#this little broken dining chair is giving me life

[tea-time-terrier]

Extreme levels of satisfaction. My $7 thrift store find produced a newly upholstered cushion for my beloved dumpster chair, AND a new and improved cover for pichael's kennel <3

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter two)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 2/?

MASTERLIST

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: first off, THANK YOU for the love on chapter 1. wasn’t sure how I’d fare since I’ve done a lot of writing in my life but little to no smut. with that said! longer chapter incoming. also I just know he’d give insane head okay i just do,the guy looks like he fucks and he definitely does

You weren't sure exactly how you slipped away from Snow’s room that night, but you could somewhat piece it together in flashes. First a head rush, then the fire in the pit of your stomach practically having gasoline thrown on it.

You remembered a quiet gasp escaping your lips, then panic, a flash of white, and suddenly you were stumbling away, head spinning as you tried to catch your breath, pacing unevenly down the hallway, any chance of a stealthy escape long thrown out the window.

Back in your room, once the door was bolted and your back was against it, making sure nobody could get in if they tried, you had your first shot at clear-headedness since you’d heard heels scuffing the hardwood.

You’d soaked your panties through and were dripping down your thighs, but you’d be damned if you could get into the headspace to take care of it. Panic flooded your veins, ice-hot as you tried to catch your breath. you slid down the door and sat there, legs numb against the cold wooden planks.

Who was she? A million questions filled your head all at once. Was she from the Capitol? Could she be one of Snow’s friends, one of your friends? The thought made you sick. What if you’d dined with her before? Talked to her? How long had this been happening? Who knew about it? Were you being played?

Had he seen you watching him?

Unable to help yourself, your one-track mind took you back to the way he’d groaned your name, though you were half sure that had been a fever dream of some kind. Still, you kept replaying it. Over and over, like a broken record.

It didn’t make any sense, you were so fucking confused. All this time you’d been hoping he would make a move, you’d practically begged him to. Why hadn’t he? When you were clearly on his mind, and yet he made you believe he didn’t think of you that way at all. Was he just respecting your agreement?

You fiddled with the lace on the hem of your slip as you mulled it over. You stayed sat like this for almost an hour, trying unsuccessfully to wrap your head around it. When you ended up right back where you started, and you were sure enough time had passed that if someone was coming to get you, they would’ve already, you finally stood up. Your caution led you to drag a chair from across the room, propping it up by the door to jam the handle. That left you with the sliver of peace of mind you required to shower off this cold sweat you’d formed.

The next morning, you dreaded breakfast. But you knew you had to face him, as well as the fact that this could very well be your last meal. You should at least try to eat well.

You made your way downstairs, a few minutes later than usual, enough for Coriolanus to already be sipping coffee, a few pages through his newspaper. You’d not got fully dressed yet, not wanting the contrast to be too obvious, but you’d wrapped a silk dressing gown around you so you were a little more covered up. You knew one thing for certain, you wouldn’t be trying any more of your tricks until you knew just what you were dealing with.

He didn’t look over at you, which you took as a good sign. The urge to hide from him, from what you’d seen and what you now knew, overwhelmed you. You didn’t say a word, and picked silently at your breakfast, but despite your best efforts, not managing to keep more than a few bites down.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, and you started.

“Um.”

He lowered his paper.

“Something wrong?”

How about everything?

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Just uh…” you glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze. Fuck. You’d hoped you’d go unnoticed. You felt like a deer in headlights, like he could read your mind.

“Well?” He prompted, gaze unwavering. You blinked.

“Headache.” You managed to breathe, faking a small, pitiful smile.

He brought his paper back up in front of him, crisply turning the page. You both thanked the new barrier between you for cutting off his stare, and resented it as you looked at the tiny printed words you couldn’t make out from where you were sitting.

“I’ll have Lucille bring you up something.”

“Thank you.” you said quickly, almost too quickly, and you feared he might lower his paper again to watch you as you stumbled over another excuse. But you fell lucky this time.

The week seemed to pass in a blur, Monday’s gala being one of the only times you really left your room when Snow was around, other than meal times, which you spent in a similar state as that first breakfast. You cursed yourself for throwing out your longer dresses, and settled for the least suggestive of them, the white one you’d been thinking of pitching to Snow as a backup plan in your panicked state outside his bedroom. That all felt worlds away now. What you’d seen had shifted the tides, marking a solid, definitive line in your head between the before and after.

The gala went as well as it could given the circumstances. You danced, Snow was charming to you in front of the guests, but held your gaze no longer than usual. It was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling to feel his hands on your waist, knowing what you knew. It felt like you’d been tapped with a cattle prod and had to hide it every time his hand brushed yours on top of the dinner table, as unsuspecting guests smiled at you, the happy couple.

If only they knew that in the same breath, you were scanning the crowd, wondering who the blonde could’ve been, how close she was to Snow, if at all, and hating the way every touch he placed on your hands and waist served as a reminder that he’d been touching her instead of you.

Your stupid brain had formed a highlight reel of what you’d witnessed behind Snow’s door, and it tortured you with every passing moment. To know he was thinking of you. To think that maybe, he wanted you there instead. It put a strange sense of possessive pride into you, that weaved between your jealousy. Because yes, you’d seen another girl on her knees with her mouth around him, but you hadn’t heard any name other than your own while it happened.

You carried this strange hope, dwindling to start off, and then building each day that you were left un-hanged and very much alive, slowly chipping away at your fear of the worst. And yet, you knew the game, unbeknownst to Snow, had been fundamentally changed. You’d stopped your antics altogether, now barely meeting his eye as you passed each other in the hallway, covering up more at breakfast, and only talking just enough to avoid another interrogation. Avoiding touch, and conversation, and all-around keeping yourself away from him.

You were quieter still at night in your room. After a few days, you’d finally felt safe enough to move the chair away and sleep with the door locked as you normally would. But while your games had stopped, your want for him had only been amplified. Fuelled by jealousy and frustration, you had to bite down on your hand so that not even the slightest noise made its way out as you pictured him, not as you used to in your fantasies, but as you’d seen him that night, undone with your name on his lips. It was much easier, in your head, to picture yourself as the one on your knees. Any other fantasy just failed to make the cut now you’d seen the real thing.

Thursday rolled around and you’d made a new habit of pacing the downstairs library when Coriolanus was out of the house. That way, if he got home and stepped inside, you could pretend to be lost in a book. But the hours seemed to stretch out and you became bored, and with no Snow in sight, you decided to head down to the servants’ quarters.

This wasn’t a common occurrence, but it wasn’t unheard of. You were known for your gentleness among the house staff, less harsh than Snow, but firm nonetheless. It had led you to a respectful friendliness with the maids and servants, and once every so often you’d check in on them.

Today’s objectives, however, were purely self-motivated. You found Lucille, who dressed you, at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.

She stood upon seeing you, and curtseyed (Snow was rather old fashioned that way). You nodded, then took a seat at the foot of the table.

“Do you need any help with that?” You glanced at the cutting board.

Lucille’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

You laughed. Lucille chopped and diced, and you asked questions. At first, they were after her family, her brother was sick and despite your offers, she wouldn’t accept help. So instead you listened, and slowly but surely, your questions got a little more directed toward the object of your interest.

You were good at playing the long game, so you started by asking about the company he kept. What she thought of them, with the promise that it would stay between the two of you, cross your heart.

She wouldn’t say much but she knew a little more than you; Snow kept very similar company as you did, and rarely went out for social visits. Any trips were strictly work-related, and when you eased into the topic of his past, Lucille mentioned, in very polite terms, that he had left a small trail of women heartbroken after a short period of time. That not all of them had been pleasant, and that she was pleased you seemed to have a positive effect on him.

She knew about your arrangement, practically the whole staff did, but they were kept on a very tight leash and were thoroughly reminded to not say a word acknowledging it, not even to you. It was with a knowing glance that Lucille told you she was happy you’d stayed around.

You smiled. Knowing that was likely all you were going to get for now, you let her be. By then, it was late enough to have gone dark, and you headed up to bed.

You awoke to creaking outside your door, and the shadow of footsteps from underneath it. You’d been tossing and turning for the last - you checked your watch - two hours. Excellent. You rolled onto your back wondering who it was, and then you heard it again. At first you wondered if it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a sense of deja-vu, but then you focused, and there it was. The sound of heels. Again.

You sat up in bed, pushing your hair out of your face. You were enraged the first time, but if this was becoming a Thursday night tradition, it would be a serious problem. You were tired, you reasoned, you could just try to go back to sleep. Ignore it. Not let him have this power over you, a power that he didn’t even know he had. All the more reason to ignore it, and make it tomorrow’s problem.

But you just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how hard you tried. Your mother used to say it was a problem, always sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. But it had got you this far, hadn't it?

You knew you were going to follow her to Snow’s room again, it was just a matter of time. You had to at least pretend you had an ounce of self-control, whereas really your head was thrumming and you knew it would take getting hit by a high-speed train to send you back to sleep now.

So you held off. Five minutes passed. Then ten. You had to know, at least, what they were doing. Maybe you could get a look at her face, see who it was, and answer some of the questions you had.

So you went. With a purpose this time, knowing full well what and who you’d end up seeing, trying to take steady breaths and focus on your plan. Check who it was, then leave.

You’d never been that great at execution. Call it hedonism, call it a morbid fascination, or living vicariously, but when you walked up to the door - which was ajar again, strangely even more than last time, by at least an inch or two - you looked inside, and your feet planted. The last shred of your self-control allowed you to take in the room first, the desk and chair that was right within your sight, and as you tucked yourself into the room, half hidden behind the door, you finally looked back at the bed where you’d seen Snow with his blonde girl last time.

Neither of them were sitting now.

Thirty seconds ago, you would’ve believed the hottest thing you’d ever seen was what played out in this room last week. But that was before you saw Snow turned away from you, still fully dressed with his sleeves rolled up, stomach on the bed and face between the blonde’s thighs, eating her out like he was on death row and she was his last meal.

You’d gotten head before. You knew it felt good, but the boys you’d slept with before your arrangement with Snow were selfish and inattentive. They would try, but they were far more interested in getting their dicks wet than showing you a good time. But Snow - you’d never seen anything like it. You didn’t know it could feel that good, or at least, not as good as the blonde girl - who you noted in the back of your mind, wasn’t anyone you recognised - was making it look. Her hips were bucking so hard he was having to pin her down with both hands around her waist.

She was just moving so much, wriggling and crying out and gasping and - you didn’t think you’d ever truly known jealousy until that moment. You couldn’t look away, knees weak and hands shaking, letting yourself get sucked into this headspace again, losing all trace of rationality. You’d think she was playing it up for him, but you knew what that sounded like. You’d faked enough orgasms to know if she was, but this? This was real. As she got close, grinding into him, writhing, running a shaky hand through his hair then getting louder, you managed to snap out of your trance.

In a flash, you ran back down the hallway.

If you thought you were avoiding Snow before, this week was about to give you a run for your money. You took breakfast in your room, and kept only to the parts of the house you knew he never entered. You only touched yourself in the shower, silent cries washed away by the water and steam, paranoia backing you into a corner.

You feigned illness the one time Snow sent a maid to inquire after you. Nothing too major, but enough to put him off. When he left the house, you snuck into the library to smuggle books back to your room, a pile forming as you tried ceaselessly to distract yourself.

You wrote home, you studied art and history. You attempted a few terrible sketches. You tore apart your room, then put it back together.

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around again. On longer days like this, when Snow had been away working for hours at a time, you’d doubled down on your efforts to get information, and after chipping away for just long enough, you finally managed to squeeze some tidbits out of Lucille. Namely that there was a certain gentleman’s club in the city that he used to frequent before his election as President. Snow’s old driver might know its name, she said.

“But that was long before he met you, ma’am, rest assured.” She added hurriedly.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucille. I think I’ve kept you for long enough. Goodnight.”

Snow had been gone for the whole day, and you weren’t sure if he’d come home yet, so as you headed up to your room, you quietly wandered a little further down the hallway, to check if there was any light beneath his door. There wasn’t. Good. You were glad he wouldn’t be continuing this routine of his. Maybe this Thursday night, you could sleep peacefully.

With a sigh, and mulling over what you’d learned today, you returned to your room, poured a drink, then collapsed into bed.

This night was as sleepless as the rest, and you’d been drifting - not uncomfortably - in and out. A storm was brewing outside, and the sounds of howling wind began to keep you alert. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, then glanced towards your door. Snow must’ve come home at some point, and very late at that, because dim lights had been turned on in the hallway. Paranoia crept into your mind, slowly poisoning your thoughts and turning you inside out.

It didn’t take long before the feeling pushed you to roll out of bed, slide on a dressing gown, and crack open your door. This time, you couldn’t hear footsteps, or anything that might arise suspicion. You closed the door again. Waited. Then looked around your room, at the messy sheets and the half finished glass of liquor on the nightstand. You rarely drank alone, but these past few weeks had been getting to you, fucking with your head. Coriolanus Snow had driven you to this.

The wind got louder, and you knew you were too wired to sleep, so you stood by your window and finished the glass.

You’d never been good with mysteries. You wanted to know everything, all the time. Know who had power over you, know precisely how to take it away. Know exactly what was happening around you at any given moment. But most of all, you didn’t like being played for a fool.

And sure, the ethics of it had never been discussed between the two of you. Your business was strictly professional, but when you weren’t allowed to sleep around, why could he?

In fact, how dare he?

You poured another glass, straight whiskey. Downed it, pacing your room, back and forth between the door and the window, running your fingers along the ridges of the crystal glass. You thought about him, comfortably in his room, not a care in the world.

How dare he.

You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the buildup of your situation that had your blood boiling, but it didn’t matter. You were incensed. His behaviour was an insult to your name, to your family’s name. Sure, this relationship was a sham, but all the more reason for him to act with basic fucking respect. Sleeping with - and very obviously, at that - a whore, who had a bad habit of leaving the door cracked open, was unacceptable.

You were running hot, and if you knew one thing for certain, it was that when Snow met with fire, he was going to melt. You’d make sure of it.

Your feet took you into the hallway, with the decidedness that this would be the last time.

You rushed down the corridor with a tightly bottled rage that was about to burst, words hot on your tongue and demanding to be spoken, until you turned the corner and saw Snow’s door half open. You stopped in your tracks. Reassessed, then stepped closer, slowly, steadily. Remembering what you were there for.

Then, as you got close enough to see inside - right there, without you even having to step past the threshold, were the two of them, lit by a table lamp, Snow sat on the desk chair as the girl rode him to high heaven, obscene noises getting louder. As you approached you saw Snow’s face again, eyes shut, breath laboured, and you couldn’t believe that anyone just walking by would be able to see this. They were fucking like animals, out in the open. You didn’t know how or why you drew closer still, closing in on them. The girl’s head was dropped down to his shoulder, back facing you, and couldn’t see you unless she turned, but Snow? He was practically facing the door, almost as if he’d been…

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

But you didn’t have time to think it through, because Snow’s eyes blinked open, and you knew. He was looking right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours, sharp and dangerous like he was going in for the kill. You stood there, jaw dropped, unable to look away. In what world could you walk in on someone like this, and feel like they held all the cards, and you none? That was how he looked at you; like you’d been there watching the whole time, and this was all a show, playing out exactly as he’d planned it. Like somehow, despite all your best efforts, he’d landed on top.

It was like he read your mind, because he wet his lips, unblinking as the blonde writhed on his lap, and fucking smirked.

a/n: can’t wait for them to hate fuck after this (oh sorry forgot i’m the author for a sec) thanks for reading &lt;3

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii

if you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on the masterlist!! 💌

[the-kr8tor]

This cute idea just spawned into my head but imagine the girls asking reader and hobie about their youth 🥹 like “how did you two meet?” And when they complain about having too much homework they say “I bet you didn’t do your homework when you were younger” to Hobie

Thank you for the adorable request!! 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Mom! Reader, Dad! Hobie, Twin AU, Billie and Ramona AU, cw food mentions, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You feel a gentle tug on your apron whilst you make dinner, the savory smell of spaghetti and meatballs wafting around you, covering you with a thin smoke that you had to fan away to get a good look at the disheveled curls below you.

“Mummy?” she tugs again and you fan the smoke away from her face. You should really turn on the exhaust.

Quickly pressing the on button, the fans roar to life making your daughter call you louder above the noise. You crouch down to her height, now eyelevel, you see Billie with her face scrunched up, pouting and with a crumpled paper clutched in her tiny hand.

“What happened to your hair?” You chuckle, trying to get it away from her pretty face with your palms. “Was your head all itchy?”

She stomps on her tiny foot, frustrated. “I can't do my homework!” Whining, Billie sniffs, clearly upset. You rub her arms lovingly, trying to calm her down. “And Mona fell asleep and daddy locked his door!”

The thought of Mona taking a nap before dinner has you internally groaning, knowing that you have to wake her up which is a job and a half for both you and Hobie. She clearly takes after her dad in that department.

“And I'm your third choice?” You feign hurt, joking to lighten her mood. It doesn't work when her frown deepens, brows knitted together. She takes after you in this department. “Okay I'm sorry, baby, what do you need?”

She raises her homework to your face, getting a facefull of her maths problems. Leaning away, you skim over the numbers: five plus seven, ten plus twenty and so on.

“I need help, mummy.” Her tiny broken voice sends your instincts into a frenzy, but you remain calm with your hands rubbing soft circles around her shoulder blades just like you always did when she was just a baby.

“And mummy will help you, okay? Can you grab your pencils for me? Then we can sit down and finish it.” You lift her chin up, pressing a sweet kiss on her chubby cheek. “And maybe I'll give you some ice cream for a job well done.” You whisper it to her like a secret to make your daughter giggle.

Truthfully, you were already going to give her some after dinner, if Hobie saw the entire thing he would've patted your back.

“Okie dokie.” Billie changes moods quickly, smiling and skipping towards the bedroom. She leaves the door wide open, giving you the opportunity to watch Billie hastily pick up her supplies from the messy pile on the foot of her bed.

You shut off the stove and the exhaust whilst peeking at the girls' bedroom. Spotting Ramona slowly sitting up, waking up from the ruckus that her sister was making. Yawning, her eyes droopy from sleep, she scowls at her sister but when she sees you peeking from the open doorway, she smiles, giving you her signature toothy grin.

Copying her smile, you scrunch up your nose and narrow your eyes, Mona giggles as Billie finally makes her way towards the kitchen table with her arms full of school supplies that are definitely not needed for a maths homework.

