#i was doing so much better this morning asides from a cough

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

if three years and four shots later I've caught covid I'm going to be so pissed off

[yapileon]

@TacklerCulers: The Chaotic Teen Serie pt. 1

fcb femení x chaoticteen!reader (first fic, be gentle with me pls i'm embarassed, also, i have no idea why i wrote that.)

17yo La Masia defender gets promoted to the first team. Will you be able to keep your fcb femení fan account hidden while slowly making your place in the team with your idols?

While you had the tendency to be known as a cheeky chaotic teen, you currently felt anxious and shaky. You had spent three years working you ass off to be recognized in the La Masia training academy, it had paid off, since you were on the way to your first training with the senior team.

You're walking to the stadium when you feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket. You picked it up, smiling at the Mapi León wallpaper you had chosen weeks ago. You knew the pings had something to do with the meme you posted on your fan account, @TacklerCulers this morning.

tacklerculers

liked by 2,486 others

tacklersculers: Ona and The Flash have never been witnessed at the same place at the same time, just saying.

—

Like you thought, the meme was doing well, attracting multiples thousands likes from other woso fans. You couldn't help but giggle at the fact that today, you'd get to meet all of the barça squad. No, it was more than that, today, you'd get to become their teammates.

You were so excited when you had made it on the training pitch, you were the first aside from some of the training staff that you had greeted. You picked up a ball and started juggling, trying to get yourself in the flow. Except this is when you had spotted them walking to you.

Alexia, the captain of the best team in the world, and Mapi Leon, the arm-tape icon —and arguably your favorite player of all time—smiling brightly at you. You were so focused on them that you kicked the ball straight to your shin. Smooth.

"Doing good, rookie?" The defender had asked you with an amused look. Though her smile faded away when Alexia elbowed her in the ribs, frowning.

The sound you had made to answer was something between a hurried yes and a cat screeching. So you nodded profusely, not trusting your voice to not betray you again.

"Don't listen to her cariño," the blond had said softly, her hand on your shoulder, and at that moment you swore you could die, your life was complete.

"Big day today, sí?" the capitain added, dragging you toward the group of players who had started arriving.

You hoped you'd be able to find you voice again soon, otherwise today would only be a long and embarrassing day.

You waved to some of the players, high fiving Patri who seemed very happy to see a fellow La Masia made kid. You couldn't help but be star struck, looking around you you saw Irene Paredes. Wall of the team. And Ingrid Engen? Technically midfield goddess but honorary defender in your books. Really what would have the team done last season without her? You couldn't help but chuckle a bit seeing Ona, remember your meme from this morning, though you tried (and failed) to hide your laugh as a cough.

But then training started, and you were definitely better at football than introducing yourself, so you gave your all. You had warmed up with Ingrid, not like Mapi didn't try to get to you before but the Norwegian had dragged you with her, leaving the Spaniard pouting. You were definitely glad for Ingrid right now, you were sure if you had had to play with your idol right away, you would have somehow tripped on your own feet.

After the warm up, the real work started. You had been doing well, holding your own as much as you could against them, trying to time your tackles well, finding your grooves in your passes. You were playing a five-a-side when the incident happened. At some point, you had tried to nutmeg Alexia on a spur of the moment thing, and had blushed furiously when you had inevitably failed —leaving only Gemma to defend the goal. Which in itself was embarrassing enough, but you had recovered quickly, decided on fixing things, you had ran for your life, and somehow managed to kick the ball away from the goal line when Alexia took her shot.

Problem?

It has landed straight on Ingrid's back, hitting her at full strength.

Ingrid stumbled forward, gasping, and Mapi who was right next to her burst out laughing. You ran to them, mortified, half screaming a busted apology.

"Already trying to get rid of me?" The dark haired woman said, chuckling while rubbing her back.

You screamed, trying to defend yourself while slightly panicking. "What?! No. Ingrid I'm so sorry, it's the ball, I didn't-" you stopped yoursel.

It's the ball? Seriously?

Ingrid raised an eyebrow at you while her girlfriend was practically rolling on the grass from laughing too much.

"I think the ball did exactly what you wanted, little devil." the Norwegian had said smirking, leaving you audibly gasping.

"I- What?" You stumbled on your words "I'm an angel I would never willingly hurt another defender!" you added, gesturing.

Mapi, who was still holding onto her belly from how much she was laughing interrupted, "An Angel? You just tried to murder Ingrid with a football.”

You whined your disagreement, unaware that most of the team had stopped their training to watch you three arguing on the sideline, most with a smile on their lips. You heard Pina laughing in the background, saying something along the lines of you perfectly fitting in already. Alexia had made her way to you. Her voice surprised you when she spoke teasingly, "Would that mean that you'd willingly hurt someone who's not a defender?" You could see on the blonde faces that it was meant as a joke. You watched, half amused half desperate, as the three women burst out laughing at the face you made.

Thankfully for you, the Norwegian did not seem to hold a grudge for the way you had attacked her with the football, leaving the training session to continue.

It was the end of the day and you were making your way to the locker room when Mapi had ran to you. She ruffled your hair, putting her arm around your shoulder when she was satisfied, "You did good today kid, looks like you might have a nice future ahead of you."

Your mouth fell open, before you started scrambling to say thank you. You just couldn't believe Mapi of all people was the one to compliment you. All the team had welcomed you with open arms, pulling you in conversation, praising you when you did well, giving you tips when you were struggling. You always knew they were good people, but witnessing it first hand was leaving you a bit emotional.

You guessed your starstruck eyes were obvious when Frido, who was passing you to sit at her locker said, "Well, no need to ask who your favourite player is, uh?" You felt your body shrink in your seat and went straight back to blushing as the team giggled. After the first moment of embarrassment, you laughed with them.

You had behave fairly well, until you were presented with the perfect opportunity by Irene, feeling like the team had a good vibe, you decided to show a bit of mischief.

"So," Irene asked curiously, "what made you decide to be a defender?"

You froze for a second, your filter failing you, before smirking. "Because defenders are the hottest."

You saw Mapi nearly choke on her water while the whole team burst out laughing. And suddenly you felt very proud of yourself. You laughed with them while kicking away your cleats.

The tattooed Spaniard had recovered from her cough, tears in her eyes, "You're a cheeky thing, aren't you?"

You smiled, wiggling your eyebrows, "I mean… am I wrong?"

"No lies detected," Ingrid chimed in with a wink, making everyone laugh harder.

You leaned back into your locker, not believing how well you were going along with the team. That's when you saw Aitana giggling and grabbing Ona by the sleeve. "Look! Someone edited you on a The Flash meme!"

Uh oh.

pt. 2

[thirteenducks]

feverish

(wriothesley x wife!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to by ‘wife’ and "she/her"), established relationship, marriage, reader has hair long enough to reach neck

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.5k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic, banter while sick, this is just wrio taking care of you and being a butt while doing it, feat. sigewinne who does not get paid enough for this, if you are sick and reading this rn im so sorry and i hope you get well soon, coldsink wrio x heatsource wife agenda

༻❁༺ author’s note: my friend @mmmairon is sick and i am in another country and cannot help so i'm sending wrio on my behalf. pls enjoy especially if you don't feel well right now :(

After a restless night, Wriothesley is thrilled to hear that you're awake now. He wastes no time in rushing to your side.

Wriothesley’s pen scratches unpleasantly against a disciplinary notice, its point threatening to carve into the wood of the desk beneath. The owner mutters darkly under his breath as he completes a signature on the offending paper and slides it to his left. Immediately, another takes its place from the stack on his right.

For two hours, nothing else has broken the quiet of the Duke’s office. Two hours too long, by Wriothesley’s measure. He glances at the clock, hand continuing to sign his name by sheer muscle memory.

Are you getting any rest? Did the chamomile from your tea an hour ago help at all, or are the throes of fever keeping you awake? Does he have the right ingredients to make you beef stew? Preoccupied, he writes “soup” on the signature line of a prisoner release form by mistake.

He sighs, pinching the crooked bridge of his nose between his fingers. They’re as cold as ever. He misses the warmth of yours unspeakably.

The next thirty minutes pass like an eternity. Surely, Sigewinne would be at his side in an instant if you were awake. His presence there now would only serve to wake you from much-needed rest and defer his backlog of paperwork even more. Neither of these points keeps him from staring the clock down like he’s in the ring again.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on his door and Wriothesley snaps to attention, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste. Sigewinne enters without his bidding, an unreadable expression on her kind face. She doesn’t wait for his question before she answers it.

“Yes, the tea put her to sleep, and yes, she’s awake now.”

His features relax in a moment, the furrow in his brow smoothing.

“I’m afraid she’s not any better than she was this morning, however. I would have really liked to see her fever come down by now...” The Melusine trails off, her small hand on her chin and a pout on her face. “The chill probably isn’t doing her much good, either.”

Her boss, however, is already halfway downstairs, pulling his coat on as he takes the steps two at a time. Sigewinne sighs as she turns to follow him at a much slower pace. So predictable when his wife is involved.

In contrast to the speed at which he crosses the fortress to your shared living quarters, Wriothesley’s steps are soft as he nears your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart? Are you up?”

A weak cough answers him. He’s by the bedside in a moment, kneeling and pushing aside the curtain that hides you from him. Your eyes squint a bit as the sickly light of the fortress filters in, and his hand moves up to shield your face as he appears in your field of vision.

Despite the red ringing your eyes and nose and the congestion in your breathing, you smile up at him and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Hi, darling.”

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Hi. Feeling any better?”

You shake your head slightly, your hair fanning out on the pillow beneath you. He silently gathers it in one hand and moves it away from your neck as he waits for you to continue. The brush of his cool hand against your flushed skin feels incredible and you bring your hand to rest on his, a silent entreaty to keep it there.

“Sigewinne says I’m in the worst of it now and that from here-” you stop to cough, Wriothesley’s eyes raking over your frame as it shakes with the effort. “-from here it should be uphill. As long as I can rest up today.”

He pushes the hair back from your forehead with his other hand, stroking it absentmindedly. “Well, we’ll have to stick it out until tomorrow then, huh?” The grin he shoots you, all teeth, does more for you than you think any of the medicine on your bedside table has.

That’s why you’re as surprised as he is when the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t even known they were there until now, but suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was and Wriothesley is a swimming blur in front of you. The shooting pain in your head, dulled to an ache until now, comes back in full force as your body curls in on itself and your temple meets your husband’s shoulder.

You don’t know if you’re crying from the headache, from exhaustion, or from something else, and your mind is too foggy to care. All you can do is be held as his arms come to rest firmly around you and he pulls you to him, murmuring words of comfort.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry... I wish I could do more.” Your hands grip his collar a little tighter as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. Sigewinne and I are gonna take care of everything, okay?”

There’s an edge of concern to his voice that you can hear even through the haze of sickness. You hate it. It’s likely just the seasonal flu; half the Fortress has had it at some point this winter. The thought of how much you were making him worry over something so small as this...

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it,” Wriothesley gently reprimands, his cool fingers stroking your forehead again. You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against the heated skin. “You’re not being a baby about anything. You hear me?”

Your silence speaks volumes. He laughs a little, the sound loud in the silence of your bedroom. “I know you well, don’t I?”

It takes a while for your tears to completely subside. When you’re finished sniffling against his collar, he props you up against the headboard with pillows behind your back. You’re more congested than ever, something your husband has the nerve to laugh at as he hands you tissues, but there’s no unkindness in his tone.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as you doze, exhausted from the effort of crying for so long. When he eases the door open again, he’s carrying a tray with a teacup and pot (of course) and a bowl of something that smells warm and comforting.

“Hmm. Excellent room service this place has. The waiter is a little scruffy, though,” you say as Wriothesley places it on your lap, tucking in the covers around you.

He gives you a fake look of injury. “How dare you, ma’am. I’ll have you know I’m too worried about my wife to shave, who I’m afraid is deathly ill,” he sighs, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He spoons soup into your mouth before you can retort, stifling a smile.

Once you’ve drained half the soup, Wriothesley seems satisfied. He removes the tray from your lap and takes your hand, bringing it to his own forehead.

“Oh, no. How awful.” He shoots you a glance. “It appears the Duke of the Fortress has come down with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. His forehead is as cool as the rest of him is. “Really.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, flopping onto your lap. “It looks like he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

You laugh, wincing when it makes your head throb. “The Duke sounds like a slacker, if you ask me.”

“Well, everyone knows that,” Wriothesley murmurs, burying his face into your thigh. “They’ll have to tell my boss about it.” You feel him grin against your leg.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “What a shame. I was just about to ask him to dinner, too.”

Wriothesley has migrated to his side of the bed by now and is nestling into your side with the stubbornness of a dog. “Don’t worry, I hear he’s a messy eater. Absolute carnivore.”

Your hands come to rest on his head, the soft grey strands tickling your palms. “You know you’re going to get sick, right? I’m highly contagious.”

No answer.

“You’re the head of the Fortress, Wrio. If you get laid up, Sigewinne might put a bounty out on you. She seems like the type.”

Your husband murmurs into your side, already half-asleep. “She’ll have to catch me first.”

Despite your many blankets and the body next to you, a sudden chill runs through you and you stiffen. He feels it, arms tightening around your waist.

“Fever pills are on the bedside in the white bottle. Water is next to it.”

You smile. “Thank you, darling.” He hums in response.

A few days later, you’re well enough to leave your room again. Sigewinne would be thrilled, if not for your husband, who looks more smug than any sick man has a right to be.

He sniffles, burrowing into your sheets again as the Melusine glares daggers at him. “I’ll be fine. My wife loves me and I have leftover soup in the fridge. What else does a man need?”

[daycourtofficial]

A Bite Sized Romance

Summary: you offer to make dinner for Azriel, but he gives you half-assed reasons as to why he can’t make it.

Author’s note: I love love love this idea it’s been floating around my head for a LONG time 💕

“Have you ever had ratatouille?” You ask Azriel, taking a bite of the dish in front of you.

Every Thursday, you and the shadowsinger go out to a different restaurant, usually in Velaris, occasionally in other courts. Seeing the shadowsinger could be difficult during the week, especially with your busy schedule, so you two set aside Thursday nights to eating dinner together.

Your brain had a hard time understanding that these were not necessarily dates, even though that is exactly what Cassian, Mor, the whole IC, and even Azriel and yourself call them.

“No, what’s rat patootie?” He says, taking a bite of his pasta.

“Ratatouille,” you correct, sighing wistfully, “it’s a traditional dish my mom used to make when I was a kid. I don’t think annyone in Velaris makes it. This dish kind of reminds me of it, but it’s not the same.”

You sit up, a smile stretching across your face. “Maybe next Thursday I’ll cook it for us. It’s so much better homemade - what do you say?”

He stills at your words, almost choking on his food. Through coughs he tells you, “surely there’s somewhere we can go for it, I wouldn’t want to trouble you with cooking.”

“But I like cooking,” you object. “And despite the copious amounts of meals we’ve shared together, I don’t think I’ve ever cooked for you.”

He doesn’t want to budge, so you pull out the big guns.

You pout your lip, making your eyes look as sad and endearing as possible, “please, Az? It reminds me of being a kid again. And I’d love to share that with you.”

Mother forsake him, he couldn’t say no to your sad, puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbles, sure he’ll figure a way out of it before Thursday comes. Perhaps he could find a way to get impaled.

You squeal, “oooh you’re going to love it!”

-

Thursday was fast approaching, and Azriel was trying to use every excuse in the book to keep this dinner from happening. He told you Rhys had to send him on a mission that night, which you immediately turned around and went to Rhys’s office and asked him to send someone else.

Rhys, having no idea what you were talking about, sees Azriel in the doorway who tells him mind to mind, “come on, say you have to send me.”

Rhys sends the equivalent of a smirk to Azriel mentally and tells you, “my mistake, I didn’t realize what day I was telling him to leave.”

Azriel stood in the doorway and gave his brother the finger from behind you.

Azriel made excuses, all ranging from Cassian needing help with training, Feyre needing an escort to the Hewn City, even to Mor needing help with the upkeep of the horses in the guard. Every excuse was denied by his so-called family, not allowing him to use them as scapegoats. It was starting to make you suspicious.

Thursday morning after Azriel’s last ditch attempt to get out of the dinner, involving some excuse about Eris needing rescuing, you sigh, exasperated.

“Okay Az, it was just an idea. Clearly you don’t want to do it, so just.. don’t bother, okay? Go save Eris from whatever it is that’s attacking him.”

You turn, wanting to leave the kitchen before Azriel sees how much this actually upsets you. “That’s not-“ he starts, trying to grab you as you pass him, but you wriggle from his grasp, disappearing into the hallway up to your bedroom.

Az was sitting on the kitchen counter, wallowing in self-pity over how poorly he handled that situation, when Cassian walked in.

“And what do you have to be so upset about, pretty boy?”

Azriel lifts his head, looking at Cassian eating a stupid banana. Gods, he wanted to throttle him. “Oh no, I’m Azriel and a beautiful woman wants to cook me dinner, even though I eat dinner with her most nights and have weekly dates with her even though I deny anyth-“

Cassian stops, taking a bite of his banana. He looks up, and realization dawns on him.

“Oh my gods,” he says, his mouth full of banana. Azriel decides to play the denial game, because surely Cassian did not figure out the secret he’s kept guarded for several months while eating a fucking banana.

Cassian looked at him, turning to look up the stairs where you had left just a few moments ago, “you two?”

Azriel rolls his eyes, “we’re friends, yes.”

Cassian rolls his eyes even harder. “I’m not an idiot. You follow her around like a pitiful puppy,” he says, coming closer to his brother, “you two eat just about every meal together, but the one day she offers to cook for you suddenly you can’t find time for her?”

Cassian narrows his eyes at Azriel, “you ashamed of her or something?”

Azriel’s eyes widen, not only at Cassian’s question that he could ever be ashamed of you, but also at Cassian’s change in demeanor.

Cassian slips into the protective big brother role when it comes to you quite easily, Azriel thinks as Cassian puffs out his chest while he strides over to stand next to Azriel.

“Now why on earth would I be ashamed of her?”

Cassian inspects Azriel for a second before asking, “then why haven’t you told her?”

He pauses, then asks, “how long have you known?”

Azriel huffs, “known what?”

“That she’s your mate.”

Azriel stills at Cassian’s words. They liked to poke fun of Cass, calling him a dumb brute, but Cassian was no fool. If any member of his family were to discover his secret, it would be Cassian.

Azriel looks at him, “a few months. I’ve been… waiting.” He sighs, “I keep wanting to tell her and then I psyche myself out. Once I tell her, things will be… different.”

Azriel hates how quiet his voice becomes as he says, “what if she is ashamed of who the mother picked for her?”

Cassian’s chest deflates, all sense of protectiveness over you gone and replaced with protectiveness over his brother.

“Then she’d be a fool.”

Looking down, Azriel watches as Cassian’s foot gently nudges his own, a silent request from Cassian for him to look up.

“There is no way she would ever be ashamed of you or be upset that you’re her mate.”

