#when startled or otherwise ruffled

[novamariestark]

Stress Relief...

Summary: Over the last 9 months, your life has changed a lot, it was hard not to feel stressed, but after meeting quite possibly the sexiest guy you'd ever met at Molly's, stress was the last thing on your mind

Warnings: age gap, smut, unprotected sex (wrap b4 you tap), drunk-ish sex

Word count: 3354

Fandom: Chicago P.D

Pairing: Hank Voight x halstead!reader

[A/N] I've been wanting to write for Hank a long time, but every time i watched Chicago P.D to get ideas and inspiration, I got distracted 🤣, It's very hard not to

You were a creature of habit. Always have been. So it didn’t take long for everyone to learn them. One particular habit was your nightly trip to Molly’s. The firefighter bar. You met Herrmann in the ER one day and you became friends. He was quite possibly the sweetest person you’d ever met. He was also the only one who knew your full past.

You weren’t always here in Chicago nor were you aware of your brothers, Will and Jay. Up until 9 months ago you didn’t know that they existed. You were an orphan, or at least that’s what you were always told and you had no reason to think otherwise. But sure enough, after a trip to Chicago and one freak accident that took you to the ER, you found them. Well one. Your older brother Will. How he found out, you still didn’t know but he did. Shortly after, you met Jay, who apparently is your twin brother.

You spent as much time with them as possible before leaving for your college graduation, promising to visit. Little did you know that they were coming back with you. You didn’t find out until they “dropped you off” at the airport the next day but with bags.

“You think we’d miss our little sister’s graduation?” Will asked smiling warmly.

"Seriously?" you asked, your face lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning.

Will chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Of course. We wouldn't miss it for the world."

As soon as your flight number was called, you all boarded the plane, excitement bubbling under the surface. You couldn't believe it. Just a week ago, you thought you'd be walking across the stage to receive your degree with no one in the crowd cheering for you. But now, you were going to have two people there, and not just anyone—your brothers.

As you settled into your seat, you glanced over at Will and Jay, who were chatting animatedly about the plans for the weekend. The reality of the situation finally hit you, and felt a smile creeping up your face. You'd spent so much of your life moving from place to place, rarely feeling like you truly belonged anywhere. But now, it felt like you finally did belong.

When the plane landed, you turned to your brothers with a smile. "I'll head home and change, and then I'll meet you both at the hotel with my husband," you said, still riding the high of excitement from the journey.

They nodded, and after a quick hug and a promise to catch up soon, you headed off towards your apartment. You didn’t live so far away, so you decided to walk. As you walked up the driveway, you noticed your husband's car was there. A small, happy smile crossed your face.

You unlocked the front door and stepped inside, calling out a cheerful greeting. "I'm home!"

But there was no response. The house was eerily quiet, and an uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. You walked through the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the silence. As you approached the bedroom door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, your eyes widened in shock.

There, on the bed, was your husband—tangled up with another woman. It was almost too surreal to process at first; your mind struggled to comprehend what you were seeing. They both looked up, startled by your sudden entrance. Your husband quickly pulled away from the woman, but he didn't seem particularly shocked or apologetic. Instead, he simply stared at you. In fact, a look of mild annoyance was plastered on his face.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you—betrayal, anger, sadness. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. You'd been so excited to share your news with him, and now this?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak. "I'll be back for my things," you said, your voice surprisingly steady despite earthquake of emotions rattling inside you. You didn't wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked out, grabbing your car keys on the way out.

As you got into your car, your hands were trembling. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you wiped them away and started the engine. You drove to the hotel in a daze, trying to shake the image of your husband and the other woman from your mind. How you didn’t have an accident was beyond you.

Needless to say, they were furious when you showed up at their hotel room in tears. You had tried so hard to hold it together, but as soon as the elevator doors closed behind you, the dam broke. The tears came fast and hard, and you struggled to keep your sobs quiet as you rode up to their floor.

When you reached their room and knocked, Will opened the door, his smile fading instantly when he saw your tear-streaked face. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you protectively. The warmth of his embrace made you feel better, even if just for a moment.

Jay quickly crossed the space between you, "What happened?" he asked, his voice tense.

You tried to speak, but your voice caught in your throat. The pain was too raw, the words too painful. Instead, you just shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. Will held you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

"He... he was with someone else," you finally managed to choke out between sobs, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's face turned red with anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "What?" he nearly shouted; his voice filled with fury. He took a step towards the door, clearly ready to confront your husband. "I'm gonna kill him," he muttered under his breath.

Will, still holding you close, turned to block Jay's path. "No, Jay," he said firmly, "This isn't the time. She needs us."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," you said, more tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you—you were now possibly homeless. You felt the weight of everything, slowly crushing you. But you needn’t worry about anything.

Jay offered you a place to stay and went back with you to collect the rest of your belongings. He was also there when you filed for divorce. Despite his assurances that he didn't mind you staying with him, you started looking for a place of your own. When you thought you had found one, Jay insisted it "wasn't safe enough" for you. So, almost nine months later, you’re still living with him. It had been a long time since you had a brother around, and you'd forgotten how much of a nuisance they could be—but you loved it.

You're now a nurse at Gaffney, the same hospital where Will works. While you love being near your brothers, the ER can be incredibly stressful, and when it gets overwhelming, you find yourself at Molly's, sitting on your usual barstool. Herrmann could tell just by the look on your face which usual you needed. You had two orders: one for a good day and one for a bad one. Clearly, today was the latter.

You smiled as the drink appeared in front of you. "Thanks, Hermie," you said, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one go, welcoming the familiar burn.

"No problem, kid," he said, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head, offering a grateful smile. He casually draped the towel over his shoulder and placed another drink in front of you, a glass of coke with double vodka, "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

You nodded once more as he moved to serve other patrons. You let your eyes leave their place on the glass and wander around the bar. Many people were regulars, in fact all of them were except for one.

He caught your eye immediately. He was quite possibly the hottest person you’d ever laid your eyes on. He was definitely older than you, by about 20 years but damn you didn’t care. His short, neatly trimmed hair was greying slightly but it only made him sexier. As you continue to admire him you could feel yourself being pulled from reality as your eyes trace his strong jawline. They then made their way further south to where the luckiest pieces of clothing hugs him. Especially the leather jacket. You love leather jackets. You’re not sure why but when they are wrapped around men like that, do you need a reason?

He must have felt your eyes on him because his flicked over to them. You quickly avert your eyes back to your glass, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks and you hope that it’s dark enough so no one can see.

You want to talk to him, but you feel you need some more liquid courage. You continued to drink your double vodka and coke and when you finished you signalled for a refill but just coke this time. You picked up the drink and made your way over to the man and sat beside him.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before,” you said, trying to make yourself sound like you weren’t completely freaking out on the inside.

“It’s not my usual place,” he replied with the deepest gravelly voice you had ever heard. You had to squeeze your thighs shut because of the effect it had on you.

Nevertheless, you try and ignore the feeling and held your hand out to him, “I’m (y/n)” you said with a small smile.

“Henry” he replied, placing his hand in yours. The rough skin on his fingertips felt good against your soft skin. You couldn’t help but think where else they’d feel good.

You both talked for a while as more people started to filter in. It started to get really loud and you wouldn’t mind going somewhere private with Henry. So you asked, “Hey, wanna go somewhere quieter,” you bite your lip hoping he says yes... And he does.

The drive to his was quiet, I left you to your thoughts. This wasn’t what you intended when you left the apartment tonight but hey apparently sex is a great stress reliever and you have a feeling you are about to be well taken care of.

You shoot Jay a quick text to let him know you are okay and as you press send you stopped. He’s a gentleman and opens the door for you and holds his hand out for you to take.

You take it and you get out of the car, following him into the house, his hand on the small of your back guiding you towards it.

The next few moments are a blur. As soon as the door shut, his mouth was on yours. The kiss started off tender but slowly got more passionate. You certainly weren’t complaining. He slowly guided you towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. You had no idea where in the house you were until the back of your legs hit the cool sheets. His hands moved from your face to the zipper on your dress pulling it down swiftly. He slid the small straps down your arms as you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. The dress dropped from your frame and pooled at your feet, leaving you in just your underwear. When you undid the last button, you slowly removed both the shirt and the leather jacket. You let your hands follow the garments until they landed on his belt. Your mouths were still attached. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue and he could taste the vodka on yours. You continue fumbling with his jeans until thy joined your dress. His hands glide down your body until they reach your ass, you moan as he gives them a firm squeeze before lifting you up.

He turned and sat on the bed, so you were straddling him. You could feel him beneath you and you couldn’t help but grind against him. When he groaned you felt your pussy yip as if it had just been shocked. Was anything this man did not sexy?

Your tongues continue to battle each other as your wet core rides his clothed hardness. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood only to remove your panties. He removed his boxers quickly before you climbed back on top of him, wasting no time sinking down on him.

“fuck* you breathed, the word falling from your lips as your head falls back.

His hands hold your shoulders, slamming you down harder on him. You were already seeing stars and you had barely started.

His lips attached themselves to your neck, licking and nibbling at the soft flesh. They then trailed lower towards your still covered breasts. He kissed the valley between but made no movement to take off the piece of fabric in his way. So you reached behind you and unclasped it, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.

He smirked against your skin taking one in his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive nub, his hand played with the other, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Then he switched, giving them equal attention.

Without warning, he stood up and chucked you onto the bed, leaving you feeling cold and empty. Your hand went to your clit to give you something as he climbed towards you. Eyes locked on you as if you were his prey.

His hand slowly runs up your thigh until it reaches your hand. He looks at you and you move your hand and rest it on your stomach. His hand replaces yours. Teasing you. One finger gliding through the lips, dipping it ever so slightly into your wet hole.

“Please” you whimpered as his fingers continue to tease you.

With a smirk, he enters you fully, making you arch off the bed. He starts to move in and out, your body begging for more. You can’t help but let out a low moan that echoes through the room.

“Oh, baby, you like that?” he whispers in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nod your head, unable to form words as pleasure overtakes you.

He slammed into you, hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the darkness. You dig your nails into the bed, trying to hold on as he fucks you into oblivion.

You’re not sure how long it goes on, but you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

And just as you’re about to go over, he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs apart. You know what’s coming next, and the few second wait is almost too much to handle. He slams into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you, over and over again.

You bite the pillow to muffle your screams as he takes you roughly, your body trembling with every thrust. You can feel yourself about to cum, and you know it’s going to be the best fucking orgasm of your life.

Finally, with one last, hard thrust, you do. Your orgasm rips through you like a tornado in a trailer park, leaving you a trembling mess on the bed. Henry follows shortly after, his own groan of pleasure muffled against your neck.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, both panting and sweaty. You lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before you feel him roll over and wrap an arm around you.

The next morning you open your eyes, and you don’t recognise your surroundings. Your eyes squeeze shut as the bright light burns them and you become aware of the arm draped across your bare waist. Its then you remember the events from last night and it wasn’t just an amazing dream.

As your mind replays the sex a tone begins to sound. You knew it wasn’t your phone. The arm removed itself from your body and the sound stopped shortly after.

You turned to look at him, “hi,” your voice is small and unsure. You hadn’t done anything like this before so you didn’t know the protocol.

“Hey... I uh... Got to get to work,” he said removing the covers and going to get changed, “I’ll take you to get your car,”

“Thank you,” you smiled as you grab your outfit off the floor and quickly threw it on. You got your phone out your bag and checked the time, “shit,”

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked turning around as he continued buttoning up his shirt.

“Nothing, just my brother might have left for work already and he hasn’t given me a spare key,” you groaned inwardly. You couldn’t show up at the hospital looking like this.

As soon as you both were ready, as promised, Henry took you back to Molly’s to get your car. Much to your disappointment, plans were not made to see each other again.

You got in your car and drove as fast as you could without breaking the law but when you got there it was indeed too late. Jay had already gone to work. You got back in your car and headed to his workplace. What a first impression you were going to make. You haven’t met any of Jay’s colleagues and dressed in last night’s outfit and possibly smelling like sex.

You took a deep breath as you walked through the doors and up the steps to find a huge desk in front of you. You watched as the woman gave a sarcastic reply to a couple of patrol officers and you tried to stifle a laugh but failed. Her eyes flashed over to you, “Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that would probably send the uniforms running but you just give her your sweetest smile.

“I’m looking for my brother, Jay Halstead,”

“Oh, so you’re the mini-Halstead,” she said with the same tone, “Lets hope you aren’t like the other two,”

“Well, I’m a female,” you shrugged “Thats a difference,”

She pointed to another set of stairs leading up to a gate, “He’s up there,” she said resting her hand on the button waiting to buzz you in.

As soon as you hear it buzz, you open the gate and head up the rest of the steps. Jay spotted you before you got to the top.

“Look who decided to show up,” he called out. Everyone in the room turned to look at you and you kinda felt a little exposed. They probably thought you were a prostitute or something.

“Jay, I don’t have time for this,” you said walking over to his desk, your palm held out ready to receive the keys, “I’ve got to go to work,”

He fished the keys from his pocket and tossed them up in the air, a smug grin on his face, “Come home at a reasonable time then,”

“Or you could have gotten me a key cut, asshole,” you said rolling your eyes as you put the keys in your bag. When you looked back at your brother, he was looking at you funny, “What?”

“Where did you get that jacket?” he asked pointing to the leather jacket Henry gave you. You had forgotten you were wearing it.

You shrugged, “Just a friend,” you replied nonchalantly. Jay went to say something else when a voice spoke from behind you. A familiar one. You turned and sure enough, there he was, “Henry?”

It didn’t take a detective to connect the dots. You had slept with your brother’s boss. You hadn’t meant to. You had no idea who he was. But the thing is... You want to do it again. You want to fuck him again.

[A/N 2.0] Part 2 called Take My Stress Away

[brucewaynehater101]

Hurt/comfort AU based on a dream I had:

Tim has been Robin for a short time now.

Bruce finds Tim's fanfiction account.

At this point in time, Bruce has warmed up a little bit to Tim, but they still have a more professional relationship. Tim thinks he has to earn his spot still.

Bruce finds Tim's fanfiction account that has fics from before and after Tim becomes Robin.

The before ones are self-insert Bats ones. Plots like a nine, ten, and eleven year old being saved, being the witness to a crime, or solving the case before them. They all end with the self-insert joining the team.

The ones after Tim becomes Robin are filled with Batman being fatherly and kind to the self-insert (who's an additional vigilante) or to Robin. He'll ruffle their hair, hug them, and tell them that he's proud of them. All of this is stuff Bruce currently doesn't do for Tim.

There's only a few fics where Batman is written in embarrassed situations (and Bruce crossed referenced the upload dates. Some of the dates were after Bruce did something mean or fucked up. The others, Bruce has no idea why Tim might have been upset).

When Bruce first reads the fics, he's mad. He, incorrectly, assumes that Tim has always been trying to become part of the team and took the first opportunity available. He's cold to Tim for a few weeks because of this (because Bruce is an emotionally constipated asshole who doesn't communicate).

Then Bruce starts to notice that the relationships Tim describes in his fics don't match up with how their relationship currently is. The teen doesn't eagerly ramble about his activities, ask Bruce to hang out with him, or otherwise engage unless it's mission related.

In fact, Tim's fanfics seem to portray what doesn't happen in their interactions. With Bruce being cold to Tim, the self-insert gets more hugs, words of affection, and praise.

Bruce learns more about Tim's hobbies, likes, dislikes, and passions from the fanfics than he ever knew. Bruce has the startling realization that they just don't talk.

There's a few fics Bruce has been avoiding (the ones with Robin II tags), but he read the ones with Nightwing. Tons of brotherly bonding and affection, basically.

Bruce finally makes up his mind when Tim releases a new fanfic a few days after an interaction with Poison Ivy. In the fic, Robin had gotten dosed with cuddle pollen and was cuddled all night with Batman and Nightwing.

Bruce is in a panic because he realizes that Tim could've gone back to his own house afflicted with cuddle pollen, and Bruce would have never known. He doesn't even know if Tim was making this fanfic as a desire due to him actually being dosed or if it just came to his mind. This freaks Bruce the fuck out.

Thus, Bruce then uses the fanfics as guides for how he should be acting with Tim and Dick. He puts the effort to be a better mentor and parent to them.

It freaks the other two out at first (and Tim is the most resistant to the change), but they slowly become closer.

Bruce never tells anyone that he found Tim's fanfic account.

Part 2: After Red Hood comes back and does the whole Titan's Tower Attack.

Bruce, after realizing that Tim's fanfiction account now had Red Hood fics (both ones making fun of the man and ones where the crime lord is being kind/brotherly), tells Jason mid-fight that he should check out this random fanfic account Bruce thinks he'd enjoy.

Jason, obviously fucking confused why Batman is recommending fanfiction in the middle of a fight, just stops.

Bruce nods at this, tells Jason he cares about him (Bruce has been working on it!), and then just leaves.

Cue Jason researching this account (that he doesn't initially know is Tim's) and going through a series of conflicted emotions.

[foli-vora]

masterlist | foli jolly xmas list

A/N: gif by moi. Yeah I recycled the same from part 2 idc. Are you telling me it's been two fucking years since I wrote this? Get out. The flow of time is fake. Everything was against me this week trying to get this fucking thing out but I finally got there! Merry late Christmas, angels! Thank you all for being so fucking wonderful and supportive and patient with me while I worked out a really messy year and I wish you all nothing but the very best! Enjoy x

Word count: just shy of 7k

Warnings: cheesy hallmark romance, I want to be kissed by a cowboy under the mistletoe. Swearing, this hot af man, a solid semi-public make out sesh with said hot af man, SOFTNESS! so much fucking softness I want to throw up, smut with all the feels 18+ ONLY: soft and sweet and so fucking tender I'm so into it, fingering, oral (f rec), this man practically makes out with pussy and I won't hear otherwise, bit of hair pulling, mention of the implanon, unprotected p in v and a christmas creampie yay

PART ONE | PART TWO

It’s quite the occasion, he finds. This Christmas Eve ball-party thing. The whole town and more is there, crammed into the town hall decorated heavily with tinsel and lights and spilling out onto the snowy grounds around in the form of various food and Christmas stalls. There are craft tables full of parents with their kids, a little choir singing carols, and people having a snowman contest in the taped off carpark.

There’s an older man dressed as Santa sitting on a big seat for family photos, joyfully laughing and ho-ho-hoing as kids wander by in awe. Jack watches on comfortably, not yet interested in pursuing any of the stalls or food until he knows if you and the kids have eaten.

Despite his general dislike of the holiday, it’s hard to not feel… well, merry, and it has a content smile tugging at his lips. If Tequila could see him now, he’d never let him live it down. He’d get matching Christmas ties or some other ridiculous shit. Maybe there’s somewhere he could buy one for the agent here, he’s sure you’d find that funny.

“That’s not the real Santa,” Gabe says suddenly, appearing beside him.

Jack startles from being broken from his mental reverie, briefly wondering if a couple of weeks worth of leave had gone and ruined his well tuned Statesman senses. Champ would only have himself to blame. He turns expectantly, heart hammering wildly from the hope you’d be only a few paces behind your boy, but when he looks he finds you nowhere to be seen.

Gabe continues, oblivious to the way Jack shifts and deflates next to him.

“The real one’s too busy, so he gets George to step in. He does it every year.”

“Is that right? Suppose he would be a busy man.”

“Are you kidding? One night to get around the whole world? Dude’s insane.”

Jack grins, looking down at the boy and noting his styled hair. “You’re lookin’ sharp tonight, kid. You brush your hair?”

“Mum made me,” Gabe grumbles, ruffling his neatened curls with a thick gloved hand. “She’s in the hall with Lou, if you were wondering.”

“And why would I be wonderin’ that?”

The boy gives him a look, something bordering the line of smug and Jack rolls his eyes, giving him a gentle shove. Jesus, even the damn kid knows.

“Cut it out.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. Now go on, lead the way. And stop lookin’ at me like that, or I’ll tell the big guy you need to go on the naughty list this year.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. Believe me. You think he doesn’t know about you hustlin’ me out of my hard earned money? You’re messin’ with fire, kid. You’re probably already on it.”

—

“Should’ve gotten more lights. I told him, you know.” Edith tuts to herself, frowning up at the hall ceiling.

You briefly pause from fussing over the cake competition table and glance up at the warm fairy lights dangled and intertwined between tinsel and garlands. She’s worrying over nothing, as always. Every year it’s a winter wonderland—inside and out, and this year is certainly no different. Has Jack seen it all yet? What does he think of it?

“Edith, any more lights and people would need sunglasses in here. Everything looks wonderful, as always. Now please relax and have some rum with your eggnog before your heart gives out. You don’t need to worry about anything tonight, leave it to the committee.”

“The only thing I’ll worry about is you not getting on top of that cowboy.”

You and me both, Edith.

You snort, directing your attention back to the cake stands and ensuring every label was front and centre. “On second thought, maybe stay away from the rum.”

“Speaking of the cowboy, here he comes. Fix your dress.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

It’s too late to worry, that southern drawl melts into your ears as he jokes about something with Gabe within the next few seconds and suddenly your insides are twisting and turning upside down. You play around with the table some more, gathering up a bit of courage before turning and smiling at Jack.

“Hi,” you breathe softly, cheeks already warming as his eyes meet yours.

Does this man ever not look like pure sin?

“Hey sugar,” he greets with a grin of his own. “You look incredible.”

“Oh, this old thing?” You tease, running a hand over the brand new dress you had painstakingly agonised over in an attempt to impress a stranger only in town for a few weeks. You’d spent an admittedly ridiculous amount of time in the local boutique trying and retrying dresses trying to find the right one. God, he doesn’t need to know that. “Not looking too bad yourself, cowboy.”

“Save a dance for me, won’t you, Jack?” Edith rasps sweetly, acting the innocent and delicate elderly lady and tapping his arm softly.

“Just try and stop me, ma’am.”

She wanders off into the crowds, more than happy to be stopped along her way to be praised on the decorations. She’s still going on about the damn lights.

“So what’s all this?” Jack asks in interest, body brushing yours as he steps up beside you to eye the table.

“It’s the yearly Christmas bake off, which I unfortunately have to judge as the town's resident baker.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I don’t like judging people's creations. They’re all wonderful and everyone always puts so much effort into it… makes me feel like a villain when I have to pick winners.”

Gabe steps up on your other side and eyes this year's entries. “Mum made a kid cry last year.”

Jack laughs in surprise. “What?”

“I didn’t know it was made by a child, okay?” You stress, rubbing along your brow line as last year's nightmare plays in your mind. After pinning the ribbons in place, a ten year old girl had promptly fallen into tears after not being given one, and you’d felt guilty about it for fucking weeks after. “If I had known, I would’ve picked them.”

“Well that defeats the purpose of it being a competition then, doesn’t it, sugar? You can’t pick a winner just because they’re a kid. I’m sure they knew that upon enterin’.” His hand runs comforting strokes up and down your middle back, entirely innocent, and yet your skin feels like fire beneath his hot palm.

“I think that one is the ugliest.”

Excellent timing, baby.

You sigh, “Gabriel—”

“Ah sugar, I gotta give it to the kid,” Jack drawls, eyes locked on the cake Gabe’s finger levelled at, “I’m thinkin’ it, too.”

“Well… obviously,” you agree quietly, discreetly looking around just in case its creator is somewhere lurking close by, “but we don’t say that out loud. That’s something we keep in our heads, okay?” Your gaze darts between them until they give a nod in agreement.

It’s quiet for a moment longer, Jack’s hand never once straying from your back or ceasing its gentle strokes as you each silently judge each cake, until Gabe smacks his lips and shrugs.

