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cuzxai · 2 months ago

Note

firstly im absolutely obsessed with your writing rn

if you can maybe on where spencer is off on a case and tells reader to be good but he catches her in the act (maybe with a vibrator) and he punishes her with edging or overstim?

feel free to ignore this if you dont feel like writing it regardless have a great day/night xx

consequences - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: first request, hope you likey

You knew the moment his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The tone was different— short, clipped. The kind they used when something couldn’t wait. Spencer rolled over and checked it with a sleepy groan, rubbing the heel of his hand into one eye.

“Hotch,” he mumbled. His fingers moved across the screen, then he sighed. That was all it took. You were awake now too. He looked over at you, already apologetic. “They need us in Virginia. Four-day consult.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You were used to it. This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. But that didn’t mean it ever got easier. You’d just gotten used to adjusting the shape of missing him.

“When do you leave?” you asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“An hour.”

You nodded, blinking up at him. The room was still dim, washed in that early blue light that made everything soft but his features had already started to steel with focus. He was sliding out of bed, grabbing his go-bag from the closet. Efficient. Distant, in that way he got when the case was already unfolding in his head. You watched him pack. Watched him tuck his badge into one pocket, a fresh stack of books into another. Watched the little rituals of departure that had started to sting less over time but never stopped completely.

He came back over when he was done, still in his socks,and leaned over to kiss your forehead. You caught his hand in yours before he could move away. “Be safe.”

“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll text you when we land.”

You nodded. He leaned closer again, brushing your nose with his and letting your hands settle on his chest. You knew he wanted to say more. You felt it in the pause. Instead he just kissed you, warm and lingering then pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Be good for me, okay?”

You smiled faintly. “Always.” The door clicked shut behind him a few minutes later. And then the apartment was quiet. You tried to keep yourself busy that first day. Made a list of errands. Washed the sheets, even though they didn’t really need it. Wore one of his sweatshirts that swallowed you whole and curled up on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading.

You checked your phone too often. Not because he didn’t message— he did. Regularly. Brief updates, a photo of a diner menu he thought was funny, a note about the hotel being gross. But none of it really felt like him. Not the version of him you missed. The one whose fingers threaded through your hair when he passed behind you, who always curled around you like a warm, steady anchor in the middle of the night. By the second day, you were counting the hours.

You weren’t sleeping well. The bed felt too big without his weight on one side. You found yourself reaching for him in the middle of the night, half-asleep, only to be met with cold sheets and nothing else.

You missed his voice. Not through the phone but close—near your ear, low and soft and teasing. You missed the warmth of his hand on the back of your neck when he told you things he didn’t say out loud in front of others. You missed the way he looked at you when you were beneath him, his every nerve tuned to your pleasure. By day three, the ache had settled in. Low. Constant. Not just physical—it was emotional too. A kind of restless wanting that curled beneath your skin like heat. It wasn’t just that you missed being touched. You missed being his. You curled tighter under the blankets that night and tried to will yourself to sleep. Tomorrow, you reminded yourself.

He’ll be home tomorrow. Just one more night is all you had to wait. But you couldn’t. You didn’t mean to give in. Not at first. You’d tried to be good. Really, you had. Spencer had only asked one thing before he left and you’d promised him— half-asleep, half-joking but still—you said you’d behave. But something about tonight felt different.

The air was heavier or maybe that was just you. You hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day, skipping from one task to another like your own skin was too tight. No book could hold your attention, no amount of cleaning or music could chase away the dull, steady ache building low in your belly.

It wasn’t just the physical need—it was the absence of him. The lack of his touch, his voice, his quiet presence in the corner of the room. You missed the safety of him. The way he could look at you and make your whole body respond like it had been rewired just for him. You’d gone to bed early just to escape the feeling. Curled up in one of his T-shirts again, still a little damp from the dryer and buried your face in his pillow. It helped. A little. But the ache was still there.

It throbbed between your thighs like a pulse, constant and maddening. You shifted, trying to find a comfortable position but the soft brush of fabric only made things worse. Your breath caught. Your thighs pressed tighter. And still nothing eased it. You bit your lip and rolled onto your back. The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the city filtering through the blinds. For a while, you stared at the ceiling. Then you turned your head to the empty space beside you on the bed. Your hand drifted into your bedside table before you could think better of it.

You found it easily—the small, familiar shape of the vibrator you kept there. Just in case. Not for when Spencer was away but for when he was gone for the long ones. The ones that hurt. But this hurt too, didn’t it? You hesitated, fingers curling around it.

Spencer wouldn’t want you to suffer. He wasn’t cruel. He was gentle. Attentive. He cared about your pleasure—his own pleasure was practically tethered to yours. He got off when you did but it was never about denial for denial’s sake. Still— he’d told you to be good. You swallowed. You turned the toy on, just the lowest setting and slid it between your thighs.

You hissed at the contact—so sharp, so sudden after all that buildup. You’d soaked through your underwear without even realizing it. The vibration was almost too much right away but your body reacted like it had been waiting for this exact moment, already half-undone. You pushed your panties aside and let the toy rest directly against your clit, your hips lifting instinctively. You barely had to move. The pleasure struck you so fast and so deep you gasped, one hand fisting in the sheets. In your mind, it wasn’t your hand. It was his. The toy became his fingers, slow and clever and patient. His mouth, warm and insistent. You imagined him on his knees at the foot of the bed, one hand pressed to your stomach to keep you still, his voice low and pleased. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. Let me hear you.”

A quiet moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You bit down on your fist and forced your eyes shut. You didn’t want to hold back. You were already close—too close. The edge was coming fast, your thighs trembling around the toy as your hips rocked harder, chasing it. You needed this. Just this. Just once. The muscles in your stomach started to tighten. You pressed the vibrator harder, arching your back, mouth falling open as your breath hitched. The front door opened. A soft click. Your body froze.

No no no no no. You scrambled to shut off the toy but your hands were shaking and the sound it made as you fumbled with it—that was what gave you away. The telltale, traitorous hum. Still half on. Still slick in your hand.

“Baby?”

His voice. You whipped your head toward the door in horror, breath caught in your throat. Footsteps. You didn’t even have time to throw the toy or bury it in the sheets before the bedroom door creaked open. Spencer stood in the doorway, travel-worn and windblown. His waves were a little messy, jacket still on. But his eyes moved fast. First to you. Then to your hand. Then to the vibrator. Then back up to your face. Silence.

The only sound was your own ragged breathing, the soft whirring of the toy still pulsing faintly in your palm. Spencer arched an eyebrow, and his voice came low. Unmistakably calm. Quiet.

“Did I not tell you to be good?”

Your lips parted but nothing came out. Your heart was still slamming against your ribs, face burning hot as the vibrator finally stilled in your hand. Spencer stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You sat up, pulling your knees toward your chest. Your way of trying to hide the evidence even though it was too late.

“I—” you started but his eyes flicked down to your thighs.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you. Like he was studying you. You couldn’t read his expression. It was neutral, quiet, unreadable but there was something simmering under the surface. Something restrained. Spencer shrugged off his jacket and set it neatly on the back of the chair. He didn’t say a word.

“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly, toeing off his shoes. “Clearly.” There was no anger. No raised voice. Just that maddening calm, the kind that made your stomach twist. He stepped closer. You clenched your thighs. You were so suddenly aware of how soaked you still were, how sensitive. You could still feel the phantom vibrations ghosting along your clit. And his eyes caught every detail.

“You said you’d be good,” he murmured, stopping at the edge of the bed. “I believed you.”

“I tried,” you said, your voice a little desperate now. “I did.”

“Tried?” he repeated, arching a brow. “That what this is?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The silence that followed was heavy. Just when you thought he might scold you, he hummed thoughtfully and reached for you. You blinked. His hands closed around your ankles and gently tugged. You didn’t resist— couldn’t really and let him pull you toward the edge of the bed until your legs dangled over, spread just enough for him to settle between them. He sank to his knees. Your breath hitched.

“I should be mad,” he said while tilting his head, hands stroking slowly up your calves. “I told you not to touch yourself, baby. And you promised.”

You nodded, throat tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just leaned in and kissed your inner thigh. It was soft, open-mouthed, dragging his lips over the heated skin until your body shivered. His hands held you firm by the hips, not hurting, but inescapable. Your thighs threatened to close but he nudged them apart again without a word.

“You wanted to come so bad you couldn’t wait for me?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

A small, quiet laugh left him. Not cruel but just amused. Dark. “I see.” And then without another word he leaned in and licked you. You gasped, fingers clenching in the sheets. His tongue was slow, teasing, not rough or punishing, just deliberate. Focused. Like he had all the time in the world and every intention of taking it. Your hips arched into his mouth and he let you move, his arms looping under your thighs to hold you steady. His tongue circled your clit then dragged down to your entrance, tasting you with reverent hunger.

You whimpered. He hummed low in his throat and the vibration made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped from your lips, hands flying to his hair and fingers curling in his curls. He let you pull—encouraged it even but stayed in full control. His pace was agonizing. Every time you started to climb, his tongue slowed. Every time your hips bucked, he held you down. His lips sealed over you and sucked softly, pulling a sharp cry from your throat but he didn’t relent. Not enough. Just enough to keep you at the edge.

“Spence,” you whimpered, breathless. “I’m close—please—”

He didn’t answer. Just kept going. Unbothered, relentless. Like this was his reward, not yours. Like your begging didn’t faze him in the slightest. You were trembling now, thighs shaking, the pressure building to the point of pain. You were so close, could feel the heat coiling tight, ready to snap. And then he pulled away. Your entire body seized with a choked cry. You reached for him on instinct, hips chasing the loss, legs trembling.

“No—no, please—”

Spencer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood slowly, his eyes dark and steady as he looked down at you.

“Not yet,” he said calmly. “You don’t get to come just because you want to.”

You blinked up at him, breathless, panting. Your skin was flushed and soaked and aching. He leaned down, brushing a kiss over your cheek, lips just barely brushing your ear.

“You wanted to be bad,” he whispered. “Now you get to wait.”

Your thighs were damp and twitching, your chest heaving with shallow breaths and your clit throbbed with the cruel absence of his mouth. You’d been so close. So close you could taste it and now every nerve in your body was screaming from the denial. Spencer stood over you, his hair falling into his face as he looked down at you. His eyes were unreadable but you could see it in the slight twitch of his jaw. He liked seeing you like this. Flushed. Trembling. Wrecked.

“Still worked up?” he asked softly, brushing his fingertips along your inner thigh. You whimpered and nodded.“Hm.” He let that hum sit in the air as he slipped one hand between your legs again, fingers grazing through the mess he’d left behind. You gasped at just the lightest touch and your hips jerked up, desperate.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Made a mess all over yourself, baby.”

You moaned when he circled your entrance, teasing, not even pushing in.

“Did you think I’d come home and find you sweet and innocent? Tucked in, still aching for me like a good girl?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the sheets. “I—I missed you.”

“I know you missed me,” he said, dragging one finger up your slit, slick and slow. “But I told you to wait. I told you to behave. And instead…” He slid one finger inside you. Your back arched immediately, a helpless cry tearing from your throat. He didn’t give you time to recover. His finger curled inside you, slow and sure, dragging against that spot that made you clench hard around him. You cried out again, hips bucking but he stayed steady— another finger joining the first with no warning.

“Spence—oh my God—” His free hand pressed to your stomach, holding you down firmly.

“That’s better,” he said, voice low. “You’re quiet when you take my fingers. Focused. Needy.”

He started to move them, slow at first. Measured. The stretch was perfect—his fingers always knew exactly where to press, when to curl, how deep to slide. You were already soaked for him and the wet sounds between your legs only made it worse. Made it filthier. Made you needier. You moaned again, louder and he picked up the pace just slightly. Every thrust of his hand drove you closer to the edge, your thighs shaking, toes curling.

“God, please. I’m so close—”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He twisted his fingers inside you and you sobbed at the pressure. Your walls were fluttering around him already, your whole body wound tight like a thread about to snap. You reached down and grabbed his wrist, not to stop him but to hold on. Anchor yourself to something. Spencer leaned over you slightly, voice right against your cheek.

“You want something more?”

You nodded frantically.

“I don’t think you do,” he said, curling his fingers again. “You’re dripping all over my hand just from this.”

“I want you,” you gasped, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “Please—I want you—”

“You have me.”

“No. I want you—your cock. Spence please—”

He stilled his hand. Just for a second.“What was that?”

You whimpered. You were squirming under him, so close it hurt. “I need you inside me. Please, Spence. I’ll be good—please.”

He smiled. There it was. That edge of satisfaction that came when he knew you were saying exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You’re not gonna come on my fingers,” he murmured. You whimpered again but he didn’t budge. Instead, he slipped his fingers out slowly and brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean like he had all the time in the world. Then he leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was hungry and deep. Making you taste yourself. Your arousal. When he pulled away, he looked you straight in the eye.

“Roll over,” he said, voice calm and final.

You rolled over so fast your limbs tangled in the sheets. Spencer didn’t laugh but you heard it in his breath. Felt it in the way his hands slid up your hips, grounding you in place. The air was thick and hot around you. Your skin flushed, your thighs still trembling from his fingers. You hadn’t come. But you would. You had to. You heard him move behind you— clothes shifting, belt unbuckling. It felt like forever. The drag of anticipation. The sound of him unzipping. The quiet rustle as he pushed his pants down. Then the weight of him settled behind you, pressing close.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing your hair away from your neck. “Lying so still for me now.” You whimpered when you felt his cock nudge between your thighs—thick and hard, sliding through your wetness, unhurried. He didn’t push in. Not yet.

“I haven’t even touched you properly,” he said softly, almost like he was marveling at it. “One taste, a few fingers and you’re already this desperate?”

“Spence…”

“Shh.” His hand slid up your back. Then back down, tracing your spine like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You’ll come when I say,” he whispered, lining himself up at your entrance. And then he pushed in. You moaned loud and broken, your body stretching around him with aching pressure. He went in all the way on the first stroke, bottoming out with a low groan that buzzed straight through your skin.

“God, baby…” He stayed still for a moment, letting you feel every inch. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, and he hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You couldn’t speak. You were too full, too overwhelmed, too wrecked by everything that came before. Your body shook beneath him, already aching for more. He pulled back. Then thrust in hard. You cried out so loud it echoed in the room and he did it again, slow, then rough, setting a rhythm that made your knees buckle beneath you. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Didn’t give you a second to breathe. Just kept fucking into you with firm, deliberate strokes, the slap of skin against skin growing louder, wetter, filthier. His hand curled around your throat, holding you there and he pulled you up to bring his mouth to your ear.

“Feel that?”

You moaned, nodding frantically.

“That’s what you needed, isn’t it? Not your little toy. This.”

“Yes—yes.”

He grunted softly, his rhythm shifting—slower now, deeper, dragging each thrust until you sobbed. You bit your lip, whimpering, your body already on fire. You could feel it building, hot and coiled and devastating, your orgasm crawling closer with every thrust.

“Please—please—”

His hand slid down your front and found your clit, rubbing in tight, precise circles. You moaned. Your body jerked so hard he had to press a hand to your lower back to keep you from collapsing completely.

“I said not yet.”

You sobbed, every muscle trembling. He kept going. Fucking you deep and slow, pushing you to that edge and keeping you there, his fingers unrelenting on your clit.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Spence! God—please—”

“Say it.”

“I need it. Need to come—please, I can’t wait.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Come for me.”And you shattered. It hit like a wave—violent and hot and all-consuming. Your body clenched around him, trembling uncontrollably as he held you down and fucked you through it, slow and steady, never letting up. Your scream broke into gasps, sobs, your voice cracking with the force of it. You were gone. Lost. Floating. He didn’t stop until your body sagged in his arms, boneless and twitching.

Only then did he ease out of you carefully. You felt the loss instantly. It was empty and aching—but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Just whimpered as he kissed your back and rubbed slow circles into your hip. He was still hard. Still very much not finished. But he didn’t say anything about that yet. Instead he leaned close, voice a whisper against your ear. “That’s one.”

Your body was limp. Still trembling. Still twitching. The sheets were tangled around your legs, your cheek pressed into the mattress, slick and flushed and boneless from the orgasm he let you have. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, heart still racing, your thighs weak and slick between them. You couldn’t think. Could barely feel. Just the thrum of pleasure lingering in your bones, the warm heaviness of being used and wanted. But Spencer wasn’t done.

You felt him behind you—still hard, still pressed against your backside, still calm as ever. You tried to speak, to catch your breath but then you felt his hand curl around your hip again.

“Don’t tense,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your spine. “You can take more.”

Your heart skipped.

“Spence, I dunno if I can…”

“You will,” he said, shifting your hips slightly. “You’re still dripping for me.”

You didn’t have time to protest—before he slid back inside you. Your whole body jolted. It wasn’t pain, not really. But it was sharp—intense. A shock of sensation that made your legs flinch and your voice catch in your throat. He groaned softly above you.

“Still so tight,” he breathed. “Still clenching like you want more.”

You moaned, helpless. You were clenching—your body reacting on instinct, even as your brain begged for a break. He didn’t give you one. His pace was slow at first, dragging every inch of him along your still-sensitive walls. You whimpered, every nerve on fire again, every brush of friction setting off sparks.

“Can’t,” you gasped, barely audible. “It’s too much—”

“Yes you can,” he said, thrusting deeper. “Thought you wanted it?”

His hand slid between your legs again. Two fingers found your clit, swollen and soaked and rubbed in tight, steady circles. You cried out. Your whole body arched off the bed as he thrust deep and circled that overstimulated bundle of nerves, giving you no relief. His touch wasn’t fast—it was precise, measured, maddening. Designed to drag every last ounce of pleasure out of you whether you could take it or not.

“Spence—Spence, please—”

“You’re taking it,” he said, panting now. “You’re gonna come again. Right on my cock.”

You couldn’t breathe. He fucked you deeper, faster, pressing harder on your clit, every stroke knocking the breath from your lungs. You were so sensitive but your body betrayed you anyway. You felt it building again, that second high climbing fast, burning hot behind your ribs.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice shaking now. “Tell me it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” you choked. “All yours Spence, I’m gonna come. Please—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. His cock hit just right, his fingers unrelenting.

“Do it.”

And then you broke again. It hit even harder this time—sharper, deeper. Your vision blurred, your hands clawing at the sheets as your whole body convulsed around him. You screamed his name as your orgasm crashed through you, raw and overwhelming, your cunt clenching so tight around him it dragged a groan from his throat.

He fucked you through it—still deep, still steady—his breathing ragged now, hand braced on your lower back to keep you down as you writhed under him.

You felt him twitch inside you. And then he finally pulled out with a sharp gasp. You barely registered the sound of him stroking himself behind you—just the wet, fast rhythm of his hand and the broken curse that spilled from his mouth as he came. Hot, thick spurts across your lower back, warm and messy, his breath stuttering above you. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just lay there, boneless and wrecked, soaked and shaking, your chest pressed to the bed as Spencer caught his breath behind you.

His hand ran down your spine again. Gentle. Soft. “You did so good,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “So fucking good for me.”

203 notes · View notes

kusanagihaku · 3 months ago

Text

the other on my heart

⭢ haku x mc, 2.1k

If you are sliced open right now, you think, if you erupt into flowers right this moment - you will bleed the same gold that shone in Haku’s eyes that first day on the train, the same gold that shines now whenever he looks at you, all affection and adoration, devoted and devout. or: Haku’s got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, and… on ao3 here / masterlist.

belated birthday fic for @ghoulspaw but i'm two months late (;´ - `;) happy birthday ily!! inspired by this one mel post and haku's affinity 11 voice line about the woes of the people and our screaming crying throwing up in the dms about driving!haku with his hand on your thigh... thank u for screaming w me abt haku always… haku gfs club 4ever... i hope u enjoy!!

“That should be all,” Haku says, surveying the trunk.

It is packed full of tightly-taped boxes, brown cardboard tops messily labelled in a chicken-scratch scrawl barely readable by dim streetlight. You squint at the top-most package, and check the last item off your list – red mizuhiki strings, requested by Festival Stall #28 – then click your pen shut.

“That should be all,” you confirm.

Haku reaches up to slam the trunk shut.

“It was a good call to borrow a car from Alan,” you say, as you get into the car. “I don’t know how we’d haul all this back within one trip.”

Haku laughs, tugging the driver’s door closed. “I should be thanking you, then, since you were the one speaking to Vagastrom.”

You tuck your clipboard back into the tote bag at your feet. “If I didn’t convince Alan, Subaru would have spoken to Sho.”

Haku laughs again, a short huff as he leans in over the centre console. The proximity sends a flush up your neck, especially when you feel his nose brush your cheek, followed by the soft press of his lips. “Thank you for doing it, then, so our captain didn’t have to.”

Even though it’s been months of this it still sends a shy swell of adoration through your lungs every single time. You turn slightly to reply, but Haku is reaching across you with his right hand, long fingers catching on your seatbelt before pulling it across you. His lips don’t leave the edge of yours as he murmurs, “Your seatbelt, princess.”

If you turn just a little more, you’d feel the press of his lips against your own–

But there is nothing stopping you, you remember, nothing stopping you from tasting the honey of his words straight from the source– and so you do, and he kisses you sweetly, gently, heart-thumpingly–

It is so easy to pretend, that you are just two people, out running errands and heading home for the night. That everything is ordinary, that after this, you will unlock your doors and unload your groceries and put everything away, and spend the rest of the moonlight murmuring in the warmth of each other’s eyes.

But there is a beep from your phone, a sharp crack in the still of the car, a snap of notifications and reminders that you are nothing but a tool of Darkwick–

When you pull away, Haku sighs.

The smile he offers you is tired and rueful, and he straightens back up to start the car as you dislodge your phone from your blazer pocket.

“It’s Subaru,” you say, apologetically. “He’s asking if we managed to find everything okay.”

Haku drums his fingers against the steering wheel. The gold of his watch catches the streetlight as he begins to manoeuvre the car out of the parking lot. “Guess that’s our cue to head back.”

You tap out a short update to Subaru before leaning back into your seat. When you sneak a glance at Haku he is half-lit by the red of the stop light, one hand resting on the top of the steering wheel and the other resting loosely in his lap.

You bite your lip. “Haku.”