The way Cassian is looking at Azriel makes him want to shy away, but Cassian keeps his gaze steady, almost locking Azriel’s eyes into place.

“I’d be willing to bet she has journals full of doodles where she draws little hearts with your names in it, and she also writes “Mrs. Shadowsinger”

The rise in octave in his brother’s voice causes a laugh to burst out of him, but Cassian continues.

“I once tried to sit next to you for a meal and I’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as she did to claim her seat. Honestly, this will come as a shock to no one.”

Azriel looked back up at his brother to find him already looking at him, a soft gaze grazing his face.

“We’re happy for you two.”

Azriel scoffs, “I take that to mean you’ve already told Rhysand?”

Cassian starts walking away, going to pick up the remainder of his banana. “Oh yeah, we’ve had a bet for about a year now. Rhys thought the bond had snapped for her, but I knew it would be you. You’ve made me a much richer man, Az.”

Cassian bows in thanks, ducking out the door as Azriel throws a different banana towards the space he was occupying.

-

You had been sulking in your room for what felt like hours after Azriel’s latest rejection. You spent the whole time flipping between thinking about all the little moments that had you swearing there was something happening between you two, and each and every excuse he had made to get out of this dinner.

Was your cooking that bad? Was he tired of you taking up every one of his Thursday nights?

The two of you spent an absurd amount of time together - you ate most meals together at the house, you saw each other multiple times every day. Were you wrong?

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts, but before you can respond, the door is opening and Cassian pokes his head in. He has a hand covering his eyes, but he’s made a slit between his middle and ring fingers, allowing him to still see.

“Are you decent?” He asks, looking around the room.

He sighs at seeing you dressed on your bed, pulling his hand away from his face as he walks in, closing the door behind him.

You giggled, “Cass the whole point is to not see someone naked.”

He rolled his eyes as he plopped down next to you on your bed, “you don’t even want to give me a peak? I’ve had such a hard day, a little skin would make me feel better.”

You laugh, picking up a pillow and hitting him with it. He lets you hit him, pretending to fall dramatically onto his back.

“Tell Rhys I loved him,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to die.

You laugh at his foolish antics, but Cassian continues to pretend he’s dead. You lean into him, about to poke his face, when he grabs your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder.

“Now come on, I’ve got shopping to do and I need your help.”

-

After Cassian had left, Azriel spent some time trying to decide how he could make this up to you. He didn’t want to force you into accepting a bond that you didn’t know about by presenting him with food.

He paced his room, his long legs gliding across the wooden floors making no noise. His shadows were combing through the house, trying to find out where you had gone after your earlier spat.

Azriel replaced with pacing with purposeful steps as he headed towards his bedroom door, the perfect solution coming to him.

-

“Thank you Cassian,” you say, squeezing his arm your hand was tucked into.

“For what? My incredibly charming presence?” He smirks down at you.

You scoff, “I felt awful earlier but you pulled me out of my spiraling, thanks.” You say, nudging him a bit.

Cassian had gotten you out of your room and the two of you walked around Velaris, mostly people watching and talking.

He hums, “well, both of my brothers are idiots,” he says, getting a laugh out of you. “They take turns on who holds the idiot stick. Today it’s Azriel.”

“Do you ever hold the idiot stick?”

“Occasionally, very rarely, I will pass it between the two of them, so I only have it for a moment or two.”

You snort, looking down at your feet. If Cassian thought Azriel was being stupid, does he see what you see?

You start to ask him, to prod him for more answers about Azriel, when he pats your hand, turning your attention to where the two of you had ended up on this walk.

The townhouse.

Your brows crease in confusion as Cassian removes your hand from his elbow, pats your shoulder, and tells you to have a good night.

You start to sputter, wanting to know why you’re here. He shrugs, “I don’t question my orders.” He gives you a two finger salute before turning around and walking away.

You turn back around, looking at the entrance to the townhouse, afraid of what you’ll find on the other side of the door, but going up and knocking anyway.

The door opens, but no one is there. A small shadow swirls around you, moving up from your feet to your face, caressing your cheek before zipping off to the kitchen.

You step through the threshold and a new shadow comes and shuts the door, another two come and help you take your coat off and hang it up for you.

You walk towards the kitchen, where you can hear the clattering of plates and some delicious aromas filling the whole house. Inside the kitchen you find Azriel, with a frilly apron tied around his waist, putting the finishing touches on two plates at the table.

“What’s all this?” You ask him, doubt creeping in that this isn’t meant for you.

“Sit, sit,” he beckons, pulling out a chair for you. You look around the room, covered in flickering candlelight and flowers. He must have been working on this for hours.

You look down at your plate, the bright colors of ratatouille catching your eye. You gasp, wanting to know how much effort he went to find a recipe for it.

He takes off the apron, sitting across from you.

“I… made an ass of myself, and I’d like to apologize first and foremost for that.” You open your mouth to interrupt him, but he holds up a hand. “Let me finish, I have.. a lot to tell you.”

He takes a deep breath, stilling his nerves. You look so pretty in the glow of the candles, and the slight concern you’ll hate him is enough to distract him, but he has to tell you this.

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you to cook for me. A few months ago we were in the library, reading, and I looked up and I watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, laughing at something in your book and I.. felt it.”

You’re in a trance, listening to him speak.

“I felt like I was dying and coming back to life, like your hand was wrapped around my heart, squeezing in time, keeping it beating. I made up some half-assed excuse to leave, because I needed to talk to Rhys.”

You looked at him, hoping your gaze would encourage him to continue.

“Rhys confirmed what I thought it was - the bond snapping. And I was terrified.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I was terrified if I told you, you’d deny the bond, you’d break my heart. So I… put off telling you. I couldn’t.”

He looks down at his lap, fidgeting his fingers.

“I kept trying to tell you, then I’d chicken out. Then when you offered to cook for me, I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let you accidentally accept the bond, accept me without knowing about it.”

He sighs, “I felt awful when I realized you thought I was rejecting you. Far from it. So I’ve uh.. made you dinner.”

You finally speak, “you made me dinner.”

“I made you dinner. And dessert, actually.”

Leave it to Azriel to outdo himself by finding the time to make dessert.

You weren’t letting a single emotion show on your face, and it made a shiver run up Azriel’s spine.

After what could have been hours, you slowly smiled, looking at him, “what kind of dessert did you make?”

He pauses, “I uh made you- us, uh chocolate mousse. I made two, but I thought we could share one.”

He looks at you, still not giving anything away, “if you want to, of course.”

He shifts, your silence making him uneasy.

“If you don’t want to accept it, I understand. I kept it from you, and I’m me, loving me would be rotten work- what are you doing?”

In the middle of his rambling, you picked up your fork, getting a nice helping of food on your fork, bringing it up to your mouth.

“Well, my mate made me dinner, and it looks incredible. Why would I not want to take a bite?”

He looks at you, a rush of emotions flooding him. Surprise, confusion, elation.

“But, but I can promise you to love me, to be my mate, it’s rotten work.”

You smile, “not to me it’s not.”

You pause, “not if it’s you,” and take a bite.

His chest sings, feeling warmth radiating throughout him. Feeling love radiate through him, and he realizes that’s you.

You keep eating the food, that hum getting louder and more vibrant, until you’ve cleared your plate, and stride over to him.

You grab his face in your hands, tilting his head so he’ll look into your eyes. “If you think I am not aware of who you are, what you do, your darkest parts, you are mistaken. And if you think I will shy away from those things, you are a fool.”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until you swiped your thumb across his cheek, swiping it away.

You smile down at him, and he has never felt so loved, so whole as he does in this moment. His mate, the one person the cauldron deemed would understand him, just chose him.

He feels like that little boy, looked in the dungeon, daydreaming about being saved by an angel. And he has.

He stands up, cupping your face in his hands, “I was in love with you before the bond snapped for me. I’m not here just because the cauldron told me to be, let me assure you that.”

You smile, a heat creeping up your cheeks. “I’m only here for the chocolate mousse.”

He laughs, a genuine, roaring laugh.

You pull his face in close to yours, gazing into his eyes. “And I have been in love with you since the day after I met you.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “the day after?”

You smile, “well I thought I was in love with you that first day, but then on that second day I heard you speak, and I knew no one would ever compare.”

You feel his happiness in your chest, as if his heart is also in your ribcage, yours and his intertwined, dancing through your chest together.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his mouth so close to your own your breaths are intermingling.

You smile at his thoughtfulness, his hesitation.

“Only if you promise to never stop.”

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 3

Summary: Reader meets the team.

Tw: mentions of sickness, teasing

Words: 2.8K

A/n: Thanks for all the support this series has been getting :) If anyone has any suggestions for things that could happen in this series lemme know and I’ll see what I think. No smut though I don’t write that here.

The next day you woke to knocking on the bedroom door. Sitting up in bed you quietly called for whoever it was to enter.

A moment later Wanda poked her head through the door. Seeing you awake or at least semi-awake she slipped through the small space she had created.

“Good morning.” She smiled coming to sit beside you on the bed. “Did you sleep well?” She asked pressed her hand to your forehead.

“Mmm.” You hummed still half asleep.

“You don’t feel warm anymore.” She smiled at this achievement as if she was proud of you. “How are you feeling today?” She asked moving her hands to rest in her lap again.

“Tired, but that’s probably because I just woke up.” You smiled.

“Nat sent me to wake you up. She wanted to know if your well enough to meet the others today.” Wanda explained looking slightly guilty.

“I mean, I’m game if you are. Where’s Nat?” You asked coving a yawn.

“Nat’s training with steve. And not so fast, I want to know more about how you're feeling. No more headache? Cough? Wheezing? Give me something.” She grinned.

“My headaches gone, no more cough, maybe a slight wheeze I’m not too sure.” You begun and Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly at the mention of your wheezing. “I’m like ninety-nine percent sure my fever is gone, and I feel pretty good all things aside.” You finished.

“That’s good. Maybe keep your inhaler on you today just in case. And after the meeting I’ll see if I can get Bruce to give us a few spares, just in case.” Wanda said softly.

“You really don’t have to.” You said shyly toying with a loose thread on the sheets.

“Its no problem. I would make me feel better. Breathing is important.” Wanda teased easing your concerns.

“So, when’s the meeting?” You asked.

“Well, I think Nat wanted to do it as soon as possible. Like straight after training and then I’m going to make you some pancakes for brunch.” Wanda said poking your side. “But for now, hop up, get dressed and I’ll be back soon to show you where the meeting room is.” Wanda said, standing up and heading for the door.

Once wanda had left, probably to go and find Nat to call the meeting, you crawled out of bed. Rifling through your backpack you changed out your sleepshirt and shorts for a pair of black track pants and a pale-yellow t-shirt. Throwing on some goofy socks and lacing up your black converse high tops you braided your hair sat in front of the mirror and threw on some deodorant.

Once you were ready and had been to the bathroom to wash your face and go through your morning routine, you sat at peters desk.

Picking up your backpack you went through it until finding what you were looking for.

Pulling out the black sketchbook you opened it to a fresh page and began mindlessly doodling things you could see around peters room and the cityscape beyond the open curtains.

Just as you were getting into the details of the New York skyline you heard a knock on the door.

Lowering your pencil, you sat a little straighter.

“Come in.” You called your voice sounding better than it had in days. And surprisingly good for someone who had spent hours coughing and wheezing for days on end.

Wanda opened the door and smiled seeing you up and about for the first time.

“You look much better.” She commented coming to stand by your shoulder. “Wow, you’re an amazing artist.” She smiled looking at your drawings.

“Oh, um … thanks.” You smiled still a little awkward when it came to compliments. “So, what’s the news?” You asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Wanda said looking up from where she had been inspecting your sketchbook. “Nat called Fury. He’s kinda the boss. He’s given the go ahead if steve and tony sign off on it. Nat then called a meeting and I’m going to bring you to the room where you're going to meet the team.” She explained.

“I have two questions.” You said.

“Shoot.” Wanda said pulling you up and gesturing to follow her out the door.

“One, is peter going to be at this meeting?” You asked as Wanda lead you down some seemingly endless corridors.

“Yes.” Wanda nodded, pressing the button to call the lift.

“And two, this Fury guy said yes? Just like that?” You asked sounding slightly confused.

“Yes and no.” Wanda begun, stepping onto the lift with you beside her. “Nat asked Jarvis, Tony’s AI assistant to pull up all CCTV footage of spider-man and separate footage based on bio-signatures. So, she could differentiate between when it was peter and when it was you in the suit. She sent Fury the files and after he reviewed them, he approved you a place on the team. If you want it and the others agree.” Wanda explained.

“Okay.” You said slowly. “Seems like a good plan.” You smiled.

And the lift dinged softly as it slowed to a stop.

“This is us.” Wanda said and you followed her out of the open doors. Walking beside her down a hallway she stopped in front of a door and paused to look at you. “You ready?” She asked, her hand on the door handle.

“Yep.” You nodded swollowing down your nerves. “Ready as I’ll even be.”

“You’ll be great. Just be yourself and they’ll love you.” Wanda said and pushed the door open.

Nat was stood at the head of the table, a screen behind her queued up with spider-man videos. She smiled at you and wanda as the rest of the people turned to face you.

Seeing the people you had only ever seen on Tv in real life was a little overwhelming at first but wanda squeezed your hand and lead you into the room to stand at the front with her and Nat.

Peter smiled at you from where he was sat beside Tony. Looking proud of you just for standing in front of the avengers.

You stood there silent for a second simply making eye contact with your shoes before Natasha spoke up.

“This is Y/n.” Nat begun, and you gave a small half wave with an awkward smile. Tony was staring you down with an unreadable expression. He looked like he was analysing your face mentally. Most likely already having connected you to Peter.

“Hi I’m Y/n Parker.” You said lifting your eyes to meet a few smiling faces around the room a fair few of them sporting shocked looks.

“Parker?” Tony echoed sounding smaller than you had ever heard from his times on Tv.

“Y/n Parker is Peters sister.” Wanda explained.

“Kid?” Tony looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me there were two of you?” He asked looking sad.

Peter looked slightly sick at the open disappointment his mentor was showing right now and so you stepped in before peter had a panic attack.

“Mr Stark, Sir, it was my decision to keep myself out of the spotlight. And to do that I needed to maintain a low profile. Which is harder to do when the avengers know of your existence. No offence.” You explained. And the team exchanged a few glances as they noted how you had come to Peter’s aid almost immediately.

“That’s alright, I’m sure Pete will open up now you’re here.” Tony said with a grin as he ruffled Peters hair, “Won’t-cha kiddo?” He asked with his usual charismatic charm and Peter gave a small nod and smile while he ducked his head not liking the attention.

“So, anyone have anymore questions?” You asked drawing the attention off of Peter once more much to your brothers' relief.

Looking away from the small smile he sent you as thanks you laughed, seeing every hand in the room up with a question for you, bar Nat, Peter and Wanda of course.

You looked to your left and nodded to Steve.

“Hi, nice to meet you kid.” Steve said. “I have a question though, if Peter’s identity is secret, why did you need to stay away from us?” He asked looking confused, and his statement drew a few nods around the room.

“If Tony scares you honey, I can assure you that the man would forget his own shoes without me.” Someone you recognised as Pepper Potts said with a smile causing Tony to grumble to himself. How Nat had managed to wrangle the CEO of Stark industries into this meeting you didn’t know.

Little did you know that all it took was ‘There’s something you should know, it has to do with Peter’ and she was on her way.

“Actually,” Wanda said drawing the gaze of the room to her, “This should explain it. Jarvis play the video.” She said and the lights dimmed as the Tv showed a compilation of some of your best moves in the spider-suit.

When the video ended the lights retuned to their normal brightness and everyone still looked confused.

“How exactly does a compilation of Peter doing tricks explain that?” Bruce asked.

“Um…” You said looking slightly nervous. “That was me.” You said in a small voice and the room was silent for a second.

“Sick moves kid. Peter your sister’s awesome.” Sam said and a few people laughed at his perfect comedic timing.

“Prove it.” Tony said and you paled slightly.

“Tony.” Pepper said placing her hand on his arm and shooting him a look.

“No, its ok pepper.” Nat said. “Jarvis?” Nat called to the ceiling. “Was that peter in the suit for those videos?” She asked.

“The height and weight as well as body stature and proportions do not match Master Parker.” Jarvis said.

“Ok,” Nat continued, “Who do those body descriptors match in this room?” She asked.

“The person in the suit does match the body of Miss Parker.” Jarvis said and Tony frowned.

“Do the sticky thing.” Bucky called drawing a few smiles. You rolled your eyes and put a hand up, splaying your fingers before jumping in the air and touching the ceiling where you stayed stuck.

“Crawl around.” Sam said and you glared at his heckling.

“No.” You said and you saw Peter doing his puppy eyes at you. “Fine.” You sighed.

Jumping up you did a flip and stuck your legs out, now standing on the ceiling upside down and making eye contact with Sam before looking to Bucky.

“Better?” You asked sarcastically.

“Much.” Sam grinned and you rolled your eyes again.

“Ok. Get down Y/n.” Nat said sounding part annoyed part amused at the display.

“Yes ma’am.” You said before detaching from the roof and doing a flip to landing back where you were before.

“Show off.” Peter murmured under his breath and you huffed a small laugh as his ears went red, not having expected you to hear him. Dumb super-hearing.

“Well, now we’re done with the party tricks. What are we thinking?” You asked brushing off invisible dirt from your clothes.

“Well…” Tony said. “I think its time you got your own suit.” He grinned and you smiled back. “What colours do you want kiddo?” He asked.

“Um… maybe something like purple, white and red?” You said and he nodded already sketching down ideas on a pad of paper pepper had brought with her from a meeting.

“You’re also getting an AI.” Tony added and you looked a peter who simply smiled proudly of you.

“Well, if that’s everything Y/n’s also gonna need a room.” Wanda said and Tony nodded.

“There’s a spare room on Natasha and Wanda’s floor if you want to move in with the girls. Do I need to send some movers to grab your things?” Tony asked and you looked at your shoes and shook your head.

“Not much to move.” You mumbled.

“Y/n’s apartment was taken out in the last battle. She’s been hiding out in Peter’s room for now. That’s how we met actually.” Natasha said shooting you a reassuring smile.

“Well, it sounds like I’m going to be funding yet another shopping trip.” Tony sighed and Wanda grinned at you mischievously.

“We’ll make it a girl's day.” Wanda said shooting a look at pepper.

“I’d love to.” Pepper agreed and Nat clapped her hands together.

“Alright then.” The assassin said. “I should probably tell Fury we have another spider on the team.” Nat grinned and you smiled at her.

“Great, now we have three spiders.” Tony said rolling his eyes and ducking as Pepper aimed a pretty good swing to the back of his head.

“Knock it off Tony, don’t act like you're not secretly overjoyed to have another Parker around.” Pepper said.

“Just wondering,” Bruce said looking mildly nervous as the room turned to look at him.

“Yes?” You prompted him to continue.