“They definitely lose.”

“Gabriel.”

A little body squeezes itself between you and Gabe, and your hand automatically falls to rest on Lou’s head. She’s quiet, happily making her way through a gingerbread cookie and swaying to the music being performed by the town's little local band when Jack peers curiously around you, smiling indulgently at the little girl.

“There you are, sweetheart. Was worried you didn’t make it tonight, thought I was gonna have to dance by myself.”

She grins shyly, hiding her face in the long length of your dress and forgetting about the half eaten treat in her hand. You don’t blame her, Jack definitely has that effect on people. 

“Will you dance with me, little lady?”

Lou peeks up at Jack from under her lashes. It takes only a minute until she gives a small nod before pressing the cookie into your hold and reaching out to take his large hand in her much smaller one. He gently spins her as he leads her to the dance floor, and her giggles as her bright red tulle dress flows around her can be heard from over the crowds.

You watch them go with a content smile, before moving your gaze to Gabe.

“Would it be totally lame for you to be seen dancing with your mama?” You ask him softly, brushing a hand over his hair. All the kids from his school are here, and you know he’s starting to reach that age where others' opinions may sway his decisions on things. He still lets you hug him at school drop off and pick up though, so maybe you still have a bit of time.

He gives you a toothy grin, looping his arm through yours and pressing into your side. “I don’t care.”

—

It’s hours later when you finally get him selfishly to yourself, once Lou had promptly fallen asleep on your thick winter coat spread over some chairs in the corner and Gabe had been whisked away to a snowball fight with the other kids. Jack had approached after your yearly duty had been completed with thankfully no one falling into tears, and asked you to dance.

You don’t usually dance. Not properly, anyway. Swinging the kids around and twirling them under your arm while they giggle and jump along is one thing, but this? Tucked up close to someone and trying not to trample on their toes? You haven’t done this in a long time. 

Jack doesn’t seem to mind, and with the feel of him pressed up against you? You don’t care if you seem a little awkward. It gives you both a chance to talk, and without interruptions. You ask more about his work, his life, which he seems to still not want to divulge in as much as you had hoped. He does tell you a little more about himself though, what he enjoys during his limited free time and that he’s starting to realise he doesn’t get away from work as much as he probably should.

“Maybe you should invest in a holiday cabin,” you tease, head tilting in a playful manner as you sway between the other locals crowding the hall. “I’ve heard they’re pretty popular to rent out when you don’t need it.”

“That’s not a bad idea, darlin’. Know any good locations?”

“Nowhere local, I’m afraid. You don’t fit in.”

He makes a low noise of understanding, pushing you softly away only for him to spin you under his arm and drag you right back up against him. You’re fucking giddy at the movement.

“Too handsome?”

“Too much of a grinch.”

“Hey now, that’s not fair. I ate a candy cane.”

“And I heard you singing along to a Christmas song, too.”

“Me? I would never,” he responds gruffly, but when his gaze slides to meet yours he grins. “It’s your fault, sugar. What’re you doin’ to me?”

“Working my Christmas magic.”

Christmas magic? Is that what you’re calling this? He feels like a damn school boy, twirling a pretty girl around at a winter dance. He quite likes it. Working at the office and back to back missions have filled his days sure, but there’s a slight tug of loneliness he hasn’t quite been able to hide with distractions for a long time. It feels damn nice to finally soothe that.

His eyes dance across your face, the hand splayed on your lower back tightening and bringing you in impossibly closer. “You’re workin’ some kind of magic, that's for damn sure.”

Holy shit. Heat immediately flares beneath your skin and spreads across your cheeks, biting sharply at your ears. What a smooth bastard. You fight the urge to shyly curl in on yourself, instead letting your grin widen in amusement as you trail your hand from his shoulder to the base of his neck. 

“Is that right?” You ask softly, fingers gently twisting and carding through the small patch of hair you could reach from under his stetson. He likes that, you discover quickly, catching the way his eyes drop to your lips the second your nails scratch lightly over his skin. Noted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, cowboy.”

His chest heaves with a sigh, his lips never losing that charming upturn. 

Shaking his head at your playful antics, he coaxes you to rest your head on his shoulder with a rumbled, “C’mere,” and it’s impossible not to melt into a fucking puddle right then and there. Thank god he’s got a good hold on you. He thinks you’re working magic? Then what the hell is this?

“You can’t do that. It’s not fair.”

“Do what?” His drawl rumbles into your body from the close proximity and settles thickly in the pit of your stomach. You feel the slightest brush of lips over the shell of your ear and fight the urge to shiver. 

“That. This.”

You’re so incredibly aware of him, of every move and touch. It’s overwhelming, maddening, and you want so much more. He absolutely knows what he’s doing, feels the way you’re practically jelly in his hold. His lips press into the side of your head before his breath ghosts your ear again, and this time you can’t fight the tremble when he speaks lowly.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, sugar.”

Air. You fucking need air.

Jack must feel the same, or at least know what you need, because as soon as you pull away to meet his eyes, he’s giving you one of those heart achingly handsome smiles and gently leading you through the people towards the doors. The night air nips at your uncovered skin, cooling the heated feel of it and thankfully bringing some clarity to your mind. 

Any more of that low honey drawl in your ear and mouth watering aftershave sinking into your nostrils and you would’ve absolutely made a fool out of yourself in front of your friends and neighbours. The last thing you need is to be the topic of town gossip for mounting a tourist right in the middle of the bloody dancefloor.

The few steps are thankfully clear of people when you tread just outside of the hall doors, with the late hour bringing most of the remaining people inside as the temperature drops. The food trucks and stalls had been mostly dismantled and packed away, those remaining still working away before the snow comes in and otherwise ignoring you and Jack lingering on the steps.

You feel the slight tingle of nerves all of a sudden, which is ridiculous considering the amount of time you’ve spent with him recently. Maybe it’s because this is your first time properly alone, without the kids running around and without having to say goodbye. You have time to just be, to enjoy his company and not have to worry about interruptions.

“Forgive me for sayin’ so, sugar,” Jack murmurs, halting your train of thought and bringing your attention fully to him, “but I can’t help but notice—that looks an awful lot like mistletoe up there.”

You fight the immediate tug pulling at the edges of your lips and glance up to where he points, spying the familiar cream bulbs amongst a sprig of fresh green leaves wrapped neatly in a small red bow.

“I believe you’re right, cowboy.”

“Now hear me out… I know I ain’t big on this whole festive season thing, but I figure it’d be mighty rude of me to break a well loved tradition.”

“I agree,” you breathe in reply, eyes falling to where his lips morph into an indulgent smile before snapping back up to meet his warm brown eyes. They’re soft, radiating with such a sweet tenderness that you feel it deep in your chest.

A warm hand cups the side of your throat softly, his thumb brushing your jaw delicately and it’s ever so easy to lean into the touch and relish in the comfort it provides. Your breath seems to hold as he moves in, stepping closer until you feel the brush of his jacket against your torso through the thin material of your dress. He holds for a moment, seemingly content to let his gaze roll along your features before he gives another little smile.

“Would you mind, darlin’?”

Returning his smile is automatic—it simply can’t be helped.

“Not at all, Jack.”

The tickle of his moustache and tender press of his soft lips is nothing short of perfection. You don’t feel the bite of the cold, you don’t hear the music and the laughter and the constant roll of chatter from the hall. It’s just him. Just Jack. It’s all Jack. 

He pulls away far too soon, and you merely make a low noise of denial before curling your fingers into his shirt and pulling him gently back for more. He indulges you with a throaty chuckle, lips returning to yours with a little more pressure, a little more wanting. This time his tongue ever so slightly comes to trace your lips, and they part immediately, the kiss deepening until you feel the effects of it right down to your toes. 

If you thought you were in trouble before, you don’t stand a chance now. The faint traces of peppermint still linger on his tongue and you chase the taste eagerly, stomach in knots when an arm curls around your body to bring you flush against his. Though you’re lost in the feel and taste of him, Jack remains aware of the goings on around you both and inwardly curses the sound of people nearing the door inside of the hall.

Words are mumbled against your lips. 

“Darlin’, is there somewhere we can go a little more private?”

He’s not quite finished with you yet, and he’ll be damned if anyone’s cutting this short. Your boy included. He’s a great kid and all, but not the best with his damn timing. You don’t even realise your hands have wandered, finding a home on his hips and fisting desperately at his shirt.

Private? There’s nowhere private in this town, especially here. The hall is practically the centre of it. There’s out the back, you suppose, where the dumpsters are. It’ll have to do, because you need more of those lips preferably as soon as fucking possible. 

You snatch his hand and start leading the way, the icy air nipping at your arms. 

“Is there nowhere inside? You’ll catch your death out here,” Jack speaks behind you with a tinge of concern as you lead him down the steps and around the building. 

“Guess you’ll have to keep me warm, then.”

“I got no problems with that, sugar, believe me, but still—”

There’s rustling, his hand pulling softly out of yours and then the cover of something heavy and warm, smelling distinctly of that intoxicating cologne that has your mouth watering, over your shoulders. You shift in his jacket, smiling at the typical chivalry that seems to come so naturally from him.

Jack eyes your surroundings when you eventually get around the building, not exactly pleased by the thought of not being able to give you the romantic environment you deserve, but he can’t see or hear anyone in close range and that’s damn good enough for him. He sweeps you into his arms, grinning at your little sharp cry of surprise and crowds you into the wall, his jacket saving your thinly covered shoulders from rubbing against the rough brick facade.

Settling back against the building with a smile of your own, you blink sweetly up at him and tilt your head in playful curiosity. “Is there something I can help you with, cowboy?”

“Yes, darlin’, as a matter of fact there is.”

His hot breath sweeps over your lips and they part in anticipation, your heart beating heavily in your chest as his nose brushes along your own. He drags it out, teasingly pulling away at the last second when you get only centimetres away from his lips and grinning when you make a low noise of impatience.

“Did you need somethin’, sugar?” He drawls deeply, warm brown eyes hooded as they flick between your eyes and lips.

“Oh, shut up,” you groan softly, tangling your fingers into the front of his shirt and tugging him forward. His mouth slants messily over yours, a sudden tangle of tongue and teeth, and you can’t help but moan softly at the overwhelming intensity of it.

A sound that has the power to be his entire fucking undoing, he finds as it ricochets through his ears and right to the very core of him.

Gone is the tender moment of before, cuddled under mistletoe and filled with the warmth of something sweet and unknown. He presses into you fully, firmly, his body pinning you to the wall and giving you the chance of feeling dip and curve of him. His hands grab at your waist, fingers digging roughly into your skin and you curl into him even further, your own hands finding and clutching at his broad shoulders.

You’re left panting against the side of the building when you eventually part, the sound of shouts and laughter off in the distance cutting through the dizzying haze that had fallen over your mind. Jack’s no better, clearly struggling to regulate his own breathing as he braces himself against the wall with his palms, effectively caging you in.

One shared glance and you both dissolve into quiet laughter, either the kiss or the cold bringing a charming pink tinge to Jack’s cheeks, which you trace softly with icy fingers.

“I think the snow’s about to come in, I should get the kids home. Are you still okay to give us a ride?”

“Of course, but I’ll uh… I’ll catch up with you, sugar. I’m gonna need a minute.”

—

Despite the obvious exhaustion hanging in the kid’s limbs, he does a damn good job of fighting the call of sleep long enough to set up for the big visit. Cookies that absolutely had to be presented on a christmas tree dish, a glass of cold milk and nine individual carrots. When Jack asks if using the whole bag was necessary, Gabe levels him with an unimpressed glare.

“One carrot isn’t enough for nine reindeer.”

“That’s a fair point.”

“Will you still be here in the morning?”

Jack casts a glance towards the kitchen, where he can hear you washing the cups that were used for hot chocolate upon getting home. “Uh, probably not, kid.”

Gabe deflates with a quiet oh, his face falling into a little frown. He shifts on his feet, gaze moving from the twinkling Christmas tree to Jack before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around the man. Jack holds still, not exactly sure how to take the sudden sweet affection from the boy whose love language was calling him lame and taking his money.

“Well, Merry Christmas, Jack,” the boy mumbles into his chest, and Jack swallows the sudden feel of something building in the back of his throat as he returns the embrace. 

“Merry Christmas, kid,” he rasps quietly, hand stroking through the hat flattened curls on the back of his head. 

“Alright mister, time to hit the hay.”

Gabe releases his hold as you reenter the room and nods, giving Jack one last smile before making his way to the stairs. You follow behind him, stopping him on the third step and spinning him softly to face you.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes mum,” he sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and back.

Grinning, you fix his baggy pyjama top and plant a kiss on his cheek. “And what about your Christmas wish?”

“I don’t need to make it anymore,” he shrugs, and you recoil in surprise. “My wish has been the same for ages, and I think it’s coming true now.”

“Oh?” You frown in curiosity, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. He’s never told you what he wishes for, so the fact he thinks it’s suddenly coming true has you wondering what it could be. “Can I ask what it is?”

“Nope,” he grins, casting one final glance towards Jack before giving you a cuddle and starting back up the stairs. “Night mum.”

You watch him go with a look of interest, listening to the creak of his bedroom door as he closes it behind him. Did he somehow know he was getting a new iPad? Did he find it stashed away before you could wrap it? Damn, you thought you hid it so well. 

“He’s a real good kid,” Jack says from where he lounges against the doorframe of the living room. “They both are.”

“I know,” you smile.

The conversation echoes the one you had when he first came over, and the memory isn’t lost on Jack either as he grins in return. 

“I had a good time tonight, sugar. I suppose this festive season stuff isn’t too bad, after all. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

His grin widens briefly as he looks back to the tree, uncertainty beginning to stir in the pit of his stomach. It’s probably getting to that time of the night where he should leave you to it, no doubt you’d have a few things to organise before going to bed yourself, but he doesn’t want to just yet. Can’t seem to find the strength to grab his stetson and jacket and say goodbye.

He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s expecting anything to happen. The night could end with that kiss shared against the hall and he’d leave a damn happy man, but curiosity has him waiting, wondering what move you’d make next, if any. You don’t say anything for a few moments, comfortable with the silence you share as you each watch the other.

Louisa’s long gone and lost to dreams, the girl barely able to keep her eyes open for more than thirty seconds when Jack pried her from the car to bring her inside. Gabe’s ability to fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow should be scientifically studied, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him either.

You quietly start making your way up the stairs, pausing just half way up and glancing back at Jack over your shoulder. He’s watching, waiting. The shy little sultry smile you send him is all the invitation he needs.

Knowing he’s right there and following your footsteps has your heart going wild with every step you take closer to your bedroom. A hand presses to the small of your back when you eventually reach your door and push it open, Jack moving damn near silent as the grave as he steps in behind you and closes the door.

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” you admit, nerves finally getting the better of you when his eyes land on you.

“Don’t you worry about that, sugar,” he replies, stepping forward to cup your jaw and you turn into his hand, seeking the reassuring touch. “Now you’re sure about this?”

A silly question.

“More than anything.”

His mouth is on yours as soon as he hears your words, and your head swims from the sweet press of his lips. It’s soft, a moment to put your nerves at ease and work you gently into it, something you’re thankful for as the tension slowly leaks from your shoulders. You follow his lead, letting him kiss you into an absolute frenzy until you feel brave enough to move your hands to unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders.

It’s when you trail your hands softly over his ribs and stomach does he kiss you deeper and let his own hands wander, palms smoothing over your sides and back before finding the zipper of your dress. You hold your breath as he tugs at it, shivering at the warm fingers that run along your bare skin when it’s finally open.

You slip your arms out of the short sleeves and let the fabric puddle at your feet, your bra quickly following, and your body warms under the way he unashamedly rakes his eyes over you in the muted light of your bedroom. 

“Lay down for me, darlin’. Let me take care of you.”

He watches as you sink into your mattress and wiggle yourself up the bed until your head rests comfortably on your pillows, that charming grin you love oh so much tugging at his lips when you give him another shy smile. 

“You’re beautiful.”

He’s one to talk, standing at the foot of your bed shirtless and looking like that.

“And you’re too far away.”

Your thighs part as he climbs onto the bed after you, crawling between your spread legs and over your body, chasing the taste of your mouth before directing his attention to your jaw, and then your throat. His teeth nip at your skin, his tongue soothes the brief tinge of pain away, and you don’t know whether you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away with the more he works your body into an absolute fever.

Fingers trace the waistband of your underwear and your heart starts to beat that much harder in your chest you think he must be able to feel it under his lips. You start to squirm beneath him when his fingers slip beneath the fabric and run softly over your core, brushing over the slick build of arousal and tracing your clit.

“Fuck—”

“Easy,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin, and you swear you hear a smile in his tone.

A thick finger slides into you, probing and curling against your hot walls before a second joins, and the stretch burns in the best of ways. He works you open slowly, more than content to go at his own leisurely pace and indulge in every twitch of slick muscle and quiet moan he can pull from your lips as he kisses his way along your body.

By the time his mouth reaches your stomach, you’re an absolute mess.

He pulls his fingers from your pussy to rid you of your underwear and you whine at the sudden loss of them filling you, but anticipation builds deep in the pit of your stomach as he settles comfortably between your spread legs, arms hooking under your thighs until they rest over his shoulders.

“Are you trying to kill me, cowboy?” You breathe weakly, biting at your lower lip when you feel his warm breath blow over your pussy.

He chuckles softly, “Sorry, sugar.”

The feel of his tongue making a path between your entrance and clit feels like anything but an apology. Your hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling tightly in it as he applies pressure to your clit, lips sucking at it softly and tongue rubbing slow, firm circles until you could almost go mad from the steady lull of it.

He likes to take his time.

There’s no rush with Jack, no quick foreplay so he can turn around and ask for his turn and get right to what he wants. He seems to enjoy working you up as much as you enjoy being victim to it. He waits until you’re breathless to change course, to alternate between building up your climax with firm laps of tongue and then letting it die down to taste you deeper, open mouth flush to your pussy as his tongue tastes you right from the source, and then right back up to start all over again. 

Again and again.

“Jack, please—”

You feel a touch of teeth against your clit as he grins and you think then and there that he really is out to kill you. Slowly, and very fucking nicely.

“You can handle a little more, sugar.”

“No, no I really can’t. Please, please do something—”

He groans softly against you, and the vibrations against your clit have your fingers tightening in his hair. He does like that. You tug at it some more, breathing another few pleas for good measure and finally—finally—you get what you want. He breaks free of his routine, tongue merciless as it strokes and rubs into your clit.

There’s no room to wiggle or squirm free of his hold. His arms lock around your thighs, giving you no room for reprieve as he chases your climax and you can only endure, barely remembering to keep your noises to a minimum as he drags you up and over the edge and then some.

You’re trembling in his hold when he finally breaks free of you, sweat slicking your brow and clit throbbing from the overstimulation. That damn smile is back on his face when he eventually crawls back over you, placing a wet messy kiss to the corner of your lips when you can only manage a half hearted glare his way.

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s the second time you’ve told me to shut up tonight.”

“Yeah, well… you deserve it.”

He chuckles quietly, resting his body weight against yours and you whine at the rough press of denim to your sensitive flesh. Your eyes flutter closed when his lips close over yours, his moustache wet and slick with your arousal. It’s hard to feel self conscious about any of it when he’s kissing you like this—tenderly, hungrily.

“Jeans,” you murmur into his mouth, hands tugging impatiently at his belt until he kneels and undoes the thick leather band and begins to slip out of his pants.

He’s back over you within minutes and you relish the feel of hot skin against yours, the heavy feel of his hard cock resting against your core. Your pussy clenches as he gives a small thrust against you.

“Do you have anything?”

“I don’t exactly get a lot of action, cowboy. Do you?”

“I wasn’t really expecting to sleep with the town's prettiest baker, sugar.” He grins, eyes warm as they dance across your face. He kisses you again, soft and reassuring. “It’s alright, we don’t have to—”

“No. No, no—please. I’m clean, and I’ve got the rod. Are you—do you—”

“Clean,” he rasps, and with your final nod of encouragement his hips shift until he’s lining himself up and sliding into you. He’s thick, the stretch of him almost too much even with his earlier attentions to get you ready. He stops halfway before pulling back out, only to sink deeper in on the next thrust.

He keeps the pace slow and steady, letting you adjust to the feel of him while kissing you senseless. Your hands are unable to stay in one place too long, going from curling around his neck to keep his mouth on yours, to his shoulders, to his back and hips. You start to rock up to meet his thrusts, coaxing him deeper and harder until he drives into you hard enough to rock the bed and knock the headboard against the wall.

You both freeze at the sudden sound, and he breaks away from your mouth to eye the headboard with a frown. This won’t work, not with the way he wants to have you, the way you obviously want him to have you. And how could he disappoint you? No, this won’t do.

“It’s okay,” you breathe softly with a smile, “we’ll just have to be careful.”

“‘scuse me, sugar,” he mutters after a moment of thought, tugging a pillow free from under your shoulder and leaning up over you to shove it harshly between the headboard and the wall. He gives an experimental heavy thrust of his hips once he deems it in position and your hands scramble for purchase, coming to tightly clutch at his waist.

When the headboard doesn’t knock against the wall again, he gives you a sly look of victory and grins.

“There we go. Now where was I?”

“Doing that again.”

“Of course, how could I forget?” He teases playfully, curling back over you to swallow your broken moans as he resumes the pace he had been working into before.

You clench, tighten and flutter around him as he fucks into you, mouth still so sweet and soft against your own it’s hard to keep up with the contrast of it all.

He kisses you until he physically can’t anymore, breaking away to hide his face into your throat as the slick feel of your pussy builds that tightening growing in the pit of his stomach. He pulls you closer, tangles his fingers with your own, finds every possible way to be even closer still. He wants to drown in you, feel and taste you and be surrounded by nothing but you.

It’s your final barely coherent utter of his name that sends him hurtling off the edge, a long drawn out fuck muffled into the skin of your throat as he feels himself fill you. He doesn’t move from covering you until he’s long gone soft, barely able to bring himself to pull out of you and collapse softly beside you.

His heart hammers in his chest, something else swimming beside the post-climax bliss and he’s not quite sure what to make of it, what to think. This is more than a simple fleeting attraction.

He likes you.

He really fucking likes you. Great sex out of the equation, he likes your company. He likes that you can laugh at and with him. He likes your home and how comfortable he is in it. He likes your kids.

Shit.

Now what?

“You doing okay over there, cowboy?” You ask gently, head rolling to the side to watch him. He’s thinking long and hard about something, and you hope to god it wasn’t something like regret.

“I don’t think I can leave this behind, sugar,” he mutters, eyes locked on the ceiling as he works his way through his thoughts and swallows the brief shake of nerves. “I thought I’d be runnin’ out of town by the time my vacation was up, but this… you and the kids, I don’t think I can leave it so easily.”

He leaves his confession to sink in for a moment, tongue sweeping along his lips as his heart starts to roar in his ears. He can’t look at you, doesn’t want to see the potential rejection build in your eyes before it passes through your lips, so he keeps his eyes away.

“I know I said I don’t have the option of datin’ because of my work, but… would you let me try?”

It’s a long shot. You’ve never had this conversation, never broached potentially taking this further than just a little fleeting moment in your lives. There’s a chance he’s just gone and ruined whatever casual thing you’d both crafted, but it was worth a shot, right?

Maybe he should’ve just kept this to himself and thought more on it back at the cabin.