His eyes flicker to you.

“Thanks for inviting me to come with you,” you say, quietly. You worry the edge of your phone case with your fingernail. “I know it wasn’t a mission and you could have asked the general students to do it, but it was nice. Spending time outside of Darkwick. With you.”

Haku’s returning smile is the sort of fond only ever reserved for you; it makes you want to melt into him, gentle, safe, your personal equator. He reaches over to take your hand, carefully tangling his fingers into yours. “You look like you needed it.”

He gives your hand a squeeze. It squeezes your heart.

You squeeze back.

The lights turn green, and you settle into silence.

Time comes in waves, on the road - you are looking at him, fringe falling into his eyes, then at the twinkle of city life and flash of taillights, then at the way Haku’s fingers have molded themselves into the shape of yours, steady and sure and soft, and then suddenly it is all gone and you are faced with the blank canvas of black road and the expanse of stars above you that you cannot see.

The car hurtles towards your destination.

Before Darkwick, you’d bemoaned having to do chores, having to spend time doing supermarket runs, doing laundry, doing paperwork. But now, having had stood in line for wagashi for hours, Haku’s head dipping towards yours in shared secret laughter, having had sprawled out on the floor of Haku’s room, buried in mission briefs and reports, having been pinned against the thrum of your washing machine, cradled between the heat of Haku’s palms— what wouldn’t you give, to do those things with him forever. What wouldn’t you give to wrap around time like this, to repeat your everyday in his company, to spin forever in each others’ orbit like two dust motes from a star that have never been apart.

Your intertwined fingers flash gold under the passing highway lights.

In another life, you think, this could be your everyday – white noise on the radio, road humming beneath your feet. Haku humming along, painted in city glow, framed in mundanity. Haku, with his hand in your lap and his name on your lips and his heart in yours. Haku within reach, always.

“Do I take this exit or the next?”

Haku’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and you squint at the tiny text flashing across the screen to his phone. The words are too small, however, and so you have to somewhat reluctantly let go of Haku’s hand to reach for where it has been propped up as a navigation system on the dashboard.

His hand drops to your thigh. His palm burns through the grey of your skirt, thumb brushing along its hem.

“This one,” you say. The pad of his thumb is rough against the bare of your skin.

You lean forward to set his phone back on its stand. The movement dislodges his hand; as you settle back into your seat he slips it neatly under the hem of your skirt, and gives your inner thigh a squeeze.

“Haku,” you say, warningly, smiling, and he laughs in surrender. His hand returns to the steering wheel.

He does not take the exit.

“Haku–“

“I know,” he says. He glances over at you again. “There’s a place at the next exit I want to show you. You can see the city lights and all, from up there.”

You hesitate for just a fraction too long, thinking of the report record you’ll have to fill up, and Haku reaches to take your hand in his again. “Just for a little while, I promise. You can just write it up as us taking the wrong exit and losing our way for a couple minutes.”

God, he’s too persuasive.

“If you’re going to murder me,” you say, at last, “I won’t tell Darkwick.”

It pulls another laugh out of Haku, startled and bright, and you lean into it like you’re drinking the sun.

“You say that like I could ever live without you, princess,” Haku says, grinning at the road. His voice is lighthearted. Neither of you mention the fact that he will soon have to.

It takes a while to get from the next exit to the top of the small hill that Haku decided upon, but as Haku slides the car headfirst into the parking lot you see why he has chosen it.

The car park is empty, with only a pair of dim streetlamps at its entrance, but beyond that– oh, beyond that–

The city sprawls out beneath your feet. From this overlook you can see the rise and fall of buildings, dotted with tiny lights that flicker on and off with every movement of your eye. The cars on the highway you left behind crawl like ants to and from their kingdom; the clouds, lit a dim purple from below by the glow of the city, hang low across its occupants.

How far away you are now, from this life. How far away you will be.

“I’ve always liked the city lights more than stars,” Haku says, quietly. The soothe of his voice shatters your thoughts into tiny, brilliant pieces the way it always does, rounding their sharp edges into something muted, dull. “People are always going on about stargazing and stuff, you know, but you can barely see them, most of the time.”

You turn to look at him, turn to look at the way his earrings brush the sharp of his jaw. His head is tilted against the headrest, eyes half-closed as he stares out at the cityscape.

“But every light I see here,” he says, softer, his hand sliding again into your lap, sliding home, “every light in every window is a person. They’re going about their lives and getting their groceries and doing their laundry and thinking about their problems and celebrating their successes and they’re just one in fourteen million people who are doing so.”

He does not look at you, not yet. His thumb runs along the inside of your thigh, starts a dim burn in the hollow of your spine. “It makes me feel insignificant, sometimes. That I’m just one in fourteen million people who are just struggling along. But then I remember, that out of these fourteen million people, on that one day on that one train at Kisaragi Station, I got to meet you–“

They say that gods are invisible, but when Haku half-turns to look at you, then, haloed only in yellow streetlight and dashboard glow, you think you might know what holy is supposed to look like.

Your own personal angel, with his hand on your thigh and his voice low and tight in his throat like a prayer. With the green of his fringe shaded grey by the night, but with the gold of his eyes glowing bright all the same.

“This life kinda sucks,” Haku murmurs. When he leans in across the console to tip his forehead against yours his breath ghosts across your lips. “But in my next one, I’m hoping that in these fourteen million people, I’ll get to meet you again. And we’ll do whatever we did today together again, but this time every day, again and again, for the rest of our lives.”

“Haku,” you breathe, but your voice is tangled up in your lungs, and there is a heat behind your eyes that threatens to leak–

But then you are kissing him something soft, sweet, lips on his like you are speaking, praying his words into existence. And he is kissing you back, something yearning and yawning and needy, something shaking and pleading, like he is willing the universe to make it happen; he kisses you like the press of your lips have the power to turn back time, like the curl of his tongue can rewrite your ending.

When you break away, gasping for shared breath, eyelashes tangled in his and your trembling hand on his hand on your jaw, blinking away your thoughts like stars in the winter, this is what you write into your memory of tonight:

That if love is a place, perhaps it is in the cup of his palm, in the soft of his laugh. Perhaps it is in the press of Haku’s shaky smile against yours as you pull him in, again and again, kissing him silly in the middle of an abandoned parking lot. Perhaps it is not in the promise of forever, but buried in the cracks of everyday vice-captain and inspector duties, in the minutes he has carved out for the both of you in the moments you have remaining. In the heat of his hand on your inner thigh, in his breath in your lungs, in the unshakable assurance of I’ve-found-you-too-late-in-this-life-but-I-promise-you-I’ll-find-you-in-the-next.

That if you are sliced open right now, you think, if you erupt into flowers right this moment, you will bleed the same gold that shone in Haku’s eyes that first day on the train, the same gold that shines now whenever he looks at you – all affection and adoration, devoted and devout.

“It’s a while yet until curfew,” Haku murmurs. His words are warm on your cheek as he pulls away. His hand slides higher, higher, as he looks at you, begging. “Shall we stay a while longer?”

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #haku kusanagi #haku kusanagi x reader #haku kusanagi x mc #IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG #BUT DRIVING!HAKU HAS BEEN COOKING FOR TOO LONG #i fear it might be a little ooc but i need him out of my brain right NOW #lin writes #havent written in a while but HERE WE GO

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strwbrychffoncke · 7 months ago

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"christmas dreaming,, word count: 3.3k synopsis: you both dreamed of a christmas together, and this winter, it seems that it may just come true contains: lads caleb x f!reader (but the only indication is reader wears a nightgown lol) ,fluff -> kinda suggestive ,angst if you squint ,bickering ,use of "gege" (caleb refers to himself like this a couple times lol) ,reader is called "pipsqueak" ,cute hug moment ,mutual pining ,kind of oblivious!reader ,light jealousy ,lots of teasing (caleb likes to see u suffer lol) ,kissing -> soft makeout ,suggestive ending if you squint ,i think thats it.... note: (mostly edited! if theres any errors pls standby) i opened instagram to the official lads acc post ab an update w that fucking apple a couple days ago n suddenly this fic flew up on the prio list. this one is for the caleb girlies u mean sm to me

busy.

you had been busy (the exact opposite of what others this season should be) going on back-to-back missions, scouting and clearing out no-hunt zones instead of taking time off and spending it with loved ones, and spending the other half of your time writing up reports instead of window shopping and checking off gifts for everyone on your long-forgotten list.

on top of trying to get through as much work as possible, you weren't even sure if you were going to have anyone to spend christmas with this year, aside from your grandma.

caleb usually kept you updated on when he was supposed to have a break, but it seemed this time around was different as you fished your phone from your pocket, checking your messages for the upteenth time today only to see your messages still left on delivered.

you sighed.

at least there's gram you thought, putting your phone away and focusing all your attention back on the various bags that filled your arms.

after the miracle that was getting off from work early, you were out doing some last-minute christmas shopping.

not your finest moment, and most definitely not your favorite, but your second miracle of the day came in the form of snagging everything you had in mind for everyone on your list.

your mind drifted to caleb's gift and you couldn't help but second guess yourself, wondering if he would even like it.

not that it was something you had to worry too much about right now, considering you weren't even sure when he would end up opening it.

you sigh again, watching the puffed out air float through the air, courtesy of the cold.

passing by the couples on the street seemed to dampen your mood further.

how you wished caleb were here to accompany you like that.

you hurried your steps. all you wanted to do now was to get home and sleep the rest of the day away (only after setting up the rest of the decorations around the place).

your wish drifts away on the chilly evening air as you continue down the street, the ideas for decor placement and wrapping gifts filling your head.

when you decided to walk to do your errands today, you didn't expect to regret it when you realized just how much shopping you did, bags seeming to weigh you down with each step growing a little heavier as you approached your home.

you breathe a sigh of relief when the house comes into view, fishing out the key from your coat pocket as you finally reach the doorstep to your childhood home. you quickly insert the key and unlock the door with a click.

in your tired state, you don't fully register the pleasant smell wafting through the door as you nudge your way in, swiftly shutting it behind you with your foot and locking it out of habit before you begin the trek to your room.

you don't take notice of the humming in the kitchen floating through the living space as you push open the door to your bedroom and drop all the bags on the floor.

you don't notice the footsteps that make their way towards your bed shortly after you plop down on top of it, nuzzling into the soft blanket telling yourself just for a moment.

"no proper greeting for gege, pipsqueak? frankly, i'm hurt."

"..."

you think you must be dreaming.

you think you must miss caleb so badly without even realizing it that your thoughts are not only consumed by him, but now you're hearing his voice in the grips of your fatigue.

"are you going to keep pretending to be asleep? after gege cooked for you too...."

"..."

theres no way you're dreaming.

your eyes shoot open.

when they do, you're met with the sight of none other than caleb standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted, expression somewhere between mock-pensive and teasing as he stares down at you.

"caleb?!"

his eyes glimmer with mischief.

"oh, so you are awake."

you bolt upright in bed, eyes wide.

"what ar- how- when did you get here???"

an airy chuckle leaves him at your stammering before he leans forward slightly.

"hmm.. a couple hours ago, give or take?"

you gape at him, still processing him standing right before you. he takes advantage of your shock and reaches a hand out, playfully ruffling your hair.

"but a certain hunter was too tired to notice until now..." he shakes his head in mock disdain. "how disappointing. do i mean so little to you?"

the hand that was reached out clutches over his heart when he says this, faux hurt expression taking over his features.

momentarily ignoring his jesting, you answer with another question.

"why didn't you tell me you were coming???" you mean to sound harsh, but it comes out whiny instead.

he wants to laugh at your tone, almost feeling bad for ignoring your messages to keep his arrival a secret.

"maybe," his hand moves towards his chin, a single index finger pointed up as it hovers over his lips.

"gege wanted to surprise you," he winks.

despite his teasing (that inwardly infuriates you to no end) you're so pleased to see him that, given the proximity, your arms reach forward, wrapping around his waist as your face falls into his chest before squeezing tight.

"h-hey, pipsqueak-"

caleb startles at the sudden action, peering down at you and hoping you can't hear how his heart has begun racing because of you.

but the affection is in no way unwelcome, something he makes sure to reciprocate as he slings one arm around your back, other hand reaching up to pat your head softly.

he sighs.

"did you really miss me that much?"

your voice is muffled, comfortably nuzzled into his chest.

"shut up, caleb."

he laughs again, holding you closer.

"i missed you, too."

his voice is a murmur against your hair, and you think you feel his lips graze the side of your head.

but you make no effort to move, and neither does he.

after your long drawn out hug is interrupted by your stomach rumbling, caleb teases you before grabbing one of your hands and leading you to the dining room to an array of prettily displayed dishes.

your mouth practically waters at the sight, taking a seat as your eyes slowly drag over everything, eager to get your hands on everything all at once.

"don't wait on my account, pipsqueak. dig in."

your gaze shifts from him, to the food, and then back, pausing for a moment.

"i'll just grab a-"

"ive got it, don't get up and eat already," he cuts you off, already next to the fridge grabbing two drinks and making his way back to the table, taking the seat in front of you.

you thank him before filling your plate with a little of everything, having missed his cooking after so long.

after spending some time catching up over the food (and your countless praises for caleb's cooking, all of which he laughed at, responding with "how do you manage without me for so long?") a certain question lingers in caleb's mind before finding the time to ask it.

"so, pipsqueak," he begins.

you grab your drink, glancing up at him to show you're listening.

"any of the hunters grab your attention?"

you tilt your head, bringing the cup closer to you.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," a certain look takes over his eyes, but you're not sure what exactly it is.

"do you like anyone?"

you're so startled by the question that you sputter your drink before breaking into a small fit of coughs.

caleb scoots his chair back, ready to help you before you quickly calm down, gesturing that you're fine.

"woah, didn't mean for that to happen," he grins.

"why the hell would you ask me something like that???"

he shrugs.

"dunno. you're a cutie, so who knows, maybe someone took note of that and made a move?"

your heart flutters.

he thinks you're cute? or was he just teasing you again?

"so?"

you scoff.

"if you must know... the answer is no."

relief floods caleb's system, and he doesn't realize it overtakes his features as well before you add:

"why do you seem so pleased? do you want me to stay by myself forever or something?" you roll your eyes.

because i want you all to myself, he thinks.

"because id wanna make sure they're perfect for you," he lies, lazy grin spreading across his face.

you're the one who's perfect for me, you think.

but you don't say this, only playfully scoffing at his words before responding.

"yeah, right, you'd just scare them away."

damn right, he thinks, but only laughs in response.

"well, if they have a problem with me, then that's already a red flag, isn't it?"

"i guess so..."

you begin to pick at your food again when a thought crosses your mind.

if he's being nosy about my love life, does that mean i don't have a chance at all?

your heart sinks at the thought of losing him to someone else.

"well, what about you?"

"hm?"

you look up at him, gaze holding something like fiery determination- it throws him off.

"are you seeing anyone?"

he looks back at you, heart almost bursting at what seems like a jealous pout overtaking your face.

he smiles.

as if i could think of anyone but you.

"nope, nothing going on in my love life," he speaks plainly, and watches as you breathe a small sigh of relief, your eyes relaxing and lips morphing into a little grin as you look back down at your plate.

"oh," you say simply.

he thinks about teasing you, but lets you be for now as you happily continue chowing down on your homemade dinner.

a sight caleb wishes to witness every day, if given the chance.

after you help with washing the dishes (insistent in your begging, making caleb finally give in after countless minutes of trying to get you to rest and repeating how he could handle it), you both settle on the idea of watching a movie together in the living room.

after a quick well-needed rinse off and dressed in comfortable nightwear, you make your way to the living room.

somewhere in the midst of dinner, it had begun snowing outside, and despite being shielded from it indoors, a chill still somehow surrounded the living area, pulling a shiver from you.

"cold, pipsqueak?"

caleb is already sat on the sofa, one arm draped over the back of it grasping the remote, head propped up on his other fist as he browses through the selection of festive movies on the tv.

you nod quickly as you make your way towards him, noting the fluffy blanket draped over his lap.

you sit down, reaching for it before he stops you.

"hey, you're not the only one who's cold!"

"you're wearing sweatpants, how cold could you possibly be?"

"no one forced you to wear that cute little nightgown~"

"that's my blanket in the first place!"

"and who gifted it to you, huh?"

"you-!"

"just sit next to me so we can share it."

you blink.

"oh-"

"or... would you rather sit on my lap?"

you feel your face erupt into flames.

"wha- whe- why would you say that?!?"

he laughs at your embarrassment.

"what? its just like when we were kids, remember?"

while the offer is tempting, you're sure he's just teasing you again.

you settle for lifting the blanket on your side and scooting closer to him before draping it over yourself.

"yeah well... ill be just fine right here."

he shrugs, still smiling at you.

"suit yourself."

he clicks on a movie, the opening beginning to play when he pipes up again.

"but if you happen to change your mind-"

"like hell!" you whisper-shout in pure embarrassment, bringing the blanket up to cover the bottom half of your face.

he laughs again when the actual movie begins, a comfortable silence enveloping the space as you both watch the starting scene.

about fifteen minutes into the movie, you're only acutely aware of what's taking place onscreen.

while his eyes have been glued to the screen, yours have had trouble doing the same, drifting over to seemingly study caleb's side profile before catching yourself and redirecting your attention.

over and over and over again.

he knows you think he doesn't notice, but he's fighting a smirk and teasing comment, reveling in the attention you're giving him, wanting to bask in it for a little longer while simultaneously hoping you'll make some kind of move.

. . .

thirty minutes into the movie, youre not sure you can take it anymore.

after inwardly fighting with yourself for the past ten minutes, you decide to inch closer to him, having the cold as an excuse ready to use (should he say anything) and hoping the dim lighting of the living area (courtesy of caleb, insisting that movies are always better in the dark) will hide your movement enough so he doesn't notice in the first place.

you clench the blanket closer to you as you make your move.

his eyes are still glued to the screen.

he doesn't notice.

five minutes pass.

you shuffle a little bit closer.

"..."

he still doesn't seem to notice.

with the way you're sitting, your knees will knock together if you move any closer.

so you shift your sitting position.

five more minutes pass, and you inch closer once more.

your eyes locked on the screen, you don't quite catch his side glance before he refocuses.

he holds in a laugh.

he's noticed each movement, but finds it cute that you think he hasn't, but can't tell if you want him to or not.

so he shifts his own position, now leaning a little closer your way, and waits.

five more minutes pass.

you glance to the side.

he smirks.

when you go to close the rest of the distance, he turns to you, causing you to freeze. he uses the opportunity to grab your cheeks with one hand and force your gaze to meet his.

"getting a little close there, pipsqueak."

his voice is a low murmur, a pleasant disturbance in the quiet that surrounded you both, but given your proximity you hear it that much clearer, heart rate picking up at being caught.

"i was-"

"what? you were cold?"

you jolt at his ability to see right through you.

"i told you," he leans closer to your ear before whispering.

"if you changed your mind, to let me know."

he pulls back enough to look at you again, and feels his face go warm.

here you are, so close to him, eyes open and honest as emotion swirls within them, cheeks squished cutely with his soft yet firm grip on them, lips slightly puckered because of it-

he tries to steady his breathing.

and it seems like, for once today, you could read his mind this time.

"caleb..." the way his name sounds from your lips right now- so breathy and sweet- does something to him.

he releases your cheeks, hand slipping to one side to cup one instead.

"what would happen if i just..." he trails off, his eyes trained on your lips.

his voice is just barely audible, but you hear it with the closeness.

you think you might die right here.

"try it," you urge, voice a pleading whisper.

he meets your eyes again and his look suddenly hardens.

"dodge if you don't want this."

those are the last words he utters before slowly moving in, tilting his head and shutting his eyes.

your eyes widen when his lips meet yours, eyes slowly slipping shut before you reciprocate, lips melding together perfectly, longingly, as if you'd both waited an eternity for this moment.

you slip your arms around his neck pulling him closer- and invitation to devour your lips whole.

the kiss gets more intense with each passing second, so caught in your lips moving in sync that you barely register being lightly pushed down against the soft cushions of the sofa, caleb following as he now hovers above you, chasing after your lips the entire way.

you're not sure how much time has passed before he finally pulls away from you, breaths heavy as he marvels down at you.

your gown is in slight disarray, chest rising up and down as you catch your own breath, eyes slightly glazed over and lips shiny and slightly swollen from him.

but youre staring up at him as that cute little smile curls on your lips, making him want to dive right back in.

"wow," you breathe out, no other words to describe the moment coming to your hazy mind.

"wow," caleb mimics. "you all warmed up now?" he pants.

you pout, hitting his arm lightly.

"so cruel..." he jokes, hand moving to pet your head.

he stares, admiring you for a minute before breathing out a laugh.

"man, am i glad you didn't dodge."

you look up at him, confusion swimming in your irises as a small frown makes its way to your lips.

"why would i?"

his heart stutters.

"well, even if you liked me that much, i didn't think you'd actually make a move."

your eyes widen, and despite the initial urge to bite back at his words, you decide to be honest since everything is out on the table, despite your rapidly racing heart.

"its all i've ever wanted."

god, he thinks he could die right now and be a happy man as his soul flies free.

"s' that why you were so jealous earlier at the mention of love lives?"

you huff, looking to the side.

"well, since you asked first, i figured it meant there was no hope for me."

you're just too cute, he thinks.

"in my case, i needed to check if there was anyone i needed to beat up."

your eyes fly back to him.

"caleb!"

"what? you think im joking, but i mean it."

he leans down close again, noses almost touching.

"if someone else had caught your interest, im not sure what i'd do with myself..."

a smile graces your face once more as you look up at him through your lashes.

"well," you whisper, "good thing i'm all yours."

an hour and fifteen minutes into the movie and it plays forgotten, background noise to a new love that blooms right before it. and in the midst of it all, despite the agonizing amount of time it took to get here, you both could spend christmas together in the way you'd always wanted: as devoted lovers.

epilogue:

"actually, i got you something!"

"oh? you didn't have to.."

"you say that every year, but you know i do anyways."

"well, what is it this time?"

"you'll just have to wait to open it~"

your expression turns worried suddenly.

"i just hope that you'll like it..."

noting this, he grips your chin, turning your head towards him before placing a chaste kiss onto your lips.