“Are you…” He begun before pausing, “I guess theres no real nice way to put it.” Bruce said and Tony jumped in.

“I think Brucie-bear wants to know if you come with the Parker Brain Package.” Tony said and Pepper glared at him.

“Tony.” She warned, glaring at him while you cleared your throat.

“If you’re asking about how smart I am, let’s just say I designed the original prototype for the web-shooters and chemical makeup of the fluid.” You said and Tony nodded seemingly satisfied with that small tidbit of information for now.

“Well, if nobody had anything else to say, Wanda and I are going to take Y/n for a tour of the compound.” Nat said before turning to look at Clint. “And you, have to make dinner. You lost our bet.” Nat said and then dragged you and Wanda out of the room by your sleeves.

After a very long and very comprehensive tour by Natasha and Wanda, you were shown back to the communal kitchen where most of the team ate together when they weren’t on missions.

You walked into the dining room attached to the kitchen to be hit with the smell of burnt food pungent in the air.

You looked at Nat confused, and she grinned as she heard cursing coming from the kitchen. Wanda looked like she was itching to go help but sad she pulled away Nat grabbed her sleeve at the very last second to hold her back.

“Can someone explain whats going on for me?” You asked.

“Well, Clint and Natasha can’t cook if their lives depended on it.” Wanda begun, only to shush Nat when she went to speak up. “So naturally they made a bet, loser had to cook the team dinner, naturally Clint lost so Nat is enjoying his public humiliation. And I normally cook if we aren’t getting takeout so it's causing me pain to hear whats going on in there.”

“Oh, calm down. Clints not blowing anything up.” Nat said rolling her eyes as Wanda shot her a look. “Ok that was one time.” Nat amended.

Not twenty minutes later you were sat at a table with the avengers with a plate of very burnt stake and watery mash potatoes.

“What is it?” Tony asked poking his steak.

Clint grinned. “A masterpiece.” He said.

“More like a mistake.” Nat muttered judging her steak while poking it with her knife as if she was expecting it to start moving of its own accord.

“I say we have newbie try it.” Tony posed and you rolled your eyes.

Cutting off a piece of the very tough steak with your knife you raised it to your lips and put it in your mouth.

It was tough and kind of disgusting. But you smiled anyway.

Finding the meat tougher than you had been expecting, you made the switch as you called you fangs up. Your canines sharpened as you chewed managing to decimate the meat. Swallowing you looked at Clint.

“Not the worst thing I’ve every eaten.” You said with a smirk and Tony who had been watching you closely squeaked.

“Jeez kid you didn’t tell me your sister was a vampire.” Tony said turning to Peter.

By this point most of they eyes were on you, so you hid your teeth and retracted the fangs out of embarrassment.

“She’s not. It’s a spider thing she got.” Peter said coming yo your defence.

“Either way her new name is fangs.” Tony said with a grin.

This time you glared at him.

“For the record i think they’re awesome.” Wanda said sensing your embarrassment.

“Seconded.” Nat said her spy training honing in on your body language to see you were insecure about it.

“I gotta admit it’s a cool trick doll.” Bucky said.

“Pretty neat.” Steve agreed with a smile.

“Badass.” Sam nodded flicking a still frozen pea at Bucky. “Alright, now that y/n probably has food poisoning, who wants pizza?” Nat asked with a grin. Cheers came from all sides of the table as Clint slumped dejectedly in his seat.

PART 4

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Spoonful of Honey

Jason Todd/pregnant fem!reader (cause why not, I started reading the adventures comic so silly Jason is just on my mind as much as big beefy himbo acting like a baby over taking medicine. Chat I’ve been through it these past months, so this isn’t proofread)

Time Written - 11:05 p.m

The morning was cold, dreadfully cold, with a humid fog blanketing the dreary skies, blurring the atmosphere in a quiet haze. The temperature reached forty degrees at the highest around the late evening, giving those who had no business being outside a perfect excuse to remain indoors.

You basked in this opportunity to bring out your gold handle, cream colored dutch oven. Soft cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows to cut vegetables for a hearty dinner.

Slow, rugged feet trudged into the kitchen in the midst of you sautéing a rainbow assortment of veggies in butter and oil, dressed in his ‘plain ol’ civilian clothing’, a muted gray hoodie pulled over his head.

A sort throat was how it started; signifying the side effects to his nightly routine. Vigorous exercise could only help so much to fight off the chill, but with temperatures dropping incredibly low, sweat could nearly freeze on skin shortly after it’s been secreted.

The cold nearly nipped a permanent flush to his chiseled cheeks, kissing a sprinkle of color on his nose. He looked as exhausted as he did the previous night, when he first arrived home with a short cough and occasional clear of his throat.

Jason was sick, in the beginning stages of a cold. He’s not even bothering to hide it, yet continued to insist it wasn’t as bad as he led it on to become.

“You’re makin’ soup?” he asked. A comforting, light pressure of broad muscle against your back. Warm hands roaming from their soft placement along your hip dips roam forward, rustling along the fabric of your plush sweater, palms finally settling snug over your stomach.

“Mhm.” You nod, settling one of your hands over his interlaced fingers. “Chicken. With potato, and a ton of vegetables you like.”

“Mmm,” he hums, lightly sniffing the delectable curls of seasoned steam from your spice additions. “Smells incredible, ma.”

“Thank you. Good for the cold,” you comment, feeling satisfied at your seasoned sauté of protein and vegetables. You glance over your shoulder, smiling a little at his calm, droopy expression. “And colds.”

“Wow. Funny.” He murmurs per your amusement, taking over in reaching for the box of broth you set aside.

“You looked a little under the weather. Just wanted to help you feel a little better.” You reply after nodding in thanks for his aid, snapping open the seal to the box.

“You’re always taking care of me.” He exhales, his head tilting to kiss you on the cheek. He sounds grateful for the consideration, but he’s not very surprised by it.

You always had a tendency to spoil him. It’s just been your nature since the minute he first knew you.

“How’s the little one doing?” he asks, thumbs brushing light ovals over the soft mound of your protruding bump. Barely the size of an overripe grapefruit, or an underripe honeydew.

“Fine. No complaints,” you continue while pouring in the chicken broth. “Though, I’m sure the baby’s convinced that papa is doing a terrible job not resting up.”

Of course, he says nothing of it to confirm or deny. As if there was anything to deny, you could hear it in his slightly nasally tone. His fingers continue their gently ministrations, his eyes seemingly fixated on your actions, or unfocused as his mind trails off to space.

“Jay.”

“Hm?” His head slightly perks, leaving you to instantly assume the latter.

“It’s only been four months. You won’t feel much at four months.”

Maybe it’s faint arrogance to the doctor’s words. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that he can feel their baby shifting and wriggling around inside. He never thought of it before until it occurred to him one day, entering his mind at first as a silly thought before turning into a strong fixation.

“What, are you expecting it to come out and give you a high five?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, earning you a smirk.

“Couch,” you instruct, your gentle squeeze of your hand on his forearm combatting your firm tone. “Dinner’s almost done. Go relax.”

“Alright.” He’s quick to agree, yet his actions say otherwise. For a man who’s known by others to sulk, in your doting presence he reverts to a state a comfortable serenity, regardless of this mild illness weighing heavy on his tired bones. Regardless of your ever so heartwarming instruction, he retaliates with gentle backlash, consisting of third grade retorts and heavy groans. All in good fun, merely poking at your funny bones to catch a glimpse of a smile.

He moves his hand in little circles against your belly, waiting for his baby to respond. While he doesn’t feel any kicks just yet, he’s excited just thinking about all the times they have to come.

As much as you loved every ounce of physical touch, the slightest pet peeve of him not doing as you requested for his own good irked your mind. “Jason. You gotta move.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You can play with the baby after you eat, Jason,” you insist. “You gotta eat, take some medicine, and rest. You can’t take medicine until you’ve eaten first.”

“I bet you the baby’s hungry, too.” Such sweet words from his mouth nearly had you melting on the spot. Already a doting father in waiting, how could you not feel your heart flutter?

“Jason,” you insist once more, your spoon resting on the rim of the cooking pot.

“Don’t wanna,” he replies, sounding both annoyed and amused by such insistence. His warm body never separated from yours for a mere five to seven minutes after that, your palm reaching up and back to catch his cheek, meeting the warm skin of his flushed face.

“You ever notice that you get grouchy during a cold—“

“I’m not grouchy right now though—”

“—the baby wouldn’t want their papa to be grouchy.”

“And you’re being a little mean.”

“Me? Mean?” You sounds surprised, though you’re smiling wide the entire conversation.

“Yes, you.”

“I could never.”

He doesn’t look at you though, his voice sounding playful once more. “You’re being super mean, trying to make me eat and take medicine and everything. The audacity, ma.”

You scoff as you closes the pot, turning your full bodied attention to Jason.

You smile, adoring your sick beloved, the father of your unborn baby gazing down at you with exhausted, lovestruck teal eyes. He always looked so cute, especially sick with a cold. Especially with the mentality of thinking he can do what he wants at this moment, thinking he’s said all the right words to coerce you.

“Good. That’s called love, now gooo.”

He sighs, and he’s really not looking forward to it. The idea of eating just doesn’t sound appealing right now anymore, nor does taking the medicine. Either way, the coziness of his woman wrapped in pearl colored cashmere with a cozy smile finally allured him towards the promising comfort of the living room couch, a temporary respite.

Inevitably, He left you to finish, granting the kitchen vocal silence for the next twenty minutes, apart from the soft drum of heavenly soup coming to a boil. Only when you come to find him did you see him flopped on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block all means of light.

You beckon him with a bowl of warm soup settling on the coffee table, alongside the eventual promise of lemon balm tea with a spoonful of crystallized honey.

“I don’t even feel that sick,” he grunts as he sits up, his voice starting to get a little hoarse from him talking (and complaining). Let the big guy say what he wants, you knew him better than even he admitted to allow.

“Then you’ll have no problem drinking my horrible concoction,” your gentle sarcasm would never be heard as unfavorable in his ears.

Jason takes a sip of his soup, slightly wincing from the heat on his sore throat, but he doesn’t seem as pleased with it as he’d originally thought. It tastes good, everything you’ve ever concocted for meals brought comfort, but as of now. he’s not really as hungry as he anticipated.

“What is this? Chicken, right?” He’s just making small talk now, wanting the conversation to last. “It’s really good, really, ma. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

You nod, not really happy about the outcome. But again, he’s sick. You can’t blame him.

“Take a few more sips, at least. Just so the medicine dosent make your stomach hurt.”

Jason looks away when you mentions the medicine, but he nods all the same. He eats what he can from his bowl, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion decides to increase weight down on his bones, forcing him into an even drowsier state.

All he does is partially lean against you after setting his bowl back on the table, keeping his eyes closed to ease the faint throbbing pressure building at the top of his head.

“I don’t even like cold medicine… I can’t sleep when I’m drowsy.” He mutters to himself, seeming to babble to no one but himself on not being so ill.

Your hand reach up to settle along his back, easing the tension with your fingers massaging his neck, confusion conflicting your mind at first.

“What you just said made no sense,” you giggle a bit, watching him lazily shake his head with a mild scoff.

He presses his head against the curve of your shoulder, his voice growing soft like a cat’s rumble. One of his arms settles lazily around your back. his body feeling practically limp.

By now, his response came in a series of short, muffled hums. He’s not complaining, really, but he is being extremely clingy. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, succumbing to an incredibly long sleep in your embrace, as if he can’t support his own weight. (He really can, but chooses not to.)

“On the bright side, the medicine says it tastes like honey.” You gently suggest, putting optimism where it may have lacked.

“Can’t you take it for me?” He lightly whines, his voice rumbling with a drowsy rasp. At this point, it’s not even because of the cold. Jason’s just too exhausted to think straight.

“I don’t know if pregnant women can take this kind of cold medicine,” you whisper to him, holding his shoulder after combing through his hair.

“Pretty please?” He whispers, his body feeling a little warmer from your presence. As comforting as it may have been to him now, a few minutes longer would’ve resorted in an uncomfortable ache in his neck from this poor posture.

“C’mon baby, just one little cup of medicine and you can sleep as much as you want. I’ll even yell at Bruce or Dick if they even try to call.”

Jason gives a light chuckle, his nose brushing along your jaw before planting a minor kiss along your neck.

“Fine, guess I’ll stop giving mama a hard time about it. It’ll be your job in about five months.” He speaks in second tense towards the bump in between you, followed by an eye roll on your end.

Watching you measure out the golden, syrupy mixture of potentially foul tasting medicine left him in a weak bind. He’d graciously drink horrid syrups consisting of fear toxin and joker venom if it meant you’d spoon-feed him an antidote. Such blind devotion was rare to come by throughout his life, comfort was your name in a foreign language.

He’s blessed with your smile once he had gotten the medicine down, rewarded with a kiss on the tip of his nose and a cup of promised tea, ambrosia to combat the foul taste. Goddamn medicine bottles with their stupid, deceiving lies.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.” His slurred mumbling surprised you the most as you adjusted the blankets between the two of you.

A light tongue click leaves you, shaking your head in denial from such an unnecessary apology. “Don’t be, you silly man.”

Whether from some conflicting guilt, or illness inducing dysphoria on his mind, or shame, you gently deny and accept his apology with another kiss.

The effect of the medication is quickly kicks into place after ten minutes in bed, starting to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Nothing but calm silence steals his consciousness for a few hours, warm bodies sheltered by the chilly winds batting against fogged glass throughout the long hours of the night. Despite the occasional faint echoes of neighbors next door and above, serene silence envelopes the minds of exhausted bodies.

You were snuggled up beside him with one of many pillows invading the space. Your cardigan sprawled neglected on the floor, cast aside due to the overwhelming seer of body heat.

He sighs softly, still tired, but his eyes glance over to the time on the nightstand clock.

He’s been asleep for hours, the time being … A little after eleven.

“Damn.” He whispers, drawing your closer to his body in a close hold. You feel so good like this, so safe. Spending all this time with him, doting on him, caring for him would mean the fifty percent chance you’d be afflicted next once he got better. Jason didn’t mind one bit, as much as he knew he should’ve been the one spending all his free time being attentive to your needs.

Either of you would look back on this and laugh of it, considering it practice for the baby.

For now, in the short time period of limbo between doctors appointments, checklists on supplies, criminal justice, and other impending challenges of becoming parents, everything was quiet. Calm, perfect even.

“Shh, the baby’s sleeping,” you softly retaliate, your hand cradling over his on the bump. You nudge just a little closer to the warmth radiating off him, seeking comfort with the furnace you call your beloved.

“What time is it?”

“Sleeping time,” he retorts, still sounding a little drowsy, his words coming out slow and somewhat slurred. His nose felt more stuffy than before, his head aching with a pressure that grew the longer he remained awake.

Once more, calloused fingers rustle against the fabric of his shirt on your body, potentially to be stretched during the later months to come. Here’s to hoping, he’s been secretly dying to see it.

“I love you both,” he whispers along your forehead, speaking from his heart in the sanctuary of your shared vulnerability.

You smile, tilting your head up to plant a soft, exhausted kiss on his chin. “We love you too,” you whisper, fighting back sleep to express an intimate act of love.

He closes his eyes, ready to sleep again. He’s not tired yet, stuck between the purgatory of both conscious states, but he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. At this point, he’s already half in the land of dreams. He’s comfortable—and happy to be with you, and with his baby.

“Never wanna let go of you two,” he mumbles, faintly catching the fragrance of your shampooed hair, the faint spice of ambery musk clinging to your skin.

You can’t help but quietly coo, burying most of your face against the crook of Jason’s neck.

“Then, don’t.”

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back ���

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Feeling Unwell

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: 1740

CW: Angst, illness, mentions of hospitals, satirical hatred of children, fluff, spencer being the best

a/n: Some fluff to bring you a brief intermission to your Kinktober readings.

Spencer Masterlist

The worst feeling in the world is waking up with a headache. 

Your head felt like a dance floor where ballerinas were doing their petit allegro warm ups, and there was no mercy. Every single sound filled your unopened eyes with fluff from a stuffed animal. 

The second worst feeling in the world was realizing that you couldn’t breathe through your nose, almost suffocating yourself from trying. 

“Maybe a tissue would help.” 

Not even opening your eyes, you use your hand to shove some part of your husband, playful, but grumpily. 

“Thanks, genius.” You grumbled, and curled further into yourself, yanking the blanket over with you. 

The man next to you let out a small, unserious, exclamation as the blanket that was once covering him was single-handedly yanked from his body. 

“Well good morning to you too.” 

You felt as he sat up, and properly woke up; most likely running his hands through his hair and putting on his glasses. 

Spencer then placed a hand on your hip, leaning over and kissing your head. “Morning baby.”

But before he could pull away, the heat coming off of your forehead was alarming, even to him. 

The feeling of his lips on your head was momentary bliss, even if it was psychosomatic. Anything Spencer did for you (or to you, if you know what I mean…) always felt good. Being cared for in a genuine way was a true testament to how much people can benefit from love: emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and yes, even physically. 

Spencer gently brushed aside some of the hair covering your temple, and kissed it again, this time with the full intent of taking your temperature. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Does your head hurt?” 

You snorted, but winced as you did, since you didn’t actually cause any sound. Your sinuses were so blocked up, that you ended up making your headache ten times worse.

And that was when the coughing started. 

Not being able to breathe through your nose meant that your chest already ached, but then all of a sudden you couldn’t breathe at all. Your ears both popped, and you could have sworn there was a constant ringing in your right ear. The coughing got worse before it got better, and it only got better because Spencer had jumped out of bed, run into the kitchen in just his briefs, and grabbed a glass of water for you to try and force down your throat. 

“Alright. We’re going to the doctors.” 

A moan of protest left your lips and as you moved to lay back down in the warmth of your own bed, where you could be unbothered by this random man who was insisting that you needed to get up, and go in public. 

“I know, I know baby.” He was now sitting on the edge of your side of the bed, and was running his thumb along your forehead. Your body involuntarily curled itself around his, and you sighed. 

“It’s like you hate me, and you want—”

A cough ripped through your sentence and your throat. 

If someone was walking by, they might have guessed that you were a chainsmoker of thirty years; a chimney of a woman. 

But, unfortunately, you had your guesses about where this mystery illness had come from. 

“Spence.” You managed to croak out. 

He hadn’t left your side, still rubbing his thumb across your head. “Yeah baby.” 

“I think that stupid twerp gave me his illness.” 

Spencer chuckled. “Who are you talking about?” 

“Remember…” You scooted impossibly closer to him, now able to rest your head on his thigh. “Remember that kid from the last case, the one who ended up having to go into the doctors because he was sick. I’d fucking…”

You paused, trying to catch your breath as you spoke. 

If you had to bet money, you’d place your entire net worth–plus your home and all your earthly possessions– that Spencer Reid was some sort of god from beyond comprehension since he was just sitting here, patiently waiting for you to finish your thought, even though it was taking you minutes to spit out one sentence. 

