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kayjaywrites · 8 months ago

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Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350 Chapter Music Inspo: End of It - Friday Pilots Club

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

XxXx

Prologue

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle.

It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

...one year and a couple months later....

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a little over a year into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over a year of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over his naked chest.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remained.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel x you #friends to lovers #slow burn #one bed trope #one shot #one shot series #azriel #my writing #kayjaywrites #like bugs in a rug

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dovveri · 1 month ago

Text

kidnapping 101

synopsis: who dared kidnap you? you were the mafia boss of your city who the hell had the audacity to pull a move this big?

warnings: guns, kidnapping, swearing, mafia stuff yk but like its comedic? so its not srs or angsty

w/c: 2.6k

a/n: put off posting this bcs i wanted to add more plot more word count but then that anon said they dont read long fics anyway so i cbb. it's implied momo x reader but it can also just be everyone friends yay

.ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.~♡︎

you had a straw bag pulled over your head and felt hands shoving you into a hard wooden chair, hands tied behind your back. you huff, unbelieving of the situation you've found yourself in, but try to keep yourself collected enough to assess the situation and to not let your attackers know they had caught you by surprise.

you doubt anyone could guess you were a mafia boss in your day life. you were just another university student after all. funnily enough, university students were also your main customer base, they needed cheap, accessible drugs, and you provided. though they never dealt with you personally, you were worth much more than rookie errand runs and simple intimidation.

so how the fuck did these people find out who you were?

you were captured coming out of the university library, you weren't even up to anything illegal today. you just wanted to get away from all the responsibilities underground and actually get some study done for once. you didn't get to catch a glimpse of your assailants before you were drugged and fell unconscious.

you strain your ears, trying to hear the muffled whispering going on.

"-what? what do we do now?"

"how am i supposed to know?!."

"i don't know you're smarter than me!"

"ugh oh my god i can't believe nayeon put us up to this. did we really just drug someone?! wait fuck- look she's waking up-"

the bag is pulled off your head and you snarl unceremoniously, blinking to adjust to the dim light in the room, quickly surveying your surroundings and tugging on your restraints to check on them.

huh. they were only loosely tied up, you could get out of these easily.

you squint at the two girls in the room, they had to be around your age, but you had never seen them before. they weren't on any of your watchlists and you'd know if they belonged to rival mafia gangs.

"who are you?" you demand, voice authoritative and loud, forcing them to shrink back into one another, unsure of what to do.

"w-who are you?!" one of them squeaks out.

you blink.

"you two drugged and kidnapped someone you didn't know?"

they exchange glances, before looking back at you, "well... when you put it like that..."

"momo!"

"what?! she's right sana! what are we doing?!"

"i don't know!"

"neither do i!"

you watch them bicker, fiddling with your restraints and slowly undoing them without catching their attention.

"okay that's enough. who asked you to capture me?"

their faces whip back to yours, one of them, momo, speaks up again. "um... i'm pretty sure we're not meant to tell you that."

"nayeon right?"

she gasps, "are you a mind-reader?!"

you scoff, "i heard you talking when i was waking up."

momo mutters to herself, blushing for having thought otherwise.

"who is nayeon?"

sana speaks up this time, "our friend."

"and your friend asked you to... kidnap me for what reason?"

"erm..." they look at each other again, silently communicating and nervously flitting their eyes around the room, "we're not entirely sure."

"are you two her slaves or something?"

"what?! no!"

"then why are you doing whatever she asks?"

"because she's our friend!"

"right... slaves."

they frown at each other, unsure of themselves.

"so you both don't know who i am?"

"no. should we?"

you're interrupted then, the door to the room opening loudly and another woman striding in.

she pauses when she sees you, blinking slowly, and then she turns on her heel, eyes ablaze and in panic.

"guys who the fuck is this?!"

"how are we supposed to know?! you asked us to kidnap them!"

"what the fuck?! i didn't ask for you to kidnap anyone! i asked for you to steal the answers to the exam next week!"

"no you didn't!"

"yes i did!"

"that's not what you said momo!" sana turns to momo, pointing a finger at her accusingly.

"wha- nayeon you told me you needed to interrogate the person who wrote the exam!"

"that was a joke momo i didn't mean literally!"

"you need to specifiy!"

"what?! why would you think i meant kidnap them?! that's not normal!"

"i thought you were doing it for the thrill or something!"

"sana! why didn't you stop her?!"

sana shrinks, hiding behind momo, "i dunno you've asked us to do some pretty weird stuff before nayeon... it wasn't that out of line."

"what!? like what?!"

"don't put me on the spot! i can't think of anything right now! like- like- like that time you asked us to set off fireworks and we ended up setting the school on fire!"

"that wasn't- you weren't meant to build a bonfire in the middle of an empty classroom! of course the fire would catch!"

"that was my idea...." momo pouts, looking adorably embarrassed.

nayeon sighs, turning back to you, "i'm sorry for all this. this has been a major misunderstanding. are you- do you want us to do anything for you? you won't take this to the police or anything right..?"

you chuckle, the situation absurd to you, how two girls managed to kidnap the most powerful mafia boss in the city by accident.

your thoughts are interrupted by hushed bickering behind nayeon.

"what are we gonna do about the drugs?"

"i don't know give them back to the person that gave them to you."

"they looked scary though..."

"momo why did you accept drugs from a random person anyway?"

"we needed a sedative to kidnap them!"

"you did what?!" nayeon flips around again, eyes comically wide.

momo flinches, backing up into sana who yelps when the other girl steps on her foot in haste, "erm- we- uh..."

"you drugged them?!"

"well-"

nayeon's flipping around to you again, going as far as to bow down and get on her knees, putting her forehead to the floor and apologising profusely, "i'm so sorry! i'll take responsibility for their actions please don't take this the wrong way we really didn't mean to and this has all just been a big misunderstanding-"

you can't help but burst into laughter, shoulders sagging in relief now that you realise you're not in any real danger and your identity was still safe.

they look between each other a little confused, still concerned you were going to turn them in or ask them to do something for you that would be less than ideal. you think it's very cute honestly, you were always surrounded by too-serious mafia security and people asking you what to do, it was refreshing to be around people who knew how to let loose a little. money was important to you as a mafia boss, but you wished your organisation knew how to have relax a little more, the bad guys were always meant to be more lively after all.

"sorry- this is just quite funny, i don't think i've laughed like that in a long time."

they exchange nervous glances again, keeping their distance. you stand, having undone your restraints long ago, stretching a little with a curious glint in your eyes.

sana and momo gape at you, "h-how did you- were you always- didn't we tie you up?"

you shrug, shaking your hands loose for effect, "they weren't hard to undo."

"o-oh... wait who are you again?"

you stretch out a hand to the three of them, "l/n y/n. nice to meet you all. and you can relax, i won't be pressing any charges. you're safe."

"r-right..." nayeon comes forward and shakes your hand gingerly, letting it go as soon as she could and shrinking back next to the other two.

you raise an eyebrow, "so where'd you get such a strong sedative momo? it's alright if i use your names right?"

"y-yes of course." nayeon responds for her, but momo looks back at you, thinking before she replies.

"erm... well i was kinda just asking around outside the campus bar- obviously i didn't say we were going to use it to kidnap you, i just thought uni students might have some sort of access to like party drugs or whatever. i didn't realise it was going to knock you out like that-"

"and who gave you this drug?"

"erm... he was one of the older students i think... the most notable thing about him was his hair. he had big orange hair, curly, it made him kinda look like a clown."

your eyebrows crease together in a frown, so that's why the drug had worked so well. it was one of your own. you were only asking momo to see if there was suddenly new competition around campus for your drug business, but it seemed kim heechul, one of your drug pushers, had made moves of his own.

"what did he say to you?"

"he just told me what kind of drug it was. he didn't even ask me to pay actually- that was the main reason i took it. he just said if i was looking to have a good time this would be the perfect drug for it."

your mind works quickly, piecing the pieces together, anger bubbling up inside you at the realisation of one of your employee's actions.

"a-are... are you okay y/n?" momo looks concerned, stepping forward hesitantly.

you purse your lips, "i'm sorry momo. i just need to make sure... you didn't take any of this drug for yourself did you?"

she frowns, "no. why are you asking?"

you breathe a sigh of relief, "that's good. you three may not know this, but the drug you used to sedate me was mine. i kind of... control the drug market at our uni. i probably should've said that in my introduction to you all. i'm a mafia boss. it's also why i'd never go to the police and turn you in, that'd probably be exactly what they wanted... me to waltz right into a police station where they could hold me indefinitely."

they stare at you in shock, slowly coming to their senses.

"wait so... why would you tell us this? are you not afraid we'll turn you in?"

you laugh, "no. because we're at what you'd call an impasse. you turn me in and i turn you in. so the best solution for both of us is to do neither."

"oh..."

