,’” Leona growled, looming over you.

“Relax,” you said, holding up a hand. “They’re idiots, not criminals. Save your energy for your team.”

Leona rolled his eyes but stepped back, muttering something about “babysitters.”

When everything was finally back in order, Lilia dusted off his hands with a satisfied smile. “That was quite fun. We should let those two cause chaos more often.”

You shot him a look. “Please don’t encourage them.”

Leona, arms crossed and clearly annoyed, stepped closer. “You’re done? Good. I’ll send Ruggie with something to pay you later.” Then he smirked, eyes flicking between you and Lilia. “Now keep your lovesick asses away from my practice field.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha—?! Lovesick?”

Leona just walked off with a lazy wave, leaving you standing there, half-mortified.

Lilia leaned in, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Oh my. He really has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t you start,” you muttered, your face burning.

But when you turned to walk away, Lilia was by your side, chuckling softly. He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop for just a moment. “For what it’s worth,” he said, voice quieter and more serious, “you were quite impressive back there, keeping Leona from turning them into mincemeat.”

Your heart did a flip. “Uh… thanks?”

He let go with a grin, stepping back and returning to his usual playful tone. “Now, let’s see if we can avoid the next disaster, hmm?”

You weren’t sure if your face would ever cool down.

Potions class with the first-year gang was never uneventful. Today was no exception. The room smelled faintly of burnt caramel as Grim waved his tiny paws at Ace, who was leaning smugly on the table.

“I told you not to put that in!” Grim yelped.

“I barely touched it!” Ace shot back.

“It doesn’t matter who did it!” Sebek barked, slamming his hands on the table. “What matters is that our potion is—”

“About to blow,” Jack growled, pointing to the cauldron bubbling ominously.

“Wait—WHAT?!” you yelped, but it was too late.

The cauldron erupted, spraying a shimmering pink mist over everyone. The class erupted into chaos as Sebek shouted about “inferior techniques,” Epel coughed dramatically like he was dying, and Deuce tried (and failed) to douse the sparks with his coat.

You, unfortunately, caught the brunt of the potion to the face.

You thought the effects were mild at first—just a faint warmth in your chest and the echo of the sugary-sweet scent in your nose. But when you sat down at lunch with Lilia and Malleus, the symptoms became impossible to ignore.

Lilia was chatting animatedly, laughing at his own jokes and waving his fork in the air, while Malleus nodded thoughtfully. But you weren’t hearing a word.

Your brain had decided that the only thing worth focusing on was how kissable Lilia’s lips looked.

Wait, what?

You shook your head, trying to clear it, but it only got worse. Now you were noticing how nice his voice was. And his smile. And the way his hand brushed yours when he passed the salt—

Oh, no.

“Child of man,” Malleus said, pulling you from your internal meltdown, “you seem… distracted.”

You blinked rapidly. “Uh. Yeah. Distracted. Totally fine. Definitely not—uh—totally infatuated with Lilia or anything.”

Lilia looked up, smirking. “Oh? How flattering.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “IT’S THE POTION!”

Malleus watched you pace back and forth in the hallway, his expression somewhere between amused and curious.

“You have to fix me,” you begged, grabbing his shoulders. “This has to be the potion talking. There’s no way I just—randomly—started thinking about Lilia like that!”

Malleus tilted his head, his eyes studying you intently. “You truly believe you are under an enchantment?”

“Yes! Of course!” You gestured wildly. “I mean, it’s Lilia! He’s my partner in crime! He’s—he’s—”

“Kissable?” Malleus offered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your hands dropped to your sides. “You are so not helping.”

He stepped closer, his presence calm but commanding, and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Very well, child of man. Allow me to assess your condition.”

Malleus leaned forward, his magic swirling faintly around him as he studied you with eerie precision.

After a moment, he straightened, folding his arms. “The potion you were exposed to was a failure. Its intended effects are nonexistent.”

You froze. “What are you saying?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “I am saying that you are not under a spell. Your feelings are entirely your own.”

You stared at Malleus in horror.

“So… you’re telling me… I’m not cursed?”

“Precisely.”

“And this… this whole… wanting to kiss Lilia thing…” You paused, voice dropping to a mortified whisper. “That’s just me?”

Malleus nodded sagely. “Indeed.”

You covered your face with your hands. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lilia’s voice drifted from the next room. “Are you done conspiring with Malleus, beastie? Lunch is getting cold!”

You peeked through your fingers at Malleus, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying your suffering.

“Good luck, child of man,” he said, patting your shoulder.

You groaned. “I’m going to die.”

And yet, as you returned to the table and sat down next to Lilia, who greeted you with his usual teasing grin, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

You didn’t think it could get any worse than being late for class, but that was before Grim decided to experiment with potions unsupervised. Now, you and Lilia were sprinting through the halls of NRC, dodging a cursed army of flying spoons.

“I told Grim not to use the potions lab as a snack bar!” you gasped, barely ducking as a spoon zoomed past your head with terrifying precision.

Lilia, running beside you, was grinning like this was the most fun he’d had all week. “I must admit, this is an impressive level of chaos. Even I wouldn’t have thought to curse cutlery!”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” you panted, grabbing his arm as another wave of spoons turned the corner. “Hide!”

The two of you dove behind a nearby tapestry, pressing against the wall as the spoons zipped past, their metallic clinking fading into the distance.

For a moment, it was quiet—except for the pounding of your heart.

Your breathing slowly steadied, but your heart didn’t. Not when Lilia was so close, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his cheeks flushed from the chase.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you blurted, voice trembling but determined, “I’m in love with you.”

Lilia blinked, his surprise evident for a split second before a soft smile curved his lips. “Ah, I see. Was it the spoons that gave me away, or my undeniable charm?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m serious!”

He chuckled, gently pulling your hands away to meet your eyes. “So am I. I’ve felt the same for quite some time.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

“Really,” he murmured, leaning closer. His lips brushed yours, soft and fleeting, but it sent your heart racing like you were being chased by a thousand cursed spoons.

He pulled back, his grin mischievous. “Now, let’s survive this first date, shall we?”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you from your hiding spot just as the spoons began circling back like a swarm of metallic bees.

“Run!”

You laughed despite yourself, sprinting hand-in-hand with Lilia as the chaos erupted around you once more.

And yet, as you glanced at him—his hair wild, his smile unshakable, his fingers warm around yours—you couldn’t help but think:

I want this forever.

Masterlist

[luvyeni]

SAY CHEESE ,, 나재민

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ model!jaemin x fem!reader wc. 2.5k+

genre. smut

𓄷 includes ... fingering, unprotected sex, corruption kink, praise kink

「 authors note 𖹭 」 i needed a soft one , been doing cheating and yandere fics all week.

❪ masterlist! ❫

“i don't know chaewon,” you hear your roommate's footsteps padding behind you as you make your way into your bedroom— she was right on your hip as tried to close the door, pushing it open as you sat on your bed. “this is your assignment, and i don't feel comfortable doing it for you.”

your roommate whines sitting down on your bed as well. “please yn, i can't miss this internship it will be career changing, and you're the only person i know who can take photos as well as i do, maybe even better , and i know you wont try and fuck him cause you havent fucked anyone in your life.” she said, you scoffed. “why can't you text the guy and tell him you have another shoot?” you asked. “because this model is already hard to get and if i don't get this shoot im gonna fail my class.” she explained. “you passed this class last semester so you understand how much of a hard ass this teacher is.” she said.

“please yn,” she begged, “i will buy groceries for next month if you do this for me,” you thought about it, it was a good deal. “fine.” your friend smiled, clapping in excitement. “thank you, thank you so much.” she said hugging you. “okay, okay let me go.” you pulled away. “it's a two day shoot, he has his own hair and makeup team so all you have to do is show up and take pretty pictures of the pretty man.” she said. “who is this mysterious model who is so hard to get?”

“na jaemin.” she said, you knew the name; he was new to the modeling scene, but he was quickly growing, establishing himself in the cut throat industry. “how’d you manage to get him, i thought he was like london for a fashion show?” you asked. “what business does he have with a mediocre college student photoshoot?” your best friend scoffed. “ignoring the mediocre part, you know donghyuck?” you nodded, he had a crush on your roommate and was very open about it. “well he apparently knows jaemin, and he set this up for me , in exchange for a date.” you nodded. “using your assets, good for you.”

“yeah, and i didn't know this would be the only days he'd be free, and i didn't catch it until i checked my schedule.” she said standing up. “i'll text him and let him know, thank you so much.” you nodded. “Whatever, don't complain next month when it's time to shop for food.” she smiled sheepishly. “i won't promise.” she said. “now get out, i have to work on this essay that's due in like 4 hours.”

the next day was the day of the shoot, luckily you didn't have class so it wasn't a big inconvenience— the night before you made sure all your cameras were charged and working properly, thankfully they were and you were ready to go. “here's the address, you might want to get there earlier than he does so you can be ready , he's pretty busy and we don't know how long he has on his schedule.” your friend came back into your room , to which you agreed.

you got to the destination of the shoot a few hours before the shoot, cleaning up the place a bit; setting up the background and decorations. you brought a few snacks and drinks for him and his staff, also setting those out for the taking. you sent your roommate a quick message wishing her good luck with her internship, the door to the place opening. “hello?”

you looked up from your phone; he came in smiling, his team following behind him , he had this aura to him, he definitely was a model, he was attractive— very attractive, it made you kind of speechless. “h-hi.” you said, letting them come in. “you guys can set up over there.”

you finished up your texting, deciding to make yourself known for real. “hi im yn.” you watched him lift his eyebrow in confusion. “yn?” he asked. “what happened to chaewon? hyuck told me this was for her class.” chaewon didn't text him— you were gonna kill her. “it is, she had a internship today and she couldn't miss it, she also couldn't miss this shoot because then she'd fail this class and she didn't want to do that so she sent me.” jaemin watched you nervously fiddle with your finger as you explained yourself, smiling to himself. “is that okay? i can show you some of my work if it makes you comfortable.”

“no baby doll don't worry,” his words made you freeze up. “hyuck said chaewon was nice girl, so im sure she surrounds herself with other nice girls.” his eyes scanned up your body, making your cheeks heat up as he made eye contact with yours. “you seem like a nice girl.” you nodded, still flustered. “o-okay, i'm gonna go finish setting up, you guys can finish getting him ready, i brought snacks in case any of you get hungry they're over there so.” you quickly ran over to your camera. “she's cute.” his stylist said. “so adorable.” his makeup artist said, he smiled, pulling out his phone.

jaemin. your girl didn't show up, her roommate did.

hyuck. ik she text me , and told me, yn is a good girl though, she's also a photographer.

jaemin. single?

hyuck. definitely, she doesn't even come out much. why you like?

jaemin. very much.

hyuck. go for it then 😉

he watched you adjust the camera, muttering something to yourself, his stylist handed him his outfit to get changed into, he took the clothes into his hand, making his way over to you. he stood behind you, waiting for you to take notice of him. “we can get started when—” you turned around to where the boy was already standing there, extremely close, close enough where you could smell his cologne. “I have to change into my clothes.” he said. “chaewon gave me a dress code.” you nodded. “of course she did.” you looked around the studio. “there's no bathrooms in here , and i don't have the key to the one outside.”

“don't stress baby doll,” there was that nickname again, “i’ve had to change in public before, nothing knew.” he walked away leaving you confused, until you seen his arms lifting up and off his shirt went; your hands coming up to cover your eyes. “you-you're gonna get dressed here.” he laughed at you. “it's not like there's anywhere else,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “you act like you've never seen a naked man before.” you hadn't , but he didn't know that. “ju-just quickly get changed.” you fanned your heated face , he smiled.

jaemin knew you probably hadn't, he just wanted to see your reaction and he was thoroughly amused at what he was seeing. “get dressed and leave the poor girl alone.” his stylist said, slapping the back of his head. he finished changing his clothes, just as you were turning around. “great we can finally get started.”

the shoot went good, you took a bunch; a few you knew chaewon would like and a few you liked, you probably took over 100 photos of the boy; not that you were complaining, you got to stare at this gorgeous man and not look like a weirdo. “how do they look?” jaemin asked. “would you like to see?” he nodded, coming behind the camera; you showed him your laptop screen. “see?”

“you're really talented?” he watched you try and hide a smile at his praise. “you can smile baby doll, it was a compliment,” he said. “th-thank you.” you said with your head down. “which ones do you like?” he asked. “huh?” you said confused. “oh-oh well this is chaewons project so i just did what I know she likes.” he hummed, “yeah i know it's chaewons, but if it was your project, what would you choose?” you didn't realize how close he was until you could feel his breathing on your neck.

“um.” you clicked through the photos. “th-these three.” you pointed out. “oh someone likes my upper body i see?” he laughed as you turned around wide eyed, stuttering out an explanation. “don't worry i don't mind it all, i got into this business to be stared at and admired by pretty and sweet girls like you.” he said. “tell chaewon she should use these, her roommate has good taste.”

the rest of the shoot went by in a blur, soon you were cleaning up and jaemin was changing back into his comfortable clothes. “we'll go get the car ready.” he nodded, his small staff leaving the studio, leaving you and him alone; just what he wanted, he watched you talk on the phone. “i should be home soon, don't worry, yeah , no i'm not saying it, fine i love you too, bye.” you hung up. “boyfriend?” he asked, knowing the answer already. “oh no, that was chaewon.” you chuckled.

“so a pretty little thing like you don't have a boyfriend?” you shyly nodded, “like ever?” you were embarrassed. “no it's okay baby doll i'm just a bit shocked.” he said. “it's you're so pretty, I never would have imagined you were single.” he said , coming closer making you nervously turn around , but you could still get hear him getting closer until he was caging you against the table. “ja-jaemin.”

“come on pretty, let me make you feel good.” he pressed up against you. “turn around for me.” he whispered in your ear, smiling when obediently did. “good girl, you listen well.” you eyes were wide. “your staff.” he smirked. “trust, they know, don't worry about that.” his hand came up to your thigh, making its way up your skirt. “i-i’ve never done this before.” you felt his hand close to your clothed cunt. “i know pretty just relax.” you felt his hand on your mound, making you close your legs around his arms. “no.” he smiled. “you gotta keep them open if you want me to make you feel good.”

you slowly opened your legs allowing him to move again. “good girl.” he thumbed on your clit, you let out a whimper, biting your lip to cover it up. “let me hear all those pretty noises.” he pulled your panties to the side. “i'm gonna put a finger inside you, okay?” you nodded, his slowly ran his finger up your slit, before pushing his finger in. “ja-jaemin.” you moaned. “feel good?” he moved his finger in and out. “you're so wet, this pretty pussy never been played with, you're dripping all over my hand.”

you were a mess, your face was so fucked out from one finger it made him hard as a rock. “m’gonna add another one okay?” you nodded, he lifted your leg higher holding it as he added another finger. “good girl , taking two of my fingers.” he praised, you really like that, your cunt tightening around his digits. “you liked that? me praising you?” you nodded. “answer me baby doll , you like when i praise you?”

“y-yes i do.” you felt a sensation bubbling in your stomach. “ja-jaemin i feel.” you couldn't stop it from coming, your legs closing around his hand once again, as your orgasm washed over you.

jaemins eyes lit up light a child's on christmas morning as he watched you orgasm, your juices covering his finger. “there you go, cumming all over my hand.” he cursed, feeling his cock begging to be freed from his sweats. “good girl, let it all for me, fuck im so hard right now” he groaned, pressing his lip to the side of your head. “you want me to fuck you? stretch your little pussy out?”

you moaned, nodding. “pl-please.” you weren't really waiting for “the perfect guy” but right about now, you were really worked up and the way you could feel jaemins grinding his clothed cock against you— he was the perfect guy.

he lifted you on to the counter. “sh-shit.” he pulled his pants down enough to pull his cock out, hissing, the air hitting his leaky tip. “so fucking hard for you doll, ready for me?” you bit your lip as he lined his cock up to your entrance. “fuck.” he groaned as he slowly worked himself inside you. “jaemin.” you moaned, he held your hips down. “fuck don't move baby, let me do it.” he fully seethed himself inside you. “fuck, you're so tight.”

he slowly moved; your cunt barely letting him out, he was in heaven— and so were you, hold his bicep , your head thrown back as he fucked you, you never felt this sensation before, but you loved it. “please, faster.” you moaned , he smirked, speeding up. “you want more?” he groaned, his hips now slapping against yours with much force. “fuck baby doll i'll give you more.”

you could feel the counter below you shaking as he fucked into you vigorously. “that's it, take nana fat cock inside you.” he groaned, slowly losing himself. “fuck you're little pussy is so good.” he cursed. “fuck i'm gonna cum.” he moaned. “you going cum for me?” he toyed with your clit. “be a good girl and cum for me.”

and with his words and him fucking into you deeply, kissing your cervix you soon cumming hard, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your cunt tightened around him, his cursed as he came inside you. “oh fuck yn.” he sighed, his head dropping as he came, you could feel him every inch of him twitching inside you you as he covered your inside in white. “oh fuck.”

he slowly pulled out, smirking as you whimpered. “so sensitive baby.” he said, his cum leaking from your hole. “that felt good baby.” he kissed your neck. “so good if my staff weren't waiting for me, i would stuff my cock back into your pretty pussy.” smiling as you whined. “there's always tomorrow.” he said, pulling away, finally letting you get dressed.

“will you be back tomorrow?” he asked. “yeah, chaewon has another day at her internship.” he helped you pack up all your cameras. “good.” he handed you the bag. “i’ll come without my staff,” you yelped as he pulled you close. “why?”

“because after you take all the pictures you need , i don't need any distractions when i teach you to take my cock in that pretty mouth.”

©LUVYENI

[babydollmarauders]

OUT — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which everyone has been wondering about the hair tie on Jack’s wrist, and they finally get the answers they were looking for

notes: THANK YOU MADDY ( @thatintrovertedwriter ) FOR THIS IDEA!!! I’M OBSESSED WITH IT!! not proofread and written while heavily sleep deprived

a relationship was never part of my intentions when i accepted my job offer.

in fact, any sort of love was pushed to the far corners of my mind. my focus was on showing everyone that not only men can be equipment managers in the NHL.

i had gone through so much rejection. countless teams citing that they decided to go in a different direction, and hiring a male for the job instead; and though most of the staff would try to deny that my gender was a part of it, there was always that one guy that had no problem with admitting they didn’t believe that a woman had any place in the NHL.

as if the job was hard. as if i couldn’t hand players sticks just as well as any man could.

but then the New Jersey Devils came into play. they had heard some talk about me and were the first team to reach out to me. they offered me the job, and i eagerly accepted. i felt i had something to prove. my gender doesn’t diminish the performance of my job.

so most of the 2022-23 season, i put all my focus into my job. i was amicable with the players, making sure i knew any superstitions or things i shouldn’t do with their equipment, but i never let it pass into any real level of friendship.

and then Jack Hughes happened.

when he got injured and had to sit out for a few games, i was put in charge of keeping him company. for four games my job description changed from handing players new sticks, to babysitting a twenty-one year old, and i wasn’t happy in the slightest.

it felt insulting, and apparently Jack felt the same way. somehow in those four games, we went from sitting across the suite from each other, to bonding over how stupid it was that i couldn’t do my actual job, to forming a friendship.

and in a matter of weeks, our friendship blossomed into something more.

it started with him coming back to my apartment after rough games, watching movies and letting off steam by joking around and playing drinking games. then along the way, we stumbled into bed. one hookup turned into two, which turned into another, which turned into a date, and finally by the end of the season, he was asking me to be his girlfriend.

it took me a week to finally tell him yes. an entire week of struggling with the decision. wondering if, if i start a real relationship with this player, am i proving all those men who told me i had no place in the NHL, right? but ultimately, i decided that my happiness was worth more than someone’s opinion of me, and i told him yes.

***

jackhughes

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subbanator 🚀

user83 is he wearing… a pink hair tie on his wrist?

user45 where?

user83 it’s on the same wrist with his bracelets

user16 omg you’re right

user02 is his hair even long enough to put up?

user77 @/user02 apparently

user91 what if it’s a girlfriends? oh my god

brendan.brisson Same time next year

***

i’m running late.

i’m running late and i’m rushing.

i’m running late, i’m rushing, and i’m contemplating breaking all rules of the road to arrive to work on time.

nothing is going right for me today.

i was supposed to have the morning off, so i didn’t set an alarm, but then i woke up to find six missed calls from my boss and a text asking if i could come help get equipment ready for practice because one of the other equipment managers came down with the flu.

then, i had to deal with getting yelled at because i didn’t have my ringer on and therefore, woke up after practice ended and didn’t come in and help.

then, i tipped over my brand new bottle of cold brew and had to spend almost an hour mopping my kitchen floor and wiping down the counters to get rid of the stickiness.

then, at the last minute as i was stepping out the door to head to the arena, my hair tie broke. and now i’ve spent the last fifteen minutes scouring my apartment for a new one, only to come to the conclusion that i have to leave now or else risk being yelled at for a second time today.

i give up entirely on my search for a hair tie, accepting my fate of wearing my hair down and rushing out of my apartment so fast that i almost forget to lock up behind me.

when i finally make it to Prudential Center, i’m able to clock in just before i’d be considered late, and i have absolutely no extra time to search for my boyfriend amidst the chaos of the season opener.

instead, i set off straight to the equipment area, working in tandem with my colleagues to make sure every players gloves, pads, and everything in between is ready, before i put each players gear into their respective locker room stalls.

i stack pucks in a high pyramid at the bench, ready for warm-ups, and line sticks up against the glass behind the bench, all set to be handed out when needed.

amongst the frantic running around the arena and getting things ready, i lose track of how many times i’m adjusting my hair; flipping it over my shoulder and tugging it out of my face.

finally, i get a split second to breathe, pulling my hair up in a makeshift ponytail with my hands as i stand outside the locker room, on standby in case any of the players need me.

“hey.” i instinctively drop my hands at the sound of someone talking, my shirt falling back down to cover the sliver of my abdomen that had shown when they were raised.

at the sight of my boyfriend, i sigh in relief, his chuckle reaching my ears as his arms snake around my waist.

“i scare ya?” Jack teases.

his helmet hits against my back, as he holds it in one hand. he’s all geared up, ready to hit the ice for the first game of the season, and oddly enough, i can’t help finding it incredibly attractive.

“just a little.” i huff, and a wide grin spreads across his lips. i smack his chest, but all that it hurts is his padding. “don’t be mean! i’ve had a bad day.”

his smile drops into an exaggerated pout, and he leans down to press a kiss to my lips.

“i’m sorry, baby.” i hum in acknowledgment, waving it off when he asks if i’d like to rant.

“no, it’s okay. i’ll rant later.” i assure him. “after you win your game.”

“our game.” he states, and i roll my eyes.

he’s made sure to never let me forget how much work i put into the team’s equipment and gear. citing that they wouldn’t be able to win without my help.

in his eyes, it’s as much my wins and losses as it is his.

“right.” i nod, patting his shoulders. “in that case, i’m gonna be very upset if you lose our game.”

his head tips back, laughter pouring past his lips, and it sounds like a melody in my ears.

“i’m confident. we’ll win this game.” he assures me, finally letting go of my waist and backing up. “if we don’t, you and i will never hear the end of it from Larks.”

ahh yes, Dylan Larkin. the Red Wings captain and Jack’s friend, whom i met over the summer while visiting Jack at his lake house.

“go!” i shoo my boyfriend off as the rest of his teammates begin pouring out of the locker room, heading off to line up, ready to hit the ice for warm-ups.

waving to the guys, who smile back at me in return, i head out to behind the bench.

as the guys warm up, i double check the bench stock of smelling salts, tums, stick tape, skate blades, and whatever else the guys may need during the game, before standing idly by.

*

finally, the game is underway, seven minutes left in the second period, and my boyfriend has already gotten a penalty in first for ‘roughing’.

i’m watching my boyfriend skate around the ice as i tend to his teammates, anxiously holding my breath as the clock winds down.

Jack zips across the ice, and i’m gnawing at my lip as he gains control of the puck. but before i know it, he’s just scored his first goal of the season.

a small smile splays across my lips, attempting to contain my excitement as he skates past the bench, bumping fists with his elated teammates before taking another lap around the ice.

Luke turns his head to grin at me, but he’s sidetracked as i’m interrupted by a teammate.

“y/n, can i get some salts?” Timo asks, and i nod, spinning around to grab some, my hair whipping in my face as i do so.

i let out a frustrated groan, turning back around to hand the little packet of smelling salts to number 28.

“you okay?” Timo questions, his brows threading together and i nod.

“it’s my damn hair.” i huff as he moves down on the bench, making room for my boyfriend and his line mates who now join on the bench. “i usually wear it up, but my hair tie broke and it’s getting on my nerves.”

wordlessly, Jack absentmindedly sheds his gloves off, pulling something from his wrist before holding it out to me where i stand directly behind him.

my lips part in surprise as my eyes lock on the pink hair tie that’s pinched between his index finger and thumb.

my hair tie.

“oh.” i breathe out, plucking the hair tie from his grasp. i smile, immediately pulling my hair up into a high ponytail. “thank you, love.”

he turns his head just enough to spot me, beaming back at me for a moment before turning back to focus back on the game that’s about to restart.

i lean forward a little, my hand lightly resting against the padding on his back, but he must feel the slight pressure because he leans back a little to show me he’s listening to what i have to say next.

“congratulations, babe. i’m proud of you.” i speak lowly, only for him to hear, before i stand back again, as though the interaction never happened. both of us focusing back on the game that takes place in front of us.

***

***

Jack lays beside me in my bed, absentmindedly scrolling through his social media, nodding along as i rant about my day.

“…but seeing you in the box was a plus.” i finish off my long winded ramble, effectively gaining his attention back at my teasing.

he locks his phone, tossing it to the side as he looks over at me.

“what was that?” he asks mockingly, raising an eyebrow. but before i can repeat myself, his fingers are working against the bare skin of my stomach.

my abdomen tightens as i laugh, squirming and trying to get away from his touch.

“stop!” i cackle, attempting and failing to push his hands away as he tickles me.

“no, say that again!” he chuckles, maneuvering his body now to straddle my legs so that i can’t run away, even if i wanted to. i shake my head wildly. “say it again! what was that? i don’t think i heard you right! cause it sounded like you just said the highlight of your day was seeing me get penalties!”

“that’s not true!” i squeal and he momentarily ceases his attack, tilting his ear towards me as if he’s listening closer.

“i said they were just pluses.” i defend myself, quickly following up, “the highlight of my day was finding out you wear my hair tie on your wrist.”

he looks down at me with a smirk, obviously quite proud of himself.

“stole that from your apartment.” he announces with pride.

“when?” i laugh, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, pulling his face closer to mine.

his hands now rest on either side of my head, holding himself up.

“the second time we hooked up.” he murmurs, dipping down to press a kiss to my lips. “you had complained that day when you forgot you hair tie at home. i never wanted you to be uncomfortable again, so i took one when i left here that night.”

i blink back at him in surprise, my heart thumping loudly in my chest, whooshing in my ears.

“are you telling me, you’ve been wearing that hair tie on your wrist, for the past seven months, just in case i ever needed it?” i ask.

“mhm.” he hums, his nose nudging against mine as he nods, the corners of his lips quirking up in a soft smile.

“i’m so in love with you.” i whisper, pulling him down to capture his lips in a kiss.

his lips slot against mine, his tongue slipping in to tangle with mine in a deep and sultry kiss, before he pulls away.

“oh good, because apparently our interaction tonight on the bench?” he pauses and i furrow my brows, nodding for him to continue. “yeah, apparently that happened while the camera was on me.”

a gasp slips past my lips, and he cringes slightly, nodding his head.

“yeah, we’ve been outted.”

we both let that sink in for a moment, pondering what our relationship will be like now that everyone knows. fans certainly analyzing our every move now.

but despite that, we can finally go on dates in public, and post each other on our social medias without panicking that we may have accidentally posted on our public stories instead of our close friends ones.

“i think i can live with that.” i finally break the silence, and he grins.

“yeah?” he questions, pressing a kiss against my lips, and i nod against him.

“yeah.”

[moongreenlight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who despite his better judgement lets Soap talk him into picking up a girl for the night.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Apparently Soap knows a guy who knows a guy in the area they’re deployed. They’d been staying at some shithole inn in France for weeks. Driving into the city to stake out some mark day in and day out. Tedious, mind-numbing work. Sitting at cafes and on patios at pubs people watching. Looking for anyone that may or may not match the vague description that had been provided by some mole on the other side.

Simon could sit still and shut up. Johnny was a separate issue. He could dial in for a few hours at a time, but then he’d start to slip. Bored and antsy, he’d try and strike up conversation. Inevitably returning to what must have been his favorite topic, or the one thing plaguing his mind the most. He’s horny. Fucking hell, is he horny.

Bitching and whining about not being able to get any play here because he doesn’t speak a lick of French and even when he tries it comes out so muddied that nobody takes him seriously. And that the inn they’re set up at is years away from town. Paints him out to be a serial killer.

Simon would grind his teeth and endure yet another one-sided talk about how bored Johnny had been getting of his hand. Even the left one wasn’t doing the trick anymore. He’d resorted to calling in some favors he was apparently owed to get the help of some girls in his evenings off.

“Jesus. Lookit the legs on her.”

Johnny had almost fallen out of his chair swiveling his entire body to watch some girl in a short skirt and a long trench coat stride past their spot outside of a cafe.

“Mhm.”

Simon was in a better spot to watch her pass. Eyeing her frame from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea. Fucking dreadful day. Drizzling rain. Bordering on sleet because of how miserable the weather was. Cloudy with a breeze that felt bitterly cold even through his coat. Shit tea, too. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Not like they’d made any progress. Not like they could make any progress being staked out on a side street with no traffic whatsoever. The girl had been the only person other than their server that they’d seen come by in the last half hour. And sure, she had good legs. Better than their server’s at least. Some cranky older woman who’d ignored his attempts to order in French and looked mugged off that she had to deal with them at all, especially sat outside in this weather.

“Hell’s bells. Almost forgot you had a brain in there somewhere.”

Johnny, of course, couldn’t resist making a dig.

“Don’t get carried away.”

Simon grunted.

“Naw. C’mon, L.T. You like girls? They’ve got girls.”

Should have predicted that he was going to run wild with this.

“M’warnin’ you.”

“Loads of girls. Fuckin’ customizable. Send you a preference sheet and everything. Real professional operation.”

Johnny snickered into his paper coffee cup. Given to him along with a nasty look when he’d fidgeted with the ceramic mug he’d first had a bit too much and sent it smashing into the pavement.

Simon wasn’t one to be jerked around cock-first like Johnny, but Jesus. He was wearing thin. Maybe the isolation was getting to him. Maybe a seed had been planted somewhere deep in his mind from Johnny’s moaning. Not to mention, it was impossible to get it up watching French cable porn on a twin bed. He was backed-up and pissed off with the work. And with no end in sight, it could push a man to do strange things.

He shifted his hips forward in his seat, taking a long drink of his tea as he scanned the empty street for the umteenth time.

“Haven’t used up all your favors?”

You would have thought he’d just backhanded Johnny the way his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Gie’s a break.”

“Jus’ a question.”

Simon shrugged, sighing like he was already regretting asking. He was.

“Don’t work me up over nothin’, L.T.”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows and leaning his forearms onto the table. Now completely distracted from the task at hand.

“Johnny.”

“Sure I could work somethin’ out. Only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous. Ken yer a’right owing me a favor?”

Simon snorted.

“Sure I can manage.”

Johnny’s eyes were glinting something awful. More lively than he’d been in days. Practically laying over the table and kicking his feet. Thrilled to finally have the means to something Simon wanted.

“We’ll see about that’.”

Conversation moved on. Dragged back to the mission with instruction to change location. They spent a full ten hours out in the rain and the cold and the grey for absolutely no payout. Again. Still at square goddamn one. It was arguably worse than combat. Least on a real mission he’d get some release.

Johnny had stepped away in the early evening to make a call. Just before they were tapped out by Price and Gaz. Likely cashing in his favors owed, because he came back with a smug smile and two pints. Saying something about how Simon needed to quit taking himself so seriously. All work and no play or some stupid shit to that tune. Made a comment in passing on their drive back to the inn about how he should get his quarters decent by nine.

Honestly, Simon wasn’t expecting much. It was a bit of a ridiculous concept to him to begin with. He’d regretted saying anything straight after the words had left his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to entertain some two-bit whore, even if she just served to curb his boredom. He never sought out things like this. Never felt the need. He wasn’t like Johnny or Gaz where he had to sneak off during missions for a wank or a quick fuck when time allowed. Not like Price where he’d seek a willing nurse or secretary to grope or bend over his desk on a day off. Sure, he’d take the opportunity if it arose, but he was always more focused on the job while he was at work rather than chasing his next high.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anyone home. Fucked into his hand as much was necessary to keep everything operational. Knew when it was time when he started lashing out on a hairpin trigger. Got lazy on missions. Lost one too many sparring matches during training because he couldn’t focus.

So when nine came and went, he just found himself agitated that he’d requested the woman at the front desk change the sheets on his bed again so late. Ducking out to the balcony for a cigarette when she came in and slipping her a few euros on her way out despite the way her lip curled distastefully. Fucking frogs.