“He must’ve had some sort of stupid…stupid sickness. And I blame Hotch for making me be the one to sit with the kid.” 

Spencer hummed, a sign of support for your theory. 

“If that fucking kid gave me pneumonia or some shit—I’m gonna find him—”

“Alright there trigger happy.” He cut you off and kissed your head again. “I know it’s going to suck so much ass, but we need to go to urgent care because your cough and fever are really starting to worry me.”

“Who the hell even gets pneumonia in the summer anyways.” You grumbled to yourself, and you rolled onto your back, and slowly sat up; Spencer’s hand on your thigh the entire time. 

An anchor as your head sloshed around with illness. 

“I bet I look like a biblical depiction of famine.” 

That made Spencer crack a smile. 

“Glad you feel good enough to joke around about it.” 

“I actually feel like death. That kid’s made worms’ meat of me.” 

Spencer stood up, face filled with amusement. “Alright Shakespeare.”

You took his hand and slowly stood up. Eyes closed as the slight change in altitude made your eardrums pulse, and your head starts to spin. 

“Tomorrow you’ll find me a grave man.” You grumbled, leaning up against Spencer as the world decided to speed up its rotation by about a million. 

“I cannot believe you’re quoting Shakespeare at me while you can’t even stand up right now.” 

You cracked a smile, eyes still closed. “I’ve always liked Mercutio—a man making puns even as he’s dying—that’s my kinda guys.” 

After standing still, in silence, for the next two minutes, you were able to open your eyes and look over at Spencer. “I love you.” 

It was soft, but earnest. 

How lucky were you to have someone who just spent the past fifteen minutes patiently waiting by your side, to get you out of bed so he could take you to the doctors office because you weren’t feeling well. He could have just let you stew in bed, and take the day to be ill at your home. But instead, he sat with you, got you water when you almost died first thing in the morning, and now is your literal crutch as you move to the bathroom, so you could at least brush your teeth. 

You’ll be damned if you don’t at least brush your teeth before going out in public. 

The thought of it almost made you feel worse than what you were feeling now. 

You were awake enough that your body was starting to fight the illness in real time, meaning Spencer had left your side to quickly get dressed. 

He was back by your side a few minutes later, letting you take your time in the bathroom with your morning routine. In his hands was one of your favorite crewnecks to lounge around the house in, and the matching sweatpants. Snoopy around the ankle, and Snoopy and Woodstock across your chest. Something about the Peanuts characters being there made them a little bit comfier. 

“You’re going to deck me out in Snoopy to go to Urgent Care?” 

Spencer nodded and placed them on the counter. “If we end up being there for a while, you’d die in a pair of jeans. Don’t even try to pretend like you were going to put a bra on either” 

“How did a girl get so lucky?” You hummed, and leaned against him again. His arms wrapping around you as your body relaxed every so slightly.

“I have several degrees, including three Phds. That makes me a doctor, and as such, I’m educated well enough to know the perfect woman when I see her. Anyone who doesn’t agree with me, clearly doesn’t have the degree to back up their points.” 

You squeezed him briefly, before pulling away slightly, still encircled in his arms. “We;; Doctor Reid, I can’t argue with a professional. But I must say, your professional opinion is skewed.” 

Spencer kissed your head and shrugged. He went to say some sort of snarky rebuttal, but you interrupted him with yet another coughing fit. 

You had never been to the Sahara desert before, but you could assume this is what it felt like if you were in the middle of it and had accidentally swallowed gallons of sand while the driest wind passed through you. 

Spence just rubbed his hand along your back, waiting for the fit to end. 

Once it had, your body had started to lose some of the initial fervor you had managed to gain from waking up. “Spence, I think I need to just lay down for a while…”

“No.” He shook his head. “You have to put those clothes on and then we’re going to the doctor. I know you want to lay down babygirl, but the sooner we get you medicated, the better.” 

Then he started to talk about breakfast, and your stomach lurched. “The thought of food makes me want to die. It’s not happening right now.” 

Spencer went to speak but you cut him off. “Babe. I will get dressed, and we can go to the hospital, but I’m not hungry. I’m not going to eat, and you’re not going to force me because the thought makes me feel even worse. Deal?” 

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Deal Spence?” 

Spencer just looked at you, and his resolve crumbled a bit. This was your best effort as a compromise. Every single atom you were comprised of made you want to collapse to the ground and enjoy the feeling of no longer being upright. But you were trying for him. He just had to compromise. 

“Deal.” He sighed. “We’re leaving in five okay?” 

“Aye Aye captain.” You placed a kiss on his cheek, not wanting to spread whatever you had to his lungs, and grabbed your clothes. 

Eventually, when you later found out that the kid witness from the previous case had given you viral pneumonia, your resentment for the little twerp grew even more, even resulting in a statement that you were 

“Never going to fucking have kids ever.” 

The statement made Spencer laugh as the two of you drove back home, meds in hand, and fresh hatred of ‘snot nosed children’ in the air. 

[ineffablywriting]

favourite crime - part ii

Part ii - retail therapy

It had been just under two months since she had spoken to Harry. She hadn’t bothered to reach out again. She figured if he ever wanted to chat he would reach out himself but he never did. 

Initially she’d been hopeful that once he’d calmed down enough that he would try and talk to her again. But that hope had dwindled as the days had gone on, and had officially been snuffed out when she’d received an email from his lawyer three weeks ago. 

It had demanded a paternity test once the baby was born and included a contract and an NDA outlining that Alena was to never publicly speak of Harry being the father, if the paternity test proved true, and an agreed upon amount that he would pay each month as child support. 

She’d quickly signed the NDA and emailed it back before contacting her own lawyer about the contract. 

She’d been telling the truth when she’d said she never wanted anything from Harry, so she’d had them whip up a contract of her own stipulating that she would never ask Harry for any money, but that she also wouldn’t hide his identity from the child once they were old enough to understand and go looking for him. She’d also added a clause that allowed Harry any parental rights should he change his mind, but that when the baby was older Alena would not force a relationship between them if they refused contact with him. 

She’d promptly sent that off as well and hadn’t heard anything since. She hadn’t expected this sort of prolonged reaction from Harry, she’d thought he was one of the good ones, and she was heartbroken that he’d proved her wrong and furious with herself for allowing herself to love him enough that his reaction caused her heart to pinch every time she thought about him. But she didn’t care anymore, she couldn’t care anymore, she had more pressing things to take care of. 

Morning sickness had been an absolute nightmare for her. She’d barely been able to keep any food down and when she’d last gone to see her family doctor she’d been told she had lost too much weight and needed to better maintain her diet. 

Which was easier said than done when everything made her want to throw up. 

She sighed, eyeing the dry biscuits she’d been eating each morning with reluctance. It had been the only thing that didn’t upset her stomach, like she’d been recovering from a stomach virus. 

But this morning she wanted cereal. 

Letting out a quiet sigh, she pushed the biscuits aside and stood up, reaching up for a bowl and her favourite chocolate cereal. She poured only a very small amount before adding some milk and tentatively taking a bite. When she didn’t immediately gag she continued to eat, bringing the milk and cereal pack with her to the table. 

She was halfway through her second bowl when her phone vibrated with a call. 

She stared at the screen in surprise, letting it ring and ring until it stopped then picked up again. 

Gemma Styles calling…

This time she reached out and hesitantly slid the screen across to answer.

She hadn’t expected Harry’s sister to reach out. She’d figured Harry would have told her and his mum everything and they too would want nothing to do with her. 

“He-hello?” she answered, cautiously. 

“My brother is a twat,” Gemma greeted her back. 

Alena choked on the small bite of cereal she’d just swallowed and moved the phone away from her ear to cough and clear her throat. 

“I’m sorry?” she brought the phone back to her ear, sure she must have misheard. 

“My brother is a twat,” Gemma repeated calmly. “Are you ok?” she asked, a hint of concern in her words. 

“Yeah, just-just food went down the wrong pipe.”

“She’s fine mum, just choked on a bit of food,” she heard Gemma call out in the background. So Anne was there too. Alena stood up and started to pace nervously. 

“Ok so, back to my brother being a twat. He is, just in case you missed it. He only just told us everything last week. Why haven’t you called us? Mum’s worried.” 

“I - I didn’t know, I mean, I didn’t think you guys would - I don’t understand. If Harry told you everything then why -” but Gemma cut her off. 

“Why are we calling you?” she asked, words gentle. 

“Yeah,” Alena breathed out. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me again.” 

“Yeah, well, we’ve known you almost as long as we’ve known Harry. Just because he’s got his head up his arse, doesn’t mean we do. Besides, we’d at least like to hear your side of things. And honestly, mum is a bit chuffed at the idea of a grandkid. I don’t think she really cares how they come to exist.” 

Alena just imagined Gemma’s eye roll at that and couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. It was full of relief and love for the two women she knew were listening on the other side. 

“Sorry,” she sighed, feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. “I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes by calling you,” she admitted, refusing to mention Harry’s name. 

“Harry is a grown man. He can handle us having you in our lives even if he doesn’t approve. And if he can’t, tough. We’ve put up with worse for him,” Gemma said firmly. “Now, mum wants to know when you are free for dinner. We have a couple months worth of catching up to do.” 

“Uh-.” 

“No, Harry won’t be there,” Gemma said before she could ask. Alena let a small smile slip onto her lips as she imagined the eye roll she was getting. 

“I’m free any time,” she replied, refusing to acknowledge how sad and pathetic that sounded. 

“Great, we’ll see you tomorrow night then,” Gemma said happily before they quickly ended the call. 

Alena put her phone down and turned back to her cereal. A small part of her heart had unravelled during the phone call and she felt it fill up with hope as she allowed a small smile to slip onto her face. 

-

He was dating Olivia Wilde. 

It had felt like a punch to the gut when Alena had seen the pictures. She hadn’t been prepared for it, it hadn’t even been something that had crossed her mind as a possibility. Yet there Harry was, pictured out with her and her kids looking like a happy family while she sat at home with his own child growing in her womb, and he couldn’t spare a single thought towards her. 

She knew part of the feelings clenching around her heart were due to the hormones that were swirling wildly in her body, but a larger part was hurt that he’d rather play family with someone else and their kids, than with her. Was being with Alena really that bad? 

She didn’t have time to think about it for too long, the spiralling thoughts interrupted by a knock at her door. 

She had no idea who it could be, thinking maybe she had imagined it until they knocked again. She hurried to her feet, grabbed her keys and unlocked the door without looking through the peephole. 

“Oh, hey Gemma,” she greeted in surprise. Dinner with Gemma and Anne had felt like travelling back in time to when they’d all get together and catch up on all the different stories Harry had told each of them over the weeks he’d spent away on tour. He’d confessed to her once that he never told any of them the same story to make sure they all stayed in touch and took care of one another while he was away. He claimed he felt guilty leaving his mum and sister alone all the time, but Alena had known he’d done it mostly for her. 

They’d grown up together. Every important milestone in their lives had been a shared moment between the two of them when no one else was around. They’d been so many of each other’s firsts and helped each other stay on solid ground when the world was spiralling out of control around them. But each time Harry went away on tour and Alena was left behind, she knew he felt guilty as they drifted further and further apart from each other and she was left alone again. 

Gemma and Anne were family, and after she’d lost her own parents, Harry had wanted her to have some semblance of home while he was away as well. And maybe a small part of him hoped it would help stop the chasm forming between them. 

It had been stories like that and throwaway moments of thoughtfulness that had chipped away at her heart until she’d unknowingly fallen in love with him - a consequence Harry hadn’t ever considered. 

“Hey,” Gemma grinned at her, gently pushing Alena aside and making her way into the apartment. 

Alena flinched at the pile of dishes she’d left in the sink and hoped Gemma wouldn’t judge her for the mess. She was too busy wallowing in self pity to do any housework. 

“Sooo, how are you?” Gemma asked on her way to the lounge. “Dinner was nice. Mum wants to do it again soon. She couldn’t stop talking about how nice it was to have all her girls back together, as though there were more than two of us there,” Gemma rolled her eyes before her expression softened into something like wistfulness. “It was nice though,” she admitted. “I don’t even remember the last time we’d all gotten together. It’s been months. Ever since Harry came back and stole all your time,” she joked. 

Alena’s smile dimmed a little at the mention of her brother and just how much of her time he used to occupy. She hadn’t noticed it until after he’d swiftly exited her life just how reliant on his company she’d become. She was quite cranky at herself for allowing him to weasel his way into taking up all her free time again. The first week he hadn’t called, all Alena had done was sit in front of the telly and try to fill the empty Harry shaped hole in her life with reruns and food. Eventually she’d snapped herself out of it. Now she wondered if there were others who had fallen for the charm and dazzle that was all Harry the way she had, and been left just as high and dry with an aching heart that refused to give up on him. 

She wondered if Olivia Wilde would be the same. 

“Sorry,” she apologised to Gemma. “I don’t know how it happened. I missed you guys too.” 

“It’s not your fault. Harry does it to everyone. He did it when you guys were kids as well,” she rolled her eyes. “The two of you always used to be off in your own little bubble. We’d have to beat it with a stick to get it to pop until you paid the rest of us some attention,” she joked. But Alena still felt bad. 

“He’s just got that thing about him,” she eventually sighed, shoulders dipping in disappointment as the nostalgia of childhood friendships and how easy everything had been back then hit her like a truck. 

“Forget about him,” Gemma said gently, coming up beside Alena and nudging her shoulder. “He may be my brother but he’s not worth wallowing over when he’s being this unreasonable.” 

“That’s easier said than done when his face is literally everywhere, smiling and laughing as though this huge life changing event isn’t going to impact him at all,” Alena grumbled bitterly. 

“Ah. So you’ve seen the pictures already,” Gemma said sheepishly. “Mum and I were hoping I could get to you in time before you saw anything,” she admitted. 

“So this isn’t a social call because you miss spending time with me?” Alena tried to joke. 

“Why can’t it be both?” Gemma grinned back, linking their arms and pulling her further into the apartment. “Come on, get changed. Let’s go shopping and then grab some lunch. I can’t wait to spoil my niece-slash-nephew.” 

Alena groaned. “Please, no. I can't even look at baby things right now. I was looking up a list of things to get and there’s so much,” she looked at Gemma with wide eyes. “Why are there so many different types of prams, Gem? What do they all do? What if I get the wrong one?” 

Gemma laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ve got mum and I around. We’ll help pick things out for the little nugget. I’m pretty sure I saw mum looking up bassinets the other day,” she admitted. “And I won’t lie, I’ve started going to the baby section in some stores. I haven’t bought anything yet though,” she promised, sitting on Alena’s bed while she changed. 

It didn’t take Alena long to throw on an old sweatshirt and some jeans before the two girls were heading out the door, a sense of peace and comfort settling over Alena’s heart, soothing the aching wound Harry had left. 

She was so distracted and happy, wrapping herself and Gemma in a protective bubble of bliss as they walked from store to store buying too many clothes and things they didn’t need, that she didn’t even notice the random flashes of light as people took their photos while they talked and laughed. 

And so when she got home that day after promising Gemma that she’d come by for lunch with her and Anne in a couple of days, and saw her phone light up with a Twitter notification of a ‘Styles sighting’, she ignored it. She wasn’t going to let anything Harry related ruin the rest of her night. 

-

“Stay away from my family,” Harry glared at her from the doorway. When Alena had opened her front door she’d been expecting a teenager with a pizza box in his hands, not Harry. So when she’d looked up from where she’d been tracking her food on her phone, she’d frozen in shock, unable to get a single word out. 

Not that it mattered, Harry seemed to be there to deliver a message and move on. 

Alena blinked up at him, unsure how to respond. 

“Did you hear me?” he huffed. “Stay away from my mum and sister.” 

“I didn’t contact them,” she eventually managed to say, her hands coming up and wrapping protectively around herself. 

Harry’s eyes instinctively looked down at the movement, his gaze lingering for a moment on her stomach. She was just over three months pregnant now and still not showing, but Harry’s frown still made her feel self conscious. 

“You’ve lost weight,” he commented, his voice losing a little of its edge and his eyes losing a little of their ice. But he quickly shook himself out of it and fixed a glare back on his face, bringing the conversation back to the reason why he was there. “I don’t care who contacted whom. Just stay away from them,” he repeated. “Or I’ll take out a restraining order,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

Alena flinched back, her eyes widening in disbelief and anger. 

She felt her heart pick up its pace and her cheeks heat up. She didn’t care who he was or how much he thought she had wronged him, he had no right threatening her with something like that.

He seemed to realise it too, his face crumpling in apology almost as soon as he had said the words. But it was too late to take them back and Alena was too angry in that moment to give him a chance to do so anyway. 

If she took a moment to think about it, took a moment to just analyse the situation a little bit, she would have picked up on the strange back and forth Harry seemed to be having internally. As though he was saying and doing all the things that were expected of him, while a long ago locked up part of his heart warred with him to be kind. 

“I don’t care who you think you are, Harry,” she spoke stiffly. “But you have no right coming to my door and threatening me with something like that. I never, not once, reached out to Anne or Gemma out of respect for you. They came to me. I don’t care what you see online, you should know better than to believe everything.” 

She moved to close the door, but Harry stuck a foot out before she could slam it in his face. 

“If you think you can trick me into a relationship by charming my mum and sister-”

But Alena cut him off. “Fuck you, Harry Styles,” she said, anger rolling off her in waves. She had never been so hurt and so mad at someone all at the same time. “Fuck you for thinking so low of me. God, you-,” she shook her head, trying to fight back the sudden onslaught of tears that were clogging up her throat. “I can’t believe I wasted a single second of my life loving you,” she laughed bitterly, her heart yelling at her that she still loved him. “You know, I’ve had my heart broken before. By old boyfriends, by friends, even by you. I never gave any of them a second shot at breaking me again. Except for you. I let you break my heart on so many occasions, I was an idiot for letting you do it again. Please,” she begged desperately, tired of feeling on edge and of all the heartbreak Harry brought with him. “Please, just leave me alone. It’s something you’ve been very good at for the last few months, I’m sure you can do it again. But you can’t ask me to have no one, to stay away from the two people who have cared about me. Anne and Gemma have always been my family as well, even if you no longer are. You took my love, trust and friendship and threw it all away like it meant nothing to you. I won’t let you take them away from me too,” she said fiercely. 

She waited until Harry took a step back, then closed the door, making sure to lock it behind her. 

She ignored it when he knocked and called for her again, more gently this time. But Alena was done. She wasn’t going to tiptoe around Harry anymore to spare his feelings when he had zero regard for her own. 

-

Thoughts are always appreciated <3

[murdockparker]

Foolish Endeavor - Part 8

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: To be, or not to be (a Bridgerton), that is the question. One that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton has yet to ask.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex, no actual smut, angst

A/N: it's a happy-sad chapter. that's all I gotta say mad lads

first part - previous part - next part

__

She hadn’t felt very well rested, not even the tiniest bit. No matter how tired she felt after last night’s escapades, the excitement that lingered in the air coursed through her veins, keeping her alert and awake for the entirety of the night. He hadn’t kept it much of a secret, not really.

