#hope this is okay I know it's a bit short but they have to be going somewhere where I can set the scene a bit better

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[thepowerofswayze]

not jealous

pairing: fiyero tigelaar (wicked, 2024) / reader [gender not specified]

word count: 637

warnings & info: nothing, some jealousy but it's light

summary: Fiyero Tigelaar does not get jealous- until now.

note: this is bad im easing back into writing. ITS ONLY UP FROM HERE

☆

Fireyo’s face was beginning to ache. More specifically, his forehead, right between his firmly furrowed brows.

He’d been standing in the middle of a group of his classmates, pretending he wasn’t scowling, since you’d disappeared with some guy from Munchkin Country. Sure, you’d given him a sweet, apologetic smile with your hand on his shoulder, and yes, you were only a few feet away on the dancefloor, surrounded by a number of classmates, but still. Your Munchkin Country friend was standing awfully close to you. And why couldn’t he keep his hands to himself? Surely you noticed how often he squeezed your arm or brushed against you or, even worse, took your hand to lead you off deeper into the crowd.

As your closest friend, Fiyero knew you were perfectly capable of walking yourself. You didn’t need anyones help. That was his problem with the guy, really.

He couldn’t take his mind off of it, until you made your way over to him, waving wildly to get his attention. The sight of your grinning face eased some of the tension from his shoulders, though the realization that your friend was close behind irked him once more. Still, he did his best to put on a brave face, whipping out a charming smile that he hoped met his eyes.

You placed your hand on Fiyero’s arm as you introduced him to your friend, your fingers curling around the prince’s bicep- the touch was casual, but he found it hard to remember any names. The contact was all he could think about.

It didn’t matter- the conversation was quite short lived. Try as he might, Fiyero didn’t actually want to know anything about this guy. In fact, he wanted him to politely bow out so the two of you could… Oz, what did he even want? To talk to you? Well, yes, he always wanted to talk to you.

Luckily, your friend got the hint thinly veiled by Fiyero’s curt niceties and finally left, giving your hand a squeeze that Fiyero found completely unnecessary.

“What’s the matter with you?”

The soft concern in your voice startled him a bit. Fiyero turned to look at you, at your wrinkled brow and the slight downturn of your mouth. He resisted the urge to touch your face. “Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. He glanced back over at the retreating figure of your classmate. “He’s friendly, hm?”

At your lack of reply, he turned his gaze back on you- he didn’t expect the wide grin on your face. 

“Fiyero Tigelaar,” you said.

Fiyero blinked. “What? Did I get it wrong?”

You shook your head at him, expression almost mystified. “Don’t tell me you're jealous.”

“Jealous?” Fiyero let out a huff, smiling like this was hilarious. “I am not jealous. There’s no cause for jealousy here.”

You said nothing, opting to grin at him and lean in almost conspiratorially, like you were waiting for him to come clean. His calm deteriorated. “I mean,” he began, “well- not that you’re not- you are worth getting jealous over, clearly, I simply am not because I- well, we aren’t even yet- i mean simply aren’t-” Fiyero shut his mouth. What was wrong with him? “It’s quite warm in here.”

“Mhm,” you responded. Your teasing tone made his ears burn- he prayed to Oz that the dim lighting would stop you from seeing how bright red they must have become. “Okay, 'not jealous', don’t think too hard. ” You took a finger and tapped on the middle of his forehead. “Besides, I like you much better.”

“Well- I know,” Fiyero pouted. Then he paused. “Wait, you do?”

You hummed again with a sly shrug, slipping your hand into his. Fiyero felt his cheeks burst into flame as he let you lead him onto the dancefloor.

[saphiccarma]

If you still talking requests for Agatha and Rio, how about Agatha x reader x Rio?!?!

What if the reader was pregnant, but the child died when she was giving birth and Rio and Agatha knew! And when she went to beg for the child life, Rio still took their child life and Agatha didn’t do anything to do it because she knew deep down she couldn’t do anything. Then they tried to comfort her but the reader full with grief, left them.

But you can do whatever you please love!

- I don't want to see your face

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - Instead of Agatha getting pregnant, you did, but Rio did not offer you time.

Warnings: Character death, angst

A/N: It's a little short so I hope that's okay, but I hope y'all enjoy regardless!

Everything hurt. Your legs were on fire and your lungs were burning. The sun casted a harsh heat down on you and sweat beaded down your brow as you ran through the forest. Casting a worried glance behind you, you looked for Rio. She wasn't there.

That was a good sign.

Most of all, you could feel the child in your stomach trying to force its way out, trying to come into the world. The strap of your pack dug into your shoulder. Hesitantly, afraid to stop, you leaned against a tree when the pain flared up. You dug into your bag and pulled out the lemon and a knife. With some difficulty, you cut the lemon in half, sticking one half in your mouth and biting down. A sour taste flooded your mouth, and while it was disgusting, it distracted you from the pain.

Shaky hands laid a blanket down on the forest floor and you sunk down, your back scratching against the tree bark. Everything hurt. You muffled a scream as another wave of pain hit. Water trickled down your legs, almost dry from the heat.

Where the fuck was Agatha?

You debated calling her with a spell, but there was a greater part of you that didn't. This child was not supposed to be here. It was a child of death, you knew that. In all honesty, you weren't sure how it happened, but you slowly noticed your body start changing and soon enough you realized you were pregnant. You didn't tell either of your girlfriends, you didn't dare. Did they deserve to know? Yes. Did Agatha start noticing? Yes.

She had found out once you started showing. You had pleaded with her not to tell Rio, She might- I don't- Agatha please don't tell her yet.

It was wrong, you knew that, but you still feared her role in the cycle of nature.

Forcing your eyes open (when had the closed?), you were met with the best and worst sight possible.

Rio stood dressed in a green dress, flowing around her ankles, and a hood covering her head. There was a brown dot on her cheek, one that wasn't usually there. Agatha stood next to her; a sincere frown of apology set onto her lips.

"No," you spat out the lemon, the bitter taste still lingering in your mouth, and shook your head, "Don't."

"I must."

Your teary eyes met Rio's. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and regret, but you didn't care. Frantically, you casted a glance towards Agatha, hoping for some help.

"Help me," you pleaded. Pain tore through your body. It was sharp and piercing and all-consuming you could hardly focus on your lovers, but you faintly saw Agatha take a step back, her eyes apologetic. It was so unlike her, to just step away. You wanted to scream at her, yell and force her to help, but you couldn’t force the words out.

Rio approached you, ignoring your cries, your sobs, as you pleaded. You wanted this child. This was your child. Her hands gently cupped your face and tilted it up. You flinched away, glaring at her with such intensity that she took a step back.

"I have to," she swallowed thickly, "I'm sorry."

In a desperate attempt, "Please my love," you begged, her face contorted even tighter at the term of endearment, and you saw a crack in her mask, a flicker of uncertainty, "Please let him live."

Rio bit down on her lip and shut her eyes before a brief moment before she shook her head sorrowfully. You screamed as pain racked your body and you clutched at nothing, your hands burying into the dirt. With a scared glance down, you saw a head, covered in blood. Was that normal? Both your girlfriends stood there as you pushed a child out of you, biting down on your lower lip hard enough for it to bleed. Blood trickled down your chin.

And finally, when you thought you couldn't go any longer, you felt the child leave you. With frantic hands, you reached for him, cradling him close to your chest, and pressing your ear to where his heart should be. There was nothing. Your own heart was racing, panic surging through you as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands were bloody and so was your child, but you hardly cared as you pressed him up against your chest.

You felt a hand gently lay on your shoulder and you recoiled. Agatha looked as if she was burned by touching you.

"Get out," you spat, even though you were in the middle of nowhere, "Go. I don't want to see either of your faces again."

"Darling," Agatha reached for you again, her words soft and delicated.

"Leave!" you screamed, voice raw from exhaustion and pain.

Agatha glanced at Rio for some sort of guidence. Death grabbed her hand and shook her head before giving you a gentle look, she blew a kiss at you even though you were glaring.

You watched, pain in your heart, as they flashed away. After that, you really broke, loud cries echoing through the forest and you held your baby boy close to your chest.

^_______________^

The bar you worked at was quiet at this time of night, quiet enough that you found enough time to slip into the back and use the restroom. You wiped your hands on your jeans, while it was mostly empty, there was a warm humid air that drifted around, and you hated that. Pushing the door open, you faintly noticed two other women in here, but you didn't bother looking.

You really should have.

"Y/N?"

The voice made you freeze in your tracks, eyes going wide. You knew who that was. You knew the hand gently settled on your shoulder, even after all these years, and you knew the way magic crackled in the air. You were a fool for not sensing them the moment they entered.

You recoiled away from Agatha's hand, taking hasty steps back, and giving her nothing but a harsh glare. She smirked, for some damn reason, and raised her hands in mock surrender.

"I would've thought after all these years you would have mellowed a bit," she teased, her voice honeyed and flowing like syrup. You scoffed at her attempt to ease the tension and crossed your arms over your chest defensively. A barrier between you and them.

Rio raised a brow, "You're going to be like that?" Her remark only made you roll your eyes. A small smirk curled on her lips, "Oh come on, where's the sweet girl that brought us flowers? Braided our hair?" She drawled her words out as if she wanted to taunt you.

You scowled, "She's gone. Remember? You killed her with her son."

Pain flickered across their faces, only for the briefest of moments. And that was enough. It was enough for hundreds of years of pent-up anger to flow out of you.