Billie huffs like she just climbed a mountain. She sits down on the dining chair with little effort, when just last year she still needed yours and Hobie’s help to get up on the chair.

“Mum!” She calls, legs swinging and tapping her pencil on the table.

“Coming, baby.” You wipe your hands on your apron. Sitting down next to her, you feel Mona lay her head on your arm wordlessly, sleep still clinging to her lashes.

Lifting her up, you place her on your lap. She embraces you, head placed on your chest.

“Sleepy?”

“Mm-hmm, homework got me tired.” her words are muffled by your shirt.

If only Hobie can see you hogging all the attention from his girls, he'd probably be complaining jokingly, saying that his girls are playing favourites.

You help Billie with her homework and with every question answered her pout becomes deeper. She's so done with it already even though she still has an entire page left.

Mona has even started to help her sister, giving her extra fingers using her own hands so Billie can count higher using both her and Mona's fingers.

Nine questions left, Billie's on the brink of tears.

“‘m hungry” she whines, flicking eraser shavings off the paper.

“I know, cheese, just one more and we can have dinner then we can continue right after.”

“I bet you didn't have to do homework back then!” Billie throws a crumpled piece of paper across the table. Mona frowns, upset, looking at you for answers.

Hobie senses his girls' distress, he can't ignore it any longer while he was working on a new web fluid. With measured steps, he unlocks the door with a click. Making his way towards the kitchen, his heart melts at the sight, if only the twins were actually smiling it would've been better. Webbing up Billie's homework, he reads it out loud while closing the distance.

“‘If Charlie had ten cookies and his dad gives him eight more, how many cookies does he have?’” he scoffs, plopping himself next to Billie and across from you. “Diabetes, Charlie has diabetes.” placing the paper down, he watches the girls grin from ear to ear.

His girls giggles, music to his ears.

“Dad!” Billie slaps her dad on his arm, Hobie feigns hurt, groaning in (fake) pain. They laugh louder, Billie's frustration forgotten.

You smile at him, practically giving him heart eyes. He winks, laying his foot on top of your knee that's under the table. His way of saying ‘thank you’ and ‘you did a good job.’ So to show your appreciation, you wink back and he acts like Cupid's bow hit him right on his chest.

Mona laughs while Billie acts disgusted by the gooey scene in front of her.

Hobie sits up, or as properly as Hobie can. He places his elbow casually on the table, chin placed on his palm. He shakes his head, “not true at all, froggy, mum and I did a lot of homework back then.”

“You mean fifty years ago?” Mona jokes, followed by loud laughter from her and Billie.

“Rude!” You squeeze her in your arms, swaying her from side to side. “We raised rude children, Hobs.”

“This is what we get for letting uncle James babysit you eh?” Hobie pokes Billie on her side, earning a yelp from the younger twin. “You know who didn't do his homework? Uncle James, and look where he is now.”

“He’s living in a castle, dad!” Billie exclaims, excited to hear a story from before they were born.

“It's his dad's, scrunkly,” he pats her head before sloshing her head from side to side. She giggles again, holding his hand that's on top of her head. “not uncle James'” stopping his attack, he continues. “Have I told you that your mum and I’s first date was a study date?”

“No!” Mona and Billie shout excitedly.

You quirk a brow but you let him tell the story even though you know he might be telling it a bit differently than you remember.

“Yep, you see mum was havin’ a hard time with biology—”

“What's biology?” Mona asks.

“Study of plants, animals and humans.” Hobie says without elaborating or they'll be sitting there for hours.

Mona looks up at you from your lap, smaller hand tapping your clavicle. “Did you fall in love with dad during homework time?”

“Yes, he impressed me with his biology prowess.”

“Taught her anatomy—” You kick Hobie under the table before he could finish his sentence. He silently groans, staring softly at you.“—we held hands under the table.” Both girls listen intently while you smile at the memory. “I'd squeeze her hand every time she got an answer right.”

“Woah! You still do that!” Billie moves her head from Hobie and to you. Smiling delightfully at her parents.

“Yeah, we do. But with fewer biology questions.” Hobie taps the paper, “what's ten plus eight?”

“Eighteen,” Billie answers quickly and you look at her surprised. Hobie smirks triumphantly. “How'd you two meet?” she asks curiously, elbows on the table, and eyes sparkling.

Her twin does the same, her knees digging into your thighs. But you don't mind as you make googly eyes at Hobie.

“Tell you what, cheese, finish this and we'll tell you.” Hobie throws you another wink, sending you back in time when he used to pick you up from class.

You knead at his leg, tapping in morse code a simple ‘I love you.’ He appreciates it with a message of his own. Tapping Billie's eraser on the table, he sends a message through it. ‘Love you more, study anatomy later?’

Tapping a quick ‘yes’ he hides his smile when he pretends to look over Billie's homework.

[miss-dollette]

Vladimir Makarov x Reader - 18+

TW: rape + murder + victim blaming + Makarov (need I say any more?)

I fully believe Makarov is not capable of true love. I believe he's a psychopath with no regard for human life, and he only sees lovers as possessions.

Note: Just because I write about Rape, doesn't mean I believe it's moral. This is dedicated to @bloodyrussianraven P.S: Sorry if it's a little short, I came up with this quickly.

Tomorrow is Saturday, and it's been three long months since Vladimir disappeared to God knows where. That's just how he was - he never cared to give her a heads-up about his departure, and sometimes she'd wake up to a frigid, desolate bed and an even icier void in her chest.

But today was entirely new, in the worst way possible. While her life still had its share of troubles, nothing could match the agony coursing through her body. The memory of her violation rolling over and over in her mind.

Her forehead remained streaked with dried, crusted blood, her neck bore the telltale bruises of his violent grip, and her face still burned from its rough contact with the carpet.

As she reminisced, her memory painted a vivid scene of being thrust into her apartment from behind, her face brutally colliding with the coat hanger, staining her white coat with warm crimson trickles.

Fingernails scratched her waist as her pants and underwear were snatched down to her knees, and her insides burned when he pushed his penis into her unwilling womb.

Pinned down and vulnerable, she found herself at the mercy of his predatory intentions, trapped in a horrifying ordeal.

The fact that he didn't attempt to kiss her was a small relief. She knew she'd snap out of her shocked trance and resort to extreme measures if he dared, even if it meant biting off his lips.

It was as if all her will to resist had drained away, and she lay there in disarray, attempting to blink away the blood clouding her vision.

Her cognitive functions shut down, and she stared at the broken eggs on the carpet. She wasn't sure how to react at that moment.

After he finished, hastily zipping up his trousers before bolting from the apartment, even pushing past her startled neighbor, she remained sprawled at the heart of the crime scene, her hand tenderly tracing her battered face as she struggled to regain her composure.

Disgusting sperm ran down her leg.

The groceries were strewn across the front door, their contents scattered on the floor. She remained seated at the kitchen table, gazing out the window as cars passed by, children engaged in snowball fights, and the sun dipped below the horizon. Her appetite for dinner had vanished.

A shadowy figure crossed the street and entered her apartment building, his measured stride betraying his identity. She silently wished he'd returned sooner, knowing he could have protected her. He could've.

The front door clattered against the fallen groceries, and she heard his steps muffle as he examined the telltale signs of the struggle - her blood-stained carpet, the chaos of the groceries, and her beanie abandoned on the floor. She was certain he knew this wasn't her typical mess.

Turning her head towards him as he entered the dining room, she watched as he lowered his gun, the barrel aimed in her direction.

"What happened?" He inquired with a tone that lacked emotion, a dangerous sign she knew all too well.

"I was walking home… i didn't see him," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "He hurt me." As she spoke, tears finally streamed down her cheeks, the realization hitting her that she hadn't shed a tear until now.

Vladimir moved swiftly, covering the distance in long strides, until he occupied the chair opposite her. In a rough and unforgiving manner, he seized her chin, his different colored eyes dissecting her battered forehead and blood-soaked countenance.

"Tell me what he looked like," he demanded, his tone blunt and sharp.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It happened too fast, and I couldn't—"

"I told you to stop being so mindless, wandering around like an idiot. Now look at you." He interrupted her sentence, causing her to shrink further into her seat, his calloused fingers digging into her chin.

"Vladimir..." she began, but her words faltered, a sense of futility enveloping her.

They spent that night together, with her recalling the day before the attack. He meticulously questioned her, forcing her to repeat various details numerous times, where she'd been, who she talked to that day until she squeezed out details that managed to escape her until that moment.

When he came to visit her, she would dutifully stand over the stove, preparing their meals (usually consisting of meat), and then share the food with him before he laid her down on the bed, and pushed himself inside her.

It appeared that he had lost his appetite for both food and that carnal desire that was attached to him when he visited her.

At nearly midnight, he dismissed her, and she left him alone in the dimly lit dining room. She found solace in the bathtub, immersing herself in the lukewarm water, which gradually turned a disconcerting shade of red. The stinging sensation from the cut on her forehead intensified.

Her entire body ached, and without the concealing cloak of clothing, she was confronted with her bruised flesh in its full spectrum of colors: purple, yellow, green, and angry red.

In an attempt to cleanse herself of the ordeal, she vigorously brushed her teeth until her gums bled, then meticulously dressed, yet the feeling of being tainted lingered. Despite scrubbing her skin raw, she couldn't shake the sensation that an oily darkness clung to her.

She reclined on her bed without much regard for comfort, her gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. Her eyes, glazed over with a haunting emptiness, stared into the void above.

She eventually closed her eyes and surrendered to sleep's embrace.

When she awoke, Vladimir's absence was glaringly apparent. His side of the bed remained cold, a stark reminder of his cold nature. His clothes from the previous day lay in disarray on the floor, and a lone sleeve dangled from an open drawer where he stored his belongings.

Once more, she vigorously scrubbed her skin raw in the morning, as if attempting to rid herself of the memories etched into her flesh.

It had been three long weeks since she last saw Vladimir, and it had also been three weeks since she was raped by that stranger. In that span of twenty-one days, she moved through the town with a distant, glazed-over expression, avoiding any meaningful eye contact with men and speaking in hushed tones. It seemed as though her very soul had been snatched away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of the person she once was.

She fixated her gaze upon her worn boots, every step they took echoing loudly on the icy concrete beneath, determined to drown out the relentless cacophony of traffic and the incessant chatter of the people bustling around her.

In the early morning's embrace, the first light of dawn meticulously brushed the streets with a vibrant palette, painting them in exquisite hues of pink, purple, and a myriad of other melodramatic colors.

Her stomach emitted another mournful growl, a reminder of her empty mornings – just like the one before, and the one preceding it. She struggled to recollect the last time she had savored a meal.

Engulfed in her contemplations, she collided unceremoniously with a stranger's back. With a gentle "Pardon" escaping her lips, she reluctantly tore her focus away from her ruminations. A gathering of nearly a hundred people held collective fixation on something in the road.

She wondered if there had been a car accident that morning.

Compelled to forge a path through the throng, her heart raced wildly in her chest. As she finally emerged from the crowd, her heart plummeted into the depths of her being, her eyes locked on a man whose face suddenly seemed so familiar. He was suspended between two lampposts in the middle of the road, a grotesque marionette covered head to toe in a gruesome tapestry of blood and bruises.

His wrists, where wires had mercilessly bitten into his flesh, oozed crimson rivulets that painted his arms and body in a grotesque shade of red, an agonizing tableau of suffering before her very eyes.

She was forcibly reminded, once more, of the chilling reasons Vladimir struck terror into the hearts of the masses, understanding why his name blared across newspapers in stark letters, detailing the monstrous carnage he'd ruthlessly orchestrated, all in the relentless pursuit of collective fear, and a motivation that'd been explained to her, but never understood.

The lifeless form of her attacker hung eerily above the street, expertly suspended by wires, resembling a grotesque work of art that defied the boundaries of the macabre.

With her mouth parched and her chest feeling like an empty void, she turned away, her mind haunted by the scene before her. The sheer reality of the experience weighed heavily on her, leaving her unable to carry out even the simplest of daily tasks. Resolute, she made the decision to set aside the day's chores. Today, she knew she needed to retreat to her bed, seeking refuge from the relentless torment of her thoughts.

[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes... Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he'll never get.

Word Count: 3987 words

Warnings: Little bit of cursing, implied panic attacks, mention of insomnia, mention of nightmares.

Chapter 2 - Settling In

"Soooo?" Ellie drags the syllable out and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "What's she liiiiike?" Much to her disappointment, Joel just shoots her a glare as he loads his plate, then walks off to find a seat at one of the tables.

"Come on, man, give me something." She slides into the seat across from Joel and starts digging into her own plate in the same hurried manner as when she first met Joel. Some things just aren't that easy to shake.

Joel, on the other hand, carefully chews each bite, making a point of looking at Ellie every time he swallows. Fork after fork goes in his mouth, but not a single word comes out. "Ugh." Ellie rolls her eyes. "She's the only interesting thing to have happened around here for months." To her dismay, instead of serving her with some juicy details, Joel just chuckles dryly.

"What, life suddenly become too boring for you, now that you're not out there anymore?" She elbows him in response. "You know that's not it. Matter of fact, I like it here just fine."

"Glad to hear it!" Tommy pats Ellie on the back and plops down in the chair next to her. "So? How'd it go?" He looks at his brother expectantly. Joel glares at him grimly. "It went."

"What, that's all?"

"Can a man just eat a meal in piece, for god's sake?"

"Ohoooo," Ellie grins at Tommy, "you poked the bear."

"You poked the bear first." Joel points his fork at her.

"Just because you won't give me anythinnnng!" She knows she sounds like a little whiny toddler, but seriously. Your arrival was something out of a movie, the way Joel dashed into Jackson with your limp body thrown across his saddle. He hadn't even needed to call out for help; his spectacular arrival already speaking for itself. People immediately ran up and helped get you off the horse. Within minutes, you were in the hospital being tended to by Jackson's finest doctors. The town had had a good run for a few months by then, very few raiders and even less infected that had to be dealt with, and so a the new arrival quickly became the hottest topic.

You were out of it for almost three weeks, with a fever so high that for a little while, it wasn't clear whether you'd pull through. People asked about your state at town conferences. The younger kids started bets about what your name could be and where you came from. When the news came that you'd finally woken up, the council had to put its foot down and remind everyone that no, they couldn't all go visit you right away.

The excitement quickly died down when Jackson's people quickly realized that you were not the chatter bug they'd hoped for. You weren't exactly unfriendly, but it became very clear that you were not a fan of big social crowds or private house calls. At the dining hall, you usually kept to yourself, quickly wolfed your food down and left again. During your two weeks of internships, where you went from job to job to see what fit you best, you did well pretty much anywhere, but Maria could tell that none of it excited you or gave you joy. You came, you completed your jobs to satisfaction and you spoke when spoken to, albeit curtly. Even so, no one took it personal. Everyone in Jackson had their own story to tell, their own horrors that they'd witnessed. People knew that life out there changed you, so no one judged you for your curt demeanor.

Still, Jackson's council made it their mission to find a job best suited for a person. It was best for the community if everyone got to do something they liked and were good at. It was good for morale. So when nothing had stood out as a fit for you at the end of your two week internship, Maria had an idea.

She'd seen the way you carried yourself. You were confident but careful. You listened intently to the instructions you were given for each job and even asked for help where necessary, but you made no contact beyond what was needed. When you stepped into a room, your eyes flitted over the scene, searching out every exit before you took a seat. During gatherings, your leg would bounce indefinitely as you sat on the outer skirts of the crowd, as if you were itching to get away as quickly as possible.

Maria knew the type, of course. Almost everyone that came here had a restlessness about them for their first few weeks. It's hard to settle down when your nervous system has been in fight-or-flight for so long. But it seemed to take you longer to adjust than it had taken most of the others. Usually, people relaxed a little after a month or so. They'd slowly start to warm up and join conversations at dinner or just start talking at the bar, one of the most common places for newcomers to open up and make contact for the first time.

You, however, did no such thing. You were seen at gatherings and in the dining hall, but you kept to yourself, keeping your conversations to the utmost minimum. You showed up for every single job you got selected for, did your work, and then returned home as soon as you got to clock out. It worried her that you still hadn't formed at least one connection. And it reminded her of someone else, a certain someone she happened to be related to.

That's when she spoke to Tommy and suggested that Joel should take you out for patrol. Her husband didn't take much convincing as he quickly caught on to the parallels between you and his brother. "Might be good for him, who knows," he'd said as they'd laid besides each other in bed. "He's doing better, but I just wish he'd try and find someone again." Tommy had turned to face his wife and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "Y'know, like I found you." Not a day later, Tommy caught Joel before his shift and dragged him to your house. That had been this morning.

"There's nothing to give. Can we drop it now?" Ellie can sense that Joel's getting annoyed for real now and it pisses her off a little. "Fine," she snaps and starts digging into her own food. She's not sure at first why it's pissing her off. It only comes to her when Joel has already left the dining hall and she's returning her plate. That fucker's not telling me something!

For the first time since you've arrived in Jackson, you have a routine, and you're grateful for it for the same reason you didn't mind getting switched around from job to job: it keeps you busy, and when you're busy, your mind can't wander.

Every morning now, you get up at the crack of dawn. Despite the freezing temperatures outside, you force yourself to take a quick cold shower before your morning coffee. Not only does it wake you up before you get your dose of caffeine, it also helps clear your head. Having a routine has helped with your insomnia somewhat and you occasionally manage to get something between four to six hours a night. On the downside, you're now often plagued with nightmares which you wake from in a cold sweat, panting and with the unnerving feeling that you've been found. By what, you don't know. You're not on the run from anything or anyone. But the feeling remains the same, and it's usually hard to shake for the first few hours of the day.

Going out and getting on a horse helps. You didn't have all that much experience with horseback riding before you started your new job, despite having grown up on a farm. But Joel's teaching you the ropes, figuratively and literally. Often enough, his comments about proper horse-care are the only words you exchange on your early morning rides. Despite the lack of conversation between you two, or maybe because of it, you feel oddly calm when you're doing your patrol rounds. You wouldn't go so far as to call it a feeling of 'peace', but still, you find yourself looking forward to your morning rides more and more. It feels good to be outside and to be doing something that serves not only you, but others too. In a way, you feel like you have a... purpose.