He was sat on the armchair in the corner of his room. Halfway paying attention to whatever channel was on the TV across from him and nursing a tumbler of shit whiskey he’d picked up from the shops their first night in. Swapped his mission clothes for a black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. Tugging his balaclava over his face out of pure habit. Strictly instructed not to wear it out for the sake of keeping a low profile. Though he wasn’t sure how much good that did. He stood out from the crowd with his scars and crooked nose and tattoos without the covering. Whatever. Wardrobe wasn’t his job for a reason he supposed.

The sharp knock on his door grated heavily on his last nerve. Eliciting a low growl, but no movement to answer. It was half ten at this point. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just another group of teenagers lost on their way to a friend’s room.

Another knock, and this time it didn’t stop. A muffled giggle through the door.

“Jesus Christ.”

He grumbled, shoving up and striding over to the door. Jerking the door open and using his hulking frame to cover the small opening he allowed.

Johnny’s fist nearly collided with Simon’s jaw. Distracted by the two girls stood behind him in the hall, giggling at him and batting their lashes. He was grinning like a goddamned devil. Chest puffed-out, shoulders rolled back. Entirely too comfortable.

Simon cocked a brow, giving the group a scornful once-over.

“Aye, L.T.! I come bearing gifts.”

Simon’s brow shot up further, eyes flicking from his friend to each of the girls behind him. Johnny immediately caught on to his confusion and barked a laugh, slinging his arm around the shoulder of the girl on the left. She sunk comfortably into position, leaning into him and giggling like it had been rehearsed.

She was pretty. Both of the girls were. The one tucked under Johnny’s arm had long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Great smile. Perfectly groomed. Both of them covered conservatively by long coats to protect from the rain that had gradually started to come down harder and colder through the day. Hard to tell they were hooking by looking at them.

They seemed more familiar with Johnny than what Simon could assume was normal. It made his stomach turn if he thought too much into it, so he didn’t. Instead he side stepped, allowing the second girl barely enough room to slip through the door, and jerked his head for her to move.

“S’pose I know better than to expect a thank you.”

Johnny grinned, entirely unbothered by Simon’s glare that was boring through his skull. Arm already wandering down the auburn haired girl’s back at an alarming speed.

“Not as dim as you look, Sargent.”

Simon sighed, snapping the door shut.

“You’re late.”

He said flatly before he’d even finished locking the door. Turning to face the girl who’d already made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Leaned back on her hands, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Throwing off your schedule, am I?”

You said, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. This made Simon recoil slightly. He’d been expecting some trashy, mildly-disgusting woman to come stumbling through the door when Johnny had mentioned he was cashing in favors. Not you. Not by a long shot. You looked, for lack of a better word, spoiled. Expensive. Perfectly styled, glossy hair. A tasteful amount of makeup. Not so much that it marred your features, but enough to make you nearly unapproachably attractive. And relatively covered-up. Expensive looking fur-trimmed coat falling just above your ankle.

Noticeable lack of a French accent. And you weren’t cowering in his presence, which suggested that you’d dealt with worse than him. A thought that sent something strange down his spine. Jealousy maybe? Anger? Sympathy? He wasn’t in the mood to dig further into that.

He crossed the room, lowering himself back into the armchair he’d been stationed in before his night was interrupted.

“You’re an hour and a half late.”

His tone was clipped. His eyes cold and hard. Fixed directly on you in an almost invasive kind of eye-contact. He jerked up his balaclava to his nose to take a deep drink from his glass. Studying you from over the rim. Killing the contents and setting it back on the side table with a soft thud.

You pursed your lips for a fraction of a second, standing from the corner of the bed and pacing across the small room to stand in front of him. Threatening to encroach on his personal space. Smiling tightly in a way that seemed to come with a practiced nonchalance. That same feeling settled in the center of his stomach.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

Your soft, sweet tone did nothing to tame his irritation.

“They couldn’t even send a professional?”

He shot back tersely, folding his arms over his chest. You cocked your head slightly to the side. A fraction of genuine humor peeking through your smile.

“Plenty professional.”

You shrugged, letting the comment roll off of you. Water off a duck’s back. It irritated Simon to no end and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Trying to settle his mind by watching the way your perfectly manicured fingers began to work on slowly undoing the buttons of your coat with careful attention.

He snorted, tugging his balaclava back down over his jaw.

“That your thing, then?”

You gestured to his face covering. Shrugging off your coat to reveal a fucking scrap of a dress. Much more in-line with what he’d imagined a hooker to wear. A tiny, black, strapless thing that hugged your curves like it had been sewn directly onto you. Black lace garter pulled high on your thigh. Knee-height black boots that must have made you four inches taller than you were.

He cocked a brow, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair.

“Somethin’ like that.”

You cracked a true smile at that. Folding your coat neatly in your arms before setting it on the beat-up dresser to his right. Returning attentively to your spot in front of him.

He stiffened. Already perfect posture becoming rigid to the point of snapping. Keeping his hands firmly planted on either arm of the chair. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over your face in much closer detail.

“It’s late.”

Was all he managed. Voice rough as ever.

“And?”

You tilted your head like a confused dog.

“And you were an hour and a half late. It’s late.”

He shot back dryly. Nails digging into the chair.

“Let me make it up to you.“

You sank to your knees just between his legs surprisingly gracefully given how tight your dress was. Falling delicately onto the disgusting carpet. Faded and torn and fraying. Scratching at your bare knees. Didn’t even pull a face. Conditioned to understand that this was normal. Trained to grin and bear it. Another stone added to the weight anchoring him to his seat.

It was horribly cliche. Such a painfully tacky line, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; so he shifted his hips forward and allowed your slender fingers to dance up his thighs and dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. Aided you in tugging them down to his ankles. Grit his teeth together when you began palming him through his underwear. Trying not to catch your eyes that were fixed up on him. Trying to push the nagging voice in the back of his mind away. Reminding him of just how dirty this was. Made him feel fucking pathetic. Calling in the aid of a hooker like he couldn’t bed a girl himself.

And the worst part. The part that brought up the most self-loathing; was how fucking fast the blood was racing to his cock under your touch. How much he truly enjoyed seeing you knelt down and blinking up at him with a look that could have been confused for adoration. Maybe you were a professional.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose when you finally sprung his aching cock free from his boxers. Forcing his head back to avoid your gaze. Pressing it hard against the wall to the point of giving himself a headache. Scarring the soft wood of the chair’s arms with his nails when you licked a hot stripe from his base to the tip.

All of his guilt and knotted up emotions seemed to dissolve themselves at least partially when you wrapped your lips around him. He’d almost forgotten just how warm a mouth was. Infinitely better than his hand. Jesus, was it.

He kept his hands to himself. Not needing to guide you like he had so many others. Tried to let himself relax under the feeling of your hand gripping his base and your mouth working his tip. And he nearly did get swept away when you removed your hand and tried to force his stiff cock to the back of your throat. Allowing you to work at choking and gagging around him for longer than was probably polite. But again, he just found himself irritated. Edging himself out of pure goddamn accident because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself from his mind.

He couldn’t understand why you were such a sticking point to him. He’d had one night stands before. Hell, that’s all he’d had. Never cared much about the quality or condition or history of the girls he slept with. Maybe he had a savior complex he was too stubborn to admit to. Maybe his mind had been so warped and addled over the years that he formed some kind of baseless connection with you for God knew what reason. He just couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you.

He would have liked to. Would have liked to screw his eyes shut and focus on how good you felt wrapped around him. Mouth hot and wet. Wanted to focus on the ecstasy of your throat struggling to fit him. Listen to your soft, choked whines. Let himself pretend you were no different to the others he’d bedded before, but it was fruitless. He made a low sound, a growl that lodged itself somewhere in his chest, before taking your jaw in his hand and pulling you off of him. Cock still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

“You need to go.”

He made the mistake of glancing down. Saw the way your perfect makeup had begun smearing around your eyes and down your cheeks just barely. Big eyes rimmed with tears. Nose running, chin and lips glistening. Slick from your own spit. It nearly pushed him over the edge, but he knew inevitably he was prolonging his own torture.

“What?”

Your voice was hoarse because of how much strain your throat had been under. Softer than it had been. Less confident. You looked almost hurt. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and sniffing softly. Jaw held fixed in his hand.

“You need to go.”

He repeated, firmer this time. Sucking his teeth. Trying to ignore the way your gentle panting cooled the shining trails of spit running down his shaft and sent a chill up his spine.

Your face twisted in confusion, mouth falling open. Leaning back on your haunches to look him over like he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Is it not good?”

He groaned softly, finally letting go of your head. Not realizing just how much effort it had taken for him to pull you off until he saw the small red marks decorating the delicate skin of your jaw.

“S’fine.”

“Fine?”

You looked properly offended. A little confused. Like this had never happened before- and it probably hadn’t. Of course he’d be the one to stain your perfect record. Of course he’d be the one to warp your pretty face like that. Drove him up the fucking wall.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now he was backed-up, pissed off, and you wouldn’t leave as easily as he would’ve liked. If he was lucky, he’d still have half a hard-on by the time he got you out the door. Maybe coax out a less than satisfying orgasm that would at least put him to sleep.

“Gave myself lockjaw for fine?”

You spoke again, those same nimble fingers now gently massaging the hinge of your jaw. He tried to avoid looking at the way your dress bunched around your hips and revealed your panties. Black lace that matched the garter on your thigh.

“It’s late.”

He huffed a sigh. Leaning down to fumble in his sweatpants pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Needing anything else to focus on. It brought him nearly nose to nose with you. Not realizing until he flicked his eyes up. And you didn’t recoil. Sat there half glaring at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing his through the balaclava. You were pretty even this close. Probably more so.

“You’ve said.”

You shot back cooly, brows knit together.

“Have I?”

He pulled back up, hooking his mask up over his nose once more and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

“Few times.”

You looked wholly unamused. He flicked his lighter open. Lighting the tip and taking a deep drag.

“Meant it a few times.”

He shrugged, speaking through his exhale. Turning his chin up and away from you so the curling smoke didn’t wash over you.

You snorted, pushing up to your feet, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a once-over.

“You’re seriously asking me to leave?”

His teeth sunk into the butt of the cigarette just a fraction too hard. He felt the crunch of the filter bending under the force.

“S’not you, it’s me.”

He offered. A wisp of a dry smile tugging momentarily at the corner of his lips. This earned another smile from you. He caught it even through the way you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“You married?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He almost choked on the cloud of smoke he’d been drawing in.

“No.”

His voice was harsh. Like a string pulled taught to the point of snapping.

“So what is it? You don’t like me?”

You shifted your weight a bit, but he could tell it wasn’t because you were uncomfortable. You still held yourself confidently. Shoulders rolled back, posture straight but not stiff.

“Bloody hell.”

He groaned, rubbing his brow.

“Is that it, then?”

You prodded further.

“No.”

You seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with his answers. But he didn’t know what else he could say. You seemed fine. Pretty girl. Got him closer to an orgasm than he’d come in weeks. He just couldn’t get over the fact that you were hired out to do this. Made him feel too dirty. That and he’d already looked too far into the situation. You seemed like you’d been doing this longer than anyone should have to. Strangely enough he felt some obligation to protect you. Wanted to pull you away from whatever situation that had pushed you to this.

“So what’s the hang up?”

You huffed a sigh.

“Don’t usually do this.”

He grunted out, resigning to the fact that he’d have to drink himself to sleep at this point. Leaning down to jerk his sweatpants back up his legs.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You snarked back. He snorted a humorless chuckle from around the cigarette.

“Nothin’ against you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You shook your head, a small smile curving your mouth. A mix of confusion and amusement. Like you couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

“I’m not in the business of I.O.U’s.”

You said, looking over your shoulder while you walked over to grab your coat from the dresser.

“S’at so?”

He ashed his cigarette into his empty glass. Trying not to snort when you flashed him a sour look.

“You’re sure? I’m supposed to be here all night.”

You were already fastening the buttons on your coat. Glancing past him to the window on the back wall of the small room. The curtains were drawn, but through the backlight of the street lamps outside you could see rain streaking the glass.

“Mhm”

He hummed his answer. Silently grateful that you were finally moving toward leaving. Least he’d be able to get a few hours of shut eye before having to go back out tomorrow. Hopefully sleep off the guilt and the slightly sick feeling that’d settled itself over him.

You left a few minutes later. After making absolutely certain he was sure. Then it was ‘cheers’ and he was dead bolting the door. He got a fresh glass and downed the rest of the bottle of whiskey. Not enough to even get him tipsy, but enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep for the few hours he allowed himself.

He should have been expecting that Johnny would give him a fucking earful in the days following. You must’ve said something to the auburn haired girl and it got around. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him shit like he was getting paid to do it. Couldn’t believe that he’d pass up an opportunity like that.

They got shipped back to base about a week later. Simon was thankful for the short break. Slowly working on forgetting the entire mission. The whole ordeal with you. Focused his efforts on training and filling out the endless towers of paperwork that’d gathered on the edge of his desk in his absence.

And then it was months later. And he’d made good progress on forgetting France. Mission was a bust. Wasted time and money and effort for no payout. Turns out their mark had been in Germany the entire time. Tipped off that they were on the lookout for him. Johnny slowly stopped his teasing. Only occasionally bringing it up when Simon dismissed the efforts of an overly eager private. Things went back to normal.

After getting intel on a new assignment, Price had urged the boys to get together at some pub by base for drinks on him. Chat about next steps and do some more of the team bonding he was so keen on. Simon grudgingly obliged. The bar was full of people seeing as it was a Friday, so he was content people-watching and grunting a few words when prompted. Decent way to kill a few hours.

He’d excused himself to go outside for a smoke, pushing through the crowd until he finally reached the side alley next to the pub. Taking a few long moments to work his way through a cigarette and let his head stop pounding from the noise of the inside. He wasn’t focused on anything in particular, at least not until he heard some shouting on the street.

He furrowed his brow slightly, pushing off the brick he’d been leaned against and sidling out to see what was going on. Not usually interested in the commotion, but moving out of some deep-rooted obligation to supervise a situation.

He saw a car with dark tinted windows rolling slowly down the road. The driver leaning half-out his window and shouting something over to a girl who was walking by herself down the sidewalk. Her back was to Simon, but he could tell by how stiff she was that this wasn’t a friendly exchange.

He groaned under his breath, taking a moment to debate on if he should get involved before flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Starting down the street toward the girl.

It didn’t take him long to close the distance between them. The girl was walking slowly, he could see the way her head was on a swivel, searching for an escape. The driver of the car was shouting something crass at her and she was making a point of not engaging.

“Alright?”

He called out through the dim street, rolling his shoulders back and tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Puffing out his chest slightly in case his sheer size alone wasn’t enough to impress.

The driver faltered slightly, the girl did not stop to look back.

“Yeah, mate. Cheers.”

The man called back, trying to sound casual. Simon grunted and nodded, staying as friendly as he could. Moving a little closer to the curb to shield the girl from view. Thankfully, this was all the interaction the driver seemed to need to get the hint. Pulling off without much more prompting.

The girl’s posture immediately relaxed. Shoulders dropped, slowing her gait to a stop.

“Thanks. I owe you-“

Her voice cut off like someone had pressed mute when she turned to face Simon. He was stunned. Fucking shocked to see your face. This had to be some cruel trick played on him by the universe.

You looked great. Better than you had in France- if that was even possible. Even with the way your face paled, he could tell. Your eyes were brighter. Shining at him like headlights. He would have been able to convince himself he was hallucinating if you hadn’t had that same look of recognition painted over your face.

“Thought you weren’t in the business of I.O.U’s.”

He broke the silence after a few long moments. Both of you stood rooted to the pavement mere yards apart. Your breathless laugh broke the tension like a stone dropped in the middle of a stilled lake.

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded sharply.

“And now?”

You smiled. Brighter than you had before.

“I could be persuaded.”

He scoffed.

“S’at so?”

[seeingivy]

the party scene

roommate eren x f!reader 

you and eren won’t dance 

**find the series masterlist here

content warning: drinking, hitch and marlowe being annoying, someone gets pushed into a pool, marco getting clowned for his halloween costume, toilet humor 

an: ok yall. here’s the chapter. heheheheheh. and you should listen to the song, when you get to it. for vibes of course. to many anon who guessed correctly, hundreds of kisses. not my fav roommates chapters me thinks (but also it seems like everyone else has different fav chapters than I expected so)

previous part linked here

- 

“What are you going to be for the party?” 

You can literally see Eren’s ears perk up, breaking his concentration from the dinner he was cooking on the stove. You tried to make ravioli for dinner. Key word, tried. He didn’t let you stand there for longer than two minutes because he didn’t want you to “burn the apartment down.” 

You put foil in the microwave one time and suddenly he thinks you’re some arsonist. 

“The party on Friday? You’re going, peaches?” 

“Yeah. Jean invited me. Kind of being a wingwoman for him and bringing my classmate Marco, who I’m like ninety percent sure he has a crush on.” 

Eren turns his face back to the pan, dishing the food around on the plate. You get up occasionally, grabbing things you know he’ll need before he asks for them. Setting the dishes, grabbing the salt (because this man doesn’t know how to season), the Yerba Mate Eren claims to hate but drinks anyways. 

“Hitch and I are going as Anakin and Padme. From Star Wars. Apparently, Marlowe loves that crap and she never gave him the time of day for it. She thinks it’ll make him real mad if we show up like that.” 

“You should put a braid in your hair. You know, like from the second movie.” 

“Ew. I’m going as the third movie look.” 

“Good. He’s hotter in that movie anyways.” 

He flashes you a smile as he dishes out the food, lifting the plates and setting them on the table. You join him with the drinks, the two of you sitting right next to each other. 

It was getting easier. Eren was your friend. Maybe even your best friend. You’d still get the occasional heart pounding, flustered cheesk whenever he walked past you or said something that made your heart flutter, but other than that, you were making progress. You can live with a heart flutter here and there. 

“What are you going to be?” 

“Jean wants to do some basic angel/devil thing for the party. I’ve got a white dress and he apparently has a halo already so it should be fine.” 

“Have you ever been to a party?” 

“Yeah. Not really my thing though, but I don’t mind helping Jean. It can be fun with friends. Dancing, letting loose and all that.” 

“Hm. Save a dance for me, peaches?” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Eren. That’s weird.” 

He drops his fork, an exasperated expression spreading across his face. The vein in his forehead is prominent and you always enjoy when it shows up because you know you’ve won. He’s just that easy to aggravate. 

“Who said anything about you riding up on me? I didn’t mean it like that. That’s like…perverted. You could expect that type of shit from Jean or something but-” 

You place your hand against his forearm, laughing in his face. He stops immediately at the sight of your laughter, glaring at you. 

“You’re so easy to piss off, Eren. I’ll save you a dance, okay? A normal one.” 

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to shake.

“Deal?” 

“Deal, Ren.” 

 - 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Ren.” 

He steps into the bathroom, standing directly behind you as you finish doing your makeup for the party. Jean was supposed to be here in thirty minutes and the two of you were going to go pick up Marco. Meaning, you were going to have to deal with their awkward pining for the ten minute drive to the party. 

“Can you help me with something?” 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Can you help me draw the scar?” 

“Oh, yeah. Show me the picture.” 

He hands you his phone as you inspect the picture, the scar starting before the eyebrow and breaking just underneath the left eye. He sits on top of the toilet seat, his ankles crossed over each other. 

“Ah. Hitch gave me this to use. For the scar.” 

He hands you a tube of lipstick, which you slide open and swatch against the back of your hand. Too glittery for a scar.

“Do you mind if I use mine? Hers is kind of glittery and it’ll look kinda weird?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You bend over, digging through your bag to find the one tube of red lipstick you own, that Pieck forced you to buy for her wedding. You can’t show up to my wedding in lip gloss, that’s an atrocity. You find the tube at the end of the drawer, walking over to where Eren was sitting. 

As you amble over, you realize that the toilet seat is way too low and you can’t properly reach Eren’s face to reach. You were towering over him, his long legs sprawled across the floor of the bathroom. 

“Why are these toilet seats so low? I can’t even get the right angle.” 

“Levi. Kenny told me he hates having his feet dangle over certain toilets so he makes sure to get the shortest ones when picking his apartments. As if Levi’s going to come shit in our toilet at some point.” 

You nod, trying your best to lean over and indent the mark over Eren’s face. Out of all the angles you try, not one of them works - your head is blocking the light, your hands are in a weird position, you’re all up in his space. 

“Just sit on my knee. If it’s easier.” 

He splits his legs, tapping on the top of his thigh for you to sit. You nod, setting both of your legs on each side of his one as you lightly perch on top of his leg. 

“That’s hovering. Not sitting, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

You sigh, pressing your full weight against Eren as you lean back over for the phone and check the picture. As you slide over reaching for it, Eren puts his hands on your waist, holding you from falling off of his knee. 

“Thanks Ren. Just wanted to check again before I started.” 

You focus on the picture, the light shining against your face as you check where the scar was exactly on your eyes. Eren locks his fingers together behind your waist, pulling you closer so you can get a better look. 

“Okay. I think I’ve got it down.” 

You cradle the side of his face in your hands as you start drawing the scar on, trying to be as gentle as possible. Trying to avoid the fact that you’re basically straddling him right now. You can feel his cheeks warming under your touch and you try your hardest not to let the smile spread across your face. At least it’s not just you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Ren. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” 

“You’d blush if you were in my position too.” 

You shake your head, pressing your fingers against his lips so you can stop him from moving. You’re only halfway through the scar and if he talks again you’re going to smudge it. 

“Since when do you wear red lipstick?” 

“I don’t. Pieck made me buy it for her wedding. It’s for special occasions.” 

You lean back, cupping his face in your hands as you glean your eyes over the scar. You compare it to the picture and figure it's semi accurate, giving him a smile to signal you’re done. You slide off of his legs, beckoning him to join you in the mirror. You watch him lean forward, eyeing your work. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“Can I try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Doing makeup on you.” 

You pause, dropping your lipstick tube back into the box. 

“I don’t have a scar for my costume.” 

“I know. But you must have something left to do. You just looked so focused, like you were face painting, and I just wanted to try.” 

“Um, okay. You can take this glitter. You basically just dip your finger in it and swipe it against my eyelids. And then along the collarbone too, because it's body glitter.” 

He nods, taking the white glitter into his hands. He inspects the box first, turning it over and over again, holding it up against the light, smelling it. 

“Do you need to do a police inspection on the box? It’s just glitter.” 

“Shut up. I was just checking if it was okay to use.” 

“It’s obviously okay to use if I’m giving it to you. I’ve used it before.” 

He rolls his eyes, learning down. He sets his hands on both sides of your face, angling your face to inspect you this time. 

“You’re short.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Do you always have to give me attitude?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Sit on the counter. It’ll be easier for me to do if we’re closer to the same level.” 

You brace your palms against the counter, trying to push yourself onto the counter. You clearly misestimated how tall the counter was because you barely hit the back of the top, stumbling in the air. 

“Okay, Humpty Dumpty. Let me help you.” 

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist to lift you up to the counter. You can feel your cheeks burning at the sensation, unable to look him in the eyes. 

Right. Because it was getting easier, because he was becoming your friend. But there were still moments like this. Ones where you can feel your cheeks burning, your heart pounding, your fingers shaking. 

You hate that he still makes you feel this way. 

“Okay, widen your stance.” 

“What?” 

“Open your legs.” 

“Ew. You’re so vulgar, Eren.” 

“Well, I said to widen your stance and you gave me that stupid look on your face. It’s your fault.” 

You roll your eyes, parting your legs. He steps in between the space, leaning close to your face with the glitter still in his hands. 

“So, the eyelids and collarbones?” 

“Yeah. You can just use your fingers. You wash your hands after you pee, right?” 

“Of course not.” 

“What?” 

“It’s better for the environment. If I just wait until I have to poop, I can just save water by washing my hands once. You should try it.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“As if. Girls don’t poop.” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“No, they don’t.” 

“There’s no way girls don’t poop.” 

“Ask your mom. Or Mikasa. They’ll tell you the same thing.” 

“Okay, stop fucking around. We’re running late.”

“You started it with your stupid toilet humor.”

“Shut up. Your attitude is going to kill me one day.” 

“That’s a promise, Yeager.” 

He rolls his eyes, a small smile spread across his face as he dips his thumb into the glitter. He cups the side of your face and you flutter your eyes shut, his fingers gentle against your eyes. You can hear him laughing and you squint your eyes, glaring at him as you open them. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Y/N. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” he responds, his tone mocking. 

“Did you do this just to prove a point? It looks like finger painting, my ass.” 

“Close your eyes. I’m not done yet.” 

You shut your eyes again, Eren sliding the last bit of glitter along your eyes. You open your eyes to find him staring at you, his eyes wide. 

“What did you do? Don’t tell me there’s glitter on my forehead.” 

“No, it just looks pretty, that’s all.” 

You look down, focusing on his hands as he dips into the glitter again. Stupid fucking hands and voice and smell and hair and soft cheeks. You can literally feel your heartbeat all the way in your stomach and he’s barely even touching you. 

He uses his hands to tilt your face up, lightly pressing the glitter against the exposed parts of your neck. You feel your body shiver, instantly remembering the last time you and Eren were like this. Pressed up in the bathroom, with him kissing your neck. He presses his hand to your shoulder, his eyes washing over in concern at you shivering. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Got a weird sense of deja vu, that’s all.” 

He nods, finishing off the last of the glitter. When he’s done, he locks his hands across your waist again, lightly setting you back down on the counter as you both stand there. You’re both staring at each other, neither one of you talking first. 

Right. Because what are you supposed to say after that? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking of your lips on my neck, my bad.

The doorbell rings and Eren gives you a soft smile before squeezing your shoulder and leaving. You can hear Hitch in the doorway and you try to ignore the way your entire body is steaming. 

  -

“What are you even supposed to be, Marco?” 

“I’m a space cowboy, Y/N!”

“You’re holding a glittery gun and wearing a flannel. You look like a kid who got lost at Party City and picked the closest thing you could find. You don’t even have a cowboy hat.” 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” 

You watch Marco’s cheeks turn a bright pink, awkwardly stuttering to respond to Jean. Great. They’re going to do this whole oblivious idiots thing all night. 

Marco slides into the front as you and Jean walk to the other side, unlocking the car. 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” you say, mocking Jean’s high pitched voice. 

He rolls his eyes, lightly shoving you as you settle into the seat behind him. They’re both talking animatedly, forgetting you were even sitting in the back. You unlock your phone, playing Wordscapes as they go on in the background. 

- 

Eren’s eyes were trained on your figure, as Jean and Marco were spinning you around on the dance floor with them for a better part of the last forty-five minutes. He’s been waiting, staring at you, anticipating when you’ll look at him. 

You’re driving him crazy. Today, especially. Soft glitters, a willowy white dress, that stupid flowery perfume you wore during the concert. He even likes the stupid halo you have on your head. 

He wants to touch you. Press his hands against yours, drag you out and leave with you so he was the only one who could see you like this, your stupid eyes glittering in the light. 

He hates that you can still make him feel this way. 

He sees you leave, waving off Jean and Marco who were still left on the dance floor. Marco’s wearing your halo and you have the glittery gun Marco was holding. 

He’s still watching you. Shamelessly. You weave around people talking, wait to walk forward so you don’t get in the way of pictures, compliment strangers on their costumes. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, Hitch.” 

She’s been annoyed for a better part of the last hour, not that he’s been paying much attention to it. Marlowe still hasn’t shown up. 

He doesn’t mind the guy. He doesn’t quite understand why Marlowe and Hitch have to play these games - circling around each other, making each other jealous, making up. He figures a part of it is the chase, but he’s always found that part the most agonizing. He’d catch you if he could. He’s been waiting long enough. He’d make you feel good right here and right now. 

He watches you leave the room, leaving the heat of the room to the patio outside. 

“Mind if I leave? Just call me when he’s here, okay?” 

Hitch nods and Eren basically bolts out the door, ready to follow you where you went. But before he can, Jean all but falls right off the dance floor, piled on the floor in front of him. He can see Marco’s hand under him, dragging them both up by their arms. He can tell Jean’s already too far gone and that he has to deal with this first. Then you. 

-

Your feet hurt. Like a bitch. You made the wrong choice of wearing your Doc Martens to the party. You had figured you wouldn’t be moving much, just sticking to the walls and talking to whoever you knew there. But no, of course Jean’s nervous ass had to drag you onto the dance floor with Marco, the three of you spinning in circles. 

You had made your safe escape, sitting outside on the patio. You had been watching the wind whistle through the trees in the dead of night, watching the lights in the pool change colors. They had been changing every minute - switching from purple, to red, to green. There were a few stars glittering out, barely sparkling in the sky. 

“Anyone sitting here?” 

You look up to find a guy with black hair and pale green eyes kneeling down, crossing his legs next to yours. 

“No. Well you are, now.” 

He smiles, the two of you sitting in silence. You watch people swerve around the pool, girls holding hands, people leaning against the chairs, everyone nursing drinks in their hands. 

“I’ve never seen you around here.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really come to these things, I just came here with my friend Jean.” 

He nods, leaning down to feel the temperature of the water. 

“Do you want to play twenty questions?” 

You hike your knees against your chest, tangling your fingers together across. 

“Sure.” 

“Your name is…?” 

“Y/N. Yours?” 

“Marlowe.” 

Right. Hitch’s Marlowe. The guy she was trying to make jealous, the reason Eren was seeing her and not you. Well, not exactly. He said you two were just a mistake but you could have convinced him if she wasn’t in the picture. Semantics. He taps your shoulder and you forget that it’s your turn. 

“You play a sport, Marlowe?” 

“Water Polo.” 

You nod, lightly turning your head to the side. This is wrong. Surely Hitch wouldn’t be the happiest that you were sitting with Marlowe and not her. You can hear the party getting louder behind you and you swear you can hear her screaming in there somewhere. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

“Uh, no. You?” 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend, I think you’d like her. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

You pause, swallowing as you turn your face to look at him. He’s sitting way too close, an all-knowing look plastered on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’m okay, for now. It’s your turn to ask.” 

“Um, okay. Why don’t you want to see Hitch?” 

“Because I’m talking to you.” 

He untangles his legs and stands up, holding out his hand for you to follow. You press your hand into his and he pulls you up, not letting go of your hand as the two of you stand. The party is getting even louder, the sound of voices drowning out the sound of the music. You’re positive you can hear her now. 

“My turn. Do you know a guy named Eren? Plays soccer, green eyes?” 

“Uh, no. Never heard of him.” 

He nods, squinting his eyes at you. He must know Eren’s your roommate. Maybe he’s found out their together and he’s trying to get you to admit it. You let go of his hand, the two of you standing awkwardly by the pool. 

You can’t really tell what he’s getting at, but every part of him irks you out. He’s perfect for Hitch. 

“My turn, Marlowe. Are we done now?” 

“That’s barely even twenty. But fine, one more question.” 

You teeter on the balls of your feet, ready to take off the second he asks his stupid question. He turns to the side, eyeing the window, before asking. 

“When was the last time someone kissed you?” 

Before you can respond, Marlowe crashes into the pool, with Eren suddenly standing at your side. Eren just pushed Marlowe into the fucking pool. You can hear the sound of footsteps behind you - Hitch, Jean, and Marco at your sides. 

Jean and Marco - well wasted beyond their minds - swing their arms around you, slurring as they ask you if you’re okay. Hitch on the other hand is pissed. At Eren. 

“What the hell is your problem, Eren?” 

“Him, Hitch. He was pissing me off.” 

“This wasn’t what I meant when I asked you for help with this Eren. And your stupid roommate wasn’t helping the case either.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you make eye contact with Hitch, awkwardly crossing your arms across each other. You turn back to Jean, who still isn’t paying attention, instead playing rock paper scissors with Marco on the floor. 

“You want to be with Marlowe so bad, Hitch? Go ahead and join him.” 

He leans over, lightly pushing Hitch into the pool where Marlowe was still watching. He turns to you and ou can tell he’s pissed - that stupid vein on his forehead is showing again. But not in the good way. 

“We’re leaving, Y/N.” 

He grabs the edge of your wrist, dragging you towards the door as you shake on his hand. 

“I drove here with Marco and Jean, Eren. And they’re way too drunk to drive home now.” 

You both turn back, leaning over Marco and Jean. Jean’s way too out of it, but Marco looks up, smiling at the two of you. 

“You guys are so cute. I love your Anakin and Padme costume.” 

Right. Because he took your halo and you took the glittery gun because he kept hitting Jean with it. Eren turns to you, shaking your hand again. 

“Armin will come get them. You and I are leaving. Now.” 

“But how will he even find them? And what about Marco’s car?” 

Eren turns around fully, stopping in the center of the door. He’s pissed, at you now, and you can lightly hear Marlowe and Hitch arguing in the background. 

“You can hear them right? Knowing them, they’re going to walk up in a few seconds and start arguing with you and me. And if he says some shit again, I’m going to do worse than just push him into a fucking pool. You and I are leaving.” 

He tangles his fingers around your wrist again, his touch still gentle, as the two of you file out of the party, making it back to the apartment. 

 - 

Eren doesn’t say anything to you as you walk to the car, when you drive home, or even when you stare at him from the confines of your kitchen. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re waiting. For an explanation. 

But he can’t do that can he? Tell you that the reason he pushed Marlowe in the pull and argued with Hitch is because he can’t stand the thought of him being with you? He can see the entire scene in his head, like he has been for the past hour, his anger burning every time he does. 