Benedict Bridgerton was proposing. 

Today. 

While he practically proposed last night, bodies tangled together in a sweaty embrace, she knew a more formal question was coming later this morning or afternoon. It was only a matter of time before Benedict asked for her company, asked for her hand. She imagined he already discussed the details of their engagement, dowry and the like with her father before their visit to Aubrey Hall. Seeing as how her father couldn’t accompany them for the week and knowing how formal Benedict could be about situations just as this one.

A soft knock rang through the spacious room, followed by the entrance of Agnes, her lady’s maid. She was carrying a pitcher of fresh water and a rag, smiling lightly at the girl rolling in bed. 

“Good morning, miss,” Agnes said lovingly. She set the pitcher down on the desk, draping the cloth over the back of the chair. “I trust you slept well?”

“Of course,” she lied. “The beds here are divine, I reckon they’re stuffed with only the finest.”

“Oh yes,” Agnes nodded. “I’m sure the viscount has only the best in his home.”

“Did you sleep well, Agnes?”

“I slept just fine, my lady,” the maid said sweetly. “The staff’s lodgings are quite elegant. If I had half a mind, I would mention something to your mother…”

(Y/N) giggled, the sound dampening against the plushness of the bedding. “Consider it done, I’ll bring it up over tea.”

Agnes’ eyes lit up like a candle in the night—bright and ever glowing. She nodded softly before floating over to her lady’s bed to assist in her dressing. “I drew you a bath for this morning, I figured you may wish to take one after the exhausting day that was yesterday.” (Y/N)’s entire face flushed, the color creeping up from her neck. Surely the staff couldn’t have possibly heard anything from the study last eve, could they? “The carriage ride was much too hot for my liking, I myself washed up last evening.”

“Oh,” she coughed, patting her chest lightly. “Yes, I agree. Traveling in the summer months is always a hassle.”

“Should I set out your dressings for when you return, my lady?”

“Of course. That would be lovely.”

“Which one do you fancy for this morning?” Agnes asked, opening the wardrobe, now fitted out with the various silks and outfits they had packed for the week. Her eyes danced across the rainbow of colors before placing her hand on one. “I reckon Mr. Bridgerton will quite like this one."

“Agnes!” (Y/N) chided, suppressing a laugh.

“I’ll set it aside,” the maid hummed knowingly, placing the selected dress on the door to the wardrobe.

—

The dress Agnes had picked out was quite the stunning piece, the fanciest of the day dresses they had packed. The sleeves were almost entirely a thick lace, meeting the crook of her elbow with grace. Colored to match the sky on a summer’s day, the gown had matching white accents one could nearly mistake for clouds, a slightly darker azure pulled everything together on the bodice. It was the epitome of class, the finest handiwork once could find in the ton.

He thought she was breathtaking. 

He normally thought so, of course. This morning, however, she looked nearly as radiant as the sun. His sun. He knew it was going to be a good day, with her smiling as sweetly as she was. He had to restrain himself from reaching into his pocket and falling to his knee immediately, his better judgment getting the best of him. 

“Lady (Y/N),” Benedict greeted her, bowing lightly to appease the other eyes following them in the room. 

“Benedict,” she curtsied back. 

“Might you do me the honor of accompanying me on a promenade this morning?” He asked, brow arched up, his lovesick smirk ever apparent.

“Of course,” she nodded before turning to her side. “Though, we will need to find a chaperone—” 

“I’ll join you.”

“A walk could do me some good.”

Both the countess and dowager viscountess spoke in the same breath, flustered at the sudden attention on themselves. They both seemed too eager to join the happy couple this afternoon, for no reason in particular.

“You are both free to join us,” Benedict nearly laughed. “We are set to promenade around the gardens, I wish to enjoy your lovely flowers, Mother.”

“Oh yes,” (Y/N) nodded enthusiastically. “Lady Bridgerton, your gardens are quite the spectacle.”

Violet waved them off, nearly embarrassed. “Oh you two flatter me so terribly.”

“Oh but I have to agree, Violet. You simply must tell me where you found your florist,” the countess smiled. “Theodore would love the blooms you have out here.”

“Well, I hardly think they’re a secret,” Violet said, voice dropping to a murmur before leaning into the countess’ side. “But I’ll extend their information to you posthaste.”

The women giggled, both taken at the joy of the afternoon—Benedict and (Y/N) still in their own little world.

“Pall-mall is this afternoon,” Benedict said thoughtfully, extending his arm for his beloved to take. “I recall your proficiency at the game, has that changed?”

(Y/N) shook her head, beginning to walk with Benedict towards the gardens, mamas in tow. “No, of course not. If anything I simply have gotten even better than you recall.”

He let out a laugh, warm and thick like honey. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Anthony suggested the match a day or so prior to your arrival, something about fond memories from childhood—” 

“Really? You’re sure he doesn’t wish to try and best his family to look good for his future bride?”

“Ah, the viscount would never dare use his family as a pawn for his marriage,” Benedict said seriously. “But, trying to best Daphne will be his greatest feat.”

“The duchess is joining us?” She asked, allowing Benedict to open the garden gate for her. He hummed.

“She would never dare miss an opportunity to lay claim to her rightful place as the best Bridgerton pall-mall player,” Benedict chuckled. “Well, I suppose she also wished to meet Miss Sharma, should Anthony get off of his sorry behind and actually propose…”

Violet Bridgerton loved her garden in Kent—her and her husband had a rather fondness to the country—leaving her gardens to be quite the sight to behold. The young couple spent many a day in the gardens in their youth, playing and chasing the other around. Last year, Anthony had commissioned a small fountain to be added for their mother's birthday, it was the new jewel of the grounds. 

It was the perfect place, Benedict had decided.

“Why do you think our mamas are following us so closely?” (Y/N) asked quietly, tightening her grip on Benedict’s arm.

“They’re pretending to be interested in the roses,” Benedict whispered, turning to look back at his mother and the countess. The women seemed flushed, their attention drawn a bit too closely at the blooms. “But I believe they’re waiting with bated breath for something extraordinary to happen."

“And what, pray tell, would they be waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?” Her heart began to pound, surely the small babbling of the fountain did nothing to hide it.

A grin spread across his face, one that was lopsided and all-too-sweet, his gaze warm enough to set aflame. “Perhaps they’re waiting for…this?” He removed his arm from (Y/N)’s grip, slinking down to one knee. Benedict thanked any God who would listen he had the bright idea to practice the gesture before this moment, as it hopefully looked as graceful as it felt. With only a slightly shaking hand, he took her own.    

“Oh!” Lady Kent squealed from behind. Lady Bridgerton was quick to pull her close—as if to not ruin the moment. 

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), you have been a constant at my side. Your friendship has been a balm on my worried heart for the many years I have had the pleasure of knowing you,” Benedict began, trying to keep his voice steady. “How lucky am I, to have found such a partner in my greatest friend? How lucky would I be, if that partner agreed to spend the rest of her days with me?”

“Benedict…” She had begun to cry. She had known he was proposing today, and yet, she still begun to cry.

“(Y/N),” Benedict repeated her name like a prayer, “will you do me the honor of making me half of the happiest pair the universe has ever seen? Will you marry me?”

A box suddenly appeared in his other hand, a glittering ring shining in the morning sun. It surely wasn’t a family ring, no, it looked to be brand new, like he had it made especially for her. Benedict had asked Lady Bridgerton about family rings but never quite found one that spoke to him—so he took matters into his own hands. 

A delicate cluster of pearls with shining sapphires, all adorned like a flower in bloom. He had been torn on the sapphires, but secretly, a part of him wished for her to have the staple Bridgerton color, blue, with her always. A small claim, a slightly possessive way for him to show she is his at all times. 

If she didn’t already have her answer before this moment, seeing Benedict on the ground, bearing his heart out to her in front of a beautiful scene—and their mamas—it couldn’t have come any easier. 

“Yes!” She squealed, falling to the ground to meet Benedict in an amorous embrace—dress be damned, society be damned.

He nearly fell over, arm steadily snaking its way around her waist, holding her tight against him. He knew he was close to tears, but seeing his love on the same precipice nearly sent him over the edge. “If our mamas weren’t looking…” Benedict whispered into her ear, holding her tight against him, his words a secret to her alone. 

“I simply don’t care,” (Y/N) murmured, turning his face towards her own, lips nearly attacking his. What started as a passionate celebration had melted into something more substantial—a far cry from any other kiss they had shared before. This was not just a kiss from a friend, a kiss from a lover, no, this was a kiss between a husband and wife. The passion was not lost on them, but it took perhaps a second too long to fully realize that their mothers were still very much watching.

“Ehem!” Lady Kent cleared her throat, cheeks rosy as the blooms beside her.

“Relax Mama,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling herself to her feet, assisting Benedict to reaching his own as well. “What is the worst thing to happen? Force us to marry faster?”

“I rather like the sound of that,” Benedict murmured, dusting off his pants. 

“Er, no, I suppose there’s nothing—” Lady Kent sighed, turning to Violet. “Should we petition for a speedy ceremony?”

“Oh hush,” Violet admonished, laughing lightly. “One kiss between betrothed is not a ruin. However,” she looked at the newly affianced couple with a narrow gaze, the one of a strict mother, “I would not make it a habit until you are wed.”

“Of course, Mother,” Benedict nodded, trying his very best to not laugh out loud. 

“My lady,” a butler had come up from behind the proud mothers. “The duchess has arrived.”

“Oh! Splendid,” Violet cooed. “Benedict, do see to it that you and your fiancée greet your sister, I am sure she would be most pleased at your news.”

“We shall inform the family before pall-mall,” Benedict said decidedly. “Just another reason to celebrate.”

“Just think,” Lady Kent sighed, turning to walk with Lady Bridgerton back to the estate. “By the end of the week you will have two sons set to be wed! A joyous celebration indeed.”

“If Anthony is truly engaged at the end of the week,” Benedict said quietly, words only meant for his fiancée to hear, “then the world has turned upside down.”

They both laughed. 

—

“Is Anthony still attached to the black mallet?” (Y/N) asked, arm in arm with her new fiancé. “I recall a near bloodbath for it the last time I played pall-mall with your family.”

“Far more than one would realize,” Benedict nodded. “One would suspect he carried and birthed the bloody thing…”

“Funny,” (Y/N) said. “He birthed the mallet? Here I thought he still had a stick up his—”

“(Y/N)!”

“What? I will not apologize for saying what I was thinking—and if I knew any better, you were too.”

“He’s been… a bit un-agreeable the last few weeks, regarding the whole notion of Miss Sharma and whatnot,” Benedict sighed.

“So you do not disagree.”

“He is my brother,” Benedict stated.

“Indeed,” (Y/N) hummed.

Even having descended these steps only two hours prior to their inevitable engagement, the yard had completely transformed. Shade and snacks had been put up for the spectators, hoops were currently being put in the ground and staff were carrying out the dreaded mallet container.

“What a lovely afternoon for pall-mall,” Lady Mary said.

“And a lovely afternoon to celebrate an engagement,” Lady Bridgerton added, looking directly at the happy couple. 

“Oh yes,” Lady Mary smiled. “Congratulations on the engagement, Lady Bridgerton, Lady Kent.”

“Save your congratulations for the ball in the next few days,” Lady Kent laughed. “I suspect it will be the talk of the ton anyhow.”

The older ladies laughed with one another. The younger adults began their trek to the mallet box, determination in each of their eyes. 

“Eloise, are you sure you do not wish to play?” Colin asked, turning to his younger sister.

“I have other matters to deal with,” she said sitting from the steps, nose in her book. “Besides, someone had to sit out so our guests could play…”

“I could have sat out—” Colin began.

“And the sky is green, Brother,” Benedict said, clapping his younger brother’s back. “Everyone knows you would’ve been a worse spoilsport if you sat out instead.”

“Perhaps Lady (Y/N) could have sat out, then?”

“You’d make my fiancée sit out?” Benedict gasped, clearly jesting. “She is to be your sister soon, Colin. It’s preposterous that you would even suggest such a thing!”

“Ben,” (Y/N) giggled, hand placed gently on his shoulder. “I do not think Colin truly meant it.”

“Congratulations, again,” Colin nodded towards the to-be-Bridgerton. “Why you wish to marry into this family is beyond me.”

“I fear I am still asking myself such a question,” she hummed, plainly ignoring Benedict’s souring expression. “But I am sure I’ll be reminded during our spirited game of pall-mall.”

“Reminded of what?” Daphne asked, walking with the Sharma sisters. She had been explaining the game in earnest to them.

“How much fun our family has playing a rousing game of pall-mall,” Colin said, shit-eating grin on his face. Anthony tried his best to ignore it, taking his attentions to Miss Sharma—the younger, not the elder.

“Shall we begin?” Anthony coughed, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“I shall pick first,” Colin said, reaching for the black mallet.

“No!” Anthony practically yelled, causing a shock to the group. “I-I mean, we pick based on alphabetical order.”

“So, by Bridgerton standards, eldest to youngest?” (Y/N) mused. Benedict huffed a laugh as his brothers began to fight.

“The only fair thing to do,” Daphne spoke up, ever the voice of reason, “is to let our invited guests choose their mallets and strike first.”

“Please, take your pick, Miss Edwina,” Anthony conceded, bowing to the younger Sharma. Edwina looked carefully over the mallets, eyes scanning over every color—almost as if she was afraid to pick the wrong one. She pointed decidedly to the blue one, Anthony grabbing it for her with haste. “An excellent choice.”

Kate wasted no time in choosing her mallet—black and foreboding. The mallet of death. 

“Would you look at that, Brother?” Benedict sniggered, clearly amused by Anthony’s annoyance. 

“Is this yours?” Kate asked. 

“Not at all. You’re welcome to it,” Anthony sighed.

“You near threatened to beat me the last time I touched—”

“You exaggerate,” Anthony fumed, eyes like daggers towards Colin.

“Are you the superstitious sort, Lord Bridgerton?” Kate asked, twirling the mallet like a prized trophy. “I know some men cannot perform without their familiar tools. Like a child with a blanket.”

“Oh I like her,” (Y/N) said softly, her words nearly lost amongst the guffaw of the Bridgerton family.

“I can play perfectly well with any mallet,” Anthony said.

“My sun, I do believe it is your pick,” Benedict said, clearing the laugh from his throat. She nodded, taking her claim on the lavender mallet. It seemed the most appealing and an easy color to spot from the grass. “Lavender is a fine color for you.”

“Shall we dilly dawdle all afternoon?” Colin sighed. “Or shall we…” 

It was like a hunt. Each of the playing Bridgertons tried to stake their claim on a mallet, all avoiding one in particular. Benedict grabbed a golden yellow, Colin choose green, Daphne a nice seafoam color, leaving Anthony with the pastel pink. 

“To the field of combat!” Daphne exclaimed, holding her mallet straight up in the air. 

Combat was an accurate descriptor. While it had been years since she had played pall-mall, even longer since she had played it with the Bridgertons, Lady (Y/N) found it refreshing. It nearly made her wonder if this could have been her life growing up—a lively life with siblings to bicker with and pick on. 

Regardless, it will be her life now, as soon as she marries Benedict. Soon she’d be a Bridgerton. Soon she’d have the family she’d always dreamt of. Siblings, children, the whole lot.

“I say, that was a good shot Lady (Y/N)!” Colin cheered, clapping politely at her latest hit. She had managed to knock Daphne’s ball near a cluster of bushes. “Always a win in my book to best Daph.”

“Oh hush,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “It was a bold move, I will concede to that, well done (Y/N).”

“Dropping her title, are we?” Benedict asked, stepping beside his sister. “You of all people know better etiquette, Your Grace.”

“And what is better etiquette than calling my newest sister by her given name?” Daphne sang, hopping along to her ball. She may be married and a new mother with one on the way, but she still was very much a girl at heart. 

“I truly don’t mind, Benedict,” (Y/N) insisted. “It won’t matter in a few weeks, anyhow.”

“Perhaps you won’t mind this, then?” Colin said. In a blink of an eye, her purple ball went flying towards Daphne’s. 

“Not at all, Colin,” (Y/N) curtsied. “You only made the game more fun, I would have been crestfallen if you were taking it easy on me.”

“Never,” he scoffed. 

“Exactly right,” (Y/N) said, following Daphne over to her ball.

“I’m happy for you. She’s a catch, Ben,” Anthony said, pulling his younger brother out of his love-sick daze. Benedict nodded, not fully listening. “Everyone suspected it to happen, since we were young.”

“I wish someone would have told me sooner,” Benedict jested, “it would have saved us both some time, I manage.”

“I believe Father had made a joke about it once before,” Anthony said. “But, I assume your head was too stuck in the clouds to hear it.”

“Father did, truly?” Benedict’s brow raised. “He was rather observant, I suppose I do not doubt it.”

“You know, I must hand it to you, Brother,” Colin said, cutting in with his brothers. “Courting Lady (Y/N) was a feat I’m surprised you pulled off.”

“Do you not think we are a suited match?” Benedict asked. “Am I not charming enough? Not handsome enough?”

“You are a Bridgerton, of course you are enough,” Colin said.

“I think he means he is just surprised you managed to snag the daughter of an earl,” Anthony said simply. “You are a second son, it is nearly unheard of.”

“She is more than that—”  

“Of course she is,” Anthony said, raising his hand in defense, the other on his pink mallet. “She is your greatest friend and soon to be your wife—of course she is more than just the earl’s daughter.”

“She is my sun,” Benedict said simply. 

Anthony and Colin gave each other a look. “Ever the poet,” Colin chuckled. “You could have stopped at ‘she’s more than that’.”

She had been trying to strategize how best to get her purple ball back to the next wicket. Colin had sent it rather far from the next target, but it was no matter. She was determined to get it back into play—to show the Bridgertons she could roll with the punches. A small wave was sent her direction, one attached to a rather love-sick man, tall and handsome with a wicked grin. 

She waved back, an equally lovesick smile on her lips. 

“How fortunate,” Anthony noted. “Now your son will inherit the earldom, yes?”

“I…” Benedict’s regard turned back to his brother. How easily he was distracted by Lady (Y/N). “Yes, I suppose that is what’s expected of our union, what her parents expect of us.”

“Just think,” Colin said boisterously, “two titles in one family!”

“A viscount and an earl, both Bridgertons,” Anthony cooed, much like a child. “Well done brother! What a success for our family—Father would be proud.”

“I understand the sudden interest in Lady (Y/N) now, Brother,” Colin said, balancing on his mallet. “It rather makes sense, does it not?” 

“I think Father would be more proud that I am marrying for love,” Benedict corrected, growing a bit annoyed at his brothers jesting. 

“Love? Oh yes,” Anthony waved. “Sure, sure. But the earldom? How lucky you’ve bagged her, Brother. Bridgerton, Earl of Kent!”

Benedict forced a laugh. 

“Well, that is not—” 

A purple ball rolled next to his feet, stopping just before his toes. 