"anyway, i'm sorry you had to go through that momo. the ass that gave you those drugs has already been on a short leash. he probably intended for you to take the drugs and to take advantage of you while you were out. i may run one of the biggest crime organisations in the city but i still have morals. i mean- don't get me wrong i can see why he'd want you you're drop-dead gorgeous but if it were me, i'd just ask you out like any other normal person."

they stare at you while you ramble, still trying to process all the information they were learning, and trying to match their stereotype of a mafia boss in their heads to the girl their age dressed in an oversized hoodie and fluffy pyjama pants in front of them.

momo squeaks, "o-oh!"

"-like you're kind of adorable and really you're just my type which also grosses me out because why do i have the same type as that clown kim heechul- like you don't gross me out sorry i didn't mean for it to sound like that although i think it's quite well established by now that i think you're really attractive so it's definitely not you and kim heechul is definitely getting shot and-"

"woah! woah woah slow down i don't think anyone needs to get shot- um and it's okay you don't need to apologise- i probably should've known better than to take free drugs from a random person on the street..."

you frown, "don't say that. why don't you come under me? i wouldn't want anyone taking advantage of you like that again. and you won't have to worry about stupid stuff like whether or not it's your fault for being adorably innocent, you'll have my full protection."

momo blinks, looking at sana and nayeon for help.

you misunderstand, thinking she's worried about her friends, "your friends can join too. it's decent money, and i won't make any of you do anything you're not comfortable with. i get it y'know? i'm only able to pay for college because i do this, and i'm good at making other people do the dirty work. dangle some drugs and money and people will do anything for you."

nayeon lets out a sound of disbelief, "...this is a joke right? like surely this is a joke. sana pinch me."

sana does exactly that, but nayeon yelps, "not that hard!"

"you asked me to pinch you!"

"yeah pinch me not crab claw me!"

"i just got my nails done it's not my fault!"

before you can laugh at their antiques the door behind them slams open, people rushing in with guns pointed. there's a few screams before hands are clamped over mouths and you feel yourself be surrounded.

you react instantly when you see one of the intruders grab momo by the neck, pointing a gun at her head. you lurch forward, pushing past the people surrounding you, knocking the gun out of their hand and hitting the back of it into the person's head, rendering them unconscious with the force of your blow.

you quickly check on momo, helping her up and inspecting her neck, fingers tingling from where your skin meets.

"boss- what- are you okay?"

"shut up! i was fine! god can't i have a single day to myself without you numbskulls barging in?" you bark with your fingers still daintily checking momo's neck for any marks.

"you- you were kidnapped boss we were just-"

"i'm fine now aren't i? i can take care of myself. i don't need you all watching my every move! i'd like to have some privacy to myself every now and then." you turn back to the bodyguards looking awkward and shuffling around in their bulky protective wear and guns.

"y-yes boss. sorry boss."

"wait for me outside." you sigh, flicking your wrist in annoyance, "and find kim heechul. i need to have a word with him." you add as an afterthought.

they shuffle out the door they came through, mumbling apologies and tripping over themselves. you roll your eyes, refocusing back on the other women in the room.

"i'm sorry about that. are you guys okay?"

they stare at you, faces tinged with red, nayeon speaks up first. "so you weren't joking..."

you shake your head, "and i'm serious about coming under me too. i'm kinda afraid to say it but if word gets out that i was kidnapped, some of my rivals might go out looking for you three and try to recruit you for themselves. they'll treat you a lot worse than i will. and they generally won't take no for an answer..."

"but you'll take no for an answer?" sana chirps in.

"like i said- i don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to."

nayeon and sana look between them, but momo shrugs, smiling up at you, "i'm in. i like you. you're funny."

you grin at her, justifying the immediate connection you felt with her just by being able to anticipate the kind of person she was.

"well if momo's in i'm in." sana agrees happily, slinging an arm around momo.

they look towards nayeon who rolls her eyes and groans, "someone has to make sure the two of you don't kidnap the wrong person again right?"

they all break into laughter and you join them, feeling like you had people you could almost call friends for the first time since you'd started your mafia business.

#momo #hirai momo #twice momo #momo x reader #twice momo x reader #hirai momo x reader #twice x reader #momo fluff #sana #nayeon #namosa #samoyeon #minatozaki sana #im nayeon #dovveri

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lindssunflower · 2 months ago

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𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘, bradley bradshaw

♡ ✈︎ authors note: guys i'm attempting to write again! this is gonna be so sad or not necessarily sad I guess? idk lol - also this is based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by gracie abrams.

♡ ✈︎ summary: you and bradley had been in a semi-serious relationship, at least it was to you. that was until you asked him about you and his future. he decided to end it that day. completely breaking your heart. you wanted to settle down and he wanted to fly. communication was completely cut off after the breakup. that was until bradley almost gets shot down by an enemy aircraft. his mindset changes.

♡ ✈︎ pairing: bradley bradshaw xf! reader

♡ ✈︎ warnings: lots of angst. mentions of a near death experience.

────୨ৎ────

it has been three months since you've talked to bradley bradshaw. three months since you've seen him. he's blocked you on all social media, but of course that's never stopped you from reaching out to phoenix to ask her how he's been. even if he completely broke your heart over wine and reality tv.

you still loved the pilot.

you were sitting on the ugly jean blue couch that once belonged to you and bradley but its just yours now. you were curled up on the couch reading another sappy romance novel, light music playing in the back. it was a regular saturday night. you would usually be at the hard deck bar with bradley's all- so -familiar arm around your shoulder as you laughed at something stupid with pheonix and bob.

you miss the feeling of his arm around you. his smile when he'd talk about his mom with you. or his stupid dancing in the kitchen. the scars on his face and neck. everything about the man.

however, he didn't want you anymore. he left you. he didn't want the pickett fence and the golden retriever with the two kids. no, bradley wanted to fly. he wanted the rush of dogfights and the pride of fighting for the country he loved more than he wanted a family with you.

and that hurt. you knew you couldn't ask him to give that up. of course not, he loved flying with his entire heart. you wouldn't ever ask him to give that up, but just the fact he didn't want to give up a little bit of that for you that hurt. you realized the night he broke up with you his heart wasn't all for you the way you're heart was all for bradley.

you sighed as you went back to reading your novel, until your phone dinged on the coffee table. you weren't expecting anyone to message you, especially not at 1:18am.

you assumed maybe it was your best friend ranting about her new situationship of the month. bradley hated her drama.

what you didn't expect was for your heart to completely drop when you saw bradley's caller I.D to show up on your screen.

what you really didn't expect was the message he sent.

I know this is sudden. I almost died today. I don't want to get into the details of it. It made me realize that I've been such a coward and I want what you want now y/n. I can't imagine my life without you. I love you, I'm sorry.

is this real? you thought as the book that was in your left hand dropped to the soft carpet that you and bradley have too many times danced on.

you feel tears brim your eyes as you put the phone on the coffee table and contemplate if you message him back. is he okay? is he hurt? is he realizing that he actually loved you? these thoughts ran through your mind.

nobody could fake the way he looked at you, not even him. cause you sure didn't fake the way you looked at him.

what do I say? what do I say? the four same words raced in your mind. do you text your best friend? your mother?

what? > sent

that's all I could come up with? you mentally scolded yourself for the pathetic, boring response. but then again, what were you supposed to say? this was the same man who walked out of your life just as quick as he walked in.

your phone rang the familiar text tone;

I miss you y/n. I miss us. and I just now realized that and I'm so sorry. being in that cockpit today not knowing if I was going to make it made me realize how much I loved you and that I want that pickett fence and even the stupid dog. It changed my perspective on everything.

tears fell down your face as you stare at the message.

come over. let's talk.

you sent without even thinking of the response twice. is this a bad idea? probably. you quickly stand to your feet and try to clean up the fact you've been sitting on this couch for at least 5 hours. you wipe your face and run to the bathroom to brush your hair before bradley shows up. what if he doesn't? is this a joke?

I'm on the way.

what am I thinking?

────୨ৎ────

♡ ✈︎ authors note: SO what do we think? let me know! part two?

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff

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melancholiaincarnate · 6 months ago

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hell-bent

warnings: brief descriptions of pain and injuries

note: helloo :3 this is another little ficlet to this fic . im going to make a series masterlist - eventually - but i cannot be bothered to do so right now. anyways - if u wanna see more of them lmk or send in requests hehehehehe

"oh she is the cutest!" feyre swoons, her arms extending towards the child that's hiding behind temperance.

"say hi, piper." you look down and behind your legs to where the girl is clutching onto your pant thighs. though she's got a small fear in her eyes, she still peeks out slightly, taking in the view of your family. five very intense pairs of eyes stare back at her. "it's okay, pip." you whisper, "they're my family."

"hello everyone." she says softly, her voice no higher than the squeak of a small kitchen mouse. "where's azzy?" she questions, looking up and big eyes stare at you.

rhys looks at feyre, a knowing smirk playing upon his face, and a matching one on hers. they've both got that look in their eyes that they get when they're communicating through the bond - you roll your eyes knowing that they're never going to let azriel live down the nickname.

"he'll be here soon. he's just a little busy right now." you smooth down her hair with a gentle hand and she frowns, stepping behind you more as cassian approaches, a grin on his features.