"You lost me, the day you took my son from me. You didn't even try, didn't even help even though I begged, I pleaded. I wanted him so badly and-" You choked back frustrated tears and wiped furiously at your nose, "I said I never want to see you again and I meant it."

Your words were dripping with venom, potent enough to burn, based on your ex’s reaction. Agatha looked upset, her brows furrowed, and lips curled, but she had taken a step back. Rio looked remorseful; her hands clenched at her sides.

Agatha moved until she was right up in her face, and you were backed into the door of a stall. She pressed herself so close that you could feel her breath, but she wasn't touching you. Gripping your chin firmly with slender fingers, she tilted your face to meet her eyes.

"Watch the tone. You can hate us, that's fine," she snarled, "But know that he was our son too. Not just yours."

You swallowed thickly, but only sneered back. Deep down, you knew that, but you never wanted to admit it. Still, the pain was fresh as the day it happened, and you pressed your hand against her collar bone, shoving. She stumbled back, but only willingly, a deep smirk planted on her face.

And then she was gone. Her hand grabbing Rio's wrist and dragging death away. You exhaled shakily, did your business, but paused in front of the skin. Your hands came up to pressed against your cheek where Agatha hand grabbed. It wasn't even that hard, but there were two small purple dots, almost like bruises. Humming in confusion, you leaned closer to the mirror, and examined them, but then they were gone as if they had never been there.

You were probably just tired.

You washed your hands quickly and returned to work. When you did, Agatha and Rio were nowhere to be seen. Vanished like you wanted them to be, but that didn't stop the pain in your heart from growing as you longed for your lovers back.

[1920sladydectective]

Okay but… first of all I LOVE your writing. It’s amazing and I’m so hyped for the miniseries!! (Please tag me if possible 💖)

Would you ever write for a reader who is very good friends with Mel (maybe college or coworkers or just generally friends) and when she meets Ambessa she just has the biggest crush?? The forbidden-smut-overall tension would send me 💔

Hello sweetpea,

Thank you for all your support, you're a star. Here is part one of this University friend sex AU situation. I will be writing more and it will be an angsty, smut to love tension fest, for now this is the silly set up and initial sex. I hope you like! 4.2K, not proofread.

Ambessa is kinder here, as in modern worlds she couldn't be a warlord to me and I fancied making her a more playful, enticing woman like she can be in canon. She's still a bad parent but less so I guess?

I'm British and was picking Saltburn half the time lol

Writing slowed as my assignments killed me, hoping to get back to it without burning myself out

xoxo

WARNINGS: Drug use, Alcohol Use, Age Gap Sex, Best Friend's Mum sex, degradation and praise, silly uni kids being uni kids.

Mel’s offer to spend the summer at her childhood home was a blessing. With your mother gone and your father on an oil rig, you were not looking forward to spending summer alone in your hometown. 

This was a little much however. She’d called it a bit over dramatic as you pulled onto a private road, but driving up you saw a stately manor with its own forest surrounding it. You called that rich as fucking shit. It loomed over its surroundings and if Mel was to be believed, its owner was much the same. 

You knew Mel had money, though she was a generous and likeable person who was very open about it, she reeked of it without her open disclosures. The sleek Land Rover you had road tripped in was another obvious case, spacious for two and perfect for endless roads of Katy Perry blasting. 

Somehow, despite the excitement, you knew staying here was going to have its troubles. Even if it was as small as getting lost on the way to the bathroom. 

Mel’s mother was another thing to be tense about. She was exacting and harsh and apparently devoid of all love. Despite this Mel was happy to return home for the ten week summer, perhaps because she had you as a shield. 

A man, a Butler, by the name of Rictus came out to greet you and collect your things, taking them to your respective rooms as Mel dragged you along on a half hearted, sarcastic tour. Her entryway was larger than your flat and it made you snort. Paintings worth more than you were fucking everywhere and of course she had a huge, regal looking cat. 

“Mina is very aggressive,” Mel muttered, “I think it’s the only reason Mother tolerates her,” 

“Hello Mina, I shall give you your space,” You said calmly, the ornate ball of fur screeching at you and running away. 

Her departure heralded the matriarch, and Mel’s face stilled. 

“Mel, my darling,” Her voice was amused, her stature and look mesmerising as she emerged from a side room, “I would have come to greet you had I known it was this afternoon you’d be arriving,”

“You did know,” Mel scoffed into her mother’s sudden and short hug, before rolling her eyes in your direction. 

“And you must be Mel’s little friend, come to stay,” 

“She has a name,”

You did and it stumbled out of your lips, an unsure smile on your face. Why did Mel’s mum have to be the hottest woman you had literally ever seen? “Thank you for having me, Mrs Medarda,” 

“The pleasure’s mine, Dear,” Her sharp focus was solely on you and you felt suddenly very breakable, “I do hope you enjoy our hospitality,” 

Mel gripped your arm, dragging you away with platitudes to her mother about seeing her at dinner. Once you’d made it to her (ridiculous, opulent, crazy) bedroom, she let out a huff. 

“I’m sorry about her, she isn’t around a lot so we won’t have to worry about it too often,”

“It’s okay,” Your voice was calming, giving your friend a winning smile, “Anything beats an empty flat and working in a coffee shop,” 

You began to regret that reassurance once you sat opposite Mel eating a bowl of french onion soup. It felt like you were intruding on a private moment, jabs and quips hidden behind flowery words as the Medarda women tore each other to shreds. It was the first time you’d seen Mel on the back foot. 

Rictus seemed used to it, serving food and sorting through the house as their voices rose. You learned this was his last day before a long holiday and clearly he had decided it was not worth pitching in his opinions when Mel or Ambessa asked for them.

Instead, Ambessa drew you into the conversation against her daughter's wishes, tugging opinions from you about food and schooling and her house. Each one seemed to widen her smirk, golden orbs fixed on you. She felt warm, inviting to you, in the way a lion would. Majestic but deadly. Fatigued and stuck in a power struggle, you ate tiramisu in silence. Then Ambessa mentioned the party. 

“Mother really,” Mel groaned, “Must you?”

“Must I have my annual summer party in my own house? Same as I do every year?” She scoffed, fixing her with a colder stare. 

“I-I don’t know, could be fun,” It was clear in Mel’s eyes you were a traitor, though she wished to appease both friend and host. 

“Exactly, thank you dear,” Her warm smile shone on you again, “and you girls can help me,” 

“Of course,” Mel rolled her eyes, seemed you’d laid your bed and she would make you lie in it, “She especially would love that, she has an eye for culinary arts,”

What a lie. You burnt water. Ambessa didn’t seem to notice or care. 

Several days passed like this, basking in the sun, swimming in the pool and being the unintentional deciding vote in Medarda madness. Kino, Mel’s brother, seemed to usually fill that role and favoured Mel constantly. You, however, were a more even bet and that seemed to delight Ambessa. Mel was right about the ridiculously large orchestra, Ambessa’s view on the food timings made more sense. This went on and on for the first two weeks as you settled into a routine. Ambessa seemed to be around constantly, far more than Mel was used to and Kino would not return until the night of the party. Everything seemed to be balancing as well as it could until the day the party arrived and you realised with a resounding slap to the soul that you had a crush on Ambessa Medarda. 

It was fucked. You knew that. She was your friend’s mum and a scary, mysterious woman to boot. But she was also light and funny and beautiful. She made you feel special and considered and opened her home to you, lavishing you in a luxury you had never known. Sometimes it felt personal, like her eyes lingered to spark heat on your skin. Her hands would brush yours as she passed a plate at the table, she would leave tea for you on the kitchen island as you always rose just after her. It was maddening and probably in your head. 

This dreadful, eye opening doomed, morning started with Mina the cat. Fruit tea firmly in your grasp, you made your way to the library. Instead of finding it empty, you heard Ambessa’s velvet tone, eyes catching the back of her as she stroked the bundle of evil fluff. 

“Now, my little demon,” Ambessa muttered, “You have mutilated my favourite scarf and for that you shall suffer, how do you plead?”

Mina growled, nibbling on her long, strong, beautiful- nibbling on her fingers. 

“I see, into the fire you go,” She muttered, faking a throw into the cold, ash coated harth as Mina skipped off under the bookshelves instead, “On the lam? I should have guessed,”

Your little snort travelled, her eyes snapping to meet yours as she raised an eyebrow. Whoops fuck. 

“Another criminal in our midst,” She smiled, teeth glinting, “Though I’d say you’re less slippery, darling,” 

Darling. Fuck. You were doomed. 

It was then that the realisation had hit, and molten fear and excitement curdled in your stomach. She was muttering about how you could help her with party preparations, words smoothing over you like gentle waves as you nodded. Somehow you were in the kitchen again, in an apron more expensive than your car cutting carrots and listening to her hum Frank Sinatra of all things. 

Mel didn’t come down until well past noon, obviously intentional on her part as you popped the last of the prepped food in the multitude of fridges. The rest was being done by caterers, but Ambessa had had you prepare her staples for the one hundred and fifty guests. You wondered how they’d all fit, but it was a stupid thought. She could have had thousands here with little trouble. 

“Somebody has been a little Angel,” Ambessa said, voice light as she locked eyes with you, “and it isn’t you, Mel,” 

“Spare me,” She sighed, eating a cereal bar, “Has she broken your spirit yet?”

“Can’t break what I haven’t got,” You quipped, looking away from the older Medarda with burning cheeks. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” It was quiet, blink and you’d miss it, but Ambessa had definitely muttered that in your ear as she wandered through to answer a call from the decorators. 

