#i had to break my head for ideas for this chapter

[waynes-readingverse]

Truly a perfect (and realistic) ending to a wonderful series! This was such a magical ride from beginning to end! Your writing really took me to a different world here, Alex!! 😍💜🌌

And oh boy, my heart was beating fast in my chest when Michael stormed her hotel room, and Sam and Dean weren't there yet. I was glad his anger simmered down a little, but of course, seeing her with Dean then later turned the heat right up again 🙈

“Darling, are you…you scared of me or something?” he asked incredulously. “I know I’ve been working late, not coming home when I say I will sometimes, but have I ever raised a hand to you? Not even once, right?”

The nerve... 🤌🙄

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

The fact Dolores was Jo blew my mind! 🤯 Up until that point, I had made an OC for her in my head lmao

But man, Dean storming in all heroic had my knees weak, girl 😍😍

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed. Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

Such a pissing contest, and I'm loving it lol

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

GO SAM!!! 😎

And for a moment, everyone was happy then, right? But damn if my heart didn't drop during this scene:

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said. Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

You had me so worried!! I was afraid we'd end up in, I don't know, 1968? And they're both married with kids to other people... But I was real glad it was only a few months. Seriously, thank fucking God, you didn't rip my heart out. Phew... 😆

I totally understand why Dean left, though. It wasn't the right time for them, and she needed to deal with her divorce first and Dean with his... demons lol, and that's why I loved this so much! Because it wasn't clean-cut, and Michael wasn't giving up so easily, and she still struggled with her feelings, and all of it made sense and kept it realistic. Truly loved that! 🥹🫶

And I knew from the start when I read the chapter title that the "dried ink" would both refer to her divorce papers and a new marriage certificate 😂💕

“I’m not another man,” Dean said. His tone was firm, but also imploring, willing you to hear him. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m me and you’re you. It’s not about Michael, or anyone else right now but us. And you’ve gotta know…sweetheart, you’ve gotta know that I’m not him.”

That broke me... The reassurance he gives her? Gah 💀

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words. 

I also died that she got married so quickly again for a second time! I'd understand her parents' concern lol. Luckily, she met Dean the second time around, or this is the kind of hopeless romanticism that becomes dangerous fast 😂

“For the money. I’m thinking that after all this, you want to stick closer to home, be near your family,” he said. “I’ve got nothing tying me down over there besides the house, so I figure we can use the money to buy one here. With whatever’s left, I could try to start an auto repair shop. Nothing big to start. Just a space big enough for the work. I’m not picky about it. Your uncle could send me the stragglers from his tows, if he’s agreeable to it.”

This was such a smart idea of him, and I loved that he wanted her to be closer to her family! 😍 Surely also scoring brownie points with the in-laws lol

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered.  When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again. The train rode on.

Oooof, and that was such a perfect way to end it, too 😮‍💨

Like I said, I hope they truly live happily ever after with a bunch of kids running around the yard, Dean grilling, and her baking apple pie. They deserve it 🥹❤️

Such a fantastic journey, friend!!! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Ready for an angsty-fun filled finale? 😘💖

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “The Very Thought of You” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, tense situations, protective Dean, hurt/comfort, fluff, and spice.~

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Part 5: Dried Ink

Dean slammed the payphone back on the hook in frustration. He’d tried calling twice from the train station and couldn’t get you at home. It was getting late in the evening and he knew you were off work already. Where the hell did you go?

“She could’ve packed up and left him already,” Sam said. “I gave her the number of a decent hotel I know over in the Village.”

Dean reluctantly stepped aside for the next person waiting to use the phone. The sound of his train clicking by fast on the tracks echoed in the station. A gust of wind shoved at the brothers' backs, ruffling their long coats, as well as Sam's hair.

“You think she did it that quick?” Dean asked.

“One way to find out,” Sam said. “Come on. I’ve got my car waiting.”

It was so very strange to watch the bellman bring your suitcases inside your new room. You’d only ever stayed in a hotel once, for your honeymoon in Philadelphia. Michael took you to the Walnut Street Theater there, and among other things, to see the Liberty Bell. It had reminded both of you about the true cost of freedom.

You let that thought slip away from you with a shake of your head as you started unpacking, hesitantly at first. It almost didn’t feel real.

Fortunately, after sampling from a bottle of scotch you’d found under Michael’s side of the bed (and slipped into your suitcase), you began to settle into the idea. You took a break from hanging up your dresses in the closet to peer out the window to the narrow, busy streets below the fifth floor. Everything looked so small down there, so far away. In time, maybe the heaviness in your heart would feel that far away too.

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. It could be Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you. “I come home with flowers, two tickets to see a show, ready to take my wife out to dinner, only to find the apartment half empty. Not to mention a letter that…frankly, cut me to down to the core.”

His anger lessened then, turning into dismay; the kind that you never would have expected to see in his eyes. Not after how he’d been acting for the past few months. He came closer and grabbed hold of you by the shoulders. When you tensed and expelled a shaky breath, he blinked in surprise.

“Darling, are you…you scared of me or something?” he asked incredulously. “I know I’ve been working late, not coming home when I say I will sometimes, but have I ever raised a hand to you? Not even once, right?”

You drew enough courage to meet his eyes, so blue, for once so earnest. It made you sick. Because the man he was when he was sober was more like the one you married. Only, you felt the true version of him was more akin to a sleeping dragon, lying in wait to be provoked.

“Neither of us have to lie anymore and pretend this is a marriage. At least, not one worth saving,” you said. “I know, Michael. I know about Dolores…or should I say, Joanna.”

Michael paused. His head cocked as disbelief crossed his features. He stared down at you almost without blinking.

“Did you know her real name was Joanna Johnson?” you asked. “Ring any bells with Brady Johnson, the man you’ve been paying to keep her company?”

Michael frowned. “He’s her brother. He pays her bills—”

“No,” you shook your head. “Look in the folder sitting on the coffee table there.”

You gestured over to it with a nod of your head. Michael was drawn to the path of your gaze. When his morbid curiosity was too much, he finally let go of you to investigate the folder in question. You released a subtle sigh of relief. You began drifting over behind the couch and closer to the landline phone. It rested on a nearby accent table.   

Meanwhile, Michael sorted through the contents of the folder and all the information Sam had gathered for you. He’d made copies of all the evidence for your personal records, including the photos he took of Michael and Dolores.

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

No one short of Clark Gable could fake the jolt of shock that crossed Michael’s face. You saw the truth of it in his eyes when he glanced up at you.

“I don’t know why it should bother you, seeing as you don’t seem to care much about wedding vows,” you couldn’t help but snark. You were no longer all that sad though. Somehow, that pitiful look on his face made you feel sorry for him.

Michael seemed to have swallowed his tongue. For a while, he couldn’t dislodge it from the roof of his mouth to speak. But when he did, it wasn’t with anything good to say.

“How did you get all this?” he asked.

Your spine stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, Michael. I can’t do this anymore. You should be getting the divorce papers served to you by the morning—”

Your words were cut off when he rounded the corner of the couch, grabbing you by the arms again. This time, his grip was much firmer and made you gasp.

“What the hell is going on? Have you been spying on me?!” he raised his voice to new heights, shaking you once by your shoulders. “How long have you been planning to leave me?”

The words became choked in your throat along with your fear—one that paralyzed you, and made you feel sick with yourself, small and weak.

The door bursting open again startled you both, but it was Michael who grunted when he was heaved off of you by his shirt and waistcoat.

You stumbled and braced yourself against the back of the couch, but your widened eyes fell on the one man you never thought you’d see again.

“Dean,” you breathed.

He spared you a look of concern through his anger, but Michael soon commanded his attention by trying to break his hold. Dean reeled back his arm and delivered a solid punch that knocked the other man into the wall. Michael leaned heavily against it to keep himself upright, and he had to blink a few spots out of his eyes, not only grimacing at the ache in his cheek. That one blow had rattled through his skull, disturbing old injuries. He glared over at Dean.

“Who the hell are you?” Michael shouted. His shock only increased when he noticed Sam Winchester shutting the hotel room door behind him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m her lawyer, Mr. Milligan, and you’re hereby served,” Sam said.

He strode forward with a packet of papers. Michael took a purposeful step towards him, but Dean shoved Michael back against the wall. It allowed Sam to place the packet in Michael’s disbelieving hand.

Dean went over to you then, giving you a meaningful once-over as you held yourself. He softened when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“You all right?” he said quietly, laying a hand on the small of your back. You still couldn’t quite speak, but you nodded at him gratefully, tucking a wily strand of hair behind your ear.

Michael took notice of it once he peeled his eyes from the divorce papers, and up at you and Dean. Michael’s lips pursed as his posture became even more tense and irate.

“I’m not signing this,” he said, tossing the folder onto the coffee table beside the evidence of his infidelity. He met your wary gaze. “Look, I’m not saying I’ve been a perfect husband, but you’re my wife. That still means something to me. We can…we can still work this out.”

Against your will, hot tears burned in your eyes, and your mouth trembled. The men watched you closely.

You shook your head.

“No. We can’t,” you said. “You’re not the man I thought I married.”

In those blue eyes, you thought you saw the shine of a breaking heart. But all too quickly, it turned into anger and denial. Michael meant to cross the narrow distance between you with a threat on his mind and tight coiling of his entire frame. Dean’s hand slid from your back as he stepped in between, fisting a hand in the other man’s dress shirt and pressing there hard.

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed.

Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

“Dean,” you gasped, reaching out for him. His backward glance at you warned you to stay where you were.

Michael became even more incensed. Again, he was noticing the familiarity between you and this man invading his space, threatening him, and standing between him and his wife. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Sam finally spoke up again.

“If you don’t take that file and leave now, peacefully, then this isn’t the only one of your affairs that’s going to come to light,” Sam said.

Michael hesitated. He glanced over at Sam with an angry raise of his brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know very well what it means,” Sam replied. He picked up the folder of evidence he gave you and slipped out a few documents that highlighted an audit of Milligan Meats.

“How does a family business stay so incredibly lucrative during one of the worst times for meat production since the Depression?” Sam wondered aloud. “Maybe it has something to do with those connections you made in Philadelphia, greasing hands like Vondich, from Pittsburg. Or accepting kickbacks from the Torelli family to stock their restaurants with higher quality beef. Who knew that your father had deep, shall we say intimate ties, to one of the biggest mafia families in New York City?”

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

“How did you get this?” he said. Then, as it dawned on him, he looked over at you in betrayal. You hadn’t known about the Torellis, but Sam had been able to sort the last five years of audits for himself, thanks to your investigation of Michael’s office.

“I did my own digging, Mr. Milligan,” Sam said, earning back his attention. “Your wife’s only part in this was asking for my help in securing her divorce. As you can see, I’m very thorough. And these aren’t my only copies of this information. I’m fully prepared to take it to the authorities, today.”

His lie was to protect you, just as much as Dean physically putting himself between you and Michael was. You didn’t know if Michael entirely bought the lie, but eventually, his shoulders sagged in defeat.

He grabbed the papers from Sam’s hand, pivoted on his heel, and turned to leave. However, Michael stopped at the doorway to look back at you.

“This is really what you want?” he asked.

You nodded. “You know it is.”

With that confirmation, Michael took his heavy heart with him when he left.

Sam and Dean helped you repack your things. Neither of them trusted Michael to leave you alone now that he knew where you were. You didn’t want to make such a fuss, but they insisted on helping to put you up at a different hotel across town.

Sam took half of your belongings in his car, where he also had Dean’s one and only suitcase. Dean loaded the rest of your luggage in a taxicab and sat beside you, mostly staring out the window while he smoked. During the ride, you couldn’t help but glance at him every so often. You noted his profile, handsome as always, except now you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking.

“Dean,” you said quietly. It earned you his attention, as his eyes roamed over you from your familiar beige jacket to your favorite burgundy lipstick.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am,” you nodded, giving him a small smile. “Thank you.”

You tried to convey deeper things with your words, and you thought Dean read your meaning. He hesitated for a moment, but he took up your hand and pressed a kiss to your fingers.

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said.

Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

Dean held your gaze for a long moment, and let out a breath through his nose.

“Nothing’s changed, sweetheart. I’m still a man with a lot to make of himself, and you’re still a married woman, even without the ring,” he said, gesturing to your left hand held in his. “It’s not the right time for us…and I’m not asking you to wait for me to get my act together. It’s not fair to you.”

You were quiet for a while. The cab’s tires continued rolling over bits of gravel in the street, the honking horns and other pocketed sounds of the city falling into a background symphony. You glanced up at Dean, meeting his eyes once more.

“I don’t regret anything,” you told him, squeezing his hand. “I could never.”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards. “Me either, baby. Not for all the world.” 

He held your hand until the taxi stopped in front of the hotel. Dean leaned over to open the door. He helped you out of the car, but there, he let you go.

You supposed you’d have to be strong enough to walk alone this time.

March 1946

Four months later, it was official. 

Oh, Michael sure made it difficult. Sam did make a point to keep an eye on you though. He even hired a client and friend, Benny Lafitte, to accompany you to and from work every day. The burly man was an intimidating presence, but he was kind and respectful. He made you feel safer, especially in the evenings when he kept watch of your apartment for a while, sat out front in his car.

Michael was tenacious. He likely used his connections through town, however nefarious they might be, to find out where you were staying again. He continued to show up outside your hotel room. 

Nonetheless, when he sat up against your door all night and realized that you wouldn’t budge, the anger finally drained out of Michael. The exhaustion and guilt set in, perhaps not for the first time. 

Then, he drunkenly apologized through the closed door, not knowing you were leaning in on the other side of it. It wasn’t the kind of apology that meant anything, you thought, but the kind that meant to let him save face in your eyes, to persuade you into softening. 

You didn’t soften, even though he tried everything to get you to reconsider. He tried gentle words and grandiose gestures, even so far as getting down on his knees outside the door and begging—something you’d never seen him do, not once. Part of you wanted to open the door just an inch if it allowed you to see that sight.

Your tears came, but not because your heart was easing up to him. Your heart was breaking again, knowing this was the end. 

He tried reminding you of how difficult it would be for you afterwards, how it might affect your family, your job, everyone’s perception of you. More importantly to him, it would affect how people saw him, a man divorced after barely a year. 

Somehow, you found the strength to speak to him slowly from inside the door. 

“It’s already done, Michael. And so am I,” you said. “After I saw you and Dolores together with my own eyes, I…I was intimate with another man. I didn’t do it to hurt you, but I still did it.”

His silence was deafening. Not being able to see him actually made this easier though. You sighed.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t go back to us,” you said, “because that would be a lie.”

You couldn’t see it, but his face tightened as angry tears filled his eyes. He felt the weight of his decisions like never before, along with a pulsing, phantom pain in his skull that alcohol could no longer dull. Dimly, he remembered the man he used to be, before. He remembered having a shred of honor to his name, even before he married you. And he did that because he’d loved you. He was sure that he had, somehow…

“I am sorry, darling,” he croaked. “You have to know…”

You nodded, taking a breath to try and steady yourself. 

“I know,” you realized. As much as he was able to be, he was sorry.

He picked himself up from outside your door and walked away. He never returned after that.

In those four months, you resolved to move back to Sioux Falls. New York had become your home in the past year and a half you’d lived here, but it wasn’t who you were. You wanted a quieter life. A more peaceful life. 

You initially agreed to move to the city with Michael because you had wanted to please him, and make his transition back to civilian life easier in his familiar surroundings. You thought the two of you were building a life together.

New York City was still a heartbeat of a world, but it was no longer in your heart. 

Now, you were finishing up on packing your things at the hotel. You left for South Dakota tomorrow, and you already sent your last payment to Sam Winchester a few days ago, along with a handwritten letter thanking him for his help. You felt badly for not going to visit his office in person, but it would be too hard. You would be too tempted to ask about his brother. 

Dean.

Just the thought of his name made your heart constrict. You weren’t sure if it was only with pain, though you hoped he was doing well. You tried to remember that you had known him for barely a week. Your mind and your heart shouldn't be so taken up with him.

And yet.

He had seen you at your lowest, belly-to-the-ground low. He had brushed away your tears and hadn’t tried to flatter you with pretty words. He’d made you feel better with simple, raw honesty.

He gave you a window into his past, even though a soldier like him wouldn’t easily pry himself open for anyone, short of his own brother, you suspected. So you’d come to realize, whenever the memory of him greeted you after that day in the park, that he’d given you something special. Perhaps the best night of your life.

Your fingers paused on the brass doorknob to what had been your bedroom for the past few months. It was a modest one, complete with a kitchen and a small two-seater sofa.

Hotels were expensive, but your parents had been kind enough to send you some money to help you. They’d been dismayed to learn of the reasons behind your divorce, of course. They both had been against it at first, but when they heard your voice over the phone, along with the full story, they finally agreed to support you in what way they could, especially by welcoming you back home.

You were looking forward to seeing them. It had only been a couple of months since they’d come to the city for Christmas, but you were ready to go home to some familiarity, and to your family’s support. 

You shook your head to get yourself unstuck from all of that. You straightened the wrinkles out of your long skirt and adjusted the collar of your blouse. You had just come home from your last day of work not too long ago, so you supposed you would take a bath and get changed into something more comfortable before you finished packing. Your train left tomorrow, early in the morning.  

You were about to head into the bathroom when you heard a knock at the door. Frowning, you wondered who it could be. If it was Michael again, you were not opening the door, and you’d call the police for good measure if he stuck around. You were done entertaining him in every sense of the word. 

You went to the door and looked into the peephole. Your brows furrowed. You unlatched all three locks on the door and opened it to the room service maid.

“Hi, Bridget, how are you?” you greeted her.

“Oh, I’m doing well, ma’am. Sorry, I’m a bit behind today, but I’m here to clean the room.”

“Oh, well, now isn’t really a good time,” you said. You had duffel bags and suitcases open, with your clothes, a curling iron, and other things thrown about. Not to mention, you had a leftover sandwich sitting half-eaten on the dining table with a nearly empty bag of chips.

“I’m afraid I can’t come back later,” said Bridget. She tended to talk with her hands, made more interesting by the fact that she held a broom with one hand, and pulled her cleaning cart with the other. “It’ll be too late, and then you’ll be asleep!”

“Look, I’ll just clean tonight, and you can come back tomorrow after I leave. How does that sound?” you suggested.

“All right, if that’s how you want it,” Bridget said with a shrug. She threw her broom on the cart and started pushing it down the hall. She still called back to you over her shoulder, “Goodnight, ma’am! Safe travels for your trip home.”

You shook your head with a weary smile. “Thank you. Goodnight!”

You closed the door behind you and reset all the locks in place. Releasing a heavy sigh, you supposed you should get back to packing. You turned to do just that, when there came another knock on the door. This time it was a heavier sound.

“For God’s sake. What is it now?” you groused.

You went back to look into the peephole. This time, your mouth fell open in a gasp. You undid all the locks again with shaking hands, and you opened the door. There stood Dean Winchester. 

He looked nice. Dapper really, wearing a dark blue suit and tie over a crisp white shirt and blue waistcoat underneath. His hair was combed and gelled and parted to the right, and he smelled faintly of a woodsy cologne.

He also looked just as stricken to see you. His eyes were as green as you remembered, and they took in your form from head to toe. They returned to your face, softening slightly, and he smiled. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

God, his voice. It threatened to make you weak. 

You shook your head and managed to smile back at him. “What’re you doing here?”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s some welcome.”

“You know what I mean.” You reached out for him, and he took your hand, raising the back of it to his lips in a kiss. All the while, his eyes never left you. Your face flushed hotly, your heartbeat leaping in and out of rhythm. 

“I’m here to see you,” he said, matter of factly. As if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Your mouth ran dry. It was difficult to form words, but somehow you managed it.

“Would…would you like to come in then?” you offered. 

“I’d like nothing more,” he replied. 

The depths in his words made a tingle run down your spine, though you tried to hide your reaction to it. You let him in and shut the door behind you both. 

“So you’re headed home, huh?” he asked. He was sitting next to you on the couch with a soda you procured for him, and a cigarette in hand, yet to be lit. 

“Did Sam tell you?” you asked. 

Dean nodded, smiling ruefully. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

You ducked your head, a bit embarrassed. He tossed his unlit cigarette on the coffee table and tucked a finger under your chin. He raised your head until you met his eyes. 

“There she is,” he said softly. 

You sucked in a breath laden with emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Why are you here, Dean?”

“I think you know,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

“I think you need to say it,” you replied, daring him with the directness of your gaze. His hand fell away from your chin, just to cup your cheek as he moved closer. You grabbed onto his arm in reflex.

“I told you, I had to see you,” he admitted. 

“Why? Why now?” you asked. “After what you said last time… For goodness’ sake, Dean. Why wait until I’m about to leave?”

“Because,” Dean said. He took a subtle breath, making himself relax. “Because I had to sort myself out, and I had to wait until the ink dried on those damn divorce papers. Because if I’d come any sooner, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

Hope dared to rise high in your throat. Your eyes flit over his face, and finally met his.

“From what?” you whispered.

Dean tilted his head to consider it. He bit into his lip, and then, he made a choice.

He kissed you with abandon. He kept kissing you, stealing your breath, finding new angles to devour you with. He robbed you of any coherent thought in your head the moment his tongue breached your lips to curl against yours. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you grabbed onto his jacket and made indents in the fabric with your nails. His hands moved down your body to squeeze your waist, pulling you flush against him. You moaned into his mouth.

“Dean,” you said, half on a gasp, half on a whimper.

He managed to slow down for a moment. His hand came up to pet your hair.

“No matter what the hell I do, I’m selfish. I just…I can’t let you go,” he said, with furrowed brows.

You shook your head in dismay. “You didn’t need to, you know. I wouldn’t have let you take me home that night if I didn’t think you were a good man…and I certainly wouldn’t have invited you in.”

Your lips tugged at a smile, making Dean smirk as well. That memory had stayed with him too, usually on long nights alone in his house. He tried to remember the sweet smell of your perfume, the feeling of your soft skin, the sound of your pretty moans in his ear. Even now, the thought stirred the well of arousal inside him.

But also, there were other things he missed, like the sight of your smile, your sweeter voice, somehow gentle and strong all at once. He shook his head, thumbing at your cheek.

“The truth is, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the day I met you,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you.”

Your eyes blinked wide at him in shock. His face was steady and even, but his amusement was starting to peek through the longer he looked at you.   

“Pretty sure?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Well, I’m willing to be more definitive on the subject if you are,” he teased. 

You fought a smile, but you couldn’t quite help it. Still, doubt began to creep in from behind.

“I want to believe you,” you said quietly. “But part of me is afraid that these are all just pretty words. If I let another man—”

“I’m not another man,” Dean said. His tone was firm, but also imploring, willing you to hear him. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m me and you’re you. It’s not about Michael, or anyone else right now but us. And you’ve gotta know…sweetheart, you’ve gotta know that I’m not him.”

You tried steadying yourself with a breath. Your watery gaze cut away from Dean, but he wouldn’t let you hide. He gently brought you back, once again guiding your chin. He swept the lone tear from your cheek.

“Please, just tell me the honest truth. Tell me how you feel about us, and I promise, I won’t take it for granted,” he said. He knew he was practically begging, sounding almost needy and weak, but he couldn’t walk away from you again. Not until he knew for sure what you could want from him…what you could want with him.

The seconds of waiting for your answer were more agonizing than the long hours he spent traveling back to New York.

Until finally, you spared him. You shook your head and raised a hand to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing over his plush lower lip.

“After you left, I thought about you every morning when I woke up. And I prayed for you every night before I went to sleep,” you said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you too.”