"pipsqueak, you're already the greatest christmas gift i could have gotten. whatever it is you bought for me, i'll love it for sure."

you feel relief and tingles flood your system all at once.

"okay," you breathe, giving him a kiss back.

come christmas, he's pleased at the silly 'kiss the cook' apron (that he knows will now be put to good use), a new cutlery set, and a pretty iron ring that adorns his middle finger.

you yourself are pleased with the anklet with an apple charm, as well as a cute apple phone charm that you waste no time in strapping onto your phone.

but despite the gifts, you both agree that the greatest gift was each other.

a/n: wanted to release this earlier but jumped between two other drafts n procrastinated on this one oops... caleb kissers this one is for you in honor of him (seemingly) being added as a LI soon :x i absolutely did not mean to make this as long as i did LOL the music i listen to while writing really gets me in the zone...... its christmas when i post this ,so merry christmas to those who celebrate <3 im going to try my absolute hardest to at least get the sylus fic out later today if nothing else ,i have sm ideas..... -

#love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace x reader #lads x you #lads x reader #l&ds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb x you #lads caleb x reader #l&ds caleb x you #l&ds caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb x reader

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angeldoll2000 · 2 years ago

Text

Highest Bidder

Dark!Robert Fishcher x Sugarbaby!Reader

Word Count: +3,066

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Loss of virginity, Human auction, Housewife kink, Breeding kink, Misogynistic remarks, Insults, Just plain abuse, Robert is a warning himself.

Author's Note(s): I have been thinking about this for a hot minute. Inspired by @mypoisonedvine Robert Fischer fic go check it out!!

You couldn't stop checking your phone for an update. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Did he bail? Part of you had hoped so. It would make things a lot easier. Years ago, if someone had told you that you'd be auctioning off your virginity, well, the first thing you'd do is laugh in their face.

That was before everything went to shit. Your parents ended up in neck-deep debt trying to pay off your college, borrowing money from some sleazy loaner company. Soon having no choice but to debate on filing for bankruptcy. Everything they've worked hard for, gone. You didn't want them to worry about that anymore.

This wasn't a huge deal for you. Personally, you've never had any luck with guys and would rather get this over with. Growing up you were always the awkward, ugly duckling of the friend group, so a boyfriend was out of the picture. Only sharing an innocent kiss with a childhood friend, but that was a long time ago. It was only after you reached your 20's where you began to bloom.

He'd bought your outfit and covered the cost of everything. He wants you ready and waiting for him, all wrapped up like a pretty present. He's very particular about these things, even making a list of errands to run before the big day. He requested for photos of the hair and makeup you'd be wearing for the evening. Scolding you every time you did something he disliked. He wouldn't even try hiding it. You reread his previous text message: Change the makeup. It makes you look like a cheap whore. You scoff at the response...how rude.

Even before all of this he would try to test your patience. Sending messages like, 'Do you know who I am? You should be more grateful that I'm giving you this much attention," or "Anyone would be lucky to be in your position,' which made you physically roll your eyes. This morning, he had given you a call as a reminder of where you would meet. He send you the hotel address with money for a cab.

He made sure to give you call in the afternoon as a reminder of what to do after arriving, ending it with, "I don't want to hear any complaining when I get there." before hanging up. You grumble a stray of curse words, this had better been worth it...

You couldn't believe your eyes on how luxurious the hotel was. It's entrance had been decorated with marble and brass statues. There wasn't a drop of it that didn't scream 'money'. You sheepishly sign in, allowing a worker to carry your bag to the room. It had taken a while before you could reach the top. Part of you was impressed, he had really gone all out.

As soon as you enter the room there was this sort of romantic ambiance to it. From the lighting, to the breathtaking scenery of the city. It was all so...dreamy. But this was no dream. You were going to have sex for the first time with some old, rich geezer, gross. You take note of a shopping bag left on the bed, opening it to find a lingerie set.

You held the fabric, inspecting the material. White lace, with hints of glitter that shine in the light. At least the old man has good taste. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, humming at the sight of it. Not bad...hell, you looked fantastic.

Suddenly the door knob jingles, then a heavy knock follows. You leapt from the bed, approaching to open the door for him. But before you could reach the knob it slams open. A man enters, sporting a well-tailored suit, dressed to the nines from head-to-toe. His hair is combed back, a few strands dangle against his forehead. As you scan the man's face, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

There's a light rosy hue to his cheeks. You first notice the striking blues of his eyes and how long his lashes are. He looks like he'd have no problem at all searching for someone. So what is he doing paying for someone like you? For a moment, you were in awe of his presence. Staring back at the man like a deer caught in headlights.

The meeting today had taken its toll on Robert. He was supposed to meet with you hours ago, but there had been an emergency with the company's shareholders. He could practically feel his blood boiling, to the point where it felt almost difficult to breathe. He tugs his tie off and yanks for his shirt to open, a few buttons go flying. He lets out a huff, scanning the room with his blue orbs for something, more specifically, someone.

"So you're the one I've been talking to eh?" a hint of humor in his voice, "Let me guess, you're a good girl caught up in the wrong crowd? Is that it?" he taunts, "I'm sure you've 'never' done this before," the corners of his mouth turn upward into a sinister grin. His eyes are emotionless. Cold as ice. Yet why did they seem so comforting? As if you've seen them before.

He drops his suitcase at the end of the bed, turning towards you. He eyes you up and down, as if he were deep in thought, "Give me a spin," and of course you follow his orders. He raises a brow, "Come here," he commands. You stare back at him, unsure of what he'd just said. Robert sighs, he doesn't have time for this. He's slightly drunk and exhausted from work. Right now he just wants some hard, animalistic fucking.

He tugs your underwear to the side, examining his prize. He bunches up the waistband of your panties before yanking the fabric down. You held your breath, now riddled with anxiety. This was a bit too...casual for comfort. He fists the fabric, holding it to the side while the other hand held your hip.

His voice is deep, much deeper in person, "Hold it for me," he wants to get a good look at his purchase. His thick fingers slide down your pubic area, grazing against the bare skin, he hums, "Even waxed yourself like I told you to, good girl." he slaps the side of your hip, as if he were examining livestock. Your stomach coils at the realization. Never in your life have you felt so...objectified. Still, now wasn't the time to back down. He pushes you against a desk. Until you were now leaning on the table.

He spreads your folds with his thick digits, examining them closely. He held your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly. You let out a whine from the sensation, bucking your hips from the sudden discomfort. He retreats his hand before flipping you over. His chest now against your back. He pushes you against the table, bending you over for a better view. He was in no rush.

He rubs his fingers over your bare slit. His thumb caresses your bundle of nerves. As soon as he retreats you finally snap the fabric back in place. Now lowering your head with embarrassment. He grips your chin, lifting it until you're face-to-face, "No don't hide from me now..." he plops himself on a chair, tilting his chin up, "Why don't you make yourself useful and help me get this off?"

If you weren't getting paid you would've scoffed at his rudeness. It was obvious he was into power play. Being in total control of everything. Now wasn't the time for letting your emotions emotions get involved. You help him remove his coat and tie, even unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. He's still wearing his pants, now unclasped. He stares you down, a smirk now lingering on his cold features, "Take off your clothes,"

When you start to quickly unclasp the garter belt, Robert's voice booms, "Stop." he orders, "Do it slower," he leans back in the recliner, already palming his erection. You shyly unclasp your belt, letting the straps fall off each shoulder. His hand grazes on an exposed breast, sending shivers down your spine.

He chuckles, "Oh...don't tell me you're that sensitive?" a crude remark. Your brows furrow, why did he have to tease you so? He notices your obvious discomfort, "Don't worry darling, your only job is to fuck," as if that would make things better, "Do you know how to suck cock?" he questions. You give him a hesitant nod, "No...I've never done it before this is my first time--"

"I didn't ask for a whole life story,"

"...No," your lips press in a thin line. He was really pushing it, "So you've never had sex or sucked cock before, tell me, what have you done?" he pulls out his member, already hard and leaking. It's tip was flush pink, the same as his lips. He spits into his palm before working himself up, he knows you're nervous. He wants you to be intimidated by him. He pumps his shafts with slow strokes, "Tell me, what gets you off..." he sighs.

You look down to your feet, suddenly his voice booms, "No, do not look away," to which you began to tear up. His voice is soft now, "Sweetheart, look at me," he huffs. You look up at him now with tearful eyes, he groans, "Oh...that's it..." stroking his cock faster. A finger points directly at you in a 'come hither' motion. You walk towards him, still eyeing his shaft. How was that going to fit?

You felt warm despite the lack of clothing, there's a pooling sensation between your legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. His tongue darts against a breast. He teases the bud with his teeth. He made sure it was swollen and sensitive before giving attention to the other breast.

You never knew it could feel this...good. As soon as your hands reach for his hair he instantly stops, Robert remembers the reason why you're here. It wasn't to see him. You only wanted one thing, and he doesn't have time to play pretend. He just came here to collect what he's owed. At the end of the day, you were just a hired whore. He swats both hands away, giving you the cold shoulder. He lifts himself from the seat, throwing you against the carpet. You're confused at the sudden mood swing. It frightens you. Where the hell did that come from?

"It's a shame, you were doing so well," Robert sits up, his leaking cock now presses against his abdomen. He's pissed. He paid you for your time, you were suppose to focus only on his needs. Every word that came from his mouth dripped with anger, "It seems like you need a reminder on whore etiquette," he knows you've probably fucked a few before him, this was all part of your little roleplay act.

"I'm not a whore!" you detest lying, what made him not believe you? Forget it...this wasn't worth an argument, "You know what? You can take your money back asshole! Fuck this and fuck you--" a hand grips around your neck. He'll have to show you a thing or two of what comes with selling yourself out, especially to a complete stranger. You've always knew deep down that you'd regret your first, but this was downright terrifying.

This man, he didn't even see you as a person. As a human being. To him, this was all a transaction that was paid for, "What did you think that website was for? It's a human auction. Not just your cunt. Meaning I own your ass for the next few hours," he leans in, pressing his nose against yours, he growls, "Remember your place..."

Robert pulls you up by the hair, throwing you onto the bed. You scramble to get away but he's much stronger. He began to wrestle you. To which you land a slap on his cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. You pause, now too scared to move. He touches the tender skin, it would surely leave a bruise tomorrow. Which just so happens to be an important meeting, "You little bitch..." he grips your jaw until it aches, forcing your mouth to open.

He takes the opportunity to spit inside, covering your mouth and pinching your nose. You felt like you wanted to gag. Finally, after fighting to hold your breath, you swallow. He grins, "See? even if you try to fight me, I always get what I want..."

You, of all people, should know this about him. Instead you try putting up a fight, "I hate you! I hate you! Let me go!" thrashing around. Both of his hands now pressed against your throat. He scolds, "If you want it to hurt I'll make it hurt like nothing else..." he flips you over, pressing his body against your own, making it harder to breathe.

He lets his pants slide down. Tugging off his boxers. He spits a wad into his hand, that should be enough to get comfortable, for him. But for you? Well, he wants it to hurt you. Otherwise, how will you learn? Whores like you deserve to feel pain. That's what you get for teasing him in your photos. He growls into your ear, "Time to try my pussy..."

He yanks down your panties before pressing his leaking tip against your opening. He muffles your cries in his palm. You couldn't hold back the tears. This man is going to break you! As retaliation you tilt your head to the side and bit into his forearm. He grunts from the pain, it only encourages him to carry out your punishment. He thrusts harder, grinding down his hips to reach as deep as he could go.

You sob from the pain, going limp from shock. All you could do was cry into his hand, bracing yourself against the cushioning below. You turned your head to face the mirror, taking a good look at your own sad, pathetic reflection. You were being dominated by a complete stranger. How did it get to this point? When did you become so pathetic? So desperate to the point where you became a whore for hire?

He held you close to his chest. He knows now you're too tired to fight him off. He kept jutting his hips back and fourth, moaning in your ear with a deep grumble. You could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. It repulses you. The only sounds that could be heard in the room were of skin-to-skin slapping, Robert's insults, and your muffled cries.

"Fuck....fuck m'gonna cum..." he grunts. He rubs his nose against the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scented perfume. He drags his face across the soft, supple skin. He can tell by the shimmer that you applied an expensive lotion earlier. Of course you wanted him, what woman wouldn't? He's handsome, rich, successful, he's the entire package.

So why were you begging for him not to finish inside? You were just being stubborn, that's all. He'll have to remind you of who's in charge, "I bought this pussy fair and square. If I want to put a baby in it, then bitch, I will," he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, biting until the skin breaks. He doesn't stop thrusting his hips. Plunging his cock deep inside to coat your womb. He moans, furrowing his brows from the feeling of your velvety walls.

"You think you're better than me huh? Old enough to fuck but not old enough to get knocked up, yeah fucking right" he huffs, "You just wanted an excuse to be whore..." His voice becomes hoarse, as the pleasure began to increase, "Fuck...fuck I'll buy you a big house just so I can fuck you in it...hm...yeah you'd like that wouldn't you?" he doesn't stop his vigorous thrusts, "I’ll fuck some babies into you hm? You'd like that? I’ll give you a baby with blue eyes…something to remind you of me…" he flips you over, locking an arm around your neck.

All you could do was whine as you wait for the inevitable. Robert licks a stripe against your ear. He grunts with satisfaction, "Want you to remember this for the rest of your life....every time you think about your first time, you'll be thinking of me...." he fastens his pace. All you could do was stare back at your reflection. A tear trickles down your cheek. You couldn't help but agree. It was true, this moment would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Robert knows it. That's what gives him such an ego boost. He felt like he was on top of the fucking world. He growls in your ear, "Remember this, I.Fucking.Own.You." before unloading his spunk deep inside. He muffles a moan in the crook of your neck, bowing his head down to feel the bliss of it all. Fuck, he never came so much in his life. Was it the adrenaline or the pussy? He doesn't care. All he knows is that it's money well spent.

He slowly begins to pull out, hissing from the pleasure your pussy gave. He moans at the sight of his shaft dipped in a crimson tint, "Fuck me...if that isn't a sight for sore eyes..." he's made sure to mark his territory. He flips you over, you're too scared to even look at him.

He slides his hand from your stomach to your pelvis, "Hold on...I want to see it.." giving your lower abdomen a light push, forcing the rest of his seed out. It's mixed with a string of red. His lids are hooded, there's a twitch to his features. He grins, "Fuck...guess you weren't lying about me being your first..." he chuckles, "And here I thought you were just another lying whore..." playing with your emotions.

Robert lifts himself from the bed. He retrieves his belt on the floor, tying your wrists to the bed post. He doesn't want to risk you running away from him. Not while he still had a few hours left. He fixes himself in the mirror, coming his hair back to how it was before. Making sure that there wasn't a single strand out of place. He admires himself in the mirror. He felt like a fucking champ. Like nothing in the world could stop him, and so far there hasn't been.

Robert knew this was a good idea the moment he saw your profile online. He'd been tracking you down for quite some time, it's been a while. His obsession growing with each message sent. He had to own you. Mind, body, and soul. It was a good idea to install the hidden camera in the hotel. He could only stare at you from his office, viewing you changing into the set he'd purchased, admiring yourself in the mirror. He had to wait another agonizing hour before work was finished.

He notices the way you'd tried being presentable, all for him. How you would constantly check your phone just to see what his orders were. Submissive, compliant, needy. So fucking needy. That little pussy of yours needed his cock to break it in. He doesn't want it to end, he tosses a few bills onto the mattress, you don't even flinch. Your mind had already escaped.

Robert leans in, caging your body with his arms, "Why don't I keep you as my little plaything, hm?" he knows you've recently graduated. But what use was a degree compared to what he could give? What greater reward than being his pretty little housewife? You might as well put those looks to use. He plants a kiss against your lips, humming in satisfaction, "Need a good girl to balance me out..." he begins to rant, "And if you ever think of leaving me, I'll send a video of us fucking to your parents,"

But the thing is, you never told him who your parents were. It was then when the pieces began to fall into place. How could you be so stupid? His username was R-Morrow.

This was no other than the owner of Fischer Morrow, the man responsible for your landing parents in deep debt. Of course they trusted him, because he's your childhood friend. You lift yourself up and face him. Your voice in disbelief when you question the identity of the strange man, now with a tearful look, "R-Robbie?" you whisper. He pauses for a moment, head turning to the side as he looks your way, "Did you miss me?"

"...Why? I-I don't understand..." you began hyperventilating. This wasn't happening. Your childhood friend had taken your virginity. At one point, he was your entire world. He approaches you, no longer a lanky young boy but a man. He cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours. He sighs, "Don't you remember the promise we made? To find each other?" his eyes bore into yours, "I could only dream of it, but now?" he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him, "Now you're finally mine..."

#dark!robert fischer #dark!robert fischer x reader #reader #reader insert #fem!reader #afab!reader #fab!reader #dark!fic #dark!fanfic #dark!fanfiction #dark!smut #dark fic #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #cillian murphy character #cillian murphy smut

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theorphicangel · 1 year ago

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𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

Chapter two: low expectations.

taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @palesatan @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne

A/N: sorry for the late update, but imma catch you guys up 🫡

previous chapter | next chapter

Over the next few days you manage to get your pre-reading all done and dusted.

You can’t help but already feel exhausted by the amount of things that you have to juggle at university.

Just as soon as you were completed with one task, you groaned at the thought of your long list of remaining errands. Bills, assignments, grocery shopping and your shifts at the cafe were all piled on top of you constantly, not to mention your attempt to attend your lectures and classes, double checking that they were the right ones.

But the most stressful by far was trying to avoid your mother’s calls, which occurs at least twice a day. As of recently, you had thought that you were safe, coming up with excuses left, right and center.

At least that was before you had seen a missed call from your dad this morning.

That’s how you know that you’re really in the shits.

You’re gonna have to come up with something. And in quick timing.

But for now, you’re going to have to sideline your personal dilemmas.

With your new job at the cafe, you have no choice but to remain consistent with your routine, that is of course, if you want your new job to last.

After weeks of rejection or rather, the lack of replies, you had managed to secure a job at your roommate’s favorite cafe spot.

And by secure you mean that you had sort of lied about having experience in a cafe previously.

You didn’t entirely lie…just exaggerated the truth a little bit.

This was one of the only jobs that had replied to you out of a whole stockpile and you weren’t going to let it go to waste. Not under any circumstances.

You did have the experience of watching and observing what your classmate did at her family owned cafe whilst you were on the till for a few minutes.

But nonetheless, what’s so hard about making coffee? Anyone can do this shit. It’s okay if you’re learning on the job, doesn’t everyone? Currently, you succeed in trying to rotate between keeping track of orders and making drinks as well as trying not to get in MJ’s way too much.

But you were handling it to the best of your abilities. Even if that did mean messing up a few of your customers' orders every once in a while. MJ had said nothing about it so far which means that you're in the green light.

For now.

“You really should be getting some sleep, don’t let your first year knock you out before midterms.” She acknowledges, elbowing you slightly.

“I kno–” you barely finish your sentence, another yawn coming out of nowhere.

“See?” She hums, finishing off an order for the previous customer. “You need some beauty sleep.”

She’s referring to your bruised under eye bags that have started to appear. Ultimately, the results of you staying up till midnight yesterday to finish off an assignment. You had only managed to get a few hours of sleep before waking up in time for your 6am shift.

“I also need money, but we can’t have it all can we MJ?” you note, keeping your tone light before you move on to serve another customer.

You’ve only been on shift for a couple of hours but you think you’re coping well so far. MJ forewarned you about the morning lecture rush hour. You guessed that it was soon by glancing at the old clock hung up on the wall, indicating that it was just after 8:30 am. Students continued to spill in and out of the cafe, the bell above the front door continuously ringing in your ears.

A small line had begun to queue up and you swiftly moved through them with ease. As your next customer came up to the counter, your face lit up at the sight of a familiar face.

“Oh hey stranger–” you begin, recognising the same grueling face that you had seen last week bore into you. But you barely get a chance to finish your sentences before he cuts you off sharply.

“Coffee. Black.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you tap his order into the machine, immediately sensing his disgruntled aura. By the expression on his face, you can tell that he doesn’t seem up for teasing.

He seems…frustrated? Or maybe even upset?

“Name?”

“Miguel.”

You can’t tell whether he’s cranky because it’s 8am in the morning or rather that you failed to notice this the last time you saw him. Either way, it makes you a little dazed. Perhaps he wasn’t a morning person. You understood that because you were the complete same. Taking his name, you brush him off instead hoping that your coffee will cheer him up.

You inform him of the price and he swipes his card without a second glance. He leaves to take a seat in one of the corners of the cafe which just so happens to be the only part of the cafe that wasn’t so overwhelmed with customers.

It’s not long before you head over there yourself with his order.

“Here’s your black coffee.” you say, setting it down in front of him. Hastily, you’re about to run off to prepare your next order before his words stop you.

“I ordered a black coffee. Not a latte.”

You turn around abruptly, realizing your full mistake. “Oh shit, I’m sorry—”

“Are you new here or just incapable of making a simple cup of black coffee?” Miguel interrupts, his tone laced with vexation.

“Who do you think you’re–”

Your outrage comes to a halt by the sound of your name being called by MJ. You glance over your shoulder and notice her point towards an ever growing queue of customers. Shit, you don’t have time to cuss him out.

Taking a deep breath, you make the decision to be the bigger person, after all it’s like what your manager Steve said…

‘ The customer is always right.’

“I’ll bring it over for you, m’sorry.” you apologize again, rubbing at your forehead, suddenly overwhelmed with the pressure. With sweat beading at your brows, you look over to see a small queue beginning in front of the till again.

MJ throws you a hurried glance, a look which you know means ‘hurry the fuck up and make these orders.’

You end up taking longer than five minutes to return back to him, run ragged with the new orders of coffees, teas, lattes, macchiatos and hot chocolates that continue to pile up.

“Here you go, sorry about that.” You place his new and correct drink in front of him.

“No worries.”

You’re almost taken aback by his response. First he snaps at you and now he’s telling you not to worry about it? God, he was so confusing.

“Enjoy.”

You think that you hear a mutter of ‘thanks’ leave his mouth but you don’t turn back to hear his words clearly. Yet… you can’t exactly keep away.