"since when do you have a kid?" he questions, crouching down to eye level with piper. he cranes his neck to attempt to see her but she tucks herself behind you even more. "ooh! lemme guess the father. lemme guess - it's az, isn't it! i always knew you two were fucking."

"she's not mine. and watch your mouth." you huff, kicking cassian lightly and he topples over. "remember the mission rhys sent me on?" cassian nods from his spot on the floor. "i found her." you wince at your choice of words - you definitely could've phrased that better. piper seems to be unaffected by your words, instead choosing to let her shadows sniff out cassian.

"what do you mean you found her? you can't just take people's kids, dude. that's super illegal." cassian scoffs, "how do you 'find' a kid and just take her? rhys, that has to be illegal-" he sits up, but his eyes furrow as he sees little tendrils of black whirling around his arms. "isn't that-"

"there's another shadowsinger in velaris." rhys muses from his spot at the table. "we thought it best for her to come here and train here with our shadowsinger."

"so you just.. took her?" cassian looks bewildered, "dude.. this high lord shit has to have some rules to it. you can't just take kids!" he stands up, stretching, before peeking around your legs to see pip staring back at him. "hi." he grins, "i'm cassian." then, he bends down to whisper, "i'm kind of the coolest one here. everyone else here sucks."

"pip, don't listen to him. he's a moron." you sigh and hear little giggles from behind you, whispers of shadows trailing up your arms. there was one shadow though, that stayed nestled in your neck. it didn't belong to the girl, no, it was one of azriel's shadows that had seemed to take a strong liking to you and preferred you over its master.

"you're very silly mr. cassian." she comments, peeking out a little more. you're grateful for cassian's resolve and the things he's seen - you don't know what you'd do if he made piper feel any worse about her current condition. you don't know what azriel would do if he found out that someone dared look at piper with disgust.

piper steps out and the inner circle holds their breaths. her left eye has a deep scratch on it that stretches from her eyebrow to right underneath her eye. it seems to be healing well, but it settles painfully in everyone's gut to see such a large scar on a pure face.

the rest of her face is filled with smaller scratches. thankfully ones that won't scar. no one's seen it yet - but if piper turned around there would be a missing pair of wings on her back.

no one comments. based on the way cassian and rhys look - they're ready to kill whoever did this to this girl, and they'd only known her for less than an hour. even nesta, normally cold-faced, looks full of anger.

piper pulls on your pant leg and points to the table. you hold her hand and her limping does not go unnoticed by your family. she's relearning to walk without the weight of her wings - and feyre's eyes widen once she realizes.

piper's movements are stiff and the table is silent. for the first time in years, the entire house is silent.

conversation starts up as you help pile food onto piper's plate. despite her condition, her eyes still sparkle with glee. as soon as she puts her first spoon in her mouth, the door to the dining room opens and piper turns quickly,.

"azzy!" everyone is blown back by how loud her shriek is. they're even more surprised at how fast she manages to sprint across the dining room and into azriel's arms, despite her condition. "you came back!"

he picks her up, balancing her on one hip with ease. "told ya i would, pip." his voice is soft as he pats the top of her head. their shadows intertwine and zip around the two of them, as if they were doing their own catching up. "did you do your training today?"

"i did!" her movements have caught up to her and she leans against his legs for support, her breathing becoming labored. he notices, and shadows come to swirl around her legs, ready to catch her if she falls. "i walked all the way down the stairs today! by myself!"

the inner circle watches in awe as the shy little girl they'd just seen exploded into personality at the sight of the quiet and stoic spymaster. rhys smiles to himself - he knew that bringing the girl here was a good idea.

"that's great progress, pip." azriel's voice is laced with exhaustion. his eyes finally catch yours - but only because he felt the pool of your emotions in his chest. he nods softly at you, once to tell you he's okay, and he watches your shoulders relax. "tomorrow we're going to go to the healer's again. she wants to -" azriel glances at the inner court, "she wants to check up on you."

"okay." she smiles, "maybe we can walk there! and i can do it by myself this time!"

"i think you can do it, pip." azriel hums, "how about we go eat? i'm starving." he looks up at you, and smiles again, "and then we can go back to your room and finish that puzzle." "yes!" piper nods quickly, "yes, please!" she holds onto azriel's hand for support, and doesn't flinch when her hands touch his marred ones.

azriel sits between you and piper, his eyes watching every single person at the table as they interact with the girl. they may be his family, but if one person - even his own brothers, made a wrong move, he'd flip the table over. his protection for the girl ran deep - so much so that it worries him.

his shadows whisper that it's alright - his protection is justified. they whisper he'll never have to act to protect her, they'll do it for him. and they whisper that if he does have to act, it'll be justified. they whisper to him that the carnage he'd bring for this girl is justified.

so azriel lets his worries go. they're right.

#acotar azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you

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atoltia · 3 months ago

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As the wind blows, remember that I'll come home to you.

started listening to "No Choice" by Fly By Midnight and this happened :')

March x Gender Neutral Adventurer/Farmer

-0-

You had to leave.

You didn't want to, of course you didn't, but you had to.

You were an adventurer first before you became a farmer, before you decided it was time to leave the thrill of adventure. To let your body rest, to abandon the horrors that you've seen in your years on the road and settle into this little town.

The life you had built here was nice, far nicer than you ever expected it would. You made friends, you found community. You were settling down.

But you, of all people, knew it wasn't going to last.

The missive arrived days after the last snowfall of spring. You thought it was another mail from Adeline or another letter from Errol asking to meet you and Eiland at the museum. Or maybe it was from March - you hoped it was - telling you that your ass better be at the inn that night.

A chill ran down your spine when you opened the mailbox. A single envelope sat inside, snug, the golden filigree emblazoned over the plush red on the quality paper glinted once the sunlight You didn't have to see the seal, didn't have to see the signature. Didn't have to see to know the colors of your guild.

But you were retired, right? You made sure of that. Made sure that you were off the ledgers, made sure that you would no longer be contacted.

And yet here it was, the ghosts of your past sitting prettily in the mailbox on the land that you so carefully tended.

There was a punch in your gut, a deep clutch at the pit of your stomach. You didn't want to open the envelope. Felt you already know what it said. But you did. You had to.

And felt your heart ice over.

Aldaria was at war. Every soldier, every adventurer within the central kingdom's guilds, every able combatant, retired or otherwise, are required to go to the frontlines.

No one is exempted.

Those who are to run will be deemed as traitors to the Crown and will be put to death.

Fuck.

-0-

The grief of it hit you quickly.

So much that you sat at the stone bench, one that you placed by Caldarus. You didn't think you could talk, didn't think you could form any of the words. Caldarus didn't pry. You thought he could sense what it was, anyway.

You didn't know how much time passed by. Didn't care. Not even hunger, not even the rain.

You had to leave. Immediately.

Adeline and Eiland were horrified. Elsie was rendered speechless. All of you were in tears.

You packed up quickly. It wasn't as if you had a lot of belongings, anyway, even though you've already spent several months here in Mistria. It had to be quick, it had to be soon, as your heart couldn't take it anymore.

The goodbyes were the most difficult of it. More tears, more fear. Hugs, promises to come back.

But you couldn't quite look at everyone in the eye. One person, at the back of the inn, just staring. Dark, dark eyes devoid of emotion. You noticed that his drink remained untouched, his food already cold. You didn't want to say goodbye, not to him. But you needed to.

You took him aside late into the night. His body was rigid, his eyes ice cold.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tried for a weak smile. "I guess you're right. I didn't even reach winter."

"Don't." His voice was hard, shaky. "Don't fucking blame yourself for this."

"March, I-"

He grabbed your shoulders, hard, looked directly into your eyes. "Don't die,' he murmured. "And come back when this is all done. Are we clear?"

The silence descended upon both of you as you stared at each other. Sighed. Weakly smiled.

"Clear."

And you knew, neither of you wanted to think of that promise being broken.

-0-

The day you left was a particularly rainy day.

Mistria was quiet, as if the joyous energy that usually engulfed the town was washed clean.

People tried to resume their routines, their normal, but watching you leave on horseback, alone while getting soaked, was one of the most difficult sights most of them had in recent years. And yet life has to move on. Days, weeks, months had to pass.

March was not handling it well.

He managed to easily slide back into routine. Being a tradesman, the work was never-ending, especially since he decided to expand their enterprise by accepting orders from the other surrounding towns.

It made sense to expand, especially since Mistria already rose up the ranks quickly in the months the farmer was here. Wartime was an opportunity for more profits. Times were changing and he had to catch up.

(And it wasn't because he just wanted the work to keep his mind off of you.)

Every hit of the hammer to the anvil was a second that he wasn't thinking about you.

Every nail, every screw, every project was something to keep your smile, the crinkle of delight in your eye when you give him another gift, the way the sunlight streaked your hair, out of his mind.

He didn't want to smell your scent the moment he picks up the blanket you made him. He didn't want to think about you when he eats something that you liked. He didn't want to remember the feeling of you, all the curves and angles of your body, the callouses of your hands, the scars that littered your body. He didn't want to see even the barest of glimpses of you in his dreams.