Dean smiled. It was a soft, boyish smile that seemed too young for his face. You loved him all the more for it.

He leaned in…but he hesitated, stopping just shy of your lips.

“Look, I still don’t know if I can be the man you need,” he said. He looked into your eyes. “But I can promise to try, every day, and for the rest of our lives.”

Hot tears once again stung in your eyes, threatening to blur your vision.

“That’s all I could ask for, Dean,” you replied. “I’ll try for you too.”

He smiled slightly, holding you a little closer by your waist.

“Good, because my shoulder still hurts sometimes. Gonna need you to work another miracle or two.”

You laughed and nodded, your hand sliding back up his arm to rub the old injury in his shoulder.

“My specialty,” you teased.

His smile dimmed then, becoming a touch serious, and even rueful.

“And, uh…I don’t sleep so well at times, either,” he said.

You sobered as well. “Me too,” you said. Your lips hinted at a smile again. “But we can keep each other company.”

Dean read the thread of suggestion in your eyes, despite the hint of shyness. His smile began to perk up again.

“I can also be kind of stubborn,” he admitted.

Amused, you tilted your head and ran a gentle hand over his chest. Was he giving you every reason you might say no to him?

“Well, I’m sure I can find a way to soften you up,” you said.

Chuckling, Dean took your hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. “Oh, I got no doubts about that, sweetheart.”

He rested your hand back on his chest and thought for a moment more. You just waited for him, patiently stroking his hand with your thumb. You had time to wait.

“You know, I occasionally like to cook too,” he said, with something of an embarrassed chuckle.

Your smile brightened with interest. “Really? Well,” you said, slipping your hand out of his and winding your arms around his neck. “We can take turns feeding each other then.”

Dean really liked the way your mind worked. His hands splayed along your lower back and brought you more flush against his chest. Your face was mere inches from his, tilted up to him in waiting.

Again, he stopped short of kissing you.

“Ah, there’s probably a lot more you should know, but this one’s kind of a big one,” Dean said. That serious tone crept back up in his voice. “I’ve got a plan to make money. It’s not a sure-fire thing, but it’s an honest one. And even if it doesn’t work, I’ll just try something else. I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of you. You don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?”

You smiled at his earnestness. What surprised you most of all was that you believed him. Every word. Because you could see it in the deep green of his eyes. If you trusted him, he wouldn’t let you down. Or at least, he would try his hardest. Try really was all you could ask for.

“Then I’ll take care of you too,” you nodded, stroking his cheek.

Dean’s smile rang true as well.

He finally kissed you again, trapping you thereafter against the sofa.

You sighed and nuzzled your head in a more comfortable position on Dean’s shoulder. The train bound for South Dakota was travelling full speed ahead, four days after your initially booked ticket. The carriage bumped and jostled you both at times, but you felt nothing but peace. 

Dean turned his attention towards you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His fingers entwined with yours in his lap. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, both genuine and a little teasing. 

“Mhmm,” you nodded. Your eyes closed as you let out a breath. He smiled into your hair. 

“So what’s it like in Sioux Falls?” he asked quietly, as to not disturb you too much. He just wanted to keep hearing your voice. He’d missed it. He’d missed you. 

“Quieter than the city,” you replied, after a moment to think about it. “Slower, but in some ways nicer. I think you’ll like it more than New York, anyway, and I think my parents will like you too…if they don’t think too much less of me.”

“Why would they think less of you?” Dean asked. 

You picked your head up and looked up at him a bit bashfully. You raised up your joined hands, where his mother’s wedding bands now rested on your ring finger. 

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words. 

Dean chuckled, and he wrapped you up more snugly against him and rubbed your back. If you wanted to get technical, the new marriage license was the most recent “ink” to be penned. Sam had been your witness, of course, and he’d hugged you both afterwards. For Dean, Sam’s hug was tight and bracing. 

“I’m happy for you, Dean. I’m always here for you. Anything you need.”

“That’s my line, little brother.”

Dean hadn’t known that the two of you needed to take a blood test just to get hitched, let alone that the license wouldn’t be valid for 72 hours. Though it did give you and Dean the opportunity to put your hotel room to good use for those three days. Call it a honeymoon before the honeymoon. 

(In fairness, you’d tried to hold out for decency’s sake, but your resolve dissipated even quicker than Dean’s.)

“Don’t worry, I’ll charm ‘em,” he said with a grin. 

You snorted. “Good luck with my father. Be prepared for his grilling. Where do you plan to live? What’re you doing for work?”

“Well, the first one we can talk about. The second one, I’ve already got an idea,” said Dean. “I wanted to wait until I saw you again to decide…but I plan to sell the house in Lawrence.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Why?”

You had already been mentally preparing yourself for a move to Kansas after visiting your parents. You never considered that Dean would want to sell his family home.

“For the money. I’m thinking that after all this, you want to stick closer to home, be near your family,” he said. “I’ve got nothing tying me down over there besides the house, so I figure we can use the money to buy one here. With whatever’s left, I could try to start an auto repair shop. Nothing big to start. Just a space big enough for the work. I’m not picky about it. Your uncle could send me the stragglers from his tows, if he’s agreeable to it.”

“After he gets to know you, I don’t see why not. Dean, that’s a great idea and…thank you,” you replied. Your heart was touched that he would sell his family home, just so you could be near your family. You squeezed his hand and blinked past the tears beginning to burn in your eyes.

“Really, you don’t know what it means to me that you’d consider me like that.”

Dean noticed you getting worked up. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, though part of him felt a bit bashful. 

“It’s not all that special,” he said. You didn’t budge, however. 

“Yes, it is,” you said. You leaned up, wordlessly requesting a kiss. Dean obliged you. He kissed you long and slow and tender. 

He broke away after a while, just to look over your shoulder. He smiled. Then he leaned forward, careful to keep you secure in his arms as he locked the door. 

“What’re you up to?” you asked in amusement, despite the fire churning inside you.

“It’s a long way to the Midwest, sweetheart. I’m taking advantage of it,” he said. “What do you say?”

A knowing smile began to tug at your lips. “Hmm, depends on what you want to do.”

Dean shifted you onto his lap. Smirking at your small sound of surprise, he made a show of undoing every button that laced down the front of your dress with slow precision. Your breathing shallowed as you watched his nimble hand go one by one. 

“I plan to take my time,” he said. “I plan to make us both glad this train is loud enough to drown out just about anything.” 

He laid a kiss just above your neckline. The more buttons he loosened, the more bare skin he had to trail his affections, like on the tops of your breasts, and another kiss in between them. Uttering a soft sigh, you held him to you by his hair and threaded your fingers through the brown strands. His other hand squeezed your bottom, earning a stifled giggle from you. 

“I plan to map out every part of you, all over again,” he said, “until I can see it all with my eyes closed. Until we’re both sweaty and satisfied.” 

He raised his head just to mark a biting, claiming kiss on your throat, making your breath hitch. 

“That okay with you, baby?” he asked again. 

You felt his growing smile against your skin. You tightened a hand in his hair in retaliation. It was a scandalous proposal, not to mention risky. You two could be booted off the train, for heaven’s sake…  

Your breaths were shallow as he slipped a hand under the collar of your blouse, even under the bra to palm at your breast.

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered. 

When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again.

The train rode on.

AN: I promised a happy ending, didn't I? 😉✨ What did you think of the "end" of Michael, as well as how she and Dean worked things out? I absolutely loved working on this series and this AU world. Maybe I'll do another '40s AU in the future! 💖

But until then, I have lots of fun things coming up! You'll hear about the next story soon. 😘

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[https-bakugo]

Chapter 03.

♡ twenty three

♡ rivals to lovers / fake dating

♡ cw / tw : sort of angst at the end? moment of panic attack though it's minor

You pressed the doorbell and stepped back with a pleasant hum. “I don’t know why you bother ringing that shit. I always barge in whenever I have to fucking come here.” Bakugo grumbled as you both stood in front of the door to his mother’s studio. 

You looked back at him and scoffed. “That would be the nice thing to do Bakugo. You wouldn’t know.”

“Being nice is for pussies.”

“And here comes the attitude.” You mumbled under your breath.

Bakugo whipped his head around and glared at you, “Do you really wanna go? We can go right here right fucking now don’t test me-”

The front door swung open and a middle aged blond woman stepped out, offering you a soft smile, “Oh so you must be my son’s partner please please! Do come in! He never stops talking about you my dear- oh and shoes at the doorstep darling, are you hungry? Thirsty? Anything my son can get for you? Katsuki! Be a good boyfriend and help your partner out!” Mitsuki Bakugo shouted as she pushed the door open wider, ushering both of you inside her studio.

“God fucking damnit you hag! Shut the actual fuck up! You know we’re not actually dating! And they can handle themselves! I don’t gotta do shit for them!” Bakugo shouted at his mother as he tugged off his shoes.

“Bakugo!” You whipped your head around and glared at him, eyes narrowed into slits. “Watch your fucking language when you speak to your fucking mother goddamn it! I’m not risking losing an opportunity like this all because you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut you dumb piece of shit!” You hissed back at him.

Bakugo stared at you.

Mitsuki smiled.

Bakugo grumbled as you stepped into the studio, the tips of his ears flushing a soft red as his mother nudged him and grinned. He rolled his eyes and followed behind you, crossing his arms across his chest and looking around.

The studio was unfortunately - or maybe it was fortunately - the same as he remembered it when he was younger; and throughout all the different parts of his life. 

His mother’s desk was placed in the same shitty corner, and those creepy looking mannequins were still standing in every corner that they could possibly be placed without being knocked over - each one was covered in some sort of fabric, some of the outfits were finished, some were still a mess of stitching and needle work. 

There were things on the floor, scraps of fabric and tape measures and the whole place smelted of baked goods, like the oven had just been turned off and if he squinted - he could see a small Katsuki and Izuku, reaching for the caramel and chocolate chip cookies behind Mitsuki’s back - before two simultaneous wails would break her out of her thought. She would have to end up putting her needle down and pulling her glasses off her face before tending to the two boys, one whom she scolded and the other whom she carefully doted over.

That particular memory brought a small smile to Bakugo’s face.

He looked around more before his eyes met a small area in the back of the studio which he had dubbed “The hero’s corner” as a child. 

When he was younger he would sit on the floor and play with his action figures. When he started school the toys were replaced with notebooks and pens. He remembered one instance, during first year of highschool, where he was perched in his chair, furiously scribbling in his journal, (He was much too prideful to call it a diary) about you. Pages upon pages wasted as he ranted about how much he hated you. 

The strangest part? 

He had a nagging feeling that he really didn’t hate you-

Nope. Not going down that train of thought today. Thanks a lot Eijirou for putting that idea in my head in the first place. I hope you’re hit by a fucking train shitty hair.

“Katsuki are you even listening!” Mitsuki shouted at Bakugo who snapped back to reality, whipping his head back around and glaring at his mother.

“Shut up you hag! I don’t even know why the fuck I’m here! You already have all of my fucking measurements from when I was fucking born why do I gotta be here for?” He snapped back, fists clenched. Every moment he spent with you in his general vicinity was fucking torture and he felt like he was drowning. The smell of your perfume or shampoo or whatever the fuck you were wearing that he was smelling was slowly killing him here. 

"Y'know what fuck it I'm stepping outside for some air. It smells like shit in here. Open a window or something." Bakugo sighed, shaking his head as he stepped outside, sitting on the stairs.

He ran a hand through his ashy blond hair.

“Fucking shit Shitty Hair.” He hissed under his breath.

-

"This is going to suck so much ass." You sighed.

"Yep."

"Why do I gotta do this shit with you?"

"I'd be damned if I knew." Bakugo mumbled.

Your outfit was stunning and damn, did you feel stunning. Mitsuki really outdid herself when it came to the outfit. It was such a shame that it had to be used on Bakugo of all people. You nervously wiped your hands down your outfit, you had been to a few of these gala’s in the past - hero work tended to come with a lot more rubbing shoulders then you had been led to expect. “How long do we have to be doing this?” You whispered, turning to meet Bakugo’s stern gaze as he stared straight ahead. He clenched his jaw and shrugged. 

“Until the press gets what they want I guess.” He mumbled. He didn’t know how long it would take for them to get here - or when they would leave. When they drain us of our blood. For fuck’s sake. I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be at home right now. Or at the gym. Or god knows where.

Bakugo clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he forced himself to stare straight ahead. It was suffocating being in here. He thought the studio was bad? His sports car was a million times worse.

You were so fucking close. If he turned his head just a little bit to the side he would be able to point out and count each individual blemish on your face. 

The car reeked of whatever you were wearing. 

Again, not in a bad way. But shit - Bakugo was drowning.

Like he had been caught up in a rip and he was trying so fucking hard to swim to the sides - to safety but you were there and you were smiling at him, looking at him with those eyes and you grabbed him by the leg and forced his head under.

The worst part was that he knew it was going to get worse for him.

And it was all Kirishima’s fault. He was the one that planted this stupid idea in his head in the first place - if he had kept his big mouth shut Bakugo wouldn’t be here worrying about mending a broken relationship.

Shit.

You were going to be the death of him.

He sighed as the sleek sports car pulled up the venue. “Let me get the door for you.” Bakugo mumbled.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “What a gentleman.” You muttered under your breath as your ‘date’ stepped outside and pulled the door open for you. He reached for your hand but you slapped it away, throwing a glare at him.

“Don’t. I can handle myself.” You hissed under your breath.

Bakugo scoffed and pulled away, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in. “Did you forget? We gotta put on a show for these blood hungry demons society calls paparazzi. I don’t wanna be doing this shit either but it’s not like we have a fucking choice anyways. So pull that fucking stick out of your ass and take my fucking hand.”

You sighed defeatedly and debated your options, mulling a few thoughts in your head before you reached for Bakugo’s hand, holding your piercing glare as he intertwined his fingers with your own. He met your eyes and a silent understanding sparked between you both.

An hour. Tops. In and out. Give the press what they want so they can bump up our image. And then get the fuck out of there.

“Glad to see we agree on something…” Bakugo mumbled under his breath as he led you up the stairs, the flash of the cameras blinding him. A deep scowl etched into his face as he huffed.

You nudged him softly, meeting his gaze. “Smile.” You whispered as you both stepped up against the doors. “And stop stepping on my shoe.” You hissed. 

Bakugo rolled his eyes. 

You both smiled as the cameras flashed away, draining you of your essence. Of what made you both - fundamentally - you.

By the end of the night you would be a piece of gossip. An image on the newspapers. The name rolled off the tongue of a jealous fan. The name whispered in adoration of an obsessive stalker. A name.

A title.

Bakugo’s eyes flickered to your face for a moment before his arm snaked around your waist and gave you a soft squeeze. I’m here for you.

“Are you good?” Bakugo whispered as he led you inside. “You looked kinda out of it.” 

“I hate the paparazzi.” You mumbled as he led you up the stairs. 

“Yeah well. You don’t gotta worry about em too much in here.” He shrugged, letting his arm drop when the flashing lights were out of view. “Chill out with your friends, do whatever I dunno. I’ll text you at eleven to pick you up and go home. Alright?” Bakugo gave you a one over, eyes flickering from your face down to your body and then back up to your face.

The stare made you slightly self conscious. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

You huffed, raising your arms to your chest, nodding as you averted your gaze.

Bakugo stared at you, a small frown tugging at his lips. “Right uh.. Be safe I guess.” He mumbled.

You nodded. “Yea… uh you too?”

-

“You’re out here? Shouldn’t you be inside?” Bakugo’s voice came out as gruff as he stepped out onto the balcony. You didn’t bother turning around as he moved to stand beside you. You took in a deep inhale of the fresh night air.

It was biting against your arms.

“Yea… I got tired of being there. My social battery is a little low today so y'know? I just needed the space.” You mumbled, not bothered to explain your reasons for staying outside to the likes of Bakugo.

He merely nodded as he wordlessly stared up at the sky. “Can I ask you something?” 

“You already did.”

“Something else idiot.”

You snorted, covering it up with a cough. “Yea go ahead.” 

“You hate me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation. 

You hated Bakugo. 

You hated his ego. 

You hated his pride. 

You hated the way he made you feel like a pebble in his path to success. 

You hated his anger. 

You hated the way he had changed. 

You hated how he tried to remedy things. 

You hated the way his eyes sparked. 

You hated the way he spoke to you - so soft and delicate, like a flower losing its petals.

You hated him.

A chill ran up your arms, and you rubbed them softly. Did I forget my coat in the car? I got so worked up over the whole gala I forgot my coat!

You were about to curse out loud at your stupidity - but before you were able to, you were enveloped by a soft caramel scent mixed with something spicy? Cinnamon?

“You’re shivering.” Bakugo pointed out. “You left your coat in the car.”

You huffed, pulling his suit jacket closer. “Thanks…” You mumbled looking up at the sky. “Do you… like the stars?” You looked over at Bakugo who was staring up at the inky void. The light pollution was annoying, you could barely see a thing, but the small little dots that you did see would lift your spirits anyways.

Even if most of them were dead.

“I do.” He nodded. “You didn’t answer my question.” He turned to you. “Do you hate me?”

You went silent for a moment, pulling the jacket closer and looking back up. “Yea.”

“Yea. I think… I hate you.”

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[gmariam321]

I'm still working on the first two Merlin stories I've shared here, but another idea grabbed hold and is practically writing itself. I figured everyone needs to write certain stories in their fandoms, the standards tropes and fix-its we all have our own take on. And for Merlin it's the magic reveal, right? It's three chapters so far and if I don't write a fourth (with actual magic as opposed to lots of talking about it) then I'll post the story on Ao3 soon. Thank you for reading!

The sun is already shining brightly as Arthur slowly wakes, reluctant with pain and exhaustion. He flings an arm over his eyes to shield the light and sighs deeply, feeling sorry for himself though he couldn’t say exactly why. He is king, after all. He can’t just sleep in whenever he feels like it, he has much work to do, running the kingdom. No doubt his schedule is full with meetings and inspections, trainings and was there a feast that night? He can’t remember, and wonders why Merlin hasn’t pulled him from bed yet, reciting his schedule at him with a grin. He wouldn’t mind throwing a few things at his servant for not waking him earlier.

The thought of his servant stops his thoughts, and Arthur frowns. There was something about Merlin he needed to remember. Something had happened. It was why he was still tired and sore and abed at midmorning.

“Merlin!” he bellows, and is rewarded instead with a sharp intake of breath that he recognizes as Gaius’s disapproving air. It had been a particularly loud bellow, and Arthur lets his arm flop to the bed as he opens his eyes to find the physician sitting beside him.

“My apologies, Gaius,” he says. “I did not know you were there.”

“It is all right, sire,” Gaius says. There is something overly formal in his tone, and Arthur raises his eyebrows, sensing the disapproval. Gaius misinterprets, most likely on purpose. “You took quite a tumble yesterday. I have a draught for you and would like to check your injuries.”

“My injuries…” Arthur trails off, trying to remember how he had been hurt. “What happened? Where is Merlin? Is he all right?” He’s not sure why he’s asking that last, but it’s odd that his servant is not there with breakfast and his own disapproval if Arthur has been sleeping off another injury. He is both confused and shamed when Gaius purses his lips tight, another sign of displeasure.

“You were ambushed on the way back to Camelot. And no, it was not the druids.” It’s as if Gaius can read his mind, answering before Arthur even asks the question, and the censure is clear in the old man’s voice. “You were thrown from your horse and though you did not break any bones, you have some severe bruising as well as a large bump on your head.”

It comes back to him then: returning to the druid camp Arthur had attacked so long ago, to free Sir Elyan from his possession. They had been attacked on the return to Camelot. “And Merlin?” Arthur asks. “Sir Elyan?”

“Sir Elyan did unfortunately suffer a broken arm in addition to bruising and a likely concussion. He will need some time to heal, both his arm and his experience at the shrine.” Gaius hands Arthur a foul smelling goblet with the same look he’d used when Arthur was a child and wouldn’t take his medicine. While under other circumstances Arthur might protest or at least put on a show of it, he is too wound up to bother and swallows it without comment, surprising the physician. Handing it back, he repeats his question.

“And Merlin?”

Gaius gives him a quick examination, palpating all his most tender areas, paying particular attention to Arthur’s head.  It throbs in time with the physician’s touch, leaving Arthur even more tired and impatient. The old man finally steps back and nods, though Arthur is not sure whether it is in response to the exam or in reply to his question. “Merlin is uninjured.”

Arthur is surprised to find what a tremendous relief it is to know Merlin is all right. He had feared the worst from the physician’s cagey answers. His relief is tempered by his growing confusion. “Are you sure? Where is he? How is it that he always makes it out of these scrapes uninjured?”

“I am sure he is of sound health, yes,” Gaius answers. “Perhaps those who attack you see little value in attacking your manservant as well.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur murmurs. “Or he’s just that lucky. You didn’t say where he is.”

After a moment of silence, in which Arthur naturally assumes Gaius is preparing the tavern excuse not realizing how early it still is, the old physician sits down with a sigh. Arthur sees now that he is both tired and upset. “Gaius, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sure it is nothing, sire,” Gaius replies slowly. “And I hesitate to speak of it at all. Merlin said he needed to see his mother in Ealdor. He left first thing this morning.”

“And you—what? Don’t believe him?” Had something happened that Merlin needed to return home so quickly? “Did he have word from Ealdor? Is Hunith unwell?”

Gaius shook his head. “Though I am not privy to all of Merlin’s secrets, I am fairly certain he did not receive word from Ealdor, no. I am not sure if that is his true intention.”

“True intention?” Arthur sits up, finds his hip and shoulder flare with dull pain, along with more pounding in his head. He imagines his entire right side is a colorful mess of bruises. “What aren’t you telling me? Why are you so worried?”

Thin lips press together before Gaius leans forward. “Arthur, I must ask…what do you remember of the attack?”

Arthur turns his thoughts inwards, hoping to both answer Gaius’s question and glean some understanding of his own worry. He remembers riding back with Merlin and Elyan from the druid camp, Elyan riding behind him as Arthur let Merlin lead them along a narrow trail. He had been lost in his thoughts, turning over past regrets and trying to fit them into a new future, when Elyan had shouted.

“I turned and saw him on the ground, but before I could do anything, I was pulled from my horse as well. I hit a tree on the way down,” he tells Gaius. “Head first, if I remember.”

“That certainly explains your head injury and bruising. I suspect you landed awkwardly, for you’ll find your right knee quite swollen as well. And then what?”

“I called a warning to Merlin, but he had already turned. There was someone on the path behind us…” Arthur trails off, closes his eyes to try and remember. “A man in robes stood there, so angry. He shouted all kinds of nonsense at Merlin, then raised his hand and said something in what must have been another language…” Arthur tilts his head as he watches the memory in his mind’s eye. But that couldn’t be right, could it? What he saw?

“He was a sorcerer,” Gaius said. “A Catha sorcerer.”

“And he threw fire,” Arthur tells him. “He threw fire at Merlin, and Merlin…he held up his hands and...it just stopped. Like it was deflected somehow. Gaius.” Arthur turns wide eyes on the old man, who looks wearier by the minute. “He should be dead. Tell me he’s not dead.”

“He’s not dead, sire,” Gaius. “He was uninjured, remember?”

“How?” There is a note of hysteria to his voice Arthur does not like hearing and tries to rein it in. There is no need to panic over something he doesn’t know actually happened, after all. He’d been pulled from his horse by magic, hit the ground hard. He’d been unconscious for—wait, how long?

“Gaius, what time is it? How long was I asleep?”

“You arrived back at the castle last night. You were conscious, though I am not surprised you don’t remember. That is common with these types of head injuries. And it is only midmorning, a normal waking time for someone in your condition.”

