#she's got that tiny tiny piece of HUMAN in her and that piece cares about ( most ) of her family. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 2 months ago

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𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: working in an environment surrounded by cruelty and the darkest sides of humanity hasn’t made you lose faith—instead, you try to bring even the smallest piece of it into every day, into every case you work on. something spencer, secretly, finds beautiful.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x religious!female reader, reader is an empath, refers to God, spencer uses the term guardian angel, but aside from that, there’s no deeper dive into religion, media liaison reader, longer hair reid bc why not, typical cm case in the background

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.4k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request.

"Stressed?"

Walking down the BAU hallway side by side with your blonde friend, you glanced at her, tilting your head slightly. The look on your face said it all—hell yes. Honestly, you’d barely gotten a wink of sleep the night before, just stressing over the day ahead. That means, your first day as the new media liaison.

"A little bit," you replied, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in your voice.

JJ let out a short laugh. The purple tank top she wore emphasized her already quite rounded pregnancy belly—her due date was getting closer, and the time had come for her to temporarily step away from her position. When she offered you the job, saying she was sure you'd be great at it, you were intrigued. Her words made you actually believe it. But then came that accelerated training, and as your knowledge grew, your confidence shrank—classic case of imposter syndrome.

"You really don’t need to be," she reassured you in a gentle tone, rolling her eyes slightly as she did. Over the past few days, you'd been driving her crazy with talk about how much you sucked and how you just weren’t cut out for the job, and honestly, you admired her for still having any patience left. When you told her that, she merely mumbled enigmatically that she'd gotten used to listening to rambling. "I trained you myself. I know you’ve got what it takes."

Absentmindedly, you bit the inside of your cheek.

"I trust you," you began slowly. "Still, I’m worried about how the rest of your team will take to me. I haven’t met any of them yet. What if they think differently? What if they think I’m not cut out for this?"

"Their opinion doesn’t matter. What matters is how you do your job — and I know you’ll handle it just fine. You’re responsible, diligent, you care about people..." JJ waved a hand, as if to say she could go on listing things for a long, long while. You allowed yourself a small smile. She raised a finger.

"And anyway, I’m sure you’ll get along with the team. I told you, they’re really good people. All of them. Hotch might seem a little intimidating at first, but don’t worry, he doesn’t bite. He just...judges."

"Wow, very comforting," you cut in with a snort.

Unbothered, she went on.

"You shouldn’t have any trouble getting along with Prentiss. Morgan’s going to flirt with you. My advice? Don’t let him see that it throws you off. Penelope...well, that depends on how you respond to Morgan’s flirting. But she’s lovely…"

You listened closely, your eyes locked on her, and in your mind, you pulled a tiny notebook out of your pocket and started writing down her advice, bullet point by bullet point.

"As for Spence..."

She cut off, because something unexpected happened.

Well—unexpected for you, at least.

Anyone else watching you march ahead with determined steps, eyes locked on your friend instead of the path in front of you, could’ve seen it coming a mile away. No psychic skills required.

You collided, hard, with someone who had just come around the corner.

Letting out a surprised gasp, you instinctively grabbed the forearm of the person standing in front of you... who, as it turned out, was a man. His brown eyes widened significantly, focused first on your face for a longer, bewildered moment before shifting to your grip on the sleeves of his shirt.

"...And this is Spencer," came the voice from your left.

You looked at JJ, then back at the man you’d bumped into, raising both eyebrows.

"Seriously?" you said. Seriously, as in, why do coincidences always seem to favor my humble and innocent self? Out loud, it sounded a bit stranger than you intended, so you quickly shook your head, adding, "Seriously, I mean, what are the odds? We were just talking about you."

Dr. Reid slightly parted his lips. You noticed that his slightly wavy brown hair almost reached his shoulders.

"You were talking...about me?" he repeated slowly, shifting his gaze to JJ.

The moment he said that, you realized how it had sounded.

"No, I mean yes, but nothing bad," you quickly clarified. "JJ was just briefly introducing me to you guys. That your boss likes to flirt and I should ignore it, and some other guy...evaluate..."

"Reverse," JJ quickly interjected.

"Reverse," you agreed with an eager nod.

Spencer stared at both of you, at least thoroughly confused, but he seemed to decide it was better not to ask further. Well, maybe it was for the best. Finally, his gaze focused solely on you, and a sudden understanding appeared on his face.

"You’re the new media liaison," he stated more than asked.

Another quick nod.

"In person. And you, Dr. Reid?"

"In person," he replied.

The silence that followed those words felt strangely awkward, but you weren’t sure why. Or why it even happened. Seriously, no one had anything to say? Spencer cleared his throat. "Could you let go of me?"

A glance downward. Your hands still clenched on his shirt.

"OH, yeah, absolutely..."

The only thing comforting about it all was the fact that this meeting had exhausted all the reserves of humiliation assigned to you for the day. Probably thanks to that, meeting the rest of the team went by without any unnecessary setbacks.

A vaguely undefined but not alarmingly long or significantly short time later (let's say the first few days of work had blended together a bit, and you weren’t able to honestly pinpoint how many days had passed—besides, was it really important…) you kept your gaze fixed on the jet's window, occasionally making eye contact with your own reflection, which you immediately broke every time it happened.

You felt so many things that it was hard to list them one by one. Definitely, one of them stood out above the rest. And it was fear.

Choosing this case from the start had been risky. JJ had drilled one simple rule into your head: always go for those where there’s the highest likelihood that the killer will strike again soon. And where the most people could potentially end up in the crosshairs. It was hard to weigh other people's lives like that, sometimes having to choose between a serial rapist case and a child abductor your stomach would rise to your throat, forcing you to take a few deep breaths.

You were afraid to ask JJ if it would ever go away. If it was possible to get used to it. If not, you’d have to accept the fact that it would accompany you relentlessly. If it was...you weren’t sure if you wanted that to happen. Being an excessive empath in this position was quite a challenge, but the thought of complete numbness to such matters felt depressing. It seemed like a cross you didn’t want to free yourself from carrying.

Anyway, the next case was about an unsub who kidnapped teenage girls and always kept them for a specific amount of time—48 hours—before brutally taking their lives. The team was deep in discussion about what that time might symbolize, but you distanced yourself from them on the jet, listening with just one ear.

You had identified the last girl, assuming she was still alive at that point. The thing was, she had been abducted...over 40 hours ago. Her parents had reported her missing late, thinking she had simply run away, which apparently had happened before. You had only eight hours to save her.

Eight hours.

That thought was cruel and incredibly painful for you, but if you failed, not only would she die, but others as well—others you might have saved in that time. Other cases.

Eight hours.

Sometimes that was how long it took to clean up the apartment (with a bit of procrastination, but still).

Eight hours.

You focused your gaze on the team members gathered around a table, their noses buried in the files you knew by heart. Just like the structure of the victim's face—sixteen-year-old Abby, with green eyes and freckles on her nose. You had no idea where she was, how on earth were you supposed to figure that out in just eight hours?

Swallowing your own helplessness, you whispered a few words under your breath, your voice barely brushing the air. You didn’t want anyone to hear you, but you needed it—to loosen the grip that had taken hold of most of your chest. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the prayer for a moment. You always said it for the victims, always gave thanks whenever one was saved. But you couldn’t remember the last time there had been so much pleading in it—pure, desperate pleading.

Eight hours.

Eventually, your lips pressed into a thin line, your eyelids lifted…instantly catching someone’s gaze. Spencer was standing just opposite you, likely on his way to join the others, but paused—caught by whatever it was you’d been murmuring under your breath.

The tips of your fingers dug hard into your thighs; it must’ve looked unsettling from the outside. You took a deep breath and simply shook your head in his direction, silently signaling that things were—at least as much as they could be—fine. And that you weren’t particularly in the mood to talk about it.

Reid, however, didn’t pick up on that cue, slipping into the seat across from you. His expression was the same one you’d seen on the others’ faces. You’d noticed it before. As if their faces had two layers. The first one—foundational—held constant tension, determination, and often, a trace of fear. And then there was the second, thinner layer—at times translucent, allowing glimpses of what lay beneath and helping you piece your theory together. It was on that surface that their smiles lived when they talked to each other.

Only once the case was solved did the transparency fade away.

“Are you praying?”

Spencer sat down across from you with a hint of hesitation, his forehead gently creased in thought. You waited a moment before answering, scanning his expression for any trace of skepticism. And you found it—which didn’t surprise you. You’d seen that reaction plenty of times before.

You simply nodded.

“For you to be able to find her,” you explained.

You glanced sideways at the rest of the team, still deep in conversation, and wondered why Reid had chosen to sit next to you in the first place. He was…fine. And you figured he thought the same of you. Since you hadn’t been around long, you hadn’t had the chance to form any real connections, though every now and then you and Spencer managed to find some common ground.

Still, you wouldn’t have guessed your faith would be one of those topics—judging by how he looked like he was trying not to bite his tongue.

“Really…” he began, but suddenly cut himself off, swallowing thoughtfully. His curious gaze stayed fixed on you. “Maybe let me put it differently—what exactly are you praying for? For more time? For the unsub to somehow change his mind and spare the victim?”

“Abby,” you corrected him automatically, ignoring the brief flash of confusion that crossed his face. You didn’t like referring to someone solely as the victim. Sometimes, when there were multiple or unidentified ones, it was necessary—but as long as you knew their name, you wanted to use it.

You’d sounded a little sharp, which hadn’t been your intention. You didn’t expect everyone around you to phrase things the way you did. Your mood just wasn’t the greatest, and the correction had slipped out on its own.

Spencer, after the initial surprise, nodded in agreement—which slightly, but pleasantly, surprised you.

“Abby. Right.”

His earlier questions still lingered between you as you sat across from each other in complete silence. He didn’t seem like he intended to repeat them, nor was he pressing particularly hard for an answer.

It wasn’t that you were trying to avoid them at all costs. They weren’t the passive-aggressive kind of questions people sometimes throw at someone just to point out the so-called absurdities of their faith—absurdities that, frankly, stop being absurd if you take the time to think about them beyond a surface level.

But for some, rejecting someone else’s worldview before even attempting to understand it—and immediately drowning it in mockery—was always the more appealing option. It fed their ignorance in a way that felt satisfying.

But that wasn’t what you were dealing with when it came to Spencer—though, fair enough, there was a trace of skepticism in him. Watching his face, his brown eyes, and the way his hair fell gently on either side of his head, you forgot for a moment that you’d actually meant to answer.

“I’m praying that she’s safe,” you said after a long pause, carefully shaping the words that had been sitting on your chest. Spencer tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression hard to read.

“That’s...that’s my request. I’m not asking for it to happen in any specific way. I’ll accept whatever way gets us there. Because that’s what matters most to me right now.” You had to take a deeper breath. Then, at a certain thought, a soft laugh escaped your lips.

“In other, blunter words—I don’t really care how God does it, as long as He does it. But...that’s not quite it either. I’d just be grateful. So incredibly grateful, if He did.”

Reid didn’t even have a second to process what you’d said when you quickly followed up with the next part of your statement—something that suddenly felt important to add as you glanced at the rest of the team from the corner of your eye.

“Of course it’s not like I don’t believe in your work,” you added with emphasis, voicing your thoughts about the team. Quickly. You just wanted it to be clear. “It’s like with hospitals. People…sometimes look at you a little sideways when you pray for your loved one’s surgery to go well, like you’re somehow undermining the work and effort of the doctors. The ones doing the actual job. But it’s not like that either. Sorry, I guess I kind of went off topic,” you muttered.

He parted his lips. You threw out your apologies so hastily that they blended with your previous words, making the entire statement feel chaotic, difficult to follow. With his eyes fixed on your face, clearly indicating he was listening, he seemed momentarily lost, blinking and shaking his head before responding.

“N-no, not… I mean, don’t apologize,” he said. “I was just curious. There are very few real things that could happen to increase her chances, well, if you think prayer could be one of them…”

“You know, in a way, I’m doing it for myself too,” you added quietly, honestly. You didn’t often say it out loud, and you weren’t sure what suddenly pushed you to. “Prayer…it just helps to calm down. And right now, I really, really need that—wait, what did you mean by there are very few real things that could increase her chances?” you suddenly asked, furrowing your brow. The tone of your own words made your throat dry. “Have you estimated her chances?”

“In a way?” he began, sitting up a little straighter. He sighed at the expression on your face. “I mean, human life isn’t something you can easily estimate. But… considering the amount of information we have, the running out of time…adding it all up…well—”

A long moment of silence passed, followed by a prolonged exchange of glances, as if questioning why.

“And?” you managed to croak, urging him to finish.

Spencer bit his lower lip, first barely noticeable, then harder, shaking his head.

“No, I shouldn’t…it’s very cold and logical…I think…I think it’ll be better if you just…believe it’ll work—”

“I believe,” you assured with a slow nod, not breaking eye contact. “And I will, no matter what you say, I just…want to know what cold logic says about it.”

Reid was silent for a moment, looking almost genuinely concerned. Well, it was no secret that you had less experience than the others, that you had worked on fewer cases. Maybe it was that novice's eye that explained how much faith you still had in the idea that it could work, that Abby could be saved safe and sound.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said it to you, and you felt the tightness in your chest, which had loosened with the earlier prayer, return.

"Abby, you're safe now."

Saying those words aloud, to the tear-streaked and trembling face of the girl wrapped in a blanket in the ambulance, felt like shedding an unimaginable weight that had been tightly attached to you.

The girl looked at you wordlessly, as if not understanding the language in which you had spoken. But she understood—she just hadn’t fully grasped it yet. Carefully, so as not to scare her, you adjusted the blanket that had slipped off her shoulders, repeating the reassurance softly. Only after a few more times did understanding finally flicker in her eyes.

You stood firm, unwavering by her side until her parents arrived. Only then, on shaky legs, did you allow yourself to step away. The night was sliced by the flashing blue and red lights of police cars, scattered all around the area. The relief at that moment was almost more overwhelming than the fear that had accompanied you earlier. That fear you had been able to push aside, not allowing it to consume you. The relief, though, you didn’t have to do anything with—except one thing.

To be thankful that you were able to feel it.

You had just finished saying another prayer when you felt someone's presence behind you. Turning around, you saw Reid, standing at a distance, sending you an uncertain smile after a moment of silence. You took a deep breath and, unable to hold back, pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. Surprised, he responded with a delay, gently and shyly placing his hands on your back. Maybe you were wrong—maybe there were two things you had to do with relief. The second was crushing someone’s ribs.

“My cold logic was very wrong,” he said before he even pulled away, causing you to feel his words very close to your ear. He watched as you wiped away the tear that had slid down your cheek. When another one followed, slowly making its way toward your chin, you were surprised to feel that it wasn’t your own finger touching it, but his, briefly pausing in that spot. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, and before you could even take a breath, Spencer withdrew his hand and quickly shook his head.

“I mean,” he added, his voice taking on an awkward tone as he took half a step back. It didn’t pull you two apart by much. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad I was wrong.”

You let out a soft, amused chuckle.

“JJ won’t believe me when I tell her you said that.”

For a moment, you both looked at each other in silence. You couldn’t help but feel there was one more thing you had to say. Spencer seemed to notice, as he nodded toward you.

“Something wrong?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t a philosophical question, more of a fleeting thought that sometimes crossed anyone’s mind.

“I’m wondering if it was really God,” you said.

Spencer opened his mouth, thinking for a moment. It was hard to predict what he would say to your words, and he dropped his head for a second, his gaze lowering before returning to focus on you.

“Well, considering you prayed for her in the jet,” he began, almost…hesitantly? “And how you stayed with her in the ambulance…if it was God, then you were like her guardian angel in all of this.”

You were taken aback by his words. You stood still for a moment, feeling as though he had held his breath, releasing it only when a grateful, sincere smile stretched across your lips.

not religious myself so let me know if there's anything off or inaccurate in all of this <3

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x bau!reader #dr spencer reid

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avocado-writing · 10 months ago

Note

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world.

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well.

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked.

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound.

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him.

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window.

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door.

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome.

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan.

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine.

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself.

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck.

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively.

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile.

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy.

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often?

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly.

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it.

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket.

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?”

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair.

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye.

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton.

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen.

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t.

He turns up.

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper.

“Hey! You made it,” you say.

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy.

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits.

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance.

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination.

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question.

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.”

You beam.

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too.

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near.

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze.

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does.

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous.

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion.

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach.

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption.

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it.

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat.

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little.

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver.

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic.

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face.

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles.

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth.

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly.

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod.

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess.

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens.

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does.

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share.

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters.

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer).

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows.

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you.

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate.

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss.

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak.

You do not make it to the bed.

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him.

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs.

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug.

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff.

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket.

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you.

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference.

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again.

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom

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cressidagrey · 9 months ago

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 10

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Eira has a shiny new spine, Azriel threatens to murder and the shadows keep torturing Elaine's floral arrangements and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“And if something happens…”

“We do know how to contact you,” Mor drawled drily from her seat on the couch. “Velaris will still be standing when you return, High Lord,” she told Rhys sarcastically. Az bit back a smile while Amren huffed.

"And you're alright with taking care of Nyx?" Feyre checked carefully. It was already dangerous enough for the High Lord, the High Lady, the General and the Spymaster to be out of the Night Court at the same time. There was no need to add the Heir to the Night Court to it as well.

Mor rolled her eyes. "He'll be alive and happy when you return," she promised Feyre.

Rhys sighed as he watched Feyre fuss over Nyx, who was sitting on the ground beside her, playing with what looked like a stuffed toy of some sort. A bat, now that he was looking at it with more interest.

He wondered where exactly he had gotten that from for a moment.

"He’ll be in good hands, love," Rhys assured Feyre, walking over to place his hands on her shoulders.

"And don't give her too much milk!" Azriel heard his mate exclaim, fussing about the little kitten that followed behind Eira everywhere. Snow, or Snowflake, as Eira had christened her, would stay with Cerridwen and Nuala...and Eira was fussy about it. Had been for days.

Azriel had more than once been jealous of a damn cat because it got all of Eira’s attention. And then he looked at Eira smiling at her, at playing with her with a ribbon, at how she coaxed her to eat little pieces of chicken from her hands, and scratched her underneath her chin, all of this with that expression on her face that told him that she was incandescently happy and he wasn’t jealous anymore. Eira loved her. How could he be jealous of that?

Eira appeared just a moment later, Snow still wrapped in her arms. She was clad in a green coat over a cream dress��if one could call it a coat? Azriel had absolutely no clue about fashion but it was a weird coat. It only had three-quarter-length sleeves and the neckline was open, with a shawl collar that bared her clavicle...and right there rested a necklace featuring fat emeralds that he knew the shadows had given her.

His shadows twined around her, whispering their approval for how pretty she looked, and he couldn’t disagree.

Eira was… She was stunning. She always was, of course. But that simple - yet still lovely - dress, the necklace, and her hair that was pinned up carefully with combs in it...Perfect.

He took her in, the slender, elegant lines of her figure in the dress, the dark gold strands of her hair in the elaborate braided hairstyle that revealed her lovely neck, and those blue-grey eyes that met his as a blush stained her cheeks.

She was beautiful.

"Where did you get that necklace from?" Amren suddenly demanded, staring at the necklace resting around Eira's throat with hungry eyes that made not only Azriel's brows raise.

Eira froze, and her fingers moved up to the emeralds that sat against her skin.

"The...?" she stumbled over her words a little bit, her glance shifting nervously between him, Amren, and Mor and Feyre, who had both also turned to look. "I...the Shadows got it for me," she said quietly, her cheeks darkening further.

What is this about? he demanded from the shadows, which seemed to nearly preen with something.

The Tiny Ancient One wanted it. We bought it first, they answered drily. Petty. So Petty.

He had to bite his lip to avoid snickering.

Of course, the Shadows had stolen something Amren had wanted from right under her nose. Of course, they had.

She still hasn’t apologised to her, the shadows sniped. It’s her own fault.

True. Amren was back in the city because Rhys would prefer his second and third to be there, but that came with strict instructions. Azriel wasn’t quite sure what exactly had been said, but the shadows had promised him that The High Lord had been more than clear with Amren.

A little mrrrrp from Snowflake in her arms brought attention down to the kitten, and Azriel reached out to fondly stroke the little ball of fluff. Eira giggled as Snowflake leaned into his touch, pressing her face against his fingers and continuing to purr.

"She likes you," Eira said with a little smile, watching the little cat with fondness.

"I think the feeling is mutual," Az murmured quietly, as he gently scratched Snowflake's head, and she just continued to press against his hands for more. Another mrrrp escaped the little cat, and Eira giggled a little.

"There we are!" Cassian exclaimed at that moment, Nesta trailed behind him. "I hope Helion still knows how to throw a party!"

"Or how to host one at least," Azriel grumbled under his breath, as he withdrew his hand from Snowflake's head. Rhys chuckled at the comment, as Feyre rolled her eyes.

Eira next to him stayed quiet, and he could see the nervousness in every line of her body. He offered her his arm and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, as she placed Snow on the ground.

"It will be alright," he promised her. It would be alright. It was only a wedding. Even if that meant facing Elain and he knew how nervous Eira was about that…He wasn’t nervous. He had promised himself an iron-clad grip on his temper. It would not flare. He would not actually kill Elain. Regardless of if he thought she deserved it for what she had done to them. “I’ll be there,” he added after a moment. He wasn’t going to leave her to face her demons alone. Not when she had grown even paler at the thought of facing Elain. Her fingers were gripping his arm almost like a vice.

"Everybody ready?" Rhys asked. "We'll winnow into the Courtyard of Sunray Palace."

A chorus of confirmations met his question, as Azriel placed a little kiss against his mate’s head, while her fingers in the crook of his elbow remained as tight as iron.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, I guess...” Cassian muttered, and Azriel silently agreed.

The shadows wrapped around them, and Azriel took a moment to make sure Eira was wrapped in them as well before they vanished from the River House. And rematerialised in the Day Court.

His first thought was...it was bright.

Very bright.

The brilliant sun was shining overhead, and the courtyard they appeared in was large and lovely, if a bit...showy. Similar to the House of Wind, The Sunray Palace was carved into the stone of a Mountain, that was covered in lush grass. He looked up to see a group of Pegasi fly up to their home in the highest tower.

He turned his head to check on Eira, catching her pale face and the nervous gulp as she took the Palace in, and his worry spiked. She was shaking like a leaf, and her knuckles were white where she clutched his elbow.

And then he watched as her shoulders went back and her chin went up, her jaw clenched nearly imperceptively. "You look lovely by the way," he whispered in her ear, making her blush. "Green suits you. Though I am partial to blue."

The compliment drew a flush of colour to her cheeks, and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as a little smile appeared on her face.

“Of course, you would say that,” she shot back, the slight tremble in her voice still there. “You’re biased. And don’t try to distract me.”

He chuckled even as he led them forward, the two of them easily slotting into place between Nesta and Cassian, Nesta throwing her younger sister a look. Azriel could read the worry into it but he shook his head nearly imperceptively. Eira was doing well. Better than he thought she would at any rate.

Eira still looked nervous. Extremely nervous. Her hand still had a death grip on his arm, and she was walking stiffly beside him, and yet...she still had her chin lifted high, her eyes forward. He had to admire the courage she was putting on.

The doors to the Palace suddenly opened, and Helion stepped out, grinning brilliantly. “Well, well, well, you all are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice drawling out the syllables in that typical Day Court fashion.

“Don’t you know it, High Lord,” Cassian replied in his usual easy, charming tone, and Helion chuckled as his gaze travelled over the group with a smirk. Suddenly the smirk faltered as his gaze landed on Eira and the shadows wrapped around her.

His eyes widened, and Azriel didn't know what this was about before Helion continued. "We prepared rooms for you all. Why don't you arrive properly and then we'll have lunch?"

The suggestion was casual, but Azriel still thought that Helion's gaze remained on the way the shadows swirled up her body. It did result in the shadows hissing

"Thank you," Rhys drawled, easily matching the Day Court High Lord's tone. "We'll do that, and we'll see you for lunch."

The High Lord nodded, and retreated back into the Palace, while the group headed in the same direction.

When he glanced at Eira again, her face was paler than before, her hands trembling even more.

"Breathe, love," he whispered to her quietly, his voice soft, hoping it would soothe her a little bit. She gave him a weak nod in response, and he could see her forcing herself to take a shaky breath in. Azriel didn't know entirely what was going through her head, but he had the feeling it was not a happy thought, by any means.

They were shown to their suite of rooms, arranged around a shared living room, and he led her to a marigold yellow sofa. She collapsed like somebody cut the strings holding her up.

He had half a mind to curse, but her paler face, the trembling hands, stopped him. Instead, he carefully lowered himself down onto the sofa beside her, pulling her onto his lap without a second thought, and wrapped her in the shadows around them.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he repeated, as one of his hands stroked gently up and down her back, while the other cupped her cheek.

She leaned against his touch willingly, as another shudder wracked her frame.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whimpered.

His heart wrenched in his chest at the tremble in her voice. "There's nothing wrong with you, love," he assured her quietly. "Nothing at all. You are nervous to face Elain. That's alright."

She sighed softly, but relaxed against him, bedding her head against his shoulder.

"Looking awfully comfy there," Cassian drawled and her cheeks flushed scarlet. She moved to get off his lap but Azriel held her in place gently until she stilled.

He wrapped his arm a little bit tighter around her, keeping her from getting off his lap, as he shot Cassian a quick glare, while the hand rubbing her back continued the slow and gentle motion.

He could almost hear the Shadows whispering their own displeasure at Cassian in the back of his mind. Azriel could hear a sharp smack and he just knew that it must have been Nesta.

He turned his head to send a glare in Cassian's direction, as the Shadows snickered in his mind.

"Sorry, I am sorry, Eira" Cassian hurried to add, as Feyre stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Eira said nothing, just curled tighter against him, resting her temple against his shoulder.

"We got three bedrooms, not four," Rhys said with a sigh, apparently having surveyed the rooms in the meantime. "They clearly expected Azriel and Eira to share a room.”

Azriel wondered if that was on purpose. If that was Elain’s doing. Her attempt at making Eira uncomfortable. Eira, the one of the sisters that kept the most to human ideals of modesty, that blushed if he as much as kissed her cheek…that only kissed him when they were alone. And even then it were quick pecks against his lips.

Not that he would ever protest against one of Eira’s kisses. He wanted to hoard each touch of her plush, soft lips against his like a dragon hoarded its treasure.

But now he could feel Eira's body stiffen in his lap once more, and he glanced down at her. She was very pale again, her fingers trembling where they were wrapped around his jacket. He wanted to smack his head against the nearest wall, or at least something, but he refrained from doing that, and instead just pulled her further against his chest with a quiet huff.

"Their error," Nesta said drily. "Eira and I will share."

The Shadows were practically sulking in his head.

He shut them up with a growl.

Even when he wouldn’t have laid a single finger on Eira if they did share a bed, that clearly was a step too far for her. It would have made her uncomfortable. And he wasn’t going to push her. Not ever.

He had never asked, but there didn’t seem to be any human suitors in her past. Kissing seemed foreign to her, making her nervous and excited, her heartbeat quickening and she stared at him with this expression of wonder on her face.

"Alright, that works as well," Feyre agreed, and Azriel silently echoed that.

He could feel how tense Eira still was in his lap, though. Still trembling nervously under his touch. He continued to rub her back slowly, still trying to soothe her.

“Cassian can share with Azriel,” Nesta declared.

“Oh come on,” Cassian muttered.

The Shadows muttered their displeasure as well.

Azriel rolled his eyes, his fingers still rubbing her back soothingly.

"You're a grown male, Cassian," he said, his voice dry. "I'm sure you'll live."

A huff from the General, and Azriel just rolled his eyes again, his glance down to his mate again.

She still looked quite pale. The hand on her back continued the gentle rubbing.

"Interesting that it wasn't Elain and Lucien that greeted us," Feyre said drily. "Given that it's their wedding we are supposed to attend."

"Very interesting," Rhys agreed, as Azriel continued to eye Eira in his lap.

She was still tense against him, still pale, still trembling a little bit. Her nervousness and fear were rolling in waves towards him, through the bond.

"Elain will be at the lunch, no doubt," Feyre said, and Rhys just hummed in agreement.

The Shadows continued to whisper angrily in his mind, upset at the way their Mate was feeling.

"Or maybe Elain is terrified of what the shadows will do to her now," Nesta quipped darkly.

Azriel couldn't help but smirk a little bit at that.

He could practically hear the Shadows preen. Cassian let out a bark of laughter, and Feyre tried to hold hers back, while Rhys tried to keep a serious expression.

You'll behave, he told them sternly.

Maybe , they hissed back, though they were still clearly preening over the compliment.

He rolled his eyes and glanced down at Eira again.

I mean it. You will behave. You do not attack her, he reiterated in his head.

A few displeased mutterings echoed in his head, but they did quiet down. He refrained from rolling his eyes this time, and his glance went back to the female in his lap. She was no longer pale, the tremors and shakes having died down, and while she was still nervous, she now appeared relaxed. At least a little bit.

"Let's get changed for Lunch," Nesta said easily.

"You literally just put on a dress before we arrived here," Cassian said with a snort.

"You don't need to understand females, Cassian," Rhys said easily. "Just deal with it."

Cassian grumbled, as Feyre stifled another laugh and Azriel held in a snicker.

Nesta held out her hand for Eira, who took it and let her sister pull her to her feet, giving him a small smile and his hand a squeeze before they, together with Feyre, disappeared into one bedroom.

He watched her go, a strange feeling of loss creeping up once she was out of his sight.

Azriel was tempted, so tempted to get up and go after her, pull her back onto the sofa, onto his lap, into his arms, but he managed to stop himself from doing so.

He leaned his head back against the back of the sofa, and a long sigh escaped him.

"You're absolutely besotted." His head snapped up to see Rhys staring at him, his violet eyes sparkling with smug amusement. The Shadows immediately hissed in agreement his mind at Rhys' observation.

"Shut up," Azriel just grumbled.

Rhys smirked at him in response, and Cassian just laughed. "Whatever you do tonight, if your shadows start sweetly caressing me like they do to Eira, I'll scream," Cassian muttered.

"That won't happen," Azriel immediately shot back, the words practically hissed through his teeth.

At the same time, the Shadows muttered their own disapproval of that possibility. Only our Mate, they whispered.

Cassian just rolled his eyes.

"Do you think she'll manage?" Cassian asked, growing serious. "She seems awfully...nervous."

A heavy sigh escaped him, as he sat up straighter in his seat, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She...is very nervous. But she's trying not to be. She's trying to stay brave."

"And you?" Rhys asked quietly. "How are you holding up?"

He took a deep breath, contemplating the question.

He was angry. Furious. Worried about his mate, his heart clenching every time he felt her distress through the bond.

But he had to stay strong. For her. He needed to keep it together.

"I..." he mumbled, his voice faltering. He had to pause for a moment to collect himself. "I'm hanging in there."

Silence followed his admission, and Cassian and Rhys were studying him. He knew his friends could see through his facade, knew that they knew how worried he was. His face must have given all away.

"You have every right to be angry," Rhys said quietly. "I don't know what I would do in your place."

"What I want to do is to take her home," he admitted, his voice quiet and gruff, his eyes fixed on his lap, where he was clenching his hands into fists. "I want to take her home. I don't want her here. I don't want her to face Elain. Hell, I don't even want her to meet Elain at all. I..." He took a shuddering breath. "But she needs this. She needs this closure. I think Eira knows that herself."

Another heavy sigh escaped him, as he lifted his head and met Rhys' eyes.

"I just hate...seeing her so scared. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to feel frightened and scared because of...Elain," he said, bitterness seeping into his voice as he said her name.

"What did she see?" Cassian said suddenly. "Elain had a vision of you and Eira and worked to make sure it wouldn't come to pass. But what did she see?"

"Cass..." Rhys said carefully, but Azriel shook his head. It was alright.

"She saw...She saw Eira and a little girl in a garden. A little girl with her hair and freckles and my wings and eyes. She saw me coming home to them...picking up our daughter and kissing Eira...they saw my hand on her swollen belly...another child in her womb. She saw our children Cassian." There was a heavy pause after Azriel's words.

Cassian just stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, while Rhys' mouth was set into a thin-lipped grave line.

His voice had started shaking a little bit, towards the middle of his story, and he clenched his jaw against the emotions building in his chest.

"That you didn't outright kill her is a fucking miracle," Cassian seethed.

"I damn near came close," Azriel muttered darkly, while anger coursed through his veins.

His jaw was set, his hands were clenching and unclenching almost of their own accord, while the Shadows kept muttering angrily in the back of his mind. They were furious, furious that their Mate was distressed.

"Why did she do it?" Cassian demanded. "Because she is the prettier one? Because if she couldn't have Azriel, Eira shouldn't have him either? Because of jealousy ?!"

"Jealousy and spite," Azriel said darkly. "That's what it comes down to. Jealousy and spite ."

He wanted to break something. Preferably Elain. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze.

He took a shuddering breath to collect himself, as he felt himself slowly losing control of his temper.

But he needed to stay in control. He had to. He wasn't going to explode, not in front of Cassian and Rhys, and certainly not in front of Eira.

"I...hate...her," he bit out, his voice strangled, as his hands clenched and unclenched, even as he tried to keep control over his temper. "I hate her so much. Hell, I want to destroy the very thought of her. I...I want to make sure she can never hurt Eira again. And if it's the last thing I damn well do," he continued, and his voice was venomous. "She. Will. Never. Lay one finger on my mate ever again."

"And I'll make her suffer," he snarled, his voice almost a growl. "By the Mother, I won't just kill her. I'll make her suffer first. For what she did to Eira. For what she did to us. For the thought of that future that she denied me. I will make her pay."

A strangled breath escaped him, his lungs straining with the effort of keeping himself from going on a rampage right then and there.

He closed his eyes, and took a long shuddering breath, as fury continued to course through his veins, while the Shadows hissed and whispered in his mind, their mutterings murderous in nature.

He let out a shuddering breath, as he tried to will his raging temper to abate. He needed to calm down. He needed to, for Eira. She was nervous enough as it was. He couldn't go to her like this. He...He wouldn't do it. He refused to upset her further.

He kept his eyes closed, as he tried to force his emotions to a simmering rage.

Another shuddering breath escaped him, as it took all his strength to calm down. He forced the tension from his body, slowly loosening his clenched jaw. His hands were still clenched into tight fists, but he continued to just breathe deeply, willing his temper to die down.

It felt like an eternity before he finally felt in control of his own emotions again.

He opened his eyes again and met Rhys and Cassian's stares.

Neither of them said anything, silently watching him, and he leaned back against the sofa with a sigh.

"I'm alright," he said and was slightly surprised that his voice was steady, even if he still felt like he was full of rage. "I'm fine. I'm alright," he repeated, and it was more of a reminder to himself than anything else.

"You need to not react like that when you see her," Rhys said quietly, and Azriel couldn't tell if it was a warning or a mere observation.

"I know that," he said between clenched teeth. "I know that, Rhys. But I have every right to be furious. Hell, I have every right to rip her apart."

"You do," Rhys agreed quietly. "But it won't do anyone any favours if you get like this when you see her. You need to keep your temper in check. For Eira ."

***

Eira was staring at her reflection in the mirror, struggling to recognise the person looking back at her.

Her eyes were wide and anxious, her breathing quick and nervous, and her hands were trembling. A part of her was wondering how she was even managing to stand at the moment, seeing how her legs felt like they were close to giving in underneath her.

But she was also...she was also dressed in a tissue-thin gown out of pleated silk in a lavender colour, cinched in around the waist by an embroidered ribbon she had made. Her hair was pulled back from her face, diamond encrusted haircombs that she had no clue from where these had come from fastened in her hair...( One day she would need to actually get the shadows to stop buying her things. ), a diamond bracelet tightened around her wrist…They had even clipped earrings to her lobes, diamonds as well, dangly and pretty and in the Human Lads would be considered to be too much for a simple luncheon.

But here in Prythian, the shadows didn’t seem to think twice about it, to wrap her in more diamonds than most people had ever even seen in the same place.

Once they judged her ready, a tendril of shadows curled itself back around her wrist, while another picked up the small train of her dress.

"You know, I am kinda jealous. You have a handmaiden wherever you are," Feyre said drily.

Eira let out an embarrassed little laugh, the sound shaky and weak as her heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of her chest.

"They are...very helpful," she admitted, as she gave a small, nervous glance to Feyre.

Nesta finished pinning her own hair into her usual coronet, smoothing the blue-green fabric of her dress. "You do not need to accept her apology," her eldest sister said fiercely. "Remember that, Eira."

She swallowed, the familiar nervous butterflies back in her stomach, and she gave a shaky nod.

Feyre placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, as she gave her a gentle squeeze. It was a little steadying and helped quell some of her anxiousness, even as the nervous tremors continued to wrack through her body.

"I...know," she said quietly.

Right. There went nothing.

She took a few more, long, deep breaths, to calm her nerves.

She was going to be alright. She was going to be just...fine.

You're going to be fine, she repeated to herself as she squared her shoulders.

Azriel was waiting for her as she left the bedroom, in a quiet conversation with Rhys and Cassian. He looked up as soon as he came out, his expression softening.

His eyes widened momentarily as a breath caught in his throat at the sight of her in that dress, and a small smile started spreading across his lips.

"Eira," he said quietly, taking a tentative step towards her. "You...You look beautiful, sweetheart."

She gave a shaky smile, her eyes meeting his as those familiar little butterflies came to life in her belly.