She had looked like she had seen a ghost, Lady (Y/N). Her grip tightened on her mallet, white gloves contrast to the purple. “I think I shall cut out for the day.”

The Bridgerton brothers were silent, Benedict inching towards her.

“(Y/N)—”

“I am in need of a respite,” she said, not looking back. “Too much sun.”

Benedict felt his blood run cold, his hand glued to the air. Every sense of his was fleeting, his sight blurring, his mouth running dry. 

“You dolt,” Daphne admonished, smacking her second eldest brother as she came upon them. “You must talk to her.”

“I-I will,” Benedict nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Well not now,” Daphne sighed. “Give her a moment to collect her thoughts. A conversation now could be… explosive.”

“Is the game finished, my lord?” Edwina pranced over, brows furrowed.

“Ah, yes,” Anthony cleared his throat. “Well, no. Lady (Y/N) and Benedict have cut out, isn’t that right?”

Benedict nodded numbly, dropping his mallet to the grass.

“The game is still set—minus yellow and purple,” Anthony said stoically, rightfully ignoring his brother heading towards the estate. 

Feet like lead, every step he took felt like a death sentence, a man on his way to execution.

Somehow, he much preferred that thought.

__

He knocked at her door, three hours later. 

For two hours he sobbed and for an hour he drank, trying to wrap his head around how he’d approach this, how he’d approach her. He had pressed a wet rag to his face. Helps with the puffiness, a staff member told him. He hoped for it to be true. 

He knocked again.

“Go away.”

Benedict sighed, leaning up against the wood. “I’m afraid that’s unlikely. We must speak.”

“I am not opening the door.”

“And I am not leaving.”

A pause. 

Then, the lock clicked. 

The man took a deep breath, preparing for every possible outcome. He was never much of a planner, but in this very instance? He wish he had clairvoyance, a crystal ball perhaps, to see how this would end. Benedict could only hope it ended with them at the end of the aisle, hand in hand at the altar. 

“You would have stayed out there all night,” she said simply as he entered the room. She had resigned herself to standing in the dead center of the bedchambers, her arms crossed.

“Yes,” Benedict said. “I would have.”

“Stubborn,” she scoffed, turning towards the window. 

He took the moment to shut the door—they were engaged, no need for propriety now. “We are expected at dinner this evening,” Benedict said quietly. “To celebrate the engagement.”

“Naturally.”

“You do not wish to go to dinner,” Benedict surmised.

“Naturally,” she repeated, her shoulders tensing.

“You must eat—” 

“I would rather starve.”

“That is a bit ridiculous,” Benedict scoffed. “Surely you are not that angry.”

“You do not get to tell me how angry I am allowed to be,” (Y/N) said, finally turning around. “If I do not wish to show face at dinner, I will not show face.”

Benedict’s gaze softened on her, finally seeing her face. He would never assume anything about her, it would make for a terrible habit for the years to come, but if he had to make an educated guess, she had been crying just as much as he had.

He wished he had a rag to offer.

“I apologize—”

“For which instance?” (Y/N) asked cooly. “For earlier? For dictating my feelings?”

“The first—both, I suppose,” Benedict ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps he was losing strands from the stress. “Look, (Y/N)—” 

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“What?”

“You have known me for many years,” (Y/N) said. “Do you take me for a fool?”

He had the fleeting thought of mentioning how poorly she played cards, how foolish her tactics were. The only time he’d ever call her a fool. He decided he’d be more the fool if he so much as loosened his lips on that thought. “No.”

“I do not need you to explain yourself, you and your brothers made it quite clear this afternoon,” (Y/N) tightened her arms, nearly folding in on herself. “Quite clear on your true intentions with the earldom.”

“My true intentions? My only intention is and ever was to marry you. Absolutely none of this came from the title.”

“Is that why you suddenly had an interest in me? To secure another title of nobility for your family’s lineage?”

“Of course not! I have loved you since I knew what love truly was, (Y/N). It did not happen overnight.”

Frustrated, she began to pace about the room, fire crackling nearly in time with her beating heart. The air was tense, thick. Shadows begun dancing from the flames, painting themselves onto the bookshelves with ease and without hesitation. Their furrowed brows were prominent against the flickering, set in stone. 

“‘Did not happen overnight’,” (Y/N) scoffed. “You had the opportunity when I debuted seasons ago, why now? Why not then?”

“I was fooling myself,” Benedict pressed a hand against his chest. “I know how this may look, my sun—”

“You,” she cut him off, eyes hardened. “Do not get to call me that. Not right now.”

Benedict took a step back. She was dead serious. He could only recall one other time in their lives that she had such a ferocity to her character—it had involved her father discarding a handful of books from her own personal collection, resulting in her not speaking to him for the better part of a month. If he thought her looks could kill then, Benedict Bridgerton was expecting to have his funeral by the end of the night.

“You misunderstand,” Benedict began carefully, as if to not break any eggshells. “My brothers—you know how they are. Anthony was merely making a joke.”

“It was in poor taste.”

“I agree!” Benedict exclaimed. “My laughter then, it was one of the forced kind, one I save only for the deeply unpleasant conversations I tend to have during the season.”

She stood silent for a moment.

“Yet you laughed."

“I… did. My su—love, I apologize from the deepest parts of me. I wish to marry you, earldom or not. Titles mean nothing, but you? Darling, you mean everything to me."

“So it was just a coincidence that you decided to show up at my door the morning after I shared the truth of my family’s wishes for my future match? Surely you do not take me for a fool.”

Benedict sighed, feeling the anger bubbling in his chest. “While you may have shared that information, the only thing I could even begin to think about since you had left that afternoon was that I had a chance!”

She blinked. 

“Imagine, loving your best friend, watching her and admiring her from afar, knowing she’s destined to be with and marry another. Marry some… some duke or titled man, someone every mama would be floored to have pair with their daughter,” Benedict felt as if he were on stage, his only audience watching him intently. “But to fathom you’d ever marry me? A second son? Surely you could consider me mad for ever entertaining that, for even ever dreaming of it.”

“You have no idea the type of man I wished to have married,” (Y/N) said, her voice cooler than ice. Calculated, perhaps. “Had you been honest from the start—”

“And ruin our friendship?” Benedict laughed, no humor found in his voice. “Lose you? The greatest thing to come of my time on this planet? No. Perish the thought.”

“You’re a fine actor,” (Y/N) said slowly, trying to keep her composure. “Because from the way I see it? You found a way to ensure a new title for the Bridgerton name—woo your ‘greatest friend’ and effectively ruin her by taking her on your brother’s desk!”

“Do not make it seem like you had no say in the matter—”

“I loved you!” (Y/N) screamed, finally reaching her breaking point. “I thought you would be the man I would marry! I wanted you, Benedict, more than I ever wanted anyone.”

“Loved…?” Benedict felt smaller than dirt. “You do not mean—”

“I will still marry you,” (Y/N) continued. “Only because you have effectively trapped me—what if I am to be with child?” She nearly laughed at the absurdity. “Seeing as you had the grace to not only ruin me, but finish in me—”

“Is that what you think?” Benedict broke, his voice quavering. “You think that I tried to trap you into a marriage to ensure my family a new title? That I had the thought—the foresight—to try and make you with child to give you no other options? In no way you could think so little of me—”   

“And yet here we are,” her voice was like venom. "Perhaps you will have your Bridgerton earl after all."

He dared not speak a word.

“I need some time to think. Mother and I are going back to Mayfair—do not follow us.” (Y/N) left the room, slamming the door so hard one might have assumed it cracked. 

Much like his heart.

__

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[updownlately]

too shy to say (but i hope you stay)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 3.6k | inspo: come out and play by billie eilish | a/n: got this ask a couple days ago and i just couldn't resist the temptation of grinding this one out! to whoever sent it in, i really hope you're feeling better now and that you like this one!

~~~

You weren’t one to get sick, you really weren’t. In the past handful of years, you could count on one hand the number of times you got sick- flu, cold, food poisoning or otherwise. So when you woke up in the morning, nose all stuffy, a pounding headache making your eyes hurt and the room feeling a bit too hot even for a London summer, you had a gut-sinking inkling of what was going on. 

Slowly sitting up, wincing at the increasing intensity of your headache, the movement only seeming to make it worse. hands lethargically coming to rub away the sleep from your eyes, you reached for your phone. 

7:54 am. Two hours earlier than you need to be up, just great. 

Dropping your phone back onto the nightstand, you contemplated whether going to school or work was even going to be worth it today. You really didn’t want to attend class, already exasperated with the thought of getting ready just to sit in an hour and a half long lecture when you could just take a look at the slide deck online.

Plus work…did you ever really want to go? Sure you had great coworkers and all, but work was work. And the idea of being a human punching bag for customers that were already unhappy with their lives wasn’t something you thought you were capable of today. 

Making the decision then and there, you shot off a quick text to your manager and then your friends, letting them know you wouldn’t be able to make it today.

Tossing your phone aside and sinking back into your sheets, you ignored the slight dampness of your forehead, more content to just hopefully sleep off whatever it was that you had. 

~~~

You hated this. You hated being sick. It hadn’t even been more than a half hour since you had originally woken up, yet here you were again, stuffy nose making it near impossible to breathe comfortably. Oh how you dearly missed when your nose wasn’t plugged. 

Groaning in annoyance, you swallowed audibly, trying to keep your frustration at bay.

The scratchiness of your throat made every second that you were awake painful and all you wanted to do really was sleep, but then the congestion in your chest made that near impossible. Couple the two with the pounding headache and the way your whole body ached and you really didn’t know what to do. All you knew was the it really fucking sucked.

Eyes closing, you quickly ran through what you needed to do in order to get better. Remembering from when you were a teen and had to take care of your brothers, you made a mental list. Painkillers, cough syrup, tissues, sweet caroline- wait? sweet caroline? 

Snapping out of your thoughts, you focused into the present, hearing your phone ringing beside you, the ringtone reserved for a singular special person. 

Picking up the phone, you let a small smile spread across your face at the caller ID.

“Morning Leah.” Your voice came out much scratchier than normal and you silently hoped that the blonde didn’t notice. “Morning love, how are you doing? I hope I didn’t wake you? I was just getting ready to head out, thought I’d ring you.”

You hummed in response, contemplating whether you should tell the English skipper of your current state. You didn’t want her to worry about you, especially not when her own knee issues were currently bothering her. 

“I’m okay. And no you didn’t wake me, in fact I’m glad you called, I was missing you,” you hummed.

No sooner than as the words left your mouth, you could hear Leah going on about something at the other end of the line, continuing the conversation, but you couldn’t pay attention- not when your eyes were involuntarily closing, hearing momentarily pausing as your body geared up to sneeze.

Once, then twice, and then a handful more times, you could feel your whole body jolt with each one, room spinning in between.

It was after your fifth consecutive sneeze that you finally had a moment of reprieve. Gathering your bearings, you brought the phone that you had accidentally thrown to the side back up to your ear.

“Sorry about that, had to sneeze.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell,” the cheeky reply caused you to smile and roll your eyes. “You sure you’re doing okay though? Your voice sounds a bit nasally and while normally that wouldn’t be concerning, you just sneezed like 800 times in a row.

“Ha-ha very funny Ms. Captain. I appreciate your concern but I’m most definitely fine. Just the dust y’know?”

“Hey! Uncalled for…” You could almost feel her pout through the phone, glad that your slight distraction worked, or so you thought.

“Well since you’re doing fine, you wouldn’t mind if I FaceTimed you right now, right?”

“I mean I just woke up, I look terrible so I do mind,”

“Oh shush, I’ve seen you wake up, and must you know, I find the sight quite appealing,”

“Flirt”

“Sicko”

“Allegedly”

You were about to continue your protests of being okay, mouth opening to tell Leah that you were just tired, but a coughing fit cut you off, a dial tone faintly heard in between your sharp inhales.

Just as you got yourself collected, the phone in your hands started buzzing again, this time Leah popping up on your screen, a sweet smile on her face.

“Doing okay huh? Sure Rudolph.”

“My nose can’t be that red, surely? I’ve only been up for about a little bit.”

“Baby you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“Thanks” you grumbled.

Rolling her eyes fondly, Leah continued. “Listen I have to head to rehab soon but after that I’m dropping by, and don’t even try to discourage me.”

“Leah I’m fine, I swear, just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I’ll be good in a couple hours.”

“Nope…not taking no for an answer. I’ve got to drive out now but you make sure to eat and hydrate okay? I’ll be over as soon as I can. I love you.”

Not having any energy to fight the headstrong blonde, you had no choice but to agree. “I love you too…bye you stubborn skipper.”

Letting leah cut the call, you let out another groan. You didn’t want the footballer to worry about you, very much well aware that she had enough on her plate already. Unfortunately for you, it turns out you and her had something in common, your high levels of stubbornness a shared quality. 

Unwilling to be in such a disheveled state when Leah dropped by in a few hours, you decided to quickly grab a shower and freshen up, to maybe even try and get a few bites of food in so that you could take some medicine. 