“My condition?” Arthur asks. “Was I enchanted? Is that why everything is fuzzy? Why I think I saw things that…that couldn’t be right. That are impossible.” The hysteria is back and this time he doesn’t stop it. “Gaius, where’s Merlin?”

The physician stands with a huff and goes to the dining table. He rummages in his satchel and prepares a second draught for Arthur, holding it out with strict instructions to drink and lay back.

“Only if you tell me what’s going on,” Arthur says, and when Gaius nods, he tips the goblet back in a single gulp as the old man sits once more. It is much better than the first one. “And also what you just gave me.”

“Simply something for your nerves,” Gaius replies, and Arthur sits up again, wags his finger at the old man.

“I’m not a doddering old fool that needs his chamomile tea to ward off confusion.” He stops, realizing what he just said. “Though I am confused. Was I enchanted?”

“I do not believe there is any enchantment upon you. You are upset, so I simply gave you a tincture of skullcap, lemon balm, and lavender. And you hit your head, which is most likely why you are confused. You should rest, sire.”

“No, I need to know what happened,” Arthur says. “I know what I saw, or I think I do. Merlin was the one who stopped the fire. He should be dead but he stopped it. And then he…they fought. Gaius, they fought with magic! I saw it! And Merlin…he won. How is that even possible?”

Gaius does not meet Arthur’s eyes as he speaks. “It is possible your head injury resulted in a mild hallucination. Or that there was perhaps someone nearby who assisted you. But I don’t think—”

“Oh, I do think,” Arthur says. “Don’t try to talk me out of it. You said I didn’t crack my skull and I wasn’t enchanted. I saw Merlin use magic. Is he a sorcerer, then?”

This time Gaius does meet his eyes, though the old man’s face is curiously blank. “That is not for me to say.”

[zolass]

Detectives Attraction Ch. 06 Top Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Didn't know what to do with the chapter- but another one down and some sprinkled past trauma- yes M/N is 28 all characters are late twenties or early thirties.

Also I took yesterday a day off of writing from almost two weeks going strong with writing- and thanks for 500 followers <3 I don't know if I should make a special thing but first I'll probably redo my request page TvT

cw: Mention of past trauma, murder, usage of drugs followed by overdose. 1.4k words.

“The guy mentioned the Serpents, that he was loyal to them–” M/n felt how the honey brown eyes of his partner seemed to burn a hole into the side of his face, most probably in shock, “What? The Serpents have something to do with the break ins in your apartment? That seems– dangerous…” Elias eyebrows furrowed, as he looked back at the road from the passenger seat, leaning back into the sun warmed leather. 

M/n only let out a grunt, “They’re not fond of the idea of me getting closer to their shady business– even if I’m most definitely sure they would get away scott free with this shitty system we have,” Both of them knew it was true, “If they suddenly say I resigned to a different station– don’t believe it, I’ll mostly be gutted like a fish in same shady underground warehouse–” Elias pulled a face of disgust, “But I’ll advise you to then lay low– I know you’re a good man– a little naive that you think that you simply can change this place without doing any harm…” M/n continued, before he stopped in front of the building of Alicia Wallace.

“But in this world– it’s not possible to achieve good without doing bad,” M/n mumbled before he got out of the car. Elias sat in the passenger seat for a little longer– the words of his partner echoing inside his head, making him unable to not glance at the man that just got out. Following suit, Elias rounded the car after getting out and closing the door, “Does that mean you’ve–” Elias didn’t continue his words, as if they were suddenly stuck in his throat, but M/n knew what he wanted to know.

“Yes I have– a few times… obviously not against any of these people we’re trying to protect– the ones that only have people outside of the corruption of these groups,” “But what if they were forced?” Elias mumbled, honey brown eyes laced with concern. “That thought crossed me once too– but if you were forced… you wouldn’t take someone’s life with a smile on your face,” M/n grunted as his e/c eyes landed on Elias. “It was pretty early in my life when I had to– realize it. It was in a cruel way too– I lived with a happy family, a mother, a father and two siblings, a sister and a brother,” M/n glanced at the house in front of them– it looked perfectly cut out of a story. 

But slowly it turned into a different one– the paint and layout slowly changed, into the house he lived in as a child. The facade was beautiful– just like the one his family wore. “I’m the oldest of us three kids– I was basically the protector of my siblings and I liked to know with me they were safe,” M/n spoke- his arms crossed over his chest. “It was in the middle of spring in which everything seemed to turn worse for me and my family. I came home from school when I was twelve, I thought it would be a day like always– coming home, getting ready for lunch with my family, going out to play or study– just a normal life, but it was suddenly so far from that.” M/N grinded his teeth at the memories.

Elias looked at the detective, who looked so lost in thoughts that he didn’t know what to do so he simply continued to listen– slightly confused why the other even told him his story. “When I stepped into the house– the first thing I noticed was the smell– it was thick and disgustingly clinging to my tongue and nose, it was blood I had found out moments later– when I stepped into our dining room that was connected I found them, my mother, my siblings and my father,” a short heartbeat of silence, “Only one of them was alive– the other three laid dead on the floor– blood pooling underneath them while their empty eyes simply– started in a state of shock into nothing.” Clearing his throat from the feeling of the tightness that squeezed his throat, “You might wonder who it was– it was a surprise for even myself back then– my father. I still remember how– traumatized he looked even if he was the one to pull the trigger, after all he was the one with the gun in his hand,” 

There was a moment of silence between them, the fresh breeze sending a few shivers down Elias’ spine, additional to the story. “Well after he seemed to realize I was there– he only told me to call the police and I did– they took him with them he’s in a prison since– sixteen years now, since this unfortunate thing happened, I never visited him– it might be because I want to believe that he couldn’t have possibly done it– after all he basically worshipped the ground my mother walked on he loved us all dearly, they had disagreements of course everyone has– but they never fought, hell even got violent with each other was not a possibility,” M/n spoke, “That’s why I’m still doubting if he really was it– if he wasn’t just a pawn in a larger game. It came out after investigation that he indeed was in trouble because he stood with one foot in a syndicate,” E/c eyes met the honey brown ones, “It was always strange– of course he could’ve been acting and suddenly snapped but I never tried to get behind it, but what I did was get rid of the syndicate my father was associated to,” his hands clenched into fists.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Elias asked confused, which made the other raise an eyebrow, “Because while all of this happened there were news reporters who put all of it to freely read, if it was on paper or on the internet– ‘The L/N murder’ or whatever they called it back then–” “Isn’t your last name Howard?” Elias suddenly asked, which made a small chuckle ripple from M/n, “Well after I got sent away– and the rest of the relatives and reporters jumped onto the scandal like starving hyenas, I changed my name at that time I didn’t want to have any connections anymore that tied me to it– now all that’s tying me to them is my blood,” M/n muttered. 

Elias honey brown eyes were focused on his partner, before he silently nodded. “Let’s go in– maybe Alicia feels up for a few more questions,” the taller man spoke before he stalked up to the steps of the house, the other detective following him close behind. The H/c male was ready to knock on the white colored wooden door, when he noticed that the door wasn’t even fully closed. With a frown he pushed against the door, which opened with a scraping and squeaking. 

Both men drew their guns, before walking in with slow and silent steps. Their eyes scanned over the place in case of someone lurking and waiting with a weapon in their possession. But soon the only place they didn’t look in– after finding the house basically abandoned, was the bathroom. After they both stood in front of the door, Elias gave a nod towards the other who kicked the door harshly. 

Yet what they saw was– not what they thought.

Laying in the bathtub was Alicia, her eyes unresponsive, and as they walked closer M/n checked her pulse– none. Glancing at her wrist, he could only sigh. Small needle imprints. Said needle laid beside the bathtub, “Looks like an overdose,” Elias mumbled, before he sighed and took a few steps out of the bathroom calling for reinforcement, before stepping back in. “Everywhere we go death seems to have already taken root, huh?” M/n on the other hand didn’t respond immediately.

“She was the last one that could’ve been a resource to getting closer to the Serpents– they really are efficient in what they’re doing,” The detective grumbled, before he stepped out of the bathroom after hearing the nearing sirens.

“Looks like I have to take a different approach,” M/n mumbled to himself as he glared at nothing in particular.

After putting Elias up for informing the closest relatives of Alicia Wallace’s, M/n was glancing at the lit up screen of his phone from time to time. He was wearing a dark coat, button up shirt, a pair of good fitting pants in which he still could run and boots– just as he stopped outside of a club. 

He knew it was a place where he could either gain information– or simply have a hit put on his head.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

I Didn't Know How To Love You (Ch. 2)

[Chapter 1]

❗Mentions of suicide (non-graphic, and nobody gets hurt). For those sensitive, please proceed with care.

Read below or on AO3.

Thinking about Tommy has never been Buck’s problem, quite the opposite. He’s studied recipes, worked overtime and exercised harder because he needed the distraction. Because he needed to prevent his thoughts from spiraling around questions he probably wouldn’t like the answers to. It’s still hard to switch off his thoughts as he drives home from Hen and Karen’s, their words are living rent-free in his head now.

He steers the jeep almost mechanically through the night, wondering if his brooding will start all over again. It’s a depressing thought, somehow. Buck has spent days, weeks even wondering if it all had been his fault, whether the simple offer to share a household sounded too much like an invitation to share a life. It had been easy to convince himself that that was exactly what had put Tommy off. Tommy had never held his dreams and whims against him, but this was something big, an idea too much out of the blue. It's just… maybe there wasn’t any hidden agenda in Buck’s question that night, but he had been able to imagine it. All for himself, in the back of his mind, and in bright colors even. Not the white picket fence and garden kind of dream, at least not in L.A. Just a future with somebody he liked, a lot. Somebody who wanted him and took him for what he was, with all his faults and quirks. It seemed such an innocent wish, so little to want, yet Buck knew it wasn’t.

So, life’s lesson repeated and Tommy left. Naturally, Buck assumed it was his fault. Whatever Tommy’s plans for the future were, they didn’t include him. Though it had not made much sense to him, neither the crack in his voice nor his words. “You'll break my heart,” Tommy said, and had instead broken Buck’s. It was the strangest, worst reason why anybody had ever broken up with him.

But if Hen is right – and Buck has no reason to believe she isn’t – Tommy's answer had little to do with his identity and everything with the fact that he’d been hurt. An universal experience that Buck shared and understood, but at the time, that evening, he’d done neither. Now, he was so plagued by guilt and doubt that he didn't know how to react. Buck’s the kind of person who prefers to deal with conflicts head-on rather than let them fester, not least because he can’t stand the thought of being the cause of someone’s distress. Was it anger at Buck that had kept Tommy from getting in touch? Or had his fingers hovered just as indecisively over the keys of his phone as Buck’s, consumed by a feeling that he had to make amends but couldn’t figure out how?

His thoughts aren’t getting him anywhere. Days of indecision pass, having Buck pondering about the best way to do something, anything. Work, at least, offers some kind of distraction. L.A. is still full of people jumping into empty swimming pools during nighttime break-ins or burning down fifty acres of parkland out of carelessness. Work offers stability, even without Eddie, though he’s missing the latter’s dry wit and their mutual, wordless understanding. They talk on the phone, but while Eddie reports on his tentative progress with his son, Buck remains silent about any thoughts he has about Tommy.

During work, Hen's clever, gentle eyes behind her glasses often seem to rest on him. He avoids her gaze as if it contained the question of a decision, yet Buck’s never been so indecisive in his life. It’s a strange day anyway. There’s a certain tension in the air, one of those days with high humidity and heat; the television blared warnings all morning, and everyone knows the city will go crazy. The silence in the fire engine seems palpable, forced even, as if everybody thinks that if they’d disturb it with so much as the clearing of a throat, it will jinx bad mojo. Not even Howie cracks one of his stupid jokes, instead he stares out the window, possibly pondering his future with two kids. It’s kind of humbling, the mere thought that everyone has problems is able to distract Buck from his own musings.

Bobby is wise enough not to break the silence with unnecessary instructions; they’ve all heard dispatch and will get the picture on scene. Police has been called to a mixed-use office building where an argument about water-saving devices apparently escalated, while temperature has reached 89.6 °F as early as 8:30 a.m. Typically for L.A., especially on a day like this, it wasn't just a small brawl between white-collar guys. For some reason, a fire had broken out, and now the 118 is approaching, blaring siren and all.

The brawlers turn out to be two women, one with tousled hair and a bruise on her cheek that only needs some ice – Buck notices Hen's almost disappointed look. But the other one has a torn skirt and a broken wrist, she’s standing at the side of the road howling like a puppy because they’re putting handcuffs on her.

“Good heavens, only cuff one hand and let the paramedics have a look on her,” someone snaps at a young police officer, and this someone turns out to be Athena.

“Nice to see you, Sergeant Grant,” Bobby says, raising his helmet mockingly.

Athena just gives a snort, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair out of her forehead.

“That’s Grant-Nash, Captain, you keep forgetting that and troubling my day even more?” She laughs, flashing her pearly teeth, but soon becomes serious again. “These two claim they’d nothing to do with the fire on the 26th floor, and on a day like this, even I'm inclined to believe in coincidences. But that’s for you to decide. All I know is that there are still people inside who called 911 as they fled to the upper floors. Luckily it’s still early in the day; apparently not all the offices were occupied yet.”

“All right,” Bobby replies with a final wink, then turns to his crew. His orders are brief and to the point, and everyone knows what to do. There’s no smoke billowing out of the upper-story windows yet, Buck observes, squinting against the sun as he stares upward.

Howie, as the most senior, is leading the vanguard today; while Bobby wants to have Hen on the ground, Howie, Buck and Ravi will secure the building. As they trudge up the stairs, chasing down a few office workers who apparently didn't take the police warning seriously, Buck wonders if Bobby now regrets turning down the Chief's offer this morning. Apparently, Eddie's departure was much more spontaneous than he's admitted, and now they’re short-handed. Many young people today seem more likely to pursue a career as an Instagram star than to serve the city in the fire department, despite Firefox's efforts.

“It won't be easy to fill the gap,” the Chief had said. Yet another overheard conversation, and again completely unintentional. As Buck walked past Bobby's office, just as he was coming out of the washroom, he heard their conversation because for some reason, Bobby had put his phone on speaker. “City has put us on a hiring freeze, as you know. You’ll have to work with stand-ins for a while. For today, I can order the 133 to lend you someone.”

However, Bobby’s declined the offer. Initially, Buck was fine with that, though his motives were probably less altruistic than Bobby's, who didn’t want to mess up everyone's roster. Buck, however, was not ready for anyone replacing Eddie, especially not a permanent one. Now, however, things look different. Bobby coordinates the operation from below, but his skeptical look tells Buck that he would rather plunge into the fray with his crew. He’s ordering reinforcements, but by now the morning rush hour is in full swing.

Despite everything, Buck enjoys the adrenaline rush of it all. This is more than a mere mission, it’s a way to feel alive. To feel like a part of something. His nerves are taut in a good way, like ropes on a pulley whose use serves a purpose. Every unclear situation offers a thrill, but right now, Buck has no idea how true this will turn out to be. Because if the last few months have taught him anything, it’s that the future is always uncertain. From one moment to the next, the world changes, focus disappears and plans fall apart. It's better to live in the present, and that finally includes smoke developing on some of the 32 floors they pant up in full gear.

“SCBA, guys,” Howie reminds them curtly, pulling his own mask over his head. His voice is muffled when he adds, “According to Dispatch, there are two companies on this floor, and the fire must have started here. Ravi and I will start extinguishing, Buck, you check to see what it looks like on the upper floors. Allegedly, the employees managed to evacuate the floor in time. Come back immediately when they are reasonably safe.”

Buck saves his breath and just nods; the attitudes of his younger self have largely disappeared, and he respects his brother-in-law enough to follow his instructions. He trudges up another floor, his panting booming loudly in his ears, tightly enclosed by his protective gear. The smoke here is not quite as thick, but it is still dense enough; Buck has to shine his flashlight to see that he’s on the 27th floor.

“LAFD,” he calls, “anyone up here?”

If they were smart, the employees would have run further up, maybe even to the roof. If they were even smarter, though, they would've turned downstairs, not upstairs to where smoke rises. But people in distress rarely think rationally. The fire alarm, which now only emits a vague blare, must have been very loud a few minutes ago. Buck has seen people so frightened by the sound alone, they kept running towards a fire instead of away from it. Once, a guy even openly admitted that he’d run to the roof because he hoped for an air rescue.

“Hello?”

The call echoes from the landing over Buck. Someone has opened the door to the hallway, a well-coiffed man in a gray suit; probably he’s usually one of those calm go-getters. Now, however, he peers down nervously.

“Is there anyone left on this floor?” Buck calls up to him.

“No, we're all up here,” the man replies. “Is there still fire?”

“Yes. Stay there until we give the all-clear. How many are up there with you?”

“About twenty, I think, and… the people from this floor’s companies. I’m not sure, actually. Everyone’s a bit nervous, though. Are we getting evacuated?”

“Sooner or later, sure, but right now…” Buck raises his hand as his radio crackles, gesturing for the man to wait. It's Bobby.

“118, we have new information,” he starts, but Howie chimes in, “So do we: fire’s as good as under control. Buck, how about the employees?”

Buck is about to press the button and answer when Bobby's voice clatters out of the device again, more urgently this time, “Hang on. Another emergency call has just come in. Apparently, there’s someone on the roof at risk of jumping.”

“On this building?” Howie asks incredulously, and Buck can't blame him. Bobby doesn't seem to believe it’s a coincidence either, because he replies, “Athena's checking for a connection to the fire and the argument between the two ladies, but that’s not our concern right now. Are there any casualties we need to deal with? Dispatch is arranging for a psychologist, but in the meantime we could...”

“I'm on it,” Buck calls into his radio.

“Wait,” Bobby advises. “I'm already on the fifteenth floor.”

Buck stops in his tracks. Of course Bobby would want to take matters into his own hands, protocol aside. A call like this strikes a particular chord in him, and it’s a tune he must follow. It's not because he considers himself an expert, an authority for people considering suicide – Bobby is neither megalomaniacal nor is he shallow. No, Bobby is driven by compassion, by an understanding that only people with the same experiences can feel. And at the same time, he’s the best proof of how people can rise above themselves and their trauma. Buck knows all this. And normally, when he thinks of Bobby, the father figure larger than his real father, he does so with his heart. Now, however, he thinks rationally, or so he believes. Taking two steps at a time, he rushes upstairs, where the guy in the suit stares at him wide-eyed.

“And I'm on the 28th,” he speaks into his radio. “I'll be on the roof in a minute.”

He squeezes past suit guy, slams the door shut and tears off his mask. Up here, the smoke is just a vague memory; the hallways are equipped with fire doors, and it can’t have been a huge fire.

“Go back to the others and wait for the all-clear,” he tells him, so hastily that his stress stutter doesn't stand a chance to evolve. “Keep this door shut. Firefighters are two floors below you, we’ve everything under control.”

The man, whose ridiculous moustache reminds Buck all too much of Eddie in his self-discovery phase for a moment, opens his mouth to say something. Buck won't let him. He slips out the door again and runs up the stairs to the roof.

It doesn't take a minute, even if Buck doesn't count. There are people who run up the 102 floors of the Empire State Building in 9.5 minutes. Such trivia distracts him long enough to steel himself for the view that awaits him at the top. The last two floors consist mainly of showrooms with huge windows, and at the very top, a narrow ladder leads to the roof through a hatch. Sunlight blinds Buck, but his gaze is magnetically drawn to a woman who seems to be floating in the air.

He pushes his way onto the roof, which is mainly a huge, gray open space. A bunch of buildings are taller than this one, but standing on the edge of the balustrade, it certainly gives the illusion of touching the clouds. It's just that the woman, a young brunette in a billowing cardigan that envelops her like a cape, isn’t standing at the edge of the roof with its wind vanes.

The top two floors are connected to the roof of the 30th floor with steel struts that either represent decorative elements or actually serve a structural function, Buck couldn’t care less. Some of these elements, however, extend a bit beyond the end of the roof. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put them up there in a way they could easily be climbed was an idiot in Buck's eyes. The woman is standing at the end of a narrow beam; it looks a bit like she is standing on the plank of a ship, only there is no one to keelhaul her but herself. She turns around as she hears the hatch slam onto the roof. Despite the distance – Buck estimates it at 15 feet, just under seven steps, if he's fast – he sees that she’s been crying, narrow black streaks from her mascara adorn her cheeks.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, trying to paint his voice in a tone that she won’t find threatening. “I'm Buck. Well, it's a nickname, maybe you have one too? What's your name?”

“Don't come any closer,” she replies, but she continues to look at him.

If she jumps now, there's no guarantee that she'll be killed instantly, and Buck wished he could make her understand this without scaring her away. The metal struts are anchored in the roof of the 30th floor, which forms a kind of surrounding balcony to that floor. If she falls onto it, from a height of around 25 feet, it does not automatically mean certain death. Even if she falls onto the balustrade. The vanes are turning violently to the northeast, which means that she would probably have to take a run-up if she wanted to throw herself off the entire building from here.

Buck doesn't want that. He doesn't want to have to explain to her how many bones she might break, how many organs she’d damage, and for what? She might end up still alive and with the same problems as before, plus a lot more on top. He doesn't want her to jump, because it might not end her life, but it would most certainly ruin it. Strangely enough, as he’s standing up here with the wind ruffling his hair, his mouth feels dry. Buck is rarely at a loss for words, but now he can't think of anything to say. He’s almost relieved when the hatch opens again. Bobby is panting quite a bit when he reaches the roof; once at the top, he puts his hands on his knees and takes a few deep breaths.

“Lady, I'm a little too old for this,” he gasps, Buck recognizes gravity behind his chatty tone. “I'm Robert, but everyone calls me Bobby. You look about the same age as my boy here, and you know what? If he were standing there, I'd have something to say to him.”

The feeling of being called my boy by Bobby, as if he were actually his son, tingles like electricity. It's like being struck by lightning again, only this time it doesn't hurt, yet a warm sensation remains.

“Can I come a bit closer?” Bobby asks.

“I don't know,” the woman replies defensively.

“That’s okay. Will you at least tell me your name?”

“Violet,” she says, as if she simply cannot escape Bobby’s sonorous voice.

“Violet,” he echoes, rolling her name over his tongue as if it were heavy, good wine. “Now I know two things about you.”

“Two?” she sniffs, carelessly wiping her nose with a sleeve.

“Yes,” Bobby replies with a smile. “Your name, and that you don't really want to jump.”

Violet stares at him in amazement, then she starts laughing. It's a sound interrupted by sobs, but it is genuine laughter. Buck fears that the wind and her laughter will blow her off the roof after all, but she stands firm, looking at Bobby.

“How would you know?” she asks, although her eyes show a glimmer of hope: she already suspects the answer.

“I'll be happy to tell you, Violet. But do me a favor and come down first, okay? You can stand at the edge of the balustrade if you like. I won't persuade you. But air support is to arrive shortly, and I don't want your decision to be taken from you, if you know what I mean. Wind's strong up here.”

“You requested AirOps?” Buck mutters under his breath.

Bobby turns his head to him and whispers, “There's still smoke covering at least one floor, Chimney reports, the vents aren't working anymore.”

Of course, she could be led down the stairs wearing Bobby’s or Buck’s mask, but that’s still 32 floors, and maybe Bobby's decision has something to do with considerations similar to Buck's. If Violet were to jump and be seriously injured, a helicopter might be her best chance of making it to the hospital in time. Right now, she no longer looks like she's particularly keen on throwing herself off the building; yet it's better to be safe than sorry, and it's Bobby's decision.

