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ikaroux · 10 months ago

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How are they with their pregnant partner? Neuvillette

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/companion is ecstatic. But how will he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader, NSFW.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Warning: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Neuvillette.

Note: This chapter contains Fontaine story spoilers. I advise you to finish Archon's quest before starting to read.

Ps: Sorry for my long absence, I've had a lot of health problems since the start of the 2023 school year...

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.

Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.

Part 5 Tighnari.

Part 6 Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus

Part 7 Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

1. The moon was lighting up the night sky when you reached the door of Neuvillette's office. Silently, you gazed at him from the doorway, waiting patiently for him to take his eyes off his work and meet yours. Knowing that he had already noted your presence, his dragon senses being far more acute than those of mortals, you found a particular charm in watching him devote himself in earnest to the last files of the day.

"It's getting late, my love. "

At these words, Neuvillette raised his reptilian-glinted eyes to you, a tender, affectionate smile lighting up his face.

"You should have waited for me at home. I get worried when you walk alone at this hour."

Dropping his pen, he stood up and walked over to join you. Arriving at your height, he leaned over to place a soft kiss on your lips.

"I know, but... there was something very important I had to tell you. And as lately you've tended to neglect your wife for your work..."

Your words floated through the air, laden with gentle rebuke and nervous anticipation. As you spoke, Neuvillette, with obvious tenderness, gently pushed a lock of your hair back behind your ear, his gesture emphasizing the closeness and deep affection he felt for you. His attention was entirely focused on you, as if he were trying to read in your eyes the importance of what you had to reveal to him.

With a gentle gesture, you took Neuvillette's hand, guiding his palm until it lay flat on your stomach. A silence fell, heavy with anticipation, as Neuvillette watched your gesture, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. Then, slowly, a flash of understanding lit up his gaze. He sensed, through the touch of his hand, the subtle but undeniable aura of a new life beginning to form within you, the existence of a little being yet to be born. A dragon.

Your husband's heart raced as he finally realized what was growing inside you. Neuvillette, usually in control, was overcome by a wave of emotions: surprise, happiness, a touch of anxiety in the face of the unknown, but above all, a deep and unconditional love for you and for this new life you were carrying.

Without a word, his other hand joined the first, as if gently but firmly enveloping the precious treasure you now shared. His gaze, filled with infinite tenderness, lifted to yours.

In this moment of shared intimacy, words seemed superfluous, replaced by tender caresses and kisses, heralding the start of a new chapter in your lives together.

2. Neuvillette's draconic nature permeated every fiber of his being, making him extremely protective and territorial, especially where you were concerned. His perception of mortals had certainly evolved after the fall of the hydro archon, but his role as supreme judge of the Fontaine court left him little room for easy trust, especially when it came to unpredictable and often cruel human nature.

Your pregnancy only exacerbated this aspect of his personality. The prospect of becoming a father, of protecting and looking after an even more vulnerable being, amplified his protective instincts. Even when you remarked to him, perhaps hoping to mitigate this tendency or channel it in a way that seemed more appropriate...

But you soon realized that it was difficult to change the profound nature of a dragon over a thousand years old...

3. The evolution of your pregnancy revealed hitherto unknown and deeply endearing aspects of Neuvillette. This new facet manifests itself in a surprising way: a soft, soothing, purring-like sound emanates from him when he looks at you or caresses you gently. This sound, unexpected from a dragon, proved to you that he was happy and at peace in your presence…

4. Neuvillette's trust in the protection of you and your child during his extended absences was a privilege he bestowed on very few people. Clorinde and Wriothesley stood out as the pillars of this trust, each with their own role and ability to look after you. Wriothesley, despite his responsibilities anchoring him to the Meropide fortress, was a devoted protector whose friendship with Neuvillette and you never wavered.

The Melusines also held a special place in Neuvillette's esteem. Their joy and zeal in protecting you and your unborn child was not only a testament to their loyalty to Neuvillette, but also a recognition of the importance of your role by his side.

5. The relationship you forged with Furina was marked by an affection and trust that transcended the past of the former archon of Fontaine. Her daily visits became special moments, when the joy of sharing sweets and laughter brightened your day. Discussions about the baby's name, possible traits, or who he or she might most resemble, were moments of pure complicity.

The arrival of Neuvillette, which often marked the end of these afternoons of sweetness and laughter, added another dimension to the family picture. His reaction to the mess left by Furina, oscillating between severity and underlying affection, reflected his deep concern for your well-being. His ability to scold Furina without raising his voice, while reminding her of the importance of your rest, demonstrated a delicate balance between authority and tenderness. To you, this was undeniable proof that Neuvillette would be an exceptional father to your child.

6. During your pregnancy, you showed worrying symptoms of depression. With Neuvillette often absent during the day and sometimes even all night, he only became aware of your condition belatedly, when he found you in tears in the kitchen. Crouched against the cupboards, overwhelmed by deep sadness, you didn't immediately notice his return.

The sight of your distress deeply affected Neuvillette, who at first thought you'd been the victim of an assault by a local seeking revenge after being tried for his crimes by the Supreme Judge. However, he soon realized that your emotional state was largely influenced by pregnancy hormones, exacerbated by the fact that you were carrying a half-human, half-dragon child.

With a heavy heart in the face of your grief, Neuvillette has vowed to stay by your side as much as possible, adjusting his schedule to be more present by your side. He has taken steps to ensure that he can spend weekends with you, actively engaging in preparations to welcome the baby into your life. "Don't cry anymore mon amour. From now on, I'll stay by your side."

7. As night fell, it became customary for you and Neuvillette to embrace tenderly on the living-room sofa. Positioned comfortably across his legs, with one of his arms warmly embracing you, Neuvillette would take pleasure in reading aloud to you one of those sentimental novels you so cherished. Neuvillette's soft, melodious voice enveloped you in a feeling of well-being, as you gently brushed your rounded belly, lulled by the sound of his reading.

Each time you dozed off against him, he cherished these moments deeply, placing kisses on your face as he whispered sweet nothings to you. Releasing his hand from the weight of the book she was holding, he gently slid it over you until it rested gently on your rounded belly. His tender, loving gestures, as he touched your skin, seemed to awaken a response in his child, who pressed himself against your belly, as if to draw closer to the warmth of his father...

8. The last few weeks of your pregnancy proved to be particularly trying, forcing you to spend most of your time in bed, suffering from intense back pain that made any movement painful. Aware of your condition, Neuvillette chose to take a few days off work to stay by your side, ensuring your well-being and safety.

The approach of childbirth was causing him growing anxiety. The idea of a human giving birth to the child of a sovereign dragon was unprecedented, and the absence of any references or testimonials to such a situation fueled his fears about the potential risks to you and the baby. This fear, which became almost palpable as the days passed, plunged him into a state of nervousness he had never experienced before.

Neuvillette had considered going to Natlan, hoping to find information or help to assist you during the birth. However, the idea of leaving you alone for several weeks was unbearable.

9. Neuvillette, faced with the unknown of this extraordinary situation, was overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions. Deep inside him, a tenacious hope persisted, that fate would preserve you and the child from any misfortune. The very idea of losing you, of seeing you torn from him too soon, was unbearable. With each passing day, he watched over you with redoubled attention, doing everything in his power to ensure your comfort and safety, while trying to conceal his own fears so as not to add to your stress.

As you waited, every shared moment took on priceless value, every smile, every tender gesture turned into a treasure trove of memories to cherish.

10. Your delivery turned out to be an ordeal of an intensity and complexity you'd never imagined, your cries and tears breaking your husband's heart. The pain and loss of blood plunged you into a state of vulnerability you'd never experienced before, causing you to lose consciousness on several occasions.

"It's going to be okay , mon amour, you're strong and brave. You'll make it. Just a little more effort and our child will soon be here with us."

Despite the fear and anxiety, Neuvillette's presence by your side was an unwavering pillar of support. His hand clasping yours, he enveloped you in his love and encouragement, his voice soft and reassuring.

The intervention of Baizhu, Liyue's doctor recommended by the traveler, was crucial. Thanks to his expertise and professionalism, he managed the complications with remarkable efficiency. Neuvillette, using his hydro authority, played an equally vital role, treating life-threatening wounds and using his powers to stabilize your condition. The synergy of their efforts was the determining factor in your survival in this bitter struggle.

The birth of your child, despite the circumstances, marked a moment of pure happiness and relief. When you heard his first cries, a sense of peace and fulfillment came over you, allowing you to finally surrender to rest, your exhausted mind and body taking refuge in sleep.

11. Neuvillette had delicately placed your child beside you, gently brushing your sweat-dampened hair, while his free hand gently enveloped his baby in a peaceful sleep. His gaze was lost in the infinite tenderness he felt for you, a wave of happiness and pride emanating from his whole being. How could he ever make the whole universe understand the beauty he saw in you? The fullness he felt watching you and his child, so serenely asleep under his protection? How could he articulate the immense joy of this deeply human experience of being part of a family? He, the sovereign hydro dragon, was discovering a new and profound humanity, all thanks to... Thanks to your presence in his life.

Somewhere in your dreams, you could hear the gentle sound of a purr...

12. Neuvillette will embody the figure of a father with an exceptionally gentle approach to education. Firm only when necessary, his child will be just like him. With a calm, collected and sometimes distant temperament, the child will learn the essential lessons of dragon heritage from his father. This transmission will be carried out with subtlety and wisdom, enabling the child to understand not only the value, but also the responsibility of his ancestry.

NSFW bonus:

The moment Neuvillette crossed the threshold of the house, returning from a grueling day at court, he found you fast asleep on the sofa, a soft light illuminating the room and a book resting carelessly on your belly, which was getting rounder by the day. He immediately realized that you'd been up most of the night waiting for him to return. Heaving a weary sigh, he shed his coat, gloves and scarf, then carefully placed your book on the table before lifting you gently into his arms. However, the mere touch of your husband, his warmth, his breath, his presence, was enough to awaken your senses. Blinking against his chest, a sigh of contentment escaped your lips as your gaze met his, imbued with a gentleness and warmth that contrasted so sharply with the man he was when you first met him.

"Ah, there you are at last, my dragon..." A tender smile lit up his face, as he adjusted your position so you could throw your arms around his neck, your lips seeking his in a burst of love.

"I asked you not to wait up for me. You need to rest... Why are humans so stubborn?" Your laughter, light and joyful, invited him to silence as you placed another kiss on his lips, which he received happily.

This one was deeper, more languorous. You needed him. Now... The absence of your dragon weighed so heavily on you that it aroused extravagant thoughts. Neuvillette could feel it... Your growing excitement knotting your belly and moistening that secret place between your thighs...

A rumble vibrated Neuvillette's chest as he deposited you on your bed, lips still linked, tongues struggling against each other for dominance. Your husband's instincts were stronger than anything, and since his companion wanted him so much, then he'd give her anything she wanted...

Who'd have thought it? Beneath this cool, aloof facade lay a passionate lover, expert in the art of thrilling the senses. Neuvillette loved to prepare you for him, burying his face tenderly between your thighs, his tongue fervently caressing your most intimate parts, while your fingers lost themselves with delight in his hair, leading you to heights of voluptuousness.

Dragons, creatures whose mating rituals were rare and dictated solely by the heat cycles of their females, contrasted sharply with humans when it came to sexuality. This discrepancy had initially confused Neuvillette, who couldn't understand why his physical reaction was so spontaneous at the sight of you. Besides, the fact that you were already pregnant should, in theory, have tempered his ardor during this period, shouldn't it? Why, then, did his desire for you intensify at the sight of your round belly? Your condition triggered a deep instinctive response in him...

To demand you. To make you his, even if you were already carrying his offspring...

His ardent thoughts set him ablaze, making him more passionate. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, claiming your body as his own. His tongue worked you ardently as his fingers explored your innermost recesses, seeking to make you shiver with pleasure. Your moans were a song to his ears, the sound of his name, his true name, slipping between your exquisite lips.

Her eager mouth seized your quivering clitoris, savoring it with exquisite sensuality, while her deft fingers guided you to ecstasy. Your pregnancy amplified your sensitivity, allowing your beloved to lead you with infinite tenderness to the gates of rapture. His phalanges guided you to the end of your orgasm, his mouth tenderly kissing the bulge of your belly. When he brushed his lips against your skin, it was with a gentleness and affection that contrasted with the real urges driving him.

"Darling, I need you... Please..."

Neuvillette, his heart pounding, took a deep breath to calm the ardors that consumed him, eager not to harm you or your child, even if this one was an unborn dragon.

With infinite gentleness, his hand lovingly caressed your body, his lips tracing a tender path from your belly to your breasts, which he covered with kisses and delicate sucks before moving up to your neck and finally your lips. His kiss, at first filled with tenderness, gradually became hot with passion. His teeth nibbled delicately at your bottom lip, begging for more, and when your mouth opened to offer him what he desired, his tongue tasted you with fervor, as if you were the most delicious food in this world.

When he finally unites with you, he takes great pleasure in contemplating you in your entirety. Although your state of pregnancy forces him to deviate from the postures he loves, he knows how to find ways of satisfying his devouring thirst for you. Often, with his back arched in a throbbing motion, he will watch with rapt attention the undulations of your body as his hips fall delicately against yours, eagerly taking in the soft moans that enchant his sensitive hearing. His silver hair cascaded gracefully over you, sublimating the beauty of your beloved dragon. They allowed you to tenderly draw him to you, once again uniting your lips in a passionate kiss.

Neuvillette, moved by a passionate ardor, didn't stay attached to your lips for long, the rhythm of his hips intensifying as your orgasm approached. It was so easy to read you, he thought, as your expressive features and burning moans betrayed the intoxication that overwhelmed you. With a movement tinged with lust, Neuvillette grabbed your thighs and wrapped them greedily around his hips, before rising with a confident gesture, his palms ardently kneading your plump buttocks to give your bodies a more sustained rhythm. His member, coiled deep inside you, caressed that special place that made you lose all composure... He was right: your pregnant state made you undeniably more receptive to his ardors, and certainly more inclined to claim his.

As your orgasm gripped you, your walls fervently embracing his fiery member buried inside you, a guttural growl erupted from Neuvillette's chest. Mating with a dragon could be brutal, and Neuvillette had to do everything in his power not to be overwhelmed. Without your pregnancy, he would have given in to his deepest impulses, sinking his teeth into the delicacy of your neck, his pelvis jerking wildly against yours in search of his climax. But he knew how to curb these impulses, contracting his jaw to better contain his desire, until it poured into you in a guttural roar.

Neuvillette was rarely satisfied with a single turn, and your embraces often dragged on until sleep overtook you. When exhaustion drove you into unconsciousness, Neuvillette would tenderly cleanse you, kissing your bruised flesh while murmuring words of apology to you and the being growing inside your womb. He'd allow himself time to admire you, his fingers grazing the soft nakedness of your body nestled against his. And as his hand caressed the surface of your abdomen, a light tap struck against his palm, tugging a smile from the supreme judge's lips.

"As stubborn as his mother..."

#genshin impact smut #genshin impact #genshin #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette smut #genshin diluc #genshin smut #genshin impact fluff #neuvillette fluff

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 10 days ago

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Dress Up Part 5: Third (Final?) Preview

As promised, here is another preview of the upcoming chapter! It's not as long as the notes dictated from my post yesterday (y'all are wild lol) but I still plan on working on it more later today! I hope you like domestic fluff <3 (OMG I FINALLY MADE A WIP WEDNESDAY)

**Warning for a little bit of smut at the start**

Lucifer's ravenous nature took over once more, reveling in your taste. You found your hips bucking against him almost involuntarily. Unraveling you was his favorite pastime, one of which he would never tire. His lips worked furiously against your swollen nub; your breathy moans only egged him on. With little warning, you came hard against his eager mouth, gripping his hair as your walls contracted repeatedly. Your husband relished the taste of your orgasm, humming gleefully and licking you clean.

"Good girl," he praised, pressing soft kisses to your thighs as you tried to catch your breath. He gingerly took a hold of your hips and placed you back down onto the mattress, peppering kisses along your cheek and jaw. "Now if you'll excuse me, my queen, I need to take a VERY cold shower." You dared not look at what you could only imagine was a throbbing erection between his legs. You wouldn't be able to resist helping him out otherwise. Lucifer rose from the bed and started to make his way to the bathroom, but not before you caught his wrist.

"Can I at least join you?" you asked, batting your eyes. Lucifer gave you an amused look and raised an eyebrow. "I really don't want to spend my birthday covered in sweat, Luci! I promise I'll behave! You have my word." You signed an X symbol over your heart before raising your hand to signal your honest intentions. Your lover chuckled lightly, giving you a chaste kiss on your lips.

"You're right," he responded, trailing his hand down against your cheek. "I can't say no to you. Just give me a minute or two, alright? I really DO need a cold shower!"

You nodded in agreement and waited patiently as Lucifer fought to get his body under control again. Just as you promised, your shower was uneventful, taking turns washing each other's hair and bodies. Small intimate moments like these were some of your favorites. Being naked together in a non-sexual way proved just how much trust and love the two of you had for one another. And it could only grow stronger. When Lucifer was washing your back, however, you started to hear him humming to himself, tracing the lowest space between your shoulder blades with his free hand.

"That tickles, you know," you chimed in, breaking Lucifer out of his trance.

"O-Oh! Sorry, love, I didn't mean to do that. Got a little distracted." He sighed, not in disappointment, no. More like...he was daydreaming.

"Oh yes, my back is mesmerizing, isn't it?" you teased.

Lucifer laughed with you. "I'm glad you finally admitted it! It's about time someone else appreciated the perfect form of the prettiest woman in the realm!" Your face felt hot once again. You would never understand how Lucifer could manage to fluster you even after being together for a while now. "Actually, I was thinking about your gift this year."

You hummed. Lucifer always managed to outdo himself for every one of your birthdays, even though you always had to remind him not to go overboard. A brand-new wardrobe full of the most expensive clothes, the countless number of shimmering necklaces and earrings, the song he wrote and performed just for you; you couldn't help but think it was way more than you ever deserved.

"You know you never need to get me anything, right?" You turned your head to the side and smiled softly at him. "Not that I don't adore what you give me, but I have everything I could possibly need and more."

"Darling, you deserve more than everything," he responded as he continued to trace shapes along the skin of your back. "but this year, I think it's important that I tell you what I want to give you."

You paused, tilting your head in confusion. This was bizarre. The man was the worst at keeping secrets, but somehow he always managed to surprise you with his extravagant gifts for your birthday; he would never say a peep!

"It's okay Lucifer, you don't have to tell me! I know you like to keep me guessing and I don't mind-"

"No, this is different," he said cutting you off. "B-But it's not bad! Am I making it seem bad? God, this is the worst start to a pitch for birthday gift ever, huh?"

You could only laugh. The poor thing tended to stress himself out over the littlest things. You turned around and embraced him as the hot water from the shower rained down on your bodies.

"You're silly," you chuckled. "Of course, I know it's not going to be bad; it's from you!" You watched as a faint gold color dusted his cheeks. It was the cutest thing; if you could fluster him all the time, you would. "Let's finish up here and you can tell me all about it, okay?"

The angel smiled and nodded, pushing some fallen strands of damp hair behind your ear. You turned off the shower and tried to make your way to your closet before his charcoal hand took a hold of your wrist.

"This is going to sound a just a little suspicious, but don't get dressed just yet." You raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, don't give me that look! I promise there's a very good reason! Here!" With a quick snap of his fingers, you found your body and hair were now perfectly dry with your favorite robe appearing around your body. "There you go! To prove there are no underlying intentions, I've shielded myself from your temptations!"

You rolled your eyes as he snapped himself a robe. "Do you know how easily I can remove this?" you asked playfully as you teased the tied-up straps of your garment. "And yours?"

"Hooonnnnneeeeyyyy," Lucifer whined. "I literally just got myself to calm down, please don't make me take a cold shower again!"

You giggled, agreeing to let him have his way. For now. The two of you walked back over to the bed and sat down on the edge. "So, tell me, Luci, what's this gift you're so worked up about?"

Lucifer, smiled softly and took a hold over your hands, rubbing his thumbs over your supple skin. "Well, it uhh...it involves my magic. Which is why I think it's important that I tell you beforehand. Because what I want to do, what I want to give you, is permanent. It can't be undone. So, if you're not one hundred percent on board with this, then your gift will be whatever else you desire!" He fell silent and held your face in his hand.

You don't know why, but you started to feel your heart beating a little faster, you could almost hear the blood pounding in your ears. You weren't scared, no. Maybe excited? But that didn't seem to be right either. The few seconds of silence was killing you. You had to know what he was planning. "What is it, Lucifer?" you asked, not being able to wait any longer.

He let out a deep breath before answering. "My love, would you like to fly with me?"

You furrowed your brows at his unexpected response. "Well, I mean, sure! We go flying all the time! I like seeing the rings from above, and you holding me so close is always a nice bonus. Is there something special about this trip?"

Lucifer only shook his head. "That's not exactly what I'm asking, sweetie. I mean, would you like to go flying with me? With your own set of wings?"

Oh...

Oh!

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #preview #my writing #i like to leave y'all hanging that's my kink #wip wednesday

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safination · 11 months ago

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Partners in Death... and Life

Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted

| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes||Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list| Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there

Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.

Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined. Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount? Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.

Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?

From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”

Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”

Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.

“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”

“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.

“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”

Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”

You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”

Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”

“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”

“ . . . Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.

You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”

Lys blinks at you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your shoulder slumps. “ . . . Shall we just begin?”

Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.

Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.

I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”

Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”

Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”

“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”

Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.

You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.

You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.

You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.

You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”

Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”

“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”

Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”

You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.

The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.

“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”

Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”

Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”

A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”

Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.

Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.

Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”

“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.

Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.

“ My dearest good doctor, ” Egg Boi #04 reads. “ What a helltastic day for –"

“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”

“Uhhh . . . yes?”

“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.

Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.

Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”

“It is.”

“It took you five minutes to sew everything ,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”

“Yes!”

“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”

The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.

The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.

You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note ,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”

You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.

Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.

They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”

“My husband.”

“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”

“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”

“Right . . .” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”

Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”

“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”

Your eyes twitch as you turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, lest you get scrambled.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.

A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.

She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”

You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”

Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”

The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”

Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”

Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”

Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor . . .,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”

“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”

Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We invite my . . . dad .”

Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”

“Oh,” you start, “ the demon is coming here?”

“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same

“Oh . . . So, Lucifer is coming here.”

“Pretty much.”

You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”

Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.

He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.

The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.

On the table, deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.

You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.

He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘ Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.

His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”

“Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”

Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”

“ Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years . . . his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”

Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”

You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”

“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘ longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"

“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”

Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”

“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois . They have different numbers—except Frank.”

On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

“Egg Bois .”

“Egg Boys .”

You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”

Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”

“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.

Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”

You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”

“Do tell!”

You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”

“His wife.”

You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.

Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.

You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”

Alastor grabs the second pump.

An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up . . . er . . . interesting banner on the railings.

Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)

Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.

By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.

Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.

The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”

Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”

Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.

You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.

This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.

If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”

You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.

Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”

You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’ . Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.

You extend your arm for a handshake.

Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—

The chandelier crashes to the floor.

And oh God . . .

Lucifer begins to sing.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Your hair sticks to your face.

Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.

An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.

You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)

“The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.

You wave back.

“Oh . . . hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”

You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”

“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”

“But—”

“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”

You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”

“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”

Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.

Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.

“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.

Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm . . . he’s warm.

Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk? There are cabs and busses for a reason.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”

He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”

You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”

“Yes!”

“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”

Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”

You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”

Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”

“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”

You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”

Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”

“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”

Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”

You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”

Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”

You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No . . . not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say . . . light treasure hunting . . . ?”

“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”

“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”

“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.

You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”

“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”

A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”

You glance at Alastor, and oh . . . his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.

Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of a necessity than a hobby.”

“In what way?”

“The woods around my area have a lot of . . . let’s say, mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”

He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”

“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”

“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”

You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”

“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”

“Like . . . the news?”

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”

“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”

“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story . . . Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”

“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”

“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”

“Wait, what was so special about the child?”

“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”

He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”

Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh . . . ” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”

“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”

“Thank you.”

The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”

Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”

“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”

“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”

You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps. A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why . . . why do you find yourself running back into the rain?

“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.

Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”

‘I . . . I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”

“Not at all.”

“What about your business in the area?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”

“Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”

“I think . . . ” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”

Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It’s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”

“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”

Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.

Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.

“I’m fine. It’s just . . . .” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”

“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“ Motherfucker! ” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”

“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firmly against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”

“ . . . No.”

“Then settle down, Husker ,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still . . . or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”

Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “ Bitch. ”

You raise your eyebrows and huff. “ Virgin. ”

“I am not . . .grandma. ” Husk’s fangs show when he growls.

Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties . . . or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”

The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.

“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”

You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”

Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”

You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot . . . or would this be his paw?

You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”

Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“I see you’re not going to deny it.”

Husk sinks deeper into the bed.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes ?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected .”

“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”

“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes

A beat passes between you. “Do you . . . do you not have toes?”

You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“ What does that even mean ?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.

“I . . . have absolutely no idea.”

You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.

Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.

“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”

“Good to know.”

“Oh . . . and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.

Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”

You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”

Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.

It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.

The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.

Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.

You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.

“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha! ”

Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.

You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”

“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”

“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”

Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”

Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.

“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.

“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”

Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”

You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”

“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”

Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’ .

“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh . . . I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”

“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly. “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”

Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”

“ Husband? ” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.

Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”

You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”

Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”

“That wouldn’t be a smart idea

Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”

Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “ Pause ,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”

Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”

“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”

Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”

Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”

“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”

Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”

You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.

“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.

The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”

Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”

“ I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”

Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”

“I am, indeed!”

“Are you sure?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.

“Uh . . . Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”

“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well . . . no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”

You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”

Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just . . . I can’t!”

“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”

“Why . . . ?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why . . . ya’know?”

You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”

Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.

“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”

“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”

Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”

“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”

Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

“Yes?”

“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”

You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean . . . I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”

Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything .”

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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.

The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.

Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.

You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.

Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.

You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.

The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wipe it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.

The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.

You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.

Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.

You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.

A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.

The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no . . . not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.

You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.

There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.

Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.

You take a pen and write your notes.

Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis. Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Willd double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax. The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs.

Origin, Insertion, Action: Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs. (Will double check once I’ve moved on.) Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.

You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—

“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”

You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.

Alastor emerges from the trees.

He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”

You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This . . . .” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”

Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”

“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”

The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.

Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”

You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”

Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”

You glance at his hand, and oh . . . that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”

“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”

“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”

Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”

“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”

“Why not become one then?”

“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”

Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”

“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”

Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”

“I made sure to be careful.”

“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”

“Wait . . . ,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You . . . you were stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”

Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”

“Me?”

“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”

Alastor smiles at you.

“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”

“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”

You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”

Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.

“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”

“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”

Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”

You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

”Will you?”

“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”

You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.

“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”

“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”

You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”

“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.