“Long distance is hard, but we can take it slow,” you decide quietly, smiling softly when his eyes dart to you. “I don’t think I can just let you run out of town and never see you again, cowboy.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Thank Christ. He heaves a sigh of relief and rolls onto his side, coaxing you into his arms and brushing a few fingers gently across your cheek. You turn into the heat of his body, winding an arm around him and letting your fingers dance random patterns up and down his back.

“Would you like to stay for Christmas?” You ask against his chest, nuzzling into his hot skin.

“It’s a special time for the kids, I don’t wanna intrude—”

“You wouldn’t be. You’re invited. They’d love to have you here, if you want to be. Do you think you’ll be able to survive a proper Christmas with us?”

He grins, “I’d love nothin’ more, sugar.”

“So it’s settled. Come on, you grinch. I’ll show you how to play Santa.”

He watches you roll from the bed and tuck yourself into your dressing gown, and you only notice his frown when you’re tying the thin belt and sliding your slippers on.

“What's wrong?”

“The fact that you’re up and walkin’ so damn easily. I’ll take care of that, once we’ve taken care of this.”

—

The chair next to him is empty when he sits down, and Tequila throws a curious glance Champ’s way. He’d half expected Whiskey to be clawing his way back into the building first thing this morning. His desk had been untouched, the corridors empty of his presence. No one had seen or heard anything about him.

Worry begins to stir in his chest, wondering if they’ve maybe pushed him too hard and he’s gone and quit for another agency, but it quickly dissolves away when he realises Champ’s at ease and unbothered. Losing Jack would hit the older man quite hard, so to see him reclined in his office chair with a cigar in hand is a sign everything is well. 

“Agent Whiskey’s extended his vacation,” Champ states, breaking the silence and answering the questions building on the young agent's tongue. “He’ll be back after New Years.” 

Tequila settles back into his chair and grins. So good ol’ Scrooge ended up having a decent Christmas after all. Good for him.

“Finally enjoyin’ some peace and quiet, then.”

“He’s enjoyin’ somethin’, alright. He’s asked for the weekend of Valentine’s Day off, too.”

—end.

[regency-monster-love]

Hello! I'm submitting a request for Monster March.

18. Sphinx

I'm not sure if you wanted prompts, so feel free to ignore, but I was thinking of a heroine on a knowledge quest. She must best the Sphinx to either gain access to a library he's guarding or maybe he'll answer any one question. I'm sure you're getting tons of requests so I understand if you don't get to this one. Thank you!

Thank you for this ask! I adapted your idea to make it Regency, but there is still a woman on a knowledge quest of sorts and still a sphinx with a library. I hope you enjoy!

Monster March, day 18: sphinx

Male sphinx x female human | Regency era | enemies to …? | SFW

“Are you sure there isn't another book I can fetch you?” came the deep purr from over her shoulder.

The woman glared down at her book, refusing to give the sphinx the satisfaction of looking at him. “No, thank you. I have precisely what I need right here.” Her words carried a sharp edge that did little to hide her annoyance.

“Do you, though?” he mused, and she grit her teeth. “Are you sure you have precisely the right texts for your little research project?”

That got her to whip her head around to him, curse him. “What is it?” she snapped in a half-whisper. “Just tell me what I stupidly missed because you're so much more intelligent and educated than I, so I can get on with my work without your incessant interruptions!”

The worst of it was, the arrogant sphinx who ran this library was more intelligent and educated than her. He seemed to know everything. And he made sure everyone he interacted with knew that.

The sphinx waved his tail lazily in the air as if her tone hadn't disturbed him in the least. He was even smiling slightly. Smirking, would be more accurate. It made him even more devastatingly handsome. Brains and looks—it was a good thing he was so colossally unpleasant, so she wouldn't be tempted. Goodness, she despised him.

“Please keep your voice low in my library. You'll disturb the other patrons.”

Her face heated in fury. “Disturb!” she hissed, and saw a tremor run through the feathers of his wings. “You're the one—” She cut herself off with a frustrated but hushed noise and leaned back over the book she'd been making annotations from. She would be steadfast in ignoring him. No matter if he had some other source she needed. She would not ask him what it was.

He was silent behind her for quite some time. What was he doing, just staring at her? What a distasteful male, to be able to annoy someone even when silent and unseen.

Suddenly a book slid onto the desk from beside her. She startled and looked up to find the sphinx pushing it toward her. He must have padded away and back silently on those giant lion paws of his. Even that annoyed the woman.

“You’ll need this,” he said smoothly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, unable to read the expression on his face, and unsure what he was playing at by fetching the book for her.

Then his face shifted into that infuriating smirk he usually wore. “As a devotee of knowledge, it pains me to see anyone doing such a poor job at their research,” he said by way of explanation.

Of course—the book had just been an insult. She frowned deeply at him. “You're fortunate that your collection is unmatched, otherwise I would not hesitate to leave and utilize a different library run by those who are actually civil,” she whispered. But she didn't push the book away; she probably did need it for her research. She certainly would not tell him thank you, however.

“Oh, yes, that would be a grave misfortune indeed, to lose your patronage,” he drawled with a bored expression, though his tail was flicking about. “I'd be devastated,” he sneered.

She growled at him—actually honest to goodness growled—and watched him startle, his eyebrows shooting up and wings jerking for a moment, before quickly composing himself again. The woman gave him a triumphant smile; she had been the one to ruffle him for once.

She waved a hand at him dismissively. “I'll inform you if you're needed again. Off you go, now.”

For once, he didn't make any snide response back, just stared at her, and she looked back at her books, feigning indifference. It looked like she had won this battle, and hopefully that was the last skirmish he'd engage her in today. She despised having to struggle with him constantly. What a hateful male he was.

~ 😈🎩 ~

I gotta be honest, I'm kind of in love with these two and tempted to write more. Wouldn't they have amazing angry sex? I think he might like her degrading him too; I'm not even into degradation, really, but it sounds hot here…

Lending libraries in the Regency period were private establishments you had to pay a subscription to. I’m not sure whether they included academic texts or if research-focused libraries existed outside of universities, however, and didn’t want to research this for such a little ficlet. So let’s just say that in my monstrous version of Regency England, research libraries were open to the public, provided you paid a fee, just like lending libraries.

Thanks to @borealwrites for their Monster March prompt list.

Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing or my master list.

[1hot-mess-express1]

Eepy

WC: 3,084

Based on Eloguentmoon's Romantic Confessions prompt #12 “You are all I can think about.” 

Summary: Satoru can't sleep, and it's all your fault

CW: Slightly suggestive

A/N: I wrote this way too fast, not sure I like it but the brain rot is getting to me (Not proofread). Also would love to have someone to Beta read/edit since I can never bring myself to do that haha, so if anyone is interested message me!

Satoru’s alarm blares through the otherwise quiet morning air, and he can’t be bothered to jump in surprise despite its ear-grating volume. With a groan, he swings his arm over to slap at his phone a few times, somehow effectively turning off the alarm before reaching up to drag his hand across his face and rubbing the grit from his sunken eyes. He sits upright, his head sagging slightly, his feet haphazardly placed on the ground, and he is staring at his wall, trying to gain the motivation to hoist himself from the bed. He doesn’t notice when his eyes droop and his hands fall limp at his side until he’s startled from his partial sleep by obnoxiously loud music wafting in from your shared bathroom down the hall. He curses before standing up and shuffling his way to the bathroom. Standing in the hallway, he looks at you through the mirror as you brush your teeth, getting toothpaste all over your cheeks before glancing up at him and smiling through your toothbrush. 

“So you’re why these counters are always so dirty, huh? Knew it wasn’t me,” Satoru chuckles to himself while you spit the foam into the sink, effectively spraying the entire bowl. 

You turn to face him fully, hands on your hips like some kind of angry cartoon character. “You’re so full of it, Gojo. You get toothpaste all over the mirror. Just the other day, I watched you wipe hair gel on the counter, too.” 

“Did not, whatever, move. It’s my turn. I have an exam today, and I can’t be late.” He emphasizes his point by lightly shoving you with his shoulder before reaching for his toothbrush. With a grumble and a subtle stomp, you push into his side, reaching for the water cup. 

“It's not my fault you slept in, loser.” You make a point of sticking your tongue out at him in the mirror before filling your cup and swishing your mouth out. Satoru reaches over your hand to grab the capless toothpaste before placing some onto his toothbrush and bringing it to his mouth. 

“It's not my fault I was up all night either,” he mumbles through his toothbrush, lazily swiping at his pearly whites while glaring daggers into you through the mirror as you begin to brush out your hair. 

“I fail to see how that’s my fault. You didn’t have to stay up and movie marathon with me…could have gone to bed at any point.” You elbow him slightly while yanking at a particularly gruesome knot in your hair and fail to notice the slight blush that covers his cheeks at your statement. You’re right; he didn’t have to stay up, but when he thinks back to last night, having you curled up to his side, head resting on his shoulder while you make the softest snoring noise, he can’t help but think that he’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Yeah, right, you woulda cried like a baby if I said no. Can’t make it through a jump scare without crying about it,” he giggles to himself before ruffling your hair, effectively undoing your progress, and sliding out of the bathroom before you could yell at him. 

He clicks the door shut and rubs his eyes again. God, he was so lovesick, literally. 

The exhaustion from staying up late with you made him feel awful. His eyes were egregiously sunken in, his skin paler than usual, and his stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t focus while studying, his mind always wandering to you; he wondered what you were up to, what movies you might watch tonight, and if you ended up texting that frat guy back. He thought about how cute you looked in his shirt, washing the dishes while you bitched about it not being his day to do laundry; honestly, he wasn’t paying attention. How could he when you were standing there, engulfed in his shirt, the late sun highlighting your profile perfectly, the back of your plush thighs staring at him, begging to be squeezed? 

After you fell asleep against him during your now nightly movie binges, he found himself tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep while visions of you flashed through his mind repeatedly. Thinking of your hands on his thigh haphazardly as the tiny breaths you puffed out tickled his neck, your chest unknowingly squished into his arm so he could feel the slow rise and fall of your chest—nothing like his own erratic breaths as he tried desperately to keep his attention on whatever movie was playing. When he’d tuck you into your bed after you fell asleep, sometimes he couldn’t help but sit and watch you as you slept so peacefully, unaware of his presence, your hair falling around your face and your arms tucked close to your chin. He knows how creepy that sounds, but he was frankly lovesick, like he said. 

After dragging his palms down his face, he pushes himself from the door with a newfound determination to just get today over with. He throws on a hoodie before glancing at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. He stops for a moment and contemplates doing his hair or even throwing on jeans to try and feel more like himself, but even reaching his arms up to his head makes him feel exhausted, so with a groan, he throws on a beanie and decides not to think about it. 

When he makes his way to the front door, he’s met with you, tipped over in a skirt, trying to pull on your shoes; the back of your skirt is riding up, nearly exposing your panties to him. 

“Gojo?” You must have felt him staring, and he felt his face heat up in response. 

He gulps the shakiness in his voice down before speaking, “Yeah?”

“Do you want to walk to class together today?” you stand up to your full height now, and he can’t help but give you a once over; he looks like a bum next to you, “I have a presentation today, so I figured I should show up a little early.” You offer him a smile as you pull a coat on, trapping your hair underneath it. 

Almost on instinct, he steps towards you and pulls the hair out from your coat, noticing how good you smell when he drops the locks down to your shoulders, “Sure, but I gotta be quick, can’t miss another exam, or I’m fucked, think you can keep up?” He chuckles lightly before swinging his bag over his shoulders and peering down at you. 

“That’s a pretty high demand, considering your legs are so freakishly long, but I’ll try.” you let out a breathy laugh before grabbing your bag and reaching for the door. 

Satoru slips his shoes on and follows you into the crisp morning air. 

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you look like shit.” You say while looking him over once and taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. Really, he didn’t look much different than every other overworked college student, but he didn’t look like Gojo. He always wore something bordering on too nice for school, dress pants or jeans and a button-up shirt of some kind, never sweat pants and a hoodie.

He scoffed, kicking at rocks on the sidewalk, “So you wore something nice once, and now I’m the bum? Jeez, that’s unfair.” 

“Rude, first of all, I look cute in my sweats, I’ll have you know; secondly, it’s just…weird, you hate leaving your hair down and have told me on several occasions that you can’t stand the way it gets in your eyes, but also you just look sick, are you sleeping okay?” You spare him a glance before looking down towards your shoes, your voice growing a little quieter, “You really don’t have to stay up with me, yaknow?”

“No,” he stammers out a bit too fast for his liking, slowing his pace a little to look at you entirely, “I mean, that’s not it, I just…have a lot on my mind yaknow? Term’s almost over so I’ll be able to sleep all I want soon, and I’ll be back to annoying the shit outta you don’t worry” he lets out a hearty laugh at his last statement. You seem to perk up a little at this statement as if you were really worried about him. 

The rest of the day drags on forever. He falls asleep in his last class, not stirring, even when his classmates hurriedly stuff their belongings into their bags. He lies there blissfully unaware of the world around him. That is until he’s jolted back to reality by a delicate hand pushing his hair away from his eyes. Groggy and unsure, he looks up to see you through the stubborn sleep in his eyes. You look upset, brows furrowed, and a hand on your hip while you lean down to be at eye level with him. 

“That’s it, you’re grounded, Mr.” you huff out before pushing his shoulder in an attempt to get him to move from his place on the desk. 

“Who the fuck’r you to ground me?” he mutters out, slowly making his way to stand before offering you an indignant look. 

“At this rate, I’m starting to think I’m your mother,” you state before reaching down to grab his bag, but he swats your hand away, slinging it over his shoulder haphazardly. 

“Don’t need you to baby me, ‘m grown yaknow?” he speaks through a yawn while stretching out his obscenely lanky body, showing off just the tiny bit of midriff, causing you to avert your eyes with a light flush to your cheeks, but this goes unnoticed by Satoru’s hazy mind. 

“At this rate, I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep in traffic,” you grumble out, tagging behind him as he slowly trudges out to the parking lot. He trips over his own feet a bit, his exhaustion weighing on him like a ton of bricks, swaying slightly, blinking repeatedly in an effort to keep himself awake and upright, blue eyes burning from the afternoon sun. Your smaller frame, keeping pace with him, easily draws a look of concern on your features before you throw his arm over your shoulder in an effort to keep him walking straight. He recedes further into his hood in an effort to hide the blush creeping across his face. Your smaller frame does little to keep him upright; he’s certain that if he were to collapse right now, he’d take you both out, but he keeps this thought to himself, not wanting you to let go of him. He pulls you ever so slightly closer to him, nerves alive at the feel of your small hand on his back despite the copious layers between you. 

You walk home the rest of the way in silence, only letting go of him when you breach the front door of your shared apartment, where Satoru drops his bag at the door with a dramatic thud before sulking over to the couch throwing himself across the couch and reaching for the remote, absentmindedly scrolling through Netflix. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snap out before striding over to him, snatching the remote from his hands and moving to the edge of the couch before yanking his shoes off, halfheartedly tossing them in front of the door. 

“Well, I was looking for a movie, grump ass,” Satoru mumbles pulling his feet closer to himself in embarrassment. 

“Nope, I said you’re grounded, go get in your bed,” You really were starting to sound like his mom at this rate. 

He looks up at you, absolutely flabbergasted, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words to tell you just how insane you sound. 

“Gojo, you can’t hardly stand up straight, you look like shit, and pretty soon your grades are gonna start dropping…” You bark out before looking meek, fiddling with a stray thread on the arm of the couch to avoid his gaze before continuing, “I’m worried about you. What’s going on?” you look up at him with probably the most adorable look on your face and he’s not sure why, but he crumbles on the spot, he’ll blame the lack of sleep later if this goes poorly for him.

 Folding his arms under his chin, letting his eyes fall closed he mumbles, “It’s your fault anyways,” silently praying you dont hear him but of course you do. 

“How is this my fault?” you bark out with offense, “You’re the one choosing to stay up, besides I know you stay up after you put me to bed.” 

At this, his eyes shoot up, and his face goes beat red. Have you heard him? Oh god, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole at the thought alone. You knew he put you to bed, too? Obviously, you didn’t think you teleported to your bed, but why didn’t you say anything? His heart was in his throat, and his eyes began to sting. This was definitely the exhaustion. He buries his face deeper into the couch, hoping to avoid whatever this is, but of course, you saunter around the couch and crouch down to his level, pushing his hair back with a tentative hand. 

“Gojo…please, just tell me what’s wrong, I can’t stand to see you like this…” your voice barely above a whisper. He mumbles into the couch, tucking his head impossibly further into the cushions. 

“What?” You lean in impossibly closer, and he feels dizzy. God, why were you like this?

His head shoots up from the couch, allowing you too see just how red his face is, blue eyes determined and brows trained down in anger. 

“You’re all I can fucking think about, and it’s killing me!” He huffs out in a single breath. Your eyes go wide, and you bring your hand closer to your chest, leaning back on your heels and putting distance between you two. 

When you speak, your voice is shaky and barely audible, “I-I’m sorry…” Shit, his jaw goes slack, and he can’t seem to find the words when your eyes glitter, threatening to spill over with tears at his sudden outburst. 

“No, fuck, I-I…It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, I just…” He reaches out tentatively, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing soothing circles into your cheek, searching your eyes for the words that might make this better. He lets out a heavy sigh, looking down again, he thinks to himself fuck it. He looks back up at you, gently urging your head closer to his, “You’re all I can think about. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he lets out a breathy laugh, “I close my eyes to sleep, and all I can see is your cute little pout begging me to share my snacks, or the way you look first thing in the morning, hair a mess and eyes heavy with sleep, when I read I hear you laugh over and over again, that sweet giggle or the roaring laughter that has you rolling on the floor, I think about how you feel pressed into my side, the way I count your heartbeats to keep myself from freaking out cause I’m afraid to wake you. God, I think about how you call me Gojo still despite the fact that we live together cause you’re grossly polite; I just can’t get you out of my head.” His voice trails off at the end as your silence engulfs him in shame, and he can't bear to look you in the eyes anymore. He moves to pull his hand away from you, ready to rot in his room, never escaping his shame again, but instead, you place your much smaller hand over his; your hand is freezing, but his skin feels like it’s on fire. 

“I-I don’t actually fall asleep on movie nights,” you stutter out and he looks at you brows clenched in confusion. “I…I just pretend to sleep so I can get closer to you, a-and that day I stole your shirt? I still had clothes to wear but you left it in my basket and I couldn’t help myself” you mumble out gaze trained on a loose thread in his hoodie. 

He looks at you, blinking in confusion before what you said registers, and a devilish smirk makes its way across his features. 

“You’re a filthy pervert, huh? Sorry, I never would have pegged you for the creepy roommate.” He lets out a hearty laugh as your face goes beat red. 

“Hey, I know about your underwear collection, Satoru, if you play that game.” It's his turn to feel embarrassed as he reaches his uncannily long arms over the edge of the couch, dragging you over the side and settling you to lay on his chest. 

“Say that again sweet girl,” he speaks in a whisper brushing your hair back and staring egregiosuly at your lips. 

“I know about your underwear collection?...Satoru,” You state in a teasing tone, leaning slightly in to his lips. 

He lets out a breathy chuckle before closing the distance and encompassing your lips in a restrained kiss. You let out the smallest whimper, and his grip tightens around your waist as he begins trying to coax your mouth open for him. He presses you against him, relishing in the way you shiver when his warm hand reaches under your shirt, feather-light touches causing you to squeak into his mouth. He wastes no time tracing the edge of your tongue with his slow and deliberate teasing. You reach into his hair, pulling lightly at his hair before pulling your face away from his, looking into his eyes, and pushing the stray hairs back away from his eyes. 

“You’re still grounded; nothing nasty until you sleep, lover boy,” you smile through the words, and Satoru is certain that his heart stopped right then and there. 

“Yeah yeah whatever, going to sleep now,” he says before rolling onto his side, tugging you close to him, burying his nose into your hair, letting his eyes fall closed as his breaths begin to even out, focusing on the way your chest rises and falls against his. For the first time in entirely too long he falls into a deep sleep, clutching tightly to your frame, oh yeah you were in for it when he woke up. 

[rwshfordgirl]

hiii! could u write something about a romantic date/dinner at the beach with xavi, please? love ur writing 💓

𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗨𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗖

all the images were taken from pinterest.

pairing: xavi simons x reader!

a/n: just a xavi simons whose love language is acts of service lol thank you dear, hope you like it!

Cayo Levantado, Dominican Republic 🇩🇴

The wind made your hair sway a lot which made you smile. In normal times, in the hustle and bustle of your hometown, the breeze that ruffled your hair would be enough to make you a little irritable.

But today is different, the cold wind comes from the beach surrounding the luxury resort on Cayo Levantado Island, in the Dominican Republic. The destination chosen by Xavi, which was supposed to be a surprise but he couldn't keep it for long.

He told you weeks after he booked everything.

Simons had gone to the bathroom and when he returned, his hand on your shoulder made you slightly startled as you were caught up in the nighttime landscape of the beach. Far from what was happening inside the restaurant.

Xavi chuckled at your reaction and buried his face in the crook of his neck, "did I scare you?"

You smiled, placing a kiss on the top of his head, which made him close his eyes instantly, "I was distracted, love."

Xavi lifted his head and pulled you so that you laid your head on his chest, his arm around you. The comfort of his arms, the view of Cayo Levantado, everything was incredibly perfect.

"It's cold." You buried your face in his chest, the breeze coming from the sea made your body shiver.

He hugged you tighter against his chest, "Want me to get your jacket from upstairs?"

He watched as you promptly shook your head and chuckled, “I don’t want you to leave,” your voice came out sly.

Xavi smiled at you and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

The waiter arrived with the seafood dishes you ordered. You thanked him at the same time and sat up straight in your chairs, but with your fingers intertwined underneath the table.

"It seems good," he said as he so the dishes in front of the two of you.

You smiled at him, “really, it looks really delicious."

Dinner was really delicious, it couldn't be otherwise. Xavi and I tried each other's dishes, like always.

"Want to go for a walk?"

He asked as you walked towards the exit of the restaurant, your hand wrapped around his arm like you were a koala in a tree.

You nodded readily, after a delicious dinner a walk along the sandy beach wasn't a bad idea, "sounds good."

He guided you there, all the care in the world as you passed through stairs and a kind of narrow alley. Without a sign that he would let go of your hand.

Before stepping onto the sand, you took off your sandals and Xavi motioned for you to hand it to him, "No need."

He shrugged and took the sandals from my hand. You rolled my eyes playfully, knowing that an argument with him over this would be unnecessary.

"I love you, princess. Let me do things for you."

You received a kiss on the forehead and a dramatic look from Xavi as if he was begging for something very necessary to live.

The height difference of a few centimeters made you stand on your tips and gave Xavi a quick peck on his soft lips, "Alright, pretty boy. Just today."

He grimaced at you warning that you would let him do it just now, but he knew that if it were up to him, it would happen every day.

"Pretty boy, I love you."

Xavi's soft lips touched yours again, he smiled into the kiss.

"I love you too, more than you can imagine."

[qualified-trash-panda]

Sleeping Sunshine

gathered up a bunch of 212th troopers for my fic and creating individual quirks, likes/dislikes and personalities for them (with only a name to go off from canon) has been one of the most entertaining and frustrating parts of my fic (aside from, you know, writing it)

so here's a headcanon I made for how each of them sleep.

Crys: incredibly heavy sleeper and snores even harder, often choking himself in his sleep and startling himself awake. leads to many 'deer in headlights' looks Wooley has catalogued and rated.

Trapper: sleeps ramrod straight like they were trained to do on Kamino, no exceptions. often winds up as communal pillow for group snuggle sessions. grumbles, but secretly loves it.