You snort loudly at the thought. Purpose. Like you're doing some kind of extraordinary work out on your patrols when really, you just get to sit on your butt the entire time and look at nature. Big sacrifice you're taking on there, really, you think before you notice that Joel's looking over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, pff." You wave your hand dismissively in the air. "It's nothing, just had a stupid thought, that's all."

"Yeah?" It's the first time you hear his voice that morning. Quite on par with the rest of your interactions, his morning greetings usually consist of a nod into your direction.

"What was it?"

His inquiry comes as a surprise to you. A little bit of heat creeps into your cheeks, embarrassed that you made any sound to begin with.

"Uhh... I don't really wanna say, to be honest. Like I said, it's stupid."

"Alright." You peek over at him, out of the corner of your eye, and see a small smile twitch on his lips.

You ride on in silence. It's a bit of a grey day, the sky covered in hazy clouds that seem heavy with snow but so far, there's no downpour. You make it to your halfway checkpoint without any incidents, like every day so far. Granted, you've only been on the job for two weeks now, one of which was unofficial as you were still Jeff's replacement; you were only officially appointed to patrol duty last week.

Joel hands you a steaming cup. You wrap your fingers around, happy for a source of warmth for your slightly frozen fingers, but then gag after the first sip. "Eurgh." You pull a face and sniff at your drink before you turn to Joel. "This isn't coffee."

"Nope, ran out yesterday," he replies and takes a sip of his cup, obviously unbothered by its content.

"Uh-huh." You try another sip but end up spitting it back. "Right. What is this, then? Warmed up piss?"

Joel chuckles in response. "Bit too dark for that, ain't it?"

"Not if your kidneys' gone to shit. Say, Joel, when's the last time you had your kidneys checked?"

"How 'bout never?"

You nod with pursed lips. "Sounds about right. Now what in the hell did I do to you for you to serve me this shit?" You place your cup down on the picnic table and slide it over to him. No way in hell you're taking another sip of that again.

Joel shrugs and chucks the content of your cup off to the side before refilling his own cup. "Suit yourself. This's some kind of herbal tea. Doesn't taste great, but does the job when you run outta coffee."

You lean back on the table into the snow. "Yeah, you tell yourself that while you drink your piss. I'm gonna bring my own coffee tomorrow, thanks."

Despite the sky being one big grey cloud, you can still make out its movement as it wanders above you. Weirdly enough, there's barely any wind down where you are.

"What was that stupid thought you had?" His voice interrupts your cloud watching. "Oh." You sit up, propped up on your elbows. "Just some stupid shit about how being out on patrol gives me a purpose." Your voice has taken on a mocking tone and you roll your eyes. "Like we're doing heroic stuff out here when all we do is ride and have a hot drink, or, excuse me," you eye his cup with a wrinkled nose, "a cup of steaming piss."

"Hm." Joel smiles sarcastically and raises his cup to you before downing the rest in one swift go. "Best piss you can get out here." He starts packing up and you climb down from the table to wipe the snow off of you that got stuck to your coat.

"I won't tell Maria you said that," his voice comes from behind you. "Or she'll think that she's done something smart by putting you on patrol."

That same evening, your eyes wander over the tables in the dining hall in search of a spot to sit when you see a girl frantically waiving her arms at you. You find Joel sitting next to her, tugging on her shirt for her to sit down and obviously mumbling something to her with narrowed eyes. The girl keeps at it, unbothered and unrelenting. A smile breaks out on her face when you start to make your way over to them.

"Why do I get the feeling that you want to talk to me?" Your words might not be the kindest, but the smile that goes with your words is.

"Sit, sit!" The young teenager encourages you and you slide into the seat next to her, opposite Joel. He looks fed up, bordering on annoyed.

"Excuse her, she doesn't have any parents so no one ever taught her any manners," he presses out between clenched teeth.

"No, but I have you!" The girl beams at Joel before she returns her focus to you. "I'm Ellie, I live with Joel. It's nice to meet you." As if to prove Joel wrong, she holds out a hand to you and you shake it as you introduce yourself, amusement written all over your face.

"Joel here tells me that you hate his herbal tea too," Ellie says and begins shoveling food into her mouth like there's no tomorrow. You watch in amazement. "Oh, you mean that warm piss he tried to serve me this morning?"

Ellie grins widely. Some little chunks of food fall out of her mouth as she laughs. "That's what I said! See?" She turns to Joel and punches his arm. "I told you that crap is disgusting!"

"Yeah yeah." Joel rubs his arm and gives you an unenthusiastic look. "Do you have to encourage her?"

"Hey, I won't lie to an impressionable young girl." Your hands are raised in defense, but Ellie jumps right in. "I'm not impressionable!"

"No, you're not, that's true. At least you don't think that that 'herbal tea'," you say as you mime air quotes with your fingers, "can pass for anything remotely comparable to coffee."

"I never said it's like coffee. I just said it gets the job done." Even though Ellie's the one wolfing her food down, Joel's already down to his last few bites.

"Sure, if the job is tasting really shitty," Ellie retorts and glances over at you with a sly grin.

"Hey, I'm right there with you, kiddo." This is working up to be the longest conversation you've had in months, but to your surprise, it doesn't feel as tiring as every other interaction you have. It's almost... fun.

"I like her." Ellie points at you with her fork as she chews a humongous bite. "You should come over, play cards or something. I could read you some jokes from my joke book. They're very funny."

"Oh, uhh..." The invitation catches you by surprise. It's not the first invitation you've received since becoming a member of Jackson, but somehow, you find it a lot harder to turn Ellie down than the grown-ups that invited you before.

"You don't have to," Joel quickly chimes in, seemingly having picked up on your discomfort. "The jokes really aren't that good."

"Hey!" Ellie punches his arm again. You're about to reply when Maria suddenly approaches your table with a warm smile on her face. "Hey, what's going on here?"

"I just invited her over for jokes and playing cards," Ellie quickly points out before you can say anything. To neither yours nor Joel's surprise, Maria loves the idea. "That sounds great! You should go. I bet it'll be fun." She smiles warmly at you, but you know what's behind that smile. Go, so you won't be so lonely anymore. Great. You love being set-up. You look over at Ellie's face and see the excitement in her eyes. Can't say no now, can I, you think and sigh.

"Uhh, yeah, sure. Sounds great."

"Aw, yeah!" Ellie beams, but you can only smile faintly. What have I gotten myself into?

"Here, this is a good one. What is the leading cause of divorce in long-term marriages? - A stalemate!" Ellie breaks out into a giggle and you can't help but snort.

"Oh, or wait, this one. I'm glad I know sign language. It's become quite handy." Her laugh is shrill and light and infectious. You watch Ellie kicks her feet in delight and you can't help but think about how you won't ever hear her laugh like that again and right away, the hole in your chest reminds you that it's there, and that it's big and wide open and dark and hurting like hell. You want to laugh with Ellie and cry your eyes out at the same time.

You wrap your arms around your chest in an attempt to keep yourself from falling apart as Ellie chatters on in the background. There's a dark spot in the grain of the kitchen table. You focus on it until the pain subsides enough to where you feel like you can breathe again.

"Sorry, what?" You say as you realize that Joel's looking at you, holding up two glasses.

"I asked if you want something to drink." You thought your zoning-out went unnoticed, but with the way Joel's looking at you, you're not too sure. There's something in his eyes that you can't quite put a finger on, but you don't like it. It's too close to pity, and you don't need any of that.

"Oh, uh, yeah sure, thanks." Joel pours you a glass of water and sets it in front of you, then takes the seat opposite of you. You still feel like he's watching you, like you're under scrutiny. It's uncomfortable.

"So, how do you guys know each other?" You ask extra nonchalantly in an attempt to get the focus off of you. Joel leans back in his chair with a slightly pained look on his face, almost like he'd prefer if you'd asked any question but that one.

"He took me across the country for money," Ellie pipes up as she rests her chin in the palm of her hands. You notice that Joel shoots her a warning look, but Ellie doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, as if it's the most common way for two people to meet. "But eventually he grew so fond of me that no money in the world could have been enough to give me up. So he kept me."

"Huh." The way that Joel's rolling his eyes is adding to the grin that you notice has spread across your face.

"Next time someone offers me so much as a bent spoon for you, I'm handing you over," he grumbles and immediately gets elbowed in the ribs.

"He has to say that so people won't be suspicious. I've tried to escape twice, but this son of a bitch won't let me go." Despite her words, the affection in her eyes as she sticks her tongue out at Joel is unmissable. It's heart-warming and heart-wrenching at the same time. One arm wanders across your chest again to keep yourself together, but there's still a smile on your face as you lean over to Ellie.

"Blink twice if you need help," you whisper loudly to her and can't help but laugh when she begins to squeeze her eyes rapidly in a very overplayed manner.

"How 'bout you? Where're you from?" Joel asks when the laughter has died down. Both their faces are on you now, with clear interest written all over them.

"Small place near Peoria originally, 'bout 3 hours outside of Chicago. We had a cattle farm." Your mind wanders back to your hometown. It feels like a lifetime ago that all you had to care about was livestock and the smell of manure.

"Aww, did you have little baby cows?" Ellie's eyes glitter with excitement. You smile. "We sure did. Had a bunch of calfs every year. They'd suck on your thumb if you let them. It was pretty cute."

"Would'a thought you'd work with livestock here too, then, 'stead of going on patrol with me." There it is again, that watchful look in Joel's eyes that makes you feel like he's trying to open your head up and look inside. "What can I say, Joel," you say and lean in as you go for the attack. "You're just so damn irresistible."

Ellie makes a gagging sound and then grins as you shoot her a wink. One look back at Joel tells you that your attack landed. Clearly, compliments (even fake ones) rank high on the list on things that make him uncomfortable.

After your first games-and-jokes-night, Ellie invites you over periodically. You spend two to three evenings at the Miller household where you play one of the board games available for borrowing from the town's conference hall or just go for a round of cards. Maria appears very pleased when she catches drift of this new arrangement. You try to ignore it as much as possible. You're surprised by yourself and how much you enjoy these evenings with Joel and his surrogate daughter, but you try not to think about why you could be enjoying them so much. Anytime your thoughts drift anywhere near that particular area, your emotions shut down and you become unresponsive for a couple of minutes.

Joel noticed it the first evening at his house. He sees it happen again when you and him are out on morning patrol and he's just told you about how much Ellie enjoys her time with you when they have you over. You smile and begin to answer that you feel the same way, that it reminds you of - but that's where you stop midsentence and and your facial features turn from pleased to absent.

Joel watches as one of your arms snakes across your chest and latches on to your other arm, gloved fingers digging into your coat with such force that it looks like you're holding on for dear life. He wants to ask, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how and curses himself. Maria'd know, he thinks. Hell, even Ellie would. But he's not a woman, he's just Joel, and talking about feelings has never been his strong suit, not even when Sarah was still there.

So he just watches you out of the corner of his eye, not knowing what else to do, until you slowly come back to life. He keeps quiet for the rest of the ride, not wanting to say anything that could cause you to retreat back to wherever you just went, but for the first time, he can't shake the urge of wanting to know. It's none of your business, a voice tells him in his head, over and over again, and he knows that, but the urge doesn't pass. Something about the way you shut down, about the moments in which it happens, it seems all too familiar to him and he can't help but think back to what his brother said the day that he was dragged to your doorstep. "You and her, you got the same kind of twitchy." Joel thinks about the implications of what that could mean and just hopes, prays, that he's wrong.

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[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch14

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

Your stay at the hospital is hellish, as you’re constantly accompanied by a mind numbing boredom that refuses to leave. You understand that you have to give your body time to heal—you’re suffering from a gunshot wound, after all. However, you have absolutely nothing resembling entertainment to occupy your time with. Instead, you’re left to slowly decay under thin sheets and the nurse’s observant gaze. Your side still burns, but with each passing hour, it gets a little better. 

Before you can die of boredom, however, you get a visitor. You glance at the clock, only to find that you’ve been deceived. It’s only been a few hours since Jack’s visit. The thought troubles you. Time is taunting you. 

The door to your room slides open suspensefully, before revealing a familiar face. Beverly stands in the doorway, an inappropriately devilish grin on her face. It only takes a few seconds for you to see through the happiness in her smile, straight to the tightness behind the gesture and the stiffness of her posture. She’s been worried for you. The thought makes you feel extremely guilty. Truly, you’ve been a rather horrible friend as of late. Sure, you’ve had a lot of other things going on. Still, Beverly has always made time for you. Why weren’t you able to do the same for her?

“Hey,” Beverly says. Her gaze flits about your form with disinterest and you’re once again reminded of your gratitude for Beverly’s honesty. She’s one of the only people who never looked at you strangely—with fear, apprehension, disgust, pity. “Missed ya.” 

“Missed you too, Bev,” you respond, sending her a smile that probably looks more tired than relieved. She seems to appreciate the thought nonetheless. Beverly looks around the room for a moment, before settling in the same chair that Hannibal was sitting in only moments ago. Somehow, she seems to add a sort of brightness to the rather unremarkable space. You tap your fingers against the sheets restlessly. “You just missed all the fun—Jack tore me a new one.” You sigh. 

“Hardly,” Beverly huffs in amusement. Her gaze flits from the wall to meet your eyes with an uncharacteristic sincerity. “Jack was worried about you, you know. He’s had a rather short fuse for the past few days; it was driving everyone crazy at the Institute.” 

“The past few days?” You manage to ask. You’re hoping you misinterpreted that statement. Surely you haven’t missed several days. Surely you weren’t knocked out for that long. 

Beverly’s expression is sympathetic and you feel any confidence you had promptly fade from existence. “You were unconscious for three days,” she says. You don’t know what to say, so you opt for pinching the bridge of your nose and pretending not to notice the pain in your side or the fatigue clinging to your form. “We were all worried, of course,” Beverly continues, as if trying to keep you distracted from the admission.  “Me, Jack, Price, Alana-”

“Alana?” You interrupt. 

“Well, of course,” your friend says with furrowed brows. Somehow, Beverly’s remark reminds you of your friendship with Alana—the friendship that you had been purposefully avoiding for so long. Ever since she kissed you, you’ve been avoiding her. That’s surely a justifiable course of action, but hearing about Alana’s concern for you makes you think of all the memories you have with her.

After all, Alana was your first friend at the Institute. She stuck up for you in front of Jack, when you were a nameless rookie and he was the intimidating superior officer that you were afraid of speaking out to. Alana was your psychiatrist for a while, too. Dr. Bloom is different from the majority of the medical professionals you’ve worked with. She doesn’t treat you like an endangered animal in a zoo exhibit. She never once tried to poke or prod at you—manipulate you in the way so many others do. Alana was really a breath of fresh air during your time of need. 

“I need to talk to her later,” you murmur. You intend for the remark to be a note to yourself, but your companion hears it anyway. 

“Sure,” Beverly answers unobtrusively. “Hey, tell me about it?”

It doesn’t take you long to understand what she’s getting at. “Gideon?” you ask, unable to keep a bit of suspicion from your voice, “Why?”

“I’ve heard bits and pieces, rumors, but I want to hear it from you,” Beverly admits. “You don’t have to tell me right this instant. Just…” She breaks off, evidently unable to find the words. 

“It’s fine, I’ll tell you,” you respond. You think you owe Beverly this explanation, if only for how neglectful of a friend you’ve been the past few weeks. You tell her as much and she waves the remark off, which only incites more guilt within you. You’ve been entirely negligent and neglectful—something you seek to repair in the coming time. 

Somehow, reliving the kidnapping is actually helpful. By recounting what happened, you can start to come to terms with the events that unfolded. Looking back on it now, you realize that you had no choice but to kill Gideon. Indeed, just as Jack said, he would have killed you first. After killing Chilton and Lounds, there’s no telling what he would have done next—except, you realize with mounting dread, go after Alana. 

“That’s… very shitty,” Beverly admits once you’ve explained everything, seemingly lost for the right words. You relate to the sentiment. Truly, the entire situation is beyond words. 

“I know,” you say, acknowledging the remark before choosing to push the conversation onto lighter topics. You glance around the room with irritation. “Now I’m just stuck in this fucking room. I’m dying of boredom.” Beverly laughs, her eyes gleaming. 

“You’re going to love me for this,” she smirks, a mischievous gesture that reminds you of how cunning she can be. You send her a quizzical look and she makes a show of rolling her eyes. “I brought clothes. Just change into these and they’ll never notice you leaving.” She glances at the door behind her before looking back to you, waiting to see what you’ll say. 

“You’re my savior,” you remark sincerely. Beverly smiles triumphantly, before offering you a hand. You take the proffered assistance and she steadies you as you leave the mattress. To your surprise, you’re able to walk on your own—albeit with less speed and composure than usual. You step into the bathroom and close the door behind you, before finally taking off your damned hospital gown. The thing is horrid and you take immense pleasure in shoving it into the absurdly small trash can in the corner of the room. Thankfully, you took a shower this morning, so you won’t have to put clean clothes on over dirtied skin. The clothes Beverly brought don’t fit super well, but they’re leagues better than that drab hospital gown. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, unsurprised by what you see.

You look different. Haunted, hallowed. Your face almost looks more gaunt, your eyes more dull. You didn’t emerge from captivity unscathed, that’s for damn sure. The wound ripping the skin at your side is proof of that. There’s also a jagged scar cutting diagonally down your face, reaching from the edge of your temple and falling dangerously close to your left eye. You bring a hand up to the cut, wincing at the brief pain the motion incites. 

A harsh knock on the door rips you out of your self-inflicted torturous reverie. You take a deep breath and regard your reflection one more time before leaving the bathroom. You stand in front of Beverly and she looks you up and down. 

“Not bad,” Beverly says. 

“Jack is going to kill me if he finds out,” you realize aloud. 

“Which is why he won’t,” Beverly responds confidently. Her eyebrows furrow at your statement, as if the very suggestion of failure is laughable. “Find out, that is.” You click your tongue and grin at her; she then grins back. Once the elevator doors open, the two of you walk through the long hall and towards the exit. Your departure is painfully slow, but within a few minutes, the two of you are standing outside of the hospital building. The afternoon sun is bright today and the sunshine warms your skin. You feel a relieved smile growing on your face. Beverly says she’ll pull the car up to the driveway and walks off towards her car. Moments later, you’re successfully seated in the passenger seat of your friend’s van. 