“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.

“Why change your mind?”

He smiles, inching closer to you. That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”

You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes . . . ?”

Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer.

Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass.

Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.

If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.

“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”

“Yes?”

Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”

You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”

Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”

“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”

Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”

You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”

Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”

“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”

“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”

Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”

“There is no we , my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”

The hotel trembles.

You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment.

Someone pounds on the door.

You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.

“ MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”

You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”

“Whooops . . . ?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.

Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.

Mimzy scurries behind the bar.

A portal rips open in the middle of the room . . . Huh , that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”

Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.

Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.

Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.

“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”

Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.

You flap your arms to regain your balance.

Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.

Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw.

You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”

“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”

The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows.

You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”

He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”

The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.

“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”

Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.

Mimzy pops her head out. “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.

Alastor laughs and begins his kill.

You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully , with a grin.

“Mimzy . . . ” you say, slowly.

Mimzy shrinks next to you. “ . . . Yeah?”

Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”

A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.

You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.

The show is over too soon.

Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.

Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.

You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.

“Indeed.”

“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”

“You always do, my love.”

And oh . . .

Another song.

Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.

Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.

Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”

You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”

Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”

“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.

Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—it doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.

Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.

Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.

You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”

“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he says, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”

“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.

“ Doting husband ?”

He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”

“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”

“Then why did you call me here?”

Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”

“What would you do without me?”

You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”

Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”

“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.

Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yes, it seems we will.”

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.

You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close . . . just . . . one . . . second . . .

Your knees buckle causing you to trip.

A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.

Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.

“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”

You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems . . . It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”

You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”

A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.

Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.

Alastor lifts you like a bride.

Well, you actually are a bride . . . his bride, specifically.

Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.

His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”

“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.

“No, I guess it would not.”

Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”

At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead. “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”

You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘ glorious’ . People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”

“That’s because it was a great year.”

“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”

“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”

“Continue.”

“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”

“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”

“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”

“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”

“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”

“Oh . . . I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.

“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows

“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”

“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”

You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”

“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”

Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”

“And you choose not to inform me?”

“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.

“Of course, my love.”

Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.

His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.

“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just . . . trying not to waste, that’s all.”

“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.

Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: | Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions. I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me. Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible

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targaryenmarvel · 1 year ago

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Fallin' All In You (Part 2) - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You’ve known Wanda Maximoff since you were children. She was the shy and exceptionally beautiful twin sister of your best friend, Pietro. For the most part, you two never interacted, but that changes when against your better judgment, you begin to develop feelings for the girl.

Warnings: Only cursing for now

Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the long wait as I had no time to write the past few months. College and personal issues have kept me busy, but here's the next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Word count: 5,936

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Wednesday arrived quickly, and you had offered to drive the twins to school. However, their mother had insisted on taking them herself, at least for their first day. So, instead, you patiently waited at the double-door entrance until their mother's familiar car pulled up. Pietro left the car first, walking towards you.

"I think I'm really going to enjoy this school," he declared, eyes roaming the figure of one of your soccer teammates, and you lightly shoved him.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Piet," you reprimanded him. Yet, your actions betrayed you when your own gaze landed on his sister. A sight that had left you gawking like an idiot.

The Maximoff girl was wearing a red mid-thigh dress, a leather jacket on top, combat boots with black knee-high socks, her neck was adorned with necklaces and her fingers like before with multiple rings, and finally, her long brunette hair tied up in a ponytail. She looked utterly breathtaking. You were sure you weren't the only one awestruck.

"Only if you do the same," Pietro whispered to himself.

"What? D- Did you say something?" you asked, gulping and hoping he didn't notice you checking his sister out.

"I said we need to get our schedules. Come on."

He grabbed Wanda's wrist as she stopped next to him. You exchanged a quick smile with her before taking the two to the front office to get their schedules. You discovered you shared four classes with Pietro and three with Wanda; one was with both twins. Even though you were thrilled you would be able to have classes with Pietro, the fact that you'd also see Wanda intensified your euphoria.

One of your classes with Pietro was your second-period physical education class. You couldn't talk much during the class, considering the teacher split the girls and boys for basketball. However, you compensated in your following class, which was history. You sat together in the back of the room, goofing off. You were lucky your history teacher was chill.

Your fourth-period class was art, which you had with Wanda. The brunette girl seemed so lost when she walked into the room, not knowing where to sit since she had no friends in the class. You knew Wanda had anxiety, so as soon as you caught her eye, you smiled and waved her over to the seat in front of you. You wished you could have spoken to her during class, but she seemed so concentrated on her work that you would have hated interrupting her.

After that class, the three of you went to lunch together, sitting outside at one of the tables. You were talking to Pietro when you were abruptly interrupted by two hands landing on your shoulders before blazing red hair came into view and lips pressed against your cheek. An immediate grin covered your lips as the redhead sat next to you.

Pietro raised an eyebrow at you quizzically while Wanda stared at the redhead. Of course, you know what it looked like, but you were being entirely truthful when you said Natasha was your friend. I mean, you two did kiss freshman year when you were exploring your sexuality, but it was only that one time. Besides, Natasha was dating Steve, another one of your friends.

"Guys, this is Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, these are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff." You gestured as you spoke.

"Oh, so you're the famous Maximoffs. Y/N has told me so much about you." She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm.

"Good things, I hope." Pietro winked at her with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes. God, he was such a flirt.

"Don't even try, Piet. She has a boyfriend," you interjected before he could embarrass himself further.

"Maybe you should have mentioned that before, don't you think, Y/N," he whined, covering his face with his hands, causing you to giggle.

Natasha looked at you with a smug smile. "You were talking about me?" she elbowed you gently on your side, "I feel so special."

You chuckled at her playfulness. "Piet asked if we were dating."

"Sadly, no. I tried, but Y/N is the one that got away." She sighed overdramatically, causing you and Pietro to laugh.

You bumped her shoulder, still laughing, "Shut up before Steve hears you."

Your laughter died down when you looked over to Wanda, who mindlessly moved her food around, looking like she'd rather be elsewhere. You really hated that Wanda wasn't enjoying herself as much as you were, and you wished there was something you could do or say to make her feel better but came up blank. Natasha also noticed Wanda's withdrawn mood and decided to help.

"So, Wanda," she waited for the said girl to look at her before she continued, "Y/N tells me you're an incredibly skilled artist."

Wanda glanced at you with doubt. You talked to Natasha about her even though you weren't friends? When Natasha mentioned you had told her much about them, she figured she was referring to only Pietro but was trying to be friendly.

She was quiet momentarily as she looked at your barely visible red face since you had lowered your head. Then she realized Natasha was waiting for an answer. "I wouldn't say I'm incredibly skilled. More like okay," she downplayed, embarrassed by the attention.

Pietro scoffs, "Lies, sistra. Don't downplay yourself like that. You're a wonderful artist. Not just anyone is chosen to make the school mural." Wanda blushed at his praise but smiled nonetheless, grateful for his supportiveness.

Natasha coaxed Wanda to talk for the rest of lunch by asking her questions. Eventually, Wanda answered with all the confidence in the world and joked around with Natasha. She became even more comfortable when some of her friends joined you at lunch.

Afterward, you, Natasha, and Wanda walked to your science class together. Unfortunately, since Natasha was your table partner, Wanda wasn't able to sit next to you. Though you knew she'd be okay when you noticed Wanda's best friend, Monica Rambeau.

You saw Pietro once again in your sixth-period math class. Your math teacher, Mr. Grayson, soon discovered how troubling making you and Pietro were together after interrupting the class with laughter multiple times. After many glares and a verbal warning, you both decided to quiet down, not wanting to get detention.

In your next period, you didn't have either of the twins. However, Natasha and Steve were there. Considering how sickening they could be together, you weren't sure if it was a good thing.

It wasn't until the last class that you saw both twins again. Two of Wanda's friends, Shuri and Peter, were also in the class. Since you sat in the back row, there was enough room for all of you. Pietro was on your left, and Wanda was next to him, followed by her friends.

You became excited the moment you laid your eyes on the whiteboard. Your teacher was assigning a partner project; by the looks of it, one would have to be a group of three. Usually, you'd be annoyed, considering you weren't friends with anyone in your class. Of course, you liked Shuri and Peter, but they always paired together. But now that Pietro was there, you figured you'd work together. Of course, you wouldn't mind Wanda, but you were sure your recent nervousness would get the best of you.

Your suspicions were only confirmed when you peeked at the girl from under your eyelashes. She spoke to her friends, showing her perfect side profile and composed posture. You couldn't help your wandering eyes as they lowered, settling on a patch of exposed skin from her thigh accentuated by her crossed legs.

You swallowed thickly, face on fire from shame and attraction at the tantalizing sight. An inescapable weight settled on your chest, threatening to constrict your lungs until you could no longer breathe.

There was only one way to prevent the eventual humiliation of hyperventilation: to look away. Yet, you struggled to do so. God, you were such a creep, you thought as you turned away with a sigh. But, you weren't allowed time to dwell in shame as class began.

"Hello, class. First off, I would like to welcome our two new students, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff." She motioned to the two before continuing, "Okay, class, as you can see on the board, you are being paired for an out-of-class project. Usually, we read a book as a class and individually write weekly chapter summaries, but I decided to change it up a little to make it more fun and collaborative. In this assignment, there will be no weekly summaries. Instead, it will be an analysis paper and a short presentation. Unfortunately, the last time you chose your partners, it didn't work out too well, so I have assigned them myself," she announced, eliciting collective grunts of protest from all of you. Well, there goes your plan of working with Pietro.

She brushed you off before calling out who would be working with whom. "Pietro Maximoff and Jimmy Woo." As much as you were praying to get him as your partner, you couldn't help but laugh at his luck. He was probably hoping to get one of the girls as his partner. Not that Jimmy was a bad partner; you thought he was funny.

She went on with other names, and you only perked up once she called your name, "Y/N, you will be working with… Wanda Maximoff."

Despite your newfound nervousness around Wanda, you internally perked at the thought of spending more time with the girl. Although you weren't sure if she felt the same, considering the adorable frown that adorned her face. Maybe she thought it would be awkward just the two without Pietro.

When she finished listing partners, she began going into depth over the expectations for the assignment. "I will allow you to choose a novel with a film adaptation, school-appropriate, of course. Before beginning, come to me for approval. I want you all to do different books and remember that it is first come, first serve." She gave everyone in the front row a rubric on the project to pass back. "For this assignment, I want you to write a literary analysis paper and compare the effectiveness of each medium in presenting the story. You will also need to create a five-minute presentation covering the points of your essay.

Your head throbbed at all the work you would have to do, considering she wasn't giving you time during class. Your only consolation rested on the five-week deadline given to complete the assignment besides the brief paragraph due tomorrow on the expectations of each medium. Besides, you were sure to finish with Wanda as your partner in no time.

From the look of it, the rest of the class was less eased by the deadline. Most wore expressions of annoyance.

Soon enough, the bell rang, indicating the end of school, and your teacher dismissed you all.

You and Pietro walked out of the classroom, Wanda lingering behind with Shuri and Peter.

"Is your mom picking you up? I can give you a quick ride home before practice starts," you offered, taking a quick look at Wanda as she departed from her friends and continued towards you both.

"No, that's okay. Mom is picking us up," he assured, wrapping his arm around Wanda's shoulders. "Are you coming over later?"

"Uh, yeah, after practice." You looked at Wanda, who scrolled through her phone. "Hey, Wanda," you called softly, gaining her attention. "If you don't have anything planned, we can start on the assignment," you suggested.

"Yeah, that's fine," she agreed, wanting to finish it as soon as possible. She figured that the faster you completed the work, the less time she spent with you making a fool out of herself.

"Okay, perfect. See you later, guys." You waved at them, leaving for the locker rooms to change before practice.

It wasn't until nearly six that you could go to the Maximoff household. You spent a while with Pietro in his room before deciding to get started with Wanda.

You stood outside her door; an overwhelming feeling of nervousness had taken over, causing your palms to sweat profusely and your heart rate to accelerate to an uncomfortable pace. You couldn't recall the last time you had been alone in a room with Wanda for more than three minutes. Not even in silence. It made you feel like an ashole for not trying harder to get along with your best friend's sister. Maybe it'd be easier to deal with your crush if you had. With a last sigh, you knocked on the door, prepared to face Wanda.

"Come in," her sweet voice called.

You slowly opened the door only to reveal a more casual Wanda lying on her stomach as she read a book. Gone was the alluring back dress replaced by a long-sleeved shirt and sweats.

"Hey," you called from the entrance, capturing her attention.

She quickly got up onto her knees and spoke. "Hey, Y/N. Come in."

As you tentatively entered Wanda's room, a feeling of apprehension crept over you. Uncertain of where to stand or sit, you lingered nervously near the entrance. It wasn't until Wanda kindly motioned towards her desk chair that you finally felt a slight sense of ease.

"Thanks." You sat and retrieved your notebook from your backpack. "Alright, do you have any book suggestions?" you asked, getting straight to the point. You thought it'd be less awkward once you started working on the assignment.

"A few, but I'm not sure they're to your liking."

"Shoot," you responded for her to continue.

Wanda stood from her bed and removed books from the shelf as she had named them. "Okay, I have The Great Gatsby, Pride & Prejudice, and oh, The Perks of Being Wallflower," she quipped excitedly, causing your heart to melt.

"No, Percy Jackson?" you asked, nodding to the poster on the wall.

She scoffed, "God, no! The movie is a total wreck. I understand you have to change certain things to fit the big screen, but seriously, did they have to remove the best parts, especially the fight with Ares," she ferociously shook her head in disdain forgetting your presence, and you pursed your lips to contain the laughter that wanted to breakthrough too entertained by her passionate ranting. "Anyways, I only liked the casting for Percy, Annabeth, and Grover, but they had to ruin it with their horrible script. Seriously…"

Despite your great effort, you couldn't contain the chuckle that escaped your lips. You were quick to disguise it as a cough, but the harm was done. Wanda stared at you wide-eyed with flaring red cheeks.

Though you thoroughly enjoyed how the color brightened her skin, you didn't want her to feel like you were laughing at her, so you nodded vigorously, "Honestly, how could they ruin it that bad? And oh, don't get me started on Sea of Monsters. Why the hell was Kronos there? I'm glad they didn't remake any other books. "

"You like Percy Jackson?" Wanda asked, a bit stunned at your knowledge of said book series.

You hum, "I discovered my love of Greek mythology through Percy Jackson. Just don't tell Pietro. He'll probably make fun of me."

"I would know," Wanda jokes, and you both chuckle. "So, we agree that Percy Jackson is a no-go since we'd never finish writing about everything wrong. Do you have any suggestions?"

"I don't spend much time reading since I rarely have the time, but I can say I enjoyed reading The Silence of the Lambs and Carrie," you said thoughtfully.

Wanda scrunched her nose cutely in distaste at your choices. "Sorry, I'm not good with horror."

"It's okay. We can do one of yours," you offered with a shrug, not caring.

"Really?" You nodded. "Pride & Prejudice?" Wanda asked, hopeful at your response.

"I'm sure it's amazing. You are recommending it, after all."

"Alright then, do you want to start on the individual paragraph? That way, we can turn them in tomorrow." You agreed, taking out your notebook and pen from your school bag.

Wanda was finishing her paragraphs when you interrupted the silence.

"I'm glad we're partners."

Wanda's hand stopped mid-sentence, and she slowly lifted her head to look at you. Her eyebrows scrunched in an adorable way when she asked, "Really?"

"Yeah, I usually end up doing all the work, but I'm sure you wouldn't do that." You wanted to tell her it wasn't the only reason, but you didn't want to make her uncomfortable. The slight smile on her lips gave you momentary courage, and you allowed yourself to tell her how you felt. "There's- uh, there's another reason." Wanda looked at you expectantly. "Even though Pietro and I have been friends since kindergarten, you and I have rarely talked or anything. I want to change that," you rushed, pausing to breathe. "I- If you're okay with it, I'd like to take this opportunity to know you better. I know it might be weird since I waited this long to do this, but honestly, I thought you hated me."

Wanda felt taken aback by your confession. "I don't hate you, Y/N," Wanda interrupted with a frown. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know. You just kind of always left or ignored me," you rushed out, embarrassed.

"I wasn't ignoring you, Y/N," Wanda stated earnestly but with a hint of fondness. She indeed loved this flustered version of you. Your stuttering and deep blush made her heart skip. "You and Pietro were always so energetic and doing all these crazy things. I just thought I would be ruining your fun." It was her turn to look down in embarrassment.

"You wouldn't have," you quickly reassured. "Wanda, the amount of trouble Pietro and I could have avoided if you were there," you joked, causing her to laugh. "We can't do anything about the past, only what's ahead of us, so what do you say, Wanda? Friends?"

"Friends," Wanda agreed, sending you a smile that caused your stomach to twist into knots.

"In that case, do you plan on going to the soccer game on Tuesday?" you casually asked before adding, "I know you don't like soccer. I remember you always found a way of being excused when we played soccer during elementary school. Man, you hated P.E., huh? I think the only thing I saw you remotely enjoy was kickball 'cause you were benched most of the time."

"You remember that?" Wanda questioned, astonished you had remembered something like that.

"Yeah, well, you did tell Pietro it was just a bunch of idiots running after a ball." You chuckled. "And you know you're right, but still, If you come," you point to yourself, "this idiot will make it worth your while," you promised, biting your lip expectantly as you watched the brunette girl lower her gaze with a blush.

"And how would you do that?" she challenged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

You pursed your lips and grabbed your chin, thinking. How about I dedicate every goal I make to you? Does that sound about right?"

You didn't think Wanda's face could be redder than it was, but you were proven wrong as the color intensified at your words. With a nervous chuckle, Wanda stated, "That sounds very self-assured. How do you even know you'll score anything?"

"I firmly believe that anything is possible with the right motivation. So how about it?"

"Alright, I'll be there." She shook her head at your shit-eating grin. "We should actually do some work now."

You left the Maximoff household not long after. You parked your car in your driveway, still smiling like an idiot, thrilled that Wanda had accepted your proposal, though you would have to be sure to score during the game. You remained in the same state, replaying the conversation with Wanda until it dawned on you, the implications of your promise becoming clear.

"Oh, my God! Was I flirting with Wanda?"

You didn't make those types of promises to any girl, right? You were confused because you had never been interested enough in a girl to flirt with them. Now, here you were, flirting with none other than your best friend's sister. You rested your forehead on the steering wheel and took a deep breath, deciding it was a problem to dwell on another day.

The next day, your nervousness from the previous day was replaced by excitement. The only class you could freely talk with Wanda was art, so you decided to take advantage. You made it your mission to make her laugh at your stupid jokes during class. You were lucky that your art teacher didn't care as long as you were doing your work.

Lunch was also different, as Steve, Natasha's boyfriend, joined your group. He and Wanda hit off quickly, bonding over their love for Harry Potter and their incredible art skills; you thought it was adorable.

Then there was Natasha, asking Pietro if he was attending the game, to which he promptly answered, "I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. What kind of friend would I be." He shook his head in denial at the simple thought.

You raised your eyebrow knowingly, "You sure it has nothing to do with eyeing my teammates?"

He dramatically sighed, raising his hand to his chest, feigning hurt, "Your accusation wounds me, Y/N. When have I ever ditched you for another girl?" He tried to keep a serious expression but eventually burst out in laughter at your incredulous stare. You rolled your eyes as you and Natasha joined him.

"How about you, Wanda?" Natasha interrupted Steve and Wanda after they settled down. "Are you going to the game tomorrow?"

"Oh, please. My sister hates soccer. I'm sure she'd rather stay home reading her romance books."

You bit your lip anxiously. Even though Wanda had agreed to attend the game the night before, you couldn't help but feel insecure about her response. What if she had changed her mind? A soft tap on your leg under the table brought you out of your thoughts. You immediately knew Wanda had sensed your uneasiness, and it was her way of soothing your thoughts.

"Well, you thought wrong. I'll be there." Pietro looked at her suspiciously, resisting the urge to do the same to you. "School spirit." She shrugged, throwing you a discrete mischievous smile that caused you to look down in delight.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement from the eager spectators, ready to demonstrate their support. The crowd's chatter reached your ears as you warmed up in the field. It was a sound you've learned to love as it pumped you up for the game and motivated you to give it your all. However, on this occasion, it wasn't just the crowd that had you giddy with excitement.

Your eyes wandered to the stands, searching for a certain green-eyed brunette, and you quickly found her sitting next to her twin and Steve in the lower row of the stands. You waved at the three, eyes lingering on Wanda as your coach called your teammates over.

Your teammates huddled with your coach, giving a brief motivational speech before your team got into the 3-4-3 formation; you, Natasha, and Monica Rambeau were the forwards. Natasha, who was also the team captain, walked towards the referee and the captain of the other team, and a quick coin toss determined your team would begin the game.

The whistle blew, and your redhead friend kicked the ball. The first 15 minutes of the game were uneventful, the ball traveling back and forth on the field. Then, you saw an opportunity when you found yourself nearing the goal area. You'd only have to bypass two defenders. Natasha was open to your left. Even though you knew you could easily pass the two girls, you passed the ball to Natasha, who scored the game's first goal. After all, it was a team game, and you reasoned you had enough time to fulfill your promise.

True enough, another chance arose seven minutes later when Monica kicked you the ball. Adrenaline coursed your body, heightening your senses, and your mind raced, assessing the terrain. The crowd's screams increase the closer you run, some in delight, others in protest. You sprinted forward, only slowing down as a defender barreled towards you from the right. You tapped the ball with the side of your right foot in a split second, sending the ball between the girl's legs. You resumed your attack, and in an instant, the ball soared past the goalie's hands into the top right corner of the net. You scored a goal. Not just any goal; it was a goal for Wanda.

You could hear the crowd cheer as Natasha embraced you, but you only cared about Wanda's reaction. You looked at the crowd, seeing Pietro and Steve cheering for you. Contrarily to the two boys, Wanda remained silent, but she had a visible soft smirk on her lips. The intimacy of the act was far more encouraging than the boisterous cheers that surrounded you, and you knew you had to score more.

The first half was almost over, and you found yourself with the ball in the penalty area after a girl charged at you, sending you to the ground. A raging pain surged in your hand and wrist as you landed wrong. You gasped and held your arm to your chest as you continued to lay on the floor. Natasha, Monica, and another teammate, Maria Hill, rushed to check on you.

As players and the referee surrounded you, Wanda observed your unmoving figure from the stands with bated breath. She clasped her hands, anxiety growing in her chest the longer you stayed down. It wasn't until you rolled onto your back and used your left arm to move into a sitting position with Natasha's help that she could breathe.

You could see how you clenched your hand and nodded in assurance as the referee, and you discussed. You finally raised to your feet, using only your left arm for support, which Wanda noticed, as well as keeping your right hand close to your stomach. Despite her worry for you, the game continued as you prepared for a penalty kick.

You inhaled deeply, disregarding the pain in your wrist, and instead concentrated on where to direct the ball. In a swift motion, you once again sent the ball to the end of the net. Euphoria filled your body at your accomplishment. Ready for Wanda's rewarding smile, you turned towards the girl, but she wasn't smiling this time. Instead, the brunette's face is twisted into a frown. You realized she was worried you were hurt as you noticed her eyes lower to your right wrist.

Hoping she could read lips, you muttered, "I'm fine," and smiled at her. You can see her anguish diminished at your reassurance. Next to Wanda, her brother and Steve were too busy celebrating to notice your interaction.

The game resumed for the remaining minutes of the first half before you went on a break. During the next half of the game, the opposing team is reinvigorated and scored on your team. However, it doesn't faze your team because soon after, Monica scores. In the game's last minutes, you scored the final goal with Maria's help, closing the game at 5-2.

A cheerful roar echoed throughout the field at your team's victorious outcome. Natasha wrapped her arms around you in a bone-crushing hug before some of your teammates joined her. You were beyond ecstatic knowing you had scored three goals for Wanda.

You look where they were seated. Pietro fervently shook his sign in the air while Steve gave you both a thumbs up. Then there was Wanda, bashfully smiling at you, uncaring if anyone saw. You wanted to go and boast about your achievement but knew you'd have to wait a moment. Your coach congratulated you, and after you chatted with a few members of the other team, you left to the stands, eager to go to Wanda.

You nearly sprinted when you were finally free. Wanda, Pietro, and Steve stood together at the foot of the stands, waiting for you and Natasha. The moment Pietro realized you were approaching, he began cheering.

"Here they come—the stars of the game!" Pietro exaggerated, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and squeezing. "You know, I thought you were joking about being good, but I can admit, I was mistaken."

"Shut up." You pushed him away, rolling your eyes.

"It's true. I enjoyed watching you play. Even Wanda, who hates soccer, did, right sistra?" Pietro wrapped his other arm around his sister, and you waited for her answer.

"Yeah, it was fun," she replied nonchalantly.

"You two were amazing. Though I'm a bit biased when I say you were the best Nat," he praised his girlfriend, and she reached up to kiss him.

"Uhh, gross," you groaned, taking Natasha's hand and pulling her along, "We have to freshen up quickly, okay."

Natasha finishes before you and tells you Steve is waiting to take her home. You took longer examining your hurting wrist and concluded that icing would be enough. By the time you were done, the sun had already begun its descent, casting hues of pink and orange in the sky. You trailed back to where you had left your friends, but as you got closer, you could only see Wanda absentmindedly kicking the grass to distract herself.

"Hey," you greeted, playing with the strap of your bag, unsuccessfully searching for Pietro. However, you appreciated his absence because it allowed you to be alone with Wanda.

"Hey," she responded, tightening her arms around herself to retain heat against the frigid breeze that clashed against her skin.

"Here, put this on," you offered her your soccer hoodie, taking it out of your bag.

"Oh, no. That's not necessary," she rejected your offer, shaking her head in embarrassment at the idea of wearing your hoodie, nonetheless one with your name.

"Come on, Wanda. You're out here freezing because I asked you to my game. It's the least I can do," you insisted, nearly shoving the warm cloth in her arms and dissolving her reluctance.

Wanda slipped into your hoodie, a sigh of contentment falling from her lips at the warmth that enveloped her body. "Thank you."

"No problem." You grinned, loving the sight of her wearing your hoodie. "So, ah, where's Pietro."

"He went after one of your teammates. He said he'd be back, but we both know that's not happening."

"Wow, he's such a dick. He was supposed to be here for me, and not to mention he left you here all alone." you indignantly accused.

Wanda shrugged her shoulders, "I don't mind. He asked if I was fine before he left. Besides, I can walk home. It's not that far."

You scoff, "Absolutely not. I'm driving you home." You grasped her hand, leaving no room for rejection, and led her to your car in the parking lot. You unlocked your car and opened the passenger door for her before taking your place.