He continues to gently coax her, and Buck holds his breath. Even now, so much can go wrong. The wind is strong up here, and she might just slip. Or she could freeze in the grip of sudden panic; it happens quite often that someone who was just so determined loses their courage. But if Violet has lost anything, it’s only the will to die, at least here and now. She approaches Bobby slowly and cautiously, ignoring his outstretched hand. Instead, she crouches and awkwardly slides down to the relatively safe ground of the rooftop, just as the roaring of a helicopter’s rotors announces its arrival.

“There’s actually a chopper,” Violet says, almost reverently.

Her tone suggests that she’s mostly amazed by Bobby's honesty, which is quite sad, actually. It also reminds Buck that he, too, was once fascinated by these machines, if for a different reason. There was a time when he’d longingly watch the sky whenever he’d hear the familiar sound of rotor blades, always hoping that if Tommy was up there, he’d be safe. He’s since given up this habit, for obvious reasons, but appearances can be deceptive. Because as the helicopter door swings open with the last slow rotation of the rotor, his heart skips a telltale beat.

[no-144444]

carpet confessions- l.hamilton

summary: you surprise lewis on the red carpet, he surprises the world with some news

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Lewis had no idea you’d be there when he pulled up to the stupid livery launch thing. He had no interest in it, other than sitting there and being perfectly polite. You were supposed to be his plus one, but you’d been called overseas for work as the Indycar season started, so you couldn’t make it. 

Or so you thought. 

As things wrapped up with Daytona, the interviewer you were filling in for recovered from the flu quickly, so you rushed back to London to be there with Lewis. 

You stood on the red carpet with a gorgeous long red dress on, perfect for his new team, ready to ask some questions to the drivers. Lewis and Charles showed up in style, posing with Fred as they got out of the car. He looked up to pick a camera to look at, and all he saw was you, 20 metres down the carpet. His jaw dropped and he rushed over, forgetting about the photo and just rushing up to you. He wrapped his hands around your waist as he pressed his lips to yours, the crowd going crazy. 

“Couldn’t make it?” he pulled back, sassy as ever. 

“Things change,” you shrugged, smirking. 

“I am so glad to see you,” he smiled, taking your arm and starting to walk up the carpet. . 

“Woah mister,” you stopped. “I’m not off the clock,” you pointed out the big SkySportsF1 camera in front of the two of you, which had in fact video your entire greeting, broadcasting it to many screens. “So, Sir Lewis Hamilton, how are you feeling about tonight?” you asked, going straight into interviewer mode. 

He rolled his eyes but kept his arm around your waist and smiled. “I’m feeling good, very excited to start this new chapter. How are you doing Mrs. Hamilton?” 

Your jaw dropped as you lowered your microphone. “Lewis!” you scolded. “I thought we weren’t telling people-”

He grabbed your mic and lifted up your left hand, showing off the engagement and wedding rings there. “We got married over the break!” he cheered into the mic as again, the crowd on the carpet went wild. You just chuckled along with him, shaking your head. 

Lando came up behind you two, grabbing the mic off of Lewis and adding his own news. “Lewis cried the whole way through his vows!” he shouted into the mic with a cheeky grin as Lewis rolled his eyes, then he gave the mic back to you and ran. 

“Oh and he almost dropped the ring,” you told the camera before Lewis pulled the mic out of your hand.  “Yeah, yeah, enough. I’m going to commandeer this lovely interviewer from you, if you don’t mind Sky, and I’m going to enjoy my night with my wonderful wife,” he smiled into the camera, then waved, and whisked you down the carpet.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

[infamous-if]

Infamous is 2 years old!

So sorry this was late! Funnily enough, I was deep in the Infamous trenches that I didn't remember until now! Ha! Two years is a long time. I didn't think this would turn into anything when I posted the intro post.

Infamous was born from my desire to read a band IF after a weekend binging band-related stuff. You can imagine I was gutted that there was a hole of music/band related stories in this community. The (amazing!) band stories were either demo-less or dead. Once that happened a seed of an idea was planted in my head. One I couldn't shake off :,) and thus Infamous was born.

500k words, three chapters (lol) and nearly 10k of you later (woah) and here we are! I love Infamous with all my heart and I'm happy to see that it's touched some of you, no matter how big or small. The art, the fanfic, the questions and funny musings in my inbox; they give me a lot of energy and motivation. I'd probably have given up on this a long time ago if not for how kind and supportive this community is to me. You guys do not have to welcome me the way you do every day. Or be so gracious and patient with my ramblings and stupid ridiculous jokes and Savina teasing but you are. I am very lucky. Thank you.

I wish I had something prepared but as we know I am not a very organized person. Instead, as a way to celebrate, I've uploaded an extended Chapter 4 snippet. For those on Patreon who have already read it, I did extend this one—not by a lot but still. It's something new.

There will be typos, errors (if there are game-breaking errors, lmk!), skipped scenes, some paragraphs/convos not fleshed out, and empty choices because I am lazy and fill those out near the end. (I usually write a big picture skeleton first and then map out the scenes in deeper detail). Plus, I don't want to spoil too much haha

I hope you enjoy it. And thanks for loving Infamous! More to come!!!

Amy <3

[peachsayshi]

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit. 

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact. 

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully. 

to you, however, it was an entirely different message. 

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt. 

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need. 

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy. 

he made sure of that. 

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?” 

a hard lump forms in your throat. 

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him. 

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings. 

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings. 

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank. 

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?” 

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe. 

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...” 

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes. 

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you. 

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...” 

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-” 

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...” 

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length. 

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...” 

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have. 

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...” 

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.” 

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 3

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

part one , part two , part four , part five , part six , part seven , part eight

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you go out with caleb but things turn south.

word count: 8.1k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, sad at the end, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! mentions of death! not proofread!

author's note: hi all! this is a bit on the longer side so i apologize! part four is most definitely in the works, though! i hope you enjoy the chapter! i hope i got everyone who asked to be tagged! please yell at me if i forgot you!

taglist <3 : @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexizia , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @jexizia

Seven o’clock is approaching fast and you have yet to find anything to wear. Your closet has been emptied, clothes scattered across the vinyl flooring of your apartment. Dresses, pants, and blouses fill in the blank spaces of the floor. You tip toe around the messily laid out outfits, sending pictures to your closest friend for her opinion,

It doesn’t really surprise you when she video calls you, laughing at how seriously you’re taking this dinner.

“Are you trying to impress him?” Your friend snorts. You prop your phone against a book on the counter. “I thought you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t,” your response is immediate and snappy, “I would like to have a nice dinner, though.”

“How do you know you’re actually going out to dinner? What if he’s there to kill you, you know, like some serial killer type shit.”

“He is our beloved Colonel, after all. I can’t pass up the opportunity he’s handing to me.”

“An opportunity to what? Find another military sugar daddy that wants you on his arm? Bitch, please,” Your friend rolls her eyes and shakes her head when you hold a red dress to your body. “I don’t think you should go. My expertise tells me that this is a bad idea.”

“Your expertise?” You throw your head back and laugh. “Your expertise from what? All of the true crime documentaries you’ve watched?”

“Yes, actually,” she proudly states, a ‘fuck you’ smile spreading across her face.

“I’m going,” a fake smile spreads across your face when you glance at yourself in the mirror. “It’s a free meal. I’m not going to pass it up!”

“You’re making a major mistake! You should go in sweatpants. Put in no effort whatsoever. He’s the guy you’ve been trying to forget, right?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, glancing at her face on the phone screen, “he’s kind of hard to forget, though. He’s—”

“A dreamboat? Got you a single butterfly toy when you were kids? Has the prettiest eyes? This is going to end up horribly and you know it. I’m not going to stop you…just don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.” Your friend hangs up after that.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, eyes focused on the dress that you hold up in front of yourself. It slips out of your sight and your eyes drop down to the baggy sweatpants you have on.

They haven’t been washed in a couple days and there’s a stain from the takeout you ordered the other day when your favorite show had its season premiere.

Sweatpants, you roll your eyes with a chuckle, he’d hate that.

A slow smile spreads across your face. Maybe you will be in sweatpants and the shirt you sleep in when he shows up. You never agreed to the dinner, after all. What could Caleb possibly be expecting from you?

It’s not like this dinner is going to solve all of your problems. It’s not going to wash away the sins he’s committed against you nor will it bring you much solace even if things go well.

A black dress catches your attention from the corner of your eye. The hanger finds itself between your fingers. you slowly lift it into the air, silently examining it, before holding the dress against your body. Your steps are slow and meticulous. They’re almost hesitant to see what it looks like on you.

Your hands trail across the soft fabric of the dress. It has a box neckline, cutting low on your chest, with long sleeves, and a skirt that stops just halfway down your thigh. You squint at the dress, familiarity tingling in the back of your mind.

It couldn’t be…no…right?

The dress falls to the floor. It pools at your feet, your body shuddering. You grasp the spot over your heart, feeling the beats speed up. A faint ringing buzzes in your ears. You didn’t expect to see the black garment in your closet.

Did your mother pack it without you knowing? She was horrendously overbearing while you packed your room up. The move from Linkon to Skyhaven was brutal on her. She had almost convinced your father to follow you so she can have the peace of mind knowing that you know somebody there. Thankfully, he talked her down, but it didn’t make her maternal instincts go away.

Out of all the things she helped pack for you: did she have to pack that dress?

Grumbling obscenities under your breath, you cleaned your apartment, wasting time.

You simply weren’t going to go. Your friend was right, all this is going to do is bring back bad memories and ruin your night. With the floors now cleared and free from your disastrous attempt at fashion, you flop onto the couch, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table. The television switches on, the laughs from Skyhaven’s news anchors filling the silence of your apartment. You roll your eyes and click to the next channel. A reality show pops up with older white woman screaming at each other.

It’s trash but it works.

You grab your phone and the screen lights up. Just as fate has it, a notification pings, the banner floating at the top of the screen. You don’t recognize the number and shrug it off, swiping it away. You move to a familiar app and begin to play the game.

It only feels like a few minutes, when in actuality it’s been an hour, when there’s a knock at the door. The sound floats in the air before it comes again, much more demanding this time. You turn around, looking over the edge of the couch you have sunken into, and raise an eyebrow.

An uncomfortable silence fills the air. The knocks don’t continue nor can you hear anyone, like your landlord, calling your name. There are no alarms and no sound of chaos from the hallway.

Huh. Weird.

 You turn back to your game, groaning when your tiny character falls off the platform and into the lasers below. You chuck your phone into the other side of the couch, head rolling back and over the arm rest. You stare at the door, laughing to yourself.

That would be so fucking crazy if that were Caleb at the door. How would he even know where to find you? You definitely didn’t tell him where you live nor did you confirm this dinner he invited you on.

Life is weird though. Dead men come back to life and they suddenly pay attention to you. What’s even crazier is that the dead man wants to see you tonight.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Your body jumps from the couch, the sudden sound scaring you back to life. You land on your feet, sharp pain shooting through your ankles. You gasp and collapse back onto the couch, loudly whining.

You hear your name through the door followed by continuous knocking. Quickly making your way to the door, you swing up open and quickly dodge a balled fist that misses the door.

“Woah!” Caleb’s voice causes you to groan. “I almost got you there! Sorry about that!”

Your eyes narrow at him and that damn charming smile of his. You lean against the doorframe, pulling the door to your side to block the view of your messy apartment. Caleb’s a head taller than you, though, so your efforts are in vain as he cranes his chin up, looking inside.

“How did you find my apartment? How the fuck do you know where I live?” You ask, completely baffled by his presence.

“I may or may not have abused my power when you didn’t answer my texts,” he says it so casually that even you think that what he did was okay. You blink for a couple seconds, comprehending what he just said, when your eyes get caught on his outfit.

He wears black dress pants matched with a white dress shirt. He sports a black jacket over his arms and shoulders with no tie hanging around his neck. unconsciously, your eyes drift to the collar of his shirt. You expect to see a certain silver necklace around his neck, one that you’ve seen in countless social media photos.

It isn’t around his neck.

Hope strikes your heart, causing it to skip a beat. Your cheeks heat up.

You hate how easy it is for you to like him again. Is the bar that low that him opting not to wear a necklace has you wanting to go to dinner with him?

Fortify your mental walls, dammit! Do not give in to the temptation that is Caleb!

“I love the sweatpants look. Very classy. But you should probably change, our reservation is in thirty minutes,” his purple eyes scan the small sliver of your apartment.

It’s actually a lot different than from what he initially imagined. The couch is in the middle of the room with the television pushed up against the wall. Behind the couch is a small table with two chairs. He assumes that the kitchen is to the right of it because your bedroom is to the left. The walls are somewhat bare. Only a few pictures and decor hang from them.

At least your place feels alive and lived in compared to his.

You raise an eyebrow. He mimics you with a chuckle. You purse your lips and Caleb has to mentally tell himself to not close the distance and kiss you.

“A reservation?” He nods in response to your question. “I can’t. My heater broke I’m…waiting for maintenance to come by and fix it.”

“I can fix it,” his reply is immediate.

“No, it’s fine, really—”

“It’ll take me five minutes! You can get dressed while I fix it,” he speaks over you so casually as if this were everyday banter between you two.

It’s like that with his pipsqueak, but never you.

Caleb pushes some of his weight onto the door but you push back. He stops and looks down at down, brows furrowed.

Why won’t you let me help you? He thinks to himself.

Caleb rests a hand on the door, palm flat and fingers stretched out. He leans down and inspects your face.

You wear a large frown which is matched with a deadly glare, one that he isn’t particularly fond of since your years together in high school. Your eyes keep moving away from his, looking everywhere but at him, and he frowns.

“You’re lying to me,” Caleb states. His posture straightens, arms crossed over his chest. You match his posture, throwing him a dirty look.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes. Yes you are,” he leans down to your eye level. You get a closer look at his eyes, noticing that the gold you saw before is actually more of a bronze. Perhaps he’s never been a golden boy this whole time. Your hardened expression falters. “Go get changed. I’ll wait inside for you.”

Caleb takes a step towards you, the door creaking open. Your hand smacks against his chest, right on top of his heart. His heart thumps inside his chest. Your fingers involuntary curl into his chest, pushing him back. Your eyes remain trained on the top button of his shirt.

“No,” you say, finally looking up into his big eyes. “Stay…right here.” You swipe your foot in a line in front of your apartment door. He watches then looks back up at you. “Don’t cross this line. I’ll be right back.”

You slam the door in his face and quickly lock it. Caleb stands out in the hallway. He blinks at the door, unsure of what just happened, and turns around to face the hallway.

Progress. That’s what this is. It’s progress. Progress towards you two reigniting the spark of friendship. The Colonel hopes it turns into something more. He needs it to be more than slammed doors and tense moments in interrogation rooms and apartment hallways.

Caleb watches as people pass by in the hallway. He can’t hear you inside, most likely deep inside your bedroom getting changed.

Getting ready for him.

The thought of you getting all dolled up for him gets Caleb excited. His smile grows with every passing second. A few men walk by and Caleb makes for sure to glare at them, arms crossed, chest puffed out, asserting dominance over them.

He sighed when the last one disappeared into the elevator. The faint click of the door’s lock catches his attention and he takes a single step back, watching as you slowly open the door.

His heart pounds in his chest, ears and cheeks growing warm from the sight of you.

You look absolutely stunning in the black dress you wear. He likes how the sleeves cover your arms yet it leaves your upper chest exposed. It’s like you’re teasing him, luring him in for more. Your hair is pulled back and out of your face. Your face isn’t beaten, instead opting for a more natural and casual look, and you shrug your long purse strap over your shoulder. You’re much taller, too, and his eyes fall onto a simple pair of heels. Looking back up, Caleb smiles.

You are the image of perfection.

His eyes barely skim over the top of your head now. Maybe his neck won’t hurt as much looking down at you.

“You look…amazing.” Caleb can barely get his compliment out, fumbling over his words and growing feelings towards you. His heart swells at your small smile and nod. You turn, keys jingling in your hand. You take a second to breathe. The warmth in your cheeks irritates you.

You hate how your body constantly betrays you when he’s around. It’s a curse, not a blessing.

“Ready?” His voice quips once you turn around from locking your apartment door. You hesitantly nod, forcing a smile onto your face, but it falls once he extends his hand to you.

You stare at his fingers, which have a few scars wrapped around his skin, before looking back up at him. Caleb’s smile is so hopeful. The corners of his eyes slightly crinkle. You sigh, stepping around him, his fingers brushing against your arm.

Caleb watches as you walk down the hallway, your jacket draped over your arm, purse bouncing against your side. He releases a disappointed sigh, fingers curling back into his palm. He forces his feet to chase after you, watching as you press the elevator button.

The Colonel attaches himself to your side, making sure to keep a respectable yet close distance. It’s silent. The faint dings from the elevator grow louder. The doors slide open and you step inside, Caleb following suit.

The metal box slowly lowers. Caleb’s eyes remain on you, utterly captivated by the sight. You look forward, opting for the buffed metal door.

Caleb would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of the door.

“Where are you taking us?” You break the awkward silence of the elevator. You glance at him and your eyes meet. You slowly bat your eyelashes at him, sighing.

Please prove me wrong, you internally plead, inner voice desperate, please prove that you aren’t the same boy I knew in high school.

Before he can respond, the elevator slide open. An obnoxiously large group stands on the other side. They wear bright pink cowboy hats and sashes, their eyes half-lidded.

Oh shit. It’s a bachelorette party. That’ll be fun to listen to tonight.

They wave hi, which you and Caleb return. As they slowly pile into the elevator, their voices grow loud, causing your ears to ring.

Caleb slides in front of you, gently pushing you against the back wall. His forearm rests against your head, the man trapping you in your spot. You look around him.

The elevator is completely packed. The inhabitants push together, morphing into one big blob. Your eyes dart to Caleb’s torso, noticing that there’s a few inches of space between you.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You look up, his face hovering in front of yours.

Your lips barely graze over each other. He’s slightly hunched over, face slightly grimacing from the bachelorette party bumping into him, stepping on his feet.

You hold back a laugh, covering your mouth. Caleb turns his attention back to you, a half-amused grin tugging the corner of his lips up.

“You’re laughing? At a time like this?” Caleb whispers into your ear, leaning in. The strands of his hair tickle your forehead. He leans in closer, lips grazing against your ear. “C’mon now…cut me some slack. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

His breath is hot on your ear. Shivers run down your spine, the tingles making themselves at home in your stomach. Frozen in place, your eyes move to his shoulder.

A small speck catches your eye. Inside the small elevator, you push your arm against the pressure from the other people. Caleb’s gaze follows your hand. You breathe in sync with him, both watching as you pluck a single eyelash from his cheek, right below his eye.

Your fingertips graze against his skin, leaving electric shocks in their wake, and scoop the small eyelash from his skin. You inspect the eyelash with close eyes. Your gaze flits to his, his purple eyes staring not at your eyes but your lips.

“Make a wish,” your whisper fills the tension between your bodies. His bottom lip quivers. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, feeling them heat up.

Caleb tilts his head down. He slowly slows at the eyelash on your finger, the hair disappearing, your eyes meeting once again.

My wish is you.

His breath is cool against your skin. It brings you no relief. Instead, your body inches closer to him, burning under his gaze of desire.

The two of you don’t even realize that the elevator is now empty. There is no bachelorette party cornering you. There is no reason for you two to be so close.

You hate to admit it but you don’t want to move. Caleb doesn’t either. He can’t get enough of your perfume, the way your touch was so light and careful against his face, almost as if you were scared to get even closer to him.

Do you feel it?

Do you feel the center of gravity that is pulling us together?

You clear your throat and dip under his arm. The further you get from him, the easier it is to breathe. You don’t even look at him from over your shoulder, scurrying out of the small enclosure.

Caleb hangs behind. His fingers curl against the elevator wall, eyes closed. He grimaces, harshly biting down on his lower lip. Your perfume lingers in the air. The warmth of your affection tickling his skin. He lets out a haggard breath, his back slowly straightening. He fixes his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and exits the elevator, finding you outside.

You stand alone and off to the side, just hidden enough for people not to notice you but visible enough for Caleb to immediately find you. Just as the purse strap slips off your shoulder, Caleb collects it in his hand. He slips the jacket from your arms as well and eases your hand through the first sleeve, helping aim your next arm through the second.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, your breath visible in the cold night air. He nods, clearing his throat. “I think you were interrupted before.”

“Was I?” Caleb’s eyes flutter, looking down at you. You chuckle and raise an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” You nod. “A colleague recommended the restaurant to me. I thought you may like it.”

“Oh?” His intention takes you by surprise.

He actually…thought of you? Wow. You didn’t know he could do that.

You don’t give it much thought, though. It’s probably due to her not being here.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

The outside of the restaurant takes you by surprise. The outside is made up of dark metal with grooves in it that imitates wood, which is a stark contrast to the rest of the Skyhaven’s white metallic look. A long window surrounds the perimeter. It’s a thin line and doesn’t take up much of the wall space. A faint, golden glow seeps into the glass.

Caleb’s long strides keep with your pace. He walks close to you, your purse acting as a boundary between your hips. You glance inside the restaurant’s window, seeing couples and semi-large parties inside the main dining room.

The Colonel opens up the business’ door, smiling down at you as you step inside, quietly thanking him.

The atmosphere is warm, the chilled air tingling away from your skin. You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, shrugging your jacket off of your body. You watch him with an intense gaze.

His shoulders are so broad. You swear you can watch as his muscles tense then relax under the fabric as she hands over your jackets to an employee. Caleb turns to you, nodding as the hostess walks away. You swallow whatever spit you have in your mouth. You tell your feet to move, goosebumps forming across your skin when you feel his touch on the low of your back.

Caleb sticks close behind you, fingers grazing up and down your body. His eyes stare at the exposed skin of your neck, eyes drifting up to the side of your face. He smirks, watching as your lips part with a gasp, his fingers inching their way around your side. He’s unable to get a full grip of your side, though, when the hostess places menus on the table before you.

You step to your chair but Caleb is too quick for you, dragging it out. You roll your eyes at him and sit, the man pushing the chair in to meet your body. He sits at the spot in front of you, the table circular and on the smaller side, with a lit candle in the center of the table.

Taking a glance around the restaurant, you notice that you and Caleb are more towards the back. It’s like you’re hidden away so nobody can see you. Couples at other tables lean in, smiles adorned on their faces over the candle light, the dim lighting of the restaurant casting shadows over their faces.

The scenery and atmosphere is…strangely romantic.

“You look great in that dress,” Caleb’s voice brings your eyes back onto his. They drop to his arms, where his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Your breath gets caught in your throat. You tear your gaze away and settle back onto his eyes.

“Thanks. I haven’t worn it for a year,” you respond with a shrug.

“Yeah?” He leans forward, his smile growing, “when was the last time you wore it?”

“Your funeral.”

Oh. Well. You know…I don’t know how to respond to that, Caleb thinks to himself. He purses his lips, brows knitted together, eyes narrowed from unease.

You stare at him with your arms crossed over your chest. You raise an eyebrow at his sour reaction. He was the one who died and magically came back to life with no explanation.

He sits up in his chair, resting his hands in his lap as his piercing violet eyes tear into yours. You shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as he comes up with the proper words to respond.

A waiter approaches the table, their face just barely illuminated from the light. He wears all black clothing and his smile is a little too friendly, his eyes dragging across your bare chest. You suck in a breath and glance at Caleb, who glares at the waiter.

“Good evening. May I start you two off with a bottle of wine or an appetizer?” The waiter asks, looking at you, not even a second to stare at Caleb. You simper at his gaze, only feeling slightly uncomfortable, as you take the wine list from his hands.