Untangling yourself from the warmth of your sheets, you stood up to leave, room immediately spinning faster than the rides at a fair. Today was going to be a long day…

~~~

Eight months into a relationship…is that enough time to be doing this? Leah couldn’t help but ponder that exact question, turning your apartment key in her hands. You had given it to her at the 5 month mark for your relationship, citing it would be helpful in the case of an emergency. She hadn’t used it once though, at least not until now.

See, she would’ve more than happily waited for you to answer your door, but the problem was that you weren’t. After a handful of knocks, a few missed calls, and double-digits of minutes waiting, Leah figured that it would be okay to use it now, right?

Slightly worried for your wellbeing as well, deciding that at worst you’d be a little upset, Leah went ahead and unlocked the door. Better an upset girlfriend than one stuck in a poor situation of any sort.

Slowly easing the door open, the eerie silence of your apartment had the blonde concerned. You weren’t one to live in silence, always having some album or playlist playing through your speakers in the house. It seemed that the sickness was hitting you harder than she had initially thought. 

Placing the grocery bag in her arms onto the floor, the skipper made quick work of her shoes, shutting the door behind her and locking it. 

Quietly padding to the island, she began to empty out the contents of the bag to sort them out. Taking out the items, she laid them out in front of her, trying to recall what item was needed as per the instructions of her mum. 

Grabbing the cough syrup, painkillers, cough drops, a glass of water, and a thermometer, Leah set the items on a tray and started the trek to your bedroom.

She really hoped you had ate by now, well aware of her lack of abilities in the kitchen (listen- she made up for it on the pitch okay?)

Pushing your ajar door open, Leah stepped into your dark room. immediately noticing the stuffiness and then the sight of your curled up figure tucked into one corner of the large bed. 

Slowly walking further into the room, she placed the tray on your nightstand, one that already seemed littered with a handful of different medications, a box of Kleenex, and what appeared to be a glass of apple juice. 

The Englishwoman took a seat on the edge of your bed, hand coming to gently brush against your forehead, pushing your matted baby hairs out of the way. Placing the back of her hand to your now visible skin, like she had experienced her mother do many times with her, Leah felt for a temperature, one that was very apparent from the first few seconds really. You really were, in fact, burning up. 

Picking her phone from out of her joggers, the blonde shot off a quick text to her mother, doubling checking what she was supposed to do to help with bringing it down before clicking it off. Placing it back in her pocket, the skipper figured that as tired as you were, it would be a good idea to wake you up to see if you had at least ate or taken any medication.

Running her thumb softly over your cheek, the other coming to rest on your shoulder, Leah slowly rose you out of your slumber, the gentle ministrations causing you to smile subconsciously.

Waking up in a daze, surprised at the feeling of another’s hands on your face, you immediately went to rub at your eyes, not believing the Leah shaped figure at your side.

“You actually came…” Your voice came out hoarse, disbelief laced in the words, the both of you wincing at the scratchiness, before Leah handed you the glass of cool water.

Sipping gratefully, you nearly emptied the whole glass before turning back to your girlfriend.

“Why wouldn’t I have come? You’re not doing well, I’m not going to have you suffer alone.”

“You might get sick too…”

“Worth it,” she shrugged, as if it was that simple of a solution to potentially getting sick.

“Leahhhh,” you dragged out her name, too sleepy to do anything else to confront her.

“Listen, I know how much you hate being sick, and you don’t get sick often either, so let me take care of you okay? Please? And then when I get sick you can return the favour? How does that sound?”

Shaking your head, you let out a huff. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“You love me for it”

“Yeah, I wonder why sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Always”

“Good”

“Leah…” you shook your head at her antics, the smile on your face betraying the annoyed facade you had on.

“I love you.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms and choosing not to reply. At your prolonged silence, Leah started poking your cheeks, her fingers gently prodding your face.

“Say it back. C’mon, you have to. Baby…say it back so I can start taking care of you.” 

Sighing in amusement at her persistence and never ending poking, you lethargically reached out to grab her hands, stopping both right before they hit your cheek for the umpteenth time.

“I love you too, you pain.”

Grinning in victory, Leah wiggled her right hand free and patted your cheek. “Okay good. Now, with that done, I need you to open your mouth, gotta take your temperature to see what we’re working with here.”

Saluting her, an “aye aye nurse Leah” escaping your lips, you waited as she prepped the thermometer before placing it carefully in your mouth. 

Wincing as it went under your tongue, your mind flashed back to when your mother would do this to you as a kid, the uncomfortableness of it not escaping you even after nearly fifteen years had passed.

“Everything okay? I didn’t place it down awkwardly or too rough, right?”

You nodded the best you could with the thermometer in your mouth, carefully to not jostle it around too much, heart melting at her attentiveness. Blinking your eyes and turning up the sides of your lips slightly, you hoped that she got the message that you were okay. 

When you took the thermometer out a minute later, the electronic screen read a 38.9º, you knew you nearly had a high fever. 

Checking her phone, Leah confirmed the same.

“Are you asking Google if my fever is high?” you asked, body shaking with slight laughter.

“I-“ A slight blush crossed your girlfriend’s face, one barely visible if it wasn’t for the illumination of her phone. “I had my mum send me a short guide on what I need to do for what situation…I’m just reading that.” she admitted shyly.

“Oh Leah…” you nearly melted, a pout appearing on your face. “I love you.”

Her bashful smile growing into a more confident one, Leah reiterated the sentiment with joy, never one to shy away from reminding you just how much she cared for you.

“Okay so according to this, placing a cool, damp washcloth on your forehead might help with the fever, and so will taking some Paracetamol…speaking of, have you eaten yet?”

You couldn’t help but smile softly at Leah’s rambling and question. You knew the blonde was protective and cared greatly not only for you but for everyone in her life, but getting to be on the direct receiving end of it? it was a feeling like no other, and you were sure that the warmth coursing through your body right now was more than just the fever, Leah’s affection bringing you a sense of comfort even as chills wracked your body.

“I did…had a feeling you wouldn’t want to step into the kitchen so I had a sandwich about…” You checked the time on your phone, “…two hours ago? Is that enough?”

“I’m assuming ideally you’d want to eat within at least the last hour of taking the medicine. You think you’d be up for that?”

“Leah, love, the better question here is whether you think you’re up for cooking, seeing as I don’t have anything ready to eat in my fridge right now.”

“I brought some food with me.”

Throwing your head back in appreciation, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.“Leah…god I could marry you right now.”

“In sickness and health am I right?” came the cheeky reply almost instantly.

You rolled your eyes in good nature, your smile permanently stuck on your face it seemed, a giddy feeling overtaking you.

“Eventually.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded in response, too afraid you’d ask her to marry you on the spot with the way she was so tenderly taking care of you right now.

Shooting you an award-winning smile, Leah carefully made her way off the bed, going to clean the thermometer and grab the food options that she brought. 

Returning within minutes, she had somehow managed to bring in a whole plate with an assortment of food. 

“Alright, so from what I was told, these would be the best foods for you right now…I’ve got apple slices, a few sandwiches, some assorted cut up fruit- none that will irritate your throat though- and a couple other snacks.”

You couldn’t help but stare at the defender in shock, mind appalled at seeing first-hand the level of effort she had gone through. 

Blinking once, then again, you looked between the food and then back at her, going back and forth a few times before closing your eyes due to the dizziness. 

“Everything okay love?”

“I- you did so much…you’re doing so much…I-,” you stumbled out, not sure how to properly express your gratitude.

“Honey, you deserve to be taken care of, you know that right? I’m just giving you what you deserve. And we both know you’d do the same for me, no hesitation, so let me do it for you alright?” And just like that, the defender knew exactly how to crush all your intrusive thoughts with just a few sentences.

Nodding dumbfoundedly at just how well she knew you, you grabbed a sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

Swallowing, you used your free hand to grab another sandwich, holding it out to the englishwoman. 

“Have you eaten? I’m assuming with how much effort went into this and the fact that you had rehab, breakfast was the last thing you had?”

Leah took the sandwich in your hands without much protest, confirming your thoughts. 

Between bites, she talked you through what she planned for the next little bit, checking with you on what you needed as well. 

The pair of you eventually decided that you’d have your medication and then let Leah try and lessen your fever with a some damp washcloths, after which the pair of you would likely settle down for a movie, putting as much space as you could between one another to limit the likelihood of transmission (spoiler alert: it really didn’t do much).

Letting yourself be loved, you both quickly finished off the food before cleaning up, Leah taking the tray and the dishes to the kitchen to put those in the sink, and you opening up your windows and tidying your room slightly. 

Just as you made your way back to your side of the bed, Leah came back into the room, arms full of the necessary things required for the lessening of your temperature.

As you watched her quietly get settled beside you, you really couldn’t believe you had gotten this lucky. No one was really there to take care of you besides your stressed mother as a child and thus, you hated being sick, not wanting to burden the already stressed woman. Now though, with the blonde defender that was here, taking care of you in every aspect, not letting you suffer alone, you figured that if it always led to this, that you’d take the lonely days as a childhood in stride in every universe, as long as she ended up in your life.

And as you both finally settled down for a movie, fever waned down enough for it to be considered mild, nearly non-existent, fingers just barely intertwining in the large gap between your two bodies, you let the tiredness in your body settle, the love you had for the other girl calming your anxiety of being stressed, bringing you peace. 

You knew you were lucky, the way Leah knew you so well. How she decided to visit even though you’d be fine alone. How she sensed to bring you food and take care of you, well aware you could manage by yourself but not wanting you to. How she knew to visit, even though you were hesitant to ask. You dearly hoped that this would be your life for a long time, not the sickness but the love, hoping it could grow, the flowers of it creating a garden in your hearts. 

Yawning, you squeezed Leah’s hands three times, a silent ‘i love you’, as you let her presence lull you to sleep, body sated with food and love, just rest left to do. Eyes closing, you silently appreciated her love as she tucked you in, unaware of your half-awake state. By the time the tiredness overtook you, you knew that you’d wholeheartedly do anything for the blonde, just like she had done for you, wanting to be the one she took care of for the rest of her life, wanting to be the one who got to take care of her, to make her smile, to love her to ends of the universe and back. 

Smiles on the both of your faces, the two of you fell asleep partway through the movie, hands slowly itching towards the other, bodies slightly tangling, puffs of breaths in the increasingly smaller space between you two as your limbs found each other, your face eventually tucking into the crook of her neck, her arms wrapping around you. 

Maybe, just maybe, being wasn’t that terrible after all. Not when you had her to take care of you, to love you, to stay when you were too shy to ask.

(And lucky enough for you, you very much got the chance to shower her in as much, if not more love when she inevitably, shockingly, somehow magically, got sick only a few days later. Wonder how that happened…)

[russellsppttemplates]

finn and Max being insufferable because they are both sick at the same time

Cw: sickness

It began when Max picked Finn up from nursery, "his teacher warned there was a bug going around his classroom, a few of the kids didn't come in today because of it", he explained as he set his shoes aside along with the rest of his clothes he had worn throughout the day, grabbing the pyjamas he has texted you to have ready when they got home.

Surely enough, in the early hours in the morning, you were woken up by sounds of coughing and, checking to see that it wasn't your husband, you got up and went to check Finn's bedroom, seeing your little boy sitting up in bed, holding his favourite dinosaur teddy and coughing a lot, "hey, love, are you not feeling well?", you asked softly, sitting next to him and feeling for temperature on his warm neck.

"I don't feel good, mama", he muttered, "my throat hurts, too", he complained, rubbing the skin while you kissed his forehead, "Mama is going to get the medicine box, okay? I'll be right back", you noted, not wanting him to think you were leaving him for the night.

When you came back, you checked his temperature before correcting the dosage of medicine on the tiny syringe, "I know it doesn't taste the best, but it's going to make you feel better, I promise", you attempted, your poorly little boy not even resisting it too much as he opened his mouth to take the liquid in.

"Are you two okay? I only noticed you weren't in the bed now", you heard Max croak, his voice raspy and not only from sleep, "Finn has got a fever and his throat hurts", you added, "looks like we didn't miss the bug after all", you shrugged, looking at your husband in the lighting coming from the lamp, "you don't look to good either, Max".

"I don't feel that great", he chuckled, "I think I ate something that didn't settle well", he squinted, "go back to bed and rest, love. I think I'll spend the night here with him", you soflty asked, seeing Max approach you two to kiss Finn's head, "get well soon buddy, papa is going to rest for a little bit and hopefully we will be good as new tomorrow", he said, kissing your shoulder and walking back to your shared bedroom.

By the time the morning arrived, with Finn sleeping on your chest, you could hear Max struggling, "I think I've caught whatever he as, too", Max groaned as he sat in bed, "my body aches, my throat has something in it", he complained. Checking for his temperature, you handed him the meds, "come on, take them", you threatened, "Finn is going very well at taking his medications, so you, a grown up, should be able to do that just fine!".

Leaving Finn with Max in your bed, you went downstairs to prepare some chicken soup, hoping to make your boys feel better. When you arrived back in the room, Finn was asleep on Max's chest, your husband brushing his tiny locks, "he finally fell asleep after we watched some cartoons", he whispered, "are you feeling better?", you asked.

"I feel like this is the worst sickness I've ever had", he groaned, making you chuckle at his dramatic antics. You had seen him bent over a toilet while a doctor prescribed medicine for a stomach bug during race weekend, so you knew he was just being a big baby.

"You will be fine, both of you", you reasoned, "I have some warm soup, cuddles to give and what I hope is a good immune system so I won't be next", you smiled, opening the covers so you could join your boys.

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[whumpback-wail]

03 - More Questions than Answers

Trial by Fire (Wriothesley x Reader) - TW/CW in masterlist

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Her hair seems longer spread around her pillow like this.

Wriothesley mused, his thumb and index finger playing with her locks. After (y/n)'s panic attack, he was told that it's better to sit somewhere she can see him, and to have the lights on. The next time she wakes up, he would be able to ground and reassure her that she's no longer in danger.

His eyes watched the curve of her nose, and the lashes that twitched ever so slightly as she slowly regained consciousness. He stroked comforting circles along the baby hair that grows close to her forehead.

His heart seemed to skip a beat when he saw her eyes slowly open, blinking a few times before her eyes focused on him. She has such beautiful eyes, he mused to himself, but then felt a pang of hurt when she involuntarily flinched from him.

"Good morning, (y/n)."

"Wrio-" (y/n) coughed

Wriothesley grabbed the glass of water on the bedside and helped her drink.

After he laid her back down, (y/n) was dazedly blinking at him, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

"A-am I dead?" (y/n) started, looking down at her body which was tucked underneath the blanket, a hand that wasn't held down by the IV went to touch her face, 

"Is this.. real?"

He took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. "You're alive (y/n), and this is real. You're safe with me now, no one's gonna hurt you anymore, not on my watch."

(y/n) nodded, as if still processing his words.

Wriothesley wanted so badly to gather her in his arms and kiss her on her lips. She was all bandaged up, and her hair stuck up on some areas due to the pillow, but in his eyes she had never looked more pretty. He cleared her throat. The nurses would be against such actions, for fear that too much physical contact would trigger another panic attack.

"I should get the nurse, tell her you're awake." He stood up, lightly squeezing her hand. She only nodded, still eyeing him as if he would suddenly disappear into thin air.

Soon enough, the nurse came in. It was a middle aged woman with grey hair. She smiled at (y/n), "good afternoon, my name is Komaki, can you tell me your name?"

A pause.

1102.

"I'm... (y/n)"

Nurse Komaki smiled hearing her response, her eyes glued on her charts, "how old are you?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"Where are you right now?"

(y/n) paused and looked around. She could clearly see her room now that the lights are on. While it was clearly a hospital, it was not the same one as... wherever it was with doctor Arderne. She shivered.

"I-in a hospital?"

"Which city?"

(y/n)'s eyes locked with Wriothesley's, who had been silently watching from the doorway. He gave her an encouraging smile.

"Fontaine I think."

Nurse Komaki smiled, "very good!"

Turning to Wriothesley, she nodded to him. "I'll keep checking her memory, and I'll need to do a physical examination of her vitals and wounds. If you don't mind, sir?" She tugged at the privacy curtains around her bed. Wriothesley got the message.

"I'll go uh... walk around." He nodded at nurse Komaki, and promptly left.

(y/n) is awake at last. A new wave of nervousness swept over him. He was almost afraid of the results of her checks. What if she lost her memories? Her feelings for him and his for her? What if she had no recollection of the time they spent together? Chlorinde and Aether still couldn't find her vision aside from the metal bit, so what if...

He pushed the thoughts out of his head. In any case, he has some important matters to attend to.

• • •

Wriothesley rolled his shoulders, feeling a bit sore from sleeping on the couch for multiple nights in a row. He stayed there despite the urges from everyone, telling him to go home and sleep in his bed, only leaving occasionally to help with the investigation and get a quick shower. He didn’t mind the hospital meals. As long as it nourished him, he didn't care what food was served. The tea, however, was terrible, and he started to miss his office in the Fortress of Meropide.

Walking briskly, he found himself standing before Monsieur Neuvilette’s office doors, which he promptly pushed open. Neuvilette, who was seated behind his desk, nodded towards him in greeting, along with Navia, who Neuvilette hired to help in the investigation.

“So you had updates?” Wriothesley skipped the pleasantries, noticing the two’s somber expressions. He sat on the unoccupied chair beside Navia.

“Yes.” Navia handed him a file.

“We went back to the building where (y/n) was kept. As we all guessed, it was a facility used for human experimentation, under Dr Arderne.”

Wriothesley winced at the name. How could he not notice anything about the man? Arderne has been under his nose all this time in Meropide, that is… until he escaped and took (y/n) with him. But even so, he was a great Doctor while he served his sentence in Meropide, he was in his best behaviour that Wriothesley overlooked him.

Neuvilette leaned forward, “We also found some tapes and files on the things they do there. They have files for everyone, including (y/n).”

This made Wriothesley frown. “What was in it?”

Neuvilette and Navia shared a knowing look with each other, before turning to Wriothesley with sympathetic looks. Neuvilette gestured at the file handed to Wriothesley, “Hers was not complete, some data were taken by the accused party. But in general, they did… a lot of experimentation on her. Something no one should have to endure.”

Wriothesley opened the file and flipped through the papers, the voice of Neuvilette and Navia sinking to the background as he read through the pages.

Subject 1102.

Log 01

Subject 1102 is aggressive, and would not stop fighting the doctors. Despite the restraints used, Subject 1102 refused to take any treatment from the facility. She will be subject to two weeks in the padded room with one meal per two days to treat her aggression.

Treat. He knew it was another word for “to break her spirit”. Wriothesley gritted his teeth and continued.

Log 09

Subject 1102 was severely weakened after the padded room, but still refused to cooperate. Dr Arderne now personally handles her. He reports that for a higher chance of success on vision tests, the subject has to be physically weakened-

• • •

Returning to the hospital  his head swam with the new information. Navia said she will continue to investigate  but they would also need information from (y/n) and the doctors.

Damn the missing files.

He swore to himself that he would get to the bottom of this, hopefully without the need to ask (y/n) herself.

First he spoke with Nurse Komaki, who told him (y/n) didn't seem to have any brain damage, at least not on her memories. She thought this was weird considering how (y/n)'s vision was missing, normally people with their visions taken would lose their memories, their sense of self, and their drive to achieve what they wished for in the first place.

Other than that, her physical wounds were healing nicely. The melusine healers had done a great job at helping her recover.

He thanked Komaki, and proceeded to walk towards her room. Where he knew his fiancé was probably, hopefully, awaiting his return.

(y/n) wanted to go home. She never liked hospitals, and after what… happened, she felt herself hate it even more. She felt constantly on edge, especially after Nurse Komaki left to check on her other patients. The nurse did not say anything to her about her results, but the puzzled look on her face says a lot. Something is not quite right. Wriothesley was not back yet, but she knew he will return, right? She could trust him. If he said that she’s safe, and that this wasn’t a dream, then she should be okay, right? The walls felt like it was closing in on her.

It’s okay, youre safe now, breathe (y/n), breathe.

Despite her efforts, she felt panic rising. The feeling of the sheets against her skin felt too much. The ticking of the clock too loud. Why are the walls so white? Everything looked too bright. Pain. Pain. Pain. No more please- she couldn't let her thoughts drift back there-

The door opened, and Wriothesley’s figure appeared promptly.

(y/n) was not sure what expression she was making, but Wriothesley’s smile morphed into concern.

“(y/n), are you okay?”

“I- I’m safe, right? You trust this hospital?”

Wriothesley was instantly by her side, “May I touch you (y/n)?”

(y/n) hesitantly reached out and pulled his sleeve closer to her. Taking this as a sign, he brought her closer for a hug.

“You’re safe now, (y/n), your room is watched over by Navia’s men, remember? Spina di Rosula. They are very capable, and they will not leave their post unless told otherwise.”

“They’re not going to get me again right?”

Wriothesley kissed the top of her head. “Never. I’ll make sure you stay by my side, sweetheart.”

(y/n) froze. Sweetheart.

Deep breaths. You’re safe, it’s just Wriothesley, it’s not-

“Rise and shine, sweetheart” a kick to her ribs, “you’ve stayed in this boring old padded room long enough, don’t you think? Ready to cooperate with me now?”

“...Go to hell, Arderne.”

“Looks like you still have some fight left in you huh?” Arderne bent down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, "maybe some electro-slime therapy would work better-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" (y/n) screamed, her leg connected with Wriothesey's stomach, making him stumble backward, wincing. Hearing the outburst, the two men stationed outside burst into the room. Wriothesley signalled to them that there is no danger  and the two went back outside. He made a mental note to thank Navia again later.

"(y/n)," he groaned, slowly making his way back to her, "it's not real, you're safe."

He watched her helplessly as she continued to hyperventilate, her eyes glued on to jim but ay the same time, seeing nothing. She' having another flashback, but why? Was it something he said?

"Sweetheart-"