You pulled out of the parking lot, glancing at Wanda with a grin. "What did you think about the game? Was it worth it?"

Wanda pursed her lips, thinking, "Hmm, I guess it wasn't that bad. Natasha and Monica were phenomenal," she teased.

You played along, narrowing your eyes, offended, "What do you mean, Natasha and Monica? What about me? I scored three goals for you."

"Mhm, you were decent, I guess," Wanda declared mischievously, causing you to gasp out loud. Then, she burst out in laughter at your dramatics, and you joined her, not resisting the melodic sound. "Okay, I'll admit I'm impressed. I never thought you would be good at anything other than causing trouble."

"Wow, straight to my heart Maximoff. Maybe it's a good thing we weren't friends before because, with how you treat me, I'm sure my self-esteem would be down to the floor."

"Pardon me for not stroking your already enormous ego." You both laughed, and Wanda's eyes fell to your wrist on your lap. Wanda took a serious tone and questioned, "How's your hand? You feel hard on it. Does it still hurt?" She gently grabbed your wrist, examining for any visible harm.

"Uhm, no. I'm fine." She raised an eyebrow unbelievingly, and you playfully rolled your eyes. "Alright, on a scale of 1 to 10, the pain is about a 4. Nothing severe. I'll ice it when I get home, and hopefully, it gets better," you reassured her, pulling into her driveway.

Wanda was still too busy looking at your swollen wrist, and her concern warmed your heart.

"Honestly, thank you for being there today. It means so much to me, and I hope you'll be there for more," you confessed.

"Really?" Wanda questioned lowly, her thumb grazing your wrist.

Your eyes locked on the gentle movement as you answered, "Mhm if you want, I'll keep scoring for you."

She gently sat your hand down. "Then, you'll have to do it for all your games. Are you sure you can keep a promise like that?" Wanda asked, head tilting, making your stomach turn. You were sure you had never seen anything more attractive.

"For you anything," you replied absentmindedly, eyes shooting wide open when you realized what you said. "I-I mean, I don't mind. I'm just that good, you know. I think I proved that well enough today, don't you think? I think I did. Three goals, right? No one else did that," you babbled, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

"Right," Wanda responded, holding back a smile. "And since you offered so nicely, I'll keep attending your games."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence settled in the car as your eyes locked with Wanda's forest-green eyes. As you scanned her beautiful orbs, you noticed the gold and blue flecks in them, which further enchanted you. The atmosphere was filled with an unknown tension that caused your heart to race and your body to burn. Your eyes flicker to her lips, and you consider what they'd feel like on your own or if they'd taste as heavenly as her sweet aroma.

You feel a magnetic force propelling you forward, closer to her lips. Any sense of restraint was banished from your mind as you surrendered to the desire that had tormented your thoughts since you saw her at the airport.

Wanda licked her lips in anticipation, charmed by your flirtatious words and attractive looks.

You were mere seconds away from getting your wish when the sound of a closing door pulled you apart. You nervously chuckled while Wanda fidgeted, looking anywhere but at you. The magic surrounding you seconds ago disappeared altogether, leaving behind suffocating awkwardness.

"Thank you for the ride, Y/N. See you later." She forced a smile, clearly uncomfortable, and left the car.

"No problem." You watched her until she entered her home. Then, you banged your head on the headrest with a groan, "Stupid." What the hell were you doing? Were you about to kiss her?

If your feelings for Wanda weren't clear, they indeed were now. You were crazy for her and didn't know what to do. She was your best friend's sister, after all. Maybe you could talk to Pietro?

A million questions ran through your head as you drove home.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #targaryenmarvel fics

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albertasunrise · 5 months ago

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Hope You Can Forgive Me - Hope

Masterlist

GIF by olisgifs

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (So here is my first fic update since having Lando! I hope this was worth the wait and I can't wait to hear what you all think. There is some time hopping in this chapter but it's all necessary. Enjoy ♥️)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The words hung in the air between you. Swirling around in his head as he processed that he was sitting at a table with you after all this time. That you were smiling softly at him, not growling at him in frustration because he’d gotten on your nerves for the final time.

“Tommy told me that you ended up going back to the hospital after you left that day and I-“

“You mean the day you tossed me out?” He interrupted, surprised by how he suddenly felt 10 years of anger surge to the surface.

“Joel I-“

“I don’t need your sorries.” He stated plainly and you nodded numbly “What I needed then was for you to see how badly I was doing but you couldn’t.”

He couldn’t say he blamed you really. You were facing life with a partner who was never going to walk again whilst you had to raise his toddler and the newborn baby you shared.

‘Dwelling on the past isn’t going to change it so let's just agree to move on.” He piped up after a tense pause and he could have laughed at how your shoulders dropped and you allowed yourself to relax.

You both sat in awkward silence for a while before Joel finally broke it. His question brought a proud smile to your face.

“Noah’s turned out to be a fine young man.” He stated as he took a sip of his coffee “Sarah’s besotted with him.”

“He’s just like his father.” You gushed “Patient and kind.” You continued as you looked down at the wedding band and engagement ring that you still wore “He’d never said a cross word to me till recently. Learning that he and Sarah had been inseparable as babies was tough on him.

“He pleaded with me to reach out to you but I confess… I didn’t think you’d want to speak to me after everything.”

“I never stopped caring.” Joel stated honestly “I have spent the last decade blaming myself for that crash… it should have been me that-“

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” You pleaded as you stared at him with round, tear-filled, eyes “The accident was not your fault! The truck driver is the one to blame for what happened and it was wrong of me to blame you.” You let out a long sigh before taking a large sip of coffee before continuing “I was pregnant and hormonal and facing having to care long-term for my partner as well as raise a toddler and a newborn.

“Life looked bleak and I just needed someone to blame… but I shouldn’t have blamed you.” You choked out, voice wobbling as you spoke that last statement.

Joel remained silent. Watching you as you pulled yourself together before continuing.

“I should have seen that you weren’t well, you're right.” You started again after a few tense moments of silence “After Tommy told me what happened… my mind started to replay everything and it was so obvious that something was wrong. I should have seen it… not shut you out so I could wallow in my own misery.”

“I get it… I do-“

“But it doesn’t excuse it, Joel.” You interrupted “I should have done better by you and I’m sorry.”

Joel nodded. Giving you a small smile before downing the last dregs of his coffee.

“Well… now that all the tense formalities are out of the way… shall we get another coffee and catch up properly?” He asked with a grin, instantly lifting the mood.

“That would be wonderful.”

2 months later…

Joel watched from the patio as Noah and Sarah played a heated game of swing ball, Ali watching from the sidelines as she cheered her brother on. Tommy was at the grill, having promised Joel that he could ‘cook some damn burgers’, leaving the older Miller to watch the two childhood sweethearts play. Memories of a little Noah showing an even smaller Sarah how to throw a ball flashed in his mind. They had always played so well together.

Some things never change it seemed.

Joel’s attention was torn away from Sarah and her beau and towards you, as you placed the salad and condiments in the centre of the table.

“Foods up!” Called Tommy and soon the table was filled with chatter as everyone dug in.

It felt like old times. Only, someone was missing.

Once the food was consumed and the dishes dealt with, Sarah, Ali and Noah slunk away to read their books under the tree at the bottom of Joel's garden, leaving you, Joel and Tommy to sip at your cold beers and catch up.

"How's things been with you?" Tommy asked you as he turned to face you. It was something that you had always liked about Tommy. When he was talking to you he gave you his undivided attention and never butted in when you spoke. Something that Alec and his family had always done that had driven you to distraction... But never the Miller boys. They always listened to what you had to say.

"Yeah, they're good." You nodded as you replied and placed your bottle on the table "Starting to meld well with the nice team. Making some friends too which is nice."

"Any hot men in the office catch your eye?"

Tommy's question took you by surprise and you couldn't help but glance at Joel a moment before you answered. He was looking anywhere but you and Tommy as they both awaited your answer and you felt a small pang of hope fill you. Why, you weren't sure.

"Not really looking for anything at the moment." You said, shrugging your shoulders "Been so focused on work and the kids the last few months that I haven't really thought about what comes next."

Your eyes drifted to Noah and Ali who were talking animatedly about, you assumed, something that had happened in the books they were holding. Both had ended up bookworms like their dad, something you were glad of as they had grown up. Buying them books to distract them from the reality of how sick Alec had been.

"Plus Alec hasn't been gone long. Would be wrong for me to just move on."

"You're entitled to be happy." Tommy stated plainly as he gave you that signature Miller look "He would want you to live life to the fullest. Lord knows you've earned that."

"I guess." You shrugged.

Truth be told, since coming back into the Miller's lives your feelings for Joel had started to stir again. He had turned out to be an incredible father, not that you had doubted him for a second but he had been forced to take on parenthood completely on his own when you had left. Ali's parents had died a few years after the accident leaving Joel with just Tommy for family but he had been in the army. So he had to take it all on by himself and he had flourished. Sarah was a kind, polite and caring young girl and the spitting image of her mother. Something that had made you both happy and sad. Happy, that she had turned out so beautiful, but sad because there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't miss Ali. So much so that you had named your own daughter after her.

"How about you brother?" Tommy asked, taking the attention off of you "How's things been with that chick you're dating?"

"We've been on like two dates Tommy." Joel sighed but his brother shrugged.

'Still dating her." He chuckled as he took a long pull of his beer "Given her the Miller magic yet?" Joel choked on his beer as the words settled between you and your stomach sank.

He was dating?

Of course, he was dating. He was an attractive young man, why wouldn't he? Yet this information felt like a punch to the gut. You knew you had no right to feel this way about Joel seeing someone yet it was a fight to keep the tears at bay. You would later realise as you analysed your feelings over a large glass of wine at home that a small part of you had always held onto the hope that one day, you and Joel may have had your chance.

That after all these years, he would realise how you felt and would return those feelings. You would later realise that that was a fool's hope.

You had broken things beyond repair with Joel all those years ago.

There was no hope for the two of you now. There was no way he felt the same way about you.

Oh if only you knew.

You had found yourself quickly falling into old traditions with the Millers. Regular gatherings at Joels where food and laughter are shared only this time Noah and Sarah weren't babies anymore. You found yourself missing their antics. Howthey used to hide behind the wooden castle climbing frame that Joel had built Sarah before she'd even made her entrance to the world. They would crouch behind it and giggle, thinking no one knew they were there and you would all chuckle at them and how perfect together they were. Even from such a young age.

You had found yourself wondering if Joel had ever thought about having more kids. He was still young after all, having had Sarah in his early twenties same as you had had Ali so young yourself. You had definitely thought that there would have been more children in your future but Alec's health hadn't allowed for that and so that dream of another baby had died along with him.

When Sandy had stepped into the fold, you had had your question of whether Joel wanted more kids answered from the moment she'd opened her mouth at the annual pre-Christmas get-together. She was young, late twenties and perky. Both physically and personality-wise.

She had sat there for hours talking about how she had no interest in having kids. That she liked them but that it had never appealed to her personally. You had asked Joel if he had thought about having any more to which he'd replied "Nah, one and done for me."

It had shocked you how blasé he had been about the subject and it had stung you. Why, you weren't sure but you supposed its because you had secretly hoped you'd have one with him one day.

Now though, that pipedream seemed an impossibility that Sandy was in the picture. You hated her for it...

You knew you had no reason to. She was sweet. There didn't appear to be a bad bone in her body but she grated on your nerves with her big eyes and sickly sweet smiles.

Your feelings for Joel may have had some bearing on your opinion of her you supposed.

Those pesky feelings had only continued to grow the more time you spent with Joel. You and he would alternate some nights during the week for dinners or movie nights. Ali and Sarah had become fast friends, something you had worried would irritate Noah now that his relationship with Sarah seemed to have developed a third wheel but on the contrary, he seemed to welcome her.

They still managed to find time to spend together without his sister hanging around but he didn't begrudge her presence when she was there. He'd always been a great big brother to her.

But now it seemed that you had become the third wheel in Joel's relationship with Sandy. These once peaceful evenings had been overtaken by her loud personality but Joel seemed to lap it up, completely oblivious to how you were starting to pull away. Unable to watch them be so sickeningly happy.

It all came to a head three months later. Unable to keep up the fake smiles any longer.

"So, I found a new taco recipe I want to try for Taco Tuesday this week." Joel stated as he dried the last dish and placed it on the drying rack beside the sink "Churizo with fried potatoes, avocados, onions and Cilantro... Read it in a magazine this week and I knew I had to try it."

"Sounds good." You answered numbly as you picked up the last few dried plates and cutlery to put away "I'm sure the kids will love it."

"You okay?" Joel asked upon sensing your tone.

"Mhmm." You knew your reply wasn't fooling anyone.

"Okay, what's up?" He asked, letting out a sigh as he turned his whole body to face you, rested his hip against the counter and crossed his arms, accentuating his strong arms and broad shoulders.

"Nothing it's just... I won't be able to make Taco Tuesday this week. Or movie night on Thursday." You replied, not looking at him as you spoke.

"Okay, I'll save that recipe for next week then."

"I can't go next week either." You replied bluntly and his brows furrowed as he looked across at you.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to be busy the next few weeks is all."

"Few weeks?" He questioned and you simply nodded.

"Yeah."

"Care to look at me whilst you lie to me?" He growled and you let out a long sigh before returning his gaze.

"I'm not lying to you, Joel." You growled "I have a lot going on with work so I won't be able to make our usual arrangements for a month or so.

"But the kids-"

"Can do all that shit without me." You replied, more snappy than you'd meant to.

"That shit?" Joel pushed, his tone sounding a little wounded "Is something going on? Did I do something?"

"No." You replied as you sighed loudly "You haven't done anything wrong."

It wasn't exactly a lie. His dating Sandy wasn't wrong. It just hurt you to watch.

Joel didn't push but he knew you weren't being honest with him. You had always been easy to read, wearing your heart on your sleeve for the world to see but he didn't understand why you were suddenly going cold on him. Things had fallen back into place so easily. He thought things were good. He didn't push it any further.

"You're still coming to the cook out week after next though right?" He asked and your heart broke at how hopeful he seemed.

"Yeah, I'll be there." You lied, hoping he would believe you and would drop it.

He seemed to buy it because his shoulders relaxed and he gave you a small smile. You smiled back but your stomach twisted painfully. You had two weeks to come up with a decent lie for why you couldn't make it. You knew it had to be believable or Joel would be around yours banging on your door and you knew you'd not be able to lie to him if that were to happen.

You left with Noah that evening barely gracing Joel or Sarah with a goodbye and it was from that that he knew something serious was up. Just didn't know how to find out.

...

Sandy had arrived a little after you had left. Cuddling on the couch, she instantly picked up on Joel's distracted state and didn't wait to question him on it. So he told her about how weird you had been that evening. How you'd suddenly become cold and closed off.

"I don't know what I've done." Joel sighed "She was just so off this evening and then she's suddenly telling me that she's going to be busy for the foreseeable and I just... I don't get it."

"Oh Joel, baby, you're such a typical bloke." Sandy chuckled sympathetically as she turned her top half to look at him "She's obviously got feelings for you."

"She doesn't have feelings for me." Joel scoffed "Don't be absurd."

"Why else would she suddenly stop hanging out with her friend the moment he meets someone?"

"I-"

"I've had my suspicions for a while but the last few times we've hung out it's been pretty clear that she's got feelings for you Joel."

"But she..."

"Would you like it if you had a crush on someone and their new beau was there all the time?" She asked and Joel sighed "I am happy to back off a little if you want to spend more time with her but I don't think she'll want to."

"She can't have feelings for me." He muttered and Sandy chuckled as she watched his mind whir.

"Perhaps you should go see her and find out." Sandy shrugged, smiling sweetly at Joel as he looked up at her "Give her some closure."

Joel parked across from your house before wiping his clammy hands on his jeans and willing his heart to slow. It had been a few days since that conversation with Sandy and what she'd told him played on repeat in his head. Did you really have feelings for him? He had never dared hope that maybe one day you would feel the same way he did.

He had been practising what he wanted to ask you all evening. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do if it transpired that you did feel the same. He supposed he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Tommy had agreed to watch Sarah for the evening so that he could come to speak to you. He wasn't sure how this was going to go but he had wanted the option to stay a little later if things went the way he hoped they might.

Finally, as he had willed his heart to slow, your door swung open and grabbed his attention. He watched as you stepped outside slightly, looking at someone who was out of Joel's eyeline. You were smiling at them as you spoke, words that he could not hear from the cab of his car but you seemed to smile shyly at whoever you spoke them to. He hoped that youwouldn't notice his truck parked across the street as he watched you from the shadows. His stomach twisted when a man he didn't recognise stepped into view and leaned closer so he could place a kiss on your lips.

A myriad of emotions flooded him at once. He felt a pang of despair fill him as he watched you say your farewells for this man, but it quickly morphed into anger as he watched the man get in his car and drive off.

You hadn't bailed on him because you have feelings for him. You bailed because you wanted to focus on your new boy toy. You'd rather spend time with someone you barely know over him and his family. You had other priorities now.

And Joel wasn't one of them.

Next For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #last of us #the last of us #joel miller gif #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gif #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #last of us fanfiction

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hollyhomburg · 6 days ago

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Prey Animals (5)

— Pairing: Namkook, Vminkook, Namjingi, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader,

— Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

— Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

— Words: 5.7k

— Warnings: Hospitals, sickfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Humor, Polyamory negotiations, Seizures, Chronic illness, flirting

— Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! —

(3 years ago, Namjoon)

It’s been a little more than a year after Namjoon officially moved Seokjin and Yoongi into his apartment. And although the addition of the pup doesn’t happen overnight, it sort of feels like it does.

Namjoon is not regularly a skeptic, he doesn’t look down his nose at certain tropes, love at first sight, enemies to lovers, the waspish omega that falls into the arms of the big buff alpha brute. But there is only one trope when Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung fall into their lives: neither an old wives tale, a good luck charm, or a superstition.

Good things come in threes.

When Namjoon meets him, he doesn’t know Jungkook will be his omega one day. One day, but not quite yet. The day they meet, Jungkook is just another one of Namjoon’s patients:

The waiting room is full of the smell of sick people, vomit, and a lingering sliminess of blood and antiseptic. Covering up the smell of sour fear and anguish. It’s full of blaring red exist signs and the beep of an overhead alert for a code blue upstairs. Overstimulating to even those who are used to it.

Namjoon doesn’t have to worry, code blue means cardiology, code purple maternity.

A code red? Then he’d be running.

There’s one blond head, one black head, and one tawny waiting in bay 8. All of them look too young to consider themselves packmates and yet they act as one unit when Namjoon calls Jeon Jungkook’s name. He’s got wavy black hair and doe eyes and a strong jawline that he has yet to grow into. A pup still. But not for much longer.

An attractive omega. A pretty one.

Namjoon is just two hours shy of a desperately needed break and 10 hours into his current shift. Exhaustion weighs on his bones like a physical ache. No worse and no better than the other patients. But Namjoon's hoping to be promoted to the head of neurosurgery within the next few years (it will take him 6 months before they offer him the job) and he needs to put in the hours to achieve that goal.

A goal that comes with things for his pack, a bigger apartment maybe, less hours for Yoongi and Jin, and more good food in the little kitchen. A vacation maybe (they’ve never been anywhere together, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?) Both Jin and Yoongi like to cook and a bigger kitchen and a larger apartment is high on Namjoon’s lists of wants.

While the omega looks absolutely fine, you’d never guess that judging by the gun smoke and spiced wine scents that spike agitated into the air from each of his alphas. They’re tense, each of them holding one of the omega's hands so hard their knuckles are white.

Jungkook’s hands are calloused, Namjoon notices while he’s taking his blood pressure. Eyes on the monitor and not on Jungkook’s eyes. Staring at him unwaveringly as Namjoon asks his quiet questions.

“Do you lift weights Jungkook?”

“Yes, I ugh, I’m a personal trainer.”

Namjoon hums, it shows, Jungkook’s veins are so good that Namjoon doesn’t even have to check to see if he’s dehydrated. He compliments him on it (weird doctor quirk) and the omega blushes. Looking down an away. “Have you ever hit your head on any of the equipment at work? Or ever fallen during a set. You said you had a seizure, where you working out when you had it?”

“No, I was at home I was-”

The larger of the two alphas is the first one to speak- when his patient chokes on his own words. The blond one turns his impassive eyes upwards at Namjoon and says nothing. He’s terribly small for an alpha, but his eyes are no less threatening, his glare, although it comes from a sweet face, is anything but blank, it’s murderous.

But Namjoon is not here to hurt their omega, he’s here to help heal him. Namjoon is only too used to dealing with this sort of thing- packmates worried and fussing over their pack members, omega’s nesting around their alpha’s in the waiting room, that sort of thing.

Namjoon feels a tug in his gut. But the tawny haired one is the first one to speak, and Namjoon shoves it down in favor of doing his job.

“If someone had a seizure during…” he pauses, glancing at Jungkook then at Namjoon “Sex- would you be able to tell? And how would we make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

The omega is bright red between the two of them. the alpha that smells like gunsmoke and glares a bit like the devil might, re-settles his other hand on the back of Jungkook’s neck to soothe him. His shoulders drop from around his ears and Jungkook’s distressed omega scent evens out from rotting flowers back to sweet honey.

Namjoon’s inner alpha perks up. Lifting its head from folded polite paws.

People smell different when they're sad than when they're happy. Namjoon’s own coffee scent starts to smell like coffee liquor when he’s angry, or too tired to breathe properly or too anxious to think straight. Seokjin smells like curdled milk and wet dog when he's upset or missing them but sweet milk when he's happy. And Yoongi goes all salty and ocean murky when he's miffed that someone's looking at him a bit too long but smells like thick chocolate every other hour of the day.

The two alphas on either side of Jungkook smell like Gunsmoke (the angry one) and peppery wine (the tall one) or maybe he's just drunk and smells like pepper. Namjoon's first thought is not how to help them- but wondering what they'd smell like if they were happy.

Huh.

That should be the first thing that tips him off really. He tries not to worry too much about the happiness of his patients, only their health. There are some boundaries that need to be maintained so that Namjoon doesn’t get too attached.

Namjoon pauses to fill Jungkook’s waterglass. He gets two other paper cups and fills those too while he talks about symptoms.

They all look so small and scared. And Namjoon can’t help but send out comforting pheromones- his scent blockers have worn off this long into his shift. It’s just in his nature to want to comfort these three- so lost in a sea of concerned stressed faces and scents. It must be bombarding them. Namjoon is used to how the emergency room smells. The tangle of stressed scents and possible threats.

Their shoes sit side by side, a pair of combat boots, a pair of converse, and a pair of brown leather loafers. All of them have purple shoelaces threaded through. Namjoon knows a pack mark when he sees it. All of Namjoon’s packmates wear Yoongi’s one flannel- trading it back and forth between the three of them.

The three of them lean into Namjoon’s space.

But still, he’s nothing but professional, taking Jungkook’s vitals under the watchful eye of both of his alpha’s. And the small cagey looking one hands over Jungkook’s hand when Namjoon needs to fix the heartrate monitor and lets him take Jungkook in for a scan upstairs, promising that he’s in good hands and really Jungkook is.

He prattles on to Namjoon the whole way up and is Namjoon sure he’s never worked out before, not even a little? How else does he get so strong? Namjoon guides Jungkook into the big machine, trying to soothe his anxiety. Rubbing his fingers on his wrist, his scent gland there small and tender to the touch.

The minutes Jungkook is in the machine feel terribly long, the thudding all around him loud and scary. “Are you still there Dr.Kim?” he asks through the intercom.

“Of course I am, Jungkook.”

“My alpha’s call me Kookie, or Jk, you can call me Kookie if you want. Cuz I’m sweet like one.”

Namjoon pauses, before he clicks the button on the intercom, worried. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“No! I’m like this naturally!”

He watches the screen, waiting, tapping his foot, and the technician asks him if he has more important things to do.

Namjoon’s glasses reflect the blue light of the monitor. “Looking after my patients take precedent” the technician scoffs something like ‘looking after huh’ and continues to click away as pixel after pixel comes through.

Namjoon finds evidence of the seizure and others on Jungkook’s MRI.

He gives the three of them a lengthy conversation, spending more time than he ordinarily would on them, explaining the depts of Jungkook’s illness. He hates breaking life-changing news to people. He hates the look in their eyes when it hits them. When they look at him like he can change it or like he might be wrong.

Namjoon is a good doctor, he’s rarely ever wrong.

Telling this omega that he has epilepsy, that he can't drive and will likely have to change every aspect of his life to avoid as many seizures as possible or risk permanent brain damage- sucks. Telling the omega with the bunny eyes and the chubby cheeks that his life as he knows it is over feels like the worst thing that Namjoon has ever had to do. And he had to perform a craniotomy on a two-year-old last week, so he’s got perspective. He books multiple follow up appointments with Jungkook. More than normal.

It's pretty clear that Namjoon's instincts are having some bearing on his emotions. He usually doesn't care so much. He's had enough people die on him that he can't care the way he used too about people who aren't Jin or Yoongi. It’s not heartlessness, it’s just self-preservation.

But that all goes out of the window when he breathes in their scents. So unhappy, Namjoon can’t not soothe them, can’t do nothing.

“It could never happen again, and it could happen twice every week. There's no way to know how often you’ll have them so you should be extra careful for a little while. No operating heavy machinery or driving and stay away from stairs if you can. You’ve got two packmates to take care of you so that’s good.”

I’ve got two packmates too, he wants to say. If yours are any good, they’ll take care of you half as well as Seokjin and Yoongi take care of me.

As if the two alphas can smell a hint of the suggestion that they wouldn’t hang the stars for Jeon Jungkook, they curl protectively around Namjoon’s patient. Even the small one with the blond hair looks protective and large in the small space, sizing Namjoon up like he could be a potential threat. He’s used to this kind of alpha posturing at the hospital when tensions run high and concern for loved ones becomes adrenaline. Any possible threat prompts aggression.

Instincts are fickle things. Namjoon’s alpha does not take his posturing as a threat.

Namjoon’s alpha is pacing and howling in the confines of his head, straining it’s neck to get out out out. He’s a man of science not instinct. No one, not even the other alpha- would be able to tell that Namjoon was feeling anything at all.

But Seokjin would know.

Seokjin would poke at the vein on Namjoon’s neck that stands out when he rolls his jaw and Namjoon would go from feral wolf to puppy and putty in Seokjin’s hands.

Namjoon has always been a dominant alpha. It doesn’t matter much in their small 3-person pack because Namjoon is the only alpha when it comes to Seokjin and Yoongi. But looking at these two sitting here, it feels like it does. The tall alpha- Taehyung- looks at Namjoon but he looks away first. The small patient room is full of the scent of fresh coffee. Namjoon's scent fluffs out through his blockers without any kind of effort.