“Jean, get the fuck up. You too, Marco.” 

They both stand up, half leaning on each other. Totally gone. 

“Eren. Marlowe’s here.” 

He turns to find Hitch at his side, her face scrunched up in anger. Eren waves off Marco and Jean, pushing them towards the kitchen where (he hopes) they’ll find water and sober up a little. There’s no way he’s letting them drive you home, that’s for sure. 

“Where?” 

“With your stupid roommate outside. What is she doing?” 

Eren turns his neck to find you, where he was just about to join you, sitting by the side of the pool. He can see Marlowe sitting next to you, leaning way too close for his liking. He turns back around, pressing his hands against Hitch’s shoulders. 

“Get him to leave. Now.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He drags Hitch out by the arm, the two of them leaning their necks so they can hear what you and Marlowe are talking about. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

That’s enough. Eren moves forward, not exactly sure what he’s going to do, but Hitch stops him, pulling him back by the wrist. 

“What are you doing, Hitch?” 

Hitch digs her fingers into Eren’s wrist, turning to glare at him. 

“What the fuck is she doing?” 

“He asked her the question, Hitch. Shut the fuck up.” 

He’s getting angrier. He can feel it - burning hot, red anger. Because why the fuck is Marlowe talking to you? Asking you if you’re alone? Why are you talking to him when you know he’s here? And why the fuck is Hitch pissed at you like Marlowe’s not the one all over you right now? Don’t you know he’s been waiting for that dance you promised him all night? 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend I think you’d like. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

He turns back, his turn to glare at Hitch. 

“See, Hitch. It’s fucking Marlowe. Now go and stop him.” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to stop him? And I have no interest in chasing him.” 

“Get mad. Argue and then kiss and makeup. I don’t give a fuck. Just get him to stop fucking talking to her. Now.” 

“I already told you. I’m not chasing him.”

“This isn’t fucking about you. Do something now or I’ll call the deal off now. I’ve already done more than enough and you can’t do one thing for me?” 

“Why do you even care?” 

He turns his neck again, to find you and Marlowe standing, his hand in yours. He can’t stand it. Your hand in his. Because he doesn’t deserve you. No one does. Because he can’t treat you right and Eren can. He’d praise the ground you walk on if you let him. 

He hears the last question and he can’t take it anymore.

“When was the last time you were kissed?” 

So he does the only thing he can think of. Push Marlowe in the pool. Drag you out of the party, where Hitch and Marlowe and Jean or Marco or anyone can’t talk to you. See you. He hates it. Being possessive, getting jealous. He knows you’re not his. But he can’t fucking stand it. It makes his skin fucking burn thinking of an asshole like Marlowe even touching you, let alone kissing you. 

“Earth to Ren?” 

He looks back up to find you staring at him, awkwardly brushing your hands against your forearms. Right. Because you’re still waiting for a fucking answer and he can’t tell you. Tell you that the thought of another man touching you drives him crazy, that the only person who could touch you right, make you feel good was him. 

“You’re doing that thing again. I can see the steam coming off of your head.” 

He deflates, leaning against the counter as he watches you. You’re moving from the side, pressing the glass of water in your hand to the dispenser in the kitchen. It’s pissing him off even more. The thought of someone seeing you like this - bedhead in the morning, focused when you’re doing your makeup, half asleep on the couch. He can’t fucking stand it. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, Darth Vader. No need to growl at me.” 

Fuck. Everything is pissing him off. Everything. 

“Let’s think about something else, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it just….stop being so pissy.” 

You’re at his side, circling the glass of water in your hand. 

“Fine. The answer to the question. What was it?” 

“What question, Ren?” 

“The one Marlowe asked you. Before I pushed him in the pool.” 

When was the last time you were kissed? In the bathroom, when Eren had his lips pressed to your neck. 

“A real kiss, Y/N.” 

Eren Yeager, mind reader.

“Oh. Um. A while ago, maybe a year? It was back when I was dating Floch.” 

Eren turns his neck, his eyes flashing at you as you look at him. He looks less angry, his eyes more concerned than murderous like they were a few seconds ago. 

“I don’t even think I can remember. I don’t know - he never really liked that stuff. Affection, compliments, all that.” 

“Did you ask him to? Do that stuff?”

“At first, yeah. But he never did.” 

Now he’s even more pissed. Because an asshole wanting to kiss you, him doing it all wrong is infuriating enough. But the fact that you had to ask someone to do it? He’d literally drop on his fucking knees if you gave him the chance and you had to ask someone for it? 

Eren does the only thing he can. The only thing he knows how to do. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your face against his neck as he holds you. 

It was either this or kissing you, full on like he wanted to. But he can’t really do that. So hugging it is. He hears you murmur against his shoulder, your arms pressing against his back. 

“S’okay Eren. What are you so mad about?” 

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it. And no. It’s not.” 

“We don’t. But I think this is less about whatever happened and more about whatever just-” 

He tightens his grip on you, the pressure of his arms silencing you. 

“I’m mad because you should be kissed. Often. And by someone who knows how. Like they can’t get enough of you, like you’re the air they breathe, like you’re inventing kissing just by putting your lips together.”

Shit. He said too much. 

You stand in silence, staring at him as he finishes talking. Oh he messed up big time. 

He watches the smile spread across your face, your eyes still in the dim light of the kitchen. Stupid fucking glitter. He’s going to go into the bathroom and throw it out. 

“Didn’t realize you cared so much, Ren.” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Why do you?” 

“Why do I what?” 

“Care so much, Eren?” 

You watch him constrict his fists again, his jaw clenched.

“Selfish reasons.” 

You walk up to the counter where he’s leaning over, lacing your arm through his. You push your hands into his fists, forcing him to stop clenching his hands so hard. You can tell his anger is dissipating, his shoulders slowly tensing as you touch him. 

“Selfish reasons?” 

“I don’t want to see you unhappy or anything. You’re like...my best friend right now. Is it so weird that I want you to be happy?” 

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. Fucking idiot. 

“No, Ren. It’s not weird.” 

You both stand like that for a while, your head pressed against his shoulder. He’s still tense, his heart pounding against your ear. 

“So I say all this nice shit to you and you have nothing to say back?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nothing at all.” 

You shake your head, watching him begrudingly smile at you as you two smile In the kitchen. You stand there for a while, the anger, awkwardness, wearing off. It’s just you two, standing in the light of your kitchen. 

“You promised me a dance. You never even gave me one, Ren.” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Y/N.” 

“I’m heartbroken.” 

You both laugh and Eren leans over, grabbing your phone from the side. He puts a song on - I Won’t Dance by Fred Astaire - and holds his hands out. You lean forward, knotting your hands behind his back as he presses his hands to your waist.

“You know Fred Astaire, Ren?” 

“Old timey shit. My parents love it.” 

You tangle your hands behind his neck, the two of you dancing in the dim light of your kitchen. 

You hate this. That you want to lick all his wounds, hold him till his anger goes away. That you want to dance like this in the kitchen with him, all the time. 

He hates this. That it’s this easy for you to fix it all for him. For you to make it better. That he wants to hold you, make you feel good every night. 

Do you love each other? 

- 

next part linked here

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[lilspooky-doll]

True Happiness — pt. 1

pairing — Aegon II Targaryen x Handmaid! Reader

summary — All Prince Aegon wanted growing up with the parents he had was to experience true happiness; not happiness from drinking, not happiness from inflicting insults against others but real happiness you can only experience with someone you feel deeply for. Even at a very early age, he believed he was going to end up drunk and worse than his absentee father until she came along to clean up the pieces.

themes — fluff, aegon is a soft boi, language, blood descriptions, alicent using others to fix her problems, brat! aegon, au! aegon, au! house of the dragon, female! reader, clingy! aegon

author’s note — here’s part 1 of True Happiness. i had to split it into two separate parts. this part is more of the starts of their relationship and part two is more of the “adult” parts. there will probably be ‘themes’ / warnings the next part as well so please be on the lookout for those. please enjoy!

ñuha hūra - my moon

ñuha jorrāelagon - my love

part 2

Looking through the shine of a blazing sun, the Red Keep was a marvelous stronghold that housed Kings and Queens of old, experienced the biggest feasts throughout the Seven Kingdoms and protects the very rulers of said Kingdoms. From the outside looking in, it seemed to be a peaceful day with the usual commotion that the royals and the Council lived in. However, this day was anything but normal.

In the dead of the night previously, the great King Viserys had finally greeted the Stranger leaving only his dear second wife, Alicent Hightower, the witness to such a tragedy. With the King gone from this world, the plans set in place by the Hand and his daughter would get to see the light of day and be pursued wholeheartedly — the plan of usurping the eldest of Viserys’ children from her throne and fitting the eldest son to the Iron Throne. Now upon discovery, There’s only one fatal flaw in this plan. Aegon has seemed to have just vanished, almost as if he never even existed with those hallowed walls.

Searching high and low, through the streets of Kings Landing and even down in Flea Bottom, not a single living soul has seen the prince in almost two full sun rotations. His chambers were tidy but empty of a few worldly possessions and some very homely clothes he had requested be made months ago. This abrupt vanishing had caused the Hand to fervently badger his child for answers as if she would know where he went.

“Father, the Cargyll twins and Aemond have been searching for him since we first discovered his chambers empty of him in the early hours.” Alicent flinched as Otto violently twisted his body in the middle of pacing to make eye contact with her.

“If he is gone, all I have done will be for nothing! Do you understand that? Everything will fall and that whore of a Targaryen will be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” Otto screamed into the flush face of the now widow seemingly blaming her for the faults of her eldest.

Stepping back a tad bit, Alicent placed some space between them before trying to look back up at the anger beaming down at her. “Well… Why not fit Aemond for the crown? He’s much more adept and would be a much more reliable King than Aegon would.”

The mere suggestion of Aemond caused the cogs in the Hand’s mind to rapidly turn as he began to place the second son in the spots where Aegon originally fit into his scheme. Slowly, a devious smirk stretched the aging wrinkles on his face as it appeared the prince’s disappearance brought a blessing down from the Seven that albeit was going to be much more successful in Otto’s dark eyes.

“Have Aemond fetched and brought back. I believe we have a more perfect opportunity in seeing the second son be the King.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

Life at the moment seemed impossible to the Queen. While handling the Council with her father, the Hand of the King and her ailing husband, her eldest son has apparently made it his purpose to deal with his problems. At ten name days old, Aegon has been through at most three handmaiden— each leaving the staff of the Red Keep due to his… antics. Every woman has reported back to her stating that he was the most arrogant brat who had it out for anyone who wouldn’t bring his mother to him.

Granted, Alicent could be blamed for his behavior as she has actively avoided personally handling her son — only seeing him as the end of her friendship with Princess Rhaenyra and the end of her girlhood. On a deep down level, she resented Aegon for what he represented in her eyes since she was only just a pawn in her father’s sick, twisted game. But, she wasn’t the only one to be blamed for why he sought so much attention so often. Viserys had a hand in all of this being that after his second name day, he has refused to acknowledge her boy as the heir to the Iron Throne and has gone to even ignore all of his children outright.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, was all Alicent chanted in her head as she sat in her solar waiting for Ser Criston to arrive with what she deemed her last ditch effort. Picking at the skin around her nails, the waiting made her anxious. She felt guilty for what she was about to do but, she’s at her wits end with Aegon and she hoped that this person would save everyone’s sanity.

A knock disrupted Alicent’s incessant thoughts as she bolted her head to watch Ser Criston open the door and made room for her so-called ‘saving grace’ to walk through. A girl of about two and ten shuffled through between the guard and the door keeping her eyes down at her feet. Once the girl made her way through, she dipped into a curtsy and muttered out a quiet Your Majesty.

Brushing off the imaginary dust on her emerald green gown, the Queen stood up from her seat on her cushioned bench and gracefully walked to set herself in front of the girl. She examined the young child making note of her neat hair that was braided away from her face and the typical clothes that most of the maids wore in the keep: a plain brown dress covered by a sullied white apron.

“Some of the maids tell me that any coin that you have made is sent to your family. Is that correct in their assumptions?” Alicent questioned using her hand to gently guide the girl’s chin forcing her to make eye contact.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she whispered out hoping that was the answer the Hightower woman was looking for.

“Good. I will be upping the amount of coin you receive but, you will only receive the extra amount as long as you stay on as Prince Aegon’s personal handmaiden. If you leave your duties as such, the extra coin will be revoked. Am I understood?”

A sick feeling of satisfaction filled Alicent’s belly as the young girl nodded and whispered out her affirmation. With a pat on the head, Alicent signaled for Ser Criston to lead the girl to Aegon’s chambers hoping that this all works out in a positive way, not ending in another maid gone from the keep to be replaced.

━━━━

Pitying looks could be seen from every servant that passed by the guard and young maid duo as if they all knew what her fate was. They all made it seem like she was on her way to the executioner, not to the prince’s chambers. Even with all the looks, it didn’t settle the feeling in her chest, the closer that Ser Criston guided her through the hallways to his room.

She’s heard all of the rumors from the other women and girls she worked with. She heard that the prince played nasty pranks, spoke in vulgar ways to disturb the maid or just flat out made their job living Hells. It was suspected that he did all of this as a way for the maids to report what he’s done to his mother, the Queen in hopes she would personally come to see him. Behaving like that just to receive some sort of attention from a parent seemed like a very sad way to live and no matter what kind of wealth they had, feeling loved was better than any riches a person could have.

As they rounded the last corner before the hall that led to the eldest prince’s chambers, all that could be heard was the muffled yells of an enraged child accompanied by the splintering of wood against the stones. A shaky breath expelled from your lips in an attempt to calm her down. Even though this became a less than ideal position to have in the Red Keep, all she knew was that the extra coin you would receive would go a long way to help out her family. She’s doing this for them, to make sure they have everything they need even if this could all end badly.

Nearing closer and closer, the racket became more and more clear making her more and more nervous. Now was not the time to let emotions control her; time to regulate and wipe any traces of whatever it was she was feeling off of her face. Getting up close to the door, she began to realize that the behavior her young self was going to deal with was destructive.

Just as they reached the door, Ser Criston knocked on the chamber door breaking the noise into silence. After a moment had passed, the knight opened the way and revealed the scene to them. There he was — young Prince Aegon — arms frozen in mid air holding what looked like a splintered wooden chair leg and surrounding him were the remains of said chair, shattered by the stone that made up the structure of the room.

Shocked to be interrupted, Aegon quickly composed himself brushing his silvery blond hair away from his eyes before he decided to lay into his mother’s knight.

“Where is she? Is she coming to finally speak with me?” Aegon pressed Ser Criston, his voice slowly rising in octave and cracking with emotions. “Why is she refusing to see me? I JUST WANT MY MOTHER!”

These were the ramblings of a child desiring affection from someone— or rather someones —who could not spare them any care or love. It was very evident to every soul living within these walls that the King cared for no other child than his eldest, Princess Rhaenyra regardless of how he behaved during Aegon’s first years as only child to his mother. Moreso, it was very subtle but it was becoming more obvious as the prince grew older that the Queen preferred her other children to him.

Unperturbed by the outburst, Ser Criston cleared his throat before speaking, “Her Majesty has assigned a new handmaiden to you. She kindly requests for you to be more pleasant with this one.”

Red began to seep into the pores of his pale face at the knight’s declaration. How could his mother make such a demand through the guards when she so blatantly avoids seeing him at all costs. If she could just visit him on good terms once, Aegon would stop it all; the pranks, the vicious words, Hells even the drinking that he was beginning to indulge in more.

“I don’t care what my mother wishes for me to do. I do not need a handmaiden, let alone a new one to replace the others. I wish for my mother, the Queen. Why won’t she come to visit me?” argued the Prince hoping to receive some kind of message from his mother that meant she wanted to actually be around him for once.

Using his argument as the prompt to leave, Ser Criston turned around, patted the young maid’s head before dismissing himself from the chambers. An uncomfortable silence filled the air as the maid stood at the door with her eyeline directed towards the ground and the prince’s violet eyes stared her down. There was a burning sensation alight on her exposed neck like the prince’s glare was burning through her head and down her spine.

Knowing her place, she never looked up towards his face. She knew that making eye contact with a royal or anyone of status would incur their wrath and they would punish the worker how they see fit. That was something that she would never do unless she was ordered to do so. Just feeling the prince’s stare on her was enough to break down her composure but now was not a time to be afraid; she needed to be composed and do her job.

With a straightened posture and a deep breath, she began to move towards the mess as carefully as possible. Anyone looking in on the situation would think she was approaching a skittish animal not the eldest son to the King of the Seven Kingdoms. It was almost laughable being put into a situation like this and at the same time, it couldn’t have been more dire of a situation.

Slow in her approach, she brought herself to her knees and one by one, picked up the splinters of wood placing them within the linen of her apron. She was careful to make sure none of the wood sunk into the plush pads of her fingers and careful to not warrant any of Aegon’s wrath. Even with the tense situation, she remained as unbothered as she possibly could be and just did her duties as a personal handmaiden to the prince; keep his quarters tidy, keep his life simple and everything should go splendidly.

It was a little unsettling, watching the maid tidy up the mess piece by piece. Granted, it wasn’t abnormal for a maid to clean but it was when they provided an outright reaction to his behavior. Aegon has seen it all; the older ones would try to discipline him like he was the child and the younger ones had a habit of being too noisy. But, this one was the youngest one yet — well he could only assume — and she was not acting like how he expected she would. He was waiting for something— a snide remark, shifty eyes, twitchy fingers— just something that would allow him to scare her away like he did the rest.

Just watching her collecting the broken wood made something bubble in his belly. Aegon couldn’t place his finger on what that feeling was but, whatever it was, it was not a feeling he wanted to relish in. It was a change to the anger and deep sadness that he has been experiencing and he wanted to latch onto them, keeping them close to his chest. In his deep observation, the young royal began to backpedal away from the center of his room making his way towards his messy bed covered in his plush blankets and fluffy pillows.

Violet eyes stayed focused on the hunched figure in her dirty apron and plain maid’s dress. Each piece of splintered wood being collected was like a piece of his anger being neatly brought back to him in the form of something calmer. The process of focusing on her smooth hands working so carefully yet so diligently caused the boiling rage that exploded earlier to simmer down to an eerie calm; a calm that he feels that he only experiences when he’s blissfully asleep in his cozy bed.

The blazing sun of high noon reflected through the window onto the carpets of Aegon’s chambers decorating the floor in fractured iridescence. After being focused on her working form for so long, Aegon’s anger had calmed into a gentle stream of just peace. He doesn’t remember the last time where he hadn’t felt anger towards his treatment from his parents or sadness from only ever seeing his mother at supper time or even when she came to admonish him. It seemed like forever ago when his mother had begun to push him on maesters, the guards or Ser Criston Cole hoping for their teachings to rectify his bratty behavior.

“Your Grace, allow me to take a look at your hands,” a small voice broke Aegon’s deep seated concentration drawing his attention to her delicate face that was honed in on his clasped hands.

Without so much as a fight, the young boy dropped his hands into her outstretched ones. He could feel how soft they felt brushing over the lines and details of his; he wondered how they were so soft considering all the work he knows that the maids do in a day. Soft twists and turns with feather-light touches brushed against the contours searching for something that marred the skin of the royal.

“May I say something, Your Grace?” Yet another soft whisper answered by a noncommittal hmph before the young maid continued, “I hope I am not speaking out of turn but, whenever anger roams free, it could easily turn into wrath. Never allow your emotions to reach that point… Please try to find a way to redirect it by putting more focus into training. The Queen would be devastated if you allowed this anger to fester to the point where you harm yourself accidentally.”

With the end of her advice, she gently folded the prince’s hand back into his lap before she stood up resuming the position she had when she first came into the chambers. A curtsy to signify herself leaving, out she went with the broken pieces of Aegon’s anger and a scent of delicate flowers lingered in the air.

━━━━

Weeks have passed since the first encounter between the new handmaiden and the prince and Aegon has tried relentlessly to see if he could rattle her like he did the others. Every little prank, tantrum, cruel words and even the occasional childish attitude was being met with almost a deadpan expression and an unperturbed Your Grace before she would continue about her duties as his handmaiden.

Aegon’s breaking point came much sooner than he thought when she came to his chambers with his tray of food to break his fast in the ambience of the rising sun. As she filled his cup with fresh water, Aegon decided now was the time to see what her problem was; why she seemed so unaffected by his brutish ways when even some of the knights have cringed at his behavior.

“I have done every little thing that I possibly know to get some reaction out of you other than that dead look you seem to have on your face. Every other handmaid my mother has sent my way would’ve been gone by the second insult or the first prank I have played.” Aegon took a second to catch his breath in his ranting before he continued with, “Why are you still here?”

The trickle of water into the metal cup ceased as she placed the pitcher back onto the tray with the rest of the morning food. Taking a moment to collect herself before facing the prince, she breathed out a deep sigh at his words. Of course she should’ve been gone by now but, honestly, dealing with the foolish ways of the boy made her miss her brothers and the wild activities they would do. If anything, working with Aegon made her feel at home oddly enough. The money she was receiving from the Queen could definitely be a motivator for some people on holding their wits but, the handmaiden started to think that the money was starting to not be a main factor in her staying; she actually was beginning to enjoy the extent Prince Aegon would go to try to torment her.

“I’ll be honest with you, Your Grace. You remind me of home, of my brothers who would endlessly try to startle me or torment me in the ways you have. Yes, some of your words were hurtful but, I quite enjoy being your handmaiden. Dare I say, I am beginning to see you as a friend.” She stopped for a brief second looking up into the violet eyes trained on her. “In our short time together, I have come to believe that you are just a boy who is lonely, who longs for a companion that understands you. I wish I can be that for you, Your Grace.”

At her bold admission, Aegon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Someone wanted to be near him, to be a friend to him despite all of the awful things that he has done and said to his maid. His eyes began to blur the image of his… friend and waterfalls of tears streamed down his soft, pale cheeks. For once, someone willingly wanted to be close to him and it made the well of emotions in his body overflow. He was feeling too many emotions at once and it overwhelmed him a bit. Happiness at the admission of having someone on his side. Sadness at wondering why it took so long for anyone to see through the misery he often bestowed upon others. Angry that his mother’s plans for a maid almost as young as he is to fulfill any of his tasks had worked. The flooding of feeling had started to fill in the cracks of his broken self.

Without even a second thought, Aegon in his teary state threw his body at his handmaid’s form wrapping his arms around her torso and burying his streaked face into her shoulder. Startled by the physical contact the prince initiated, she was quick to wipe the look of shock from her face before replacing it with a gentle smile. Her woolen sleeve arms wrapped around the shaking form attached to hers pulling the broken prince tighter in their embrace. Soothing whispers were spoken into the silvery-blonde hair tickling her flush cheek. No response to her words needed to be spoken; Aegon’s reaction was proof enough that he appreciated his kind handmaiden.

━━━━

After that tear-filled day, it became common knowledge that between the two of them, they could depend on the other. His sweet handmaid began to switch out the ale and mead he was consuming increasingly throughout the days with water or flavorful teas that were much more beneficial to his health. Aegon was quick to pick up on the changes and was ever so grateful to have her at his side as a confidant and his closest – only – friend. He actively sought out to spend time with her in any way that he could whether it was having you mend torn clothes in the training yard when he was there or just peaceful strolls through the courtyard when he had time in his busy schedule.

In exchange, the Targaryen prince made sure she had plenty of newer clothes that fit her much more than the old maid dress she usually wore. If it was up to him, his maid would be wearing gowns as beautiful as his sister Helaena’s gowns but she stopped him before he could even give her one. On top of the new dresses and aprons, Aegon made sure that where she slept in the servant quarters was perfect and that there was nothing that could make her sick and unable to enjoy the fresh air with him. Sometimes, he would sneak extra coins into the letters she sent out making sure whoever received the letters would have all the extra money they needed. He even put aside a few gold dragons for her to spend on herself when needed.

It was obvious to the inhabitants of the Red Keep to the changes Viserys’ eldest son exuded. The change for the servants and the guards was a very welcomed one as they no longer had to hear the words the prince would hurtle at people and the pranks that brought misery to many unlucky participants. The council thought of the change as Prince Aegon had started to mature and was trying to prepare himself as heir to the Iron Throne. But, even though many thought of this change as a good thing brought upon them by the Seven, it was hard to ignore the rumors that were spreading.

Of course, many were witness to the first rumor: the prince was almost never seen without his dutiful handmaid walking beside him. Every person who had been witness to this sight could all testify to the fact that every time the prince and maid were caught together, the prince was animated in talking with her and the maid was listening to him with a soft smile etched into her face. Some people have rumored to see them holding hands during walks when the Keep was too busy to pay full attention to the boy of ten name days and the girl of two and ten.

Others whispered that there was something more nefarious going on between the maid and the prince but no one would lend their ear to hear such conspiratorial ramblings. Those odd few always sounded the same; the young girl is a witch and has come to steal away the Targaryen for whatever dark and evil deeds she needed. It was very strange for such a rumor to spread but in the end, it was gossip that kept the maids giggling and snickering every time she moved past them.

Although there were rumors that could damage their reputation, no one could deny how much happiness radiated off of the two of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━

For a two and ten name day celebration, it was tiny compared to his first two name day feasts but tiny meant that it would all be over fairly quickly without cutting into his evening schedule. Aegon was anxious to leave the hall and make his way to the Godswood where he knew that she would be waiting there for him.

The feast consisted of mainly his family, the council and any of their family that lived within the stone walls. It was very simple and that made Aegon happy; he didn’t need to have a giant name day feast like his half-sister Rhaenyra gets. Simple was enough for him now. No longer was he the young spoiled brat — even though he’s still very young. Now he’s changed for the better and he’s been enjoying the smaller things in life for the past two years.

After waiting for the perfect chance, his mother, Alicent, announces her leave from the feast giving Aegon the opening he needed to escape the hall. He wanted a few moments after she left the sight of everyone before he took his leave as well except he didn’t announce it like his mother — just a silent slip through the hall doors and out into the corridor. The large doors were shut without so much as a little click as it slid back into place. Once he was out of view of all the attendees, Aegon swiftly made his way through the corridors out into the breeze of the early evening air.

The cool breeze coming off of the sea made the rest of his walk more enjoyable as the prince continued on his way towards the Godswood. Leaves rustling in the gentle wind and light slaps of bird wings filled the air around the steps of Aegon’s boots against the soft natural ground. Soon came the sight he was so anxious to see. His lovely handmaid dressed in just a plain brown dress without her normal apron resting against the heart tree with a book in her lap. This was what made the boy most excited about today; spending time with her as she read aloud to them both and Aegon used the sturdier trees as practice dummies.

“I see that you have started without me, ñuha hūra,” Aegon’s words came out almost too cocky but she knew that he meant to be teasing in his statement. “What tales will we be learning tonight?”

A girlish chuckle left her lips at his responses. “They are not tales as they are more history. I thought it would be very fitting to learn about the first of your name, Aegon the Conqueror,” the girl of four and ten paused for a moment before she started back up again. “I’ve noticed that you have been calling me something other than my name. Will you ever tell me what it means?”

A sly smirk stretched itself across the planes of his pale face. “I don’t think I will. Guess you’ll just have to learn Valyrian to understand it.”

At his statement, the handmaid took his words as a challenge—determined to figure out what he has been calling her recently and to possibly be able to speak the royal language to surprise him. Shaking her head at his antics, she looked down at the book in her lap and pulled the cover off the pages to reveal the title page, The Life and Conquest of Aegon I Targaryen.

While his maid got herself ready to read aloud to the two of them, Aegon reached into the roots of the heart tree to pull out a wooden sword he had stolen from the training yard and positioned himself in front of a scrawny tree that was growing only a short distance away. He was far enough that if the sword or the tree splintered, the fragments wouldn’t be anywhere near her but he was close enough that he could clearly hear her angelic voice speak of bloody history.

Readying himself into the proper stance, Aegon began to slice away at the tree acting as if the tree was like one of the practice dummies used in the training yard, like the ones Ser Criston Cole is constantly making him and his brother work on for the hours they do training. Practicing twice a day like this was his way of getting better hoping one day he could surpass the skill of the kingsguard and of course, it was a bonus that during this time, it was uninterrupted moments of peacefulness with his maid — who he was beginning to think of as more than his closest friend.

With wacks and thuds, Aegon let the melodic sound of her voice and the repetition of the wood put his body into a trance. His mind drifted away to sweeter moments than this one where he would confess his feelings to his beautiful handmaid, where he could see a future outside of his royal duty, where he could be free from the scheming eye of his grandsire and live a life like the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. They were dreams that were so far out of reach, ones that would move further away just as he came close to reaching out to them but it never hurt to think of life being more fulfilling outside of the walls of the Red Keep.

From her distance, she had kept reading aloud the passages detailing the life of Aegon the Conqueror finding it all riveting and oh so captivating that Aegon’s form started to blur out of focus from the rim of her peripheral. She was fascinated and consumed that the present Aegon would have to live up to such high standards for his name. It caused a seed of worry to plant itself in her chest just thinking that Aegon had more on his platter purely because he was second of his name and the first was the one to unite the kingdoms. Being so enthralled with this piece of history and her worry, she failed to notice the difference in Aegon’s form; his eyes zoned out and his form was atrocious at best. It appeared that the both of them had the same dazed look in their eyes as their minds drifted away from this reality.

“Ah, fuck!!” A loud curse and the sounds of something shattering broke the dazed states of the young duo. Startled by the noises, she broke her attention from the aged pages and bolted up from her seat rushing over to the prince’s hunched form.

“My prince! What has happened?” she questioned rotating her body to be face to face with him. All she could see was the top of his silver head and his arms tucked into his body.

Looking around, her eyes laid upon the broken practice sword lifeless against the soft, grassy surface. Turning her attention back to Aegon, she gently pushed on his shoulder to reveal his face red with pain and his right hand protectively covered by his left keeping it close to his chest.

“Let me have a look, my prince,” she stated slightly tugging on his hands in hopes for him to reveal the problem.

He resisted shaking his head and clutching his hands tighter against himself. Gritting his teeth in pain and using his hair as a shield, he was hoping she would just leave him alone so he could recollect himself and make himself out to be a man in front of her. Gods forbid if she thought of him as anything other than a man — even though he was in the early stages of changing into one.

The pain was consistent in the deep scratch of his dominant hand after his sword — a pathetic excuse for one — had snapped under his sloppy tactics. So distracted in his painful misery, he couldn’t see that her delicate hands made their way towards his face cupping his flushed cheeks. With her hands lightly clasped around his face, she pulled his head up from his chest and forced him to meet her eye.

Violet eyes met the twinkling stars that appeared to be her eyes. They captivated him on a deeper level like watching the sky light up at night when the moon is hiding out of sight. It was a deeper bond forming between them, a bond that differed greatly to his bond to his golden dragon, Sunfyre. This very moment was working its way to be a pivotal event in their lives and Aegon was doing all he could to soak up her attention and the feel of her hands on his face.

She carefully removed her left hand from his face and used it to remove the protective hold he had over his injured right hand. Pulling apart his calloused fingers exposed a deep gash pooling dark crimson blood around the angry flesh that’s riddled with splinters. The crimson hid the kind of red one would only see when flesh was marred past its original state. Just on looks alone, the wound had to have been painful and she knew that Aegon was trying to be strong about it despite the tears.

Gently and softly, she maneuvered his shaking body towards her previous seat of the heart tree making sure he kept his eyes on her and away from the wound. She helped lower Aegon to the nestling of roots making it comfortable for him as she positioned herself in front of him on her knees. Once she had him situated, she tore a strip of fabric from her underdress ripping it further into smaller pieces; one piece to clean and the other to wrap it until they could reach the Maesters.

“My apologies, my prince. I know this will hurt but only for a short while,” she spoke reassuring him as she placed the injured hand in her lap to pull the tiny splinters out before wrapping it up.

One by one, the pieces were removed being tossed to the soft grassy floor and with each removal, the young Targaryen hissed in pain as he only allowed himself to do that instead of tears.

“Not crying and holding in your pain does not make you a man. Crying shows that you have emotions and are more than capable of being compassionate to others. It releases energy that has been brewing over time.” Her words startled the boy causing him to reveal his unshed tears in his bright, wide eyes.

Wiping his face quickly with his free hand, he snarked, “And who had told you that? Hmm, ñuha hūra? I would presume it was your mother.”

“My father, actually. He would always remind my brothers that crying would never make them less of a man. It made them more of one because they weren’t afraid of being emotional and it helped release anything that was being kept locked away from within,” she retorted, continuing her work seeing as there were only a few wood pieces left before she needed to clear away the blood that kept pooling.

Aegon paused at her words before he sputtered out, “So, you would still see me as a man even if I cried in front of you? You won’t want to be rid of me?”

A giggle broke the delicate planes of her face quickly being replaced by a smile. “Why would I rid you? I feel like you have forgotten that you have cried in my presence quite a few times already, Aegon. You are just a boy in many people's eyes but to me, you are more of a man than some of the men that sit on the Council!”

“Could you say that again?” Lavender fields gazed into starry skies at her words.

“Say what again, my prince? That you’re a man..”

“No, my name. Say my name again. I beg of you.”

Stunned by his declaration, a sigh escaped her lips before she whispered out, “Aegon.”