“He’s paying, so we’ll make it an expensive bottle,” you muse with a quiet chuckle. Caleb’s eyes break from the waiter and land on you. Goosebumps litter your skin as you pretend not to notice the intensity radiating from his body. “We’ll do this one,” you point out a name on the list to the waiter.

He dips down and his putrid cologne tinges your nostrils. You lean away, wincing from how his scent burns the inside of your nose. His lips curl into a toothy grin.

“Great choice. I’ll have it out for you in a few moments.” He walks away and you watch him. You relax into your seat when he vanishes from your eye line, turning back to Caleb. 

“Could you get even closer to him?” Caleb’s raspy voice cuts through the low lighting. You raise an eyebrow, confused by his sudden possessiveness towards you.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Caleb,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, dress grazing against the table, “you’ve only been in my life for twenty four hours. You don’t get to have a say on who gets close to me.”

“Don’t I?” He matches your lean, his purple eyes glowing from the candlelight. “I was in your life for a good amount—”

“Emphasis on was,” you interrupt him. He swipes his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head ever so slightly at you.

You know you’re teetering on a very, very line and fragile line with Caleb. A small amount of payback won’t kill the man. He did lead you on for that good amount of time he was in your life for so if it’s any consolation for you, it’s deserved.

“Let’s have a nice dinner,” you sigh. His darkened expression softens, his eyebrows relaxing. Catching a glimpse of his fists, you see them relax as well, his knuckles no longer white. “However, I do think you owe me an explanation about your so-called ‘death.’” You pause, looking to the side, before rushing to get the words out, “and I don’t want to talk about her either. I…I don’t particularly have fond memories of the three of us since things ended badly. I hope you can understand that.”

Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. A part of him knew that this was coming. He had been distracted all day, sitting at his desk, ignoring all of his duties as Colonel. He went through every memory that he could remember, ones that weren’t influenced by the chip in his body, and came to realization that towards the end, you weren’t there.

In the memories that you were in, you were in the background while she took center stage. It made Caleb feel like a fool, truly. He agonized over it. Just to know that he could have caused you so much pain and emotional turmoil ripped his heart apart. He plans on repaying and making up for it until his final breath.

Even in death, Caleb will find ways to make you feel important, that you matter.

“I promise,” he breathes out, eyes never leaving yours, “to not bring her up. Consider her banished from our relationship.”

You lean into the back of the chair, putting your full weight into it. You stare at him, wondering if what he said can be trusted. You sigh and nod, forcing a small smile onto your face. He beams at you and nods, sighing from relief.

The side of your heel glides against his leg. He sucks in a breath and you bat your eyelashes at him. You take your bottom lip between your two teeth, knowing that it will drive him absolutely crazy. The Colonel shifts in his seat, his eyes taking all the liberties he wants.

His demeanor has shifted so many times within the last minute. He went from happy, to sorrowful, then his anger took over, and now the look on his face tells you that he’s feeling some form of lust. Adrenaline runs through your veins because you simply don’t know what Caleb you’re going to get next.

He licks his lips when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You turn your attention to the dining room, looking upon the other couples and groups that mingle inside. A soft chuckle shakes your body.

The waiter comes back with a bottle of white wine and two glasses in hand. He sets the glasses in front of the two of you, but neither dare to break their gaze.

Caleb’s eyebrow slightly perks up and you tilt your head to the side, a sly smirk forming on your face.

The wine is poured, the pale yellow alcohol sitting pretty inside the glass. You make the first move. The glass is cool in your hand and you swirl the wine around, bringing the glass to your glossy lips.

The first sip of the Pinot Blanc has an exceptional fresh taste to it, complimenting the dryness to the wine. The aroma is fruity with hints of apple, Caleb’s favorite, and a side taste of citrus.

You glance at the waiter, who hovers at the small table. Caleb clears his throat, glaring at the man. The waiter doesn’t pay attention to Caleb, his eyes staying on you.

“The wine is delicious, thank you,” you set the glass down, fingers resting on the base of the glass. He nods but stays in his spot. Caleb’s fists ball on top of the white cloth. He opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to tap his knee with the tip of your high heel. You roll your eyes and take a deep breath, leaning towards the waiter. “As you can see, I’m here with him and not you. So, if you could please give us some privacy, that would be nice.”

Caleb watches you in awe. Your dominance is refreshing and is something he hasn’t experienced with her in a long time. She typically gave up after five minutes but you? You are fiery. You know what you want and you also know how to tell people to fuck off in ways he never knew how.

Has he finally met his match? Can you be the one to meet his fiery passion and loyalty?

“You can leave this here,” you reach out to the waiter, tapping the label on the wine bottle.

The waiter obeys, scrambling away. Caleb watches it as if he’s at a magic show, completely enthralled with the display you’re putting on for him.

This is a completely different side of you, one that he’s never seen before but desperately wants to get to know. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would think that you also want to indulge in the sweetness of your blossoming love.

“Try the wine,” you grab your glass, emptying the contents into your mouth before refilling it. Caleb watches with an amused smile, tasting the wine as you said to do, and pauses. It’s…it’s delectable. It hits all of the flavor notes he’s been dying to taste in a good wine.

And you were the one who managed to find it.

“Hey,” he leans forward, capturing your attention. “Can we…start over? You know…a fresh start for us?”

Your eyes read humor and your smile is divine. You think about his proposal for a moment, tearing your gaze away, opting to look at the menu.

You know that he’s eagerly waiting for a response. Knowing Caleb, he’s impatient to know the result of your calculations. He watches you, focused on the way your foot taps against his shin and how your eyes scan the menu as if there’s anything remotely interesting on there.

Caleb is right there and he knows that he is way more interesting than the variety of food options the restaurant has to offer.

“What do you say?” He pesters. Your eyes shoot to his. Chills run down his spine.

“New life, new you, right?” You muse. Caleb can’t help but laugh, turning his head away from you.

Have you always been this funny? Your humor knows no bounds, truly. While some people would have groaned at your words, Caleb couldn’t help but see the lightheartedness behind them.

He knows that his death must have taken a large, emotional toll on you. It’s never easy losing someone you were once close to. Perhaps your humor is your way of dealing with uncomfortable and awkward situations. He can’t fault you for it. He too has been known to make light of many uncomfortable scenarios, such as failing his psych evaluation at the DAA. 

“Thank you,” he releases a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding in. You shake your head, his interest piqued.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” you bring the glass to your lips, licking them, “consider this dinner as your trial run.”

“Noted,” Caleb responds, eyes trained on your lips, wondering when he’s get a chance to taste the flavor of your lip gloss.

The dinner runs smooth, smoother than you or him could have ever anticipated. Your glasses never went empty and after a bottle or two, you could feel your tipsy giggles taking over your body as Caleb watched you with the biggest smile on his face.

Whenever you covered your face from embarrassment, he always made sure to peel them off so he can look upon your gorgeous face. He loves the way your cheeks turn a light pink color, an effect the alcohol has on you, and how your entire demeanor changes. You become light, airy.

Caleb basks in your delightful chuckles and you can’t help but feel closer to him every time he told you one of his stories from inside the Deepspace Tunnel.

The best part of it is that whenever you shared stories from your translator job, he didn’t make you feel insignificant or insufficient compared to him. Sure, you weren’t in a direct line of danger like he is. You don’t fight Wanderers nor do you patrol the Deepspace Tunnel like it’s nothing.

Your average Tuesday consists of translating, and sometimes even decrypting, secret messages and speeches that the Farspace Fleet intercept. To you, it’s a boring old desk job. To Caleb, you are one of the most integral parts of his job. Without you, his job would be much more difficult and he would be in shambles.

He always knew you were smart but your skills as a translator and linguist are truly impressive. He may be able to able to fly some of the most difficult planes and spaceships, but he’ll never be able to fully understand how to comprehend a different language.

It feels like there were no walls between you two. No angst for you to cling to and a time for Caleb to finally, and quite regrettably, get to know who you are after all these years.

To him, you’ve changed so much. You’ve broken free from your shell, one that him and her put you in, and have grown into a woman who is utterly captivating, someone who can control the room with a simple look and a voice that he never wants to stop listening to.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you breathe between quiet chuckles. You lean forward, a genuine smile on your face. “You’re telling me that you and your squad were scared of a creaking noise?”

“Yes,” Caleb leans in, slowly reaching out for your hand. His large hand lays on top of your tiny one and he is surprised that you don’t immediately pull away from him. The tips of his fingers trace the top of your hand, leaving random swirls and letters into your soft skin. His sight lowered to your hands.

It feels domestic to him, something that he never thought or imagined he would have with you. But here you are, allowing it to happen as you breathlessly laugh at his moment of stupidity while on patrol.

He loves it. He loves—

“Caleb?! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!”

His fingers stop, eyes shooting up to you. Your posture shifts. Your back is as straight as a board, eyes dissociated from the world.

You have become an entirely different person when her voice shrilled form behind you.

You can’t bring yourself to turn and look at her. You listen for her footsteps, hearing them approach before stopping behind you.

“You forgot your necklace at home! I was worried that something happened to you. Who are you with?” She circles the table settling the space to the side of the table. Your hand retracts from his and Caleb can’t help but stare at the tears that brim in your eyes. You look to the spot around his neck, one where the necklace that dangles from her hand should be hanging. 

“I left a note for you—” Caleb begins.

“Is that who I think it is?” She says in a hushed tone to him, staring you with a look that says back off. 

Your eyes stagger to meet his. His lips part, staring at you like he’s just been caught red handed.

Of course. It was so easy to see what this is.

You tilt your chin up, finally looking up at her. She’s all dolled up, makeup absolutely flawless, elevating her natural beauty. She wears a simple blue bow in her dark hair, which travels just below her shoulders. Her outfit is pretty too, nothing that you can pull off anyways, and she radiates I’m better than you energy.

Your stomach turns on itself. You stare at the wine glasses, ears ringing, wondering why the fuck you had to drink so much. It’s because you felt comfortable with him, yes, but you should have known something like this would happen.

You’re nine years old. She feels left out so you give her a present to open. You hate sharing your birthday.

You’re twelve and sitting alone while they get ice cream together. You’re filled with disappointment when they forgot to get you something.

You’re fifteen years old again. The sting of rejection and embarrassment cuts into your skin at the sight of her when he says he can’t go to the dance.

You’re sixteen years old and watching as they leave your game, hand in hand, not even bothering to say goodbye.

You feel your inner child die. Caleb the Knight has finally slain the monstrous and rotten dragon that has done nothing but ask for love.

“How have you been? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” She beams at you.

“I’ve been fine,” you fake a smile but are unable to keep a cheery charade as your smile immediately falters, the corner of your lip twitching. Your nostrils tingle. Your throat throbs from holding back tears.

“You should have waited for me back at the apartment,” Caleb’s face never turns away from yours. A quiet gasp falls from your lips.

At the apartment? Are you sleeping with her? Are you two dating? Have I been made a fool again?

Questions flood into your mind. You’re unable to stop them, not that you want to anyways, as the realization of what’s happening weighs down on your shoulders.

This is the unmistakable feeling of dread.

You stare at him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, as your hands grip onto the skirt of your dress for dear life. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand through the fabric, stinging your skin.

“I’ve been waiting! I didn’t know you were meeting up with someone,” she turns to you and looks at the plate in front of you. “Is that salmon? I love salmon!”

Suddenly, you hate salmon.

Thinking rashly and acting off of pure instinct, you stand from your chair. The table clatters, silverware clanging into each other, when the top of your thighs hit the table.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, glass of wine tipping over, splashing onto her. It shatters on impact when it falls to the ground. Embarrassment crashes through your body like a tsunami, ears turning a bright red color from the heat you feel in your head.

“Are you okay?” Caleb jumps to your side, grabbing your arm with kindness and sincerity. You rip your lib away from him, shaking your head.

“I’m fine,” your voice shakes. You look at her, who watches with a dropped jaw. “It was…so nice seeing you again.” You push the painful words out, your throat tightening around itself. Nausea sweeps your body and you grab your purse from the back of your chair, throwing the skinny strap over your shoulder. Without thinking, you turn away from the duo, who are so clearly made for each other, and rush through the restaurant.

You accidentally bump into a hostess who leads a couple to their table. You gasp and drop to the floor, helping her up, choking out apologies to her. You hear Caleb call your name from behind, trying to keep up with you, but refuse to turn around.

You simply can’t! You can’t see the look on his face, the one every man has when he realizes that he was caught being a two timing scumbag. 

This is just like high school. This is just like the failed homecoming dance when you cried yourself to sleep. This is just like the time Caleb ditched your game because she wanted to go home and watch a movie instead.

Hot tears streak down your face. You wipe your eyes, the fabric around your hands soon becoming soaked from the salty tears. You rush to the door, everyone’s eyes on you. The employee in the coat closet stares at you with bewildered eyes. You ignore him, leaving your jacket behind, as you burst into the ice cold night air.

There’s no rain but you really hoped there would be. You’d be able to escape into the night, going unnoticed as you ran to your apartment. It’s be cinematic, yes, but in all the worst ways possible. It would have been your punishment for being so fucking stupid.

How could you have thought that this would have gone well? Did you really think that Caleb, out of all people, could actually fucking care about you? He’s a man! He could care less about your feelings! As long as he ends the night in bed next to her, he’d be fine.

It wouldn’t matter if you cried yourself to sleep that night. It wouldn’t matter if you deleted and blocked his number. It wouldn’t matter if you ended up getting hit by a car, falling into a deep coma that you’d never wake from.

The only thing that matters is that Caleb is in love with her. Not you.

Your vision is blurred. Your mascara streaks down your cheeks. The street is busy, filled with cars from the night traffic. They whizz by at top notch speeds, your dress skirt getting caught in the air. You hold your hand out, trying to hail a taxi.

“Taxi!” You yell in a pained cry. Your legs wobble. Your arms ache. Your body feels as if it’s shutting down on itself from the grief you’ve just gone through.

Caleb breaks through the restaurant door. He scans the area, chest rapidly rising and falling, and his eyes land on you, who sways back and forth right next to the curb. His heart sinks into his stomach and he leaps towards you, hand outstretched.

You feel your body tense, going still. A tear stops halfway down your cheek. Your eyes dart around, looking for someone to help you. Your name shoots from Caleb’s mouth and you let out a cry, closing your eyes.

“Leave me alone!” You sob. His evol releases you but you’re immediately pulled into his chest. His arms trap you against him, body trembling from sadness and anger, his palms flattening against your hips. “Let me go, Caleb.”

“No. Let’s talk about this,” his chin rests on your shoulder, hunched over. He presses his nose into the side of your neck, his breath only making your body hotter than it needs to be. “Let me explain, please!”

“No! You don’t — Caleb!” You throw your shoulders backward. He stumbles back but takes you with him. His arms remain frigid. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Caleb, I swear on my life that if you don’t let me go, you’ll never see me again.” Your words push through gritted teeth. Caleb stares at you, knowing that’s not true, that wherever you go, he’ll follow like a lost dog. He humors the sentiment, though, and slowly relaxes his grip.

You turn around and shove him away from you. Red eyes, ruined makeup, and a heart that has officially rotted, you stare at him. He tries to come close to you but you shove him away, using every bit of strength you can muster. He takes a step back, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I swear, it’s not what it—”

“What it what? Looks like?!” You yell at him.

People turn their heads and watch. They whisper amongst themselves, pointing and bringing their cameras out to record incase the encounter goes south. Cars honk and sirens blare in the distance.

“Please,” his voice cracks, a hand extending towards you, “this is all one big misunderstanding!”

“What could be misunderstood, Caleb? The fact that she came looking for you? Or the fact you brought me to a place that men take their mistresses to?” You turn away but he uses his evol to turn you back around. You let out a frustrated yell. He holds his hands up, shaking his head.

“Hey, hey, let’s try to calm down—”

“Calm down?!” Your screech interrupts him. You point to the restaurant behind you two. “Caleb! You made me your mistress! She literally showed up looking for you! She brought that stupid fucking necklace and asked why you weren’t home!”

“Please—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn around, holding your face in your hands. Your breaths are deep, heavy, as your lungs burn from the inside, the lack of oxygen causing your body to ache. You hunch over, hand over your chest, fingers digging into your chest.

Maybe it’s the wine clouding your judgement, maybe it’s the walls you built from the constant years of betrayal and lackluster friendships, but you just want to disappear.

Anywhere but here would be better. Hell, even a date with George would have been better than this.

Caleb is quick to circle you. He drops to his knee in front of you, trying to get a look at your face, to try and have a conversation. He brushes hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“I’m so stupid,” your words are just above a whisper. Caleb shakes his head, fighting back tears of his own.

“No. No you aren’t. Don’t say that,” the words tumble from his mouth.

“Yes, I am. I thought I could trust you. I thought that things changed—”

“They did change! She’s just here on a mission and needed a place to stay, that’s all—”

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you shake your head, lifting your head up. You take a deep breath.

You look at the chaotic street. Cars drive by and honk at each other. They don’t stop for anyone. All of the anger and sadness you once felt slips from your body. Your mind and body go numb.

“I don’t want to see you again.”

Your words shake Caleb to his core. He stands, looking down at you.

“No! No, please don’t do this to me—”

“I can’t trust you. You’ve made me look like an idiot.”

“Let me make it up top you!”

“I want nothing to do with you. Or her. I deserve better than this. Than you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“You haven’t changed. She’s always going to come between us.”

“That’s not true! I have changed!”

“You’ve broken my heart, Caleb.”

Caleb grabs hold of your shoulders. He cranes his head down so he’s at eye level with you. You stare into nothing, unable to stop the tears that roll down your cheeks. He stares into your eyes, his devotion and his everything.

That’s you. But you can’t see it.

“Caleb?” Her voice carries to the two of you. “Where are you? Let’s go home!”

You can’t help but laugh. Hysteria takes over your body. You finally come out from your dissociation, looking into Caleb’s violent and bronze eyes.

“You better hurry up or she’ll leave you too.” You shrug his hands off of your shoulders, stepping around him. You whistle and a taxi immediately pulls to the curb. You get in, the last part of your beating heart turning into outright decay, your core nothing but rotten scraps of the girl you’ve left behind.

[odoraful]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄

the boys react to you being really sleepy around them 💤

content: zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn reader; established relationship; comfort a/n: this was from an anon who requested a sleepy m/c! i'm sorry it took a bit, but to the lovely anon i hope i did your idea justice! shoutout to all my constantly sleepy folks out there as well

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ZAYNE ⟡

It was only midday when you and Zayne boarded the train from Snowcrest back to Linkon, but your head was already lolling to the side. The homey, wintery town had an atmosphere that was too relaxing. Especially during those late afternoons after you and Zayne had gone cafe hopping, you wanted nothing more than to bask in the sun and fall asleep. 

As you settled into your seat by the window, Zayne pushed his and your luggage in the above storage compartment. Seeing his partner’s head bob towards the glass window, Zayne smiled to himself.

“I've never seen a person so sleepy before,” Zayne remarked, taking his place in the seat beside you.  

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled groggily, “it’s the town.”

You began to rub your eyes, attempting to bring some life back into them. 

“I didn’t realise a town could have sedative properties,” he said, dryly. 

“You don’t understand, it’s too cosy. I feel like all my defences are down.” 

Zayne was entertained at the way you spun that into a complaint. A renowned hunter who finally takes a well-needed break feels too comforted by their holiday getaway.

He rested a hand on his chin in mock thought. “Should we have added combat training in the itinerary to have you be more alert, then?”

You laughed, knowing that if that had actually happened you would have hated it. The relaxation you experienced on this trip was a genuine good thing for the both of you. You continued to rub your eyes, trying to remove the build-up from when you last slept. Your movements were halted as Zayne gently held your wrists in place. You looked over at him, curiously. 

“I may not be an ophthalmologist, but I know rubbing your eyes too hard can damage the lens.”

He leaned closer to examine them. They were slightly red from all the pressure you had put on them.

“Forcing yourself awake won’t do you any favours.”  He gently brushed a thumb over your eyelids. “You should sleep.”

He relaxed his shoulders, bumping them against yours in wordless invitation. You felt your protest fizzle away at the thought of resting on Zayne right this second. Some argument about how he would be bored without his number 1 conversation partner on the commute disappeared when you tilted your head and fell on his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget to wake me up when we get there…” Your voice trailed off as you nuzzled in place, trying to find a good spot to sleep. 

Zayne combed his fingers through your hair, tidying it up from your head wiggling. You were unresponsive to his touch. Your steady breathing signalled that you had already passed out. He stared fondly at your peaceful face. Inwardly, he admitted that the ride would be much less fun without your chatter, but he was more than content with just your presence alone. 

Succumbing to temptation, he lightly poked your cheek. He mused to himself about how you were somewhat correct—your defences were down, but it was to his benefit. He could finally do things like this without your teasing. 

XAVIER ⟡

Xavier moved his hand, ready to turn over to the next page of the book. He looked at you, expectantly.

“Have you finished this page?”

You hummed affirmatively, and he eagerly flipped to the next chapter. 

You and Xavier had begun the habit of reading in bed together in the evenings. The book of choice was Xavier's pick—an old-school mystery novel. Someone is found murdered in their private quarters on a train, and the detective must find the culprit before they strike again. The plot was thrilling, and you were enthralled from the beginning. However, between being weighted under plush quilts, propped up by fluffy pillows, and the body warmth of Xavier, you felt the words of the page slipping away from you. 

“Xavier, could you read aloud for me?”

His eyes turned wide like a surprised bunny. “Why the sudden request? Is everything okay?” He immediately covered your forehead with his hand, checking your temperature. 

Chuckling, you swatted his hand away. “I’m alright. I just want to hear your voice, please.” You looped your arm around him and Xavier softened. 

He couldn’t argue against your wishes. He cleared his throat and read the words out loud. Though Xavier didn’t have the most performative voice, he still tried to be a good storyteller—acting out the dialogue for each different character and steadying his pacing. The gentleness of his voice enveloped you. It quickly sounded less like an intense crime novel, and more like a children’s storybook. 

You closed your eyes, attempting to keep an attentive ear to what Xavier was saying. 

“Are you still with me?” he asked, sensing how you had relaxed against his side. 

“Yes, yes, I’m still listening.” Your eyes remained shut, words slightly slurring together. “Keep going. I think the case is”—a yawn you tried to stifle came out—“about to be cracked wide open.”

Xavier continued, taking note of your growing drowsiness. He read out loud this time in a more hushed voice, “‘The detective gathered everyone in the train’s shared compartment space. Pacing across the carpet, he had finally figured out the killer’s identity.’” 

There was a slight thud against the headboard.

Turning to the source of the sound, Xavier found you fast asleep. 

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Even when the culprit is about to be revealed, you still decide to fall asleep.

To be honest, he was beginning to get sleepy himself, so perhaps it was perfect timing. The two of you were cutely similar in that regard. In fact, Xavier had done the exact same thing a few days ago. Chastising you about it would only backfire on himself.  

He carefully removed your arm loosely looped around his own and quietly stood up to tuck you in. Laying you in a more comfortable position, he readjusted the blanket to cover your body, admiring how you snuggled deeper into the sheets. He joined you in bed. The warm glow of the night light behind him on the bedside table faintly illuminated your serene expression. 

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, before placing a light kiss on your forehead and switching off the light.