And yet he couldn't escape it. Couldn't escape the way his heart weighed him down. Couldn't escape the dull thrum of longing at the back of his head.

So he worked.

And worked.

And worked no matter how much Olric told him to take a break. No matter how much his body screamed at him to stop. Not even when Valen put her foot down and demanded he rest.

Because his hand shook when he struck that hammer. His breath hitched when he stepped away from the anvil. Because his eyes teared up when his back hit against the wall when the entirety of you consumed him, assaulted his senses, his memory.

"Fuck!"

He threw his hammer down as he crumpled to the ground, shoving his head into his lap as he breathed in the way you showed him how.

When were you coming back? He just wanted you back.

-0-

They were keeping up with the current events, of course.

It was slow all around, as messengers didn't always come or the roads were blocked off. But Balor, through his contacts, made sure that Mistria got the news as soon as possible.

The North Everett Garrison fell to the enemy a week ago and proved a heavy blow to the kingdom. Massive body counts on both sides. No news yet on those who fell.

They hoped, prayed, that you weren't there. That you weren't one of the ones who died. That you were still alive and well.

It's been over a year since you left and they still hoped.

It was three weeks after the news that another messenger arrived.

March snarled when the knock on the door came. The shop was closed, goddammit. Why can't people just leave him the fuck alone? He shoved open the door, stopped when Adeline and Eiland stood outside.

Dread pooled at the base of his stomach, his body crumbling into a cold sweat. In Adeline's hand was a familiar helmet. The perfect, silver helmet that he made for you over a year ago.

-0-

They said they couldn't find you.

When the garrison fell, it was immediately reclaimed by the arriving forces. For days, the soldiers and holy people recovered and identified the dead.

But there was nothing else that they could find of you. They only found the helmet, damaged and bloody, with March's trademark on it. By the time the forces managed to collect as much as they could, you were listed as one of the missing, potentially (probably) dead.

It was enough to send him into a spiral.

March hasn't left his room in days. The meals Olric left by his door barely touched. For days he held the helmet, his hands raw from keeping it close and tight to his chest.

His usual proud eyes were dull, the shine of it diminishing slowly ever since you left. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. This was supposed to be your start at a new life, a new beginning. He saw the grief in your eyes when you first moved in. He saw the twitchiness. He saw the strain. And he saw the way you let the shadows of your past eventually fall.

Only to be thrown back again against your will.

He couldn't feel anything. Just that steady throbbing, the heavy pulling of his heart down, down, to the depths of his despair. Couldn't feel the sunlight that streamed through his window. Couldn't feel the cold of the stone floor. Could barely feel the weight of the helmet on his lap.

Time didn't exist anymore. Every single breath he took was like inhaling shattered glass. The world seemed to have lost all color.

"March?"

"Go away, Olric."

"It's not Olric."

He whipped his head back, confusion marring itself on his face. With effort, he hauled himself off of the ground.

Opened the door.

It's been a while since you've seen him.

He's a bit thinner, a little gaunt, which worried you. A shadow of a beard rested on his face as he stood there, wide eyed, as he held your helmet in his hands.

He was just as handsome as you remembered him to be. You smiled.

"Hey, March."

He had you in his arms not one second later. You felt the shudder run through his body as his strong hands pulled you tight into his embrace. This was something that you dreamed off, the one thing that pushed you through, pushed you to survive. The thought of coming back to him was the light in your darkest days.

"March-"

"Quiet."

He took his time with you. Embracing you. Taking in your scent, memorizing your body once again. You had new scars, new injuries. But he doesn't care.

You were here and that's what mattered.

"March," you murmured as you buried you face into his shoulder, your bandaged hands digging into him like a vice. "I'm home."

He breathed in, sobbed out a sigh. Smiled.

"Welcome home, farmer."

-0-

hello, if you like my stuff i have more on my masterlist! :DD

also feel free to send some requests. I'm currently in a March headspace rn but I'm willing to try other characters too o: (might take a while to get to them tho since I'm gonna be in a convention crunch time qwq)

#fields of mistria #fields of mistria march #fieldsofmistria #fom #fom march #fields of mistria farmer #fields of mistria march x farmer #fom march x farmer #my writing #atoltia writes in mistria #angst #hurt/comfort #good ending #no proofread lmao good luck

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greensagephase · 6 months ago

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Nonviolent Communication Head Canons (Platonic Roommate Edition)

Pairings: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Word Count: 1.6k A/N: Based on my fic Nonviolent Communication, here are some platonic roommate head canons of Miguel and reader, whose apartment building caught on fire and led her to move in with Miguel (temporarily, unfortunately for both of them). You don't need to read the fic to read this! Masterlist

Thank you for reading!! ❤️

Routines and things Miguel loves about living with you (mans wishes you’d stay longer)

★ You learn each other’s routines quickly, and by quickly, I really mean it. You know what time the other wakes up, when you start your night routine, when or how you do your laundry, etc. It doesn't take very long for you to get used to each other and your routines, it just clicks and makes sense.

★ I head canon that Miguel is not a morning person, and you quickly find that out, which is fine to you regardless of whether you’re a morning person or not. You enjoy the silence while you both drink coffee before heading out to do your things.

★ Talking about coffee in the morning, you’ve both made who makes the coffee first a silent competition. Whoever makes it that morning, wins. Miguel takes it seriously but only because he likes to make the gesture of making you coffee (one of his love languages is acts of service).

★ Another one on coffee (For my readers, are we surprised here? Coffee makes an appearance in like every chapter lol), Miguel makes cafe de olla more often because you live with him. Sometimes (let’s be real, all the time), your love for it is what makes Miguel head to the kitchen and start making it. Sometimes he tells you he's going to make it if you're there with him (he tends to make it more on the evenings) and when you're not, it's a surprise for you. At those times, when you're somewhere else within the penthouse, the scent reaches and lures you to the kitchen. This always amuses Miguel! On rare occasions when you don’t show up to the kitchen because you don't catch scent of it, Miguel goes and finds you to give you a mug. Sometimes he brings pan dulce along!

★ On pan dulce, Miguel finds himself buying it more often. He always buys your favorite and makes sure it’s the most fresh.

★ He buys pan dulce so much more often that the people at the store already know what kind he usually buys. They wonder if he has a special someone because he always buys for two and he always looks so concentrated on picking the best bread. Of course, they don’t ask him but they have a guess he does.

★ Coming home, Miguel really appreciates (loves) arriving to the penthouse and finding you there. The penthouse used to be a place Miguel didn’t like much. He found it cold, foreign, and empty. Nothing like a home. However, that has changed little by little because of the new memories he’s made with you and also because of your temporary stay with him. He really enjoys seeing the lights on, music sometimes playing, mundane sounds coming from the kitchen, etc. The penthouse feels like a home, and it brings great peace and comfort to Miguel.

★ You try not to leave your belongings around, partly to avoid making it look cluttered and because you like an organized place but also because you’re respectful of Miguel’s home. However, Miguel likes seeing your things laying around like your jewelry or hair accessories. If you use hair ties/scrunchies, he likes to look at them and sometimes plays a bit with them (kitty behavior), just admiring them in a way. Again, it’s comforting to Miguel to know you’re there at the penthouse with him and seeing these little reminders of your existence and stay at the penthouse, warms him up!

Cooking and Baking Head Canons

★ Miguel loves cooking for you! He always thinks about what meals to cook ahead of time and now that you’re living with him temporarily, he takes the chance and cooks for you as much as he can before you start trying to cook as well because you don’t want Miguel to feel like cooking has fallen entirely on him. Miguel wouldn't mind though, I think we know that already (iykyk). And not because your cooking is bad, but again because Miguel is big on acts of service and this is a way for him to express that he cares about you. Plus, the man knows his way around the kitchen!

★ If you're reading the fic, then you know about burritos de tinga. Miguel makes them more often now that you're living with him because he knows you love them! If you don’t know how to make them and you’ve asked how, Miguel has shown you!

★ On some evenings, you cook together! It’s a really great time for bonding and you talk about the day or sometimes talk about memories from your past. You both work very well in the kitchen, as if you’ve done it your whole lives! 👀

★ Sometimes (or maybe a lot, depending on you) peppers are used for the cooking and often times you find yourselves in coughing fits (iykyk about the peppers) because of it! After your coughing fits, you usually glance at each other and try not to laugh about it. It’s like, your little inside joke!

★ Miguel doesn’t bake but you do! You bake treats at least once a week and Miguel always looks forward to it! He loves your baking (he has a sweet tooth)!! And you equally love baking for Miguel and seeing his happy expressions while he munches on cookies, a slice of cake or pie, etc. It brings you happiness to bake for someone else other than yourself, just like how you used to bake for your Peter (deceased boyfriend) and you.

Cleaning

★ After cooking, you usually split up the task of cleaning. You finish quicker if you work together! There are times when either of you make the call to clean the mess yourselves, especially when the dinner is a bit more intricate and it’s cooked by one of you alone. It's your way of showing care for each other!