Gearshift: sleeps on his back, usually one arm propped beneath his head for extra support and then complains about having a crooked neck or numb arm come morning. without fail. if Gearshift isn't a grumpy mess in the morning the galaxy is in danger.

Longshot: splays out on his back, usually one arm or a leg hanging down if he’s on top bunk. has been known to fall out on occasion (regularly). his squad keep a tally for every time it happens scratched into his bunk.

Wooley: curled up with the blankets pulled to his chin, hugging his pillow or blanket or whatever he can get his hands on into his face (woke up cuddling Trapper's boot once, not his proudest moment). Longshot found a little tooka plushie on a mission once and gave it to him, he cleaned it up and snuggles with it every night.

Waxer and Boil of course come as a pair and are rarely seen sleeping alone. old married couple vibes. Waxer usually ends up as Boil's blanket for the night. Boil blames Waxer for his terrible sleep schedule but is all surprised pikachu when Waxer tries to sleep alone.

Bonus

Cody: unconfirmed whether the commander does actually sleep, reports suggest otherwise (Wooley and Longshot camped out the commanders quarters once, turns out he wasn't even there the entire night, showed up to morning briefing with two pints of caf and his hair ruffled in the back where he couldn't see it - the conspiracy theories are real and increasingly theatrical)

dividers by @cursed-carmine

[ghosty-zero]

Sonadow one shot number #15: He Lost a Bet

Sonic had been preparing to pay a visit to Tails's workshop to see what he was up to when he received a text message from Rouge. Half the words were spelled wrong, which Sonic quessed was because she had either been in a hurry or was using a new phone she hadn't quite figured out yet. The message read: "Hey Sonic, got a surprise. Come to my place ASAP!"

Sonic smiled. Oooh, a surprise? From Rouge? That could mean anything. He had a feeling it was going to be something good, or at least interesting. She never usually handed things out for free, as she tended to play games with her information, but something in the tone of the text made him want to drop everything and rush right over. He sent her a quick text back saying he was on his way, and took off down the street.

Sonic loved surprises. The waiting part was tricky, but getting the actual surprise? That was always worth the anticipation. He tried to remember if there was some special occasion he forgot, but nothing came to mind.

I guess Rouge must be feeling generous, maybe? Sonic thought to himself as he sped through the vibrant streets of Station Square. In a good mood, maybe? Or... could it be something serious? Oh, what if I'm reading this all wrong and she's in trouble? He pushed the thought aside. If Rouge was actually in trouble, why would she say she had a surprise? That's not her style.

He dashed down the street, sliding to a stop in front of her apartment building. He skipped up the steps and gently tapped on the door. "Oh, Rouge! You better be ready for the fastest hedgehog in the world!"

"One second, he's biting me!" Rouge called back, her voice muffled and panicked.

Sonic froze as he heard growling and grunts of clear protest coming from the other side of the door. Rouge's voice grew more frantic. "Ow! Stop that! You're going to ruin the surprise!"

"Uh...I can come back another time..." Sonic offered awkwardly, his hand hovering over the door knob. He startled when he heard a crashing sound, and was prepared to dart off when the door opened, revealing Rouge with her usual neat and tidy hair in a messy bun, wearing a slightly wrinkled blouse.

She was panting heavily, one of her wings crinkled slightly. "Ah...Sonic...right on...time, as usual," she managed to say between breaths, a hint of a smile playing at her lips despite her flustered state.

"Yeah...what's going on? Did you murder someone in there?" Sonic quipped, trying to peek over her shoulder.

"Oh...I think you're really gonna like what I got for you." Rouge grinned playfully, then dramatically stepped to the side, and Sonic was met with an image of Shadow he never thought he'd see.

Shadow stood before him, looking extremely displeased. He wore a black maid dress with white ruffles and a frilly apron. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, and his teeth were gritted. The room looked like a tornado had swept through it. The furniture was overturned, and there were feathers scattered everywhere. A trail of destroyed pillows led from the couch to where Shadow was standing.

"Ta da!" Rouge announced with a flourish, and Shadow scowled.

Sonic laughed hysterically at the sight of him, falling to his knees.

Shadow groaned. He glanced up at Rouge. "Did you get what you wanted? Can I leave now? Or do you want me to stay and watch you two make out or whatever it is you do together-OW! Did you just kick me!?"

Rouge rolled her eyes. "Shadow here lost a bet and has now become your personal maid, Sonic. His vocabulary shall only consist of the phrase, yes sir. He will wait on you hand and foot until I say otherwise. And, he has to wear that cute little outfit too. Now, as much as I love having you here, I have business to attend to, so you two can play house and I can get some work done. Behave yourselves, okay? Don't break anything, and don't let Shadow break anything either. Ugh, I think he pulled some of my hair out. Believe me, he did not go down without a fight. I think he needs more time to warm up to the idea. I'll come by later to check on you. Ta ta, boys! Have fun! Don't burn the house down while I'm gone!" She winked and closed the door behind her.

Shadow muttered to himself, something along the lines of "I'll kill her...she won't even know what hit her..."

"What was the bet?" Sonic choked between laughter.

Shadow frowned. He spoke through gritted teeth. "She bet me that I couldn't...go an entire day without my coffee beans...damn her...she could me off guard...and then...she...did this to me...curses!"

Sonic smirked. "You really need to stop letting her take advantage of you."

"I need to stop letting her live," Shadow muttered.

Sonic's ears perked up as he noticed the feathers floating down from the ceiling. "Were you trying to fly away or something?"

"I tried every escape route I could think of," Shadow said dryly. "But, now I am stuck with you. You must be so thrilled. What do you want me to do?"

"For real? Is this a joke or something? I can literally tell you to do...anything? Like, anything at all? And you'd actually do it?"

Shadow nodded, wincing. "It appears so."

"Ah, Rouge said you had to say 'yes sir' if I told you to do something. So, say yes sir, and then I want you to say, I am an idiot and I will do everything you say and I cannot disobey you."

"You can't be serious? You could tell me to do something awful, you know."

Sonic waved a hand in dismissal. "Nah, I have more fun ideas, anyway. Man, when she said she had a surprise for me, this is not what I had in mind. But, it's awesome! And kinda hilarious. Okay, so...let's see here..." Sonic pondered for a moment. What should he have Shadow do? He was tempted to ask him to clean the apartment, but that was boring. He glanced over at the kitchen and spotted something that caught his eye.

"I want you to make me some chili dogs. No, wait, make that extra chili dogs!"

Shadow sighed heavily. "Yes sir." He began to march into the kitchen, but Sonic held up a finger.

"Nu-uh, not like that! You gotta do it like you're a maid. Like, in an old-school movie or something! Bow before you speak! Get on your knees!"

"I beg your pardon?! I will do no such-"

Sonic cut him off. "You lost the bet. You must do as I say."

Shadow muttered some choice words under his breath, but dropped to his knees. "Yes, sir," he said in a clipped tone. He glanced at Sonic, who was grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

Sonic wasn't a particularly evil creature, but when a golden opportunity like this one presented itself, he felt compelled to make the most of it. He wasn't sure why, but the sight of Shadow like that...wearing that maid dress, and kneeling down before him? It made him feel things he never thought he would feel towards him. He cleared his throat. "Ahem. I want you to make me some chili dogs...um...like a good maid should."

"Yes, sir," Shadow responded, and slowly got to his feet. He stomped into the kitchen with Sonic close behind. He grabbed the box of chili dog mix and dumped the contents into a large pot. He turned on the stove and set a timer.

Sonic watched him work. Shadow was clearly fuming at the idea of having to cook for him, but he followed through anyway. Sonic found that pretty fascinating. He wondered if he could get Shadow to do even more embarrassing things, like make him cookies and wear a little chef's hat. That would be adorable! But, for now, he was just going to have fun watching him act all grumpy.

"How are you feeling about this bet you lost?"

Shadow gave him the worst glare he could possibly manage. "I hate you."

"What's that? I can't hear you from over there. You have to speak up. Was it something along the lines of 'I will always listen to what you say, sir, because I am your servant'?"

Shadow growled. "I am going to enjoy breaking your kneecaps once this is over."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm shaking in my boots. Just keep cooking! I'm hungry!"

Shadow continued to glare daggers at Sonic as he stirred the chili mixture. After a few minutes, he placed two hotdogs into some buns and began to spread the chili over them. Once he was satisfied with the amount, he shoved the plate at Sonic. "Here. Enjoy your meal, faker."

"Would a real maid call their master faker? I think not. Do it correctly!"

"You really are an ass." Shadow rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath. "Please enjoy your meal, faker, sir," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sonic grinned and took the plate of food from him. He sat down at the kitchen table and started eating. "I think Rouge and I are gonna be best friends after this. Hey, Shadow, would you mind cleaning the apartment while I finish eating? It looks like a tornado ran through here."

"Yes, sir."

Sonic smiled to himself as he watched Shadow begin to clean. He never thought he'd see Shadow dressed up like that, and doing household chores at the same time? That was even better. He'd have to remember to thank Rouge later.

The last time Shadow ever did anything Sonic said was when they were battling Eggman. If anyone was going to make him do something, it was going to be Rouge or the Doctor, and neither of those options sounded fun. This was going to be a good day.

Sonic finished his meal and wandered back into the living room. He turned on the TV and lounged on the couch.

Shadow walked over to him. "All done cleaning...jerk."

"You're a very grumpy maid."

"Oh, you just love this, don't you? You get off on bossing me around, don't you?"

Sonic smirked. "Maybe. It's kinda fun."

Shadow growled. "It's humiliating!"

"Hey, you lost the bet. You should have been more careful. I think you look cute."

Shadow blushed at this. He folded his arms. "Whatever. I'm stuck with you for a whole day..."

"Why would you even make a bet with Rouge? She cheats at everything!"

"She's the only one who understands the importance of coffee. I needed someone to talk to, so we made a bet over it. I didn't think she'd actually win!"

"Ah, well, enjoy your new life as a maid, Shadow."

Shadow sighed and sat down next to Sonic. "Do you have any more...orders?"

Sonic practically felt Shadow's pride breaking with that sentence, and it was a beautiful sight. "Actually, I do have one more thing I want you to do," he said, smirking. 

"I swear, if you make me do anything dirty, I will kill you."

"You really think so little of me." Sonic clicked his tongue.

"Oh, don't act all high and mighty. I can tell by the look on your face that you want to ask me to do something dirty."

Sonic grinned. "Okay, okay, I admit, there is one thing I want you to do..." He leaned in close and whispered in Shadow's ear.

Shadow's eyes widened in shock and he instantly slapped Sonic across the face. "How dare you!"

"Ow! Hey, bad maid! You can't hit me!"

"You're despicable!" Shadow snapped.

Sonic rubbed his cheek. "That really hurt, man."

"I hope that knocks some sense into you."

"Nope, I still want you to."

"I refuse to be a mere toy to-"

"I got Rouge's phone number, you know. One call and...well, I'm not sure what she'd do to you, but it's not gonna be good. So, I suggest you do as I say." Sonic pulled his own phone out and waved it at him.

Shadow narrowed his eyes. "You're blackmailing me?"

"Yep, I guess I am. Sorry about that."

"I hate you so much right now."

"That's such a shame." Sonic grinned, wagging his tail.

Shadow sighed and reluctantly began to lift up the front of his dress as he made his way over. "Just know that my revenge will be swift and merciless." He muttered under his breath.

Sonic smirked. "You can take your time with that revenge. I'll enjoy every second of this." He chuckled as he reached a hand out towards Shadow.

Shadow slapped his hand away as he lowered himself in Sonic's lap. "Lay one hand on me and I will bite it off."

Sonic waggled his finger in Shadow's face. "Ah, ah, what does the maid say?"

Shadow looked about two seconds away from tearing his head off. Sonic smiled, unbothered.

Shadow sighed. "Do what you please...you absolute piece of vermin that I will dispose of later."

"That's the spirit...I think." Sonic lifted his hands and began to slowly pull at the lace strings across the back of Shadow's dress in a teasing manner.

Shadow let out a low growl as Sonic pulled a few strings loose. His heart was beating fast, and he felt like he was going to pass out any second. Why did he ever agree to this?

"Wow, you're actually blushing," Sonic teased. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"I've already imagined several different ways to kill you, half of which will look like a suicide, but I will take my time to enjoy it all. You are dead, hedgehog. As soon as this is over, you will be nothing but a bloody stain on the wall."

Sonic chuckled as he slowly pulled the strings completely free of Shadow's dress. "Oh yeah, I'm terrified."

"You should be."

"You really have the worst attitude when it comes to this stuff."

"Your fragile bones will break like matchsticks under my grip."

Sonic poked at the ruffled apron. "So cute!"

Shadow scowled. "If you keep poking me with your finger, I'll cut it off and shove it down your throat."

Sonic shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat." He reached for the front of the dress and began to pull at the strings there too. "Hmmm...that looks a little tight...don't you think?"

"I think I can drown you and no one will ever find your body."

"I think you insult me to distract yourself from the fact that you are actually enjoying this. What would people say if they knew that the great and terrible Shadow had a weakness for being ordered around like this?"

Shadow growled in response.

Sonic finished untying the strings at the front of Shadow's dress and pulled the material loose, revealing the chest underneath. Shadow's chest fluff popped out, and Sonic couldn't help but giggle. "Ha! So fluffy!"

Shadow growled again, but it lacked its usual anger.

Sonic gently ran his fingers along the soft fur, then trailed them lower, until he reached Shadow's hips. He paused before going any further, looking up at Shadow for permission. "May I continue?"

"Oh, now the vermin recalls his manners, I see. Fine then...yes, you may continue." Shadow rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by Sonic's sudden change of pace.

Sonic leaned forward and kissed Shadow's neck. He started slow, pressing gentle kisses along the skin, and gradually worked his way up to more passionate ones. He nibbled at Shadow's ear, sucking on the tip as he tugged on the rest with his teeth. He felt Shadow shiver against him, and he smiled. He brought his hands down to Shadow's hips and gently squeezed.

"You're surprisingly soft," he whispered between kisses.

"Be thankful you still feel air in your lungs."

Sonic grinned. "I'd say something snarky in return, but I really don't wanna die just yet. This is too fun."

"I will never forget this."

"Well, I would kinda hope not, you know." Sonic chuckled as he slid his hands under Shadow's dress. He moved them up to his thighs and caressed them, stroking the fur. He rubbed his thumbs across them, squeezing gently.

Shadow closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. "You're enjoying this far too much."

Sonic continued to massage his thighs, running his fingers through the fur. "I think I'm enjoying it just enough."

"Interesting how you didn't question anything and went right to ordering me around. Almost as if you wanted this to happen from the start. How long have you been planning to humiliate me? I am ashamed that I never saw through your facade. You are a vile creature, hedgehog."

Sonic ignored Shadow's comments and brought his hand up to Shadow's face, stroking his cheek. "You really are pretty."

Shadow scoffed. "Don't flatter me. I know what you want, and I'll give it to you. But, I won't fall for your games. I know how you think. You want me to be submissive. You want me to obey you without question. Well, I'm not going to let you get the better of me. I'm only doing this because I have to."

"You're eyes are pretty," Sonic said, his voice a gentle purr as his thumb traced the line of Shadow's jaw. "And your fur is so soft...it's like stroking a cloud."

Shadow looked tempted to bite Sonic's hand, but he refrained. "Just get it over with," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

Sonic placed his hand flat on Shadow's chest. "Wow...your heart's racing. Are you nervous?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Shadow's ear. "Or maybe you're excited?"

"How much do you value your life?" Shadow growled.

"Kinda a lot, but I've got a feeling you're not going to do anything crazy while you're dressed like that." Sonic said, his smirk growing wider. He leaned back into the couch, watching as Shadow's frustration grew.

"Power goes to your head guicker than your speed, I see." Shadow said, his voice low and filled with spite.

Sonic moved down to the ribbons holding Shadow's apron, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be serving me, you're not doing a very good job."

Shadow bit back a snarl, but the situation was already too far gone for his pride to make a comeback. He watched in silence as Sonic teasingly tugged at the ribbon holding his apron. With a dramatic sigh, he whispered, "Yes, sir," allowing Sonic to remove it. The hedgehog tossed the apron aside, leaving the black-clad maid in just the frilly dress that barely contained Shadow's annoyance and rage.

"Rouge really dolled you up. Honestly, she takes bets pretty seriously, doesn't she?" Sonic said, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"I shall never make a bet with her again, nor shall I ever touch coffee beans again for as long as I live," Shadow grumbled, glaring at the apron on the floor as if it had personally wronged him.

"Give me a nice compliment for once, will you?" Sonic chuckled, gently stroking the fur on Shadow's cheek.

Shadow's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Come on," Sonic coaxed, "say something nice."

Shadow grumbled, tugging absently at the neckline of his dress. "You're a sadistic little hedgehog, you know that?"

"That wasn't very nice. Try again," Sonic said, almost sounding more authoritative than Shadow had ever heard him before.

Shadow sighed, defeated. "You're...handsome?"

Sonic looked thoughtful for a moment, then leaned in and kissed Shadow's cheek. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Shadow."

"Don't get used to it," Shadow murmured, trying to ignore the way his cheek tingled from Sonic's kiss. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax a little.

Sonic kissed him again, this time on the lips, lingering just enough to make Shadow's heart skip a beat.

"You taste good," Sonic said, smiling softly.

"Must you make this...more humiliating than it already is? I can only take so much before I snap and go feral."

"I like the little frilly headband. It suits you. Maybe Rouge will let you keep it."

Shadow growled under his breath. "I hope she burns it. I never want to see that thing again."

"Fair enough." He chuckled, tracing a finger over the top of the headband. "Do you like wearing this sort of thing?"

Shadow's ears twitched in annoyance. "Of course not! It's ridiculous!"

Sonic grinned. "You look cute though. I don't think I've ever seen you look so soft. You should wear it more often."

Shadow's face flushed pink. "Nonsense! I, the ultimate life form, should not be seen in such...a state of undress! That's completely unacceptable!"

"Yeah, yeah. I bet you secretly love it when people tell you what to do. It makes you feel important." Sonic teased, running his fingers along Shadow's thigh.

"I beg your pardon?!" Shadow's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Sonic shrugged. "Well, I'm not wrong, am I?"

You....the pure rage coursing through my veins right now is unimaginable. I could kill you with my bare hands right now and no one would question it."

"Yeah, but then you'd lose your chance to make me pay for this later. Plus, you don't actually hate me. You're just all grumpy and flustered because you lost a bet to Rouge."

Shadow scoffed, but couldn't find a good argument to throw back at Sonic. He was right, and that only made his anger flare hotter. "Fine," he bit out through gritted teeth. "But, once this is over, I will unleash my rage on you unlike anything you have ever seen."

Sonic sent chills down Shadow's spine with his touch. He slid his hand up Shadow's thigh, and Shadow had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning. He was torn between slapping Sonic so hard he saw stars and letting him continue his gentle exploration.

It was strange, seeing Sonic so uncharacteristically commanding and Shadow so...vulnerable. It was clear that Shadow was trying to hold onto his dignity, but it was slipping through his fur like sand through an hourglass. Sonic was usually the one who didn't know when to quit pushing buttons, but today, he seemed to know exactly where Shadow's were and was pressing them with a finesse that was both surprising and a little scary. It took everything in Shadow's power not to grab the nearest pillow and commit number 7 on his list of ways to kill Sonic.

Sonic's hand crept further up Shadow's thigh, his touch feather-light and taunting. He watched the other hedgehog's reactions, enjoying the way Shadow's body responded despite his protests.

Sonic was about to say something when he heard the subtle, barely hidden sound of a purr coming from Shadow. It was so faint that if he wasn't listening closely, he might have missed it. But he heard it, and he immediately looked up with a smug smile. "Did I hit the spot?"

Shadow bared his teeth, displaying two sharp fangs. "You...you're insufferable."

Sonic seemed to revel in Shadow's discomfort. "Kinda cute, though. But tell me...are you ticklish?"

Shadow narrowed his eyes. "If you so much as think about it, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your days, Sonic."

"Is that a yes?"

"I will smother you in your sleep if you tickle me," Shadow warned, his voice low and threatening, though the slight quiver in his voice suggested that he was trying not to laugh.

Sonic seemed to calculate the threat, then grinned mischievously as he slowly raised his hand.

"Think very carefully, hedgehog." Shadow's voice was a warning growl, but the twitch of his tail betrayed a hint of amusement.

Sonic's hand ventured a little too close to Shadow's side, and he grabbed his wrist with lightning speed, pinning it against the armrest of the couch. "You test my patience."

Sonic only grinned, his tail wagging with excitement. "You know, you're surprisingly strong when you're in maid mode."

"I'm always strong, you idiot. I'm just not usually..." Shadow paused, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. "Degraded like this."

"Nah, you're not degraded. I think you look cute and adorable. Like a little... puppy or something. Just a big, fluffy, grumpy puppy in a dress," Sonic chuckled, leaning closer to Shadow's face. Shadow leaned away, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. He tightened his grip on Sonic's wrist.

"I'm not your plaything," he snarled, his voice low and menacing.

"I know that. I'm just saying you look good in it. And let's be honest, you're enjoying the attention, aren't you?" Sonic leaned in closer, his voice a teasing whisper.

Shadow huffed. "Who would enjoy this? Being dressed like a...like a..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

"Cute maid?" Sonic finished for him, his grin widening.

"Yes...exactly." Shadow's voice was tight, his grip on Sonic's wrist unyielding. "There has to be something you wish me to do that isn't so...so...demeaning,"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but their not as fun as this." Sonic said with a cheeky grin. "But if you're gonna be a big buzzkill, I guess I can think of something else. Like a....ooh! A massage! Yes, you can give me a massage, my dear maid Shadow."

"Your transition from essentially groping me to asking for a massage is...disturbing, Sonic." Shadow said through gritted teeth, but his grip on Sonic's wrist loosened a fraction.

"You could have easily snapped my neck the whole time," Sonic said, with a knowing smile. "But instead you just sat here like a grumpy kitten. Now, dearest Shadow, let's get this massage going, shall we?"

Shadow leaned in close, their noses almost touching. "When this is over, not only will I make you regret this, but I'll make sure you always feel the need to look over your shoulder as you enjoy your days of victory. You're playing a very dangerous game, Sonic. One that you're bound to lose eventually. I will not take this momentary defeat lightly. I will remember every second of this and I will ensure that when the tables turn, you will pay tenfold for every single humiliation I've suffered here today. Do you understand me?"

Sonic stared up at him, looking as if he was trying so hard not to laugh. "Oh, I understand, I understand. Now, let's get to that massage. I've got knots in my shoulders from all the running I did earlier."

Shadow muttered something under his breath along the lines of 'impertinent hedgehog', but he released Sonic's wrist with a sigh of defeat. He knew he was losing this battle, but he was determined to win the war. He'd get his revenge, somehow.

At least he was with Sonic. It it was anyone else, he'd have been out the door by now. But it was Sonic, and for some reason, that made the whole situation more bearable. He had to admit, it was also a little...interesting. This didn't mean he would spontaneously start dressing up just for his amusement, but he had to admit there was a thrill in the challenge. Sonic was a nuisance, but he was his nuisance, in a way. Sonic wasn't afraid of Shadow like most people, and that was something he respected.

But it also made him cocky and over-confident, which was something Shadow would have to rectify. With a resigned sigh, he slid off Sonic's lap, his eyes never leaving the blue hedgehog's face. He'd give Sonic his massage, but he'd make it clear that this didn't mean he was giving in to his demands. Shadow was the ultimate life form, after all.