"Thank you," she whispered, her heart fluttering at the affectionate endearment.

"Ready?" Rhys asked.

She exhaled, steadying her breathing, willing her trembling body to not shake.

Eira gave a shaky nod, even as the familiar anxiousness threatened to overwhelm her, and she swallowed past the lump forming in her throat.

"Ready," she whispered.

She just needed...She reached out for Azriel's hand before she could help herself, not caring how inappropriate this was. They weren't married, they weren't even engaged and still, she claimed his hand with hers, threading her fingers through his.

The feeling of scarred skin against her home, grounded her, giving her something to hang onto.

The shadows that kept closer to him than usual, hiding behind the wings he had snapped close to his body, dusted over her arms for just a moment, like they wanted to assure Eira that they were there as well, before returning to their mater, leaving her with a few wrapped around her wrist and another tendril keeping her skirt in place.

For a brief moment, Azriel looked down at where their fingers were woven together, before lifting his head again and giving her fingers a firm, reassuring squeeze. She felt his warmth through his skin, the steady beat of his pulse, and it was comforting...comforting to know that he was right next to her.

She took a few more, deep breaths, the anxiety continuing to flutter in her stomach, but...

But Azriel was here, she reasoned.

Azriel was right there...right next to her, holding her hand...and she could do this. She could get through this. All she had to do was stay close to him.

They were let to a dining room, with high ceilings, beautifully appointed in white and gold.

“I swear I told them to put white jasmine and blush roses in here and not yellow carnations and orange lilies!” she heard her sister’s voice before she saw her.

Seconds later, she got her first glance at her twin sister. Lucien and she made a lovely couple, always had. And Elain did look as utterly beautiful as she always had. Elain had always been extraordinarily lovely, but that hadn't changed in her transformation into a High Fae. Now she was utterly beautiful.

Even when… with a blink Eira realised how harried-looking Elain was, fiddling with the flowers on the table. Her heart clenched at the sight of her, mixed with the swirling, anxious emotions in her stomach, and she couldn't help the shuddering breath that escaped her as they walked into the room.

Azriel's hand clenched around hers.

Her eyes snapped to his. His face was a mask of ice. She had never seen him look ...like that before. Never seen...this tightly controlled murderous rage.

The shadow tightened around her wrist. She wasn't sure if it was in warning, but she didn't care anyway.

He was hers. Hers in every bit of this murderous rage.

They came to a halt, and she felt the way Azriel clenched his jaw as his eyes met with Elain's across the room.

He was furious, she could practically feel the rage simmering under the surface, the only thing keeping him in check was his ironclad control...and the fact that he was holding onto her hand.

She would leave the diplomacy to Feyre and Rhys, the useless pretty words. She didn’t trust herself to say anything that was actually nice. Instead, she tugged Azriel along to find their seats at the table, pasting a smile on her face.

They sat at the table, and Azriel kept a firm hold of her hand, never loosening his grip on her. The shadows kept themselves firmly around her wrist and continued to cling unto her, even as they settled into place at the table.

And a part of her could feel how Azriel was tensed, how he was wound up so tight she was afraid he might snap.

Cassian sat down next to Azriel, with Nesta bracketing Eira's other side, fully ignoring whatever seating arrangement had been put down by the Day Court.

Eira wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly why Cassian had been put there. In the event of Azriel losing his temper, Cassian may had a chance at subduing him. Though she somehow doubted that would actually work.

With them right there, and Azriel holding onto her hand, she felt...steady. She felt secure...secure enough to withstand this dreaded luncheon.

Feyre and Rhys sat down next to Helion, Lucien and Elain, and she could feel the tension in the room.

She could sense Elain's gaze on her, sitting directly across from her. , but didn't dare to meet her eyes as the anxiousness roiled in her stomach, even as Azriel's fingers continued to grasp hers, and one of the shadows curled around her wrist, giving a small, reassuring little squeeze.

"It's so nice that you could make it," Elain said, a smile on her face, masking her nervousness. She was glancing at the shadows that were topping up Eira’s water glass, clearly making a pest out of themselves, to put bread on her plate and drag the butter dish closer to her.

For just one moment Eira wondered if they did that on purpose. Were they trying to scare Elain?

"We wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Feyre said, her voice carefully neutral.

There was a stiffness in the air, palpable enough that it could be cut with a knife, the tension as so thick that one could drown in it, and Eira just sat there, her fingers tightly wrapped around Azriel's hand.

There was a moment of silence, where nobody commented.

And then...her heart hammered against her ribs, her stomach twisting in knots, as those doe-like brown eyes landed directly on her. "You look...good, Eira. Healthy. I hope everything healed well," Elain said sweetly.

Her breath caught in her throat as she fought down the nausea that welled up in her stomach, and she forced a tight smile onto her lips.

"Everything healed up just fine," she said, her voice shaking, only to be steadied by the firm squeeze Azriel gave her hand.

It was the truth. Nothing but a thin white line underneath her left breast. Nobody but her would probably ever see it.

"And the... lightning ?" Lucien wondered. "I hope your cauldron-given gift didn't give you too much trouble," he quipped, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Elain mentioned that you…defended yourself quite well.”

The nausea that welled up in her throat was nearly immediate. Defended herself. She had defended herself. She had also killed 4 males.

"Lightning?" The High Lord of Day asked, sounding fascinated. He was looking at her like she was an exceptionally interesting specimen.

Her stomach roiled, the nausea continuing to grow inside her, as her heart thundered in her chest.

“No,” Eira said, struggling to keep her voice even. “It...It wasn’t too much trouble,” she continued, even as the nausea continued to rise, and she felt like she might retch all over the table.

"She's learning to control it," Rhys said evenly. "She's doing as well as one could expect."

Her heart fluttered at Rhys’ words. He was trying his best to...deflect the attention away from her. Trying to help.

“So she really can generate lightning then?” Helion spoke up, sounding utterly fascinated.

"She can," Rhys confirmed, his voice even. His words were simple, but the tone of them was almost warning, and she could feel Azriel tense even more next to her. And that was enough to pique Helion’s interest.

“Extraordinary,” he said, and he sounded way too fascinated with her wretched blessing.

Her heart skipped a beat, the nausea continuing to grow in her stomach until she feared she might vomit at any moment. Her hand clenched around Azriel's, fingers practically digging into his skin, while the shadows around her wrist squeezed reassuringly. And all the while, she could feel Elain's eyes on her, her stare practically boring into her.

"Do the shadows help control it?" Elain asked hesitantly. Only now, Eira realised that more had come to swarm around her, banding around her midsection and chest, like trailing black ribbons. Their touch was gentle, and soft.

"No," came Azriel's reply, and his voice was so filled with cold fury that she was amazed he could even get the words out.

He was tense, like a coiled spring, holding onto her hand like a lifeline, while the shadows continued to cling to her, continuing to twine around her wrist in a firm, reassuring grip.

"They like touching Eira because she's Azriel's mate," Cassian said, his voice icy. Her heart stuttered in her chest at Cassian's words.

His blunt, to-the-point declaration of her belonging to Azriel...the words had stunned her, and it seemed they had stunned Elain too if the way that she stiffened was any indicative.

"Ah, yes...we should talk about that," Helion said with a sigh. "Elain?"

The tension in the room immediately ratcheted up even more higher, and Eira could feel it, as a chill settled over the room. She was so tense, she was struggling just to breathe, and her hand was trembling where it was held in Azriel’s ironclad grip.

"I am sorry," Elain said quietly.

Her heart skipped a beat at her twin sister’s words, her stomach twisting in knots, as her eyes flicked towards her. Elain’s voice was soft but sincere, and her brown eyes were wide and vulnerable, and there were tears in her eyes... Tears in her eyes as she spoke.

"I am sorry, Eira," she said again, her voice trembling. “For...for everything.”

And suddenly...suddenly the fear, the nervousness went away, replaced with ice-cold anger. "You are sorry ," she repeated flatly. Sorry .

The anger in her voice was not missed, and she heard Nesta and Feyre inhale sharply. Elain's eyes widened at the tone in her voice...at the anger in Eira’s words, and she gave a small, shaky nod, her chin trembling slightly.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have tried to keep you and Azriel away from each other. I was...I shouldn't have done that."

Eira clenched her jaw, the anger still boiling in her blood as she continued to hold her sister’s gaze.

"No," she replied, her voice so flat it was as if it was made of ice. "You shouldn’t have done that," she repeated coldly. "But that's not all you did, Elain," she spat out. "You saw that vision. You know what you did." What she had done. Namely, keep Eira's babies from being born .

Her heart lurched in her chest, and she felt Azriel squeeze her hand tightly as if he knew what had been going through her thoughts.

Her throat was tight, and her breathing was laboured, as she continued to hold her sister’s gaze, her eyes cold and furious as she spoke.

"You did a lot more than keeping me away from Azriel',” she hissed.

And the worst part was, her sister didn’t even try to deny what she had done. Didn’t even try to fight back. All she could do was sit there, looking like a wounded puppy, which only fuelled the anger in Eira’s chest.

“You tried to take everything from me,” she hissed again.

"It all worked out!" Elain defended herself. "You and Azriel seem to be..."

She couldn’t be serious, could she?

It all worked out?

It all worked out?!?

"It is not all ‘worked out’!" she snapped, her voice cracking as she fought back a frustrated scream bubbling in her chest. "You tried to take everything from me!" she repeated, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. The tears weren't for her.

The tears were for her babies.

The anger ratcheted in her chest and she could feel the lightning underneath her skin, begging to be released. Begging for her to let go of her grip on it and let it find its target. Let it find Elain. Let it hit her.

She clenched her jaw, forcing that feeling down, as she met her sister’s eyes with a cold glare. "You tried to take my children from me," she hissed at Elain. " My children. "

The temperature in the room seemed to drop to below freezing, and she could feel Nesta and Feyre’s gazes on her. She didn’t care though. Her eyes were entirely focused on her twin, and the words had come out in a deadly hiss, the anger steaming out of her in waves.

"You tried to take our babies ," she repeated, her words cracking again as she spoke.

She felt Azriel’s grip on her hand tighten even more, the shadows clinging to her wrist once more, as if trying to both keep her grounded and hold her back.

And it was the only thing keeping her from lunging across the table and grabbing her sister by the throat.

Her skin was itchy, that strange, foreign energy writhing underneath the surface, and she fought to keep it reined in, to keep it from escaping, even as the room went silent, the tension so palpable you could taste it in the air.

It hurt, keeping it restrained, and her heart thudded against her ribs, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

Her whole body was tense, and all she wanted was to let the lightning free. To let it roar.

"You are my twin sister, Elain," she said, biting out every word. "We spend 9 months sharing our mother's womb. I trusted you with my life. And you did this to me."

Her sister just sat there, her eyes wide and watery, as if somehow even that had been a shock to her.

"We spent years together," she continued, her words sharp and cold. "I never thought I would need to worry about you betraying me."

Her chest hurt like something was sitting on it, making it hard to breathe, as she continued to hold Elain’s gaze.

Elain’s eyes were wide, watery, and wounded, and she might have been almost sorry that she looked so hurt…if not for the fact that Elain was the one who had caused Eira to be in this position in the first place. Elain was the one who did this to her…hurt her so badly she didn’t know if it’d ever heal.

"I…I…" Elain started, her voice cracking. She looked like she was going to cry, and Eira felt herself waver slightly at the sight of her distraught expression. But then…her mind flashed back to the vision of her daughter , so small and beautiful…and that small, weak flutter of sympathy in her chest died.

"I trusted you," she hissed, her voice thick as she desperately tried to hold back the tears that were burning at the corners of her eyes. "I trusted you and look what you did to me. What you took from me."

Her sister let out a watery gasp, her lower lip quivering, and the tears slid silently down her face. And for a moment, Eira felt her resolve waver…only to remember the image of those two babies. The ones that should have been hers.

Anger flared again at that thought, her heart squeezing in her chest, as her breath hitched.

All the sympathy that she had felt was gone, and all that was left was the all-consuming rage coursing through her veins.

She had every right to be angry, she told herself. She had every right to feel this way.

She was so angry, so incandescent with rage, that her entire body was shaking, and she felt like she needed to just scream. To shout and rage and fight…fighting was all she wanted to do.

She gritted her teeth, her fingers wrapping tightly around Azriel’s hand, as she tried desperately to rein in the storm of emotions warring within her chest.

Azriel’s grip on her hand tightened as if he was sensing how close she was to breaking.

“Eira...” Elain said tremulously. Her sister’s voice was quiet, almost timid, and it was enough to snap something within her.

"Don’t. Don’t speak to me. You are the last person who gets to speak to me right now," she snarled, her voice cold as steel. "I loved you," Eira snapped. "I loved you and you did this to me. And now you want to tell me that everything is alright because it WORKED OUT?!"

Her sister looked like she was going to start sobbing, her lower lip quivering faintly, while her brown eyes were like large, round pools. But Eira was done feeling sorry for her. Done feeling sympathy towards her.

“You don’t get to talk to me about what’s alright or not,” she hissed, fighting the urge to reach forward and throttle her. "I just want to know one thing. Why?" she snapped." WHY? Why did you do it?” she shouted bitterly.

Elain looked like she had absolutely no idea how to answer that. She looked like a lost child, and it took all of Eira’s strength to keep her seat and not lunge across the table to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

She knew her eyes were probably like ice when they met her sister’s, and her glare was hard as steel as she waited for her answer. "Why?" Eira repeated icily.

Her sister’s lower lip was trembling, just as much as her shoulders, as she raised her head to meet Eira’s furious glare.

"I…" Her voice was small and watery, and her eyes were now wide and pleading. "I…I was jealous," Elain whispered.

Eira’s jaw dropped at the words. At the admission, she had just heard. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting her sister to say, but a quiet confession of jealousy hadn’t been it.

Her sister’s chin trembled, her shoulders hunching slightly as she let out another sniffle. She sounded utterly small and looked almost pathetic in that moment as she slowly raised her head to meet her sister’s eyes.

“Of you and Azriel,” Elain admitted, her voice quiet, and trembling. "You...we just...we just got out of the cauldron and this was...one of the first things I saw. You didn't have visions. You weren't going insane. You...you adjusted so much quicker. Not a week later and you were making soup in the kitchen in the House of Wind and...you…were alright."

Alright.

Eira thought back to these first few days after the cauldron. Thought back to the terror that had clawed under her skin. Thought back to too loud noises and every piece of clothing feeling like sandpaper against her skin.

She thought back to how she hadn’t been able to sleep. How she had locked herself in the bathing chamber to hysterically break down because she had never wanted it. How she had pulled at her ears, too big, too pointy. How she had wanted to cut them off. How she had wanted to die. How she had thought that throwing herself off the balcony would be a solution .

"I locked myself into the closet. I hid underneath the bed. I rocked back and forth and back and forth and hummed to myself to stop hearing heartbeats and breathing and birds," Eira spat out. "Yes, I was making soup. For you. Because somebody needed to," Eira said, her voice icy. “I wasn’t alright, Elain. I kept stuffing my ears with cotton wool for the better part of 2 years so I could sleep!”

Her sister looked like she was going to start crying yet again, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and it only fuelled the rage in Eira’s chest.

“You were jealous of that ? Jealous that I was making soup? That I was taking care of you?” she repeated, her tone hard and cold. “Of the fact that I was trying to make a positive out of a shitty situation. That I was trying to move on with my life? That I tried not to give Feyre another thing to worry about? And you were jealous? Jealous of what ?!"

Of the breakdowns she had daily?

Her sister didn’t reply, her shoulders shaking as if she was trying to hold back a sob

“You were jealous of the fact that I was trying not to scream, not to break down crying,” she repeated, her voice now dangerously quiet. “Of the fact that I wasn’t moping around feeling sorry for myself, because somebody needed to make sure that you didn’t starve to death? That I was trying not to give Feyre or anyone any more of my baggage?”

"And that you got Azriel," Elain whispered. "You got...I saw you with him. With a kind man. I saw these children and I was...I wanted that. I wanted what that vision promised you. So I thought that if I..."

Her breath caught in her throat at her sister’s words, her heart twisting in her chest.

It was sick, what she had done. Horrible. And part of her had known that Elain had a crush on Azriel…but Eira had never thought she’d be spiteful enough to try and rip her children away from her just for that.

“So you wanted it," she stated coldly, her eyes like chips of ice. "You wanted what you saw me having. So you tried to take it for yourself.”

Her sister’s shoulders slumped, and she looked small and pathetic as she curled in on herself. That rage and anger were still burning hot inside her, but along with it, there was the slightest flicker of sympathy starting to burn within her again.

And Eira hated it. Hated that part of her that still felt sorry for her, even after what Elain had done.

"And later? After you and Lucien figured things out?" Why did you continue it?" she snapped.

Her sister’s face screwed up, and she looked like she wanted to burst into tears yet again. Her chin quivered, her entire form trembling. And she looked so small and fragile, that that small flicker of sympathy flared again within her, and Eira found herself hating it.

"I was...I was angry," Elain muttered softly. "I was furious. I thought Azriel and I...there was something growing between us and then he...he called trying to kiss me a mistake."

Her sister’s voice was quiet and sad, and Eira could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Because it was," Azriel said, his voice quiet. "It was a mistake. You had a mate that was literally sleeping upstairs. I never should have laid a single finger on you."

Her sister flinched at Azriel's words and hunched even further in on herself, as if she wanted to crawl into a corner. "Later it was revenge on me, wasn’t it?" Azriel said, ice dripping from his voice.

Her sister looked as if she couldn't quite meet Azriel's gaze, her eyes lowered onto the table, her body trembling. She nodded.

And part of the anger that was currently roiling within Eira burned hotter at that. How dare she look so pathetic now, like she was the damn victim and everything that had happened was Eira’s fault?

Eira’s free hand clenched into fists, and she could feel the sparks dancing across her skin, the strange energy writhing beneath the surface. Azriel, noticing this, gripped her hand tighter, his shadows snaking around her wrist again as they tried to rein in those sparks of lightning.

She didn’t want to hurt him.

That was what made her reign it in.

She was still boiling with rage, the anger thrumming through her veins like fire, and she desperately tried to calm herself, tried to get a hold of her temper.

She didn’t want to cause any damage, to break anything or hurt anyone, and the part of her that was still rational, still logical, forced her to rein in whatever was itching to get out. She breathed in and out, forcing herself to calm as those sparks danced across her fingers, and those shadows snaked up her arm. A part of her couldn’t help but notice how Elain’s eyes kept darting to the sparks and the shadows, her body tensing every time they appeared, and a small, vindictive part of her couldn’t help but be glad of it.

Her head was throbbing as that rage continued to thrum through her, but she took in another breath, forcing her mind to concentrate on the sensation of Azriel’s hand wrapped around her own. His skin was warm against hers.

"I hope nobody ever does the same to you," Eira finally said, her voice quiet.

Her sister lifted her gaze, her eyes watery, and she looked as if she’d been slapped. She looked as if she was shocked at her words.

There was another pause, another silence, as the two sisters sat facing each other, and her words hung in the air.

Elain’s chin trembled again, as if she was fighting the urge to burst into tears once more.

"I think we can all agree that Elain did not handle this...properly," Lucien said carefully.

Lucien’s words broke the silence, and Eira couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation as he spoke.

"No, she surely didn't," Rhys said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Her sister flinched at Rhys’s words, as if she had been struck, and her shoulders drooped even further than before.

"I think that's an understatement," Nesta snapped.

Her sister’s eyes widened as if the sound of Nesta’s voice startled her. Elain’s head jerked to look over at her eldest sister, who was scowling at Elain with an almost furious look of disapproval.

Eira almost felt a little bad for her sister at that look in Nesta’s eyes, but that sympathy was quickly squashed as she remembered the pain that her sister had put her through.

Her chest ached, the memory of what she had lost still too fresh and raw, and a part of her knew that it would take a long time for the pain to subside.

And even then, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to forget what Elain did to her, and that knowledge sat like a lead weight in her stomach, making her feel like she was going to be sick.

Elain shrunk back at the look on Nesta’s face, her eyes even wider as she looked over at her eldest sister. And for a moment, just for a moment, it looked as if Nesta was going to reach across the table and smack her sister. The eldest sister’s hands were clenched into fists, and she looked like she was restraining herself, only just managing to rein in her own temper.

A pause. Another silence. Elain sat, looking small and fragile across the table, Lucien’s chair positioned right beside hers with a possessive arm wrapped over the back.

Azriel’s hand was still gripping hers. He was still sitting beside her, the Shadowsinger’s eyes glittering with fury whenever he looked over at her sister. And his fingers were still rubbing gentle circles on her wrist, the shadows still coiled against her skin, and Eira couldn’t tell if he was doing it to comfort her or himself.

"I am going to say this now," Azriel said quietly. " Once . If you ever do anything remotely similar to your sister again, it will not end well. Do you understand me?"

Elain’s chin quivered, and she looked as if she was struggling to keep herself from bursting into tears again.

She swallowed as Azriel’s words, before slowly lifting her head, forcing herself to meet his eyes with her own. “I…” She took in another shuddering breath. “I understand,” she whispered.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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hedwig221b · 5 months ago

Note

Do you have any suggestions for stories similar to your Don’t Kiss and Tell or Incandescent? It’s hard to find Paige not being a love to Derek

uh, sorta, kinda... let's see if these ones will tickle your fancy

Unprofessional, Ms. Blake. But ARMS. by lalalathisisme

Ms. Blake, Erica's first grade teacher, may have a tiny crush on Mr. Hale, Erica's dad. He's tall, dark, and handsome and she has to remind herself to be professional and try not to climb Mr. Hale like a tree when he comes to pick Erica up after school. It doesn't help that he is completely adorable with his daughter – laughing and smiling and thoroughly impressed by every piece of macaroni-and-glue art that Erica makes. And every day he greets her with a hug, asking her how her day went. And he even says hello to Ms. Blake (“Jennifer” she insists, and yet he still calls her Ms. Blake) when he picks Erica up, looking like he actually cares to hear the random things that happened in class. She doesn't pry. She doesn't even know how to do it without seeming highly suspect. But as it happens, sometimes information is offered up relating to a class project, and she files them away in her brain in the folder titled 'This Is Unprofessional But Jesus, Have You SEEN His Arms?'

Professor D. Hale series by har1ey_quinn

A series of outsider POVs on Professor Hale and his significant other (with some guest appearances from the pack)

His by neil4god

He was always alone, head stuck in a book or glued to his phone. He never seemed to talk to anyone, was too busy running from class to the library and back again. Kent couldn't help but feel bad for him, after all he was his room-mate and he could see just how alone the poor guy was. At least, that's what he assumed, turned out he didn't know the first thing about Stilinski.

The life of the irresistibly oblivious Stiles series by Nosiddam1

Just a series of cute fluffy one shots where Stiles is irresistible or oblivious or both and who only has eyes for Derek.

The Way You Look At Him by neil4god

Their relationship wasn't perfect, no-one's ever was, but she didn't know how broken it was until she met Stiles. Derek never smiled at her like that, he didn't rush home early from work to make her dinner or pick up her favourite snacks like he did for Stiles. Derek didn't look at her the way he looked at Stiles and she was starting to think that maybe Derek wasn't a commitment-phobe like she thought, maybe he just didn't want to commit to her.

Too Little Too Late by SolariaLunar21

Danny's always had a secret crush on Stiles Stilinski but never hopes for more until he over-hears Scott and Stiles talking about the other boy coming out to his Dad as bi.

2, 4, 6, 8, Who's Gunna Get The Date? by rebekahdarian

The five times a cheerleader asked Derek out on a date, and the one time he said yes.

Cursed

It’s just not fair. Stiles loves Derek but Derek never notices him. Why would he notice a Tea Cup? Besides, it’s not like he’s able to break the curse. It’s not like he can make Derek human again. Derek’s stuck in Beta form, Stiles’ a tea cup. They’re cursed.

Incandescent

“You are trying to court our alpha,” sang Lydia. “Surely you realize that he does not reciprocate.” “He doesn’t stop it.” There was no point in lying. Paige was courting Derek. She would be a fool not to. “He doesn’t care to.” Lydia arched her thin eyebrow. “Why do you think he’s still searching for his mate, hmm? Why didn’t he stop once you were here? You think you can annoy him into sleeping with you?” Lydia laughed. “He is a born wolf, darling. He will not fuck you if you are not his.”

Don't Kiss and Tell

Paige has finally got the boyfriend she always wanted. The only thing is, said boyfriend doesn't touch her, doesn't kiss her and spends all his time with Stiles Stilinski. You'd think they were dating, or something…

Untouchable

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts. See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding. And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

[masterlist link]

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meanbossart · 6 months ago

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Ask Compilation: Blondes, feet, bowl-cut guardian lady.

He did not, they never had sex. But he was in love with her.

For sure. I think she struck him more like a teenager with the black hair and bangs, after the change (both visual and in attitude) she became a far more mature AND attractive person in his eyes.

PFFT, well, if you're saying they meet ALL of the criteria, I assume you mean both in looks and personality and hence be damn near his soulmate. DU drow could overlook weird feet (and a lot of other things, actually) if he were in love with the person in question. He would probably gently request they take better care of them, though.

Nothing special there, I'm afraid! He just has human-like skin - perhaps a little on the oily side but completely within the bounds of normality.

He runs a little hot, if that's anything. Oh! His hair is shockingly soft.

Correct! DU drow only (arguably) looks like a drow. He doesn't have their usual bone structure, height, or associated magical proclivities. He has some dark vision but its nowhere near as good as a drow's either.

I don't necessarily think all Bhaalspawn are the same way, but the Dark Urge IS quite different from the previous game's iterations. DU isn't simply Bhaal's child conceived with a partner, he's a piece of the god that supposedly slobbed off and grew legs and a face, pretty much. So yes, I do think that the Dark Urge at least is it's own unique thing.

The reason why he looks like a drow, is because he was placed in the Underdark upon creation. The metaphor I always use here is that if you place something infantile in a biome that is alien to it, it may try to adapt to it's environment to survive as it develops, to different degrees of success. This is why DU drow looks the way he does.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

You're welcome!

I've received a few snippets here that you can find through the #gift art tag! There is also the fic I'm in the process of writing called A Novel Experience on AO3.

It was just something I was compelled to do when I first drew him! The facial scars felt like they should lead into something else so I just made up a pattern on the spot, minus a tiny tweak here or there, it has stuck basically unchanged. All and any lore relating to the scars came later.

I get a lot of sweet messages but "thanks for your man's penis size" has to be one of my favorites. Thank you!

HELLO!

Thank you so much for the kind message! And that sounds like a fun dream, I love that your Tav got jealous of the attention ASTARION was receiving instead of mad that he had to share in the first place LOL

DU drow is desperately monogamous. He doesn't care what other people do with their lives but he's very much a "one and done" kind of person.

He would be willingly to participate in a threeway/have group sex with a partner, assuming the rules and regulations of said encounter were laid out clearly before or at least mutually understood between them. He would never want to see these people again after the fact though.

She does not, naturally I had no idea that this character was going to turn into anything when i made him, so I just... Made a lady. And since she was supposed to be a "guardian" I gave her a Joan of Arc type of look.

I've occasionally thought about changing this, but... Y'know, sometimes you don't need lore to be that in-depth, LOL.

The emperor gave everyone else a nondescript hottie he assumed they would trust, DU drow just got the same treatment. She's not even DU drow's type but definitely someone he would be compelled to take seriously yet not feel threatened by - so ultimately, her design does make sense.

---

That's all I have the energy for tonight folks, as always thank you for the many encouraging and sweet messages you send me, I'm sorry I can't reply to all of them! 😭

Have yourselves a great week!

#ask #ask compilation

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enemiestolovershoe · 8 months ago

Text

New Beginnings Part 2

Matt Sturniolo x preg!reader

Summary: Matt and Reader welcome their Newborn

Word Count: 5,2k

Warnings: use of y/n, detailed birth, labor, crying, not proofread

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

25 Weeks

It had been a crazy few weeks for you and Matt. The baby was growing fast, and your belly had popped, making everything feel more real. You and Matt had been excited and nervous about everything that was coming your way, but now there was something even bigger on your minds: finding out the gender.

At the 25-week appointment, you were lying on the examination bed, your belly round and visible beneath the thin layer of gel that the ultrasound technician had just applied. You glanced at Matt, who was sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly as the ultrasound machine hummed to life.

"You guys ready for this?" The tech smiled, clearly enjoying the moment as she moved the wand across your belly. The screen lit up with the image of your baby and every time you saw it, your heart skipped a beat. The tiny human you and Matt had created together—it was beyond overwhelming.

"Honestly?" Matt chuckled nervously, squeezing your hand. "I don't know if I’m ever going to be ready for this."

You laughed softly, your eyes glued to the screen. "We’ll figure it out. We’ve got Nick and Chris for extra hands, right?"

"Extra hands?" Matt raised his eyebrows, smiling. "More like extra chaos. Especially Nick."

The tech chuckled at your exchange, her focus on the screen. "Well, it looks like your little one is doing great. Everything looks good...and I can definitely see the gender. Do you want to know?"

Your heart leaped into your throat. You and Matt had already decided to wait for a reveal, thanks to Nick's insistence on planning something big. Still, the temptation was real, especially when the tech said she could see it right there on the screen.

You met Matt's gaze. He gave you a small smile and a nod. "We’re sticking with the plan, right?"

"Yeah," you agreed, your voice shaking a little with excitement. "Can you write it down for us? Nick’s got this whole thing planned."

The tech smiled again. "Sure thing. I love a good reveal party."

As she printed off the image and scribbled the gender onto a piece of paper, you and Matt exchanged looks of pure excitement. It was hard to believe that the answer to this huge question was just a slip of paper away.

When the appointment wrapped up, the tech handed you the sealed envelope. The paper inside seemed to hold more weight than you expected, as though knowing the secret inside made it feel heavier.

"Good luck resisting the urge to peek," she joked.

Matt laughed, holding up his hands in surrender as he took the envelope from you. "I swear, no peeking. This is all for Nick now."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

28 Weeks

Three weeks later, Nick had pulled off a full-blown event for the gender reveal. You weren't even surprised. If you were expecting anyone to go all out, it would be Nick Sturniolo. He had rented a picturesque little villa for the occasion, and you and Matt arrived to find it completely decked out in every shade of pink and blue you could imagine.

There were pastel balloons arching over the entrance, blue and pink ribbons tied around every chair, and even tables full of finger foods—mini sandwiches, cupcakes, and a gorgeous pasta buffet that had clearly been arranged with care.

"Nick," you breathed as you stepped out of the car, looking around in amazement. "This is insane."

Matt looked equally surprised, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "He actually did it."

Before you could say more, Nick came running up, arms outstretched, a huge grin on his face. "You guys like it?!" he asked excitedly, giving both you and Matt huge hugs.

"Are you serious?" Matt said, laughing. "This looks incredible."

"Not to mention the food," you added, eyeing the table. You hadn’t even made it inside yet, but you could see how much effort Nick had put into the whole thing. "Nick, you outdid yourself."

Chris appeared beside him, balancing a plate of pasta in one hand, and garlic bread in the other. "Yeah, props to him. This is probably the best food I’ve had in a while."

Nick beamed with pride. "I told you it was going to be epic. Now, are you guys ready to find out what you’re having?!"

You and Matt exchanged a nervous glance. You had been counting down to this moment for weeks, but now that it was here, it felt surreal. It wasn’t just a hypothetical anymore—soon, you’d know whether you were having a little boy or a little girl.

"I’m ready," you said, nodding firmly, though the nerves were buzzing in your chest.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," Matt agreed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

As you walked into the villa, Nick led you toward the backyard, where a large crowd had gathered. Your families were there, along with all of the triplets' friends—people you recognized from their YouTube videos. There was even a large "Team Boy" vs. "Team Girl" station set up, where people could grab badges and make their guesses.

"I'm team girl all the way," Matt announced as he pinned a pink badge to his shirt.

Chris snorted. "Nah, it’s a boy. Gotta keep the Sturniolo boy streak alive."

“I‘m also team girl“ you chuckled.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "We’ll see. Either way, this little one is going to be spoiled."

A few minutes later, Nick called everyone’s attention to the backyard, where two large smoke canons were set up on either side of a huge arch of balloons. Pink and blue balloons filled the sky, drifting lazily in the warm breeze, adding to the excitement of the moment.

Nick grabbed a microphone, grinning from ear to ear. "Alright, everyone! It’s time for the big moment! We’ve got Matt and y/n here, ready to find out if they’re having a boy or a girl! Who’s ready?!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Matt stood beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into him for support. This was it.

Nick handed you and Matt each a smoke cannon, and you felt the cool metal in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly. The anticipation was almost too much.

"Okay, on the count of three, they’re gonna pull the triggers," Nick announced. "Everyone ready?"

You took a deep breath, your hands shaking with nerves and excitement. Matt squeezed your hand, his excitement clear in his eyes. "You got this," he whispered.

"Three…" Nick started, the crowd joining in. "Two… one!"

You and Matt pulled the triggers simultaneously, and for a moment, the world went quiet as pink smoke exploded into the air. You stared in shock as the cloud of pink engulfed the backyard.

"It’s a girl!" someone shouted.

Matt turned to you, his eyes wide, and a huge smile spread across his face. "It’s a girl. We’re having a girl!"

Your heart swelled as tears sprung to your eyes. "We’re having a girl," you repeated, your voice barely a whisper as you wrapped your arms around Matt’s neck.

He hugged you tightly, his hands gently cradling your back as you cried into his shoulder. You could feel his excitement and joy radiating through the embrace, and it made your heart feel like it could burst. You were going to have a daughter.

Before long, Chris and Nick rushed over, joining the hug. "Oh my God, I’m gonna have a niece!" Chris shouted, practically bouncing with excitement.

Nick grinned, pulling you into a bear hug. "This is going to be awesome!"

You laughed through the tears, overwhelmed by the love and happiness surrounding you. "I can’t believe it," you said, shaking your head as you wiped your eyes. "A little girl."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

35 Weeks

As the weeks went by and your belly grew even bigger, the time had finally come to work on the nursery. You and Matt had been planning it for weeks—scouring Pinterest boards, bookmarking every cute piece of furniture and decor that caught your eye. Now, at 35 weeks, you were ready to put it all together.

Well, almost ready. The triplets had insisted on helping, so you had a feeling you’d be doing more supervising than actual decorating.

Chris and Nick arrived early that Saturday, armed with coffee and donuts. You were already in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair you’d picked out, rubbing your belly absentmindedly. You were definitely feeling the weight of pregnancy now—your back ached, your feet were swollen, and even sitting for too long made you feel uncomfortable. But the excitement of seeing the nursery come together kept you going.

Matt was already unpacking the last of the furniture boxes when Chris and Nick strolled in.

"Alright, what’s the game plan?" Nick asked, setting the donuts down on the floor before taking a look around. "You guys got a vision?"

"Yeah, we do," Matt said, holding up his phone. "She’s been saving Pinterest ideas for weeks."

You laughed, leaning back in the chair. "I’d do it myself, but…" You motioned to your belly, which was now large and very much in the way of most things. "I’m not exactly mobile these days."

Chris grinned. "Don’t worry. We’ve got this."

And with that, the triplets got to work. Matt and Chris assembled the crib while Nick hung up the shelves and artwork you’d picked out. You watched from your rocking chair, smiling as the room slowly came together. It was everything you’d imagined—soft pinks, creams, and gold accents, with delicate floral prints and stuffed animals in every corner.

"You guys are seriously amazing," you said, your heart swelling with gratitude.

Matt turned to you, wiping sweat from his brow. "We’d do anything for you—and for her."

Nick smirked as he finished hanging the last shelf. "This little girl is going to be the most spoiled baby in the world."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

41 Weeks

Now at 41 weeks, you were officially past your due date, and to say you were getting impatient would be an understatement. Your baby girl was stubborn, just like her dad, and no matter what you tried, labor just wasn’t starting.

One evening, you were sitting in the living room with Matt, Chris, and Nick, discussing all the things you’d tried to get things moving. Spicy food, walking, bouncing on a yoga ball—you’d done it all.

"I even tried that whole pineapple thing," you sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. "Nothing."

”Maybe you should try sex”, Nick blankly said.

”Nick, when I said we tried everything, I mean everything”, you‘re getting frustrated.

Chris chuckled. "Well, at least the cookies are a good backup plan. I mean, if labor doesn’t start, at least we’ll have snacks."

Nick laughed, giving you a wink. "I read somewhere that cookies actually have magic powers. Maybe these will do the trick."

You rolled your eyes, standing up and waddling toward the kitchen. "I’ll believe it when I see it."

As you reached for the ingredients, you felt a sudden, sharp cramp in your abdomen. You paused, frowning, and then—

Your water broke.

You stared down in shock as the liquid pooled around your feet. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Then, finally, you managed to say the words that would change everything.

"Uh, guys? My water just broke."

The room went silent.

And then all hell broke loose.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Labor

All four of you stood frozen, staring at the small puddle on the floor.

Nick, naturally the first to speak, broke the silence. "Are you sure you didn’t just piss yourself?" His voice was light, but the shock was clear on his face.

You shot him a look, shaking your head. "No, Nick. I’m pretty sure this is happening."

Matt’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. "Okay. Okay. Oh my god, it's happening! Chris, grab the hospital bag!" His voice was shaky, panic starting to take over. "Nick, call the hospital, tell them we’re on our way!"

Chris, already ahead of the game, was moving before Matt even finished the sentence. "On it!" He darted to the hallway, where the hospital bag had been packed and sitting for weeks. "Got it!" he shouted, slinging it over his shoulder and heading for the door.