The car ride is quicker than you expect. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten the chance to catch up with Beverly, so you’re happy to hear her amusing anecdotes and exciting stories. Truly, it feels as if only a few minutes pass before she’s pulling into your driveway. Your friend puts the car in park and turns to regard you, a conflicted expression on her face. You feel rather the same in that regard. You haven’t been home in several days now and, somehow, it almost feels as if you’re intruding on someone else’s life. You’re preoccupied with the past, as you listen to the cicadas humming in the trees nearby. What if you hadn’t gone after Alana? Would Gideon have killed her? He very well could have. Despite your near certainty that you did the right thing, you can’t rid yourself of the guilt and regret. You should’ve done things differently. You should’ve-

“Hey,” Beverly interjects, her voice cutting through the rushing static in your ears. Her concerned eyes meet yours. “Don’t beat yourself up about it—any of it.  You did the best you could.” As always, Beverly knows exactly what to say. She knows not to tell you that you made the right choice. She knows not to remind you of Gideon’s criminality. Her hand reaches out to clasp yours and you lean over the median to embrace her. Beverly hugs you back and, for a moment, it feels like everything will be okay.

Even despite Beverly’s reassurances, there is blood on your hands as you wave goodbye to her and step into your home. The scar on your face burns with recognition, remorse. Crimson pools color the ground at your feet and your victims follow your every step, taunting you from the shadows. You are haunted by the events that transpired and the choices you made. You had spent so long in a false state of overconfidence, thinking yourself immune from it all. As you walk into your bedroom, a blaring sound greets your ears. You walk over to your alarm clock and disable the alarm, both satisfied and unsettled by the silence that follows. How long did you spend ignoring the shrieking alarms in the recesses of your mind? 

Darkness draws the curtains over the day. Sleep comes easily because, despite it all, you’re exhausted. Unfortunately, your slumber doesn’t feel much longer than the blink of an eye, and you wake to find your skin soaked with sweat. Your stomach growls and you resign to eating a small breakfast before tackling your hygiene. Once you’ve eaten, you choose to take a shower. The hot stream of water tickles your skin and you have to be careful not to let the water fall directly on your wound. The last thing you need is a burn on top of a gunshot wound—that would add insult to injury (literally). Your shower takes a bit longer than normal, mainly because your left arm is restricted in movement. By the time you’re turning the knob to stop the water, your left side is burning from the exertion. You grit your teeth and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel with your right hand. What follows is a rather awkward toweling-off, as you struggle to dry off without aggravating your injuries. You take several minutes to carefully rebandage your wound, before turning to the pile of fresh clothes on the counter near the sink. 

The act of changing into clean clothes proves to be more difficult than you initially expect. The most minute of movements can further irritate your injury. Even the attire you chose—a simple shirt and your most comfortable sweatpants—seems to cling to your form. It feels as if your skin is stretched far too tight over your bones. Despite your expectations, you only feel worse after the shower. 

You’re not out of the bathroom for more than two minutes before you hear the doorbell ring. Dread coils in your chest and you walk to the door, opening it before you think of the potential consequences. The door swings to the side to reveal Hannibal standing on your doorstep. A drop of water slides down your temple. You bat at it with your hand, before regarding Hannibal. 

“Hello,” you manage to say, trying your best to suppress the several different emotions threatening to surface. Your heart is pounding uncomfortably within the confines of your ribcage. You feel your nails digging into your palms as you come to terms with the situation Hannibal has just forced you into. You can’t exactly turn him away at the door—especially knowing that he loathes rudeness and could easily kill you for the offense. Although, in reality, he could kill you regardless. Why are you still allowing this to happen? Why are you still complicit? 

"May I come in?" You bite the inside of your cheek. He is only asking to maintain the pretense that you have control over the situation.

"Sure," you acquiesce guardedly. The wound at your side stings in remembrance. Trepidation makes a home in your chest. Seeing Hannibal once more forces your mind to conjure images of him in surgical attire, slicing through your sutures and putting them back when finished. A not insignificant part of you wonders why it took you so long to come to terms with the danger that Hannibal wields with ease. How many times have you invited him into your home? You've been a fool. 

Hannibal is unaware of your thought process. He's regarding you with mild interest, as if he'd like to dissect your thoughts. You have no intentions of actually speaking on those thoughts, so he'll just have to keep wondering, you think wryly. His voice cuts through the air. "Your departure from the hospital yesterday-"

“What about it?” You interject, stepping past him to close the door before returning to your original position. If Hannibal is annoyed by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. You’re skating on extremely thin ice here. The most minute of gestures could send you into the icy depths of his anger. Sure, you’ve grown accustomed to feeling like that in Hannibal’s presence. That sentiment seems to be amplified today, though. You’re inexplicably taken back to your days at the Academy. You were a wide-eyed recruit, once—filled with the optimism and naïveté of someone who hadn’t seen the field. Instructors taught you everything you needed to know about criminals: how to apprehend them, how their minds worked. 

None of it could have prepared you for what followed. Your first mission left you with a nasty bruise on your jaw and blood-spattered clothes. You hadn’t spoken for days after, and remained shut up in your house until Jack Crawford forced himself inside and sat next to you. At the time, you hadn’t known the man at all. You expected him to chew you out, to start yelling at you for your uselessness. Crawford did nothing of the sort. Instead, he simply… spoke to you. He recalled his training days, his first mission when he stared down a murderer of seventeen innocents. You found solace in knowing that you weren’t overreacting, that the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit himself expressed similar feelings once upon a time. 

“This job isn’t for the faint of heart,” Crawford had remarked “You have to come to terms with the fact that some people are past saving.” The thought troubled you. (It still troubles you.) 

“Even if we can save them?” You choked out, your voice raspy from neglect. If the man was surprised by you breaking your silence, he never commented on it. 

“Even then,” Crawford sighed. At that moment, he looked wizened beyond his years: a man who had seen his fair share of violence and maleficence. Crawford turned back to you, a determined look in his eyes. “We deal with monsters here, who are infinitely more cruel than you thought possible. They will come in different shapes, sizes, personalities. But there’s one thing that every single one of these people has in common… They’re all dangerous.” 

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Crawford asked. “I know you’re talented—I keep an eye on all the recruits. You could be a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit within a few years. You have a good eye, a good feel for how this works. Excellent shot.” The praise barely registered to you in your tortured state. Now, it brings a ghost of a smile to your face. “But this work… it changes you.” Spoken from experience, judging by the resigned look on Crawford’s face. 

“You can leave this behind,” Crawford continued, his lips set in a thin line. “Get another job. Have a normal life.” He pushed himself up to stand over you. You still remember the look on his face in that moment: how his eyes gleamed with firm resolve. “Or you can walk out of this door with me, back to headquarters.” It hadn’t taken you long to come to a decision. After a few seconds, you got to your feet and followed after him. 

Now, as you stand across from a killer in your entryway, you wonder if that answer was a mistake. Where would you be, if you weren’t here? The thought is pointless to consider. It’s far too late for contemplation. 

Hannibal says your name and you’re snapped out of your trance. He’s staring at you expectantly, but you haven’t the faintest idea what he is looking for. “You were assigned to bedrest for three more days,” Hannibal eventually says. 

“And?” You ask, moving past him to walk into the living room. Hannibal follows behind you, a silent shadow at your back. A shiver rolls down your spine as you walk the short distance with your back to him, almost entirely vulnerable. You move to sit on your sofa and Hannibal takes a seat at the armchair across from it. The positioning reminds you of your sessions with him. You grit your teeth. 

“Does Jack know that you’ve returned home?” Hannibal asks, raising his eyebrows slightly. His gaze pins you to the sofa. 

He’s playing dirty with that remark and he knows it. “What do you think?” You ask, unable to keep a slight hint of sardonicism from leaking into your voice. Hannibal only raises his eyebrows. You sigh and lean back against your sofa. “Of course Jack doesn’t know. He would murder me, to put it lightly.” The thought prompts some guilt to rise in you. You forget the feeling when Hannibal inexplicably rises to his feet and rounds the coffee table, standing over you. 

“Your wound needs consistent medical attention.” He demands. 

“It’s fine,” you argue, “It doesn’t even hurt.” That is a complete lie. Hannibal seems to know that, if the skeptical pinch to his lips is anything to go by. He was a surgeon, after all. You had forgotten— tried to forget , your brain supplies. The air between the two of you is silent. The way Hannibal looms over you now makes you nervous. You don’t know what to say to break through this seemingly insurmountable tension. 

“Allow me?” It’s phrased like a question, yet you feel as if you can’t say no. You nod, not trusting the words that could fall from your lips. Hannibal takes an impossible step closer and you push yourself up, maneuvering so that you lie across the couch. You pull up your shirt, feeling strangely self-conscious. Still, Hannibal is—was—a medical professional. This isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before. 

Hannibal hums and looks down at the bandage covering the wound. You’re sure he will get a good idea of the wound’s progress without lifting the entire thing off. His fingertips glide across the skin near the bandage and your skin prickles. For what seems like an eternity, his hand lingers. Just as you’re about to let out a sarcastic quip, he lightly tugs at the edge of the bandage and lifts it up. 

“See?” You say, feeling the need to break the silence settling in the space. Hannibal’s gaze is focused on your wound with intense precision and you have to wonder just what he’s looking for. You’ve seen your fair share of bullet wounds, but you’re not usually this involved in the healing process. You can't remember the last time you got shot in the field. It must’ve been a few years ago, at least. 

Hannibal is staring at you now. His eyes shine crimson in the light. He clearly doesn’t believe you. You sigh. “Fine,” you acquiesce, “It still hurts. But you have to understand, I was going crazy in that hospital room.” You meet his eyes to further emphasize your point. 

“And the truth comes out,” Hannibal murmurs. He’s staring down at his hand, which you’re still holding for some reason. You’re quick to release your grip. “As it is wont to do.” That latter remark is murmured under his breath and it is clearly meant as a note to himself. You hear it anyway. The statement is foreboding, and you almost have to wonder if it’s an omen. “Do you have fresh bandages for tomorrow? You should change them daily.” 

“Yes, I do,” you respond detachedly, smoothing down the bandage he had pulled up to investigate the wound. You hastily pull your shirt back down, feeling strangely exposed. “And I changed the bandage this morning.” You had to shower, after all. 

For a fraction of a moment, you swear Hannibal looks disappointed. You’re quick to dismiss the notion. There is nothing he would get from bandaging your wound in such a manner. It’s not like he can steal your kidney again, you think. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the dark humor you seem to be using to cope. 

“I will see you tonight for your appointment,” Hannibal announces, smoothly exiting the room before you can so much as raise an objection. As you walk towards the front door, you begin to recognize the remark for what it is: a demand. You have no choice in the matter. Arguably, the luxury of choice was ripped from your hands when you embraced complicity. You have no one but yourself to blame, you think begrudgingly.

The rest of the day passes without incident, thankfully. You spend most of the time resting off and on. Your wound still hurts, but it’s a marked improvement from how it felt when you first woke up. You desperately want to make yourself busy by cleaning your house, but your side protests any activity more strenuous than walking. You eventually settle for watching something on television, allowing your mind to drift as the bright colors assault your vision. 

Before long, it’s time for you to leave for your appointment with Hannibal. You contemplate changing into more formal clothes, before remembering how laborious the process of dressing was this morning. Besides, Hannibal already saw you earlier. There’s no point in trying to pretend that you’re well-collected and composed, you huff. Mind made up, you grab your car keys and leave the house. 

Since you’re dreading the session, the drive passes particularly quickly. You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts this evening that you don’t realize Hannibal has been waiting for you to enter his office until he says your name. You get up from your seat in the waiting room and follow him through the doorway, your heart in your throat. For some reason, you get the feeling that you won’t be making it out of here alive. Your eyes flit about the office and you see the space in a new light. Anything and everything sharp can be a weapon. The only exit to the room is the door you just entered through. 

There’s a hand on your shoulder and you’re briefly jarred back to reality. Hannibal motions to the chairs and you follow his direction. Unsurprisingly, the chairs feel impossibly close today. If you were to really sprawl, you would likely hit Hannibal. You cross one leg over the other and try to subtly shrink into the back of the chair. Hannibal’s speech greets your ears, but your thoughts reduce his voice to a frantic rhythm. There’s a distant screeching sound reverberating in your skull and your skin feels as if it’s buzzing. You let your hands rest on your thighs, resisting the urge to let your hand rest on the pistol at your belt. You came armed today—almost as if anticipating something on the horizon. 

“What would you like to talk about?” Hannibal asks. You frown internally. You’re not sure what to talk about. You almost don’t want to talk at all. Hannibal must recognize that, because he falls silent, too. 

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you instead retreat to your mind palace. The gilded white pillars are tinted with crimson. There are muddied footsteps tracking through the foyer. A clock ticks hauntingly, creating a loud rhythm in your ears. You walk down the hall, only to find Abel Gideon’s corpse. You’re thrown back to captivity, to a gunshot ringing in your ears and the horrible thump of a corpse hitting the ground. Your neck aches in remembrance. Abel Gideon���s body looks the same as you left it: a bullet carving a hole through his temple, a shallow cut near the back of his neck. The flooring is red and Gideon’s blood almost seeps into it, creating a murky crimson that is nearly indistinguishable from what it was before.

Abel Gideon was but one man. One criminal, one villain, one monster. There are dozens, hundreds, thousands more. You contemplate the thought as you continue down the hallowed hall of your mind palace. Garret Jacob Hobbs, Franklyn Froideveaux, Abel Gideon… They were only the first tumultuous waves on a pitch black ocean, swirling madly about. You can feel the beginnings of a harsh wind whipping at your skin, rustling your clothes. The skies are dark. The storm is yet to come. 

Before long, you realize you have to leave. There is only so long you can stare off into space before Hannibal will grow suspicious. You close your eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again to find yourself back in Hannibal’s office. You’re restless. The chair threatens to swallow you in its embrace. Your fingers are tapping against the arms of the chair, your foot tapping against the ground. You need to move. You need to escape. You need to- 

It is a twisted irony, you think as a single word slips from your lips. You’ve spent so long pretending, feigning ignorance. You think back to that fateful moment all those months ago, when Hannibal took you to his residence. You saw the antlers, remembered the fanciful food at the dinner parties. It had felt as if fiery flames were stitching your every nerve together, igniting one horrid realization within you. Ironic, how one word will send your world aflame once more.

“See?” The remark crawls from your tongue, wrenching your lips open and sinking into the still air. You inhale sharply as you notice Hannibal’s eyes flash crimson. His posture is still and he almost appears frozen in place, save for the measured breaths entering his nose and exiting his lips. His unblinking, unflinching stare assaults you with horrible, cloying fear. The feeling paralyzes you, leaving your legs locked and your hands clenched in fists. Your heart is humming in your ears. You can’t hear what he says next, but it doesn’t matter. There is no mistaking the expression on his face, the wrath hidden behind that thin-pressed smile:

Hannibal knows.

next chapter

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer

[deliciousangelfestival]

Switched Sides Chapter 4 - Lloyd Hansen Series

Character: Lloyd Hansen x former Hitman!FemaleReader

Summary: Y/N L/N quit her job as a hitman to take care of her nephew after her stepbrother died. It’s been a year since she became a good aunt to her nephews, and she wants to keep it that way. But her quiet life got disturbed when her former boss asked for her help.

Warning: Nothing.

A/N: Reblog and any feedback are much appreciated. I love reading all your comments and funny GIF.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Last Chapter

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi please 🥹

“No.” Y/N quickly answered. 

“Eh~ why not?” Lloyd asked with a whining voice. 

“If you live here, do you want to explain to the kids why they came home with blood on their head, broken leg, or losing a finger?”

She had that thought before, to continue her job as a hitman when she became an aunt, but consider the danger, and any day would be her last day. She can’t risk that. 

“I already risked my family's safety when I let you into my house.” 

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Don't you realise this is our first argument as a couple?”

“We're not…” 

“I know, I know, I'm just teasing you. Don't get mad. Let's get back to sleep.” Lloyd stroked her back multiple times. 

He doesn't want to make her angry anymore, or she will move from his arms. It's already a miracle she didn't push him away. Lloyd was half honest when he asked about moving in. If Y/N says yes, that would be great, but it is also fine if she says no. 

The next day, Lloyd woke up with an empty bed. When he looked at the clock, he was surprised it showed 9 a.m. He slept the whole night. Then he saw folded clothes beside him.

It turned out Y/N had prepared it. 

He wore the clothes and walked to the kitchen. The image he saw is Y/N cooking breakfast, and the kids are sitting at the dining table. Then she said, “Come here, or the omelette will get cold.”

Is this what having a normal family looks like? It's not bad.

Lloyd sits on the chair and greets the kids, “Morning, Mark and Kendall.” He gently patted Kendall’s head. 

Mark, while munching his food, he kept looking at Lloyd.

“My daddy used to wear that; you could keep it.”

“Oh, thank you.” Lloyd's fork cut the food in front of him. But then a hash brown being dropped to his plates. When he looked up, he realised the food came from Kendall. The little kid is smiling at him.

“He likes you,” Y/N said while enjoying her coffee. Kendall did the same with her after he became comfortable with her. Nobody knows that she shed a tear that day. 

“Kendall couldn’t speak properly yet, so he will show affection through giving.”

Lloyd felt a lump in his throat. This little kid just shared what he had with a hitman like him. Everyone says he’s a heartless and sociopathic man, but with litter gesture like this made his cold heart melt for a second.

He ate the hash brown, and look at Kendall “I will get the best doctor to treat you, kiddo.”

******

After the four of them had breakfast and showered, Lloyd got a message on his phone when he was sitting on the couch while Kendall rested on his chest.

“Y/N, I'm going to need your help again.”

“What is it now?” Y/N, playing Monopoly with Mark, closes his ears with her hands. She hopes he won’t hear their conversation. 

“I will meet a weapon dealer, but I need a translator. My dear Y/N, you are fluent in Italian."

“I don't like where this is going.”

“Could you please be my plus one? If you help me, Hmmm… let me think about it.”

He was silent at the second, wondering what he could give her. Then he thought, “I will change your minivan to BMW.”

Y/N shook her head. "No, the maintenance and taxes are expensive."

She would say yes if he had given her that offer one year ago. But now, after becoming an aunt, she needs to count all the expenses, and her priority is her nephew. Besides, the car her brother left is still in good condition.

“Oh, I didn't expect that answer. I have another offer that will benefit you.” 

“What?”

“I will catch your stalker.”

“Huh?” 