No longer focused on the pain, Aegon could feel his heart soar like it was flying through the skies and bursting through the clouds. His true companion in life sounded so delectable saying his name. It was an almost tangible taste in his mouth just from her calling his name like that. Of course, the way she initially said it was in every form, an innocent and friendly way but, he’s a growing boy who was beginning to feel the effects of his body turning him into a man. His name was like a drug that now he had a taste of it, he is going to want it always.

A sweet smile contrasted the redness in the whites of his eyes as he gazed at her. “From this day forth, I want you to call me by my name. It’s so lovely coming from you, unlike from everyone else.”

“As you wish, my prince Aegon,” she answered him, causing his heart to soar yet again.

They continued to gaze into each other’s eyes like the sunny day shining down on fields of lavender petals and the stars twinkling in the inky darkness of the night. They both felt a bundle of warmth unfurling in their chests accompanied by the feeling of pure happiness. Being together in this moment made them feel as if they were the only people in all of Westeros and absolutely nothing would tear them apart from one another. In that moment, the friendly love they both shared was blossoming into a love that Aegon was beginning to feel for his beautiful handmaid, a love that she would soon share with him.

Blinking away their locked gaze, a subtle blush graced her cheeks as she brought her focus back down to the wound. She scanned his hand one last time making sure she removed all the splinters that she could find and began to gently gather the deep blood with half of the torn underdress strip. The starch white of the underdress absorbs the sanguine fluid transforming the fabric into its deep seated color. Fully saturated, she removed the cloth, putting it into the pocket of her plain dress and using the other piece to wrap up the exposed injury.

Finished with her work, she sighed out, “Well, we shall make our way to the Maesters for them to fully take care of the wound.”

She stood up from their spot and brushed off the dirt and grass that had accumulated at her knees. Looking at the prince, she could see a dazed look in his eyes and a soft smile that she has only seen him use when she was around — she’s seen peaks of a different yet similar smile when he would listen to Helaena’s bug-related monologues.

Aegon, still dazed and heart thumping hard in his chest, gracefully removes himself from the tree roots standing opposite to her as she lowered herself down again to grab the history book from its nest in the greenery of the floor. Waiting for her to straighten herself out, he held his uninjured hand out for her to interlock their fingers when she was ready to. Even with the wound throbbing in his right hand, all he could focus on was the beauty next to him. The way her hair flowed over her shoulders when she took out the braids she put in it everyday, the light flush that would mark her cheeks when she laughed too hard, or the touch of her soft hands that seemed to stay in its delicate state regardless of the hard work she did.

Interlocking their hands, Aegon refocused his sight on the current situation at hand and started back to the castle slowly making their way back to where one of the Maesters under Grand Maester Mellos could help.

“I do hope you know where we are going, ñuha jorrāelagon. I would hate for us to be lost so late in the evening.”

“Of course, I know where we are going. It’s just a lovely evening to take a slow stroll towards that way, Aegon.” A bright grin filled the lines of her face at her prince’s remark. “And don’t think I won’t figure out what you have been saying to me in High Valyrian. One day, I’ll figure it out.”

In that moment, Aegon was convinced and determined that his amazingly beautiful handmaid would be the only one for him — in life and in death.

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Suptober Day 8: Witch’s Brew

What’s My Flavor?

✨Wincest✨ Rating Explicit. Written for #suptober24 prompt: Witch’s Brew and kinktober kinks: choking, dubcon (but not really, just under the influence of magic), and tied up.

Words: 2.5k

Sam needs to willingly drink the antidote. Dean knows exactly how to pull that “yes” out of his brother.

A/N: Title is from a very Wincest-coded song, Sailor Song by Gigi Perez. Also this may be my new favorite lil thing I’ve written hehe

The purple wisps of smoke continued to curl into the air and make Dean cough and splutter. Why did potion making always have to be so intense, he thought, annoyed at his own annoyance. It’s a magic potion, of course it’s gonna smell terrible and coat every bit of air in this tiny room.

That’s not the only thing Dean was annoyed at currently though. He stared at his stupid little brother. It was just supposed to be a regular witch-killing, or at least, witch-neutralizing. No need for annoying counter potions or dealing with this.. version.. of Sam.

But, of course, Sam’s sitting in a short wooden chair with ropes around his arms, legs, and chest, and a dopey smile on his face in this storm cellar of all places. He just had to take the knife, didn’t he?

“Well, boys, that’s my part done.”

Dean looked up as Rowena stepped back from the cauldron, nodding her head in satisfaction at the bubbling liquid. She had a flask poured out and set it down on the table.

“Now you need to get him to drink that. The whole thing.”

She spared a glance over at Sam, who was currently glaring at the potion, and continued.

“I don’t envy you. But, if you don’t, he’s going to be like this until he dies. Remember, he must agree to taking it. You can force him, convince him, anyway you like, but he must agree. Or else it will be useless, no matter how good a witch I am.”

Rowena took a long look at Dean like she was contemplating something, but then turned and climbed the stairs out without another word.

Dean felt the first spark of real fear cut through his annoyance. What if he couldn’t get him to drink it? They’d only reached one other victim in time, and had failed to get her to agree to the antidote.

The witch’s spell was a particularly awful one. As far as they could tell, she gave her victims a taste of genuine happiness and whatever they wanted until, inevitably, they died or killed themselves in some horrible, stupid way. None of them had wanted to turn back.

Dean sighed and looked back over at Sam, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the potion.

“We’re gonna get through this, Sammy. I don’t know how, but we will.”

Sam wriggled in his ropes and tried to sit up straighter. The glare at the potion became a glare at Dean.

“I’m never going back. I’m never drinking that potion.”

Damn. Not starting off great. Dean stood and advanced slowly toward Sam, ignoring the flask for now. The chill in the room became more and more apparent as he got closer. Was it Sam doing that? The witch? Or was it just worry trickling up and down Dean’s spine? He wasn’t sure.

He stood barely a few inches away from the chair, placed his hands around Sam’s bound arms, and leaned down to be even closer to him. He needed to make his brother see in no uncertain terms. Even through the haze of the potion, he should be able to get this. Dean made sure he was looking straight into Sam’s eyes before speaking in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Yes. You will be.”

Dean watched as Sam’s throat clenched and swallowed. He saw a shiver run through him and his face softened for just a second before glaring at him again.

Oh. Okay. Sure. If that’s how Sam wanted to play it, Dean could get behind it. He shook off the fact that it’s been years since Sam had asked for anything like this from him and the fact that he wasn’t really asking this time either.

Dean studied the man beneath him. His fists were clenched hard and he was trying to hide the heaving of his chest. So needy.

“Sammy. Look at me.”

Dean reached out a hand and forced Sam to look directly in his eyes again. He shuddered under the touch. Dean almost laughed. Sam’s been hit by a spell that gives him happiness and the desire to take whatever he’s always wanted, and this is what he responds to?

Dean lowered his voice to almost a whisper. He could feel himself already getting hard.

“Sammy, you idiot. You don’t need a potion for this.”

Sam groaned and immediately tried to pretend he hadn’t. He seemed like he was trying to look away, but couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Dean.

Dean could clearly see the bulge in his jeans where his legs were forced apart by the ropes. There wasn’t any denying it anymore. He’s kind of hot like this, Dean considered, surprising himself.

Sam eyes had shifted downward and locked onto Dean’s crotch, which he knew had a matching bulge. Sam began to whine. Standing over him, Dean felt very tall again, looking at a small, younger brother. So pretty, so eager.

“Shhhh, I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta drink the potion.”

Sam jerked up and stared Dean down. Apparently he wasn’t far gone enough yet.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Dean growled low in his throat. His hand came on to Sam’s chest and pressed him backward.

“I’ll fuck that yes out of you if I have to, Sammy, don’t challenge me.”

Sam, for his part, just moaned and leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. He was so responsive it was rushing to Dean’s cock everytime he made a noise.

“Fuck, you really like that don’t you?”

Good to know, he thought, filing these things away for a less dire situation.

“I’m gonna untie you now. If you leave, you get nothing. Nod so I know you understand.”

Sam looked angry, but nodded a tad too frantically anyway. He’s really desperate for it, I wonder how many years he’s kept this inside.

Dean slowly untied all Sam’s limbs and his chest and allowed him a moment to stretch out before he gave him another order.

“Now, take off your pants and get on the floor. Hands and knees.”

Dean was almost surprised at how easy this was for him. It felt.. natural, especially with the way Sam responded to everything like he wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

Sam moaned again and unbuckled his belt with trembling hands. He looked at the wall while stepping out of his jeans and throwing them aside before kneeling down, facing away from the table that still held the potion.

Mmm. Dean stared at his brother presenting his ass up towards him with his head hanging low towards the floor. Goddamn. Dean’s own jeans were painfully tight, so he unzipped them and pulled them down slightly to give himself some freedom.

The sound of his zipper echoed around the room and he heard a small gasp from Sammy as he waited for Dean to come closer.

Fuck.

Not able to wait any longer, Dean’s eyes raked the table covered in potion ingredients. Rowena must have used something mm- ah that’ll work. Dean grabbed a bottle of some kind of basic oil and settled down on the floor behind Sam. The potion was still within reach. Good.

“Dean..” Sam sunk even lower to the floor, only keeping his ass up.

“Oh, Sam, I don’t think a pack of wild werewolves could stop me now.”

Dean ghosted his fingers over Sam’s sides, pushing his shirt up and grabbing his hips.

Sam let out a delicious moan that had Dean pulling down his boxer-briefs immediately and finally getting a good look. He groaned. Sam’s little pink hole looked much as he remembered and a rush of how it felt came back to him suddenly.

His fingers began to glide over Sam’s hole and he dribbled a small amount of the oil onto them.

Sam gasped.

“Yeah, Sam? You’re ready, aren’t you?”

Sam pushed his ass back against Dean in reply and moaned low into the floor as Dean pressed a slick finger into him. He chuckled softly.

“Son of a bitch, Dean. Come on.”

“Always so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

But Dean gave him another finger quickly and started pressing in and out as Sam moaned openly and reached down to touch himself. Damn, that was hot.

Dean added a third finger, probably before Sam was really ready, but he didn’t care, he needed to fuck Sam NOW.

“Dean!”

“Mm, .. I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

“PLEASE!”

Sam was clearly done with the waiting and preparation. So was Dean, he could hear himself breathing heavily. Dean gave Sam a few more thrusts with his fingers, Sam moaning in response, and then pulled them out, purposefully snagging on his rim.

Sam was whining and pushing out toward Dean like he was trying to get his fingers back in him. Like he needed something in him.

“Mmm come on, Sammy, hold on. You know what’s coming.”

Dean smiled as he dragged his fingers back over Sam’s hole and he twitched delightfully. Mmm. Gorgeous.

Dean shifted back onto his knees and rested down on his legs. While Sam couldn’t see him, he grabbed the flask full of thick purple liquid and placed it behind himself. He was surprised he even had enough presence of mind to remember the potion, with Sam still stretched out on the floor in front of him, hair a complete mess and back covered in a soft pink blush.

“Turn over.” He ordered. “Now.”

Sam wasted no time at all and breathed out softly while turning to lay with his back down on the cold floor. Dean could see that the blush continued over his stomach and the part of his chest peeking out from under his shirt. There was a light dusting across Sam’s cheeks too. He was warm to the touch and Dean couldn’t help but run his hands all over Sam’s sides and hips.

“Mmm. So perfect.”

“Dean.. please.”

“I’ve got you, Sam. I got you.”

He shifted and pulled his jeans down a little more so he could get his boxers out of the way. Finally, with a deep groan, Dean pulled his cock out free. He gave it a few long strokes, the friction felt so good. And Sammy looked even better, zoned out and desperate for it. Open. Waiting. For him. Dean couldn’t hold on a second longer.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hips and lifted them over his own until he was practically in his lap. They were so close. He could feel every movement Sam made, while he tried to squirm closer to Dean’s hard cock. They were lined up perfectly.

“Alright, Sam, you ready?”

“YES. Dean, I’m ready.”

Dean took a deep breath and pulled Sam toward him, impaling him ever so slowly on his cock, until they were flush against each other and he couldn’t think anymore.

Fuck. Sammy.

Dean groaned loud against the walls of the cellar.

“Damnit Sam- Sammy. Oh god. So tight.”

Dean looked up at Sam’s face again. It was flushed red, but Sam was grinning, smiling like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Dean rolled his hips into him and felt a stab of pride at watching Sammy’s smile slip to an open mouthed moan of pleasure. He pulled moan after moan out of his brother’s mouth as he began rocking steadily into him. Damn his sounds are so hot.

Sam was breathing out a quiet stream of yes yes Yes YES with every thrust of Dean’s hips. Dean smiled to himself. Well, if he got a yes for that..then-

He reached behind himself to close his fingers around the now cold flask. Bending over Sam to reach his face pressed him in so deep, both of them let out a groan.

“Mm come on, it’s time.”

Sam opened eyes he had shut when Dean pressed into him and flicked his gaze to Dean, to the flask, back to Dean, and back to flask again. He looked like he was about to protest, so Dean changed the angle of his hips just slightly, where he knew Sam wouldn’t be able to resist.

Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as Dean hit that perfect spot inside him and his hands flew out to either side. Then, very quietly, almost so Dean couldn’t hear, he replied.

“Yes, Dean.”

And Sam left his mouth hung open, waiting.

Dean was flooded with immense relief and red-hot lust at the same time. He dragged his free hand up to land on his brother’s neck and started to pour as much of the potion as he could into his mouth. Then he massaged his neck until he’d been forced to swallow all of it.

Without stopping the movement of his cock inside Sam, he kept this up until the flask was completely drained. Only a drop remained, dribbling from Sam’s lips as he tried to breathe. Dean released the flask and his hand that was holding Sam’s neck.

“There. You did it.”

But Sam looked desperately out at his brother and grabbed the hand that had been around his neck to bring it back to where it belonged. He patted Dean’s hand where he had rested it back on his throat in a silent, but blindingly clear, message.

A rush of heat went straight to Dean’s head and cock and he found his vision went a little hazy from the pressure. Damn, the things he does to me. He’s insane.

Dean closed his hand around Sam’s throat anyway, no longer trying to make him swallow, but instead trapping all his air. He brought his other hand to wrap around Sam’s throbbing cock, leaking a steady flow of precome.

Sam groaned, as much as he could while his airway was being blocked, and arched his back toward Dean. He’s so beautiful like this, Dean thought. Sam’s face wore an expression of absolute bliss and lust. Dean wondered vaguely how many times he’d ever get to see that look on his brother’s face.

“Sammy. Oh, Sammy. Come for me.”

That was all Sam needed to start shaking. His mouth opened in a silent scream or moan or gasp or something, Dean wasn’t sure, and he was coming all over Dean’s hand. It felt like he came forever, thick white stripes coating his palm, and rolling and clenching around Dean’s cock.

Would he?.. Dean wondered and decided to test his theory. He brought his filthy hand up to Sam’s face and covered his mouth with it. Dribbles of come started to mix with the remnants of the potion on Sam’s lips. He loosened the vice grip on Sam’s throat just enough so he could start gasping into his hand.

Sam’s eyes opened briefly, glanced at the hand with a flash of understanding, and closed again. Then his tongue came out and danced over Dean’s palm, licking up as much come as he could reach. No hesitation whatsoever.

Dean’s groan was so low it was almost impossible to hear.

“Fucking hell, Sam. Fuck- I’m coming.”

Dean’s hips gave one last wild thrust into Sam before he pressed in all the way and held there, head hanging down and limbs shuddering. The buildup of pressure that had begun with Sam tied to that damn chair released deep into him.

“Damn.”

That was the most intense orgasm Dean’s had in.. well probably ever had. He looked up to check in on Sam who, for what it was worth, looked much more lucid than he had in awhile.

“Hey. Sam, you back?”

Sam’s voice was breathy and raspy as he coughed and attempted to respond.

“Yeah.. yeah, Dean, I’m back.”

It worked. Thank god. Dean sighed and reached out a tired hand to pat Sam on the chest. He sat back, not wanting to pull out of Sam just yet. He didn’t want to ever be apart from Sam again.

“Good. Welcome back, little brother.”

FIN

[infinitywrites]

I Didn't Expect You Part 4 ~ Conrad Fisher

(Part 3) (Masterlist) (Part 5)

gif credit @laurens-german

synopsis: Y/N never expected it to be the summer that everything changed. Conrad, Belly and Steven were all dealing with the consequences of recent break ups while Jeremiah's wasn't acting like himself. Susannah was undergoing treatment that provided unpredictable health results and kept her loved ones on the edge of tragedy. Had they drained the well of the magic of Cousin's beach? Or could something new fulfil it again?

warnings: multichapter slow burn, warnings will update with every chapter, timeline is both POST S2 and a retelling of S2 with changes, everyone swears A LOT, 4th of July party, ANGST between Jeremiah/Conrad, ANGST between Conrad/Y/N, Nicole (sorry to this Queen), Conrad's friend Danny (made him into my own thing), hints of Belly/Jeremiah, I don't know shit about sports

word count: 4,141

___________________________________________

I feel like no one wants me

And I hate the way I'm perceived

I only have two real friends

'Cause I love people I don't like

All I did was try my best

Ego crush is so severe

God, it's brutal out here

Got a broken ego, broken heart

I decided I needed sustenance before heading into the lion's den and popped a bacon wrapped scallop in my mouth. Nicole sidled up next to me in no time, refilling her plate.

"Someone's got game." Her voice was low, unassuming and her eyes were focused on the desserts when I looked at her.

I almost spit out my margarita, "You're kidding, right?"

She giggled, "Nuh uh. I got to watch you in action twice now. Danny was eating out of the palm of your hand and even Cam looked weak."

"OhmiGod, Cam is Belly's ex!"

Nicole shrugged, "Okay, fair but I don't blame you for Danny cause he's definitely been working out." Our eyeline shifted to where he was laughing with Jeremiah and Steven.

"He's at school for a baseball scholarship, of course he works out." Her look of unabashed thirst would never not amuse me.

"Fuck, that's so hot." She looked like she was about to swallow her tongue.

Without another word Nicole walked off in his direction and I smiled as I watched her get her flirt game on and trail her fingers up his bicep. My mind drifted back to the house as I downed the last of my margarita before I headed inside to poke the bear.

He was in the kitchen, drinking from a dark liquor bottle when I walked in. His sullen eyes met mine for a long moment, "Where's your boyfriend?" 

"Would you shut the fuck up for like a second?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them as I leaned against the island on my palms. Conrad rolled his eyes and turned his body away from me. That set me off again, "Since when the fuck do you talk so much anyway? My god the stupid fucking shit that flies–" 

He put his bottle down, "Since when the fuck so you swear so much?" It was disconcerting how much calmer he was than me. It spurred me on.

"Since you, asshole!" I didn't even realize how angry I was until the words came flying out and the adrenaline spiked higher. "Since you make me so fucking mad I wanna tear my own hair out! And I thought we made progress the other night. How fucking stupid am I?" I took a long breath and felt the heat prickle my cheeks. I should have brought in another frozen margarita.

The look on Conrad's face changed and his voice went soft, "You've never been stupid a day in your life." 

"Fuck you, I'm not done!" I wasn't done being pissed at him for trying to ruin a perfectly good day. "Do you even know who asked me to come in after you? Your friend, Danny. Sweet Danny who was genuinely worried that he hurt your feelings, you fucking–" 

His eyes narrowed cruelly, "Oh, poor sweet Danny who wrangled an invitation to 4th party just to drool all over you apparently." 

"Are you seriously fucking jealous right now?"

Conrad's mouth snapped shut as his eyes widened in panic for a second and I couldn't have cared less, "I didn't want to steal his attention away from you, Conrad. I was just saying hi…you know, like a nice person." 

"Mhm. I'm sure he's got lots of ideas of how you can be nice to him." He took another swig from his bottle.

I couldn't even look at him anymore so I squeezed my eyes shut until I could. "Jesus, I'm not gonna date your friend, okay?!? Not if really you don't want me to." 

When I opened my eyes Conrad looked shocked, "What? Seriously?"

It was the last thing I was expecting and I could feel myself start to calm down finally, "I mean, yeah. If it bugs you that much." 

I could tell he was thinking about it. "Y/N…" 

"Unless it really was the stupid fucking baseball shit." It was the shift in his tone of voice. I couldn't handle it.

Conrad paused, "I mean, he is a fucking liar. It's…" I spluttered a laugh and couldn't even hear his very important correction. "What? It's true." Conrad shrugged miserably and placed his bottle back on the counter.

I thought about Danny's request when I said, "I'm sure it is. I just have no idea what you're talking about."

Conrad rolled his eyes and I sighed.

"How is it I've known you my whole life and I never knew the absolute stats nerd hidden under that 90s heartthrob hair?" The second I walked into that kitchen I could barely believe the words coming out of my mouth. I was cutting myself off from another margarita even though I wanted it.

"You think I'm a 90s heartthrob?" He was leaning on the other side of the island and peering at me quizzically. I thought I could even see the hint of smirk under his misery.

"Ohmigod, that's what you got from that?" My face was screwed up in disbelief. His ego had no bounds.

"Uh, that was definitely the most important part." 

"Oh so you're a delusional nerd too?" This was better than sulking Conrad or angry Conrad but only by an inch.

He paused and shrugged like he was shaking off the rest of his sour mood. And then I felt him focus his stare directly at me in a way I'd never experienced. I didn't have to look up at him to know what I'd find. Was this the shameless confidence that Belly always talked about? The silence was bad enough. He always did that; said the thing I least expected or never said anything at all after I did. He'd just wait and look at me, expectantly until I felt like I couldn't breathe.

The silence was never comfortable so I mustered the last bits of my courage and looked him square in the face, "Not everyone is flirting with you, Conrad." 

His smile grew for the first time since he thought he was on a winning streak in the pool. The unsettling thing about it was it seemed like he knew something I didn't. Conrad was nodding and considering the statement as he stepped around the island to stand in front of me on the other side. 

I gasped softly when his eyes flashed back to mine and muttered, "You sure?" He lingered in the moment and I felt a calloused fingertip graze the back on my hand gripping the island countertop. Just when the static in my brain started the clear and I could breathe again, Conrad leaned into my ear to whisper, 

"Or do you save that for Danny now?" 

He stayed close but he had to be drunker than I thought and fucking with me again so I took a breath and tried not to take the bait. Maybe it was my turn to say the thing he least expected for once. I didn't want to have to look him in the eye again after that, "I…you know, sometimes I can't tell and it's unintentional. Danny probably did the same thing. He's just a nice guy." 

He scoffed and took a step back. "Sure. Not like you'd notice either way."

I looked at him then and shook my head in confusion, "What is that supposed to mean?" 

Conrad opened his mouth as he stepped closer again but was shocked into place when he heard his brother calling for him from the other room. "Connie!"

He had the decency to look at me apologetically before directing him to the kitchen. When I saw Jeremiah's expression was serious and fixed on Conrad, I used that opportunity to make my exit. I took a few minutes in the bathroom to splash some water on my face and assess the pink hue in my skin as flush or sunburn. It didn't take long before I started to hear raised voices. I debated whether to investigate or leave them to it, if it was even the Fisher brothers at all, but when I thought about how Susannah wouldn't be able to deal with it like she always did, I knew I had to make sure it wouldn't get out of hand.

I caught pieces of the story as I walked back towards the kitchen. Susannah and Adam had been separated for a year now but he'd helped throughout as he should. He helped more than he did when they were together if Conrad was telling the truth. I heard Jeremiah accuse Conrad of scaring Adam away from the party altogether. It was true, Adam Fisher was nowhere to be found for the first time since I could remember. It was strange to think about now when he'd showed up for a few short hours the year before.

Jeremiah's tone was firm. "What gave you the right?" 

"Get over it, Jere. They're not even together anymore." In contrast, Conrad sounded like this was the last conversation he wanted to have.

"You think I don't know that?" 

"This is Mom's house and her party. You really think she wants him here?" 

"I think she wanted him at Thanksgiving and Christmas and when the treatment got really bad in the Spring too. Oh, but that's right you had finals and weren't around much then, moping around after you screwed things up with Belly." My eyes squeezed shut at the dig. This could escalate badly.

"Fuck you, you know I came home every second I could!" 

"I was there every day!" 

"Okay?! Okay! What do you want, a medal?" I hoped the breath I huffed wasn't audible enough for them to hear.

Jeremiah shook his head out of the corner of my eye, "Did you even ask her? Cause you're right, this is her party and she should have decided. Not you." The footsteps were heavy across the tile as he left and I heard the door slam behind him. 

Conrad sighed. "You heard every word of that, didn't you?" 

I winced and came out of hiding around the corner to see him leaning heavy on the island like it was the only thing holding him up at this point. His liquor bottle of choice was abandoned by the sink. "I'm sorry...but not every word and I didn't mean to, I swear. I was just in the bathroom." 

"It's okay. It's not your fault. Actually it's my fault. As per usual." He didn't move from his spot as his eyes carved holes into the countertop.

"Don't say that." My heart ached for him without my permission. Maybe Conrad fucked up by not inviting Adam or telling him not to show up at all but some of what Jeremiah said was unfair. And it wasn't hard to see that his brother was taking every word to heart no matter what.

"Why not? It's true. It's the only fucking thing I'm good at anymore." He looked up finally, lost.

"Connie, come on." 

The words seemed to shock him out of his emotional spiral. His brows raised and while the smile on his face was immediate, it fell just as quick, "I can't remember the last time you called me Connie." 

"I think I do, actually." Apparently it was infectious because now I was smiling at a memory I thought I'd lost.

When I looked his way again, he was watching me expectantly with the hint of that same sweet smile on his face. It was the least I could do since he seemed interested in the distraction from his own thoughts.

"There was this girl in my freshman year named Connie and I remember thinking it was hilarious that it was a girl's name. Kinda gross of me, honestly." 

"I would say," he interrupted but was still listening. 

"Do you wanna hear the story or not?" His hands raised in defeat as he chuckled. "I told Belly I was gonna torture you with it that summer; calling you every famous Connie I could come up with. TV characters and political figures but she got really upset and said you'd be mad so 'please don't'. So I tried to forget about it entirely so I wasn't tempted." 

When I looked up again, Conrad was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite figure out so I kept on. "And it must have worked too because I forgot about it until this second." 

He nodded slowly, "Does that mean I get to call you Y/N/N again?" 

I rolled my eyes at the old nickname and conceded, "I guess it's only fair." 

We ended up heading back towards the party and paused to look outside sliding door windows at the view of the patio. He nudged me, "So you've grown to like my name." 

I didn't need to look at him to know he was trying to shift his mood before we went back to everyone who was oblivious about what had gone down inside. "Damn, the confidence with which you said that completely inaccurate statement."

"Mm, say it again." He muttered and I shot him a glare so fast I couldn't believe he kept talking. "But softer."

My patience was battling against the need for physical violence but I let it out verbally. "Maybe try therapy if that gives you a nerdgasm." I was gonna get a lot of traction out of this nerd thing.

"Exposure therapy maybe." The mood shift was successful if I could base it on his teasing tone and goofy smile.

"I said I wasn't flirting with you, dummy." I didn't mean to bring it up again since it wasn't that serious but it wasn't the only thing I'd said that I was gonna regret after the fact.

Conrad scrunched his face in disbelief, "That's definitely not what you said. Actually, we decided you wouldn't know if someone was flirting with you. Case in point." 

I could barely listen to him anymore and I gestured for him to quit it. "Fine, whatever, I'm saying it now. Not flirting. Can we move on?" I knew he was looking at me then but I refused to do the same.

"No." His response was immediate and I saw him register the shock, like it even surprised him a little that he'd said it. 

I didn't have a choice then and could only gape in his direction, eyes struck wide by his stubborn streak. 

Conrad turned to me and stepped closer like he'd made a decision. "Even if you weren't, I was. And I want you to know so I'm telling you now, straight up, to your face, so later you can't explain it away or pretend I didn't…flirt with you." 

And that's when I realized he did know something I didn't. I was such an idiot. He broke his steady gaze for a second and chuckled, "I didn't mean to at first and then…I don't think I can stop now." 

If all that wasn't enough, he wasn't done. "I don't want to." Conrad leant close then and his voice dropped an octave, "I mean, why does he get to when I can't?"

I heard the sliding door shift open and closed but didn't see it from my frozen state, staring at a corner piece of the door frame. I sucked in an unsteady breath and looked up just in time to see him look back at me from the edge of the pool, quickly before he jumped in.

My nerves were shot and despite the cool air inside the house compared to the heavy July sun, my hairline was damp. My mind was blank and racing at the same time; no thought coherent in the slightest so I shut it down completely. No more thinking, not that I could think myself out of this one anyway. I waited until I could breathe normally and wasn't overheating from the inside before I stepped back out to the patio and steered directly to the drinks table for my third frozen margarita.

The rest of the party was fairly uneventful in comparison but still great. No more drunken drama or broken family heirlooms to Belly's great relief. In fact, I found a lot of peace watching her for the rest of the night; giggling with her friends, swimming until her limbs cramped up and flirting with Jeremiah if I could read the signals right. He seemed elated by the development and I let myself be happy for them instead of diving into the complications of that potential. No more thinking. 

At one point, I watched Conrad grab Danny's shoulder, both of them nursing their last beers of the night, and mutter something to him that looked serious enough to be an apology. Danny shook his head with a smile and gripped him in a fierce hug. I didn't even realize I was smiling at the sight until Danny's eyes caught mine and he mouthed a grateful 'thank you'. It was so sweet I had to put down my margarita and rethink my life choices. I caught Aunt Laur and Susannah sitting together and seeing it too: Laurel pouted her bottom lip at her friend and Susannah's eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

When the party got to the point of only relying on the patio and pool lights, I distracted myself with the first steps of organized clean up. Steven joined me not long after, saying that he needed an excuse for a quiet task to keep his hands busy. Usually I would have pressed for more information but I was surviving off fumes by that point. Maybe everyone was. Nicole and Danny stopped by to say goodbye and thanked us for a great party. I hugged them both and looked around to realize that it was only the family left after that. Jeremiah and Belly said something about how they'd make up for their clean up crew shift in the morning and were nowhere to be found after that.

Eventually, when Susannah's porcelain serving platter almost slipped from my hands and into pieces on the kitchen floor, Laurel told me I'd done enough and shooed me upstairs. I debated washing the day off before I crashed into bed but worried I'd actually fall asleep under the warm spray. I'd just managed to get into a baggy Cousin's Rowing t-shirt and sleep shorts before I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

It was the creak of the old wooden drawers of Belly's dresser that pulled me out of deep slumber. The room was bright with sunlight shining through the curtains and I had slept right on anyway. I yawned as Belly made a face in my direction and grabbed her crop top.

"I'm sorry! I was just gonna change before I got to the beach. I don't wanna miss the chance on our last day." 

"What time is it?" I looked around the room when my phone wasn't on my nightstand like usual. It landed on the end of my bed with a thump.

"After 10. Here. I found it on the kitchen table when I came in last night. Figured I should plug it in for you."

I smiled and saw that it was, indeed, fully charged. "You're sweet."

"The least I could do. You barely left anything for me and Jere to finish up this morning."

"Yeah, I was on a mission." I looked at her smiley face as she pulled her top over her bikini. "So. About you and Jere…"

Belly was never good at hiding things from me and her face screamed guilt even as she tried to shrug it off. "What do you mean?"

"Belly. Come on." She looked at me then, waiting. "You guys hung out all day yesterday and then you left together last night. What's going on there?"

The poor thing looked scared, "You're not mad?"

I rolled my eyes, "Is there something to be mad about? I mean, if you guys like each other…it's not gonna be easy but there are worse things."

"Wow, you should sleep in more often. Oh, don't forget to check the kitchen when you get up. Conrad went out early and got the good muffins."

"Oh, nice. But you're not off the hook about this Jere thing."

She pulled her lip balm out of her pocket and smeared it across her bottom lip. "It's not anything yet. When there's something to tell, I'll let you know."

"You better."

I took a moment to check my phone and saw an unread message from an unknown number. Hey, it's Danny. Jeremiah swore it was cool if he gave me your number so I hope that's okay. It was nice seeing you yesterday. The look on my face must have given me away because Belly was laughing at my expense in almost no time.

"Let me guess. Danny decided to text you after all." She wiggled her brows and giggled.

"Did you know about this?"

"I was there when Jere was trying to convince him. Poor guy actually thought you rejected him because of Conrad." Belly didn't seem to notice if my face reacted to that tidbit. "I told him there wasn't any reason you couldn't come back to Cousin's this summer if you had some good incentive."

She wasn't wrong. It wasn't like I had plans like Steven and Belly. I didn't need to be anywhere until the middle of August. I didn't need to shut everything down before it even started; before giving it a chance to be something to forget about at all. It was a nice thought that was almost immediately ruined by Conrad's look of relief when I told him I'd do the exact opposite. Maybe in a different world where I wasn't leaving for California in five weeks, or if I had any concrete plans of spending more time in Cousin's this summer, I'd feel different. Not to mention that I still didn't have the slightest idea where Conrad's head was at after yesterday and I wasn't sure I even wanted to. The world in which I could be excited about this didn't exist and it was time to make peace with that. 

"You know he invited me to his ball game? I can't believe I have to leave before seeing him in those white pants." 

"Y/N!" Belly threw her stuffed polar bear, Junior Mint, at my chest and I caught it with a laugh. "I knew you liked him. He got so much hotter this year, I'm a little jealous I didn't get there first." 