Mel grinned, grabbing your hand, “We need to go and get ready, buy lunch out and get space before we’re swallowed whole by mum’s elitist world,”

You followed after her to the car, not having the heart to mention she was firmly one of those elitists herself. 

When you returned, nails and hair freshly styled upon Mel’s insistence, there was a red Bently in the drive. Your friend practically threw herself out of the car, hip bashing on the door as she ran inside. 

You were met with a tender reunion, brother and sister rambling over each other as Ambessa leaned against the doorframe with a grin, her eyes caught yours for a moment before she embraced her two children. 

Slipping away, you gave them their space as you rifled through your clothes and hung up your dress. It was pretty, it would suit you and it was now the nicest thing you owned. Guests would be arriving in an hour and you used the lull to enjoy your own thoughts, makeup applied with deft hands.

Knowing what you knew about your feelings, it would have been wise to prepare yourself for the sight of an even more fancy Ambessa. You didn’t and so naturally you nearly died. It simply wasn’t right, how ethereal she was. You licked your lips, heart smashing against your ribs as you came to rest at the entrance. Like a line of prize animals, Ambessa had lined up her children and it seemed from her waving hand, you were to participate in this presentation. Kino was all crinkles and kind laughs, instantly making him likeable. Somehow, he still stayed your third favourite Medarda, and it felt like a betrayal to debate who held the first spot whilst the daughter held your hand playfully and the mother’s eyes ran over your exposed legs. 

Bollocks. 

The greeting system felt archaic and yet entirely Medarda. This was the upper echelons and you were a pretty little ornament of the working class to be questioned and nodded at patronisingly. Ambessa had smiled in her swirling red wine several times at orange housewives’ pitying glances as you mentioned your plans to work after university. God forbid. It took an hour and a half for people to trickle in, all seemingly knowing your name as apparently it had been included in the hosts section of the invitation. Mel was best at schmoozing, leaving you and Kino to trade glances and giggle at each other. 

There was little to be done after that, with every Medarda’s attention divided as you floated in the background, having insanely good food and drinking enough to kill a horse. When the condescension became too much you retreated to the empty games room, finding an equally reclusive Mina. It seemed that today for whatever reason she was willing to tolerate you, stealing nibbles of your salt and vinegar crisps as you sat curled in the glow of the fairy lights. It was odd to rest in a beanbag that wasn’t lumpy and ripping at the seams, the leather supporting you perfectly 

“Enjoying the party?” Sweet silk asked, wrists melodic with bangles. 

“Yes Ambessa, of course,” You rushed out, “It really is marvellous,” 

“Don’t lie, child,” She says with a snort, joining you on an opposite beanbag, “They’re a bunch of shits and yet they give me lots of money, so here they sit rotting away the soul of my house every summer,” 

It felt rich coming from her and yet you nodded like you understood. Her hand moved in a sweeping arch, a thickly packed joint suddenly appearing in your eyeline. 

“Let’s make it more fun, shall we?” 

You laughed, loud and unbidden. You were going to smoke with Ambessa Medarda. There was no way in hell you would say no, whether it was a trap or not. An unnecessarily fancy gold lighter lit the end as she sucked it between those plump crimson lips, leaving a pretty ring for your own to rest upon. It felt seductive, how your lips caressed where hers had laid, your own tinging a slight pink as you passed it back and forth. 

This was some quality shit, even you knew that. It was easy to tell because it was blowing your fucking socks off. Everything swam in a pleasant buzz, as she murmured tale after stupid tale about the party’s attendees until you were howling with laughter, tears leaking out of your eyes. 

Ambessa liked you like this, unbidden and open as you basked in your amusement and relaxation. If she had known seeing you like this would be easy, she would have offered you drugs your first day. When she said as much, her tongue a little looser, you giggled again as you finished the joint. 

You were useless after that. She wore it better, all it did was make her calmer, tone more sultry. You were in awe of her, and Mina clearly didn’t care for your harsh tugs as you hung on her every word. 

Mel found you forty minutes later, higher than the empire state building with a plate piled high with goodies for you and Ambessa to share. 

“Fuck off,” Mel growled, eyes widening at her mother’s easy smile, “You’ve left me alone to host so you can soak my friend in drugs?”

“I soaked too, Mel, I’m not mad,” 

You giggled, half choking on a brioche stuffed with lobster. Mel silenced you as you inhaled an olive. 

“You could handle it, Dear,” Ambessa said affectionately, “You always were my little social butterfly,” 

“I thought I was a fox,” Mel snapped, “You look less like a wolf and more like a malfunctioning hyena,” 

That set you off again, your hand covered your mouth as your shoulders shook. This seemed to be the final straw for Ambessa as she fell into giggles too. 

“I-” A loud huff, “Damn you both, I hate you,” 

Mel stormed out, leaving you behind to recover from your mindless adventure. It took another hour, evening beginning to beckon, before you were coherent. 

“What a nice little break that was,” Ambessa said, body overly close to yours, “But dinner is looming and my daughter is unfortunately right, I must host,”

The rest of the party was spectacular in your eyes. Kino found you, half sobered up, and dragged you into beer pong with his friends. It was clear this was less approved by the hidden nature of the location, wrapped in the hedge mazes. That seemed a disaster, drunk kids in their twenties stuck in a maze, but it was so fun you hardly cared. Mel was looser too, her friend Jayce and Viktor had popped by, opening her up like a hesitant flower. 

“I hope Mum wasn’t awful,” Mel muttered as she cuddled into your side on a bench in the maze, “You seemed quite chummy,” 

“I-I know she isn’t always good to you, Mel,” You muttered, lust and infatuation receding slightly as you gazed at your friend, “I’m sorry if I upset you by hanging out with her,” 

Mel paused, flicking a leaf off her skirt as she snuggled deeper into you, “I’m quite glad actually, it’s made her more tolerable, and despite her faults, she can be fun” 

Your eyebrows rose, surprised at the admission. Their relationship was strained, but seemed in a drunken haze that was easier to process. 

Dinner, the actual sit down portion in the huge marquee, was exquisite. You were on the head table, nestled between Mel and Kino as everyone laughed. The amount of odd, worship dances that happened around Ambessa was unnerving, but her still relaxed shoulders made you snort. 

As the party continued and the sky was painted a deep red, Mel tugged you into an aggressive dance than had you toppling and rolling down the large hill, grass stains staining your clothes. 

What a great summer. Even if you did want to fuck her mum. Shut Up. 

The next morning you were less elated. You had no memory of getting into bed, though you were half in your covers with water on your bedside table. Whispers echoed, too far to reach, a tender kiss to your temple. 

The culprit was rather obvious once you stumbled into your bathroom with a yawn. Sharp, clear red lips rested against your skin as they had the joint, making your heart flutter. Hesitant fingers grazed it, matte colour coming off on your fingers as an echo refined in your memory.

“Sweet dreams, Pretty girl,”

You scrubbed it away reluctantly, stomach swimming. 

The entire grounds were pristine, cleaners having come in as people left in droves in the early morning. It was now late afternoon, the sun well past its warmth peak for the day as you forced down a salad and some bread. Health, greenery, water. These demands your body cried bitterly, who knew weed and wine was bad for you?

Mel and Kino were in a similar way, becoming one with the sofa as friends played bleakly on a screen that blew out the quality in a ridiculous way. You curled under Mel’s arm, yawning. 

“She lives,” Kino mutters, flicking your ear, “You did a backflip off the pong table, or at least tried to,” 

Mel started to laugh, nodding at your baffled expression, “Mum caught you and send us all to bed like naughty teenagers,” 

“Really?” 

“No,” Kino scoffed, “She called you a half brained twat and took you to bed,”

“Fantastic,” You groaned, there went your chances, not that they’d ever really existed, “Where is she? I need to apologise,” 

“Away, work trip for four days,” Mel nibbled against a pretzel, the salt soothing, “She said no parties whilst she’s gone, hypocrite,”

There was a party and your behaviour was infinitely worse, almost ridiculously so. 

Mel and Kino’s friends were eclectic, a mixture of posh and poor that mingled like oil and water yet it seemed to work. A blue and pink haired couple tried to eat each other’s faces as Kino did obnoxious tricks into the pool. Vile, candy flavoured vodka mixed with champagne blurred everyone’s vision as you suddenly felt like a reckless teenager. You’d never had this phase and now you were living it in a random manor house in the Surrey outskirts. 

Still, as the hours ticked by you missed her murmurs to Mina, your morning tea being prepared and her knowing, conspiring glances across at you. You missed the burn of your skin as she entered a room, her spiced and strong smell. You missed her. 

When Ambessa returned, she did not seem to suspect anything, weathered from business and silent throughout dinner. You tried to prompt some amusement, though all she gave you was an arched brow or eye roll. Though she joined in on movie night, she curled up alone on a chair with Mina, reading through documents as she went. 

Hours later, wrapped in Egyptian cotton, you felt restless. There was nothing to do but shake the energy out. Ambessa lingered in your thoughts. Perhaps she was angrier about your acrobatics attempts that you’d prepared for, or had grown bored of your overly sarcastic, childish antics. You yearned for her, crush firmly cemented like a rough pebble in your stomach, slamming down as a reminder with each movement you took. 

Your multifaceted hunger led you to the pretty kitchen, the whole house still as you tiptoed in. 

Or so you’d thought. 

Ambessa stood, swaying slightly with a glass of wine in her hand. She looked different like this, undone from nonsense as she fell away to reveal the sharp mind beneath. 