For some reason your brain keeps lingering towards a burning question which has rattled your mind all through the past week. Giving in to your temptations, you end up turning around and prompt Miguel with another question.

“How did you know ‘Pride and Prejudice’ was set in the 19th century?”

“Huh?” He glances up from his phone, his thumb paused in his mindless scrolling.

“Last time, when I saw you in the library. You knew it was set in the 19th century.”

“I didn’t.'' Miguel huffs, and your eyes can help but notice the size of his biceps. You estimate that they’re bigger than your fucking hands. “It was an estimated guess.”

“Really? You don’t seem too-”

“Listen.” Miguel quips, his sharp tone suddenly returning, causing your voice to trail off midway through your sentence. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he speaks. “I’m going to try and say this in the nicest way possible, but I’m really not in the mood for some crap about your literature degree, okay? I really couldn’t care less.”

Ouch.

Your expression drops and you’re immediately aware of the distance between the two of you.

He’s right. You barely know him. He’s just a guy who just so happened to be there at one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. “Right, sorry.”

You’re about to leave his table before he stops you…again.

“Y’know I ought to tell your manager that you messed up my order.” Miguel begins, continuing to scroll on his phone, not bothering to even look up at you. “This is a very reputable cafe and if you start slacking on the job then…”

“Then what?” You question. “Are you trying to threaten me with a bad review?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say threaten is the right word but…now that you say that perhaps I should write one.”

Your stomach drops at his words. “Oh, you fucking wouldn’t.”

He smirks, still peering down at his phone. “Maybe I would.”

“Bet.”

“Don’t start betting on things that you’ll end up regretting, nena.”

Your brow raises at his phrase which you don’t entirely understand but you really don’t have time to question it. Your patience is running out as well as your time to get back on track with the orders.

As you walk away from his table, his words seem to settle into your skin.

He wouldn’t? Would he? No… he hasn’t got the balls to. What kind of person has that amount of free time on their hands to write a bad review? At least he had gotten his coffee in the end, you were in your right mind not to spill it all over him on purpose.

“He’s a dick, he’s a dick, he’s a total dick.” You mutter under your breath, making your way back to your station. But you should’ve guessed that from your conversation with him in the library, recalling his mocking tone of your embarrassment.

You should’ve kept your expectations low if you ever thought that you were going to be friends with him.

“What did you say?” MJ queries, hearing your mumbles as you join her.

You nod towards Miguel, still sitting in the far corner scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

“He’s an evil, brooding…” You fail to think of an appropriate ending.

“Dick?” MJ ends.

“Correct.” you say. You promise to yourself that from this moment onwards you are refraining from looking over at that corner.

You find that time passes quickly during your shift and once the rush hour of students finally dies down, you and MJ get the chance to finally take a break.

“Fucking hell, I never want to do that again.” She murmurs wiping down the surfaces near the coffee machines for any spilt substances.

“Ditto that.” you murmur, grabbing a cloth to wipe down some empty tables.

Learning that MJ was a performing arts student made you more than happy to get along well with her. She was in her second year, yet in a sea of sickening STEM students here you had real proof that you weren’t the only humanities student.

Take that Miguel.

Currently eating dinner alone in your apartment, you reminisce on your day in silence, your roommate out at her weekly computer coding club. You think that it was safe to say that it was a good day today, despite all the stresses at work.

Speaking of work, you recall the conversation from this morning.

You don’t want to give this Miguel guy too much credit but you’d be lying if you said that his threat earlier didn’t scare the shit out of you for the remainder of your day.

Even MJ had to ask if you were alright when it got to the end of your shift and you had brushed it off, blaming it on your exhaustion.

He was totally bluffing….right? I mean, he doesn’t even know you.

You bite down on your metallic fork, anxiety rapidly filling you within.

No, you can’t help it. You have to check.

Chewing on your fingernails, you type in the name of the cafe that you work out and head over to the reviews section on Google.

Scrolling down to find the latest reviews, your stomach practically drops at one comment, under the simple username of: @miguelohara20.

‘New barista lacked the ability to do her job. Couldn’t pay attention to even get my order right. Talks way too much unprovoked, to the point where you might as well save some money and make the damn coffee yourself.’

The fucking nerve of this guy causes so much anger within you that your fork practically falls from your other hand as you immediately go to text MJ. You send her a screenshot before typing with fury.

- ‘Did you see this? This was that guy that I was complaining about earlier: the rude, evil, brooding STEM one.’

Sent: 7:34pm

It’s not long before you receive a reply from MJ and it’s one that makes your stomach drop.

- ‘Yeah I did :/ Steve texted me about it actually.

Received: 7:36pm

MJ sends through another text, a few seconds later.

- ‘He wants a meeting with you on ‘customer etiquette’ !!

Received 7:36pm

Dropping your phone on the table, you let out a groan, holding your head in your hands. Now, this day went from ‘good’ to being the second worst day of your life, now with your job on the line.

Yeah…you think you fucking hate Miguel now.

reblogs are much appreciated!

lmk if you would like to join the taglist!

#angel writes #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman atsv #atsv headcanons #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #atsv x reader

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nexility-sims · 3 months ago

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𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗪𝗢 (𝟭/?) | NAKAWE & CANARIS, USPANA, 1992

Renzo returned her calls belatedly. He was not someone who checked the answering machine; the indifferent prerecorded message a missed caller would hear was sincere, including his offhand claim that he only had such a device because it was "cool." Or, it had been. [continued below ↓]

🅝🅞🅣🅔🅢 - 1) to be explicit, the whole premise of this is "how does the au diverge from canon," so ... this is how. [some series of Spoilers] happened, and this is the aftermath. thrilling, huh. 2) gotta listen to "kashmir" by LZ to get the Full Effect™ & 3) i phoned in much of this bc i got tired of tinkering and just wanted to share it already !!!!! so. wish i had more to say, but it's 3:30am and, well, Inquiring Minds can and do inquire. thanks for following me on these many meandering and highly unnecessary side quests ♥️

𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟰 🅐🅤 ‣ gameplay \ prev \ next

He started to encounter them more often in the mid-eighties, although his first exposure was much earlier. Mrs. Portnoy had owned one. He took no notice of it on the occasions she invited him inside for iced tea while she pulled crisp bills from her purse only to give him her most beat up nickels and dimes. It was on an illicit visit, after she ran to her car with rollers still intact to run some emergency errand, that he learned what it was. Loudly, a man’s gruff voice boomed into the living room as he examined the china cabinet. He sprung away so fast that he crashed into the cabinet’s open door, rattling the whole thing and its fragile contents. His heart raced and his cheeks burned as he faced the room. Instead, he caught the end of the message: her long-absent husband had an update about their divorce proceedings. Renzo’s whole body deflated as he relaxed. For his trouble, he saw it only fit to walk off with something. Mrs. Portnoy’s porcelain trinkets were useless, so he nicked more of her Valium instead. She kept her pills loose in a candy bowl like his mother did, after all.

Years later, he spent more time in offices or with people who would have such a novelty in their home. Its possibilities became evident to him by happenstance when he called a woman at the number she had printed on a cocktail napkin and tucked into his jeans. A message played after it rang for some time. Her voice was light and clear as she said, “Why don’t you fuck off and die?” His brow knit hard for a few beats, then she concluded, “Joking! That’s to cull the salesmen and losers. Leave a message if you aren’t one.” His message was a burst of laughter. When he met her at a Chateau Marmont function earlier that week, she was a prim redheaded event coordinator. He might have expected that gag from the other number on his list. Later that same night, he met a shaggy-haired makeup artist after she had shouted to compliment his eyelashes over the din of whatever group was playing the Troubadour at the time. Of course, when he moved on to that number, still faintly visible on his forearm just below the snake curled there, her message was brief. Delphie stuck to the basics, so he hung up without saying a word and decided to try Diane again.

Missed calls from Leonor piled up then eventually stopped, and she only left one message for him. He heard that one in real time as if it were a haunting from the ether, not a mechanical recording tethered to the corporeal world. Of course, that was likely how she meant it. Without greeting, she began, ‘I need to talk to you. I know you’re there, so can’t you just listen for a few minutes? What’s wrong with you anyway? Don’t you get tired of being... If I could shake you or just—Ugh!’ Whatever anger she began with evaporated with a loud sigh. Resignation dampened her second attempt as she mused, ‘I don’t understand you. Are you a real person, Renzo? I’m going to wake up in a few days and really not know if I dreamed you up. That’s how I feel. If I was going to torture myself, that’s what I would do. I only want to wrap my arms around you, but there’s nothing to hold. How many of us are there, huh?’ Silence. He turned his head as if she, the ghost from nowhere, would be there to see. Then, her voice rose again to conclude, ‘Call me later, okay? I’m still high right now, but I’ll be sad later and so will you.’

The media presence outside his address ramped up in an abrupt way in the midst of these frequent then ceased calls. He was always incensed when they crowded and hounded, but those days were remarkable. His routine had not changed. To the extent that it had, the change was a shrinking. His world got smaller. Most of it was his own doing; before the attention finally drove him out of Nakawe, he isolated himself at home. The clamor on the street managed to penetrate the foliage and force its way inside the guesthouse. When he cranked up the volume of whatever recorded racket was already shaking the walls from within, some of the vultures became emboldened enough to skulk around in the yard. What did they make of the place? he wondered at one point. Every curtain was drawn. Even in the dead of night, no lights came on. Noise poured out all the while—music looped on end, the same tracks over and over again, guitar riffs and echoing vocals to answer the chorus of cameraman taunts angling to lure him out in a photogenic rage.

He could see them from the bedroom windows, but he spent most of his time laid out on the opposite side of the bed. With his back to them and his mind elsewhere, some forty-eight hours passed before he emerged and came to appreciate the storm that had developed around him. Even then, there wasn’t any anger. He wouldn’t go outside and shout at them. He wouldn’t hurl anything from the upstairs windows—no crashing punctuation on a shouted threat to, ‘Get the hell out of here!’ Instead, he changed the record, made black coffee to accompany a stale pastry, and stretched out on the couch. The conversation pit kept him from view even as a few took advantage of the portal wall that separated the living room from the backyard.

With what lucidity he had, he decided to leave town. The actual getaway would be the hardest part. Where would he go? Canaris felt right. He dreamed of collapsing on the beach and giving himself over to the waves there—all of them, the all-encompassing rushes of euphoria and the enveloping saltwater with its foam and grit. It proved easier said than done. He did force his way out to a waiting car without hitting anyone, and he did wake up in Canaris sometime later, but his attempt to get lost in the surf ended with a terrible, desperate gasping fit. There was nothing soothing about drowning. It was so dissatisfying that he locked himself in a pitch black hotel bathroom until the sensations faded from memory. When he decided to try again, their unwanted recollection prompted him to wander the streets of Canaris’s urban sister city instead.

He eventually passed a record store casting neon light onto the street and, noticing the throng of young people loitering outside, thought of Leonor with unexpected clarity. It was barely a week since their last conversation, but he remembered her like a figure from a past life.

Inside the nearby phone booth, he struggled to dial her number. It wasn’t his memory that failed him so much as the way his fingers refused to land where he meant. Finally, he bested his own clumsy impatience only to grow even more exasperated when the hard won ringing gave way to her best professional tone. Her prerecorded message was basic and straightforward, but he knew better these days than to judge it as somehow representative of anything at all. He had barely uttered a quiet greeting when the phone clicked again and her usual voice piped up, breathless, ‘Oh, finally!’

His stomach dropped into his boots, and he leaned, heavy and weary, against the glass pane of the telephone booth. With his cheek against its cool surface, his eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. ‘I got in some trouble,’ she told him. He swallowed hard but said nothing. ‘Nothing permanent. Never mind. I just … Are you home? Can I come by?’

While she put forth those tentative questions, he was lowering himself to the ground with all the care of a glass-boned geriatric and fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette. The pack was empty when he grasped it. Worse than bad news, that was a bad sign. Leonor listened to the muffled sounds of movement, silent and waiting, until he gave up and set to flickering his lighter on and off instead. ‘I’m not home,’ he said. ‘I’m not going back home.’

‘Today?’

‘Period.’

More silence. He watched the flame grow and whisper away with each motion of his thumb. As she spoke, he kept his gaze trained on it.

‘You’re leaving? Is that it?’

There was nothing accusatory in her tone. If anything, she sounded to be on the verge of tears. That telltale sound pricked at something in him. She was waiting for a response. With a huff, he put away the lighter so as to press more of his exposed skin against the cool glass. To any passerby, it must have appeared strange, like some unseen force had shoved him into the booth and refused to let up. His expression remained placid. Even as he responded, knowing how she would receive it, his face was neutral, slack even.

‘I was going to tell you—drop by your place, maybe.’ Was that true? He didn’t know. It had crossed his mind, at least, so it wasn’t a lie. ‘I’m leaving Canaris in two days. Going straight to the airport..’

Her soft “Oh,” may as well have been a hiccup.

There was nothing left to say. He might have, in a better state, apologized for the surprise or proffered his rationale as a sign of goodwill. Tacking the other way, he knew she would have appreciated a subtle redirect to other things—why she was calling, whether she was okay, if she wanted to hop on a jet to Canaris for the night. Instead, the silence went on, although it distinctly didn’t drag. They were in a limbo of sorts where time didn’t exist. He had been floating for days. With just the subdued sound of her voice, it was as if she had simply waded out to join him. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine what she was doing on her end of the line—the specifics, whether she was in her bed or, maybe, had carried the phone out to her balcony. As long as he didn’t hear the beginnings of a caustic meltdown, they stayed temple to temple, watching black clouds drift along a black sky.

He shifted himself, making noise to signal he was listening. She did the same.

‘Will you …’ There was more noise, more movement—“I’m still here, don’t go!” the clattering and faint rustling said—and then another heavy sigh. She spat out her next question as if afraid it would lodge in her throat. Her tone was nakedly forthright or urgent or both as she asked, ‘Will you let me come with you?’

Now, troubled waters imperiled their floating. What could he say to that? His instinct was to bark, “No!” with all the impetuous exuberance of a child being forced to share. Instead, or because of that, he laughed. It was the same response in effect. If his reaction bothered her, she didn’t launch into a tirade or lash out. Any tears failed to amplify. She didn’t protest or interrupt to clarify and press her case. She didn’t say anything at all, but she also didn’t hang up. That must have become conspicuous, for his laughter dried up as soon as he acknowledged that she was just sitting there, silent except for her soft breaths, waiting for him to take her seriously. Quietened, he took his time readjusting and wrestling with the unwieldy cord of the telephone. His body was heavy, his skin felt clammy and tacky like cling film, and a familiar throbbing in his head surfaced as the fit of laughter left dull, unwelcome sobriety in its wake.

‘What are you talking about?’ he moaned. ‘Don’t you know what I’m saying?’

She couldn’t, he feared. If she did, wouldn’t she be on the edge of hysteria, if not plunging headfirst into it? She couldn’t handle being unable to get him on the line for a few days, so how would she fare if he was gone—hours and flights away, starting over beyond reach, awash in new people and new experiences, engulfed by another world unopened to her? She wouldn’t allow it. Or, there would be kicking and screaming. He might leave, but it would be with scabs due to scar. Still, this is what he was promising. “Leaving” was not about any destination; there was no afterward or subsequence to elaborate, to plan, to suggest as a hazy someday rendezvous. It was the final goodbye by another name or, at best, the preamble to it.

“Do it with your eyes wide open,” she had once asked while they lay together in the backyard he no longer considered his, if he ever had. The tenderness touched him. Even in the moment, he was struck by her maturity and her girlishness. They were inextricable contradictions. Like the horizon was noteworthy as a meeting place, so, too, were the moments when her age meant something to him. It was brave of her to feel herself in the palm of his hand—to feel such intimate fear of being dropped or crushed or tossed out like a pesky houseguest—and to nonetheless face the necessity that it be named. ‘See? I can say it,’ she had seemed to announce, triumphant in a spiritless way. Only, she didn’t say it. It was, then and now, all euphemistic. It was a bridge built by planks of mutual understanding, beset by rotting spots where fear took hold, swaying and creaking. It was impossible to cross unless your eyes were squeezed tight.

He realized as she did ultimately resort to explaining herself that she knew all too well what he was saying. In the time apart, when he left her dangling with no notice, she must have exhausted the possibilities in her own mind. It wasn’t a far-fetched or unlikely scenario. He could very plausibly have ignored her because he was busy executing his big escape from Uspana with single-minded focus. If he left the pills alone and reached for the powders, it was the kind of leap he could make with bewildering ease. That he was lost at sea within himself or rotting away unseen were options, too, but it wasn’t like her to sprout such concerns. Recent events might have been too fresh. Renzo was a fool in her mind, but he wasn’t stupid. Better yet, she was too peripheral in those scenarios; they weren’t tragedies she could enter and possess. So, she knew how he had landed in the country. Was it such a stretch to conclude his time there was always destined to be brief—just long enough to be a reprieve and just short enough to stay sweet? It wasn’t sweet anymore. She was there when it soured. She saw it with her own eyes and had tasted herself how terrible it could get. Something soured for him on the spot, and he could recall through the haze of past panic how that moment, the way he had looked through her as though she ceased to exist, had alarmed her most of all.

They shared a peculiar strain of self-absorption, but it was a commonality that had made them compatible. She wouldn’t credit herself with souring anything, although she could acknowledge that she wasn’t sweet enough to avoid being a burden in her own way. That was what he told her most recently, in other words on another telephone call, when he insisted he couldn't take care of her. He wouldn’t. Wants and needs alike, they were hers to manage. He didn’t need her apologies or her concern, her affection or her support. What he needed was space—lots of it, urgently, firm and definite. ‘Dig a fucking hole and put me in it,’ he had begged. She should have known from that choice of metaphor, but there it was—if she buried him, the story became one of mourning and waiting cast as widowhood. That wasn’t the end. It paused until he rose from the dead, for her sake and by her demand.

To him, that demand of his own was an act of preservation, but she must have heard only rejection. They had this conversation before his world shrunk. It was, in retrospect, a sign of care that he had called her to tell her these things before he took his big plunge into absence. She didn’t bristle at the idea that she must take care of herself. What made her cry was the insistence that she couldn’t join him on this nosedive into a new low. There would be no mourning, no widowhood, no curling around each other like roots under the weight of suffocating dirt. The phone had clicked abruptly on her end, but he only felt grateful that she spared him the live audio of her heart breaking. In truth, it hadn’t felt like a moment of finality to him. It could have been an improvised interlude from the start, but she had no patience to spare when asked for it.

Renzo’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t interrupt her stream of quick, low murmuring until he had repositioned himself yet again, wedged in an awkward corner where his cheek and forehead touched the glass with the receiver tucked in against his neck. When he spoke, it was to admit, ‘I missed all of that, Nora. Say it again.’

That was fine, he figured. It would give her a moment to edit herself—to take back what she regretted conceding, emphasize what she truly meant, polish the parts that she hoped would be persuasive. He wanted to listen to her, to really understand, even if he felt the laughter bubbling up inside. It was hard to picture what she could say that would make it less absurd. He was trying to give her a purposeful if unceremonious goodbye, and she was turning it down as though it was negotiable. Yet, that was her whole point, he came to accept, slowly but then all at once, as his mind caught up with her words.

‘I can’t be here anymore,’ she was saying. ‘What’s left for me? Maybe there was something—before, at first—but all I could do was ruin it. Born on a bad day.’ Here, she paused to chuckle. Renzo wanted to smile, not at the invocation of stars and fate so much as her small, wry acknowledgment that he would find it silly. Hers were silly convictions, but it was endearing in its unexpectedness. She was sensible, except for when she wasn’t. She was logical, blunt, inclined to pragmatism, except for when she wasn’t. She wasn’t foolish, except for when she was.

‘It’s terrible,’ she continued. ‘I feel terrible. I only feel good when I’m with you, and now … I don’t even want to feel good. I just don’t want to feel alone. I can’t. Don’t you feel the same way?

That was tricky. He let his head loll, pressing against the receiver.

‘I want to be alone,’ he retorted.

‘No … You don’t. Be honest. Don’t you want me there?’

He shook his head but could hear himself losing the argument. ‘It’s not good for us, Nora,’ he was saying. The whining lilt of it bothered him. He groaned, ‘Of course I fucking want you here, but we don’t get what we want. It’s not time for make-believe, okay? It’s not the time.’

She snapped, fast and adamant, ‘I know! I mean it, Renzo. Let me come with you. Can’t I start over, too? Am I allowed? I want to do it with you. If you don’t want me, fine, but don’t try to make this decision for me. Just say yes, or … .’

He waited, but she wouldn’t continue. ‘Or what?’

‘Say “yes” or just admit that you don’t love me like I love you.’

There it was. He sighed, grumbling, ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

Now, she laughed. ‘That’s why it’s beautiful. We don’t have to. Yes or no, that’s all. Don’t think. Just tell me what to do.’

He pulled away from the glass altogether and dropped his head down between his knees. The coolness wasn’t soothing anymore, and he wanted to pretend, with the darkness and pressure on his head, that he was somewhere else. He wasn’t in a phone booth in Canaris, sitting on the grimy floor while passersby peered at him and wondered why he looked familiar. He wasn’t in the back room of The Den either. That was where he would otherwise be, laid out on the couch, rubbing chalky fingers cast in red light down his cheeks, across his lips, all along the rust flavored crevices of his gums as the noise of partying filtered, muted, through the walls. He couldn’t be alone like that anymore. He wasn’t at Leonor’s place either. There, he would be on her couch in front of massive windows big enough to capture the horizon but set far enough away to deprive her neighbors of any special views. Where he was in that moment was on an airplane, bound for New York, with a freshly lit cigarette in his hand. His other hand wasn’t free, though, because instead of grasping hard at a fistful of his own flat, unwashed hair, it was pinned to the armrest, intertwined with hers.

At this fantasy, he wanted to scream. It would have been a primal, cracking, unsustainable kind of shouting—spewing up frustration but ultimately toothless. He let himself mutter a low, ‘Goddammit,’ instead, which he knew she would be straining to hear. Now, she had done it. She had him in a hold where the upper hand was hers. Was it in the crook of her slender arm? Better yet, was it where her strong, heated thighs replaced the half-hearted squeeze of his own cold hands against his head? She wouldn’t smell like hairspray and spandex and baby powder. She would smell like herself—warm spices and sex, something sweet like vanilla but earthier, rich and enveloping, pure unadulterated comfort. He could imagine the look on her face, too, while she waited for him to relax into capitulation.