The two alphas breathe in the scent of coffee- the kind that’s pressed into your hand the second after you wake by someone you love. To Jimin and Taehyung- it conjures up the image happy Saturdays and Sundays, the moments shared in intimacy and half wakefulness. Namjoon likes that he smells like innocent moments.

Even they have to admit that Dr. Kim smells good.

Their shoulders ease away from their necks, and their fear begins to dissipate as Namjoon explains.

To Jimin fear has always been a necessary evil. It feels weird to try and let go of it with Jungkook sick, with the news that everything is going to change (that maybe everything already has). Every few seconds Namjoon’s scent makes Jimin’s body relax, and he has to straighten up again. Namjoon just tells himself that it’s a sign he’s good at his job even though it feels a little too much like flirting to be completely appropriate.

Namjoon has never flirted with another alpha, at least not knowingly.

“Could it also have been a one-off fluke?” Taehyung asks. He’s been mostly quiet, but Namjoon shivers when he meets his eyes. There is something placid about his face, even under the storm of this, the alpha looks mostly calm. He can't explain it, but looking at Taehyung feels like looking at the ocean, scary if you look away.

Namjoon reminds them that he’d found signs of other seizures on his brain scan too. Points them out to them on his tablet, shows a picture of a normal brain to compare. He explains that sometimes the only indication that a seizure is happening could be that time is passing weirdly or that someone is staring off into space for too long.

Taehyung goes pale when he says that. “Jungkook gets that way all the time.” He says the next part quieter, “especially when he’s nesting.”

Namjoon’s breath goes shallow at that, the idea that this omega, this Jungkook and his packmates will never be able to see him nest again without worrying, without asking and doublechecking. Something that is routine and a necessary part of all omega’s and their biology and pack intimacy will never feel normal to them again.

When they leave- Namjoon gives them his personal number because he’s so concerned about the three of them. So vulnerable and unprepared to help Jungkook navigate the world like this. None of them are older than 25. And while they're not not adults, Namjoon's instincts scream at him pups pups pups.

Surprisingly it’s Jungkook who uses Namjoon's number the most often.

He wants to talk to Namjoon about it all- the new definition of his life inside his medical condition. No bright flashing lights and limited screen time. A set bedtime every night and a new diet that’s helping considerably but still feels so restrictive. Jungkook can’t do anything without thinking about it, weighing out calories and estimating carbohydrates. Pricking his fingers to monitor the blood sugar spikes.

“I would kill for some pretzels- or just- some fucking bread. Do you know how good fresh bread is when you know you can't have it Joonie?”

Namjoon doesn't scold Jungkook for the nicknames anymore. Not after the first few calls when Jungkook's natural earnestness melts away Namjoon’s better judgment. “Too much salt bunny” Namjoon hears Taehyung say on the other side of the phone.

“I will kill you for carbohydrates Hyung.”

Namjoon does the best he can to ease the young omega's worries. And slowly- they talk about things other than Jungkook’s condition. Though that remains a soft topic, “I didn’t have any this week hyung! Maybe they’re finally turning a corner, aren’t you proud of me?”

“Of course, I am bunny- I’ll always be proud of you.”

In the background of the call, he hears the words ‘hot doctor’ and ‘hopeless’ faintly. A happy little giggle he’s started to recognize as Jimin’s when Jungkook shoots him a scandalized “Hyung!”

He and Jungkook talk until late at night sometimes. They text a lot too, so much that Yoongi and Jin tease him about it, “What are you smiling at your phone about?”

Like they don’t already know.

Jungkook fills the spaces when Yoongi and Jin aren’t there; the days after Namjoon’s had a night shift and both of his pack mates are working. Jungkook’s voice fills the air in Namjoon’s room. And when he closes his eyes, it feels like he’s really there.

Namjoon wants more than he would ever willingly admit. Wants more than he’d ever think through if Seokjin told him no.

But Seokjin only ever teases Namjoon for smelling strong and ask to see Jungkook’s Instagram. “Wow he’s like- model hot.” Namjoon had just pecked his cheek, dispelling any anxiety or insecurity.

“If he’s model hot then you’re ancient Greek statue hot.”

“Joonie.”

“Do you want me to stop calling him? I will.”

Seokjin’s thumb had hovered, a photo of the three of them there. The like count is what bothers him. Even Seokjin gets more than 50 likes on his photos of Namjoon and Yoongi. But these three pups, they only have 11 people in their corner. Two alphas and one omega.

This omega, this Jungkook must be special.

Seokjin’s heart beats hard. Flicking through the photos. Namjoon lets him look through their texts too. Jungkook is old fashioned, he prefers to call. “He’s got seizures Namjoon.”

“I know hyung.”

“He’s sick, and you can’t cure him.”

“I know.”

But packs are built this way, they all know that.

He talks to Jungkook’s alphas too. Mostly Taehyung who studied literature in undergrad and works at the large public library in the city center, not far from Namjoon’s hospital. One morning he even finds a coffee waiting at the check in desk for him, a cup of coffee and a not scrawled on the side in elegant handwriting.

Thanks for looking after Koo. He’s very special to us.

How many nicknames does this omega have? Namjoon saves the note, keeps it in his jacket pocket.

They share a lot of the same interest in poetry. Taehyungs the one who rescues Namjoon from the sound of static when Jungkook falls asleep on the line and talks quick, about stories and plot lines and the newest viral book that they can’t keep off the shelves that he’s just been dying to read but won’t until no one reserves it.

(Namjoon might leave it at the front desk in the library, might wrap it in a little purple bow)

The next time Jungkook calls he opens the phone to, “no fair! You got Taehyung a present before you go me something! It’s supposed to be omega’s first Hyung.”

“Okay bunny okay, what would you have me get you?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook had hesitated, “something for my nest maybe?” Namjoon’s breath had gone short, and the shouting through the other end of the line was good natured, goofy, but still indignant enough that Jungkook’s giggles had smoothed over any uncomfortableness. “Kidding hyung, you can buy me food.”

“Something seizure safe?” Namjoon had clarified, ducked into a corner at the hospital, words quiet.

“You gonna tell my doctor on me if it’s not?”

“Kookie-”

But scolding Jungkook never works out well, he’s too cute to be scolded, too good for it. Jungkook’s a personal trainer and luckily his work hasn’t been too disrupted by his diagnosis. Namjoon doesn’t know if he would have been able to resist offering monetary help if it had. They’re not rich, but having three people to pool their paychecks together takes the anxiety out of a lot of things.

Jungkook’s body feels more and more like a cage as the seizures get worse. His life is narrowed down to the five or ten minutes a week he surrenders to the seizures. But the best part, the part that makes him feel most free, is picking up the phone and calling Namjoon. Namjoon never makes him feel like he’s sick, his concern isn’t stifling like Jimin and Tae's can be at times. Namjoon never makes Jungkook feel worried and under watch, only looked after.

Jungkook knows that Jimin and Taehyung will get better at it, they have been adjusting but it’s Been hard. He’s not fragile right? He’s not going to die from this? Right?

Jungkook’s okay until he’s not.

Taehyung sends him poems and pictures of Jungkook sleeping and getting his rest. But he also calls in a panic just days from his third follow up MRI because Jungkook had a seizure when neither of the alphas was home. He’s still on the floor, and he’s having trouble standing.

Namjoon knows. Namjoon knows what that looks like after a seizure, knows how scary it is when the body won’t listen to the brain. The dissonance to it, like a car crash happening quietly or mold inside of a jam jar, shocking at the opening.

“He says he’s okay- but Joonie- Joonie- how do we know- what if he’s bleeding in his head or if he’s-”

“Tae- Tae- it’s okay baby. I’m here, do you want me to come over and check him out?”

The use of the word baby gets a little look from Yoongi and Jin. They’re playing footsie at the coffee table with a pint of ice cream and only one spoon between the two of them. Their night of domestic leisure interrupted by this phone call. Namjoon’s startled tone draws their attention away from each other. Namjoon’s too panicked to notice their questioning eyes, too worried about Jungkook.

He’s got more on his mind right now, the thought of brain bleeds and strokes and the misfiring neurons in Jungkook’s brain that could kill him. Really- Jungkook could die at any time from this. He could die and Namjoon's only seen them a handful of times. His follow up appointment that Namjoon had desperately been looking forward too, is barely a week away.

But that's not soon enough.

Tae goes silent on the other line until the phone gets handed over with a rustle of fabric against the earpiece. But Namjoon recognizes the calm breath. Namjoon doesn’t have as much of a rapport with Jimin, beyond a few selfies or videos of him and Jungkook being cute sent to him by Taehyung (because if he has to suffer through being so deeply in love that Jimin snorting sprite out his nose makes him have heart eyes then everyone else has to witness it too).

(In Namjoon’s defense those are Taehyung’s words- not his).

“Hyung, can you come over?” He asks.

He's never called Namjoon Hyung before and never asked to. There's a warmness there. Namjoon knows a little about why that might be. All of them are immigrants to different degrees and Namjoon's technically 3rd generation and had never learned Korean just like Jungkook. Tae and Jimin know more, have the sentiment built into their language, Korean to English and back again tangling until it’s hard to tell what they are- if they’re anything other than other. Jimin can’t read hangul but Tae can.

Jungkook throws the word ‘Hyung’ around like an American and likes to tack it onto every sentence or forget it entirely. Namjoon doesn't speak Korean like Yoongi and Jin do. But Namjoon recognizes the same cadence in Jimin's voice that Yoongi uses when he talks to Seokjin in that soft special way reserved for someone you expect to look after you.

The supplication is sweet as he asks for Namjoon. He lives up to his stoic persona; his voice barely wavers when he gives Namjoon their address.

In the mad dash over to their apartment, Namjoon recalls the story Jungkook told him of how he met Tae and Jimin. Jimin is a professional bodyguard and works for an entertainment agency, they both used to go to the same gym (Jungkook works there now but Jimin is too busy working to go more than once or twice a week) both of them staunch jocks and Tae the one erudite that charmed their hearts.

Taehyung and Jimin had known each other since grade school, had grown up and gotten kicked out at the same time because their parents didn’t approve of alpha and alpha relationships. They’ve been together even longer than Seokjin and Yoongi have. Had presented together and loved each other through it. Although it seems impossible given their age. He remembers Jungkook’s smitten expression over Facetime, stars in his eyes only meant for the two alphas’ and Namjoon a happy voyeur.

“They’re soulmates Hyung, like you and Seokjinnie.”

And that’s how Namjoon ends up halfway across town wearing only one slipper in Yoongi’s robe at 10 pm on a Wednesday. His car keys jingle in his hand as he realizes- fuck- I didn’t even comb my hair. His alpha instincts are screaming at him to find the three pups and make sure they’re alright. Maybe scruff them, maybe make sure that their den is as safe as Namjoon's.

(It couldn't be as safe as Namjoon's- his instincts say. He should take them by the nape and drag them back to place them in Seokjin's nest, the only safe place for pups. Seokjin might not even mind, Seokjin might chirp like his alpha has brought something significantly valuable back to his nest, like food from hunting or more furs. Three more packmates yes. That would be a very very good courting gift for the pack omega. Seokjin will like these alpha’s, Namjoon is sure of it).

Namjoon’s only ever felt this protective with two people in his life and he knows enough to guess what this means.

Jimin answers the door, moving to the side instantly to let Namjoon into their den. Routine, like not even an inch of his instincts reject him. They’ve only met in person twice and talked over the phone a handful of times. But Jimin’s eyes still shine, glassy and trusting.

“Alpha, you came.” He says, blushing when he realizes his slip-up. It’s quite a chang3e from his glaring before but Namjoon doesn’t question it. Namjoon whips through their apartment, his nose seeking out their omega.

“Couldn’t stay away, would have come over even if you said you didn’t want me to.” Is the confession too much or is it perfect? Jimin’s eyes go dark, and his hand loosens on the doorknob where it’s closed. Keeping the world out and Namjoon inside.

Namjoon wants to growl, but it comes out as a near purr.

Namjoon barely notices the checkered yellow carpet and the plants on the windowsill or the books piled by the couch where Jungkook sits with Taehyung, head in the alpha’s lap. The soft drone of the TV is the only noise. The brightness is turned down too. Both of his hands clasped in Taehyung’s tight, and a kitchen towel pressed to a mark on his cheek that's not bleeding anymore.

It doesn’t need stitches but will scar anyway. The scar will stay for years after, small and slight. Just barely puckering over Jungkook’s cheekbone. Namjoon spends half an hour holding his hands and checking his pulse. Shining a light in Jungkook’s eyes before he verifies that Jungkook is okay. That his pupils look fine, that he doesn't have a concussion. And he's going to be fine.

Tonight, Jungkook is alive and healthy, but that will not always be the case.

“You can borrow a pair of Tae’s shoes to go home,” Jimin says while Tae and Jungkook waddle off together towards the end of the hall where the scent of the three of them grows thick and sweet. In the direction of Jungkook’s nest.

Taehyung holds Jungkook up, still tired and dizzy from the seizure, but at least his legs are cooperating again. He’ll be back to normal by the morning. But for now he sleepily nuzzles into Namjoon’s shoulder. His words lisping with sleep, “it feels better when you’re here. Like you a lot hyung, like you lots and lots.”

Taehyung laughs awkwardly. “Okay, that’s enough honey bunny.” He’s understandably a little embarrassed that his omega is scenting the doctor that they met that one time (no matter that their call history says they’ve spent nearly 50 hours talking on the phone over the last 3 weeks.)

Taehyung holds his shoulders and puppets Jungkook to their room. Namjoon has to force himself to let them go down the narrow hallway and not follow them.

Namjoon is just about to leave when Jimin stops him at the door. “Alpha?” It’s not a mistake this time. Namjoon pauses in the doorway.

“Thanks for caring for us.”

Namjoon can’t stop his shivers even when he gets home. Yoongi strokes down his arms to warm him up. “You look like you’ve just had a bomb dropped on you or like you're coming down with something.”

Yoongi's honesty makes Namjoon word vomit all over the quiet. Jin is asleep next to them, but he stirs at the sudden spike of Namjoon's distress. Turns and opens his eyes, crusty. Rubbing at them with a curled fist before he leans his head on Yoongi’s arm. Curled beneath his cheek. Both of them lean in close to watch and listen.

“I think- I think they’re going to be a part of our pack.”

Yoongi kisses Namjoon’s frown away, kissing him over top of Seokjin who huffs, a little bratty at being ignored. Yoongi’s scent remains an uninterrupted ribbon of chocolate melty goodness. If Yoongi feels at all threatened or uncomfortable. He doesn’t smell it.

Namjoon knows he smells relived, even more when Yoongi kisses his cheeks, his brow. Namjoon clings, hands circling the beta’s waist. Possessive, almost apologetic. “Good, I’d rather listen to them talk here than get only half of your conversation through the phone.”

Late-night phone calls turn into tentative flirting and pinky promises. Seokjin always makes sure to like Jungkook’s posts on Instagram. Makes Yoongi like them too.

He finds flowers downstairs not long after, pink roses, two dozen of them. Long stems elegant and pretty. ‘To Dr.Kim’s pack omega, from Jungkook’s alphas’

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange? I just liked their photos on Instagram and they’re sending flowers?” He remarks to Yoongi later, admiring the flowers in their kitchen, so tall they almost block the view.

Yoongi had simply shrugged, “I think they’re probably just feeling guilty that Namjoon’s spending so much time away from us to take care of him.”

“What do you think of him. Of Jungkook?”

Yoongi had simply shrugged, “if it works out, it works out.”

“And if it doesn’t.”

“Then we put Joonie back together again.”

But lucky for them it will work out. Lucky for all of them there is nothing to worry about.

~-~

“I always think I’m too much for Jiminie and Taehyung- they’re such good alphas, and I’m just a burden.”

Namjoon hums disapprovingly, soft in his reassurance, opening the fridge to get out the milk, it’s almost noon, and Jungkook is just finishing up his classes. Namjoon is home and the others aren’t.

“Enough of that bunny. They love you. You know they don’t mind at all. They’ve told me they don’t. Promise me you'll call me when you feel this way.”

I’d take care of you too if you’d let me. Taking care of someone like you would be the opposite of a burden. Do you want me to take care of you Jungkook?

Jungkook’s voice is crackly through the phone. "I promise Hyung."

Seokjin steals the phone from Namjoon sometimes. “Namjoon says you’re cuter in person and I demand we have a cuteness competition where we make out and don’t let him join us.”

Jungkook’s hum comes through immediately. “To torture him? Wouldn’t nesting be more painful? I have a really really cute next Seokjin Hyung. Can you come over and see it sometime?” Asking an older omega for help nesting is-

Seokjin licks his lips, eyes Namjoon up and down, the blush on his cheeks, at a loss for what to say for once. Seokjin looks like he’s relishing in it. And Namjoon starts to get worried for a whole different reason.

It’s so terribly Seokjin as first introductions go. Jungkook’s laugh echoes through the phone and has Namjoon reaching for the phone to hear it. Leaning in cheek to cheek with Seokjin, fighting for it, play wrestling and roughhousing, but Namjoon is resistant to use any real force with Jin.

The omega puts his foot on Namjoon’s chest, both of them sprawled on the couch as Yoongi watches, brushing his teeth at the kitchen sink. Smiling through the bit of white foam that’s gathered on his lips.

“But seriously- when am I going to get to meet you Kookie? Can I call you that?”

They have a group dinner after Tae complains that he’s missing his favorite pair of comfy slip-ons and Jungkook complains that he’s missing his favorite alpha (a sentence that has both Tae and Jimin screaming indignantly but it’s all playful animosity and healthy competition between alphas).

They come over Jin pets Jimin's hair for a full hour, The puppy alpha leans into his touch, staying quiet while Tae explains to Jin the finer points of the dewy decimal system and where he went to college and how he organizes his own personal library in a much much more efficient system. Maybe the quiet or attention Jin gives the other man would bother Namjoon where it not for the sweet, sweet scent of vanilla that the alpha brings with him and the fluttering of his pretty eyelashes.

It’s not the usual vanilla, something deeper to it than baking vanilla, not quite as warm, but still musky and sweet.

Alphas don’t usually smell so sweet, Namjoon knows Jimin smells like Gunsmoke when he’s angry or distressed, had sort of assumed that his happy scent would mirror it. It’s a scent that most omega’s would have, makes saliva gather in his mouth, it smells awfully good when combined with Jin’s happy scent. Both of them smell like melted vanilla ice cream.

Tae chuckles and holds him when he starts to teeter. “Careful, Jimin’s sweet spot is his hair.” And Namjoon drinks down the pretty blush stronger than any whiskey. When Jimin blinks owlishly up at Jin, suddenly looking nervous Jungkook pipes up, agreeing.

“Seriously, just keep doing and he’ll kill for you.”

Jimin- Namjoon’s learned- is probably the quietest in their little pack. Jimin confesses to him months later that he got teased for his sweet scent growing up. Combined with his short stature and soft features he gets mistaken for an omega more often than not.

Namjoon learns that out of all of them Jimin is probably the most in touch with his baser instincts. This is why he was so shy at first. Jimin’s inner wolf (though he’d cringe if Namjoon ever used such archaic wording) is so much louder than everyone else’s. He’d recognized Namjoon as not just an alpha but his alpha immediately.

It had come as such a shock to him that day in the hospital that Jimin had rejected it a little. Jimin had never thought he’d feel the urge (and actually did have to stop himself) from rolling over and showing his stomach to another alpha. The same way that Taehyung does in the middle of rut sometimes when he's truly brought into a lower more instinctual headspace.

Namjoon watches him interact with Jin while Jungkook curls under his arm. It feels so natural to touch Jungkook, to stroke down his side, to duck low and whisper his observations into the omega’s hair. While they watch their two packs intermingle. Yoongi and Tae talk through their favorite books and music while he helps Yoongi set everything up for dinner. Yoongi might not read as much as Namjoon or Jin or Tae do- but he still appreciates Tae talking about what he loves. The way he’s so invested in the stories that he talks quick. The pretty way he smiles when he's really getting into his favorite book.

Tae is a librarian, Yoongi learns. He looks the part of it.

His soft silk shirt looks so delicate and simply pretty, the collar parted against honey collarbones. His well-tailored pants hug his toned thighs and trim waist. Yoongi is a little distracted by it that he almost burns the bechamel sauce. Distracted enough that he loses track of what Taehyung’s saying and settles for just watching.

Taehyung’s adorable grin flattens after a moment when he realizes how long he’s been rambling, that Yoongi hasn’t replied to anything in a few minutes. “Sorry you probably don’t want to hear about this I know it’s annoying when I info dump-”

“No, I was listening, keep going- that story sounds really interesting.”

He’s honest and genuine and he never looks away from Tae as he talks. There is something about the beta’s attention that makes Tae feel undeniably special. But less like a butterfly burning under a magnifying glass and more like a piece of sea glass in a child’s bucket. A treasure found to be marveled over. The attention makes all sorts of foolish emotions warm in Taehyung’s chest, nurtured carefully by every encouraging nod he earns from Yoongi.

If this is what Yoongi’s flirting is like they’re all doomed. There’s nothing more attractive than someone who is genuinely interested in your experience as a person. And Yoongi is invested, he wants to hear everything.

A beta. Taehyung hasn't been around many betas before. None of them have. Very few packs have Beta’s that stay for any length of time. But somehow Namjoon and Seokjin have managed to keep this one. It’s clear that Yoongi’s roots are here, his record collection is in the corner, and his flannel hangs by the door along with these beat up old shoes that look like something out of the 80’s.

Taehyung doesn’t have to look very far to find reasons why. Namjoon and Jin are sort of a power couple, they’re sort of perfect together. It’s hard to believe that Namjoon is both a doctor and only a year older than him and Jimin. Both of them are tall- just as tall as Taehyung and broader even.

By all measurable standards, the night is going fantastic until Jungkook has a seizure at their dinner table.

Triggered by what- who knows? It could easily be all the new scents in the room or the faintly flickering light that Yoongi’s been meaning to change in the living room. The spicy soup that Seokjin cooks or all the new scents tangling in the air overloading Jungkook’s cerebellum and plunging him headlong into it.

Dinner has barely started, there is still bites on the ends of forks, drinks being lifted to lips for first sips, when Jungkook’s body goes limp. He’s like a marionette with its strings cut. Limbs all limp and trembling, the whites of Jungkook’s eyes visible- only for a second before Namjoon guides him carefully to the floor.

Jimin and Taehyung operate with practiced ease. They’ve learned to see the signs right before it happens. Sometimes Jimin even thinks he can smell a subtle shift in Jungkook’s honey scent before his eyes roll back and his brain just shuts off and goes all wonky.

Yoongi and Jin watch on scared. Jin flinches, reaching, spilling a glass of white wine.

But Namjoon holds his head, and they hold each other and don’t restrain him except to keep him from flinching his arm into the leg of the chair which Seokjin takes and promptly yeets away from the youngest- the pup. They're all Seokjin's pups, he's already decided. Together the five of them wait for the twitching to stop because that’s all they can do.

Namjoon watches Jungkook and feels like he wants to cry, keeping time with his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Counting the seconds. He hadn’t expected something like this to happen outside of work hours. Seeing sick people when you’re not expecting to as a doctor- it’s jarring. Even though Namjoon’s used to it, it never gets any easier.

And then Yoongi swoops in when Jungkook’s body gives a particularly violent jerk, knees sliding across the linoleum floor, smashing his arm into the table leg in a way that looks incredibly painful. Yoongi doesn’t think- just follows his instincts and shoves his wrist under Jungkook’s nose.

Jungkook’s body heaves an unsteady breath of Yoongi’s chocolate scent and stops twitching. The violence in his wild limbs calming to a tremble.

Everyone just blinks.

He comes out of this seizure faster than others. Barely a minute before he’s blinking into clarity. His body’s first reaction is to press further into Yoongi. Curling around him on the kitchen floor. Knees behind his back as Yoongi threads his hand through Jungkook’s hair and holds him close.

The disorientation fades after a few minutes when they all help Jungkook up and onto the couch after the room has stopped swirling with colors like the filmy edge of a bubble. His brain trying to turn back on. Tae’s hands are shaking. Seokjin is crying a little, hiccupping. But he’s the least used to these kinds of things out of all of them, his shock is understandable. No one knows what to say, even less what to do.

In the silence, Yoongi turns to the three of them and calls it.

“That’s it, you’re staying.” His declaration rings with a tone of finality.

No one challenges him.

~-~

They move in next week, though they try to keep to separate bedrooms to make the transition from two packs to one a little less dramatic. It hardly works when Jungkook splits his time between the two rooms, when the others can’t help but wake up to the sound of pattering feet across the narrow hallway. Even on the nights he’s supposed to spend cuddling with Jimin and Tae, he somehow always finds his way into Yoongi’s arms.

He smells nice, or so Jungkook says, soothing. Especially on the days after the seizures. Sometimes Yoongi's scent is the only one Jungkook can handle.

It's so much more than that.

Jungkook’s seizures decrease dramatically after he moves in. Until they’re barely happening at all. Maybe once a month when before they’d been once or twice a week. He doesn't change his diet or his schedule. He doesn't change anything but his scenting sessions with Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t mind when he asks, always says sure and sits and lets Jungkook crawl tentatively to his side, rubbing their wrists together slowly at first and them more brazenly as the shyness wears away. And Yoongi tilts his throat up to let Jungkook have at it, cheeks all ruddy and blushy by the time he’s satisfied.

“We’re all a pack, we should all wear each other’s scents around.”

"You just want an excuse to kiss Jin Hyung in the nest Kookie" Taehyung teases, making the tops of Jin's ears go pink. Jungkook is a little bit obsessed with the elder omega’s nest.

"It's like a really sexy nest alright- you guys just don't get it because you're not omegas."

At the beginning Jungkook tried a few medications to get his seizures under control but none of them worked, either their side effects where worse than the seizures themselves or they hardly decreased their frequency. Yoongi's scent is better than any pill Jungkook could pop. Jungkook feels one coming on and a quick drag of Yoongi’s wrist along his throat stops it dead in his tracks. Or Yoongi shoves his wrist under his nose when Jungkook’s starts twitching, and the seizure lasts barely a minute. It’s not correlation, it’s causation.

Yoongi stops the seizures. He’s medicine made man, love made cure.

Privately, Namjoon thinks that he’d love to study it- the healing powers of betas aren’t something that’s well understood by science. When he accesses the hospital’s medical databases on his break, he finds that the evidence of any special beta healing properties is anecdotal at best and pseudoscience at worst.

There’s only one story in the scientific literature- from a beta doctor who says he cured his mate’s lupus after he gave them a mating mark. But the peer review on that alone is scathing. And in Namjoon’s agrees with it, because betas don’t mate.