“Just going to stand there, little one?” 

You gulped, “I’m sorry to bother you,” 

“Now, when did I say that?”

“You didn’t,” You conceded with a nervous grin, “I just didn’t realise anyone was awake,” 

Her gaze fixed on you fully then, golden swirls captivating, “What did you need?”

“Food,” You blurt, “Was just going to grab some crisps or something,” 

She moved into motion at once, flickering on the hob light, “I’ll make you something,” 

You shook your head, stumbling platitudes about her kindness and your ability to sort something. 

“For god sake, girl,” She huffed, tone amused, “Let me do as I please in my own home,” 

That shut you up, her hips moving side to side as she assembled various things. The lull you had created did not last for long, she seemed far more talkative than hours earlier. 

“There is one thing I have yet to tell my children,” A spoon smashed against porcelain, “I had the house fitted with cameras just before you all came home,”

Cameras, that was a safe investment. You were honestly surprised she didn’t have them befor- The fucking party. 

Another nervous laugh leaked out, “I-I see,” 

“I’m not cross with you, Dear,” A glug of oil, a crunch of pepper, “Or them, really. I am not an idiot, though it did reaffirm one thing,” 

“What’s that?” Your heart was hammering into your lungs, making your voice oddly airy. 

“You haven’t got any common sense,” She snorted, sliding a glass of wine your way, “Backflipping off of my pingpong table and then swimming paralytic two days later,” 

You blushed, taking a small sip, as you nodded, “My mother used to say my head wasn’t on right,” 

Ambessa nodded, eyes taking on a dark glint as she turned back to the bowl of marinade, “Then do allow me to screw it back on for you,”

It felt weirdly erotic coming from her, your stomach tensing, your blood boiling. The pan was put away again. What the fuck was she making you?

She appeared in front of you, “Here, eat your food before it goes sour,” 

There was nothing in her hands, you didn’t understand. 

Her once bare lips now glistened slightly with spices, smirked fixed on her face, “Come along, wouldn’t want to upset your hostess when she’s gone to so much effort,”

Warm, firm lips met yours as you felt every sense turn into a white, blank nothingness. She’d offered herself as a meal and you ate like a woman starved. Each lick was salty and hot, her taste mingling with the chili oil until it was only her, blissfully her. Her hands were rough and assured, tugging open your shirt till all the buttons popped off. You needed her, all your worries melting against her tongue as she groped against your chest. 

“You just need some instruction,” Her ragged voice purred, “Someone to obey,” 

You felt yourself gush, eyes fluttering as you nodded pathetically against her. 

Ambessa’s tongue against your nipple had you mewling, body twitching as she shushed you. You didn’t want to be loud, lest she stop, but gods was it hard when she twirled your nipple over calloused fingers. She had you shivering, trembling and gasping within minutes, eyes glazed as your wildest sex fantasies were smashed down in rating by the real fucking deal. 

Her words were ambrosia, drenching you in joy as she called you some of the most disgusting things you’d heard perhaps ever. 

Being fucked against a kitchen island by your friend’s mum hadn’t been in your summer bucket list and yet here you were. Her fingers were wicked, ruining you as she suffocated your moans with her free palm. You had already leaked onto yourself and the floor, but it wasn’t enough for her. 

“Good girl, taking me so well,” She muttered, “You can’t resist it, can you? Slave to your own cunt,” 

Your reply made no sense, and she laughed against your neck, nibbling and lapping at the bead of sweat there. Your thoughts meant nothing, she was right, you were truly a slave to your physical self. By the time she had you squirting against her palm, you would have mindlessly walked over hot coals for her, cumming all the while. 

Her cunt, perfect and warm, crushed your face as she managed to sit atop you on the island. It was the sort of core memory you didn’t expect to make, your practiced tongue working in overdrive to please the goddess above you. 

Her whines and grunts were delicious, as was her dripping wetness, as she tugged your hair with a selfish, possessive vice grip. Her orgasm ripped through her, her back arching as you managed to twist her nipples in return for her earlier fondling, her eyes rolling. 

Slipping off of you with a grin, she tossed you a damp cloth and wiped herself down. 

“Sweet girl,” She slurred in your ear, placing a kiss there, “Knew you’d been a fun toy,” 

It would have made your cunt flutter, it would have forced you into a passionate and sweaty round two as you lose your mind to pleasure again, if it weren’t for the fact that you actually sort of really, very seriously liked it. 

But you? You were just a long line of sweet little fucks and you’d betrayed her daughter to join the notch on her bedpost. 

Fucked. Doomed. Shattered.

[heartsandstars46]

Comfort part 2

Still lots of fluffy comfort and connection, but this part got a tiny bit spicy… 🔥 (brief nudity, nothing graphic) 

fem reader x bf tasm!Peter 🩷

Word count: under 1k

Part 1

“How do you do this? Like, you come home with someone else’s blood on you, and that’s just ‘another day at the office’. How is that not unnerving?”

You were sitting on the counter in the bathroom, gently wiping the dirt and blood off Peter’s face, neck, chest with a warm washcloth… and also rambling a bit because he still seemed withdrawn.

“Or maybe I’m just not cut out for life as a superhero.” When he didn’t respond, you poked him in the shoulder. “Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Where are you right now?”

He smiled. “Here with you,” but even he didn’t seem convinced. You knew he was replaying the whole night in his head, trying to pinpoint his failures, the way he did with Gwen's death. (Not that he’d told you as much; that had been revealed by the things he said in his nightmares.)

“Okay, then can you do me a favor? Can you stay here with me?” You squeezed his hand. “Don’t make me go all ‘five things you can see, four things you can touch," because I will.”

He smirked. “Well, here’s one thing I can see.” He tugged at the now-filthy collar of the Ramones shirt you were wearing. “At least I ruined my own shirt and not yours.”

“Who’s to say it’s ruined? I am capable of getting a stain out, you know—as well as not turning everything in the wash red and blue.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” he said, but you were both laughing. “Let me get you something clean to wear.”

“Not blood-stained is really all I’m looking for—it’s a low bar.”

“Whew, thank god for that.”

When Peter returned, he did have a shirt in his hands, but he stopped short.

“What’s wrong?”

He smiled, studying you. “I just like that you wear my clothes when I’m not here.”

You were surprised by how much that comment fluttered your stomach. “Even though I can name more Ramones songs than you?”

“That was one time! And ‘Don’t Worry about Me’ is solo Joey, so that shouldn’t even count!”

“Why not? It might as well be the Peter Parker anthem.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “You always carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and are just like, ‘No thanks, I got it,’ even when it’s about to crush you.” You normally wouldn’t have teased him on such a rough night, but it seemed to be distracting him.

“That sass is gonna get you in trouble, girl. I could tickle you at any time.”

“Nooo!” You were laughing as you batted away his hands. “Well, for the record, I like it too—wearing your shirts, I mean. It makes it feel like you’re here when you’re not.”

He smiled. “Good. I’m glad.” He took the washcloth from you. “Okay, your turn.”

He gently began to wipe clean your neck and chin. Then he stopped and laughed nervously.

“What’s wrong?”

“The dirt and stuff kind of goes under your collar. Like, and I swear this is not a ploy, it would be easier….”

You stared at him. Then the lightbulb lit and you found yourself tripping over your words. “Oh! It would be easier if I took off my shirt. Or, technically, your shirt, I guess.”

“Yeah. I swear I’m not just trying to get you naked.”

You touched his cheek and gave your own nervous laugh. “I would hope not, given the horrific fluorescent lighting in here .”

“First of all, you are exquisite in any lighting—or no lighting.”

You blushed, remembering his heightened vision.

“What if I worked quick and kept you covered up?”

You had no idea how he was going to accomplish that, but you agreed nonetheless. You trusted him to take care of you. He gently lifted the shirt over your head and you shivered. You felt incredibly shy. There was something so much easier about being naked and vulnerable in the dark. You hoped you looked okay; that your body wasn’t disappointing when bathed in all this light.

Though he quickly averted his eyes, you did catch Peter looking, somewhat awestruck, at your naked breasts for a second, and you felt your heart beat faster. 

“Okay,” he softly, wrapping one arm around your back and pulling you against him so that you were “covered up” by his body. Your bare skin pressed against his. “Be honest. Is this okay?” He looked into your eyes.

It was okay, and you said so.

As you were skin-to-skin with the man you loved, everything all at once was intoxicating--his physical warmth and his heartbeat and his hands tenderly pulling your hair back and cleaning off your neck and collarbone....

“Still doing okay? Do I need to ask you for five things you can see?”

You laughed and, heart pounding, impulsively kissed him.

“What was that for?” He asked, amused.

You just kind of shrug/laughed. You couldn’t have put it into words anyway. He chuckled, drying off your neck and collarbone.

“Okay, much better. Sorry again for getting you all dirty. Ready?”

No, you were never ready to give up that level of closeness. But you two could only ever be entwined for so long. You always had to go back to separate bodies and beings.

“Yep.”

Just before helping you into his shirt, he leaned  in and whispered, “You are exquisite in fluorescent lighting too.” He kissed the top of your head, then pulled his clean t-shirt over it.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you whispered, grasping his hand and interlacing your fingers.

He tilted his head with a smile. “Who do you think I learned it from?” He squeezed your hand. “Only the best.”