Lloyd slowly moved his body to sit down while holding Kendall. “Don't you know someone has been following you for a couple of months?”

Y/N has a strong instinct because of her training and skills as a hitman. She will sense if there's another killer near her. 

But what Lloyd said about someone stalking her? 

"That person may not be in the same business as us. That's why I don't feel threatened." 

“Ooh pumpkin, parenting is hard for you and makes your excellent skills rusty. Don't worry. I will get him for you.” 

Lloyd finds out where she lives, and he knows someone is stalking her. So she will leave him with that job. “Promise me you won't kill that stalker. I want to hear the reason why.” 

“Fine.” 

“But we have a problem.”

“Who's going to take care of the kids?” 

“Bruno will watch them.”

“Me?”

Y/N and Bruno asked at the same time. It turned out Lloyd had called Bruno. 

“Him?”

“Yeah. He's good with kids.” 

“Me disguised as a kindergarten teacher on one mission doesn't make me a kid expert.”

They once got a month-long mission at the private school to catch a criminal. She became an elementary school, and Bruno became a kindergarten teacher. He seemed to have a big impact; kids cried when he said goodbye. 

“Two Richard Mille watches. Limited editions.”

“Deal.” 

Y/N move closer to Lloyd’s phone. “Make sure they don't eat peanuts; the last time they can eat chocolate is 4 p.m.; if you let them eat past 4 pm, they will get hyperactive. You don't want that, right Bruno?”

"No."

“They could watch cartoons. If they can't sleep, just play a video of Bob Ross. His voice always works to make them fall asleep.” 

“Easy cake.”

“Wow, pretty Aunty.”  

“Pwinsess.” 

Damn, these kids made the first move. Lloyd clicked his tongue; when they were done giving a kiss to their aunt, it was time for him.

“You look beautiful.” 

Right now, three of them see Y/N wearing a dress. This would be Mark and Kendall's first time seeing their aunt stylishly like this. While Lloyd, who'd seen her wearing all kinds of clothes, still made him speechless.

“Thanks.” She didn't rebuke what he said. It's been a while for her to wear a beautiful dress and make-up.  After becoming the aunt, she only wears comfortable clothes. But now, she looks like the old Y/N. Confident, sexy, and dangerous. 

Sometimes she wondered how Lloyd could get a nice dress this fast. 

*****

They arrived at the expensive restaurant. After Lloyd told the name to the waiter, he brought them to a private room. She saw a man with a suit, big rings on his fingers, and leather shoes there. She could read him as flamboyant and narcissistic from how he dressed. This will be a difficult negotiation. 

“Glad you’re not late, signore Hansen.”

Y/N pinched Lloyd's arm and whispered, “You said he can’t speak English.”

There it is, a smirked smile on his face again. This is his plan from the beginning. He just wanted to be alone with her, but she kept saying no. “Perhaps, he’s been taking lessons.”

The weapon dealer's name is Luca. He flicked the shortened cigarette butt onto the ashtray and stared straight at Lloyd. “You see, signore, my boss doesn’t agree with the number you offered.”

Lloyd put off the cigarette to the ashtray he barely smoked. “What a coincidence, my boss also hates the number you gave.”

“I expected we couldn’t make an agreement today. So this is my last gift to you.” He grabs the knife steak and taps his champagne glass. With the clinking sound, many people appear from the door. Luca turned out to bring a bodyguard with him. 

They are outnumbered, but their skill is nothing compared to Lloyd and Y/N's level. 

Y/N kick their table aside to create a defensive barrier; she grabs a knife from her thigh holster.

Y/N and Lloyd work together to beat the bodyguard at the peaceful restaurant. Loyd always likes Y/N's skill with knives. His eyes admire her fight while he delivers a fist to his opponent. The way she threw the blade knives was so fast that they couldn’t be seen properly, and she would accurately hit her target.

“I know you missed this,” Lloyd shouts, directed to Y/N from his position. From his eyes, he could see her eyes with glee, and Y/N was enjoying it. 

The man who had beaten Lloyd groaned and pulled a gun out of his jacket. But Lloyd acted quicker; he grabbed his gun and pulled the trigger. 

It didn’t take long for both of them to deal with the bodyguards. Lloyd tidied up his dishevelled clothes and grabbed a white cloth to wipe the blood off Y/N's hands. They act like nothing happened while Luca sits trembling near the kicked table, looking at Lloyd and Y/N with trembling eyes. 

Lloyd grabbed a Y/N knife that stuck on a bodyguard's chest. He squatted in front of Luca and stabbed the knife on the table behind Luca; his ears almost got cut. 

“Send this to your boss. Accept the price we offered, or he doesn’t see another sunrise.” Lloyd kicked the man’s head, which made him pass out. 

*******

As they going back, silence filled the inside of the car. None of them opened their mouth. It was Lloyd the first to break the silence. 

“You can’t go home like this.”

Y/N eyes were fixed on the road, glanced at him. Lloyd, driving briefly, looked at her from head to toe. After she followed his gaze, she understood that dry blood spattered on her clothes, and she couldn’t get rid of the blood from her fists. She went out of control tonight. 

He’s right. If Mark and Kendall saw her like this, they would be scared. “You’re right.” 

“Let’s go to my place. I still have your clothes.” Lloyd tapped the steering wheel. 

“Fine, I’ll was my hands, change my clothes and go home.”

Suddenly, the speed of the car increased. He sped on it so roughly that her body leaned backwards, startling Y/N. 

****

Lloyd brings her to one of his hidden apartments. Y/N removed her make and took a quick shower. Washing her hand with hand soap, and her hair is a mess.

After she felt refreshed, she went out of the bathroom and heard to the wardrobe.  She was shocked by the outfits. It’s all silk satin dress and pyjamas. Where the heck is her old hoodie and training pants?

“Lloyd!!!” She screamed his name and slammed the wardrobe door. Suddenly behind the door, the man appeared with a smug smile.

Lloyd stood in front of Y/N. He stretched out his arms on both sides of her and touched the back of the wardrobe, and Y/N was completely trapped in his arms. 

Y/N raised her head and stared blankly at him. His blues have always been her favourite colour. 

She reached out her hand and slowly stroked his face. 

Lloyd twisted his mouth into a smile. He bumped their forehead together.

Y/N placed her hand on the nape of his neck. “You're right; I miss this.” 

The moment Y/N said that Lloyd pulled her body close to him. They passionately exchanged. He carried her onto his bed. A long moan escaped from her mouth. The longing that had been held up exploded, and without hesitation, they lunged at each other.

A/N: Reblog and any feedback are much appreciated. I love reading all your comments and funny GIF.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Last Chapter

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[wellthebardsdead]

Some more on Falûnes bad end 1 “loving home” because I broke my own heart with it-

———

Raphael: *tucking Falûne back in after he fell asleep to another story, quietly placing ward after ward around him sensing his fathers presence trying to creep into the house of hope to get ahold of him*

Korrilla: *steps into the nursery and looks around in surprise at how nice he’d made it* hm, it looks out of place compared to the rest of the building. *looks over at the small cambion boy fast asleep against his pillow* how is he?…

Raphael: A happy little boy. And I’ll do everything I can to keep it that way.

Korrilla: well, good news then. Wyll and Karlach are here. They’re waiting in the dining room.

Raphael: *nods and gets up from his chair placing the story book down on it as he walks from the room and out to greet his guests*

Wyll: *looks up seeing him coming* alright we’re here. What do you want?

Karlach: *folds her arms, engine flaring up in her chest* nothing good I bet.

Raphael: *expression serious and riddled with concern* you are correct… I have a deal to offer you that will benefit you both greatly, but first it’s with a heavy heart I must apologise… It was the only thing I could do to help him.

Karlach: *looks at Wyll confused before looking at the devil* help, who?…

Raphael: Falûne… I warn you. It’s going to be a bit of a shock. *gestures for them to follow*

Wyll: *looks at Karlach before nodding and following after him with her, right into the nursery and feeling his world shatter seeing what had become of their friend* he’s-

Karlach: a child?…

Raphael: His mind was broken beyond repair… when I found him he was malnourished and feral with rage. He was laughing through tears as he burned the cloister he was raised in to the ground with the priests inside. All while crushing the father superiors skull beneath his hooves. The cruelty of his life had finally broken him… and it was Astarion who was the catalyst.

Wyll: what?…

Raphael: *produces a handkerchief from his pocket and unfurls it, showing the shattered pottery that was a clay pig figurine, Falûnes best friend, Hen* From what I could gather from his memories, Astarion whittled away at his sanity. His presence drove him from the sanctuary of Selune he’d rebuilt with Shadowheart, then he drove him from moonrise, back to the cloister he was raised in, where the abuse he’d suffered only came back ten fold until finally, he gave up and returned to the ascendants arms hoping to find any sort of kindness or love… only to be met with further cruelty. Their final fight had astarion shattering his most beloved possession. And with it, the last of Falûnes resolve and sanity. He gave into my fathers influence and had begun to unleash his powers… my only two options were to kill him… or give him another chance. Wipe his memories clean and give him a better life.

Wyll: so why are we here then?…

Raphael: Simple. I give Karlach a heart. Back in her chest where it belongs, no more engine, nothing. And in return you both adopt him. Raise him. Have him believe you’re his parents and give him a life filled with love.

Wyll: I find it hard to believe you’re offering this purely out of the goodness of your own heart. What do you really gain from this?

Raphael: *scoffs* I can’t collect souls if he rips apart the very fabric of world. Not to mention the sheer power and influence my father would have from him doing so. But, whether you believe it or not… I have developed a fondness for him, he is my nephew after all… and, it’s rare, for such a good heart to have come from the hells… so, do we have a deal?

Karlach: *now standing by the bed, weeping openly as she tries to reach for him but can’t knowing she’ll burn him if she does* yes! Hurry up and give me my heart so I can hold him already! Let me hold my moonpie!

Raphael: *smiles and nods summoning a contract before them* just sign here and he’s all yours- allowing me to visit occasionally of course.

Karlach: *quickly signs it before handing Wyll the quill*

Wyll: *hesitates for a moment given his history with devil pacts* …

Raphael: I’ll get rid of mizora as a bonus.

Wyll: *signs it* deal.

Raphael: Wonderful~ *makes the contract disappear before simply snapping his fingers, Karlach feeling like her heart skipped a beat as the engine disappears, and is replaced with a beating, healthy heart, the flames across her body fizzling out with little more than a puff of smoke*

Korrilla: *smiling as she lifts Falûne from the bed, the little cambion cuddling onto her with a yawn* here you go, he’s all yours.

Karlach: *smiles wide as she takes him and holds him close* oh Lûne… little Lûne… *kisses between his tiny horns and strokes his hair*

Wyll: *walks to them and smiles tearfully, gently hugging Karlachs waist and rubbing between Falûnes little wings* …we’ll give him a good life.

Karlach: *nods* y-yeah. *sniffles and laughs softly* I’ve always wanted to be a mum… I’m going to murder Astarion…

Wyll: *nods* he won’t get away with this… *looks at her lovingly* … *looks at Raphael* where- did you get her heart by the way?

Raphael: I told you I’d get rid of mizora.

*meanwhile*

Mizora: *screaming in agony as her body writhes and contorts, burning up from the inside as the engine malfunctions in her chest before exploding, splattering her insides across Zariel and her throne*

Zariel: *gritting her teeth and digging her claws into the arm rests, knowing this was Karlachs doing and now she can’t do anything to harm her unless she wants the son of the arch devil of Cania after her too.* that, bitch…

[shirohige-pirates]

Hey Doll

CisFem Reader x Thatch

CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.

tag list: @mfreedomstuff @harahettania @clumsyraccoon

Chapter 6: The Tea

“They had to have abused her, Pops!” Thatch is struggling to keep his voice down. There’s pain in his face and his words, and Edward can’t argue the truth of his assumptions. “The way she acts compared ta’ them, and the two times she’s all but broken down around us.”

Once it had been decided that you would be escorted to your parents’ home to retrieve your things, Edward had asked you to go back downstairs. He wanted to talk to his son in private, and work out a few details regarding how things would go.

“Two times?”

Thatch steps back from the desk and sighs. “When we were alone yesterday. I said I’d try an’ push back the deadline if she wanted. I didn’t want her to feel forced into anything.” He rolls his eyes, knowing his dad’s glare is directed at him for promising something that was exceptionally difficult to do. Not impossible for the old man, but still.

“But, the way she reacted to it. She got so focused on the word forced, and got super defensive, sayin’ she’s never felt forced, but it was like she wasn’t talking about the program at all.”

Newgate’s quiet for a moment. “Even if that’s the case, unless she’s willing to talk about it, there’s not much we can do. Do you think she’d be able to speak out against her parents?”

Newgate could see his son deflate in real time, and grunted in response. “Me either, and you’re not going to undo what’s probably twenty years of abuse in a couple days, Thatch. I can’t press charges against her parents for choosing her things, or stopping her from drinking caffeine.”

“No, I know.” Thatch grumbles, sitting down in a nearby chair. “I don’t know if I can be in the same space as those two. The more she talks about them, the more it pisses me off.”

“Well, you’re going to have to. I need everyone there, the faster we get her things gathered and removed, the better.” Edward’s tone isn’t leaving any room for Thatch to argue. “I’ll stay with your fiance and deal with her parents. Your job might be to impart just how foolish they’d be to try anything in the future.”

“How-.” Thatch stops. “Oh. I mean, yeah. With how she’s talkin’, I probably could.”

Edward nods. “Let Marco and Izou load you up, carry the whole room out in one go. Be intimidating for once in your life, Thatchy-boy.”

Thatch almost snorts. “If I get the point across, you gotta stop calling me that.”

His father laughs, that deep bass laugh that almost makes Thatch’s ribcage rattle. “You’re going to have to bare your teeth more often than that, boy.”

Thatch sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes before he pulls himself up and out of the chair he’d started to sink into. “Who’s going to call them then?”

“I’ll have Haruta do it. He’s removed from what happened, and he’ll stick by the instructions I give him without letting anything deter him.” He says, waving Thatch away. “Get. Go downstairs and make sure Izou hasn’t pulled out the family photo albums.” Thatch is already on his feet and out the door at the idea.

Having left you at the mercy of his brothers wasn’t a concern so much as how little mercy his brothers would show him. With everything else that had gone on, he wouldn’t put it past them to use something like baby pictures to “help” distract you from the last 24 hours. Taking steps almost three at a time, he hops the banister to shorten the distance a little and finds all of you in the dining room, just off the kitchen.

Izou looks over first, giving him a catty smile. “Worried, brother?”

Thatch grimaces. “With you lot, yeah.” He grunts.

You look up as Thatch gets closer and give him a soft smile. There’s a schematic of the manor rolled out on the table, and Izou and Marco had been walking you through it. There’s a look of relief and confusion on Thatch’s face.

“I wanted to see the house, but I didn’t want us to all be gone when you came down.” You explain. “Marco suggested this.”

“Not… pictures?” Thatch tilts his head and Marco laughs.

“You really wanted me to risk the kid pictures that would’ve been mixed in?” He asks and Thatch shakes his head. “Izou would’ve hunted down every embarrassing photo of the both of us.”

“Only because you weren’t going to back me up.” Izou clarifies with a grin. Elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand, he leans toward you a little, deviousness leaking from his every action. “I’m sure if you ask, however, Miss Kakusho, not even Thatch would say no.”

You can see Thatch flinch and when you look up he looks away, the ear you can see already turning red. You look back over to Izou’s whose grin has somehow gotten even more mischievous than it already was. He looks away from Thatch and looks back to you, raising his brow questioningly.

“Oh I… I wouldn’t want to impose. I haven’t, um, even read the Match Book yet.” You say, hoping it’s enough.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wait, seriously, yoi?” Marco asks, looking from you to Thatch. “She doesn’t know anything?”

“We talked for almost two hours last night.” Thatch replies. “She knows some stuff.”

“She know how you got that scar?” Marco prompts, and Thatch’s face flushes. “No, eh?”

“I - I don’t need to know.” You insist, a little hastily. You can feel the heat rising in your face, but you try to maintain your calm. “I mean.” You clear your throat, composing yourself. “Thatch has been very kind and considerate, and I don’t want him to feel obligated.”

There’s a silence between all three, and your gaze falls down into your lap - you don’t trust yourself to look up at Thatch right now. “You’ve all been very kind, considering how rudely my parents acted.”

“Of course he’s been kind,” Izou says, breaking the tension in the air with a dismissive tone. “What kind of ass would treat someone different just because their parents are rude? And Thatch is such a sap anyway.”

“Oi, you didn’t need to add that last part.” Thatch retorts, trying not to raise his voice.

“I wouldn’t dare to lie to your sweet fiance, Thatchy-boy.” Izou says teasingly. Thatch starts to reach for him, but Izou doesn’t seem bothered and Marco’s just laughing.

You’d never really experienced sibling dynamics before, but you were adjusting to these three fairly quickly. It wasn’t that the emotions themselves weren’t genuine, it was that there was something present along with them. A kind of trust that Izou wasn’t really angering Thatch, and Thatch could stop him if he wanted, but that the squabble had more in it than just what was at the surface.

“Bah,” Thatch growls. “I’m going to grab a shower and a change of clothes. Don’t let these two clowns give you a hard time.” He says, looking down at you with a smile. “I won’t be long. Ah, oh -.” He looks back to Marco and Izou. “Pops is havin’ Haruta arrange a time, and we’re going to go and get her stuff.”

“Ah, I’ll leave you with her then, Izou.” Marco says. “I’m going to get some sleep if that’s the plan.”

“Sure, sure.” Izou says, and Thatch crosses his arms, glaring down at the long-haired brother. Izou tries to ignore him, but you can see his face twitch in irritation after a moment. “Fine, fine - I promise I won’t open any family albums or embellish any stories while you’re gone.”

Thatch relaxes and looks at you. “If you tell him no, he’ll listen, despite how he looks.” He assures you, before dodging a swat from Izou.

“You wretch, how I look, come back here, I’m going to snatch that pompadour off your head.” Izou threatens, and starts after Thatch whose already moving away.

“Don’t leave my fiance alone, it’d be rude!” Thatch says, a song in his voice that makes Izou practically growl before he sits back down.

He grumbles something under his breath and all you can really make out are some untoward words about the rules and where Thatch could shove them. You smile, despite the irritation on his face, you can see the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and the light in his eyes. He’s not truly upset. He takes a moment, putting an errant strand of hair back in place gracefully before regarding you.