★ Miguel didn’t want you to do this, still doesn’t, but you both clean the penthouse together. You split up tasks! Miguel always tries to give you the least hard ones whether because of the labor or because he finds them to be “dirtier” tasks, even when you say you don't mind. Random Miguel head canon: He definitely uses Fabuloso, the lavender one.

★ You've both created a shared playlist of your “cleaning” songs and you better bet, Miguel definitely has the señora songs. Lyla plays it for you guys!

Evenings

★ Some evenings, you hang out in the living room together, and other nights, you give each other space in different parts of the penthouse, respecting that you both may need some alone time.

★ Since you moved in, Miguel has begun to read more. It's always being one of his hobbies but over the last few years since he discovered the multiverse he hasn't read much, on top of the fact that it reminded him of Gabriella since he used to read with and to her. However, seeing you reading on some evenings has inspired him to start reading again!

★ On the topic of books, since you read more often, you tend to finish more books than he does. Miguel has begun to ask your review on the book once you’re done. If it’s a positive review and something that sounds like he’d enjoy reading, he has Lyla add it to a digital TBR.

★ When you hang out together in the evenings, sometimes you both fall asleep on your respective couches, across from each other. Lyla pops up sometimes to see what’s going on, or to report something to Miguel only to find you both sleeping with the TV on with a telenovela playing. If you read part 15, then you know what Lyla thinks about that! She's read research on a theory that suggests people sleep better when their loved ones are around. 🤭

★ You have movie nights! It turns out you really enjoy the movies from Miguel’s universe, so every few nights you guys pull up whatever the version of Netflix, Hulu, etc is in Miguel's universe. There's snacks included, of course!

★ Some nights, you stay up late either watching something on TV or just talking. Time just seems to fly by when you’re with each other! It's like, you're in your own little world!🥺

★ Music! On some nights you both simply sit in the living room and listen to music from Miguel’s record player, the one you gifted him for Christmas. You continue to share music with each other like you have in the past!

Random Ones

★ You sneak snacks to each other, even when you’re both in different areas of the penthouse. You’re both respectful of each other’s alone time so you always just slide it over, or place it on the nearest surface as a little “here’s something for you.”

★ Miguel learns about all your hobbies! He already knows of a few but living with you means he also gets to see you unwind and take time to actually engage in those hobbies, and any new ones you may be trying out. He really enjoys seeing you have fun and take that time to nurture your interests! It's led him to think of his own, at least the old ones he used to enjoy, and considering starting them again!

★ Sometimes you leave little sticky notes around the kitchen and Miguel always loves finding them.

★ Your friendship has deepened since you moved in! It feels like neither of you hold back much from sharing what’s on your mind with each other anymore, any walls between you have fallen down. Miguel is especially more open and playful!

★ If you know how to drive, Miguel has told you about his vehicle and where the keys are just in case you need to go somewhere! He tells you about the flying feature and even demonstrates!

Thank you for reading!! ❤️🫶🏼

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #nonviolent communication

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petertoddgrayson · 3 months ago

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These incels love to scorn Babs because her alternate version from another universe slept with an alternate version of Bruce but conveniently forget that Main Continuity Dick Grayson fucked her bestfriend. What a bunch of asshat misogynists.

I love DickBabs because they compliment each other well not because Dick is some prize to get. I am a staunch fan of their pairing, hence I created this sub, but I will not turn a blind eye to Dick's imperfections. AntiDickBabs stans will complain about Barbara's bitchy attitude but what did Dick do?

- Slept with Helena, Babs' bestfriend, and then called Babs the moment the deed was over. He is very much aware of the romantic tension between them and still proceeded to slap Babs with his sexcapade.

-Slept with Helena right after he broke up with Shawn. Poor Shawn had a relapse after seeing her boyfriend (who claimed to want a life with her) immediately went to town with another woman.

-Flirted with Vicki Vale then went on a monologue how Babs feels like home.

-Slept with Alia while claiming to be in love with Babs, then had a thing with Helena but had the audacity to be upset when Babs dates Luke.

-Made a very insensible remark about Babs' disability. "Don't make me regret putting an elevator here".

*And for the record, y'all can't say Babs slutshamed Dick because she never knew that Tarantula raped him. That feat belongs to Kory ALONE.*

-Attempted to pull a Paul move by trying to kiss Babs despite being aware that she is currently dating Luke.

-Had the audacity to propose to Babs after he slept with Kory in Outsiders run. Dick knew that chances of him dying in Infinite Crisis is high, so he proposed all the while turning a blind eye to how grave it's implications to Babs would be should he really perish from the whole ordeal. Babs would've been scarred for life.

**Ship stans like to paint Barbara as a bitchy whore when she's the only one in this whole mess who hasn't boned anyone's bestfriend, sibling, or some bestfriend's ex** *eyes Helena, Dick and Kory.*

Huntwing stans who pin DCAU Babs' affair with Bruce to degrade DickBabs in Main Continuity are one of the biggest imbeciles I've seen because Helena openly flirted and groped Bruce in the same franchise. Both are alternate universe events and shouldn't be used to detract the ships' merit in the Main Universe, but I guess, in their judgement it only applies with Helena.

I am not a hater of DickBabs, **I'm fucking fanatic of it**. My huge ass pile of DickBabs post in my profile will be the proof of that. I am just tired how unfairly Babs is being treated in the fandom with all these double standards **"It's a mischaracterization if it's Kory or Dick but with Babs it's not**". Stop with all the double standards. Babs is not lucky to have Dick; they're equally lucky to have each other and I dare say the same applies for other dickships. Dick is very far from perfect; so is Babs and everyone else. Stop putting characters in a fucking podium.

We have a DickBabs community on Reddit. You can use the link to join:

https://www.reddit.com/r/NightwingxOracle/s/OufZFNNzrM

Or simply search NightwingxOracle

#dc universe #dcu #barbara gordon #richard grayson #dickbabs #nightwing

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marshallfan99 · 3 months ago

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Something's on my mind...

Hey guys! Marshall here! I know I haven't posted anything in a while now, sorry about that, been busy with life stuff...but I just had to talk about something that's been on my mind for a couple weeks now. A couple weeks ago, I discovered that another favorite childhood show of mine (and honestly, I still like it) has an adult fandom that is big enough to create an entire documentary about it. That show being Thomas the Tank Engine. This information has made me curious about how many teen/adult PAW Patrol fans are out there in the world. One day I would love to see about making something for all of us that's not a full-on documentary but just a YouTube video or something to showcase that PAW Patrol has older fans and (this one means the most to me as an autistic person who gets made fun of by even my own dad for having PAW Patrol as a special interest...and don't even get me started on the bullying I have faced just for carrying PAW Patrol merch around) to hopefully help normalize liking things that people our age "aren't supposed to like". I do have a YouTube channel with this same username "MarshallFan99" but I haven't posted anything to it because I had planned for it to just be a channel used for commenting on PAW Patrol stuff, but if I can collect interviews from the PAW Patrol fans here on Tumblr (as well as share my own story with this show of course), I might be able to compile them into a video of some sort about what PAW Patrol means to its older fans and how we all come together over our love for these adorable pups, as well as to showcase the different things we do in this community since we all contribute to the fandom in different ways (posting art, writing fanfiction, making analyses of various aspects of the show, making character analyses, giving thoughts and reviews on the latest episodes, sharing our merch collections, making character-specific appreciation posts, sharing headcanons...and that's not even all the stuff I've seen).

And yeah, I know the PAW X Project was made last year but that mostly focused on PAWTubers. I want to showcase the Tumblr side of things (as well as the types of things we do on here) since this is the largest community of older fans I've ever been part of, and it made me so happy to find it because I finally felt a sense of belonging. So I wanna make something that can bring us all together and help show people that there's nothing wrong with liking it, especially since it's clear the creators know that we exist since they make PAW Patrol t shirts specifically in adult sizes (I have two of them).

So I guess what I'm saying is, if you'd like to be part of something like this, just let me know and we can talk about what to do! If you're not comfortable with it, that's okay too! Just let me know either way! And if you know someone who might wanna be part of something like this, feel free to share this post with them!

Looking forward to getting responses and hopefully working with some of you on this project! And till next time, Marshall out!

#paw patrol #paw patrol teen/adult fandom #i wanna make something about our love for these adorable pups #marshall's musings #marshall talks

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jamneuromain · 1 year ago

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I have an idea omg. We need more of Lloyd and reader... What about a situation when Lloyd got injured, like he kicked someone's ass , got his knuckles bleeding, or maybe he got a cut or smth... and the reader though she's aware of her blood-seeing problem ofc decided to help him, trying to fight her hemophobia best she could because Lloyd needed her help. Or it can be quite the opposite, the reader got hurt in some way, bleeding a bit, and Lloyd decided to help her because he knows her reaction to seeing blood and all. What do you think?😬☺

Hi Elena😌❤️ （sorry that it took so long I accidentally deleted my draft ... and took very long to recover from the devastating fact :l

Your "Lloyd got hurt" idea certainly is very interesting....👀

So, what would happen if Lloyd got hurt and he has no one else to turn to but his secretary with hemophobia...🤔

Bleed Out

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader (Driver!Denny Carmicheal), Graphic Depiction of Blood and Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has hemophobia (fear of blood), a lot of cursing.