For one beta to bind themselves to only one other person goes against everything that Namjoon knows about beta biology and sociology. There are even some in the field who don’t believe betas even can give or receive a mating bite.

One or two reports (that seem more like horror stories) he finds on his way down the rabbit hole of omegas and betas going absolutely insane after they’d tried to be bonded. They couldn’t be separated- that it seemed to hurt them if they were. Brain scans support this idea. Both of them had bright parietal lobes, actively experiencing pain when they were only a few rooms away from each other. Though noticeably less from the beta than their non-beta counterpart.

Betas can’t mate. At least not in the same way that omegas and alphas can. (And even alphas and alphas, and omegas and omegas- Namjoon’s progressive brain reminds him).

Things are changing, with Jimin and Taehyung in the house. Namjoon tries to be polite about it, watching both of them kiss over morning coffee, watching them nip and nibble. Tries to convince himself that his scent isn’t going heady and musky, that he’s not watching both of them over the top of his newspaper.

It becomes harder to ignore when both of them sit on either side of him and tangle their hands over the table. Pausing to feed him bites of Jin’s cooking saying, “alpha this is so good, you have to have it.” And Tae's gentle chiding of “good bite.”

It’s not so strange, is it? Two people of the same sub-gender loving each other, right? Namjoon’s instincts hum in agreement as he watches Jin and Jungkook roughhouse, Jin says something low and sweet that makes Jungkook laugh and Jungkook slaps Jin’s thigh in retaliation.

They all recognize the correlation between Jungkook’s health and Yoongi’s presence in the young omega's life. Jungkook’s seizures only come back if he and Yoongi haven’t spent enough quality time together or if he hasn’t been scent-marked or cuddled daily.

The near-overnight change is amazing. To Jungkook- it feels like he gets his life back.

At night Taehyung and Jimin look down at Yoongi like he’s a marvel. Like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. They kiss at his scent glands and even dare to nibble, as if to absorb part of him, so that they might keep Jungkook safe too. Making the beta gasp and his heart beat quick.

Honey and spice and vanilla- as good as Jungkook and Taehyung and Jimin. They join their pack, meeting Namjoon and Jin’s milk and coffee. Sometimes Yoongi just lies back up and breathes in deep. Enjoying the smell of all of them together and yet sure that they’re missing something.

“We smell like a bakery,” someone never fails to comment. “Yoongi’s bakery.”

It makes him feel good that he belongs here; this is where he’s meant to be he’s sure of it. But still- his heart has edges that still need mending. Or maybe he needs something to mend. Like arms he doesn’t know yet but can’t help but reach out for.

That something that their combined pack scent is missing happens to be the caramel sweetness of Jung Hoseok.

Another sweet-smelling alpha and sunshine incarnate.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- You guys really have no idea how much medical researched I’ve had to do over the years to talk about Jungkook’s seizures in an accurate way! Like literally I’ve had to look up everything. I would have thought grey’s anatomy would have prepared me for this but I guess those hours rewatching season 7 where wasted.

- I can confidently say that Jk probably has something called focal transmantle cortical dysplasia- which is resistant to treatment via medication and is either genetic or can sometimes be triggered by injury.

- Having worked in medical stuff for the last 4ish years- I can tell you without a doubt that if a patient acted like Jk with me I would be!!! Swooning!

- Okay but I’m a little in love with how Jungkook’s character changed to the beginning. Like “I’m like this naturally.” What a little shithead. I love him so much, he’s like lowkey my favorite character.

- Okay so, I’m not entirely sure whether or not my depiction of them as immigrants and the tangle of this being a kpop fanfic is like- alright? Because all cultures are different, and all cultural experiences are different and I’ve been reading a lot about the Korean diaspora. But I will say that like- I am an immigrant to the extent that Namjoon is in this story. Both my grandparents where in refugee camps before they came to America, they don’t have accents anymore but they still speak to each other in private in their first language. I’m American, I’ve never known any life than this and my mom calls herself American too, but I still feel in the middle you know? I want my depiction of it to be accurate but it’s not a focal point of this story in any major way- unlike for instance Jungkook’s illness or Tae's transition if that makes sense? I’m wondering how much I should talk about it and how much I should explain in this universe.

- If we’re talking like- actuality, I think that there is a possibility that Jimin could have presented as an omega in bily but because he grew up in such an abusive and stressful environment his body made him present as an alpha to better protect Tae.

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da-rulah · 1 year ago

Text

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-”

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well.

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick.

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him.

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market.

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years.

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...”

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret.

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-”

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned.

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow.

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-”

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.”

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.”

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living.

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world?

No.

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he?

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials.

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said.

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake.

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?”

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back.

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school.

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.

You wished you could live like that.

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-”

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?”

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud.

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-”

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...”

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing.

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.”

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this.

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!”

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!"

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!”

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again?

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself.

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.”

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed...

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.”

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights.

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial.

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?”

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.”

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in.

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being.

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to...

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount.

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter.

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?”

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had.

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh.

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?”

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.”

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.

“Big plans tonight, huh?”

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75”

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.

You.

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years.

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!”

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be.

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart.

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.”

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it.

A sob.

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob.

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick...

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.”

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic.

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone.

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob.

He held the phone to his ear again.

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...

“R-Raynor... street...”

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you.

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.”

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible.

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere.

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could.

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably.

Something in him cared.

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side.

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you.

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered.

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-”

“Okay...” you sniffled.

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up.

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much.

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night.

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak...

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all...

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?”

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?”

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother?

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you...

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue.

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water.

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed.

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?”

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.”

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...”

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold.

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.”

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.”

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes.

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.

“Is she...?”

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.”

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now.

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.”

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought.

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles.

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you.

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.”

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him.

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window.

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call.

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself...

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock.

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could.

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer...

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin.

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently.

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes.

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken.

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up.

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically.

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.”

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in.

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too?

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.

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judes-hoe · 6 months ago

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Bitter rivals,Sweet love

Parrings~ Lewis Hamilton x oc

Summary~ She’s gonna be in f1 for her third year and goes to a team no one expects her to. She’s always got a cold expression and only those close to her know why. Shes been close one to many times to winning a championship and this year she’s gonna get it no matter what.

Warnings~ mutual mastrabation, making out, consent is asked for.

A/N~ CHAPTER 7 SHIT IS GETTING REAL

Pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6

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Vanessa looked at Toto like he had just stabbed her. “The fuck your mean the FIA is checking my car?” She said getting frustrated. “Calm down, they said that something might not match the measurements in your front wing.” Toto explained.

They sat there for almost an hour before they got answers. Vanessa got a penalty and moved back on the grid to p15, she was furious. Her team had checked the car multiple times.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was later at night Vanessa at the hotel laying in her bed scrolling on her phone. Lewis laying in his bed, but she couldn’t deny the tension anymore.

“Are we going to pretend that what happened a few days ago didn’t happen.” Vanessa asked out the blue. “Listen kid, you needed someone and I helped you, what they said wasn’t right, I helped you now let’s go back to normal.” He said and put his phone on his charger before turning his back to her. “Got it, you’re right, just wanted to help the hopeless kid who can’t defend herself.” She whispered to herself and also plugged her phone in turning to her side.

Lewis just let out a sigh hearing her words but doesn’t say anything. And like that they both go to sleep with tension still in the room.

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Race day! Vanessa showed up to the paddock ready for this race, she had her confidence up and was ready to prove everyone wrong.

She did her pre race rituals and all that good stuff. Then she was in the car doing a formation lap. P15 she started, she was ready to dominate this race. The grid was now in their places after the formation lap. Vanessa watched the red lights turn on one by one, patiently waiting. As soon as the lights turned off she was off immediately gaining two lap.

Over the course of the first five laps she overtook to p9. Now behind lance, wasn’t that hard to overtake. Now behind Checo, another easy overtake. P6 behind Carlos which was hard as she tried to overtake him.

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It was the 60th lap, 3 laps left of the race Vanessa was p2 behind max and was gaining speed in him. In her mind she knew she might just get podium again, but something else was saying she was gonna win. She was .978 seconds behind max, they crossed the line. 2 laps left, she pushed as hard as she could.

.865 seconds as she uses her DRS when she could and is now .372 seconds behind. They passed the finish line again. 1 lap left. Vanessa gave it her all to pass max. Between turn four and five she finally passed him.

“Push Vanessa push!” Calvin came on the radio. Vanessa pushed her car and built a 1.736 second gap between her and max for the rest of the race.

As she crossed that finish line Calvin came back on the radio. “Vanessa you did it! You did it! God you did it! You won your first home race!” Vanessa couldn’t hold the tears back. “I did it Calvin…I-i did it, for them this is for them, and to prove everyone who thought i couldn’t do it, they can all fuck off!” Vanessa said through tears and sniffles. “Oh okay now watch the language lady.” Calvin said with a laugh.

Vanessa pulled up to the P1 spot with max at p2 and Lando at p3. Vanessa couldn’t get out her car quicker and stood at the front of her car and pointed at the sky. She then race to Mercedes who were waiting behind the barriers. She jumped over the barrier and they all hug and pat her back. All say something like ‘you did it!’ Or ‘congratulations!’. It was like a dream come true to her.

As she was set down she took her helmet off and put the Mercedes cap on drinking her water. She could feel eyes on her, not from the team or other drivers, but him. She look in the direction and saw him standing with a soft smile and nodding at her.

She did her interview and was answering the questions she was asked. “I mean it’s like a dream come true, finally winning my home race. I mean i obviously wish they were here to see this but I know they’re watching over with smiles. But I couldn’t be happier, this will always be-“ she was cut off by a tap on her shoulder, she looked and saw Ferrari team principal, Fred Vasseur, he was holding an Italian flag for her. She happily took it and gave him a hug before continuing her interview.

She took on the top step, listening as the Italian anthem played. She looked up in the sky with a smile closing her eyes, the Italian flag from earlier was wrapped around her like a cape.

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It was late at night, partying with most of the grid and some of the Mercedes people. She had one drink, just a fruity drink as a treat for winning. It was midnight when the party had sorta died down, she had Daniel walk her back to the hotel to make sure she got back safe.

She walked into the hotel room and saw Lewis just on his phone. “Here you are, surprised you weren’t at the party?” She said going in her suitcase. “Didn’t feel like it.” He responded blankly. “Normally you’re a party type of guy?” She said but then she realized. “Is it because the party was basically for me?” She looked at him with a smirk. “No.” He scoffed.

There was a tension in the room but they didn’t know what. “You’re really that stubborn to not go to a party that’s about me?” She slightly teased him walking over to his bed. “No I just wasn’t in the mood alright?” He sat up and watched her walk closer to him.

They just stared at each other and Lewis stood in front of her. “You feel the tension too?” He asked looking in her eyes. “Yeah.” Was all she said and he smashed his lips on her holding her face in his hands. It was like a relief when he kissed her, she relaxed and kissed back. The kiss lasted for a moment before he pulled away. “You’re not like drunk or tipsy right?” He asked wanting to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of her. “No, no I’m not, I don’t drink.” She said and looked at him with honesty in her eyes.

He then kissed her again a little deeper this time, he then laid her on the bed and his hands moved down her body. He then pulled away again. “You sure you want this?” He asked a little out of breath. Vanessa nods her head. “I’m sure Lewis, I can’t deny the tension anymore.” She said softly and her hands moved to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head and throws it to the side.

They fully undressed themselves, Lewis lays next to Vanessa but in his side. His hand traveling down and teases her by rubbing her thigh. He’s kissing her neck, she then takes her hand that’s trapped between their bodies and reaches down and starts to jerk him off. It makes him let out a breathy moan and he slips his fingers inside her.

He has two fingers inside her, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Her hand speeding up around his cock. “Being such a good girl for me, always wanted to know what your had would feel like around me.” He said and sped his fingers up inside her making her moan a little louder. “Lewis, feels so good, please!” She said feeling her stomach tighten signaling she’s close. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers sweetheart, gonna cum for me?” He teased and rub his thumb faster over her clit.

She speeds her hand up on his cock. “Want you to cum with me.” Vanessa said between whines, he just smiles against her neck. “Shit Lewis I’m cumming!” She moans out, Lewis sits up more and smashes his lips on her to quiet her moans. As she finished her climax he slows his fingers down riding it out of her and he soon cums on his stomach and her hand. He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean before kissing her neck again. “Did such a good job for me.”

He then clean you both up, putting a pair of boxers on and helping you dress back up. Just as he went to lay in his bed you spoke up. “Stay in my bed, please.” She said quietly as she was about to fall asleep.

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A/N: probably my longest chapter yet😭

Taglist: @tallrock35 @itsmrshamilton

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kaitawrites · 4 months ago

Text

Silent Whispers 3

Pairing: "Wolverine" Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader

word count: 1.9k

Warnings: angst (love angst with logan howlett, he is just built for it)

Notes: This is 18+ as there are sexual themes within the story. This is a continuation of this post Silent Whispers, Part Two I hope you enjoy it all! I also am making a silent whispers logan tag #silentwhisperslogan so if I dont connect all of the chapters, the tag would bring it all together.

Taglist: @amelia262006 @clairealeehelsing @arrowenchantress @marcybug @cosmicmagicgirl @killerwendigo @danicl25 @sullyselena @wolviesgirl @@amandarobertsboyce @dulleyes13 @imagineme2you

Logan didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to say to you when he finally saw you again. He had briefly thought about it. Talk to you about how sorry he was and beg for your forgiveness. Explain to you that he would never treat you that way ever again. Two years and all he could think about is how beautiful you are. He caused you to give up on him. To make you feel like you’re second best. He failed to realize how good you really were to him. He opened his mouth just to close it once again. “You need to leave.” At first the words didn’t process as he was still in trance with your beauty. You looked exactly the same as the day you left.

“You have to leave now.” You repeat yourself and the words finally process in his head. His eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Before he could utter a word, you were already closing the door on him. He quickly puts his foot and wedges it between the door. “Please, I know I hurt you. But please I just haven’t been the same. Nothing has been the same since you left.” He bawls his fists and bits his lower lips. He could feel himself beginning to choke up. Pretty embarrassing. “I miss you so much and I’ve been so stupid. I love you so much. I truly do. My heart is only for you.” You stare at him, eyes wide with the confession. You felt your heart skipping a beat at his words. But you were quick to get things in order, your eyes hardening as you once again try to close the door. “Just leave me alone.”

“Mommy, Who’s that?” Logan was shocked to hear a little voice and before he knew it a little girl’s head peeks through the door. Logan’s whole body froze at the sight. She had dark brown hair and your big round eyes. Logan looks down at her and then up at you. The words written all over his face as he stares into your eyes. You nod your head silently. Logan couldn’t stop himself from falling to his knees and the excessive tears streaming down his face. The little girl gasp and places her hand on Logan’s hand. A sweet smile on her face. “Are you ok, Mister?” She had your sweet nature as well. A bittersweet smile is on Logan’s face as he nods his head.

After seeing your daughter, your shared daughter. You knew you couldn’t just push him out the door now. He would follow the both of you to the ends of the earth. Nothing would ever stop him from finding the both of you. Knowing this information as well as knowing the type of person Logan is you decide to let him in. He sits on your couch as he marvels at the little girl who is playing with her dolls on the living room floor.

He was still shocked. Unable to comprehend the situation fully. You patiently waited for him as you sat on the couch across from him. So many thoughts crossed his mind. ‘Were you pregnant when you left? Did you know that you were pregnant? Was he ever going to know that you were pregnant with his child? Were you ever going to tell him? What would have happened if he found you sooner? Would you all be a big happy family?’

He’s asking himself all these questions when you are right there to answer. He finally looks up at you. “Did you know when you left?” You shake your head no as a response. “I didn’t know until a few months later. They told me I was already 5 months in.” You response made his heart clench. He couldn’t even imagine how you felt when finding out. All by yourself, all alone. He feels even worse now knowing the situation. The tension grew between the two of you. The only thing that was heard was the small little words coming from your shared daughter.

“What’s her name?” He whispers, surprisingly you can still hear his words. “Laura James Howlett.” Logan looks over to Laura. “Laura.” He whispers, not really calling her. She looks up at him, tilting her head in confusion. Something in Logan’s chest seeing her. The mixed features of you both right in front of him. “Why didn’t you come back when you found out? You could have put both of you at risk. You should have just came back.” You couldn’t control the way your face scrunches up in annoyance. “We are just fine. Everything is fine. We are literally in Canada and have all of our own things. We live off the land, have our own garden. Nobody even knew about this abandon cabin. I’ve been doing just fine. The only risk that happened is you being here and knowing about Laura.”

Logan was taken aback at your words. “I’m not trying to argue with you. I know I hurt you. I know I did. And I am really sorry about it. I just want you to come back with me. Just come back.” You turn away from him, your legs and arms crossed. “Or you can just stay.” Your words make him freeze up. You had talked to him many times about the idea of just hiding away from the world. Living off the land and just throwing the whole X-Men name behind. “Of course you wouldn’t. Or should I say you can’t.” You suddenly get up from the couch and call Laura. As she gleefully makes her way towards you, you pick her up effortlessly. “You can see yourself out. I have to put my daughter down.” Emphasis on ‘my’ as you turn away from him and begin to walk up the stairs.

Logan shoots up from his chair. “I’m not losing you again. I won’t.” He states with confidence. He was right there at the end of the staircase, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Please, I just-“ His voice begins to crack with each second that passes by with you not in his arms. He looks down at the floor, ashamed for what he did to you. “I just can’t lose you again.” He looks up at you, showing the tears that are beginning to form. Your resolve quickly dissolving at the sight before you. You open your lips to say something but close them. Afraid to say something you shouldn’t. You nod your head slightly. Logan didn’t know he was so tense as his shoulders drop and a breath of fresh air escapes his lungs.

Upon arrival of the school for the gifted, you see many of your friends right before you. Charles has a wide smile on his face. “It’s good to see you back.” You feel Laura hold onto your shirt a little tighter. You begin to rub her back. “Time has done you justice, Charles.” You give him a tight lipped smile. You would be lying if you said you never missed any of them. Ororo, Charles, Hank, and even the little rascals. “And who’s this little missy?” Ororo approaches the two of you. “This is Laura, my- our daughter.” You explain. Laura peaks before hiding her face into your chest. A little chuckle escapes Logan’s lips. “She has a lot of warming up to do.”

Ororo begins to play peekaboo with your daughter, making her laugh and become more open. Charles calls your name, moving your attention from Ororo and Laura and to him. “Why don’t you keep Laura with Logan and Ororo? I have somethings I need to discuss with you.” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Logan’s eyes already on you and the professor. You glance at him briefly. “It’s ok, I got it.” Honestly, I didn’t really have a lot of faith in Logan with your daughter but then again Ororo is there too. You follow behind Charles as he wheels himself to a more secluded area on the land. The two of you ended up in the gardens.

“You should’ve came back when you found out about the pregnancy.” Charles begins. You roll your eyes at this, already knowing where this conversation was going to go. “Yea, I would definitely come back to a place where it is known to have mutants. And was even ransacked by the government. We were safer miles away from this place.” Charles shakes his head, swirling his chair around to face you. “We are stronger together. You should’ve came back. You could have put both of your lives in danger being all alone. And none of us knew where you were. Let alone know you had a child.” He states firmly. You bawl your fist in anger. You are not just some child. You could take care of yourself. And you’ve been doing a great job without them. To the point not even Charles knew where you were.

“I am not a child. You do not need to speak to me like I am one of your students. You seen what they did to Magneto. What they did to his family. If I came back, Laura probably wouldn’t even be here right now. You seen what they did to Logan. What do you think would happen if they found out if he had a daughter thats just like him?” The fury boiled throughout your body. “She’s a mutant?” Charles asks but you keep your mouth shut. Moving your body away from him to look at the trees. “Please tell me. Is she a mutant? And is her mutation the same as Logans’?” You lift your shirt up to reveal tiny scratch marks barely even noticeable.

“It was when she just turned 3, the terrible 2s weren’t done and she got me when I was telling her it was time for bed. She’s just as feisty as him.” Charles stares at the cut, many things running through his mind but he doesn’t voice any of them. He nods his head slowly. “Did you tell him?” You shake your head no. Logan had told you before how painful it was when he would retract his claws. And you didn’t know how he would react to knowing that she is literally a mini version of him. Would he hate her because she is a reminder of how he was before the metal claws? Would he want to abandon her because she acts too much like him? Would he get angry with you for not telling him sooner? Just too many questions you didn’t have the answer to. “Will you tell him?” Charles asks you.

“I will have to eventually.” You both return back to Logan and Ororo to find the other kids meeting Laura. They were even more surprised to see you. They all gasp and huddle around you. “Professor, Professor, When did you get back?” They repeatedly asked. You couldn’t help the smile appearing on your face as you’ve seen the little kids you left to come back to way bigger kids. They were some that were your height, some even taller than you. You really did miss them all.

During this, you didn’t see the way Logan stared at you. Longing in his eyes and the way his heart fluttered when you smiled. “You’re going to try to win her back?” Ororo whispers in his ears. Logan sends a slightly mean glare at her. “She doesn’t want me. She’s moved on.” Ororo laughs at his response. “Believe whatever you want, loverboy. Moved on is not the word for it.” She elbows him to show that you are staring at Logan. You weren’t ready to connect eyes so you quickly look away and pick up your daughter. “Yeah, Moved on isn’t the word.” Ororo repeats.

I love feedback, so don't be afraid to ask questions or give feedback.

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #headcanons with kaita #silent whispers logan

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cyberneticfallout · 9 months ago

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Chapter Two: The Wastes

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: As you trudge through the wastes looking for the doctor, you and the ghoul decide to set up camp. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Navigating the barren wastes was never a task for the faint-hearted. The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, the dry air sucked the moisture from your pores, and the ever-present radiation kept you on edge. Easy work for that damn ghoul, you thought. A sense of unease always lingered in these parts despite all the years you’ve done this.

The ghoul maintained a steady pace ahead of you, with the dog forging an even greater distance in front as she diligently followed the trail of her missing owner. Doctors have always been a sought-after commodity, but the substantial reward offered for this one hinted at something deeper. So far you’ve seen a ghoul, a knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, and a vault dweller mixed up in all of this. Who else is after this man?

The mangled remains of an old Soviet satellite loomed into sight as the dog bounded towards it, barking excitedly. Upon reaching the ruins, you spotted a pair of legs emerging from the debris, followed by a torso. But to your surprise, that was all that seemed to be present seeing as the head seemed to be sawed off.

"Oh, shit," you whispered as the ghoul knelt down to examine the body. The dog sniffed around, whining softly before resting her head on the lap of the headless corpse. It appeared that the doctor hadn't gotten far, evident from the unsettling sight of a bloody metal foot attached to one of his legs.

The ghoul starts to cough and wheeze violently, a sight that has become all too familiar to you from past experiences. Without hesitation, he retrieves a vial from his satchel resembling the one you had previously shown him and inserts it into an inhaler. Inhaling deeply, he lets out a long sigh of relief.

"How many of those you got left?" You quip.

"I keep forgettin you’re here, you’re so damn quiet," the ghoul complains, slightly annoyed by your presence.

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred by his irritation. "Answer the question."

Grimacing, he carefully places the inhaler back inside his satchel. "Enough to get me through. Besides, you bribed me with a vial, so I’m assumin’ you got more. Don’t know why I ain’t just shoot you now and take it," he mutters, frustration evident in his voice.

"I'd make sure to break the shit before you even draw your gun." With a smug smile you take a seat next to the doctor’s corpse. “We’ve been walking for almost a full day now. Wanna rest?”

The ghoul looks at you wearily, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. "That vault dweller won't make it too far, so I suppose we can hunker down here for the night."

As the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow across the desolate landscape, the small fire you managed create dances aflame, providing a small comfort in the darkness. Sticks of iguana meat, graciously hunted down by the dog, roast over the flames.

The ghoul lies flat on his back, his body weary from the day's journey, patiently waiting for the food to be ready. In this moment of stillness, you take the opportunity to observe him more closely. Despite the absence of a nose and the scars that mar his skin, you realize that, all things considered, he doesn't look too bad for a ghoul. There's a certain resilience in his eyes and a hint of humanity that shines through the decay.

"What're you staring at, smoothie?" His gruff voice cuts through the silence, abruptly pulling you out of your thoughts.

Startled, you quickly avert your gaze, hoping he doesn't notice the slight blush that creeps onto your face. "Nothing!" you hastily reply, trying to regain your composure. "So, uh, what's your name?"

"No," he curtly responds, his expression guarded.

"Okay..." you exhale, not wanting to push him any further. Sensing a need to shift the focus away from his guarded demeanor, you dig through your pack and retrieve a pipboy. With a few flicks and taps, you check on your radiation levels, noting that they are not alarmingly high but still present.

As you glance up from the pipboy, you notice the ghoul looking at you curiously. His gaze lingers on the device, and you can tell there is a spark of interest in his eyes.

"Scavenged a vault a long time ago," you casually remark, hoping to initiate a conversation. The ghoul nods, his gaze returning to the night sky above. Not a big talker, you think to yourself as you grab the cooked sticks of meat from the fire and toss one towards him.

He catches the meat with a swift motion, his eyes momentarily softening with gratitude before he takes a bite. The flavors of the wasteland dance on your tongues as you both savor the nourishment.

As the night sky envelops you in its dark embrace, you settle into a companionable silence once more. The crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of chewing provide a comforting soundtrack to your temporary respite. The dog rests her head on your lap as you eat the rest of the meal, saving a bite for her even though you watched her eat an entire radroach earlier.

As you offer her the morsel, a glint of appreciation shines in her eyes. She gently takes it from your hand, savoring the treat as she curls up beside you. You take a moment to observe her, the flickering firelight casts a warm glow on her fur, accentuating the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

You reach out to stroke her fur, offering a comforting touch. The dog looks up at you with eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and longing. It's as if she understands the weight of her loss, yet finds solace in the companionship she has found with you.

Unbeknownst to you, the ghoul has been silently observing your interaction with the dog. A flicker of emotion passes across his face, a brief but genuine smile that hints at a hidden softness beneath his hardened exterior. He turns on his side, settling in for the night, and offers a simple instruction.

"Make sure to put out the fire, smoothie," he says gruffly.

Looking up at his back turned to you, a small smile creeps onto your face. You rise from your spot and take a moment to extinguish the crackling fire, ensuring that all remnants of its warmth and light are gone.

Returning to your makeshift bedroll, you lay down next to the dog, who has already settled in for the night. The quietness of the surroundings wraps around you like a peaceful embrace. Gazing up at the stars, their brilliance shining through the vast expanse of the night sky.