RAFAYEL ⟡

It was a hot day in Linkon, and Whitesand Beach was the perfect respite for the artist and his bodyguard. The sand gleamed silvery-white under the sun, with crystalline waves crashing against the shore. There were many others here who had also pitched beach canopies to provide a shield against the heat. You and Rafayel had tried your best to create a comfortable interior with your rented outdoor lounge chairs and mini portable fans. You were lying on one of the chairs, relishing in the fresh air (a definite contrast from the city) whilst you waited for Rafayel. 

He soon returned holding up two drinks, both decorated with little umbrellas and even small skewers with fruit. 

You took the glass from him in amused shock. “Raf, did you make a special request for more decorations?”

Rafayel took a sip of the drink before placing it down on the table. “Nope, the employee recognised me and wanted to add a bit more pizazz to the drinks.” He plopped in his seat and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I tipped them extra for their efforts.”

You sipped the cool drink and gazed out at the beach, mesmerised by the waves. It’s repetitive ebb and flow almost lulled you somehow. 

The day hasn't even started! How can you even think about sleeping?! You scolded yourself. You patted both your cheeks to snap out of this tiredness. 

You turned your attention to something else. A couple were playing volleyball nearby. You watched the ball be tossed back-and-forth, back-and-forth… your eyelids began to fall on their accord. 

Rafayel's voice pulled you from your drowsiness, and you realised he had been observing you this whole time. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” He cocked his head to the side in concern.

“I did, but”—you turned to your side to face him properly—“being out here just makes me feel sleepy, that’s all.”

Too adorable. He thought to himself, seeing the small pout on your face as you rubbed your eyes. 

“I can’t think of a better place to rest than next to the ocean. It’s nature’s own background noise,” he proclaimed. 

Though that sounded enticing, you still hesitated. Wouldn’t it make you a bad partner if you slept for most of the time you two were outside? Sensing your reluctance, Rafayel continued.

“And how are you going to be a good bodyguard for me if you’re not well rested? Didn’t they teach you that in Bodyguard 101?”

“‘Bodyguard 101’?” you repeated in disbelief at Rafayel’s ability to dramatise. “I must have skipped that introductory course in university.” 

“Well then, you can make up for the lost study with experience, starting right now.” His humorous tone waned, as he brought out his sketchpad. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on doing some drawings anyway. I won’t leave your side.” The softness of his words reassured you. 

The mixture of crashing waves and light chatter from other beach goers had you sleeping almost immediately.

Rafayel had intended to do some drawings of the scenery, but he fixed his artistic eye on you, now finding a much better source of inspiration to fill his pages.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: when your car breaks down right as you need to pick up a friend in metropolis, clark offers to give you a ride (not the type you want) and you step up your game.

everyone thank my writer's block, because if not for that, this would never have been as out there as it is. like if i'd released this half a week ago, it would not be anywhere near this level. i still had writer's block while grinding this out, so every question of where to go next was answered with 'make it HORNIER'. and you're welcome.

WARNINGS: mentions of road head, brief palming, accidental crotch grab, innuendo, clark is perpetually horny and shameful (who isn't?), he's still so down bad and needs loving desperately. (someone let this boy get RAILED (that's my job, really, but i promise i've got one more chapter idea before he FUCKS))

part one! part two! part three! part four!

You sigh frustratedly as you lift the hood of your car to try to gauge the problem. Perhaps the problem was that the car was old as hell, just repainted and spruced up a little to give the illusion that it was simply vintage, not a second hand metal bag of parts. 

“Everything okay?” 

You look up to find Clark coming over. Whether it's good luck or not, you've broken down in front of the Kents house. No family nicer than the Kents exist. It's entirely possible. They're endlessly helpful. The problem, as always, is their gorgeous son. 

It's hot out, he's been sweating enough to give him a particular entrancing sheen over his skin. And now you're frustrated for two very different reasons. 

“No. Stupid car broke down,” you muttered, chest heaving in a sigh. 

Clark’s gaze wanders, against his will. All of a sudden, he’s looking at your chest, the way your breasts have been pushed up by a combination of that gorgeous tank top and probably the bra beneath it. And now he’s thinking about your underwear. You in your underwear and nothing else. You standing in your underwear in front of him, begging for his help once again. 

He closes his eyes firmly and looks away, mentally smiting himself. He can’t think about you like that. You’re his neighbour, his friend, and you’re in trouble. 

He clears his throat, speaking in the hopes that he can distract himself from the sight of your cleavage and bare legs. “Okay, well, why don't we push it up to the house? We can take a look at it, see if we can get it started again. If not, at least it's not out in the road in the way.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks.” 

And so the two of you manage to push your crappy car up to the front of the house, where Mr Kent joins you to take a look at it with Clark. 

“Good news is, it's totally fixable. Bad news is, you'd need a mechanic to do it. We'll call them and they can tow it from here.” 

You sigh, looking at your watch. “Damn it. I'm supposed to pick up my friend from the station in Metropolis in a couple of hours.” 

“Well, I can take you in our car,” Clark suggests. 

“You'd do that?” You ask, and he nods, charming smile still there. You grin, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug as his arms slide around your waist. “Thank you, Clark, you're a lifesaver.” 

Clark can feel as the blush begins to set in. “Yeah, of course. We can get going as soon as you're ready to.” 

“I'm ready now, if that's okay?” 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

It’s not until you’re in the passenger seat and on the road that either of you speak again. “So, who’s your friend?” 

“Just one of the girls from Central City. I told her she could visit once I was settled in. She’s fun, you’ll love her.” 

You play with your hair, and it sends a fresh whiff of your scent in Clark’s direction. He doesn’t know if it’s perfume or shampoo, but he knows he’s already addicted. You cross one leg over the other, and fold your arms. Clark glances over, a moment of weakness that he hates himself for. It’s like he wants to punish himself. Something in him that says that if he’s going to think like this, he can go unsatisfied and hurting. It’s not logical. In fact, he knows that looking is the one indulgence he’ll allow himself. A brief glance that he won’t let linger, thoughts he’ll bury as long as possible. 

“I’m sorry about your car,” he says, in an attempt to distract himself from your bare legs and accentuated cleavage. 

You smile a little. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for helping.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” 

“No, really, Clark, thank you,” you say, turning towards him and leaning over the console in the centre, hands resting on it and pushing your breasts up and together. “You’re always there whenever I need you. You’re so good, Clark.” He’s going to explode again. “Really. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Yet again, your attempts seem to have been either obliviously ignored or politely rejected, as Clark doesn’t respond to them. Granted, this was one of your more low-key comments, but he hasn’t even glanced at your tits, and they’re right there! 

So you decide to double down. Test to see if he’s just oblivious, awkward, or not interested. 

One of your hands lands on his thigh. He blinks, but doesn’t look at you. “You’re so helpful, Clark. Always happy to help when I need you. And I always need you. There has to be some way for me to repay you.” Your hand travels further up his thigh. In an ideal world, you’d be giving him road head right now, not halfway to it. 

Clark finally looks at you, his cheeks a little flushed, and as he turns his head, his gaze lands right on your chest. 

Immediately, though, a car horn sounds, and Clark’s eyes dart back onto the road in time to swerve back into his own lane. The road had been totally empty for a while now, it hadn’t even occurred to him that eventually they had to run into someone. 

He blinks heavily. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

You smile, eyes bright with mischief. “For the nearly dying? Or the other thing?” 

“Uh, both. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” 

You giggle. “It’s okay, Clark. Really, you’re fine. More than fine.” 

Your hand is still on his upper thigh, a dangerous place. A bump in the road underneath the right front wheel jolts you, and your hand accidentally slips onto Clark’s crotch, applying pressure. His eyes go wide as saucers, a strangled noise barely escaping him before he gets a hold of his vocal cords. 

“Oh!” You gasp. “I’m sorry, Clark!” 

You pull your hand off, returning to your side of the car. That had slightly ruined your entire plan. It was a total accident. You hadn’t meant to straight up grab the guy. Just tease him a little. Shit. 

When you get out of the car at the Metropolis station to go find your friend, Clark takes the opportunity to do some breathing exercises, and uses the cover of his jacket to his advantage, palming at himself to relieve the ache a little for now. He bites the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge to make some sort of sound. He doesn’t know what it’ll be, and he’s alone in the car, but whatever it is, it’ll be embarrassing enough even if he’s the only one to hear it. So instead he just breathes a little irregularly, head tilted back a little against the headrest. 

He sees your friend with you as you approach the car again, and he tears his hand away from himself begrudgingly. Your friend has a grin on her face, eyes wide with excitement as you both talk with equal enthusiasm. 

You join her in the back this time, probably for the best, but you’re still on the opposite side of the car to him, so he sees you easily in the mirror, and all he needs to do is turn his head a little and let his peripheral vision do the rest. 

“Oh, you’re so right,” your friend says, and you shush her despite your giggling. 

taglist;

@blueeweeb

@ssnapsaurus

@artyandink

@i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

@milestellerismybf

@purple-1995

@writergiih

@elysianrosie

@glennussy

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 4- The Night it Goes Wrong

A/N: So uhhh, heads up, things will get horrific so I gotta warn yall

Trigger Warning: Major body horror, bones breaking, blood, teeth falling out, and whatnot. Like this is my first time actually writing something like and I was like 😨 If you ain’t comfortable with that, let me give you a short TL:DR at the end of the taglist.

I’ll put a sign that when it’ll begin and end with this: ꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

ALSO I may not post in a while, I got vacation with the fam!

The moment Alfred Pennyworth saw you in that police station, clutching onto the edge of the seat with your big eyes, and confused look, he knew he was going to adore you.

He has been a caretaker, a protector, a father all his life, raising Bruce when his parents, Alfred’s cherished friends, have died. He tended to his wounds and assisted when Dick was first brought into the Manor.

Ever since then, he has cared, loved, protected, and cherished every single member of this family. He was a great guardian to all.

However, Alfred was far from perfect, shamefully leaving his daughter to care for a family he wasn’t related to, yet he hoped raising all of Bruce’s children would make up for his neglected ways.

That’s why he attached himself to you. You were neglected outright the moment you held out your hand for Bruce to shake. He was appalled seeing his son ignore you so blatantly.

Perfect as he may not have been, he saw his daughter in you. He may not have fully have the memory of Julia Pennyworth’s childhood, but he knew she was a spunky and bright as you.

Yet despite the promise of taking care of you, life had other plans when Bruce took in Jason, taking the title of Robin to him. He was relieved to see you have one family member to bond over.

But after Jason’s death, it was back to square one with you. His heart ached seeing you get rejected with each member, and he tried his best to make sure you had felt included, even if it was him only.

Old habits die hard, he supposed. He once or twice failed to acknowledge you for he has been too busy with the other members, as one does. One memory was horrible when he failed to arrive for your science fair, and you returned home with your tear stained cheeks.

He has never forgiven himself since, each failed parenting attempt a reminder that he has failed his daughter. Unhealthy as it may have been, Alfred knew you weren’t her.

You were more than any child he has seen being adopted in the Wayne Manor. You were his child, and what had happened that day made him knew he failed you once more.

Cleaning the garden with some members of the family, Alfred returned back inside for drinks. Tim had the foolishly wise idea to throw a stick at a window, your window, where the beehive laid.

The bees began to emerge from their hive and hovered around the family, not fully attack until Dick panicked and sprayed the bees with the hose, completely missing and hit your window again.

The bees weren’t thrilled with the attack on your window, so they began to sting the members, first Dick, then heavily at Tim. Steph hid behind Bruce as the oldest member quickly avoided the bees and pulled out the pesticides for the weeds.

When Alfred returned, horror ran throughout his body when he saw the dead bees and hive. That was when he began shouting at them, the moment you returned home, and the moment you finally broke.

“Wow, crybaby,” Damien snarked while walking in the garden to see the commotion. He watched you run back inside, and couldn’t help but snicker acting so pathetic.

“Steph, clean up this mess, I’ll have to tend to Tim’s stings,” Bruce pinched his nose in frustration, not aware of Alfred’s frozen body, anger rising to his face before he let out a harsh and cold tone.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne!!” Everyone stopped what they were doing, looking at Alfred. Bruce froze, as the butler was royally pissed off, yet it only showed in his eyes.

“Never in my life if raising you, tending to your failures and comfort your pain, would I ever expect you to treat one of your children with such negligence and disgust!” He shouted, causing the siblings to look down, however Alfred saw that they weren’t full realizing what they did, which made him more furious.

“You not only proved to me that you never truly known Master (Name), but you proved to me that despite all of your achievements involving the rest of your kids, you are still arrogant enough to not ever acknowledge your own flesh in blood when they were in pain!” Pulling out his wallet, Alfred shows rows of photos of you as a kid, beaming while holding up a trophy.

Bruce instinctively opened his mouth to defend himself, but words died on his tongue, eyes drifting down to the destroyed beehive. You were always talking about bees, he thinks. What did you talk about?

And those photos. They looked old. You weren’t that old today, right? Bruce felt his stomach knot. How old were you?

“Pennyworth,” Damien at least had the decency to avoid eye contact, as no one dared to backtalk to Alfred when he’s scolding. “It was just a bunch of-,”

“Master Damien, you of all people here should know what the bond is between human and animal,” He turned to the youngest son, “Your strong bond with your pets are the equivalent to Master (Name)’s bonds with their bees. If not, their bond is stronger,” That had Damien to shut up.

“They have worked hard, every single day just to prove that they belonged in this family. Despite your comments, lack or affection, and shameful harmful attacks, they never let their smile disappear,” There were times he truly thought he failed you when you couldn’t smile, yet the next day the genuine joy was back.

“I am utterly not only disappointed in everyone here, but utterly appalled to witness you all not realize how exactly in the wrong you are,” Alfred tightened his fingers and dug them into his gloved palms, his projections strong.

“They adored you all, despite not knowing your nightly escapades, they wished to be apart of your hearts along with everyone else!” Alfred stretched his arm out to the hive, “Yet the proof is right on the floor, murdered by their own father,” The hive was now meant a lot to Alfred as it was to you.

“I, myself, is also to blame. I lack the strength to speak up sooner, in hopes that you all might finally one around and open your hearts and arms for them, but I was wrong,” He admitted, guilty memories of him leaving Julia haunted him. He won’t do the same with you.

“I expect you all to apologize first thing in the morning, we don’t want a foul mood lingering in the air when their birthday is simply two days away,” Not letting any of them have the final say, Alfred turned on his heels and marched inside, heart slamming against his chest.

He looked around then at the stairs, where Duke was standing there with a concerned look on his face. That gave Alfred a hint on where you went.

“A-Alfred?” Duke quietly mumbled, peaking out of the stairwell like a child admitting to do something wrong. Alfred let out a deep sigh before motioning Duke to follow him.

“Is this… where their room was all along?” Duke said in shock, then shame washed over his face. Even the door looked small compared to the massive doors that led to his room. Alfred closed his eyes and knocked with his knuckle.

“Master (Name)?” He began, “I heavily and sincerely apologize for what has happened with your bees. Please forgive my lack of defense towards your dear creatures. I’m sorry,” He called through the door. Silence, making the butler talk again.

“Words cannot describe how awful I feel, Master (Name). I promise you with my very soul, everything will change after this day,” He rested his forehead against the door, collecting his composure as to not feel more ashamed while imagining your cries while holding onto him.

“Y-yeah, (Name)! Maybe tomorrow, we could go eat take out! Relax at the beach, or watch a movie!” Duke piped up, a nervous smile on his face. You didn’t respond, which had Alfred worried.

“Master (Name)?” Gently twisting the doorknob, Alfred pushed the door open. Duke couldn’t see inside as Alfred peered in, but soon swung the door open. Duke hadn’t had time to react before Alfred turn to run off in the halls. And when Duke looked back in your room, he knew why.

You were gone.

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

The rain became heavy, splashing into your fabric and letting it soak it all until your clothes felt heavy. Yet you’d didn’t stop, you had to keep skating through the empty streets of Gotham.

You crashed into the rough sidewalk, scrapping large cuts and stabs of concrete digging into your skin. You just kept on pushing and continued to skate through the heavy rain. The glow from Ivy’s pollen she gifted you lit up the way to the warehouse in the harsh storm.

You managed to easily slide underneath the broken door to the warehouse, still gaining more slices form the gravel and concrete, yet you didn’t care at all.

“No more waiting, I have to do this now,” You panted, starting up the generators and checking on your hive. You wiped more tears, or was it rain?, while watching your mother’s beehive still intact. You may have failed your bees, but you won’t fail your mother.

You tossed your wet jacket on the old tv, taking your phone out to check the time and record this very moment of Raine history.

11:45

You were completely unaware that you had left your deceased Queen bee in you pocket, and by putting your jacket on the tv, she slipped out and landed into the honey.

Unaware of what you did, the honey began to glow the orange light, brighter hues swirled around the poor insects before completely dissolving her completely.

You turned back to the honey jar, grabbing it and paced around, determination etched all over your face. You’ll prove them that you do belong, that your existence was worth something just like them.

“Project: Honey,” You began, “An intense research study on genetically altering the DNA and structure of the honeybee. To provide better insight on saving endangered plants and to uprise the declining bee population,” While you talked, you kept on starting up everything in the warehouse.

You stood in the center, holding the jar over your head, faltering for a moment. You second guessed yourself on not waiting for a little while more, but flashes of the Waynes, you knew you had to do it.

“Final test, what more can you push yourself into being a part of your research than being just like a bee?” You asked yourself, holding the jar up in the light, “For you, mama,” And with that, you took a small sip.

You shut your eyes tight, hitching your breath. Yet the moment you swallowed the thick honey, your eyes shot back open, mouth salivating while you looked back at the jar, hands trembling.

It was-

“So sweet…” You muttered, tasting more of the honey. You never tasted anything like this! Each sip was more flavorful than the last. You needed more.

“So floral… so savory…” You stuck your finger in the jar, addicted to such a flavor. Your senses were too focused on the honey to realize your eyes began to turn a pinkish red, and your genetic bees began to rumble within their hives.

“So good,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

But that was when the itching started.

“Fuck…” You hissed, feeling your arms itch, and soon your whole body began to feel like it needed to be rubbed with sandpaper. Your nails scratched against your arms and neck, the urge to peel your skin off was overwhelming.

Your stomach felt ill, but it wasn’t from the honey. Your vision blurred, until you felt something wet run down your cheek. You wiped them away, believed to be tears, but only when you saw dark strains on your fingers, you realized blood was seeping from your eyes.

You couldn’t even scream when pain shot to your limbs.

Suddenly, a grotesque sound of bones breaking, and extreme jolts of hot searing pain ran to your spine. The ringing of your ears didn’t cover the piercing high pitch screams of horror. Your skin tightens and cracks, bones twisting in agony, as if something was pushing against your skin.

You felt like vomiting, the bile, or was it blood? You found out quickly when you spat out a glob of both vomit and blood, but something hard slipped through your lips.

Your tooth. Your teeth.

One became three, and soon every tooth began to fall out with strong strings of blood and shreds of gums trailing behind them. You choked out a low, guttural sound emitting from your very throat, a sound you never made before.

It wasn’t a scream, yet you did felt like screaming with every single emotion you experienced. You wanted this to stop, this was horrifying enough to make you want to cry out, do something. The sounds coming out of you became higher pitch, almost like a screech from an unknown creature.

Your spin felt like it was scalding hot, searing pain spreads across your back until you let out another screech when you heard the sickening CRUNCH of muscles and skin break by your spine.

Your back splits open, something pushing through like it needed you. You needed air. It pushed through, getting larger by the minute before the head pulls out with a loud ear piercing sound emitting from its mouth.

It wasn’t an it. It was you.

It felt like your skin was being pulled off, like a crab molting from its old skin. Your… old body began to spasm until it fell limp, your new body crawling out, spreading wings out and fully standing tall.

Yet despite the ease of escaping the skin, the agonizing pain still very much lingered. You never stopped screeching with how much your body distorted. Legs, arms, mouth and body, everything was unbearable.

“M-MAMA!!” You screeched out, gurgled by the globs of blood you keep vomiting out. Your stomach lurched and heaved with the torture you’ve been enduring, flashes of memories seeming to be the one good thing in this disturbing experience.

Then-

Silence.

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Everything was over. The pain wasn’t there, but the fear never went away. You didn’t comprehend what happened, what you became, and where you were. You were snapping your head around, watching the warehouse lights intently before eyes spotted the beehive.

The moment you looked at it, your eyes hurt from the sudden burst of light emerged from your head and back. Your blurry eyes trailed down to your own body, seeing two pairs of arms. But besides your arms, underneath you.

Was the body of you.

You gently clasped your hands underneath your once human body. Cheeks stained with blood that leaked from your tears, limbs contorted in an inhumane way, and eyes faded into grey pupils.

Vision blurry yet still coherent, they landed on the clock, where it flashed a bright infrared sequence of numbers to tell the time.

11:52

It was merely seven minutes of agonizing torture.

CRASH

The sunroof shattered by the weight of multiple people, having you whip your body around to see Batman. His cowl never showed much, yet his eyes showed more than enough emotions. Most was fear. But for what? Or who.

Along with Batman, stood the Robins. Red Robin assessed what was going on in front of them, before feeling sick when he saw what the scene was in front of them all.

A large grotesque figure, almost two times the size of Bane himself, a bright colorful glow surrounding it while it flexed its thorax. And underneath the beast… was your body, back completely ripped as if it had taken your skeleton, completely lifeless.

Your eyes couldn’t properly identify what or who was in front of you, all pairs of your eyes darting in completely different directions and not being able to fully spot the figures. The confusion made you tighten your grip on your old corpse more.

You opened your mouth to at least release a sound, before screeching when a baterang swooshed past your neck, body acting fast and barely avoided a decapitation.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM!!” Robin screamed, charging towards you with a strong swing of his sword. You dropped your body and scrambled back, your new form not yet in control. You skidded against the concrete flooring, pushing both pairs of arms to steady yourself.

Signal, Batman, Orphan, Red Robin, Spoiler, Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood all began to surround you, all had looks underneath their helmets, cowls, and masks that show they were out for blood, filled with anguish and rage.

Red Hood pulled out a gun, cocking it before aiming it at you. All of your eyes darted around as you began to get surrounded by them, your hearing still ringing as you could see them shout, yet no words were audible.

Before any of the Bats can attack, your genetic bees swarm around them, glowing yellow and orange as if blinding them. You felt yourself pull towards to the hive, and you took a big leap over them and clumsily landed in the now ruined garden.

The bees got aggressive, the whole hive glowing brighter and brighter as they all began to buzz so loud, it was all anyone could hear.

Robin raised one of his swords, about to attack and destroy the hive, but Signal tackled him, looking like he was shouting at the boywonder. You didn't care, you had to escape.

Arms wrapped around the hive, and clutched it to your chest as you needed to escape. Just when you felt hopeless in escaping, the world felt lighter, as if you were floating.

Which you were. You were flying.

You couldn’t even comprehend what was happening until you burst through the broken sunroof, still clutching your hive securely.

Where were you? You didn’t know, all you had to know was that staying in one place will get you killed. You body flew across the city buildings, emitting a powerful light bursting from your body. It would’ve been something to marvel about if it wasn’t your weakness at the moment.

Flying in the air was exposing you as a big red target. As if knowing what you wanted, your body began to tilt downward and fly towards the ground. Yet you still didn’t know how to control your body, so you crash landed.

You didn’t recognize this place, or maybe you did? Your mind was being overwhelmed with the horrors you endured. The rain hit your disgusting form with harsh impacts, as if the world was punishing you for committing on such a foolish act.

You crawled the best you can into a narrow alleyway, avoiding large areas to get spotted faster. You never stopped panting, you never stopped panicking, all of this frantic terrified emotions soon stopped when you finally were able to pause and stare at the reflection from a trash lid.