Shadow did what Sonic asked the rest of the day. He served, cleaned, and massaged with a scowl on his face, but each task was completed with surprising thoroughness. Shadow had always been a perfectionist, after all. Sonic watched him work, his smirk never fading. It was like watching a volcano simmering, ready to erupt at any moment, but somehow, the anticipation made it even more entertaining.

The second Rouge returned from wherever she had gone, Shadow immediately ripped off the dress with so much force, the fabric tore. She looked at him with a smirk. "I'd say you're happy to see me, but you look like you're about to burst a blood vessel."

Shadow said nothing as he shoved the dress into the oven, slammed the door shut, and cranked up the heat. Rouge raised an eyebrow, watching the fluffy material catch fire. "Well, that's one way to get rid of it," she quipped.

Sonic chuckled. "Thanks, Rouge, it was a nice surprise. Did you enjoy your day out?"

"Oh, you know me, just some shopping and scheming," Rouge replied, her eyes twinkling. She turned to Shadow, who was glaring at Sonic. "How's our grumpy maid doing?"

"He was cranky, but surprisingly obedient." Sonic said. "I did receive a total of twenty or something threats of painful death, but other than that, it went pretty well, I'd say!"

"You won't know when I'm coming, Sonic, but when I do, it'll be swift and painful. You can bet on that," Shadow grumbled, then stomped away to his room.

To say that Sonic was tense the next day was an understatement. He walked as if on eggshells, constantly glancing over his shoulder, waiting for Shadow's inevitable retribution. Shadow wasn't known for making empty threats, and the promise of a swift and painful punishment was never a good sign. However, the day passed without incident, and the night came with no sign of the impending doom that Sonic had been expecting.

Until Shadow tackled him the next morning as soon as Sonic got out of bed. Sonic let out a yelp of surprise as he was pinned to the floor, Shadow straddling him with a feral glint in his eyes. "Time to pay up," Shadow growled, his voice low and deadly serious.

Sonic gulped. "Uh, heh, maybe we can, like, talk about this? It was all in good fun, Shads, come on!"

But Shadow wasn't in the mood for talking. He had been biding his time, planning his revenge. He grabbed a nearby pillow and smacked it down onto Sonic's face, muffling the protests.

"You enjoyed watching me squirm yesterday, didn't you? I told you I'd exact my revenge, and I've taken time to plan it perfectly. You want an obidient little maid, huh, Sonic? While I admit the experience was...different, it's time for you to learn what it feels like to be the one humiliated!" With a sadistic glint in his eyes, Shadow yanked the pillow away and hauled Sonic up and over his shoulder.

"Ah! Wait! A-Amy! Tails! Help! Help me!" Sonic squealed as Shadow carried him out of the room, grasping at doorframes or anything that could slow Shadow down.

"No use in calling for backup, Sonic." Shadow said. "They're not here."

"Why do you sound like a movie kidnapper? And where are we going?!" Sonic squeaked.

Shadow didn't answer, but subtle foreshadowing would include a maids dress, a bow tie, and a pair of frilly apron strings.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 68)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (56) / Alexia Putellas x Character (26) MINI

Masterlist (other parts here)

((**< 1k**))

YFN POV

Sudden loud banging startled YFN and Lucy awake. They jolted upright, the Australian whimpering at her broken body as she did so; Lucy’s arms quick to find her.

“I’m okay Luce-”

More loud, insistent banging and Narla now yapping. Lucy felt around without her glasses, trying to find her phone. It felt like they’d barely slept – having had dealt with the Mark situation the day before and Lucy attending the Arsenal game with Alexia. Lucy had seen the fatigue wearing YFN down and had ushered the players from the apartment by 9pm.

“Fucking 3am.”

More loud banging. So hard, in fact, that YFN thought the door may break down.

“Luce…”

“I’ve got it, little one. Stay here.”

Lucy’s glasses were on and she was up, stalking for the door and almost ready for a fight. Understandably so – she was protective.

YFN rolled off the bed and hopped her way towards the doorway as she heard Lucy rip the front door open.

“Wha-”

Lucy’s voice cut off as footsteps entered the apartment without a word. YFN watched as Ridley rounded the corner looking the most dishevelled she’d ever seen her. Hair ruffled, and clothes just thrown on without a care. Not at all the well put together Ridley she usually was. Lucy was right behind her looking confused and a little annoyed at the intrusion. “Hey!”

But Ridley only had eyes for thing and as soon as she saw her, YFN inhaled sharply at the redness surrounding her eyes. Alexia.

She stalked forward with purpose and a grieving expression. If YFN didn’t know her as well as she did, she would have thought she were about to beat the hell out of her. But it was Ridley. She dropped to her knees and her face found YFN’s body, her arms wrapping around her legs and hugging her as she sobbed.

YFN’s heart broke into little pieces. She looked over at Lucy whose annoyance had faded, instead replaced with pure empathy. This wasn’t a Ridley she’d seen before.

YFN’s hand found Ridley’s hair and held her close, stroking it.

“Oh, Riddles.”

The strongest woman she knew – broken down into a sobbing mess. She let her work herself down a little before speaking.

“What can I – we do? What do you need?”

Her sobs had faded now. “I need to go, Blue.”

She needed to go. To escape. To move again. She’d said that to Blue every single time she’d moved on to a different place, and every time it was just as heart-breaking. She was going to just abandon Alexia here?

“She deserves more than me. Please make sure she’s happy. Look after her… let me know if she needs anything at all…” her head tilted up to look at her as she repeated herself. “Please. I need to go, Blue.”

It was desperate. Almost asking. She didn’t want to leave her.

“Okay, Riddles. I have Luce to take care of me…”

Her forehead found her abdomen again and nodded. She squeezed a little tighter and then stood, taking her head into her hands and placed a long, loving, lingering kiss onto her forehead. “I love you Blue. So, so much. You know how to reach me. Only you.”

She did. She was the only person who knew how to reach her when she disappeared. YFN nodded and pressed herself into her, not knowing how long it would be until they saw each other again.

“I love you, Riddles.”

“Anything you need… call me.”

“You’re going to leave her like this?” She whispered against her.

“She-”

“-will be lucky to have you. And you, her.”

“You know it’s more complicated than that. I have nothing to offer beyond money and sex. No family. I’ll always be gone. I’ve killed people. I still do. She deserves the world, Blue. I can’t taint that.”

YFN sighed, knowing she’d never be able to convince her otherwise. “Will we… still see you at Christmas?”

A brief pause. “I’m not sure.”

YFN was crying now. She kissed wherever she could reach. “Thank you for saying goodbye. I love you, Riddles.”

“I love you too, Blue.”

They held each other a little longer before Ridley broke it with another kiss to her forehead that came straight from her heart.

“Bye my baby Blue.”

Ridley turned to leave, stopping at Lucy briefly. “You’d better look after her, Bronze. Treat her like a fucking Queen. I’m trusting you.”

Lucy knew her well enough for that, though, and extended her hand for a goodbye with a sympathetic smile. “We're right here when you need us. For anything. Goodbye Ridley.”

And then she was gone for good.

[koisuko]

I love your writing so much!!! Part two of Johnny cage x shy easily flustered reader? It doesn’t have to be a continuation of the first part it could be whatever you’d like

can do! Hope you like ehtttt

TW: nothing crazy, cute shid

The next morning came quickly, for the first time in years, you felt fully rested. You had no nightmares that night, nothing but a blank canvas behind your closed eyes as you nestled comfortably into Johnny's arms. To say you were surprised was an understatement, that Johnny knew you had feelings the whole time, and that he was likely waiting for you to fess up yourself. The fact that everyone knew about it, including him, scared you more than you can comprehend. It's not like you were good at hiding it, although you thought otherwise entirely, not realizing how obvious you really were.

Your eyes flutter open softly, the morning sun filtering through the curtains, providing a soothing backdrop to your waking brain. You felt the urge to stretch fill your stiff muscles, only to be restricted by a gentle squeeze of Johnny's arms around your waist. You jumped slightly, startled by the fact that he was there, holding you close in his bed, until the memories of the previous night filed into your brain picture by picture like a movie. The heat engulfed your body quickly, as he nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, feeling a hum vibrate your back as it pressed against his bare chest.

You were almost surprised that he was this much of a cuddler, his entire body enveloped yours as if afraid you would slip through his fingers like sand. Your nose was filled with his scent, feeling his bare skin against yours sent a shiver running through your spine.

With a bit of a struggle, you managed to untangle yourself from his arms, feeling too overwhelmed by the sudden emotion filling your chest. It nearly felt like removing glue, he held you so close that you thought you would be trapped forever, not that you mind much. The bed creaked as you stood, stretching slightly, eliciting a satisfying pop from your spine.

Standing still for a moment, the warm rays of gold seeping through the curtains blanketed your skin, the smell of breakfast wafting through your senses. You were brought out of your sleepy daze by the sound of Johnny stirring behind you, a soft groan from his chest ringing in your ears like a soothing melody. “Morning, beautiful,” his voice was soft and raspy, another blush creeping up your cheeks at the nickname, “morning.” In contrast to his, your voice was barely above a whisper, nearly cracking under the pressure of his presence. “Did you sleep well?” He asked as he sat up, the ruffling of sheets followed by the sounds of approaching footsteps before you suddenly felt his arms wrap around your waist in a tender embrace. He placed a soft kiss on the crook of your neck, “Y-ya, I did actually,” you managed to croak out, feeling a familiar choke in your throat from the rising nervousness, “h-how-“ you cleared your throat awkwardly, “how about you?” You couldn’t help but feel yourself melt in his arms, pressing your back more against his chest, leaning on him slightly, “I slept great, thanks to you doll.”

Majority of the day was spent training, your eyes never leaving Johnny’s sculpted figure as he honed his skills with the monks. He never failed to shoot you a wink across the courtyard, knowing full well you were watching him, and you swore you would see a sparkle on his teeth when he’d flash you his signature smile. It was only making training more difficult for you, catching yourself checking him out and fumbling as you’d spar.

It came as a surprised when he approached you during dinner, “saved you a seat, honey,” gesturing to the end of the dining table where an open spot was visible. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, guiding you to his chosen seat, “I have a surprise for you later, meet me in the courtyard tonight.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestively teasing way as he spoke, smirking with satisfaction as your face bore a bright red hue.

Later that night, you felt yourself giggle, anticipation bubbling in your chest as he covered your eyes with his hands, “don’t run me into a wall, Johnny,” you joked, reaching your hands out on instinct at the lack of vision, “don’t worry doll, you ready to see your surprise?” You could practically hear the smirk on his face as he lifted his hands from your eyes. You saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the courtyard heavy with the darkness of night, the nocturnal creatures buzzing with life in the background. Before you could question what you were looking for, he walked into your view with a bouquet of flowers in hand, “I thought we could make it official, maybe go on a real date together, how’s that sound?” He held a genuine smile on his face, holding the flowers towards you, gauging your reaction to the gift before you. “J-Johnny I-“ you cursed yourself at how easily flustered he made you, this sweet gesture causing butterflies to flutter frantically in your stomach, “I-I’d love to, thank you.”

You took the bouquet gingerly into your hands, sniffing the scent leaking from the petals with a sigh of enjoyment, “these are beautiful,” Johnny looked at you for a moment with a soft expression, “not as beautiful as you,” he added. You welcomed the warmth that crept through your chest, wearing the blush on your cheeks proud as you smiled at him. You lost yourself in his crystal eyes, the heat on your face peaking in temperature as you watch his face approach your own. He placed a hand on your cheek, gently caressing the skin, providing a cooling contrast to your flustered face. In a swift motion, you felt his lips meet your own, a delicate dance of emotion between you, your heart exploding with excitement and flooding your being with affection. He's kissing you, oh my god, he's kissing you, pulling away with a mouse like squeak, your body shaking with an emotional overload. He chuckled at your reaction, "you're so cute," he cooed, gently caressing your cheek once more.

[loupy-mongoose]

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START | CHRONO

(Banished to the long dimension lol)

~~~~~~

The two felines teleported into the mountains northeast of Lavender Town.

Akoya looked around for a moment, before pointing happily. Ah! There! Smiling, Lav followed her mother as she floated over to a crevasse in the cliff wall.

She was startled to find the entry blocked by a green bubble.

As soon as she noticed it, however, it burst.

Sisiiiiiii!!!!

Suddenly she was charged by a tiny, peach-colored pompom.

In her astonishment, Lav did a backwards flip in the air, propelled by the unexpected force. Hahaha ha ha ha ha! Momo! Hey, Lil Sis! She ruffled the little Mew's head, sending them both into a giggling fit.

Sisiii!

Lav looked toward to cave entrance to see Midas crouched there, staying away from the edge but watching her longingly. Persim hovered protectively close, watching his little nephew carefully. Akoya approached the two and scooped Midas up. Lav felt a pang as she realized how big he had gotten. It's a good thing Momo can fly now.

The small collection of Mews gathered into the cave, which was barely big enough to fit their biggest member comfortably.

Before he could say anything, Lav managed to snatch her uncle up in a hug.

Hhgh!?

Sorry, Uncle Perzi. I know you're not really into hugs. But I'm so happy to see you!

I-It's fine! Just this once, for you, Lavvy. His voice was strained as he fought the urge to teleport away.

Soon Lav released him, and noticed Midas looking up at her with big, pleading eyes.

Instead of hugging him, she crouched down and wrapped her tail and arms around him. Hi, Midas. It's good to see you, too!

The little Mew gave her a lick on the cheek, startling Lav and melting her heart. She pulled him into a gentle squeeze, being careful to not overwhelm him.

Beside her, little Rosemary poked her face out of her daddy's pelt. Mee?

Hello, Rosie~! Lav carefully held her finger toward her. The little red Mew dabbed it with her nose before disappearing back into her orange shelter.

Persim flicked his fluff-tipped tail, a concerned frown on his face. Where's Randy?

Akoya settled into a crouch, tucking her arms under he chest. He went for a walk with our unexpected host. Something came up, and he's... having a rough time right now.

Oh...

We thought we'd come check in while he's gone.

We're doing alright. Aren't we, Kiddos?

Momo and Midas stared blankly at him.

...Okay, so the kits have been a bit bored.

Akoya looked at her two Mew children. Midas was contently loafing beside Lav's face, while Momo was pawing a pebble around on the floor.

Her ear flicked thoughtfully. Hmmmm....

What's up, Mom?

Akoya turned to Lav. Maybe we could bring them to Fuji's place?

Persim tilted his head. Fuji? Is that that "host" you mentioned? Is... is it a human?

Lav sat up, earning a protesting Mah! from her brother.

Yes. She ignored Persim's horrified glare. He feels like a good man to me, and we already showed him that we're Mews. So that's one hurdle out of the way.

He takes care of hurt and mistreated Pokemon. So I'm sure he'd have the twins' best interests at heart. He'd love them!

Seeing Perzi's still uncertain face, Akoya went on. I'll talk to Randy about it first, of course. If he doesn't think that's what's best, I'll listen. But I think they'll be safer there than here.

You don't have to come with us, if we do. But I trust Mr. Fuji. I trust we'll all be safe there.

Persim still looked uncertain, but didn't argue. Well, you've met him, and both seem to agree. So who am I to say otherwise? Just... be careful.

We will.

The Mews settled around the cave, just chilling and chatting, or attempting to curb Momo's excitement.

As Lav waggled her finger for the little puffball to to follow and catch, Akoya turned to her.

Lav, has Nico mentioned Mo to you?

Lav thought for a moment, caught off guard by the question. She jolted when Momo bit into her finger. Ouch, gentle mouth, Momo.

Sowwy, Sisi.

Lav smiled and gave Momo an accepting head ruffle before turning to her mom. No, he hasn't. He didn't get to know Mo. He's told me that he remembers seeing his parent Mew float away, and that's all he knows.

Ah. Okay.

Lav didn't say the continuation of her thought; that Nico seemed to feel his parent--Mo-- abandoned him.

She drifted into her own thoughts as Akoya and Persim engaged in their own conversation. Thinking about how her dad was doing. Thinking about how she should go about approaching him.

Thinking about how she should approach Nico.

Lavender?

Lav hopped onto her hands and feet, her eyes wide and pelt standing on end. She scanned the cave wildly.

Lav? You okay, Hon?

The pale Mewtwo shook herself, attempting to flatten her telltale fur. I-I'm fine. Just one of those... falling asleep nightmares, y'know? She turned toward the cave entrance. I'm gonna go get some air.

Lav ignored the doubtful look on her mom's face as she walked out. Once certain that she wasn't followed, she sat down and took a few stabilizing breaths.

When she was calmed down, she carefully reached out, keeping out of her family's mindfields.

Nico?

His response was immediate. Lavender!

Lav smiled. Nico! Jeez, you scared me! It sounded like you were right next to me!

Sorry!

...

You made it to Kanto, didn't you?

Lav struggled to not react to the statement, afraid that one of the Mews would notice.

How did you know?

...

Our connection is stronger...

Lav felt a strange thrill rush through her body.

So you must be closer to me.

Y... You're in Kanto?

Yes...

Lavender took a moment to control her feelings, and the energy they might be giving out.

...We could meet...

We could actually meet. In person.

If...

If my family would be okay with it...

Are they with you?

Yeah... They caught up really quickly... Impressively so, really.

Good.

Lav flicked an ear in annoyance. "Good"?

I'm glad they followed you. I told you from the beginning that coming on your own was risky.

Lav sighed quietly. Yeah, you did. Despite her best efforts, her ears fell back in guilt. And it ended up being for nothing anyway.

What do you mean?

I came alone to keep my family from getting hurt, but my dad's still the one suffering from this...

She stopped to consider how much she should tell him.

I... I don't want to tell you too much right now, okay? I already feel like I betrayed my dad's trust, and I don't want to do it any more. I want to talk some stuff out with him first.

I understand.

You're a sweet girl, Lav. Considering your family's needs.

Be patient, okay? I'm sure we'll meet someday, but I would rather have it be on good terms. With everyone involved.

Lavender smiled. ...Yeah... I agree...

We'll talk later, Nico. I hope we can meet soon...

I hope so too, Lav. Talk to you later.

Akoya floated over to her Mewtwo daughter in the cave entrance. She purred to make herself known, causing Lav to turn her way.

She nuzzled Lav's face before speaking quietly. You were talking to Nico, weren't you?

The 'two's tail flicked. H-How'd you know?

Akoya ignored the words of the question, and decided to focus on the feelings behind them.

You don't need to be shy about connecting with him, Hon. So far we really don't have any reason to say you shouldn't... She thought for a moment. Well, aside from you thinking what you know about him would make your dad more afraid than he already is.

Lavender's ears fell back as the words from her note were spoken to her.

Akoya's face grew serious. ...Lav, tell me the truth. Is there anything your dad and I should be afraid of about Nico?

Lav took a second to form the words. Once she was ready, she looked steadily into her mom's eyes.

As he is now, no. I don't think so.

But as he was...

Akoya raised an eyebrow at the hesitation, urging her to go on.

He was made to be a weapon... and... for a while, he lived it... He killed Pokemon and people...

But he changed. He's not like that anymore. Fuji helped him learn what kindness was, and Jovie helped him practice it.

He regrets what he did in the past.

The blue Mew kept her face even as Lavender spoke to her. Her thoughts tumbled in her mind as the little Mewtwo watched her expectantly.

After a while, Akoya sighed and shook her head lightly. I don't think your dad or I will ever have a clear picture of him until we talk to him ourselves.

All I can do for now is take your word for it, Lav. But if you start keeping vital information from us... We may have to put a stop to you connecting with him.

Lavender gave a solemn nod. I understand, Mom. I promise, I'll bring everything to you guys as soon as I can from now on. And I won't tell Nico anything until I get the okay!

Akoya smiled lightly, though her eyes were still thoughtful. She hovered over and gave Lav a kiss on the forehead.

We don't want to control you, though... We know you're your own person, and can make your own decisions... We just want to make sure you know how to make them safely...

I know, Mom. She gently butted her head against Akoya's with a warm smile of her own. I love you.

I love you too, Lav.

The blue Mew floated back from Lav a little bit.

I'm going to check on your dad. I'll be back soon~

Mom, wait.

She stopped and glanced back.

There's one more thing about Nico, that I just learned...

He's in Kanto.

~~~~~~

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START | CHRONO

I never had them talk about it on screen, but Lav did tell Nico that she was planning on coming by herself.

[climbthemountain2020]

To Know That I'm With You - Chapter 9

Nessian | Ch. 9 | Ao3

Eternally, @popjunkie42 has the keys to my heart and my google docs. Okay, okay, friends I hear you. Originally, Cassian's only POVs were going to be the prologue and epilogue, but everyone's comments about being excited for his POV inspired me, lol. SO, I went back and did some writing. Now, you all get what I'm calling a few Cassian clips.

When Nesta awoke the next morning, she knew before she even moved that something was very, very wrong.

She tried to stand, worrying that perhaps her instincts were telling her that someone had infiltrated their cave despite the sigils. But she’d stumbled immediately, her leg not able to bear any weight at all. The wall of the cave was sharp against her skin, making her hiss. Stars bloomed behind her closed eyes, and she knew with great clarity that her leg was deeply infected. 

Cassian, of course, hadn’t missed a beat. He sprung up like he wasn’t injured at all as Nesta yelped and leaned heavily against the wall. 

“You’re injured?”

She waved him off, grumbling. “It was fine last night when I put the poultice on.”

“It’s clearly not fine now.” He helped her back to the ground. “Settle, I’m alright.”

“Your wing–”

“–is fine today.” He ruffled the wing behind him as though to show her that the injury felt better, but she scowled up at him. 

“You should be taking it easy. There’s no way it’s healed,” she snapped back, trying to ease, but more so collapsing, to the ground. 

“It isn’t healed, but it’s well enough that it doesn’t hurt. And I’ve slept for nearly a full day. I won’t be able to fly for a good while, but it doesn’t mean I can’t function.” He was already shuttling more wood towards the dying fire, his eyes not leaving her.

Fuck . It hurt like fire was seizing her leg, the panic clawing up her throat every second. She could barely walk, let alone travel or care for herself. The walls of the cave began to feel like they were growing closer.

“You don’t have to mother me.” She spit the words like venom, hated that she couldn’t just get up and leave.

“I’m not mothering,” he replied, his voice infuriatingly even. She closed her eyes, ignoring him and the feeling of his eyes back on her again as her head swam with the pain.

The ache was so bone deep it made her grit her teeth. She knew the telltale traits of infection from treating Feyre’s many injuries and overhearing the horror stories from the family guards, and she knew these weren’t good signs. She pulled the gauze to the side as she clamped her jaw tightly shut. The skin around the wound was angry and red, dark streaks spiraling out from it beneath her skin. The injury was not healing the way it had been before. 

Was it worth it for her to chew another entire root and knock out just to heal? It had healed her ankle before, but was she willing to be completely unconscious for hours around Cassian?

Absolutely not.

The thought of a stranger with her while she hallucinated was so overwhelming that she shut the thought down immediately. She didn’t care how badly off she was, she wasn’t risking it. 

He seems like a good man. He would take care of me.

She fought with her mind again, forcing it to shut up as it tried to convince her otherwise. Normally, Nesta felt she had a good head on her shoulders, a solid perspective and direction to move at each decision. But lately, it seemed like her mind had split in two, and each part of her wanted something very different. Especially when it came to Cassian. 

He wants to help.

She growled in irritation and pain. 

No.

She’d made it this far on her own. She could get through a measly infection.