I gasped dramatically, "I'm telling Jeremiah!" 

"I'm kidding…kind of. I mean, I'm definitely leaving but Danny Wilder could inspire a hot girl summer." 

"Mm. Period." I looked back at the text and wondered if I should just leave it altogether. My stomach grumbled and it distracted me enough to leave it be for now and wave Belly off to the beach to have her fun.

I shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen after my shower, remembering the muffins Belly said would be waiting for me. The box was on the island like always and I smiled at the small victory. I really should have missed my chance at one, let alone my favourite, coming down after 11am. I opened the box and considered my choices when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked towards the sound and found Conrad standing in the doorway.

"Uh…I uh, saved you a carrot. It's under the cake plate." He gestured to the other side of the counter where it waited for me.

"Oh. Thanks." I walked that way and saw him shift his stance uncomfortably, and look down at his feet. I forced myself to give him the credit he deserved at that moment with a look of sincerity. "You didn't have to do that."

He looked pleasantly surprised, "It's no problem. You uh…call it a thanks for cleaning up last night. My mom really appreciated it."

"Of course. Anything for Susannah." 

It was the most polite we'd ever been to each other in our entire lives. I wasn't even sure it was real since there were no witnesses to prove I wasn't making the whole thing up somehow. Belly and Steven would laugh in my face if I told them. But that didn't stop the awkwardness from getting worse by the second and finally I couldn't take it anymore. Conrad looked like he wanted to say something else but I couldn't hear it, whatever it was and I was scared that I already knew. Instead of giving him the chance, I mumbled a quick 'thanks again' and 'see you later' before bolting back upstairs with my carrot muffin in hand and shut the door behind me. I leaned back against it and wondered how I'd avoid whatever that was for the next 24 hours before my time in Cousin's would come to an end.

Next

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author's note: I hope you enjoyed part 2 of 4th of July! How are we feeling at this point? Don't worry because there's still lots more story to come even if Y/N thinks her journey is ending. Next chapter is a day at the boardwalk! Thank you again for the continued support 💚💛🧡❤️. Reply with comments and let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist. If you'd like to ask me about any upcoming chapter warnings you wanna be warned of ahead of time (angst? 18+ smut?) then come visit my blog with any questions and I'll be happy to answer!

taglist: @c4rpediem-s @jackierose902109 @lcvecstiel @h0t-as-h3ll @stylesxroyalty @fandom-addict404 @hellofutur @junnniiieee07 @shelby-x @historygeekqueen

[mrsstan21]

Attention to Detail

GIF credit: @angel060563

Summary: Men rarely pay attention to the things women say, but that's not the case with Officer Tom Hanson.

Tom Hanson x Reader 

A/N: Just a quick Drabble!

Warnings: None! fluff!

Word Count: 958 :)

For the past three weeks me and Penhall were at a local high school making a bust on drug dealing. 

It was always fun when me and Doug were put on a case together, he always knew how to make these cases interesting.

After I got a gun pointed to my head by one of the suspects we made an arrest. 

I asked Jenko if I could have the day off and work at my desk. 

“Hey how you doing” Penhall asked pulling a chair next to me. 

“I’m fine…isn’t the first time I got a gun placed to my head”.  

“Hanson, Penhall, Y/L/N in my office” Jenko spoke. 

I took a seat next to Penhall on the couch while Hanson stood up.

“We got a new case apparently somebody is trying to relocate SouthCentral High School one room at a time. Last night was the fourth BE in the same amount of months. No forced entry, no busted windows”. Jenko informed.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a break in” I added. 

“Burglary says to smacks of an inside gig. Like one kid gets a set of master keys, the next thing, half the school’s drinking free sodas, and on top of that, some teachers getting free roses from so secret admirer” Jenko continued.

“Got any suspects?” Hanson asked. 

“Got a couple. My best bet is a guy named Jeffery Stone. Sells everything from hot records to tickets to the Boss’s concerts, third row”. 

“Sounds like a real sales man” I spoke. 

“well Hanson your on this case. Penhall will be your backup in case things go south. Y/N I want you here going over this Stone guys profile see if you can get anything off him” Jenko informed us.

“Not a problem I gotta help Ayoki study for his test anyway”.

The three of us group outside by Hansons desk. 

“So aside from the kid selling merchandise we also got a stalker creeping on a teacher and leaving her flowers” Penhall spoke grabbing a cup of coffee.

“At least she’s getting flowers” I mumbled sitting on Hanson’s desk. 

“Aw come on Y/N I bet you get flowers all the time” Penhall teased. 

I rolled my eyes. 

“What no one’s given you a bouquet of roses?” Hanson asked. 

I look at him. 

“I don’t even remember the last time I got a single flower let alone a whole bouquet. Besides roses are so clique every girl loves red roses. I on the other hand am very different...Would make my day if a guy got me a single white lily my favorite flower”.   

***

It was getting late, Ayoki and I had been doing practice questions for I don’t know how many hours. 

We decided to break for a while and I took it as an opportunity to rest my head on my desk. 

But ended up knocking out instead. 

The sound of a loud book hitting my desk made me shot up. 

“A felon cannot be issued a drivers license” I spoke still half asleep. 

I rubbed my eyes to see a smiling Hanson sitting on top of my desk. 

“Oh it’s just you Hanson” I yawed stretching. 

“What are you still doing here this late” he broke into a smirk.

“it’s not that late it’s only…midnight” I looked over at my watch.

“She was helping me study that is until she fell asleep two hours ago” Ayoki smiled passing by.

“God I am tiered” I rubbed my eyes again. 

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride I’m about to head out anyways” Hanson said. 

I took him up on his offer, and he drove me home. 

“Can I ask you something” he asked staring at the road in front of him.

“Shoot.”

“You know so much about cars yet you don’t own one?” He smirked.

I let out a small chuckle. 

“Yeah well I live about a twenty min walk from the chapel. 

And if I ever wanted a ride somewhere I don’t live that far away from Penhall so I could always ask him for a lift”. 

“From the time I’ve been here not once have I seen you and Penhall come in together”.

“Ok if I’m honest I prefer walking it helps clear my mind”.

“Sounds like a fair game” he glances over at me. 

When we arrived to the front of my apartment complex I thanked him for the ride. 

He stayed and made sure I got inside before taking off. 

Hanson was starting to rub off on me. 

***

The following day Hanson closed the case, and made an arrest turns out the janitor was the one setting up Stone. 

I was at my desk cleaning out my file drawer when I notice someone sit on my desk. 

Looking up I saw a smiling Hanson again.

“Hey Hanson congrats not screwing up your case” I smiled. 

“Thanks…hey I got something for you” he spoke nervously. 

I gave him a confused look before he pulled his hand from behind his back. 

There in my sight was a single white lily. 

“What’s this” I smiled. 

“Well you said  you didn’t remember the last time you got a flower so I took it upon myself to get you one” he smiled. 

“And you got me a white lily” I took the flower from him smelling it.

“What you didn’t think I was paying attention?”.

“Well Hanson no offense but most guys don’t usually pay attention to what comes out of my mouth. But in fact are paying more attention to…well you get the idea” I laughed. 

“Well I just thought you could use something nice to start your day” he smiled.

I got up and kissed him on his cheek. 

“Thank you Hanson” I whispered to him. 

He blushes.

[infiniteinquiries]

♡ Coffee shop au in which ellie is a barista and knows you like her so she keeps making you increasingly terrible drinks to see how far she can push you ♡

pt. 4

pt. 1 // pt. 2 // pt. 3

Ellie froze. She had been caught red-handed. A beat passed before she brushed off your confronting remark. She subconsciously raised her chin, trying her damndest to look unfazed.

"Well, I had to make sure a pretty girl like you wasn't coming back for the flavor profile..." she replied smugly, looking you up and down in the least subtle manner.

She watched as your cheeks burned red. Now you were the one standing there dumbfounded. Ellie wasn't sure why you were surprised, she knew what game you'd been playing. What she hadn't been expecting was your next quip.

"Oh yeah? You caught me. Now how are you gonna pay me back for passing your tests?"

Ellie blinked at you in honest awe of your boldness. She tried her best to control the conversation again.

"Hm. That's fair. How about I give you my number and the best Americano in town and we call it even? The first one is hard to come by, ya know." Ellie smirked wildly, quite satisfied with herself.

She watched your eyes widen in disbelief. Few girls had gotten this far, usually her attitude ran them off by now. Soon after, her eyes trailed your hand as it came up to your chin, tapping it in dramatized thought. You even tapped your foot for ironic effect, Ellie noted.

"Hmmm, deal." You nodded, firm in your agreement. Ellie shook her head and giggled, a genuine girlish laugh escaping her lips. You were something else.

"Come 'ere," she said in a warm smiling tone, "get it tattooed or something, can't have you losing it." She scribbled her number on the back of your hand, the last number slightly smearing in blue ink.

Ellie felt her heart flutter at the stupidly wide grin on your face. It surprised her. Was she really simping this hard right now?

"So uh...are you gonna make that Americano then?" You snorted, averting her gaze and rolling your eyes trying not to laugh. This girl was such a fuckboy it was ridiculous.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. I promise you it'll be the best you've ever had." Ellie replied suggestively. You knew she wasn't just talking about the dark roast.

"We'll see about that," you looked up over your browbone at her like it was a challenge.

Ellie purposely ignored you, wanting to leave you wanting more. She couldn't enable you too much, that was no fun.

She felt your eyes watching her every move as she once again worked the espresso machine with ease. Muscular arms darting between stations, strong shoulders lifting each implement and handle like it was second nature (it was).

She took real joy in her physique, as were you apparently, she mused when she caught you staring.

"I hope you like this as much as you like what you see." Ellie chuckled boyishly.

Here you were again, cheeks flushing. She was hoping to catch you off guard.

Instead of setting the drink on the counter this time, she made sure to slowly pass it directly into your hands, taking just a beat too long to finish the transfer. You cupped the warm beverage between your palms.

You made sure to make eye contact with Ellie as you took your first error-free sip from the roastery. Ellie watched you with intensity, genuinely hoping that she'd blow you away. This time, she was trying to impress you.

The taste of warm cinnamon and rich espresso flooded your senses in a way you could hardly describe. Ellie was right, this was the best damn cup of coffee you'd ever had. It kind of made you angry, in a way.

As you removed the cup from your lips, you paused, blinking slowly.

"Ellie, are you fucking kidding me? I missed out on this for three weeks?" You're tone was dripping with frustration.

She was hoping you would gloss over that now that you had something genuinely good in your hand, but no such luck.

"Well, I suppose your pretty face will be back then?" She chuckled, looking away.

"Ellie, how could I stay away?"

--

Tags: @vgnoxi @bunkisses4u @lovergirlism @radioheadfan699

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

You were a member of Blackbeard's crew long ago. Then you became a ghost story. Izzy Hands only sees you in his dreams these days, until he sees you for real when investigating Stede Bonnet. This sets him on a rollercoaster of emotions between you and what his captain is doing.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Implied NSFW. Goodbye toe. Hello Kraken.

Edward's heart is broken. Stede, you bitch (affectionately), come get your boyfriend!

Season 2 chapters coming next week!!!

Chapter Nine - Changing of the tides

♡♡♡

Both of you free from mutiny, Izzy goes on to see to his captain. He was elevated to see Edward back onboard. He should have known he would escape even the King.

You made the crew get to work. They did so no questions asked.

You wait for Izzy by the captain's door. When it opens he steps out, he closes the door behind him and turns to you.

"Well?" You ask softly.

"He's, uh... yeah, he's okay."

You look at him a bit more expectantly.

"He's depressed, but he should be okay in a few days..."

"Izzy."

"Apparently he was going to escape with Bonnet and go to China, but Bonnet never showed up. Ed waited all night."

"Shit..."

"You know, I didn't expect that from Bonnet." Izzy sighs.

"How are you?" You ask.

"Fine."

"Izzy..."

"I'm fine. Really. I'm just glad to still be onboard and... and that you're okay too."

You smile at him.

"I'm still trying to accept what you were going to do."

"Izzy, I'm not letting you leave me again."

Izzy watches your face closely as he takes a step forward. He goes to take one of your hands, leaning in a little, but he pulls back when loud crying from the captain's room can be heard.

You both sigh.

♡♡♡

You sit on deck whittling away on a barrel. The crew are mostly pottering about. The ship was as ship shape as could be. Nothing put if place, a clean deck, tidy rigging, polished canons.

Izzy exits the captain's cabin and stands in front of the crew, a cup in his hand.

"Gentlemen! Blackbeard is in fine spirits this morning, and he sends... his regards."

Izzy and yourself had agreed to cover up Edward's depression as much as possible from the crew. There was only so much you could deal with while Edward was in this state.

"He's still a... tad under the weather, but he will be back amongst us soon."

"So, he's sick, but doing well... is the news?" Franchise asks.

"Exactly, yes! And, um, in the meantime, maybe, you could, you know, polish things, or swab the deck." Izzy tried suggesting.

"We already polished twice today." The Swede says.

"Aye, the deck's as swabbed as she gets," Buttons adds in.

Izzy takes a swing of his drink and then spits it out on the deck. "Well, you missed a spot. Have at it, chaps! Dismissed!"

Izzy turns to face you. You offer him a little smile. He sighs.

"Not you, Mr Spriggs." Izzy catches Lucius' arm as he goes to walk past him. "Blackbeard has requested your services. So, no matter what you see or hear, you do not breathe a word under pain of death. Understood?"

"Yeah," Lucius agrees, feeling less than comforted.

"Good. Fuck off."

Lucius walks over and Izzy takes a sip from his cup, looking back at you again. This time you sigh.

♡♡♡

You stand by Buttons who sails the ship. You're watching the horizon when Izzy comes up the steps.

"You got a minute?" He asks.

"Yeah."

You follow Izzy right to the back where you two cam chat quietly alone for a bit. You can see Izzy's tension building in his shoulders.

"How is he?"

"He's stopped crying."

Izzy keeps his eyes out at sea. His hands rest on the railing of the ship, but you can see his knuckles turning white.

"I need to tall some sense into him."

"Be careful, Izzy. I can't pinpoint Edward's emotions. He might lash out if we're not careful."

"Careful?" He chuckles dryly. "Blackbeard is still in there somewhere. I just need to get him out."

"Izzy..."

He turns to look at you. "I have dedicated my life to Blackbeard. My life," he hisses, "and I not about to make it all for nothing."

Izzy pushes off the railing of the ship and walks off. You watch him go.

♡♡♡

Standing on deck watching Ed sing was not what you expected to happen, but you are. Then again, Lucius did say he had been asked to write down some lyrics.

It wasn't the most cheerful of songs.

At least he was out of the cabin now, wearing one of Stede's old robes, but you'll overlook that.

Izzy is sitting next to you. His face full of confusion. You're not sure anyone here understood what was happening.

The crew awkwardly applaud his song.

"That's, uh, really great stuff, Ed." Wee John tells him.

"His name is Blackbeard, or Captain!" Izzy yells.

"Izzy, no, Izzy." Edward stands. "Actually, I do want to be called Edward from now on. And thank you, you guys. It's pretty difficult to lay yourself bare in front of others."

The conversation goes on about others expressing themselves. Buttons sings a note to express himself and Edward gets excited.

"The sheer amount of talent on this ship! Why are we even pirates?" Ed smiles. "You know what? We should have a talent show."

The crew get excited.

Izzy tenses again.

♡♡♡

You head down to Izzy's cabin and see him sitting there with his head in his hands. He had gone to have a word with Edward alone in his room.

After that strange occurrence in deck, Edward had seemed more lighthearted. More open. He had gone back into his room to clean up.

Izzy had taken his chance to have a word with him, showing him who Blackbeard was supposed to be.

Edward got angry, but Izzy was pleased. Blackbeard was still in there somewhere.

"You okay?"

Izzy looks up and sighs. "Fine."

"You gotta stop telling me that. I don't believe you, you know?"

He looks up at you. His eyes look a little tired. It's been a long day.

"Is it too much to want to go back to the way things were?"

You walk over to him and sit down on the bed beside him. Since Edward came back, Izzy had taken back his old cabin. You had returned to sleeping with the crew, but Izzy couldn't deny wanting you to stay.

"Not exactly. I know where you're coming from, I do. But I also know that Stede made him very happy. Doesn't everyone have the right to be happy?"

"Yeah, but what I mean is, we're pirates. We don't get that kind of happiness. We do what pirates should do."

"But can't have love?"

"You can't have both," he says.

You frown as you gaze at the end of your boots. "What of you can?"

Izzy looks at you. You left your head and hold out your hand. Izzy drops his gaze to your palm and finds himself frozen for a moment.

A wooden sparrow.

"You remade it."

"Yeah..."

Izzy reaches out slowly and takes it from you, his fingers gently tickling your palm. He handles the sparrow with care. This one is a little smaller than the last, but it's still as good as the other one.

"Thank you," he whispers.

You look at him. His eyes are still on the sparrow in his hand, but his head is facing to enough to really look him over.

"Izzy, I care about you."

He lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"I always cared about you. Before I became a ghost story, during the entire 6 years I was apart from you, and even now after everything."

A pause. Only the sound of his breathing.

"Izzy, what if we can still be pirates and love someone? Wouldn't you want to know what that feels like? To have what they did?"

He swallows, the muscles in his neck moving under collar.

"I don't want to be weak," he says quietly.

"Who said it would make you weak?"

"Look at fucking Edward."

"You're not Edward. You're Izzy Hands. And I'm not Stede Bonnet."

You can see the way Izzy slightly shudders.

"Izzy, I've been in love with you for years. Figured it didn't mean much in this lifestyle, but I'm taking my chance. I never left you on purpose before, and never plan to. I'm sticking around for as long as you will have me, and nothing about our lifestyle on this ship would change a God damn thing."

A shaky breath escapes past his lips.

"Izzy, if you feel even a slight bit love for me, please share it, because I don't want to go another day without knowing. And if you don't, tell me now. We can go back to how we were."

He shakes his head, eyes glossy, lips parting to day something. No words come out.

You want to reach out and hold him, but he moves first. His lips are on yours before you can even fully comprehend what's happening.

You kiss back eagerly, hands grabbing at anything they can. You pull him closer, needing Izzy Hands as physically close as possible.

Izzy can't let go.

All these years he's been waiting for a moment like this, and now it's here. Finally he has you in his arms. Your lips against his. Your fingers in his hair. Your flesh against his palm.

Never had he thought the day would come when he could have you like this. Those impossible dreams made reality.

Izzy Hands loves you.

You love Izzy Hands.

♡♡♡

Late that night. Izzy and yourself are curled up together in his bed, both naked and tangled in each others limbs. Love in it's moat intimate form between two lovers.

This was supposed to be the best night of his life so far. The day he got to kiss you, hold you, love you.

It all came crashing down.

He had pushed Edward just enough. Just enough to awaken the Kraken.

It was Izzy's gasping scream that woke you. Blackbeard hovered over him. You panicked and screamed as Izzy's little toe was shoved into his mouth. Blackbeard covered his jaw, forcing Izzy to eat it.

"Eat up. That's it. Don't forget to chew."

You cover your mouth, watching. Izzy does as he's told.

"Threaten me again, ever... I'll feed you the rest," Blackbeard states. "Understand?"

"Yes! Yes, Blackbeard. Yes." Izzy nods.

"OK. Clean yourself up and come find me. Much work to do."

Izzy nods.

"And you," Blackbeard looks at you. "Get out. Don't let me catch you with Izzy again."

Blackbeard leaves.

You stare at the door and then turn to Izzy. He loses his smile and rests his head back against the pillow.

Blood stains the bed.

♡♡♡

Everything that belonged to Stede Bonnet is thrown off the ship. The crew made to gather and dispose of everything.

Izzy hobbled around with the help of a cane, his foot bandaged up, and gave out orders. Blackbeard kept you close to his side.

"Blackbeard is himself, again." Izzy spoke proudly to the crew.

Yes, Blackbeard was back. But at the cost of everything else.

You watch Izzy make his way across the deck, yelling at the crew to hurry up. Blackbeard stands menacingly over them.

Your heart aches to hold Izzy again, but you cannot. No. Love is forbidden.

Pirates must be pirates.

♡♡♡

A majority of the crew from the Revenge were taken to a small island in the middle of nowhere, basically.

Frenchie and Jim were the only ones being kept behind. Blackbeard was recruiting for his new crew.

Izzy took them all out there under the impression that was where the talent shown was going to be held.

They fell for it.

Izzy returned to the ship.

You stood beside Blackbeard as he had Jim knocked out, and Frenchie came in.

"I heard you can sew."

Frenchie got the grasp of what was happening and nodded.

Things were falling into place.

♡♡♡

Blackbeard stood at the top of the ship, you on one side, Izzy on the other. It took everything in you not to look at him.

Izzy was in much the same predicament.

Blackbeard drew one of his guns from it's holster and pointed it at Frenchie. The new flag was raised.

Blackbeard was back.

If only Izzy had known. If only there had been a warning for what would happen once Blackbeard returned.

Maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to love each other properly like you wanted.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world -

[captain-mj]

Caramel macchiato

Chapter 2! Also, the drink part is so fun, I hope you guys are enjoying that part as much as me.

Ghost had went home afterwards and stretched. He added the sleeve from his London Fog Latte to his hoard before slipping his shirt off and inspecting his back in the mirror. 

Down his spine, a line, or maybe cut would be better, split his skin in half. It looked like a tattoo until he moved, the skin moving slightly. Ghost pulled out his dragon wings. A full shift wasn’t really possible in his flat. He’d be too big for the space. But his wings fit. Kinda. He had to be careful, but they had been hiding under his skin so long that he just wanted to stretch them. 

They were black with gold speckling. There were no claws at the ends or anything, just simple black wings. They folded easily against his back again before stretching to their limits. The bones cracked and he made a pleased hum. His flat was set so there tons of big windows with sheer curtains to keep his privacy but also let tons of sunlight in. It also set on the top floor, basically a penthouse, so no one would be looking through his windows anytime soon. 

Ghost had a bay window he usually lounged on and right now, he wanted nothing more but to soak in the sun. He stretched out and purred contently when the heat of the sun touched his skin. 

His phone rang and Ghost pondered what he did to have friends who hated him so much. It was Alejandro, but that did not ease his frustration. Regardless, he picked up the phone. 

They sat there silently for a moment before Alejandro started talking, apparently getting some signal that Ghost didn’t notice. 

“Hey, so I was wonderin-”

“No.”

“If you wanted to come out later?” Alejandro ignored his interruption. 

“Why does everyone want me to be social? I have a month on leave. I want to enjoy being away from you guys.” 

Alejandro laughed. “You’d stay in your house like a hermit if not for us. Come on. Come out of your house.”

Ghost thought for a moment. “Not tonight, but tomorrow, do you want to go for coffee?”

“Simon… You know I thought we were going to walk around our chemistry forever.” Alejandro sounded very teasing. 

“There’s a hot barista I want to see again.”

“Thank God. What his name?”

“His nametag says Soap. I hope I can find out his real name but I was stupid and didn’t even ask.” Ghost hummed. Soap had annoyingly been on his mind quite a bit. Stupid Scottish man. 

“Soap? No weirder than Ghost I suppose.”

“Kill yourself.” 

Alejandro laughed immediately. “See you in the morning, hermano.”

“Nos vemos.” Ghost responded before hanging up. He stretched again. Admittedly, he did some yoga. For his job, he needed to be flexible and just like his friend Koenig, he wasn’t exactly built for that naturally. Being big had a few disadvantages. 

He considered it but he decided against it for now, instead taking a shower and looking over his hoard. Most of it was made of trinkets from his missions but there were a few personal items. A few hoodies that he had stolen from his friends over the years. Several book series he liked. Tons of jewelry that he thought glittered nicely. Technically, he considered several of his friends to be part of his hoard, but it was tangential. Strictly platonic and he didn’t exactly want to lay on them the way he did his other stuff. After a while, he went to bed, curling up and relaxing. Sleep took a while, but this was a fight Ghost was used to. 

His internal clock woke him up at 5 am sharp. Ghost hated the military sometimes. But regardless, he got dressed and put his boots on. It was freezing outside and there was no snow on the ground. He put a coat on and gloves. His fingers tended to go numb when he got too cold and he didn’t to deal with that. 

He walked for a while. Mostly just in circles honestly. His ending destination would be Alejandro and Rodolfo’s place and then he’d be heading to the Sealie Cafe. He’d probably order whatever Alejandro does. Trying to try more drinks and stuff. 

Maybe he’d try one of those pastries. 

Probably not. Ghost wasn’t a big sweets person. 

Soap would probably taste sweet. And warm. 

He stopped walking. This was hoarding behavior. An instinct to drag Soap up the mountain like he was a pretty princess that couldn’t defend himself. 

Even if he did get closer to Soap, revealing himself was something that would take a lot of time. He hadn’t told Jason until they were almost adults and they had been friends since they were kids. His team knew because almost none of them were human, not anything to really hide. 

But Soap would be different. 

Wouldn’t really work anyway. His job didn’t really allow him to have long term relationships outside his colleagues. Jason was an exception and that was just because the man was stubborn and wanted to stay around him. 

“Two ships passing in the night” was something that passed through Ghost’s mind. He arrived at Alejandro’s at 8 am and knocked, hearing them moving around. 

Alejandro opened the door, hair sticking up everywhere. His curls hadn’t been layered down with products so they poked everywhere. He looked like shit. 

“Did you just wake up?”

“Yes, Ghost. It is 8 am on our leave.”

“Well you guys keep demanding I get out so you just have to deal with it. Get dressed.”

Alejandro muttered something in Spanish and left. Ghost stepped in. 

“Hey Ghost.” Rodolfo waved, clearly having been awake for a while. He looked much more put together. “So a barista huh?”

Ghost really should’ve seen that coming. Of course Alejandro would tell Rodolfo. “Yeah. I don’t plan on doing anything serious with him. Don’t have time.” If he told Rodolfo that, he’d stick to it. 

“If you say so.”

“So you and Alejandro…”

“No.” Rodolfo said immediately, aggressively shoving a piece of egg from his Huevos Rancheros. “That’s not something I want to talk about right now. If you’re hungry, there’s food on the table.”

Ghost saluted him quickly and nodded. “Understandable. No thanks.” His body had decided as soon as he woke up that food just… wasn't going to work today. The thought made him nauseous. 

Rodolfo nodded and smiled when Alejandro reentered the room. Alejandro smiled and said he’d grab lunch on the way home before leaving with Ghost. 

The cafe was a little busy so they waited in line. Simon noticed that he was almost a head taller than everyone else and straightened up a bit. Alejandro laughed, but didn’t comment on it. 

They stood at the front and Alejandro hummed. “Macchiato please.”

Soap narrowed his eyes. “Cafe or Latte?”

“Oh, cafe.”

“Okay, dude, look, a cafe is 3.75 and is a shot of espresso with a small amount of milk foam.” Ghost thought that sounded gross. “Latte is where its the milk with the espresso on top like the one from Starbucks.”

Alejandro frowned. “Yes. I know what they are.”

“Are you sure?” Soap stared him in his eyes.

Alejandro blinked. “Yes.”

“Okay! One cafe macchiato and then for you Ghost?” Soap smiled at him. 

“I will take the one that’s from Starbucks.” Ghost wondered if Soap would stare at him like he just did Alejandro. Instead, he laughed and nodded. 

“I’ll have that right out.” Soap stepped away to make it. It occurred to Ghost that he had never seen anyone else there.

“Him? Really?? Also, you forgot to ask his name.” 

“Oh, I’ll get it in a second.” Ghost led Alejandro away to a table. He stretched. “So Rodolfo.”

“He looked so pretty this morning right?” Alejandro sounded dreamy, like a teen talking about their crush. 

It took… a strong amount of self control to not roll his eyes. “You should ask him out.”

“We’ve been friends so long… What if he doesn’t see me that way? I don’t want to risk it, ya know?”

“I really think you’re overthinking it, Ale. Just… Ask him out.”

“No. it’s got to be romantic. Special.”

“Well if you don’t do it soon, he might not be there to ask.” Ghost pointed out, watching Alejandro glare at him. “I’m just saying. He’s an attractive guy. Wouldn’t be that hard for him.” He was being a little mean, but those two had been tiptoeing around each other so long. Alejandro had already admitted that he considered Rodolfo his. They were both dragons, so Ghost understood. He also understood if there was anything that would rile Alejandro up, it was the idea of Rodolfo no longer being his. 

“He wouldn’t…”

“Are you expecting him to wait forever?” Ghost rubbed his face through the mask. 

Soap appeared, perfect timing as always. He slid Alejandro’s drink to him and set Ghost’s down. “So do they really only call him Ghost?” He addressed it to Alejandro. 

“Yep. Only name we use at work.”

“Ah. Disappointing.”

“I’ll tell you my name if you’ll tell me yours?” Ghost looked up at him, watching the soft blush on Soap’s face. Yeah, it definitely wasn’t the piercings and Ghost wanted to be the evil dragon in the story and drag him to a cave. 

“Johnny.”

“Simon.”

“I think I prefer Ghost.” Soap winked at him and left.

Ghost felt like he was floating. 

“How do you manage to look so lovestruck with just your eyes?”

Ghost kicked him hard under the table. Soap had decorated his drink again. Extra espresso, swirled slightly. The foam had once again been made in a heart with golden sprinkles over it. Ghost almost didn’t want to drink it. 

“The favoritism here is nauseating.”

“What was it like? When he stared at you?”

Alejandro looked at him like he was a delinquent. “Like he was stabbing my soul directly for every customer that’s ever gotten confused by the difference.”