And, raising his head, he did. ‘If it’s what you want, but I’m not missing that fucking flight.’

Leonor laughed—perhaps with relief, perhaps at the empty threat, perhaps because she hadn’t truly expected to get her way. They fell quiet after that. For their own reflective reasons, they remained that way without issue until, finally, the public telephone began to demand additional coins he didn’t have to feed it.

TRANSCRIPT:

(LEONOR V.O.) I need to talk to you. I know you’re there, so can’t you just listen for a few minutes? What’s wrong with you anyway? Don’t you ever get tired of being so … If I could shake you or just—Ugh! [Leonor huffs]

(LEONOR V.O.)I don’t understand you. Are you a real person, Renzo? I’m going to wake up in a few days and really not know if I dreamed you up.

(LEONOR V.O.)That’s how I feel. If I was going to torture myself, that’s what I would do. I only want to wrap my arms around you, but there’s nothing to hold. How many of us are there, huh?

(LEONOR V.O.)Call me back, okay? I’m still high right now, but I’ll be sad later and so will you.

LEONOR | —I got in some trouble. Nothing permanent. Never mind. I just … Are you home? Can I come by?

RENZO | I’m not home. I’m not going back home. LEONOR | Today? RENZO | Period.

LEONOR | … You’re leaving? Is that it?

RENZO | I was going to tell you—drop by your place. I’m leaving Canaris in two days. Going straight to the airport.

LEONOR | Oh.

LEONOR | Will you … Will you let me come with you?

RENZO | What are you talking about? Do you know what I’m saying? [Leonor talking indistinctly]

RENZO | I missed all of that, Nora. Say it again. LEONOR | I can’t be here anymore. What’s left for me? Maybe there was something—before, at first—but all I could do was ruin it. Born on a bad day. [Chuckles]

LEONOR | It’s terrible, actually. I feel terrible. I only feel good when I’m with you, and now … I don’t even want to feel good. I just don’t want to feel alone. I can’t.

LEONOR | Don’t you feel the same way? RENZO | I want to be alone. LEONOR | No … You don’t. Be honest. Don’t you want me there? RENZO | It’s not good for us, Nora.

RENZO | Of course I fucking want you here, but we don’t get what we want. It’s not time for make-believe, okay? It’s not the time. LEONOR | I know! I mean it, Renzo. Let me come with you. Can’t I start over, too? Am I allowed? I want to do it with you. If you don’t want me, fine, but don’t try to make this decision for me. Just say yes, or … RENZO | Or what?

LEONOR | Say “yes” or admit that you don't love me like I love you. RENZO | I don't want to talk about that. LEONOR | That's why it's so beautiful. We don't have to. Yes or no, that's all. Don't think. Just tell me what to do.

RENZO | Goddammit.

RENZO | If it’s what you want, but I’m not missing that fucking flight.

#so tired yet so determined #enjoy whatever the hell this is #unheard of levels of winging it #3.7k words worth of winging it in fact #cw drugs #i guess !!!!!! it’s Heavily Implied #me & my contempt for warning tags … rip #reyes.outtake.4 #1994au.story #new tag i believe

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hannibals-grahamcracker · 2 months ago

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Hannigram Omegaverse Fic Recs!

These are my favorite Hannigram A/B/O fics I've read so far, which admittedly is not a lot. I'm hoping to read more and update this list, so please send me recommendations!

Reviews under the cut. :)

Distraction

Author: YouAreMyDesign

Word count: 3,979

Summary: Hannibal smiles, purring softly, and leans down to nuzzle Will's forehead. "You needn't be so distressed, darling," he murmurs. There is blood on Will's neck, and his cut palm smears more fresh up his mate's bare forearm. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, so he can give Will all of his scent. Hannibal licks the smear of his own slick on Will's cheek, his purr for a moment growing louder. "When have I ever denied you?"

Dark Will Graham my beloved. 😍 Featuring snooty omega Hannibal and a demanding alpha Will in rut. I'm usually particular about omegaverse, but I do like this one! It's fairly good, and I'd read it again if I was specifically seeking A/B/O fics.

Genesis

Author: YouAreMyDesign

Word count: 3,461

Summary: The fish of Hannibal's trust is a spritely and skittish thing, but Will is patient. He can follow the bubbles in the water and the shining slip of scales within the currents. He can fashion beautiful lures, both mental and physical, to please and soften his mate.

Another fic by YouAreMyDesign starring omega Hannibal! Featuring more dark, dominant Will, mind games, lying, and of course, dubcon/noncon. It starts out sweet and wholesome, but quickly becomes smutty and not so wholesome.

put your aching teeth to good use, my dear

Author: wormsin

Word count: 10,516

Summary: alternate a/b/o ending to Fromage. when Will sees Hannibal in his office, bloody but alive, he goes into a feral rut. Hannibal tries to pacify him.

This was my first A/B/O Hannigram fic! It's so nice to re-read some of my firsts. I love this fic so much, and it really changed my perspective on omegaverse!

It Takes Two To Nest

Author: TheSilverQueen

Word count: 13,959

Summary: When Hannibal hears a commotion down the hall at the hospital, naturally he goes to investigate. When he finds out that the omega patient, a Mr. Will Graham, is struggling so hard that the doctors are having difficulties handling him, naturally he is intrigued. And when he finds out that the on-call OBGYN has been delayed, naturally he steps in to deliver Will's baby himself. Dr. Hannibal Lecter can do anything, after all. Including deliver someone else's baby while minutes away from going into labor himself.

Another incredible fic, with a different twist from the usual A/B/O dynamic! I quite enjoy fics with omega x omega pairings, and this one really takes the cake. The labor scene is non-descriptive, so that's a plus for anyone who gets squigged out by that. It's much more plot-driven than other omegaverse fics I've read, so I definitely enjoyed that part of it. Lots of snuggly warmth! I would recommend this to anyone just starting out with omegaverse, as it's not as intense about the alpha/omega dynamic and is moreso about the characters.

On The Grounds Where We Feel Safe

Author: HigherMagic

Word count: 36,059

Summary: "Single Omega household seeking a primary caretaker for high-school aged female. Must own vehicle for chauffeuring, errands, and other duties as necessary. Room and board provided, and a stipend for necessities available for negotiation. Must have open availability and be willing to submit to a background check and drug test. Immediate start." Then a name, and a phone number. Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

Oh my god. 😭 This is incredible. Simply fantastic. I was confused at first by the jumps between the past and present, but I caught up pretty quickly and I absolutely adore this fic! We love a Dom Omega, and we especially love being introduced to new types of A/B/O dynamics. Also, ABIGAIL!!!!!!! I love Abigail. And I love love love her calling Hannibal mama. 🥹

So so good!

stink in the nostrils

Author: murdertrout

Word count: 49,137

Summary: Secret Omega Hannibal is not pleased that he has imprinted on Will Graham. He avenges himself on his biology by getting Will Graham put behind bars. But when Will figures out what he’s been hiding and tampers with his suppressants, triggering his first heat, they both get more than they bargained for. Alternate S2b if it were entirely A/B/O porn.

I spent literal hours searching for this fic to include it in this list because I couldn't remember the name and I loved it so much. This is my favorite omegaverse fic. It's so terribly good. It rewrites the events of season 2b as if it were in the omegaverse, and I absolutely love the detail of Matthew being sent to fuck with Hannibal's suppressants instead of killing him! Lots of angst, confusion, hurt, bonding, and of course, mating. Hannibal is a slut and we love him for it. Bonus: it has a happy ending!

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #nbc hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #jay reviews hannigram fics #omegaverse #a/b/o #fic recs #fic rec

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ireadwithmyears · 1 month ago

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Cross your Thoughtless Heart: Chapter 5

Previous chapter | Next chapter | Fic Masterlist

Pairing: Commander Wolffe/original female character

General summary: Isla Tilney is just trying to make enough money to work as an actor full-time, without constantly falling back on a variety of odd jobs just to make it happen. So, if that means playing the lead in a cheesy made for TV Christmas film to move her career along, well, she’s decided that a job is a job at this point. But when she finds out she’s been cast opposite the notoriously indifferent, yet somehow still up-and-coming Wolffe Fett, she discovers that reputations, as defining as they can be, don’t always precede the person that’s hidden beneath, nor can they predict the love, the connection that a person is capable of forming, if one is only brave enough to reach out. The question is, though, is she?

Fic rating: explicit: (18+, minors DNI)

General warnings: modern AU, actors AU, disability, blindness, themes of ableism, familial issues, explicit sexual content. For a more comprehensive list of warnings, check the Masterlist

Chapter specific warnings: none

Chapter word count: 5.7 K

Thank you to @estrelinha-s for all dividers on this

Read on ao3

“Oh shit.”

Keri swearing is something rare. Keri letting one slip and swearing in front of the kids, even just a quiet whisper, is practically unheard of. Thus, everyone in her vicinity reacts appropriately, heads whipping around to stare, jaws slack and mouths hanging open in shock.

“Keri?” Isla asks, tentatively as if she’s approaching a bomb. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Keri mutters, apologetic as her cheeks go pink and she ducks her head. “Just check your emails. They’ve sent the updated one-line schedule for the next block, and it’s changed a lot because of weather conditions. I thought Eva was going to have next Wednesday off so she could go to a dentist appointment, and now I’m going to have to rearrange that.”

“Yes,” Eva mutters, quiet but victorious. “Dentist appointments suck.”

“Oh,” Isla says, put off. She knows that these things happen all the time, but she had worked hard to memorize all of her scenes ahead of time for next week, and things shifting meant that it was probably all for nothing. No fun weekend plans for her, if she had had any to begin with, she thinks, letting out a breath and shaking her head as she turns to face the kids.

“If you three would like to postpone this so you can get a head start on memorizing...”

“Nooo!”

The outcry comes loud and vehement from all three of them. They’re sitting on the probably dirty arena floor in a circle with the cupcake tin in the middle. To Isla’s surprise, Wolffe is there too, sitting against the wall and quiet, but distinctly watching with what she thinks might be a hint of curiosity. Not that she blames him, considering the errand she had sent him on wasn’t a particularly normal one. Smiling now, she shakes off her initial disquiet, putting her worries about the changed schedule to the side as she reaches for the container.

“Ok then,” she says, holding up the tin alongside the bag of tennis balls. “Buckle up, because I’m about to teach you the first 10 letters of the alphabet.”

“Ten?” Sami asks, incredulous as her eyebrows raise. “You think that we’re smart enough to learn 10?”

“Correction, Sami, I think you all are smart enough to learn all 26 of them if you put your minds to it,” Isla says, offering each of them a warm smile. “Besides, once you’ve learned the first 10, the next 10 are exactly the same, except you’re adding a dot three, then the remaining six, with exception to W, are just adding a dot three and six”

“Now I really don’t get it,” Jax speaks up, bewildered. The rest of them, including Wolffe, who’s not even pretending to not be interested now, slowly nod their heads in agreement.

“Trust me, you will,” Isla grins, completely self-assured and confident. “But first…”

She removes one tennis ball from the bag, setting the tin on the floor and deliberately placing the ball in the cupcake holder at the top left corner before sitting back, gesturing the children closer as she speaks.

“Let’s start with the letter A.”

———

They successfully get through the first 10 letters before the kids are called back to set.

It’s slow going, and even from his spot against the wall, half-heartedly pretending to read a book so as not to intrude, Wolffe can see the complexities, the small differences that make up each configuration of the six dots.

But, in the same vein, he also becomes aware of small similarities, little nuances between certain letters that make them easier to determine. Like how both E and I are made up of two dots forming a small diagonal with the only difference being that the higher dot is on the opposite side of the cell. H and J, similarly, are made up of three dots that side by side and are a perfect opposite to each other.

The kids, despite their initial confusion, are indeed fast learners, and soon enough, they have blindfolds tied around their eyes made from leftover scarves the props department hasn’t used as Isla uses the tennis balls to form one of the 10 letters that they’ve learned, giving them each a chance to test themselves and to show off how much they’ve already learned in a relatively short window of time.

When she sets up one of the configurations of dots, they work together to determine what it is by touch alone, and Wolffe thinks that Isla might genuinely be impressed with how quickly they’re picking up what she’s laying down, literally, in front of them.

When the kids go back to set, they’re energetic, not half as bored as Wolffe had expected them to be now that the novelty of shooting on location has well and truly worn off. Once they’re gone, Isla gingerly gets to her feet, wincing as she unfolds her legs from beneath her, closing her eyes as she stands and stretches out her back.

“I guess I should actually check the updated schedule to see what’s changed,” she says, digging out her phone from her bag. “Hopefully, they haven’t bumped up the one where I have to sing. I still haven’t memorized...oh.”

Her voice trails off as she listens to the feedback from her phone, too fast and too quiet for Wolffe to be able to hear. He hasn’t checked it yet. He doesn’t really feel the need to until he gets back to the hotel they’re staying in, but as her expression flickers with something inscrutable, he suddenly wishes that he had bothered to look, if only to understand why her expression has gone completely blank.

“What?” he asks, grunting as he pushes himself up from where he’s been seated against the wall, one of his shoulders cracking in protest. “Do you have to sing next week after all?”

“No,” she says slowly, fidgeting and looking down at her feet. “It’s just, well…nothing. I’ll get over it.”

She summons a weak smile and then begins to retreat to the other side of the room. Wolffe frowns, consternation wrinkling his eyebrow as he follows her. If this were him, and something was bothering him, he would understand the habit of pulling away and retreating. But Isla isn’t like him, so the fact that she’s pulling the dark, mysterious, and brooding card doesn’t entirely sit right with him.

And sure, he could leave it alone, but ever since the situation with the director two days ago, he doesn’t feel comfortable doing that either. He knows that she can stick up for herself when necessary, but he had told her she shouldn’t have to do it alone, and if that means she’s been scheduled to shoot some scenes solo next week, he’ll come in on his day off if he has to, full of menacing glares and warning looks reserved for Dan if he decides to push Isla beyond her comfort zone or disrespect her again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hands stubbornly planted on his hips as he corners her.

“Nothing,” she says too quickly which causes one eyebrow to twitch.

“Right,” he says, utterly skeptical. “Look, Isla, no offense, but you wear your emotions all over your face.”

“What are you saying?” she asks, taking a step back.

“I’m saying,” he says with his arms across his chest, “that for such a good actor, you make a pretty shit liar.”

“Ouch,” Isla mutters, cheeks going pink but not actually looking that offended. “But fair...”

She gives her head a slow shake, letting out a sigh before speaking.

“I guess you should know, because the scene is going to involve you as much as it’s going to involve me,” she says, fidgeting and shifting on her feet. “That scene where our characters...kiss for the first time is being shot next Monday after lunch. I...I’ve also never really been kissed before so...it’s probably going to be really awkward and uncomfortable for both of us.”

“Wait,” Wolffe holds up a hand, his mouth opening and closing like he’s a fish out of water because this, for some reason, does not compute at all. “You’ve never?”

“Nope,” she says, her tone sheepish. “Considering I was the girl guys thought would be funny to ask out as a joke all throughout my school years, it’s really not a surprise that I’ve never.”

“Jesus,” Wolffe breathes, scuffing his foot against the ground and wishing all elementary and high school boys Isla had encountered an eternity trapped in hell. “So Monday...Monday is really going to be your first?”

She nods her head mutely, letting out a breath and turning to press one of her now burning cheeks against the wall, her eyes downcast. He wonders how often this actually happens–actors having to sacrifice their firsts, moments that should be intimate and special instead put on display in front of a whole crew and later on, an audience. He sighs, unsure of what to say, tousling his fingers through his hair as he frowns.

“I really shouldn’t be surprised that this is how it all turned out,” she continues, her voice quiet and slightly muffled. “No one was ever really interested in me like that, I'm not sure if it’s because I’m blind or just ‘cause I’m boring.”

She tries to laugh it off, but with how she’s deliberately turning to angle her face away from him, the attempt falls flat.

“Stop,” he says, his voice a soft reproach, as she reaches up to press her head into her hands. His own gently wrap around her wrists, stilling her movements as he squeezes them lightly. “You are far from boring, and anyone who wouldn’t want to get with you just because you’re blind most definitely isn’t worth any of your time to begin with.”

“I try to believe that,” she says, giving her head a shake. “But eventually, you just start wondering what it is about you that is so...undesirable.”

“Nothing,” Wolffe says, his tone adamant, unyielding. “There is nothing that makes you undesirable.”

He enunciates each word as if somehow that will make her actually believe what he feels—what he knows to be true.

“Well,” she says, stepping away from him and carefully moving to duck past. “I hope one day, someone is able to prove that to me.”

Then she goes, leaving Wolffe with a strange ache in his chest, a tightening that follows him around, lingering with him for the rest of the day and into the weekend, and is still there when he sees her next on Monday morning.

———

“Good mor—”

A yawn forcing its way past her lips interrupts Isla’s morning greeting.

She, yet again, did not sleep well last night. This whole weekend actually, she found that it kept eluding her no matter how hard she tried to sleep through the night.

Sure, last night‘s spiral was mostly related to the fact that today was Monday, which meant today they were filming the kiss, and regardless of how she had tossed and turned and tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter—that this really wasn’t anything big and that worrying about it wasn’t going to do anything other than keep her up for longer—none of her assurances had helped. She also knows, even without her makeup artist having to say anything, just by how she spends longer applying product just below her eyes, that she looks as rough as she feels now that it’s morning.

So here they are at a new location with a suitcase neatly packed in her trailer ready to go to yet another new hotel tonight. On the bright side, she had remembered to pack the Lego set this time and plans to introduce it to the kids when they come in later this week after she’s taught them the rest of the letters using the template.

“Sorry,” she says now, attempting to shake off her grogginess. “Good morning, Wolffe. How was your weekend?”

“It was alright,” he says, shrugging as he sits down across from her.

This is expected, she thinks. This is as far as their usual conversations tend to go, at least when the kids aren’t around. He isn’t inclined to share, to say much outside of what is necessary. But then, she’s so bad at small talk, regardless of how much she might want to get to know a person, that she can’t be counted on to carry on much of a conversation with most people unless she’s talking to Deli, in which case they can yap for hours about 10 different things without a single break in conversation, or just sit in silence. Neither of which she finds uncomfortable or daunting.

A soft thump against the table alerts her to something being set down in front of her and on instinct, she reaches out, feeling the warm edge of a takeout coffee cup.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” Wolffe murmurs, peeling back the tab on the lid of his own cup.

“Thanks, but I don’t like coffee,” she says, trying to shrug off the slightly nettled annoyance that bristles because she had told him this very thing last week. It doesn’t matter, she tries to tell herself. He’s human, and he’s allowed to forget, and what matters most is that he was being kind.

Still, a lifetime of being perceived as forgettable by both family and friends has made her hyper aware of how she is now perceived by others. There’s still a persistent, deeply ingrained part of her that whispers, softly but persuasively, that she is still unremarkable and unwanted.

“I’m offended that you think I’ve already forgotten that,” he grumbles, giving the cup a nudge in her direction. “It isn’t coffee.”

“What is it then?” she asks, raising both of her eyebrows even as she picks up the cup. It’s warm beneath her fingertips, not too hot though, and as her fingers slide up the ridges, she recognizes that Wolffe must’ve had the courtesy to double cup it so she wouldn’t feel the worst of the heat from the contents inside, leaving a swell of soft, warm appreciation to bloom within her chest, even as she stares up at him with growing suspicion.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his jaw set in a stubborn and perfectly annoying confident line.

This question should set off alarm bells, because this is usually how her parents would try to trick her into trying new things without telling her what they were, which in turn only made her more suspicious and less trusting. Coercion and deception, as it turned out, was only prone to making her more avoidant towards trying certain foods, and right now with Wolffe—a man who she has only known for the better part of a month, and who, in the grand scheme of things, she shouldn’t trust nearly as much as she was supposed to trust her parents—she should be feeling the same amount of trepidation.

But she doesn’t.

Her hackles, almost against her will, are lowering, and before she can second guess herself, she’s opening the tab and raising the cup towards her face. She inhales through her nose. It’s warm and sweet, and even without tasting it, she’s pretty sure she already knows what it is as a smile begins to soften her features.

Hesitating only for a second, she presses the opening against her lips, tentative and mindful of the heat as she indulges herself in the smallest sip.

Her first thought as her eyes flutter closed in contentment is how she did not know that craft services was able to make hot chocolate. Her second being why, when she had been tired and in desperate need of caffeine last week, had she not gone down to check? Which brings her to her third, looking up at Wolffe as her eyes open once more, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she cradles the cup close like it’s something precious and sought after.

“Oh, Wolffe,” she says, treating herself to a longer, much less tentative sip as she savors the rich, creamy sweetness. “I think you just saved my life.”

“And I’d be tempted to call you a tad bit dramatic,” he says, smirk on his lips. “Only that would be hypocritical of me considering my overreliance on coffee.”

“Well,” she says, extending her cup towards his in a small gesture of cheer. “I guess we can be over reliant on caffeine and a tad bit dramatic together. Especially because I might need another one at lunch before we…you know.”

Her cheeks flush, and she finds herself looking down at her hands, fingers tapping against the table.

“Kiss?” he asks, his tone shifting back to serious now as he looks at her.

“Yeah,” she says, picking at her nails. “I know it’s dumb, because we’re only doing it for the cameras, but...what if I’m just really bad at it? I mean, I don’t want to make filming this uncomfortable for you, with me being so amateur and inexperienced.”

“I can’t believe you,” Wolffe says, rising to his feet and looking down at her with raised eyebrows. “You’re the one who’s being made to have your first kiss with a person not of your choosing in front of a large crew of people, and you’re worrying about my comfort?”

“Well,” she says, turning in her seat to face him but avoiding his gaze as she picks at her nails and looks down at her lap. “Better for only one of us to be uncomfortable than both.”

“Isla,” he says, and his voice drops to something so soft and low that it actually startles her enough to look up at him. “What would help?” he asks, steadily holding her gaze for a long, uninterrupted moment. “What would help make this even a little bit less uncomfortable for you?”