“Gods, Nesta.” His shocked exclamation startled her from her own back and forth, and she went to cover her leg with her hands. But in a heartbeat, he was kneeling in front of her, wings spread wide behind him, the light of the fire dotting through the remaining unhealed openings. He was right– they were substantially fewer and farther between now. The sight spun a little in front of her, vision doubling then coming back to normal.

He had her wrists in his hands, prying them away from the cut with surprising gentleness. She hesitated, but he paused with her, his eyes meeting hers. Something in the way he waited, in the halting of his own movements…

He was a stranger. But, in this moment, he felt safe. 

She let him touch her, the size of his hands positively dwarfing her own. They were warm and calloused against the skin of her wrist, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath them. 

“Why didn’t you say how badly you were hurt?” His eyes found hers through a deeply furrowed brow, that scar flexing as they moved. 

“It wasn’t so bad when I fell asleep. I thought the poultice would heal it.” 

“You’ve been limping around on this?”

“I told you already, it didn’t hurt this badly yesterday,” she snapped back. The sharp movement made her yelp before she could stop it, and a look flashed over Cassian’s face so intensely that it stole her breath. 

“Where is everything you used on my wing? Tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Nesta. I’m not asking.” She was taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. It was far removed from the jovial teasing of the last day.

Nesta wasn’t used to it from him. She wasn’t used to it from anyone. 

“Alright, don’t get your pants in a twist. The bowls and cloths are next to my bag.” She pointed. “There should be a little water left. I was going to go out this morning and find a new water source.” She suddenly felt guilty for putting it off. 

“I can do it.”

“It isn’t far,” she offered as he busied himself, getting the fire roaring and the skin of water boiling over the flames.

“Can you describe to me where the water source is?” he asked. She remembered the map didn’t work for him, the ink enchanted only for her. 

“Fetch it out of the bag and let me see it.” He did so without protest, handing the ragged map back to her as she pinpointed the nearby stream she’d seen yesterday. “It’s a five minute walk east from here. Not the way we came.”

He leveled her with a stare. “I know what east means, Nesta.” 

She scoffed in response, ignoring him otherwise. “It looks like it’s a stream banked by two boulders right to the left of the path. One is shaped a bit like an egg.”

“That map must have decent markers.” The levity had returned to his voice. “I’ll go now while this heats. Don’t move.” 

“Yes, Mother,” she lobbed back, smirking sarcastically as he glowered at her. 

She followed his directions while he was gone. 

Mostly. 

She had painstakingly crawled over to her bag once she heard his footsteps fade, pulling it back with her to the bedroll with a shot of pain that had her holding back a groan. She needed to see if there were any attainable alternatives for medicinal plants that would help her heal. She was definitely well on her way to infection, if not already situated firmly within it, but there was no way she’d be comfortable taking the char root in a quantity large enough to help. She nibbled the tip of it just to take the edge off the pain and flipped through the book. There were plenty of poultice-type recipes, but nothing stronger than what she already had. 

You can trust him.

She gritted her teeth.

Can I? 

He hadn’t given her any reason not to. But still…

To be that vulnerable, that incapacitated in front of him. The thought was unbearable. Nesta knew how men were, what they wanted and how they took it. She’d met enough men like that to last her more than a lifetime. 

She stumbled outside to relieve herself before he returned, each step feeling like a roaring flame erupting around her leg. It was so unbearable that her vision began to white out as she staggered back into the cave after finishing. She all but threw herself down against the wall and into her bedroll, her breath coming in sharp pants.

Take the root. 

She couldn’t.

She’d simply need to clean it well and keep it well wrapped while she managed the pain and hoped it resolved on its own.

She had enough dried fruit and mushrooms to get them by for a few days, but without foraging, she’d run out before long. The jerky was entirely gone now. She put what was left of the food near the fire, then laid her head back against the cave wall and sighed, closing her eyes and waiting. 

Cassian was back in what felt like a blink, his shirt still off and the water skins full and heavy in his arms. 

“Good stream. Just about the distance you said.”

“Did you think I'd lie?” she asked with an eyebrow raised, but her labored breathing made her remarks come out hoarse. Cassian stalled with concern painted as clear as day across his face. He set the skins down, shuffling the boiling water off the open flame to cool and already getting to work arranging the items she’d need.

He worried over her like a mother hen. “Let me see it.” She shuffled a bit. 

“I can do it myself. Stop hovering.”

He leveled her with another glare. “I know a bit about injuries. You cared for mine when I couldn’t. Now let me help.”

She grit her teeth and all but growled at him. “I said , it’s fine.”

He rolled his eyes and Nesta’s defenses were up again. “You’re hurt. What was that you said about it would hurt less if you’d just let me help? ” He threw her own words back at her.

Nesta begrudgingly relented, choosing again to not correct him about the equalizing of their scales. He’d saved her life, he was going to stay on with her as she hiked to the Illyrian Mountains, now he was tending her wounds. The scales were tipping irreparably to one side already. But there was no room for argument. Cassian was already shifting so the light from the fire could fall on her leg as he inspected it. 

She sat restlessly beneath his watchful eyes, the soft press of his fingers near the wound causing her to inhale a sharp breath. If she was any more in her right mind, the indecency of the placement of his hands might have upset her more, but the char root had her feeling numbed, a pleasant buzzing in her ears as she let him take in the damage. 

“This is from the beast in the woods?” he asked, his hazel eyes lifting to meet hers. 

They were a dark, lush green. So deep that they looked like evergreen trees in the moonlight. From any other distance, they might be mistaken for a brown so dark it teetered on black, if not for the golden flecks in them. They rotated around the iris, almost red towards the center. She’d never seen any eyes like his, the colors in them melding like paints in a pool of fallen leaves on the forest floor.

“Nesta?”

She blinked, and her heart thumped. 

What had he asked?

“Is this from the monster?”

“Oh, yes. It got me just before you landed. A single claw, but it was enough.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, turning her leg in the flickering light. “I’m going to clean it. It’s showing signs of infection, and I worry that the poultice won’t be enough.”

Exactly what I thought, too.

The first touch of the warm cloth on her skin had her jumping, the sting of the wound nearly unbearable beneath his steady hands. 

“ Fuck, that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry.” And he sounded like he meant it. “Do you have any more of the char root you could take?”

Trust him.

Trust him.

No . 

“No, it’s gone. I took the last tiny bit of it while you were out.”

He looked at her apologetically. “I’ll be quick.” And he was. She could tell without looking that he’d done this before. She wanted to ask him about it–ask him to distract her with stories of the more gruesome injuries that he’d treated in his lifetime so she could think about anything but her own. 

But she couldn’t, her jaw clenched tightly as she tried not to scream. She should have eaten more of the root, taken a larger bite and damned the consequences. It hurt , and her mind was screaming as he cleaned the infected skin, dutifully making sure he missed nothing. 

After countless swipes with the cloth, Nesta felt near delusional with the effort of holding herself together. 

“...esta. Nesta?” Her thoughts swam back into focus as she blinked her eyes open, only to see Cassian’s own staring worriedly into hers. “I’m done. You still with me?”

She nodded feebly, wetting her cracked lips with her tongue. Her throat felt raw. Had she actually been screaming? Cassian looked so concerned as he crouched on the ground in front of her. 

“I reapplied the poultice and wrapped it. We’re done.” She looked down in surprise. She had missed him doing that in the cloud of relentless pain. 

“Thank you,” she rasped out, and he leaned over to grab her a water skin and place it in her hands. “How bad is it?”

He cringed. “It isn’t great.”

“But you’ve seen worse?” She tried to crack a joke, but the question just came out sounding desperate. Cassian hid another grimace badly. 

“Of course. I’ve lived through wars. I’ve seen much, much worse.” 

She nodded, then let her head fall back against the wall. She could hear the unsaid words. 

I’ve seen worse, and it ended how you might expect.

“There are still mushrooms and dried fruit by the fire,” she croaked pitifully. 

Cassian nodded, then busied himself in the cave, cleaning and putting the supplies near her bag. She’d have to do it all again tomorrow. The thought exhausted her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Cassian was asleep on the ground. Closer now than he had been before.

She must have fallen asleep. 

She blinked again and he was awake beside her, reading one of her books. When she stirred, he bent down and offering her some of the fruit. The thought turned her stomach. 

“Nesta, you need to eat.” The words echoed in and out, the sound reverberating as though bouncing around in her mind. She tried to shake her head, thought she might have, but the darkness was closing in again, the things in her vision catching and blurring. 

She had a final thought that this wasn’t normal. 

When Nesta woke again, the cave was quiet save for the crackling of the fire and Cassian’s steady breathing by her side. He was propped beside her against the wall of the cave. 

At first, she thought he might be asleep, but he opened his eyes and looked at her the moment she moved. His face swam in and out of her vision. 

His beautiful face.

Some emotion flickered across it and she wondered if she hadn’t spoken the words aloud. She thought she might be blushing, but her whole body felt hot. 

“Nesta, is there anything else in your bag that might help?” His voice was warped, the sound quiet and loud all at once. 

She wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Her mouth was so dry, her eyes hurt with the effort to keep them open as sharp fractals of firelight magnified and swam across her vision. She wanted to tell him to get the char root, but it was too late. Her mouth wouldn’t move with the words she wanted so badly for it to say. She could see plain as day the horror on his face as he watched her. 

Nesta would die here, not from some animal attack or a mythical beast, but from a simple infection and her own blasted stubbornness. 

She could feel his hand on her jaw, warm and large, nearly encompassing her entire face. 

“Please, Nesta. If there’s anything else…”

She opened her mouth. She wanted so badly to tell him. The thought hit her from the depths of her spinning consciousness. 

She didn’t want this to be the last time she saw him. 

She didn’t want to die in this cave. 

Her adventure wasn’t over. Her purpose not yet fulfilled. She hadn’t risked everything to die like this. 

“--ch–char.” She had no idea if she’d actually managed to say the words aloud until Cassian reacted.

He leaned in immediately. “What? Nesta, say it again.”

“Bag–root.” She tried to point but her hand barely moved. 

“There’s more char root in your bag?” It sounded like he was screaming the words as he moved, the air cold around her at his sudden absence. 

“ You stupid, stubborn woman… ”

She could have laughed at the words, but her consciousness was slipping again, the awareness like grains of sand in an hour glass, dropping through the hole one by one. Certainly, Cassian was not the only one who thought that about her.

She felt the gentle opening of her mouth, something wet and sticky and coarse dropping into it. 

“Chew it, Nesta. Chew and swallow.” She tried. 

Was she doing it? Was anything happening? 

She tried again. 

She could hear Cassian distantly cursing.

“Nesta, please… ”

The words drifted as she did, a pleasant feeling of rumbling nothing sweeping through her body. She tried, again and again, unsure if it was all in her mind or if anything was actually happening. Blissfully, the pain was ebbing, the reality of it all slipping away. There, in the firelight, she could only feel the warmth of a single bloodred wing embracing her. 

Am I already dreaming?

“Sleep, Nesta. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

+++

She could feel the strangling lace of the wedding dress beneath her fingers, the corset tight around her ribs and waist. She couldn’t see anything, the air around her opaque with something like a white, smoky haze.

It was hard to breathe, the strings pulling tighter and tighter as she fruitlessly tried to gulp lungfuls of air against the tugging on her chest. 

“Suck it in, Nesta.” The words rattled around in her mind. Not because of what they were, but because of who said them. She recognized that voice, though for years she’d only heard it in her nightmares. “Tomas won’t want a fat bride. Your chest doesn’t do you any favors.” 

Her mother tugged the corset tighter, tighter, until Nesta couldn’t breathe at all, the world spinning around her and the lace itching her skin raw. 

“Don’t. Please don’t make me do this.” She was crying, uncaring of who saw the break in her carefully curated walls. She would scream, cry, and beg on her knees if it got her out of this. “You know what he’s like, Momma. Please. Please.”

She felt the slap on her face, her skin burning up. 

“Pathetic.” The word echoed. 

Pathetic.

“You’re lucky he’s even still taking this deal.” Her mother’s voice hissed around her in the sightless gloom. “Feyre gone, the Archeron name sullied. Because of  you. You had a single job and you couldn’t do it. Pathetic.”

Pathetic. 

Unlovable. 

Couldn’t do it.

“You will serve him, Nesta. Whatever he wants.”

“No! Momma, please.” She went to turn but found she couldn’t, her hands dragging down as great chains bound her to the floor. “You know what he’s like. Don’t do this.”

Her chest heaved now with sobs. She grabbed for her mother’s dress in the haze like a child, casting her hands out into the void until she felt fabric.

“I’ll do anything. Anything. Please, Momma. He’ll break me, he’ll–”

“And it will be what you deserve.”

The air around her blustered, the fabric slipping from her hands and the smoke swirling. Her mother was gone.

It is what I deserve.

The words hung heavy. Her soul hung heavy. 

Someone grabbed her arms, the hands large and hot near her shoulders. For a moment, she wondered if it was Cassian, here to save her again when she didn’t deserve it. But the voice in her ear was not his. 

“It is what you deserve.” She flinched by reflex, Tomas’ low voice creeping around the nape of her neck and making her recoil. “ I am what you deserve.”

She tore at the chains, but it was no use. She could feel him behind her, pressed against her back. He was closing in, and there was nothing she could do. No one left here for her. 

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this…”

But the words meant nothing. They never had. 

Nesta was there to serve a purpose, to fill a role, no matter what she might have wanted. She wasn’t wanted for her, only her name, her position, her family, her breeding potential. Never her. 

She sobbed again in the quiet haze, the hopelessness of her situation sinking in.

But nothing happened. 

The silence stretched on and on, no more threats or horrid words. Then Nesta realized the weight at her wrists was gone, the hands on her arms, too. There was a caress across her skin, soft as a breeze around her hands. She blinked her eyes open to find the haze had been replaced with a soft, orange glow. She could hear a muted crackling, like the low burning of logs on an open flame.

Am I by the fire?

She looked down. Around her hands fluttered a rope–no, a ribbon. It was the same orangeish red hue, glowing brightly, flickering around her hands as though it wanted her to grab it. It was warm when she wrapped her hands around it, solid to the touch. It pulled her forward, and she followed.

She felt warmth all around her now instead of the desolate clammy mist that had covered her before. There was a sense of safety as she moved through the cloudy brightness with the ribbon in her hands. 

I am safe here.

Wherever here was. The ribbon stopped tugging, disappearing into the glow.

Some part of her recognized that red suffusion of light, the comfort of it easing her tension and fear and replacing it with exhaustion. 

Here, I can sleep. Here, I can rest.

+++

Cassian

In the low light, Cassian watched her sleep. 

It was the softest he’d seen her since he met her, the peace on her face making her look exactly as young as she was. Her body was finally still, the twitching stopping as her fever began to break, that frantic worry that had filled him starting to ease off. Her head still rested on his thigh where he’d put it to keep an eye on her while she slept. There was something strangely enchanting about her now—lying there, still, her chest rising and falling with the slow, rhythmic ease of someone who didn’t need to fight.

Her breath caught lightly on an inhale, the tiniest snore Cassian had ever heard, and her lips stayed parted as the flickering firelight cast shadows across her skin.

Nesta Archeron.

What were the fucking odds?

He’d spent much of the last two days wondering exactly this. Cassian wasn’t one to put much stock into fate, but he wasn’t an idiot either. There had been so many moments in his life where the timing had been something spectacular, something nearly unbelievable, but nothing quite so stark as this. If he hadn’t heard her scream, if he hadn’t been slowed by his wings and flying over at that exact moment, he’d have passed right by this place–right over her. He refused to think of what would have happened to her if he’d been only moments later.

She murmured something he couldn’t make out, her lips dry and cracked. The urge to dip his fingers into the water skin and run them over her lips almost possessed him, but he already knew she’d be uncomfortable with the way she slept–he wasn’t going to push it. 

It didn’t take much to understand that Nesta didn’t allow many, if any, people to see her this way. The memory Rhys had shared with him had told him that much, certainly. Feyre probably knew her own sister better than anyone else, and she’d outright told them how closed off she was–how many walls she had up to prevent people from being let in. Cassian brushed a light touch over Nesta’s brow as it furrowed in sleep. It was sticky with sweat but cooling now, her fever finally broken. He breathed a sigh of relief at that, at least. 

He’d been almost sure that they were too late. 

Stubborn, willful woman. 

His eyes studied her face again as they had at every opportunity since he’d met her. Stubborn, willful, beautiful woman. 

She’d refused the char root, lied about having it, all because she didn’t trust him. He understood–he’d probably have done the same in her situation. Strangely, she reminded him so much of Azriel that it had knocked the breath from him more than once. But still, the lack of trust stung more than he cared to admit. When he’d come back to the cave to find her looking like death, he’d panicked. He hadn’t smelled the infection on her, the cloying mint of the poultice covering the decay of gangrene in her skin. She’d been feeding him and caring for his injuries all this time, and he’d missed how badly she was hurt. 

She’d done a good enough job of covering it that Cassian didn’t doubt a word Feyre had shared about her. This was a woman used to hiding her own suffering through any and all means. And when she’d let him finally see the severity of it, he’d nearly passed out himself. 

How had a human been functioning on this leg? He’d fought wars with men that this injury would have incapacitated. He’d done what he could, taking great care to clean and dress it as well as possible while she grit her teeth in pain. He’d lost her a few times, the pain of it all slipping her off to somewhere else, compartmentalizing the agony in her mind. But the way she’d looked at him when she was lucid, her small hand gripping him for dear life…

It had done something to Cassian– changed something within him. 

The moment when he saw her resolve flutter, that ice-cold exterior cracking just enough to let him in, had nearly undone him. Now, as he stroked a hand lightly across her hair, smoothing it away from her face, he knew that was true. In the short time since he’d plummeted from the sky, he had become strangely attached to this fierce human woman–his High Lady’s sister. 

Even human, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Nesta reminded him of sharpened steel, the beautiful glint of a newly hewn sword or dagger. She reminded him of the tearing winds off Ramiel’s face, the glittering ice on the way up. She was jagged edges and unyielding determination and grit and ferocity. But there was something hidden and soft about her that kept drawing Cassian closer. 

“She is distant and cold because she knows if she isn’t, then she can be hurt.” How long had it been since Nesta could relax? Strangely, Cassian wanted to be the one to see her let her guard down, and he somehow knew he’d do anything for it. 

She murmured in her sleep again, and he let his hand smooth her hair down. Silver eyes flickered back and forth beneath shut lids, and she whimpered low in her throat. He couldn't help himself from brushing another sweaty lock of hair from her forehead and letting his hand linger on her cheek. He wanted to soothe the worry away–take whatever it was that was haunting her and do anything he could to help her find some peace.

She calmed again, her body relaxing against him and the hard stone of the floor as he tugged the blanket back up that she’d shrugged off. At least they were out of danger. He leaned his head back against the cave wall and closed his eyes. His wings rustled, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn’t believe the speed with which she’d mended them, no pause or hesitation in her methods. As a human, she’d likely never seen anything even remotely like his wings before–she probably hadn’t known for more than the weeks she’d spent in Prythian that creatures like him existed at all. Still, she’d stitched them together, holding him down with one arm while he’d writhed in the strangest combination of pain and overwhelming arousal that he’d ever experienced. Her fingers had been strong but delicate, the touch of them sending him into some mental space he’d never quite entered before. No one touched his wings but him. Even when he’d been injured in the past, he’d been knocked out while they were fixed. But he hadn’t stopped her. He didn’t regret it. 

And he couldn’t help but prod her when she’d understood what was happening–couldn’t resist teasing out that beautiful blush that crept up her neck to her high cheekbones. But the way she’d touched them, cared for them…it had felt intimate beyond belief. Instead of feeling vulnerable or snapping, Cassian had felt so oddly safe under the care of this prickly woman he’d only just met, even with her sharp-barbed words. 

He sighed, reaching out with his mind again in the silence of the cave to find only a foggy darkness. 

Rhys…

He’d been trying since the first night, only to be met with nothing but eerie, heavy quiet. It reminded him too much of the way things had been for the last five decades, and it made him so uncomfortable he itched. Either the distance or The Middle was interfering, but regardless, nothing was getting through. 

Would they come for him eventually? They had no way to know where he had landed, no way to know he hadn't made it to The Human Lands. They hadn’t even set up any check ins, assuming that he wouldn’t run into any difficulties. When would they start to wonder? Would they find them walking north to Illyria? Hopefully, by the time they reached a friendlier court, he could reach out to Rhys somehow and get help.

Abruptly, Nesta cried out, her body trying to curl in on itself so violently that Cassian lurched forward to keep her head from hitting the floor. 

“Please… Please! ” Her voice was anguished, the cries desperate as they fell from her mouth. 

“I’ll do anything. Anything.” She cried out again, and it was all Cassian could do to hook an arm around her shoulders to keep her still. He ran a thumb in circles over her shoulder, trying hard to be a soothing presence. He’d had his experiences with char root enough times to know that attempting to wake someone during the nightmares was a horrible idea. Still, he held her through it, hoping that the gentle rocking motion would soothe her rather than frighten her further.

“ Please, Momma. He’ll break me, he’ll–” The words echoed in the cave as she whimpered, her voice sounding so frail and unlike her. But it was the words themselves that made Cassian see red. 

Who had hurt her? Who had this fearsome woman of steel and stone so frightened that she ran from them in her worst nightmares? He’d seen the way she’d reacted when he’d lost his temper and slammed his fist into the cave floor–had seen the way she drew back into herself like she had to remember where she was. Nesta had been hurt by someone–likely a man–and the thought brought such wrath and fury to the surface of Cassian’s consciousness that he needed to force himself to take a breath.

Someone had hurt her, and the thought sent his feelings careening into a rage he’d rarely felt off the battlefield. Her nose and brow scrunched, almost as if in pain, and the glint of a single tear at the corner of her eye almost pushed him over the edge. 

He needed to rein it in for her. She was vulnerable. She didn’t need his wrath, she needed his comfort. He leaned down to whisper the words in her ear, brushing the tear away as it made a track down her temple.

“You’re safe, Nesta. You can rest.”

Though she didn’t wake, she seemed to calm at the words, a deep, shuddering exhale leaving her. 

“I’ll keep you safe.” The words left him without him even thinking about it, as though he hadn’t meant to say them at all. But he had the bone-deep knowledge immediately that he meant them. That he’d do anything to make sure that she wasn’t harmed. He’d come here for Rhys and Feyre, but there was no doubt in his mind that, now, he was here for Nesta.

Still asleep, her hand shot up to grab at his where it rested on her shoulder, her small fingers twisting to interlock with his like she needed the contact, the anchor. Her pulse beat against his fingers, the fluttering of it like the thumping of a wild rabbit in a trap. Slowly, it returned to normal, her breathing evening back out as whatever nightmare plagued her faded away. 

Once she was settled, he relaxed back against the wall again. Even though she was asleep, even though it meant nothing, she had trusted him. His heart pulsed strangely at the sentiment, a warmth that he wasn’t familiar with beating through his veins. Once she woke, her walls would rise again, as if nothing had changed–he wasn’t foolish enough to think otherwise. Her harshness would return, the distance between them would widen, and the woman who had let him care for her would be gone. But for now, in the firelight, she was beautiful beyond words—soft, unguarded, and safe enough that she’d let him care for her in a way she wouldn’t let anyone else.

It wasn’t long before he was falling asleep to the steady beat of her heartbeat against his skin. 

+++

Nesta’s eyelids felt like stone and dust as she blinked back into consciousness. 

Her head felt heavy and clouded, her tongue a useless weight in her mouth. 