Nick pulled out his phone, already dialing. "Okay, okay! I’m calling!" he said, pacing a little. "Man, this is really happening. Holy crap."

Matt turned to you, immediately switching to his softer, more concerned tone. "Come on, babe. Let’s get you changed real quick," he said, leading you carefully toward the bedroom, his hand supporting your back. "We don’t want you showing up at the hospital soaked."

You nodded, feeling the rush of emotions hit you—excitement, nervousness, fear. "Yeah, not exactly how I want to make an entrance," you joked, though your voice trembled.

Once in the bedroom, Matt gently helped you out of your wet clothes, his hands shaky but careful as he eased you into some fresh leggings and one of his hoodies. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his eyes full of concern, trying his best to stay calm for your sake.

You took a deep breath, focusing on staying composed. "A little scared. But I’m ready." You placed a hand on your belly, feeling the baby’s movements. "I can’t believe we’re actually about to meet her."

Matt kissed your forehead, his hand resting on your belly alongside yours. "You’re incredible, you know that? We’re gonna be okay. I’m right here."

Back in the living room, Nick was still pacing, phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, we’re heading there now... yep, water broke... we’ll be there soon," he said, hanging up. He turned to you and Matt, wide-eyed but grinning. "Alright, hospital’s ready. Let’s go!"

Chris stood by the door, holding the hospital bag like he was guarding something precious. "Got the bag. Car’s ready. Let’s do this!"

You walked carefully back into the living room, Matt’s arm around your waist. Another contraction hit, sharper this time, and you gripped Matt’s arm, exhaling slowly through the pain. "Okay, okay... these are definitely getting stronger."

Nick, naturally, had his phone out again, recording the moment. "Alright, this is it, guys! We’re officially on baby watch. Y/N’s contractions are coming in hot, and Matt’s holding it together... kinda."

Matt shot him a glare, though there was a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nick, do you have to film everything?"

"Yes," Nick replied, unbothered. "The people need to see this."

You laughed, despite the pain. "It’s fine, Matt. Let him film. At least it’ll give him something to do instead of making stupid jokes."

"See? Y/N’s cool with it," Nick said triumphantly, zooming the camera in on Matt’s stressed face.

Chris opened the door, gesturing for everyone to hurry. "Alright, let’s move, people. Baby’s not gonna wait forever."

Matt guided you toward the car, his grip on your arm steady but his face full of barely-contained panic. He helped you into the passenger seat as carefully as possible, glancing nervously at you the whole time. "You good?"

You nodded, smiling up at him. "I’m fine, Matt. Let’s just get to the hospital."

Once Matt was in the driver’s seat, he started the car a little too aggressively, the engine roaring to life as he sped out of the driveway.

"Matt, slow down!" you exclaimed, gripping the door handle as he took a turn a little too fast.

"Sorry!" Matt said, clearly frazzled. "I just... I don’t know! I want to get you there as fast as possible."

Nick, sitting in the backseat with Chris, was still filming. "And here we go, folks. Matt’s driving like he’s in a Fast & Furious movie, but don’t worry—I’ve got the whole thing on camera." He panned the phone toward you. "Y/N, any last words before this baby arrives?"

You shot him an amused look. "My only thought is, if Matt doesn’t calm down, we might not make it to the hospital."

Matt groaned, though he slowed the car slightly. "I’m calm, I’m calm," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

Chris leaned forward, resting his chin on the seat in front of him. "Matt, man, we’ve got time. No need to speed. Also, anyone want to place bets on how long the labor’s gonna be?"

"Chris," Matt snapped, his voice tight, "now is not the time."

As Matt turned onto the main road, the streetlights whizzed by in a blur, their dim glow casting flickers of light over your face. You were gripping the door handle tightly, your other hand still squeezing Matt’s. The contractions had picked up, each one more intense than the last, and you could feel the pressure building with every passing moment.

Nick, in the backseat, still had his phone out, filming despite the tense atmosphere. "Alright, Y/N’s in full-on labor now," he narrated softly, trying to keep the tone light but clearly nervous himself. "Matt’s driving like his life depends on it. Chris, how you feelin'?"

Chris, sitting next to him, shot Nick a glance. "Me? Why are you asking me? I’m not the one about to have a baby."

Nick shrugged. "Just trying to document the vibe, man."

You groaned as another contraction hit, sharper this time. Your breathing quickened as you leaned forward in the seat, trying to brace yourself against the pain. "Matt..." you whimpered, squeezing his hand hard.

Matt glanced over at you, his face pale and full of worry. "I know, babe, I know. We’re almost there, I swear." His voice was shaky, and you could see how hard he was trying to keep it together for you.

"Keep breathing, Y/N," Chris chimed in from the back, his usual laid-back tone gone. "In and out, just like the birthing classes."

You managed a nod, following his advice, focusing on your breath. But when the next wave of pain hit, it was stronger, and you couldn’t help but let out a sharp cry.

Matt panicked, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Oh my God, are you okay? Should I go faster? I don’t know what to do!"

"Don’t speed," Chris said quickly, leaning forward to look at the road. "We don’t need a car accident on top of everything."

Nick, still filming, chuckled nervously. "Yeah, maybe keep it at a reasonable pace, bro."

You managed to laugh through the pain, though it was shaky. "I’m fine... just get me there."

As Matt pulled into the hospital parking lot, he practically skidded to a stop, parking crookedly in his rush to get out of the car. He ran around to your side, opening the door for you, his hands shaking as he helped you out.

"You’re doing so good," Matt said, his voice softer now, more grounded as he wrapped his arm around your waist, helping you walk. "We’re almost there, I promise."

Nick kept the camera rolling, filming as the nurses rushed over with a wheelchair the moment you entered the lobby. "Alright, we’re officially at the hospital," Nick narrated into the camera. "It’s happening. The baby is coming."

Chris grabbed the hospital bag as Matt helped you into the wheelchair, the pain making it harder to focus on anything but getting to the delivery room. The nurses were quick, guiding you down the hall while Matt walked beside you, holding your hand the entire time.

Nick and Chris stayed back in the waiting area, Nick lowering his camera for a moment as they both sat down. "Well, I guess this is where we wait," Chris said, leaning back in his chair.

Nick nodded, glancing at the doors you had just disappeared behind. "I can’t believe it’s actually happening. We‘re gonna be uncles."

Chris grinned. "Uncle Chris has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?"

Nick picked up his camera again, aiming it at Chris. "Guess we’ll just have to sit tight and wait for the good news."

Inside the delivery room, the atmosphere was tense, but it had a sense of anticipation. The bright lights shone down on you as the nurses helped you get situated on the bed, Matt standing right beside you, gripping your hand like his life depended on it.

The nurse, adjusting her gloves, smiled down at you with a calm and experienced expression. "Alright, Y/N, you’re doing great. We’re at 9 centimeters now, so we’re almost there. It’s going to be intense, but you’re strong, and we’re right here."

You squeezed Matt’s hand tightly as another contraction hit, the pain spreading through your body like fire. It was overwhelming, and all you could do was close your eyes, trying to breathe through it. "Oh my God... Matt..." you whimpered, your voice strained.

"I’m here, babe," Matt said, his voice full of panic but also so much love. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, though his hand was shaking. "You’re doing amazing. Just keep breathing, okay? You’ve got this."

The contraction passed, leaving you breathless, and you took a moment to relax before the next wave came. "I don’t know if I can do this," you whispered, the pain and exhaustion taking over. "It hurts so much."

Matt knelt beside you, his forehead touching yours, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration and concern. "You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. I swear, you’re doing incredible. She’s almost here, just a little more. I’m right here with you."

The doctor entered the room, checking your progress, and nodded. "Alright, Y/N, it’s time. You’re fully dilated, and we’re going to need you to push with the next contraction."

Your heart raced as you nodded, trying to prepare yourself mentally for what was coming. You had read about this, learned about it in birthing classes, but nothing could prepare you for the actual moment.

Another contraction hit, this one even more intense, and the doctor’s voice cut through the pain. "Alright, Y/N, big push, let’s go!"

You gritted your teeth, grabbing onto Matt’s hand like it was a lifeline, and pushed with everything you had. The pressure was unbearable, and you let out a scream, your body trembling with the effort.

"You’re doing so good, babe!" Matt’s voice was shaky, his eyes wide as he watched. "Just keep going, you’re so close."

The nurse beside you smiled, her voice encouraging. "That’s it, Y/N! You’re doing great. Keep pushing."

You gasped for air as the contraction faded, your body collapsing back against the bed for a brief moment of relief. But before you could catch your breath, another contraction surged through you, and the doctor was right there again.

"Alright, Y/N, here comes another one! Big push again, you’re almost there!"

The pain was all-encompassing, but you pushed through it, literally, gripping Matt’s hand and bearing down with everything you had. "I can’t..." you cried out, feeling like you were at your limit.

"You can!" Matt said quickly, his voice almost desperate. "You’ve come this far, just one more, baby. Please, you’ve got this."

"One more push, Y/N," the doctor echoed, her voice steady and reassuring. "You’re almost there, I can see the head!"

That gave you the final bit of strength you needed. You let out a deep breath and bore down one last time, pushing through the pain and exhaustion, feeling the pressure change as your baby started to emerge.

And then... it happened. A sharp cry filled the room.

You collapsed back against the bed, tears streaming down your face as you heard her — your baby girl — crying for the first time. The doctor held her up, and Matt’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide and filled with tears. "She’s... she’s here," he whispered, his voice breaking.

The doctor gently laid her on your chest, and the world seemed to stop. She was perfect. Tiny, red-faced, still crying, her little body covered in vernix, but she was perfect. You wrapped your arms around her, feeling her warmth against you, and the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. "Hi, baby," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "Hi, Mavis."

Matt leaned down beside you, his hand trembling as he touched her tiny head. "She’s... she’s so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes glistening with tears. "You did it, Y/N. You brought her here."

The nurse smiled warmly, giving you both a moment to bond with her before gently speaking up. "Matt, would you like to cut the umbilical cord?"

Matt’s eyes widened, but he nodded quickly, standing up a little too fast in his nervous excitement. "Yeah, yes! Of course." He took the small pair of scissors the nurse handed him and, with shaking hands, cut the cord, his face filled with awe as he completed the task. "Wow," he whispered, as if the weight of the moment had just fully hit him.

You smiled up at him through your tears. "You’re officially a dad now."

Matt laughed, wiping his face quickly before leaning down to kiss you softly on the forehead. "And you’re officially a mom. You’re amazing, Y/N."

As you both looked down at Mavis, she was still nestled against you, her little body calming as she snuggled into your skin. The room was filled with a peaceful quiet now, the chaos of the birth replaced by the soft coos of your newborn daughter.

In the Waiting Room

Out in the waiting area, Nick was pacing nervously, his camera trained on Chris, who sat bouncing his leg anxiously. "Alright, it’s been like... hours, and we haven’t heard anything yet," Nick narrated into the camera. "This is intense."

Chris nodded, leaning back in his chair.

After what felt like forever, Matt finally came out, his face tired but beaming with the biggest smile they’d ever seen. He didn’t say a word at first, just motioned them over with his hands.

Nick immediately started filming, the camera shaky as he rushed over to Matt. "Well? Well?"

Matt grinned, his eyes red with tears. "Mavis Rose is here."

Chris let out a whoop, pulling Matt into a tight hug. "Congrats, bro! You did it!"

Nick lowered the camera for a second, wiping his eyes before raising it back up. "I’m not crying, you’re crying," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Do you want to meet her?" Matt asked, smiling so wide it looked like his face might split in two.

"Uh, duh!" Chris said, standing up quickly. "We’ve been waiting for hours!"

Inside the room, you were still holding Mavis, her tiny body curled against you as she slept peacefully. Matt led Chris and Nick inside, and the moment they saw her, both of them froze.

Nick was the first to break the silence, his camera still rolling. "Oh my God," he whispered, zooming in on Mavis’s tiny face. "She’s... so tiny."

Chris leaned over to get a closer look, his face softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. "I’m Uncle Chris now," he said, grinning proudly. "Damn, she’s beautiful."

You laughed softly, still exhausted but full of happiness. "Yeah, she really is."

Nick lowered the camera just enough to lean in and gently touch her tiny hand. "Uncle Nick’s here baby girl," he said softly, his voice full of emotion. "Welcome to the world."

Matt sat beside you on the bed, wrapping an arm around you as you both looked down at Mavis, surrounded by family. You knew in that moment that everything was perfect

Matt, who had been quietly watching, grinned at Nick and Chris, the pride in his eyes evident. "Want to hold her?" Matt asked softly, glancing between the two of them.

Chris’s eyes widened, and he took a small step back. "Wait, me? Are you sure? I don’t want to drop her or something. I’ve never held a newborn before."

You smiled and gestured for him to come closer. "You’ll be fine, Chris. Just be careful with her head."

"Alright, alright, but if she starts crying, you’re taking her back immediately," Chris said, moving in slowly like he was handling fragile glass. Nick held his camera steady, capturing every moment. Matt gently helped Chris cradle Mavis into his arms, adjusting her head in the crook of Chris's elbow.

Chris looked down at her, his face unreadable for a second, until a soft smile spread across it. "Holy crap... she’s even tinier up close," he murmured. "She’s... she’s perfect."

Nick smirked from behind the camera. "Who would've thought Chris would turn into a softy."

"Shut up, Nick," Chris muttered, but he didn't take his eyes off Mavis, completely mesmerized.

Nick grinned. "Alright, my turn. Pass her over, big guy."

Carefully, Chris handed Mavis to Nick, who adjusted her gently in his arms. The change in Nick was immediate — the goofy, sarcastic vibe was gone, and for a moment, he was completely quiet. "Whoa," he whispered, his eyes wide. "She’s so light... and warm." He glanced up at you and Matt. "I can't believe you guys made her. Like... she's real."

You and Matt exchanged a look, both of you smiling through your tears. "Yeah, she's real," you said softly, brushing a hand over Mavis's tiny head. "And she’s going to be so spoiled by all of you."

Nick laughed quietly, glancing down at Mavis with a fond smile. "Oh, you better believe it. I’m gonna be the coolest uncle."

Matt chuckled. "We might have to fight Chris on that one."

Chris crossed his arms, pretending to look offended. "I’m definitely the favorite already. Just wait."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, I’ve already got some outfits in mind for her. Pink Vans. A little leather jacket. She’s going to be the most stylish baby out there."

Matt grinned, leaning against the bed, his arm still wrapped around you. "That actually sounds pretty cool. As long as she’s comfy."

You laughed softly, the exhaustion from the labor hitting you in waves but the love surrounding you making it all worth it. "You’re all going to spoil her rotten."

Nick handed Mavis back to you carefully, and you cradled her close, feeling her tiny body settle against yours. Her little breaths were soft, her tiny fist gripping onto your shirt like she never wanted to let go.

Matt leaned over and kissed your forehead, his voice soft and filled with awe. "You did it, Y/N. She’s finally here. Our little girl."

Chris and Nick, still hovering nearby, shared a look. "We should give them a little time alone," Chris said, nudging Nick with his elbow.

Nick nodded, though his eyes lingered on Mavis for a moment longer. "Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be in the waiting room if you need us. Just... let us know when you’re ready for some more uncle time."

You smiled at them as they quietly left the room, leaving you and Matt alone with your daughter.

As you looked down at Mavis, tears welled in your eyes once more. It was overwhelming — the love you felt for this tiny human, the warmth of Matt beside you, and the family you had both created.

Your little girl was finally here.

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mariacrow · 2 years ago

Note

How would tfp cons react to their human female s/o got captured by Airachnid?

Sorry for typos or any kind of mistakes 😭 I lose my darn concentration while writing this long

Hope you like it! 💜

STICKY SITUATION

✦ TFP Decepticons x reader ✦

2nd person

female reader

AU where the reader has joined the Decepticons and mostly works in the lab or helps with repairing

reader is captured by Airachnid mostly because of her envy

kidnapping, possessiveness, threats, heated arguments/fight (physical)

injuries, blood, rescue, comfort

MEGATRON

Airachnid would hunt you down, wrap you in that sticky web-like substance of hers and bring you to lord Megatron with an excuse that you sabotaged a project and set the whole lab on fire while in fact it was her doing

Accusing you of unloyalty while standing before Megatron's feet, you'd scream and beg him to listen to you, claiming Airachnid is lying

Airachnid: SILENCE, YOU TRAITOROUS RODENT!

She would shout as she'd seal your mouth with the sticky substance

Your lord would observe, doubting you'd do anything like that. As he'd look into your pleading, innocent, tormented eyes, his spark would ache. Not that he expressed it. He'd rather perish than express his vulnerability for you

Then he'd look into Airachnid's eyes full of hope that he’d tear you into tiny pieces of young flesh as he’d get struck by her tiny, devilish grin

Airachnid: my lord. Your wish is my command. I can inflict indescribable pain on her if you let me. She deserves it.

Megatron: no. She does not.

Would be all he'd say before he'd walk to you and free you. You'd start desperately trying to explain yourself but he'd nonchalantly interrupt you:

Megatron: accidents happen. You shall proceed. Shockwave awaits your assistance back in the lab.

He'd give an order and wait for you to leave. Then he'd walk back to Airachnid who'd be in pure shock

Megatron: if you want to terminate her, lying to your leader would be the unwisest way to do it.

Airachnid: my liege-

Megatron: SILENCE! Do such thing again and you shall be the one torn to pieces by my own bare hands. DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?

Airachnid: yes, my liege... *as she'd reluctantly bow*

Megatron: and stay away from her. She is far more useful than you are, Airachnid.

Naughty you would stay close to the door and listen. You'd giggle to yourself as you'd hear your master play favorites

Airachnid is not oblivious though. She noticed he cares for you which she'll use against him. She would already start making new plans on how to get rid of you, lord Megatron's pet.

💜

STARSCREAM

He’d be in shock when he’d get a report from the vehicons that you’ve been attacked by Airachnid

He’d order his soldiers to show him where you are as he’d call for backup

When he’d find you wrapped in a cocoon upside down in a storage room, being threatened by Airachnid, he’d order her to stay down as he’d aim his rockets at her

Airachnid: oh please, Starscream. Like a couple of your cloned servants could stop me.

Starscream: you fool! Free her this instant or perish.

Airachnid: so it is true~ commander Starscream has a new pet human~

Starscream: I do not care for… a human! I am simply fulfilling my duty! We need her for the project!

Airachnid would hiss and threaten to slice your throat

Airachnid: and why would that stop me from getting rid of this infestation!

Starscream: Megatron will have your head! And so will I.

An evil smirk would grow on Screamer’s face plate as they’d charged their weapons at her. She’d reluctantly and angrily release you, making you painfully drop on the floor and yelp

Airacnid: until next time, rodent.

She’d say as she’d crawl her way out of the storage room, disappointed that her plan of getting rid of you had failed

Starscream would slice the cocoon open and free you as he’d emotionlessly tell you to get up.

You’d thank him as he’d walk you out and say:

Starscream: not a word to anyone about this, got it?

Totally into you but his dignity and ego can’t allow him to admit he fell in love with one from the species he hates the most

💜

KNOCKOUT

Knockout: YOU WHAT!?

Airachnid: relax, Knockout~ No one will even notice she’s gone~ and we both know everyone dislikes her-

Knockout: I DON’T- I mean- WE DON’T! Lord Megatron needs her to complete this project! She became one of the key members of the lab, I-

Airachnid: indeed. Indeed she did. She’s taking your position. Soon, lord Megatron will replace you with her.

Her cunning aft would try to manipulate him

Knockout: the only one who can be replaced on this ship is you! You’re afraid of her. Now tell me where she is before I cut you into pieces!

He’d say as he’d get his saw out and aggressively rev it at her to which she wouldn’t even flinch, bluffing

Airachnid: calm down, doctor, it isn’t a big deal. Just a little game I like playing with her. And my my~ so it is true~ doctor does have his favorite assistant after all~

Knockout would groan and go look for your. He’d turn the whole ship upside down until he’d find you somewhere well hidden with tied limbs

He’s dramatically scream and free you carefully as he’d baby talk to you

Knockout: look what that wretched femme did to you! Nt nt nt… Don’t worry, little one, I won’t let that creepy spider lady get near you ever again, no no~ Doctor’s promise~

Y/N: don’t say that ever again-

Knockout: what I thought it’s cute-

As he’d carry you back to the lab and shower you with kisses

💜

BREAKDOWN

She knows how much he cares for you and how easily distracted he gets which she’d cunningly use against him in battle

She’d capture you and make you hang upside down a thick tree branch the moment he’d attack her

Airachnid: are you sure you want to play this game again, Breakdown? Because we have a new contestant~

Breakdown would freeze as he’d see you desperately trying to scream with your mouth sealed

Airachnid: I think she wants to say hello to her precious boyfriend~

She’d say as she’d free your mouth and let you scream for Breakdown. But instead you’d encourage him:

Y/N: BEAT HER ASS, BREAKDOWN!!!

To which he’d frown and power up, get his hammer out and roar like an animal as he’d charge at her

You’d watch the epic boss battle and keep encouraging him until all of your blood would flow down to your head and make you feel unwell

Airachnid: hurry up, boyfriend~ You chose a very delicate being for your lover~ She will die if you don’t get her down in time~

Breakdown: YOU TALK TOO MUCH!

She tried distracting him more but instead she only made his anger grow. His helm boiled as he kept mercilessly hammering her

The moment he knocked her out and yeeted her somewhere, he rushed to get you down. He panicked a little but managed to rescue you on time

Breakdown: you’re the best life coach even when you’re dying~

He had to pull a cheesy joke

💜

DREADWING

She’d pull the same trick on him like on Breakdown

She’d use you as his biggest weakness - fear of losing his closest ones just like he lost his brother…

Both of you would have your limbs tied as she’d make you face each other

Airachnid: now that we have the whole scene set~

Dreadwing: Airachnid, do not be a fool. You are playing with fire. Release her this instant!

Airachnid: or what!?

She’d say as she’d give you a big, deep scratch across the back and make you yelp

Dreadwing: NO!

Airachnid: watch her suffer.

In a blink of an eye she’d stab your torso by the side with one of her eight unsettlingly long legs and make you bleed badly

Dreadwing would scream as he’d desperately try to free himself. Filled with fury, he’d manage to rip the sticky substance that was tied around his wrists

Dreadwing: YOU WILL NOT TAKE THE ONLY THING THAT I CARE FOR IN MY LIFE!

He’d jump her and obliterate her, making her run away with deadly wounds

As he’d kneel next to your wounded body, he’d free you and gently pick you up and request an immediate ground bridge.

He’d watch your fragile, almost lifeless body curling in his servos…

Dreadwing: do not fear, my love. I shall take care of you. You will not leave this world. Not while I stand…

💜

SOUNDWAVE

She thought she could just snatch you from the lab while you were alone and get rid of you that easily

She forgot Soundwave, that has developed strong feelings for you, is the eyes and ears of the ship

He’d cut her off in one of the hallways and have a stare down

You’d scream for help

Airachnid: silence! And stand down, Soundwave. Her playtime with big robots has officially come to an end.

He’d launch his tentacles at her and try to zap her which she’d avoid while running towards him

He would maneuver wisely and swiftly while trying to snatch you from her servos

You’d get slightly injured due to their “doll snatching” game

The moment he’d managed to get his servos on you, he’d create a ground bridge right underneath her

As she was about to fall into it, he’d grab one of her creepy legs and speak:

Soundwave: Soundwave superior. Airachnid inferior.

Before he’d let her fall into the portal and teleport somewhere, precisely above the ocean

Y/N: you… you can speak?

To which he’d just look at you and put his index finger across the lower part of his face plate, gesturing this shall stay a secret

💜

SHOCKWAVE

Shockwave: I find your behavior… illogical.

He’d say in his usual monotone voice, trying to calm the situation down as he’d catch her wanting to preform torturing experiments on you in the lab

Airachnid: don’t be naive, Shockwave~ You and I both know she’s nothing but an infestation on this ship!

Shockwave: that statement is illogical as well, Airachnid. She is my assistant.

Airachnid: oh curse your assistant!

Y/N: Shockwave! Please!

The moment he’d hear his secret lover plead, he’d charge his blaster at her

Shockwave: do not test me, Airachnid. You clearly are not aware of my abilities.

He’d say as he’d start slowly approaching the berth she held you captive on

Airachnid: oh no, dearest Shockwave. Clearly it is you who isn’t aware of our common enemies!

And there comes another epic boss fight. To your surprise it was quite short

Shockwave broke two of her spider legs with ease as he’d throw her around the lab

He did completely or mildly damage some of his equipment but at that point he couldn’t care less. All he cared about is your well being

Shockwave: take advantage of this situation and leave with dignity before I call reinforcements and inform Megatron of your disgraceful act.

Sometimes words can hurt more than actions. She hissed at him and crawled out of the lab

He released you and earned heartwarming gratitude from you

Shockwave: I have always found her way of perception… illogical.

Dividers belong to @kiwicidios , @firefly-graphics and @kimjiho1 💜

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p3achr-ngs · 3 months ago

Text

Sevika with Silcos wife

Omg I just now got the motivation to write. The last post I made was February 13th LMAO. But to get to the point. She takes care of you even after silco died.

Sfw, fluff, female reader. In the beginning it's a tiny tiny bit of a silco x reader. But this is a slow Sevika x reader

Being married to silco wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but it wasn't all bad. you didn't feel safe going out without silco, due to his enemies. The times he wasn't there, rather it be because of meetings or paperwork, silco would send the next Best thing. Sevika.

You found her intimidating, a tall muscular woman with a robotic arm and a mean resting face.. it doesn't exactly give off friendly ' come up to me and let's talk' vibes. But that was a good thing since you don't want any shady people near you.

There are times when you try to talk to your husband's right hand woman, to get to know her better. Since she is your bodyguard for when he's not there. Which is a decent bit.

" so.. how did you meet my husband?"

You asked awkwardly, shifting in place at the bar you and Sevika was at

"Hm."

Sevika would grumble in reply. Not really bothering. Her job was to make sure you didn't get hurt. And she's doing exactly that.

Yeah... It's not awkward at all.

Though you never complained. She was a great guard. Like when you get a bit tipsy. Always wondering away.. but one time..a man came up to you. Trying to get down your pants, wouldn't take no for an answer type shit. That's when he felt a tap on his shoulder, just to turn around and get the nastiest punch in his face by Sevika.

Anyways. That's Sevika when your husband silco was alive.

But after?

Oh boy you were a wreck when you found out about silco dying.

Absolutely sobbing, dropping down to your knees and just shaking. Never felt this type of pain before, never felt so lonely and lost. You did lose your other half.

Sevika was there. Looking down at you, literally. She had a choice. Either keep you with her, or leave you and never see you again. She didn't have a boss anymore, you technically weren't her responsibility anymore.

But seeing you all so helpless and pitiful.. Sevika decided to keep you around as one last piece of her ' old' ( although not so old as she kept on blasting people yk) life.. to keep a routine. It's not like you were a pain in her ass and not like it was also your choice to have her near you...

Though... she could see the life that you gave him.

" your wife is a grown woman. Why do I need to babysit?"

Sevika would ask her boss. Huffing a bit. But when silco looked up at her from his desk, something in his eyes.. it kicked away an annoyance she had.

" she is the one thing keeping me human. I can't stand the thought of her getting hurt because of my choice's"

Shaking away the memory. Sevika crouched down to your level, hugging you. Rare moment of raw comfort from her. From that day on, you two were basically attached to the hip.

Silco would tell her. And that was that.

As time went on. You found yourself growing fond of Sevika. Quite fond of her.

It was hard not to be.

you two were always together... How she would gently guide you through the street and crowds with a hand on your lower back. Reminding you of.. him.. though it was different.

Or when she would work on her arm, smoking. It was quite a sight.

Though you still feel bad. Would your husband be mad if he saw you crushing over his right hand?

Yes. But he's dead now, and he'd probably be Glad it wasn't some shady douche and instead someone he trusted.

"come 'ere. "

Sevika's stern voice called out. Blinking, you nodded and walked up to her. Tilting your head.

But this.. this next part. Was new.

Sevika patted her lap.

" I need a pretty thing on my lap real quick. Makes me work better"

She said nonchalantly, leaning back in her seat and blowing out smoke.

You stared at her for a moment. Before slowly sitting on her lap. Sevika's non robotic arm came around your waist to give a small gentle squeeze before going back to tinkering with the other arm.

It was a comfortable silence... For awhile.

Until she broke it with an

" Silco was a lucky man. Reaall lucky. Was always jealous that he found you first."

#wlw #arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #arcane silco #silco x reader #silco

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simp2537 · 3 months ago

Text

Fᵣₒₘ ₜₕₑ ₛₜₐᵣₛ

a/n: This took me a while to throw together. This was really just a small idea I got after rewatching Narnia. This first chapter is really dark towards the end. This fix will deal with very dark themes like s/a, suicidal thoughts and of course murder goes with all of that. So READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. As always please enjoy.😊

Word Count: 6,018k

Trigger warnings: Blood, Murder, war crimes?, mentioned of s/a, torture, self loathing, survivors guilt, angst, ptsd, trauma, depression, smut, death, suicidal thoughts

Act I : The Encounter

Chapter One

The beautiful midnight blue had long were covered with fire. There was fire everywhere she turned her eyes. Her people scrambled around in terror as her brother gripped her arm harshly. Never had he handled her in such away.

Tears muddled her eye sight as she was pull away from her mother’s corpse. Her back ached as the fire around nipped at her long flowing dress that was now tattered. Her brother’s grip slipped as she was throw into a massacre of people.

The Telmar’s were everywhere. There arrows shot down any living thing they saw. The soldiers mouths were coated in blood from poison. Her castle was in fire.

Her tiny feet pounded against the floor of the courtyard. With each step the puddles of crimson soaked her dress. The shimmering wings in her back buzzes as she ran.

Her small lungs ached for air as the smoke polluted her lungs. An arrow lodged itself in her back. Her scream echoed through the open air, fading to nothingness. Her knees hit the blood soaked ground as her fingers crawled up her back. The silver tears poured from her as she her body shook.

“Sister!” The deep voice of her elder brother, Caelum called out, drawing an arrow from the quiver at his side. She ducked down as blades crashed above her head. The crown of starsilver that rested on her head dropped into the puddle where she lay.

The rough hands of her father, Antares picked her up from the ground. He knelt in front of her, his grey eyes full of fury and pain. He clutched into her shoulders, his twin blades resting at there sides.

For a short while there was nothing. Nothing she would hear. Nothing she would think. Only the touch and gaze of her kind father. He wiped her tears tenderly as she kissed her cheeks. His silver hair braided back for her ceremony. It was a mess now, pieces flowed out of place.

“My darling little stardust, this was meant to be one of your happiest days.” His voice was soft, mournful.

“Go with your brother, stay in his care.” She was brought back to her feet. The large hands of Caelum were tightly around her as she watched her father pick up his blades. The Telmar soldiers behind them raised their spears and shields.

“I won’t leave you Father!” Caelum moved to push the young princess behind his body.

“No! Take your sister and go.”

“Father!”

“CAELUM! Take Y/n and go!” Their father’s silver eyes bore into the eyes of his eldest son, his heir. The small princess looked up at her brother, through the pain and she wept. Her brother’s hazel eyes were full of tears and he grabbed her hand.

Then they ran. They ran through the blood, the screams. They ran listening to the sounds of their father’s blades against the metal of the shields. Past the columns that held up parts of there castle. Past the trees of the woods surround their home.

Past everything they loved, the two siblings ran.

She hates this, the way Trufflehunter smiled so happily at her. She hadn’t done it to save the human. She only did to because the stupid badger begged her to. The wound on his head was grave, and deep. A proper smack to the head on all accounts.

“Here you go, some nice hot broth for your troubles.” She took the cup of steaming broth with a blank look. Taking a long sip she allowed to warm her body of the slight chill that ran through her body. Her thick armor, and cloak kept her warm on most days.

The dress she wore was the color of the night sky, it hid her well. The badger moved about his small home, humming softly as Nikabrik ate the cheese and stale bread.

“Should’ve let the boy die.” The dwarf muttered softly. A small scoff came out of her as she sipped her broth.

“Nikabrik, he’s just a boy.” Had Trufflehunter not begged her, she would’ve let the Telmarine die. She wanted to. She wanted to clutch his wrist and feel his last heartbeat. Y/n could be never deny Trufflehunter, the kind and sweet badger. Who had clothed and fed her for so long.

She pushed her back into the wall, it almost didn’t ache. Some days were worst than others. Some days pain would shoot up her spine, making her want to claw out the cursed things.

Trufflehunter probably has a salve lying around for her. The badger knew of the horrible aches she faced since her childhood. Finishing her cup of broth she set the wooded bowl down.

“Thank you, I must go.” She collected her weapons from the ground and made her way to leave.

“Will you not wait till he’s up?” Trufflehunter asked gently.

“It’s better I don’t, unless you want me to run my blade through his heart.”

“Stay then.” She smiled for a second at Nikabrik’s notion.

“He is just a boy!” Trufflehunter restated. Y/n rolled her eyes softly, that thing was hardly a child. It was grown enough to know the consequences of its actions.

“He’s a Tellmarine, not some lost puppy. You said you weee gonna get rid of him!” She heard him then. The poor attempt at moving quietly. She unsheathed her blade, its decadent handle comfortable in her grip.

“No, I said I’d take care of him. We can’t kill him now. I just had Y/n heal his head.” She watched her kind badger hold up a tray of soup for the Telmarine. His kindness knew no bounds. It had saved her life but now sickened her to the core.

“It would be like murdering a guest.” She sighed once at the bickering.

“How do you think his friends are treating their guest?” Nikabrik snipped. She rolled her shoulders once.

“Trumpkin knew what he was doing. It’s not the boys fault.” Then it moved. The Telmarine pushed Trufflehunter, his tray hitting the floor. Y/n’s body blocked the door as she pushed her blade into his neck. Her hand held his throating, pushing the boy into the wall.

“Stop! Stop! Y/n! Let go of him at once!” She made no such move to release the man. Her kind friends made him soup and the stupid Telmarine has the nerve to knock it over. Her blade bit into the tanned skin of the man’s neck.

“I told you we should have killed him when we had the chance!” Nikabrik yelled.

“You BOTH know why we can’t.” Y/n’s eyes were firmly baring into the Telmarine’s dark irises. His eyes were so deep in color they looked like the richest of soil. He panted softly his eyes staring into her own. He didn’t struggle at all.

His breath was shallow and frantic but he made no move to get away. He blinked softly, she could feel him heartbeat under her cold gaze. Like a lost puppy he gulped.

“You are most beautiful.” He whispered softly. A scoff echoed from her throat and she pushed him away from her. He stumbled like a newborn doe and grabbed the hot poker from Trufflehunt’s fire. She slashed her blade against his poker, quickly disarming him.

Beauty? What did this human know of beauty. She was not beautiful, she hadn’t been for a very long time. Her scared body wouldn’t allow for any beauty. This Telmarine dared to mock her, the imagine of herself.

“We should let her run her blade clean through him!” Nikabrik offered. Y/n was more than happy to oblige.

“No! We will not kill him.” The badger continued.

“If we’re taking a vote, I’m with him.” The Telmarine said from the ground. Her thick boots crunched down upon his chest, her sword under his chin.

“There is no vote.” She muttered emotionlessly. She was going to cut the head off this man and drain his blood above the royal graveyard.

“We can’t let him go. He’s seen us.” Nikabrik yelled. Quickly Y/n raised her sword to strike him, to remove his head from his body. There was no fear in the Telmarine’s eyes. She hates that, he should fear her very existence.

“Enough Nikabrik! And you too! Or will I have to sit your heads again?” Nikabrik lowered his sword, a scruff look upon his face. The girl dressed in the deep sky made no such move. The threats of the badger would not ring in her ears.

“And you.” The Telmarine looked over to her badger friend. “Look what you made me do. I spend half the morning on that soup!” Trufflehunter scolded. She sighed heavily, removing her foot from the boys chest and backing away. Her thick sword found its way back in its sheath.

She slowly moved away, her eyes remained in the Telmarine boy. His mouth opened softly to speak but not word left. His gaze was on her. It trailed down her face to her boots. She wonder what interested him so.

“What are you?” The Telmarine spoke uncertainly. She could felt the soft shudder go down her spine. She hadn’t heard a proper Telmar accent in years. Her hand clutched around the hilt of her father’s sword, the star steel seemed to mold into her grip.

“You know, it’s funny that you would ask that. You think more people would know a badger when they saw one.” Trufflehunter uttered walking back into his kitchen area. The Telmarine looked between herself and the dwarf at her side.

“No. No, I mean…. You’re Narnians. You’re supposed to be extinct.” He offered. She glared down at the man before her. She itched to drive the dagger in her boot into his heart.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” She watched Nikabrik move back to his sit at the table. She remained leaning against the wall as the Telmarine stood up slowly.

“You… you’re not like any Narnian I’ve read about.” He whispered dreamily. His soft gaze met only with the cold and harden eyes of e/c.

“She is very much a narnian. Here you go. Still hot.” Trufflehunter uttered settling down a tray with more soup. Nikabrik rolled his eyes and looked back at her. He met her blank stare and sighed softly.

“Since when did we open a boarding house for Telmarine soldiers.”

“I’m not a soldier.” Her eyes perked up slightly. If not a soldier what was this man who was currently a threat to all those she cared for.

“I am Prince Caspian, the tenth.” The room went silent. Trufflehunter snapped his head towards Y/n, he could feel the fury that radiated off her. Her hands shook with anger as they slowly began to glow the starlight blue hue that she possessed.