You were no longer yourself. You were nothing but a monster. You were this large beast, one more pair of arms protruding from your waist, each hand containing sharp, claw-like fingers.

Legs were definitely not resembling human, as they were slightly thick. It looked like they were made to be agile and strong. Your second pair of hands dug their claws into your thighs, as if trying to see if it was all a bad dream.

Your face wasn’t any different. Three pairs of eyes, antennas prominent on your face, with a sharp and golden charm-like plaque above your head. Two thoraxes one both sides of your mouth… where did your mouth go…?

Large translucent wings with pink and yellow hues, your large abdomen behind you and hair on your head… both were glowing. Bright colors of blue, yellow, pink, and orange swirled within, lighting up the dark and grim alley you landed in.

The final touch was the stinger, sharp and long, and it was embarrassingly twitching.

Some say you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature they ever stumbled upon, but you knew better. You were this gross disgusting beast that crawled out of your old body.

You failed your mother, you failed yourself, and you failed your poor bees who died in vain by the hands of your… your… what were they?

You sniffled before peering into the hive you still clutched against your arms. They still glowed, giving out an almost harmonious buzz, as if they were comforting you. You saw the Queen bee still alive inside, much for alive than your poor Queen bee at home-

Wait.

Your queen bee. Where was she when you ran away?

You couldn’t even think before you let out another screech, dropping your hive as you got dragged out of the alleyway. You scratched against the ground, desperately trying to get a hold of a strong object, yet it was futile as strong vines wrapped around your body, the tip of the vine gripping your jaw.

"Well well well~”

A voice. A soothing alluring tone that echoed through the night. Your glowing body allowed you to see a slender figure rising above you with the help of plants, strangely familiar red rose hair and a bright smirk across their… her lips.

“It seems to me that I have myself a little~... a little..." Her smirk faltered, eyes narrowing at you, before they trailed down to the necklace around your neck. They widened in horror, the vines loosening ever so slightly before she pushed the plants for carry her closer to you.

"Bumblebee?" Ivy uttered, and your whole body went loose within her binds. All of your eyes, wide eyed and scared, stared at her own, softening as if you recognized her for the first time. That had her stomach drop. Did you not recognize her?

You began to let out another screech of fear as you heard the Bats coming. Ivy furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the small figures getting closer on the buildings, then at you... or rather, what now became of you.

She quickly covered your face with her vine, pulling your struggling body into her flower shop and into a secret passage. There laid a base for all the villains to law low, each of them shouting in annoyance over Ivy's vines, but soon shut up seeing you.

"Hey hey, it's okay,” She tried to shush you, “You need to stop thrashing, I cannot help you if you're in a state of panic," Yet like a caged animal, you were relentless on trying to escape the vine’s grasp, holding you in the middle of the base.

Riddler, Two-Face, Harley Quinn, Bane, Scarecrow, Catwoman, and every other villain that escaped Arkham and are laying low watched intently, whispering to one another.

“(Name)?" "It's them..." "Not my poor child, what has happened to them?" "No.." Henchmen and villains alike all watched timely as you struggled against the binds of the sturdy vines, Ivy watching you intently.

“Oh (Name)..." She whispered, “What has happened to you?” She cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing against the thorax as you continued to sob, a small vulnerable child stuck in a monstrous body.

"S...Sc-Ared." You choked out, "M-Mа...Mа... W-wa-nt... M-Mama..." Blood still seeped out of what is now your mouth, staining the thorax with wet splotches of red. Your voice was no longer filled with bright, anxious, or even sarcastic tone.

Ivy didn’t know how to calm you down. How could she fix something when she has no idea how you became like this? Earlier this morning you were this bubbly, clumsy teen who tripped over their own shoes, and now? And why don’t you know her?

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Harley motioning her to hug you. She was hesitant at first, not knowing if your glowing hair is harmful, but she couldn’t let her baby client suffer like this.

"I'm so sorry the world hasn't been kind to you, little bumblebee," She hushed your broken cries. She bent you towards her, lowering you down as she placed you head against her chest.

"But I will be here for you," The warmth of her arms wrapped around your head, the steady heartbeat from her chest, the vines now simply holding your hands. You finally calmed down until there was nothing but hiccups and sniffles.

For once in this terrible night, you felt safe.

Buzzzzz

“I’ll always be here for you, (Name),”

A/N: wow... that's a whole lot of trauma for you.

BUUUT ANYWAYS, for those who skipped the part.

TL:DR- You got turned into an anthropomorphic bee in a horrifying way cuz I gotta do that Imao.

Tag list: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche

[prythiansprincess]

agora hills.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: agora hills by doja cat.

author's note: as always, this unhinged fic idea started in chlo and i's endless chats about these pesky men. enzo has a special place in my heart because he's so golden retriever sunshine (don't be fooled by that face though he's filthy).

Enzo Berkshire was your best friend. 

Despite what your friends seemed to think, the relationship between you two had always been strictly platonic. Perhaps it was easy to misinterpret your actions as romantic. After all, you and Enzo were very touchy and affectionate people. It was typical of you two to hold hands in the halls, cuddle in the common room, and even share the occasional cheek or forehead kiss, which you deemed completely normal. This type of behavior has been the standard since you were eleven years old. 

Still, you weren’t blind. You knew your best friend was attractive. Enzo had always been handsome in your eyes, but then fourth year rolled around and everyone else started to notice it too. To be fair, he had grown at least a foot over the summer and quidditch definitely helped him pack on lean muscle. Needless to say, girls flocked to him like a swarm of bees to honey, but he never really seemed interested in any of them. Not that you were paying attention. It was a natural thing to notice when you spent every waking moment with someone. 

The point of the matter was that you had absolutely no romantic feelings for Enzo whatsoever. Or so you thought. Until the bloody dream that flipped your friendship on its head. 

It was a normal day. You and Enzo were studying in your dorm like you usually did after class. Enzo was sprawled out on the rug scribbling away for his assignment on Ancient Runes. You were on your bed reading up on History of Magic. You knew you should be focusing since there would be a test tomorrow, but the chapter was boring and you were absolutely knackered from attending classes all day. 

Before you knew it, you were fully knocked out. A part of you was aware that you were dreaming, but the surreality of it blurred the lines of reality. 

In your dreams, you were still in your room studying with Enzo. Except your best friend was no longer hunched over his homework on your rug. Now Enzo was standing at the edge of your bed, blocking out the afternoon sun. You stared up in confusion as he took the book from your hands. 

“Enz? What are you doing?” 

Enzo stared intently at you, his soft hazel eyes flickering down to your lips. It was a little like being hit with a beam of sunshine. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“I want to try something.”

You held your breath as Enzo leaned over. The bed dipped from his weight as you sat frozen in place. He rubbed soothing circles along your wrist, causing you to melt into his touch. It was a familiar sensation, one that always calmed you down but right at that moment, you felt anything but. The beat of your heart echoed so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. 

Enzo leaned in close, his face mere inches away from yours. He stroked your cheek gently. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured, the low whisper of his voice conjuring goosebumps along your arms. “Can I?”

You blinked, swallowing thickly. He was so close that you could smell the woodsy smell of his cologne, combined with a hint of fresh laundry and citrus. 

“Yes,” you responded breathily. 

Before you could think better of it, Enzo was kissing you. It was soft and sweet, his kisses gentle while he tested the waters. The quick little pecks soon evolved into deeper kisses as your body responded to his touch. Your hands moved outside of your own volition, fingers tangling in Enzo’s hair as you pulled him closer. He groaned and tilted your head back for a better angle, your bodies pressed close together and radiating heat underneath your clothes. 

Enzo scooted back on the headboard and pulled you into his lap without breaking the kiss. You gasped when his hands roamed underneath your skirt, gripping your thighs so that you were fully settled over his length. What started as a sweet innocent kiss escalated into a full on heated makeout session. Kissing till your lips were swollen. Moaning into each other’s mouths. Grasping at every inch of skin the two of you could reach. 

When you felt him grind his hardness against your backside, you gasped. Enzo took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, swirling and sucking until you were panting above him. 

“Y/N,” he grunted huskily. “I need you.”

The desperation in Enzo’s voice made you shudder. You didn’t even think twice before unbuckling his belt and tugging his boxers down. Enzo groaned as he stroked himself, pulling your panties to the side. You whimpered as he teased his tip at your entrance. 

“I want you so fucking bad.”

“I want you too, Enzo.”

Friendship be damned, Enzo gripped your hips and watched as you sank into him. His eyes rolled back when he felt your warmth and wetness hug around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Gods, you feel so fucking good. Better than I imagined.”

You clenched at his words and he inhaled sharply before rolling your hips to set the pace. Once you established a steady rhythm, Enzo pinned you with his lust blown gaze and watched as you rode him. He lavished you with sloppy kisses, stopping every now and then to moan into your mouth while you continued rolling your hips against him. 

“That’s it, princess. Feels good, yeah? Keep rolling your hips just like that,” Enzo said, thrusting upwards to fuck into you. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

The filthy words sent you over the edge. Just as Enzo hit that perfect spot, your eyes flew open. 

You were startled to find yourself back in your dorm, warm, sweaty, and alone in bed. You nearly fell off altogether when you found Enzo still sitting on the rug below you. While you were dreaming about doing filthy things with him, Enzo was completely oblivious and focused on studying. Like you should’ve been. 

Enzo perked up, concern written all over his face when he saw how flushed you were. He immediately rushed over to your side. Your cheeks were so red that he thinks you might be running a fever. Enzo pressed the back of his hand against your forehead and you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning. 

“You’re burning up, Y/N.” Enzo sounded genuinely worried. If only he knew the reason why you currently shared the same temperature as the common room fireplace. “Maybe I should walk you over to the infirmary?” 

“No!” Your voice echoed shrilly in your dorm, causing you to wince. “I’m fine. I just…I just need fresh air.”

“Oh good, I’ll come walk with you.”

“No,” you said rather harshly. Enzo frowned. “I, uh, I think I should go alone.”

Now Enzo was truly perturbed. He pouted at your refusal. Why didn’t you want him to come? You always walked around the Black Lake together. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” 

He squinted at you, hoping to catch your gaze. You completely avoided looking him in the eyes before scrambling out of bed. 

“I’m fine, really. I’ll see you later, Enz.”

You were out the door before Enzo even had a chance to respond. 

You were acting like a bloody idiot. 

After that unfortunate afternoon, you spent the next few days avoiding Enzo. The dream had completely flustered you. It was impossible to be in the same room as your best friend. You couldn’t even look Enzo in the eyes without thinking of him being inside of you.  

More than that, it was making you rethink your entire friendship. You adored Enzo. He had been a constant in your life since first year. The two of you were inseparable and he was pretty much the most important person in your life. You had never once thought about him in a sexual manner, but obviously you were attracted to him given the filthy thoughts that flooded your mind like a plague. 

You were praying to Merlin that this stupid little lapse of yours would pass and take all the hormone addled aftereffects with it. Perhaps it was just lack of physical affection that was causing you to think this way. After all, you had broken up with your last boyfriend months ago. There was the casual hookup every now and then, but those never really satisfied you in the way that you wanted. It certainly wasn’t anything like how Enzo had been in your dream. 

As you cataloged and compared your most recent stints, the intrusive thought slipped in without warning. There were no secrets between you and Enzo, so you knew that it had been awhile since he hooked up with anyone else too. Come to think of it, except for a couple flings here and there, Enzo has never really had a serious relationship. 

You never really thought much about it. It wasn’t like you were running headfirst into commitment either, but now you couldn’t help but wonder why Enzo had never had a girlfriend. Were relationships just not his cup of tea? If so, why the bloody hell not?

By the time you had unraveled that string, Pansy was snapping her fingers in front of your face. You shook your head and rejoined the present. Before your little spiral, you and Pansy had been discussing the homework for Charms. 

Your friend narrowed her eyes on you. “Alright, spill,” Pansy said. “There’s clearly something on your mind.”

You peered around the common room. For the most part, it was empty. Only a few of the other Slytherins lingered in your midst, but one could never be too careful in the viper’s nest. 

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you leaned closer to Pansy and spoke in a low voice. “Have you ever had a dream about one of the guys?”

Pansy leaned back on the velvet emerald couch with an expression of intrigue. “What kind of dream?”

“You know,” you urged, picking at the cushion in your lap. “The sexual kind.”

She shook her head, her glossy bob shimmering in the faint light. “No, I can’t say that I have.” 

“I have!” Theo said cheerfully as he plopped down between you. His presence startled you, but he looked utterly unperturbed as he butted into the conversation. “About both of you, actually.”

You wrinkled your nose and smacked him on the arm. “Gross, Theo.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Pansy said with a look of disgust.

Theo was deeply offended by it all. “What? I’ll have you know that I was very loving and gentle,” you groaned and made a gagging sound. “I also had one about Reg and that one wasn’t as gentle, if you know what I mean.”

He grinned cheekily, which only made you lament further. Pansy shook her head in disbelief. “Really, Regulus? He’s the human equivalent of a grumpy black cat. All the first years are terrified of him.”

Theo shrugged. “What can I say? I’m into that. All that surliness and those curls, y’know…”

It was Pansy’s turn to smack him. “For Salazar’s fucking sake, shut it, Theodore. I want to know who Y/N had a dream about.”

“Was it Riddle?” Theo prompted.

“Which one?”

“Mattheo, obviously. Tom looks like he hasn’t had a woman’s touch in years.”

“That’s mean!” you cut in. “I’m telling Tom you said that.”

“Please don’t. I value my life, thank you very much.”

Pansy scoffed. “It’s not either one of the Riddles then.”

“Was it me?” asked Theo. 

“Gods, no.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “It can’t be Blaise because him and Pans are shagging on the daily.” Theo’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me it’s Malfoy.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“But he’s close, right?” Pansy said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. You nodded weakly. She gasped. “Oh my god, Berkshire? Really?”

You buried your face in your hands. You were truly going to die of embarrassment. Pansy continued with her assessment. “Well, you two are practically attached at the hip, so it makes sense. Still, I truly didn’t expect it to be Enzo. He’s so sweet, I just can’t see him that way.”

The shit-eating grin on Theo’s face made you cringe. “Was it good? It had to be, right? Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all week?” 

“What? I haven’t been avoiding him.”

“Sure you have,” declared Theo. “Berkshire’s all broken up about it. Thinks he’s done something to upset you. The whole time you’ve been nursing filthy little fantasies about sweet baby boy Enzo. Oh, I can’t wait to tell the guys about this.”

Panic seized you and Theo yelped as you held his arm in a death grip. “You can’t say a fucking word, Theo. Do you hear me? It’s already humiliating enough to have a sex dream about my best friend. I will literally murder you if you tell any of the boys.”

Theo sighed. “Fine, I won’t tell. Now let go of me, woman.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Pansy. “You can’t keep avoiding Enzo forever.”

You sighed. You were completely and utterly at a loss. Pansy was right. Enzo was already starting to suspect something and you felt bad that he thought he’d done something to upset you when you were the one in the wrong. How could you possibly act normal after all of this?

“Maybe you should ask him if he’s ever thought about you that way,” Theo suggested. “That way the ball’s in his court.” 

You scoffed. “I’m supposed to just come up to him and casually ask, Hey Enz, have you ever had a sex dream about me that was so filthy that you couldn’t make eye contact for days after?” 

“I guarantee you the answer will be yes.”

As you chided Theo for being his usual ridiculous self, Pansy discretely nudged you. Enzo rounded the corner and waved at the three of you. Theo and Pansy shared a look before leaving you to your own devices. Bloody traitors. 

Enzo was unbothered by their sudden departure. “Hi, love. I haven’t seen you all week. You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?” 

His tone was light and playful, but it still made you nervous as all hell. “No, not at all,” you internally cringed at the forced cheeriness in your voice. “I’ve just been…busy. Yeah, that’s it. No other reason.”

For Salazar’s fucking sake. You were horrible at this. Lying to Enzo wasn’t something you were used to. 

Enzo nodded. “Okay, well we’re still on for movie night, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, about that—“

“It shouldn't be a problem,” he added thoughtfully, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Unless you’re actually avoiding me.”

Fuck. Your mind was screaming at you to say no. To make up some lame excuse. To do something other than gape at Enzo. 

Unfortunately, your brain decided to stop working as soon as those dimples of his made an appearance. Merlin’s bloody beard, you truly needed to get a grip. 

You forced yourself to smile back so he wouldn’t think anything was amiss. “”I was just going to ask what snacks you wanted.”

“Just you,” Enzo said, his grin growing wider. Did his voice suddenly sound deeper than it had a few seconds ago? No, it was likely just your delusion. “That’s all I need.”

Later that night, Enzo arrived with the projector and a handful of movie choices. You spent the entire afternoon pacing and working yourself into a fit. He was entirely unaware of the cloud of anxiety hanging over you as he loaded up your favorite movie. 

Your dorm had never felt as cramped as it did at this moment. Enzo plopped down on your bed. The scene of the crime. You climbed in on the other end and resigned yourself to sitting perfectly upright and rigid while he made himself comfortable. Enzo looked at you strangely. Usually, the two of you would be cuddling. 

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Enzo asked, spreading his arms out. “Come cuddle.”

You sighed internally. This felt like tempting fate, but what could you do? If you refused, Enzo would definitely know that something was up. As slow as a snail, you scooted closer to his side. He took one look at you and shook his head before hauling you over to him. Besides being manhandled, the position was quite familiar. You tucked against his side, head resting on his shoulder while he nuzzled his cheek against your hair. 

Enzo pressed play and you started to relax while the movie unfolded. The peace didn’t last for long. As the opening scene played, Enzo absentmindedly tugged at the hem of your shirt. Again, his affectionate nature wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Yet you couldn’t help but hold your breath as he rubbed soothing circles against your hip. While the gesture usually comforted you, it had the opposite effect now. 

“You’re so tense, love,” Enzo murmured. His voice sounded so deep and delicious.

“It’s been a stressful week.”

“I bet.” 

You shuddered as he trailed his fingers over your spine, drawing patterns along your skin. Temptation wasn’t knocking at your door. It was kicking it down altogether. Enzo shifted, brushing his knuckles just below the hook of your bra. 

“This can’t be comfortable,” he said, hooking a finger around the band. “Maybe you’ll feel more relaxed with it off. Don’t you think so, sweetheart?” 

There was no time to analyze what the fuck was going on. All of your efforts were spent solely on fighting the urge to moan. Enzo toyed with the band, waiting for your answer. 

“Yeah,” you said breathily. “I think—I think you’re right.”

“Course I am. Let me take it off for you then, yeah?” 

“Okay.” 

Enzo unhooked your bra with a flick of his fingers. Almost like he had long mastered the art and this was merely just child’s play. He helped you shrug out of your bra and carelessly tossed it to the side. You sighed softly as Enzo switched to long, purposeful strokes. He started at your hips, then your stomach, gradually moving up until he was barely an inch away from the underside of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered close, completely lost to his touch. They opened again when Enzo nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“Hi,” he said with a smile. 

“Hi,” you whispered. “What are we doing, Enzo?” 

“Nothing that I haven’t thought about a million times over.”

“You’ve thought about me like this?” 

“I’m always thinking about you,” Enzo admitted. “Sometimes it’s just cuddling or holding hands. Just sweet stuff cause I love touching you like this, but other times…other times I dream about you like you dreamt about me.”

Your breath hitched. “You know about my dream?” 

“I heard you in the common room earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t know what came over me. That’s why I haven’t talked to you much this week. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Enzo took your hand and slid it down the front of his gray sweatpants. You gasped when you felt how hard he was against your palm. “Do I feel uncomfortable to you, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t trust yourself with words at the moment. Enzo nuzzled against you, littering soft little kisses in his wake. He pecked and nipped at your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. 

“You drive me fucking mad, you know that? I want you so badly I’d literally get on my knees and beg if you asked.”

The tension was too much for you to bear. You pulled him in by the front of his shirt and pressed your lips against his. Enzo groaned into your mouth. The hand underneath your shirt crawled up until he was cupping your tits, rubbing his thumb over your nipples. Enzo tried to keep the kisses soft. He intended to savor it, but every ounce of self control went out the window the second he heard you moan. 

Enzo flipped you over so that you were straddling his lap. He looked down and realized that you were wearing one of his old shirts and the sight of it made him even harder. The tiny shorts you were wearing was a pesky little barrier, but it didn’t stop him from grinding his hardness against your ass. He tugged at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off, right now. I need to feel you, pretty girl.”

He watched as you peeled off the shirt. Enzo did the same, tossing both articles of clothing over the side of your bed. He groaned at the skin to skin contact. Enzo smiled as he drank it all in. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re not bad to look at either, Enz.”

Enzo chuckled. “Cheeky girl. Come on, then. Shorts off too.”

You took off your shorts as Enzo slipped out of his sweatpants and boxers. He kissed you again, sloppy, filthy, and downright obscene. There was plenty of panting and groping as the two of you explored each other’s bodies. Enzo practically purred into your ear as you rubbed over his shaft. He felt like velvet in your hands. When you flicked your thumb to spread the bead of precum over his tip, Enzo released an animalistic growl. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered. “Gods, I need to be inside of you right fucking now or I’ll die.”

There was no time to slide off your panties. Enzo merely yanked it to the side and guided you over him. He kept his eyes on you as you sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. Enzo groaned, digging his fingers into your hips while you adjusted to his size.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet and so fucking tight.” 

You had no idea that such filthy words could sound like music in your ears. Enzo may have been sweet as sugar, but you knew that he wasn’t innocent. He was far too cheeky to be anything but downright dirty in bed. 

Enzo was also extremely responsive. He made sure to praise and worship like your body was an altar and he was the most pious believer. 

“Enz, gods,” you moaned as he flicked his tongue over your nipple. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah?” He asked cheekily. “You think so?” 

You chuckled. It was such an Enzo comment. If you weren’t actively losing your mind, you might’ve rolled your eyes at him. Whatever fantasy your mind has conjured paled in comparison to reality. Sex with Enzo was easy. You knew him and you trusted him. It was like breathing air. 

Every moan and whimper only helped you grow more and more attuned with each other’s bodies. The sounds you made were a special language of its own, one that only you and Enzo understood.

“That’s it, princess. You’re taking me so well.” 

“Like that?” you asked, rolling your hips. 

Enzo groaned in response, which made you smirk in satisfaction. He chuckled and kissed you deeply. “Ride me harder, sweetheart. Fuck…yeah just like that.” 

He moaned into your mouth, meeting the roll of your hips with thrusts of his own. Enzo pressed his forehead against your, his long lashes kissing the tops of your cheekbones while he pressed you closer. The deep angle in which he drove into you had you clawing at his back. 

“Oh gods, oh fuck. I can feel you clenching around me, pretty girl. You’re gonna cum for me like a good girl, yeah?”

“I’m so close.” Enzo flipped you onto your back and fucked you into the mattress. The tension uncoiled in your core until you were panting, chasing after that sweet release. “Oh—oh gods, Enzo.”

The orgasm knocked the very breath from your lungs. It was a total out of body experience. Your back arched, your toes curled, and you screamed his name, but none of it registered past the pleasure of coming. As soon as Enzo felt you creaming him from base to tip, he came too. 

It was strangely beautiful to watch. Enzo was mesmerizing. With his sweat slicked skin and swollen lips, strands of his dark hair clinging onto his flushed cheeks. You’ve never seen such a pretty sight. 

The two of you stayed curled up into each other. Enzo slowly pulled out and placed a tender kiss on your temple. This time, there wasn’t a single hint of hesitation as you cuddled up against his side. He was warm and comfortable, lulling you into sleep as he tangled his long legs with yours. 