Summary: Lloyd is under your protection for now.

A/N: This is the sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love to Mob!Lloyd<333

One thing, one particular feature you like about the apartment you're living in, is that this little condo - along with the rest of the building and five other blocks in the vicinity, belongs to a high-end resident community that has strict security guard patrol schedules and limited key-card access. These precautions resulted in rocket-high market prices and a rather wealthy neighborhood, as the owner of these buildings forbids renting, for every keycard that could access the front gate, elevators, and their matching apartments, accompanied by facial recognition embedded in the little chip. When you get home every night (or afternoon, if you are lucky), you have to press your keycard and stand before the camera before the gate grants you inside. This brings quite some comfort for you, working for a mob boss named Lloyd Hansen, and knowing that his associates are basically "wanted" by rival gangs for the valuable information they possess.

While it is impossible that you could afford such an exquisite apartment with your salary, though very well-paid, you are truly grateful because Lloyd signed this condo - his condo - to you without a word (or asking a dime from you) when you told him during your final interview that you will be needing a week to relocate before starting the job.

That's when you made up your mind that Lloyd Hansen is a boss worthy to work for.

It's not a big place. Having two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Decorated in white, black, and grey, clearly matching Lloyd's taste when he asked his lawyer to give you the key card and have you move in.

You've lived here for three years now. Adding soft cushions and light-colored sets to the tedious design here and there. Like the sunflower tablecloth and daisy plates and bowls. Like the pink polka dot sheets and duvet covers. And the fluffy slippers, taken out from the cabinets, ready to be put on as soon as fuzzy socks don't work their magic any more.

You are finishing washing the mug you just used. After putting it on the racks, you wipe your hands with a clean cloth. It is a workday tomorrow, and you intend to sleep early to wake up with a fresh spirit to deal with your (sometimes) moody boss. Treating yourself to a nice little read in the bedside lamp radiating yellow glow - another decoration that you feel much needed for this place, you reach out to turn off the lamp when there's a sudden rush of knock on your door.

You zip your mouth shut.

The news two weeks ago, about a woman who was curious about the baby crying at her door, was yanked out of her apartment as soon as she opened the door, being raped and killed in her own bed.

You are smart enough not to ask "Who is it", letting this unexpected guest learn that a young female is at home.

When the unexpected visitor doesn't hear your reply, they knock on the door more fiercely, nearly knocking your heart out of your throat.

You remember the tutorial online: Approach the door with caution, and check the surveillance camera. If there's no one in sight, call the cops. If there's anything out of the ordinary, like a baby or a kitten by the door, call the cops.

In summary, call the cops.

Your fingers hover above your phone, having the police number on speed dial, when you turn on the surveillance camera monitor by the door.

A very bruised, cut, and tired Lloyd, having a gun in his hand, banging on your door as he winces in pain.

"Goodness gracious-" Your gasp gets stuck in your throat. Opening the door in an instant, there's nothing else in your mind than keeping him alive. Your goosebumps on high alert as Lloyd's eyes scan over you. You pull him in, checking that the hallway is secure, before closing the heavy door as quietly as possible.

You turn to him, "Mr. Han-" Your words stop mid-sentence as you feel the need to fight the bile down your throat.

Yes. Mr. Hansen is very much covered in the one thing you hate most in the world.

Blood.

Blood splattered on his chest, his ridiculous choice of the blue-white striped polo shirt and cuts littered over his face and bare arms. His pants are dripping. Some crimson-colored liquid will stick permanently onto your floor and your beloved carpet.

Redness, some stained into near-brown, all over his figure.

You hold your breath, not letting the iron taste linger to make matters worse.

Lloyd walks, more like limps to each of your rooms - now that you can breathe a little while the blood smell is gone temporarily, and convince yourself that it's just ketchup on your boss (though you doubt that trick works) - and inspects each of them with his finger on the gun's trigger.

Taking in the whole situation, three things pop into your mind.

Lloyd is in desperate need of medical attention.

You are most likely to faint as soon as he returns, seeing this amount of blood.

Lloyd wouldn't knock on your door if this isn't desperate for him as well.

As Lloyd approaches, you are wrecking every brain cell to work a way out of this.

" 'S anyone here?" He asks, pulling the safe of his gun back on, before plopping down on your couch and groaning because he most definitely pulls one or two, if not a few of his wounds.

However, one of THE most brilliant ideas comes to you when you are holding your breath.

You shake your head, raising one finger to tell him you need a moment - or you hope that your running off conveys the message, and dash towards your bathroom.

Lloyd sags down on the couch, not even bothering to get up or turn his head to watch whether you've pulled out a gun pointing at him. You probably wouldn't do so, since you chose to pull him in, instead of letting him bleed out by your door.

When you appear in front of him again, his body briefly stuns a moment, before emerging in a burst of full-blown laughter. He laughs so hard that his laughter turns into coughs, which leads to him pressing his hand over his chest in case he tears his wounds further.

You place your hands on your hips. Compared to him, you are least amused by your idea.

You smoothed your hair back and put on your scuba diving goggles from a paid leave last year. Lloyd personally oversaw your two-week vacation, paying from your hotel suite to your travel expenses, and even ordering you full scuba diving equipment for your one-hour scuba lesson.

Of course, you weren't actually interested in becoming an expert, but the scuba equipment was too nice to be thrown away.

"Not funny." You breathe through your mouth. Even though the orange plastic - or glass, you don't quite know which - changes how the bloody Lloyd looks in your eyes, it still doesn't completely change the idea that Lloyd is, in fact, covered in blood, as much as you don't want to think about it. And it definitely doesn't block the smell of blood, which probes the nerves at the back of your nose whenever you breathe through your mouth.

Lloyd scans your "outfit", his laughter slowly dials down, eventually turns into a lazy smile ghosting his lips, "You're right. It's not."

It's over 10:30 pm, and you usually would have been sleeping, or lying on your bed, at least. But no, you are stuck in the living room with your boss who's about to die any minute, and you are only able to stand in front of him, alive and thinking, with a fucking scuba mask on.

So, fuck this.

You roll your eyes at your cold-blooded boss. "Should I call your doctor? Or send you to the hospital?"

The smirk disappears.

Although he didn't say "no" to the hospital, by now you've realized the hospital choice was crossed off the board, as he chose you instead of ringing the police - which will no doubt lead to an investigation since Lloyd is the most notorious mob in Los Angles.

You search for the first aid bag that you stocked away when you moved in. It has rarely been used.

"Doc's dead." He murmurs, but loud enough for you to understand. He spoke with a sadness that only appears when he has lost one of his people. "I took Jared to his clinic."

You know Jared, he is one of the muscles working for Lloyd. He helped take care of one of Lloyd's rivals, Brewer.

"The deal with the Russian mobs tonight went wrong, but we got out in one piece." Lloyd explains curtly, "I got him to Doc's place to get stitched up. But we were attacked... Doc died, so did Jared."

So... two of his people.

Medical alcohol and Q-tips were picked from the bag, then a roll of gauze. You place those on the coffee table.

"I think you need something bigger than a Q-tip." He chuckles, unbuckling his belt, removing his pants. You open your mouth wanting to argue it's probably best that he doesn't move right now, but you silence yourself when you see a flesh wound -

Blood trickles down his thigh, leaving a scorched round hole on his leg. You turn your head to the other side as soon you feel the need to hurl. Even with your goggles on, deep down, you know that it's blood, not ketchup, nor some red paint oozing from his body.

“Don’t puke on my shoes. Crocodiles died for it.” A strangled grunt comes out of his mouth when he finished speaking, having your heart tug in the slightest of agony.

The belt he took off just now is turned into an instant tourniquet on his thigh. The blood drips slower than it did, but it keeps ruining your carpet.

“Yeah, I bet the crocodile spirits hate you right now.” You mutter under your breath, snatching a face mask from the first-aid kit, taking a small inhale after you put it over your face.

Much, much better now.

Lloyd snorts out a short laugh, “You look like one of those bird-man in the Middle Ages when they are battling the plague.”

“Yeah well,” You place your hand on your hips, feeling somewhat braver to deal with this bloody mess all over your living room, “You’re about to bleed out on my couch, so let’s start with you telling me what else I can help with.”

Lloyd spares a glance at you when he’s busy rolling the gauze and pressing it onto his gunshot wound, his expression uninterpretable. Though you would guess that he is mildly impressed.

“Got any liquor? Something strong?” He raises his brows almost challengingly, “I don’t see any painkillers here, so … Bourbon? Whiskey? Scotch? Anything?”

You do have a bottle of whiskey that your cousin gave to you when you moved in. He’d come to visit and lend a helping hand from time to time. You take two glasses from the cupboard and half a bottle of whiskey.

You could use some liquid courage with a murder scene and your psycho boss in the middle of this lovely condo.

With the aid of whiskey and your patching and cleaning of the rest of the wounds, Lloyd is able to sleep through the night soundly without worrying about being a rigid corpse in the morning.