“Hot.”

~~~~

Also, want to be part of a tag list for this fic? Just reply to this and I'll make one :)

[that1emowitch]

Guilt

A/N: This was the result of a horribly vivid series of nightmares and daydreams I had. Kinda raw in some areas. T/W: Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence Set after UTRH, in an AU where Bruce isn't a shitty Dad and Dick didn't know about Jason being Hood.

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Word Count: 11152

The dull ache behind Dick's eyes felt like a constant thrumming in his skull. It wasn't a headache, not exactly, but a dull, throbbing reminder of the fragmented sleep he'd wrestled with all night. Images flickered at the edges of his mind, fleeting and nonsensical, the aftertaste of a nightmare he couldn't quite grasp.

He was both grateful and terrified that he couldn’t remember the nightmare.

He was better off in this void, just floating, disconnected, not real…

RING!!!!

The shrill blare of the alarm ripped him fully awake, a jolt that sent a tremor through his already strained muscles. He swatted at it blindly, silencing the insistent shriek. The harsh light of dawn filtered through the blinds, painting sickly yellow stripes across the rumpled sheets.

He stared at the ceiling, the white plaster a stark contrast to the leaden weight in his chest. His mind, usually a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, was a vacant lot. No playful banter with himself, no strategising for the upcoming day. Just… nothing.

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He knew that. His body ached in a way that transcended physical exertion, a deep, bone-deep weariness that lingered even after the adrenaline of the night had faded. He couldn't remember what had woken him, the nightmare a fleeting memory already dissolving into the fog of exhaustion.

He didn't need to remember, anyway. Nightmares were a part of the deal, these days. Unbidden companions in the lonely hours between sleep and wakefulness. With a sigh that rattled his chest, Dick rolled onto his side, pulling the covers tighter around himself. He didn't move, didn't think, didn't even breathe deeply. He simply existed, a hollow shell adrift in a sea of grey.

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RING!!!!!

The dull ache behind his eyes morphed into a throbbing pressure as the alarm screeched back to life. Dick flinched, a low moan escaping his lips. The sound was a physical assault, each insistent ring echoing in the hollow space of his skull.

A weight landed on his chest, accompanied by a wet tongue being dragged across his chin. Haley, his faithful Bitewing, had apparently decided Dick's alarm clock wasn't loud enough. He forced a weak smile, scratching behind the dog's ears and kissing her face. The familiar warmth of Haley's fur offered a flicker of comfort, but it wasn't enough to dispel the leaden weight pinning him to the bed.

He knew he should get up. He had work, he had gymnastics classes to teach, patrol later… But the thought of facing the day, all those people, felt like scaling Mount Everest in flip-flops. What happened to Extraverted Darling Dickie Grayson? He wondered momentarily. 

Every fibre of his being screamed for just five more minutes, ten maybe, an eternity of oblivion beneath the covers. But he knew the world wouldn’t stop for him.

With a sigh that rattled his chest, Dick finally pushed himself upright. The world tilted slightly on its axis as the blood rushed back into his legs. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the nightstand. His room mirrored the chaos within him. He’d never been a very clean person, but at least he tried. However, today, clothes were scattered across the floor, a half-eaten protein bar lay abandoned on the desk, and his Nightwing suit, lay carelessly crumpled on the chair like a discarded exoskeleton.

He should put that away later.

The kitchen beckoned with the promise of coffee, the lifeblood of heroes (or at least moderately functional ones). For a second a ghost of a smile played across his lips at the hypocrisy of it – he spent hours preaching to Tim to drink less coffee, and here he was.

But it vanished just as quickly. Even the mere thought of turning on the coffee maker, the measuring, the brewing, felt like an insurmountable task. His stomach rumbled in protest, a pathetic counterpoint to the exhaustion gnawing at him.

It’ll be fine, He told himself. I’ll just buy something to eat later.

He shuffled to the bathroom, the fluorescent light assaulting his already strained eyes. The face staring back from the mirror was pale, and drawn, with dark circles that seemed to have taken permanent residence under his eyes.  It was a face he barely recognised, a face that held none of the usual spark, none of the cocky charm that had once been his trademark.

He splashed water on his face, the cold offering a temporary jolt. He looked away, refusing to acknowledge the haunted look in his reflection. There was no time for introspection, not now.  He brushed his teeth with mechanical motions, the taste of toothpaste sharp and metallic on his tongue. Just get through the day, that was the plan. One step at a time. He repeated the mantra to himself, a silent plea in the face of overwhelming apathy.

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Dick finished his bathroom routine, the harsh light revealing the full extent of the damage beneath his eyes. He looked older, wearier, a far cry from the ever-youthful Dick Grayson.  Even Haley, usually a whirlwind of enthusiastic tail wags at the start of the day, sat by the door with a subdued thump of her tail. A pang of guilt stabbed at him. Haley deserved better than a shadow for a companion.

He knelt down, scratching her ears with a forced smile. "Hey girl, you feeling under the weather too?"  

Haley licked his hand once, a gesture that felt more like sympathy than her usual exuberance. The decision hit him with the sudden clarity of a gunshot. He couldn't take care of Haley right now, not the way she deserved. Alfred, with his endless patience and love for all creatures, would be a far better guardian.

"Alright, girl," he said, his voice rough. "Looks like you're going to spend some time with Alfred for a while. He'll spoil you rotten, trust me."

Haley tilted her head, a flicker of something akin to understanding passing through her intelligent brown eyes. Dick clipped on her leash, the familiar weight a grounding presence. “Don’t worry,” He whispered, trying to keep his voice light. Dogs hear emotion, not words, he reminded himself. “We’re still going for our walk!”

Dick brought Haley on their usual round through the nearby dog park. It was quite deserted today. Dick found himself thanking the heavens for that. It passed in a blur, and before he knew it Haley was leading him back to their apartment building.

As they walked out of the lift on Dick’s floor, Mrs Sanchez, their friendly neighbour, stopped him in the hallway.

"Dick Grayson! My goodness, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Dick's stomach lurched. He plastered on a smile, the effort a physical strain. "Ha! Just a late night, Mrs. Sanchez. Nothing a good old cup of coffee can't fix, right?" His voice sounded too high-pitched, too strained even to his own ears.

Mrs. Sanchez peered at him with a look of concern that scraped against his already frayed nerves. He needed to get out of there, fast.

"Well, don't you push yourself too hard, young man. We all need to take care of ourselves sometimes."

Dick mumbled a goodbye, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He couldn't handle her well-meaning concern, not now.  He reached his apartment door, the key feeling like a foreign object in his hand.

A single glance at his reflection in the hallway mirror was all it took. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises, stark against his pale skin. Panic surged through him. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.

He darted back into the apartment, his heart hammering in his chest.  Reaching for his makeup bag, something Roy and Wally had once gifted him as a joke, he applied concealer with trembling hands. The product did little to mask the exhaustion etched into his face, but at least it offered a thin veil of normalcy.

He could pretend to be your average 22-year-old, living alone and juggling two jobs. Not a… whatever he was.

He couldn't let the exhaustion show. He squared his shoulders, a mask of forced cheer replacing the despair that threatened to consume him. One step at a time, he reminded himself.  Just get through the day.

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Dick emerged into the gymnastics centre, the mask snapping into place as quickly as he shut the door behind him. A charming smile played on his lips as he greeted Mr. and Mrs. Lee, parents of one of his young students. The practised ease of his interactions with the neighbourhood was a comfort he clung to.

Inside the bustling gym, Dick was a whirlwind of encouragement. He coached flips, offered playful corrections, and high-fived successes. He was the embodiment of a patient, enthusiastic mentor – everything Tim would bluntly call "excessively cheerful, but very Dick Grayson."

But beneath the surface, his mind was a warzone. The exhaustion from the night pressed down on him like a heavy cloak, making his movements sluggish and his words stilted. He felt like a shell going through the motions, a hollow imitation of his usual vibrant self.

Then, a voice shattered the fragile illusion.

"Hey, Mr. Grayson! You know, you kinda remind me of someone," chimed in a bright-eyed seven-year-old named Ethan, mid-somersault.

Dick froze. Remind him of someone? A smile strained on his face. "Oh really? Who's that, buddy?"

"My big brother, Jason! He used to come here and watch me practice sometimes. Before you came here. He’s way cooler than you, though," Ethan declared with a mischievous grin.

The air in the room seemed to thin, the noise fading into a background hum. In Ethan's place, Dick saw a horrifying image – a lifeless Jason, his once-vibrant eyes vacant beneath a bloody hood. The memory, sharp and sudden, ripped a gasp from his throat.

He stumbled back, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a choked sob. "Woah there, Ethan! Don't flatter me too much!" He ruffled the boy's hair, desperately trying to regain his composure. "Jason was one of a kind, that's for sure."

“Was?” Ethan’s brows furrowed. “He’s not dead, he’s just in college.”

“Yeah, that— sorry,” Dick stumbled over his words, quickly leaving Ethan’s side to correct another little girl’s somersault, desperate to distract himself.

But the vision lingered, a dark stain on the periphery of his vision. His smile felt brittle, his cheer forced. The mask he wore felt suffocating, amplifying the growing emptiness inside.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. All he could feel was a crushing weight of guilt. 

He'd failed Jason. He'd failed to protect him. And now, what about Tim? Would he fail him too? 

The question echoed in the hollow space where his joy used to reside, leaving him numb and utterly alone.

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The final whistle blew, signalling the end of the class. The excited chatter of the children faded as they filed out, leaving Dick feeling like a deflated balloon. He knelt down, forcing a smile as he helped Ethan onto his feet. "Good job today, champ! Keep practising those flips!"

Ethan grinned, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Dick. As the last child left, Dick slumped onto a padded mat, the exhaustion finally overwhelming him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the day pressing down. He couldn't stay here, not now. He needed to see Tim, needed to know his only remaining little brother was alright.

He drove back to his apartment, a restless energy coursing through him. Leaving Haley behind felt wrong, but he knew Alfred would be happy to have her company. As he packed a duffel bag with essentials, a dark thought flickered across his mind. Why would Alfred be happy? Lately, Dick had barely visited, and hadn't even returned Alfred's texts.

Pushing the thought aside, he loaded Haley into the car, patting her head reassuringly. "Hey girl, we're going on a little trip. You're gonna be staying with Grandpa Alfie for a while, alright?"

Haley whined softly, sensing his distress. Dick scratched behind her ears, offering a weak smile.  "It'll be fun, trust me. Alfred has the best treats."

He drove ‘till evening, the familiar Gotham skyline rising on the horizon as dusk approached. Dick felt a tremor of apprehension run through him. He hadn't visited the Manor unannounced in years, not since his last fight with Bruce… he shut that door in his mind with a slam.

Parking the car in the driveway, he took a deep breath, steeling himself. He rang the doorbell, the familiar chime echoing through the silent house. The door creaked open, revealing a smiling Alfred.

"Master Dick! What a pleasant surprise!" Alfred exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with seemingly genuine joy. Dick blinked, surprised by the warmth in Alfred's voice. Had he missed a birthday? Some family event?

"Hey, Alfred," Dick managed, forcing a smile.

"Come in, come in, Master Dick. It's good to see you. I was just about to start making dinner." Alfred bustled around, ushering Dick inside. The familiar scent of freshly chopped vegetables and baked bread filled the air, a comfort he hadn't realised he craved.

As Dick settled into a chair, Haley nudged his hand with her wet nose. "Oh dear," Alfred said, spotting Haley. "It seems you've brought a guest."

Dick sighed. "Yeah, about that… I'm going to be a bit… unavailable for the next few weeks. I was hoping you could look after Haley?" Shame burned in his throat as the words left his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not yet. He shouldn’t even be asking Alfred for help; he’d raised Dick out of kindness and obligation to Bruce, not because he genuinely wanted to. He shouldn’t be forcing this on the already overworked man.

Alfred knelt and scratched Haley behind the ears, the dog wagging her tail enthusiastically. "Of course, Master Dick. I'd be happy to. In fact, it will be nice to have some company around the house. It's been a bit… quiet lately."

Dick's heart clenched. Was that Alfred's way of asking him to return? He couldn't say anything. Not yet.  "Thanks, Alfred. I… appreciate it. Just let me know if you need anything."

"Now, now, Master Dick. You focus on whatever you need to do. You just let me know when you plan to be back."

Dick nodded, unable to meet Alfred's gaze. "Yeah, I'll let you know."

He spotted a bowl of little sweets set near the kitchen counter, likely for Tim or Steph when they passed by. He considered popping one in his mouth, if only to maintain his carefree and playful persona, but eventually decided against it. He couldn’t stomach putting something in his mouth, he felt like he’d throw up.

Instead, Dick rose from his seat, the floorboards groaning under his weight. The playful charade felt hollow on his tongue, the thought of a fake snack turning his stomach. The sweets felt almost cruel, taunting him like that.

Clearing his throat, he forced out a question, "Uh, Alfie, do you know where Tim's at?"

Alfred paused in his chopping, a knowing look settling on his face. "Master Tim is in the Batcave, Master Dick. Said he was catching up on some case files."

A wave of relief washed over Dick. Tim was safe. He was here. But the relief was tinged with a prickling unease. He hadn't spoken to Tim in weeks, hadn't even bothered to return his texts. All that, after promising himself he’d take care of his little brother this time. Guilt gnawed at him, a familiar sensation these days.

He nodded stiffly. "Thanks, Alfred."

He made his way towards the Batcave, each step a descent into the familiar yet intimidating haven.

The cave door hissed open, revealing Tim hunched over a holographic computer and newspaper clippings, brow furrowed in concentration. He looked pale, too thin for a 14-year-old, but his eyes held a familiar fiery determination.

Dick stood there for a moment, the cavernous space suddenly deafening with silence. He wanted to apologise, to explain, to offer some semblance of support. But the words wouldn't come. The weight of his own struggles seemed to constrict his throat.

Tim finally looked up, startled at his presence.  "Dick? What are you doing here?"

The question hung in the air, raw and accusatory.

"I, uh…" Dick stammered, the cavernous space amplifying the awkwardness.  "Just checking in. Making sure you're, uh, doing okay."

Tim stared at him for a beat, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I'm fine," he finally said, a touch too quickly. He turned back to the holographic display, dismissing Dick with a finality that stung.

“So, what’re you up to?” He tried to keep up the conversation, not let this light fade.

Tim’s brows furrowed ever so slightly, the way they did when Tim was annoyed but masking it. “Just working on some case files,” He answered after a beat. He returned to his files, the awkward silence stretching between them. Dick had always been the one to fill silences, to crack jokes, to bridge the gap between them. But today, the words were locked away, a prisoner in his own mind.

Dick felt a strange sense of vertigo. He, the usually charming, charismatic Dick Grayson, was at a loss for words. It was a feeling so foreign, so unsettling, it made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

The weight of his helplessness was crushing. Here he was, the supposed older brother, and Tim was the one holding it together. It should have been the other way around.

Suddenly, an impulse seized Dick. He leaned down, ruffling Tim's hair with a gentleness that surprised even him. "I love you, Timbo," he choked out, the words thick with unspoken emotions.

Tim froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I… love you too, Dick," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Dick straightened, a strange emptiness settling in his gut. Was that all there was to say? Where were the heartfelt conversations, the shared anxieties, the bond they used to have?  He was lost, adrift in a sea of his own making.

"Alright, well, uh… I'll see you around," Dick stammered, the awkwardness hanging heavy in the air.  He beat a hasty retreat from the Batcave, the silence following him like a phantom.

As he emerged into the Manor he spotted the last rays of evening sun disappearing through the windows. It was getting late; He couldn’t drive back to Bludhaven and make it to patrol tonight. He sighed. Guess he’d stay at the Manor tonight.

Then another thought hit him. Bruce. 

Bruce was right here, in this house. Dick couldn’t handle another argument with his foster father tonight, he’d finally lose it.

He wouldn't see Bruce. No, not tonight. He wasn't ready for that conversation, not until he understood the storm raging within himself. Tonight, he just needed a place to crash, a roof over his head.

With a sigh, he headed to his old room at the Manor. He passed by the kitchen, just to tell Alfred he wasn’t very hungry, that he’d eaten on the drive to Gotham. Then he retreated to his bed, setting an alarm to wake up right before patrol.

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The trapeze stretched endlessly above a churning abyss. Below, the wind howled, whipping Dick’s hair into his eyes. A sickening fear twisted in his gut, the spotlight blindingly bright. He noticed the lack of a safety net below – no one in their right mind would try this trapeze. But that's where his parents were, clinging desperately, their faces etched with terror as the rope slowly snapped.

"My Robin!" His mother's voice, strained and raw, barely reached his ears.

But this wasn’t how it actually happened, was it?

He lunged, arms outstretched, the distance impossibly vast. His fingers grazed his father's, just for a fleeting moment, before their grip loosened. Their cries, a horrifying symphony of despair, were lost in the howling wind as they plummeted.

Dick screamed, a primal, agonising yell that tore from his throat. He launched himself forward, defying gravity, but it was too late. The net gave way with a sickening snap, offering no solace, no reprieve. He watched, his world turning into a swirling vortex of red and bone, as their lifeless forms crumpled on the unforgiving ground.

Then, strong arms enveloped him, pulling him back from the precipice. A choked sob escaped him as he buried his face in a familiar chest. Warmth and an iron grip anchored him, a sliver of safety in the face of utter devastation.

"It's okay, Dick. It's okay." Bruce's voice, rough with emotion, offered a fleeting balm. He was nine again, small and angry and vulnerable, clinging to Bruce, who promised to keep him safe. But the moment of comfort was shattered.

A manic laugh echoed through the darkness, chilling Dick to the bone. There, standing between him and Bruce, was the Joker, his painted grin grotesque under the harsh light.

"Ah, Boy Blunder, always the disappointment!" he cackled, his voice dripping with venom. "Couldn’t even save the last one, could you? What was his name? Oh, yes, poor little Jason."

A wave of murderous fury washed over Dick. Visions of Jason, lifeless and pale in his funeral casket, flooded his mind. He lunged, fueled by a primal rage. The fight was a blur of fists and fury, his own screams mingling with the Joker's hysterical laughter.

He didn't know how long it lasted, the adrenaline a white-hot fire consuming him. But eventually, the Joker lay still, a crimson stain blooming on his chest, the sick smile plastered permanently on his cold, dead face.

Dick stared at his hands, stained red, realising with a sickening dread what he had done. He didn’t completely regret it. 

His breath came in ragged gasps as he turned to face Bruce.

But Bruce wasn't there. In his place stood Batman, his features obscured by the cowl. The disappointment in his eyes, a bottomless pit of sorrow, was a blow worse than any physical harm.

"You failed, Dick," Batman's voice, a low growl, echoed in the vast emptiness. "Just like you always do."

The words hung heavy in the air, a chilling indictment. Then, Batman turned and walked away, his silhouette fading into the darkness.

Dick was alone, the deafening silence broken only by his ragged gasps for breath. He was lost, adrift in a sea of despair, the echo of Bruce's voice a constant reminder of his failures. He had failed his parents, failed Jason, and now, he had failed Bruce.  There was nothing left, no hope, no redemption.

He woke with a gasp, heart hammering against his ribs, the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. The sheets were damp with sweat, the cold air of the guest room a stark contrast to the inferno within him.

As the nightmare receded, a chilling realisation dawned on him. He didn't know what scared him more, the brutal deaths of his loved ones, or becoming the faluire that Bruce feared him to be.

But the terror wasn't over. A cold, clammy hand brushed his cheek. He bolted upright, his scream echoing in the empty room. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a horrifying tableau.

Jason's lifeless body lay beside him, his face contorted in a silent scream. Tim, his usually perky little brother, was sprawled on the other side, a crimson stain blooming on his chest. A choked sob escaped Dick's lips as he scrambled away, his back hitting the wall. Panic clawed at his throat as he saw a weathered tombstone by the foot of the bed. The inscription sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over him: "Alfred Pennyworth. Loyal friend, devoted father and grandfather."

Dick could feel sticky, hot blood on his fingers, coating his body, drowning him. It’s like he was bleeding to death. Catalina’s honey-sweet voice echoed through the room, too distant to make out the words but loud enough to choke him.

Across the room, Barbara lay unconscious, a pool of blood spreading beneath her. Her breaths were shallow and raspy. A horrifying realisation dawned on Dick. He wasn't bleeding to death, she was. The nightmare wasn't over, it was just getting started.

“No, no, no…” Dick whimpered, covering his head with his hands and curling into a ball, willing the nightmares to go away. But they persisted, tearing him apart piece by piece, clawing and ripping until there was nothing but a hollow void left.

It was his fault.

All his fault.

In the distance he could see figures hanging by their necks, suspended from trees. Wally, Roy, Garth, Raven, Gar, Donna… Kori lay on the ground beneath them, still and frozen, devoid of her usual warmth and fire.

NO! He wanted to scream, but no words came out.

Dick clawed at his throat, gasping for air that wasn't coming. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, echoing in his screaming ears. But the screams were silent, a horrifying internal torment. The figures around him, bathed in the sickly moonlight, remained motionless, their lifeless faces a tableau of his deepest fears.

A piercing shriek ripped through the room, jarring him awake. It wasn't Barbara's ragged breaths, nor the echo of his own silent scream. It was the blaring of the guest room alarm clock, a harsh intrusion into the chilling nightmare.

He lay there, eyes squeezed shut, fighting for sanity.  The sheets were still damp, the air thick with the memory of terror. But the phantoms were gone. The room was devoid of the macabre scene that had played out moments, or was it hours, ago? He couldn't be sure.

Slowly, Dick opened his eyes, blinking against the weak light filtering through the curtains. The room looked normal, empty except for the furniture. Relief washed over him, a fleeting wave in the ocean of despair. He couldn't remember the specifics of the nightmare, just the raw emotions – fear, loss, and a bone-deep sense of failure.

He pushed himself out of bed, his muscles stiff and protesting. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was still 10 pm. Tim and Bruce must have left for patrol by now. 

Good. 

He wasn't ready to face Bruce, not yet. He couldn’t explain that he loved Bruce, that he was sorry they fought all the time. Couldn’t explain how much he regretted everything he did wrong. Couldn't explain the nightmares, the vulnerability they exposed.

Instead, he showered, the cool water doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a stark contrast to the sleek black suit he should be wearing.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. The scent of coffee hung in the air, a tantalising lure for his exhausted mind. But he couldn't allow himself the comfort. Not today.

He slipped out a side door, the cool morning air a shock to his system. He needed the Batcave, the familiar weight of his Nightwing suit, the focus that came with flying over the city. Maybe tonight, when Gotham needed him, he could outrun the monsters that haunted his dreams.

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The thrill of the chase coursed through Dick's veins as he apprehended the third group of muggers that night. Adrenaline was a poor substitute for a good night's sleep, but at least it kept him sharp. Everything was still a blur, but it was more like he’d mentally checked out but functioning, rather than being catatonic. 

Landing gracefully on a Gotham rooftop, he scanned the area, his gaze falling on a familiar traffic light-coloured figure perched on the edge.

"Robin?" Dick called out, his voice barely a whisper above the city's constant hum.

Tim startled, his wrist-computer snapping shut with a click. "Nightwing. Didn't hear you come up."

Dick landed beside him, noting the furrow in Tim's brow. "Lost in a case already, Baby Bird? Early start, aren't we?"

Tim shrugged, his expression uncharacteristically guarded. "Just following up on something. You wouldn't know anything new about the Red Hood, would you?"

Dick's breath hitched. Red Hood? The brutal vigilante-slash-crime lord Bruce had been obsessing over just a few months ago? "Red Hood? Why do you ask?"

Tim tapped his wrist-computer, lost in thought. "He disappeared for months, then suddenly reappeared a few weeks back. But B... well, Batman isn't exactly pulling out all the stops to find him anymore. It’s like they’ve made peace or something. It's weird, right?"

A knot of unease tightened in Dick's gut. This was strange. Bruce wouldn't just abandon a case, especially one involving a dangerous vigilante. Not unless there was a reason he wasn't sharing with them. And knowing Bruce, that was likely the case.

"That is weird," Dick agreed cautiously. "Did B say anything about it?"

Tim shook his head. "Nope. Wouldn't tell me a thing. So, I figured I'd do some digging myself."

Dick understood Tim's curiosity, but a part of him worried about the direction this investigation might take. It was standard Robin protocol to disobey Batman’s orders, but the Red Hood was dangerous, and absolutely hated Robin. 

The image of Tim, bloody and dying in the Titans Tower, flickered over reality for a moment, chilling Dick to the bone.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could voice his concerns, a crackle of static interrupted him.

"Nightwing, Robin," Oracle's voice cut through their comms, sharp and urgent. "Gunfight in progress, two blocks east of your location. Possible hostage situation."

Dick exchanged a quick glance with Tim. "Looks like we have other priorities for now, little brother. Let's go."

Tim nodded, his earlier apprehension replaced by a steely focus. Together, they launched themselves into the night, the mystery of Red Hood temporarily put on hold as they raced towards the sound of gunfire.

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Sirens wailed in the distance as Nightwing and Robin descended upon the scene. A dark alleyway echoed with the frantic pop-pop of gunfire, a silhouette of three gunmen visible against the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

"Civilians?" Dick barked into his comm, eyes scanning for any signs of bystanders.

"Scattered on the east side of the alley," Oracle responded. "Looks like a family caught in the crossfire between Penguin and Black Mask’s gang members."

A plan formed in Dick's mind. "Robin, you take the east side. Evacuate the civilians, get them out of here. I'll handle the shooters."

"Got it," Tim replied, his voice tense but steady.

Using the shadows as cover, Dick and Tim flanked the alleyway. Tim, nimble and agile, slipped through a fire escape and disappeared into the darkness.  Dick, utilising his acrobatic skills, launched himself across the open space, aiming for a dumpster that offered a sliver of cover.

The moment he landed, a hail of bullets zipped past him, embedding themselves in the metal with sharp pings.  Dick cursed under his breath, whipping out his Escrima sticks and attacking the criminals. His aim was precise, taking out the gunman's peripheral weapons one by one. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Robin leading the mother and her daughters away.

Tim's voice crackled through the comms. "Family's safe. Heading back to your position."

Relief washed over Dick, momentary and fleeting. Just then, the last remaining gunman, desperate and cornered, emptied his clip in a blind rage. Dick, focused on returning fire, didn't see the glint of two stray bullets not aimed at him, that pierced into Tim's abdomen before anyone could react.

Tim's startled yelp ripped through the night, followed by a heavy thud as he crumpled to the ground.  Dick's blood ran cold. "Robin!" he screamed, his voice raw with terror. Ignoring the remaining gunman, he launched himself towards his brother.

A dark figure swooped down from the rooftops, a blur of black and grey. Batman landed with a heavy thud, his cape billowing around him. He disarmed the gunman with an effortless efficiency before turning his attention to the fallen Robin.

Dick reached Tim's side, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Tim lay near motionless, a spreading stain blooming on his red chest. Panic clawed at Dick's throat. "Baby Bird! No, no, no!" he choked out, his voice thick with despair.

He fumbled with his communicator, his hands shaking so violently he could barely press the buttons. "Oracle! Get Leslie to the Cave, now!"

"Already on it, Nightwing," came the reply, laced with urgency.  But the words seemed to fade away as Dick focused on the shallow breaths escaping Tim's lips, the crimson that stained his gloved hand.

He pressed his hand over the wound, applying pressure with trembling hands.  The world narrowed to the sight of his little brother, pale and still, the life draining out of him with each laboured breath. The fear that had haunted his nightmares was now a terrifying reality, and Dick was utterly helpless to stop it.

The world spun, a kaleidoscope of red and black blurring around Dick as he pressed his hand onto Tim's chest. A horrifying vision flickered over Tim's pale face – Jason, lifeless and cold, his blue eyes staring emptily into eternity. Dick's stomach lurched, a primal scream trapped in his throat. This couldn't be happening again. Not Tim. Not another brother lost!

His vision swam as a large hand clamped on his shoulder, firm and steady.  "Nightwing, stand back," Bruce's voice, a low growl, cut through the haze of terror.

Dick felt himself being pulled upright, a numb puppet on a string. Bruce knelt beside Tim, expertly assessing the wound, the cowl doing little to hide the worry etched on his face. Dick watched, detached, as Bruce called for the Batmobile, his own voice gone, replaced by a hollow echo.

When the Batmobile arrived, screeching to a halt in the alley, Bruce scooped Tim up, his movements swift and practised.  He looked at Dick, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions Dick couldn't decipher.

"Get to the cave," Bruce ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Dick could only nod, his body a statue carved from despair. He watched as Bruce disappeared into the Batmobile, the red taillights vanishing into the night, taking with them a piece of his soul.

Alone in the blood-soaked alley, the weight of his failure crashed down on him. He hadn't been able to protect Jason, and now, he had failed Tim too. The guilt was a crushing tsunami, threatening to drown him. He sank to his knees, the cold concrete biting into his skin, a welcome contrast to the inferno raging within him.

Slowly, the hallucination faded, but the sight of Tim, pale and motionless, was no less horrifying. The red stain on his shirt grew larger, a macabre bloom mirroring the one that had claimed Jason's life.

A choked sob escaped Dick's lips, tears blurring his vision. He couldn't stay here, couldn't face the echoing silence of the empty city. With a Herculean effort, he pushed himself to his feet, a tremor running through his limbs.

He stumbled back to his motorcycle, the vehicle suddenly feeling unfamiliar, a foreign object beneath his shaking hands. He revved the bike, the purr of the engine a distant echo in his ears.

The drive back to the Batcave was a blur. He didn't remember the streets he passed, the red and blue lights of police cars flashing by like phantoms in the night. He was on autopilot, driven by a desperate need to be with Tim, to somehow make things right.

By the time he reached the Batcave, the air hung heavy with a sterile scent and the rhythmic beeping of life support. Bruce and Alfred were there, a grim tableau of concern etched on their faces. Tim lay on the medical table, his chest rising and falling with the help of the machine, a stark contrast to the peaceful slumber he should have been in.

Dr. Leslie, her brow furrowed in concentration, worked on removing the bullets from Tim's abdomen. The exposed flesh, the glistening red, sent a wave of nausea crashing over Dick.

He stumbled back, his legs giving way beneath him. Bruce caught him before he could hit the floor, a firm hand on his shoulder. Dick could only stare at the scene before him, his mind numb, his body a hollow shell. Bruce’s face was tight, eyes filled with… disappointment?

Of course Bruce was disappointed.

Dick had failed. He had failed them all. And the worst part? He didn't know if he could even face Tim if he lived. Because how could he look at his little brother, his Baby Bird, and not see the ghost of Jason staring back at him?

Bruce's hand tightened on Dick's shoulder, his voice low and gravelly. "Get some rest, Dick."

But Dick saw only disappointment in his father figure's shadowed eyes. Disappointment in his weakness, his inability to protect. Jason's lifeless face flickered again, superimposed on Tim's pale form. He heard the words Bruce was too stoic to say: You failed. This is all your fault.

So Dick decided to say them instead.

"No," Dick rasped, his voice raw. "It's my fault. I failed him, just like I failed Jason."

The words tumbled out, laced with a self-loathing that twisted his insides. He couldn't stay here, not under this suffocating weight of his failures. Not with Bruce's silent judgment hanging in the air.

With a surge of adrenaline that surprised him, he ripped his arm free and stumbled back. "I… I need some air," he choked out, the words a desperate plea for escape. He didn't wait for a response, just bolted towards the Batcave entrance, the image of Jason's lifeless eyes burning into his retinas.

He didn't remember the ride into the city. His mind was a chaotic storm, replaying the events of the night on a loop. The alleyway, Tim's crumpled form, the sickening sight of Tim's wound. The crushing guilt, a relentless tide threatening to drown him.

He reached Babs’ old apartment on autopilot, the familiar surroundings offering no solace. He hadn’t come here in years, why now? He couldn’t stay here, he shouldn’t be here. He needed to run.

Without a second thought, he twisted the keys once more, the engine roaring to life the moment he threw himself on the bike. He sped through the city, the wind whipping at his face, a welcome sting against the numb terror that had him in its grip.

He had no destination, no plan. Just the desperate need to escape, to outrun the demons chasing him. As he weaved through deserted streets, a familiar landmark caught his eye – the old Gotham Mall, looming over him. And on the side at the top, nearly 20 stories high, a smaller gargoyle jutted out, barely visible in the night.

A jolt of recognition shot through him. It was Jason's favourite gargoyle, a hidden nook he used to visit after patrols. The memories were still crystal clear in Dick’s mind – sharing greasy Batburger take-out and laughing at each other's jokes. A bittersweet memory, tainted by the weight of his guilt.

He pulled over, the bike screeching to a halt on the deserted street below the tower. He grappled up, climbed the building with practiced ease, his movements fuelled by a morbid curiosity.

As he reached the gargoyle, a wave of vertigo hit him. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down. Heights hadn’t bothered him in years since his parents’ deaths. The bustling city stretched out below him, a tapestry of twinkling lights and inky shadows. The street seemed a dizzying distance away, a good twelve stories down.

He felt a strange sense of calmness wash over him. The city, once a symbol of hope and justice, now mirrored the chaos within him. Here, perched on the edge, he could almost see the peace of oblivion beckoning.

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Was this the only way to escape the ghosts that haunted him?

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The wind howled around him, a chilling symphony to his despair. Below, the city lights bled into a blurry mess, the distance both terrifying and strangely inviting. A voice, insidious and cold, slithered into his mind. 'They're better off without you, Dick. All you do is bring pain. Jason, Tim, your parents...even Barbara left ‘cause she saw she’s better off far away from you.'

The names echoed in the vast emptiness of his mind, each one a fresh stab of guilt. Jason's lifeless face superimposed itself onto the city lights below, a horrifying reflection of his failure. Tim, pale and broken, joined the macabre image. His parents plummeted into the abyss, their screams lost in the whistling wind. Bruce's face, etched with disappointment, loomed large.

A choked sob escaped Dick's lips. This pain, this crushing weight of failure, was unbearable. He could end it all here. Finally find some peace, some solace in the oblivion below. It wouldn't solve anything, wouldn't bring them back, but at least it would stop the pain. He wouldn't be a burden anymore.

This would be better for everyone.

A tear streaked down his face.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. This was it. This was the only way out. As he leaned forward, a hand slammed onto his shoulder, yanking him back from the edge.