How long have I been asleep?

She was immediately aware of what had occurred, remembering the char root that she’d taken by force at the last possible moment. 

Stupid, Nesta. So incredibly stupid. 

She was already more lucid than she had been before, painfully aware now of how close she’d come to irreparable damage for her pride. She took stock of her body as she blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Her body ached, her thigh tender, and her skin itched with the sensation of dried sweat. 

Lovely. 

Her fever must have broken in the night, the steady orange light of the fire the only thing illuminating the cave. As her vision returned, she realized that she was staring at the rocky ceiling, the stone jagged above her head as it caught the flickering shadows. Her head was on something soft and warm, her neck cradled on the material like a pillow. Then the pillow moved. 

She startled, her body jerking to attention as though she’d been shocked. She had been resting on Cassian’s lap, her head cradled on one of his thighs as she slept. 

Her body recoiled sharply, but everything spun madly around her and the arm she’d tried to use wasn’t supporting her weight. The nausea was so overwhelming that she thought she might vomit, might fall straight into it after, but two hands lightly gripped her shoulders. 

She remembered her dream. 

But these hands weren’t rough, weren’t hard on her skin. 

She thought she’d panic, but she didn’t feel trapped. The hands were large, warm, but they supported her. They didn’t drag her down, but eased her, turning her gently. She recognized his voice. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe. Take it easy.”

She could see his blurry face swim in her vision as she felt her body eased back to the cave floor. His eyes–beautiful eyes–looked so concerned, so relieved. It was a balm on her frenzied thoughts, a reprieve to the terror. 

It’s what you deserve.

The words were heavy and acidic, but they also felt hollow and far away as they were drowned out by “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

She relaxed into her bedroll on the cave floor, her eyes still feeling swollen and her emotions raw. 

“You’re okay, Nesta. All healed.”

She tried to nod, his voice reassuring in the near dark.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

She pulled at her wrists, and though they moved strangely, distantly, she could tell that they weren’t chained. She could feel the light linen of her top and not the stifling, tight lace of a dress and corset. 

Safe. 

She sighed. 

Cassian was quiet for a moment while she came back into her body before he asked, “Why didn’t you take the char root?” There was no accusation left in his voice, just genuine concern. 

She tried to open her mouth to speak, but it felt filled with ash and dirt. She cleared her throat and tried again, only to feel him pressing the mouth of the water skin to her lips. She drank, and it tasted better than anything she could remember. 

When she’d had her fill, she tried again. “It made me hallucinate before. I was unconscious for hours.”

“And you were scared.” It wasn’t a question.

“How long was it?”

“About ten hours.”

Ten hours. He’d sat with her for ten hours. 

“It’s healed?”

“You’ll have a nasty scar, but it’s healed.” He spoke the words tightly. There was no levity in his voice. “You didn’t trust me.” 

A statement. A fact. She tried to ignore what was plainly hurt in his voice, and she also ignored the way it made her feel empty in her chest, horrid. 

She didn’t answer for a while, her dream fresh in her mind. “You’re a stranger.”

He wasted no time in response. “I would never hurt you.”

She fought the urge to scoff, refusing to look at him. “You’re a man.”

“No, I'm a male.”

“What’s the difference?” The words were biting, but the interest was genuine, even as she faded between waking and dreaming.

“I am not mortal. We do not function the same ways as human men, and so we don’t call ourselves men.” He answered the question as though it were simple information everyone knew. She didn’t see the difference. All men, and likely all males, were the same. 

“Do males not feel entitled to take?” She shot the question with barbs, her hurt more evident that she wanted it to be, but it was out before she could stop it. 

Still, Cassian's words were soft when he answered. “Some might, but I do not. I would not.”

She didn’t expect the boundless bubble of emotion that emerged in her throat at the response. He said it so assuredly, so matter-of-factly. In his voice, she could hear the pity, and she hated it. She knew what it meant. 

She couldn’t respond, just shut her eyes, the exhaustion so bone deep that she thought she might actually cry. 

I would not.

After silence that stretched so long she worried he’d left, he spoke quietly but firmly. “You can trust me, you know.”

I know , she wanted to say–the reaction immediate. Against her better judgement, she did know it. Some deep layer of her felt it.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true.

Instead, she let her breaths even out. 

She wouldn’t acknowledge it aloud, wouldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him. But she would try to believe him, allowing herself the privilege of safety to drift back into a dreamless sleep.

[amilfdala]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ perdition.

pairing: cain x lane. — tw: nil. — rating: t. — chapter: 2/? — prev chapter. — playlist. — high school graduate lane and priest in training cain happens to cross each others path. — tag: @rc-catalog. — words: 2.6k. — fandom: hsr.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎chapter two. — gas station.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘what are you, cain?’ simple, direct, effective. but his eyes, his unwavering attention, and the manslaughter, stung her tongue to stillness. instead, she rolled his name over her mouth, letting it seep between her teeth so it wouldn’t tremble when summoned to speak. but the familiar aftertaste it left behind startled her, as if his name was always meant for her to breathe. 

she pursed her lips, deep in thought, once again sinking into the gallows of her estranged mind. the situation she found herself in could not be quite called a catastrophe, yet it had the markings of one. like a storm, his presence swept away the sturdy supports of an otherwise structured life. and now, she found herself flailing.

lane sighed. the only emotional response she allowed herself to intimate. she could feel the lingering gaze of the angel on this single gesture, as if he followed the haze of her sigh from her mouth to the sky. a cold draft pricked her skin, or so she urged herself to believe, as she could compound no other explanation for the sudden shower of goosebumps.

but it was enough to awaken her from her stupor, and with it came a semblance of control. from it she derived ample recklessness to bolt right up and stand where she now stood, in front of the lifeless fiend with her toe wedged into his chest, marvelling at his stopped heart. 

‘should we dispose him off?’ lane asked with obvious displeasure, but offered it out of courtesy regardless.

‘is that what you wish?’ the angel offered in return, lazily, and allowed his own disinterest on the matter permeate the air. 

‘no,’ she walked toward him, ignoring the wind playfully ruffling the feathers of his wings, a sentence she could hardly articulate without another bout of confusion and horror sweeping in, and pressed her answer to his hands. ‘what i wish for is a can of soda’.

her touch fell on his fingers with the caress of a night cradling the moon, and cain momentarily clenched the beads in his hand tighter, refusing, for a moment, to let her flutter away. in her wake, however, she left behind a curious little thing, invoking a sudden rumble of laughter from his chest. 

‘stealing from a dead man? you’re into strange endeavours, lane’ cain spoke, amusement refusing to escape his lilting tone. her strange request, no, her wish, stood in contrast to her current stance; pursed lips, reddened cheeks — likely from anger at his taunt — and proud posture. as if her offer for accompaniment didn’t oscillate between them like an organum.

lane’s disposition towards the angel, within a moment’s spark, tended to flare and scorch in mystifying ordeals. she watched as he carded through the wallet, a barely held together patch of leather, and hoped that he would take upon her offer, no matter how suddenly or crudely it was presented.

then again, such abrupt conditions may not be so abrupt to a benevolent angel of death.

she was still reeling from his jibe. material possessions are of no use to the dead, she had said, almost as much to the void as it was to the grinning angel, then bit her tongue, despising the anger that had loosened it. 

expecting one of his clever remarks to make its way to her, lane had not expected the angel himself to come close, too close, and he did it so swiftly and stealthily that he was by her side before her eyes could blink and recover. her body flinched in response only seconds later, finally repsonding to the stimuli caused by the uncanny situation, and exemplified no less by her own frantic mind. 

and in such a state, she hadn’t realised the strap of her bag had slid down her shoulders, choosing the most treacherous moment to amplify the chaos. but to the angel, it was yet another opportunity to grab, a fortune playing right into his hands, as intended. 

before it could slip past, cain grabbed her arm gently, fingers clasping around her wrist in such a manner that his thumb nestled above her pulsating vein. lane allowed the touch to commence, despite being too startled, and god forbid, flustered by the proximity. yet she found in its merit a way to solidy a simple truth — his existence, in her eyes. and for that to happen, she allowed him an indulgence she reserved for no other — to be near, to be so damnably close. 

he took the bag away, but the beads in his roasry, so wound to his fingers that it now bore his skin, snagged on her sleeve, loosening a thread which now stood connected between them. cain watched as she moved to intercept, interested in seeing how she would solve this particular plight, and how it would allude to their relationship, albeit newly formed. that is, of course, if it lasts the term. 

would she immediately cut the string? a swift, clean strike, leaving nothing but a meandering thread in the sky. maybe from a distance, it would echo the likeness of a falling feather. or perhaps, it would be a sharp jerk of her hand, even at the risk of worsening the lining of her sleeve, all in the name of a reprieve only found in his absence.

but when she stood there next to him, nudging the tangled thread from one of his beads free, her fingers fluttering like moth wings across the undulating path of his palm, he failed at what should have been the assessment of a simple human contact. for purposes so clear in his head, she had trampled upon it dreadfully, leaving behind mangled thoughts that needed immediate repair, before anything else caught onto this momentary lapse. 

the thread was gone, but the connection remained, conscious and volitional. 

lane stepped back, clutching something white in her fist, which, with a quick adjustment, disappeared in the folds of her skirt. ‘shall we?’ she prodded, needing his assent to their impromptu stroll, which she got in the nod of his head. and they set off, his feather secured in the inner pockets of her rustling skirt, and her bag thrown over his back, treacherously hanging above the base of his wings. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

the gas station wasn’t far away, and the trek towards it had yielded results, but the revelations it brought forth did not come to her in gentle waves. it roared against the shore of her conscience with the might of an all devouring beast, but her countenance expressed none of that, her features schooled to an almost perfect, doll-like indifference. 

during the walk, lane had noticed how dubiously the mist would part around him, as if nature itself was wary of cain’s intrusion upon its land, and sought to do what it could to subtly inform the world about it. then came the people, where the first few flock paid them no heed, fussing around and dealing with their own problems as they strode past, the others, abruptly stopping, had approached cain. her breath had stoppped then. is this it? she thought feverishly, a sickly tremor passing through her, is the imposter finally caught in the act?

she could not help but remember and scoff at how ridiculous she had ended up looking when, instead of panic or fear, the people who had approached cain did so with friendly gestures and open smiles, engaging him in conversations on topics that now constantly eluded her. lane was greatly bothered by it, because nestled in the back of her mind were these events that occured only minutes ago and yet, only the imprint of his eyes, glinting silver in the rare ray of sunlight, remained.

in the end, the information she had sought fell on her hands with leaden weight. cain’s angelic form was visible to her, and only to her. she doubted he knew of her realisation, and intending to keep it that way, spoke nothing of it. however, his particular proclivities, so alien in nature, was harder to turn a blind eye to. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎especially as they stood now, in front of a vending machine split in two just by a kick from his leg.

when they had reached the gas station, it was partially empty and cocooned by a thick layer of mist, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. cain had looked around, noting nothing interesting, other than the girl’s subject of interest — the vending machines nestled in the far corner, away from the service areas and surrounded by white flowering shrubs tolerant of both neglect and humidity. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cain regarded the girl, glancing over. ‘lost in your thoughts again?’ a smirk tugged at his lips.

‘nothing much to think about when getting a few drinks’ she retorted calmly, then turned over to him, ‘or should i be worried?’ 

‘you should always be wary lane, of even the slightest of shifts’ his wings rose, almost imperceptibly, but she sensed the change and tensed up regardless. it did not escape cain’s notice, prompting a wider grin. ‘but today, cast it all aside, you’re in no danger here’ he stepped closer, feet thudding the ground, and it echoed in her head, along with his serpentine voice. ‘you’re safe’

alright, she thought to herself, i’ll go along with your farce, angel. 

there were three vending machines in front of them, all beckoning them forth, vying for their attention and the coins that jingled merrily in their purse. cain and lane pointed at two completely different machines to use, and they both stubbornly refused to accept the other’s choice, forcing them to go inspect the ones they had chosen separatey. 

then they sighed simultaneously, and dejected by their venture — which bore results in the form of two machines obstinately refusing to work, not even moderately so they could save face — cain and lane met each other halfway through, one looking intently at unremarkable pebbles and the other at the obscured sky, and stood in front of the last machine, situated smack dab in the middle. 

the angel pointed at each tag in front of the drinks and started listing out the flavours, decidedly refusing to speak on the matter that had them both looking like baffoons just prior to this. lane certainly had no complaints on that regard, and even encouraged the angel to carry on with his recitation, nodding along to each listing like she was at an auction site. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘...apple, cherry, pomegranate, so which one would it be?’ cain asked, tilting his head to the side, watching quitely as she took zero effort to land on an option.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘cherry’

he nodded, and pressed twice on the pomegranate option.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘oops’ he exclaimed. ‘slip of hand’.

she knew damn well that wasn’t a mistake.

cain chuckled at her poorly concealed displeasure, which made her frown even deeper. ‘if your heart desires it that much’ he gallantly pointed at the cherry soda can behind the tempered glass, ‘then you shall have it’ and made a sweeping motion, like a magician exiting the stage after a grand performance. except this time, the trick didn’t land.

the machine took his coins, but no soda can came tumbling down to his waiting arms. 

now it was cain’s turn to frown, dark eyebrows pinching together in confusion and irritation, and lane’s expression pivoted the other way, amused by the angel’s struggle with humanity’s perplexing technology, a forever collapsing ground with no rigid foundation. but will the servant of god truly understand such measly affairs?

lane stepped in to help, and employed a common tactic of handling defective machines, by kicking and slapping its body with enough fervor to jump start its functions and do what is required of it. just like her, she solemnly thought, condemn one’s nature long enough, they’ll start emulating a machine more than they would a man. 

she, however, didn’t realise that the angel had mirrored her moves diligently and, in the process, kicked the shell of the machine, causing it to crack open with a thunderous roar and split apart in the middle. she jolted back, like a spring held taut too long, and crashed into the body of the offender, who held her shoulders firmly and steadied her balance. but he didn’t let go.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cain leaned in, his warmth breath fanning her cheeks, a whisper slipping past her ears. ‘sometimes its better to let yourself fall apart’. 

lane was struck. the phrase sunk into her depth, anchoring at the base of her soul and cascading across an empty harbour. she had never resonated with her heart, its thumping a foreign action, invading her body like a parasite. but she didn’t smother it shut, forcing herself to carry out this unpleasant duty of keeping her bodily functions intact as service to her lifegivers. nothing more, nothing less. so what bliss would it be to fall apart then? the gears never turning, the blood never rushing?

she swivelled around immediately, tongue poised in a venomous strike, to ask him, to force him to confess, what do you mean? but the reality of her situation struck another discordant tune, a cacophonic moment playing out that clashed severely with what had just passed. the angel didn’t have his arm around her, stood slightly apart, and was engaged in pensive thoughts, his gaze boring into the mangled machine.

she was stunned into silence. did that moment even transpire in reality?

that was how they had found themselves in this bizarre dilemma.

cain, with his arms crossed over his chest, white shirt crinkling at the action, pondered gloomily about the rather devastating blow he just dealt to a completely harmless machine, knowing it did nothing to incur such scronful wrath. or it did, by gobbling up their money and refusing to give what they ordered in exchange for it, inevitably upsetting his company. and those guilty of greed are directly condemned, and was done so by the hands of an angel. 

lane, on the other hand, teetering between the edges of the material world, was pulled abrputly back by a raspy shout. it echoed across the expanse of the station like a rocked chucked down a mountain, and she instinctively leaned back, to assess the problem and understand how dire their situation was. but instead of an approaching figure, she was instead assualted by a tuft of white feathers, a long, sturdy one almost poking her in the eye, and a startled gasp got stuck in her throat. 

standing beside the angel, her vision was hampered by massive, fluttering wings, and for the first time, instead of evoking a sense of dread, she felt anger and frustration at the sight of these peculiar limbs. there was a strong urge to part it like a curtain, as if it was merely an object of obstruction to be removed, and continue to gauge the situation. but she immediately abandoned such foolish thoughts, not so eager to give away her trump card, and instead leaned forward for an unobstructed view. 

and there she saw it, an approaching figure in a worker’s uniform pointing his hand and shouting in indignation. 

with all thoughts cast aside, and no time to spare, lane sprung into action, a decisive act that boiled down to a simple absconding. whatever ruminations cain was in the midst of would need to be suspended, and grabbing his wrist with one hand and throwing wads of cash in the air wih the other — hoping it would be enough to cover at least some repair costs — cain and lane escaped, hands woven, lips straining not to laugh. 

how bizarre it was, the way his wings clashed against the rushing breeze, jingling and whistling on impact, her skirt flapping around her knees, his roasry pressing into the palm of her unflinching hand, an image of absurdity that could lull even the harshest of critics. 

but the question still remains, lingering like frail white stars — will the angel forsake the girl, or will the girl doom him to damnation?

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (4)

Parks And Puppies

Wanda Maximoff X Reader

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 4- W/c 2.3k

Parks And Puppies

A loud ringing noise startles you awake, your hand shooting out of the comfort of your duvet to reach the device, eyes squinting as you see Natasha's name flash on the screen.

"Hey," your voice raspy from just waking up, your hand moving to cover your yawn as you flop back onto the bed, leaving your phone on speaker as you talk to your best friend.

"Hey Y/n, my best, best friend," her tone is too sweet, her words too complimentary making you groan.

"What do you want, Nat?" you grumble, only just looking at the time and realising she's woken you up at nine on a Saturday.

"Who says I want anything?" she answers back, you push your face against your pillow, wishing you could be swallowed up by sleep again and be left to bask in the warmth of your bed.

"It's nine in the morning Nat, tell me what you want now otherwise I'm going back to bed," you can hear her chuckle at your moody and tired tone.

"Well, Yelena is currently out for some school trip that's lasting the weekend and I'm in charge of looking after Fanny," you laugh at the dog's name as always, Natasha groaning at your childishness. "Really Y/n? Every time," you hear her mutter something else in Russian before continuing, "Any chance you would walk her with me? I don't want to go alone and, well, you practically love that dog more than me."

"Are you jealous, Romanov?" you tease, reluctantly sitting up in bed, back cracking in a satisfying way when you stretch a little. "I'll come on one condition; you pick me up to go to the park."

"Deal," she says, "What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"Ten?" you hear her agree to that and a bark in the background, "Tell my favourite resident of the Romanov household I love her, and I'll see her soon."

"Cyka," she mutters before saying goodbye, leaving you to get ready before meeting her.

Around an hour later, you've showered and gotten dressed into a simple outfit, pulling a hoodie on to keep you warm from the slight chill of outside. You check the living room to see your mum still on the sofa, not even bothering to wake her up and tell her you're going out. You do, however, grab a quick snack from the kitchen, only a breakfast bar as you're hoping to persuade Natasha to go with you to get food somewhere else, and start to head outside the apartment block, looking for your best friend and her car.

"Are you ready?" she calls out when you approach her car, confusing her as you walk towards the backseats with a grin on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, not wanting to ignore her and climb into the back where Fanny sits, Natasha rolling her eyes in the rear mirror as you hug the American Akita, ruffling her fur before making contact with Nat's green eyes in the mirror.

"Why don't I get a greeting like this?" she grumbles playfully, unable to hide her smile as you decide to move to sit next to her in the front.

"I can always do that to you," your hand jokingly goes to her hair, face pulling up into disgust and a grimace as you try to ruffle her red locks. "Oh, aren't you a good girl," you put on the voice people do when they talk to their pets, voice slightly higher than normal.

"Go away," she huffs out, fixing her appearance while you sit back into the passenger seat, a giggle escaping you, especially when Fanny decides to try and lick your face from the back of the car.

"You're the one who invited me," you retorted, her shaking her head at your antics before putting the car in reverse and starting the journey towards the park.

***

"Just so you know, as much as I love her, I'm not picking her shit up this time," you make clear, looking over towards your best friend as you see Fanny starting to sniff around a certain patch of grass.

"Fair enough," she mumbles, watching closely as the dog decides to walk away from that area and come back to you two, your hand instinctively scratching her side while her tongue sticks out, hot pants of breath showing in the cold air.

The three of you casually stroll around the park, Fanny wandering off occasionally to play with other dogs and coming back when called, you and Natasha talking about everything and anything. You can't stop the laugh that escapes you when you see a child fall over, Natasha hitting you softly on the back of your head as the child's parents look at you with annoyed looks.

"How on earth are you a babysitter?" she says in disbelief, walking away with you to evade the angry parents for your reaction.

"Oh, come on, that was funny," another chuckle leaves your lips as you replay the small child falling over, the way their face slowly changed from happiness to a confused and sad expression. "And, for your information, I'm great with kids, that's how I'm a babysitter."

"Doesn't seem like it," she mocks, bumping your shoulder to hers in fake annoyance as you continue to walk around.

"Y/n!" you hear voices scream your name, turning around only to feel two bodies crash into your legs, Natasha's arm stopping you from falling over.

"Mini Maximoffs!" your tone playful as you hug the two boys, looking up to see Wanda strolling up towards you with a smile on her face. Your breath hitches slightly, the sight of her making you speechless as she wears a long beige coat with a white shirt underneath, black high waist jeans accentuating her curves and long legs. Her hair frames her face perfectly as you peer up at her, now standing in front of you.

"Hello Y/n, sweetheart," she greets, your cheeks tinting pink that you're definitely blaming on the cold weather, not the older woman.

"Wanda," you manage out, giving her a shy smile while the twins notice the dog running up to you.

"Oh my god!" Tommy exclaims while Fanny sits by Natasha's side, looking up expectantly as she wants a treat. "A puppy!" Both twins move closer to the dog, looking back at their mother for permission who nods her head.

"Can we stroke it?" Billy asks Natasha who hands Fanny a treat.

"Of course, you can," she replies, crouching down and petting the dog herself. "She likes it like this," she shows the boys how to scratch the dog in her favourite way, her fur on her head being messed up slightly by the twins' small fingers.

"What's her name?" Wanda asks you as the twins busy themselves with the dog, you look back at the older woman and ignore the smirk your friend gives you.

"She's called Fanny," you say embarrassedly, Wanda's eyes widening and brows raising at the name. Her laughter makes you smile, the sound something you could listen to forever, her hand raising to cover her smile while you let out your own laugh. "I did not name her by the way, Yelena did," you clarify.

"Is that Yelena?" she asks, motioning to the redhead currently talking to her children, an indecipherable look in her eyes.

"Oh no, that's Natasha, Yelena's sister," you say before calling her name again. "Natasha," she stands up and makes her way over to you two, giving you an insinuating look before moving her gaze to the other woman, "This is Wanda, Wanda this is Natasha." They share a smile before Natasha starts to smirk, making you tempted to clamp your hand over her mouth to prevent whatever was about to come out.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she starts off, "I've heard so much about you." You want the ground to swallow you up, your blush darkening as Wanda looks to you with a teasing smile.

"Oh really?" Natasha hums in response, "I hope it's all been good things."

"Oh, it's all been good Miss Maximoff," she smiles at you while you scowl at your friend, quickly switching to a smile when Wanda looks over you.

"Why don't you show the boys the trick Fanny can do with the tennis ball?" you say to Natasha in a fake sweet voice, noticing how she's enjoying making you suffer. She raises her brow at you in a challenging way, the only reason she gives in is because of the way the boys practically buzz with excitement.

"Sorry about her," you say when the boys run off, Natasha throwing the tennis ball so Fanny can catch it in her mouth, cheers coming from the twins as they chase her playfully.