[safetycar-restart]

So I was doing a deep dive on your account cause your stuff is gold 👌🏻👌🏻and I found this post

https://www.tumblr.com/safetycar-restart/716054638514896896/hey-shels-i-hope-you-are-feeling-much-better-now

And the farm au! Oh my god it lit up my brain like nothing else… and cause I too love angst…

Bunny Charles and Arthur being used to being spoiled bunnies, living the high life, all luxurious life but then their dom realized just how needy and dependent and expensive keeping two bunnies are and they do the equivalent of dropping them off on the side of the road in a box… so now poor bunnies are out in the cold harsh world and just don’t know what to do…

They just start walking back in the direction of home because maybe Dom made a mistake? and forgot them? But it’s a long cold walk and when the sun sets they see a warm light in the distance - your little cottage and farm, gardens full of yummy food and a welcoming warmth.

You wake up to two bunnies curled up in front of the fire place, covered in dirt with tear tracks

Or maybe you have a stall in the local farmers market and one day you hear just gut wrenching yips coming from the nearest alley and when you check it out — cat!max is there hiding and nursing a broken tail. Maybe his dad was yanking on his tail as a punishment and it broke/sprained it and max lashed out and ran away. Obviously you can’t leave poor kitty by himself, so you grab some of your supplies and spend the day slowly getting max used to you to allow you close enough to bandage his tail up. When you finally do that, he’s just curled up in your lap purring and out of his mind on catnip and genuine love and care and he just follows you home when you go to leave

Or maybe your farm is in an area with a lot of hunters and you’re taking a small hike cause it’s a gorgeous day for when you hear pained howling. Wolf!pierre and Carlos are caught in a bear trap or up a tree in some netting and it looks like they’ve been there for a while. You quickly get to work in getting them free and coax them to come to your house to fix them right up.

Or maybe you finally feel that you’ve settled nicely into your new farm and decide that it’s time to think about finding a hybrid for company. Maybe it’s luck or maybe it’s fate but you meet the pair of cat!oscar and dog!logan - they’ve bonded and won’t be separated but everyone they’ve tried stay with only wanted one not both…

(Like I said ☺️🙈 this ask sent like fireworks through my mind (love love love your writing!!!) -🦚)

I've had this ask in my askbox for months and oh my god every time I read it I get obsessed. I hadnt answered it yet because I knew I needed to set aside quite a bit of time because I knew this would be so long 😂

Here is the link to the original post so you don't have to search the URL, I'd suggest giving this a quick read for context if you're confused. It's very short but does explain it all :))

Right okay so the general premise is this: you own a farm in the hybrid!au with all sorts of drivers that come along and join. We can do this as a poly type thing or we can do it just as you run a farm and one driver comes along, whatever you guys would like to discuss! I think I'll tag everything with 'farm!au' but then also add 'poly!farm!au' to any posts that involve any sort of poly situation.

All of the stuff discussed by the anon above are just so so so perfect!!!! I'm gonna discuss each idea in a bit more detail each under their own heading and then we can go from there :))

BUNNY!CHARLES AND BUNNY!ARTHUR:

Aw poor little bunnies!! My immediate thought was that maybe their original caretaker/owner had died and they were handed over to whoever their dom has chosen and that was very much the wrong choice. They do try to get along with their new caretaker, of course they do. But bunnies are by far the most high needs of all hybrids, they're social creatures and they need constant attention or else they'll get sad and lonely.

Maybe bunnies need attention from people who are not bunnies as well? They need caretakers who are gentle and attentive and when their new person cannot do that and they start acting out (they can't help it!! They want attention!!), yeah they end up on the side of the road.

I definitely think for these two you wouldnt even get an option. You sort of just walk into the living room and two bunny hybrids are sleeping next to the fireplace.

CAT!MAX:

I love the idea of finding Max outside somewhere like at a farmer's market. I think maybe his dad left him there not to abandon him but to teach him some sort of lesson? Max is just curled up trying to keep quiet and waiting for his dad to decide he's had enough punishment and come fetch him. You manage to convince him to come home with you, promising him that you just want to get him into some nice clean clothes and get a good meal in him and then you'll call his dad for him.

Except well... Max feels so safe with you? He keeps on forgetting himself and purring or gathering blankets. He's never felt this warm and cared for. You offer to let him stay the night and the next morning you're supposed to call his father like you promised but well... Needless to say that never happens.

WOLF!CARLOS AND WOLF!PIERRE:

I feel like these two would have started out as enemies but they were forced to stay together? Like maybe they got separated from the rest of their pack and only had each other. They became much closer and got used to just the two of them. They don't trust anyone else. They manage on their own and are almost feral?

But then one of them gets caught in bear trap. The one not trapped tries to free the other of course but they can't. It's the fear of losing their only person that leads them to come into your yard. Maybe they had seen you quite a few times? Like you live on the boarder of the forest and they often see you walking in your garden and in the forest and you always seem calm, so the one not trapped comes to find you.

You follow him to the other one and help free him. They try to scurry off but the one is too injured. You convince them both to come back with you and let you care for their injuries. And they just never end up leaving?

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[gcldfanged]

[Continued from HERE.]

@bonesofchaos:

he hums as he licks blood from knuckles, golden eyes flicking from carnage to meet those of man stood hovering at the edge of his brutality. listening but finding him pretentious, as most of those above him are. "no offence sir, but you're always gunna be lesser to someone. always gunna be a bigger fish'n you." a fact stated as such, no taunting or mockery, just plain old simple fact. "but i'll agree that money makes people stupid. makes 'em even dumber when they ain't got it and they need it." a gesture to the bodies moaning on the floor, an ill thought out attack against the enforcer to take back what he took from them previously.

"None taken. That IS true, otherwise I wouldn't be complaining all the damn time about having to clean up someone else's mess," he admits, looking down at the stranger's handiwork.

He'd heard odd things about Malachi, but seeing him in the flesh was quite different than what he had been expecting- Which, honestly, wasn't much. Clearly his cynicism had been an overstep. The presence of street level punks lining the pavement was enough to overwhelm by sheer number, yet the intended victim remained unscathed. And by the look of him, anyone who'd paint such an individual with a target had to be both blind and dumb.

"But nevermind what I actually meant," Jae continued, offering a black and gold cigarette to the enforcer. A minor peace offering for interrupting his fun.

"If you have the time, I'd like to make you an offer. We can discuss in more pleasant surroundings, of course- Treat you to some fine food and drink, offer some entertainment if that's more your style?"

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

I don't wanna be perfect (I just want to be good enough for you)

Heist!Mark x reader (can be read as platonic or romantic) | Words: 694

You are curled into your heist partner's side in the living room area of your shared base, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, when he asks you something out of the blue.

‘Do you think– are we… good people?’

You turn to face him, shutting off your phone screen, and raise an eyebrow.

‘Who are you and what've you done with Mark?’

‘Come on, I'm serious.’ You give him a baffled look and he sighs. ‘I never really thought about it all that much, I guess. I think I always just sorta accepted it? I sorta fell into this profession because it was fun and it paid the bills — I mean, don't get me wrong, I love what we do. I love the thrill, and I love the satisfaction of getting away with our loot scott-free. But I dunno… Recently I've been thinking. Is it bad that I enjoy this job? Am I a good person?’

It's a fair question, you suppose. You understand where he's coming from, but you're sure you both knew what you were getting into when you started this lifestyle, and once you've been doing it for so long it's hard to even begin to think of doing anything else, let alone the difficulty that would come with becoming an honest, working citizen without getting caught and sentenced for your many transgressions.

‘I mean, we're thieves, Mark — regular, organised criminals. We're not exactly heroes’ — you jab him lightly with your elbow — ‘as much as you like to act like one.’

He chuckles at that. There is a light-hearted smile on your face that is soon replaced with a more thoughtful expression. You cast your gaze away from him as you continue.

‘I think good and bad are kinda relative and subjective. The average person probably wouldn’t consider us good people, and yeah, I can't say we're necessarily good, but I don't think we're terrible either. I mean, I wouldn't want to actually hurt anyone. Would you?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘No… Unless someone gave me a reason to.’

‘Well, that's fair. I think that's the same for most people.’

You pause, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. You don't recall at what point your fingers involuntarily found the edge of his clothes, but the familiar texture grounds you. ‘Yeah, we might not be good people per se, but I don't think that makes us bad people exactly, either.’ You meet his eyes again, with all the earnestness you can. ‘I don't think you are, at least,’ you add softly.

‘I don't think you are either,’ he says, and his tone is gentle but unwavering. You feel warm.

You offer a good-natured smile, attempting to turn the conversation in a lighter direction.

‘You know, in our defence, we mostly rob museums and super rich people. I don't think we need much justification to steal from the hella rich, and most stuff in museums is stolen anyway,’ you say matter-of-factly.

He laughs, loud and genuine, and the sound only warms you further.

‘Y'know, you're not wrong…’

‘But seriously,’ you ask, ‘what got you thinking about all this?’

‘I…’ he starts, voice low again, hesitant. ‘I don't know.’

But he does know, he thinks to himself, as he looks into your eyes. He often finds himself wondering what kind of person he is in those eyes.

It's you, he thinks. It's all you.

You break the entirely-too-long and yet far-too-short period of eye contact in favour of returning to your former position, nestled into his side. You lean into him and he places an arm around you, his thumb gently brushing wherever it can reach. You don't think all that much of it, but he's warm and comfortable and safe, and the way you fit together feels like home.

He thinks you're probably right; the idea of a good or bad person isn't something set in stone. And his and your standards measured against anyone else's would certainly differ.