Yawning, and accidentally stretching his patched-up wounds, he allows a string of curses to flow out of his lips. Judging by the sunlight peeking through your curtains, he’d say it’s 9 or 10 in the morning. Last night, he was tired when the adrenaline gradually faded away, and he did not have the chance to take a close look at your – used to be his – place.

You did not put this place through any major changes, just some minor traces, reminding him that he is, in a sense, invading this cozy little apartment with his banged-up body.

With a decent set of fresh suit, shirt, and tie on the chair beside the bed.

Faint murmurs come from the other side of the door, Lloyd tenses up immediately, pulling his gun under the pillow, where he stocked last night, and turns the doorknob slowly.

“… shut up.” He hears you smack someone’s arm jokingly.

Your voice blends in with the voice in his memory of last night, when he winced in pain as you tried to take out glass shards from his forehead with a pair of tweezers, when he swung another gulp of whiskey from the bottle.

“Fucking hell, woman, I swear you’re trying to scoop my brains out rather than finding the glass pieces.” He grumbled.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out, Mr. Hansen. Now I’m kindly asking you to shut up so I can take care of your wounds before it could get any worse.” You said impatiently, having struggled between the discomfort in your stomach and your determination to get him patched up, but adjusted your attitude soon after, keeping your mouth shut and pushing his upper body so he would lean on the couch and be still, while you turned on the flashlight to search the little glass piece on his forehead.

The warm and shallow breath fell on the ridge of his nose. It was broken, sure, tingling and itching, but it also meant that you were close, close enough to kiss-

“Cuz, are you sure that-”

The male voice is cut off when Lloyd in a black suit appears in front of you and a young man. One of his hands behind his back, you know far too well he’s holding the gun and will shoot your cousin’s brain out if you don’t explain quickly.

“Morning Mr. Hansen. This is my cousin, Connor Ashborne, studying at UCLA Med School.” You smile politely towards your boss, “I called for him to check up on you, since you refused to go to any doctor with a gunshot wound. He’s here to provide professional medical assistance.”

“Mr. Hansen,” the young man extends his hand for Lloyd to shake, “I’ve heard of a lot of things about you.”

“Lots of bad things, I hope.” Lloyd throws in a comment half-sarcastically, plopping himself down on the couch, ignoring your cousin’s extending hand, “Shit.” When he stretches his wounds again, the gauze must have clotted with his flesh for this level of pain.

“Cuz?” Conner turns his choice to your hand, “It’s your call. I can’t force your boss to do anything.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You mutter, “He’s more stubborn than a bull with eyes on the red flag.”

“Careful there, sunshine.” Lloyd gulps down some whiskey, numbing the pain in his thigh, “I can hear ya’ loud and clear.”

You silently shrugged towards your cousin, letting him know that you could not be of help any more than he did. “You should probably head to your classes.” You speak softly towards Connor, “Say hi to your sister for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, cuz. Remember those antibiotics and pain meds for the... patient in the kit.” He pulls you into a hug, “No need to thank me, I know, I'm one of a kind.”

Yeah, he's a one-of-a-kind dick when he wants to be. You can't help but smile knowing that his ego bloated after coming to your aid.

“I’ll see you around Christmas, yeah?”He asks.

“Around Christmas.” You confirm, patting his back.

Connor shoots you a wink and a “Bye, cuz”, grabbing the bicycle helmet on the kitchen counter and rushing out of your apartment like a gust of wind.

"A-hem." Lloyd clears his throat.

You let out a long exhale, realizing the big problem-o is still sitting on the couch like he owns this place – he indeed still does, as you have helped combing through his real estate. He owns the whole residential community – more specifically, has a lot of shares in the company which runs this residence, at the very least. Putting your best, and most professional courtesy on, you ask Lloyd, “I’ve called Denny earlier this morning. He’s now driving around the block. Denny has driven to your place and picked up the usual breakfast from your cook. Should I call him and tell him to come up? Or you’d like to head to the office right now?”

“Tell him to come up. I’ve been shot. It seems fair to skip work this morning.” Lloyd has the usual smug smile on his face. Stepping into his crocodile shoes onto the floor, spreading his arms over the couch, he looks down at the ground before narrowing his eyes and raising a sharp question: “You’ve had the carpet thrown out?”

Of course, you’ve had the carpet thrown out. Or you would throw up five times per hour.

You thought so when carrying the blood-soaked carpet downstairs, after making sure Lloyd was asleep around midnight. As his secretary, it is your job to make sure he doesn’t have to worry about anything besides his business.

You carried the carpet downstairs, avoiding cameras as carefully as possible, with your ridiculous scuba goggles and face mask on, and dumped the carpet, into another residence trash can two blocks further. With his blood and his scent on it, it is easy to lure those henchmen away if they bring hounds to search for Lloyd.

Lloyd does not go down without a fight, that you were certain. You were also certain of the fact that the transaction gone wrong would make relative parties involved less than happy, hence the ambush at Doc’s place. If they struck once, it seemed possible that they would strike again, knowing that Lloyd was hurt.

Also packing hydrogen peroxide, a powerful bleach, and a pack of Q-tips with you, you carefully erased the traces of Lloyd’s blood from the street to your residence building, and inside the elevator.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The security guard exclaimed on seeing you back inside the building. He was smart enough not to comment on you pulling your scuba goggles and face mask off, but smiled warmly, “A rough night?”

You smile back, “Hi Henry. I hate to pull ranks on you, Henry, I really do. But in less than ten minutes you are going to get a call from your boss, who has gotten a call from his boss, asking you to do exactly what I tell you to, which is to make a copy of the surveillance footage of the security cameras, and delete the original copy stored in the computers stored somewhere in this building. You are also going to tell me whether anyone has dropped by when your shift ends this morning, who looks suspicious, asking questions even though they don’t live here.”

The smile froze on Henry’s face, “Miss Y/L/N, it’s against the company orders…”

Just then, the phone on Henry’s desk rang, which Henry took the minute it made a sound.

The smile turned to a serious frown.

“…Yes. Yes, Sir. I’ll see to it.” He hung up the phone after a polite “Good night”, straightening his security guard uniform, and moved around the desk, “This way, Ma’am.”

After burying your head in the toilet bowl and throwing up almost half an hour ago, you had used your cell phone and called Lloyd's business partner up ahead, told him that Lloyd had issued a command to erase surveillance camera footage of a specific building and asked to keep a copy.

His business partner, hauled up from his bed because of this phone call in the middle of the night, knew better than to refuse.

… and that was why the Russian mob drove through the block later that morning at 1 a.m. and did not find a trace of Lloyd taking shelter in your condo after circling the area for quite some time.

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading

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#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen #the grey man #mob!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen angst

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jomamaofficial · 2 years ago

Text

Laundry and Taxes (Loid Forger x Wife!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: Hello my lovely toes, I am back from my hiding and I bless you with this SpyXFamily fiction. Istg, this anime is so wholesome but it has so much angst potential. It was killing me that no one decided to create some gut-wrenching angst no comfort. So here I am. My asks are open for any requests or just a conversation. I would love to give back to our little community here. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy :). CW: Minor mentions of hand-guns (because of Anya). Masterlist Word Count: 2204 Summary: In your small found family– with your husband, daughter, and dog– you were content. Content with your normal routine of playing spies with Agent Anya, and setting up the evening coffee and hot cocoa, after your husband came back from his work. Cold War tensions grew yet your small familial unity sustained your peace. But what happens when the war approaches its desired end, when the leaders of Westalis and Ostania finally unite under peace?

——————————————————————————————————

You saw yourself in the pink-haired young girl playing in front of you. Black sunglasses on, with frames too large for her face, you chuckled at the way she rolled around the cosy apartment, hiding behind Bond one moment, hiding behind Pengi the Penguin another. Her hands were raised in front of her face, mimicking a tiny hand gun.

She was obsessed with spies.

She wanted to become one when she grew up, “to protect world peace”.

I guess you two weren’t that different.

Like mother, like daughter. Although it often haunted you that you were only her second mother. Yes, you were Anya’s ‘Haha’, yes, she told you she loved you. But you still hesitated to accept your role between Anya and her ‘Chichi’, Loid. You felt as though… it wasn’t your place to intervene between the daughter-father combination, often feeling as though your use ended on the day of Eden College’s interview.

Although you had no right to feel upset over being so… disposable. You couldn’t even perform the basic tasks of a mother and a wife sometimes.

Cooking? Loid made dinner everyday.

“It’s not that she doesn’t like your cooking, Y/N. She’s just a picky eater. It’s a terrible habit I failed to acknowledge when she was younger and now, I believe Anya’s just stuck with it”.

Laundry? Loid kindly asked you to stop doing the laundry for his and Anya’s clothing after you mixed up the colours and temperatures. Loid had to wear a pink shirt to work for three days. And poor Anya. She was in tears when she saw her favourite wool-knit sweater, four sizes too small, lying limply amongst the sea of baby pink.

You saw Loid’s face go blank, when you opened the machine, your eyes shut in an internal sigh as your cheeks matched the hue of his shirts. And Anya was just crying as she held onto her sweater.