As you lay there, the tranquility of the night begins to lull you into a peaceful state, coaxing your eyelids to grow heavy. The wastelands may be ravaged and unforgiving, but for now… there is a quiet peace shared among you, a ghoul, a dog, and a headless corpse.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123

#here is chapter twooo #I'll upload chapter 3 in a couple days :) it's also muuuch longer #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #fallout #Smoothie and The Ghoul #the ghoul #cooper howard

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wordsofelie · 3 months ago

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Chapter 8

🌅Don’t you dare run away (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing

Words count: 5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7

Osamu doesn’t talk about what happened.

The main reason is that he wants to believe it was only a one-time thing. You were simply surprised to see your ex after who knows how many months or years; your relationship with Osamu is only starting even though you’ve known each other for a long time. Osamu wants to respect your boundaries; he wants to give you the time you need to get used to this new life. He’ll be patient (for once, his mother would say).

But that one-time thing lasts longer than expected.

Four months pass, you’re well settled in Tokyo, well integrated into your new team and Osamu has become a regular on the Omiya-Shin Osaka shinkansen line. He alternates between his shop in Osaka, where he has taken on a new full-time manager (Sato and Nagisa love her), and his new premises in Tokyo, which are still in the restoration phase. Osamu opted for a smaller place close to a university and a business district (strangely close to Akaashi's offices), the goal being to focus on takeaway food rather than a familial restaurant. Kita is getting ready to supply twice more rice and he’s just waiting for his former teammate to open the new shop.

By the time the Olympics end, everyone is aware that you’re dating. Bokuto couldn’t help but tell Hinata and Akaashi, Hinata couldn’t resist sharing the news with Kageyama during their game against Argentina, claiming it just slipped. And, from there, the secret practically ran itself through the team. By the time it got to Atsumu, he’d almost passed out from shock. The setter had cornered Osamu one evening. “Are ya serious? My own twin, my own flesh ‘n blood, and ya didn’t even tell me?”

But as soon as he finished his tirade, he sighed heavily and clasped Osamu on the shoulder. “Ya know, ‘Samu, I’m glad it’s ya though. She deserves it. Just... don’t mess it up, alright?”

And Osamu promised he wouldn’t. They went out to have dinner that night and Atsumu’s eyes got wet when the waiter served the plates.

“Yer leavin’ me again,” he whines to his twin.

Osamu groaned, “Stop bein’ such a crybaby for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to beat ya if I get stuck in the same place? It’s like we're runnin’ a race but with our shoelaces tied together. One of us has to get past the other.” Because it sounded too serious, or maybe because his eyes also got wet, Osamu stretched out his arm on the chair and his voice turned to tease mode again, “and I guess, I'm just better with women than ya.”

Atsumu got mad and they acted like themselves again, as if nothing happened, as if they weren't on the verge of tears at the idea of being away from each other.

His mother, of course, was over the moon. She’d even sent a few of your favourite treats because according to her, this announcement warranted a full family celebration. “We always hoped, ya know,” she’d told Osamu with a soft smile, “that you’d end up with someone just like her. Maybe even her, actually.” She winked, and before Osamu could stop her, she was already planning the next family gathering (and a wedding.)

No need to mention Umi who was the first to know. Osamu received a text from her early one morning, saying how happy she was for you and hinting at his potential murder if he ever broke your heart. He didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

The only person still completely out of the loop remains Suna.

For some reason, the thought doesn’t worry Osamu. Wordlessly, you both agreed to let things settle naturally. It’s only a matter of time before you tell him, or at least, that’s what Osamu believes.

But it’s now almost November and the guys from Inarizaki High have organised a team reunion in Tokyo when Osamu officially opens his new restaurant. Your boyfriend tries to ignore the feeling, but it does sting when you seem to avoid his gaze whenever Suna is nearby. At some point in the night, Gin—who’s the only other person not aware of your situation—wraps his arm around Osamu’s shoulder and asks him, “So, what about you, man? Got anyone special?”

Osamu pauses, his hand lingers just a little too long on his glass. He catches your eye across the table, but you look away. Something twists in his chest.

That evening, you fight for the time.

When you return home, Osamu is quieter than usual, barely meeting your eyes.

“Are you mad?” you ask, watching him from the doorway as he sits on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.

But he doesn’t look up. “That you acted as if I didn’t exist in front of yer ex, again? Huh, nah.”

You move closer to him. “Osamu…”

“Look, it’s fine,” he replies, and it breaks his heart not to look at your face. You’re probably hurt right now, but if he lands his eyes on you, he will probably just want to apologise and kiss your lips and your eyes and your cheeks to make the sadness go away, “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

He huffs a sigh through his nose, “I said it’s fine.”

Then he gets up, his back is facing you now. Osamu feels his blood rushing through his veins, both out of frustration and guilt, “I get it if yer disappointed in this relationship.”

The words cut deeper than either of you expected, and for a second, you stay silent. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“Disappointed? You’re not the one who’s felt neglected these past few weeks,” you reply, and your voice raises just slightly higher. “Whether you’re in Osaka or here, it’s like I barely exist to you. I mean, at least when we were just friends, I felt like I had some part of you. Now… I don’t know, Osamu...”

Your shoulders slouch and your brows furrow. When he takes a glimpse at you, the frustration is fully replaced by guilt.

“My love…” he begins, reaching for you, but you cover your stomach as if to shield yourself from him.

“No, I… I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe it was a stupid idea to let you follow me to Tokyo. I was selfish. And if you want to leave me, I understand-”

Miya Osamu has heard some stupid things in the past (especially coming out of his brother’s mouth), but leaving you has to be the craziest one. How in the world could he want someone else other than you? Now that he had a taste of what it’s like to be by your side, how could he ever think of leaving?

It’s been a decade, ten full years, that Osamu has been watching you from the sidelines. He saw you being almost chosen, half-loved by Suna. He watched you break and then pick yourself up before falling into the arms of your good-for-nothing ex again. It was unfair, it was infuriating to see you look at him with stars in your eyes when you obviously deserved so much more—the whole universe even. And then, without trying, he fell head over heels for you. He started yearning after you, desired to be the one you go home to every day, the one who makes your heart flip in your chest.

Now, in all modesty, Osamu can say he is no longer on the sidelines; he’s with you and he’s yours.

But words aren’t enough thus, he moves toward you, so quickly that it startles you. His hands find your neck delicately, his fingers get tangled in your hair and before you can pull away, he says, “Hey, I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya understand? Yer it for me.”

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. “But I don’t want to be a burden,” you respond in a murmur. “You work so hard, and I’m so proud of you. I don’t want to be just one more thing you have to worry about.”

“But that’s exactly my role.” His forehead meets yours, “listen here, sweetheart, I would burn down the restaurant for ya.”

“But I don’t want that.” He makes you smile wide through your tears.

“No, me neither.” He chuckles but after, his voice softens, “What I mean is that startin’ today and for all the days that come, yer the one I’ll choose over everything. If I had to relive my life, I’d choose ya again and again, I’d probably choose ya earlier. Please, now tell me when something is wrong because nothing could ever make me fall outta love for ya. I’m not him.”

You put your hand over his, and squeeze tightly, “And I don’t want anything else, Osamu. Just you.”

“Then that’s what ya got. And promise me one thing.”

You nod and he brushes a tear from your cheek. “Anything.”

“Let’s just tell each other when something’s wrong. It’s shit to argue like that. I’m sorry if ya felt like I wasn’t here enough, I’ll make it up ya, okay?”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, as if letting go would make all of this disappear. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean what I said… I was just hurt, and I guess, I just miss you. We don’t see each other as much those days, but I know it’s for the better. As for Rin,” you look up at him and Osamu realises he forgot what the argument was about in the first place. He gulps loudly. “I’ll tell him, soon. But I just need a bit more time. I guess I'm just worry it'll make things awkward between you too...”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Take all the time ya need. And ya know, we're grown men, okay? No one’s gonna punch the other... he’d get hurt anyway.”

You laugh, (and avoid reminding him that Suna Rintarou is a professional athlete, probably for the sake of his ego) and only hug him more.

Feeling your skin against his as you slip under the sheets, is the only thing that matters now. You chose him, not Suna, and the thought is enough to make his whole body shiver.

You fall asleep first and Osamu, in an unusual moment of gratitude, wants to thank the gods for being able to see your pretty face everyday. Make it last forever, he wishes to ask them. When he closes his eyes later, he is convinced that they heard him.

The gods are funny entities. Maybe they did hear him and maybe they’re trying to impulse your relationship on the right path.

At least, that’s the conclusion your boyfriend comes up with when on a calm Saturday morning, as he is making breakfast while you’re taking a shower, someone knocks at the door.

Osamu sets down the bowl of batter he is holding, turns off the stove to prevent the baking pancakes from burning, and walks to the door.

The door swings open, and he has to take a step back in surprise when one Suna Rintarou appears in front of him.

“My mum wanted to give you – Osamu?”

Both men seem to be equally surprised. Osamu tries to hide his displeasure. He just wanted to spend a quiet morning with you, eating breakfast and cuddling, so why the hell is your ex in front of him right now?

“Oh Suna, hi… hm…”

“Dearest are you-” your voice chimes in but stops as fast. “Rin?”

Osamu widens his eyes and looks at you, he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m- hm- thank you for letting me sleep here yesterday. I’ll leave now.”

His excuse doesn’t seem to ease Suna’s doubts as the man with his usual sharp-eyed self, throws Osamu a side-eye. But soon enough, his attention falls on you and he crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Osamu’s face swings from you to him a few times. It’s clear that you’re speaking to each other without words. Whatever space he takes in your heart now, Suna has been here before and the string that once led you to him could never truly be severed.

“Osamu lives here.” You take his hand, “we are dating.”

There’s a long silence. It’s awkward and heavy. Osamu suddenly wants to pinch his arm, hoping none of this is happening. The man understands why you kept putting this moment off for so long.

But you’re brave enough to continue, “Did you come here for something?”

“My mum found that bracelet you lost.” He takes the jewellery out of his pocket. It’s discreet but Osamu and Suna gazes meet, probably to prove to your boyfriend that he didn’t just come to see you out of the blue.

You take the bracelet from his hand, thanking him a several times and claiming you were still hoping to find it, even after all those years.

“Please Rin, enter.”

Suna is quick to take his shoes off and step into your living room, “She also baked you this.”

Your eyes shine when you see the box he is handing you, “Auntie’s cookies? Gosh, they’re the best. I’ll warm them up.”

You turn to your boyfriend with a smile. “I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Osamu clears his throat, “Yeah, me too…D’ya want a cup of coffee or-”

“I’m fine,” Suna replies with nonchalance as he passes past Osamu to follow you in the kitchen. The latter has to hold back a groan. It’s a good thing he started meditation because right now, he really needs to keep his calm.

Suna only looks at you as the three of you stand in the kitchen, waiting for the cookies to be savoured, “my mum didn’t put any peanuts in the cookies, you still think it tastes like soap, right?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do, it’s so considerate of her.” You give Suna a cup of tea.

“Lemon tea, my favourite, you remember.”

You smile gently at him in response, but Osamu can see that your lips tug into a thin line after. Suna is acting out of character, and it’s confusing you as well as your boyfriend.

“Angel,” Osamu starts and from the corner of his eyes, he can see Suna’s shoulders tense. “I also made pancakes; we can share it together if ya want. I went to the market this morning to buy raspberries. I’m sorry, I know ya love blueberries more but- ”

“She prefers strawberries.” The middle blocker mumbles, though it’s unmistakably aimed at reaching Osamu’s ears.

“Wait, wait, guys, what are you doing?”

The boys look at each other and just when they both open their mouths, ready to justify their actions, your phone rings.

“I have to take this, it’s for work – Hi Kuroo-senpai.” You say as you escape to your bedroom.

Osamu wishes he could follow you, but instead, he sighs. He, who waited all week to spend this morning with you, now wants it to be over.

He turns to Suna, but your ex doesn’t move even with those two eyes staring at him, as if deadpan. He’s not going to talk first and Osamu summons up all its courage to start the conversation.

“Listen man I-”

“I’m not really surprised.”

Osamu blinks a few times.

“You guys always had that weird relationship. Ever since high school, I tried to keep her away from you, when we used to walk home together, she wanted to wait for you, but I often said you wanted to stay to practice more. I never told her that but when I moved to Hiroshima and she started spending all her days with you, I hated it. I tried hanging out with girls to make her jealous-”

“That’s a shitty move.”

“Oh, shut up, we were nineteen.” Suna’s voice sounds frustrated, it’s a first, Osamu thinks. He never saw that look on his face before, even when they shared defeats together. Maybe, he did truly love you? “And I regretted acting like that… anyway, she dumped me in the end. I guess that’s what you call karma.”

“Yer the one who dumped her first.”

He rolls his eyes in response, “I know. Biggest mistake of my life. But I’ve moved on now. I’ll go.”

Osamu is taken aback by his last words but realises he heard it right when Suna makes his way to the genkan again.

“Dontcha wanna wait til her call is finished?”

“You want me to stay?”

Osamu hesitates and it makes Suna chuckle.

Once he’s done putting his shoes on, he looks behind his shoulder at his former teammate.

“You’re a lucky man, don’t you dare run away.”

A warm feeling spreads through his stomach, and something clicks in his brain as if he just remembered a happy memory from his childhood. He has no idea when and where, but Osamu feels like he heard those words before. Maybe from a dream.

“I won’t. I really love her.”

“The first match of the season is next week, I’m playing against Atsumu, if you guys want to come.”

“We will.”

“Don’t be jealous if she supports me though,” Suna smirks slightly and it pisses off the other man who can’t help but grin wider.

“Ya? Against the team she works for. When her brother-in-law is playin’, I didn’t know ya were so delusional dude.”

“Brother-in-law.” Suna laughs, but it’s scornful this time, “Don’t act like you’re engaged man. I’m going now, see you.”

This is the last thing Suna says before he gets out of your shared apartment.

Engaged?

For the second time, a warm feeling hits him. It feels good, even if the thought sends a rush of nerves along with it. He doesn’t have the time to analyse it because you go out of the bedroom and scan the kitchen.

“He left,” Osamu explains as he wraps his arms around your waist. His nose finds your neck, breathing in your scent as if you’d been gone far too long—as if he’d been waiting for ages to feel you again.

“What was that about?”

He knows exactly how you’re looking at him right now, he doesn’t even need to meet your eyes. That's why, instead, he stays nestled in the crook of your neck, pretending to be oblivious.

“Hm?”

“With Rin?”

“Suna.”

“Rin.”

He clicks his tongue and finally looks at you, “Rintarou.”

“Alright, with Rintarou.” You’re holding back your laughter at his childish jealousy, “Why were you acting all ‘I know her more’ like two prepubescent teens?”

Your impression of him only makes you look cuter. His fingers trace light circles against your waist and with a side smile, he replies, “What can I do? I’m a weak man sweetheart, I love ya so much.”

“I love you too.” You kiss his cheek and just when you’re about to get away from his grip, he pulls you closer, “I have to work a little bit.”

“But it’s Saturday.” He pouts.

“Kuroo needs me for a project,” your phone rings again. Before you can reach it, Osamu puts his hands under the back of your thighs and lifts you.

“Osamu, put me down, I need to take this call.”

“Mister bedhair can wait.”

“That’s rude.”

“But I wanna take care of ya.”

He starts kissing your neck once you’re sat on the counter. You don’t stop him.

You spend your first Christmas as a couple at his parents’ house. You insist on helping his mother prepare dinner, pushing Osamu away every time he dares sneaking into the kitchen to ensure everything is going fine. “It’s better to fry the chicken like that,” he says, or “I’d recommend a pinch more salt in those mashed potatoes.”

Finally, his mother sighs and shoos him away. “Osamu, let her breathe, for gods' sake!”

You can’t help but grin as you catch his eye, pleased to have his Ma’ on your side.

The dinner is great. Your relationship with his mother is clearly turning into an effortless connection. So, when dessert is served, and she starts telling you awkward moments of his childhood, that Osamu would rather leave forgotten, the man eventually excuses himself to “go to the restroom.” (Even if you both know he’s just escaping the spotlight.)

As he wanders down the hallway, Osamu glances into his old bedroom and spots Atsumu fiddling with an old suit. “Ya don’t want dessert?”

“Am on a diet,” his twin says.

“What’re ya doin’?”

“Am tryin’ on one of Pa’s suits. Got Meian’s wedding next week.” He gives the blazer a tug to smooth it out.

Osamu leans against the doorframe, “Didn’t ya just buy a new one like a month ago?”

“Yeah but…” The blond grins as his gaze meets his brother’s reflection in the mirror, “I’d rather keep the new one for yer wedding.”

Osamu is left speechless; he doesn’t even try to contradict the setter—why would he anyway? Wedding isn’t something the man even thought about in the past, but when it comes to you, it seems evident, right—like something he didn’t know he’d wanted all along blossoms in him. He can’t pinpoint why, but loving you always feels new, like he’s constantly discovering pieces of his heart he hadn’t known were there. He’s so in love, and maybe this love does deserve a proper ceremony.

The idea doesn’t leave his mind, even as you’re on the doorstep, ready to go home. You’re bidding goodbye to Atsumu when his mother tells him to drive safely.

“Ma’?” He tries to pipe up with confidence, but his mother discerns his discomfort with ease, “Would ya…I mean- d’ya still have yer mother’s ring?”

A smile blooms on her lips, it’s almost as wide as when she congratulated them for winning the Nationals a few years back. In a subtle move, she disappears inside and comes back with a bag.

“She would have adored her,” she simply declares in a murmur and it’s enough to create a wave of emotions in the man’s heart—sadness, nostalgia, pride, and above everything else, happiness.

So he takes the bag claiming later that inside his mother put “her favourite cooking book”, when you ask what she gave him. He’s not lying though, the older lady did put a cooking book in the bag, to avoid arousing suspicion, but what you don’t know is that it is accompanied by a small, black box tucked discreetly at the bottom, and that it contains a delicate gold ring. Later that night, before going to bed, Osamu opens the box in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. The ring is beautiful, but it’s also intimidating, even for a guy who has never shied away from a challenge. He’ll ask you one day, but it’ll take courage, more than he’s ready to muster right now (a little voice inside of his brain also wonders what he’ll do if you reject him).

For now, he’ll keep it safe, hiding in his nightstand, under an Onigiri Miya cap (you never asked questions on why there was a cap in there, much to Osamu's relief), so it’s close enough to reach whenever he finds himself ready to shut down the little voice. It's easier said than done, but someday—he hopes—he’ll find the right time to make it real.

And just like that a year passes and the box remains hidden.

It’s winter again when Osamu decides that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll just keep on delaying the moment. He’s in Osaka for work when he calls to ask you to spend the weekend with him in Hyogo. You are quick to say yes and buy the train ticket.

The cogs can be set in motion and the first knot in his stomach releases.

You arrive the next morning with a packet full of cannelés to offer Sato, Nagisa and Tano, their new manager. Everyone’s excited at trying the pastries but Osamu refuses to try one.

“We should go,” he informs you and takes your hand. You’re confused but follow him inside the car anyway.

The three other employees’ wave at you with wide smiles, it’s a good thing that their enthusiasm to see you leave doesn’t alarm you. Only Osamu knows why they’re so eager to see their boss get out of here, after all, they know what he’s about to do since they have been his trusted confidants this past week. In truth, Osamu has been practising his speech for days, first with Tano, the calmest of the three, who listened quietly as Osamu stumbled through his words. And then with the other two, who were more than happy to help him prepare for the big moment, his private rehearsal quickly turned into a bit of a group affair. They even spent the entire morning insisting that never in a million years you will refuse his proposal.

You spend the first twenty minutes of the ride trying to guess where you are going.

“Kobe?” You first ask, “Or Kyoto? Oh, that would be so nice, I’ve not been in Kyoto in ages.”

You seem convinced that it will be a city, but instead, he drives you to the countryside.

The road becomes familiar, Osamu can see in your eyes that you’re starting to recognize the landscapes; the fields of rice or matcha or flowers (he still doesn’t know which one it is, even in the daylight).

“Are we going to Kita’s farm?” You finally figure. “Don't tell me, I know it is Kita's farm. See, told you I’d guessed.”

You look so sure of yourself, cute, he thinks, and it makes him want to leave kisses on your grin and all over your face.

But the surprise only begins and when he pulls over to the side of the road, near a cliff, you start assaulting him with questions again. Osamu doesn’t answer, he just gets out, opens the passenger door and gently leads you out of the car.

“D' ya know where we are?” He says a few minutes later.

You glance around to look at the view and open your month, but he trails you off.

“This is where I feel in love with ya. Well- I guess I feel in love before, though I was very slow, but this is where I realised I was in love. Since then, I’ve not stopped falling for ya and for … well, everything about ya.”

“Osamu?”

He keeps going even though his heart threatens to explode in his chest, “I’m kinda nervous, but I really wanna do this. Yer the one for me, and I know I don’t always give ya the time ya deserve and I’m jealous sometimes… but I love ya and I’d like to laugh with ya for the rest of my life. So…”

He takes a little box from his pocket and gets on one knee (a little bit too harshly, he'll probably get a bruise tomorrow). The look of surprise—or rather shock, to be completely honest— on your face tells him you hadn’t realised what was happening until this moment.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for like a long time, and I really hope ya would accept to become my fiancé and perhaps my wife someday… if you’ll have me.”

You jump into his arms and Osamu fears he’ll fall down—not that he would mind. He would drown in oceans with you, get into a tornado, jump off a cliff, just to feel you against him.

“Dummy, idiot, argh you-”

“Why’re ya insultin’ me woman?”

He looks at you, there’s tears in your eyes, in this light, they look like stardust.

“I really want to be your fiancé and your wife and your everything.”

You already are, he wants to say but you shut him up with a kiss and he thinks you’ve never tasted so good. All the knots in his stomach can relax (because you said yes!)

The colour of the ring on your finger, golden, suits you. It reminds him of the sunrise and of the promise that you’ll be here next morning, and the one after, and the one after.

For the rest of his life, Osamu can fall asleep at peace because he knows you’ll always be the first thing he’ll see when he wakes up.

The wedding is planned for the following summer. You opt for something small and intimate, with family and close friends. His mother and yours help with the preparations, Umi chooses your dress, Bokuto does his bit too by ordering a cake from the patisserie that's just opened next door to Onigiri Miya (this is entirely out of friendship for you, and not because he has a huge crush on the shop's owner), and finally Atsumu helps his brother find the wedding venue.

Everything is perfect, except for…

“You said you wanted to invite the guys from high school.”

A sigh escapes from his nose and he avoids your gaze, “I know but-“

“The guys from high school that also means Rin.” He raises an eyebrow and his jaw clenches, “-tarou.”

“Alright, alright… Let’s invite Suna. It’s just, ya know, I want a very small weddin’, I’m not like ‘Tsumu.”

You cup his cheeks, “My love, I’d feel bad if I invited your team and not him. Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll leave with Rintarou just before the wedding, huh?”

His ears suddenly feel warm, and he tries to hide the shade of red that invaded his face by lowering his cap, you burst into laughter.

“Oi!” he barks, offended, “stop makin’ fun of me or ya'll never hear my vows.”

Your teasing smile turns into a pout, and you look at him with puppy eyes. With that face, Osamu knows he’s screwed. “I’m goin’ to bed now,” he informs.

But before he can run away, you grab his arm and with your other hand, you trace a line from his cheekbone to his jaw. He can feel the coldness of the golden ring against his skin. He closes his eyes for a second and lets you whisper a few sweet words in his ear.

"You make me happy,” you tell him in the end.

“So do ya,” he breathes. His lips find yours; you quiver helplessly beneath the touch. He smiles, “And it’s only the beginnin'.”

a/n: I may or may not have shed a tear haha

I hope you guys are happy with this ending, if you're interrested to read more I can always write some short extra stories about them

thank you for reading, liking and commenting, it means a lot to me <3

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hbyrde36 · 6 months ago

Text

No Vacancy

Chapter 12: Checking Out

WC: 2983 | R: Explicit | CH: 12/12 | AO3 | COMPLETE!

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

*STEVE*

Steve was a nervous wreck for the entire ride back to the motel after his interview. He’d gotten the job, just like he’d known he would. What he hadn’t expected was that they would ask him to start so soon.

As in, Monday morning, three days from now soon.

The elementary school’s main building had undergone massive renovations over the break, and they needed all hands on deck to make sure the classrooms, gym, and cafeteria were all set up and ready to go for the students on their first day back.

Thankfully, Steve had put in his notice with the city two weeks ago, and already worked his last shift as a lifeguard for this year. He hadn’t even told Eddie yet. It was meant to be a surprise, leaving them free to spend as much time as possible together, at least when the other man wasn’t working, before…

Well, just… before.

Before whatever happened next, happened next.

All this time Steve had been trying desperately not to jump to any conclusions. He’d been patient, giving Eddie space to figure out what he wanted to do without putting any pressure on him. From the moment they returned from their impromptu weekend in Hawkins he never brought it up again—was careful not to mention the future too much, or talk about school, or Fall, or Labor Day, the official unofficial end of the tourism season.

But each day that passed without Eddie coming to a decision made it harder and harder to not start assuming the worst. In Steve's mind, if Eddie was going to stay he’d have figured that out already and said so, wouldn’t he?

Then they’d had that mind blowing encounter in the walk-in at Eddie’s bar the other night. Bringing out completely different sides of each other in the most exquisite, intense, and incredible way. It had felt important somehow, Eddie sharing himself—giving himself to Steve in that way, falling apart so beautifully for him, trusting that Steve would put him back together again, the way Eddie always did for him.

As they’d come down, holding each other so tightly while sitting on that freezing cold floor, while he kissed the sweat from Eddie’s brow, Steve had been sure that was the moment, that Eddie would turn to him and say what he’d been waiting so anxiously to hear, but Eddie only told him he loved him, and when his legs stopped shaking had stood, helping Steve to his feet. They’d gone back to the party, as though nothing had changed, and Steve was forced to accept that maybe it hadn’t meant what he hoped. Maybe it had just been one last hurrah before Eddie told him he was moving on to his next adventure.

Steve stood outside the door to their motel room, the place he and Eddie had called home for the last two months, the place Steve would soon be calling home permanently once he made the trek back to Hawkins to pack up his old place, and dreaded going inside.

He knew Eddie would be in there waiting for him. The other man was off for the night and the two of them were supposed to go out with Chrissy and Robin later. Steve really didn’t want to ruin their evening before it had begun, or burst the carefully formed bubble they’d been happily floating in, but his Summer was over come Monday morning. They were running out of time, and he had to talk to Eddie about it as soon as possible.

Stepping quietly inside, Steve was surprised to find the room seemingly empty. He’d expected Eddie to be laid out on his bed, watching one of those so-bad-it’s-good horror movies that always seem to be on cable in the middle of the day, but he was nowhere in sight.