But he finds that he doesn't really care what anyone else thinks of him.

As long as his best friend, his partner, still likes him enough to keep sticking around, that's enough for him.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

the sinus headaches are already not great but Extra Shit has been added to the pile and im just sat on that right now trying to figure out what the fuck to do

[unknownarmageddon]

hozierr

yeahhh!!!! hozier hozier yippee

[moe-broey]

I had to take poor Lulu to the vet and I love how in part of Lulu's treatment/dispatch notes it says "Please keep Lulu quiet, rested, and inside for the next 7-10 days. There should be no running, jumping, or playing" as if I can realistically control any of these things except one (she's indoors by default) LIKE...... LULU PLEASE........... Lulu the doctor saiid you need to be on bedrest........... Lulu STOP TRYING TO CLIMB ON TAHT ‼️‼️‼️‼️ DON'T JUMP YPU ARE THE EQUIVALENT OF AN 80 YEAR OLD WOMAN WITH ARTHRITIS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ PLEASE

[andromedasummer]

finished my crochet cup holder and sewed up lunas ears, head and sewed them together and have started on crocheting a cactus which is pretty damn good considering i spent nearly all of saturday sleeping to recover from work and the family emergency happening rn

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Fun fact: The fairy tale flash fiction has now passed 4,000 words.

[pears-trinkets]

.

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

vol II

warnings: slow burn, mentions of attempted sa for reader, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of standard gotham violence

Dear fuck, he’s as heavy as he looks.

You use all of your weight to pull him backwards towards the couch, almost giving up when you realized you’d have to lift him up off the ground to actually get on it.

Getting him through the window was enough of a hassle, challenging the difficulty of the decision to bring him in here at all. 

Thankfully you don’t have to think too hard on it because you feel his body stiffen up suddenly. He jolts upright, though clearly pained to do so, hand flying to the gun holster on his side.

You take a step back, hands out in front of you. “Hey, it’s alright.”

“Who are you?” His voice is interrogative. 

You put your hands down, “You’re the one who passed out on my balcony, I think if anyone gets to ask that question it’s me.”

He stares at you, white lenses bearing into your soul.

Okay, yeah. You tell him your name. He doesn’t move. “You just looked like you needed some help..”

His posture loosens a bit, and his hand finally leaves the holster.

He glances down at his abdomen, a sizable tear in his suit and a nearly alarming amount of blood. “You got any bandages?”

“Uh, I—yeah, yeah, I do.” You dart down the hall into the bathroom, shuffling through your first aid kid. You toss a few wraps into your arms, along with some antiseptic spray you suspect he’ll need. You grab your hand towel and get it wet under warm water. 

When you return, he’s moved himself onto the sofa, lifting his shirt up to assess the damage. You round the couch, seeing more blood than you’d have hoped for.

“Can I?” You ask, motioning to his injury. 

He looks up at you for a long moment. He nods.

You kneel down in front of him and replace his hand in lifting up the shirt. It’s a cut, it doesn’t look terribly deep, but still not shallow enough that he could just leave it.

You take the rag and dab it around the wound, trying to clean up the blood as much as possible without making contact with it.

He’s very still as you work, and you get the strong impression he’s watching you carefully.

You grab the antiseptic spray, shaking it. “This’ll sting.”

He grunts.

You apply the antiseptic thoroughly and he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t move his gaze from you for a second.

You unwrap one of the bandages and place it on firmly, making sure there’s no bleedthrough.

And not that you particularly want to be thinking about this right now, but the man is noticeably ripped. Stacked like a house of cards.

You rip away your gaze and stand up, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath. You look at him—at his helmet.

You don’t know how you can tell, but he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you, maybe. Regardless, you’re eager to escape the gaze.

You shovel the remainder of your supplies back into your arms and bring them back to the bathroom, calling out, “I didn’t take off your helmet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

There’s a short beat. 

“Do I seem like someone that worries often?” 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door. 

You look at him. “You seem like someone that doesn’t worry enough.”

He snorts. “You’re not far off.”

You make your way back once you’re done, looking at the disregarded meal you’d been interrupted from. “I have pasta if you…eat.”

“I do.”

“I can go in the other room if you—”

He clicks the lock on his helmet, taking it off. He’s left with a second mask underneath, covering his eyes and nose. His dark hair sticks up from the helmet, a white streak poking out in the front. He looks younger than you would’ve expected. Cuter, if his jaw is anything to go by.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Okay then.

You grab a second plate out of the cabinet and scoop on the rest of the pasta from the pan.

You hand him the plate, avoiding standing too close. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You turn back around as casually as possible after hearing the name, wanting to avoid letting your face give anything away.

This guy kills people, right?

You sit down in the armchair across from the couch, spooling the pasta on and off the fork. He doesn’t show the same hesitation in dining away that you do—you guess fighting crime would require some calorie exchange.

“You a nurse?” He asks after a few minutes. 

The question takes you by surprise. You hadn’t taken him as a small talk kind of person. “Huh? Oh, no, I’ve just taken a few first aid courses and stuff.”

He gives a short hum, thoughtful.

“What?”

“You’re good.” Hardly.

“I didn’t really do anything.”

“You did enough.” He says, not leaving much room for argument.

He stands up at once, walking past you to the kitchen. Your gaze follows him silently. He puts his empty plate in the sink and returns to the edge of the living room.

He looks at you once more and pops his helmet back on followed by the click of the lock.

“I’ll see ya.” He says shortly, before ducking out the window.

You’re left alone, sitting in your armchair, plate of cold pasta forgotten on your lap.

That could’ve gone very badly. Maybe not your most thought-through decision to literally drag the Red Hood into your apartment, but hey. Maybe you’re exercising your ability to be an upstanding, helpful person. Or maybe you were just hoping to prevent a vigilante being found dead on your fire escape.

Regardless, you close the window after him, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.

You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of footsteps in your living room. You shoot upright, immediately spotting the lamp light flooding in from under your door.

Creeping to a stand, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed and slowly walk to the door.

You creep the door open as quietly as possible, inching out half a step at a time. A nearby creak on your floorboards had you swinging blindly, only to have your bat get stopped midair. You look up to see Mr. Hood himself, blocking the blow of your hit with his hand. 

“Wow. You and a bat against Gotham, huh, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You let go of the bat and drown your face in your hands. “What is wrong with you?”

“Apparently that I don’t carry enough baseball bats with me.” He says coolly, inspecting your bat. Though he’s got to admit, your bat is probably a hell of a lot more useful than his. 

You drop your arms at your side. “If I’d known bringing you into my apartment one time was going to be considered a free pass forever, I might’ve thought twice.”

“If I’d known I was going to nearly be concussed with a baseball bat, I might’ve too.” Barely. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re still half asleep and it was not a very good swing.

He looks at you straight on for the first time. His helmet quickly drifts down and back up to your face just as fast.

You look down. T-Shirt, underwear, and…no that’s it. Not…ideal. You pull down on the unfortunately not at all oversized shirt, wanting to creep back into your room.

He turns his back, allowing you to do just that and scramble for some shorts to throw on. 

“Very gentlemanly of you.” You call out from your room, “And only thirty seconds after breaking into my apartment.”

“Okay, one, I’ve been here longer than that. In a non creepy way.”

“Right.”

“And two, I didn’t break anything. You live in the middle of Gotham and don’t lock your window?”

You reemerge in the doorway, “I live on the eighth floor.” 

He turns around to face you again, helmet in his hands. “Didn’t stop me.” No it did not. 

“Mm. So are you here specifically to judge my home security or was there something you needed?”

He takes a deep breath, “Actually yeah. I just need a place to rest for a minute.” 

“Rest from what?”

A series of gunshots echo from down the street.

“Next question.”

Concise.

You and Hood sit on the couch in the dark, per his insistence, because for some godforsaken reason, you have no curtains. It takes a few minutes for the silence to dissipate into forced conversation, which takes a few more minutes to fade into actual conversation.

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask him.

“Does it matter how I answer?”

“I don’t understand how you’re not dead.” You poke your head up, turning to him. “Are you human?”

He cranes his neck to look out the window, “Maybe getting shot at isn’t the worst thing that could happen tonight…”

You roll your eyes with a smile that you’re glad is hidden by the darkness. “Oh, fuck off.”

“You don’t have much in terms of self-preservation skills, do you?”

You ignore him as to not acknowledge that he’s probably right and roll through to your next curiosity, “Who the hell was shooting at you anyways?” Though, you don’t really expect an answer.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. They got ‘til sunrise anyway.”

You tilt your head, “‘Til sunri—” oh. Yeah. Come to think of it, he does have two guns on him right now. At least that you can see. You squint blankly at the wall, “You know, I’m placing a lot of trust in the hope that you’re not just as bad as those guys.”

“Yes you are.” He nods, not doing anything to convince you that he is in fact a good guy. He hasn’t tried to harm you in any way though, so you guess that’s a good sign.

You tilt your head at him. “Do you get paid to do this?” 

“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people who would pay me not to do this.” 

You nod solemnly, mouth turned into an exaggerated frown. “So you have a day job?”

He looks over at you, “Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Are you always so dodgy about answering them?” You shoot back. If you’d thought for .5 seconds longer on that, you might not have said anything. But you feel comfortable here, in your apartment with a man whose face you’ve never seen, name you don’t know, and always has at least two loaded guns on him.

He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah. I am.” He looks over at you. “You live here by yourself?”

You look around at the empty apartment before turning back to him, “Seems that way.”