She stood straighter and took one step in the Princes’s direction. Trufflehunter moved faster than ever, putting his own small body in front of hers. Caspian stared at her once more, taking a fleeting step backwards. Her eyes had shifted. They were no longer the e/c that her stared into. But a ragging fire of i that echoed from her irises.

Her hands clawed into fists as the blue hue engulfed her hands. She looked to be on fire almost, she burned with hatred like Caspian had never seen. Not from his uncle, not from anyone.

Prince Caspian. This was the Prince of those who had caused such heartache in her life. This Prince was the people who massacred her people. The Prince of her most powerful hatred, and most honest cruelty. She going to kill him. Stain the floor with his blood.

“What are you doing here?” Nikabrik asked as the badger refused to move. Caspian looked away from the raging girl in front of him.

“Running away.” He slowly knelt down, picking up the poker he’d dropped. The two other Narnian’s shared and glance as Y/n took another step forwards.

“My uncle had always wanted my throne.” Caspian gently placed the poker back where it belonged. She took another step towards him. Trufflehunter placed his paws on her knees, a soft indicator to stop.

“I suppose I have only lived this long because he did not have an heir of his own.” The fire flickered on Caspian’s face, the sorrow in his eyes stopped her steps. She could put him out of his misery right now. Kill him and be done with it.

“𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝. 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.” She stopped in her tracks fully. He hadn’t spoken to her in a while, tears made their way to her eyes. She looked behind herself and there he stood, a wisp of his physical form.

His silver hair pulled back and out of his face. His hazel eyes soft and sad. Dressed in his grey shirt and pant with the constellations stitch into them with golden threads. The bow and arrows that rested at her hip were once on his.

Caelum. Her darling brother.

“That changes things.” Trufflehunter said moving away from Y/n.

“Yeah, means we don’t have to kill you ourselves.” His hazel wouldn’t move from her. The stern look on his face telling enough. Y/n wouldn’t kill Caspian, not here at least.

“You’re right.” Caspian moved towards her, the cloth of his shirt touching her softly as he grabbed his armor and sword. Y/n remained frozen as she watched Caspian.

“Where are you going?” Trufflehunter questioned as Y/n made no moves to stop the Prince. She watched his body as he hurriedly put his armor on.

“My uncle won’t stop until I am dead.” His uncle could only be one person. The man who had plagued her dreams since she was eight. The man who destroyed everything. Miraz.

“But… you can’t leave. You’re meant to help our general save us.” Trufflehunter told. Slowly Y/n looked at him, her gaze unsure.

“Don’t you know what this is?” In his paws he held up Queen Susan’s horn. She scoffed, the kings and queens of old were gone. They left, disappeared and left all Narnia for dead. That horn meant nothing. But the look Caelum’s wisp gave her did.

She moved ahead of the Temlarine Prince and her two narnian companions. The princes seemed to move behind her. He followed her like a baby bear cub, clinging to its mother.

She left to get away from Caspian, not for him to follow her around. The sun beamed above her, the hood of her cloak hiding her once more. Caspian moved in her exact footsteps, the gently dangles of his sword could be heard.

“Where are we going?” He asked, a small nervousness. Y/n was leaving, she cared not what happened to Caspian after that. She pulled her amulet from her neck, staring at the iridescent gem that began to shimmer whenever the Telmarine got too close to her.

She gritted her teeth and hid the amulet under her dress. She continued through the foliage listening as Caspian moved behind her eagerly.

“I’ve never seen a forest so… beautiful.” Why was he still trying to speak with her. Was the deafening silence not enough for him to shut up. He was her greasiest enemy, and she his. It didn’t matter that he had no knowledge of that.

“There aren’t many forest near the Castle, there’s a small wood that leads towards the crystal river though.” She stopped walking and groaned internally. Would he ever shut up. Quiet rustling occurred behind him as Caspian turned around.

“I can hear you.” Caspian announced to the two narnians that failed to hide within the woods. Y/n sighed as she played with the hilt of her father’s sword. It was still as large and imposing as when she was a small child.

“I just think we should wait for the kings and queens.” Trufflehunter told with a slight smile. Y/n scoffed out loud and continued her trek. Caspian followed behind her as she moved.

“Fine! Go then! See if the others will be as understanding!” Trufflehunter yelled. Y/n hopes that if Caspian continued to follow her the others would demand his head.

“Or maybe I’ll come with you. I want to see you explain things to the Minotaurs.” Nikabrik tried to catch the two in front of him. As Caspian paused Y/n stared up at the sun. Maybe if she was blind this would be easier. Sadly the sun was just another larger star, it could do nothing to her.

“Minotaurs? They’re real?” Caspian asked looked down at Nikabrik.

“And very bad tempered.” Y/n knew that too well. Shed broken up one too many fights.

“Yeah, not to mention big.” Nikabrik taunted.

“Huge.” Trufflehunter added.

“What about centaurs? Do they still exist?” Caspian asked. Y/n sighed once more, how many stupid questions could this Prince ask in a minute.

“As real as the fairy princess in front of you.” Not even a second after Nikabrik spoke his body jutted with blue electricity. His body shook violently as his hair stood up on every side. The blue fades and Caspian looked at Y/n. Her hands glowed that starlight blue from before.

“Well, the centaurs will probably fight on your side. But there’s no telling what the others will do, especially if the general disapproves.” Caspian stopped walking.

“Wait she is a fairy princess?”

“Was.” Caspian furrowed his brows.

“Was?” He reacted. Trufflehunter and Nikabrik shared a solemn look.

“You cannot be a princess to a race that doesn’t exist anymore.” She mumbled not turned back. Caspian was silent for a while.

“Who the general?” She smirked softly.

“The most terrifying and ruthless narnia alive.” Nikabrik answered.

“With moments of kindness and compassion.” Trufflehunter rebuked trying to ease the worry off Caspian’s face.

“Not to a Telmarine.” Nikabrik finished. Caspian paused as he watched the narnia’s move forwards.

“What about Aslan?” Y/n let her face drop for a moment. Aslan, he was real as she was. No doubt in her mind he was real. She’d felt his mane, the softness of his fur.

“How do you know so much about us?” Nikabrik offered a good question. No Telmarine Prince should be asking so many questions without drawing his sword.

“Stories.” He uttered like the simplest truth. Stories…? From who she wonders to herself. Who would tell a human prince about her people.

“Wait a minute. Your father told you stories about Narnia?” Trufflehunter asked.

“Not exactly, my professor he..” The pause raised Y/n’s brow. “Listen I’m sorry. These are not the kinds of questions you should be asking.” Caspian walked towards Y/n, his pace quickened. She drew her sword out, stopping him. The blade bit into his armor.

She could feel them coming. Enough to annoy her at the very least.

“What is it?” Nikabrik asked the badger.

She sheath her sword and pull the bow from her back. She quickly drew three arrows, pushing them against her bowstring.

“Human.” Trufflehunter answered. Nikabrik furrowed his brow and nudged his head to Caspian. Caspian looked down at Y/n for the slightest of seconds. Awe was held in his gaze that Y/n did not understand.

“Him?”

“No. Them.” In the distance Telmarine soldiers entered her woods. Y/n growled once, the points on her cainies seemed to sharpen. Caspian went wide eyed as the soldiers spotted them.

“Run!” Trufflehunter yelled. Y/n pushed Caspian to run as the arrows flew from her bow, landing in the neck of the Telmarine soldiers. She followed after her narnians, cocking another arrow.

She quickly caught up to Caspian, her legs moving faster than his. The arrows flew by their heads quickly. Y/n turned stopping her run to shoot some more arrows. She hid behind the trees, giving herald cover to shoot again.

Her run resumed as she once again caught up to Caspian. For a human he ran quite slow in comparison. They waded through the trees like river around rocks. The arrows zoomed pasted her heads as they ran.

The thick hood of Y/n’s cloak fell, revealing the locks of h/c hair that was loose. Caspian stumbled on his feet as he saw her hair flow with each step she took. As the sun hit each strand it seemed to glow. Y/n continued to run, feeling the earth crunch beneath her foot.

She whipped around hiding behind a tree. She readied her bow, taking in a silent breath. As she shot down a soldier she watched Trufflehunter fall.

“NO!” Y/n yelled, fear echoed through her voice. His body lay on the ground limply and tired. She moved to pick up her badger but Caspian had already ran to get him.

“Wait. I’ll go.” Caspian ran forwards, arrows flying past his head. Without nimble fingers she shot arrow after arrow. Her larger bolts cut through the Telmarine’s creating a clear path for Caspian.

As Caspian picked up the Badger and began to run once more Y/n threw her bow behind her back. Trufflehunter stared at her as Caspian carried him. She grabbed the dagger that were hidden in her boots without a thought. As the Telmarine soldier advanced she remained behind the tree.

She pounced on the closet solider without a thought. Her blade cutting through the flesh of the soldiers neck. The others yelled around her but to no use. Her dagger flew through the armor on the soldier shooting arrows at her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing the man to the ground. She dislodged her blade from the metal as she launched herself back at the soldiers. As she chased after the other soldiers following her two narnians she watched as they fell once by once.

A smirk made its way onto her face and she slide her bloody dagger onto her waist holsters. She sped up, running past the corpses of Telmarine soldiers. The earth would reclaim them soon enough.

When she reached Caspian her body was on the ground and there her tiny knight was. Upon his chest, small blade drawn.

“Choose your last words carefully, Telmarine.” She rolled her shoulders once moving to Trufflehunter side. She stared at the arrow imbedded in his leg with a furrowed brow. She looked back at Caspian who stared at her. His eyes drifted back to the large mouse in his chest.

“You are a mouse.” She wanted to laugh at his basic words. She could let Reepicheep kill the prince. Caelum could not fault her for the slip of his blade.

“I was hoping for something a little more original. Pick up your sword.” Y/n could feel the disappointment in her mouse knights voice. She held tightly onto Trufflehunter, her hand closing any blood from escaping his wound.

“Uh… no thanks.” Caspian offered still panting.

“Pick it up! I will not fight an unharmed man.” Reepicheep kept his blade pointed at Caspian’s face. Caspian looked back at Y/n his eyes held confusion. Y/n gave him a blank stare as she lifted Trufflehunter into her arms.

“Which is why I might live longer if I choose not to cross blades with you, noble mouse.”

“I said I would not fight you. I didn’t say I’d let you live!” Reepicheep voiced ignore Caspian’s words.

“Reepicheep! Stay your blade” Trufflehunter yelled from Y/n’s arms.

“Trufflehunter? I trust you have a very good reason for this untimely interruption.” Reepicheep asked waving his sword around. The mouse’s eyes drifted to Y/n as she held onto him.

“He doesn’t. Go ahead.” Nikabrik answered. Y/n sighed whipping she’d just covered Trufflehunter’s mouth.

“He’s the one who blew the horn.” Y/n groan. That horn was what would save him. From behind her she heard the mass of heavy footsteps.

“Then let him bring it forwards.” She turns to see the centaurs behind her. She handed Trufflehunter over to Nikabrik and moved to their side.

“This is a reason we have gathered. The general will wished to pass judgment.” With a huff of air she looked up.

The sun had yet to blind her

Her body was hidden by shadows as all her narnian’s shouted. The trees that could still move slightly allowed there vines to hide her. She watches them all scream and demand the death of Caspian.

Fear coated his face as she stood in the middle of the grove. His eyes drifted around for any glimpse of Y/n. She would surely help him.

“All this horn proves is they’ve stolen yet another thing from us!” Nikabrik yelled pointing at Caspian. Caspian glared down at the dwarf.

“I didn’t steal anything.” Caspian voice. Y/n sighed softly, the horn ment nothing. There were no kings or queens there to help protect them. The Telmarine had stolen the relics from them.

“Didn’t steal anything? Shall we list the things the Telmarine have taken?” Asterius the eldest minotaur yelled. Her eyes watched as one by one her people yelled their grievances. All were true and Y/n would hold Caspian punishable.

“You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?” Caspian asked, pleading to any narnian who would hear. Nikabrik slowly made his way down the holder where he stood.

“Accountable… and punishable.” Nikabrik announced. A scoff came from Reepicheep as Y/n glanced his way.

“Ha! That is rich coming from you, dwarf. Have you forgotten it was your people who fought alongside the White Witch?” Reepicheep told drawing his sword. His small body made its way between both parties.

“And I'd gladly do it again,if it would rid us of these barbarians.” No, that she would not allow. The White Witch was just as much a murder of her people as the Telmarine’s.

She crossed her arms as she watched from the shadows as Trufflehunter, bandaged and walking well made his way to defined Caspian.

“Then it's lucky that it is not in your power to bring her back. Or are you suggesting that we ask this boy to go against Aslan now?” Trufflehunter offered. The yelling resumed at the name of Aslan. Y/n has stood in front of Aslan at the age of eight.

Surly this man could do the same. He had to be older than her at least.

“Some of you may have forgotten, but we badgers remember well that Narnia was never right except when a son of Adam was king.” She glared at her badger friend. Although her could not see it, the anger was felt. Has she not done enough to show no king of Adam was needed.

That no human was necessary to them.

“He's a Telmarine! Why would we want him as our king?” Nikabrik yelled. Y/n had just about had enough.

“Because I can help you.” Caspian offered. Y/n looked down at her amulet. It shimmered softly, glowing in a gently starlight color.

“Beyond these woods, I'm a prince.” She shoved the amulet under her armor. She carried not if he was the chosen. She didn’t care, no magic was going to tell her she couldn’t kill the Telmarine. No less the prince of Telmar.

“The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine! Help me claim it, and I can bring peace between us.” Enough.

“We have heard these lies before.” The trees parted way for Y/n. She stepped out, pulling her hood down. Her body was adorn in black armor and leather. Weapons covered her as she began to circle Caspian. The black paint of her face cause him to shrink back.

One by in every Narnian bowed down to her. Caspian gulped softly. Her gaze was unwaveringly harsh.

“General Y/n Novas, leader of the Narnians.” Glenstorm, the centaur announced.

“My people heard such claims before, from your uncle nonetheless.” She offered. Caspian furrowed his brows.

“Your people…?” He asked softly. There was no a sound in the air.

“The star fairies. The most noble and ancient race in all of Narnia. Keepers of magic, and the stars.” Caspian’s eyes widened.

“You’re a star fairy?” She nodded her head once.

“You,” The hostility of her voice was not lost on Caspian. “Telmarine can do nothing but lie and murder, and desecrate.” She circled him like a predator does its prey.

“I do not lie.” Caspian argued.

“That is what your father and Miraz said, before he laid waste to my castle, my family, my life.” Caspian’s face turned.

“YOU lie! My father was not a cruel murderer!” Caspian attempted. She stopped moving all together. She took a step towards him.

“I was a foolish child when I saved a Telmarine boy from a rapids. You see the star caries were the only surviving Narnian race that you Telmarine’s could not get rid off. Too much power with us.” Y/n began. The narnians all down at their eyes. This story was not a kind one.

“Out of honor we invite the royal family of Telmar to my wing ceremony. A show of faith and goodwill. My father ever the diplomat thought he could broker peace. He wanted to try one last time.” Her words were spiteful and full of grief. She looked away from Caspian as the silencer tears dared to fall.

“I remember the day so well. The way my mother, swollen with the first child to be born into the royal family braided my hair. As my brother brought me cakes to eat in the morning. The look of pride on my father’s face as the stars glowed above me.” Caspian stared into her eyes. There was nothing in them.

“Not even a second after the wings made of pure starlight were on my back did the arrows fly. They struck down my mother first.” She paused her breath quivering.

“I’d hardly had time to back before they were pulling the gown off her still warm corpse.” Caspian’s mouth drop.

“No.” He mumbled softly.

“I was pulled off the podium by my bleeding guards. Blood dripped from their mouths, the Telmarine’s had poisoned all the wine…. One by one each of my soldiers dropped to the ground like flies.” Caspian stared at Y/n. She had come again begun to circle him.

He shuddered with guilt as the grief hit him. The pain that she felt was visible.

“My brother found me as the Telmarine soldier began to burn my palace to the ground. We ran till an arrow lodged its way into my back. Then our father found us. We were forced to run for seventeen days as your men hunted us.” Caspian’s eyes dripped with tears. His father would have never allowed such a thing to happened.

“We reach a cliff in the end, your uncle Miraz was at the head of hunters. Me and my brother were too injured. He could not carry and fly us away. I didn’t even know how to work my wings.” Y/n paused as a single tear fell down her face. The other narnias all took in a breath.

“The soldiers grabbed us before we could fall off the cliff.” Caspian opened his mouth.

“Your brother is not here with you?” He asked hopefully. A dark chuckle came from the back of her throat.

“Miraz forced me to watch as he carved my brother’s wings from his back.” Caspian froze as Y/n moved closer. Her body was in front of his. His shaking dark eyes full of tears.

“The bite mark on Miraz’s hand was from me. I bit a chunk clean off to try and make my way to my brother. I just hold him, as his last heartbeat went out.” Caspian could do nothing stare into her eyes. The pain was horrible cast into them.

Y/n breathed out t heavily as she recounted the most horrific experience of her existence. This Telmarine could not be any different.

“Miraz grabbed me, forced me into the ground. He used the same dagger to carve my wings up.” She pulled the cloak from her back. There lay limply were her wings. They were severed down the middle. Caspian gasped silently as she watched Y/n turn away.

The wings had once glows under the stars. They would flutter every so often. Now they simply laid against her back.

“Then he tried to take me back to Telmar with him. Want to keep me as a pet.” She sighed and laughed once.

“A pet! That how Telmarine’s see us narnians!” Y/n yelled to her fellow narnians.

“I threw myself off the cliff. Death would’ve been better than to be a Slavs to the whims of a human.” Y/n paused for a moment.

“So tell me Caspian why is this time any different?” Caspian stood there for a were seconds.

“Because I have no reason to hurt you.”

“Neither did Miraz.” She offered. Caspian could stop himself.

“I am not Miraz! I am Caspian the Tenth. Let me help you.” She paused for a moment. Her eyes moving to Glenstorm.

“I watched the skies… for it is mine to watch as it is yours to remember, badger and as it is yours to protect General.” Glenstorm began. Y/n could feel the warmth of her glowing amulet, she moved away from Caspian.

“Tarva, the lord of victory, and Alambil, the lady of peace, have come together in the high heavens.” Y/n watched as Glenstorm moved around. He was one of her most noble and trust advisers. He’d never laid her astray so far.

“And now here, a Son of Adam has come forth… to help offer us back our freedom.” Glenstorm’s eyes were on Y/n as he finished. Y/n would not ignore the stars, she could not.

Peace, was it possible. She never know peace with the Telmarine. Not in her heart. She couldn’t ever forgive there wrong doings to her.

“Is this possible? Do you really think there could be peace? Do you? I mean, really?” The talking squirrel asked. Y/n sighed once and looked at Glenstorm. His eyes held truth.

“Two days ago, I didn't believe in the existence of talking animals... or dwarves or centaurs… or even a fairy.” Caspian’s gaze landed back on Y/n. No other Narnia mattered in this single moment but her. All he needed was to convince her.

“Yet here you are in strength and numbers that we Telmarines could never have imagined.” Caspian looked around at all the eyes upon him. Y/n watched her people, Caspian’s words held truth. They had been careful to hide each other.

Y/n stared at Caspian. Oddly he wasn’t lying, she would’ve know.

“Whether this horn is magic or not, it brought us together.” Caspian looked into Y/n’s wrathful eyes. “And together, we have a chance to take back what is ours.” Y/n sighed softly. She hated him, she hated all humans. They were all the same.

All lying and deceitful. But this Caspian had forgotten one thing. Y/n wouldn’t care to not slip all his blood should he be lying. She would be more than happy too.

“Very well Prince Caspian.” Y/n mumbled softly. She nodded at Glenstorm.

“If you will help our general lead us then my sons and I, offer our swords.” The sound of the metal leaving its sheath echoed. Metal by metal, swords and any blade alike was raised to Y/n and Caspian.

Y/n smiled softly up at Glenstorm, her entire life had been dedicated to the Narnians. To help restore there kingdoms. She would not fail them as she fail her own original people.

“And we offer you our lives, unreservedly.” Reepicheep announced bowing to the prince and general. Trufflehunter smiled softly, approaching them both.

“Miraz's army will not be far behind us, my lady and sire.” Y/n nodded.

“If we are to end this we will need to gain more soldiers and weapons.” Y/n voiced to her narnians.

“I’m sure they will be here soon.” Caspian uttered looking between both Y/n and Glenstorm. Y/n sighed softly as she held Caspian’s gaze. If he wasn’t lying she was going to build a new spike and place his head on it.

She could help but ignore the amulet that still glowed as she stood in his presence. The amulet was old, its magic worn she told herself.

No Telmarine Prince was chosen for her by the stars. She wouldn’t allow it.

Divider credit goes to @diviniyae

Taglist @avatarobsessedgirly , @twinkletwinklenotastar

#prince caspian x reader #king caspian x reader #narnia x reader #prince caspian smut #Prince Caspian x you #peter pevensie x reader #lucy pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie x reader #susan pevensie x reader #chronicles of Narnia #chronicles of narnia x reader

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keehomania · 9 months ago

Note

Mark with big tits reader was craaazyy good 😵‍💫 what about mark with insecure reader bc she has tiny bitty titty (me)✌️

this is not a love story — mark lee (마크 리)

✧ WC: 15.8K

✧ SYN: you’ve never known love, no matter how much you believed you did. maybe it was never fated for you to cross paths, maybe it was never really there.

✧*. 18+

if there was anything you refused to allow yourself to believe in, it was a happy ending. taking things for granted seemed to come easy for humans, you thought. or rather, you knew, because you were a part of the majority. times were simpler when you were blissfully unaware. back then, you were just blissful, unaware of just how complicated life would get after those trial years.

you got your happy ending, you lived it until you turned fourteen, ready for a cruel beginning. it was easy to take the simple things for granted, and if you could turn back time, the first thing you would do is make sure to cherish it all. cherish staying up an hour past your bedtime, cuddled up with your mother, watching whatever show she had turned on. you didn’t care at the time, you didn't care for her midday soap operas or her nightly detective shows, but it was different now. now, you would give anything to watch just one more episode, curled up in her lap. you would give anything to get up early and get ready for school with your mother’s makeup, even though you hated going. you would give anything to watch cinderella one more time, to believe that happy endings really did exist.

your makeshift happy ending came to its final act when you turned fifteen. you had moved from busan to seoul just a few years back, and you were unable to adapt. a new school, new friends and a new way of life was awaitng you, but you had no idea how to make peace with it. it wasn’t too hard the first few years, all you had to do was keep to yourself. the thought of it was what kept you away from the other students, away from their cliques and personal politics, kept your grades steady and you to yourself. you were never in the eye of the storm, nobody had a reason to pick on you. like many other things, you had taken the peace for granted.

most of it started when you were fifteen, your own hormones teaming up against you. nothing had changed—not the silence, not the way those around you acted. nothing changed except your approach; you felt insignificant, like nothing you said or did mattered. you noticed the attention fall on the other girls from your class, the way nearly every boy was fond of them, showered them with praise. everything you had deemed irrelevant before had come back and hit you like a ton of bricks. why did nobody bother to give you that kind of attention? were you that ugly? was puberty doing everybody but you justice?

those kind of thoughts had started to flood your mind, seeping into every crack and crevice of your attention and ultimately stealing it from the things that really mattered. you started to focus more on your physical appearance, waking up an hour too early just to touch yourself up. you wanted to turn yourself into someone you knew you weren’t, to live somebody else's life just to feel better about yourself. everybody questioned the sudden change, no matter how little of important you deemed yourself. why was your hair straightened? had your lashes grown overnight? what was with the skimpy clothes? in a way, it was effective. more people had started talking to you, even if it was small talk. it made you feel good, but you knew you could do better.

you had traded what would later be a piece of your soul in exchange for temporary security. you entered your first real relationship that same year—it wasn’t real, it lasted five months. to a fifteen year-old girl with less than no experience, it was real. it was real when you held hands, kissed, when you lied to your parents to see him—even if it was for just twenty minutes, when he made you feel like you were the most important girl in the world. it was just as real to you when you had started smoking, drinking, doing all the things you swore not to do with him. it didn’t count if it was with him, right?

it became real when reality hit you like a physical blow to your stomach. ultimately, you had lost your virginity to him in a way that was so sudden, you knew in your head that it wasn’t love, but you weren’t thinking with your head. not when you wore your heart on your sleeve so proudly. it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, you didn’t even like it all that much. you just wanted to feel the love you so badly chased after, even if it only lasted five minutes. you told your friend all about it the next day, but you were so worked up and eager to share the news that you had forgotten just how much the kids your aged liked to blabber, and it was exactly what he did. you didn’t realize just how fast the news had spread, you didn’t register the dirty looks and condescending stares for a good while, until you had to.

the news of your distasteful encounter had reached the staff. the principal, the secretary, and the guidance counselor. when you were called into her office, you didn't know what it was you were expecting. the office itself put you off—white, sleek walls, a tidy desk, three chairs alligned perfectly to the side, and the sharp, pungent stench of medical supplies. everything about it made your stomach twist with fear, even though you didn’t know what it was that you were so afraid of. the silence only put you off further, but then, she finally cut through it. the sole start was just to ask you basic questions—how were you doing? have you been experiencing any issues lately? what was your life like at home, any concerns? it was meant to make you comfortable, to spread your soul open and go after its most tainted parts, but it only made you more queasy.

you wished the small talk had lasted longer, because you were absolutely unprepared for what followed. when she asked you if it was true that you had lost your virginity, you felt your world turn upside down. you were sure she had seen the way your face paled and heard the way your heart thumped in your ears, you were positive. your throat had started to close up and your lips grew chapped, no matter how many times you ran your tongue over them. in the end, you had to admit it, there was absolutely no way out of it. you had finished your confession with what worried you the most, begging her to honor the counselor code and to keep your parents uninformed. she promised to keep it a secret, but never intended on taking it to her grave.

in all fairness, you were fifteen. it wasn’t morally right to lie to you, but lying to your parents about such a situation would've been even worse. your mother threw a fit, broke down in the worst way possible and cried herself to sleep three nights in a row. your father had shut down—he was never mad, he was just disappointed. your mother had gone off like a time bomb waiting to explode, and she finally did. she exploded in a way that made you feel like you were the epitome of everything wrong with the world, and in a way that made her feel like she was the reason for it. you had blamed her for taking advantage of your future for so long, for forcing you to move with her just because she wanted to—because she longed for her city even if you liked yours better. you didn't think you resented her for it, even though she knew you did. she made peace with it, with the fact that you had both found a way to put a strain on your relationship.

your boyfriend was the first to break things off with you, even though you were the one instructed to do so. you had no intention of doing it, telling him all about what happened and his response being something generic and typical for a boy his age—you’d find a way out of it, he'd stay by your side, he’d wait as long as possible for you. you didn’t know it then but when you looked back at it, you felt like a fool. none of his promises were fulfilled, and you were left with a void in your heart for the first time in your life. it was a void you had filled with cheap cigarettes, shots of groccery store tequila, red hair dye and an absolute punch to your youth.

you were sixteen by then, and you had lost any and all touch with reality. the void in your soul was blocked by going to parties you swore you would never come across, befriending the hosts even though you knew they were shitty people, expanding your circle of friends you knew hated you deep down—but you didn’t care. it was a phase that took a toll on you and your reputation. during that phase, you had gotten yourself entangled in two more relationships. they were short-lived, shorter than your first one, but you didn’t wanna be alone. if you weren't with your friends or drinking, you wanted to feel loved. even if you knew it was temporary. you had given yourself up two more times to feel the love you thought you deserved, even though it wasn’t love. it didn’t faze you until people started talking about it, again.

this would happen four more times. four more times would you give yourself up to four different people you thought loved you. maybe some of them did, you didn’t know anymore. you had stopped believing in it a long time ago, you had stopped chasing the happy ending you thought awaited you. maybe you struggles weren’t all for nothing, you hoped, maybe the sun was hidden behind the clouds, but it wasn't. the sun had fallen and it was dark, and your only source of light was what was familiar. it wasn’t a good kind of familiar, no matter how useful the light seemed. it was a blinding kind of light and it, too, would succumb to the darkness at some point.

the cycle repeated itself four times, but you were too numb to realize just how bad it had gotten. the only time you had fallen in love during the whole ordeal was with the fourth guy. you were seventeen at the time, and he was a year younger than you. anybody listening would’ve assumed it was your shot at a happy ending, that it was everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost was. almost. you were out with your friend and her boyfriend, and he had insisted on going to one of the many bars in town, but your friend was reluctant. you had been texting a guy at the time and, though it was rather casual, he happened to be in the same bar. it was the only reason you agreed, promising her you’d be there for just a bit. the guy you had been texting wasn’t too eager to see you, thinking it was too soon, but it all changed when you walked in. as corny as it was, it was the truth. he hadn’t expected you to be so pretty, so charming and so gentle with him. you barely noticed him at first—when you walked into the bar, the first thing you felt was the stench of medical equipment in the bathroom assaulting your nostrils.

despite the rough start, it was a relationship that blossomed into something that was as beautiful as a foxglove. it came in different shades, patterns and shapes, but it was beautiful. it was beautiful when you took a glance at it, even a good stare. it was beautiful when you embraced it, even for a long while, but it was just as deadly if you held onto it for too long. that was exactly what you did. you held onto it until you had nothing to hold onto anymore, until the stem had snapped and the petals danced in the air. the petals were all that was left, but even they showed no mercy. he had broken it off after six months, claiming to have done it because you were dishonest with him about how many people you had slept with prior to him, but you knew that it wasn't true. you knew he had just gotten bored of you.

your breaking point came just after, and you grieved him far longer than you should have. eight months proceeding the split had been spent drinking, pondering and making a fool out of yourself—all because of a man. it made you spiral, shift and it was the sole reason you fell apart. nothing mattered anymore, not even the people that made it their mission to turn your the intimate details about your life into a public spectacle. you let yourself fall apart with nothing to catch you but your own too arms, and even they weren’t enough to carry the weight of your burdens. had you ever known love? what was the point of feeling the warmth of a home if it was built with cards? you hadn’t known love, and you were sure you never would.

you started to take yourself seriously when you turned eighteen. the people hated you, all the people your age. they all knew you based on the mistakes you had made, the most intricate details of your life that you prayed would never come to light, and the poor decisions on your behalf. your name had become such a taboo topic that you had detached yourself from the rest of the city. you spent a summer away in japan with your uncle, searching for a way to put your mind at ease. upon coming back, you were quick and pleased to discover that everybody had forgotten about you. you were no longer relevant, your scandals were no longer interesting to talk about. it was something that one of your exes, kim dongyoung, assured you that it was as if people has forgotten about you entirely. despite having a rough split with him, one that was entirely your fault, you remained friends with him, and he was good to you.

your final year of high school came to a peaceful and successful close. all of your time was devoted to your classes and extracurriculars, and nobody said a word about it. you had assumed tens of thousands of derogatory words would roll off their tongues, at least behind your back, but there was nothing. once again, you didn't matter, and you couldn't have been happier about it. you graduated as best as you could, and absolutely everything had changed, but you didn’t feel at ease. you didn't feel like you would get your happy ending, no matter how well you were doing.

the pressure that once felt distant was now inescapable, crushing you under its weight. you thought the relief would come after graduation, that somehow this looming sense of duty would evaporate as you took the next logical step—studying law, following in the footsteps your family had silently mapped out for you. but instead, the silence from everyone around you only added to your disquiet. the silence wasn’t praise, it wasn’t encouragement, it was indifference. you had worked so hard for nothing more than a polite smile, a generic “congratulations.” no one cared.

that was when the contract came in—a modeling gig, of all things. It was meant to be temporary, a short detour from the expected path. you figured it would be easy. why wouldn’t it be? pose for a few pictures, walk down a runway. In and out, no mess. you’d take some time, maybe earn a little money before heading to law school like you had always planned. you signed your name on the dotted line, not fully realizing what it meant. suddenly, you were in it—korea’s newest face, the nation’s ‘princess.’ the transformation wasn’t gradual; it was like waking up in someone else’s body. one minute you were a student, scandalous, spat on. the next, you were everywhere. billboards, magazines, flashing cameras. thhe whole country seemed to know your name, and for the first time, you felt like you existed.

but existence always came at a price. at first, it was small sacrifices. a skipped meal here, an extra workout there. you told yourself it was temporary, just until the next shoot, just until the next campaign. soon, celery and ice cubes became your daily staples, the only things you allowed yourself to consume. the emptiness inside you wasn’t just hunger anymore—it was something deeper, more insidious. your reflection in the mirror grew sharper, more defined, as if every pound you shed stripped away another layer of who you used to be.

the people around you noticed the changes, but not in the way you expected. the criticisms came, not from the people who mattered to you, but from strangers. overweight men with sagging bellies, women who would never fit into the clothes you wore—they all felt entitled to say something. a comment about your posture, the way your hips didn’t quite match their idea of perfection, how your eyes looked too tired. their words clung to you like grease, seeping into every pore until you began to believe them. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the insults only fueled you, driving you to work harder, push further, just to prove them wrong.

there were moments when you wanted to quit, when the exhaustion from endless workouts and starvation weighed you down so heavily that you felt your bones might snap under the strain. there were nights when you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you had made the right choice, if modeling had been easier than law—or if this was just another cage, more gilded but no less suffocating. yet, despite it all, something began to shift. it started with the way people looked at you. at first, you didn’t notice. you were too busy hiding your exhaustion behind perfect makeup, too focused on pretending that everything was fine. but then, you began to see it—the looks that weren’t pitying, weren’t dismissive. people weren’t looking at you like they used to, with that thin layer of contempt, the way they had in school. it wasn’t hatred anymore. this time, when they looked at you, it was admiration.

the way their eyes lingered on you wasn’t like before. It was different—soft, almost reverent. you could feel it in the way they stood a little straighter when you walked into a room, the way conversations quieted, as if your mere presence demanded attention. you started to recognize that look. it was the one you had given others, the untouchable, the perfect. they didn’t see you as human anymore, but as something beyond that. they saw perfection, or the closest thing to it that they could grasp.

it felt good. addictively good. the power that came with their admiration, their respect, it washed over you like a warm current, and you couldn’t deny how much you craved it. it filled the hollow places inside you that no amount of food or rest could fix. you had always wanted to be seen, to matter, and now you did. it didn’t matter if you were starving. it didn’t matter if you felt like you were falling apart behind the scenes. as long as they looked at you like that, it was worth it, wasn’t it? you had become korea’s ‘princess,’ but deep down, you knew. the crown was heavy, and it wasn’t yours to keep forever. you just didn’t know how long you could carry it.

the studio was a cavernous space, its high ceilings disappearing into soft shadows cast by the industrial lighting rigged above. a haze of white light bathed the room, diffusing over every surface, amplifying the sharpness of the scene in front of you. rows of expensive cameras clicked in perfect rhythm, each shutter a drumbeat to your performance. the set was minimal—sleek, modern, monochrome—a backdrop of muted grays and blacks that made your crimson gown blaze like fire.

you were the centerpiece, draped in a figure-hugging satin dress that pooled dramatically around your feet. the fabric clung to every curve, shimmering under the lights with every subtle movement. a slit ran high up your thigh, a calculated element of the designer’s vision. the neckline dipped just enough to tease, but not to scandalize. everything was deliberate, down to the last stitch. you had become a canvas, an embodiment of elegance, allure, and untouchable sophistication.

“alright, beautiful, chin up. yes, just like that,” the photographer’s voice echoed, smooth and precise. his name was han minseok, and he had a reputation for bringing out the best in his models. his praise came easy, but you knew better than to let it sink in too deep. you held your pose, lifting your chin slightly, eyes half-lidded as you stared down the lens with calculated indifference. “perfect, darling,” minseok murmured. the camera clicked again, rapid-fire. “you’re nailing it. hold it right there—perfect!”

your manager, jeong jaehyun, stood off to the side, arms crossed, observing the shoot with an approving smile. his eyes followed every movement you made, calculating, critiquing, but also proud. he knew how to push you, knew exactly how far you could go before breaking. and today, you were flawless. you could feel his approval radiating from him without him needing to say a word. you shifted your weight slightly, allowing the dress to catch the light in a new way. the faintest smirk tugged at your lips—a hint of danger, a whisper of seduction. you manqged to embody the theme of the shoot effortlessly. minseok lowered the camera, grinning wide. “that’s a wrap. fantastic work as always.”

jaehyun approached you, his smile soft but pleased. he handed you a bottle of water, and you accepted it with a gracious nod, twisting the cap off to take a slow sip. the cold liquid hit your parched throat, refreshing but momentarily distracting. when you looked back at him, you noticed it—the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes today. there was a sadness, a shadow lingering behind his usually confident demeanor. “jaehyun,” you said softly, eyebrows furrowing. “what’s wrong?”

his smile wavered. “sit down for a second,” he said, gesturing toward one of the nearby makeup chairs. your heart skipped a beat, a subtle prickle of worry crawling up your spine. you did as he asked, sitting gingerly, suddenly aware of the hum of the studio around you—the muffled conversations, the clinking of equipment being packed away, the janitor scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the floor in the corner. the sharp smell of cleaning chemicals stung your nostrils, cutting through the faint scent of hairspray still lingering in the air. you tried to ignore it, forcing your attention back to jaehyun.