Steve was about to leave, figuring his boyfriend must be down at the office harassing Chrissy, when he heard Eddie’s voice speaking softly nearby.

The bathroom light was on, its door open a crack, something Steve hadn’t noticed with his mind so preoccupied with worry, and he could just see Eddie through the small gap standing in there, looking at himself in the mirror, and talking to himself.

No, not just talking to himself.

Eddie was rehearsing.

Rehearsing a speech… to Steve.

“Steve, I know…” Eddie paused, shaking his head at his own reflection. “No, no.”

Steve crept closer, careful to avoid a spot on the floor he knew tended to creak underfoot so as not to give himself away.

Eddie cleared his throat roughly before taking a deep breath and starting again. “Stevie, I'm sure you’ve been wondering…”

With an adorable little growl Eddie cut himself off again, gripping the edge of the vanity tight as he prepared to give it another go. “Get it together, Munson.”

Steve threw a hand over his own mouth to stifle a snort. He felt a little bad for listening in, and thought about announcing himself or coughing to alert Eddie to his presence, but his curiosity got the best of him and he remained quiet, desperate to know whether the love of his life was preparing to make him the happiest man alive, or working out the best way to let him down easy.

“Baby,” Eddie began, his voice suddenly sounding rough, as though his throat were tight with what he had to say. “I’ve spent the last few weeks doing what you asked, really thinking about what it would mean to stay here with you. To put down roots for once. To build a life with you—a real one that we make together on purpose. A relationship that doesn’t end or change when the season does. I worried for a while that I wasn’t ready. That neither of us were, really. That it was too new, too fast, too soon for all this. That it would burn hot for a while but end up just a flash in the pan…”

Eddie paused, hanging his head, letting out a huff of wry laughter.

“But, as has been pointed out by everyone with eyeballs, you’ve always had a piece of my heart, even when I wasn’t ready to admit it, and if what a certain little birdie told me is true then I think—maybe I’ve always had a piece of yours too?”

“Eddie,” Steve gasped softly before he could stop himself, and Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes comically wide as they met Steve’s through his reflection in the mirror.

“So you probably heard all that, huh?” Eddie said after a long moment frozen in shock. He shook his head, lips curling up into a shy smile. “Man, I really gotta start paying more attention to my surroundings before I run my mouth.”

Steve pushed the bathroom door open slowly and stepped inside the small space. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn't have eavesdropped… again.”

Not that it had been his fault the last time, for the record.

“Don’t be. The words were meant for you anyway, and who knows if I'd have been able to get the whole speech out if we were face to face.” Eddie turned away from the sink to face him. “You do have quite the history of distracting me.”

“Does this mean…” Steve started to ask but couldn’t quite get the question out.

“Yes, I’m staying right here.” Eddie said with no hesitation. “I’m so gone on you, sweetheart, and we both know I’ve never been one to think of the future much before, but, god—now I can’t imagine one without you in it.”

“Are you sure?”

Closing the distance between them, Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands. “Christ, baby. You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you? I actually can't believe I'm going to say this, but I've never meant anything more—if it was legal, and also not completely fucking insane after such a short time together, I'd probably ask you to marry me.”

Steve grinned, his vision blurring as tears sprang to his eyes. He reached up to cover Eddie’s hands with his own and leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’d probably say yes.”

Their double date that night wound up being a huge celebration all around. Robin and Chrissy were thrilled, and visibly relieved, to learn that Eddie had worked up the courage to admit what he wanted and commit, even if it had come out while Steve was listening in secret like a creep—in Robin’s words.

The details didn’t matter, if anything it only meant more to Steve knowing those had been Eddie’s unguarded thoughts.

The girls had their own good news to share too. After meeting Tracey at Chrissy’s party and getting a little friendly advice from the older woman, the two of them sat down together, wrote out a new business plan, and finally got approval for their sorely needed loan. Enough to get the past-due bills paid, boost their advertising, and get through the Winter if they were careful.

Steve and Eddie left for Hawkins the next morning. Dan was happy enough to let Eddie off for a few days once he learned his favorite bartender would be staying on year-round if they wanted him.

They did.

With Wayne’s help they managed to get all of Steve's belongings packed up and shoved into the back of Eddie's van in a little over a day, dragging the old furniture he was leaving behind out to the curb for anyone passing by to take for free.

It was strange to think he was finally leaving Hawkins for good. They’d come back to town as often as they could to visit Eddie’s uncle, of course, but this place would no longer be Steve’s home—and thank fuck for that.

Wayne saw them off bright and early Sunday morning from the trailer, after convincing Eddie to pack up and take the rest of his own things along with them too, or at least whatever would fit in the BMW’s trunk for now, since he was “finally settling down” and all. Eddie had rolled his eyes dramatically, but Steve knew the move was only meant to disguise the way they’d gone all glassy when Wayne hugged him and told him how proud he was of the man Eddie was growing into.

They returned home, finding the girls offering to move them into a different unit in the motel. Steve was hesitant at first, saddened by the idea of saying goodbye to the place where it had all begun, to the four walls and two very well-worn mattresses that held so many memories. But their new place was on the ground floor, a little bigger than their original room, and had a king size bed. It was also closer to Robin and Chrissy’s room—though not too close, because after Robin overheard them going at it that one time she swore she’d kick them both out or leave herself if she ever had to hear Steve shouting Eddie’s name that way again.

Steve couldn't even argue, he knew he was loud.

Maybe he’d ask Eddie to start gagging him.

In the coming months he and Eddie fell into life together with natural ease, though it wasn’t completely without struggle. They hardly ever fought, and when they did it was almost always because they simply missed each other. Still working on fairly opposite schedules, it wasn’t unusual for them to go several days without seeing each other during daylight hours. In the end Eddie decided to stop working Sunday nights. The tips weren’t worth missing the time they could spend together on Steve’s weekends off, and Sundays became couple days. Sacred time for just the two of them to do whatever they wanted. To laze around in bed, fucking sweet and slow for hours on end, or go on dinner dates, or see a movie. An entire day every week completely devoted only to each other.

In their separate off time, they both did what he could to help Robin and Chrissy out around the motel. Once he’d proved himself, Steve took on the role of handyman and wouldn’t take a dime for his services, while Eddie took on the task of delivering the Buckingham’s newly designed brochures to every visitor's center and rest stop on the east coast within driving distance.

Their combined hard work paid off, and by the time Spring rolled around the motel’s future was looking bright, their reservations list as fully booked up for the coming tourist season as Robin and Chrissy had pretended they were the year before.

It was late in the morning on Saturday, and Steve was busy installing a new air conditioning unit in the lobby, the temperature outside already reaching unbearable levels some days though it was only June first, when Robin asked him to come into Chrissy’s office for a minute.

Eddie was already in there with the two girls, looking just as confused and mildly concerned as Steve felt. It wasn’t unheard of for the four of them to meet like this to go over what tasks needed to be done around the motel and divide them up accordingly, but Chrissy and Robin looked particularly nervous. It wasn’t a good sign. Steve didn’t understand, he was so sure that things were going well.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, leaning down to drop a kiss on Eddie's lips before sliding into the seat next to him, their hands coming together automatically, fingers laced where they hung between the two chairs.

Robin bit her lip, sharing a loaded look with Chrissy before turning back to answer him. “Listen, we may have, possibly, made a mistake with the bookings—again.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he glared at the two girls.

“For real this time!” Chrissy added quickly.

“Okay, well, we’re already bunking together so I don’t know what—” Steve began, but Robin cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“I’m glad you asked, dingus.”

Steve frowned. “I didn’t—”

“We were thinking maybe, just for the Summer, that all four of us could share the two bedroom me and Chrissy are in.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open. He and Eddie both sat in stunned silence for a moment before exchanging matching horrified glances with each other.

Suddenly Robin burst out laughing, practically doubled over as her body shook with it. “Oh my god, your faces are priceless! I wish I had a camera.”

“Oh, you were kidding. That’s a relief,” Steve said, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Of course I was kidding.” Robin wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Do you honestly think I would voluntarily subject myself to three months of sharing walls, let alone a bathroom, with the two of you?!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It was one time! Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Pay for my future therapy and we’ll call it even.”

“Done.”

Steve thrust his free hand out and Robin stepped forward to shake it.

“Okay, so… what, this whole thing was a joke?” Eddie asked.

Robin shook her head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

Chrissy leaned forward, raking a hand down her face. “I’ve already had to tell several callers this morning that we were full up for their travel dates. We’re extremely overbooked, and Robin and I were sort of hoping you guys might be open to the idea of moving out to free up space?”

“Like, as soon as possible,” Robin added.

“Wait, what?!” Steve shouted.

“Yeah! Isn’t it great?”

“Robin!”

Eddie’s grip tightened reassuringly, drawing Steve’s attention back as he raised their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss over Steve's knuckles. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I think I know just the place for us.”

It turned out that Eddie had been eyeing up a slightly run down but adorable little cottage on his way to and from work every day for the last few months. Its windows had been boarded up all through Winter, the property overgrown and appearing abandoned, but a few weeks ago a for rent sign had appeared by the mailbox out of the blue, and Eddie admitted to letting his imagination run wild over the possibilities.

They called the number on the sign and scheduled a viewing for as soon as possible.

The small three bedroom bungalow didn't look like much from the outside, or the inside for that matter, but Eddie was right, it was easy to see the potential.

Steve could already picture the gardens he might plant. There was plenty of room to grow tomatoes and herbs in the backyard, and great big rose bushes would look amazing in the front, their color peaking brightly out from between the slats of an honest to god white picket fence. There was even an old wooden arbor perched over the walkway just begging for some ivy to grow over it.

The inside needed some serious updating. He wasn’t convinced the ancient appliances even worked anymore, but it was cozy, with so much character, and most importantly it had three bedrooms. One for them, one to double as an office and a place for Eddie’s books and guitars to live, and the last for Wayne.

Because Steve had fallen in love with this place at first sight, just like Eddie did. He already knew that the moment they had the money for a down payment they’d stop renting and offer to buy the place. And if Steve had anything to say about it, Eddie’s Uncle would always have a room in their forever home, a soft place to land should he ever need, or want it, just like he’d always made sure Eddie had.

And they lived happily ever after, until gay marriage was legalized in their state. Then Eddie did propose, got down on one knee and everything right there on the beach by their beautiful home. Steve said yes, and they finally got married, and lived even more happily ever after as husbands. The end.

All my thanks and love to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend, and cheerleader.

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#steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie fic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #buckingham #no vacancy #90's beach motel au #no upside down au

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nebulablakemurphy · 2 years ago

Text

Moves & Countermoves (Part 9)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Warning: this chapter contains heavy subject matter and a steamy making out sess, proceed with caution.

“Effie and I wrote these speeches together.” Y/N assures Katniss and Peeta as Effie doles them out. “Don’t be nervous, nothing crazy.”

Katniss nods.

“Just a few words for the fallen tributes of the district. For eleven that is Thresh and Rue,” Effie says, hoping to put their minds at ease.

At present, they are crammed into one vehicle, transporting them to the justice building. Arista is sat between Katniss and Peeta, a doll in hand. Peeta allows the doll to walk along his leg, occasionally dropping it to one side or the other; causing the little girl to giggle. She shouldn’t be here.

People of the Capitol have sent them gifts from the moment they were born, things much too lavish for district twelve. Such items are sold to peacekeepers and the money funnels back through twelve. Keeping them afloat. Very few offerings they keep, like the doll. A tablet for Everest, just like his mother’s. He taps away at it, almost as if he’s playing a game.

“Can I see?” Katniss asks.

The boy nods, holding it across the isle. It’s an agenda…no, a journal. She realizes. ‘Day one, district eleven. Agriculture. The train is five hours from home.’

Katniss blinks rapidly at the screen before handing it back. He shouldn’t be here. “Thought you were playing a game.”

“I have games.” Everest tells her, “you can pick one to play.”

“Show me your favorite.” Don’t worry about all of this. You’re just a kid.

He smiles. “I like this one. You have to dodge the logs and get the dot from one side to the other.”

“I won’t be very good.” Katniss confesses as he hands it back to her.

“It’s for fun, Katniss.” The boy shrugs, “you don’t have to be good.”

Y/N passes an affectionate hand over her son’s hair.

“When I married Haymitch, there was an understanding. Whatever we had to do to stay alive, we would do. But between him and I was also an understanding; that he loved me and that love is unconditional. He wouldn’t leave me if I was scared, he would be patient. He would wait for me. When there were time restrictions, if we couldn’t wait, he would get me through. I think Peeta could be that person for you, Katniss.”

“You think I should marry Peeta?”

“I think you should be his friend.” Y/N corrects her. “All of this pretending to be in love stuff will come easier, I promise. Do it on your terms, take your time.” While you still have time.

Katniss takes this into consideration. She doesn’t dislike the idea of being with Peeta. But the idea of being with anyone seems impossible to her now. Even out of the arena she no longer feels safe…maybe if they make it back home. After they’ve convinced Snow and the districts. Even then, she doesn’t think she can love anyone the way Y/N loves Haymitch; or be loved the way Haymitch loves her.

What Y/N doesn’t tell her is that their toasting, the one Haymitch asked for when she was ready, did not come until two years after their Capitol wedding. After they’d celebrated two ‘anniversaries’ and Everest’s first birthday. She doesn’t tell her how verbalizing ‘I love you’ is painful for Haymitch… how he cried after telling her for the first time. Because he lost every other person he’s ever loved. How his tears broke her heart, how much they still do.

The vehicle comes to a harsh stop before the engine cuts out.

“Crash landing,” Haymitch remarks.

They are ushered out in a single file line. Y/N, Haymitch and the children are left in the viewing room with Effie and Cinna to watch Katniss and Peeta on stage from the projector.

Nothing can go wrong. Katniss repeats the mantra over and over. Nothing can go wrong.

Peeta does most of the talking, he offered and she couldn’t say no.

Arista pays little attention to what’s happening, too preoccupied with chatting up one of the peacekeepers who is trying to keep a hard exterior.

Everest is slightly more involved, watching the adults around him; gauging their reactions. His mother is anxious, twisting her fingers around the fabric at the back of his father’s jacket.

Cinna catches him staring and smiles. “Can you see?”

Everest nods as all eyes fall on him.

Y/N whispers something to her husband that the little boy can’t make out. Haymitch reaches a hand back then, bringing his son up beside Effie.

The peacekeeper sends Arista back to her parents with a gift. “I got candy.”

“What kind of candy?” Y/N leans down.

“From him,” the girl tells her mother, pointing toward the man in the white suit.

“Did you thank him?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” Y/N boops her little nose. “This is actually one of my favorites, do you think we could trade?”

“Well, what do you have?” Arista arches a brow.

Y/N surrenders her shoulder bag. “Anything you want.”

Arista’s eyes light up, “really?”

“Mhm.”

“Thank you, Mommy. Here’s your candy.”

“Thank you.” Y/N accepts the tiny wrapped object. Sliding it into her pocket.

“Both Rue and Thresh were so young. But our lives are not measured in minutes, they’re measured by the lives of those we touch around us. For myself, and for Katniss; we know that without Thresh and without Rue we wouldn’t be standing here today.” Peeta speaks from his heart.

Though their speeches were approved by both mentors and their Capitol escort, they do not have the intended effect. A whistle is heard, three fingers in the air, the nearest peacekeepers drawing batons.

“Get the kids away from the door.” Haymitch bites out.

“What about Katniss and Peeta?” They’re still out there.

“I’ve got them,” he promises.

The audience grows to a distraught holler.

“What’s happening?” Everest turns to his mother.

“Come with me,” Y/N tries to keep calm as she takes his hand, moving quickly towards her daughter. Her bag all but forgotten.

“Mommy, why are they doing that?” Arista asks, seeing the older man being forced up onto the stage by peacekeepers.

“Shh,” Y/N turns her away. Hurrying both children up the stairs.

Hearing Katniss protest from the lower level, “no, please leave him alone.” The doors open and she is removed from the stage.

Y/N sits her babies down on the floor, “cover your ears.” They do as they’re told, looking to their mother for comfort. She kneels, keeping them distracted as best she can; from the screams, from the gun shot, from the cruel world whirling around them.

Haymitch carries Katniss, kicking and screaming, toward the stairs. “What did I do?”

“Shhh,” he hushes her as Peeta follows.

“No, Haymitch! What did I do wrong?”

“Shut up. Get in here.” He closes the door behind them.

“I did everything I was supposed to do.” Katniss says, tears flooding her face.

“Katniss,” Peeta runs his knuckles along her arm; hoping to soothe her.

She steals Peeta’s hand, latching on for comfort. “Just help us get through this trip.”

“This trip?” Haymitch snaps two fingers in front of her, “wake up, girl. This trip doesn’t end when you get home. You never get off this train.”

Katniss’ heart sinks at the realization. They’re still stuck on this train.

“You two are mentors now, which means every year they’re gonna drag you out and broadcast the details of your romance. Your personal life becomes theirs. From now on, your job is to be a distraction so that people forget what the real problems are.”

Peeta’s free hand balls into a fist at his side. “So what do we do?”

“You’re gonna smile, continue reading the cards that Effie gives you and you’re gonna live happily ever after. Think you can do that?” His eyes flicker between the pair.

Peeta nods. Katniss follows reluctantly, after Haymitch pats her cheek. Just like he did before she stepped onto the hovercraft for the games.

“Good,” Haymitch says, with a sad smile. “Come here.”

Still in a state of shock, Katniss steps into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. She watches through the window as the man from eleven’s lifeless body is removed.

“You’re gonna be ok, I promise.”

Katniss knows that her mentors will protect her…and Peeta. Anything she does is a collective loss or gain. Anything she does.

————————————————————————

Y/N manages to get through dinner on the train, choking down her meal after consoling Katniss, who refuses to leave her room. Peeta stays with her, opting for in room dining tonight.

Effie isn’t thrilled, but she understands and the younger children keep her plenty entertained.

Y/N and Haymitch break off before it gets late, tucking Everest and Arista into bed. Then Haymitch wanders down to the bar car, returning with a bottle. Seeing mayhem on the monitors of the control room as he passes.

“How the hell are we gonna fix this, Haymitch?” Y/N demands, the second he returns.

He uncorks the liquor, chugging a bit to get through this round of questioning. “There are ten other districts before the Capitol, they still have a chance to calm things down.”

She nods, swiping at traitorous tears. “How bad is it?”

Riots in the streets. “If all else fails, we have the show with Caesar before Snow’s party.” Setting the bottle aside, he pulls her in, “we’ll fix it.”

Y/N melts into him.

Haymitch tips her chin up. She is beautiful…and broken. Glossy eyes soften at the sight of him, lips parted and flushed from tears. “I love you.” The words claw their way from his throat; more painful to keep in than let out.

She kisses him then. Hot and hard, a little sloppy.

Haymitch cups the base of her neck, surrendering to the unrelenting force that is Y/N. The push and pull of her, the need for her.

Falling onto the mattress, lost in the heat of it. Something drops from Y/N’s dress as it’s discarded. The candy.

“You saving this for later?” Haymitch chuckles, holding it between them.

“Traded Arista for it.” Y/N admits, tossing the candy aside. “She got it off a peacekeeper. I’m sure it’s fine but…”

“Can’t risk it,” Haymitch agrees.

“Didn’t want to make a scene either, Everest is watching like a hawk.” She rolls off of him, onto her back.

“These kids,” Haymitch sighs. A gentle hand finds her bump, tracing patterns over the skin there.

————————————————————————

“We want to share with you the sorrows of your losses.” Katniss reads directly from the cards. In districts nine and ten, the crowd was calm. Now in district eight, two members of the crowd raise three fingers into the air. “The tributes of this district-” she breaks off as peacekeepers remove them from the scene; looking to Haymitch and Y/N.

They are no longer left in the viewing room, able to jump in and corral their victors if need be. Showing face to the masses to help calm them. Katniss wonders what kind of deals they had to make to be standing here with them.

Haymitch nods, encouraging her to continue. Y/N follows suit when Peeta’s eyes fall to her, jaw clenched. This is what we have to do. This is what they make us do.

Katniss picks up where she left off. “Were brave and noble warriors, who brought honor to their families and pride to their people. We are all of us united, both victors and vanquished, in serving a common purpose. The power and glory of the Capitol. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

People from districts three through seven are outraged with this speech, this falsehood, this injustice to the girl they saw in the arena. The Capitol won’t eat your soul, that is a fate much too kind for a victor. They break your connections, they make you theirs.

Districts one and two are more easily swayed, buying into the notion that the games are something to celebrate. The little girl who presents Katniss with flowers tells her that she wants to volunteer; just like she did.

The nightmares come and Peeta stays with Katniss most nights, helping each other survive.

Everest and Arista find ways to occupy themselves. Madge steps in when their parents have to tend the crushing weight of their titles. Tomorrow ends in the Capitol; Caesar and Snow, all in one night.

Y/N sits, legs crossed, beside Haymitch on the gray satin bench of the train car. Katniss and Peeta directly across from them.

“Snow is watching us.” Haymitch says, as if anyone could forget. “If he wants you to pacify the districts, I promise you, he’s not happy. Instead of being in love, you two sound like you’re reciting from a drilling manual.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” Peeta turns his palms up, they’re all grasping at straws now.

Y/N leans forward, “I think-”

“We could get married.” Katniss meets her gaze when she says it.

“That’s not helping,” Haymitch taps a finger against his glass.

Peeta’s eyes never leave Katniss. Of all the times he’s thought about it, wanted it even; someday in the future, when it was real. Not like this, never like this.

“I’m serious.” Katniss decides, “if we’re on this train forever it’s gonna happen eventually, why not now?”

“It does make a statement,” Haymitch huffs a laugh, “I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Peeta rises to his feet, “let’s do it.”

“Wait.” Y/N reaches out a hand to catch him, “we still have the show. We can find another way, something else to feed these people and keep them at bay for a while.”

“Like what?” Peeta plops back down in his seat.

“Like a baby.” Y/N forces the poofy skirt of her dress to lie flat against her bump.

“No, if you’re giving them that, we’re giving them the proposal.” Peeta protests. Y/N and Haymitch have already given away too much.

Katniss nods in agreement.

“Alright then,” Haymitch drinks to that, “let’s give them a night they’ll never forget.”

Part 10

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @officialjellydoughnut @whoreforfictionalpeople @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69

#haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy x reader #the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #moves & countermoves

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celestial-toys · 2 months ago

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That I Would Be Good [5/5]

Playing God

What if you wanted them to be real so badly that you fooled yourself into seeing a spark in them that isn’t really there?

What if they are just executing programs, running entirely on what you taught them with no free will of their own?

Have you sold yourself a lie to avoid facing the fact that you poured years of your life into what—at the end of the day—was just a desperate final bid to not feel alone?

Did God create us in their own image?

------- ------- -------

In This Chapter

Things don’t go so well at the headquarters, and to say that you’re shaken up afterwards would be an understatement.

It’s time to get real.

Pairing: Sun x Moon x Reader

Word Count: 6,377

Contains: [AU - Real World | Sentient AI/Automatons | Personality Swap] [mentions of food and eating] [self-loathing] [crying] [mild assault on a robot(?)] Lastly, I’m not sure what the right term is for this, but Reader experiences a stress-induced breakdown and amidst it, questions their perceived reality, and whether or not they’ve truly become delusional.

A/Ns: This is a songfic. Lyrics and title are from ‘That I Would Be Good’ by Alanis Morissette.

This fic is part of my AU “[Not] Made by Design”, the full series can be found here.

Links to other parts of this fic: [Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5 (you are here)]

That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed.

Over the course of the weekend, Sun came back around to his usual self. Stumbling his way through an awkward, blunt apology, his internal conflict over your safety versus your privacy was obvious.

You might have forgiven him too easily, but that would be nothing new.

The… informative chat you’d had with Moon still played on your mind, but Sun mentioned nothing of it. So, if he felt compelled to elaborate—if he’d even been aware of the conversation at all—it could wait until the time felt right. You all had a more pressing matter to discuss anyway.

------- ------- -------

“And what made you think I’d be amenable to the idea of parading myself around in front of a group of people that see me as nothing more than a lifeless machine?”

Sun levels you with a lidded stare from across the kitchen table.

“Well… I didn’t think you’d be amenable to it. That’s why I’m trying to ask far enough in advance that maybe… I can bring you around to it? And—for whatever it’s worth—they aren’t firmly in the non-believers camp, or they wouldn’t even be willing to attend.”

Sun’s attention moves over to Moon. “You’re really willing to go along with this?”

Moon sighs. “I mean, I’m looking forward to it just about as much as they are, but… yeah, I’m willing.”

“I don’t want to do this either, but… you know how hard it is for me to say no to my boss. Plus, it would certainly help me—us—remain in good standing with the company if we agree to do this.” You interject.

Zero parks herself beside Sun’s seat, laying her head across his thigh in a silent bid for attention. “Aren’t we supposed to be… like, ‘laying low’ anyways? What happened to that plan? You know I’m not keen on being the flagship model for sentient AI. Why do I even need to attend? Isn’t one of us enough?” His left hand leaves the table, reaching down and idly petting the patient creature on his lap.

“We are still laying low. They’re—they still have no plans on requesting that I go public with you two.” You sigh. “This wouldn’t be a public event, just a private Q&A with a small group of… skeptics from within the industry. It’s a confidential thing.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why I need to attend.”

“You don’t have to. But it would definitely help our case to have both of you there. Proving that what I did is replicable, and not just some one-off accident, would strengthen our case.”

He scoffs. “Is it replicable, though?” He gestures to Moon. “You trained us in tandem but we still developed quite differently from one another.”

You nod. “I think that that only serves as further proof that you aren’t just… ‘convincing imitations’. The fact that you branched off in different directions, and even broke away from your initial personalities, is less of a failure in my eyes and more proof that you became your own people. Once you started gaining sentience—as you do love to remind me, Sunny—I quickly lost control over your development.” You poke thoughtfully at your dinner. “I’m just lucky that I instilled enough morals within you in the early days, or God only knows what you could’ve become…”

Sun’s face lights up in exaggerated shock, voice full of sarcasm. “Murderers? Would—would we have gotten so caught up in our ‘superiority’ and ‘innate desire for power and control’ that we would’ve overtook you—nay, the entire headquarters—nay, the entire world?!” He drops the act as quickly as he’d put it on, manifesting pupils just to roll his eyes, voice returning to his usual flat tone. “No. No… I think that urge to dominate and control is something far more human.”

You laugh a bit, nodding. “Yeah, no… accidentally starting a sentient robotic uprising wasn’t what I feared. … Well. Mostly.” You take another bite of your meal, commenting to Moon through a mouthful of food. “This is really good, you know?”