He shrugs, “Boyfriend could be out or something.”

“Well most people are asleep at one in the morning. Like I was. Remember that?”

“No.”

You sigh, curling up into a ball on your end of the couch, resting your chin on your knees. You’re quiet for a minute before piping up, “Do people actually break into apartments on high floors a lot?”

“Stupid people.” He pauses, looking over at the frown on your face. “Look, I’m in the neighborhood a lot. If I see somebody climbing your fire escape I’ll shoot them.”

You let a little smile out, “I’m thinking there’s other steps you could take before you get to that point.”

“If you want to waste time.” His gaze doubles back at you, “That was a joke, by the way.”

You bark out a tired laugh, “Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks.”

He removes his eyes from you, fixing on a set of pictures you have hanging on the wall.

Your eyes flutter and you move to rest your head on the arm of the couch. “Is this going to be a regular thing then?”

“You could lock your window.”

“Living on the eighth floor didn’t stop you, I can’t imagine a shitty lock will do much more.”

“If you don’t want me here, I won’t be here.” He says gruffly.

“If I don’t want you here, I’ll let you know.” You mumble, eyes closing.

You can barely make out a laugh from him, “Good to know.”

You’re not quite sure how much time goes by when he leaves, but you have a pretty strong feeling you’d fallen asleep. Your main indicator was feeling the blanket draped nicely over you that you could’ve sworn was on the chair across the room.

Maybe it’s ten o’clock at night and you’re sat on your kitchen floor, bawling your eyes out. Maybe you’re going to have to quit your job. Or maybe you’ll have to face a lawsuit. Maybe this is the worst day in the history of time. Maybe it’s about to get worse. 

The sound of your living room window sliding open has you startling into a rush, body panicking as if you’ve done something wrong and desperately need to cover the evidence. The past few weeks of sporadic visits leaves no question about who it is, and you just hope the kitchen island in front of you will be enough to convince Hood that you’re not in and he’ll leave.

But because today is today, that’s not how it goes down.

You can vaguely make out the sound of his footsteps approaching, a courtesy that you’re sure he incorporated on purpose.

“Oh fuck…” you mutter to yourself, wiping your eyes.

He rounds the counter, looking down at you. “Wha—what’s wrong?”

“Fuck. Nothing.” You say, standing up and adjusting your clothes. “Are you hurt?” He better fucking not be at only ten.

“No, I—why are you on the floor?” 

You roll your eyes, “I live alone, forgive me for assuming I would be given the privilege to cry on the floor in private.”

“Did something happen?” You’re trying really hard not to call him an idiot. 

You raise your eyebrows, giving a light nod. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

He shifts in his stance, “Do I need to talk to someone?”

You scoff, knowing damn well his version of ‘talk to someone’ does not include talking to someone. “Why are you even here so early?” 

“Wanted to stop by before I went out.” he says quietly.

You’re about to snap something at him again, but the burning in your eyes takes immediate priority. You wrap your arms around your middle and try to calm yourself down, with very little success. The tears fall easily and your shoulders start shaking as you look at the floor, letting the melancholy take over. 

It feels like much longer than it probably was, but sometime after the first few tears fall he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. This only makes you cry harder, sobbing against his armor. Your arms stay wrapped around your center, while his hands remain completely still against your back, though firm. You don’t realize it immediately, but he’s holding a good portion of your weight up, you’d for sure collapse onto the floor otherwise. You kind of wish you would. Sitting on the floor felt nice, maybe falling down on it will feel even better.

You slowly start to regain your breathing, the well in your eyes drying up again. He waits for you to stop completely and slowly pulls back from you, hands momentarily still wavering next to you like he’s ready to catch you.

It takes you a minute to notice, but his helmet is locked on to the finger-shaped bruises on your forearm. You awkwardly move your opposite arm to cover them, looking around your apartment with nothing to search for.  

He’s quiet for a long while, clearly thinking hard. “What happened?”

You sniffle, “Some asshole at my job.”

“Some asshole?” He doesn’t believe you. Rightfully so, but he has no business being able to tell that you’re lying about one single word in that sentence.  

“My boss. Was very intent on successfully hitting on me.” You exhale deeply, “His approach could use some work though, if I’m honest.”

His posture remains statue-like. “Where do you work?”

You look at him straight on for the first time that night, “What does that matter?”

“I’ll take care of it.” He says simply.

You wave him off, “It’s fine.”

He waits a moment before letting you know, “I’m being polite by asking, I’m going to find out either way.”

You plop back down on the kitchen floor, knees to chest. “Well, then do it the hard way.”

About ten seconds of him staring down at you in silence go by, before he sits down next to you. It’s a bit funny how he tries to shrink himself down next to you, you’re assuming because he doesn’t want you to get panicked again because this massive stranger is sitting next to you in your kitchen in the dead of night.  

You don’t look at him as he clicks his helmet off and sets it on the other side of him. It’s quiet for another minute when he holds his gloved hand out to you, and you’re not quite sure how you know what he wants, but you do. You place your bruised arm in his hand, letting him gently pull it closer to him and scan over it. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Again, you don’t know how, but you can tell he’s asking how far things went. “I started screaming and it freaked him out. He let me go.” you say numbly. 

You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, bits of red making their way into your peripheral despite the discarded helmet. You turn slowly to look at him, finding him looking at you already.  

His face is more covered than it had been the first night, the same black mask covers his eyes but the lower half of his face is also hidden by a red mouthpiece. You’re in the lamp light and closer to him than you had been before and you’re counting out specks of green in his blue eyes. He lets you, to your surprise, and when you run out of emerald hues you take focus on his thick, dark eyelashes. Your gaze moves back ever so slightly to make eye contact with him and you tear your eyes away, zeroing in on the kitchen tiles. 

You sigh contemplatively, “I’m worried if you kill my boss it’ll be traced back to me and I’ll get pinned for it.”

He doesn’t laugh. But your delivery was a little dry in the wrong way so really it was on you.

“I’m not going to kill him.” he tells you, “I wouldn’t gamble with my pied-a-terre like that.”

Your head falls back, hitting the drawer behind you with a light thud. “Then why waste your time at all?” Maybe you should slow down with the snide comments.

He wants to, but he doesn’t call out the implied self-slighting in your words. “Maybe it’s a ‘me’ thing but I don’t particularly like men that hurt women.”

You let out a dry laugh. “In Gotham, it just might be.”

He sits with you on the linoleum tile of your kitchen until your eyes start to droop and he lightly corrals you to your bedroom before taking his exit through the window. You told him multiple times that he could go and you were fine, but he insisted that nothing important was happening in the city that time of night. You didn’t quite believe him though, because it was past midnight by the time he’d headed out.  

When you showed up to work the following day your boss wasn’t there. Wasn’t there the day after either. Or the day after. He didn’t make an appearance again until the following Monday. And when he did show face, he did so with a neck brace and a cast on his leg. But once more, he absolutely refused to make eye contact or speak to any of the female employees. It actually became a whole thing when he wouldn’t give instructions or feedback to any of you, and insisted on having his secretary replaced with a man, who he then used as a middle man to speak to all of the women for him. HR got involved three times in the span of the next five days, and by the Monday after, he’d been fired.

So to recap: yes, no, no, undecided, and hard no. 

Maybe you’re really starting to like this Red Hood guy.

Hard yes.

You’re slightly on guard upon hearing a clattering on the balcony, though if the past few weeks have been any indicator, you’re not in much danger.

Your posture slumps as you peer around the hallway corner, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Good to see you too.” he grumbles, dropping onto the floor.

“Well, I have to imagine I’m a step up from the last person you saw.” You say, looking him up and down, seeing what sure as hell looks like a gunshot wound on his chest armor. “What happened to you? The Mad Hatter uses guns now?”

He groans, “Ah, I said something about him being a heartless fuck, and I guess he took it personally.”

You sigh, “Jesus Christ, Hood.”

He waves you off, “It’s not that big of a deal.” 

You scoff, “He tried to shoot you in the heart.”

“Yeah, well, he missed.” He grumbles, adjusting his position on the couch. 

You exhale sharply, “How do you know?”

“How do I know?” He tilts his helmet at you, exasperated. 

You throw your arms up at your side, “I don’t know! I’m not equipped for this scenario.”

He huffs, “Look, it’s fine, it hit my armor. It’ll probably just be a bad bruise.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t think there’s blood. Could you…” he vaguely gestures to his torso, but it's enough for you to get the hint.

You shake the panic out of your head, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You help him shrug off his jacket as he strips off his armor, and you lift his shirt up as slowly as you can in case the injury is worse than he thinks.

You’re not shocked to see that he has scars, that’s kind of a given in his line of work. What you are shocked to see is one very long scar that lines directly up the center of his body. It’s a deep scar, too.

And, oh. The long scar extends further, splitting off into a fork at his collar. That’s—oh. Oh. Oh. That is an autopsy scar. 

You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never seen a living person with an autopsy scar—though you have to imagine neither have most people.

He clearly does not want to talk about it and you’re happy to let him keep the skeleton in the closet.

You avert your gaze back over to his diaphragm at the area of reddened skin.

“There’s no blood, but…” You inspect it a bit closer, “I think there’s going to be a bad bruise. You might end up with bruising on your ribs, you need to get that looked at.”

“I am.” He says shortly.

You stand up straight, dropping your shoulders. “By someone who went to medical school. Or has taken more than one anatomy class in their life.” 

He yanks down his shirt, standing, apparently too quickly, and wobbling. You catch his arm as he sways, attempting to steady him. “You should sit down.”