“what’s going on?” you asked, your voice low and uneasy. he hesitated, a brief flicker of discomfort crossing his features before he spoke. “i’m being relocated. back to connecticut. it’s for a while—maybe a few months.”

you blinked, the words sinking in like a slow, cold weight. “what?” your voice came out quieter than you intended. he saw the look on your face, and he immediately stepped forward, taking your hands into his, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll be back,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “you’ll be fine, better than fine. you’re doing better than ever.”

the disappointment hit you like a punch to the chest, sharp and unexpected. “i can’t do it without you,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. he shook his head, his expression softening even more. “it’s not me, it’s you. i’m the one who can’t do this without you.”

his words should have been comforting, but they only deepened the sense of dread coiling in your stomach. jaehyun had been with you since the beginning, guiding you through every high and low, through every mistake and every victory. the thought of him not being there, even for a little while, made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. he paused for a moment, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles before he continued. “you’ll have someone new. a friend of mine, just as experienced as me. i trust him completely.” you frowned, skeptical. “who?”

“you’ll meet him tonight,” he said, offering a small smile. “the whole team is going out for drinks, and he’ll be there.” you nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your chest tightened. even with his reassurances, the idea of working with someone new didn’t sit well with you. the trust you had in him wasn’t something that could be replaced so easily. sensing your unease, jaehyun leaned down, wrapping you in a hug. his arms were warm, familiar, grounding. “you’ll always be a star,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and comforting. “with or without me.”

you hated how much those words hurt. hated how much you had allowed yourself to rely on him. it wasn’t supposed to be this way. you weren’t supposed to get attached—not to anyone. but history had a cruel way of repeating itself, didn’t it? all you ever did was get attached. you didn’t trust yourself to say anything, so you nodded silently, letting him hold you for a moment longer before he pulled away, his hand squeezing yours one last time. he gave you a final smile—sad, but reassuring—before he turned and walked toward the door, leaving you alone with the weight of his absence already settling over you, even if he hadn’t left you yet. they all left, why was it so shocking that his turn had come?

your apartment was a modern contradiction—beautiful, sleek, but hollow. the wide windows let in a gentle glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows against the pristine white walls. it was elegant, like something out of a design magazine, all clean lines and expensive furniture. the kind of place that should have felt like home but never quite did. every corner was curated, from the marble countertops to the velvet sectional sofa that sat untouched most days. everything looked perfect, yet the emptiness inside you felt sharper here, in this space that was too big for just one person.

your parents hadn’t been to your apartment, hadn’t seen this life you had built for yourself. not that they cared to. you hadn’t spoken to them in months, not since they’d made it clear that your choice to model, rather than pursue law, was unforgivable. their silence hung over you like a cloud, heavy and oppressive, yet familiar. you were used to being left behind. your father’s words still echoed in your head, dismissive and final, “you’re wasting your potential.” your mother hadn’t said anything at all—her disapproval was cold, passive, like she had washed her hands of you.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, hands delicately applying makeup with a precision you had perfected over the years. the foundation smoothed over your skin, covering every flaw, creating the illusion of perfection you’d mastered long ago. the emptiness in your chest collided with the fullness of your apartment—so much space, so little meaning. it felt like you had filled your life with things, with a career that demanded all of you, and yet somehow you remained empty inside, hollowed out by the silence from the people who should have cared the most. your hands moved almost mechanically as you styled your hair, pulling it into loose waves that fell over your shoulders in soft, effortless curls. your outfit for the night was simple but striking—an off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your frame, the fabric slinking around your body like it was made for you. it was elegant, understated, but you knew it would turn heads. you always turned heads.

as you stepped out of your apartment and into the waiting car, you felt a strange sense of detachment. the city lights blurred outside the tinted windows, a constant stream of life and movement, yet you felt removed from it all. the car ride to the bar was short, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach twisted tighter with each passing minute. you weren’t sure what tonight would bring, but something told you things were about to change. jaehyun was supposed to meet you, introduce you to your new manager. the thought made you feel uneasy.

when the car pulled up to the bar, you were immediately greeted by the flash of cameras. it never ceased to unnerve you, the sudden explosion of light, the shouts from photographers who called your name like they knew you. you squinted against the brightness, stepping out of the car as gracefully as you could manage, though the onslaught of attention left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. you half-expected jaehyun to come out and handle the situation, to shield you like he always did, but he didn’t. the door to the bar opened, and for a brief moment, you thought it was him. but it wasn’t.

instead, a man appeared, a bit shorter than jaehyun but striking in his own way. he wore a leather jacket rather than jaehyun’s usual denim, the dark material catching the light in a way that made him look almost dangerous. his jawline was sharper, more distinct, and his dark hair was swept down in front, framing his forehead. his eyes met yours, and there was something in the way he looked at you—something unreadable, intense. he didn’t say a word as he approached, discarding his jacket and spreading it open to shield you from the cameras. his movements were smooth, confident, as he draped the jacket over your shoulders and guided you inside. the warmth of the leather was a stark contrast to the cold, clinical detachment you’d felt all evening.

“who are you?” you asked, your voice soft but firm, laced with confusion. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze steady, unreadable. “mark lee,” he said, his tone calm, measured. he paused, and for a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he let the silence hang between you. then, as if deciding to answer the question you hadn’t asked, he added, “i’m your new manager. didn’t jaehyun tell you?”

your heart sank slightly, the pieces falling into place—he was the one jaehyun had spoken about. mark studied your face as though he were trying to read you, to understand something you hadn’t yet said. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost amused by your reaction. “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said softly. you blinked, unsure of how to respond. the words you spoke felt disconnected from the thoughts in your mind. “the pleasure’s all mine,” you mumbled, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you.

mark’s gaze lingered a second longer before he turned, leading you further inside, away from the flashes of the cameras. the air inside the bar was warmer, thick with the chatter of people and the clinking of glasses, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled in your chest. even as he guided you to a table, the leather of his jacket still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was shifting beneath your feet. and you weren’t sure you liked it.

the bar was vaguely lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of glasses. a few members of the team were already gathered around a table near the back, the familiar faces of the makeup artist, the stylist, and the photographer who had been on set earlier. they greeted you with warm smiles and the easy familiarity of people who had spent long hours together under bright studio lights. it was strange how these people had become your family of sorts, even if it wasn’t a family you had chosen.

jaehyun spotted you first, standing up with that easy grin of his, arms already open for a hug. “there she is,” he murmured, pulling you in tightly. his embrace was warm and comforting, but the knowledge that this might be one of the last times he’d be there for you made it bittersweet. “have you met your new manager yet?” he asked as he released you, his eyes glancing over at mark, who stood just a few steps behind you.

you nodded, unsure of what to say, the words getting caught somewhere between your mind and your mouth. you could still feel the weight of mark’s jacket on your shoulders, the leather warm against your skin, grounding you as you stood between the two men. you wanted to say something that sounded more certain, but you were scared of how it might come out—scared it might sound like you didn’t want this. mark stepped forward, a casual confidence in his movements. “she ran into a bit of paparazzi trouble outside,” he said with a slight chuckle, as if it was nothing new.

jaehyun clapped him on the back, laughing. “always on duty, huh? you must have eyes everywhere.” mark grinned, his laugh coming easy. “you have no idea.”

he pulled out a chair for you, the gesture small but thoughtful, as he motioned for you to sit between him and jaehyun. as you lowered yourself into the seat, your eyes met his for a moment, and there was something in the way he smiled at you that eased the tension in your chest just a little bit. you settled in, the low buzz of the bar around you offering some comfort, though you still couldn’t shake the feeling of change looming in the air. the drinks came quickly—classic cocktails, neat whiskey, and bottles of soju. jaehyun was the first to raise his glass, and you followed suit. “i’m going to miss having soju while i’m away,” he said with a sigh, swirling the glass in his hand.

you clinked your glass against his, a smile tugging at your lips. “we’ll drink it in your honor.” he laughed, and as you turned to clink your glass with mark’s, your eyes met his again. he smiled back at you, that same easy warmth from earlier. for a second, you forgot about the looming goodbye, about the shift that was about to happen. you let yourself smile, feeling a strange sense of calm in the moment. the drinks were strong, stronger than you’d realized at first. the warmth of the alcohol spread through your chest, loosening the tightness in your muscles, and you allowed yourself to relax into the night. laughter flowed easily among the group, the conversation light and comfortable, even as the weight of jaehyun’s upcoming departure lingered on the edges.

but eventually, the night began to wind down. one by one, the team started to tap out, heading home with promises of seeing each other soon. jaehyun was the last to stand, his expression softening as he looked at you. “i’ve gotta head out. my flight’s tomorrow,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of the goodbye that neither of you wanted to say.

you stood with him, the alcohol making you feel just tipsy enough that the world seemed to blur a little around the edges. as you hugged him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, and you realized just how much you were going to miss him. “mark will take good care of you,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. all you could do was nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. he pulled away, giving you one last look before turning to leave. you watched him go, the door closing behind him with a finality that made your heart sink.

you sat back down, the world feeling a little off-kilter now that jaehyun was gone. the noise of the bar seemed distant, the voices around you a dull hum. but then you felt a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and when you turned, you found mark looking at you, his expression gentle. “i know you aren’t thrilled about this,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. “but he’ll be back.”

you nodded, trying to steady the emotions swirling in your chest. “don’t be offended,” you said, your words a little slurred from the alcohol. “i must sound like an asshole. i’ve just known jay a long time.” mark laughed softly, shaking his head. “the models i work with are usually blunt and awful. you’re like a breath of fresh air.”

your heart fluttered at his words, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or something else. either way, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush you couldn’t quite control. “really?” you asked, your voice soft. he nodded, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “yeah. it’s hard to meet someone genuine like that.” it caught you off guard, the way he said it. he hadn’t called you hot or beautiful—the usual compliments that were thrown at you without much thought. he hadn’t treated you like you were something to admire from a distance, something polished and perfect. he thought you were genuine. nice, even. and for the first time in what felt like forever, something mattered other than how you looked.

mark stood outside the bar with you, his hand wrapped loosely around his phone as he called for a cab. the air was cool, the kind of breeze that bit at your skin just enough to remind you you’d had too much to drink. the world felt like it was swaying beneath you, the soft blur of neon lights and city sounds blending into the haze of alcohol that had settled deep into your bones. you barely noticed the cab pulling up, but mark did. he grimaced the moment he saw the driver, his jaw tightening as he clocked the smirk tugging at the corners of the man’s lips.

“stay here,” he murmured, his voice low as he helped you toward the back seat, his hand resting at the small of your back to steady you. the driver’s smirk grew as you stumbled slightly, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. mark’s patience snapped, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut through steel. Without a word, he climbed into the cab beside you, his presence filling the small space in an instant. the driver’s smirk faltered, his bravado crumbling under the weight of mark’s glare, and he turned his eyes to the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“how much has she had to drink?” the driver asked, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of something slimy beneath it, something that made mark’s blood boil. “you’re being paid to drive, not make small talk,” mark snapped, his voice sharp enough to make the driver flinch. silence fell over the cab, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of the tires against the pavement. you, oblivious to the tension, rested your head back, your eyes fluttering closed as the night swirled around you. you were out of it, the world fading in and out, each moment blurred by the alcohol in your system. you didn’t notice the way mark was watching you, his gaze softening, his features smoothing as he made sure you were okay.

if you had been more aware, you might have seen it for yourself—something tender in the way he looked at you, something protective. it wasn’t the predatory gaze you had come to expect from men, the one that made you feel small and vulnerable, like something to be taken. no, this was different. this gaze made you feel watched over, cared for. like, for the first time, you weren’t alone. “you’re taking me home?” you slurred, your voice breaking through the fog as you turned to him, disrupting his thoughts. mark glanced down at you, his brow furrowing for a second before he nodded. “yeah,” he said softly, “gonna make sure you get there safely, then i’ll head back.”

you frowned, your eyes half-lidded as you tried to focus on him. “you’re being too nice,” you murmured, your words a little wobbly, childlike. he chuckled, the sound low and rich, a warmth that spread through your chest despite the alcohol’s numbing grip. “this is just the tip of the iceberg,” he replied, teasing but gentle. the cab pulled over in front of your building, the harsh overhead light inside flickering slightly as mark handed the driver his money, glaring one last time before slamming the door shut behind him. he helped you out, his arm around your waist as he guided you toward the entrance. you leaned into him, your steps unsteady, but his grip was firm, holding you upright, never letting you fall.

when you reached your apartment door, you fumbled for your keys, your fingers clumsy as they searched through your bag. you couldn’t find them, frustration bubbling up in your chest, but before you could say anything, he reached in and pulled the keys out for you. he unlocked the door, holding it open as you stumbled inside, expecting—fearing—that this was when things would change. this was when history would repeat itself, when he would become just like the others, just like every man who had ever taken advantage of you in your weakest moments. but it never happened.

instead, he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both firm and soft, his warmth seeping into your skin. the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of alcohol, filling your senses. there was no pressure in the way he held you, no expectation. just comfort. when he pulled away, he bent slightly at the knees, his eyes level with yours as he spoke, his voice soft but clear. “get some rest, okay?” he said, pausing as his gaze flickered over your face. “we have work tomorrow.”

you nodded, your body too tired, too heavy to respond with anything more. he gave you one final smile, that same smile that had put you at ease earlier in the night, and then he turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. you stood there in your apartment, the door closing softly behind him, your mind struggling to piece together what had just happened. you had expected a lot, but not this. not someone who cared without asking for anything in return. not someone who saw you for more than just how you looked.

the pounding in your head felt like it would split your skull in two. you groaned, dragging yourself upright, the weight of exhaustion heavy in your limbs. the throbbing didn’t let up as you stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to chase away the hangover. the mirror reflected a face you barely recognized—dark circles under your eyes, skin pale and drawn. it was a far cry from the pristine, polished image you had to maintain in front of the cameras. right now, you were just tired. so tired.

you grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet, shaking two pills into your hand and downing them with a gulp of water. the cold liquid soothed your dry throat, but it did little to chase away the hollow ache settling in your chest. you drank another glass, hoping it would make you feel less fragile, less breakable. your hands trembled as you set the glass down, the weight of the night before pressing on you, heavy and inescapable.

you wandered back to your bed, sinking into the comfort of the soft sheets, pulling them around you as if they could shield you from the world. but the world had already broken in. with a sigh, you reached for your phone, not ready but too curious to resist. you needed a distraction, something to pull you out of this haze. but as the screen lit up, you felt your stomach lurch. the first headline caught your eye, and the blood drained from your face as you read it.

your dark past—an anonymous ex airing out the ugly details of a relationship you thought you had buried years ago. the words stared back at you, cold and unforgiving, and each one cut deeper than the last. attention-seeking slut, slept her way through the scene and life itself. the accusations swirled around you, each one a dagger to the chest, every headline worse than the one before. it felt like the world was closing in, shrinking around you until there was nowhere left to hide.

you scrolled through the article, your hands shaking, your breath coming faster as the memories you had tried so hard to forget were dragged back into the light. this was worse than anything you could’ve imagined. you had been bracing yourself for the usual scandals—the kind of things models made headlines for. a wardrobe malfunction, a bad night out, maybe a ridiculous diet rumor. but this? this felt personal. too personal. and the worst part was, it was all out there, for everyone to see. you kept scrolling, hoping there was some way to stop the flood of accusations, but it didn’t stop. it never did. your heart pounded in your chest as the articles piled on, one after another, each one worse than the last. you reached the bottom of the page, bracing yourself for another wave of vitriol—but what you found was something different.

a response from your company. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the name attached to the statement—mark lee. your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you clicked. his words were like a lifeline, pulling you out of the darkness for just a second. “her past has nothing to do with her present, her career or her heart,” he had stated firmly. “anyone making defamatory statements will face legal action.”

it was a short, direct statement, but it hit you like a bolt of lightning. mark had acted fast—so fast that it stunned you. you hadn’t even had the chance to process what was happening, but he had already stepped in to protect you, to shield you from the fallout. your company hadn’t hung you out to dry. he hadn’t hung you out to dry. and it wasn’t even morning yet. you let the phone slip from your hand, your heart still racing, but for a different reason now. mark hadn’t just stood by and watched as your name got dragged through the mud. he had taken action, defended you without hesitation. the weight of last night’s events came rushing back—the way he’d walked you home, the way he had been so kind, so careful, without expecting anything in return. and now, this.

how had he managed to do it so quickly, without so much as a second thought? how had he known to step in before things got even worse? you didn’t know, but what you did know was that mark wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just your new manager. he was someone who had your back. the room felt too quiet, too still, as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t believe this was the impression you were leaving behind—a model being defended for her humanity rather than her appearance. a woman with someone in her corner, fighting for her, when she had never expected it.

you pulled the front door shut behind you, squinting at the early morning sun filtering through the leaves, casting soft dappled light across the pavement. you adjusted your sunglasses, preparing yourself for the day, your mind still tangled with the weight of the headlines and mark’s words from last night. but as you stepped down the front stairs, something caught your eye—a car parked just a few feet away. the sleek black paint gleamed under the sunlight, and as your eyes adjusted, you saw him. mark, leaning casually against the hood, a small, gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. “you look like you could use a ride,” he said, his voice carrying over the stillness of the morning.

your heart fluttered, the ease in his tone making the heaviness in your chest feel a little lighter. was it possible for someone to be this kind, this genuine, without asking for anything in return? you hesitated for a moment, still unsure, still caught in the confusion of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “are you sure?” you asked, trying to mask the uncertainty in your voice. mark rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but that smile never wavered. “just get in,” he said, moving to the passenger side and pulling the door open for you. he gestured toward the seat, a playful look in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand why you were hesitating.

you gave in, sliding into the car, letting the plush leather seat envelop you. the inside was immaculate—black leather, clean lines, the scent of something warm and subtle, maybe sandalwood, lingering in the air. it was the kind of car that screamed understated elegance, not the flashy, attention-grabbing kind you were used to seeing in this city. everything about it felt intentional, like mark himself, composed and thoughtful without ever needing to prove anything.

as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you kept your gaze forward, unable to meet his eyes. shame clung to you like a second skin, the weight of yesterday’s headlines still too fresh. but you could feel his eyes on you, watching you in that quiet, gentle way that made you feel both seen and safe. the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, until mark’s voice broke through. “you saw, didn’t you?” his tone was soft, almost apologetic, like he wished you didn’t have to bear the weight of it.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight as you nodded. “thank you,” you murmured, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. “i’m sorry you had to see those comments.” he paused, pulling out of the driveway, his eyes flicking toward you for a moment before returning to the road. “i can’t believe you’re the one apologizing,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

you frowned, confused by his response. “you were the one who had to deal with it,” you said, your voice a little firmer now. “you had to read those comments, engage with them.” mark glanced at you again, just for a second, but there was something in his gaze—something that made your heart ache, though you couldn’t quite place why. “you’re the one they were talking about,” he said quietly, the weight of his words sinking into the air between you.

you bit your lip, the familiar shame rising in your chest. “they didn’t lie about much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. mark’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “what do you mean?” your fingers fidgeted in your lap, the memories of your past flickering in your mind like painful old photographs. “i slept around when i was younger,” you said, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth. “i was ashamed. thought i was being loved, but it was the opposite.”

the silence that followed felt deafening. you braced yourself, preparing for the inevitable—a lecture, a judgment, the same disgust you had faced so many times before. you could almost hear the harsh words before they even came, could feel the sting of the shame that would follow. but instead, what came was something else entirely. “so what?” mark asked, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the most inconsequential thing in the world. you blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “what?” you asked, your voice small, barely able to comprehend what you had just heard.

he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “you live, you learn. you make mistakes and move on from them. what about it? why would i hate you for it instead of hunting down those assholes one by one?” you were shocked. completely and utterly floored. you had spent so long believing that your past made you disgusting, that no one could ever look at you the same if they knew. and yet here was mark, looking at you like none of it mattered—like none of it could ever change how he saw you.

“you don’t think i’m disgusting?” you asked, your voice breaking just a little, your heart in your throat. he let out a dry laugh, the kind that held no real humor, only disbelief. “i could never think that about you,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a balm. the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, but this time they weren’t out of shame. for the first time in a long time, they were tears of relief. a small smile broke through the sadness, and you turned your head to the window, letting the tears fall in silence, feeling something you hadn’t felt in years.

mark’s presence felt like a shield as the crowd of paparazzi closed in around you, their cameras flashing incessantly. you could feel their hands tugging at your sleeves, jostling to get closer, to snap that perfect shot. their voices were a blur, shouting questions, making demands, their lights blinding you through your sunglasses. you froze, feeling trapped in the chaos, your breath catching in your throat.

but he was there, right beside you, his body tense and protective. his arm wrapped around you, and with a low, dangerous tone, he snapped, “back off.” his patience seemed to have worn thin, and his words cut through the air like a knife. the paparazzi hesitated, a few taking a step back, but some were still relentless. mark didn’t falter. he shifted, his hand moving to shield your face from the barrage of cameras, guiding you firmly toward the studio door. no one was getting a glimpse of you—not today, not like this.

by the time you made it inside, your head was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt exposed, even though he had done everything he could to protect you. as the door clicked shut behind you, the noise from outside was silenced, leaving only the soft hum of the studio’s air conditioning and the quiet, comforting sound of mark’s breathing beside you. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice small, barely audible. his smile was soft, but it reached his eyes as he reached up, gently sliding your sunglasses to the top of your head. his fingers brushed your hair back, and then, with the same tenderness, he removed the mask from your face, revealing the features you’d hidden from the world. “look at you,” he said quietly, his voice warm, “so pretty.”

it was a compliment, but not the kind that made you feel objectified or cheapened. it wasn’t the kind of praise you’d grown accustomed to—words that were always laced with lust, with ulterior motives. this felt different. it felt sweet, genuine. you smiled, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little as you savored the softness of his touch. before you could respond, the director called you into the room. you walked together, side by side, mark never leaving your side. his hand hovered protectively at your back, tracing small, soothing circles that grounded you. the nerves that had gripped you so tightly just moments ago began to ease, the tension in your shoulders melting away with each gentle motion.

as you entered the room, the director didn’t waste any time. “so, about the scandal,” he began, his voice clinical, detached, like it was just another problem to solve. “we need to do damage control.” his gaze flickered between you and mark, and you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “what do you have in mind?” mark asked, his voice calm, though you could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

the director’s next words were like a punch to the gut. “a blind date,” he said, his tone as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “with someone just as famous and prestigious. it’ll take the heat off the story.” your heart sank, your throat closing up. you wanted to object, to say something, anything, but your voice betrayed you. you couldn’t get the words out. why was it always like this? why did you always lose your voice when men made decisions about your life? why did you always fall first, always bend to their will?

but this time, mark spoke up for you. “no,” he said firmly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “she’s not gonna do that.” the director shot him a sharp glance, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “what makes you so sure?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

he scoffed, the warmth in his expression fading as his hand dropped from your back. “i’m her manager,” he said, his tone cold. “i’m not gonna let you pimp her out to the press over a scandal.” you blinked, stunned by his words. you tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to stop, terrified that he was digging his own grave by standing up for you. you couldn’t bear the thought of him losing everything because of you, of him falling short just like everyone else had. but he didn’t budge. the director removed his glasses, staring him down. “watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low. “you’re only here because of jaehyun.”

mark smiled, but it wasn’t the warm, playful smile he usually gave you. it was something harder, more condescending, though when he looked at you, that hardness softened. “i’m not,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “i’m here because of her.” his words made your heart skip a beat, a smile tugging at your lips despite the tension in the room.

the director scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. when mark simply nodded in response, the director leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment before speaking again. “fine. then you’ll date her. make it convincing for the cameras.” shock washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless. your eyes widened, your mind reeling. date him? publicly? it was absurd, and yet you couldn’t find your voice to object. you were frozen in place, trying to process what had just been said.

the director dismissed you both with a wave of his hand, as though you were mere pawns in his game. as you left the room, you could feel the anger radiating off mark. not at you, never at you, but at the way the director had reduced you to a tool, something to be used for publicity. it made his blood boil, and you could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “i’m sorry,” he said as you walked down the hallway together, his voice low, filled with frustration.

you stopped, turning to face him. “you gotta stop apologizing,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “i’d rather be your fake girlfriend than anyone else’s.” his lips curved into a small, almost sad smile, but it wasn’t convincing. you could see the guilt still weighing on him, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. but he nodded, accepting your words, even if he couldn’t fully believe them himself. and despite everything, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t help but smile, too.

the photoshoot dawned bright and clear, the studio awash with sunlight that filtered through large, high windows. the space was a hive of activity, filled with the muted hum of chatter and the clinking of equipment. the walls were adorned with a pristine white backdrop that could be transformed into any setting the imagination could conjure. spotlights were carefully positioned to cast a flattering glow, creating a perfect balance between shadow and light.

you arrived once more feeling a mix of trepidation and anticipation. the scandal was still fresh, its edges raw and jagged, but you tried to set it aside, focusing on the task ahead. the concept for the shoot was a glamorous vintage look—a nostalgic nod to the old hollywood starlets, with a modern twist. the wardrobe was exquisite: a shimmering gown in deep emerald green that hugged your figure before flaring out into a dramatic skirt. the bodice was adorned with delicate beadwork that caught the light with every movement, creating a subtle sparkle that seemed to dance across your skin. your hair was styled in voluminous waves, cascading down your back with a glossy sheen. the makeup was equally flawless—classic winged eyeliner and a nude lip, complemented by a subtle, radiant glow on your cheeks. as you stepped in front of the camera, you felt the energy of the room shift. the crew's murmurs fell silent as they focused on their work, adjusting lights and angles to best capture the vision. mark was there, of course, standing just off to the side. his gaze was fixed on you, and in that moment, it felt as though he was the only person in the room who truly saw you.

the photographer directed you with practiced ease, calling for different poses and expressions. you moved fluidly, slipping into character with a grace that felt almost effortless. the camera clicked rhythmically, its shutter capturing each fleeting moment of your performance. you felt a growing confidence, bolstered by the soft, encouraging murmurs from the crew.

throughout it all, mark’s eyes never strayed from you. his gaze was unwavering, filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just that he was watching; he was absorbing, cherishing each glance, each expression. his eyes held a warmth that transcended mere admiration. there was a softness, a depth that suggested he saw something in you that went beyond the surface, beyond the glittering gown and the carefully applied makeup. as the photographer called for a brief break, he approached, his footsteps light, his expression a mix of admiration and something deeper.

he reached out, gently adjusting a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch that was both respectful and intimate. “you’re doing incredible,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the backdrop of the studio’s ambient noise. “you’ve got this natural grace about you.” his words were more than just praise; they were a recognition of your essence, of the way you moved and carried yourself. you could see it in his eyes—his admiration was palpable, sincere. it was a gaze that lingered with affection, with a hint of something that bordered on reverence.

the photographer resumed the shoot, and with each click of the camera, mark’s gaze followed, unwavering. there was no objectification in his stare, no hint of lust or superficial desire. instead, it was as though he was seeing you for who you truly were—a person who, despite the chaos and scandal, was captivating, beautiful, and worthy of admiration. there was someone who saw past the headlines and the flashing cameras, who saw you as more than just a face on a magazine cover.

when the session finally concluded, and you stepped away from the set, you felt a profound sense of relief and accomplishment. mark was there to offer you a genuine smile, one that spoke of pride and support. “you were amazing today,” he said, his voice laced with admiration. “i’m really proud of you.” you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had little to do with the shoot and everything to do with the way he looked at you.

“so, see you tomorrow?” he asked, his tone warm, laced with a hint of casual curiosity. you hesitated, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing your mind. “actually,” you began, “would you like to get lunch with me now? i mean, if you’re not too busy, of course.” you trailed off, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. “i don’t want to impose or sound desperate,” you added quickly, feeling the need to clarify.

mark’s smile widened, a reassuring glimmer in his eyes. “i’d love to,” he replied. “it’s no imposition at all. let’s go.” you felt a wave of relief wash over you as he guided you towards his car. outside, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city streets. mark’s car—a sleek, black luxury sedan with tinted windows—stood out in the midst of the bustling parking lot. it had an understated elegance, the kind that spoke of both comfort and refinement. the interior was plush, with leather seats that exuded a sense of sophistication.

he opened the door for you and, once you were settled inside, slid into the driver’s seat with practiced ease. his movements were smooth and confident, and as he started the engine, you noticed his demeanor had shifted. he was more focused, more protective, shielding you from the cameras that lingered at the studio’s entrance. his eyes remained sharp, scanning the area to ensure you weren’t bothered.

the drive to the restaurant was marked by a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional hum of street traffic. mark took a scenic route, passing through tree-lined streets and past elegant boutiques, showcasing a side of the city that felt both serene and refined. you glanced at him occasionally, catching glimpses of his profile illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights.

eventually, you arrived at a spot tucked away in a quieter part of the city. its exterior was a blend of modern chic and classic charm, with large windows framed by delicate drapery and a welcoming sign that hinted at the warm atmosphere inside. mark escorted you in, and the hostess, recognizing him, offered a discreet nod and led you to a cozy corner table away from the prying eyes of the street. the restaurant exuded a quiet elegance—soft ambient lighting, tasteful decor featuring muted colors, and a faint, inviting aroma of gourmet dishes being prepared. as you settled into your seat, mark pulled out a chair for you with a courteous gesture, his attention never straying far from you.

over the course of the meal, the conversation flowed easily. his presence was soothing, and his attentive listening made you feel at ease. the menu offered a range of refined dishes, and you both opted for light, comforting fare—fresh salads, tender grilled fish, and a selection of artisanal bread. the food was delicious, but it was the company that truly made the experience special. as you ate, you found yourself opening up to mark in a way you hadn’t anticipated. “you know,” you began, your voice tentative but earnest, “i’ve been used all my life. it’s like people see me as something to exploit, and it’s only made them think less of me.”

mark’s eyes softened as he listened, his gaze attentive and caring. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. instead, he simply took in your words, his expression reflecting a mix of empathy and understanding. “i’m sorry you’ve had to go through that,” he said quietly. “no one deserves to be treated that way.”

you felt a lump form in your throat as his words sank in. the vulnerability you had shared was met with genuine compassion, something you hadn’t expected. mark reached across the table, his hand extending to yours with a tender, reassuring touch. “use me,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “use me until you love yourself.”

you were stunned, the weight of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. the promise in his voice was profound, a gesture of support that went beyond mere words. you stared at him, trying to process the depth of his offer. but before you could respond, his hands enveloped yours in a gentle embrace. in that moment, you were acutely aware of the contrast between the performance you had to put on and the genuine connection you were experiencing. the touch of his hands, the way he stroked your fingers with a tenderness that was both comforting and intimate, spoke of something deeper. it was as though the boundaries of your staged relationship were dissolving, giving way to a reality that was more genuine than you had anticipated.

the conversation continued, but the focus shifted to lighter topics. you both shared stories and laughter, the tension of the earlier events seeming to melt away. mark’s presence was a balm, soothing your frayed nerves and providing a sense of security you hadn’t known you needed. as the meal came to an end, he paid the bill, his hand still holding yours as you walked out. the sun had set, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle, casting a warm glow over the streets. you were acutely aware of the contrast between the authenticity of your time with him and the world outside, which seemed to linger with its judgment and scrutiny.

when you reached his car, he opened the door for you once more, his touch gentle and respectful. as you settled back into the plush interior, you couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. the lines between your staged relationship and the genuine affection you felt were blurring, and while you knew that you were still performing for the cameras, the moments of sincerity you shared with him were undeniable.

as he drove you back to your house, the evening air outside was crisp, a gentle reminder that the day was drawing to a close. the glow of streetlights cast a warm, comforting light through the windows of the car, creating a cocoon of serenity around you both. the drive was quiet, filled with a comfortable silence that spoke volumes more than words could. when you arrived at your front door, he walked with you, his presence a steady comfort against the backdrop of your otherwise solitary home. the hallway was lit, adding a soft ambiance to the moment. he stopped at your door, his expression softening into a genuine smile as he wished you a good night.

but as he turned on his heel to leave, something inside you surged—a reluctance to let him go, a sudden, overwhelming desire for him to stay. “wait,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. “spend the night.”

mark paused, his demeanor shifting as he turned back towards you. the smile on his face faltered, and his gaze became serious, filled with a mixture of tenderness and something you couldn’t quite place. “i can’t do that,” he said softly, almost apologetically. your heart sank. Were you so off-putting to him? was he so disgusted by you that he couldn’t even stay? the thought pierced you, and you had to ask, “why?”

his eyes met yours, and despite the gentleness that still lingered, there was an undertone of something raw and sincere. “because,” he began, taking a step closer, “i don’t think i’ll be able to control myself if i do.”

the distance between you was minimal now, so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating off him. his proximity made your heart race, the thump in your chest loud enough that you thought he might hear it. you swallowed hard, struggling to understand why you felt this way, why he was so close yet seemingly so far. “there are no cameras,” you reminded him, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to reassure him of the privacy you both had.

mark chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “i don’t care about the cameras,” he said, his voice a soothing murmur. “it’s not about that.” the weight of his words, the gentle touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to fill the space between you made you feel a sudden surge of vulnerability. you hated yourself for feeling so exposed, for being so willing to give in, to risk it all, and to let someone see you so completely.

in that vulnerable moment, driven by an impulse you couldn’t quite control, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his. it was a kiss filled with raw emotion, a desperate plea for connection. to your surprise, mark’s response wasn’t fueled by lust or urgency. Instead, his kiss was tender, patient, as though he was savoring every second. his hands cupped your face with a gentle care, his lips moving against yours with a softness that spoke of deep affection rather than fleeting desire.

when he finally pulled away, it was with a smile that seemed to reflect genuine fondness. “look at you,” he cooed, his fingers lightly ruffling your hair. “so cute.” you frowned slightly, still trying to process the unexpected tenderness. as he leaned against the doorway, his smile widening, you asked, “are you gonna leave?”

mark shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a playful warmth. “no way,” he murmured, his voice filled with determination. “someone has to make sure you get some rest.” the way he spoke, the care in his actions, almost felt surreal. it was as if the affection he showed was almost too good to be true. yet, as he stepped inside, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, you felt the house grow warmer, more inviting with his presence.

he watched you from the couch as you moved around the kitchen, preparing tea. the dim light from the overhead fixture cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the delicate way your hands trembled as you worked. he noticed how thin you looked, the hollowness of your cheeks and the way your clothes hung loosely on your frame. it made him wonder whether this was always the way you were or if it was a consequence of the relentless demands of your career.

“do you need help?” he asked, his voice filled with concern as he stood up and walked toward you. the distance between you seemed to shrink with every step he took. as he approached, he gently took hold of your wrists, guiding your hands to pour the boiling water over the tea bags. the warmth of the steam contrasted sharply with the coldness he felt in his chest as he observed your fragile state.

you turned to face him as you finished, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. he could see the tremors in your hands, which you tried to hide by gripping the mug tightly. “you’re shaking,” he said gently. “shouldn’t you eat more?”

a sad smile crossed your lips as you shrugged. “i should be eating less.” mark’s smile faded, and he set the mugs back on the table with a determined clink. the realization hit him hard, the idea that you were expected to adhere to a standard that demanded you to shrink, not only in size but in presence. it was unfathomable to him that someone as perfect as you should be subjected to such dehumanizing expectations.

“why did you take up such a job?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and concern. as you sipped your tea, you reflected on the question, your eyes distant as if searching for the right words. “everybody likes the surface,” you said, your smile fragile. “nobody cares about what goes beyond it. it’s always been like that, so i may as well get some money out of it.”

mark’s heart ached at the thought of you being reduced to eye candy, your worth dictated by your appearance rather than your true self. the notion that your life’s goal was to be admired rather than valued for who you were made him sick. “quit your job,” he said abruptly, the words escaping before he could fully process them. you looked at him in shock, the tea still hot on your tongue. “are you crazy?” you asked, incredulous.

he shook his head, his expression earnest but troubled. “quit your job,” he repeated. “you should be doing something you love instead of being everything you hate about yourself.” his words carried a raw truth that stung deeply. no one had ever told you to quit before; it had always been about encouragement, about pushing through. his opposition was startling because it was clear he saw you for more than just your looks, something no one else had done. it clicked for you then—mark was the only person who seemed to understand and care about the essence of who you were beyond the superficial.