“I,” she begins to speak before biting down on her tongue, her eyes dropping to the ground.

She doesn’t know, and yet, she does.

She just doesn’t want to have to say it to him, fearing that it’s going to sound stupid when it’s not just a thought in her head.

“I don’t want to have my first kiss in front of everyone.”

She whispers it like it’s some sort of confession, because if she actually lets herself think about it, she hates this—hates that the significance of her first kiss is going to be completely lost because it’s all pretend and will be captured again and again in different angles until it means nothing, in front of a film crew, some of which will be eyeballing her close up through monitors, others, the sound engineers, namely, will be able to hear her every breath, every shift in her movement, when her and Wolffe kiss and really... how can she not be a little, a lot, weirded out by that fact.

Besides, she thinks, if she’s going to fumble through her first kiss with someone she barely knows outside of work, she’d rather the fumbling happen without everyone else having to bear witness to it all.

She realizes, with a sudden start, that the only part of this fake, completely staged first kiss that doesn’t make her skin crawl with discomfort is that if she has to kiss anyone, she doesn’t particularly mind that it’s Wolffe, and she doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

“I just want to get it over with away from everyone before we actually have to film it,” she says, finding it hard once more to meet his eye and instead settling on staring at the set of his broad shoulders. “I know that that’s weird, and if, if that makes you uncomfortable then just forget I even said anything and we can—”

“Hey.”

His hands are on her shoulders, light but insistent, firm as he eases them down, pressing them away from where they’ve hunched up towards her ears.

“If that’s what we need to do, then we’ll do it.”

He states this as if she’s just suggested going for a walk in the park, his tone casual and unbothered as he meets her gaze squarely.

“We’ll find somewhere private and get the first one over with. Then we’ll go out there and film it over and over again.”

“Easy peasy,” she says softly, allowing herself a small smile as she exhales a somewhat shaky breath. “Like ripping a Band-Aid off.”

“Exactly,” he says, and he’s so close that she can see the full scope of his easy grin, the way his eyes flash and just the hint of teeth.

“And for what it’s worth,” he says, and his voice has lowered so she hears the rich, softened tones of his accented voice as he speaks, reaching out to touch her chin almost without thought. “I’ll try to make your first kiss worth your while.”

Her breath catches, her eyes widening as a slow, foreign shiver runs along her spine, goosebumps rising at the back of her neck as she looks up at him, lips parted without words.

She stares, unsure if her body is interpreting this as a threat or rather a pure, sudden and unbridled need.

Maybe it’s both, she thinks. Maybe she fears what would happen if he were to lean forward and press his lips against hers. Or maybe, just maybe, she wants to lean forward and bridge the gap herself...but whatever it is, it thrums hot—urgent and fiery as it lights up each of her veins, all the way from head to toes.

“Wolffe?”

The quiet, slightly awkward call of a production assistant standing in the doorway breaks her train of thought as if it’s made of glass. He steps back, clearing his throat and turning around as the smooth, effortless mask of blended professionalism and indifference falls into place with an ease that is almost unfair.

“We’re ready for you on set.”

With one small, quick motion, he nods his head and follows her out of the room, not looking back or sparing Isla a second glance as he exits.

She, however, is left staring, eyes widened and mouth hanging open as she tries to piece together what the fuck just happened...

And why does she wish they hadn’t been interrupted?

She tries to shake it off, tries to collect herself and to preoccupy her mind with something, anything, else. But all she comes back to is him, the way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her, and the way his voice had sounded when he spoke.

“For what it’s worth,” he had said, and even now, the goosebumps still linger on her skin, rising anew as she stands there and recalls his murmured words, confident and assured, as if he were making her a promise.

“I’ll try to make your first kiss worth your while.”

———

“Sooo...”

Isla’s voice is cheerful, too cheerful as she speed walks back into the green room from craft services.

“I think the second hot chocolate I had before lunch may have been a mistake.”

Her voice rings like a bell of enthusiasm, but really it just means that she’s had too much caffeine, and now her previously desired energy has turned into a ball of shaking, quivering anxiety vibrating in the pit of her stomach and rattling her bones, causing her movements to be quick, too quick, as she all but skips into the room and skids to a stop in front of Wolffe. Her fingers tap as if playing the piano against the sides of her legs, and she can’t help but shift restlessly on the balls of her feet, even as she tries her hardest to keep herself still.

Her thoughts are racing about a mile a minute as the clock ticks ever closer to the end of the lunch break. Now, the worries that she had been harbouring quietly come forth, clear as the light of day, manifesting in her posture, the anxious fidgeting of her hands, and most embarrassingly, the fast, higher-than-usual pitch of her voice that she can’t seem to control every time she talks.

In an attempt to contain herself, she awkwardly climbs up and sits on her chair, but still she kicks her feet slightly, unable to resist the compulsion to move.

“Jesus,” Wolffe mutters, staring at her for a long moment before sighing. “Whatever the equivalent of being a lightweight is for caffeine, you’re definitely a walking example.”

She laughs, an undignified, high-pitched thing, then promptly reaches up to press a hand against her mouth, cheeks burning as she averts her gaze.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, quickly raising his hands and continuing before she can defensively retort. “I mean, besides the obvious, is there...something else?”

She looks up at him, confused, uncertain as to what he’s insinuating until...

“Do I...do I make you uncomfortable?”

“What?”

Her voice comes out a squeak, and she winces as she hears the sound of it. She shakes her head stubbornly back and forth as she frowns up at him.

“No, no, that’s not it.” She shakes her head again, as if this alone might help convince him that she’s not. “You are the one thing that doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable when I think about having to film this scene.”

He stays quiet, and then, because she feels awkward and because the caffeine compels her to speak when she should really just shut up, she continues.

“I’m just worried that I’m going to make you uncomfortable, because like, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and what if I’m just a really bad kisser.”

Jesus.

Her cheeks flush beet red, and as soon as the words leave her mouth, she’s ducking her head forward, burying her face in her hands and vividly imagining the ground opening up to swallow her whole.

Why did she say that?

Sure, it’s true. It is embarrassingly, undeniably true. But there were other discomforts too, like the awkwardness of having to kiss in front of a crew, and the awkwardness of having to film any kind of kiss to begin with. Instead, she had confided her most humiliating, stupidly childish of fears, and she had done it without a second thought.

Stupid, she scolds, head flopping back and dully thumping against the wall behind her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Look what you’ve done, she thinks, very tempted and barely restraining herself from banging her head against the wall yet again. You’ve done exactly what you didn’t want to do. You overshared and made him uncomfortable. He’s probably going to walk away now. He’s probably going to laugh awkwardly in an effort to push away his own discomfort, or worse, what if he tries to make a joke out of it? What if he ridicules the silly insecurity she already knows is stupid and does not need anyone else to remind her of? And what if he...

“Hey.”

She hadn’t been looking at him, so when he speaks, his voice is much closer than it was where he had last been standing, and she jumps, startled. But his voice is soft, quiet in a way that she hasn’t heard, and it almost tempts her to lift her head from where it’s still cradled in her hands...almost.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, hesitantly, she does, raising her head a fraction, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re overthinking this,” he states, not unkindly, his voice surprisingly free of any kind of judgment.

His next words, however, throw away any kind of response that Isla’s brain had been trying to formulate.

“Which is why we’re doing this and getting it all out of the way right now.”

“What?” she asks, her eyes widening as she vehemently shakes her head. “No, I can’t, I’m not ready. I’m going to fuck it up.”

“No,” he counters, his voice almost frustratingly patient. “You won’t.”

She folds her arms across her chest, stubborn, unmoving.

“We already decided that we would do this before we filmed,” Wolffe reasons, taking her hand in his. “Now is as good a time as any. So stand up.”

For some reason, with still obviously lingering reluctance, she lets him pull her to her feet.

“Good,” he says once she’s standing, and it’s only now that she registers how broad and how tall he is, especially in comparison to her slight frame as she tilts her head up. She imagines him leaning forward. She imagines him bridging the gap, pressing his lips to hers, and even though she knows that it’s not real, that the feelings they have to portray are entirely pretend, she still wants him to enjoy it.

Which is why she worries, wondering if the only thing he’ll feel is awkward, well-concealed disappointment.

“Wolffe,” she whispers, her voice unsteady, trembling. “We shouldn’t...I can’t.”

“Shh,” he quiets her, reaching out to stroke his fingertips up her arms, pausing at her shoulders. “You’re still overthinking it,” he chides, shaking them lightly. “Stop doing that.”

“How?” she asks, daring to look up into that piercing, intense gaze of his.

He remains quiet, slow and deliberate as he releases the grip he has on her shoulders, raising his hands and giving her ample time to back up and pull away as he reaches to cradle her face between them. She doesn’t pull away though. She’s both frozen and captivated, eyes widening as warm, rough palms gently brush against her cheeks, the calloused tips of his thumbs almost soothing as they trace her jawline.

“Is this ok?” he asks, his voice so soft that she has to resist the indulged shiver that runs down her spine.

She swallows, nodding her head, but apparently that’s not good enough for him.

“Words, Isla,” he says, his voice scolding but still soft. “Need you to talk to me, okay?”

“‘Kay,” she says as she exhales a slow and shaky breath. “Yeah, yeah this is fine.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice soft as a breath. His head tilts forward, leaning down until, for the first time, she’s able to clearly see his eyes as they hold hers. One of them is brown, she’s pretty sure, though if she’s honest, colours like black and brown are a little bit tricky to distinguish between. The other...the other she doesn’t know how to describe, only that it’s mismatched, different, but in a way that isn’t similar to hers—where the right eye is glossed over, the surface appearing opaque. It just...isn’t exactly uniform, and it’s strange how she hadn’t been able to notice that about him before now.

“And this?” he asks, his voice cutting through her thoughts as his forehead lightly brushes against hers. He’s so close now, close enough that she feels the warmth of his breath so near to her lips.

“Yes,” she swallows, managing to get the word out, her voice a whisper before sheepishly adding, “are you sure that I won’t somehow fuck this up?”

“Unless you plan on biting me or burping in my face or something, then no, I really can’t think of a way that you could possibly fuck this up,” he says, his voice so dead serious it’s almost comical, forcing a startled snort past her lips before she can stop it. “Besides...”

A hand lifts, slowly tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, deliberate as he holds eye contact with her. His fingers remain there, lightly pressed against her temple, gentle as they weave into the strands almost without conscious thought.

“Practice makes perfect.”

He dips his head lower, no longer hesitant as he softly presses his lips against hers. It’s warm, gentle and slow, not completely passive and still but not demanding a response as he kisses her. After a minute though, she does respond, tentatively pressing and moving her lips against his as her breath releases, her eyes lightly fluttering shut.

“And that’s all it is,” he says, once he’s pulled back just enough to whisper. “And then we’ll do it again.”

His lips are back on hers, and even though her eyes widen, she instinctively is faster to respond.

“And again.”

This time, his lips against hers are expectant, less cautious, and his hand gently slides from her hair, down to caress the back of her neck with rough fingers. Her lips part, the touch coaxing goosebumps to rise, a small, surprised noise falling from her lips as something foreign stirs within her stomach.

Wolffe pulls back, the small noise she had made apparently breaking whatever spell had come over the two of them. He straightens, summoning a nonchalant, unbothered look as if the way he had just been touching her meant absolutely nothing to him as he backs off.

“And then, we’ll just keep doing it,” he says, and it’s only once his hands have fallen away that she realizes that she’s cold. “Over and over again until we’re sick of each other.”

She blinks, startled as he so casually turns and strides away, eyes wide as he leaves her standing there, lips parted and not even sparing her a backwards glance as he leaves.

She wonders now—after the sparks his kisses ignited in her have all faded, after he’s left her alone, standing there staring as he all but rushes off—if maybe he is sick of her already. That maybe these stolen kisses were just the thing that had finally pushed the line too far.

She isn’t given time to think about it though, because here is a production assistant, shoes click clacking against the floor as she enters the room to inevitably bring her back to set where she and Wolffe will kiss, over and over again and watched from various different angles by the crew.

“Isla?”

Sighing, she reluctantly accepts her fate, turning to face the assistant as she swallows, gesturing Oli to his feet, trying to shake off the ridiculous, out of place melancholy that creeps in convincing herself that she’s just lonely, just longing for that intimacy, pretend though it is, because at least then someone is giving her some kind of positive attention.

Yes, she decides, that’s exactly what it is. She knows herself, knows that she has a tendency to indulge her curiosities in seeking the attention of those who act like they don’t care, because when they inevitably do show her just a scrap of interest, she’ll go lunging for it like she’s a starving dog, eager and wanting for the things she is so rarely given, enjoying that fanciful, fleeting moment of pretending, of thinking that she might be different, that she might stand out from the others for once, not because of the blindness that makes her stand out or be pitied, but because she’s wanted.

That’s it, she thinks, trying to find some satisfaction in the truth. You’re being silly and naïve, just as you always have been.

Rebuking herself thoroughly, Isla nods, straightens her shoulders, and with one quick, decisive forward sweep of her hand, commands Oli to lead her out the door.

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Authors note: Moore was supposed to happen in this chapter. But then I looked at the word count and went ...woops, there’s already too much going on already. I’m gonna have to split this up.

Okay soooo... I think I’m definitely gonna have to switch to a biweekly schedule when updating this, as summer is coming, and things tend to get busier this time of year. Plus, I don’t want this to be the only thing I’m working on, as I’ve always thrive in writing when I’m working on a variety of things. Namely I’m hoping to fill out some prompts for the summer of bad batch, which I have already finished the first week of and will continue to do for the prompts that personally speak to me, if inspiration happens to strike. That one should be up later this week, so keep your eyes peeled for that.😄

One thing about me is I love getting a reblog, and I love getting comments. So if you’re feeling inclined to do either, please do, it keeps me going and I really appreciate it.

#commander wolffe x oc #wolffe x oc #commander wolffe #wolffe #tcw wolffe #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #Star Wars #the clone wars #sw the clone wars #fanfiction #tcw #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #Ireadwithmyears fics

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groenendaelfic · 1 year ago

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Hey,

haven't seen you around a lot lately. Just writing to check in. how is it going? Wish you a nice evening

it is going, thank you for asking!

Life has been very busy these past few months but is moving in a hopefully good and definitely exciting direction.

In this particular order (if memory serves correctly) I've:

decided to move halfway across the continent

marked the one year anniversary of the worst time of my life

had other people mark the one year anniversary of the worst time of my life with all that entails

quit my job (I'd been planning that for a while)

had my boss and hr offer to let me go instead and half my notice period to two months (aka 'give' me more money and facilitate my move, yay pity)

started looking for a place to live and organizing my move

found a new job in a slightly different corner of halfway across the continent (I start July 1st)

got my request for citizenship approved (epic timing guys)

found a place to live in an awesome area (I will be able to do all my errands on foot and my new job is only a short bike ride away)

told everyone I was leaving for sure

signed the paperwork to have my uncle in law take over the place here

had my cousin offer to move my stuff with his remodeled fire engine in exchange for gas and (bridge) tolls

did all the paperwork in the universe ever

started saying my goodbyes for now (I still have lots of family and friends etc here so I'll be back a lot)

had my cousin tell me he'd make a bro trip out of the move because his friends really wanted to see a basic bridge, and room and board plus no girls was all the compensation they needed for getting to carry my boxes

said thanks but no thanks to citizenship (sorry Wille, you'll always be my King)

was asked if I minded the move taking a bit longer because the guys wanted to stop for totally unplanned soccer (a not insignificant part of their motivation if not a deciding factor I dare say)

did more move and job leaving planning and paperwork

welcomed, fed and watered a bunch of guys really into soccer bridges and very disappointed I didn't have more boxes they could compete carrying

prepared a big lunch basket and said goodbye to said guys and my boxes

sat down to write this list wondering where I should celebrate midsummer (aka do I want to travel back and forth to get everything ready or stay until it's time to hand in my work laptop etc)

Phew, yes. Also a million other things which won't come to mind right now. Thank you to everyone who left me such kind messages btw. I appreciate them so much but am still learning to respond to kindness and compliments without awkwardness. They nevertheless give me life.

In more interesting news to everyone here I've also done a lot of writing.

Mostly on One Wild Summer, which has already grown into a monster, but I've been writing the exciting parts later on and still guesstimate a 15k or so stretch which needs bridging to get to all the fun stuff I've already written.

but also on The Prince and the Barista and As Long as We Have Each Other. I only need to make it coherent and once again fill the gap to where I stopped posting.

plus *cue exasperated sighs* I'm also 9k+ into a new fic! The (once more) absolutely most self-indulgent thing I've ever written in this fandom and something I swore I never would turn into a proper fic. Expect the prologue for that (which was meant to be 500 words and not 5k) soonish.

Everything else including regular updates not before mid to late July though I think. Because moving and starting a new job and life means busy times and while I can write scribble down connected sentences with half a mind, I can't beta read and edit with half a mind.

tl;dr: I am still writing yr fic and haven't abandoned my fics, but am also busy moving. goodbye cloudberries and lingonberries, hello wineberries vineyards and appleberries apple orchards.

#random ramblings #ask me anything #what I've been up to #not young royals #irl updates

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 8

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Here

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, idiots in love, love confessions (but not to each other 🫠)

Word Count: ~2650

A/N: Short little filler chapter here to move the plot along, but next up is the big "recipe testing" dinner!

Thanks as always to @theradioactivespidergwen for the divider!

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41 @thepunisherfrankcastle @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

"So? How was it?" Skyler said as soon as she saw you in the staff break room the next morning.

You laughed and shook your head. "Can I at least make some coffee before you start interrogating me about my brunch?"

"Oh, I already took care of that." Skyler turned and handed you a to-go cup from your favorite coffee shop near the office. "I know how much you hate Monday morning staff meetings and figured I'd get something for you while I was getting my own coffee."

You took a sip and sighed blissfully. "You are an angel, you know that? I owe you one."

Skyler took a sip of her own beverage. "So spill, girl, spill! How was Chef Hottie's cake?"

You shook your head with a grin. "Ok well first off, it's Chef Matt , and secondly, his crepes were excellent once again, as was the omelet I ordered. You really should check the restaurant out for Sunday brunch at the very least, although I'm sure their dinner menu is amazing too."

Skyler took another sip of her coffee as you walked into the conference room together and sat. "How was the rest of your day? Hopefully you did something more exciting than watching a bunch of senior citizens play bingo."

You nodded, smiling to yourself as you thought about your afternoon and evening with Matt. "Actually, yeah. Matt invited me along on his after-work errands yesterday afternoon so I could observe him outside of the kitchen."

"Ooh, so you got to spend the whole afternoon with him? Lucky. So what did you two do together?"

"He volunteers to cook for the soup kitchen at Clinton Church on Sundays after the restaurant closes, so I helped him out with that, then I watched him work out at the gym for a bit, then he asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him."

Skyler's eyes grew wide. "He asked you out on a date ? Way to bury the lede!"

You shook your head. "No, not a date , he just invited me to have dinner with him at his apartment as a thank-you for helping him out at the church, that's all."

"You went to his apartment? "

You opened your mouth to tell her that it wasn't a big deal but was interrupted by Ellison walking into the conference room. "Okay, let's get this show on the road," he said. "First order of business: Kelsie, welcome back. Glad to see you're feeling better."

You glanced over at Kelsie, who was sulking at the other end of the table.

Ellison looked at his notes. "Okay, so assignment updates! Skyler, how was the fundraiser for the senior center?"

"Great," Skyler replied. "I sent you my article last night."

"Okay, good. Mark, what's going on in sports this week?"

Mark, who wrote the sports column, sat up in his chair. "I've got an interview with Coach Calhoun on Wednesday and Coach Dempsey on Thursday, so the article about the big rivalry between PS 114 and PS 118 will be ready to go for Friday's edition."

"Excellent." Ellison said your name. "How's the Restaurant Week feature coming?"

"It's coming along great," you replied. "Chef Murdock has been really open and cooperative, so it'll be no problem getting that article to you by EoD Wednesday."

Ellison nodded. "Fantastic. Okay, new assignments. Skyler, you're covering the music festival this weekend. They'll have a press pass for you at the gate. Kelsie, since we switched up the Restaurant Week feature you're now going to be handling the daily report on what each participating restaurant is featuring. Everyone else, you know your assignments. Let's get to it."

You stood and picked up your cup of coffee.

"Not enough to steal the Features position out from under me, was it?" you heard Kelsie say from behind you. "Now you're going after the lead story for Restaurant Week too."

You turned and raised an eyebrow. There had been a (one-sided, in your opinion) rivalry between you and Kelsie ever since you and she had both been up for the Features position six months earlier. "Oh damn, you caught me. I made sure that you would get food poisoning just so I could swoop in and steal the Restaurant Week feature when I know nothing about the culinary industry and had never met Chef Murdock until a few days ago after the article was assigned to me. And as for the Features position, I won that promotion fair and square. It's not my fault that my article was better and that you bombed the mock interview, just like you would've tanked this one."

Kelsie scoffed. "Yeah, right. I'm sure he would've been extremely 'cooperative' with anyone interviewing him -- as long as they were female and had a pulse."

You shook your head. "What are you talking about? Chef Murdock has been nothing but professional towards me the entire week."

Kelsie smirked. "Oh didn't you know? Matthew Murdock will do anything -- and any one -- to try to salvage his reputation, so there must be a reason if he's not hitting on you."

Before you could respond she turned and flounced out of the conference room.

"What a bitch," Skyler muttered under her breath.

You shook your head. "I'm not worried about her. Ellison knows what I'm capable of."

Skyler sighed. "Anyway, I want to hear all about your not-date with Chef Hottie. Lunch later?"

You nodded. "Sure."

"Great. I'll swing by your desk around 11:30."

"Okay."

You went back to your desk, dutifully ignoring the daggers Kelsie was continuing to shoot your way, and worked on your other tasks until it was time for lunch.

You looked up as Skyler stopped by, purse in hand. "Ready?"

You nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

The two of you walked down the street to your favorite food truck.

"Okay, so tell me everything ," Skyler said once the two of you sat down at a nearby table with your food. "Like how you went from going to Daredevil for brunch to a private dinner with the chef."

"There's not much to tell," you replied with a light laugh. "But okay."