He stumbled back, heart hammering against his ribs, eyes flying open to see a large figure standing behind him. The moonlight cast an eerie glow, obscuring the figure's face. But the voice, a familiar rasp that sent shivers down his spine, cut through the chaos in his mind.

"Wingding, what are you doing?!"

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Disoriented, Dick's eyes snapped open, the city lights swirling before him. A hand, rough and calloused, gripped his shoulder again. Someone was calling out to him, desperate, but it seemed so far away. He blinked the grogginess from his eyes, his breath catching in his throat.

Standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight, was Jason.

Jason, in the Red Hood gear, minus the helmet. His face, too old and grown-up, was etched with a mixture of anger and something that looked… like concern?

But there, superimposed on the living Jason, was a horrifying image of Jason's lifeless body, the grotesque grin of death frozen on his face.  Dick's mind reeled. Was this real? Was Jason a hallucination conjured by his fractured mind?

"I'm sorry," Dick choked out, his voice barely a whisper.  "I couldn't save you. I'm the reason you're dead…"

Jason swore under his breath. This wasn't good. Dick's voice was thick with despair, his eyes glazed with a terrifying emptiness.

"Dick, listen to me," Jason said, taking a tentative step closer. "It's me, Jason. You're not hallucinating."

His words seemed to be filtered through a thick fog in Dick's mind. They didn't register. He took a stumbling step back, the world tilting precariously beneath him.

Finally, this would end.

"Dick, don't do this!" Jason yelled, his voice laced with desperation. He lunged forward, grabbing for Dick's arm. But in his haste, he overshot, his own momentum causing him to stumble.

Dick flinched at Jason's movement, his gaze fixed on the horrifying apparition that mirrored Jason.  He saw Jason's hand reaching out, but didn't register the concern in the action. To him, it seemed like a desperate lunge to drag him over the edge.

He let out a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut.  "Leave me alone," he mumbled, collapsing backwards, his body hitting the rough stone of the roof behind the gargoyle with a heavy thud. “I failed you. Failed Tim. Bruce. My parents. Everyone.”

Jason landed hard beside him, the wind knocked out of him. Dick didn’t fully register bulky arms wrapping awkwardly around him, his face being pressed into leather in an imitation of safety. This was the Red Hood, for God’s sake! Dick really should run away. But why did the criminal save him?

“Look, Dickface, you were in space when I died, okay?” A voice shouted in the distance. “Fuck, don’t give up on me… Dick, hey, stay with me…”

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He was being lifted.

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Everything was a blur. City lights below him – above him? He couldn’t tell. Leather wrapped around him, someone in Kevlar holding him tight.

Sounds, distant, too bright.

Too muffled, at the same time.

The world was a swirling kaleidoscope of pain and fragmented images. One moment, Dick saw the distorted city lights, the next, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then, darkness.

He surfaced again to find himself being lowered onto a cool, firm surface. A pair of gentle hands, large and calloused, held him steady. A familiar scent, sterile yet homey, reached his nose.  "Alfred?" he rasped, his voice dry and thick.

The reply was a murmur, barely audible. Then, a flash of Red Hood’s logo, stripped bare of the leather jacket and paired with a familiar black-haired boy – Jason?  But how…? Wasn’t he…

A new image snapped into focus. Tim. Lying still on a bed next to him, pale but undeniably breathing. Machines whirred and beeped rhythmically, a comforting counterpoint to the frantic hammering of his own heart.

Tim was alive. A wave of relief so intense it almost knocked him out again washed over him. He had failed him, failed them all, but Tim was alive.

Then, another thought wormed its way into his muddled mind. How did he get here? Where was Jason? He tried to lift his head, but a searing pain shot through his temple, forcing him back down.

"Easy, Dick," a calming voice said, a hand pressing gently on his forehead.  "You need rest."

He recognized Bruce's voice, but it sounded distant, muffled as if underwater. He wanted to ask about Jason, about how they got back, but his eyelids felt heavy, the effort of forming a single thought monumental.

The confusion deepened. Had Jason carried him? How was that possible? More importantly, how was Jason even there?

He drifted in and out of consciousness, the fragmented images blurring further. Alfred's face, a mask of concern, swam into view. Briefly, he thought he saw Jason lurking in the shadows, his helmet back on, obscuring his face.  But then, the image dissolved, replaced by Tim's pale visage, the rhythmic beeping of the machine a lullaby against the storm in his head.

Just as he was about to grasp at the question of Jason's presence, exhaustion claimed him. His eyelids fluttered shut, the darkness finally a welcome embrace.  The swirling questions, the self-loathing, everything faded into a blessed oblivion. He couldn't fight the demons in his head right now, not when the one battle truly won mattered most – Tim was alive, and maybe, just maybe, so was Jason.

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Dick could see his parents’ mangled bodies on the ground, far, far below. 

He was balanced precariously on a swinging trapeze, his hold on the wire loose. He’d be joining them soon.

Tears, free-flowing, streamed down his face as he stood, letting go of the wire. Then he was jumping, letting go of his grappling hook, letting himself fall.

He was falling, falling, falling..

The ground hurtled closer yet seemed so far away, his Robin cape billowed in the wind above him. Bloody corpses on the floor raised their hands to him, beckoning.

Join us in peace.

The last Flying Grayson, he thought with a morbid smile. Meeting the same fate.

Then a voice called out to him –  Jason? Then another one. Tim. They… were grieving him?

The ground, now bloody and shattered, came closer and closer, when Dick suddenly realised, NO.

No, he didn’t actually want to die.

He had Timmy, Bruce, Alfred, Babs, Haley, Wally, Roy, Kori, all his other friends…

No, he couldn’t die.

But it was too late.

He hit the floor with a sickening crunch, feeling every second of pain as his bones crushed, as his flesh splattered on the ground next to his parents, as his breath abruptly stopped.

He was dead.

Dead, dead, DEAD—

NO!

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Dick jolted awake, gasping for air. His heart hammered against his ribs as if trying to escape his chest. The remnants of a nightmare clung to him, a chilling memory of falling, the wind whistling past his ears, the ground rushing up to meet him. He shuddered, pulling the thin blanket tighter around his shoulders.

His surroundings swam into focus – the sterile white walls of the Batcave infirmary, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor next to him. Tim. He was still unconscious, but alive. A wave of relief washed over Dick, a bittersweet counterpoint to the lingering terror of his dream.

A low murmur reached his ears, a conversation in hushed tones. He strained to listen, his heavy eyelids threatening to close again.

"…didn't expect you back, Jason," Bruce's voice rumbled, an undercurrent of surprise evident.

"Not like you were exactly sending out welcome parties, Bats," came the sardonic reply, unmistakably Jason's. He was… alive! There was a defensive edge to his voice, but a touch of something else too, something Dick couldn't quite decipher.

"That's not the point," Bruce countered. "But… thanks. For what you did."

A scoff escaped Jason.  "Don't make me out to be some hero. I only came back for Dick."

Dick's breath hitched. Jason came back… for him? A flicker of warmth ignited in his chest, a spark of hope amidst the ashes of despair.  Despite the gravity of the situation, despite everything, a tiny part of him bloomed with joy.

“You’re always welcome here, Jaylad,” Bruce’s voice sounded again, low and vulnerable.

But the effort of staying awake was proving too much. His eyelids fluttered shut, the words "for Dick" echoing in his mind like a lullaby. He drifted back into sleep, the remnants of his nightmare replaced by a sliver of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still a way to outrun the demons that haunted him.

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Dick blinked open his eyes, the harsh morning light momentarily blinding him. His head throbbed with a dull ache, the memory of the nightmare a distant echo. He turned his head, surprised to find himself back in his room at Wayne Manor. The familiar mahogany furniture and plush bedding offered a stark contrast to the sterile white walls of the Batcave infirmary.

Sitting beside his bed, his back ramrod straight, was Alfred. The usually unflappable butler looked older, more weary than Dick had ever seen him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly as he set a glass filled with a clear liquid on the bedside table.  "Electrolytes, Master Dick," Alfred said, his voice gruff with unspoken concern. "Dr. Leslie advised us to get some fluids in you."

Dick reached for the glass, his throat parched. "Thanks, Alfred," he rasped, his voice hoarse.  He took a tentative sip, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in his throat. He glanced across the room, his gaze landing on a figure slumped asleep in a corner armchair. It was Jason, the Red Hood helmet resting on the floor beside him, the harsh red of his gear clashing with the soft, floral-patterned fabric of the chair.

"Jason?" Dick croaked, his voice thick with confusion. "Isn't he… isn't he…"  He trailed off, the words getting caught in his throat. How could Jason be here, alive?

Alfred's lips pursed into a thin line. He looked at Jason for a moment, a flicker of something akin to pity crossing his face. "There's a lot to explain, Master Dick," he said finally. "But it's a conversation perhaps best left between you and your brother."  He straightened, his voice regaining its usual firm tone. "We'll need to get some real food into you soon. Your body needs its strength back."

With that, Alfred turned and left the room, leaving Dick alone with the sleeping Red Hood – Jason.  His mind raced. Jason was alive, that much was clear. But how? So many questions swirled in his head – a tangled mess of confusion and disbelief.

He soft sound of Alfred shutting the door was enough to jolt Jason from slumber.

"Hey, Dickwing," Jason rasped, his voice rough from disuse. As Dick focused, he noticed the glint of emerald green in Jason's eyes – they used to be blue...  But the biggest shock was how much Jason had grown. He was older, his features hardened with time and experience, the lines etched deep around his eyes telling their own story.

"How...?" Dick's voice cracked, barely a whisper. "How is this even possible?"  The news that Jason was alive should have been a joyous one, a weight lifted from his shoulders. But it was overshadowed by the crushing confusion and a tangle of unanswered questions.

Jason shifted in the chair, the leather creaking in protest. He reached for his discarded helmet, running his fingers over the red skull emblazoned on its surface. A deep sigh escaped his lips, heavy with a mixture of regret and defiance.

"There's a lot to unpack, Dick," he said finally, his gaze meeting Dick's. "Bruce knows. He figured it out a while back."

Dick stared at him, his brow furrowed.  "Knows what?"

"That I'm alive," Jason confessed, the words sharp like a knife. "And that…that I'm Red Hood."

Dick's breath hitched. Red Hood? The brutal vigilante that had been terrorising Gotham for months? The same man who’d tortured Timmy? It couldn't be… could it?  A wave of nausea washed over him, the confusion churning in his gut.

"But…but I saw you…," he choked out, the memory of the funeral, of Jason's lifeless body, a vivid nightmare.

"You did," Jason agreed, his voice low and sombre. "I came back, somehow. Not sure on the details. But Talia… she found me. Used some Lazarus Pit mumbo jumbo to truly bring me back."

He paused, his gaze flickering away from Dick. "After that, I was…lost for a while. Angry, vengeful. I blamed everyone, Bruce, the Joker… you..."  His voice hardened as he uttered the last part, a flicker of pain flashing across his green eyes. “I took it out on the kid. I… I’m so sorry about that, I don’t… I don’t expect you to forgive me, but…”

Jason cleared his throat, looking down at his hands.

"Then Bruce found me. I… I let him find me. He talked me down, pulled me out of that spiral. I went dark for a while, trying to figure my life out. But…"  Jason hesitated, his jaw clenching.  "Seeing you on that rooftop, about to…" he choked on the words, his hand tightening around the helmet.

"About to jump," Dick finished for him, a wave of understanding washing over him. It was accompanied by immense guilt, fear, dread. He was about to jump.

Jason nodded, his voice thick with emotion he tried to hide. "The thought of losing you… You weren’t just supposed to die like that, just leave, and…"  He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The raw vulnerability in his voice, so unlike the hardened Red Hood persona, sent a pang through Dick's heart.

"So you came back," Dick said, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes.  "To the Manor, to us?"

"Yeah," Jason admitted, meeting Dick's gaze head-on.  "I still have scores to settle, and this city needs someone cleaning up the streets. But seeing you like that… it scared me, okay? And I don’t say that often.”

The admission hung heavy in the air. Dick  looked at Jason, his heart overflowing with a mix of joy, confusion, and a touch of fear. There was so much to unpack, so many questions to be answered. But for now, the weight of his grief had lessened, replaced by a sliver of hope.  His brother,  against all odds, was alive.

“Please don’t do that again,” Jason whispered, startling green eyes focused on Dick’s.

“I…” Dick’s throat tightened. The hallucination of Jason’s corpse superimposed over the real Jason again, but Dick pushed it away. “I won’t. I promise.”

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Jason left after a minute, unable to take the emotionally charged conversation for too long, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts. He didn’t even get to hug his little brother.

The silence that followed Jason's departure was deafening. Dick stared at the empty chair, his mind racing with a million questions. How long had Bruce known? Why didn’t he tell Dick? And how had Jason become the brutal Red Hood?

A storm of emotions churned within him – relief at Jason's return, anger at the deception, and a gnawing fear for the path his brother had chosen. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a fragile hope flickered. Jason had come back. He had cared enough to risk everything to save him.

Lost in his thoughts, Dick hadn't noticed the soft knock at the door. It creaked open, revealing a weary Bruce Wayne. His usually stoic expression was etched with lines of worry and guilt, a stark contrast to the calm, collected persona he usually donned.

Dick flinched, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. This was his fault. The worry etched on Bruce's face, the exhaustion in his eyes, it was all a reflection of the pain he'd caused.

"Can I come in?" Bruce asked, his voice gruff but laced with a vulnerability Dick hadn't seen in years.

Dick nodded, unable to form the words to respond.

Bruce entered the room, closing the door softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, to Dick's surprise, Bruce did something he hadn't done in years. He crossed the distance between them and pulled Dick into a tight embrace.

The sudden gesture caught Dick off guard. He stiffened for a moment, unsure how to react. But as Bruce held him close, Dick felt a wave of warmth wash over him, a stark contrast to the icy grip of guilt that had held him prisoner for so long.

"I'm so sorry," Bruce whispered into his hair, his voice thick with emotion.  He repeated the words over and over, a broken mantra that spoke volumes.

Understanding dawned on Dick. Bruce wasn't just apologising for keeping Jason's secret. He was apologising for everything – for the pain of their parents' death, for the weight of being Robin, for failing to protect them both. Yet at the same time Dick wasn’t sure why Bruce was apologising – he wasn’t the one who’d just tried to commit suicide.

Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce, a silent response to his apology. He didn't need words.

Dick wanted to be mad at Bruce, for keeping Jason’s return a secret. But then again, he… he wanted comfort. However undeserving he was of it.

He pulled away after a minute, looking at Bruce with tears in his eyes. “Where… how’s Tim?”

Bruce’s expression shifted, but Dick couldn’t read him – since when could he not read Bruce?!

He feared the worst, but instead Bruce replied, “He’s awake. On bedrest for two weeks.” Before Dick could comment on that, he added, “Just like you.”

Dick flinched.

Bruce sighed, his hand cupping Dick’s face. “Are you okay?”

Dick melted into his foster father’s touch, a tear slipping out of his eye. “No,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Warm, steady arms wrapped around him again, pulling him into another hug. “Shh,” Bruce whispered, kissing the top of his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here now, okay?”

After a minute of this, Bruce asked quietly, “Are you… Do you still want to…”

Do you still want to jump? Dick heard the unsaid question that hit like a stab to his heart.

“No,” He forced out as his throat threatened to close up. “I don’t – I didn’t actually want to—”

“Then what were you thinking?” Bruce’s voice is uncharacteristically small, pained.

“I wasn’t,” A choked sob escaped Dick's lips as he clung to Bruce. The embrace felt like a lifeline, anchoring him in a sea of swirling emotions. He wanted to be angry, at Bruce for keeping Jason's return a secret, at himself for breaking down so completely.

But the anger wouldn't ignite. In its place was a numb despair, a crushing weight of guilt that threatened to consume him. "I just… I don't know how to fix this," he mumbled, his voice thick with despair.

Bruce remained silent, his hold a comforting pressure against Dick's back. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice gruff but laced with a gentleness Dick hadn't heard in years. "There's nothing to fix, Dick. You didn't break anything."

The words hung in the air, a challenge to the narrative Dick had built in his mind. He pulled away slightly, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "But I did. I failed Tim, failed Jason…"

"No," Bruce interrupted, his voice firm yet soft. "You didn't fail, Dick. You saved them. You saved Tim from me, when I wasn’t at my best. And Jason… seeing you like that, on the edge… that was his wake-up call. It reminded him what he almost lost."

Dick stared at Bruce, his brow furrowed in confusion. Bruce was right about Tim, but Jason… how could him seeing his big brother on the edge like that be a good thing? No child should have to see that…

But he’s not a child now. He’s grown up…

"Jason went off the rails," Bruce continued, his voice low. "Consumed by anger and vengeance, controlled by the Lazarus Pit. But seeing you, realising what he could lose… it pushed him back from the edge. Maybe… maybe it can be a turning point for him."

A sliver of hope, fragile yet persistent, began to bloom in Dick's chest. Was Bruce right? Could Jason actually be on a path towards healing?

Bruce squeezed his shoulder gently. "We'll figure it out together, Dick. As a family.  But right now, you need to focus on healing yourself."

Dick met Bruce's gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between them. The apology, the comforting embrace, it wasn't just about Jason's secret. It was about everything – the weight of the past, the burden of their vigilante roles, the unspoken fear that had gnawed at them both.

He nodded slowly, a small, shaky smile forming on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward. A way to deal with the guilt, the grief, the fear. He wouldn't be alone. He had Bruce, and Tim, and Alfred, and now… he had Jason too.

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Dick sank into the worn leather armchair, the familiar creak a comforting presence in the otherwise tense atmosphere of Wayne Manor. Weeks had passed since his breakdown, and he was slowly piecing himself back together. The manor, a place that often felt like a battleground of memories, was currently an oasis of sorts. It was strange, having everyone under one roof again, a makeshift family reunion brought on by tragedy.

Haley had settled well into her new environment at the Manor, loved it, even. Why wouldn’t she? After all, everyone here found reasons to spoil her rotten. Right now she was running across the room, chasing a toy Jason threw. She stopped just long enough to press her wet nose into Dick’s hand, waiting until Dick rubbed the back of her ear before she bounded back to Jason. Jason ruffled her fur, whispering sweet words and kissing her face.

"Who knew you were a dog whisperer, Jay?" Dick remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Jason glanced up, a scowl flickering across his features before softening at the sight of Haley. "I’m not gonna be mean to a dog," he muttered, tossing the toy across the room again. Haley bounded after it, barking excitedly. “Plus, she likes me. Do you know how few people like me?”

The dynamic between him and Jason was…complicated, to say the least. Jason came and went like a phantom, his presence always shrouded in a tense silence. Dinners, once lively affairs filled with banter, were now punctuated by awkward silences and stolen glances. Jason avoided Tim completely, the air thick with unspoken resentment. Tim returned the favour, too skittish around the older boy. The Titans Tower  incident still resonated deeply, a fresh wound on both of them.

Dick, caught in the middle, felt the weight of their fractured relationship. There were moments when he saw flashes of the Jason he remembered – the sardonic wit, the fierce protectiveness, ghosts of the sweet boy he used to be.  But those moments were fleeting, overshadowed by the hardened vigilante he had become.

"Haley does favour you, Master Jason," Alfred observed, entering the room with a tray of steaming tea. He set it down on the coffee table, his gaze lingering on Jason. "Though I wouldn't recommend letting him chew on your jacket."

Jason snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Noted, Alfred."

Despite the tension, there was a flicker of warmth in the interaction. Dick realised, with a pang of sadness, that these fleeting moments of normalcy felt all the more precious because they were so rare.

"Miss Barbara came by while you were resting," Alfred added, placing a small bouquet of lilies on the side table. "She asked me to tell you she misses you." He looked between his boys. “Both of you.”

Dick felt his heart skip a beat. Barbara had visited? He hadn't spoken to her since their break-up, the weight of his emotional turmoil driving a wedge between them.  The lilies, their white blossoms a symbol of purity and new beginnings, offered a sliver of hope.

"I miss her too," Dick admitted, a melancholic note in his voice. Across the room he saw Jason’s faraway, guilty look, how he absentmindedly patted Haley.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a quiet lull. Dick and Alfred chatted about Gotham's latest crime wave, the normalcy of the conversation a balm to his troubled soul. As evening approached, the manor was cloaked in an eerie silence. Tim had retreated  to his room, while Jason vanished into the night, leaving only the faint scent of leather and gunpowder in his wake.

Dick sat alone with his thoughts, a tangle of emotions churning within him. He was alive, his family, albeit fractured, was reunited. But the road to healing, both for himself and for the relationships shattered by grief and anger, seemed long and perilous. Yet, as he looked down at the lilies, their fragile beauty a testament to resilience, a single thought bloomed in his mind – hope. He wouldn't give up on his family, or on himself. There was a chance, however slim, to rebuild what was broken, to forge a new path forward, together.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He was…

.

.

.

He was so glad he was still alive.

.

.

.

It still hurt, he still had nightmares despite knowing everything was better now, but…

He wasn’t alone anymore.

His brothers were both with him, Bruce loved him again…

Everything was better.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He was so glad he hadn’t jumped.

[ladykailitha]

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 3

Just know that Steve is being an unreliable narrator to Robin about his day, and had been spiraling all day.

Part 1 Part 2

*

The three of them together got down and showed Opal what she had to do, making quick work of the process.

Things went well for a first night and once they had cleaned up for the night and divvied out tips, Opal watched as Steve and Pearl walked out together.

She turned to Diamond, “I thought we weren’t supposed to know each other’s real names.”

Diamond grinned. “They come as packaged deal. If you hire one, you have to hire the other. They’re like symbiotic soul twins or something. But they’re good workers and I don’t mind it so much.”

Opal nodded. “So they’re not a couple? I mean they said they weren’t, but I was watching them all night and they’re couple level cutesy with each other.”

Diamond shook his head. “You’re more Pearl’s type than Garnet is.” He winked at her and patted her on the shoulder.

*

Steve started removing his shirt the second he and Robin got home.

“Just how many times did the new girl splash drinks on you?” Robin asked eyeing the several different stains.

“Three times,” Steve mumbled. “The other two were from patrons trying to get free drinks.”

Robin winced. “I’m sorry. At least Opal seems nice.”

Steve sighed. “I’m sure she’ll fit in fine. It’s just going to take a while for her to get used to everything.” He ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “I somehow got booze in my hair.”

Robin grimaced back. “Gross. Go get the first shower.”

Steve kissed her cheek. “You’re the best, Robs.”

As he was about to close the bathroom door, she called out, “And when you’re done I want to hear all about your class. Because don’t think I didn’t notice you being off today.”

He groaned and slammed the door. He didn’t want to think about it. But he also knew that talking to his best friend would make him feel better. He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and then stripped. He stepped under the steaming water and let it wash over him.

Let it wash away the pain both emotional and physical of the day. He washed his hair and then as the conditioner set he worked on scrubbing away the filth and slime of working at bar.

He put on his pajamas and walked out, towel drying his hair.

“Come on,” Robin said, patting the spot on the sofa next to her. “I dug out our emergency rocky road ice cream.”

Ouch. Steve supposed that his day had been worth the rocky road, but the fact that she had picked up on it was what hurt. He flopped down next to her with a heavy sigh. He took a spoon from her and began digging into the ice cream tub.

“So, you know how I had to get special permission to be in Mrs Byers class?” he began after several bites.

“Yeah,” she said around a mouthful of ice cream.

“Apparently the rumor is that Daddy threw his weight and money around to get me in the class so I leer at naked women.” Steve stabbed at the ice cream. Yeah, Eddie had been the one to say it, but he could tell it was what everyone was thinking.

Robin winced. “Ouch. Instead of that you know the professor?”

Steve nodded. “I tried talking to her after class, once people had gone, but she kinda brushed me off.”

Robin wrapped her arm around him and kissed his temple. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she was just trying to keep up appearances so the two of didn’t get into trouble.”

He sighed. “I suppose. But she could have said that.” He threw up the one hand dramatically. “It’s not like anyone else was there. And anyone in the hall wouldn’t have been able to hear what we were saying. It just...”

“Hurt.”

Steve laid his head on her shoulder. “That wasn’t even the worst part.” He pulled his knees up to his chest.

She looked down at him. “Yeah, what was worst than that.”

“The live model is Eddie Munson,” he said. “And he hates me.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Eddie? As in went to Hawkins, stood on tables, and took three times to graduate Eddie?”

Steve nodded. “Also known as the longest gay crush I’ve ever had. I’ve had crush on him since my freshman year. And now not only do I have to see him naked, without any of the fun parts, but doing it knowing he hates me.” He let out a sob.

“You don’t know he hates you,” she whispered in his ear and kissed the top of his head.

Steve told her everything Eddie had said.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Robin breathed into his hair. “I guess the saying is true for crushes as it is for heroes. Never meet them.”

He just sobbed as she made soft murmurs of comfort.

*

Steve walked into his class with his head held down and made his way to the seat he was in before. He managed to avoid catching Eddie’s eye and he sat down with a sigh. He just had to suck it up for fifteen weeks. Keep his head down and his mouth shut. And hope to whatever god was out there that he could keep his interactions with Eddie to a minimum.

Joyce stood in the center of the classroom a little in front of Eddie who was sitting on the same stool from last time.

“I hope you are all sitting in seats that you like,” she said, “but after today you won’t be able to change seats.”

There was some uproar, but she quieted them down with an ear piercing whistle.

“Hey!” she called out. “It’s because you’ll want to be drawing from the angle every time otherwise your drawing and for the final oil painting will not turn out well.”

Everyone eyed each other and grumbled, with a few people getting up and shuffling around. Joyce let them.

Steve stayed in his spot. It was far enough back that the model (Eddie, his mind helpfully supplied) would be in full view, but close enough so Steve could make out details.

Someone tried to make him move.

“Come on, I want to sit there,” the girl whined. “It’s the best spot in the room.”

Steve smiled up at her, tight lipped. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I need this class to graduate.”

Eddie frowned. He supposed that could be true, an art credit for whatever business or law degree the dude was getting.

“Just move, asshole,” she sneered.

Steve worked his jaw back and forth. He didn’t want to get Joyce involved, mainly because he was pretty damn sure she would take the girl’s side. Be the gentleman and all that.

“I’m not moving,” he said firmly. “I was here first. I picked this spot because it’s got the best view of the model. This is my last class and then I’m done with school and I’m not going to fuck it up on the second day just because you feel entitled to a chair and an easel.”

She looked about to explode when Joyce came over. Steve closed his eyes expecting the worst.

“What’s going on here?” Joyce asked firmly.

The girl teared up. “He stole my seat, Mrs Byers. I was there first and when everyone else was moving around he slipped in and took it from me.” Steve looked up at her in shock.

Joyce raised a single eyebrow. “Steve?”

He looked back and forth between them. “What does it matter? No one’s going to believe me anyway.” He leaned over to grab his stuff, but he felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Steve...” Joyce said. “Just tell me your side.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “I sat here last time. When I arrived first thing it was empty. I sat down, same as before. Then she came up and started demanding I get up.”

Joyce looked at the girl. “Is this true, Michelle?”

Michelle shook her head, tears still falling down her cheeks.

Joyce looked around them. “Did anyone see what happened?” she called out.

Eddie stepped forward and Steve knew at once that he was fucked. He would be regulated to the back, and he would fail the class. Again.

Eddie put his hands on his lower back and rocked back on his heels. “She’s a lying reptilian bitch.”

All heads snapped to face him.

“Excuse me?!” Michelle protested.

“You heard me,” Eddie sneered. “Save your crocodile tears for the drama department, they’ll go over better there.”

Steve gulped.

“It happened just like Stevie here said. He didn’t do anything wrong. And I don’t think he should be forced to give up his spot just because she’s a woman, either,” Eddie continued.

Joyce turned to Michelle. “Take a spot in the back and come see me after class. We will be discussing whether or not you will be continuing my class.”

Michelle squealed in outrage. “But Mrs Byers!”

Joyce pointed at the back of the class and she was forced to walk back, every eye in the class following her.

Joyce pressed on the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“All right, now that we are all settled,” she said to the class. “We are going to work on upper body today.”

Eddie grinned. He looked Steve straight in the eye and took off his shirt. Steve reached down and grabbed his water bottle. His mouth was so dry right now. He gulped down the water as Eddie walked backward to sit back on his stool. He tied his hair back in a neat bun and got into position.

Steve was going to combust.

He picked up his drawing board and set it on the easel. He pulled out his pencils and got to work.

When Joyce came around, she stopped to admire it. “You’re really good, Steve. Just remember to go lightly at first, so it’s easier to correct mistakes.”

Steve blushed. That was his problem in all aspects of his life. He always went into heavy. Too dark. And when it inevitably blew up in his face, he was scarred for life.

“I’ll try, Mrs Byers,” he replied. He picked out an 4H pencil to force himself to go lighter and she nodded approvingly.

She walked on and Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He really valued her opinion. She was the one that convinced him to try for art school. To teach art to others.

As he was cleaning up his stuff, Eddie came bounding up to him. With his shirt still off. Asshole.

“How did you know this was the best seat in the class?” Eddie asked as he tugged the shirt over his head. Not like it changed much. The sleeves had been off and most of the sides stretched so that Steve could count his ribs. Something he was very much trying not to do.

“I’ve failed the class three times,” Steve bit out. “So I’m really hoping to not do that again.”

Eddie laughed. “You failed three times? You must really like to leer at naked people.”

And there it was. Steve really shouldn’t have got his hopes up that Eddie was a cool dude.

“It’s not like that,” he growled. “And you know what? I don’t have to defend myself to you. Now, excuse me, I have to go get ready for work.” He brushed past Eddie, knocking their shoulders as he stormed off.

Eddie scowled. He jumped in because he didn’t like the way Steve immediately thought everyone would have gone against him. He liked proving people wrong. But every interaction he had with King Steve left him feeling like he was in the wrong.

He didn’t like that feeling. Not at all.

Part 4 Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8 Part 9 Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1@scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster @evix-syne666 @nerdsconquerall @lololol-1234 @goodolefashionedloverboi

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part 1 Here

Part 2

Tighten Up

Azriel completely underestimated the length of time it would take him to get from the gym to Russell Square. 

He rode the Tube, his act of a ‘regular guy’ perfected over the years. Once in a while he caught confused glances of recognition, but because he knew how to act so disinterested, those who actually recognised him eventually averted their eyes, convinced that they were wrong and that he was not the Azriel Night.

After receiving a good deal of bollocking from Cassian last night, Azriel had signed the contract, and it was now sitting in his backpack. Cassian had made a fuss over Azriel’s ‘marriage proposal’ to the prissy Miss Duchess, calling him, among other things: unprofessional, dumb, a tosser, a wanker, and a caveman. Yeah, Azriel recognised that the ‘proposal’ was a stupid move on his part, but what was done was done. At least he spiced things up a bit for her. That was probably the one and only proposal she’d receive in her life anyway, considering her attitude.

In the end, he assured Cassian that he was going to be on his best behaviour and that he won’t tease her or argue with her. Cassian was doubtful, wanting to come along with Azriel to the meeting, but thankfully, he had other meetings scheduled and therefore, Azriel made the trip alone.

Because two could play that game, he hit up good ol’ Google last night, searching for info on Miss Priss. 

Elain Marie Paige Archeron, daughter of Sir Charles Archeron and his late wife Cressida. Middle child, with sisters Nesta and Feyre. He didn’t think she was much over 22, but apparently, she was 27. Graduated from the University of Bristol. Marigold seemed to have been her great-grandmother’s name, hence the name of the agency. There wasn’t much about Elain out there. A few photos of her with some pale redhead with an aristocratic face, whom Azriel immediately disliked. The bloke had the kind of expression like he was smelling a pile of shite at all times, or as if Pinky…no, Piglet, took a dump on his shoe. Azriel knew the type–proud, haughty, old-money, inherited everything, probably played polo with Prince William, and cards with Old Etonians. Azriel wasn’t sure if Elain was dating this wanker, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she did. Well, with her granddaddy the Duke and all…

He sighed and X-ed out of the search. It was too depressing. He didn’t even like Elain, and yet it annoyed him that that pale-faced prick could just expect a girl like her to be his. He didn’t even have to try. It was all set in stone for them from before they were born.

It was only 11:15 am and he was exiting the station. He was seriously early. 

Well, maybe she was in the office already and he could just get it over with earlier than planned. That would be nice. Once they were done with today, he hoped that he wouldn’t need to see her ever again. Or at least not for a while. 

Damn it was cold. It wasn’t pouring like it did yesterday, but it was damp and bone-chilling and grossly dreary. 

Why couldn’t he have signed with Barcelona or Real Madrid or even Juventus or something? Spending a decade or two in the sun, by the sea, drinking Aperol Spritzers or Sangria. What’s bad about that life? 

He sighed. A nice dream, but deep down he knew that he was forever a London boy. Born and raised, and he’d die here one day, in this damp and chill. He loved the fucking place. An East-sider through and through. Loved the grandeur and the poverty, the history and every freakin’ building in this city. He loved how it changed and grew and expanded, the old mixing with the new, all the extremes of its everyday life. The bustle, the hustle, the quiet, the refined. He loved the stately homes and the fugly estates which were little but cinder blocks. Loved the parks and the mighty river, the roar of football crowds and the anonymity of a pub. He loved it. And he wasn’t going anywhere. 

And now, this weird girl Elain was here, and she was going to find him a wife, and she was going to bind him even further to this city. 

As he passed by the side of the Firtzroy, he saw a blue plaque that stated:

 Emmeline Pankhurst, a political activist and leader of the suffrage movement and her daughters Sylvia, Christbel and Adela lived here

And now, he felt a strange connection to this blue plaque, to this quaint neighbourhood, because Elain lived here, and she was organically tied to this place. She was able to trace her presence here for multiple generations. She was tied to London just like he was. 

He went straight to Elain’s office and rang the bell. There was no response. He even peeked into the window, and saw that it was dark in there. Well that sucked because he had almost two hours to kill now. Great…