“you mean it?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of hope and disbelief. he didn’t answer with words but instead set his tea down and leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. the contact was so tender that it made your knees weak, tears threatening to spill over. it was a kiss devoid of urgency, filled with care and an earnest desire to comfort.

when he finally pulled away, his frown deepened at the sight of your tear-filled eyes. “how could anyone be cruel to you?” he murmured, his voice filled with sorrow. “so cruel that you cry at the slightest affection?”

your tears began to fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. mark, seeing the depth of your pain, gathered you into his arms without hesitation. “don’t cry,” he whispered, though it was the exact thing that made you let go, burying your face in his chest as the tears flowed. he held you tightly, his arms a sanctuary from the world’s cruelties. cry, he thought, let it all out. as if sensing his silent encouragement, you did just that, clinging to him as you let your emotions pour out. for the first time, you felt truly cared for, not for how you looked but for who you were.

as you pulled back from him, your eyes still glistening with the remnants of tears, he reached up with his rough fingers to tenderly brush them away. his touch was surprisingly gentle, the contrast between the coarseness of his hands and the softness of his touch creating an intimacy that felt both intimate and profound. small, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his gaze filled with an affection that was deeply comforting.

you leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, it was different. the kiss was infused with a hunger that transcended the need for love or the fear of loneliness. it was driven by a genuine feeling of being cherished, an intensity that came from truly feeling valued. the kiss full of passion, and you could hear the heavy breaths escaping from him, proof of the fervor that both of you were experiencing. despite the heat between you, mark pulled away, his face flushed, and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“don’t,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, their closeness adding to the depth of his emotions. the word was almost a plea, a desperate attempt to maintain control despite the overwhelming feelings. you frowned, confused and yearning for more. “why?” you asked, your voice laced with vulnerability.

he shook his head, his fingers gently stroking your hair in a soothing motion. “i don’t wanna be like them,” he whispered. “i don’t wanna break you.”

the sincerity in his voice was audible, his hesitation evident in the way he caressed your hair. the thought of him being so considerate, so concerned about not causing you pain, only made you feel even more secure and cherished. you took a step back, but his fingers remained entangled in your hair, a subtle reminder of his presence and his care. “break me,” you encouraged softly, your eyes locked onto his. “i’m yours to break.”

the words hung in the air, laden with an openness that surprised even yourself. mark’s hesitation deepened. he was overwhelmed by your fragility, the softness in your eyes, and the way you looked at him with such trust. he didn’t want to cause you any harm, didn’t want you to feel used or sullied. “i don’t want you to feel used,” he admitted, his voice betraying his internal conflict. the tenderness in his voice and the way he looked at you with such genuine concern only made you feel more at ease. you didn’t respond verbally; instead, you kissed him again, your hands exploring the contours of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the fabric.

his resolve wavered as he felt the intensity of your touch. his initial urge to hold back dissolved as you made it difficult for him to resist. his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap, never breaking the kiss. in his mind, he battled with the thought of being gentle versus the desire to give in fully to the moment. his struggle was open, yet he knew he could be gentle, that he could offer you the care and affection you deserved. his thoughts raced as he navigated this delicate balance, his love and concern for you making him want to be as gentle as possible while also embracing the passion that surged between you.

his hands moved from your hair to your shoulders, then down to your breasts, cupping the small mounds of flesh tenderly. you gasped into the kiss as his thumbs brushed over your sensitive nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. his touch grew bolder, kneading and caressing, as you arched into his palms, your desire growing more urgent. the fabric of your shirt was the only barrier, and it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough for much longer.

mark felt your urgency, and his own desire grew stronger. he broke the kiss to gaze into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or fear. all he saw was the same trust and need that had been there before. with trembling hands, he began to unbutton your shirt, one button at a time, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation was present, a heady mix of excitement and emotion that made your heart race. as he undid the last button, his eyes shamefully drifted to the sides of your shirt covering your bare breasts, but he didn’t have time to feel shame, not when he wanted you to feel loved.

his hands slid inside your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your soft, perfect skin. he took a moment to just look, his breath hitching at the sight of your nipples, pebbled and begging for his touch. his eyes filled with tears, not of pain or regret, but of pure love and the depth of his feelings. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. you didn’t speak; instead, you leaned in to kiss him again, this time more urgently, your tongue dancing with his, as your hands found the hem of his shirt, eager to feel his bare chest against yours.

his own shirt was soon discarded, and you both sat there, breathing heavily, skin to skin. his strong hands continued to massage your breasts, his thumbs playing with your sensitive peaks, driving you wild with every touch. your own hands roamed over his shoulders, his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of his body. the connection between you was sickening, a silent conversation of love and lust that didn’t need words. “fuck,” you exhaled as his thumbs danced around your erect nipples, kneading the thin flesh of your breasts. you felt ashamed for a second, ashamed at the lack of what you had to offer him, at the dainty size of your breasts. you felt the need to cover up, to hide yourself from him, thinking it wouldn't be enough for him to enjoy. you crossed your arms over your small breasts, a shy look of embrassment in your face, but mark wasn’t having any of it.

his hands gently moved yours aside. “no, baby, don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his eyes filled with adoration. “you’re perfect. absolutely perfect. i love every inch of you, these too,” he said, tracing his fingers over your breasts again. his words were like a balm to your insecurities, a gentle caress to your ego. his warm mouth found one of your nipples, suckling it with surprising gentleness. the sensation was like a lightning bolt straight to your core, and you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as he worked his magic on your breasts. the way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, made you feel so cherished, so loved. you lacked what other girls could easily offer him, yet he didn’t seem to care.

his other hand found its way down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, over your hips, and down to the button of your pants. with a gentle tug, he encouraged you to lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. you were now fully exposed to him, vulnerable in a way that was thrilling and terrifying all at once. his eyes took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your bare pussy, glistening with arousal. he groaned, his own desire thick in the air. “so beautiful,” he murmured, his hand moving to touch you lightly.

his fingertips grazed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. you moaned, unable to hold back the sound, your legs spreading wider to give him better access. he took his time, teasing and exploring, his touch as tender as if you were made of the most delicate glass. he parted your folds, his finger sliding in easily, feeling the slickness of your arousal. you were so wet for him, and the sight of his finger disappearing into you made him even harder. “you’re so ready for me, fuck, like you were made for me,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

his thumb continued to circle your clit as his finger began to move in and out, his pace increasing gradually. your hips rocked in sync with his movements, the pleasure building inside you like a crescendo. he watched your face, reading your every expression, ensuring that he was giving you exactly what you needed. his eyes never left yours, filled with a fierce love and protection that made your heart swell. you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps, but he wasn’t done yet. he needed to feel you, to have you with him filling you up to the brim.

mark leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slid them off. his cock, hard and demanding, sprang free, and you couldn’t help but stare. he was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and the sight of him made you both nervous and incredibly turned on. he noticed your gaze and smirked slightly, a hint of pride flashing in his eyes. “aren’t scared, are you?” he asked playfully, his voice a seductive whisper.

you shook your head, trying to play it cool despite the nervousness that bubbled up inside you. “not at all,” you lied, your voice a little shaky. he chuckled, his hand moving to stroke himself slowly, the sight of his hand on his cock making your stomach flip. “you sure?” he questioned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you nodded, your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way his shaft grew even more as he touched himself. no matter how scared you were, you knew he would take care of you.

mark leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his kiss gentle yet filled with a burning need. you felt his hand move away from your pussy and the loss of his touch made you whine into the kiss. but the sound was soon muffled by his groan as he pulled away, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. the tip of his dick was slick with precum, and you felt a thrill of anticipation as he pushed against you, just the tip teasing you. it had barely grazed your slit, yet you were soaking around him, the sight of it only clouding his mind even more.

his eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was the same eagerness that reflected his own. with a deep breath, he pushed in, inch by inch, his big cock stretching you wider than you’ve ever been. it was a delicious pain, a sweet agony that you couldn’t get enough of. your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you up, his gentle strokes becoming deeper, more insistent. your walls tightened around him, trying to hold onto his length as if afraid to let go. “you’re okay, baby, just hold on,” he encouraged softly as you whined, nails clawing at his skin.

his praise, his tenderness, it all felt so overwhelming that tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. it was too much, too beautiful, and it hurt in the most exquisite way. you nodded, your breath hitching as he reached down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as his cock pushed deeper into your pussy. your moans grew louder as he found a rhythm that had you writhing in his lap, your body moving with the gentle ebb and flow of his hips. “look at you, taking me so well,” he cooed at the sight of his cock tucked into the swell of your cunt, his fingers grazing the small creases of your breasts as you tightened around him.

his strokes grew more deliberate, his movements more powerful, yet never crossing the line into roughness. he was worried that his size might be too much for you, so he held back, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible without causing any discomfort. but you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint that was clear in every line of his face, the cords of his neck standing out as he held back. you didn’t want that; you wanted all of him, the beast that lurked beneath his tender exterior. “i can take it, break me, please,” you panted. his hands reached down, your hands wrapping around his, urging him to go deeper, to move faster.

his eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, and what he saw there was all he needed. he let go of the last of his restraint, his hips moving with more force. your pussy stretched around his thick cock, the feeling of fullness making you dizzy. each thrust was met with a wet slap, the sound echoing in the quiet room, mingling with your cries of pleasure. your walls clenched around him, trying to hold onto him, to keep him deep inside you, to never let him go. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that had you bucking your hips, trying to get closer, trying to get more. he was so sweet, his hair tickling your skin as he wrapped his tongue around your nipple, his tongue probing at the flesh. you wanted to feel insecure, but he was making it impossible.

his hand found yours again, his fingers interlocking with yours, as if to remind you that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. the connection was strong, and it only grew stronger with each passing moment. your orgasm was approaching like a freight train, and you could feel it building in the pit of your stomach. your breath grew shallower, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in the feeling of him inside you. his free hand was in your hair, tugging gently, his teeth grazing your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

his thrusts grew deeper, and the pressure on your g-spot was intense. you felt yourself tightening around him, your pussy gripping him like a vice. “cum for me, baby, cum on my cock,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a seductive rumble that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the words alone were enough to send you over the edge, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. your body tensed, your pussy pulsing around him as you screamed out his name, your eyes squeezed shut, tears of joy streaming down your face.

his own orgasm was building, the feel of you tightening around him was too much. with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, groaning as he released his seed, filling you up without a single thought of protection. he watched as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your climax, his heart racing with the intensity of his own feelings. the sight of you, coming apart in his arms, was more than he could handle. his own eyes filled with tears, his love for you so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but cry with you.

he held you tightly as he pulled out, his cock still hard and glistening with your juices. his hand moved to stroke your hair, his eyes never leaving your face. “i love you,” he whispered, the words coming out in a choked sob. the weight of his emotions was palpable, and you felt your own heart swell in response. you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his cum leaking out of you, a testament to the intimacy you had just shared. “i love you too,” you whispered back, your frail fingers wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks.

there was no shame in it anymore. there were no cameras waiting to capture the moment, no witnesses. there was nobody but the two of you. there were no mocking looks or harsh words to battle your self-esteem, nothing to fuel your insecurities. he was as raw as you were, but he was stronger than you. he didn’t cry because of the sex, he cried because of the love. you weren't too sure about a happy ending just yet, but a beginning was more than you could’ve asked for.

✧*.

a/n: to the doll that requested, hope u know ur absolutely perfect no matter what. never let anybody’s subjective opinion or the standards perpetuated dictate how beautiful you are and how beautiful you should feel. this goes to anybody reading, because i know there’s too many of you scrolling through tiktok and thinking, “why cant i look like that?” or “why do i have hip dips, why doesn’t my ass looks like that, why does she look like that and i don’t?” i promise all of your insecurities are illusions purposely projected by the media to make you give into what they’re feeding you. no, starving yourself won’t make you beautiful. neither will overused lips fillers or heavy botox or that botched bbl. there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, there never was and there never will be. cherish every part of yourself, you never know who may be looking at you and wishing they had what you do.

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guardarecheluna · 1 year ago

Text

I'd do anything for smiles, i'd move heaven and earth.

Authors note: Hiiii! Uhh, so this turned-out way more angsty and emotional than I planned, which is probably what happened when I just go with the flow and write instead of trying to plan it all out beforehand. But I really enjoyed writing this piece, so let me know your thoughts! Love, Elle x.

Word count: ca 4k words

Warnings: Angst, fluff, talk about babies and pregnancy

Summary: Harry wants a family with Y/N, actually, he wants nothing else. Y/N isn’t so sure about the whole baby thing, until everything changes.

Y/N never wanted to be a mother. She was mother enough to her siblings growing up, and she knew; if there was ever a want to have a child, it would be an already existing child who needed a home.

Harry on the other hand always knew that it was his calling to be a father. He had this constant baby fever, always agreeing to babysit his friend’s children and tending to their little ones. No wonder he had an abundance of godsons and goddaughters at the ripe age of 26.

He also knew he wanted children with Y/N, almost the minute he caught her eyes at that birthdayparty, but 3 months into their relationship, they still hadn’t talked about if there was a possibility of children in the future.

Y/N had grown up being told that having children was the ultimate goal in life. She’d been told stories about how rewarding it was, how much love you got to give and receive, and how all the newborn sleepless nights was going to be worth it. She always smiled at the comments, knowing she’d never feel that way.

Her mother always told her that she had been the same when she was younger, but then when she had met Y/N and her siblings father, she just wanted to give him a baby. Almost like her biology and nature was playing a bigger part than her conscious. Her mother had told her that Y/N was going to know when she’d met the right man, that she would know that she loved him, because she would want to give him a child that was half her and half him, but Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever heard anything more ridiculous in her life.

Don’t get Y/N wrong, she loved children, and they loved her just as much, it was just that she couldn’t picture her life surrounded by another tiny human being. Taking care of them constantly, them always needing her in one way or another, hovering ang clinging on to her. Y/N was out of breath just listening to people talk about children.

3 months into Harry and Y/N’s relationship

Harry had agreed to babysit Scout; Sarah and Mitch’s baby. Just for a few hours while they got some things done that would be at least 10 times more difficult with a needy baby around. Scout isn’t a baby really, at 13 months old, but Harry would never admit that fact to anyone.

Harry was on the carpet of his own apartment, laying on his stomach, looking at Scout who was currently stacking cubes to make a tall tower. Harry had absolute hearts in his eyes for this baby. Looking at the small blonde boy, Harry released a sigh he had been holding when Scouts tower of blocks finally held up and was steady enough not to fall over. “Look at you, Scout! Your tower is so tall!” Harry exclaimed, impressed at his godson’s work, and expecting Scout to push the tower over, and starting his project once again. Instead, Scout looked up with his bright blue eyes and walked over to Harry, who was now sitting up. Scout threw himself right in Harry’s arms, giggling and babbling something to him with his teethy grin.

Harry felt like he could cry. Melt into a little puddle on the living room floor, just a wet spot in the carpet for Y/N to mop up when she got home. “You’re too good to me” Harry said once again when Scout regained his balance and started over with his blocks again.

Harry placed his large hand over the baby’s back, strong him gently to let him know that he was still behind him. Scout had blonde little locks ending just at the nape of his neck, and a stylish little outfit on, he looked almost like a little old man. Harry curiously continued watching Scout playing, reacting to his towers and stacking, now and then running his hand trough Scout’s blond locks. Yeah, he could get used to this.

Y/N’s footsteps were heavy, coming through up the stairs to Harry’s house, and in over the doorstep. Her shoulder was aching with her massive tote bag carrying around everything she could possibly need for a workday – she just wanted to cuddle up at home, with Harry.

She heard giggles from the lounge as she took of her shoes. Simultaneously smiling and being slightly annoyed at the unwelcome guest, she was just so tired.

She walked through the hall until she arrived at the lounge. Two messy looking boys looked up at her in surprise, seeming very invested In building some kind of tower with building blocks.

“Hi my darlings!” Y/N put a smile on. She really couldn’t stay annoyed with Scout in the room, he just had this incredible vibe to him, it was impossible not to get in a good mood around him. “What a lovely surprise to come home to.” Y/N continues, settling down next to Scout and Harry. Although, just by looking at Harry, Y/N knew he was in baby-mode. A constant smile on his pink lips, eyes barely leaving Scout for a second.

Scout was happy to see Y/N, leaving his blocks for a minute to get some cuddles in from one of his favourites. Harry also leaned in for a kiss, smile still on his lips, putting his arms around them both and nuzzling baby Scout’s forehead with his own. Yeah, he was going to get used to this.

Later that evening, full of homemade pasta and wine, Harry and Y/N cuddled up on their sofa, Scout having left with his parents hours ago. Harry had waved him off and was throwing kisses to him as Mitch walked out with Scout in his arms.

“What’s with you, today?” Y/N whispered softly to Harry, lips ghosting over his jaw, leaving wet kisses along the stubble. Harry’s cheeks instantly flushed, feeling a word vomit consisting of love, babies and the future coming up his throat. He thought about babies way too often, and of course, he was still young and had many years to plan his family, however, when he looked at Scout and Y/N cuddling earlier in the afternoon, he knew he had to let it spill out how much he wanted a baby at some point.

“I just…” Harry trailed off, looking at the ceiling to try and calm his beating heart, knowing that with Y/N’s soft kisses on his jaw, it was going to be impossible. He continued, “Seeing you and Scout cuddling and playing today was just…you’re it for me. And I can’t fucking wait until we have one of our own. A little mix of you and me, I can’t imagine a more perfect thing even If I tried.” Y/N felt her blood run cold at his comment. He had taken for granted that they were going to have children one day, and she was going to have to break his heart with what she was going to say next. She felt cruel, also aware of how many women on this earth who would kill to have Harry say that to them.

She had been quiet for far too long now, frozen up in Harry’s tight embrace. She realized that it was no use for her to say anything else but the truth.

“Harry, we haven’t even spoken about having children. I…I’m not sure I want that for our future.” She spoke gently, knowing that this may break his heart into microscopic pieces, his feelings for her turning to absolute dust and flying off to an unknown destination.

It was Harry’s turn to freeze up. He could feel tears burn in his eyes, jaw aching at those simple words. She didn’t want to have a baby. She didn’t want to have a baby with him. Harry truly couldn’t imagine a worse scenario for himself. He had found the love of his life, but she didn’t want children. Harry knew better at this point in his life than to just keep it to himself. Bottle up his needs and feelings and bury then deep, deep underground. But right know, in this situation, he didn’t know what to do besides breathing deep and calming his becoming tears. “Dove, I, what do you mean you don’t want it? Not right now or not ever? C-cause I didn’t mean right now, I just-“. He babbled out, eyes still focused on the ceiling, knowing that if he looked at her, he’d break into pieces.

He awaited her answer with a sweat forming on his brow, hands clammy as they tried to hold on to her as well as he could, but metaphorically, he could feel her slip away from him already. “Not right now. And probably not at all.”

The tears he had held onto fell.

1 year later

Harry really hadn’t expected to become so emotional about their conversation from a year ago, he blamed it on his emotions running high from when he babysat Scout earlier that day.

Harry didn’t let Y/N see his tears that night, everything was still new between them, and after that night, they had both agreed that they would talk about it another day.

But the thing is, the thought of Y/N never wanting a baby with Harry, absolutely killed him. It was like ever since that day, he had a grey little cloud above his head, having her words wash over him like the high tide at any point of the day.

Harry knew he couldn’t hate her if she didn’t want children. He knew that some people just didn’t want children, and he would have to accept it, even though the thought of not having his own family was aching in his bones.

He knew that if this continued on, he would have to choose between staying with her, the love of his life, but probably never having children, and leaving her, knowing that he could have a family of his own, but never with the only person that he wanted that with. At this point, all the thoughts were swirling in his head, causing a migraine. It always turned out this way, and none of the options he considered was making him happy. He loved her so much. So much that he could barely breathe when he looked at her. He hadn’t been in love before he met her, and he was in love the moment she met eyes with him. She was everything, but this couldn’t continue any longer.

Harry felt all his emotions from that day resurface when he entered his bedroom, Y/N laying cuddled up on his bed, freshly showered, with her nose in one of his books he had recommended to her. As he stepped inside, his breathing was shaky, and from that point on, he couldn’t hold it together for even a minute longer.

Y/N looked up at him, confused with the sudden rush of emotions in the room. She opened up the duvet for him, and he crashed into her body like a limp doll, grabbing on to her for his life, knowing that it may very well be the last time that he got to do so.

Y/N had been on her own journey in the past year. A year of self-discovery, of pain, pleasure, and allowing things to come as they are without trying to put to much thought into it.

After their conversation about family and children that night, just three months into their relationship, Y/N was still sour about the way she grew up, caring for her siblings, taking on way to much responsibility at such a young age. But she wasn’t angry anymore. She had realized that it didn’t do her any good to think about her past and let it swallow her whole. She wanted to focus on the future, her work, her relationship with Harry and their future together.

She was so in love with him, like the moon loved the stars, like the river liked the rocks they were flowing with. He was everything.

The memory of their conversation from a year ago hurt her heart. She knew it had broke him. But they were also just three months into their relationship, she was angry at her family and fresh into being alone and self-sufficient as an adult. She couldn’t think about having kids, she wasn’t in the headspace.

But as their relationship evolved and bloomed, she couldn’t help but to think about their future together, maybe as a family. The glimpses of him with his godchildren, the way he was acting around them made her body run hot.

How much she denied she wanted children, she couldn’t anymore. It would be a lie. The thought she almost didn’t dare to think, their own baby was creeping into her head more and more since that conversation. Since she had truly fell in love with him. And there was no longer any reason do hide it or deny it.

Harry’s body was shaking under the duvet, gripping onto Y/N’s body for some type of comfort. Y/N was confused, but gentle, letting him trap her with his tall body, and running soothing circles over this bare back and shoulders. “Shhh, darling, what’s on that beautiful mind of yours, huh?” She said gently against his unruly hair, sticking out everywhere.

And he told her. He told her everything on his mind and placed all of his card on the table. He had given up any hope of being truly happy, weather it was with or without her. It was her time to cry, her breathing harsh and guilty. She didn’t know he was still thinking about that, and so constantly as well. She had been thinking about casually talking about it with him, revisit the conversation and drop some hints about her current state of mind. She had no idea he felt like this, like the only options were to be with her and have no children, or to leave her to be with another that could never make him truly happy, but he would have a family with.

Y/N let him spill out every single one of his thoughts, gently carding through his hair, trying to calm him down, and unconsciously letting him know that is was all going to be alright.

When he finished, he felt like jelly, his body weak and dehydrated. “Alright my love.” She told him as she switched their positions in the bed, their bodies flush against each other, facing each other with only so much as a few centimetres between their wet faces.

“Let me tell you about this past year…” She started, as he listened to her voice telling him everything he had wanted to hear all those months ago. His breathing was slowly evening out, but tears still fell steady as she went on. He placed pecks on her puffy lips now and then, listening, awarding her with more kisses when he realised; it really wasn’t as bad as he had thought, she did want a family. As long as it was with him, and as long as it was never going to be as it was with her own family.

2 years later

She was going to tell him tonight, and she wanted to make It special.

Y/N’s now fiancé was at the studio, and while on facetime with her best friend, Maya, she told her about something she had been keeping a secret for the better part of the 2 hour call. Y/N was pregnant. And she did want to tell Harry first, of course, but her head was spinning with thoughts and she wanted to make the announcement at least a little special, so she needed advice. Maya was screaming bloody murder over the call. She was jumping up and down, tearing up and couldn’t seem to get the information into her head. Her best friend was going to have a baby.

Y/N had barely even been able to work through the information herself, but she also had tears streaming down her face.

Her and Harry had another babytalk when they had gotten engaged, just 4 months ago. It had been hours into the night, the moon shining bright onto their bed and lighting up the room. They wanted it. They wanted it now. Names had been thrown around, ideas for a nursery, and Harry was absolutely dying to get started making a baby.

Y/N had a Nexplanon implant for the entirety of their relationship, and a part of her wanted to call the doctor immediately to have it taken out.

She did have it taken out, just weeks after their conversation. Harry was away on business for three weeks, the perfect opportunity as the little incision would leave a few bruises and scars on her arm. She decided on not telling him that she got it removed, and if she was able to become pregnant quick enough, it would be an ultimate surprise. She knew where he stood anyways, it wasn’t like he didn’t want to put a baby in her as soon as he could, he wanted nothing else.

“I honestly don’t even know how to tell him. “I want to make it at least a little special.” Y/N sighed to Maya over facetime, head empty of any and every idea she had ever had. “I don’t think it has to be that special, it’s still an intimate moment, and Harry will surely love it either way. I think with him it’s just best If you catch him when he’s in that disgustingly loving mood you always have him in.” Maya said and rolled her eyes. Y/N smiled at her comment. She did get him in that mood often. He was almost always loving up on her when he had the opportunity. “Yeah,” Y/N said, lost in thought about how to tell him. “I think you’re right, maybe I’ll get him something cute though, I don’t know. I just feel like I could absolutely burst, I just want to tell him right when he gets home.” Y/N continued, gauging Mayas reaction over the phone. Maya offered her a big smile. “I think you should just tell him tonight.”

Harry had burst through the door a little past 6 that night. Voice strained after a whole day of writing and vocals on his new record. He looked visibly tired, but he lit up as soon as Y/N met him in the hallway of now their house. Without a single word falling from his lips he reached his arms out for her, like a child needy for a good cuddle. And of course, she welcomed his embrace with her heart in her throat, like always when he was around her.

“Hi, Dove.” He murmured into her neck, as he breathed in her scent, making a home for himself in the crook of her neck. “Hi” She shyly got out as he embraced her, placing a few gentle kisses on her lips. “I have a surprise for you.” Y/N said cryptically as she looked him in his eyes, wanting to play It off as serious. “You do, yeah? My lovely fiancé at home, giving me a surprise, huh? You know I’d rather have you on a silver plate than-“ he said in his tired tone, eyes gleaming and playful as he straight up admitted his horniness right as he stepped through the door.

“Jesus Christ, you have the mouth of a sailor, I swear.” Y/N chuckled and pushed herself away from his grip, but not without giving him another kiss. “I’m pretty sure you’ll want this surprise.” She continued as she walked away from him, sitting down on their sofa.

Y/N had cozied up the room before Harry got home, fluffed the pillows, lit some candles and got out something to drink for them as well as placing the wrapped up pregnancy test on the coffee table.

Harry eventually arrived into the lounge, raising his eyebrow at the wrapped up gift laying on the table. “S’that for me?” He said playfully. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She felt guilty not telling him about her implant but was sure that the guilt would be washed away with pure joy and excitement at any given moment. Harry sat down right next to her, looking at her face carefully and studying it for any kind of clue of what could be hiding inside the wrapper. “You know you don’t ever have to get me anything, Dove, but it is a nice surprise.” He said, reaching for the gift on the table.

She could barely get any more words out of her mouth, they got stuck in her throat: Her eyes glazed over, knowing what was coming, which had Harry immediately dropping the gift, tending to her instead. “Hey, hey I’m sorry, was it something I said? Are you okay my love?” He carefully said as he took her in his arms, holding her and kissing her head gently.

At this point it was getting ridiculous, so she just laughed it off. She knew he would understand her behaviour when he got to see what was inside of that gift.

“Just open your gift already.” She lightly chuckled and made eyes at the gift, still sitting on the floor from where he dropped it.

And for a moment, something flashed in his eyes. Like he could sense what was coming, he eyed her for a moment, holding the gift in his hands. Harry said nothing more, but just ripped up the paper and was met with not one, but three very positive pregnancy tests, all yelling the word PREGNANT at him. “You’re going to be a dad, H.” Y/N almost whispered, and the tears had started falling for real this time. It was like the best confirmation in herfself that she could ever feel. THIS was what she wanted, the relief flowing from her, making her finally breathe again. Harry studied the tests quietly, Y/N could see his hand shaking from where he sat next to her. “This is a prank, you can’t- are you serious my love?” He looked at her for answers, and she could just kiss him with how he looked right now, lips puffy from biting on them, eyes wide and watery. “I’m fully serious, I got the implant taken out when you were away.” Y/N laughed and stroked his cheek for a moment. She couldn’t believe this was real, that he was real, and that he was hers.

And then he cried, he couldn’t get the words out, fumbling and falling right into her arms, making her fall back on the sofa. “You’re pregnant, Dove, we’re having a baby, I-“. Y/N could feel his wet tears on the side of her neck as he took in the moment, trying to regulate his tears and his breathing, but to no avail. He placed a large palm on Y/N’s lower belly, not yet showing any signs that she was expecting. He laughed, cried, and consistently stroked over her stomach as he kissed her with all the passion he had in his body. No matter how tired he was, he would never be too tired for a moment like this, it was like his whole body was on fire, never to be put out.

“I can’t even believe-, I love you so much, I love you, I love you and our baby so much, you’re everything, absolutely everything.”

And in that moment, Harry and Y/N realised that even if their ways had parted all those years ago, without having this baby, without having each other, everything would be pointless. This is what they were meant to be doing, this is where they were meant to be - in this exact moment.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles one shot #ficmas

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mlqueen89 · 3 months ago

Text

Five | Favour

I don't know what you've been told But time is running out, no need to take it slow I'm stepping to you toe-to-toe I should be scared, honey, maybe soBut I ain't worried 'bout it right now (right now)

I Ain’t Worried About by OneRepublic

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

warnings/triggers: smut in overall series, gambling (let me know if i missed any!)

word count: 10,315

summary: ellie tries to be human. jake comes along for the ride. rooster is rooster. and teak is an asshole.

A/N: capping off our chapter four, that accidentally became chapter 5 cause i can't write anything short to save my liiiife.

dropped a little hinty poo in the chapter banner if you're curious who teak was modeled after. hang onto your butts, cause there's something special (it's smut) in the next chapter.

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ glossary of terms ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥

Ellie was staring at the data, but she wasn’t really seeing it. The test results were all there—every fluctuation, every spike, every point of measurement leading right up to Hangman damn near breaking her system before it had a chance to breathe. She should’ve been combing through it, analyzing the weak points, figuring out what needed reinforcement, programming tweaks, writing out her adjustment report for the ground crew. She even entertained the idea of calling the update Anti-Cocky SOB Pilot Protocol, hidden somewhere in the code, a small little piece of nothing when someone who didn’t know code looked at it. Although programming an entire failsafe trigger around Hangman felt a little like overkill, a carefully masked line of code might satisfy the tiny petty part of her. Hell, she’d sure as hell get something out of it when it flashed across her screen the next time Hangman tried (and failed) to break her tech.

Instead, her thoughts kept circling back to Rooster’s words, to the way he’d defended Hangman like Ellie was the unreasonable one in this situation. Like she was the one who didn’t get it. Ellie respected Rooster in many ways, but she couldn’t get on board with being on the wrong side of this.

Simply put, Hangman hadn’t followed the parameters of testing. Hangman hadn’t respected her enough to run her test the way she needed it to be run. The train of thought made her pulse tick up, the heat of anger building inside her chest as she felt the muscles in her jaw tighten.

A quiet knock on the frame of her open door pulled her out of it, shifted the boiling pot off the burner and settled the simmering water that threatened to spill over the edge. When she looked up, Mav was leaning against the doorjamb, casually unbothered, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite his nonchalant appearance, Ellie clocked the familiar knowing expression set into his features. How long he had been standing there, watching her stew in her own thoughts, she couldn’t have been sure.

“Got a minute?” he asked, but he was already stepping into her office, his gait careful and slow as he approached.

Ellie nodded, closing out one of the screens, her hand trembling slightly as her heart, still coming down from the thought of the testing and the resulting conversation with Rooster, pounded heavily in her chest, before swiveling in her chair to face him. “If this is about today’s test results, I was just about to—”

Maverick pulled up a chair across from her, dragging it closer with a skip-stutter of the legs on tiled floor. “We can go over them. But that’s not why I’m here.”

She frowned slightly, waiting. In all the years she’d known Mav—Uncle Mav—she could count on one hand the few times she’d ever seen him serious, and it reminded her that his face could impart it.

“You seemed… distracted earlier,” Mav’s approach was as careful as it had been when he’d stepped into her office, tilting his head as he studied her, testing the waters. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not sure when you got so good at this,” Ellie waved her hand as if she were gathering up the essence of his presence, searching for the right word, “—relaxed dad vibe, Mav, it’s very—”

“Oklahoma.”

Ellie bit her lip, hard. Mav’s face remained stoic.

Fucking Oklahoma.

She should’ve seen that one coming.

Ellie exhaled sharply, dropping her head back against the chair.

The Oklahoma rule had started when she was a kid—probably around nine or ten if memory served—during one of the rare times Mav had been around for more than a few days at a time. They’d been in the backyard, her brand-new white sneakers covered in dirt, arms crossed tight as she glared up at him, stubborn and fuming after getting caught trying to sneak out past bedtime. She’d made it past her dad and her uncle Wolfman sharing a beer in the kitchen and her mom talking on the phone with the long cord stretched around the corner into the living room. She’d avoided the creaking stair halfway down the porch and was approaching her swing-set, bathed in the orange twilight when he’d stepped out from the shadowed spot on the porch. Maverick.

“Dad said I could swing.” Ellie announced, sure of herself when her Uncle Mav had asked if she should be in bed, glancing down at his watch.

“You really gonna lie to me, kid?” Mav had crouched down to her level, his eyes boring into hers, serious in a way she had never seen him before at that age. Her uncle Mav was the one who let her eat cookies after she’d brushed her teeth, her uncle Mav brought her cool rocks from the places he’d visited, her uncle Mav was not serious.

“No,” she’d said, but she’d been looking down at her toes, studying the largest fleck of half-dried dark brown mud across the top of her once pristinely white shoes. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, even as the silence stretched, and she almost wondered if he’d given up on the interrogation.

“That so?”

She had stood her ground, chin lifted when she realized that he was indeed as serious as a heart attack as her mom would say, until Mav narrowed his eyes and—without warning—broke the silence. “Oklahoma.”

It had meant nothing to her at the time. A random word, plucked from the sky. So random that she had waited, waited for his next words before she spoke again. “What?”

“Oklahoma,” he had repeated evenly, confident and sure as if it were the most obvious thing a person would say in the current situation. “Means you have to tell the truth. No lying, no dodging. Just straight answers.”

She had hesitated, sensing a trap, the kind adults set for kids who misbehaved. Santa will know you’re not actually sleeping. If you don’t eat carrots, you’ll go blind. Oklahoma means you have to tell the truth—or else.

“That’s not a real rule.”

“It is now. Wanna ask your old man?”

Ellie had yelped, reaching for Mav’s hand as he stood, pulling him back with a shake of her head, her tiny ponytail whipping around her face.

And just like that, it had stuck. Over the years, it became their unspoken pact. It had become so engrained in her, that even though it had been years since she’d seen Mav, the word evoked the same feelings, an almost Pavlovian response to spill her guts.

Now, sitting across from Mav in her office, Ellie pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Come on, kid,” Mav urged. “Out with it. Rules are rules.”

Ellie resisted the urge to throw it back at him, wasn’t he the one who didn’t like rules? Instead, Ellie exhaled slowly, reaching up to massage her temples for a beat before she finally relented. Going toe-to-stubborn-toe with Mav was a losing game.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “I’m fine.”

Maverick didn’t look convinced. “Ellie.” His voice was softer now, more measured. “I saw the way you and Hangman went at it today. And then Rooster. Whatever’s going on there—don’t let it get in the way. Your work could make a lot of difference.”

Ellie bristled, could feel the prickle of reproach travel up her spine, seeping into her words before she could filer them into a measured tone. “It’s not getting in the way.”

Maverick gave her a look. “You sure about that?”

She sat up straighter, squared her shoulders. “I can do this, Mav.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I believe you. But I’ve seen what happens when you let personal feelings cloud your judgment. And I’ve been on the other side of it too.” His gaze flickered, just for a second, to the framed photo over her shoulder on the shelf, the one with Mav, and her dad, Wolfman, Iceman and Slider, and... Goose.

Goose, Mav’s old RIO; Goose, Rooster’s dad.

Ellie’s throat tightened and she felt the fight leave her.

Mav didn’t wait for her to say anything, his eyes back on her now as he continued. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove something. To yourself. To everyone else. And I know what it’s like to let that get in the way of what actually matters.”

Ellie swallowed. “This isn’t about proving myself...”

Maverick met her gaze, his brow raised. He didn’t need to say it this time.

“Okay, maybe I want to, just a little,” she admitted. It felt like the information was being prised from her strong grip. She just didn’t know who she wanted to prove herself to yet, or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit it. “But that’s not why I don’t tr—” Ellie paused, sorting her words out for a moment before she started again. “He didn’t follow the testing parameters, Mav. He didn’t just push the system—he pushed me. And we don’t have time to play games with some hotshot pilot who wants to see if he can break my work before it’s even ready for that kind of stress test.”

Maverick sat up, his hands sliding across his pant legs, taking a moment to study Ellie, watching her for a beat and then two before he spoke, leaning back in the chair. “Are you okay to continue? There’s no shame in bringing this back to the drawing board.”

Ellie met his gaze, steady and unwavering. If anyone but Mav had suggested it, she’d be all over them. “I’ve spent years working to get here. I lived on bases in Germany and Turkey and South Korea, working on this. I am not letting it all fall apart because I can’t get a handle on a few pilots. It’s ready. I’m ready.”

Maverick nodded once, seemingly satisfied. Then he smirked, wry and wide, giving his head a slight shake. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

“Great. That’ll definitely get me a lot of bonus points with Admiral Simpson,” Ellie huffed a laugh. “Should I be worried?”

Mav’s shrug was easy, immediate, “probably.” His expression softened, turning into something more genuine. “Come on. Let’s go over those results. Figure out what we need to tweak to stick it to our hotshot pilots. I can chat with Hondo to make it happen if we need more resources.”

Ellie nodded; the smile that twisted her lips not easy to hide as she turned back to her screen. “I was actually thinking of programming a failsafe called ACSOBPP.”

“ACSOBPP?”

“Anti-Cocky S.O.B. Pilot Protocol.” Ellie smirked and from the corner of her eye, she could see Mav relax, the serious exterior fading away until a glimmer of Uncle Mav peeked through.

“I think Anti-Seresin Protocol might be more... succinct?”

Her responding snort had her shaking her head, and as she pulled up the data, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Mav saw through her quicker than she felt comfortable admitting.

Rooster: You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?

A picture of a glass of gin sitting on the hard top of a bar came through next.

Ellie: Maybe.

Rooster: That’s not a real answer.

Ellie: It’s the only one you’re getting.

Rooster: So that’s a yes.

Ellie huffed, tossing her phone onto the bed behind her as she turned back toward her open closet, wrapped in a towel, hair still slightly damp from the shower, chewing her thumbnail.

She’d firmly decided not to go to the Hard Deck tonight by the time she’d stepped in through the front door, her mind already drifting to the book on her nightstand she’d yet to pick up again since the flight back to San Fran. After the day she’d had, full of a dull, pulsing mix of nerves and rage, there was nothing she’d rather do at this moment than pack it in for the night, turn off her social meter and relax until she drifted into the oblivion of sleep.