You took a breath. "I had told Matt on Saturday that I was planning on coming back to Daredevil for Sunday brunch because the crepes he had made during the cooking demo he did for me were really good, so he told me to get his staff to let him know that I was there and he'd come say hi."

A small smirk graced Skyler's face. "So he was willing to drop everything in order to come talk to you, got it."

You shook your head. "He wound up bringing my order out to me, so while we were talking he asked me if I would be interested in seeing how he develops his recipes so I agreed to stop by Daredevil tonight after work for another cooking demo. Then he asked me if I wouldn't mind accompanying him on his after-work errands since he thought that it would be beneficial to my article for me to spend some time with him outside of the kitchen."

Skyler huffed out a laugh. "Right, beneficial to your article, sure."

You smiled and shook your head. "We went by Clinton Church first to cook for the soup kitchen--"

Skyler held up a finger. "Wait a second. So he asked you to spend the afternoon with him out of the kitchen, then brought you to a different kitchen to watch him cook?"

You shrugged. "I didn't mind. He usually cooks at Daredevil and just brings everything over to the church, but he asked me if I wouldn't mind coming over early and he'd just do his cooking for the church over there instead."

Skyler raised an eyebrow. "Mmhmm, so he could spend even more time with you."

" Anyway, after we finished up at the church we headed to his gym since he frequently goes after service to unwind."

Skyler grinned. "Ooh, so you got to see him all sweaty?"

You nodded. "The arms on that man, let me tell you…"

"And the ass." Skyler did a chef's kiss. "You can't tell me you didn't check out his ass."

Your face heated. "Well… maybe a bit."

Skyler gasped. "You did! I knew you were interested in him!"

You groaned. "He's so handsome and sweet and funny and genuine, not to mention an incredible chef… but I'm writing a story about him for the paper, it's completely unethical for me to be thirsting after him -- even though it's absolutely unfair how good he looks in a tank top and a pair of sweatpants."

Skyler shook her head. "Your story's due, when, Wednesday? After that you won't have to worry about journalistic integrity or whatever's stopping you from jumping his bones. So how'd you wind up going home with him?"

You wrinkled your nose. "Don't say it like that, you make it sound so… clandestine ."

Skyler rolled her eyes playfully. "Okay, fine.��Having dinner, happy?"

You chuckled. "Yes. After he was done at the gym I asked him where to next and he said that was all he had left to do so I said okay and that I'd see him later, but then he asked if I'd like to have dinner with him as a thank-you for helping him out at the soup kitchen. I agreed, so we stopped by his plot at the Clinton Community Garden to pick some fresh basil then headed to his apartment."

Skyler waved a hand at you to go on. "Where you…"

You shrugged. "Where I drank some wine and ate some delicious carbonara, then sat and talked with Matt for a bit on his sofa before I went home."

Skyler's eyebrows raised. "Wait, you were serious? Nothing happened between you two?"

You shook your head. "I mean we hugged before I left, but that was it."

Skyler shook her head with a sigh. "Girl, if you can't see what's going on…"

Your brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"He's clearly interested."

"What? No he's not."

"Oh come on. He invited you to his apartment for dinner."

"As a thank-you, I told you that."

Skyler took a sip of her drink. "I'm telling you, girl, the man is into you! He's probably holding back because he thinks you're not interested."

You shook your head and stood. "Come on, we need to get back. I'm sure Kelsie is looking for any excuse to report us to Ellison."

Skyler groaned then stood as well. "Yeah, you're right. But I am too, and you know it!"

You threw your trash away and started back towards the office, your mind racing.

Skyler had to be mistaken. Matt couldn't actually be interested in you… could he?

Matt grinned to himself as he headed towards Clinton Church. He had spent the morning finalizing his plans for your "recipe tasting" dinner and was eager to get started on prep, but he needed to pick up his supplies from the church's activity center first.

Father Lantom had left him a voicemail that morning saying how appreciative everyone had been of the hot meal and how nice it had been to meet you.

Matt's mind drifted back to the previous day. While you obviously wasn't as quick and skilled in the kitchen as he was, Matt had still been touched by your willingness to help out however you could, even if it meant doing menial tasks such as slicing up tomatoes and cucumbers and dividing salad dressing into servings.

God , he had wanted to kiss you when your fingers had brushed against his while you were handing him his measuring cups, then again when you had hugged him at Fogwell's after he had told you about his dad, then again in his apartment when you two stood listening to the rain by his window, then again when you were getting ready to leave…

He sighed. Hopefully everything went according to plan tonight.

He stepped into the office at Clinton Church.

"Matthew, hello," Sister Maggie, one of the nuns from the adjoining convent, said.

"Hi," Matt replied. "I'm here to pick up my culinary supplies from the activity center."

"Oh, yes. Father Lantom did say that you'd be dropping by to pick up your things." Sister Maggie took a set of keys out of a drawer. "He's out on an errand at the moment, but I can let you in."

"Great, thanks."

He followed her out to the activity center.

Sister Maggie unlocked the door. "How is the restaurant doing?"

Matt shrugged. "It's… surviving so far. We're not doing nearly as well as I'd hoped we'd be by now but I'm hoping that the article that's going to be in the Bulletin next week will help drum up some business."

"Oh, the restaurant is being featured in the Bulletin? That's wonderful."

Matt shook his head. "Moreso me than the restaurant, but yeah. We're going to be on the front page of the Restaurant Week kickoff edition."

He paused, smiling softly as he thought about you. "Actually the reporter from the Bulletin who's doing the story on me was here with me yesterday."

Sister Maggie hummed. "Oh, yes, Father Lantom did say a young woman was assisting you, but he was under the impression that you two were seeing each other."

Matt shook his head. "What? No, we've only known each other for a few days, although…"

He sighed. "There's something about her that… I don't know, she makes me feel comfortable around her. She's kind, and gentle, and caring…" And beautiful. I have no idea what she looks like, but I know she's beautiful.

Sister Maggie hummed. "She sounds lovely."

"She really is."

"What's her name?"

Matt smiled as he said your name.

Sister Maggie gave a hum of recognition. "Oh, yes, she's the one who does all of those lovely human interest stories, right? I do enjoy reading those each week."

Matt nodded. "Right."

He bit his lip. "I wanted her to get to know me outside of the kitchen -- for her story, of course -- so I, uh, I took her to Fogwell's after we left here yesterday and wound up telling her about Dad. She already knew about his murder -- she had done some research before our interview -- but I told her about growing up with him and how he always encouraged me to get an education."

Sister Maggie reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Your father was a good man, you know."

Matt nodded. "I know."

She sighed. "I know I haven't always been there for you in the ways you've needed me, Matthew, but for what it's worth, I'm really proud of you."

Matt nodded. "Thanks… Mom."

"So what are you going to do?"

Matt furrowed his brow. "About?"

Sister Maggie said your name. "She's not seeing anyone, is she?"

Matt shook his head. "I don't think so. At least, she hasn't mentioned anything in that regard."

He gestured towards the kitchen. "She's actually coming by the restaurant tonight to taste-test some new recipes for me, so I better get going so I can get started on everything."

He headed into the kitchen to get his cart.

Sister Maggie gave him a hug as he came back out. "Goodbye, Matthew."

Matt hugged her back. "Bye."

He headed towards Daredevil, his mind swirling. He knew you were attracted to him -- at least physically -- but there had been something holding you back. Could you be seeing someone?

Matt had assumed you were single based on your availability over the weekend, but just because you were available didn't mean you were available.

He shook his head. He remembered overheating your conversation with that other reporter who had greeted him the day he had brought tiramisu to the Bulletin, during which you had said that you didn't have a boyfriend.

…So then what was it?

#lotmf writes #Cooking Up Love Masterlist #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you

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1lenii · 2 years ago

Note

Hiii! im knew to your blog but reading the Miles headcanons I couldnt help but add to the Miles G. agenda 😏 Cause just imagine riding his bike or driving around with Miles around Brooklyn with Chase Atlantic blasting in the background.

BikeRide

Miles G x Afro!Latina!Reader

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

║ily for this ty anon, AND WELCOME! So as you already know pick your favorite chase Atlantic song and start your read!! This also remind me to update the all about me section🧍🏽‍♀️

║if you don’t have one already I recommend Molly cause idk there’s something abt it<3

║WITHOUT FURTHER ADO ENJOY

║once again no proofread (as always🏃🏽‍♀️) and check out the master-list (in the process of updating!)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

MOTORCYCLE

Miles has built in speaker.. I kid you not he asked uncle Aaron about it and yk he had to deliver

Miles literally brings it with where ever he goes meaning the bike if going inside the house🧍🏽‍♀️

As for driving around on he will not hesitate to do the most, either going over the speed limit or doing so other nonsensical road act like cutting car off

Miles would hesitantly teach you how to drive if your interested but do not I repeat DO NOT touch the glove compartment (my people have motorcycle with glove compartments BARE WITH ME)

Miles definitely invites you on late night rides, it’s 10:27pm and you know there still people out and before ya head out he connect his phone to the speaker and you already know what’s blasting, he helps you get on the back positioning your arms so you don’t fall helmet intact and ya already zooming off

Random people nearby:

So uh you doing anything later? Cause I was thinking -youandicouldgotoanewresturantaroundthecronerandgettonknow-eachother

I’m sorry what was that?

Miles litterally ruined this man’s ask out and didn’t even know it LMAO

Miles does get butterflies, lemme tell youuuuuu

When he speeds up he feels you tighten around him, and head going and digging into his back, instant butterflies! Idc idc

CAR

Miles and his car, the car you and his mom planned on getting him cause he couldn’t always b going on a motorbike, like he was restricted to going through drive throughs AND ITS NOT CONVENIENT FOR HIGHWAYS..

Either way miles thanked ya both meaning again late night errand or random drive outs

Same thing with the music it’s blastingggg windows downnnnn and ofc random people turning they heads to see where said music is coming from

Now as for who gets giddy and gets butterflies?

THATS YOU OFC

Cmon now miles really about to give you passenger princess treatment,

Hand on thigh

“What you want ma”

*she wanted to order meme* miles would do it too🧍🏽‍♀️

And Vice versa

Miles would not hesitate to teach you how to drive and his anything you drive his car and he takes his bike

Consider it your car from the lack of use miles puts on it LMAO

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

#atsv x reader #miles morales x reader #miles g morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles x y/n #atsv fic #miles 42 #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles x reader

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novaalexanderwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Blood and Thorns - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Down the Path Together (Read Chapter 1 (part one) here) - (See here for a complete list of chapters)

Author's Note: This is the complete last chapter of Blood and Thorns! Thank you for reading along with me, it's been a wonderful experience uploading here on Tumblr. I have a sequel written in its entirety, but it's still in its editing phase so if you enjoyed Blood and Thorns, please follow me here and over on AO3 where the final version of B&T (as well as some of my related short stories) will live. I will continue to edit the Blood and Thorns chapters over there as well as here, but this is our last proper update. I'm proud of the work I've done over the past year on this book, and I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a comment, reblog, leave a like if you did and tell me what you enjoyed most! Who was your favourite character? What do you think about the themes and the plot twists? I love and appreciate each and every one of you 💖

“Y’sure you’re gon’ be alrigh without me?” Razi asked as she finished tying Frigga’s boots. “I can come, Frigg.” Frigga waited for Razi to stand and help her to her feet. “I’ll be fine. Besides, didn’t you say that Rosalind’s home creeped you out when we were there?” “I was jus’ bein’ dramatic,” Razi answered as she began to help Frigga down the steps of Thorneheart Manor to the waiting carriage. “I don’ see why your meeting had to be today and why it had t’ be there.”

“Rosalind’s still too weak to move unnecessarily, so we’re meeting there. I want to check in on them, but I have to ask them and Theodore about Leland.” They made it to the car and Razi helped Frigga up the step into it. “Besides,” Frigga continued, “I need you to look after Leland while the authorities take my aunt to the hospital.” Razi sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I can do tha’.” She closed the car door and tilted her head up. “Jus’ get back ‘ere soon as you can, yeah?” Frigga leaned out the window and met Razi’s lips with her own. “I will, I promise.” “I’ll make some of those buns you like to go wit’ dinner, if you wan’.” Razi murmured “With the honey and oats?” “Yeah.” “I’d like that, and I’ll thank you for them later.” Frigga kissed Razi on the cheek and winked. Razi just grinned before stepping away from the carriage, finally allowing it to leave. Frigga leaned back into her seat and turned her thoughts to the errand ahead. The ride into town was easy enough, and the salted air lifted her spirit. As she crossed into town onto the cobblestone, Frigga watched the shops go by and noted any that might be of particular help when she and Razi left next week. Frigga’s carriage came to a stop in front of the Bloodswell home, and she carefully eased her way down the steps. One of Rosalind’s staff members, a young man with a standardly handsome face, escorted her inside to the library; the newly-appointed Head of Household had adopted it as their preferred office and place of business and she walked in to find Rosalind and Theodore having a quiet discussion, a carefully polite expression on his face and a somewhat tense one on theirs. The two of them seemed to be doing their best to get along, but it was going to be an uphill road. Theodore was dressed in his usual white and purple suit, but Rosalind was comfortably dressed; a red camellia was tucked into their breast pocket and their broken arm peeking out from under an oversized indigo cardigan Frigga had a feeling belonged to Marcus. They were much brighter, having finally been medicated for their pain and rested properly in their own sanctuary, but were obviously going to be recovering for quite a while. Frigga was embraced warmly by Theodore. “Thanks for coming all this way! Hope your ride in wasn’t too bad?” She took her seat across from Rosalind, Theodore between the two. “It was fine. I saw they were doing some work on the town’s square road.” “Very overdue, if you ask me, been needing that since New Year’s! Think the Crestfall’s carriage hit a hole, broke the wheel.” They small talked until a servant brought in tea. Most of the conversing fell to Frigga and Theodore with Rosalind occasionally adding a word in. Once settled and refreshed, Theodore finally struck up their meeting’s topic to Frigga. “I’m told you and your, em, friend?” he hesitated, waiting on Frigga to clarify. “Fiancée,” Frigga supplied. Theodore’s brows raised a bit, but he politely continued after a pause with, “Ah, fiancée, yes, you two are leaving Honeyshore?” “Yes. As soon as I’ve tied up loose ends, Razi and I will be leaving.” “And I take it that means you’re going to be giving up your spot in the coven?” “Yes.” Theodore sighed with and a small frown tugging at his bushy moustache. “That’s unfortunate, I must say.” Frigga looked down at her lap. Theodore had always treated Frigga like a daughter and she genuinely hated to grieve him. “I’m sorry, Sir. This… this life isn’t for me.”

Theodore nodded, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “From what Marcus told me, it sounds like you’ve been miserable.” “I wish I was better suited. I feel terrible about leaving, but-“ “Nonsense, my girl,” he interrupted while waving off her anxiety. “Of course, if it makes you miserable there’s no sense forcing you to stay.” She looked up from her hands shyly. “Sir?” He took a sip of tea before looking back. “Marcus said your aunt was trying to force you into it, and that Master Bloodswell here-“ “Theodore,” Rosalind bristled from behind their own tea cup. A silent conversation occurred between the two of them until the patriarch coughed lightly, recovering from the interruption. “Yes, right, Rosalind here was the one responsible for getting you out of that sticky situation.” Frigga smiled, holding back a laugh at the awkward tension between her two friends. It felt like that had not been the first time Rosalind had corrected their future father-in-law, and it was only day two of the engagement. “Yes, I wouldn’t be able to… I wouldn’t be free without their help.” “Right.” His eyes darted to Rosalind and back to Frigga, a momentary, uncomfortable shift in his composure. “Well, I want you to rest assured I’ll make sure your aunt gets properly dealt with. I am disappointed that we won’t be seeing you lead our wonderful coven, of course, but what’s best for you is much more important. Such a shame Sapphire felt your well-being was secondary.” Frigga inhaled, bracing herself. “That’s what I needed… I wanted to consult you both about. With my aunt being in custody, possibly imprisoned, and with me leaving, I’m not sure what will happen to Leland. I can’t take him, the road isn’t a place for an eight-year-old boy, and he needs a stable place to grow up. I… I’m sorry to ask.” Theodore laughed in his jolly way. “Nonsense, my girl! Of course young Leland will be taken care of.” Rosalind had a thoughtful look on their face as they took notes. “I can oversee his education, Frigga, that’s not a problem.” They sipped at their tea continuing with caution lacing their tone, “I’d offer him a place here, though, I’m unsure that’s what’s best for him.” “The boy should stay with me!” Theodore offered, more enthusiastically than Frigga had expected, and she’d expected enthusiasm. “With Marcus being here so much, it’ll be nice to have a youngster around. Gods know I’ve got the room.” A not insignificant weight was relieved from Frigga’s heart at the man’s eagerness. “Thank you. Thank you both for your generosity. Maybe I should ask Leland what he would prefer? I think, Theodore, he may prefer to live outside the city, though,” She paused and looked to Rosalind. “If he is to take up the Thorneheart seat, if that’s where he ultimately ends up, it would be good for him to be around a magical family.” Rosalind shrugged, as if they hadn’t just offered to help raise an eight-year-old. “As I said, I’m sure I can figure that out. I agree that asking Leland what he’d prefer is ultimately the way to go. If he does end up with you, Theodore, I’ll make sure to visit with him often. I can also arrange for other coven members to do the same, if you’d like. I’m not as entertaining as some others.” They hid a wry look behind their cup. Frigga’s stomach churned slightly. “And that was the other thing I needed to speak with you both about. My aunt… she’ll likely be excommunicated, right?” Rosalind nodded and their tone became grave. “I can’t see how she wouldn’t be. Even if she wasn’t, she couldn’t lead the coven from prison.” The air in the room intensified, but Frigga plowed ahead. “Well… That would mean the coven will be in your hands, Rosalind.”

There was silence; Frigga gripped her hands, Theodore stiffened, and Rosalind placed their cup on the table quietly. “It would seem that way,” they replied slowly. A pained expression drifted across their face briefly before continuing, “But the coven will not like it. I can’t think of a single member who would stand with me and,” Rosalind looked at Theodore briefly before looking away from both their guests. “I’m unsure I’m right for the position.” Frigga’s heart ached with a fresh wave of guilt squeezing it to bursting. “I know this wasn’t something you wanted, and I feel awful for putting you in this position.” Rosalind shook their head softly. “You didn’t, Frigga. You made a choice about your own life. This is not your responsibility.” “But how am I different from my aunt if I’m forcing you into-?” “You haven’t.” Rosalind cut her off, their tone firm. They settled back into their armchair with a sigh. “I’m not thrilled about the situation, and there are ways I might,” they paused and their eyes narrowed very slightly. “It was never my ambition to become a leader, and I never thought I’d be called upon to do it.” Rosalind looked at a teary-eyed Frigga then to a grimly guarded Theodore. “But this is my home, the coven is my family, and if I am needed, if I can help then I will. I could get out of this responsibility if I truly wanted.” Rosalind looked back to Frigga, and their expression was both confidently resolute and softly compassionate. “Frigga you need to know I am not trapped as you were and I won’t have you feeling responsible for my choices. As long as I am needed, I’ll do this.” “I… don’t know what to say.” Rosalind’s softness faded and they grimaced instead, “But telling the coven won’t go over well.” They were right. With everything that had happened regarding Victoria, there would likely be several members of the coven who would be resistant if not outright hostile to the concept of a Bloodswell leading the group. “I’ll vouch for you, of course. Marcus will too, I’m sure.” “It is not going to be enough.” They were right, “But it might-“ Theodore cut her off. “I will too.” Both Rosalind and Frigga’s eyes blew wide as they looked to the man who’d surprised them, though Rosalind was the more surprised of the two. “Theodore?” The man crossed his arms again and grimaced. “Honestly, Rosalind, I wasn’t enthusiastic when you told me Marcus asked you to marry him, mostly for the same reasons our coven members will be suspicious of you. We worry you’re following in your mother’s footsteps, you see.” Rosalind looked away from Theodore to the table. “Yes.” Theodore exhaled through his nose, an air of resignation settling around him. “However, I think it’s obvious you’re rather more like your father. Not sure how those two ever got together, to be honest.” Frigga quietly giggled at his recollection. Jun and Victoria Bloodswell had been, by any measure, a strange couple. She had always been ambitious, cut-throat, and an active member of the coven’s social society. If there was ever a meeting, casual get-together, or party, she was the one you could rely on to be there dragging her long-suffering Heir along with her. In contrast, Jun couldn’t be bothered. He was a great academic and historian, a vital resource to the coven’s research and archives, but he was rarely seen. The only reason he’d show up to anything was if Rosalind was being spotlit somehow as in dance recitals or if his wife dragged him out by the ear. He was pleasant enough if you managed to catch him in conversation, but it was a complete mystery as to why he’d married Victoria because the man avoided conversing as a rule. Rosalind resembled their mother for the most part in appearance with their sharp features, black straight hair, heavy dark eyes, and slim stature, but were almost the exact reincarnation of their father in all other respects. They smiled wistfully. “I try.” Theodore nodded. “If things do get out of hand, I will vouch for you as well.”

Rosalind took a deep breath in and let it out, their tight shoulders easing visibly. “Thank you, Theodore.” The man broke the tension with a large grin. “Hopefully then we can all move on from this unpleasant business and get some real work done. We’ve got a wedding to plan after all!” Rosalind groaned and Frigga beamed. Maybe there was some hope Theodore might warm up to them after all? She had been so worried about how this meeting could have devolved, but it had gone well in the end. With the worst of the meeting was over, the details about the emergency coven meeting were nailed down and it would be held in five days at Thorneheart Manor, the day Frigga would leave home.