Shivering within his jacket, he stuck his hands as deeply in his pockets as he could and walked down the residential street. Yesterday, he noticed a few cafes and restaurants and shops around the British Museum and he decided to head that way. He wasn’t hungry yet, but he had time, so he’d have lunch.

Six minutes later, that plan went to shite, because he passed by a bakery and everything looked delicious. He had a pretty bad case of sweet tooth everyday, though he tried to keep himself in check during training and the playing season. But the golden meat pies in the display case whispered his name. He couldn’t resist. And it wasn’t like he was eating sugar. 10 minutes later, he was exiting the bakery with three pies in the bag. One, he devoured like an animal, before he even spotted a cafe to get a cup of tea. He didn’t like to share food, or wait to eat–his childhood programmed him to be stingy about it, and he couldn’t kick the habit even now, even with all his millions in the bank. 

He walked further, trying to stave off the cold, when he suddenly saw a familiar creature–a three legged pug. Pinky…no, Piglet–was trotting proudly, wearing a puffer vest and a stylish polka dot scarf. Some girl was walking him, and people stopped to admire him, some even snapping photos on their phone. That made Azriel smile. The dog walker was a slender tallish girl who wore Adidas skater shoes, slightly flared faded jeans, a plain jacket and a beanie, while being wrapped in a thick, long scarf.

Somehow, Pinky recognised or sensed Azriel’s presence and took off towards him, his three short legs pumping comically. The girl barely held onto the lead, and ran behind the dog.

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, once Pinky…no, Piglet...began sniffing Azriel’s shoes and then craned its thick neck up, demanding loves and rubs with his sad buggy eyes. 

To Azriel’s utter shock, the girl in the faded pair of jeans and a thick scarf was no other than Elain Archeron.

“What the fuck?” Azriel gasped.

She ignored the language and stared at him in confusion,

“What are you…why are you here?”

Why was he here?

The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was impatient to see her and came early.

Somewhat aggressively, he turned it on her ‘weren’t we meeting at 11? It’s half past now!”

“No, one. We were meeting at one,” she argued. 

“I don’t think so,” he waved his hand.

“Well, you would be wrong,” she contradicted him.

Pinky finally lost his patience and tugged on Azriel’s pant with his teeth.

“Piglet!” Elain tried to pull him back, but Azriel squatted and finally scratched the back of the dog’s neck. 

“I guess I got my times mixed up,” Azriel finally conceded. 

“Where is Cassian?” Elain asked curiously, looking for his brother. 

At that, Azriel bristled and snapped, “I thought I was the client? Why do you need Cassian here?”

Elain shrugged and answered placidly, “I am just surprised that he isn’t standing behind you with a cattle prod, trying to push you into the office.”

At that, Azriel couldn’t help himself, and chuckled.

“Nah…” he shrugged, and smiled, and then shivered from the damn cold. “I am all yours to have your way with me. Brought the contract and all.”

She blushed a bit at his words, as she looked up at him and whispered, “You are weird.”

“Yeah well…”

Suddenly, she pulled off her massive scarf and then slowly draped it over his neck, wrapping it carefully around him and tying it off.

It was warm from her body, smelled faintly of jasmine and maybe vanilla and was soft as butter on his skin.

“What’s this for?” he finally asked stupidly, after a long, awkward, confused pause. She was confounding him. 

“I dunno,” she answered, seemingly just as surprised by her own action as he was. “You seem cold.”

“Thank you?” he said at last. 

The pug was going wild at his feet, bucking and pulling on the lead, and Azriel finally said, “come on, Pinky. Let’s go.”

“It’s Piglet,” Elain corrected him. 

“It’s a terrible name for a dog.”

“You’d think so,” Elain shrugged her shoulder. 

“I just wouldn’t name a dog Piglet. Pinky is better.”

“Well, I am not renaming my dog.”

“Well, I am naming the children,” Azriel decided, taking the lead from her without asking.

Elain gave him a side glance, and thrust her hands in her pockets. What children?

“And what are you naming them?” she queried. As everything with him, it was a strange conversation.

“Darius,” he said immediately. “Definitely Darius.”

“Hmmm, I like Darius,” she agreed. 

“Yeah?”

“I do. What else?”

“I like Dahlia, Isabelle and Rose for girls.”

Elain considered for a moment and then nodded,

“These are all good names.”

He was surprised and asked, “Really?”

“Yes, I actually like them all. Something I should mention to the prospective matches then?” 

At that, Azriel frowned and nestled his chin deeper into the scarf. Then, abruptly as ever, he asked, “What happened to Pinky’s leg?”

“It’s Piglet. And I don’t really know,” Elain admitted. “I think he was run over by a cyclist. The leg was crushed and had to be amputated. And the family that had him didn’t want to keep him. Didn’t want to deal with a three legged dog, or with the care that he required. They were going to put him down, but a friend of mine who volunteered at the shelter rang me up and told me that if I wanted him, I could have him. So I went that night and picked him up. And here we are. He has more energy than I do,”

Azriel chuckled and nodded, “I can see that”.

They walked in silence for a while, the dog bouncing between them, his round head swinging from one to the other, looking at their reactions. 

“Do you want a meat pie?” 

That came out of nowhere, as usual. Azriel lifted a paper bag, his offer hanging in the air. 

“Yeah. Okay,” Elain agreed. 

Defensively, he added, “you know, I am not pressuring you. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to have it.”

He sounded almost angry, like he couldn’t believe that she’d eat with him. Or accept food from him.

“Why can’t I just want a meat pie?” Elain asked.

“Posh lasses like you don’t eat stuff like this,”

“You have the strangest notions, you know,” she shook her head. “As if you have any idea who I am or what I like. Give me the damn pie, I’ll buy us some tea and you’ll help me with a project,” she demanded impatiently.

“What fucking project?” he mumbled. 

Elain didn’t bother answering, as she stepped inside a cafe, leaving him and Pinky outside. Azriel stood there, meeting people’s curious gazes, though Pinky, being so extra with his scarf and puffer coat, seemed a lot more interesting to most passersby. While waiting, he pondered what the hell kind of a project Elain had for him. He didn’t expect to meet her like that, on the street, but now he was sort of glad that he did. If nothing else, Elain was mesmerizingly beautiful so it wasn’t exactly a hardship to walk with her. And when she wasn’t decked out in pearls and silk, she seemed kind of normal. A little funny. Irreverent. And she liked all the baby names that he had planned–which was a mad thing, because he sure didn’t plan on sharing that with her. With anyone! What normal man talks baby names with some girl he’d just met. But he also didn’t want her to share those names with any matches that she was going to set him up with. No. No. These were his names. And Elain was the only person in the world that he told them to, so now it was their names. He felt weirdly protective over the names, over this thing that now untied him and her. Gah. She was messing with his head. It was frustrating. 

“Don’t tell the baby names to anyone!” he snapped at her the moment she came out of the cafe holding two cups.

She gave him a look, judgy and disdainful, he was sure of it, but then simply said, ‘okay. I won’t.’

“I am not joking,” he warned, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I got it. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Alright then,” he sighed. He tugged on the lead and Pinky finally moved his butt off the pavement. “Thanks for the tea,” Azriel said. 

“You really need to work on your manners,” Elain told him bluntly. 

He had to agree. He did.

“Probably. Sorry I was short with you.”

They headed towards her house and when they stood in front of it, Azriel noticed another blue plaque. It stated: Elain Archeron, a pioneer in women’s education and one of the leaders of the suffragette movement lived in this house.

“How would the feminist granny Archeron feel about you working as a matchmaker?” Azriel wondered out loud, while Elain unlocked the door to the coach house.

Pinky rushed inside, like he owned the place–which, Azriel, supposed he did. Elain removed her jacket and then waited for Azriel to do the same. She took it from him and hung it in the closet, and it didn’t escape him how her eyes skimmed over him.

He wore jeans and a simple grey henley today, but now that he thought about it, he figured that it probably accentuated his physique pretty well. He was very tall, wide-shouldered, with a lean, muscular torso, obviously extraordinarily fit, his legs long and clad in lean sinewy muscle which he developed after years of running. 

It’s not like he cared that she checked him out, but he wasn’t hating it either. Without thinking, he rolled up his sleeves, and the widening of Elain’s eyes and her pink tongue licking her lips was not something he could miss. There was no mistaking it this time. She was definitely checking him out. 

He folded his arms on his chest–did he flex a bit? Maybe–and then asked,

“What’s this project that you need done?”

She stared at him, at his forearms, the tattoos that covered them, the scars that marred his hands. 

“Uhh…what?” 

She was cute like this. Frazzled like. Not all proper and snobby, but all twitchy and red. He wanted to laugh. 

“The project?” he repeated, staring at her. 

“Oh, yeah,” she seemed to have remembered what she wanted from him, but when she turned around, she walked straight into the wall. Bounced back off of it and yelped ‘ow!’ 

“You okay there, matchmaker?” he teased, though he caught himself worried that she’d hurt her nose, because she was rubbing it aggressively.

“I am okay,” she said at last. “Come with me.”

He followed her silently, down a long corridor. Her office and the reception area were on the other side of the corridor, and he was kind of surprised when they ended up in a cosy little kitchen–guess that explained where she got the tea and the biscuits yesterday–and a tidy lounge. Though the only one lounging presently was Pinky, who was sprawled on his back, short little legs in the air, stretched upon a comfy looking pouffe. There was also a sofa and an armchair, and a wall mounted TV in the lounge. Elain clicked the remote and on came videos of dogs running around. The pug growled with approval, fully immersed in the programme, while Elain went to take off all his clothes. 

“He is a little fucking lord, isn’t he?” Azriel commented, watching her fuss over the dog.

“Mr. Night,” she told him primly, “you must cut down on the cursing! It’s rather unseemly,”

He scowled and reminded her, 

“I am a fucking footballer, baby. How do you think we talk? Also, maybe you should cut down on Mr. Night, yeah? I think we are past that.”

She straightened and glared at him, her soft little face full of stormy fury.

“Mr. Night. I am not your ‘baby’. Never forget that. You are my client. As such, you will be known as Mr. Night and you will give me the respect of calling me Ms. Archeron. Are we clear?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to maintain his composure. But at last, he snapped, ‘crystal’.

“Wonderful,” “But Cassian is Cassian, right?” he couldn’t help but challenge her. 

She huffed to herself, head shaking, her curls bouncing up and down her shoulders.

“Cassian is not my client.”

“And if I weren’t, you’d call me Azriel then?” 

“No, I wouldn’t. I simply don’t see under what circumstances we’d be acquainted…and what we’d have in common to ever cross paths…”

That actually fucking hurt.

Her words. The implication that he wasn’t good enough to be spending time in her company outside of this business arrangement. He wasn’t up to par to be in her circles, to even have as a friend.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” he muttered icily. “Because I am just some trashy footballer. As you said yesterday, I was sold by one team to another. That’s what footballers are–a commodity to be bought and sold, until they reach their expiration date. Wouldn’t think someone like you had any use for me. Where would we meet other than here, right?”

Her mouth popped open, while he sighed heavily.

He was feeling…dejected. Burdened. Like she tossed him aside, much like most people in his life did, and he didn't matter. But she was right, of course, he was her client. Nothing else. 

And he wasn’t going to give her his meat pie anymore. Forget it.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” he decided. “I think that this is a mistake.”

Elain chewed on her lips, her big brown eyes watching him intently, like she was trying to read what’s on his mind and get inside his head.

“What I think is that you need to get out of your head,” she stated harshly.

He snorted, yet again amazed by the balls on his girl. She was certifiable.

“You have horrible self-esteem, which doesn’t bode well for anyone, especially for you and a future wife. You keep thinking that you are somehow defective. That you shouldn’t be here because…what? You don’t deserve happiness? Don’t deserve a good woman? Yeah, I gathered you had a shitty childhood, well, now you are a superstar. Put your big boy knickers on and act like it! You aren’t some little boy lost–you are Azriel Night, Arsenal’s Captain. 

“And don’t you dare dump your issues on me!” she finished. “Don’t construct some scenarios in your head like I am so posh, and you are so not, and as if there is some fantastic chasm of misunderstanding and cultural differences between us.

And finally, if you don’t have any sense of self-worth, then maybe you should be taken advantage of by some slag who’ll take you for everything you’ve got. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck you,” he tossed angrily.

“No. Fuck you!” she tossed right back.

“I am leaving!”

He turned around, while Pinky forgot about his entertainment and relaxation time, and now growled threateningly, because he raised his voice at his mum.

Azriel stomped down the corridor, fuming.

What a bitch. If she were a bloke, he’d beat the crap out of her. Her big mouth, her fucking attitude, her acting like she knew anything about him. Yeah, well. Maybe she was correct about most of what she said, but it wasn’t her business. He wasn’t her business. She couldn't even bring herself to call him by his damn name. Maybe he wanted to hear it on her lips, but she wouldn’t even give him that simple satisfaction. 

“You are not leaving,” he suddenly heard her behind him. Little claws clucked on the hardwood floor, and before he could stop, Pinky was throwing himself between him and the door, not allowing him to leave.

“You are not leaving,” she repeated sternly.

“What are you going to do? Stop me?” he chuckled bitterly, getting his jacket from the closet.

“No, but you’ll turn around, and you’ll help me with my project. And I will find you a wife, even if it kills me. Even if I know that it’s going to be painful and torturous. Even if I know that you’ll be fighting me every step of the way.”

“Why the hell do you want to do this?” he demanded, turning to face her.

“Because I don’t give up, Mr. Night. Think of me as a fanged beast–once I sink my claws into you, I don’t let go. And maybe,” she paused, almost panting, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing wildly, “maybe I believe in love!”

“What?” he stared at her, processing her stupid words, and failing to understand them.

“Yeah, maybe I want to see your happy end. Maybe I want to find you someone who is going to love you for who you are–despite your nasty cantankerous attitude, your potty mouth, you…your…” she was gasping with a mixture of anger and some unholy excitement. 

“My what?”

“I don’t know. You! Just you!” she cried out. “You are impossible and unpleasant, and you can’t communicate.”

“Of yeah, you are such a prize,”

“Be quiet! I’ve known you for two days and I am already exhausted. But I will bring this to its natural conclusion, and you will be walking down the aisle in six months! That I promise. And you will be in love.”

“God you make no sense,” he moaned.

“Maybe. But you  will be in love. And you will be loved. And that is my vow.”

He rubbed his face, shaking his head, while she stood in front of him, so much smaller than he, but packing so much rage and heat and passion…

He momentarily had a crazy thought of how much he’d want to feel that passion and heat. In bed, between the sheets. The two of them tangled together, sweaty, biting and scratching and…

Also, she looked really pretty when she was angry.

Aaaannnddd…he needed to stop this train of thought stat.

“Also, you are giving my dog whiplash!!” she growled at him.

He glanced at Pinky, who was positioned against the door like a giant loaf of bread. Apparently in an attempt to not let him leave the house.

“What?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t know if he should hate you or love you!” she even stomped her foot. “You are confusing him with your behaviour. And if you will continue doing that, he is going to bite you,”

“Yeah, I am not all that scared of a three-legged pug,” Azriel rolled his eyes.

She still fumed, muttering,

“You would be singing a different song if he bites you in the dick!”

“Whoa, he,”

“Yes!” she yelled. “That’s what he does. Once, this bloke got real handsy with me in the park, and Piglet jumped up and latched onto the bloke’s junk. And wouldn’t let go.”

Azriel suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

“Yes, yeah, keep laughing, until he bites you!”

“He bit some bloke’s junk?!” Azriel laughed like a maniac, snorting and huffing.

She crossed her arms on her chest.

“He did. And he wouldn’t let go. He just hung there, between the guy’s legs, holding his cock hostage in his teeth. Don’t think he wouldn’t do it to you if you keep being an arsehole and pissing me off!”

“Pinky, don’t you be biting my junk!” Azriel warned, shaking his finger at the dog. “We are mates!”

“And his name is not Pinky!!! And you aren’t mates.”

“We so are.”

Mutely, Azriel hung the jacket back in the closet and then asked,

“What do you need done, you matchmaker-from-hell?!”

She pursed her lips, and then turned on her heels and ordered, “Follow me!”

Oh how he wished he could spank this attitude out of her until her arse was nice and red. Instead, he asked, “who is the bloke who got handsy with you?”

She didn’t turn, but only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was walking Piglet, and the bloke just wouldn’t leave me alone. It was a little scary.”

Azriel frowned at that. 

He didn’t like it. 

Didn’t like it one bit.

That some cunt was getting handsy with this impossible contrary girl didn’t sit right with him.

“Do you have CCTV in the house?” he asked sternly.

“Yes, and here too. But that was in the park,”

“I know. But I want to know that your house is secure. Do you have an alarm?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just answer the goddamn question!”

“Yeah, I have an alarm.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Not like what?” she finally glanced at him over her shoulder, as they made their way into the cellar.

“That you are here alone, with a three-legged pug as your only guard. And you have all kinds of shady characters coming and going from this place. How well do you even vet them?”

She gave him a very clear ‘pot/kettle’ look, but he ignored it. Of course she would.

“I vet them well enough. I have a taser too! And pepper spray.”

“Yeah, bring some pepper spray to a gun fight,” he grunted. 

“This is not America,” she reminded him. “I don’t think anyone is bringing a gun here.”

Azriel stopped in the middle of the cellar and gasped, “what is all this crap?”

“It’s pumpkins.”

No shit. She had four large cardboard boxes filled with various sized pumpkins. All kinds of decorations and lanterns and other Halloweeen-themed stuff in a bunch more boxes. 

“I need help with this,” she said softly, batting her eyelashes at him and biting her lower lip.

“Yeah, sweetheart, this shite don’t work on me,” he waved his hand dismissively at her. “I’ll help you with this, but not because you think your ridiculous, artless flirting is making any difference here.”

Her mouth dropped in a shocked O.

He smirked.

That’s right. Two can play this game.

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 1

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter One: Vermont

[ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Series Summary: In her time tramping across the United States, Charlie Wanderlust has found life on the road to be challenging, but rewarding. When she makes enemies with a powerful figure, a bounty is put out for her capture. Din Djarin, a long-haul trucker and occasional bounty hunter, takes the job as a means to gain financial stability. Their paths cross, and as a result, the winding route of their lives are forever altered.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 3.3k+

Content / Warnings: modern-day au, alternating pov, second person pov, slow burn, vagabond ofc, dog grogu, enemies to lovers, bounty hunting, violence, swearing, truckers

Notes: Heeeeyyyy buddy. Rated explicit because the whole series is just gonna go under that umbrella, I don't care to get into nitty-gritty of rating systems with each chapter lmfao but it will eventually be explicit. I made a Spotify playlist for the series and cross-posted on AO3 (un: glitter_deity), links to both are on the masterlist! OK BIG KISSES HAVE FUN!

Charlie’s Rules for Living on the Road, RULE #3: Keep your wits about you. 

The tiny bar you’re in is shabby and crowded. All-American beer signs reflect red white and blue off the nicked-up mahogany bar top that’s so sticky and rich it reminds you of maple syrup. Fitting, considering you’re in Vermont, of all places. 

It reeks of expired hand sanitizer. A strange combination of rubbing alcohol and rotting fruit that your nose doesn’t really know how to sort, but you just know you hate it. Thought it would be worth gagging through, but apparently not. 

Despite how crowded the small dance floor was during your set, the tips were a fucking joke. Sixteen dollars. 

Anyway, Rule #3. 

The Paul Bunyan-esque bartender who agreed to let you play for tips must recognize that his patrons are cheapskates, because he approaches you from behind the bar and says, “Tough luck. Want me to make you a drink?” 

“I’ll take some water.” 

“Can make something harder if ya want. On the house,” he offers, pressing his wide palms against the bar.

“How about,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, then tilt your head at the hard plastic menu display standing erect between his splayed hands, “some mozzarella sticks?” 

He raises a thick reddish-brown eyebrow at you, “Sure.” 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face and you lean against the bar, propping your chin up on your fist, “You’re a lifesaver. What’s your name?” 

“Jim,” he scoops ice into a tall glass and sprays water into it. 

A man wearing tawny carhartt overalls and a blaze orange stocking cap approaches the bar. Jim tosses a cardboard coaster in front of you and sets your water glass down, then ambles over to take his order. He tends to a few more customers and you surreptitiously size up their wallets. 

Once the demand for his attention wanes, Jim slides a parchment paper-lined basket of sizzling mozzarella sticks across the bar to you. 

“You’re a fucking saint, Jim, thank you,” you crack one open, revealing the gooey, cream-colored innards. Steam bursts from the chasm and scalds your fingertips. 

When you hiss and drop it, Jim chuckles, “Careful, they’re hot.”

“Thanks for the warning,” you tease, flashing a playful smile. 

He pulls up the sleeves of his heavyweight green and black flannel, “So what’s your deal, where you from?”

“I’m from everywhere, and nowhere,” you sigh, then meet his unamused dark eyes and explain, “Kind of a roamer. I’ve been tramping around the country for a while.” 

“All by yourself?” Jim raises his eyebrows, and when you nod he frowns, “Ain’t that kinda dangerous?” 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Get to meet all kinds of people, see all kinds of places. Always an adventure. It’s real living.” 

“And how long you been doin’ this?” 

“A few years now,” you answer, poking at the busted mozzarella stick to test its warmth, “Are you from the area?” 

“Born ‘n’ raised,” he looks around the bar, surveying the faces he must have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

“Do you like it?” you pinch off a piece of the fried food and pop it into your mouth. 

“Ain’t too bad,” he shrugs, “It’s familiar, ya know. It’s my home.” 

You hum in acknowledgment as you swallow your food, then press your elbows into the bar and lean forward, “Ever think of leaving it all behind? Seeing what’s out there?” 

Jim shakes his head and chuckles, “No ma’am, that’s not for me.” 

“Why not?”

“You’re just a curious thing, ain’t ya?”

Before you can retort, Jim is flagged down by another thirsty patron. You scarf down the greasy, scorching hot mozzarella sticks as he makes more drinks, then you push the bar stool out and call over to him, “Hey, can I leave my stuff here while I use the bathroom?” 

He glances up at you and nods in the affirmative. 

On your way back to the bar after your bathroom break, you stroll by a stack of heavy winter jackets sitting unattended at a table. It’s been on your radar since a group of four tossed them down about an hour ago. Since then, the jackets have only been revisited when their owners found their beer pitcher dry and in need of a refill. You couldn’t help but notice the sea of green inside one woman’s wallet before she returned it to its (terrible) hiding place. 

RULE #8: Take care of yourself. 

You squint up at a sign on the wall while your hand plunges into the pile of jackets. Your fingers brush up against the metal clasp of a wallet. You unfasten it and feel around for two bills, slipping them up your sleeve before walking away.

Adrenaline thuds through your heart, flooding your body with a weightless, buzzing energy. No matter how many times you’ve stolen, it’s still a rush. 

When you return to your seat, you heave your rucksack over your shoulders, then your guitar strap, adjusting it until the guitar is safely fastened at your back. 

“Taking off?” Jim asks as he clears your empty food basket from the bar. 

“I suppose,” you meet his gaze and flash him a cordial smile, “Gonna see if I can find a place to set up camp.” 

“You’re not sleeping outside, are ya?” he frowns, “Gonna drop below freezing overnight.” 

You shrug, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aww hell, I can’t let you do that,” he protests, then ushers you closer, “Tell ya what—There’s an empty apartment upstairs, why don’t you sleep up there? No furniture, but I figure you have a sleeping bag or something, yeah?” 

You search his face, trying to read his intentions and determine whether or not this is a safe offer to take. 

He must recognize your hesitation, because he adds, “I’ll give you the key, you can deadbolt it from the inside. Just leave it unlocked in the morning, ok?” 

“Really?” your eyebrows press together, “That would be… fucking amazing, actually.” 

He tugs a key ring from his front pocket and wrestles one of the keys off, then slides it across the bar to you, “First unit around the corner. Don’t make me regret it, ya hear?” 

Din slides his pen into the logbook’s spiraled spine and tosses it onto the empty passenger’s seat. He taps the tablet mounted on his dash and pulls up the load board, surveying available pickups in the area. 

After factoring in fuel prices and time on the road, he determines that none of them have a particularly high net gain. Not enough to take his 1999 Peterbilt 379 in for the repairs it so desperately needs, anyway. 

With a dissatisfied sigh, he pulls the cell phone from his pocket and dials Karga. 

“Din, my old friend, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man’s jovial voice booms through the speaker. 

“Do you have anything in New England?”

Karga hums to himself. Din hears a few computer mouse clicks and the rapid clack clack clack of a keyboard, then Karga responds, “Let’s see here, I have a few bail jumpers, nonviolent offenses, in Maine, New Hampshire…”

“How much?”

“Five thousand for Maine, ten thousand for New Hampshire.”

“Anything bigger?” 

More humming, some clicks, then, “Ah! Look here, there’s a private bounty, last seen along I-89 in Vermont. Deliver dead or alive to Portland.”

“Portland, Maine?” 

“Oregon.”

“That’s too far.”

“It pays one-hundred fifty thousand.” 

Din raises his eyebrows. He’s silent as he considers this. His truck is in a tenuous state, but if he can make it there, he could get every repair needed. Hell, he could buy a whole new truck and still have excess money to donate to The Academy. 

“I’ll take it.” 

After hanging up, Din gets a new email notification on the mounted tablet. He leans forward and opens the message from Karga listing the details of the bounty.

Name: Charlie Wanderlust  DOB: Unknown, assumed to be aged mid-to-late twenties  Race: White Sex: Female Height: Estimated between 5’0” and 5’4” Weight: Estimated between 130 and 160 lbs Hair color: Blonde Eye color: Brown  Last known location: Near Williston, VT, Travel Plaza of I-89 10/14. Prior possible sightings: near Londonderry, NH, RMZ Truck Stop off I-93 10/12; near Newburgh, NY, Pilot Travel Center off I-84 10/8. 

Included are blurry CCTV stills of a petite woman, dressed head-to-toe in black, face mostly concealed by a bandana, stringy white blonde hair spilling down her back from beneath a beanie. The stills appear to be taken in some kind of warehouse, and show the subject pointing a handgun directly at a man whose hands are raised behind his head.

Another collection of photos, much clearer than the shoddy CCTV stills, show the target on her tiptoes, talking to a trucker through his rolled-down window. The snapshots depict them trading a plastic baggie and cash. A bloated dark green rucksack hangs off her back, and an acoustic guitar strap spans her chest, leaving the instrument hanging upside down, flush against one side of the sack. 

Din observes her profile and notes the pointed chin and hooked nose as distinguishing features that will make her easy to spot. He surmises that she’s using an alias, because there’s no way that’s a real name. Her posture and trigger discipline in the CCTV stills tells him that she boasts familiarity with gun safety, and is probably armed. She’s backpacking, likely hitching rides with, and selling drugs to, truckers.

When he pulls up a map on the tablet’s screen and traces the path between the sighting locations, he notices she’s trending north. Probably trying to cross the Canadian border, considering most bounty hunters won’t find the difficulties that would come with re-entering the United States worth it. Try explaining to the border patrol why a pretty blonde woman is being held against her will. That will go well. 

He zooms in on truck stops and gas stations further along I-89. The stretch of road he wants to search is approximately 200 miles away. It will take 3 hours to get there, maybe less. She doesn’t seem to be moving at a particularly fast rate, but her trajectory indicates she’s close to Canada. Probably only needs to hitch one or two more rides to get to the border. 

Din glances over his shoulder into the sleeper cab, at the wrinkly, white, satellite-eared French bulldog sitting at attention on his bed, “What do you think? Should we go catch a bad guy?” 

The dog tilts his head in response. 

“Come on, boy,” Din pats the passenger’s seat, then the dog hops off the bed in favor of the front seat. 

At 7 AM, just as you’re rolling your sleeping bag up, a knock sounds at the door, then the doorknob jiggles. 

You jump to your feet and approach the noise, hollering, “Yeah?” 

“It’s Jim.”

You unlock the door and swing it open to find the lumberjack bartender standing there with a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He’s wearing a new flavor of flannel long sleeve, this one checkered black and red, tucked into his dark blue jeans. His reddish brown hair is damp and slicked back, pale skin tinged pink by the cool air. Or rosacea. Or both. 

“Good morning,” you greet and step back to let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thuds of his heavy leather boots echo across the barebones efficiency apartment. 

“I got you a coffee,” he says and sets one of the cups on the kitchen counter. 

“Thank you so much, Jim,” you smile and meet his eyes. In the bright light of morning, they gleam a rich golden brown that feels warm and inviting. You drop your gaze and tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind your ear, then clear your throat before returning to your sleeping bag. 

As you roll it up, he tells you, “Figured I’d stop by and make sure everything went ok last night. You takin’ off this morning, then?” 

“That’s what it looks like,” you tie your sleeping bag tight with practiced efficiency, shove it into your pack, then zip it closed while muttering, “On the road again.” 

“Need anything else before ya go?” 

This man’s kindness and generosity is almost overwhelming. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smitten with you. A concept that curdles your heartstrings.   

“Um… well,” you sigh and raise your eyes to meet his, “If you’re offering, I could use a ride to the truck stop off I-89.”

“Sure thing,” he grins, the apples of his cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents, “Ready to go now, or you wanna get some breakfast first?” 

“I’m ready,” you stand with a grunt and pull on your coat. He watches you do this, and when you glance up at him, he looks away and strokes his bushy beard, then takes a sip of coffee. 

Jim insists on carrying your bag out to his black pickup truck. You follow behind him, coffee in one hand, neck of your guitar in the other. The ride to Jolley Truck Stop is accompanied by a Sunday morning country music segment dedicated to Christian songs of the genre. The trees are all ripe with autumn colors, their leaves a gorgeous array of reds and oranges. 

“It’s so beautiful this time of year,” you comment as you watch the scenery go by, “Look at that foliage.”

Jim chuckles, “We have a name for the types of folks comin’ around here to look at the trees in fall.” 

“What’s that?”

“Leaf lickers.”

You swing your head over to look at Jim, who’s sporting an amused grin, then start laughing, “Leaf? Lickers?”

He snorts and nods, “Yes ma’am.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” you shake your head and look out the window again, “Have any exciting plans for the rest of the day?”

“Church, then a Patriots game,” he answers, “Where do you think the day’ll take you, Miss Charlie?” 

“Hopefully to Canada,” you murmur, “But we’ll see. Rule number six of living on the road: Embrace change.” 

“Good rule to live by,” Jim responds, flicking on his blinker to turn into the truck stop, “I’ll have to try that out for myself.” 

“You should, Jim,” you cast a warm smile his way, “Really, I mean it. There’s more to life than Milton. I think you’d like it out there.” 

When his truck comes to a stop, he shifts into park, keeping an eye on you as you open the passenger’s side door and hop out. 

You grab your rucksack and guitar, then tell him, “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I wish you the best of luck on all your future journeys, Jim.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he nods and gives you a wistful smile. 

With this, you slam the door shut and approach the sidewalk next to the truck stop, then take a moment to organize your belongings. After verifying you have all the things you need in the most accessible locations, you secure your rucksack and guitar on your back. Jim’s truck rumbles in idle for a while, but you don’t turn around until you hear him pull away. 

RULE #9: Do not get attached. 

Din is 5 miles out from the last place on his list, Jolleys Truck Stop, when the CB radio crackles to life. 

A voice cuts through, “Anyone see that blondie wandering around at Jolleys? Rusty Crawler, Over.”

“With the guitar? Interstate Blackbeard, Over.” 

Din’s heart skips and his spine straightens. 

“Aye-firmative, Blackbeard. She a lot lizard er what?” 

“Negative, Rusty, she has party favors.” 

He picks up his mic and asks, “Do you have eyes on her, Rusty Crawler? 38-91, over.”

“Do I ever, 38-91, wheeew,” the man jests. 

Din looks over at the dog, who was jolted awake by the radio. He starts panting, his buggy black eyes darting around the cab, little nub of a tail wiggling with excitement. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question to his companion. 

“Boof.”

“Good,” Din chuckles in response, then turns his eyes back to the road.

You knock on the red Freightliner’s window and squint up at the driver as he rolls his window down, “Hey there. Are you looking for a west coast turnaround?” 

He grins and shakes his head, “No, darlin’, but I reckon I’m lookin for a friend if you’re offerin’ your company.” 

“Not on the table, I’m afraid,” you crinkle your nose and wave, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Same goes for you, pretty girl,” he hollers at your back as you walk further down the row of idling rigs. An intuitive shiver runs down your spine; you suspect the man’s foul vibes are at fault. 

There’s a newcomer in the lineup: an old, silver Peterbilt, shiny with chrome details. The driver is wearing a black baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, but seems to be looking in your direction, so you wave. 

He waves back. 

As you draw near, he opens the driver’s side door and hops out of the cab. He’s broad-shouldered and tall. The sleeves of his black crewneck sweater pull taut around his chest and biceps. His posture is impeccable, his steps metered, and you’re immediately struck by the assertive energy radiating off him in waves. 

Another shiver creeps along your backbone. And it’s just an off kind of feeling that gives you pause, but you stop in your tracks. 

RULE #2: Listen to your gut. 

He puts one palm up towards you in a gesture of peace and says, “Charlie Wanderlust—”

“How do you know my name?” 

Your eyes flick to your distorted reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. The hair back of your neck stands at attention. You take a cautious backwards step. 

“I can bring you in warm,” he slides a gloved hand to the back of his cargo pants, “or I can bring you in cold.” 

Static booms in your chest. Your stomach plummets to the asphalt beneath your feet, and you scoff, “Fuck you, man, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

He tilts his head, as if to mock your feigned ignorance. 

A dog barks.

It pulls his attention away for just a second, but it’s long enough for you to turn and bolt in the opposite direction. 

All you can hear is your ragged breath and blood whooshing behind your ears and boots pounding against the pavement. 

Not just your boots. 

His, too. 

They get closer with every beat. 

A tug on your rucksack makes your heart gallop. You yelp and duck between two semi-trucks, pushing yourself as hard and fast as your legs can go. You reach the end of the rumbling trailer corridor and glance over your shoulder, only to find he’s not there. 

That moment is enough to blind you. 

It’s like you hit a wall, he’s just that fucking solid. 

You bounce off of him, and before you realize what’s happening, he’s slamming your face against a trailer door. His thick fingers tangle in your hair and close into a fist. 

“Fuck, that fucking hurts! What the fuck is your problem?!” you wail, thrashing in resistance as he rips off your guitar and tosses it to the ground with a twangy thunk that breaks your heart.

“Hey!” you bellow, “Be fucking careful with that!” 

The man strips your rucksack off next, dropping it at your feet. He grabs one wrist, pinching a handcuff around it, then the other.

“Stay there,” he pants, then picks all your worldly possessions off the ground and slings them onto his shoulders. 

He yanks the chain of the handcuffs, sending you stumbling back a few steps. You steady yourself, only for him to push you forward and throw you off balance again. Your vision goes red with anger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit through gritted teeth, “Fucking asshole.” 

He doesn’t say anything in response, just presses his hand between your shoulder blades and prods you onward. 

Rage bubbles between the layers of your skin. Every single insult in the book simmers at the back of your throat, but all that comes out is a strained growl. 

Then you put one foot in front of the other and let him lead you to your fate. 

[ Next Chapter ]