“Need to go back out.” He grunts, trying to pull away from you with little force.

“To get killed? ‘Cause you’re going the right way about it.” 

He tilts his head at you like he’s daring you to be so bold again. At least that's what it felt like. You sigh, gesturing to the couch, “Sit down.”

You didn’t expect it to work but he does as told.

You look around, unsure of what to do next. “Do you need ice?”

“What?”

“You’re hurt.” You say slower. “Do you need ice?”

He falters for a second, “No, it’s—no.” A couple beats pass before he adds, “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

It’s impossible not to notice that he’s staring at you. You feel hot under his gaze, not knowing what to do with yourself. You clear your throat, telling him to hang on for a second. 

You call out behind you as you walk to the kitchen, “Take your helmet off, it’s rude.” You grab the painkillers from their new easily-accessible place on the kitchen counter and grab a water bottle from the fridge.

It was a joke but when you come back his helmet is off and he’s just wearing his domino eye mask. His hair is extra tousled, the white streak barely visible in the mess of loose curls. You toss the bottle of meds at him, followed by the capped bottle of water. He catches them easily, downing more than he probably should have but he got shot tonight so you figure you’ll give him a break about it.    

You plop down on the couch next to him, honestly closer than you’d meant to. Your knees and shoulders lightly brush against one anothers, though neither of you make any moves to scoot over. 

You both look straight ahead at the wall, simmering in the amity. “So did somebody else deal with the Hatter or when you get shot do you just bounce back like a T-1000?”

He scoffs, “No, getting shot at is a bit of an inconvenience for me.”

“Wrong line of work.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “You’re telling me.”

You turn your head to him, “Why do you do it then?” 

He looks back at you earnestly. “Someone has to.” 

“Someone does.”

He tenses up a bit at that, breaking eye contact. “Not well enough.” 

Your head slowly lulls and drops into a rest on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen up a bit more before almost completely relaxing.

“So violence is the answer to violence?” you ask, not argumentative, just genuinely musing. 

Hood sighs, “Half-assed reform programs didn’t do anything, shitty ‘crisis interventions’ didn’t do anything, the cops sure as hell don’t do anything.” He shrugs under you. “You run out of options eventually.”

“And that’s why you took it upon yourself to intervene?”

“Mm. ‘When reason fails, the devil helps.’” He says, quite melodramatically, in your opinion.

“I-Is that—” you squint, shooting off of his shoulder to look him in the eye. “You spend your nights getting in street fights and shootouts and you spend your days reading Crime and Punishment of all things?” You gawk at him, “That explains a lot about your disposition.”

He shrugs with a shake of his head. “It’s a rough world. Can’t afford to be reading about Hogwarts.”

You pause, combing through your next words, “‘Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.’”

His eyes crinkle under his mask as he smiles, clearly pleasantly surprised that you know your shit. “Touché.”

You grin back, pleased with yourself. 

There’s a brief recession where your smiles both get caught in the flicker between on and off, where your eyes take the opportunity to scan over each other’s faces. 

You realize that this may be the first time you’ve seen him properly smile and it’s so magnetizing. So much so that you don’t realize you’re staring at his lips until your eyes snap back up to his and find that his are on yours.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he nudges you a bit with his shoulder. It does just enough to break the trance, giving you the cue to rest your head on him again. This time you allow more of your weight to lean against him and he actually seems relaxed for once.

 You glance at the clock on the wall without moving and realize it’s almost four in the morning. “I’m tired, Hood.” you mumble into his shirt.

“You don’t—” he falters for a moment, “You don’t have to call me that.”

You squint at him, “What should I call you then?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “J.”

“J?” you whisper, like it’s a grave secret. You guess it kind of is.

He nods.

“Okay.” Your cheek flattens against his shoulder. “J.” 

You nearly think you’re imagining it when you feel him rest his head against yours.

“You don’t know how to protect yourself?”

You roll your eyes at him, “You saw the way I swung at you with the baseball bat, what do you think?”

It’s only just after sunset, you could still see some purple-pink hues in the sky if you looked out the window. He’s started showing up before patrol some nights, saying he felt bad about waking you up at 3 am multiple times a week. So now, he mostly only drops in late if he’s a manageable amount of injured.

You stand in the middle of your living room together, after you’d made a joke about needing him as a bodyguard in Gotham. As it turns out, that was a one way street to him finding out that you’re useless in a fight.

“I was hoping you were having an off night because you just woke up, but now I'm concerned.” He says, grimacing.

You shrug, “I carry pepper spray.” 

He grumbles, displeased. “Put your hands up.”

You drop your head to the side and glower at him, “Really?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. Just do it. 

Alright, you’ll humor him. You put your fists up and he holds his hands open in front of you in kind. You throw a light punch.

“Come on, put your weight behind it.”

You do, hitting his hand harder. “Hood—”

He tilts his head forward at that, looking at you through his brows.

You inhale impatiently, “J, Why do we have to do this? I don’t have any illusions that I could knock you out and I can’t imagine you do either.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s not about knocking someone out, it’s about defending yourself. Gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hurt you if you’re throwing punches. Harder.”

You give a raised hum, “Not if they have a gun…”

“Well, we’ll work on that too.”

You groan, throwing a half-assed hit. “Where’d you learn to fight?” You ask before throwing another.

“Turn your body into it.” He corrects. “My, uh, my dad taught me.”

You hum, hitting him again. “Are you guys close?”

“You’re being nosy again.” He grunts amidst a hit.

“You’re being evasive again.” You shoot back.  

He drops his hands, taking your wrists in his, “Here, put your hands in front of your face when you shoot so you can block counters.” He tells you, adjusting your stance accordingly.

You make a face, “I’m confused, am I fighting a mugger or a kickboxer?”  

He ignores you, moving his hands around to give you different angles to hit at. 

You go at it for a few minutes, taking his critiques with reluctant concedence. “Alright, that’s good.” He says, relaxing his body.

You perk up, “We’re done?” 

“No,” he shuts you down before asking earnestly, “Do you trust me?”

Your brain hadn’t even fully processed the question before you nod, mumbling a ‘yes’. He takes a measured step closer to you, watching carefully for your reaction. You almost back up in surprise, angling your head up further to look at him properly. You give no objection, so he continues, “I want you to try to get me on the ground.”

You let out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. “You’re twice my size.”      

He sighs, looking at you somberly. “Sweetheart, odds are you’re not going to be evenly matched against someone that wants to hurt you. You get ‘em on the ground ‘n you have the upper hand or it’ll give you time to get away.”

You throw your hands up at your sides, “I don’t—” You huff, “Fine, okay.” You try to trip him by sliding your leg behind his and kicking, but he blocks you expertly.

You, against better judgment, shove your shoulder into his side, though it does nothing to phase him, let alone knock him down. 

“You gotta get more creative than that.” He chastises with a tut. 

In response, you take a step back to reassess the situation. You try to maintain a poker face as you strategize in your head. You make a dive for his legs, wrapping your arms around the back of his legs and pulling hard to make him lose balance. You’re sure if he were actually trying for a damn you would immediately be done for afterwards, but it does make him wobble. You then throw all of your weight against him, pushing him backwards and causing him to hit the floor with a thud.

He probably allowed for gravity to come to your aid, but he lands on his back all the same. You land half on him, half on the carpet, your hand resting on his chest. He looks up at you nodding, “Good. That was good, sweetheart.”

You smile, quite proud of yourself, and start to stand up when he hooks his arm around the back of your knee and pulls you to the ground too, switching places with you. You hit the ground gently with a sigh, “Really?”

He has one hand rested next to your head to balance him in his place above you. He smirks down at you and lets a tussle of white hair hang over his forehead. “Can’t be getting cocky, sweetheart.”

You laugh sourly, “Coming from you?” 

You quickly push at the bend of his arm and use the distraction to adjust your position to wrap your legs around his center and push your arm against his chest in an attempt to rotate him off of you.

He counters you by pushing your shoulder down, holding you down to the floor. His opposite hand flies to pull your forearm away from his chest, pinning it next to your head, careful to avoid your hair. He moves so quickly that you have half a mind to think he acted on pure instinct. That, and the look on his face when the dust settles says that he hadn’t intended for you to end up in this position. 

Your legs are still wrapped around him and you’re too frozen in the moment to make any changes. He’s in no more of a rush to move, large frame towering over you. You feel his touch stutter against your shoulder, his eyes flickering across your face.

You gaze up at him, taking in the soft look in his eyes behind the mask. You think you can see more green than you did before. You unwrap your legs from around his waist and slowly start to sit up. He releases your wrist and eases the pressure on your shoulder. He leans back half as quickly as you move forward, stopping when you’re propped up on your elbows.

Your faces are only a few inches apart and it feels like your only option is to look down at his lips. You have a feeling he’s doing the same to you. The adrenaline of the hassle has long since faded but the rhythm in both of your chests remains quick.

He leans forward so barely, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. “J…” you say breathily, not sure what implication you’re aiming for.

He stills and this time you’re sure he’s looking at your lips. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to come back to himself and inches his face away from yours slowly. 

You let the hold in your breath release, disappointed more than anything. He eases off the floor to a stand and holds his hand out to help you up too. You take it with more of a frown than you’d meant to let out and rise to your feet.

“Let’s, uh…” He looks at the ground before taking a step back and putting his hands up again. “Let’s try some combos.”

You blink up at him for a second before raising your hands too.  

Alright, one step at a time.   

vol II