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled further into a ball, shivering.

"I- Please no more. I can't-"

It finally clicked. So they had been calling her sweetheart there huh… Wriothesley felt anger bubble up. It was how he always called her, a term of endearment. How dare they taint that.

He took another step closer, "(y/n) please come back to me. It's Wriothesley. You're in Fontaine's hospital, guarded by the Spina di Rosula. You're safe here with me."

Blue eyes met hers, and he noticed how her eyes seemed to slowly focus back on him. He took that as a good sign.

"Yeah, no one will hurt you anymore. I promise."

A few seconds of silence.

"...Wriothesley?"

"Yes darling, it's me."

"I'm… what?"

"You had a panic attack (y/n), you were screaming," Wriothesley took another step. "May I come closer? Please?"

(y/n) silently opened her arms for a hug  and Wriothesley took the invitation as a yes. "I'm sorry Wrio, I don't know what happened." she mumbled against his chest.

"Sshh don't be," he kissed her forehead, "it' not your fault okay? Your brain is just having some horrible flashbacks."

A few moments of silence fell over the two, with Wriothesley rubbing comforting circles on her shoulder.

(y/n) hesitated. "can you… stay with me for the night? Like this?"

"Of course, anything for you, love." Wriothesley shifted them both so that they both could fit comfortably in the small hospital bed. Rules be damned. He wanted to make sure (y/n) feels safe through the night.

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(´-ω-`( _ _ )

A/N

A long one this chapter, it was one of those moments where I start writing with a plan A in mind but the characters decided plan B. For now it's just everyone being confused, but there will be more answers in the next chapter!

Taglist: @almosteggs @quuela @tempest1art @yamanaka13-blog @arseneumbra @kimmeaahh @cottonfluffs @randomidk-123 @applejayee @keigo-hawks-takami-simp @mechanicalbeat1 @aribae14 @bforbiblio @supernerdycookietrashblr

[moonmeg]

Pre-confession, Robyn goes to pick Micah up to go to school together as he's been doing for years. It's part of his routine. Sometimes he buys little snacks for both on his way. One morning Breena informs him that Micah caught the common mold and can't attend school. Worried for Micah and sad that he has to walk alone, Robyn tells Breena to wish Micah a quick recovery. He himself was running late a bit already and couldn't stay to wish it personally.

Breena goes on to give an easy breakfast and a remedy potion to Micah. He eyes the potion cautiously. His mother confirms his theory of it being his grandfather's home remedy. Disgusting in taste and smell but effective. He tries to protest drinking it but it's no use. He grimaces at the taste and comments that if it was edible, even death would taste better. His mother goes through his hair, brushing the strands that fall into his face away to check his temperature. No fever.

"Was Robyn here?", he asks.

"Aye. He wishes ye a quick recovery."

She fixes his blanket and pillows before telling him to eat a little and rest. If anything happens, he's to send Lissa to fetch her or Neil. Micah hums in agreement.

A few hours later, there's a knocking on his window. His curtains are closed. He doesn't know who would be knocking there but Lissa jumps to open them. The sunlight blinds him at first and he only sees a blur but then he sees... Robyn?

He draws a spell circle to open the window. Robyn climbs in with a "hi" and almost trips over the carpet.

"Stealthy as always.", Micah comments dryly.

"It's the carpet.", Robyn argued.

"Course it is."

"Brushing my not-so-elegant entry aside-"

"Could ye close the window first, please?"

"Right, sorry."

Robyn turns and does so. He draws the curtain close a little before he continues. "My stealthy entry aside, how are you?", he steps closer to Micah's bed and lightly stumbles over the carpet again.

"Don't come close to me. Dinna want ye to catch this shite too."

"That wasn't my question.", Robyn grins and deliberately ignores what he was just told as he sits down on the bed.

Micah stares in disbelief for a moment. He shuffles away in the opposite direction of where Robyn is sitting to create the distance his best friend didn't seem to intend keeping.

"If ye're sick next week, it's yer own fault."

"I'll be fine.", Robyn chuckles, "Now answer my simple question."

"Eh typical common moldy.", Micah shrugs, "Can't really breathe through either nostril, coughing a bit, ye know the rest."

Robyn eyes Micah attentively. He is pale, more than usual, yet his face seems tinted red.

"Did you eat?", he asked.

"Mhm."

Robyn does the same as Breena before: he brushes the red curls from Micah's forehead aside to place his hand on it for a few seconds. Micah shudders lightly at the touch. Robyn's hand is so cold. It has something relieving about it after the first contact. He's been feeling too warm since this morning and the cool of Robyn's hand feels quite pleasant. He closes his eyes for the moment.

"You're hot-WARM! You're too warm, I mean.", Robyn removes his hand from Micah's forehead, "Are you sure you don't have a fever?"

Micah hums a "mh-mh" in disagreement this time.

"Did your mother check for that?"

"Mhm."

"How long is that ago?"

"This morning. Shortly after ye left."

"That's six hours!", Robyn exclaims with a hush of worry in his voice.

He looks around the room for a piece of cloth until he found something adequate enough. He takes out his notebook and rips a piece of paper out. He jumps to the page where he had copied those glyphs from his father's research to trace them. Their design is still rather new to him and aside from the fact they're all circles he barely rememberes anything else about them. Robyn activates the small ice glyph with a tap and wraps the cloth around it.

"Don't keep it on your head too long, that might undercool you too much. No longer than a few minutes.", Robyn instructs as he places the cool cloth on Micah's forehead. He looks down and catches Micah's tired eyes. Even in this circumstance they were so pretty. He was so pretty still. Robyn smiles softly but is quickly drawn out of his admiration again.

"Oh! Almost forgot why I came here in the first place!"

He rummages about in his school bag, obviously searching something. Micah watches perplexed until Robyn finally pulls out a small bag of flakes and a little glass container with a liquid inside. He places the items on Micah's night stand with an explanation: "I bought flakes this morning for us to share. Your favorite. Since you're sick though I kept them for later. Also a little remedy from potion class-"

"Ye made remedies today?"

"No, the task was something completely different but I thought I'd use the opportunity to make you one! The teacher didn't like it but what else is new?"

Micah prepped up on his elbow, took the container and inspected it a little. He removed the lid and instead of a bitter smell remedies usually have about them, this one was... sweeter. At least he thought to identify a sweeter smell through his blocked nostrils.

"It's not a high quality thing but it should help a little. I tried to cover the taste with some berries but I'm not sure how much that succeeded. I just hope it's helpful to your recovery somehow."

Micah looked up at Robyn and smiled uttering a "Thank you. Ye're so sweet."

Robyn chuckled again.

"I just want you to be back in school quicker."

"Did I miss a lot?", Micah put the container back and lied down on his pillow. He turned his body towards Robyn and looked at him with half closed eyes, listening in to what Robyn started telling.

He only understood half of what Robyn was talking about, his body aching for more sleep but he let Robyn talk. He loved listening to his voice. Listening to Robyn was nice and comfortable... calming. Even with the cracks here and there. Micah had no consciousness of time. He had no idea how long Robyn had been talking already, he simply allowed himself to bathe in the bliss.

"Mikey?", Robyn asked softly.

"Hm?"

"Should I go?"

His eyes open again, ripped out of his calm.

"No! No, please, stay!", Micah reaches to grab Robyn's wrist hastily.

"You're tired. I'm keeping you from resting with my blabbering."

"I'm listening! Ye're not keeping me from anything!"

"Micah..."

"Keep talking! As much as ye want! I like it when ye do."

Robyn yields and continues on with a sigh. His talking is a lot softer now. Just above a whisper in volume. Micah tries to keep his eyes open at first but the common mold and the fever has taken most of his energy. After a few minutes Robyn feels the grip on his wrist loosen. He looks over to Micah to check and sees him sleeping. He smiles, squeezes his hand and rises from the bed.

"Come on, Snowball. Time to go home.", he whispers and exits the same way he came in. He glances over his shoulder one more time to check on Micah and then he's gone.

[a-sleepy-raven]

Hi! And welcome. :3 I have a request for you - can I ask for a fic where reader takes care of Leon when he's sick? Fluffy pls. :3 Thank you!

Hey there! Thank you so much for your request, I love writing stuff like this, though I have to say I'm a bit nervous about sharing my first RE fic. Hope you enjoy! <3

(established relationship, post RE4)

Baby, it'll be alright - Leon Kennedy x gn!reader (fluff)

When you come home, you’re surprised to find Leon curled up on the couch, fast asleep and buried beneath one, no, two blankets. There’s a half empty cup on the coffee table in front of him – chamomile, if you’re not mistaken. And as far as you know, Leon hates chamomile with a burning passion. He can’t even stand the smell of it. That, paired with the fact that he fell asleep in broad daylight, can only mean one thing: His health hasn’t gotten any better since you left the house this morning.

Well. At least, you’re prepared, you think to yourself as you set down the bags in your arms, careful not to make any noise because you don’t want to disturb Leon’s slumber. He has barely gotten any sleep last night, and you’re sure he must be absolutely exhausted.

As quietly as humanly possible, you start to unpack the groceries. Aside from a few essentials like coffee and toast, you have also stocked up on lemons, tissues, cough drops and lemons. (You also bought a tub of ice cream, but that one’s for you – your reward for taking care of your sick boyfriend who can be as stubborn as a mule, especially when it comes to his health. Wouldn’t be the first time that he insisted he was fine when, in fact, he was still feeling like garbage.)

A quiet groan that sounds like it’s coming from beneath that pile of blankets on the couch snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn around, your gaze meeting Leon’s. He looks terrible. The dark circles under his tired, red rimmed eyes are a sharp contrast to the pale, sallow tone of his skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and raspy. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” You make your way over to him, crouching down in front of the couch before you place your hand on his forehead. Beneath your palm, his skin feels burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He’s definitely running a fever. “Damn, Leon.”

“What kind of greeting is that, honey?”

“Shut up. You sound like you’ve been chain-smoking for at least ten years.” 

He suppresses a cough. “You really know how to make someone feel better.”

“Sorry.” You brush your hand through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Horrible.”

“My poor baby,” you say and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you want some tea? Or a glass of water? I also bought lemons – people say hot lemonade works wonders when you have a cold. I could make you some.”

“As long as it’s not chamomile, I really don’t care.”

“Hot lemonade it is, then.” You get up. “And in the meantime, you should gather your stuff,” you motion to the blankets and the pillows that definitely come from your bedroom, “and go back to bed. I don’t understand why you haven’t stayed there in the first place.”

“Yeah, well-“ Leon interrupts himself when he falls into yet another fit of coughing, forcing him to sit up. “God damnit,” he mumbles, then. His head hurts like hell, like it’s going to explode any second, and with every cough and every sneeze, it just seems to get worse. 

You rub his back. “Go to bed,” you order him, softly. “I’ll bring you some meds. And painkillers. You look like you need them.”

He sniffles. “Yeah. Thanks.”

* * * *

“Ta-da,” you say as you carefully set down the tray that’s loaded with two cups (one filled with hot lemonade you hope you haven’t messed up, the other with water), a bowl of ice cream (you don’t have the heart to not share it with Leon when he’s feeling so bad) and the meds you bought on your way back home from work. 

Leon sits up, relief written all over his face when you hand him the painkillers. A moment later, before you can even reach out for the glass of water, he has already swallowed one of the tiny pills. Then, he lets himself fall back into the pillows. “Thanks.”

“You survived Raccoon City and getting infected with some ancient parasite. Who would’ve guessed that a simple cold is all it takes to knock the famous Leon Kennedy flat out?” you tease as you sit down on the edge of the bed and reach out to caress his face. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle before he sinks back into the pillows because the world around him has started spinning. And he’s pretty sure it is not supposed to do that. Not like this, at least.

This goddamn cold. He can’t even say what annoys him more – the constant coughing, the terrible headache or the fact that all he wants to do is sleep. And although he knows that you don’t mind taking care of him, he can’t help but feel like a burden right now. You probably have a million other things to do, and yet, here you are, keeping him company and trying your best to nurse him back to health. If only he could find the right words to tell you how much he appreciates your efforts.

“Try to get some rest,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Sleep is the best medicine, after all.”

Leon hums in response. Sleep truly sounds like a wonderful idea.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He shakes his head. “Come here,” he mumbles, “please. Unless,” a coughing fit interrupts him before he can finish his sentence, and he takes a deep breath before continuing, “unless you’re afraid to pick up a cold, too.”

You let out an indignant huff. “You’ll need more than a few germs to scare me away, Leon. You should know that by now,” you say as you lie down next to him and make yourself comfortable. With a content sigh, Leon snuggles up to you and drapes his arm over your stomach. You kiss the top of his head. “Want me to cuddle you to sleep?”

“Hm… yeah.” 

A smile flashes over your face. That’s exactly the answer you have expected, and so you wrap your arms around him, carefully burying one of your hands in his hair while the other one traces invisible patterns on his back. “Sweet dreams, Leon.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider liking, reblogging and/or leaving some feedback. I'd really appreciate the support. 🥰

[greyfongschemmenti]

This Is How It Feels | Part 2

Pairing: Regina Mills x reader

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 2k

Part 2

The morning light filtered through the curtains of the room you were given at Granny's, stirring you awake from a restless night's sleep. Dreams of the mayor, Regina, lingered in your mind, intertwining with the unfamiliar surroundings of Storybrooke. Pushing the covers aside, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your thoughts still consumed by the chance encounter from the previous evening.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, you made your way downstairs to the diner. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you as you entered, and you took a seat at the counter, waiting to speak with Granny about your plans for the day.

"Morning, dear," Granny said with a warm smile as she approached. "Sleep well?"

You nodded, returning her smile as you place your jacket on the chair as you take a seat. "Yes, thank you. Granny, do you know when Billy’'s shop will open? I need to get my car looked at." you ask while Granny places an empty mug in front of you and pours some coffee for you. Granny wiped her hands on her apron before replying. "Billy usually opens up around 9. It's not far from here. I called Billy and told him where to get your car. It should be there by the time you’re done eating."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for her hospitality. As you sipped your coffee, your mind wandered back to Regina and the peculiar feeling you had when your eyes met hers. There was something about her, something familiar yet enigmatic, that intrigued you.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed Ruby approach until she spoke. "Morning! Breakfast?"

You looked up, offering her a grateful smile. "Yes, please. Some cinnamon apple crepes….and, Ruby, so how are things in Storybrooke?"

Ruby wrote down your order before responding. "Oh, Storybrooke is a quaint little town. Nothing much to do here."

“Idk sometimes nothing can be everything" you mutter into your cup as you take another sip.

���What do you mean?” Ruby looks at you with confusion on her face. You look at her embarrassed that she heard you before letting out a small cough, “life in a big city with everything at your disposal and so many people. You never feel at peace. Everything is always fast paced and you always feel like you can’t catch a breath. Even though there’s so much. It still feels lonely because it’s a bunch of strangers. Here everyone knows each other. Simplicity can be a gift sometimes” you kindly explain with a tiny hint of sadness behind your eyes. 

“Well there's more to this town than meets the eye. Just keep your wits about you." Ruby gives you a mischievous smile before putting down a plate of your breakfast.

Before you could inquire further, the door to the diner swung open, and in walked Regina, looking as composed and regal as ever. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to her presence once again.

"Good morning, Mayor," Granny greeted, her tone respectful yet tinged with familiarity.

Regina offered a polite nod in return before taking a seat at the counter, her gaze briefly meeting yours before she turned her attention to Granny. "The usual, please."

As Granny went to prepare Regina's order, you hesitated for a moment before gathering the courage to speak. "Good morning, Regina."

Regina glanced at you, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening into a small smile. "Good morning, y/n. How did you sleep?"

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you in her presence. "Better than expected, thank you. And yourself?"

Regina's smile widened slightly. "Quite well, thanks." She glanced down to your breakfast “Apples? My favorite” she softly commented then meets your eyes which you meet with a warm smile. “Is that so? Well hopefully these crepes are up to your standard”

The exchange was brief, but it left you with a lingering sense of warmth and curiosity. As Regina's order arrived, the both of you ate in a comfortable silence. After paying for the service you bid Regina and Granny farewell before taking your coffee to go and heading out the door, walking out with a fluttering heart and a multitude of questions swirling in your mind.

The quaint town of Storybrooke was unlike any place you had encountered before. Its streets seemed to hum with an air of mystery, and its inhabitants carried themselves with a sense of quiet knowing. As you finished your coffee and waited for Billy’s shop to open, you couldn't help but observe the unique charm of the town.

Finally, you arrived at Billy’s shop, a quaint little garage. The sign above the door creaked gently in the breeze, and the scent of oil and gasoline filled the air. Pushing open the door, you stepped inside, the bell above jingling softly to announce your arrival.

The interior of the shop was cluttered yet cozy, with tools hanging from the walls and cars in various states of repair scattered throughout. At the center of it all stood Billy, the town's resident mechanic, his grease-stained overalls a testament to his expertise.

"Morning," Billy greeted you with a friendly smile, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached. "What can I do for you today?"

You explained how your car had broken down at the entrance of town and how you were in need of repairs. Billy listened attentively, nodding along as you spoke.

"Right, Granny told me about your car," he said with a grin. "I'll take a look at it for you, see what's going on."

As Billy got to work inspecting your car, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards the people of Storybrooke. Despite being a stranger in their midst, they had welcomed you with open arms, offering their help without hesitation.

As you waited for the repairs to be completed, you found yourself struck by the sense of community that permeated the town. From Granny's diner to Billy's mechanic shop, it seemed like each person played a vital role in the fabric of Storybrooke.

Before long, Billy emerged from beneath the hood of your car, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Looks like it's a transmission issue," he said, wiping his hands on his overalls. "Unfortunately I don’t have the part. It'll take two weeks."

“Two weeks?!” you exclaimed as your eyes widened.

“I’m sorry but we have limited supply here at the shop, but I promise to fix it as fast as possible” he gave you a sympathetic smile. 

You nod appreciatively “I appreciate the help, thanks Billy. Here's my contact in case there's an update”

–

The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets as you strolled leisurely, taking in the sights and sounds around you. The buildings, though modest, exuded a timeless elegance, each one telling a story of its own. From the bustling market square to the quiet alleyways, Storybrooke seemed to hold secrets in every corner. It seems like it was stuck in time. 

Lost in thought, you rounded a corner and nearly collided with a young boy who was engrossed in a comic book. You stumbled back, apologizing profusely, only to realize that the boy's eyes were still glued to the pages of his comic, seemingly unfazed by the near miss.

"Sorry about that," you said, offering a sheepish smile.

The boy finally looked up, his eyes widening in recognition. "Hey, you're new here, right?" he asked, a spark of curiosity lighting up his features.

You nodded, relieved that the encounter hadn't ended in disaster. "Yeah, I just arrived in town last night."

The boy introduced himself as Henry, and as you struck up a conversation, you couldn't help but be charmed by his enthusiasm for the town and its quirks. He seemed to know everyone and everything about Storybrooke, his knowledge rivaling that of a seasoned historian.

“Huh so what’s special about Storybrooke, Henry?” you smile as you look around at the scenery before looking back at the boy. 

“It’s special, it's full of magic.Do you believe in magic” he says brightly 

“Well…yeah. What’s not to believe” you give a small laugh and can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. 

As you chatted, a woman approached, her stride confident and purposeful. Henry's face lit up at the sight of her, and he quickly introduced you to his mother, Emma Swan.

Emma's warm smile put you at ease as she rested her hand on Henry’s shoulder, and as the three of you continued to talk, The conversation flowed easily, and before you knew it, you found yourself discussing your shared love of comics. Henry's eyes sparkled with excitement as he eagerly showed you his collection, his favorite being a series about the mighty Thor.

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, reminiscing about your own childhood days spent lost in the pages of comic books. As you and Henry bonded over your mutual admiration for superheroes.

As the conversation flowed effortlessly between you, Henry, and Emma, the sun climbed higher in the sky, signaling the approach of lunchtime. Emma suggested grabbing a bite to eat at Granny's diner, and you readily agreed, eager to continue the newfound camaraderie.

Entering the diner, you were greeted by the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals and the friendly chatter of the locals. Finding a cozy booth by the window, you settled in as Granny herself bustled over to take your orders.

As plates of hearty comfort food arrived at the table, the conversation picked up where it left off, with Henry excitedly recounting his favorite moments from his beloved comic books. You listened intently, occasionally interjecting with your own memories and insights, as Emma smiled on fondly, turns her attention to you “so what’s got here in storybrooke?”

“Honestly I'm not sure. I just remember driving then all of a sudden a storm came and my car hydroplaned then broke down right outside of town." As you continue with the story midway through the meal, the door to the diner swung open, and a regal figure stepped inside. It was Regina and watched as she walked straight towards your table. 

"Hello, Henry," Regina greeted her son with a soft smile, her gaze briefly flickering to meet yours before returning to Henry. "It's time to head home."

“Is Henry your son?” you look at Regina then briefly at Emma and see their grief glance before Emma answers “yes… he’s both our sons…it’s a long story…” Henry's face fell slightly at the prospect of leaving, but he nodded obediently, knowing better than to argue with his mother. As he gathered his things and prepared to leave, you couldn't help but notice the subtle tension that lingered in the air between Regina and Emma.

“Oh no worries. It’s not my business” you offer and give her a smile. 

With a polite nod, Regina turned to leave, her hand on Henry’s back as she held his bookbag. Her heels clicked against the floor as she made her exit. But before she disappeared from sight, she glanced back over her shoulder, locking eyes with you in a brief yet charged moment that sent a shiver down your spine. It was only for a heartbeat, but in that fleeting exchange, you sensed a spark of something more.

As Regina disappeared from view, you turned back to Emma, the memory of that shared moment lingering in the air like an echo of possibility. And as you resumed your lunchtime conversation, as Emma kindly explained her unique shared custody of Henry with Regina. You kindly nod in understanding. “That’s quite the story” you let out a small laugh and rub the back of your neck. 

“Everyone has a story” Emma offered and you nod agreeing “it’s just waiting to be written” you joined in and smiled. You can already feel something special here and eager to learn more.