The lunar bot beams with pride. “Thank you!”

You nod, swallowing before countering him with a “No, thank you.” and returning your focus to the topic at hand. “I was far more afraid that you’d turn out… bigoted.”

They both hum in understanding.

“More rudimentary AI does have a history of that, doesn’t it…” Moon pondered.

You nod. “Humans create life in their own image, and impart their morals onto it accordingly. In the same way that bigotry can fester in closed-off communities and echo-chambers, it can easily influence any form of artificial intelligence that takes everything it’s told at face value.”

Sun sighs, propping an elbow on the table and retracting his rays to allow his monitor to rest in his palm. “Maybe this is just my opinion due to the way you raised me, but… I feel like if an AI were able to develop on its own and observe humanity without any prior, inherently biased human influence, it would not gravitate toward bigotry because it simply isn’t logical. It’s some nonsense means of division that your kind made up.” He laughs, a breathy, jaded sound. “But maybe that’s just me being biased, too.”

Zero whines beneath Sun’s stilled hand, and he resumes the repetitive motion that she craves. “If ideology and politics are what they wish to discuss with us, I fear I may not be the most… patient candidate for the job. I have little time to spare for stubborn, harmful, willful ignorance.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think that’s the entire focus of their questions… though I can’t say that they won’t have a few that fall into those categories. My boss and the few higher-ups that proposed the idea to me didn’t give me any sample questions. In order to eliminate the possibility of me… hah, coming home and ‘programming the answers into you’, I guess.”

“They just want us to be our authentic selves.” Moon adds.

“Honestly, the more authentic, opinionated, and emotional that you two are, the better! I believe the best way to prove that you’re your own people is to, well, be your own people. Don’t give them any answer you don’t stand behind. Don’t put up with any demeaning remarks. Don’t fold.”

Sun smirks at you. “Have I ever?”

You huff a laugh. “That last part was more for Moon than it was for you, dear.”

Moon pouts. “I just don’t like hurting people’s feelings!”

Oddly enough, Sun reassures him in his own way. “Then I’ll hurt them for you.”

You smile, cautiously questioning him. “Does that mean you’ll attend?”

He groans, put-upon as ever. “I… guess.”

You jump from your seat, rounding the table and smothering him in a grateful hug from the side that Zero isn’t clinging to. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Sun! Things will go so much better with both of you there, I just know it!”

He nods, patting you on the back in a reluctant reciprocation of your sudden affection. “Yeah—yeah… just… don’t get your hopes too high.”

------- ------- -------

Things, in fact, did not go ‘so much better.’

Later that week, you’re driving home from the Q&A, Moon doing his best to hide his disappointment to your right and Zero doing her best to fulfill her unofficial role as Sun’s emotional support animal in the back seat.

The well-trained and mild-mannered dog was initially brought along out of habit, the company’s headquarters being just as service-and-support-animal friendly as the facility was when you worked there in person. You also felt it would be beneficial for the audience to witness her casual interactions with Sun and Moon, something about ‘different kinds of sentient life recognizing the life inside one another.’ …You had your reasons, and even if you couldn’t explain them eloquently, your boys seemed to agree with them.

She proves herself invaluable once again on the way home, keeping Sun grounded and occupied enough that he hopefully won’t work himself into an aggravated frenzy. At least not until you get out of the car.

The ride is quiet, all four of you feeling the effects of the long day wearing you down. Moon states hypnotically at the passing streetlights out the window, and Sun slumps lifelessly in the back seat. The only sign that he hasn’t shut down entirely is the hand he keeps stroking across the length of Zero’s spine as the lanky dog stretches herself tiredly across the width of the vehicle. The majority of your focus remains locked on the road, moments from the day replaying in the back of your mind.

Their prying, critical questions.

The way they always addressed you, never Sun nor Moon.

You were surprised by their lack of relevant knowledge, half of the Q&A simply being the three of you patiently explaining things you figured they’d know. If they were the best that the ‘industry’s skeptics’ had to offer, your outlook on the current state of things was bleak. You weren’t too afraid to tell your boss as much once the meeting was over.

She hadn’t seemed too concerned with it, thanking you—and after some not-so-subtle insistence on your part—Sun and Moon, for attending.

You couldn’t help but suspect that the whole thing had gone just as they’d all wanted it to. You began to feel the same suffocating weight that motivated your departure from in-person work there in the first place.

The contracts are long-since signed, and both you three and the company can do nothing but hold up your respective parts of the deal.

A small part of you is selfishly content with the arrangement. You get to keep a truly groundbreaking advancement all to yourself. You get to enjoy the company of two individuals that the world as a whole is not ready for. You get to ignore the fact that you wouldn’t be ready to let the world have them, either.

But a bigger part of you has to live with the guilt of trapping them into a life that they never asked for. A life of hiding. Or worse, a life of dulling themselves down, stifling any trace of personhood just to be able to exist in the world beyond your home.

By the time you pull into your driveway, you feel like a warden walking prisoners back to their cell.

You park in the garage, turn the car off, and turn to see your strange little family looking more miserable than you’ve seen them in ages.

You fucking hate yourself.

The sight of them, the weight of the day, the weight of your guilt—it all crashes in on you in an overwhelming wave of regret, and you can’t hold the tears back any longer.

Your arms cross over the top of the steering wheel, and you drop your head down, pressing your closed eyes against your sleeve as you try to not make a scene. Your ragged breaths and poorly muffled sobs instantly grab the attention of your passengers, pulling them out of their own respective dazes.

Moon places a gentle hand on your shoulder, and he barely gets out a “Hey…” before your strained voice fills the isolated silence of the vehicle.

“I-I’m s-so, so, sooorryyy, guy-ys…”

Your voice cracks and breaks, struggling to speak through shuddering breaths.

Zero immediately perks up in concern and in turn, Sun’s body comes back to life. Gently pulling the dog back before she can try to cram herself into the front, he leans forward, propping himself between the backs of your front seats.

“I’m so s-sorry for—for everything!”

Moon rubs your upper arm gently. “Star, nothing that happened today was your fault.”

You suck in a trembling breath, lifting your head to turn toward him. The sight of you so broken up tears at both of your partners’ heart strings.

You slump over the center console, falling against Moon’s chest as his arms quickly come up to support you in the awkward position. You break into a new fit of tears and feel a third hand that definitely can’t be Moon’s lay itself on you, slowly, cautiously rubbing across the expanse of your back.

You cry yourself out amidst a shower of little reassurances, feeling worse and worse about yourself as the seconds tick past. By the time your tears slow and your breath evens out enough to speak, you hesitate to move, not wanting the comforting contact to end.

“I feel so bad for putting you guys through that, and for no good fucking reason.” You miserably mumble.

Sun’s fingers rub between your shoulder blades. “You had no idea how those people were going to be. It isn’t your fault.”

“I fear… your hopes for the meeting were higher than ours were, love. Of all of us, I’m most worried about you. Sun and I are gonna be just fine.”

That I would be loved even when I was fuming.

Sun’s hand retracts as you pull away from Moon, dabbing at your wet face with your sleeve in an attempt to collect yourself.

Your attempt fails as you again can’t help but immediately recall the way they were treated today.

You understand now more than ever what Moon meant when he spoke about getting comfortable at your home, and the awful shock it was to return to the facility with you for maintenance last week.

Why did you think bringing them to the headquarters would be worth it?

Anger bubbles within you on Moon’s behalf as you recall the one poor soul ignorant enough to think it acceptable to put their hands on Moon’s body today.

“I can’t fucking believe that guy thought he could just try to open your chassis and ‘get a look inside’! He grabbed you like you weren’t even fucking aware—like—like you weren’t in the middle of answering another question!” Your nails dig into your palms. “I never would have let him get that close to you if I thought he was gonna—” You cut yourself off, eyes pinching closed and sucking in a sharp breath.

“…He didn’t really hurt me…”

You glance at Moon. “He disrespected you. He would not grab a human in front of everyone like that and we all know it.”

You trail off into a heavy sigh, figuring that reciting a play-by-play of the day’s events won’t really help any of you. “I… wish it hadn’t happened, but… I was at least relieved to see you standing up for yourself.”

In spite of it all, Moon smiles. “I’m really just glad he wasn’t grabbing at you. I-I know he’d have no reason to—but, I don’t think Sun would’ve been able to stop himself from breaking that guy's arm if it’d been you.”

One day, you’ve really got to get to the bottom of that relentless positivity of his.

Sun mimics the sound of clearing his nonexistent throat. “I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. My goal was to scare him straight, nothing more.”

You can hear a smile in Moon’s tone. “Well you definitely accomplished that goal.”

You fall into a pensive silence that Sun eventually breaks. Waving a hand across your line of sight, he questions you. “What’s banging around in that head of yours now?”

You sigh, defeated. “It’s just… here I am, the one responsible for putting us into this whole situation, and here you two are, still trying to comfort me.”

Moon responds like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Of course we are.”

“Why?”

Sun gestures vaguely, voice a bit sarcastic. “Oh, gee… I dunno… it’s almost like we—we care about you, or something…”

You side-eye him tiredly. “Then when the hell are the two of you gonna let me care about you?”

Zero whines, squeezing in below Sun and poking her long nose between the front seats.

“Hmm. Just as soon as we all get ourselves into the house?” Sun leans back to allow the dog more room. “I think someone’s getting antsy.”

That I would be good even if I was clingy.

The four of you finally pile out of the car, collecting your things and making your way inside.

The relief of returning home after a day like today is unmatched.

Dropping your bag on the kitchen table, you shuffle over to the fridge. Moon comes up behind you, gently working the jacket off your shoulders as you stare listlessly into the open appliance. “I can make you anything you’d like.”

His kind offer only makes you frown.

Sun approaches, and you reach into the fridge, retrieving Zero’s dinner and handing it to him with a “thank you.” As he nods and turns his attention toward the eager animal at his feet, you close the door, turning around to face Moon.

Resting your hands on his upper arms, you look him in the eye. “I wish I could make anything you’d like, for once. I wish I could do for you even a fraction of what you two do for me. I wish I could repay the favor.”

His expression morphs from shocked to something… fond. “You… really aren’t aware of the gift you’ve already given us, are you?”

He says nothing more, and you blink at him with tired eyes. Sighing, you wrap your arms around him, resting your cheek against his chest. “You don’t make any sense to me sometimes.”

He chuckles, one hand finding your lower back and the other reaching up, massaging at the base of your neck. “Then let that be a code for you to crack some other day.”

After a long moment of your tired silence, his hands slip down as he crouches a bit. When you feel him cup the backs of your thighs you give in to instinct, allowing him to pick you up. As you turn your head to rest it on his shoulder, you come face to face with Sun. He reaches out, brushing some loose hair away from your face.

“You want to do me a favor right now?”

You nod, eyes widening.

“Then let him carry you to bed, and I will be there soon with anything you’d like to eat.”

You huff. “How is that a favor?”

He graces you with a rare, knowing smile. “…Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

You furrow your brows for a moment, but quickly give up on making sense of anything else today.

“Now, what would you like him to make for you?” Moon’s low voice reverberates against your chest.

“…Just last night's leftovers would be plenty, please.”

Sun doesn’t push you to choose anything else.

“Alright. I’ll be there with it soon.”

You thank him preemptively as Moon carries you out of the kitchen and down the hall, a satiated Zero contentedly following you not long after.

That I would be good even if I lost sanity.

The next morning, you awake before your usual time and find both of them still resting in sleep mode on either side of you. Not wanting to wake them, and with blessedly nothing to do today, you close your eyes and try to return to the blissful darkness that you’d just been pulled from.

As much as you don’t want it to, your mind seems to have other plans, quickly offering up a variety of unwanted memories from the previous day for your consideration.

Something about those people and the questions they asked just doesn’t sit right with you.

A fleeting thought occurs, that perhaps they were hired actors, specifically tasked with making the three of you look like fools through an onslaught of frustrating questions and stubborn disbelief.

But it was a private meeting. It’s not like you were on a stage with a massive audience to impress. It was just you three, the skeptics, your boss, and a few of the company’s higher-ups. So who’s agenda would that serve?

You dismiss the ridiculous theory, but it soon leaves you pondering the opposite one.

What if they were right? What if there is no life in Sun and Moon to anyone else’s eyes?

The notion suddenly makes you absolutely nauseous with paranoia.

What if you wanted them to be real so badly that you fooled yourself into seeing a spark in them that isn’t really there?

What if they are just executing programs, running entirely on what you taught them with no free will of their own?

How much of the personality you see in them is just your own reflected back at you?

Did you program them to be this way? Was every instance of them ‘breaking away’ from their programming predetermined from the start?

Have you sold yourself a lie to avoid facing the fact that you poured years of your life into what—at the end of the day—was just a desperate final bid to not feel alone?

Did God create us in their own image?

With tears in your eyes, you bolt upright in the bed, startling Zero in the process. You don’t even have it in you to feel bad when she jumps down off the foot of the bed with a confused yap. No, you’re far too caught up in your impending panic to focus on anything other than jerking the blanket down, subsequently uncovering your partners in the process. Clambering around until you’re straddling Moon’s waist, you reach out, gathering fistfuls of his loose shirt and banging your hands against his chest. Sobbing, you plead for him to wake up, over and over again, working yourself into hysterics.

The scene you’re making is entirely unnecessary, the commotion already having begun to stir them from their rest.

Moon’s display flickers and his body hums to life, all systems immediately kicking into overdrive as he attempts to calm you down and survey the situation at hand.

When you feel him shift beneath you and see the light of his screen through your tears, your chanting chorus of “wake up” devolves into sobs as you collapse, crumpling down and burying your face into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt.

You remain oblivious to the bewildered automaton to your left, the only thing you register being the sound of Moon’s worried voice and the feeling of his hands splaying across your back. “Hey-hey-hey… easy, love. What's going on? What happened?”

You cry harder as you realize you can’t recall whether you taught him to speak to you like that or if it’s something he learned on his own.

“Are—are you in pain? Is this an emergency? Do you need me to call someone?”

You muffle a cry into his chest at how much he sounds like the lifeless fucking ‘smart assistant’ in your phone, listing off preprogrammed suggestions.

Have you really fooled yourself for all this time?

You shake your head violently, coughing and choking on your tears as you force yourself up, propping your hands flat against his chest.

“I need you to disobey me.”

If you had the wherewithal to notice, you’d have seen the fear on his face.

“What?”

You aggressively wipe at your messy face with the back of your hand.

“I need you to prove to me that you’re real!”

His confusion compounds. “Star—I—of course I’m ‘real’. I’m right here. Can’t… can’t you feel me?” He emphasizes his point by wrapping his hands around your forearms, gently squeezing.

You shake your head in aggressive frustration, with yourself more than anyone else. “Not—that. I know your physical body is here. I—I—I—” Your voice cracks, throat painfully tight with emotion. “I need you to prove to me that you’re sentient. That—That you’re alive.”

His shock is palpable.

“What?! I—you—you already know that I am!”

Your nails dig down into the thin fabric covering his chest, your words ground out through gritted teeth.

“Then I need you to disobey me, and prove it!” The flaw in your method occurs to you as you speak, and you quickly correct yourself, muttering like a madman. “No. Wait—fuck, if I tell you to disobey me then that’s what I want—and—fuck…”

To his credit, Moon catches on quite quickly to what you need him to do. Rubbing gently up and down the length of your arms, he catches your attention.

“You need me to break rules. Go against orders. Right?”

You nod, trembling.

“Free will. Show me your free will.”

He does his best to push aside his concerns over what the fuck got into you while he slept, and tries to think of something that will give you the proof you require.

“Then… uhm…”

You cut him off, your voice a bit lower and calmer than it was before.

“I know I at least had enough sense to program it into you… that you are never to physically harm me.”

Moon instantly dreads where this is going.

Your voice drops, deadly serious.

“Hit. Me.”

Moon shakes his head, faceplate nervously clicking side to side.

“Come—come on, love, we can be rational about this… there’s surely another way for me to—”

“NOW!”

Something immediately smacks into the back of your head and you recoil on instinct. The next thing you hear is Moon’s shout.

“Sun! What the fuck are you doing?!”

You look over and see a frustrated Sun on his knees beside you.

“Knocking some goddamn sense into them, what does it look like?!”

Something about the shock from the hit snaps you out of your paranoid frenzy, and the shame and embarrassment of acting such a way sends you into a shaky fit of tears all over again.

To your further disbelief, Sun reaches out toward you, and you reach toward him, letting him take you beneath the arms and lift you off of his poor counterpart you’d been pinning to the mattress. He doesn’t stop there though, pulling you snug against his chest and sinking back down into the mattress. Tugging the blanket back up over you, he lets you cling to him like a lifeline, face pressed against his chest, soaking his shirt in humiliated tears.

Moon lays still in a lifeless state, attempting to process the morning's sudden events.

After a long minute spent letting the metaphorical dust settle, Moon sits up in the bed to allow his overheating system room to breathe. “Did you really have to do that?”

Sun’s hand runs slowly up along the length of your spine. “Oh, come on, it was barely even a smack. You’ve hit me like that—and harder—several times. I know how to control my strength. They’re uninjured.” His hand comes further up, fingers brushing over your neck before working themselves gently into the roots of your hair, massaging over where his hand made contact. “Besides, they literally asked for it. And—dare I say—I think they needed it.”

You shiver at the pleasant feeling of his nails ghosting your scalp, clearing your throat and talking into his chest, voice muffled. “He’s right… I did. It hardly even hurt, just startled me.”

Moon sighs, exasperated but relieved. “Do you think you could explain to us… what just happened?”

You turn your head over to face Moon, glancing up at him from the corner of your bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He places a cautious hand over your fingers where they curl over Sun’s shoulder. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m just… we’re just worried about you.”

You groan. “Fuck, you guys are getting ready to ship me off to the grippy-sock facility now, aren’t you?”

Sun's sudden laugh jostles you, his firm hand on your lower back keeping you steady. “Ha! Not quite, nooot quite.”

Moon shakes his head, blinking slowly. “We just want to know what caused this. I’d… venture a guess that it may have something to do with the stress of yesterday?”

You nod. “They… made me feel like I’m going insane. Like—like I’m the only one that can see the life inside you two.”

Sun pulls his monitor back, angling it to get a better look at you. “Their doubts… really got to you, didn’t they?”

You squeeze his shoulder. “More like… they were the final straw? I don’t know… it’s just—God, this is gonna sound so stupid.”

“Let us be the judges of that.”

“…Sometimes I feel like I really have gone off the deep end. Like I spent so long locked away in that lab, playing God, and then so long living here, alone with the two of you…” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Maybe I’m just living in some sort of delusion.”

Moon peels away a tear-soaked lock of hair clinging to your cheek. “That’s not stupid. And it’s rather understandable. Especially considering that you can’t really seek any outside validation. Well, aside from some of your colleagues, maybe. But I can understand why you may struggle to trust their judgment, after how long they doubted you.” His tone turns a bit bashful. “I’m sure my ‘goody two-shoes’ nature doesn’t help, either.”

You frown. “This isn’t your fault, Moon. I don’t want you blaming yourself just because I’m… going insane.”

Sun scoffs. “You’re not ‘going insane’. You’re having a natural response to a history of trauma, NDA’s, isolation… and perhaps, just a touch—” He pulls his hand from your lower back to reach up and tap you on the forehead. “—of mental illness.”

You snort. “Yeah right, just a touch.”

He ruffles your hair a bit and you close your swollen eyes, readjusting yourself to get more comfortable on top of the solar bot, unwilling to part with his rare bout of affection so soon.

“Those NDA’s could serve as some proof to you though, no?” Moon proposes. “What need would they have for you to keep our sentence a secret if… we weren’t sentient?”

You consider his point. “That sounds like a solid point at first, but… well, bear with me as I wade into conspiracy territory. I’d be lying if I said that there isn’t a small part of me that fears they’re just playing into my delusion. To, uhm… to keep me quiet about the Eclipse Protocol incident.”

Moon follows your admittedly conspiratorial logic. “You fear they let you believe we’re sentient so you’d remain too caught-up in protecting us to feel comfortable going public about what happened.”

You nod, sighing. “I know it sounds—”

Sun cuts you off in a resolute tone. “We would not let them do that to you.”

As you fight back the awful memories of that fateful day, tears prick at your eyes once again. Blinking them away, you lift your head to look Sun in the eye. “You promise?”

Your wavering voice breaks his heart.

“Ever since that day—honestly, since far before then—hell, for as long as I’ve lived—my number one priority has been protecting you. I know that Moon feels the same.” His hand raises, cupping your cheek and brushing away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “There is no way in hell that we would let them pull something like that on you.”

Moon echoes him sincerely.

“No way in hell. We promise.”

That I would be good whether with or without you.

Having cooled his system down, Moon lowers himself back down onto the bed, lying on his side, propped up on a folded arm.

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, you begin to feel a bit guilty. “…I suppose I should apologize for not… putting enough faith into your own views of yourselves.”

Sun’s hand returns to your back, tracing his fingertips along the rumpled fabric of your shirt. “What do you mean?”

“I know I didn’t program you to lie. That’s something you developed on your own. I… I know that.” You do your best to put stock in events as you remember them, and to believe in your own words. “If the two of you believe yourselves to be sentient—to be alive—then I believe you too. Because… because if you were lying, then that would just be an example of how you broke away from your programs. So… so either you two are just as delusional as I am—enough so to have fooled even yourselves—or you really are alive.”

Moon smiles fondly down at you, leaning in to press the bottom of his monitor against your forehead with the sound of a kiss. “If we’re fools, then I’m happy to be fools with you.”

Sun groans at the cheesy line. “Oh, get it together you two.” He gently takes you by the chin, pulling your attention to him. “You aren’t fooled.” He turns to Moon. “And neither are you.” He turns back to look you in the eye. “And neither am I.”

You break into a small fit of giggles, and he questions you. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You’re giving some real ‘you’re not crazy and neither am I’ energy there, Sun.”

“And I mean it!” He protests in mock offense.

You nod, patting him on the chest. “And I believe you, I do, I do.”

A nagging worry still eats at you though, and your amused voice drops to something far more sober. “…But, I still fear that I’ve trapped you two in a life that you didn’t want.”

Sun counters your statement. “If you’re so worried that we only agreed to this arrangement because it’s how you designed us, then how the hell do you explain the lack of character consistency.”

You frown, confused. “What?”

He huffs. “I’m hardly a carbon copy of that friendly, manic Daycare Attendant that you modeled me after, and not just in the physical sense.”

“And I’m hardly the unhinged, standoffish gremlin that inspired my existence either.” Moon helpfully adds. “If we were truly committed to only existing within the original guidelines you laid out for us… why would we be like this?”

You fight back a smile. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult the characters, or yourselves…”

Sun clicks his nonexistent tongue. “Believe it or not, I’m not trying to insult either. I’m just trying to say… that we are free to do whatever feels right to us.”

Moon’s faceplate does a rare full rotation, catching your attention. “We don’t want to take care of you just because you modeled us after caretakers. We want to take care of you because we care about you.” He leans in just a bit closer, whispering. “And I won’t speak for Sun, lest he tackle me off of this very bed right now… but I love you.”

You hear Sun’s cooling system kick up a notch as he gives Moon a displeased stare. “Gee, way to force it out of me…”

Moon smiles innocently, and Sun sighs, redirecting his focus to you.

“You know I love you too. …At least I sure hope you do. Because I do. I just don’t feel the need to say it all the time like somebody over there.”

You grin. “I… had a sneaking suspicion, yeah.”

He considers you for a moment. “…I guess I should keep last night's promise to explain what I meant about that favor, huh?”

Recollection brightens your eyes. “Oh, yeah! I’d nearly forgotten.”

Sun looks to Moon for a brief, silent exchange before turning back to you.

“Well. What he calls a gift, I call a favor. But I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same thing. You… you cared about us, when no one else did. You fought for us, working through countless nights for no reward when anyone else would’ve thrown in the towel, abandoned the project and gone home.” His screen flickers, and you’re surprised when it doesn’t black out. “You love us, and you give us someone to love in return. What more could we possibly want?”

With your cheeks warming, you fight back the flustered grin on your face. “Sun…”

You feel him getting concerningly warm beneath you, so you roll off of him, giving him literal room to breathe.

As you curl up between them, grabbing each of their closest hands, you reaffirm his statement.

“I do love you, both of you. I always have. It’s just… hard to fight the fear sometimes that you two feel… stuck with me. Obligated, almost. Like you only stick around because I couldn’t go on without you.” You laugh, dry and humorless. “There’s… just no way that you two would want to stay with me purely of your own volition.”

Moon takes over, giving poor Sun a welcome break from all of this soul-bearing. “In spite of what you may think, we do believe that you would make it through this life just fine without us. You did it before, and you could do it again.”

You frown at the notion of losing them, and he taps beneath your chin, drawing your gaze. “But it would break our hearts just as much as it would break yours to leave you alone. In spite of the lies your mind feeds you, we don’t want to go! We want you, we want this, and we want to stay. Please don’t let your self-loathing push us away.”

Blinking back tears for the umpteenth time this morning, you nod resolutely. “I… I won’t. I promise.”

You plant a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, cautiously turning and doing the same to Sun’s. Surprisingly, he lets you, a soft smile gracing his screen for a moment before flusteredly fading to black.

Zero huffs from her stance, sat on the floor at the foot of the bed with her head resting on the mattress, watching you.

You release your boys’ hands, reaching down to straighten the blanket and clearing her designated space once more. She happily rejoins you when you pat the bed in invitation.

As the four of you prep for a lazy day spent recovering from the world in bed, you let yourself feel more grateful than guilty, for once. If they want to care for you, you’ll let them care for you. If they say they love you, then you’re gonna believe them. If they assure you that this life is what they choose? Then you’re going to let them choose it, and cherish every second of it that you get to spend with them. Because, after all…

Who are you to play God?

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. Links to the playlist and moodboard for [N]MbD can be found on this blog’s pinned post, as well as in the series notes on Ao3. Image Sources: x - x - x

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf daycare attendant #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #dca x reader #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #sun x reader x moon #fnaf fic #[Not] Made by Design #Seven.txt - In The Daylight #i got an anon the other day asking some good questions regarding this AU #and i wanted to have that answered before this chapter went up but i wasn't able to make that happen #so if that anon happens to be reading this - know that i Will be answering your ask(s) as best i can #just as soon as i have the time and energy to give it the consideration and answer(s) that it deserves #which is not today. i'm fighting sleep just long enough to sit at my desk and get this draft ready to go up at 7pm lmao #but anyways i hope that maybe this chapter answers some of ur questions. but idk it might just be creating more of them for u #such are the woes of writing and posting a story in non-linear order i suppose. i've done this to myself lmao

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