“No pictures, no exaggerated tales of daring and adventure, and if we go on a walk in the garden Thatch might pout for real.” He smiles, seemingly interested in the idea for a moment. “That doesn’t leave many options.”

“Tell me about yourself.” You prompt and you see his brows raise a little. “We’ll be family soon, right? Would you rather tell me about yourself, or leave it up to someone else?”

Izou’s smile breaks into a laugh and he leans his chin on the back of his hands, folded in front of him as he gives you a rare grin. “You’re a quick learner. Alright, I’ll tell you about myself, if for no other reason that to head off my dear brothers from trying to paint a different picture.

“Like Marco and Thatch, I own my own company. I’m a little more hands off than they are, but I’m no less dedicated. I’ve just delegated a lot of work to people more capable than I am.” He explains, an amused expression crossing his face. “What I know well is tea, the beverage and the social kind,” he clarifies. “I handle the social aspects of the business more than anything else, but I trust the people I have in charge of the more logistical aspects.”

“So you… trade tea?” You question evenly. “In what ways? Is it a local operation?”

Izou nods slightly, never really lifting his head off his hands. “Import and export. We’ve also set standards for tea as well, bringing up the overall quality in the market and limiting problems with counterfeiting and other shady practices.”

“Counterfeit tea? How’s that work?”

“Most of the time it’s just a matter of labeling it incorrectly. The idea is that your consumers won’t know the difference between one quality and another. So you could sell blended tea as a pure tea, and if you’re trying to pull one over on people with more expensive varieties, you can really walk away with quite the ill-gotten profit.” He explains. “But we include pop cards with visuals so people can see the differences. Not only does it prove the quality and integrity of our brand, but it also educates our clients against people who would try to cheat them.”

“Interesting.” You respond. If there was one thing you were good at, it was talking to people about their business, or their interests. It was so much easier to listen to someone and prompt them to tell you more, than it was to try and build up any real emotion for your own curated interests.

“I imagine it’s harder to spot when you’re dealing with bagged tea instead of loose leaves, or is that not the case?”

“Only a little. There’s some things you can still look out for, like an excess of dust, or there’s different grades of fannings and broken leaf that can effect quality. It won’t necessarily be bad tea, if you know how to deal with it, but if someone’s trying to sell it as something different, it’s easy enough to spot.” He gives you an amused look. “Everything’s easier to do once you learn how to do it, and that’s why we try to educate our clients.”

Izou continued to talk to you about tea, speaking on the different varieties and grades. He was so knowledgeable about leaves and seasons and ways of measuring quality, that you wondered why he even needed to delegate, and he laughed. Not at you, but just laughing a little in amusement before leaning back in his chair.

“Tea I know, but I’m not an accountant, and I’m not good at tracking inventory. There’s an entire team of people who compile and crunch data to try and find better ways to move inventory faster so that we can do everything efficiently. Even if I was skilled at that sort of thing, I’m just one person.” He smiles, waving one hand idly in the direction Marco had gone.

“Marco doesn’t even work directly with the people in his company. He goes in after hours and does the quality work. It’s what he’s good at, and if he does it at night he’s not getting in anyone else’s way, and no one else is bothering him. He can focus on what he wants to focus on, and get things done faster.” Izou starts to speak and stops, smirking a little before catching your gaze.

“If I can speak briefly about Thatch?”

“Certainly.”

“Thatch runs the pastry shop almost the same way I run my business. His focus is almost entirely on overseeing things. He does plenty of hands on stuff as well, but there’s no way he could physically fill all the orders he gets. Instead he tests, refines, and teaches his staff recipes, and then oversees quality, steps in to help when it’s needed, and delegates other aspects of the shop to other employees.” He explains. “The point isn’t just to do what you can, it’s to know what you can’t do. Those are the things Pops wanted us to learn, and that’s why none of us work for Whitebeard Shipping and Trade.”

“I didn’t -.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Izou interrupts. “I know you wouldn’t be concerned, but you are aware of that much aren’t you?”

You nod. “I didn’t read the book, but my parents did talk about it while they read it.” You admit. “One of you is going to take over the family business, or at least that’s the assumption.”

“Thatch’s heart isn’t really in it.” Izou says plainly, and you can’t help the relief that comes over you. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s an easy silence between you until Thatch comes back from his shower.

His hair isn’t up in the pompadour yet, and the long locks are framing his face, still a little heavy with dampness. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and a longer sleeved button up that’s not yet buttoned up over it. He looks a little flushed, like he’d rushed his usual process and Izou gives him a sour look.

“You didn’t trust me!” He accuses and Thatch flusters, putting his hands up.

“I did, I did!” Thatch asserts. “I just… didn’t want to take too long, is all.” He looks over at you and you look away before you can stop yourself. “Eh?”

Izou grins. “Ah.”

“What?” Thatch asks, and Izou just shakes his head, getting up from the table and stepping away.

“It’s my turn to get ready for this evening’s festivities. You can stay here and keep your fiance company.” He says, patting the table as he leaves. “We should let Marco sleep as long as we can, so maybe you could take her for a walk in the garden while your hair dries?”

“I…” Thatch starts, having already started to seat himself in the chair Izou had vacated. “Yeah, we can do that, if you’d like?” He asks you. You still can’t look at him, but you nod.

“That sounds nice.” You agree, looking up before looking away again. He looked very different with his hair down like that. The pompadour suited him, even if it did take some getting used to, but seeing his hair down was bad for your heart. With the scar around his eye he almost looked like he would be in a mafia or some kind of gang, and not someone who owns and operates a bakery.

You just aren’t sure how to say any of that, or if you even should. The difference was just jarring enough that you needed a moment more to get yourself in order before you’re finally able to look up at him.

“You can sit for a moment, if you want to.” You add, smiling. “Or, um, if you wanted to finish getting ready I can wait for a few moments by myself, it’s okay.” You motion around your own head, pantomiming the pompadour style.

“Ah, no, I’m going to leave it down for today.” He admits scratching idly at the side of his face. “Pops says I look more intimidating with it down.”

Intimidating isn’t the word you would use.

[nicoline1998enilocin]

School trip

PAIRING | Teacher!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 2.3K

SUMMARY | Luca is going on a trip with his school, and you're chosen to come as one of the chaperones. Bucky is very pleased about this, and finds it hard to move from your side and keep an eye on the kids like he's supposed to. When you accidentally hurt yourself, he won't move from your side until you're doing better.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Smut [ Masturbation, oral (F receiving) use of vibrator, daddy kink ], a broken ankle.

A/N | This one shot is part of my Teachers Universe AU, but can be read as part of the story, or a standalone one shot! 🖤

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AU Masterlist

''MOM, MOM, MOOOOOM!'' Luca was trying to get your attention, but you were on a phone call, so you held up a finger to let him know you'd listen to him shortly. ''Okay, thank you very much. Bye,'' you said as you hung up the phone. ''Bubba, I get that you're excited, and that is perfectly fine, but when I'm on the phone you have to be quiet. You know the rules by now,'' you told him, and he looked very sorry. ''Sorry Mom,'' he said, his bottom lip started quivering a little bit. ''It's okay bubs, come here!'' you say as you pull him onto your lap and you give him a big mama bear hug. ''What is it that you wanted to tell me?'' you ask and he hands you a form, telling you about an upcoming school trip to the aquarium with all 6th, 7th, and 8th graders. ''Ah, I get why you're excited! Let me see when it is, and I will see if I can get the day off to come too, how about that?'' you ask him and he bounces excitedly up and down.

''You can go play until dinner time, and after I can figure out more about this trip. Right now I have to make sure we have a dinner to eat!'' you laugh and send him to his bedroom. ''I love you, Mom!'' he says on his way to his bedroom. ''I love you too, bubs!'' you yell after him and you walk to the fridge, getting all the ingredients to make your 'famous' mac and cheese. You always made too much of it, so there was more than enough to share with your neighbor Anna, who was always very thankful when you saved her some. You turn on some music at a low volume so you can still hear Luca in case he needs something, and you start cooking. You treat yourself to a glass of wine too, and you realize you're enjoying the life you have now.

You're going to school to become a veterinary assistant, you're working as one as well, and your son is having the time of his life here in New York. Everything seems to fall into place now, and you're grateful. There will always be rough nights when you sit on your fire escape and just let go for a bit, letting the tears fall you're always holding in. Sometimes you need to let go and let your anxieties out, but those nights are getting further and further apart. If there's one thing you're specifically grateful for, it's your beautiful son. He's the reason you keep going every single day, and it feels so good to make him proud because you're always proud of him too.

When your mac and cheese is almost done, you put it in the oven to finish it off, and you set the table. Usually, this is something Luca does, but he was playing so peacefully that you decided to let him be for now. When the oven timer goes off you take the dish out and place it on the table before getting Luca. You walk into his bedroom and kneel next to him. ''Are you ready for dinner, bubs? I made mac and cheese tonight, so after dinner, you can bring some to Anna if you want,'' and he immediately jumped up. ''Yes, I would love to bring some to Anna after dinner!'' he ran to the dining room table where he quickly sat his butt down on his chair, waiting for you to scoop some of the food on his plate.

During dinner, the two of you talk about the upcoming school trip, and Luca is extremely excited, he can't wait to go to the aquarium. It has always been one of his favorite places to go when he still lived in Sacramento, so he was already extremely excited. I have good news for you, bubs! I already asked Junior's mom if I can have the day off to go on the school trip with you, and she said yes. So I can come with you to the aquarium!'' you said and he practically jumped out of his chair, giving you a big hug. ''But first, you have to bring some of the mac and cheese to Anna!'' you say handing him the Tupperware you put it in. He runs to the door and goes to your neighbor's door, you lean against the doorframe and give her a big smile when she gladly takes the food. ''Thank you again, Y/N,'' she says. ''You're welcome, Anna,''.

When Luca is watching some cartoons on the TV before bedtime, you fill in the form for the school trip, so he can hand it in tomorrow, together with the fee he has to pay to go. You put it all in an envelope and put it in his backpack, so you won't forget it. When it is time for bed, Luca is already in a deep sleep for a few hours, and you slip under the covers, and there is only one thing - or rather, one person - on your mind. Bucky Barnes. You decide to let yourself indulge in your fantasies and grab your vibrator out of your nightstand. You turn it to your preferred setting and first rub it along your clit, before slowly working it into your entrance. All while thinking about Bucky.

''Mmh, you taste so sweet, doll. You're such a good girl for me,'' Bucky says in between the stripes he's licking from your entrance up to your clit. ''Feels so good Daddy,'' you moan and this makes Bucky even harder than he already was. ''Doing so good for daddy, making me so hard for you, doll,'' he growled, the vibrations pulsing through your entire body. He keeps his arms wrapped around your thighs when he starts licking and sucking your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. He moves lower and tongue fucks you right into your sweet spot inside you. When he starts to rub your clit with his vibranium arm, you shatter all around him. ''Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good when I cum!'' you scream as he rides out your orgasm with his tongue. ''Fuck, can't wait to be deep inside this sweet cunt of yours,'' Bucky said before taking his underwear off and positioning himself in front of your entrance.

You turn your vibrator up one more notch and you come violently around your vibrator, trying to keep your moans muffled to not wake Luca. You've been fantasizing about Bucky more and more lately, but if the orgasms he gives you from just fantasizing about him are anything to go by, you can't wait to feel him deep inside you. These fantasies kept becoming more and more intense, and more frequent too. Little did you know, Bucky was having these same fantasies about you.

~ 2 weeks later ~

It is time for the school trip, and Luca is very excited to go, even wearing his special shirt with fish all over it. When the both of you arrive at school, he runs inside his classroom, excited to show his shirt. ''Good morning Mr. Barnes! Look at my shirt!'' he said enthusiastically and Bucky was very impressed. ''Oh wow, I wish my shirt was as cool as yours! You have the perfect shirt for today!'' he said while giving him a high five, making Luca beam up at him. ''You hear that Mom? My shirt is cool!'' ''Yeah, but I told you that this morning already, didn't I?'' you say with a smile. ''You can still go and play a little bit before we go, bubs. Go ahead so I can discuss something with Mr. Barnes!'' and off he went.

''I have a bit of a weird question to ask, but when you were at the vet clinic recently, Chay addressed you as Bucky. But your name is James, right?'' you asked wondering. It is something you've thought about often, and you just couldn't come up with an explanation for why she would call him that. ''It's okay, I get that one more often than you'd think. Well, my full name is James Buchanan Barnes, and Bucky is a nickname that stems from my middle name. I'm fine with either James or Bucky, although most friends call me Bucky,'' he explains with a hint of a smile. ''Oh, that makes perfect sense! I've been thinking about it ever since you came by and I didn't have the time to ask you until now,'' you explained. The two of you chatted some more until it was time to get all the children onto the bus and on their way to the aquarium.

''Can I sit with you, Mom?'' Luca asked, and you looked at Bucky to see if it was okay. ''As long as Mr. Barnes says it's okay, then it's fine with me, bubs!'' and he agrees, so you sit down next to Luca. You would catch up with him later, right now you were talking endlessly about different species of fish with Luca. Bucky can't help but smile at the way you're interacting with your son like he's an equal instead of a small child. ''Which ones are you most excited to see, Luca?'' Bucky asked, and he started a whole rant about clownfish and why they're his favorite, mostly stemming from the fact that Finding Nemo was his favorite movie growing up. Bucky listens with all his attention and it makes you swoon a little bit.

Not long after you arrive at the aquarium, but you're barely even inside before something goes wrong. You were talking to Bucky about your job as a veterinary assistant, and you missed a small set of stairs inside the aquarium. You roll your ankle, but before Bucky can catch you, you hear bones snap and you fall with a scream. ''Mommy, no!'' Luca screeches when he sees you fall and he immediately runs over to you to see if you're okay. Tears are streaming down your face and you're sobbing from the pain, not able to move your ankle at all. ''Shit, doll!'' Bucky hisses and he crouches by your side. ''Luca, your mom is hurt, so can you get Ms. Jones to get some help?'' he nods and quickly runs to get her.

Bucky wipes some tears from your face, softly whispering that it's going to be okay, and that help is on the way. ''Oh god, Y/N, what happened?!'' Ms. Jones said as soon as she was by your side. ''I- I missed a-a step...'' you say between sobs and Luca is plastered to your side again, holding your hand and holding back his tears. He always hates to see his mom upset, and this was even worse because you were in pain. ''Why were you being clumsy, Mom?'' he asked and it made you laugh a little bit. ''I'm always clumsy, you know that right?! But I was talking to Mr. Barnes and missed the steps,'' you explain. ''That is not nice of you, to let her fall like that! Now she's in pain!'' he says to Bucky, who can only agree. ''I know, and I'm sorry. But I will make it up to her by getting her to the hospital, okay?''

The rest of the kids and chaperones went on the trip through the aquarium, and Bucky picked you up bridal style which surprised you, especially how effortless it was for him to do it. You wrap your arms around his neck and Luca is walking with the both of you towards the entrance of the aquarium. ''I'm going to call an Uber to the hospital, so I'm going to put you down for just a minute, okay?'' he asked and you nodded, keeping your ankle still as he sets you down so you can lean against the wall. Luca uses this moment to wrap himself around you and hug you. ''I don't like it when you're in pain Mom, so I hope you will feel better soon,'' he says and it makes your heart melt. You kiss him on his head when he said it.

~ At the hospital ~

Once all three of you arrived in the hospital, they take you away for some X-rays, which show that your ankle is indeed broken, and will have to be in a cast for at least 6 weeks. ''What color shall I pick for the cast, Bubba?'' you ask Luca, who is very interested in everything they're doing. ''Green!'' he exclaims happily, it's his favorite color so this does not come as a surprise to you. ''So, you're gonna be part Hulk for the next few weeks, huh doll?'' Bucky laughs, but you blush when you hear the nickname he calls you. ''I guess so,'' you chuckle and when they're done, you get some crutches to keep yourself upright. ''Let me bring the both of you home, it's the last I can do after I made you fall down those steps!'' Bucky offered, but you didn't want to impose. ''It's okay, Bucky. We can do it, but thank you anyways. You were a great help,'' and when Luca wasn't looking, you softly kissed him on his cheek before hopping out the door.

Bucky put a hand over the cheek you just kissed, trying to hide the deep red color that he was sporting now. You didn't look around, but you were supporting that very same color on your face. ''Mom, can we have dino nuggets for dinner?'' Luca asks. ''Of course, bubs, especially after today!'' you say with a laugh before stepping into the Uber Bucky had ordered for the both of you. Both you and Luca waved at him when the car took off, and you couldn't hide the smile you were sporting. ''I love you Bubba, you took really good care of me today,'' and you gave him the biggest kiss you could on his cheek. ''Love you too, mom''.

[sergeantsporks]

Dadrius Week Day 4: Free Space

“So. Hunter.” Jasmin swirled her cup around. “Do you go to Hexside?”

“I start next month.” Hunter sat ramrod straight in his chair, keeping his hands still on his own glass. Darius’ family seemed friendly enough, perhaps overly friendly in Jasmin’s case, but that didn’t mean anything. They’d raised Darius, after all, and he’d been a bubbling hot rebellion under a surface of cool disdain for the world and everyone in it. Anything could be going on underneath their polite, friendly exterior. A chef critic who might be evaluating Darius’ cake for any slight mistake, and a designer with an eye for detail—both of them professional judgers. Anything could be a test, and small talk was not a subject he was well versed in.

Darius seemed tense, too, but not the same nervous tension from before. More… upset. Had he already failed the introduction? Had Darius’ father said something when he was out of earshot? Darius didn’t seem to be talking to Marcus, despite having come over specifically for Father’s Day, and his mother’s attempts at small talk so far had all fallen flat, with short, one sentence responses from Darius.

Jasmin’s laughing eyes slid ever so slightly to Darius. Hunter had to wonder if she couldn’t sense the tension in the room, or if she was doing her best to slam into it with a blunt baseball bat and twirl it up like noodles. “Oh, you should look up the Blight kids while you’re there. If you’re interested in abominations, their youngest might be helpful to know.”

“Oh!” Finally, something he could talk about. “Amity! I know her, we’re friends.”

“Really? History does repeat itself, doesn’t it?” Her nose crinkled, as if she were in on some joke that Hunter wasn’t. “Odalia’s been fishing around for a new business partner for a new business venture, so I’m guessing Alador’s single these days.”