///

The coven’s meeting room was set up the same way it had been for Victoria’s trial, a large table in the centre of the room with enough space for the Head of Household and their Heir to be seated. Frigga would take up her aunt’s place at the head, Marcus and Theodore at her right side, the Rynaulds on her left, with Rosalind directly across the table in their family’s place. Though the coven members had been informed that something fundamentally disruptive to the coven had taken place and that they’d be having a formal discussion on the events, the details of the events had been left vague. As the families arrived at the manor, a strained politeness manifested. Everyone remained civil but it was clear the witches were worried about the future of the group. Though nobody outside herself and her close friends knew it, this would be Frigga’s last meeting and she’d be leaving immediately after so she did her best to briefly mingle with everyone. She was relieved she would finally be free of these niceties and was starting to see what Razi meant when she said rich people were assholes. They weren’t unpleasant people, not at all. Frigga was fond of most of the coven members. Indeed, everyone was perfectly polite and that was the problem. Frigga felt no connection to these people and the conversations only went so long before they began to revolve around themselves. Their concerns were insular, their perspective isolated from concerns of the world. Some of them barely seemed to recognize that a world outside of their social circles existed so it was no wonder Razi was harsh on them. As the families took their places, Frigga’s heart began to pound. She was nervous, for herself naturally, but also for Rosalind. She saw them try to socialize somewhat, though they’d ducked out of the interaction at their first opportunity. Frigga was proud of them for trying. Finally, everyone sat in their places and Frigga sat at her aunt’s seat at the table’s head. “Welcome, friends,” she took up her chalice in greeting, sipped at it, and replaced it on the table as the coven members followed suit. The room went silent and Sapphire’s absence stung. She’d led this coven for thirty years and this was the first coven meet in more than that time she was absent. Frigga cleared her throat and put on her most authoritative demeanour; it felt like trying to don armour built for a six-foot man. “As some of you know, there has been a grave happening within my family, the ramifications of which will profoundly affect this coven going forward. My aunt has been arrested for assault and the attempted murder of Rosalind Bloodswell. She did so because they assisted with breaking a curse she’d cast to control me.” The other witches’ reactions were varied. Some stole quick glances at Rosalind, many Head of Households whispering to their Heirs. “I was a witness to these actions but there are two others who have given statements on the matter who were present as well. Marcus Magnus-Monroe and a member of staff who was also assaulted by my aunt.” Frigga handed out copies of the statements given by Marcus, Razi, and herself to the rest of the families and the coven members read through the statements in short-lived silence. Mildred Crestfall stood to her feet, anger clear on her face. “These are grave accusations, and obviously not something we can abide if they are true. I notice Master Bloodswell’s witness is missing from the evidence.” All eyes turned to Rosalind who was strangely calm about it. “Why might that be?” They took a deep breath, and responded with a practiced, bored answer, “I have opted out, at this time, and I don’t believe my own testimony is necessary when these,” they gestured towards their own injuries, “speak well enough for me. I have nothing to add the testimonies have not already made clear.” Mildred’s eyes creased narrowed, unsatisfied. “I would have thought you might be eager to put your attacker away, Master Bloodswell?”

Rosalind did not take the bait and, judging by their small eye roll and fractional wince, Frigga figured they’d already tired of the accusation they’d heard a dozen times already. “As I said, I feel it unnecessary Lady Crestfall. I feel my injuries speak sufficiently on my behalf. You might imagine how traumatic the event was for me.” The woman nodded, defeated for now, and sat back down. Frigga moved the meet along and moved to excommunicate her aunt immediately, a motion that was unanimous with a few abstaining from the vote, Rosalind included. Paperwork was dealt with and kept track of by Ophelia Rynauld, and the second item on the agenda arose. Marceline Cromwell spoke as the last of the paperwork was finished, “That means we must have Miss Thorneheart officially made part of the coven as soon as possible, then?” A general murmur of agreement echoed but Frigga sat up as straight as possible, digging deep within herself to find her courage. “No.” The room fell silent and Frigga tensed, holding her breath. They looked to Frigga with apprehensive faces, and she looked to Marcus, who nodded encouragingly. She then glanced over to an attentive Rosalind before looking around. “I will not be taking up the Thorneheart family’s place at this table. I’m leaving town today.” The silence shattered all at once. “Miss Thorneheart, you won’t be taking up your role?” “How could you?” “This isn’t like you!” “Why?” “How can this be?" “Who does that leave?” “Obviously Leland isn’t eligible yet!” “That leaves…” Another silence fell on the room as the realization began to settle on the group. Eyes turned to the opposite end of the table. Frigga’s did too and saw Rosalind’s eyes flashing between herself and Marcus. She stood once more. “So until such a time as Leland can accept his place as Thorneheart Head of Household, Master Rosalind Bloodswell, our second family’s Head of Household, has agreed to take up intermittent leadership.” Chaos erupted with shocked protests coming from various families, confused questions from others, and some witches began begging Frigga to change her mind until Morgan Blackwood stood to his full height. “Miss Thorneheart, is there no way we can persuade you to reconsider?” Frigga shook her head and took her seat with finality, surrendering her claim to lead the meeting. “No, there isn’t Sir Blackwood, but I have complete confidence in Master Bloodswell.” Edna Downspire protested, her voice shrill, “But the Thorneheart’s have led this coven for one hundred and fifty years!” Aurora Morgansons argued, “We have contingencies in place for this sort of situation. Master Bloodswell is the next eligible party!” Mildred railed against the suggestion and the meeting began devolving into an argument, just as Frigga had feared. She tried to recenter herself and looked away from the chaos to where Marcus was sitting next to her. He was softly giggling and his father was shaking his head in exhaustion. She silently looked for support from either of them and Theodore stood to his feet. “Compatriots!” He rose his voice, capturing everyone’s attention. Once the volume lowered enough and he’d gained the floor, he continued. “I hear your concerns for the future of this esteemed group, and, if I might be afforded the privilege, might I suggest we hear Master Bloodswell out?”

Slowly, hesitantly, every member of the coven turned their attention back to Rosalind who hadn’t moved. As the coven yielded the floor to let them speak, they stood to their feet and looked to their fiancé and his father. “Thank you, Theodore.” Their face remained neutral, though Frigga saw them toying with a ring they wore absently. Their voice was calm, as always, but some of the artifice of disinterest had disappeared from it. “I see the reluctance many of you are experiencing, and I fully comprehend why. It has not been kept from me how my family’s past currently reflects on myself and it is not lost on me that my past actions might be misinterpreted as evidence of my disinterest in our coven.” Rosalind paused to look around the table, and Frigga followed their eyes to find a completely mixed reaction to their speech. There were many thoughtful, receptive faces, but just as many or more embittered or unresponsive expressions.“I care for everyone of you at this table, this coven is important to me, Honeyshore is my home. I don’t share the ambition for leadership some in my family had, but if I am called upon to serve this coven in such a capacity I will do so for as long as I am needed and no longer.” They took their seat and the room remained silent. This was unprecedented in many ways, the witches around the table looked to each other but nobody stood to respond to Rosalind’s appeal. Frigga held her breath. It was out of her hands. She wasn’t even technically a member of the coven so her opinion held little weight. She said a silent prayer that someone might back them up, Rosalind couldn’t act until they’d been officially acknowledged. Finally Ophelia Rynauld, the timekeeper and historian of the coven, slowly stood to her feet. She rarely contributed her own thoughts, but her opinion was highly respected when she did. She’d been silent through the entire exchange, and Frigga’s hands twisted with uncertainty. “Friends,” she said in her deep, warmed tenor, her dark hands gesturing vaguely to everyone, tinkling with the brightly coloured bangles she wore on her wrists “our coven’s traditions and statutes are clear in these matters. In our one hundred and fifty year history, our ordinances have not failed us. As there is nobody willing nor eligible for Head of Household in the First Family’s home, the role of leader will fall to the Head of Household of our second family, the Bloodswell family, until there is.” She looked to Rosalind, her expression respectful. “Master Rosalind Bloodswell has yet to act in anyway to shame our company, nor have they given us any reason to expect less competency than their predecessor which is, more than I can vouch for regarding others at this table.” She slyly smiled, her eye passing over specific coven members and coven patron’s sons. “I recognize their leadership until such time as there is an eligible member of the Thorneheart family to take up that office.” She took up her chalice and raised it in Rosalind’s direction before taking a sip and retaking her seat. The group digested her words for a few moments in poignant quiet as the air shifted. Slowly, eyes shifted from Ophelia to Frigga and then, finally, to Rosalind. One by one, chalices were taken up and raised in their direction in acknowledgement, mirroring Ophelia. The weight on Frigga’s shoulders finally dissolved. It was done, Rosalind had been acknowledged, and she was free of her obligation. Once the last chalice was lowered, Rosalind stood and took up their role with their usual, confident stature. “Thank you, Ophelia, and thank you everyone for your trust in me. Now, is there any other business to be resolved?” There wasn’t and Rosalind dismissed the group shortly afterwards. Frigga saw them take out their datebook and start writing in it before making their way to Ophelia Rynauld. For not wanting to lead the coven, Rosalind seemed very well-equipped to do it, like they’d already been doing it for years.

She caught a few words of their conversation with Ophelia before Theodore joined them and Marcus pulled her into a conversation with Marceline and Luna Cromwell, Wade Morgansons, and Moira Blackwood. Frigga could barely catch a word, distracted until she heard him turn the conversation in a specific direction. “Luna, who was your wedding planner? I don’t even know where to start and yours was so nice.” Luna blinked and looked between Marcus and Frigga. “Tsunade I think was her surname. I thought your wedding had been cancelled?” Marcus shrugged. “Yeah, that one was, but it’s not like I’m going to use any of those plans again. That kind of affair wouldn’t really suit Ros, you know?” The others all stared at him. Frigga grinned as little as she could, though she couldn’t contain it fully as she added, “No, and I don’t think they’d really like all that blue.” “Right?” Marcus chirped. “Wait, what?” Luna stammered, her brow deeply furrowed, “what are you saying?” Wade cast a glance in Rosalind’s direction. “Marcus, you’re going to have to elaborate.” “Oh, Rosalind and I are engaged,” he explained as though it were the most well-known fact in the world. “You didn’t know?” Frigga chuckled as Moira and Marceline gawked, Luna’s jaw dropped, and Wade burst out laughing, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “No! How long has that been going on? You didn’t say a word!” Marcus giggled as he received congratulations from everyone, and Frigga glanced over at Rosalind who was watching the distraction for a half-second with a fond smirk before they resumed their discussion with Ophelia and Theodore. Frigga couldn’t believe things turned out this way and her heart was bursting with relief and joy. As soon as she walked down those stairs she and Razi would be leaving, and she was confident that she’d left the coven in good hands. There was just one thing left for her to do. She excused herself, letting Marcus know where to go after everything was completed, and exited the room heading towards the private chambers. She grabbed the bag she’d packed night before with Razi’s help, slung it over her shoulders, and left to find Leland in his room. As Frigga had expected, Leland had chosen to live away from the city with the familiar family. Most of his belongings had already been moved to the Magnus-Monroe estate, but there were still a few items he’d had to pack up before leaving today. His packed bags sat next to the door and the boy was on the floor surrounded a few toys he’d kept handy. He was pouting and sulking, his face tightly wound to keep himself from crying and refused to look at his sister when she knocked on the door and walked over. “You ready?” He shook his head, his pout twisting into anger. “I don’t want to go. Why do I have to?” She sat beside him taking up a small, hand-whittled deer from the floor. “I’m leaving and Auntie isn’t here. You said you were excited to go to Marcus’ house, right?” Leland sadly nodded. “But why do you have to go? Don’t you like it here? Where are you going?” Frigga sighed. Even with her impaired memory she knew they’d already had this conversation a few times. “I’m going on an adventure, remember?” “For how long?” “I don’t know, Lee. A long time.” The boy sniffled and threw the small toy he’d been holding across the room. It fell harmlessly but the visual still had Frigga scrambling to reign in a swell of complicated emotions; she didn’t want to make her brother so angry, so scared. He was losing his sister, his aunt, and now the only home he’d ever known. It was such a big change for such a little boy. “Leland, I see you’re angry. I know this isn’t what you would like, but Theodore will take good care of you. Marcus and Rosalind will too, I promise.” He crossed his arms and looked angrily away from his sister, refusing to reply.

“I know it’s scary. It’s understandable to be afraid.” She placed a hand on his shoulder gently and the boy began sobbing. She threw her arms around her brother, holding him closely as he cried. It took a while, but eventually he calmed down. “I’m gonna miss you,” he finally admitted through his sniffles. “You just got back!” With a delicate flick of her wrist, Frigga conjured a tissue and gave it to him. “I’ll miss you too, but I promise to write and visit when we can. And this is just a new chapter in your own adventure.” He wiped his tears with the tissue, his shoulders still sunken. “Yeah.” Frigga put her hands on his shoulders. “You can be brave too, right?” He nodded, still sniffling, but finally cracked the smallest smile. “I can be brave.” The siblings picked up the last of Leland’s things off the floor and Marcus came by to pick up the last of his bags. “Need any help, bud?” Leland crashed into him and the two laughed. Marcus was even more excited than his father that Leland had chosen to stay with them and had shared his plans to help the boy feel welcome with Frigga before meet. The man grabbed Leland’s bag with a laugh. “I think I know what we’ll do when we get home! I invented this sport and Jenkins absolutely hates it.” As the two of them plotted the downfall of the servant’s sanity, Marcus escorted the young boy and Frigga to the staircase. It was time to go.

/// While Frigga was in session with the asshats, Razi went through her pack one last time in her quarters. A map, a few changes of clothes, basic toiletries, tent and sleeping necessities… It was going to be heavy once the food rations and water were added, but working on the grounds for the last decade made her strong enough to do the heavy lifting and carry Frigga to see Bluehaven’s doctors if she had to. They would likely have to stop often until she got used to travelling anyway as Frigga’s condition was delicate. Not to mention the aristocrat wasn’t exactly used to roughing it like Razi expected they would be. Despite Frigga’s symptoms being subtle most of the time, Frigga was going to need more help than they’d initially thought and she wouldn’t be able to carry much weight on their travels, at least to start. The woman was taking her disability in stride, but it was still upsetting to see the witch’s health decline so much. She would never be truly independent, but she was still happy, still hopeful, and she was still Frigga. She glanced at her left hand, the ring Frigga gave her glistening on her finger. Such a silly little thing, but it’d grown on her in the last week. Almost literally, she likely wouldn’t be able to get it off now. Smirking, she stuck her hand in her pocket to make sure the things were still in it before grabbing her bags. Razi took one last fond look around her room. It had been her home for a long time and now it wasn’t. She’d been at this job for ten years, her father had worked here for five years before that and it was the closest thing she had to a home. She’d grown up here, she’d become an adult here, and now she was leaving. Razi closed the door behind her one last time with a slow exhale. She found Gertrude and Doris in the kitchens, Doris gossiping away and Gertrude was telling her off about something or other. As it should be. They looked at her as she came in and fell silent. “Mornin’, ladies,” Razi greeted cheerfully. “Just ‘ere for a few things and I’ll be permanently out of your hair.” The two women looked at each other and then back to her. Gertrude wiped her hands on her apron, she’d been peeling potatoes, and gestured to a nicely packed parcel on the island counter. “We’ve actually made something up for the two of you. We know it’ll probably be a while ’til you get into Bluehaven. There’s some baked goods, some dried fruit and meats, and a few of the Miss’s favourite preserves.” Razi set her things down on the floor, went to Gertrude, and gave her a big hug. “Thanks, Gert. That means a lot. Was just gon’ grab some bits and ends so this’ll be real ‘elpful.” “I can’t let you go empty handed, Wood. And Frigga,” Gertrude stepped back to square Razi up and down, becoming serious. “Do right by her.” Razi grinned. “Givin’ me the shovel talk, are you? Tha’s real sweet, Gert. Don’t you know me?” “I do,” the woman taunted. “I mean it, none of your old habits. It won’t do anymore.” Razi rolled her eyes; Gertrude witnessed more than one should have over the years, what with Razi bringing girls home and such. She couldn’t blame the woman for this then, not really. “Oh, come on, I’m an hones’ woman now! You don’ think I know tha’?” Doris piled on while scooting around the counter coming nearer. “She means you gotta marry her, Wood, and you got to be a proper wife.” Razi levelled a deadpan look at the woman. “Dor, I told you, I’m not sayin’ I will or won’ marry her, not t’ you. Mind your business!” It made sense Doris was protective. She had taken care of Frigga every day for nearly three months so Razi put one hand over her heart and raised the other with great solemnity. “I promise, I’ll take good care of her.” The older women began to tear up, and Razi opened her arms welcoming both in for a group hug. Even if they were both nosy, they were nice ladies and she was going to miss them. But not a lot.

Gertrude wiped a tear away with her apron daintily. “You really think she’ll be alright out there? ‘Specially ‘cause of her injury. Is that why you’re headed to Bluehaven first?” Doris nodded solemnly but chuckled after a thought. “I bet she screams the first bug she sees.” Razi began putting the food parcel in her pack. “Doris, y’know she’s a flower child, right? Like, she’s ‘round bugs and dirt all th’ time. Pretty sure I saw her catch a spider wit’ her bare hands yesterday.” Doris laughed. “Oh yes, that’s right. Her stockings and petticoats are always covered in at least six inches of mud.” She filled two large canisters with fresh water to be kept on her bag’s strap and hung around to chat with the two women while waiting the coven meeting out. They asked her where else they were headed and what she was most excited to see, and Doris also went out of her way to dig for information on said marrying of Frigga. Razi gave her nothing because, once again, Doris needed to mind her own business. Not to mention she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut and Razi wanted it to be a surprise. Steps began to rumble from above; the meeting adjourned and the Honeyshore Coven had finished their final meeting with Frigga. It was still several minutes before the families started making their way down the front staircase. Razi looked on from the kitchen door watching the guests leave. They were all assholes, every last one of them in her humble opinion. Seven families of witches exited the building, and Razi watched them, grinning like the kid that got away with the cookie. Theodore left shortly after too, Leland’s final bag over a shoulder, and she gave him a polite nod as he did. Finally, they were gone and good riddance too. It wasn’t much longer until she heard footsteps again at the top of the stairs. Frigga, Leland, Rosalind, and Marcus were finally descending, Rosalind leaned heavily on Marcus’ arm and Frigga gripped the railing. When she caught Razi’s eye, she rushed to her love, dropping her bags at the bottom of the staircase. They embraced with a kiss and a hug, both wearing the purest happiness on their lips. “Ready, Princess?” asked Razi. Frigga giggled. “Of course, my king.” Before they picked up their bags again, Leland ran to his sister and crashed into her with a hug that nearly knocked the unstable witch to the floor. Frigga clung to her brother tightly and cast a look over to Marcus who was watching the scene from a few feet away, Rosalind leaned on his side. Over the past week Frigga had expressed feeling enormous guilt about leaving her brother, even if it was the best thing for him. Theodore and the golden retriever would be like a father and brother; Leland would be safe and supported, not pressured to do things he didn’t want, which was more than his atrocious aunt would ever have done. Marcus walked over to the siblings and put a hand on Leland’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re all gonna go say goodbye outside, alright?” He led the boy away, Rosalind went with him, allowing Frigga a chance to say goodbye to Gertrude and Doris. The servants were a blubbering mess and Frigga was barely holding herself together. They had been with her every day, and Gertrude had been around even before she had gone to school. Now they were saying goodbye, perhaps forever. Razi made sure Frigga wasn’t overloaded as the two women picked up their bags. She was a little wobbly, but it would be fine, they’d take it slow. They weren't going far today, just into town and then maybe an hour outside of it. If Razi’s calculations were correct, they’d be in Bluehaven in about a week, and she’d made sure to over-prepare. They stepped outside into the sun. It was the perfect temperature for setting off on a long afternoon walk, just like they always did. Marcus was the first to give Frigga a big hug and she held him tightly. “Please take care of yourself, Frigga. Let us know if you need anything, anything at all? You’re always welcome in our home.”

Frigga sighed happily into his arms. “I will. I’ll be fine. We’ll write as soon as we arrive in Bluehaven I promise.” Marcus let go and offered a handshake to Razi that was about as awkward as an ex-fiancé shaking a current fiancée’s hand could reasonably be. Then, with a small nod, he backed away to allow Leland a moment. Leland gave his sister one last tearful hug and then surprised Razi with one as well. She’d carved many trinkets for him, and he understood how much Razi cared for his sister. He’d said that made her his family too at dinner last night which made the woman’s heart melt whenever she thought about it. After Leland let Razi go, Marcus extended a hand to him, motioning towards the waiting carriage. Leland took his hand and was led away. That left Rosalind. From Razi’s point of view, they almost seemed to be enjoying the hug Frigga had caught them in. It was the first time Razi saw them enjoying human contact ever, apart from Marcus. “Please take care of my brother, Ros.” Frigga was fully crying now, and she didn’t let Rosalind go. Rosalind nodded. “I’ll do my best. I’m only disappointed that you’ll be unable to attend the wedding.” Frigga pulled back a bit and smiled sadly. “Likely not, but you never know. October, right?” Rosalind nodded before looking between Frigga and Razi. “Marcus is right, you always have a place with us. If you need anything, either of you, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Frigga nodded and placed a kiss on Rosalind’s cheek. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.” She released them, and their cheeks were slightly flushed, but the vampire wore the smallest of indulgent smiles, and Razi figured that they sort of had to indulge Frigga; they had just excommunicated her aunt and taken her spot in the coven after all. Frigga finally released Rosalind and they looked hesitantly over to Razi who was smirking at the spectacle. She saw Rosalind unsure what to do next as her previous one-on-one with them had her threatening them and Razi hadn’t bothered to follow up or make nice afterwards. After some consideration, they offered their good hand to shake and locked eyes with her. “Truly, if either of you needs anything, you need only ask.” Razi eyed Rosalind’s outstretched hand briefly before they finally took it. “We appreciate it, Vampire.” Rosalind smirked. “That’s Master Vampire to you, madam,” they retorted dryly, and Razi snorted, shocked they knew what a joke was. They nodded and hopped into their carriage. It took off and both Marcus and Leland leaned out the window, waving like crazy. Frigga waved back until they were out of sight, and Razi and Frigga were left alone on the steps of Thorneheart Manor. The road stretched out in front of them and a soft breeze in the sea salted air made for perfect walking conditions. They would walk through town to pick up a few things, sell a few valuables, and then head north towards Bluehaven, but Razi had plans for them on their way out of town first. She took Frigga’s hand in her left hand, slipping her right into her pant pocket fumbling with what she’d stashed there: Her father’s pocket knife and a polished rosewood ring she’d been whittling for the last week. They’d stop at the market for supplies, but they’d also make one last stop at the town’s temple to make good on her promise before they left. Razi leaned down for a quick kiss met happily, and they set off down the path together.

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