You didn’t know how long you drifted off. It only felt like a few seconds later when you found yourself on your stomach, blinking sleepily up at Enzo. He smiled, kissing along your spine as he pried your legs apart. You groaned into the pillow as he thrusted lazily from behind. 

It was dark as night outside when you were finally done. You couldn’t even remember how many times he made you cum. All you knew was that you were in complete bliss as you and Enzo sprawled out on your sheets. 

You looked up at Enzo. He looked down at you. The two of you burst into a nervous fit of giggles.

“Shit. Did we just—“

He nodded, curling a strand of your hair through his fingers. “Yeah, we definitely did. Two. Three. Four times? I honestly lost count.” 

You chuckled softly. There was a moment of silence as you collected yourself. Enzo lowered himself down so that you were facing each other. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, nudging your cheek with his nose. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, pretty girl.” 

Despite your steamy activities, you had never felt more shy than when he brushed his lips across your knuckles. 

“I care about you, Enzo and I know you care about me too. Tonight was….fuck. Tonight was great. I just want to make sure this doesn’t change our friendship.”

“Of course it’s going to change things,” Enzo said matter-of-factly. “You think I can stay just friends with you after that?” 

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. I know you don’t really date. I mean, half the school’s asked you out and you’ve turned them all down, so I’m not expecting to be the exception. It’s alright if you just want this to be casual.”

“I don’t. I’ve said no to everyone because I’ve been waiting for you. You are the exception, Y/N. It’s always been you.” 

“Really?” you whispered, biting back a smile. “You mean that?” 

Enzo nodded and kissed your fingertips. “Sweetheart, you’ve had me in the palm of your hands since we were eleven. Of course I mean it.” 

You didn’t try to hide your smile. You were absolutely beaming. “So you don’t want things to be casual?”

“There’s nothing casual about what I feel for you.” 

“Okay,” you said, processing his revelation. “I don’t want things to be casual either. It might be selfish, but I think I want you all to myself, Enzo.” 

He released a sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking Merlin. I want you all to myself too, Y/N.”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (2/2)

୨ৎ : featuring : carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : your f1 boyfriend's publicist suggests he should date someone with more status in front of the camera, he agrees to it, but what happens to your relationship when his "fake relationship" with her blossoms into something more.

୨ৎ : genre : heartbreak, angst, sad themes ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, break-up, cheating ୨ৎ : word count : 3456

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ part one (max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george hamilton, franco colapinto) ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from my sister, she lowkey cooked.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the apartment, the soft click of the lock settling into place as carlos stood in the hallway, his hand still hovering over the doorknob. he had waited for this moment—waiting to say the right words, to fix everything—but the silence that met him only confirmed what he already knew.

he stepped inside, the familiar scent of your perfume and the slight clutter of your things tugging at his heart. the apartment felt empty now, devoid of your presence, and the weight of the last few weeks settled heavily on his shoulders.

he could still remember the last conversation you had, your words sharp, but your heart breaking beneath them. “you promised me it was just an act, carlos. you said you’d never let her get to you, that it was all for the public. but you chose her over me. you chose everything you built with her over what we had.”

and just like that, the distance between you two became something unbridgeable.

he let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair as he paced around the living room. he had been so sure of himself when the decision was made. it seemed like the right thing to do at the time—to keep up the image, to follow the plan that everyone said would help his career. but now, standing in the quiet space you’d shared, it was clear how wrong he’d been.

his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with your name. his heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t reach for it. he couldn’t. not now.

he knew it was too late to fix this.

the sound of the door opening behind him made him freeze. it was you—back to grab the last of your things, to finally close the chapter.

“carlos.” your voice was soft, but it carried a weight of finality.

he turned to face you, his heart sinking at the sight of your suitcase in hand, the look of exhaustion and pain etched into your face. “i didn’t want this to happen,” he said quietly, his throat tight with emotion. “i thought i could make it work, that i could juggle it all. but i messed up.”

you shook your head, a bitter smile on your lips. “it’s too late for apologies, carlos. you made your choice. and now, you have to live with it.”

“i know i messed up,” he admitted, taking a step forward, his voice pleading. “i didn’t think it would turn into this—into us being torn apart like this. i thought i could keep pretending, that it wouldn’t change what we had. but it did. and now…” his voice faltered, and for the first time, he didn’t have the words to make it right.

you stared at him for a long moment, your eyes filled with hurt, but also a resignation he couldn’t deny. “you think i didn’t know?” you asked, your voice steady despite the pain that lingered in it. “i knew, carlos. i knew it was coming. you’re in the spotlight. i wasn’t naïve enough to think it would last forever.”

“i never wanted to lose you,” he said desperately, taking another step forward, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“but you did,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you looked down at your suitcase. “you lost me when you chose her. when you let it go too far. and now… now it’s too late to fix it.”

carlos reached out, but there was a chasm between you two now—one he knew he could never cross again. “please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “i was wrong. i never wanted to hurt you. i should’ve never let it go this far.”

but you had already made up your mind. “i thought i could handle it. i thought i could handle being second place to a pr stunt. but i can’t, carlos. not anymore.”

he stared at you, the weight of his actions finally hitting him. he had taken you for granted, assumed you’d always be there, that you would always wait for him to realize what he had. but now, he understood. it wasn’t about the mistakes—it was about the time he wasted. and it was too late.

you lifted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, standing tall despite the pain. “goodbye, carlos,” you said softly, turning toward the door. “i hope one day you realize what you lost.”

he stood there, frozen, as you walked out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

the silence that followed felt louder than any argument, any apology. and for the first time, carlos understood that some things, no matter how hard you try, couldn’t be fixed.

it was too late.

ʚ・charles leclerc

the dim light from the lamp by the window barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows on the walls. charles sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his head hung low. you had just come back from packing the last of your things. the suitcases were by the door, but you hadn’t left yet. not yet.

you could feel his eyes on you, even without looking. every step you took seemed to echo in the silence that stretched between you, the unspoken words heavy in the air. but you didn’t need to speak anymore. everything had already been said in the glances, the quiet moments, the way he had pulled away from you without ever saying the words.

“i’m sorry.” his voice cracked as he spoke, though he didn’t look up at you, his gaze fixed on the floor beneath him.

the words stung more than they should. it wasn’t the first time he had apologized. it wasn’t even the first time he had said he was sorry for “everything.” but this time, there was something different about it. it felt final, like a goodbye.

you wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek, shaking your head. “sorry doesn’t change anything anymore, charles.”

his eyes lifted, and the pain you saw there made your heart ache even more. he opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. instead, he stood up slowly, walking over to where you stood by the door, but not close enough to touch you.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i never wanted any of this to happen. but somewhere along the way, i lost myself. i thought i could handle everything—being in the spotlight, being who i am—and still be the person you needed me to be. but i failed you.”

the rawness in his voice made your chest tighten, the truth settling in like a weight on your heart. “i waited, charles,” you whispered. “i waited for you to come back to me. i waited for you to choose us—choose me—but you kept choosing everything else. your career. the team. the world watching. you even chose her, and i wasn’t enough anymore.”

“i didn’t mean for it to be like this.” his words were desperate now, each one edged with regret. he reached for your hand, but you pulled away, the distance between you both widening as the hurt you both had kept buried started to pour out.

“i wanted you to choose me, charles,” you said, your voice cracking, tears streaming down your face now. “i wanted you to want me. but instead, i was just the person you left behind when things got hard. when the pressure was too much. when it wasn’t convenient for you. you never saw how much it hurt me to watch you fall away from me, little by little.”

he reached for you again, this time his fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve, but you stepped back, shaking your head. “you don’t get to do this,” you whispered, voice shaking. “you don’t get to apologize now. you don’t get to come back after you’ve already pulled away. because you’ve already made your choice, charles.”

“i never stopped loving you,” he said, his voice breaking as his emotions spilled over. his eyes were pleading, desperate, but it wasn’t enough. “i never stopped wanting you.”

“i know,” you said, choking on your own tears. “but love isn’t enough when you don’t show up. love isn’t enough when you choose everything else over the person who’s standing right in front of you, waiting for you to come back, love isn't enough when you've already betrayed me.”

the silence between you both was unbearable. the love you once shared felt like a ghost, haunting every word, every glance. charles stood in front of you, broken, as if everything he had done had led to this moment—the moment when he realized too late what he had lost.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. “i never meant to push you away.”

but you could feel it in his eyes—the regret, the realization that he hadn’t fought for you. not enough. he hadn’t fought for the one thing that mattered most. and now it was too late.

“i loved you, charles,” you said, your voice barely audible. “but love isn’t supposed to hurt like this. it’s not supposed to make you feel invisible, i'm not supposed to feel like second. and i can’t do it anymore.”

you could hear him take a sharp breath as if he was going to say something—anything—but the words never came. there was nothing left to say.

you turned, walking slowly toward the door, but before you could reach it, charles whispered one last time.

“please don’t go.”

the sound of his voice cracked something deep within you, but you couldn’t turn around. you couldn’t look at him again and see the man who had once promised to never let you go—because now, he was the one who had let you slip away.

you paused at the door, your hand resting on the knob. you wanted to turn around, to run into his arms and forget everything that had happened. but you knew better now.

“goodbye, charles,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the ache that threatened to swallow you whole.

and when you left, the apartment was silent.

charles stood there, the weight of his choices suffocating him, as he realized that some things, no matter how much you wish they could be fixed, couldn’t be undone. the love he had taken for granted had slipped through his fingers, and now it was gone.

and it was too late.

ʚ・lando norris

lando smiled at you when he saw you, but it was strained. forced, even. the usual warmth in his expression was missing.

“hey,” he said softly, sitting down across from you. his fingers drummed nervously on the edge of his cup, a habit you knew all too well.

“hey,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “it’s been a while.”

“yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “i’ve been…” he trailed off, clearly unsure how to explain everything that had been going on. how could he?

but you didn’t need him to say it. you already knew. the tabloids had made it all too clear—the constant photos of him with her, the whispers about their blossoming romance, the way his eyes had started to light up in a way that had never happened when he was with you.

you knew who “she” was. the girl they’d set him up with for publicity. the girl who was supposed to be just a temporary distraction, someone to help with the image. but somehow, in the chaos of it all, he had started to look at her the way he once looked at you.

you took a slow breath, trying to push the sting from your chest. “i saw the photos,” you said quietly. “i saw you with her.”

lando’s eyes flickered to yours, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. “it’s not what it looks like,” he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“i’m not stupid, lando,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “i’ve known for a while now. i can see it in the way you look at her. i saw it in your eyes the last time we were together. the way you pulled away from me, as if everything i had to offer wasn’t enough. as if she was what you really wanted.”

he looked at you, his face softening, guilt overtaking the nerves that had been there moments before. “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said quietly. “i thought it was just an act—just something to keep up for the cameras. but somewhere along the way, it wasn’t an act anymore. i…” he paused, eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, but you didn’t. you couldn’t.

“you fell in love with her,” you whispered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

lando flinched, his eyes brimming with regret, but he didn’t deny it. “i didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice breaking. “i thought it was just a job. just something i had to do. but she… she started to mean more to me than i ever thought she would. i didn’t know how to stop it. and i didn’t know how to come back to you after it happened.”

your heart shattered in that moment. you had known this was coming, had tried to ignore the signs, but hearing him admit it made it feel real. and it hurt more than you could have imagined.

“why didn’t you fight for me?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of all the hurt you had carried for weeks. “why didn’t you choose me? i was here, lando. i was always here.”

“i thought i could have both,” he said softly, his eyes filled with shame. “i thought i could keep her in the public eye and still be with you, but i was wrong. i let myself get caught up in the image, in the expectations. i wasn’t fair to you, and i’m sorry.”

the apology, though it was heartfelt, didn’t reach you. you had waited, hoped that he would come back to you, that he would see that you were the one who had always been there, the one who truly loved him. but now, as he sat there, his eyes searching yours for forgiveness, you realized that the lando you had known was no longer the same.

“you promised me it was just a pr stunt,” you said, your voice breaking. “you promised me that it wasn’t real. but now you’re telling me that it was? you’re telling me that you fell in love with someone else, someone you were supposed to be faking it with?”

“i never wanted this,” he said, his voice cracking. “i never wanted to hurt you. but i lost sight of what mattered. and now…” he trailed off, unable to finish.

you stood up, your hands shaking as you grabbed your bag. “i can’t do this anymore, lando,” you whispered. “i waited for you to come back, but you chose her. and now, there’s nothing left.”

lando stood up too, reaching out for you, but you stepped back, the distance between you both growing with every second. “please,” he said, his voice desperate. “please don’t leave like this.”

but you had already made your decision. you turned to walk away, your heart heavy with the weight of everything you had hoped for, and everything you had lost.

and as you stepped out of the café, the finality of it hit you. you had known it would happen sooner or later. but now, with him standing there, lost in his choices, it felt real. and it hurt more than you could ever have imagined.

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar stopped in front of you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and offered a small, apologetic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “hey,” he said quietly.

“hey,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. you could see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were stiff, as if he were bracing himself for something difficult. and you knew exactly what it was.

“i know you’ve been waiting for me to explain,” oscar began, taking a deep breath, and you felt the air around you grow heavier. “i’ve been putting this off for too long, and i should’ve told you sooner…”

the words lingered between you, unsaid, but both of you knew. you knew what was coming. the truth that you had refused to admit to yourself, the truth that oscar had been hiding for weeks now, ever since he’d been thrust into the spotlight with her.

his team had set him up with someone—someone with the right image, the right look for the media. a relationship, a story that would sell. it had started out as a distraction, a way to fulfill expectations. but somewhere along the way, oscar had lost himself in it. and you were left behind, the person who was no longer part of the story.

“i didn’t want it to happen like this,” he said softly, sitting beside you, the space between you two now palpable. “i didn’t want to hurt you. i told myself it was just for the cameras, just for the public. but i…” he hesitated, as if searching for the right words, but there was nothing that could soften this blow.

“you fell for her,” you said, the words escaping before you could stop them.

oscar flinched, his eyes glancing away, and you knew it was true. “i didn’t mean for it to happen. but she’s different. i’m not saying i didn’t care about you, but i got caught up in it. i didn’t realize until it was too late, that what i had with her wasn’t just pretend anymore. it wasn’t just a pr stunt.”

your heart shattered in that instant. you had known, somewhere deep down, that this was always the risk. the truth was, you had always been a shadow—someone in the background while the world paid attention to the story they wanted to sell. but hearing it from oscar, hearing him say the words out loud, made it all too real.

“you promised me it wasn’t real,” you whispered, the sting of betrayal evident in your voice. “you promised me it was just for the cameras, just for the image. and i…” your throat tightened, the tears threatening to spill, but you held them back. “i waited for you, oscar. i waited for you to come back. but you didn’t. you fell for her, and now, it’s too late.”

he looked at you then, his eyes filled with something close to regret, but it wasn’t enough. “i never meant for it to happen like this,” he repeated softly, almost pleading. “but i can’t lie to you anymore. i can’t pretend that what i have with her doesn’t feel real. i’ve hurt you, and i know it’s too late to take it back.”

the silence stretched between you both, thick and suffocating. you couldn’t find the words to express the pain—how much it hurt to hear him say it out loud, how much it hurt to realize that the love you thought was yours was never really there at all.

“i waited for you,” you said, your voice breaking, unable to hold it together anymore. “i waited, and i trusted you. but you chose her. and now, i can’t be here anymore.”

oscar reached out, his hand hovering in the air as if he were trying to find a way to bridge the gap between you, but you pulled back. the space between you felt too wide, too deep for anything to fill it now. “i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, the words hollow and empty between you. “i never meant to hurt you. you mean everything to me, but i’ve already made my choice, and i can’t go back.”

you shook your head, standing up, the tears finally spilling over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “i loved you,” you said quietly. “i gave you everything, oscar. and you threw it all away for something that wasn’t real.”

oscar stayed seated, his head in his hands, the weight of the realization falling heavily on him. but for you, it was already too late.

you turned and walked away without another word, your heart breaking with every step. you knew it wasn’t just the loss of him—it was the loss of the love you thought you had, the love you thought was real.

and as you left, the painful truth settled deep in your bones: some things, no matter how much you wish otherwise, just weren’t meant to be.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[anhesacardia]

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 2 (Series Masterlist )

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: none for now except that Reader is a mother, called mumma/momma, Hana is six years old, Toji being a warning of his own, there will be eventual smut so MDNI.

Wc: 1.7k

A/n: I’m still too lazy to make a masterlist (I lowkey have no idea how to lmao) But I only post fanfics on this account so rest assured the post before this will have chapter 1. Likes and Reblogs greatly appreciated!!!

You had never been more grateful for the barrage of office workers that always made it to your shop at 1pm daily, grateful that they were your main source of income but god was it tiring to give out twenty different kinds of bread to vulture like businessmen.

A weak smile found its way on your face as you sat your daughter on a stool behind the counter, groaning internally when Toji takes a seat down, ordering a cake you knew he wasn’t going to finish.

The corporate slaves ordered in bulk, putting it on the company card as you got out the pre wrapped pieces of bread, eying jealously at the cups of caffeine in their hands, god knows you could use one with the incoming headache you were about to have.

“Have a good day Mrs.Owner!”

One day you should really correct them, you aren’t married, never have been and you don’t think you will be in the future either. The group leaves the cafe after another 45 minutes, precious time where you got your daughter her hello kitty pouch back and sat down to think of what excuses you would give Toji, perhaps you could just stab him… blame it on an unfortunate accident or something..

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the devil himself slapped a few dollar bills on the counter, grinning fakely at you as he pointed with his thumb towards the kid,

“So who’s the kid?”

You push Hana to hide behind your legs, but her stubbornness and outspoken behavior which once you admired was currently getting cursed out in your head. You flash a tight smile to Sukuna’s errand boy,

“Get out if you’re done eating, I don’t indulge in private matters with my customers,”

Hana states up at the man, twirling a lock of her hair as she looks almost akin to bored,

“Mumma is he bothering you? Should I call the police? That’s what we should do right!,”

She looks proud of herself for remembering such an important rule and you melt patting her head softly as you smiled,

“Yes baby! That’s right, but he’s unfortunately not a bad man-,”

You turn to look back at Fushiguro, side eyeing him,

“Yet, so why don’t you run along and leave mumma to talk with the customers hmm?”

Hana nods enthusiastically, glancing one last time at the man before running away into the house,

The silence between you both stretches out for a good minute before he breaks it with a wolf whistle,

“Goddamn she looks just like him doesn’t he,”

He rubs his chin with a calloused hand, resting his arms on the high counter and an inch away from leaning against the glass display,

“Sit down Fushiguro, I’ll get us some tea,”

You accept what your fate has become, brewing two cups of tea and setting it down in front of the 30- something year old man,

“So.. how’s Sukuna doing,”

Toji raises an eyebrow at you, chuckling dryly as he took a sip of the tea, you pull a chair out, sitting down with the man as lunch rush slowed down,

“I’m not sure if that’s something you can ask about doll,”

You bite your lip, fiddling with your thumbs under the table as you sigh,

“Look- I don’t want any trouble okay. Don’t tell Sukuna about this- any of this. Where I live what I’m doing- one word and I’ll just disappear, I’ve done it once and I’m not afraid to do it again,”

You seethe out, glaring at Toji to even move a muscle,

“Huh, yeah whatever I don’t really care about that- it’s just,”

You raise an eyebrow as Toji looks off to the side,

“I got a kid of my own okay, don’t fucking pounce on me goddamn,”

The chair screeches under you as you get up, placing the finished cup of tea in the kitchen behind the counter,

“I expected you to get someone knocked up, just didn’t expect you to go through with it,”

You laugh darkly, wiping your hands down as you finish cleaning the cups and turning back to face Fushiguro,

“Don’t fucking-,”

He starts before rubbing his face exasperatedly,

“Just shut it. I’m not gonna say anything to Sukuna, was just tryna relate or something for fucks sake. Not like me and him are all buddy buddy,”

Toji gets up from his seat, watching the school children start to fill the streets at 3pm, a few even coming into the shop and ordering bread. He watched them leave with a serene expression, the clock ticking being the only thing that served as source of sound,

“It was good seeing you again, I’ll swing by sometime later with the kid- Megumi. I’ll come with him later,”

Toji throws a lazy wave as Hana comes out again to see you both meeting Toji’s wave with a more excited one of her own, and he finally leaves.

Your palms slap the marble next to the sink, tension rolling out of your body in waves as you let out a sigh of relief. A soft tug to the fabric covering your knees brings you back to reality,

“Mumma was that man your friend?”

You pursed your lips, grimacing at the question but trying not to show it,

“That man was mumma’s old friend okay?,you don’t need to worry much Okay?”

A scene flashed through your mind,

Sukuna had a phone pressed to his ear, still in his black button up and slacks, the first few buttons undone. City lights streamed in through the small crack in the curtains, further illuminating his figure next to the ceiling to floor windows.

“Yeah no shit Toji, I expect you to deal with it before I’m back with her,”

You stir on the bed and the six foot man is already by your side cupping your cheek. You can see the chipped black nail polish from weeks ago that he let you convince him to do,

“Go back to sleep pet, Tojis on the phone. Something came up, I’ll come back soon,”

You nodded blearily, holding his hand for a second while his gaze softened, intense ruby eyes crinkling at the corners as you succumbed back to sleep

An almost identical set of eyes stared back at you, wide with curiousity. You sighed, picking the five year old up and placing her into your arms. A glance at the clock tells you it’s just a few minutes past 4:30, your part timer should be here any second so you change out of your apron.

Fumiko was only seventeen when she started working for you, but even four years into college she still holds the same amount of respect for you. You grace her with a smile when she entered, almost routine for you as she takes her own apron as you and Hana wave to her.

You sigh as you leave from the backdoor, walking through a small porch before keying your door and entering the pathway to the living room. Hana immediately removes her shoes, changing into home slippers and you do the same, arranging the shoes neatly into the shoe rack.

Hana follows you into the bedroom, watching you change into a more comfortable set of clothes and trailing behind you into the kitchen,

“Did you like the lunch I made baby?,”

The five year old sits at a tiny desk and chair, one that you bought her when she started kindergarten. She neatly arranges her chopsticks, knife, fork and spoon and the sight of it makes you want to roll your eyes. Really did your genes even try to fight in this child’s genetic makeup.

“Yeah mumma! Are we having the same thing for dinner too?”

You nod, taking out the leftovers from the fridge and placing it on the counter to for a while,

“Why don’t I help you take a bath and then we can be all ready to have dinner okay?”

Hana nods her head, she’s at the age where she wants to do everything by herself and refuses help from anyone. You smile at her while her little fingers tug at the buttons of her shirt, pulling it over her head and running to the washroom. You check in on her soon after, watching her stand in the bath and scrub clumsily at her own skin.

A chuckle escapes before you can help it and she glares at you, pouting before offering the plastic loofah to you. You kneel by the bathtub and help her, slowly getting the dirt and grime from kindergarten washed away.

Scented lotion is applied to her baby skin soon after, and you massage it slowly into her limbs.

“Let’s go have dinner okay?”

Hana smiles at you and you both enjoy dinner while she talks about her day. She’s put to sleep not soon after and you check up on Fumiko as she’s cleaning up. The closed sign is up and the lights are switched off, Fumiko’s cleaning one of the tables and leaves the rest of closing up to you, muttering something about a group project as she dashes out.

A few more weeks pass by in radio silence until another figure enters your bakery, you can already feel the throbbing headache when your ex-boyfriend’s most loyal ‘servant’ shows up at your abode, effectively ruining what was supposed to be a calm Saturday afternoon.

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