Darius choked on his drink, coughing. “Jasmin.”

Hunter tapped his glass, giving in to the nervous energy that spiked through him. “Yeah… We… may have had something to do with that.”

“Really? Nice. Hey, Hunter, out of nowhere question, how do you feel about stepsiblings? How good of friends are you and Amity?”

“I,” Darius wheezed between coughs, “am going to cause you physical harm.”

Hunter shifted in his seat, trying to put any sort of polite distance between himself and the ticking time bomb that was Jasmin Deamonne. “Um…”

“Jasmin, don’t tease your brother,” Ariana ordered, “Or poor Hunter. You don’t have to answer that.”

Jasmin held her hands up. “I would never.” She leaned her chin in her hand. “Although, speaking of, maybe I should pay Alador a visit. He was always fun.”

Hunter scooted out of his chair before Darius could respond. “I’m going to get some more water. Excuse me.”

“Jasmin,” he heard Ariana sigh deeply as he left the dining room, “You’ve embarrassed him.”

Well, Hunter reflected, this was going spectacularly. Except for Jasmin, Darius’ family didn’t seem to know what to do with Darius and himself any more than he or Darius knew what to do with them.

Think of how it must be in their shoes, all of them.

If I’d just ditched Uncle for years with little contact and suddenly showed up again—

Hunter’s right hand trembled uncontrollably at the thought.

He had left. He’d left, had fled, and he’d lost nearly everything. Control over himself. Flapjack. His life. He’d nearly drowned in the soil of Belos’ mindscape, and then only months later in water while he struggled to surface in his own mind.

Sometimes it felt like Belos was still crawling through his veins, and Hunter could feel him like a second heartbeat right now, pulsing against his skin.

Why would you think that?

Why would you go there?

Why would you think that, why would you think that, why would you—

His glass shattered, and the sound of it breaking against the floor snapped his thoughts back into the Deamonne kitchen, shards of broken glass all around his feet.

The quiet conversation in the other room halted.

“Hunter?” Darius called, “Are you alright?”

“Titan’s bones,” Hunter hissed under his breath. He crouched down, frantically fumbling for the pieces of the glass. “I’m fine!” he called, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, don’t worry about—”

“Don’t move,” Darius ordered.

Hunter flinched, and the motion closed his hands, pushing the shards of glass he’d picked up into his palms. Blood dripped out of his clenched fists, and he bit his lip to hold back a yip of pain.

Abomination matter slid into the kitchen, sweeping around Hunter’s feet and collecting the broken glass. The swirling mass brushed against his boot, sluggish and—Hunter could tell, even through his heavy leather boot, he could just feel it, in his bones—slimy.

One of Hunter’s knees dropped out of the crouch and onto the ground in a half-kneeling position. His arms dropped to his sides, still curled into fists of painful cuts. He stared at the floor, struggling to control his breathing and squashing any thoughts that tried to pop up.

Throne room

Nope

Flapjack

Not thinking about it

That horrible stench and that shuddering, slimy feel

No. We’re not remembering that. Not today.

No, no, no, no, no, no, nononononononono

“He’s bleeding—hey, are you holding glass—”

“Jasmin, wait—don’t touch—”

Something closed over Hunter’s hand, and he yanked backwards, skidding in a patch of abomination goo and landing on his tailbone in a big puddle. Darius swore, and the abomination cleared up, removing all of the glass from the floor. Marcus and Ariana stood in the doorway between kitchen and dining room, watching with something in their expression that was concerned but… it wasn’t quite pity; more like they were solving some puzzle that he stood in the center of.

Jasmin stared at him, her hand still outstretched and her eyes huge puddles of concern in her face. “I’m sorry!” she cried, “I was just trying to—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jasmin.” Darius knelt next to him. “Hunter, take a deep breath. You’re in my parents’ house. You’re safe. You’re—well, you’re clutching a handful of glass, so I won’t lie and say you’re unharmed. But you will be alright. Deep breath.”

Hunter gulped for air as if he’d been drowning. “I’m sorry,” he managed to Ariana and Marcus, “I’m sorry about the glass, and—” He pulled his hands close to his chest, checking for blood on the floor.

“Don’t worry about that,” Darius said crisply. He made a motion as if to take Hunter’s elbow, but paused just before he did. “May I?”

Hunter nodded, and Darius hauled him to his feet, standing in front of him and half hiding him from his family.

“Hunter and I are going,” he announced briskly, “Thank you for dinner. Enjoy the cake. It was lovely to see you all. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Goodbye.”

Darius steered Hunter out of the house and halfway down the street. He summoned his Penstagram scroll, typing quickly.

“What are you doing?” Hunter whispered hoarsely. Out of the house and away from staring eyes, his hand stung, and the sick dread in his stomach was starting to turn into a more active horror over what had just happened.

“I’m messaging Eberwolf for a ride. I don’t think trying to use my abomination warp is a good idea at this particular moment in time.”

“Oh.” Hunter’s stomach sank. What a failure of a father’s day. “You should just go. I can use my flashstep to get home.”

Darius shook his head. “No, I won’t leave you right now.” He dismissed the scroll and tugged his gloves off. “He’ll be here in a quarter of an hour. Let me see your hands.”

Hunter slowly uncurled his hands, holding them out. Darius hissed softly. “That looks… bad.”

“It’s just bloody,” Hunter said dismissively, “it’s not that b-AD!” his voice rose in a yelp as Darius pulled a shard of glass out of his palm.

“Warning, I’m doing it again.”

Hunter looked anywhere but at his hands, refusing to watch the glass pull out of his skin. “You didn’t have to leave early.”

“Please don’t start this.”

“Start what? You can go back, I’ll go home with E—”

“No.” Darius crushed the bloody glass shards into a harmless fine powder under his boot. “Before you go further down this road and think yourself into a hole; leaving isn’t your fault; I’m happy to go home with you, and I think you needed out of there. I promise this isn’t an insurmountable burden of terrible weight for me to bear. You’re fine. And once Eber arrives, we’re taking you to a clinic.”

Have we really had conversations like this that many times? Darius’ reassurances didn’t really make him feel better—if anything, the realization that Darius could distill a conversation down to his side because he’d needed to have this talk with Hunter so many times made him feel worse.Hunter examined the cuts in his hand to distract himself from the lingering sick feeling in his stomach that he’d irreversibly screwed up. They still stung, and they still bled, but he’d seen worse. He opened one of the pouches hanging from his belt and dug around, shoving past his father’s day card to find a roll of gauze that he wrapped around his palm. “It’s not that bad. I don’t need a clinic.”

“Are you sure? You have a day with Dell tomorrow; won’t a sliced-up hand be painful to carve with?”

It probably would be, but the last thing Hunter wanted was for Darius to spend his father’s day in a clinic, filling out paperwork for cuts that would heal on their own anyway. He’d caused enough damage today. “Darius. Please. Can we just go home?”

“Alright,” Darius said softly, turning away to watch for Eber. “If that’s really what you want.”

[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 6: Quagmire

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Liam x Riley (for now), Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,404

Rating: MA

A/N: This is not sweet, canon Liam. Things are complicated. He might be a little selfish in this one.

Warnings for this chapter: None really. A very heated argument lol.

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

I see a broken heart

You got your stories to tell

My other stuff: Master List.

Drake was afraid that lunch with Liam was going to be awkward, all things considered. But it wasn’t. They quickly fell back into the old, familiar patterns of their friendship. The teasing, the bantering, and the habit of telling each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

Drake squirmed uncomfortably when Liam asked about his love life. He decided to evade rather than lie, “Probably less complicated than yours.”

“Probably,” Liam mused as he lifted his water glass to his lips, “I haven’t seen Riley in weeks and last night, she wouldn’t even let me touch her!”

“What?” Drake almost choked on the forkful of potatoes he had just stuck in his mouth. That news made him happier than it should have.

Liam set his glass on the table and pushed it away with a sigh, “She’s angry. I don’t blame her, all things considered, but-“

“What is the story there?” Drake had paused chewing, eyes locked on his best friend as he waited for answers.

“As I told you, the council wouldn’t approve her nor would my father.”

“Because she’s a commoner?” He remembered Liam had told him that much at the wedding.

Liam nodded, “Yes.”

Drake placed his fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair as he regarded his friend solemnly, “And there was nothing you could do? No negotiations? No loopholes? I mean…clearly, she’s a duchess now…”

There were always loopholes.

Liam shrugged, “If Riley hadn’t existed, then my decision would have been easy. You’ve seen my wife. She’s not exactly hard to look at and she was raised for ruling. She handles the role well.”

“So what? You wanted to have your cake and eat it too?” 

“Is that so bad?”

Drake’s mouth fell open, “I mean…it doesn’t seem fair to either woman.”

“I’m surprised at your reaction, it’s nothing you don’t do.”

“What isn’t?”

“Sleeping with multiple partners.”

“That’s true but I’m not in a committed relationship.”

“Are you saying that if you found the right woman, you would give up all the others?”

Emerald eyes swam through his head as he nodded, “I would.”

Liam scoffed, “I’m not sure I believe that but regardless, you know that marrying was never about love and the commitment and duty part is all about Cordonia.”

“So you two have agreed on an open relationship?”  

“Oh, heavens no!” Liam reached for a roll, “Can you imagine the scandal if the queen had an affair?”

Drake’s brows drew together in confusion, “But you’re having an affair!”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“First of all, because I’m the king. I can do what I want. Second of all, I can’t produce a child with the wrong parentage. She can. Even if I impregnated someone else, the public wouldn’t care. But if the queen had an illegitimate child? No. That can’t happen.”

“But-“

Liam waved his hand dismissively, “I know, I know. It seems unfair, but it’s the way of the world. I don’t make the rules.”

“You’re literally the king, you ass.” Drake shook his head half in amusement and half in disbelief.  

“Even that has it’s limits.”

“So, your wife doesn’t know about Riley?”

“I wouldn’t say that….”

“And Riley is okay with your marriage?”

“I wouldn’t say that either,” Liam sighed, “It’s….complicated.”

The door to the private dining room opened and Drake choked on his food again as Liam sprang to his feet.

Riley went willingly into Liam’s embrace, but her eyes zeroed in on Drake as she returned the hug. Turning her head to the side so Liam’s kiss landed on her cheek, she greeted them both with, “Good morning.”

Liam chuckled, “it’s afternoon, love. This is lunch.”

“For you,” Riley scoffed as she took a seat at the table, “first meal of the day is breakfast no matter what time it’s served.”

“Riley tends to burn the midnight oil,” Liam explained as he retook his seat.

“I’m a raging night owl, he means,” she smiled at Drake and his heart somehow managed to plummet and soar at the same time.

Drake cleared his throat as he reached for his water glass, “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us.”

“Liam insisted,” she paused as a server placed a dish in front of her then spoke to her plate as she pushed the food around with her fork, “sorry I was late. I was a bit hung over this morning.”

“I want you two to get to know each other!” Liam interjected.

Riley’s eyes lifted from her plate to meet Drakes; her gaze laden with amused irony.

“Ah…I….” Drake had never been struck speechless before, but then he’d never been in such an awkward situation.

He was saved from answering when the door to the dining room opened again. The queen strode into the room, fury etched on every feature of her face, “I knew I’d find you with her!”

Riley’s fork clattered to her plate as an exaggerated sigh escaped her, “Just fucking peachy…”

Liam was on his feet again, “Darling, you’re supposed to be resting-“

“How can I rest when I know she’s here?” the new arrival leaned around Liam’s body to glare at Riley, “It’s bad enough when you disappear for days at a time to Valtoria, or she follows you to Paris but here you are carrying on under my own roof!”

Riley turned in astonishment, “Are you serious right now? After what you did to me?”

“What I did to you? You’re the one fucking my husband even though you know I’m pregnant and shouldn’t be placed under any undo stress! Have you no shame?”

“Me?” Riley pushed away from the table and strode toward the other woman, shoving past Liam as she went, “You’re the one that married the man I loved even though you were supposed to be my best friend!”

“I was your best friend, Riley! But I was sent here for a specific purpose, and I fulfilled that purpose!”

“Oh really, Hana? Don’t pretend that you gave a shit about what your parents wanted…you married him to punish me for not returning your feelings!”

Hana stumbled back like she’d been hit, “That’s an outrageous accusation!”

Riley scoffed, “It’s the truth! Two nights before the coronation you tried to get me to run away with you and when I told you that I was in love with Liam, you-“

“Riley, please,” Liam reached for her arm in an attempt to defuse the situation.

She jerked her arm out of his grasp and spun on him, “Fuck you Liam! You didn’t even try to fight for us and out of everyone you could have chosen, you picked my best fucking friend!”

Hana’s voice shook with outrage, “If you were my friend, Riley, you wouldn’t be sleeping with my husband!”

“If you were my friend, Hana, you wouldn’t have married the man that had already made promises to me! The man that fucked me in the hedge maze five minutes before getting engaged to you!”

Hana’s body jerked back at the revelation and a malicious smile spread across Riley’s face, “Oh, you didn’t know about that, huh?”

Hana’s face darkened even more as her eyes filled with angry tears, “I….you’re lying!”

“Sure I am,” Riley’s composure was back, “Keep telling yourself that because we both know he won’t tell the truth about a goddamn thing!”

Riley turned and headed for the door, “Fuck both of you! You deserve each other!”

Liam started to go after her, “Riley, wait!”

Hana stepped in front of him, “Liam! Are you serious right now? You’re going to chase after your whore? I’m your wife!”

Drake, who had sat watching the whole exchange with wide eyes scrambled to his feet. Clamping a hand on Liam’s shoulder, he told him, “It’s okay, deal with your wife. Stress can’t be good for the baby….I’ll go after Riley.”

“But…you barely know her…”

“You’re right. I just met her. But it doesn’t seem like she’s in the mood to deal with you right now, does it?”

Liam’s shoulders slumped as he blew out a breath of frustration, “You’re right. Thank you, Drake.”

“Sure,” he said as he headed for the door.

Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve it.

He threw a glance over his shoulder as he exited the dining room. Liam had Hana wrapped in his arms.

Drake shook his head as let the door fall shut and took off down the hall after Riley.

[noturvlentine]

im not someone to miss (pt2)

༺ ♰ ༻

Leon Kennedy x reader series

Summary [series]- after Chris Redfield has requested for your transfer from the BSAA, you’re tasked with uncovering a chain of bio-terrorist attacks alongside Leon Kennedy. Destruction, duty and your untold past brings you spiralling into an unlikely bond with your partner, as efforts are made and promises are broken.

im back! sorry I haven’t been as alive as the past two weeks, school has really caught wind of assignments but updates are coming!!!!! Bear with me while I write up the rest of my vague plans for this series and I apologise if these time skips make no sense at all!!

Please don’t copy my work anywhere else!! this will be up in ao3 too!!! -j

1.9k words

part 1

part 3

༺ ♰ ༻

Washington DC

A particular apartment block

21:00PM

2009

You arrived home to a small, tactical grade duffle bag sitting on your doormat. You half-expected them to provide you with nothing more than necessary, but seeing as STRATCOM was no BSAA, their gear had been rather sophisticated to say the least. They had given you 400 hours to gather any intel from a country in Eastern Europe, which meant you had a little over two weeks stuck with Leon in some dusty safe-house apartment with minimal contact with anyone else (not like you had anyone worth reaching out to outside of work anyway). 400 hours- thats only if things went smoothly, in which, they never do. You’d be there for a month at the minimum guarantee and you were meant to escort a contact to a private exchange of resources they managed to snatch off the black market. If the deal went smoothly then at least the government can put their pretentious, expensive lab research to use with their hands on a sample of some B.O.W strains.

You managed to drag yourself into your apartment, keys thrown onto the kitchen counter as your first thought was to pour yourself a drink and burn a cigarette. You weren’t a drinker- correction, you weren’t an alcoholic, nor were you a smoker. It’s just that there was no one here to monitor you and you easily and cowardly blamed it on your job, but instead you just seemed to have revolved around whatever harmless substance was at your disposal for the time being- amongst other things. You’d always kind of lived your domestic life on autopilot, barely putting in a second thought to whether you actually needed to change the way you lived, whether you needed other things in your existence- or someone else, but who were you kidding, a pet maybe?. You were never the type to give someone a call back either- to be fair you never really stayed, hence why a drink and a smoke followed by a warm shower was all you really desired. You slumped yourself down on the chair at your dining table, not bothered turning any overhead lights on in return, just letting the gracious moonlight escape into the room. Your fingers traced the yellow folder you’d brought home from work today, the other hand going numb from the cold condensation of a beer bottle. You sat there for a good two hours, an unwise decision seeing as you still wanted to waste away in the shower and needed to be organised for departure tomorrow. Not to say, sleep wasn’t ever on your side either.

Under the sting of your hot shower, you couldn’t help but think of how exactly you ended up here. Eight long years of anti-bioterrorist service just for Redfield to temporarily ‘discharge’ you from the BSAA for your little let down back in South America (to be fair, no one had ever decided you were discharged, but the leave and subsequent transfer had been the equivalent of that in your eyes). Was he even going to let you back in on the field with him? You weren’t about to become an office personnel in your line of work after this mission, to be honest you thought it would be the hands-on equivalent of death- to spend years in training in both the military and special operations only to end up in the chain of responsive command for an XO you didn’t quite get along with. Not to mention- having to filter through everyone’s field reports and paperwork after Redfield just hypothetically offed the industrial section of a city. Nonetheless, you were at least grateful to still be working field for the time being, it may not be alongside Chris Redfield and the BSAA, but it was still something of the equivalent. You were enjoying what might be the last comfortable shower for the next month or so (something small to deal with considering the various lengthy deployments you’d been on previously), taking time to let the sprays of water loosen your muscles. If you were completely honest, you would enjoy a permanently domestic, normal civilian life either. Something simple as a long, warm shower would become tedious once it becomes frequented and unthreatened as civilians are. Maybe the loss in commodity value was an excuse for you to work this job until death. Or maybe death came closer, and maybe you’d already accepted that.

Your mind skipped to Leon, or rather what he was doing, then to what he’d think of you once he knew you too well (or if he ever will). After all, two weeks is a long time to be stuck with someone on your tail, in the same safe house flat, going over the same shit and waiting for something life threatening to occur. You’d feared that when you’d first gravitated towards the BSAA, scared that you were going to let someone in (arguably, you’d always defended Chris as your bond came from the sentimental value of your jobs) and that they were going to come to the inevitable realisation that you were both fucked and would soon wound up dead on the field somewhere. That was definitely something harder for others to compute, as you’d accepted your death ages ago and were only ever waiting for people the catch up, hence why you’d think Leon would actually hate you.