From then on, you were gently reminded that Loid had no trouble washing his clothes and Anya’s.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ve been doing this for a while now, it’s honestly second nature to me”, he said with a smile.

Eventually, Anya repurposed her ruined favourite sweater for her little plushies.

Everyone was happy, yet the colour pink and wool scribed disappointment on your features, a symbol of your failure as the Forger wife and mother.

Cooking failed, laundry failed. You had basic mathematic skills, you could maybe tackle the taxes? But don't even start about taxes. It was the one thing he never allowed you to touch. Documents were brought in and out of his locked room, swiftly and silently.

You never felt like the proper wife for Loid Forger. And you never felt like the proper mother for Anya Forger.

Yet there were times like this, where you could see your reflection in Anya’s innocent game play, where you felt as though you did belong in the Forger household.

Clad in a black pencil skirt and a white button down Anya ‘borrowed’ from Loid, you revealed your hiding spot from behind the corridor wall, exposing Anya with a loud, “you’ve been caught, Agent Anya!”

Anya turned around slowly, an unexpected smirk on her face.

“Well well, Agent Haha might have caught anyone else off-gaard. But Haha forgets…” she snickered, pulling out two small plushies from behind her back, “Anya is Agent Anya, the best detetiv in the world!”

To your surprise, she launched the plushies in your direction, laughing in victory.

As one plushie hit your arm, you feigned injury, crying out as you slid down the wall. “Oh no! I’ve been struck by the greatest detective in the world! What was my boss thinking of setting me on this mission against the one and only, Agent Anya?”

Anya laughed and smiled at your declaration of loss, gathering her fellow ‘agents’ to finish the mission.

“Don’t wovvy Agent Haha, you did well for your forst time! You can onwy get better from now”.

It had been nearly a year with this bundle of joy and she never failed to make you smile.

You took Anya’s hand and saluted her.

“I hope to learn from the best onwards. Please accept my defeat”, you bowed, your lowered eyes stuck in nostalgia.

Anya was obsessed with spies. You were too. It was a long phase that lasted until your late teens. But one could argue that it still tumbled around your heart, catching you by surprise here and there.

You wanted to marry a spy when you were younger. It was your only dream.

Although you were glad that your childhood dream never became true.

Because spies could never stay. And it was much easier to be the one who left, than to be the one who was left. That was a universal belief, it seemed.

So you were also glad that Anya had no intentions to marry a spy either. She just wanted to become one, that’s where you two differed.

You heard the faint jingle of keys as the rapid clock hand approached six. And there he was, your husband, walking through the door with his hands preoccupied with two big, brown paper bags.

“Chichi!” Anya exclaimed, tearing her hand away from yours to clasp the grey fabric of her Chichi’s trousers.

“You’re back!”

Loid was taken aback, weight shifting off-balance. You stood up to free his hands, his eyes silently thanking you.

He gently shut the door behind him before ruffling his daughter’s hair.

“Of course I would come back, Anya. A person can’t just disappear out of thin air”.

“Spies can!” Anya retaliated.

Loid stared at her. Silent. No apparent emotion in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but giggle at Loid’s blank face. He never understood spies. Whenever Anya would bring them up, he zoned out: with a nod here and there and a simple response, he always found a way to turn the conversation elsewhere.

It was how you felt with politics. You never quite understood it, but if someone was passionate about it, you would listen in with a few polite ‘mhms’, and an “interesting!”. But most importantly, you would do whatever you could to direct the conversation elsewhere – it was a trait you shared with your husband. Now who learned from who, that was up for debate.

“It was in the wast episode of Bondman!” she explained, tugging him towards the living room, where she sat in front of the TV and elaborated on the newest episode.

Listening to Anya’s adorable voice, you walked into the kitchen, placing the bags on the kitchen aisle. Your body followed the daily routine you had grown to love so much: your hands worked on autopilot, sorting the filter system, pouring the water, adding the coffee beans that were always placed on the bottom shelf of the far-right cupboard. And of course, you could never forget the packets of cocoa powder on the shelf just above, with Anya’s little mug– stained slightly on the inside but white nonetheless, with a band of yellow on the top. And of course, the mandatory bags of tiny marshmallows just beside it, because Anya always wanted a handful of marshmallows on top of her cocoa. It was your normal. A normal you grew to crave so much.

To love so much.

“He disappead just wike that, in thin air! Never to be found again by anyone!”

Loid sighed.

“If only you could focus on your studies as much as you focus on this show, Anya”.

You giggled from the kitchen, swiftly sorting the items Loid had bought, cross checking it with the grocery list stuck on the fridge door. The coffee was nearly finished, although you hoped it would filter faster.

“I wonder what Anya will do now that Bondman is finished”, you added as you placed a pitcher of milk, a bowl of a few sugar cubes, and Anya’s mug of hot cocoa on your plain white tray.

“Will she finally study?” you asked, walking over with your simple white tray, as you did everyday.

Anya’s eyes widened as she grabbed the tiny mug with her tiny hands, the stars in her eyes still shining as the tiny marshmallows reflected in them. Just like always.

Loid reached for his mug, a simple white cup with a black band around the top. He reached for the pitcher, the tension in his shoulder dissipating as his wife sat next to him, with her own simple white cup with a coloured band around the top.

He poured the right amount of milk in your cup and dropped an extra sugar cube in yours, passing a tiny tea spoon to stir.

This was your normal. But perhaps, it was also his.

Perhaps, your body also inched closer to his, and perhaps, his hand lingered for a second longer when he passed your coffee.

“Chichi and Haha are flirting”.

“No we are not!” you both defended, although her observation was far too frequent to deny internally.

Loid took another sip of his coffee, losing himself in the comfort of the sofa cushions.

“Your Haha asked you a question, Anya”.

Anya pouted at her Chichi, unhappy that he redirected the conversation again.

This was the Forger’s normal.

So in a year or two, when Anya began to willingly study without Loid’s constant presence, it seemed… different.

But one could suppose that ‘different’ wasn’t always terrible.

It was different to hear the deafening silence coat the walls of the Forgers. It was different to see Bond without your pink-haired daughter chasing him around with her ‘spy-gear’ and ‘Silencer gun’. Instead, you saw Bond in front of your daughter’s locked door, where she was silently studying, or silently napping.

Sometimes she would silently cry, her suppressed sniffles and weeps echoing through the hollow of your mind.

Your ear would be pressed against her wooden door, with Bond’s empty eyes watching, attempting to decipher her whispers:

“Chichi won’t … if Anya isn’t an Imperial …”.

“Anya will never … Chichi again if Anya doesn’t …”.

“Anya can’t … Haha’s coco if Anya doesn’t study”.

You would look back to Bond, his eyes reflecting the Forger household. It was rumoured that animals knew more than humans sometimes. And how you wished you could know what Bond knew.

And when the evening shrouded its last ray of light into your shared apartment, the clock ticking to eight, Loid and you still sat together. Although it was different because it only lasted a minute. Because Loid would politely thank you for his coffee and walk away into his room, the milk pitcher left untouched.

But it became painful when it became normal for your evening snacks to be placed back inside the plastic containers, and stowed away on the top shelf of the far-right cupboard. And every time you opened that cupboard, on the far-right, your chest constricted as three packets of untouched marshmallows stared back at you, lying against the bored packet of cocoa powder. And up in front, you could see that hollow white teacup, collecting dust as the yellow band on top turned sickly.

Sometimes, you would turn the television on, as you battled the hunger in your heart. Two years ago, you would have to flick through multiple cartoon channels to browse the adult selection. Now, the first channel was always the news, reporting on the decreasing Cold War tensions between Westalis and Ostania.

“Peace in Unity”– it flooded the screens and streets of your small little world.

The message spreaded as the war contained.

However, the message troubled you heavily. The Westalian and Ostanian governments claimed that there was peace in unity, yet your familial unity starved your peace and fed your tension.

But the weight finally crushed your troubles when the Forger household was filled with noise once again.

Your eight-year-old daughter finally left her room to point towards the fridge door.

It was different, because the noise wasn't the bustling laughter of your daughter’s beautiful giggles. They were gut-wrenching wails that suffocated her throat. Eyes all red and swollen as her running nose dripped down her lips, mixing with her prickles of sorrow, which burnt against her tiny face.

There was a note with neat cursive printing the sheet in blocks.

Your dream was to marry a spy when you were younger. But as you grew up, when fiction became an unachievable utopia and horror became the justifiable present, it seemed as though your dream was already fulfilled, three years ago. But this was different.

Because this dream made your smile too heavy to remain on your gentle face. And the blood that thumped violently behind your eyes, rose your heart just to drop it again. So as your stomach raced, with Loid’s omurice clashing with the constrictions in your abdomen, and chest, this dream was different because you didn’t seem to wake up from it.

It was much easier to be the spy who left, than to be the wife who was left. Or so you thought, until your blurry eyes stained the last sentence, the ink blending into mush as your hands gave away and dropped the freshly written note from your grasp.

Because in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you,

Loid Forger Twilight.

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