She’d followed through the motions: climbing the stairs to the main living area, every step heavy; a quick wave to Yan who sang off-key to the music thumping through her earbuds as she spread peanut butter on a slice of toast in the kitchen and didn’t notice Ellie passing; trudging to her room down the hall, pausing only for a moment to straighten a crooked frame on the wall; stripping off her clothes and stepping into the shower in her ensuite and letting the water wash away the calcified stress.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing under the water but when she opened her eyes, the small room was fogged with steam, and her phone was buzzing with a text message on the window ledge near the shower. Rooster.

Now, she stood in front of her closet, mind slightly changed about going out, the book on her nightstand, forgotten again. It took her a minute to pull on a pair of jeans, a white tank top and the black leather jacket she’d had for as long as she could remember.

When she slipped out of her room, her hair mostly dried and a small bit of makeup dusting her features, Yan was no longer in the kitchen and the house was dim, save for the light over the stove.

“I know you’re not sneaking out the door in your ‘fuck me’ jacket.” Nic muttered lazily, her hair a nest as she blinked at the time on the stove display.

“No.” Ellie had responded too quickly, she knew because Nic’s eyes were on her, taking in the rest of her outfit, from ankle boot to the crown of her high ponytail.

Instinctively, Ellie tugged the black leather jacket tighter around her body, her arms folded across her chest. “It’s just a jacket, Nic.” She wanted to ignore the fact she hadn’t worn her vintage aviator jacket since, well—

Nic was shaking her head, mostly to herself, but Ellie knew which thoughts were running through her friend’s head, because she knew Nic’s as well as her own. This was the jacket that had made it through the college days of clubbing in downtown San Fran; this jacket had ended up on the floor of more than one bedroom; this jacket had been with them on their “girl’s trip” to Rome. This jacket was fun Ellie’s armour. This jacket had providence: the fuck me jacket. On the inside tag where the washing instructions had long faded away, Nic had once written an ‘F’ and an ‘M’.

“Does this, per chance, have anything to do with the fact you were sporting a serious love bite the day after my party?”

Ellie let out a dry laugh, incredulous, though she felt the heat creeping up the back of her neck. “Oh, definitely not.”

Bradley had said she needed to appear more ‘human’, and less Ned Leeds/Girl in the Chair to Spiderman; less Woman in the High Castle; more down to their level, accessible. She had to prove she wasn’t sent by SkyNet to systematically wipe them out. This was her white flag; the Christmas truce of 1914 (Ellie’s version). “I’m trying to be more... likeable?”

“Ok. Well, in that case...” Nic snorted as she grabbed the first glass from the cabinet she was reaching into and slotted it under the faucet. She filled it near to the top and drained half with noisy gulps before she continued. It was clear she didn’t believe Ellie as much as Ellie would have liked her to. “Tell Bradley it’s going to be on him if you get your spiky, impenetrable, stone heart broken by some hotshot pilot.”

This time, it was Ellie’s turn to snort. “Trust me, there’s a negative zero chance of that.”

And yet, Jake’s stupid, not not handsome face was there, in the back of her mind already fully formed, sipping on her coffee, the spark behind his green eyes alive. Quickly, the image shifted: his tall frame folded into the briefing chair this afternoon, toothpick pinched between his perfect teeth, his eyes dancing like he really got it when she spoke about her life’s work. Her stomach twisted, something all at once unpleasant and yet...not.

Then, the reminder of her tech screaming loud, red, flashing warnings as he pushed past the parameters she’d set filled her head. His voice in her ears, smooth, calm as he pushed that same work, she thought he’d admired moments before to the breaking point.

Ellie felt the prickle of irritation rising. Simultaneously, she felt the overwhelming urge to punch him waring with the impulse to reach out and touch the curve of his jaw, allow her fingers to ghost the place on his cheek where the dimples appeared when he smirked, satisfy the itch she felt to—nope. No. She tamped the stray thoughts down, swatted away the misty image of his perfect features until no trace remained. Shooed them back to the box in her mind with the flimsy tape and the warning stickers.

“Dude.” Nic’s eyebrow couldn’t possibly have arched higher on her forehead as she stared at Ellie, “be so fucking for real right now. Your eyes are glazing over.”

“What’s going on?” Yan’s bedroom door clicked shut softly as she pulled an earbud out and slid up to the kitchen island where Nic was standing.

“Oh, you know, Ell was just sneaking out the door like a hormonal teen in the ‘fuck me’, jacket.” Nic waved at Yan, offering the jar of Nutella she’d pulled out somewhere between Ellie’s eye-glazed thoughts and now. Nic reached into the drawer to her left to give Yan a clean spoon, her eyes never leaving Ellie.

“Woah—new development in the—?” Yan took the spoon and leaned on the counter, mirroring Nic’s posture, clinking her spoon with Nic’s expectantly outstretched one before she dug into the jar of hazelnut paste. Yan waggled her eyebrows at Ellie while Nic watched, casting her gaze between her two roommates, quietly gathering puzzle pieces. Ellie’s shoulders sagged.

“Wait, what thing? What new development?” Nic was already asking qualifying questions. She suddenly didn’t seem sleepy anymore.

Ellie rolled her eyes, readjusting the strap of her purse as she made a show of checking for her house key and her phone. “It’s a work thing, okay? No new developments on that thing we talked about that one time, ever.”

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Yan was doing her terrible impression of an English accent. The one that had her almost kicked out of a bar on New Year’s Eve a few years ago when she drunkenly tormented a poor man who had tried to ask her out.

“Is she seriously keeping secrets from me?” Nic turned to Yan, nodding her head in Ellie’s direction. “Are you keeping secrets from me, your oldest friend? Is it about a dick? Is it about multiple dicks?” Nic’s tone was rising, along with her excitement when she turned back to Ellie.

“I hate you both.” Ellie flipped them off (lovingly) before she turned away, but not too soon to miss the wink Nic threw her way.

“Love you, too, my emotionally messy, disconnected, babe.”

“Practice safe sex! Don’t do anything my grandma wouldn’t do!” Yan’s voice floated to her, down the stairs, as Ellie headed for the door.

Even before she stepped out fully and closed the door behind her with a little too much force, Nic and Yan burst into feverish, hushed conversation.

She imagined Nic was already texting Bradley while Yan filled her in.

Yeah, runnin’ down a dream that never would come to me, workin’ on a mystery, goin’ wherever it leads, runnin’ down a dream

By the time Ellie made it to the Hard Deck and stepped inside, it was buzzing.

The warmth of bodies, the scent of salt and beer, the sound of Tom Petty crooning over the speakers—it was all overwhelmingly familiar, in the way a tv show picked out the nostalgia of a vague moment and made it matter, expounded. Ellie knew she didn’t belong here and yet... it all pulled her in.

Ellie had spent enough of her childhood in bars like this to know the rhythm of them—the sticky floors, the low hum of conversation layered beneath bursts of laughter, the clink of bottles meeting wood. Her dad used to bring her along sometimes, settling her at a corner table with a soda, a colouring book and a cup with pieces of broken crayons while he swapped stories with old squadron buddies. She’d watch them, the way they filled a room with their presence, loud and unshakable, carrying the weight of the sky on their shoulders like it was nothing. Back then, she hadn’t realized how much of that weight had been left unspoken. Now, years later, standing in the Hard Deck, just on the fringe, she wondered if she had inherited more of it than she ever meant to.

When she pulled into the parking lot, the neon lights of the sign above the door, a neon jet flickering to resemble an evasive maneuver, the light that spilled out from the windows and door coaxed her inside. Just one drink. Just one chat. Just one hour. When she pulled it out, the phone lodged in the cup holder read back 8:47 PM. One hour.

It didn’t take long for her presence to be noticed.

“Rigsy!”

She barely had time to react before Rooster was there, his face lighting up in genuine surprise. He had a beer in one hand as he jabbed a finger into her shoulder, as if he wanted to make sure she was really there.

“You actually showed up,” his grin was easy, tinged by something Ellie could place as a look of victory. “Thought you were going to bail.”

Ellie laughed, shifting her weight onto one foot, her eyes scanning the crowd to look for other faces she might recognize. If she was going to be here, she wanted to make sure she was seen.

“Trust me, I almost did.” She left out the part where “almost did” meant that she had turned around two sets of traffic lights before she got here but had taken a wrong turn and had ended up back on the right path, somehow.

Rooster chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t.” He nodded toward the bar at the center of the room before they started walking, “First round’s on me.”

Before she could answer, someone across the bar called his name, and Rooster turned toward them, already halfway through an apology. “Give me one minute, okay? Stay put.”

Ellie sighed, tugging at her jacket as she watched Rooster disappear into the crowd, before she approached the bar. She’d just reached a space in the line of chairs already occupied by some ground crew and a pilot or two when she heard it, the unmistakable drawl.

“Well, well, well.”

Ellie hated how she could feel her pulse uptick slightly, her suddenly racing heart telling her who it would be before she turned to look.

“As I live and breathe...”

Ellie turned just as Jake slipped in beside her, leaning against the bar, an insufferable half-smile playing at his lips. Yet, it churned her stomach in a way she didn’t want to give too much attention.

There was a clink of a glass on the bar and the scrape of coaster as he slid a drink toward her—whiskey, neat.

“For almost breaking your fancy tech,” he said, smirking as she frowned down into the glass of amber. “You’re welcome.”

Ellie’s laugh was dry, humourless, as she pushed the glass back toward him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“C’mon, Rigby.” He nudged it right back in her direction. “You still sour about earlier?”

She leveled him with a look, but she could tell he was undeterred, watching her like he had her all figured out. “Not sure sour’s the right word...”

The ache in her jaw that persisted from this afternoon after she’d gone over the test flight data with Mav told her there was a stronger word to describe how she felt. She just hadn’t settled on it yet.

Jake took a slow sip rolling it over his tongue like he had all the time in the world. “Listen, I get it—you like control.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the light catch in it before leveling her with a knowing smirk. “But you can’t build a game-changer and expect us not to take it for a joyride.”

Ellie scoffed. “You mean break it?”

His grin only deepened, his eyes dancing as he took his time, tasted his whiskey and set it back down. “Test it.”

She let out a measured breath, trying not to let the annoyance coil too tightly inside her. “There were parameters, you just—” Ellie started, standing up straight now, her body turned toward him.

Despite telling herself she shouldn’t, she could feel the heat rising inside of her, almost beyond her control.

Instead, she stopped herself, taking one look at the peace offering on the bar before she grabbed it and took a swig. This was what he wanted, to get a rise out of her. If she was going to stay at the Hard Deck for longer than half a minute, she might as well have a bit of help.

“It wasn’t ready for a stress test.”

Jake’s lips twisted into something triumphant. “See, that right there—” he paused, pointing at her around the grip of the whiskey in his hand, “that’s why you need me.”

Ellie braced against the burn of the whiskey as she drained the last of the drink, her glass coming back down on the bar top. She was waving Penny over for another before she cleared her throat around the burn, “I don’t need you, Seresin.”

He chuckled, leaning against the bar now, offering a nod and smile to Penny as she slid another whiskey across to Ellie. “Sure you don’t. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you get off to sleep at night, Ace.”

Ellie shot him a sharp look, her green eyes locking onto his.

The air between them crackled—charged and unrelenting.

Somewhere across the bar, she felt Rooster’s gaze on them, like he was waiting to see who would break first.

But it wasn’t Rooster that put Ellie on edge.

The way Jake was watching her, like he saw her. Like he knew exactly what she was trying to do—what she was trying not to feel.

Ellie’s grip on her glass tightened. She would need to make some tactical adjustments, fortify her walls.

Jake tilted his head, considering her for a beat before he spoke again. “Listen, we can keep this up all night, or we can put this to bed.”

Ellie arched a brow as she studied Hangman. He lounged against the bar, his smirk just toeing the line between charming and insufferable.

“And by this you mean...?” She motioned between them, as if she dared him to put a name to it.

“A game.”

“Let me get this straight,” she said after a moment, fingers drumming lightly against the glass. “You think beating you at—” Ellie glanced around, spotting a few guys throwing darts and a group of others hanging around lazily at a pool table nearby.

“—pool.” Hangman supplied.

“You think my beating you at pool is going to settle things between us?”

Hangman grinned, like the answer was obvious.

“Seein’ as how you were practically fuming earlier about me pushing your tech. Thought I’d give you a shot at knocking me down a peg—publicly, no less. Even the score a little.” He leaned in, his voice smooth, assured. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid you can’t beat me.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not in my nature,” Hangman said easily, flashing that signature smug smile of his. “But hey, if you win, I’ll admit you’ve got me beat—at least in one thing.”

The laugh that escaped her lips was sharp, incredulous. Yet, she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. “Not sure your ego is ready for me to wipe the floor with you.”

Jake let out an easy, unbothered laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a bold assumption, darlin’. I like it.”

Ellie paused for a moment, studying the way his lips curved, the dimples ghosting his cheeks. “What’s in it for you? You know, if by some miracle you manage to win?”

Jake took a deep, even breath, looking away as he took a steady sip before he turned back to her, almost too quickly, as if he’d already decided the stakes before Ellie had asked. Still, he played it off with a shrug, nonchalant. “Let’s say... you owe me a favour, just for the fun of it.”

Ellie arched a brow, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the edge of the bar. “A favour?” she repeated, slowly, not bothering to hide her skepticism. Somehow, she didn’t trust that owing Jake Seresin a favour was just for the fun of it. “That's frighteningly vague.”

Jake’s grin widened. Ellie imagined if Jake ever scratched out in his career as the top aviator in the Navy, he’d easily slip into the role of Salesman of the Year in perpetuity at some dusty used car lot somewhere between here and Nevada. “That’s the beauty of it. Leaves room for... creativity.”

She knew how creative he was.

Exhaling in a noisy huff, Ellie was already shaking her head. “Right. And I’m just supposed to trust that whatever favour you come up with isn’t some underhanded ploy to stroke your own ego?”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to trust me then, won’t you?” Jake clicked his tongue, before he pressed a hand over his heart, “on my word as a good Southern gentleman. Or do you think so little of me?” His face was all mocked offense; if he had pearls, Ellie was sure he’d be clutching at them for effect.

Ellie snorted. “Oh, I think exactly the right amount of you.”

For a moment in time, standing in front of him, she forgot how angry he’d made her; how hot her face was as she stormed across the tarmac, a shark sensing blood in the water. Single-minded, ready to rip into him. It was so easy with him, she’d noticed, to slip into the fun and light banter that made her lose focus.

His chuckle was low, amused. “Well, since you’re worried, I’ll make it fair. If you win, I owe you a favour.”

Ellie exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back as she turned her whiskey glass between her fingers. Rooster’s words from earlier echoed in her mind— he’s testing you just as much as he’s testing the system. You want to keep him in check? Show him you can handle him. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, brushing him off with an eye roll, but now, with Jake standing in front of her, all cocky confidence and insufferable smirk, she felt the weight of the challenge settle in her chest.

She could handle him.

Wiping that smirk off his face would be worth it. Proving she could do this, that she could go toe-to-toe with Hangman and come out on top—that was worth it. And now, with the added twist of a wager—a favor to be cashed in—there was something even more intriguing about the game. Jake played to win, but so did she.

If she was going to be here, if she was going to put up with his nonsense, she might as well get something out of it.

She let the silence stretch just long enough to make him wonder before setting her drink down decisively and pushed off the bar, already making her way to the table.

“Alright, Hangman,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s see if you’re as good with a pool cue as you are at running your mouth.”

When he reached the table, already moving to grab a cue stick, Jake’s grin was wolfish. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

Ellie was shrugging off her leather jacket and tossing it to a nearby stool, when Rooster returned with the beer he’d promised. She watched as he carefully took in the situation, looking for context clues for only a moment before he spoke up. “What are you doing?”

“I need more—” Ellie started, rolling her shoulders, and shaking her arms in wide, exaggerated movements, as if it were obvious, “—mobility.”

Rooster rolled his eyes, “I see that. I mean, what are you doing.” Ellie followed his gaze to Jake, who was lining up the triangle with laser focus.

When she caught herself staring for a beat too long, she turned back, a shrug on her shoulders, taking the bottle. “You told me to show him I could handle him, right?” Ellie motioned toward the table again as if her plan was clear.

Rooster narrowed his eyes, taking a slow pull of his drink as if he were mulling over his words. “Right. And how does playing pool with Hangman accomplish that?”

Ellie smirked over the rim of her bottle. “It’s a start, right?”

He let out a short huff, glancing toward the table where Jake was still lining up the racked balls with the kind of focus usually reserved for landing a jet on a pitching carrier deck. When Rooster turned back to Ellie, suspicion creeping into his expression, his voice was cautious, “what are the stakes?”

Ellie swirled the beer in her hand, feigning nonchalance. “Just a little wager. Not even that big of a deal.”

Rooster’s gaze sharpened. “Ellie,” he warned, stretching her name out like he already knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “What did you bet?”

She shook her head, waving a hand dismissively, the picture of a kind of casual confidence she wasn’t sure she had a firm grip on. “When I win, he owes me a favour.”

Rooster nodded slowly, lips pursing. He looked like a mom listening to a kid’s genius plan to build a backyard rollercoaster—nothing but duct tape and optimism. Encouraging. Skeptical. “And if he wins?”

Ellie hesitated and when Rooster’s brows shot up, comically high, she knew she’d paused just a fraction too long.

“Ellie—”

“—I owe him a favour,” she admitted, finally meeting his gaze. Though, she suspected Rooster already guessed as much by the way he was looking at her right now, unblinking and gaze set at the 100-yard mode.

Rooster blinked after a stretch, then groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You really let Hangman name the stakes?”

“Relax, Rooster,” she said, bumping his arm lightly. “It’s just a game. Don’t be such a mother hen. I’m good at this.”

He looked at her like she had just announced she was about to arm-wrestle a shark; climb Everest without oxygen; walk barefoot across a floor littered with broken glass and rusty nails. “Yeah, except you know he’s gonna milk this for all it’s worth if he wins.”

Ellie exhaled—she’d already considered the possibility, contemplated that if she underestimated him and lost, the favour she owed Jake wouldn’t be one she’d like. Still, she shrugged it off. “Good thing I don’t plan on losing.”

Rooster muttered something under his breath about people who made reckless bets with smug pilots, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he clinked his beer bottle against hers. “Then you better wipe the floor with him.”

Ellie grinned. “That’s the idea.”

Rooster stepped up to the table as Jake removed the triangle, and disappeared from her line of vision, “if you’re breaking first, you’re going to want to—”

The sound of a new song, loud and tune distinctive started overhead and both she and Rooster paused to look up.

On the day I was born, the nurses all gathered 'round, and they gazed in wide wonder, at the joy they had found—

Jake stood at the jukebox, grinning like he’d just won a jackpot. A tap on the machine—his lucky charm—then he turned, locking onto Ellie as he strolled back.

The head nurse spoke up, Said, “Leave this one alone,” She could tell right away, That I was bad to the bone

“Really?” she scoffed, stepping up to grab a cue from the rack on the wall behind him before she rolled her eyes.

“Just setting the tone,” He took the Budweiser another pilot Ellie recognized as Lt. Javy “Coyote” Machado handed him and slowly took a sip, watching her steadily.

“Yeah? And what tone is that?”

Jake grinned, leaning a little closer like he was about to let her in on a secret. “That’s for you to decide.” He twisted his wrist, producing the cue ball and holding it out to her.

Rooster snorted across the table. “Jesus, Seresin.”

Coyote crossed his arms, smirking. “I got twenty bucks that says Hangman wins this one.”

“Just twenty?” Phoenix stepped up beside Rooster as Ellie plucked the ball from Jake’s hand. “Doesn’t sound like you have much faith in Bagman. I’ll put fifty on my new best friend embarrassing him.” Jake sucked his teeth as he picked up a cue of his own. “Trace, you wound me.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Anyone else want to bet against me?” At a nearby high-top, Fanboy snorted, shaking his head, and Bob half-raised his hand.

“You all really think she can take me?”

Phoenix was already handing the bill to Coyote. Bob shifted on his stool, pulling out his wallet. “I think she’s about to embarrass you, and I, for one, am here for it.”

Jake turned back to Ellie, leaning against his cue stick. “Alright then, Rigby. Let’s give the people what they want.”

“No time like the present.”

“Ladies first,” his smirk remained firmly in place.

Ellie’s eyebrow quirked momentarily before she took a steadying breath and placed the cue ball on the table. She took her time chalking her cue as she studied, already quietly calculating angles, but her mind drifted for a moment.

Wolfman had never let her win at anything, especially not pool. Neither had Slider or her dad.

Not once.

Between the three of them, she’d managed a grand total of two victories her entire life—one when Wolfman had been three drinks deep and too cocky for his own good, another when Slider had been too distracted trash-talking Mav to notice her creeping ahead.

It used to piss her off, losing over and over, until she started playing against other people and realized—oh. They’d been making her better. Pushing her. Every loss sharpening her instincts, every taunt stoking the fire in her belly.

She planted her feet and lined up the shot. A clean stroke sent the cue ball crashing into the rack. The triangle shattered, and a striped ball dropped into the side pocket. She shifted position and sank another.

Her next shot nudged a solid away from an easy pocket.

Offense and defense go hand in hand, little Neven, Slider used to say, knocking her perfectly lined-up shots out of play. Focus too much on scoring, and you’ll hand your opponent the game.

Jake let out a low whistle. But she saw it—the way his eyes flickered across the table, already calculating. A moment later, he lined up and sank two shots before missing his third.

He straightened, offering her a slow, knowing wink. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Ellie exhaled sharply through her nose. Not getting in my head, Seresin. She met his gaze, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Hangman.”

The second she bent at the waist, lining up her shot, she felt it—the shift in him.

Jake was moving around the table in a lazy orbit, slow and sure. She could feel his eyes on her and the heat creeping up her body. He’d clearly taken it as a personal challenge to wedge himself inside of her, any way he could.

It wasn’t innocent. She knew it. Just like she knew what he was doing every time he called her Ace, when he’d sipped her coffee without asking, locking eyes like he was daring her to stop him. He was playing a game only they knew, moving to a beat only they could feel.

As he approached, the brush of his gaze passed over her back where she could feel the gap between the hem of her tank, down the lines of her legs where her jeans hugged against her curves. She felt his gaze lingering somewhere decidedly publicly inappropriate before sliding back up. It was almost clinical, in that maddening way Ellie associated with him—assessing, measuring, like he was waiting to see if she’d react, waiting to see how far he could push her.

Yet knowing what he was doing didn’t stop her from having to fight the feelings he kicked up; a growing heat coiling low in her abdomen, the fuzzy feeling that licked at the edges of her reasoning thoughts of him filling her mind like confetti snowing down from the rafters of her subconscious.

Welcome to Masterclass, meet Jake Seresin. Today, he will be teaching you how to make your knees weak and think about his mouth way too much.

She took a breath, pushing the distraction aside, sweeping away the shredded paper littering her thoughts, focusing on the shot. Just her, the cue ball, and—

“Christ, Hangman, stop hovering. It’s cheating.”

Rooster’s voice cut through her barely collected concentration, scattering her thoughts like a strong wind against a pile of raked leaves.

Ellie let out a sharp exhale, straightening just as an argument kicked off to her left.

“Cheating? You think I’m using some kinda—what—telepathic distraction?” Jake scoffed, feigning offense as he leaned against his cue stick like he was above it all. “C’mon Rooster... have a bit of faith in your girl, here.”

Rooster wasn’t buying it. “You’re trying to distract her on purpose. It’s a cheap move.”

“Oh, please,” Jake snorted, rolling his eyes. “She’s not some rookie who’s gonna crack just ‘cause I happen to exist near the table.”

“Nah. You happen to exist near her, not just the table,” Fanboy cut in, joining the fray, shaking his head animatedly. He was stepping in close to Jake now, invading his personal space, before stepping back and pointedly repeating his close step, “See, there’s a huge difference. You're hovering like a damn vulture while she’s trying to get a read on the shot.”

Jake sighed as he leaned against his cue stick, but Ellie could hear the smile behind his voice, the look of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar passing over his face. “That’s slander.”

“It’s not slander if it’s accurate,” Rooster shot back.

“There’s no rule against existing around the table.” Coyote cut in, waving his hands from where he sat, “completely unbiased opinion, here.”

“Oh sure,” Phoenix scoffed, “it’s got nothing to do with the fact you bet a clean $150 on your buddy here?”

Ellie dragged a hand down her face, shaking her head, while the peanut gallery continued their debate over whether Hangman’s presence alone constituted cheating.

“You’re all giving me a headache,” she muttered, grabbing her beer, taking a sip and advantage of the well-timed break from her thoughts before shifting her focus back to the table.

Jake, undeterred, leaned in just a fraction, voice dropping low enough for only her to hear. “You know, Rigby,” he murmured, eyes still gleaming with mischief, “if I am a distraction... you could always return the favour.”

Over his words, Ellie could hear the argument ignited anew with Fanboy shouting “See!” and Coyote reaffirming, phone gripped in his hand, that there was not a rule on proximity between players.

Ellie didn’t look at him, instead she reset her stance, her gaze refocused on the shot, but she couldn’t fight the shiver that rolled through her. His chuckle told her he’d seen.

In response, she adjusted her shot quickly, pulled back—this time purposefully ramming her elbow into his ribs with enough force to make him grunt. She felt the slight recoil of his body, the subtle flinch, and the way his breath hitched for just a second before he recovered.

A smile threatened to crack her lips, but she bit it back, following through with her shot and sinking the striped ball into the far corner pocket without hesitation.

When she stood again, he was rubbing his ribs, a quiet laugh escaping him as he straightened. “Well,” he drawled. “Didn’t know we were playing dirty.”

Ellie smirked, slow and victorious. “Guess you’re learning something new about me, then. Let’s call it a tactical adjustment.”

The game had taken longer than Ellie had anticipated. She’d missed more shots than she cared to think about, but to her surprise, Jake wasn’t faring much better.

The bets had stopped rolling in closer to the middle of the game, but occasionally, someone dared to add to the pot.

Dutifully, Coyote announced the amount had hit $532. Since, there hadn’t been much chatter, just groans and murmurs when shots were taken and cheers when the person the gathered crowd bet to win sunk balls.

Early, Ellie had pulled ahead. Jake hadn’t let her keep the lead for long though. His smart aleck remarks had died down when he settled into the competitive nature between them, his brow furrowed as he lined up shots, so he resembled more of the man in the photo on his personnel file.

Jake’s eyes tracked her. He brushed against her arm—light, deliberate. The contact crackled.

Ellie swallowed. “You’re in my way, Hangman.”

He smirked, unbothered.

Now, Ellie stared down the eight ball as she lapped the table for a second time. The music played in the background as she took a slow breath, forcing herself to block out the noise of the bar.

One shot.

That’s all it would take.

One shot and she’d have him beat.

Halfway through her second pass she stopped, settling on the angle square in front of Jake. Rolling the chalk in her palm before she tipped it over the cue, Ellie let the practiced motion bring her an iota of calm before she moved into position.

In that moment, her eyes beginning to focus on the ball and the far pocket she wanted to send it into, Ellie felt the air shift, just slightly.

The scrape of a chair in the relatively quietened bar was easy to hear. Heavy boots on the floorboards. Then—

“Careful now, Rigby. Hate to see you choke when the stakes are high.”

Ellie’s grip tightened on the cue stick. She didn’t have to look up to recognize the voice—the easy drawl carried the kind of casual arrogance that made her skin crawl, barely veiled behind a Virginian twang.

She stood just in time to see Teak shoulder his way to the front of the crowd gathered around the table. He wasn’t looking at her, not directly—his attention drifting lazily around the bar, like he had only just now taken notice of the game, like he wasn’t deliberately disrupting her focus when she just about had the game in the bag.

“Course,” he added, finally flicking his gaze to Jake, who had taken up a relaxed posture near Coyote, arms folded across his chest. “I guess Hangman here don’t mind putting on a show. Get that pot nice and fat.”

Ellie could feel the stiffness in her shoulders. Teak’s words were light, almost offhanded, as if it were a second thought, but she could hear what was really being said beneath them. The implication that Jake was letting her think she could win just to make a spectacle.

Jake, to his credit, barely reacted. He let out a small, amused hum and tilted his head toward Teak. At his side, Coyote was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“Appreciate the concern, Hughes,” Jake said easily, his response coming quickly. “But I gotta tell you—if I was throwing the game, I’d have done a better job losing.”

A few people in the crowd chuckled. Teak’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but he let out a short breath and pushed off from the high-top table he’d been leaning against.

“Ignore him,” Rooster shifted, his eyes sliding over to Teak for only a moment. If she were a boxer Ellie imagined that he might have pulled out a small stool, a dampened rag and patted her forehead, handing her a water bottle. “He’s looking to stir shit up.”

She was trying, but she could feel Teak’s smirk, the weight of his stare, waiting for the moment she’d fold, flinch. Teak was every high school bully with something to prove, someone to put down.

Ellie nodded at Rooster before turning back toward the table. Carefully, she set her stance. Blocked Teak out. Focused.

One shot.

She aimed. The eight ball caught the light overhead, and Ellie pulled her cue back. As the stick slid forward in her hand, smooth and sure, the cue ball cracked against the eight ball aimed for the corner pocket—

—and just nudged the edge of the pocket before rolling away.

A miss, by just a breadth.

The noise that followed was immediate. A mix of groans and murmurs, a few low whistles, some hisses. Someone muttered “damn” under their breath.

Ellie straightened; her eyes locked on the corner pocket where the ball had veered just off course by a fraction. She didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

She inhaled, slow and steady, forcing the heat of her frustration down before it could rise to the surface. Losing was part of the game. She’d learned to take it in stride, to tip her head and say good game like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t sink its teeth in and linger. But no matter how many times she’d lost before, she couldn’t remember the last time it felt like this.

Still, she wouldn’t give Teak the pleasure of showing it.

Jake stepped forward, lined up his shot, and sank it without hesitation—no mistake.

A clean win.

He straightened, rolling his shoulders loose, and this time, when his gaze found hers, there was only the quiet satisfaction of a victory earned.

Ellie met his eyes, then gave him a sharp nod, a tight smile. “Good game, Seresin.”

She turned and passed her cue to Rooster, then reached for the last sip of her beer. Only then did she let her fingers tighten slightly around the bottle, let herself take a steadying breath. She didn’t need to look at Teak. Didn’t need to see whatever smug amusement he was probably wearing like a second skin. Ellie would let him think what he wanted, btu she wouldn’t give him the reaction he was hoping for.

As Ellie set the empty bottle down, Phoenix clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Hell of a game, Rigby,” she said, giving her a small shake.

Bob nodded in agreement, offering her an encouraging smile, his large-framed glasses magnifying the sincerity in his eyes. “You had him sweating there for a second.”

Fanboy, always one to keep things light, grinned. “Pretty sure half the bar was rooting for you. Next time, make him work for it a little more, yeah?”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head before she turned back to Jake. “Guess that means I owe you a drink.”

Jake smirked, stepping aside to let her pass. “Careful now. I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Ellie didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, just rolled her eyes and started toward the bar, weaving through the lingering crowd. It wasn’t until she reached the counter, resting her elbows on the polished wood, that she allowed herself to breathe.

She could feel it still—Teak’s words, the weight of his presence, the way they clung like a shadow even now.

But he wouldn’t see that. Not if she could help it.

Some of the crowd had drifted toward the pool tables, others toward the booths lining the far side of the room now that the game was over. Ellie waved at the bartender, signaling for two drinks before she leaned against the bar, her elbows braced against the polished wood.

She could still feel the annoyance blistering just under the surface. Not at losing—she could handle that—but at missing. At letting Teak get under her skin with only a few words, both said and unsaid.

She felt the brush of leather on her arm as someone moved to stand beside her and before she turned her head, she knew.

“Not going to lie. Thought you’d take off after that embarrassing miss,” Teak drawled, his tone smug. “Figured you’d be licking your wounds somewhere quiet.”

Ellie didn’t move to give him more space, accepting a glass of whiskey as Penny slid two across to her. “Still here. Guess that means I'm tougher than you thought.”

Some small, smug part of her wanted to tell Teak that he wasn’t as intimidating as he thought he was. She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the first pilot to try to make her feel like she was an outsider, a woman in a man’s world. She wanted so badly to tell him that if he was trying to push her out, he’d have to try harder. Instead, she kept quiet, took a sip of her whiskey and bit the inside of her cheeks.

Teak huffed a laugh, leaning in, his elbow sliding across the bar to nudge hers, jostling the glass in her grip slightly. “Or maybe just too stubborn to take the hint.”

Ellie turned to face him before she could stop herself, leveling him with a stare. “That supposed to mean something?”

“Only that some people don’t know when they’re outmatched.” He gave her a smirk, his eyes flicking down, lingering just a beat too long and then finding their way back to lock onto hers. “But hey, I like that in a woman.”

Ellie’s fingers tightened around her glass, but she kept her expression neutral.

If ick were a person, she was certain it would be Teak.

“Good for you,” she said flatly, shaking her head as if trying to ask if his criteria for a woman he would be interested in was supposed to mean something to her.

Teak ignored the disinterest in her voice and pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, sliding it across the bar toward her.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Here, for the drink. Consider it a consolation prize.”

Ellie barely spared it a glance before pushing it back toward him stiffly. “I don’t take handouts. Thanks.”

Teak chuckled, slow and self-satisfied, before flicking the bill right back at her, the bill fluttered momentarily, landing on her forearm. “Keep it, sweetheart. I insist. Buy yourself something pretty. Might make losing a little easier to swallow.”

She had already turned to face Teak, her whole body shifting as her skin prickled, heart beat loud in her ears, before she knew what she was doing. She had just opened her mouth to speak when a firm clap landed on Teak’s shoulder.

Jake.

Ellie stared Teak down, unblinking as Jake shook Teak slightly, his vibe decidedly buddy-buddy. She hated to admit it, but his presence alone was a relief, a splash of cold water on a hot surface.

“Don’t think you’ll have much luck with Rigby, Hughes,” Jake said, his voice easy, like the set of his shoulders didn’t suggest he was already gearing up to yank Teak away from the bar by the scruff of his leather jacket. Jake’s eyes flicked up to catch Ellie’s and it was enough to shake her out of her murderous trance. “I’ve been tryin’ all week.”

Teak let out a laugh, though it sounded forced. “That right? Guess I’ll leave it to you then.” He slid away from the bar, tossing a glance between Ellie and Jake before he added, almost as an afterthought, a swipe. “Taming of the shrew and all that. Good luck, Seresin.”

She’d already turned back to the bar, sliding the second whiskey over to the spot Teak had vacated, when Jake slipped in beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

“Surprised you know enough about Shakespeare to reference it,” she said, only a murmur, mostly under her breath and into her glass.

Jake let out a low chuckle, tossing a look over his shoulder. “I don’t think he heard that, Ace,” he said, picking up his glass. “You’d better call him back over so he can take his insult like a man.”

Ellie shot him a dry look. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

After a beat of silence, Ellie pushed the crisp hundred-dollar bill toward him. “I think that’s yours,” she said.

Jake glanced at it, then at her, one brow ticking up. A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“You trying to pay me off, Rigby?”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “Not a chance,” she said, then tilted her head, considering. “Besides, I think it’d take more than that to make you forget I owe you a favour now.”

Jake let out a small chuckle, taking the bill and, without hesitation, stuffed it straight into the tip jar behind the bar. The bartender, catching the movement, shot him a surprised look, but Jake just lifted his drink in acknowledgment.

Ellie rolled her eyes, lifting her own glass.

“Show-off,” she muttered, struggling to keep the smirk off her lips.

Jake grinned. “Always.”

After a beat, Jake broke the silence.

“Thought you were supposed to wipe the floor with me?”

“I think both you and I know that I would have.” Ellie raised her eyebrow at him, shaking her head. “If it wasn’t for Teak. You set something up with him earlier?”

Jake only shrugged, a smirk on his lips as he set his glass down. “Still won, you know.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head as she stepped up to the bar. “I almost had you.”

Jake’s grin widened, slow and infuriating. “A win is a win. You know what they say about almosts—horseshoes and hand grenades, Rigby.”

Ellie shook her head, but she couldn’t quite stop the amused huff that slipped out. “You would say that.”

“Damn right, I would.”

She let her eyes flick over to the pool table, where her cue stick rested against the edge before Bob gathered it up and Phoenix set the table for a new game. “You got lucky. Next time, I’m not going to let you distract me.”

Jake lifted a brow, the waves of confidence that rolled off of him almost contagious. “Darlin’, if I distracted you, that sounds like a you problem.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, turning back toward the bar. “I think I’ll need another drink if I’m going to keep listening to all this trash-talk.”

Jake laughed, low and pleased, as she raised a hand to signal Penny—

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jacket and without thinking, fished it out.

She barely glanced down before she saw the contact’s name, glowing stark against the dark screen.

Dad.

The name on the screen was small, unassuming. But it hit her like a gut punch.

The small ease she’d allowed herself—the quiet space she’d let herself slip into, without pressure, without expectancies, the one where she was just Ellie, and this was just a bar with co-workers—collapsed in an instant.

Reality came rushing back in, sharp-edged and relentless, filling the space where her ease had been like cold water flooding from a broken dam.

The music faded. The laughter blurred. The warmth of the Hard Deck, the press of bodies, the lingering, teasing glances from Hangman—all of it dimmed beneath the weight of that name.