South America

BSAA outstation

14:00PM

December 2008

‘Fuck! Goddamn it!’ Chris throws his fist into the crumbly stone pillar to his right. ‘We are sending in backup immediately-‘

‘Redfield that is not of your command, we’re not taking that risk-‘ petty, for anyone to want to argue with Chris Redfield. He’s always been full charged if not spewing out electricity by the second in the heat of the moment, head and heart. There was no negotiation. He knew first hand how shitty it was to go into a mission without support, albeit you did have ‘support’, yes- but it was a matter of if the goddamn CO would agree.

‘I’m not asking. That is one of our best agents tied up in there and you’re not gonna find another.’ To anyone else that tone alone would have them pissing their pants running under Redfield’s control, maybe this was why everyone was always cleaning up after him.

‘I’m going in.’ He mumbled, a stern one, signalling to his team to pack it forwards beyond their assigned parameters.

‘Patch me through.’ The next thing you know, your name is repeated frantically over the comms. Redfield’s voice is stern, searching, worrisome, but stern in his best I-am-your-captain commandment way. As his voice became more desperate you managed to free a hand for the radio.

‘Chris you better turn the fuck around.’ You groaned through your teeth, dropping down to your knees behind a collapsed brick wall. There was currently a wave of bioterrorist minions on your six and a massive B.O.W making its way through the maze of collapses infrastructure ready to pull you head off your neck the moment you’re seen in the line of fire. They had dogs two, all three parties together would be more than the current BSAA deployment had issued in the area and the next few surrounding countries. It amazes you how much terrorism groups can out number the fucking military, how many people are willing to sign themselves up to suicide compared to those who enlist in the army. They’re probably not cowards like the rest of the world that’s for sure.

‘I can get you my final intel order but if you fucking surpass that parameter-‘

‘I am not leaving you out there.’

‘I’m dead! I’m fucking dead Chris!’

The line goes silent, you can hear him thinking over the static of the radio. He had no purpose in sending rescue, you were a valuable asset, but the job was finished and there was enough evidence for the FBC to deploy troops to other locations and carry out necessary protocols to prevent whole countries from collapsing. The South American sun was starting to get its way with you, there was dust thickening through the air and you could hear firing in the near distance, which was enough for you to pull yourself up from you current location. Shots fired, straight your way and heard through the radio. You were scrambling for shelter around this abandonment of a city block, you shad two magazines left which you knew wouldn’t last for nearly enough time before an evac squad gets here.

Washington DC

Joint Base Andrews

12:30PM

2009

The pilot had just announced takeoff over the PA system. You watched the runway shrink into small grey veins over patchy land as the plane gained altitude. You could also see Leon’s impulsive leg tapping in your peripheral vision, his eyes settled in examining your body language as you pretended not to notice. His arms were crossed, disinterested by anything outside or in the cabin as his mind was purely focused on figuring you out. Out of annoyance, you turn your head, dropping your hand which was once propping your chin up, onto the armrest by the window.

‘What?’ You blinked at Leon.

‘Nothing, you look tired.’ He simply shrugs. Well that’s little to say for someone who’s been peeling your complexion apart for the past five minutes. You don’t respond, dropping your gaze to his bouncing leg, which stops upon your eyes settling on it. Your hand was now wrapped tightly around the bulge of the armrest, fingers slowly digging into the fabric and picking at the seams. Something about Leon’s all-too-understanding way of looking at you just didn’t sit right. He wasn’t one to remind you of your troubles but in every way, he did, and you can’t blame him for that. A faint rustling sound traveled towards you as he shifted in his seat, now more relaxed as his head hung back towards the headrest, still arms crossed and looking at you softly. Oh how you wished a little turbulence would break up this awkward exchange, you couldn’t argue that there was anything interesting other than fogs of cloud infecting your view.

Three hours into the flight and it was approaching night across the time zones. You’d irresponsibly gone through two glasses of rum and coke to ease your nerves, to which earned you a scoff and hum of amusement from Leon. Thought he was insistent on getting more than three words out of you, there was nothing he could do about your isolated bitterness and he figured that you’d melt along with time. You watched as the sky had lost its sunset, turning into an inevitable, cartoonish night.

‘Get some sleep will you?’

No answer, you pouted and went back to staring out the window. The emptiness plagued the entire sky and all that could be seen was the annoying red eye on the wing of the plane. Leon pushed his following words back into his throat, and left it at that for the rest of the evening before your subsequent arrival. You watched as he quietly dozed off for the next two hours, leaving you with a sense of peripheral comfort.

AN: this chapter is a little slow i know, it’s getting there. I’m also trying to keep my formatting consistent but I’m not sure how well that’s working atm 😂

[glitterpeachtree]

The short Stories of Sierra Six and Claire

It didn't take long for Claire to start showing signs of post traumatic stress disorder. After losing Donald, Claire seemed a bit off. I noticed that she would keep her bedroom door open, she always needed to know where I was going, and she started having nightmares. When we first moved into the safe house, I let her have the master bedroom. Although it wasn't much bigger than the other bedroom, it had its own bathroom connected to it and a slightly bigger closet. I was no expert on tween girls, but I knew that I should probably give her as much privacy as possible.

"Six? I know you wanted me to have this bedroom, but I really would rather have the other bedroom." She asked on the first night at the house. We were both in the living room getting settled.

"Are you sure? I really don't care if I have the small room" I said to her. She put her book down, she was reading Little House on the Prairie. She glanced at her bedroom door, and then back at me and frowned.

"I just don't like how it's in the corner of the house. I feel...like I'm...Trapped?" Claire avoided eye contact with me when she said that. After her parents, and her uncle dying, not to mention getting kidnapped, it would make sense for Claire to feel this way.

"Okay. I understand." I nodded. "Claire?" She looked up at me. "You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" Claire nodded and then picked her book back up.

......

A couple days later I got up around 5am and went to do a perimeter check around the house. I thought Claire was sound asleep in her bedroom (her small bedroom), but as I zipped my jacket up, I saw her peak from her door and say, "Where are you going?" she looked panicked, breathless.

"I'm-Im just doing a quick once around. I didn't mean to wake you." She stared at me for a moment. "I'll be right back Claire, I promise. Go back to bed."

Once I came back into the house I found Claire sitting at the small dining room table. It had 3 chairs, though one was broken. The leg was loose and could probably pop off if someone sat on it. Claire was staring straight ahead, her knee bouncing. She was scared and nervous. She was afraid that I was going to spontaneously disappear.

"Told ya I'd be back." She whipped her head around. It took me a minute to realize that she was crying. "Claire-" Before I could finish saying her name she ran up to me and buried her head in my chest. She started sobbing a little bit

"He's g-gone. And he's never coming back-ck." Of course she was talking about Donald. Donald had been her "father" since her parents died. He was the last family she (and I) had left. I rubbed her back and rested my chin on her head. We swayed side to side a tiny bit. I clutched my other hand over her shoulder, and we stayed like that, until she could catch her breath.

"Claire...It's gonna be okay." I said to her. After a couple of minutes she muttered, "I can't lose you too. Six, you're all I have left."

Immediately I felt my heart flutter. I was now Claire's father figure. After a life of prison, murder, and guilt, I realized what my true calling was. I felt whole again. I embraced Claire a little tighter, and let go, and looked at down at her.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" She nodded and looked down at the floor.

"Can you just, stay? Like until I fall asleep?"

"Yeah. Sure."

.....

[dargeereads]

“I think you could break my heart, Rycroft.” “I know you could break mine.”

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When West Rycroft left his family’s ranch to work in the big city, he never dreamed he would find himself surrounded by celebrities and politicians. Working at McKay-Taggart as a bodyguard and security expert quickly taught him how to navigate the sometimes shark-infested waters of the elite. While some would come to love that world, West has seen enough to know it’s not for him, preferring to keep his distance from his clients—until the day he meets Ally Pearson.

Growing up in the entertainment world, Ally was always in the shadow of others, but now she has broken out from behind the scenes for her own day in the spotlight. The paparazzi isn’t fun, but she knows all too well that it’s part of the gig. She has a good life and lots of fans, but someone has been getting too close for comfort and making threats. To be safe, she hires her own personal knight in shining armor, a cowboy hottie by the name of West. They clash in the beginning, but the minute they fall into bed together something magical happens.

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Soft music was playing. It was folksy but modern. Not at all what he would expect. And she wasn’t in front of the TV. She sat at the dining table which was covered in… Were those puzzle pieces? “Hey,” he said. “I’m here for the rest of the night and through tomorrow. Was Tessa okay?” Her head came up, and she damn near took his breath away. She was in pajama bottoms and a tank top, her face scrubbed free and hair piled on top of her head. She was every bit as gorgeous this way. “She was great. I liked her a lot.” “But you didn’t like Matt?” Her lips turned down. “Well, now I like Tessa less.” He set down his duffel on one of the chairs and set the grocery bag on the table away from the numerous puzzle pieces. She’d started working on the edges, and it looked like she was a sorter. “Don’t. It’s literally my job to make sure you’re okay. She’s going to give me any information I need.” “Did she tell you I thought you were an asshole?” For some reason, that made him smile. “She did. And I was. And if Matt does anything at all to make you uncomfortable, I expect you to tell me. Ally, I had a job go weird a couple of weeks ago. I know men are supposed to want any pretty woman who comes their way…” She sat up, her expression turning distinctly sympathetic. “Someone tried to sex you up when you didn’t want to?” That was one way of putting it. “She was very aggressive, and it bothered me more than I realized. I think I took a little of that out on you today, and for that, I am truly sorry.” “Did she look like me or something?” “Not even close,” he said with a huff. “Like she wasn’t as… No, she didn’t look like you. But she was something of a celebrity. She was a European royal.” “Please tell me it was Kate.” Her eyes had gone super wide like this would be the best gift ever. She would so get along with his brother and Martin. “It was not. She’s a minor royal but a major pain in my ass. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll give me a second chance.” She stared for a moment as though assessing the situation. “Are those Flamin’ Hot Cheetos?” “My brother’s fiancé swears you like them. His name is Martin, and he’s a big fan.” Her shoulders relaxed, and he would have sworn that girl…woman…glowed. “That’s so nice. If he has any time, he could come up to the set and have lunch with us. And he’s right. Gimme. I love them, but the camera adds five pounds and…” “You always have four cameras on you.” He handed her the chips and sat down. It would be a much quieter night than he’d counted on, but he kind of liked that. She opened them and had one of those suckers in her mouth very quickly. She sighed, obviously content. “Not now I don’t. All right, Rycroft, we start again. And Matt’s probably fine. You’ll know he’s done something wrong if he has to go to the hospital because I kicked him in the balls. Pass me that blue piece. I think it goes here.” He handed her the piece, and they got on with their first night.

For More Information about Lexi Blake, visit her website: https://www.lexiblake.net/

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[its-deputy-caleb]

How would the Lord’s be with a s/o who’s short like 5’0 but they’re super sweet but can be feisty

Heyy so i’ve been sick recently so this may not be as good as always and it’s a little rushed but i hope it’s not too bad! but this was still always enjoyable to write as always! enjoy

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina is lecturing one of the maidens for leaving one of the windows open when she feels something tapping on her leg.

Her eyebrow raises when she finds you tugging on the fabric of her dress, your hands covered in blood.

She picks you up by the back of your shirt as you give her the brightest but cheekiest smile.

“Now what have you been up to in these castle walls that has led you to put blood all over my dress.”

Your legs dangle in the air as you explain that you’ve spend the last four hours running around in the cellars and dungeons trying to find hidden trinkets. You didn’t anticipate to run into an array of grim reaper type creatures but you never turned down a challenge.

“My my, it seems you have been busy.”

Alcina throws you over her shoulder and carries you into her private quarters before she practically dumps you in the bath that swallows you.

“You, my dear are not coming to dinner looking like that.”

She’s seated on the edge of the tub, gloves removed as she rubs her expensive rose scented shampoo in your hair. For a moment it’s quite peaceful.

You’re ever the troublemaker and considering Alcina’s dress was already dirty you couldn’t help but splash water on her.

She grasps but plays into your cheeky ways and splashes you back just as playfully until you’re both soapy and covered in water.

You both dress for dinner with Alcina insisting you wear some of your more finer clothes but you still manage to pull some buttons loose here and there.

Although you’re a wild one, bouncing down the hallway and nearly knocking over one of Alcina’s fine porcelain vases, you still take her hand in yours and walk proudly into the dinner room with your lady.

You take your place at the dining table next to Alcina, your chair significantly higher to sit comfortably but she definitely pampered you with some of the finest cushions to boost you up.

Still you can’t help but feel happy and full of joy to see your family and that only lifts your mood further.

Donna Beneviento

Donna walks into the lounge room to find you chasing angie around, trying to get to her from behind the couch.

“You’ll never take me alive!!”

You’re just as crazy and rambunctious as Angie, the two of you instantly getting along. Donna smiles when she finds that Angie finally found a friend and she’s thrilled that Angie is taken with you.

“Will you two calm down before you break something!”

The two of you stop to stare at Donna who is holding a porcelain doll in her hands to stop it from being broken as you practically jump around the room.

But somehow through all your wildness you have a soft spot for Donna. Slowing your movements and walking up to her, you wrap your arms around her neck and hide your head under her chin.

“I’m sorry Dons, will you come exploring with Angie and I in the mountains??”

With you and Angie on either side of Donna, the three of you spend your afternoon exploring the caves near the waterfall.

Jumping over pools of rocks and mini cliffs, you always go first holding your hand out to Donna each time so she can hold onto while she jumps.

You’re always there to catch her too. It’s a little hard when you’re smaller than her but you’d never let her fall.

Eventually you come to an opening in one of the caves. The view is spectacular, with the waterfall cascading down and catching the fading light beautifully.

Your hand is in Donna’s gently rubbing your thumb on the back of her hand. However in a split second Angie comes up and surprises her with a loud BOO.

Donna’s surprised shriek rings in the cave she thinks she’s going to fall from the height of the cave, Angie’s creepy laughter eventually drowns it out.

You wrap your arms around her, keeping a calm but gentle hand on the back of her head to steady her.

“It’s alright, I gotcha now”

You hug Donna tightly, death glaring Angie behind her shoulder. When you pull away, you take Donna’s face and cradle it gently in your hands.

“Common, lets go home I could do with a nice warm cup of tea to go with a good book.”

Even though Donna was less adventurous as you were, she always enjoyed running around with you and Angie but you always spoiled her afterwards with a warm night in under blankets and warm tea while you read to her.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore was walking around the windmill trying to find you when he’s interrupted by a rather loud noise.

“HEY SAL GUESS WHO’S FINALLY TALLER THAN U??”

He audibly grasps when he sees you sitting on the wooden sail of windmill, smiling down on him.

You jump down and land in front of him, giggling at the small scream that leaves him. Stepping forward and into his space you place a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s me!!”

You take Salvatore’s hand in your own and lead him to explore all the nooks and crannies of the windmill with him.

Eventually you run off from him and hide behind one of the wooden crates stacked in the corner.

Poor Salvatore is confused by where you’ve gone trying to find you frantically as he runs around looking for you. You had the advantage however, being small had its perks sometimes.

When he’s not looking you run up and jump him from behind, your hands wrapping around his neck as you cling to him.

His laugh bounces off the valley and he spins around with you in a piggyback. One of your favourite things is making him laugh.

You spend the next few hours playing what is basically hide and seek as you run around all through the windmills, reservoir and mines doing your best to stay clear of any lycans.

You’re a wild card in Salvatore’s otherwise quiet life, but he loves you nonetheless. But you don’t miss the way his hand clings to yours in a death grip.

However, sometimes you’re a little too wild for his comfort zone and he definitely refused to do the zip line with you. But he cheered for you from his place on the ground because he never wants you to change the way you are. To him, you’re perfect.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl is always used to strange noises and loud bangs within the factory, but after living there for as long as he had; he can always tell when somethings out of place.

A rather large crash rings throughout the halls of the factory and Karl begrudgingly puts out his cigar, hoping that one of the Soldats hadn’t broken any of his equipment.

When he walks into a smelting room he finds you on the floor with metal boxes all over you and you buried under the toppled over shelf.

Karl flicks his wrist and all the metal moves to the corner of the room to reveal you huffing your hair out of your face.

You were looking for a mould to craft a new dagger with, sorting through the assortment of boxes when it all came falling down on top of you.

Karl moves his wrist once more, moving the mould you were looking for to his hand, a smug look on his face. He knew. For the last few weeks he’d seen you eyeing out that mould when you came to sit with him while he worked.

“Looking for something?”

You stand to your feet and try to snatch it out of his hand. Karl sees you coming from a mile away and holds it above your head, he doesn’t even need to use his powers for this one, his arm will do just fine.

He’s cocky and can’t help but torment the thing over your head like a child but in an instant you have him tackled to the ground. Now that one he didn’t see coming.

“Don’t think for a moment Heisenberg that just because I’m small that i couldn’t totally kick your ass if i needed to.”

Now you’re the one to be cocky as Karl stares in awe up at you, it took a lot of strength and maybe a hint of luck to bring down someone as powerful as him.

Eventually you let him up from his kindly uncomfortable position on the floor, his back strained against the metal grates. You totally don’t threaten to throw him at Alcina’s doorstep if he doesn’t make that new dagger for you.

Karl loved that about you, how feisty and wild you could be. It meant you were a great training partner and both of you either trained together often. Being small had its too. One thing Karl lacked was finesse and you were much more agile and skilled in your movements.

Other times you’d help Karl out in the factory by lifting boxes of scrap metal or even welding some of the weapons. He absolutely loved that about you, how he could easily be comfortable with you and his heart swelled when he could teach you all that he knew about metal. For the first time in a long time it felt like someone was on his side.

One day Karl saw you take a Soldat out with your new dagger and to say that it didn’t scare the shit out of him would be a fucking lie. Soldats were taller than him for christ sake.

Karl loved you though. He loved how fierce you were but you had the heart of gold and to him, you were this perfect little being that made his heart beat twice as fast when he was with you.

He loved that you could hold your own and would stand up to anyone but in the closed doors of the factory he got to see a softer more tender side of you filled with tender kisses and tight hugs.