Ellie let the call ring out, her eyes still stuck on the screen that blinked up at her from her hand. It rang twice more before the screen went dark. Her fingers curled subtly against the bar, a small anchor, a way to keep herself here instead of wherever that call wanted to pull her.

It wasn’t the first time she’d let it go to voicemail. Wouldn’t be the last.

She exhaled slowly, blinking hard, forcing herself to shake it off. But she had the sense that Jake noticed. His silence was enough to tell her as much.

That for all his cocky, easygoing bravado, he was sharper than most gave him credit for. That he saw something shift in her, saw the tension lock into place where ease had been just moments before.

But he didn’t say a word.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t push.

The silence between them stretched, taut but unspoken. She could still feel the phone in her hand, the phantom weight of it even after she slipped it into her pocket.

She reached for her jacket, shaking it out, slipping it on with steady hands that she wasn’t sure felt as steady as they looked.

“Calling it a night?” Jake’s voice was light, but his gaze wasn’t.

She nodded, already stepping away. “Yeah. See you around, Hangman.”

She didn’t wait for his response.

Didn’t look back.

She just stepped out into the cool night air, inhaled deep, and let the door swing shut behind her—like that could keep the past from following her outside.

a/n: i have protective jake kink. ask me how much i fucking love him sticking it to teak subtly. also, i can't wait to write out the next few chapters. so so much planned.

if you love this series, reblog, comment, like!

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@obsessed-fan-alert @djs8891 @lunatygerqueen @khouse712 @alipap3

@yuckosworld @marvelouslyme96 @luckyladycreator2 @lovelylndskies @cardi-bre91

@whatislovevavy @qutequeersstuff @tgmreader @writergirl28 @literal-tv-menace

@queenslandlover-93 @fantasyfootballchampion @marrianena

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writeforfandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Howlin’ For You

Find my CoD masterlist

Wolf shifter!Soap gets himself lost on a run one night and runs into you. The problem? You think he's a dog and take him home to try and find his people. Naturally, Soap falls head over heels.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, shifter lore, world building, I just kinda throw y’all in the deep end, Price is pack dad.

Word count: 8k

Alright. So maybe the nighttime run had been a bad idea. Maybe. And maybe Soap shouldn’t have shifted on his own. And maaaaaybe he should have paid more attention to where he was going.

But he wasn’t lost! He’d never been lost in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He just… had to find the right road back to base. That was all.

He briefly debated shifting back, but he didn’t fancy having to explain why he was running around naked. Price would kill him for that. And then Ghost would probably kill him, too.

So he huffed and continued trotting along. Fortunately the wound in his shoulder had healed enough not to bother him at this easy pace, though he was careful to monitor it. Despite what medical said, he didn’t like being benched for injuries.

Which was why he’d gone on a night run in the first place. Couldn’t sleep, pack was gone on a mission, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

…Yeah this had definitely been a bad idea.

Soap huffed again, pausing to shake himself off. He’d slid down a hill earlier, which hadn’t hurt him, but it had half-covered him in mud. He did not approve. He would much rather be clean.

And he’d get to clean off just as soon as he got back to base.

Lifting his nose, he sniffed around for any hint he could pick up. But there was nothing special here - hints of deer and rabbits, old car smell, and tiny whiffs of human. But not a particular human, not like he was close to infringing on anyone’s property.

Which meant he was pretty well in the middle of nowhere.

Gaz was never going to let him live this down.

His ears pricked and he turned his head as he heard a car coming down the road, slowly getting louder. He trotted a couple steps off to the side, just in case, and watched as the car rounded the bend, headlights even brighter in the relative dark to his eyes. The car slowed and the hazard lights turned on, flashing orange in the dark, even as the car slowed to a stop on the shoulder.

The driver’s door opened and Soap tensed a little, watching carefully. But it was just a woman - she smelled good. Human, absolutely, but good. His nose twitched in interest.

“Hey pup,” she greeted, getting out of her car and crouching down. “You okay over there? Where are your people?”

Oh. She thought he was a dog. Well, he supposed she could be forgiven for that - it was dark, and he was muddy, and okay yeah he did kind of look like a dog. Gaz liked to tease him about it sometimes.

“I’ve got some goodies here,” she continued, moving slowly, pulling a bag out of her car. The crinkle caused his ears to perk, and he sniffed hopefully. Smelled like jerky. Mmm. “You want some? C’mere, I’ve got plenty.” She tossed a piece about half-way across the road, and he trotted forward to gobble it up.

Really, she was nowhere near a threat, even with him on four legs. He could get himself out of trouble easily enough.

“Good pup,” she crooned, keeping her voice gentle. “You want more?” She held out a piece to him.

Soap paused to consider this. On the one hand, free food. On the other, she was clearly trying to get him close enough to check for a collar, which she wouldn’t find.

Well. If nothing else, she’d get him back to civilization, and from there he could figure out how to get back to base. He’d be fine.

So he stepped forward to take the jerky from her, making sure to be very gentle. He didn’t even flinch as her free hand checked for a collar.

“Looks like you escaped from someone’s yard,” she mused softly, gaze sweeping over him. “Alright. Do you wanna come in the car? Go on a little car ride? I’ll give you more jerky.”

Soap just wagged his tail at her, waiting patiently as she opened the back door before he hopped in. At least she didn’t try to buckle him in, he hated that. She did give him another piece of jerky, as promised, before she slid back into the driver’s seat.

This was going to be interesting.

–

You couldn’t help glancing back at the dog in the backseat. Partially to make sure he was okay, partially because you were nervous, and partially because you were trying to figure out if you’d seen him before. He was a big dog, but very well behaved. Hopefully you’d be able to get the mud off of him to get a better look at him.

The vet was undoubtedly closed by now, so you wouldn’t be able to get him checked for a microchip until morning.

But you couldn’t regret bringing him home. You just didn’t have it in you to leave a dog on the side of the road, especially one so obviously a beloved pet.

You parked in front of your tiny house, getting out and gathering up your things before letting the dog out. You had another piece of jerky in hand, hoping that would entice him to cooperate.

“This way,” you murmured to the dog, watching him hop down out of your car. “C’mon, let’s go inside and get cleaned up. And maybe have some dinner, hmm?”

The dog wagged his tail again and trotted right up to the front door, like he expected to be let in. You laughed softly but let him in, giving him the piece of jerky and then giving him a minute to sniff around.

“Alright, if you’re a pet, you should know better than to potty in the house,” you said, setting your things down. “Shower first, I think. For you.” You eyed the muddy pawprints left on the floor and decided that was now a tomorrow problem. “Okay. C’mon pup.” You tapped the side of your thigh, and the dog followed you back to your bathroom.

He didn’t even protest getting in the shower, thankfully. Just stood under the spray calmly.

The problems started when you got out the shampoo. (Which, honestly, you were amazed you still had any under your sink, you’d bought it for a friend’s dog ages ago.)

Then he boofed softly, circling in the shower and refusing to hold still for more than a second at a time. He kept pulling his paws away from you.

“Stubborn,” you grumbled at the dog, though you couldn’t help but laugh when he kept walking under your hand, inadvertently spreading the shampoo. “Well, I guess this is one way to do it.”

Rinsing off was another exercise in patience - the dog didn’t want to hold still, and ended up shaking muddy soap suds all over the shower, and your clothes. You just sighed deeply.

“Don’t make me regret being nice to you,” you grumbled, finally washing off the last of the soap. “Alright, guess it’s time to dry off.”

The dog bounded out of the shower and bounced around the tiny bathroom. Seriously bounced. Water got everywhere, and you just stared for a moment in absolute dismay.

“Definitely regretting all my life choices.” But you grabbed a towel and started working on drying him off.

It took two towels before you released him into the rest of the house and changed out of your dirty clothes.

The dog, of course, acted like nothing was wrong and sat patiently in the kitchen, tail wagging.

“You’re a menace,” you told the dog, although you started gathering up ingredients anyway. “It’s probably super late for your dinner, but oh well. This is when I normally eat.” You paused. “Shit, you can’t eat some things, right? Hang on.” You whipped out your phone to do a bit of frantic googling.

The dog boofed again, walked two circles around you, and then laid down with the biggest sigh. You looked away from your phone and right into big gorgeous blue puppy dog eyes… and you caved, crouching down to scratch his ears.

“You’re just too cute,” you grumbled. “I can’t be mad at you.” You stroked your hand down the dog’s back. “You’re a handsome boy too, aren’t you?” He really was, mostly red with a white stripe down his nose, white socks, and a little white blotch at his shoulders. You’d lay even odds that he was part husky.

He stayed where he was as you cooked, humming a little to yourself, big eyes following your every move. But at least he wasn’t underfoot.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to the vet, see if you’ve got a microchip,” you told him, leaning back against the counter to let everything cook a bit. “And if not, I’ll put up signs. You can’t have traveled too far.”

The dog just sat up when you plated food, leaving a bowl on the ground for him. You’d checked all the ingredients and just had to hope it wouldn’t upset his stomach.

After throwing the dishes in the sink and taking him out for a potty break, you were more than ready for bed.

Apparently, so was the dog, as he immediately hopped up on your bed.

“Hey!” You frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The dog wagged his tail at you and then circled the end of the bed before laying down, curled into an almost perfect circle.

“Oh my god.” You threw your hands up and turned to get ready for bed. “Fine, but don’t complain if I kick you in the middle of the night.”

But if you were being honest with yourself, when you laid down to sleep, the soft breathing and the warmth of the dog was… soothing. He made you feel less alone, less isolated.

You reminded yourself firmly to not get attached, because he wasn’t staying.

So, of course, he wasn’t microchipped.

“Nope,” the vet tech confirmed the following morning. “No microchip. I don’t recognize him, either.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” you said on a sigh, patting the dog’s head. “Thanks for checking for me.”

“Sure thing!”

“Guess I need to make some posters,” you said, looking down at the dog. He boofed at you, tail wagging.

You had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

–

Soap actually hadn’t meant to stay this long. He really hadn’t. But, well, you were pretty and lonely. It wasn’t hard for him to smell it on you, although it was less pervasive when he stuck near you.

And the team wasn’t supposed to be back for a few more days, so it wasn’t a problem to stay for a little longer.

(He could also admit, if only to himself, that he also needed more time to orient himself. He had no idea where the fuck he had ended up.)

Maybe it was a bad idea, but he was making it work. And he wasn’t stupid, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay long. Tonight, probably, he’d have to leave. Now that he knew where he was and where he needed to go.

Hell, he knew that if Price found out, he’d have Soap’s head. Staying with an uninitiated human was risky, even though he had excellent control of his shifts. And it wasn’t just a risk to himself, but to his whole team.

Bad decisions seemed to be the theme of his forced downtime, though.

He’d just have to leave tonight and sneak back onto base. No big deal. Nobody would know, he wouldn’t get in trouble, everything would be fine.

He did feel a bit bad when he hopped down lightly from your bed. Hopefully you wouldn’t spend too much time looking for him.

Making sure to leave the back door cracked open a few inches to show how he’d gotten out, Soap trotted off back towards base. It would be tight, getting back in before sunrise, but he’d always enjoyed a good challenge.

He didn’t enjoy being wrong.

Which he very much was.

Price stood outside the barracks, arms crossed, staring down at him. Soap gulped, ears flattening to his head, tail tucked.

“Inside,” Price growled, opening the door for him. Soap slunk through the door, obediently following Price down the hall and to his room.

By now, the lot of them had no shame around each other. Hard to be body-shy when they’d all shifted together, many times, and shared sometimes tight sleeping quarters. So Soap just waited until the door was closed to shift back to human.

“Explain.” Price leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest again.

“Didn’t think ye’d be back so soon,” Soap muttered, grabbing a shirt first.

Price didn’t say anything, just stared Soap down, even and outwardly calm as only he could be.

“Just went for a run,” Soap said, shrugging, even as he grabbed more clean clothes to pull on. “No’ a big thing.”

“Must have been a long run.”

“Aye.” Soap swallowed. “Might’ve gone farther than I wanted.”

Price nodded once. “Any trouble?”

Soap shook his head. “Nah. I was careful.”

Finally, Price’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. And your shoulder?”

“Almost healed.” Soap relaxed too, grinning briefly. “I’m careful ‘bout it!”

Price snorted his disbelief of that. “Then you can go running with Ghost. 0600.”

Soap didn’t groan, because that wouldn’t help his case. He tried not to pout, because this was absolutely a punishment, and they both knew it. “Yes, sir.”

Price nodded once and let himself out, the door clicking shut softly after him. Soap flopped face-first onto his bed and groaned into his pillow.

–

You tried hard not to be heartbroken when you found the back door open a little, cold morning air wafting in. The dog was gone.

Hopefully he’d find his way back home on his own.

You spent the next three days keeping your eyes open any time you went anywhere, just in case. If he was still lost, well, at least he knew you. You could always make more dog-friendly food.

And when you didn’t see the dog for a week, you figured that was it. He’d found his way back home. That was okay. It was much better for him to be at home. You wouldn’t wish losing a dog on anyone. At least, not anyone who took such good care of their dog.

You parked in front of your house and slumped forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel. You were tired. Exhausted, really. The kind of exhausted that came from too little sleep and stress and probably a little bit of touch starvation.

You might have stayed right there for longer, trying to find the energy to move, except there was a woof, and then the car shook a little as a dog stood on its hind legs to look in the window. The dog.

“What the hell?” You blinked at the dog and then grabbed your things, opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

The dog wagged happily at you, boofing at you and running up to the front door. When you didn’t move fast enough, he ran back to you, tail still wagging.

“I thought you went home.” You blinked again but moved slowly to the door, opening the door. The dog pushed past you to head inside, trotting right along. He looked good - no mud this time, at least. His coat looked good, and he didn’t look like he’d lost any weight. So he was being taken care of.

Even if he had escaped yet again.

“You’re going to give your people a heart attack,” you scolded gently, locking the door behind you before putting your things down. “How did you even get back here?”

He whined a little, excited, tail still going a mile a minute as he tried to wait patiently for you in the kitchen. You dropped a hand to pat the top of his head, opening your fridge to look inside.

Not that there was much to see. You hadn’t been shopping, and it showed.

“Um.” You frowned, glancing down at the dog. “Hm. Well, I can probably whip up something.”

The dog watched you, sitting just at the edge of your space so he was barely not in the way, eyes bright and ears perked. He was pretty big for a husky, even though the coloring matched. He was probably a mutt of some kind, but you were a bit surprised at his size.

“Here you go, big boy.” You set a bowl down for him again and took your own plate to the tiny table.

Where you sat and stared at it, stomach turning. You needed to eat. You knew you needed to eat.

You just… didn’t want to.

The dog rested his head on your thigh, whining softly. But he was looking up at you, not at your plate.

“It’s okay, pup,” you immediately murmured, one hand dropping to scratch between his ears. “You still hungry? I’ll give you more in a little bit, have to make sure that settles okay first.” You gently rubbed your thumb over his furry forehead and between his eyes in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes closed with a big sigh.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you sat there, curiously blank, stroking this dog. Long enough that your food had gone cold. Finally, you gave up on it and put a bit more into the dog’s bowl before putting the rest away for another day.

Your bedtime routine was barely disturbed by the dog, and he once again hopped up onto your bed. This time, you didn’t protest, just let him get comfortable.

And when his head landed on your thigh, his warmth stretched out next to your legs, you just sighed softly and closed your eyes.

You weren’t sure if you were surprised or not when you woke to an empty bed and chilly morning air.

It took a while to drag yourself through your routine, getting ready for work by rote, brain definitely not engaged yet. Why bother?

But you still stopped, blinking owlishly at the sight of the dog sitting in the middle of the kitchen, tail wagging, jaws parted in a doggy grin.

“Oh. You’re still here.” You felt dumb saying it out loud, admitting to what you’d assumed. That he was gone again. And then you felt even more stupid because he couldn’t reply and didn’t even know what you’d said. “Well. I guess you’ll want breakfast, then.”

You reheated the leftovers from last night for him and set them down before getting your own things ready. You still had a few minutes before you had to leave for work, which you spent pondering what to do with the dog.

You couldn’t leave him locked inside. It wasn’t fair to him, and you didn’t want to come home to a ruined house.

He solved your dilemma by walking to the front door and sitting calmly, looking back at you. You huffed out something close to a laugh.

“Well, I guess you know your way home by now,” you agreed, gathering up your things and opening the front door for him. “Be careful, there are always idiots on the road.”

The dog boofed at you once before trotting off again, tail held high.

You got in your car and went to work.

–

Soap wasn’t an idiot. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew he should put you out of his mind and move on, because you didn’t know and couldn’t know about his nature.

But something about you just… pulled at him. Maybe it was how uncomplicated things were with you. Maybe it was the way you smiled for him. Maybe it was that he could help you feel better.

Maybe it was that his wolf loved the way you smelled and wanted to just bury himself in your blankets.

Whatever it was, Soap ended up sneaking away to you just about every chance he got. Any time the team had downtime, he was off. He couldn’t go during the full moon, because the pack always ran that night together, but he still managed to make time to go visit you.

“If you keep running off, Cap’s gonna follow you one day,” Gaz said as he dropped down next to Soap.

Soap huffed. “He hasn’t yet,” he pointed out, mostly just to be contrary.

“Ghost will, then.”

Soap had no retaliation for that because LT absolutely would. Actually, he was a little surprised that Ghost hadn’t already.

“Might be better to just come clean about wherever it is you run off to,” Gaz continued, slanting a look at the Scot even as he pushed food around his plate.

Soap huffed. Gaz was… not exactly wrong. But it still wasn’t a good idea. Not even close. He needed to figure out how to tell Price without the captain flipping.

“Don’t suppose you’re offering t’ help,” he grumbled, side-eyeing the other sergeant.

Gaz perked up a little, taking a moment to think as he chewed. “Might be,” he mumbled. “For an interesting enough reason.”

This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea.

But Gaz was right - this was going to blow up in his face sooner or later. He could mitigate the damage with a bit of help and a fair bit of luck.

“Swear you won’t tell.” Soap held his gaze, drawing himself up a little straighter.

Gaz looked briefly taken aback before he nodded, slow and serious. “I swear.”

Soap nodded, took a deep breath, and started from the beginning. (Well. Not the beginning, because he still refused to admit that he’d been… temporarily discombobulated.)

After the expected razzing (and only a bit of shoving), Gaz stood to clear his place, Soap scrambling a little after him. A quick look around and the two went back to Gaz’s bunk to talk quietly.

“Right,” Gaz muttered, gaze darting around as he plotted. “I want to meet her.”

Soap puffed up, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“To see what she’s like for myself.” Gaz shoved him a bit with a little huff. “No offense, mate, but you’re a bit smitten.”

Soap opened his mouth to protest… and then shut it again. Because. Well. He couldn’t, in fact, protest that. He swallowed.

“This is not a good idea,” Gaz muttered. “Got a couple days off coming up, yeah?”

“Aye,” Soap agreed slowly.

“We’ll both go.”

Soap blinked at that. “Shifted?”

“Well, you said she takes you in, thinks you’re a dog.” Gaz shrugged. “Probably won’t think any different of me.”

This was truly a terrible idea. Part of Soap rebelled at the idea for no good reason, too - you were his, and he didn’t want to share you. But he’d have to. Especially if he ever wanted more with you than the stolen moments as a wolf.

“Right.” Soap breathed in deep. “We’ll try it.”

–

You almost didn’t even bother to get out of bed. But it was after noon, and you needed to drink something at least. Even if the very thought of food made you nauseous. So you shoved yourself out of bed, hands shaking only a little as you put the kettle on.

A soft woof at the back door nearly made you drop your mug, and you fumbled for a few moments before you saved it and put it on the counter instead.

There was a dog at your door. No, scratch that. The dog was at your door. With a friend.

“What the fuck.” You stared at the two dogs, blinking stupidly. The second dog was just as big, medium gray with the classic black saddle and tail tip. His snout was black too. Almost like a German shepherd, but in gray instead of tan.

Your dog, the red and white one, woofed again, tail wagging. Almost on autopilot, you opened the door for him.

“What the fuck,” you said again, watching as the second dog came in too, just as easy and confident as your dog. “Damn I wish you could talk. Is this your buddy? Do you live together? Have you both escaped the same yard? Or did you steal someone else’s dog?” You rubbed a hand over your eyes.

The kettle started whistling, and you trudged over to it to pour hot water for tea. Your dog kept pace with you, sniffing your legs and then your belly and whining softly at you.

“I dunno what you want,” you said, one hand drifting down to his head, rubbing a soft ear between your fingers. “It’s not dinner time. …I think.” You frowned, squinting at your phone. “No. Too early.”

The other dog kept a little more distance but did sniff your hand and accepted a couple gentle head pats. Tea helped you feel more steady, and your dog hopped up on the couch to curl up next to you.

“You can relax,” you told the other dog quietly, eyelids already drooping again. “You’re safe here. I’ll make dinner for you later.”

The other dog laid down on the floor a couple feet from the two of you, head resting on his paws, eyes open and trained on you. You didn’t take it personally, just huffing a soft laugh and closing your eyes the rest of the way.

“It’s too bad you have to go,” you muttered, hand resting on your dog’s head, which was pillowed on your thigh. “Nice to have some company.”

Your dog sighed, warm even through your clothes, and wiggled even closer to you. An afternoon nap was definitely in order today.

You woke to the sound of grumbling. Not quite a growl but not exactly a happy sound either. You blinked a few times, lifting your head (ow) to try to figure out what was going on.

Your dog was perched over you, head low, grumbling a little at the other dog. Who huffed right back at him, ears flicking forward and back.

“No fighting,” you mumbled, almost reflexively. “Or take it outside or something.”

Both dogs paused, looking at you, and your dog sniffed your face before licking your nose. You blew out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“C’mon, get off. I’ll cook.” You pushed the dog, more or less gently, until he hopped off the couch.

Cooking didn’t make you nauseous, at least. Even if you still had very little interest in eating anything.

The two dogs seemed to have given up on whatever spat woke you up, for which you were grateful. Your house was not at all dog proofed, and you were amazed nothing had been broken yet.

You forced yourself to shower, because you needed to and it was easier to motivate yourself to do something with the dog around. Then you sat up for a little while reading, your dog curled up on your bed with his head resting on your stomach, the other dog laying on the floor near the foot of the bed.

You were honestly surprised when you woke up and they were both still there, two heads popping up as soon as you sat up.

You finally felt better this morning. You’d slept better, too. You actually ate after you cooked and spent a bit of time outside, watching the two tear around the yard chasing each other.

But when your dog stopped next to you just as the sun began to sink, you knew.

“Time to go back home?” you asked him, smoothing down his fur from his playtime. He whined softly, wiggling closer to you and resting his head on your knee to look up at you with those big blue puppy eyes. “Well. You be careful.” You gently smoothed your fingers over the top of his head, smiling a little even though it hurt. “I don’t wanna hear about any dogs getting run over, okay?”

He huffed out through his nose, his eyes closing as he leaned his weight into your legs. You chuckled, patting his head before removing your hand entirely.

“Okay. Go on, before it gets dark.”

He looked up at you, almost pleading, before a soft bark from the other dog got his attention. His ears half-lowered, and he licked your hand once before he backed off and then darted off to join his friend.

The two of them were gone from your sight in moments.

You didn’t move until the cold forced you to go back inside.

–

“You,” Gaz started once they were both back in human skin, “are so fucked.”

Soap slumped. “Donnae remind me,” he groaned.

“So fucked,” Gaz continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Pretty sure your wolf has all but actually claimed her.”

Soap rubbed a hand over his face, because Gaz wasn’t wrong. But you had no idea he was a shifter, and he couldn’t tell you without Price’s permission. Which meant he also couldn’t pursue anything with you until you knew. It was… a situation. Definitely.

“Lucky for you, I have an idea.”

Soap perked up at that, hopeful. “Aye?”

Gaz had already grabbed his phone, typing quickly. “We can’t tell her,” he said, gaze focused on his phone. “But we can give her a nudge in the right direction.”

Soap leaned over, trying to see what Gaz was doing. “Gaz,” he said slowly, confused. “Why are ye texting yer mum?”

“Trust me.” Gaz flashed him a grin that was mostly teeth. “She had to woo Dad. She can help.”

This was probably a terrible idea. But. It was better than anything he’d come up with. So Soap shrugged, letting it happen.

“Now, for the other part of this plan.” Gaz grinned as he dug through Soap’s things, ignoring the Scot’s grumbling, until he found the collar. (Soap had drawn the short stick and had been stuck for an op. The collar had been to make him look less threatening. Fortunately for everyone involved, it had been a short op.)

“No.” Soap crossed his arms over his chest, glowering.

“Just wait,” Gaz soothed, grinning like the looney he clearly was. “I have a plan.”

Soap groaned. This was going to end terribly. For him.

–

There was a box on your front porch. You blinked at it, confused. You hadn’t ordered anything. And yet your name was written on top of the box, with no shipping address or return address.

You brought the box inside. Foolish, maybe, but it was too cold outside to stand out there and go through the box.

A handful of books filled the box most of the way, with a letter on top. Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you opened the letter first.

Keep an open mind while you read the books. There’s some very good information here. Things will make sense sooner or later.

It was unsigned, of course. You huffed. If this was a prank, it was pretty elaborate.

So you pulled out the books, examining them one at a time. The first one looked hand-written, with no information on the title page. The second book was labeled, simply, Etiquette. The other two books were no better, giving you very little information.

It took a good five pages for you to figure out the handwritten book was about werewolves. Or wolf-shifters? The terminology became confusing very quickly.

It felt like a prank. You were sure someone was going to pop up and prank you, maybe record your reaction. Who, you didn’t know, but still. The feeling persisted.

Because this? This was crazy. This was an entire secret society, a subset of the population that lived an entire secret life. It was impossible.

And yet you kept reading.

But you forced yourself to stop and walk away after you finished that book, having barely moved. You needed to eat. You needed to drink something. You needed a damn reality check.

Even so… Even so, you came back to the books after a meal and a walk. The little pile taunted you until you swore and swiped up the next book.

Which was all on shifter-people etiquette. Apparently. How they interacted with each other, how they interacted with humans.

Even if this did turn out to be a prank of some kind, it was an incredibly elaborate one.

One you couldn’t get out of your head.

It took a few days to read through all the books in between work, but you did. And then you went back and took a few notes, because some things were just… too interesting. Too unique.

You did keep the books in your bedroom. Not that you had a lot of company (or any), but it felt… wrong. To leave them out on display. So you hid them away.

You couldn’t explain why, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Now if only you could figure out why.

It was another three weeks until the dog came back, once again arriving at your house at almost the same time you did. He looked the same as always, tail wagging, jaws parted in a canine grin.

Except he was wearing a collar.

“Oh so your person does have a collar for you,” you grumbled, opening the front door for him. “Look at that, it’s practically a miracle.”

He boofed softly at you before running around to sniff everything, clearly trying to get caught up on whatever he’d missed. Which was… not much. A spill of take-out one night, a few naps on the couch, and late dinners after work.

Typical for you.

“Alright, c’mere pup.” You tapped your thigh, pulling your phone out. “Let me call your person to come get you.”

The dog drooped a little but obediently walked back to you, sitting patiently while you dialed the number you found on his tag. “Soap,” you mumbled, examining the tag. “Who the hell names their dog Soap?”

“Yes?” The man who answered the phone sounded brusque, borderline rude. You blinked, caught off guard.

“Um, hi. I have your dog? He’s been wandering over to my place recently and, um, I figured you might want to come get him?” Your eyes slammed shut. You hadn’t meant to make that a question. Really. Your people skills were seriously awful.

There was silence, then a sigh. “Soap?” he asked, dry with a hint of humor.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the dog, absently petting the top of his head.

“Right. I’ll be there soon. What’s the address?”

You hesitated for a moment before rattling it off. Well. He probably wasn’t secretly an axe murderer with such a sweet dog.

There was a soft grunt as he confirmed the address. “It’ll be about an hour,” he said. And hung up.

“Well,” you muttered, looking down at your phone, “rude.”

Soap whined at you softly, pawing at you gently until you resumed petting him.

“Guess we’ve got an hour, buddy.” You stretched and stepped around Soap into the kitchen. “I need food or I’m gonna be hangry when your person gets here, and nobody wants that.” You slanted a look at him. “I assume you want food?”

Soap’s tail started wagging, even though he sat patiently in his normal spot out of the way.

“Yeah, okay.” You huffed a little laugh and started pulling out ingredients. “You were gone for a while, buddy. I was worried about you.” You didn’t expect any kind of reaction from the dog.

Which is why you startled when he pressed his nose to your thigh with another soft whine. You looked down to find those big blue eyes focused on you, ears half-down, tail wagging slowly.

“Aw, I’m not mad at you,” you murmured, leaning over a bit to scratch under his chin. “You’re okay, cutie.”

His tail thumped faster against the ground, and you had to spend a minute petting him before you could wash your hands and continue with dinner prep.

Somehow, the knock on your door still caught you off-guard, enough that your fork clattered back to your dish. You looked at Soap, who looked back at you, ears up. Then you nodded once and stood, heading to the door.

You opened the door and blinked up at the man on the other side. Muttonchops, floppy hat, stern-set mouth. Big. Broad.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“You called about Soap,” he said, voice brusque, though his tone gentled a little. He also didn’t make a move towards you, which helped a bit.

“I did.” You pulled the door open further, turning to call Soap. Only to find him already right behind you. “Here he is.”

“You’re in trouble,” he said, gaze focused on Soap. “Come on.”

But Soap took two steps forward until he could press against your legs, and stopped there. Leaning a good bit of his weight onto you.

The man blinked once, one eyebrow raising as he looked between you and the dog slowly, something almost calculating in his gaze.

“What are you doing?” you asked Soap, exasperated. “This is your person, you’re supposed to go home with him. Silly pup.”

“He’s stubborn when he gets an idea in his head.” The man planted his hands on his hips, looking down at Soap. “How long has he been runnin’ up here?”

“Oh, a few months.” Something about his tone made you nervous, made you shift your weight. But with Soap still leaning against you, the move ended up almost sending you falling over, and only a quick grab of the doorframe saved you any dignity at all.

The man sighed, shaking his head briefly. “Stubborn,” he muttered again. “Should get Simon out here.”

Curiosity burned at you, but you kept your mouth shut. Instead you nudged Soap, trying to get him to leave your side.

“Go on,” you encouraged him. “Don’t you wanna go home?”

The man’s eyes sharpened suddenly. “What did you say?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Don’t you wanna go home?” You repeated, only a little squeaky.

Soap pressed harder into your legs, shoving his head under your free hand. And then the man sighed noisily.

“Right,” he grunted. “Can I come in?”

“Why?” You stiffened, hand gripping the doorframe tighter.

“We need to have a conversation and I’d rather not do it out the door.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. This was weird. This was definitely weird. You looked down at Soap, who was still pressed up against you, and back to the man. A little lightbulb went off finally.

“Is this about those books?”

“Books?” He frowned and then shook his head. “We should discuss this inside.”

A little reluctantly, you let him inside. Soap stayed right next to you, going so far as to hop up onto the couch next to you.

“Right,” the man muttered, rubbing a hand briefly over his chin. “What books are you talking about?”

“I got these books, they were in a box on my porch. I thought it was a hoax at first, but…” You stood and jogged back to your room, grabbing the first book, the handwritten one. “I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

He took the book and flipped through the first few pages before he lifted his gaze to Soap. “Did you have something to do with this?”

Soap huffed and rested his head across your lap as soon as you sat down again.

That, more than anything, solidified things in your mind. Soap wasn’t just a dog. Soap was a shifter, of some kind. And undoubtedly this other person was as well.

“Huh.” You looked down at Soap, examining him more carefully. “Guess that’s why you kept finding your way back here, even when you shouldn’t have been able to.”

He just blinked up at you, wiggling a little closer and pushing his nose under your hand.

“What do you know?”

You pulled your gaze back to the man across from you, chewing on your lip for a moment. “Honestly? Just what’s in the books. And like I said, I thought they were a hoax at first. I’m still…” You trailed off, not sure exactly how to express what you were feeling.

He nodded, looking pensively between you and Soap. “Normally, we don’t tell others.” He paused to let that sink in, and you grimaced. “But this one found a way around that.”

Soap’s tail thumped against the couch. Clearly, he was totally unrepentant.

“So.” The man leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

It took hours to cover it all. Price, as you finally learned his name, was more or less patient with you. Less so with Soap.

The two finally left, with promises to bring you to base tomorrow. (Because, that’s right, Soap was apparently military, something you never would have guessed. And apparently Soap deciding you were his person got you some benefits? Honestly you were very unsure about all of this but Soap had given you such big imploring eyes that you’d caved.)

You would have expected that you’d be up for hours longer, pacing, working through everything in your head. Honestly, though, you just had energy for a shower, and then collapsed into bed and slept hard. Clearly, you already had too much on your mind.

You were still scrambling when the knock came at your door in the morning. “Hang on!” you shouted, hopping on one foot to shove your other shoe on, grabbing your purse and making sure you had everything you needed.

Not that you really knew what you’d need, but. You had the basics, at least.

Finally, you yanked the door open to an amused Price standing on your doorstep. Thankfully, he didn’t comment, just raised an eyebrow at you.

The drive was silent. Price kept his gaze on the road, sparing you only the occasional glance. For your part, you were too nervous to try talking.

When Price turned down a long drive to a fenced area, you swallowed hard.

“Nervous?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

“A bit,” you admitted, knee bouncing so at least you had some kind of outlet for your nerves.

“Relax.” He slanted a look at you as he slowed near the gate guard. “You’ll be fine.”

You swallowed again, knee bouncing as the guard lifted the gate and let the two of you through. Price continued down the road and pulled into a parking spot, cutting the engine.

You’d known, sort of, that this base was here. People talked about it - that base out of town. Sometimes military men came through to the store or the bar, although you weren’t the closest town to the base.

But being here was something else entirely. You had no idea it was so big - lots of land, all enclosed. Multiple buildings spread out around the area, and you could see a group of runners off in the distance.

“This way,” Price grunted, jerking you from your thoughts. You turned and hurried to follow him inside, fingers twisting around each other, nearly jogging to keep up with his longer strides. He stopped in front of a door, pushing it open and stepping inside. A little more slowly, you followed.

Another man was standing in the middle of the room, mohawk mussed like he’d been running his hands through it, shoulders tense. You almost asked… but you met his gaze, eyes wide.

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but smile, still holding his gaze, those beautiful blue eyes fixed on you. “Your eyes really don’t change at all, do they?”

“Nah.” He smiled slowly, taking a step closer to you.

“Still want me to call you Soap?” You smiled, tipping your chin.

“Or Johnny.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “Ye can call me anythin’ ye want, lovely.”

You warmed at the easy affection, but you didn’t drop his gaze. “Can I…?” You lifted one hand slowly, a little cautious.

Apparently that was all he needed, though, because he stepped straight into your space and wrapped himself around you. You blinked and then snorted, your hand settling at the back of his head to rub against the hairs there.

“Personal space optional?” you teased, though you made absolutely no move away from him.

“What’s yours is mine,” he quipped, squeezing you affectionately.

“Sergeant.” Price sounded exasperated, and you pulled back enough to peek at him, suddenly worried again.

“This is why he didn’t let me drive to get you,” Soap said, unrepentant, shifting his grip on you enough to smooth one hand up and down your back. “Didnae think ah’d come back.”

“No,” Price said, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come back until tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you at that, and you relaxed again. “So, what now?”

Price huffed something akin to a laugh. “You get to meet the other two, then we do some paperwork.”

“Speakin’ of.” Soap nodded to the door, grinning. Price heaved a sigh but walked over and pulled the door open.

“Gaz.” He stepped aside to let the other young man in, and you blinked at him. He gave you a quick smile and a little wave, though he gave you a bit of space. Something about him seemed… familiar.

“Did you come with Johnny one day?” You blinked, putting the pieces together. He kept the same bit of distance the other dog had, the same kind of reserved politeness.

Gaz blinked twice, lips parting in surprise. “How’d you guess?”

“I mean, it’s not that big of a leap.” You shrugged, ignoring Soap chuckling.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Price grumbled, shooting Gaz a look. Whoops.

Another man slipped into the room, almost as big as Price, wearing a skull mask. You blinked, a little intimidated.

“LT is a big softie,” Soap whispered in your ear, swaying the two of you side to side just a little.

“Johnny.” The big one sounded vaguely amused but also disapproving.

“This is Ghost,” Price said, since clearly he was the only one in the room with manners.

You twisted in Soap’s arms to look at him, lifting your hand in a little wave. You almost felt awkward with Soap still hanging off of you, but you were also comfortable. Sure, he wasn’t a dog, but still. This felt normal.

“Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, eh, Johnny?” Ghost sounded more amused than anything, though.

“I only told Gaz,” Soap defended, squeezing you a little tighter.

“Yes, about that.” Price raised one eyebrow at Gaz. Who immediately buckled and spilled the whole plot - the two of them going to visit you, and then Gaz writing his mum.

“So those books were from your mum?” You’d all settled into chairs or the couch. (You’d had to swat Soap a few times when he tried to pull you down to sit in his lap.)

“Must be.” He shrugged. “You still have ‘em, yeah?”

“Of course, they’re at home. I’ll bring them next time.”

He shrugged. “No rush. We’ve got time.”

And you did, you realized with a blink. With Soap crowded up against your side, the other three ranged around the room, you realized you had plenty of time. Now that you weren’t just waiting on a surprise visit from a dog. You smiled to yourself and leaned into Soap.

Yeah. You could get used to this.

#shifter au #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #f!reader

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