"There's no need to apologise dear," she chuckles out, walking with you to a nearby bench and sitting down, motioning for you to take the other seat by moving her head. "Billy has a present for you the next time you come over by the way," she says while a smile tugs at her lips at the way your face brightens.

"Really?" your voice shocked, teeth showing as you smile while looking at the boy currently trying to throw the tennis ball further than his brother could.

"Yeah, he's been drawing a lot lately and he said it's thanks to you," her voice is grateful, thankful that you've helped her son find something he enjoys doing.

"Not really," you try to dismiss, "I just told him whatever Vision said to him earlier was wrong." Wanda's face turns to confusion, tearing her gaze away from the twins to look at you, eyes scanning your features briefly before speaking up.

"What did Vision say to him?" there's a little coldness in her tone, you turning to look to your side, her green eyes swirling with curiosity.

"Billy didn't tell you?" She shakes her head, clearly unaware of the false information her husband had been saying, "Vision told him he should like science stuff or sports instead of art, calling it a waste of time." Her jaw clenches and you curse yourself internally for finding the action attractive.

"He really said that?" you nod your head, feeling sympathetic when you see the defeated look take over her. Fingers push her hair back, her auburn locks falling backwards as she lets out a sigh. "He didn't even tell me," her voice is barely a whisper, but you still hear it, "Billy didn't even tell me, his mother."

"Hey," you say softly but she just bites her bottom lip, a worried expression on her face as she ignores your words.

"Am I a bad mother?" you blink in response to her question, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"What? No," your quick to answer her, "The twins absolutely adore you Wanda, honestly, all they do when they talk about you is say how amazing you are." You watch her reaction closely, doubt still in her eyes, "It's 'my mom is so good at this' or 'Y/n did you know my mom is so cool when she does this?' all the time." A small smile tugs at her lips as you continue to tell her about how much her children love her. When you finish there's a small period of silence, Wanda letting the information sink in for a minute.

"Thank you," she murmurs, finger playing with her wedding ring, "It's just Vis would say..." Before she can finish her sentence, the boys come sprinting over, Fanny following behind and sitting at your feet.

"Mom, please can we get a dog?" Tommy asks, Natahsa following with a sheepish look.

"Please," Billy adds, both of them hugging the dog while giving their mother puppy eyes.

"I'm sorry Dorogies," she says, your eyes widening at her use of another language, "But your father is allergic to dogs." They both pout and decide to shower Fanny in affection, while Natasha looks at Wanda curiously.

"Are you Russian?" she asks, knowing that dorogies was the masculine version of darlings, you also interested in knowing the answer.

"Sovokian," she answers, you then accidentally speaking without thinking.

"You don't have an accent though?" luckily for you, the question doesn't seem to bother her.

"When I moved to America, I learnt to hide my accent, now I'm just used to it, sometimes it slips out though," she explains, and you wish you could hear her normal voice. You were about to ask another question but Natasha's phone rings, telling you it's Melina and moving away to talk to her mother.

"You don't have to hide your accent with me," you say a little shyly, not wanting to sound weird. Wanda simply smiles softly at you before moving forwards, wrapping you in an embrace that has you melting against her body. Her lips press against your forehead before she pulls back to whisper.

"Thank you Detka," your cheeks flush at the sound of her voice, her accent causing a slight rasp to her words before she pulls away, Natasha returning with a shit eating grin on her face.

"I'm sorry to break this up," you glare at her, "But Melina is inviting you over for lunch Y/n, if we're going, we need to start heading back now."

"Yeah, I can do lunch," you say, trying to think straight and calm your body down from the way Wanda's arms felt wrapped around your waist.

"It was lovely seeing you two," Wanda's words break you from your thoughts, the boys saying goodbye to Fanny.

"Bye Fluffy!" They both hug her one last time, you raise your eyebrow at Natasha while she swiftly hooks the lead on the dog and starts to walk away with you after you say goodbye to Wanda and the twins.

"Fluffy?" your voice teasing while Natasha rolls her eyes at you, groaning at your mocking tone.

"I wasn't going to have them screaming Fanny in a park and I also didn't want them to ask me what a fanny was either," laughter spills from your lips at her answer, her pushing your shoulder to move you away.

"I would have paid to see you try and deal with that," you chuckle out, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and walking back to the car with her, unaware of the set of green eyes watching you laugh and joke with Natasha, a disheartened look in them.

---

I used Google translate for the translations so if anything is wrong, please correct me (:

I hope you enjoyed :)

Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes <3 I really appreciate them!

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

[dellephone]

magic + maxcar (extension of cat)

Max keeps his gaze on Oscar’s face. Watches for any change in expression as he reaches toward the ears. He moves slow, doesn’t want to startle him. Or make him uncomfortable. But, well. His gaze slips upward. His right ear twitches as he touches it, but Oscar otherwise doesn’t flinch. Stays still, lets Max. Feel his ear.

Max feels his face burn suddenly, as he realizes what he’s doing. Feels the intimacy of what he's doing. He pulls his arm back. “Um. They’re nice," He repeats. “Soft.”

“Thanks. They’re uh, a curse I guess.” Oscar shrugs. Max’s eyes move back toward Oscar’s. He's looking toward the ground, head still tilted toward Max.

“Oh. Do you know how to undo the curse?” Max feels a frown pull at the edge of his lips. Secretly hopes he says no, maybe he doesn’t want to get rid of them.

“Yeah, but.” Oscars mouth pulls into a flat line. “It’s not something that.” He gestures with his hand, doesn’t finish the statement. “You know.”

“Are you sure? You tried already?” Max feels a frown pull at his lips. Studies the defeated lines in Oscar's expression.

“No, but I already know the outcome.”

“Well, maybe you should try anyways, if you want them gone. They suit you, you know,” Max feels his mouth slip into a smile before flattening out again. “But if you don’t want them,” he shrugs, “might as well try, right?”

Oscar is looking at him. “Yeah.” He glances around. “Here,” he grabs Max’s arm, pulls him into an empty room and closes the door.

Max looks at him, expectant. Oscar’s gaze feels heavy when he turns to him. “It’s. True love’s kiss. The universal cure.”

“Oh.” Max tilts his head. Thinks. That doesn’t seem like something Oscar would need a private room to tell him, unless. “You mean.” Max straightens. “Oh.”

Oscar nods, suddenly avoiding his gaze. “Like I said—”

“Oscar.” Max doesn’t hesitate to pulls him in. He buries his hand in Oscar’s hair, feels it move beneath his fingers. The way Oscar’s ears twitch. By the time he pulls back, they’re gone. He ruffles Oscar’s hair a bit, where they were. “It’s a shame, I rather liked them.” He leans back in.

[thatgirlwithasquid]

Sometimes Werewolves Need Baths Too

4,374 words || also on ao3

Super excited to share this fic and art as my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race :D

---

The fur on Billy’s back is matted and tangled, clumped up with dirt and forest debris that itches against his skin infuriatingly. Every time he shifts he can feel it tugging at the roots of his fur, pinching his skin with every panting breath that clouds in the cold winter air that has draped over the woods like a smothering icy embrace.

It’s calm, though. 

That’s something that life in the lab had never been, not even for a moment. Only pain, and suffering, and sorrow. Howling calls of every other child locked away and experimented on echoing through every empty room.

Living like this, feral and animalistic in these endless frosted woods, will always be preferable to the sorrow of that man-made hell. The air here, though burning cold in his lungs, is fresh and clear. The water runs free in its rivers and the ground beneath the pads of his feet is soft dirt rather than sickly impersonal tiles.

Freedom, out here, is something he would endure any dirt and coldness to keep. No matter that he’ll only ever be safe as a wolf out here, not a boy. He has made too many careless choices around his freedom before now, something he’ll be sure never to do again.

Hunting is difficult. Living in that damn lab for so long had stolen any wild instincts from him, save for that primal need to claw and bite his way to freedom. They could manage though, him and Eleven. They will.

Next to him, she finally catches up from their run and flops down into the crystalised grass, disturbing the frost there. With any luck, it can clean her coat some; or, at least better than Billy has been managing.

Billy doesn’t think he was made to be a big brother. It’d only been him and his mom against the world when he was younger, at least until his mom ran and his dad handed him over like some oddity to be poked and prodded in the name of science. 

It’s not going to stop him from trying, because Eleven deserves better than this. Hell, she deserves better than him but he’s the best he can offer here.

Leaning down, Billy licks away a spot of dirt from between her ears. It ruffles the fur there and she huffs at him, kicking out a paw to bat at his leg.

Grumbling at her ungratefulness, Billy trots away. 

There was a reason they were running out this way, after all. Hunting is hard, but begging is infeasible… save for one person.

It’s incredibly lucky for them that the Harrington residence backs directly onto the forest where Billy and Eleven have set up their little den and claimed it as their own. Otherwise they’d have never found him, and, especially in those early days, that was all that kept them alive. Without the young Harrington’s generosity, he and Eleven wouldn’t have made it three weeks.

Even after all this time, with nearly a year passing since they broke out, Billy can’t be sure if the Harrington boy knows what they are or just thinks they’re normal wolves. Nearly a year of running, and hiding, and chasing down rabbits to keep them alive and Billy still can’t even tell if the closest thing to a friend they have out here knows that they’re werewolves.

He smelled what Harrington was the first time he came across him, of course. Spending half his childhood shut away with other kids like him and a bunch of humans gave him a good basis for understanding what their kind smells like. It doesn’t matter that Harrington and his dad don’t smell nearly as strong as the werewolves Billy is used to, he can still smell what lingers in their blood.

And, even if he hadn’t, he’d have recognised it the first time the younger Harrington saw him, eyes flashing that familiar amber as he startled. The werewolf in his blood may be weak and distant, but it’s still very much there, and that’s enough for Billy to be certain and Eleven to take a liking to him. 

The crunching of tires on gravel gives them pause, but, after pricking his ears, Billy is sure it’s just the Harringtons’ car pulling out of the driveway. Date night, he thinks. Which means it’s just them and the son.

That’s always preferable; Mrs Harrington had screamed the first time her son told his parents about the wolves he saw prowling out the back of their garden. She wouldn’t be happy to know her son feeds them when hunting comes up sparse, and even if Mr Harrington is indifferent Billy doesn’t think he’s unlikely to take his wife’s side.

The teen likes them, though. 

His face splits into a hesitant smile when he spots them through the glass doors at the back of his home. Billy and Eleven’s eyes glow out like flickering embers from the darkness of the treeline, hiding in the growing shadows of a darkening hour.

Knowing the house will be empty other than their ally, Billy nudges Eleven forward, keeping a careful eye on her as she walks around the edge of the Harringtons’ covered pool. 

The back door slides open and, as they have made their routine, Billy and Eleven hover at the edge of the patio. Harrington, as usual, stays one step from the door. It’s a good truce; enough space for either of them to turn and run.

“Hi,” Harrington greets them, crouching down and tucking his legs under himself to sit and face them. “You haven’t been back for a month.”

Billy chuffs, feeling unfairly chastised, but the effect is minimal with Eleven wagging her tail delightedly. Since they got out, she’s really begun to come out of her shell, especially around Harrington. Billy really wishes she could have friends her age, but in their situation that’s just not safe.

Rolling his eyes at her enthusiasm, Billy settles down on his belly, watching the pair of them from the corner of his eye with a feigned disinterest.

“Are you hungry?”

Billy can almost feel the air shift as Eleven perks up in excitement. Her nose twitches, smelling for any treats he might have hidden away on his person for her.

“Yeah? Great! I’ll get you something. I don’t think there’s much in, but I can… put some chicken tenders in the oven?”

With that, he gets up and lets himself back into his house. It shows a great deal of, frankly, stupid trust in what he perceives to be just some wild wolves that he leaves the door open behind him. Eleven is happy to use that to her benefit, though. 

She scurries around to the other side of Billy, trying to peer into the house through the open door to watch Steve make them some food. It’s endearing, of the both of them; Harrington feeding wild animals food from his freezer and Eleven’s delight in his company and the human food it brings.

Truth be told, Billy is excited too. Until Harrington, Billy hadn’t had any human food since his mother was around. It’s nice, a little reminder of the other side of their nature that they’re unable to indulge in anymore.

He’s not sure Eleven had even had chicken tenders until Harrington. 

The girl beside him, growing impatient, goes to take a step closer to the house. With a nip to her flank, Billy warns her off that idea as quick as she can even act on it. It’s not something Eleven is too pleased with, given the grumbling growl she lets out, but she does listen to him. He’s glad she still listens to that prerequisite of their escape; she always has to do as Billy says, to keep them safe.

Harrington’s face, when Billy looks back over, has appeared in the doorway. It seems he has seen Billy’s warning, because his face is considering and his feet carry him a step further than their usual place. The closer proximity makes Billy growl, a low warning in his throat.

This isn’t how they do this. For both of their safety, they have the unspoken agreement that they never get closer.

For a moment, it seems as if Harrington remembers himself. He glances away anxiously, stilling there. It’s almost enough for Billy to ease his tension, but then the boy’s shoulders set and he takes another deliberate step forward.

This time, Billy’s on his feet like a shot, snarling openly at him. He doesn’t want to have to attack, or run. He likes what they have with Harrington, it’s saved their skins too many times for comfort, but if he has to give it up to keep Eleven safe, he will. He’s all Eleven’s got and he won’t let anything happen to her just because they trusted the wrong person; even those who have been kind to Billy in the past have betrayed him before.

He thinks of his mother’s face, and the absence of her smell from their house. It was so long ago that he almost can’t remember it.

Eleven seems uncertain too, hesitating in moving away but holding her body tense.

“It’s okay,” Harrington soothes. “It’s okay.”

His tone makes some of the tension bleed out of Eleven’s posture, but that alone has Billy’s hackles rising further. She can’t drop her guard, they can’t afford to! For them it’s the difference between life and death. Friends are just something they can’t risk, no matter what she and Harrington want. No matter what Billy might want.

When Harrington takes another step, Billy’s growl grows even louder. One more step and he’ll be signalling Eleven to run. One more step and he’ll fend Harrington off, no matter what he has to do. One more step and—

“Enough,” Harrington huffs, eyes glowing their steady amber now. 

Despite everything, it calms something in him. Amber eyes have meant safety to him, always, no matter what situation they’re in. He wants to pounce when Harrington shuffles another inch closer, but all the fight seems to flow out of him, something in his panicked chest settling.

Harrington stops in arms reach of them, dropping into a crouch in front. Billy remains still as a statue, but Eleven’s tail starts to sway back and forth happily. Harrington’s eyes are still glowing that warm, safe amber and Billy can’t look away. It’s like he’s been hypnotised. Transfixed.

A frown tugs at Harrington’s face as he takes in the state of them, but that doesn’t stop him from offering out a hand for Eleven to sniff. Seemingly content with the offering, Eleven nudges her head against his palm, encouraging him to rake his fingers through her fur.

Even when the texture of it makes Harrington cringe, he obliges. Turning to Billy doesn’t get him met with the same acceptance, though. He’s not prepared to throw away all his caution, not just for some pretty eyes.

“You’re filthy,” he observes, dusting the dried mud off his hands. 

As if remembering the discomfort of the filth caking her fur, Eleven shakes and scratches at her skin.

“Yeah, that doesn’t feel good, does it?”

Harrington glances around, looking for a solution to the problem.

“I could hose you off…?”

Billy growls again. There is no way he’s letting some guy hose him down with icy water, no matter how mucky he gets. He'd rather remain filthy than suffer that humiliation.

“Fine, okay. Whatever.”

Harrington huffs, sitting down on the floor in front of them. Eleven happily trots over to his side, dropping her head onto his lap in a bid to receive more affection. Months in these woods have turned her pretty touch starved, no matter how often Billy curls up with her.

Hesitantly, Billy settles down again, keeping a watchful eye on Harrington with Eleven. Just in case.

When a timer goes off in the kitchen, Harrington jumps to his feet and hurries off to take the food out of the oven. It’s a little while before he gives it over to them, letting it properly cool so as to not upset their stomachs, but every bite is heavenly.

“That’s better,” Harrington coos as they eat, reaching out to pet Billy’s fur, not that Billy allows him to actually do that.

Eleven flops down contentedly, but Harrington still looks thoughtful. If he’s about to suggest the hose again Billy will be happy to rethink his thankfulness.

“I’m going to get in so much trouble for this,” he murmurs under his breath before Harrington addresses them again with a clap of his hands. “Okay! Let’s go get you guys in the tub. You need a bath.”

Eleven doesn’t even hesitate before she’s jumping up to follow Harrington into the house. It’s something that Billy doesn’t even have time to contest before the both of them are slipping through the doorway and into the building. That leaves Billy with no choice but to follow them inside, listening out for anything alarming. Even if Eleven has let down her guard, he won’t.

The Harringtons’ house is huge and immaculate, not a piece of furniture out of place. Of course, that changes when Eleven comes bounding through, leaving a trail of muddy pawprints that has Harrington cringing again. Billy is prepared to jump in and defend Eleven from his frustration… but nothing comes. Harrington simply pats her on the head and continues down the hall with her. 

The bathroom is upstairs and two doors on the left. 

The walls are all pristine teal tiles, the colour matched in all the bathroom furniture. Out of a cupboard, Harrington pulls out a pair of fluffy white towels that has even Billy feeling incredulous. He wants to wash two filthy werewolves… here? With those? In this nice clean bathroom?

Maybe they are safe with Harrington; the guy is clearly an idiot. 

If wolves could make incredulous facial expressions, that’s what Billy would be doing right now. Instead he simply watches on as Harrington runs the taps, testing the water temperature between grabbing different colourful bottles of soap from the shelves. 

Eleven looks ecstatic, hopping from foot to foot at the prospect of finally having a wash after far too long. It’s understandable, even Billy finds himself somewhat excited for her as the water froths with a sweet-smelling bubbly solution. 

The younger lets out a happy yip when Harrington beckens her over and clambers into the tub. She seats herself in the centre, sniffing at the bubbles and sneezing when they inevitably tickle her nose. It makes Harrington laugh as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, kneeling on the floor beside the tub.

His hands quickly become covered in the frothy brown evidence of the dirt being washed from Eleven’s fur as he scrubs. It’s not something he minds too much, given the minimal complaining—though he does curse when Eleven shakes and splatters droplets of dissolved mud and murky water his way.

Eleven seems to be enjoying the bath a great deal, even when Harrington removes the plug to drain away the ruined water and reaches for the showerhead to blast away the final stubborn patches of muck. She even leans into a particularly satisfying scratch with a great aura of contentment.

Before long, she’s clean enough for Harrington to deem suitable, and even Billy has to nod his approval at the immaculate state of her coat. It’ll save her a great deal of discomfort in the coming months.

Towelling off has Eleven excited again, darting around the bathroom space to avoid the towel. It’s only a game, though, and she does eventually get dried. If she had wanted to escape the rub down, she could have easily squeezed her way between Billy and the edge of the doorway and dashed away to safety—and Billy would have been right behind her!

In the end, she tires herself out with all the fun and the warmth from the bath water that soothed her cold bones from days in the winter chill. Harrington notices it only a minute or so after Billy, shooting her a fond smile.

The next room he leads them to is, apparently, his bedroom. 

He places a layer of dry towels over the surface and allows Eleven to hop up and get comfortable. With her settled in for a nap, Billy allows himself to be ushered from the room. He won’t divulge her of a comfortable rest, God knows she needs it.

“Okay,” Steve huffs, evidently feeling the energy drain after dealing with an overactive pup. “Now you.”

That makes the fur on Billy’s back stand on end, entire body tensing. Sorry, him? Does Harrington really think Billy is going to let him anywhere near him?

Until now, Billy hasn’t even let Harrington come within six metres of them! And even with this strange truce they have going on, he doesn’t intend to suffer the vulnerability and the indignation of letting this teenager bathe him. Has Harrington forgotten that Billy is the one who has been sending him warning looks and cautionary growls all day?

Another growl rumbles with his distaste at the very thought but, before Billy can dart away, or bite, or anything else, Harrington’s hand clamps around the scruff at the back of his neck. Billy finds himself startled at the sheer audacity! This part-human thinks he can just pick him up and carry him around like an unruly dog? 

He finally snaps back to his senses when Harrington tries to encourage him into the slippery tub. Not that this is something Billy has any intention of allowing to happen on his watch. With a great deal of kicking and growling, head butting back to collide with Harrington’s shoulder with as much force as he can manage, he tries to buck his way free.

It doesn’t work. Barely. Harrington manages to wrestle him into the tub, panting with exhaustion, and jolts into action when Billy tries to jump back out. 

Effectively, he’s been trapped by this idiot. This idiot who invited two wolves into his lovely clean house like lovable stray dogs.

It’s not a good look for Billy. He’s just glad Eleven is asleep and not watching him be outsmarted by this nitwit.

The water around him is indulgently warm as it pours from the tap, filling the tub with it and frothing white bubbles. Given the state of him and what happened during Eleven’s bath he’s sure it’s not going to stay that way for long.

Harrington has lathered up some soap between his hands and is reaching for Billy before he even knows it’s happening. Billy had been so distracted by the indulgence of the water that he hadn’t even noticed Harrington moving. The sudden proximity startles him and, within an instant, he has Harrington’s forearm caught between his teeth.

“Gah!”

They both freeze, caught in the moment. Billy waits for Harrington to hit back as the other just stares at him, but Harrington doesn’t do anything. 

Slowly, Billy releases his hold. There’s no taste of iron or flash of broken skin, but he can see the indents of his teeth on Harrington’s flesh. That’s enough to make him feel guilty.

When Harrington, cautiously, tries again to wash him, Billy just lets it happen. Sure, he grumbles through it, but there’s no more fighting it. Of course, he’d never admit it—because this is still humiliating!—but, to an extent, it’s… nice.

The water is warm and Harrington is gentle, not lingering anywhere that has Billy stiffening nervously. After a few minutes, Harrington seems to settle, losing himself in his task and rambling happily at Billy.

“There we go. No one would have known you had lighter patches before this.”

Billy huffs.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re nearly clean, stop whining.”

Insulted, Billy thumps his sudsy head against Harrington’s side, making the other grumble in annoyance.

“See if I do anything nice for you again.”

The plug is pulled and Billy shakes off the water, reasoning that the bathroom was already trashed by Eleven anyway, and Harrington clearly wouldn’t do anything about it.

“Dude.”

If a wolf could grin, Billy would be.

Harrington dries him off with another towel and, wow. Billy hasn’t felt this human in years; clean and free and in a normal, if posh, house… It almost makes him homesick, but otherwise it just feels nice.

“There we go…” Harrington soothes, and Billy actually settles.

It makes him nervous, somewhere in the back of his mind. Billy has had his guard raised non stop since… Fuck, probably since his mom left. And now, after the better part of a year being spent cold and alone, on high alert as if the people from Hawkins lab would just jump out of the shadows and drag them away to that place again, he’s just tired.

He’s so fucking tired, and Harrington’s house is warm, and he’s clean, and the guy feeds them, and for once Billy just wants to stop. He doesn’t want to look over his shoulder, worrying about when their next meal will be and getting piss poor sleep. 

Fingers brush hesitantly through the fur on his back, and Billy lets it. Only for a moment but, god, is it nice. He knew Eleven was lonely but… he hadn’t realised how alone he’d felt. He thought he’d gotten used to it, but maybe he never had. Maybe that was just a comfortable lie.

He refuses to leave Harrington alone to do god only knows what behind their backs, though. He may be relaxed and lethargic, but he’s still a safe amount of paranoid. Eleven can rest up, but Billy only pointedly glares at Harrington when he tries to coax Billy to have a nap with her.

In the end, they settle in the Harringtons’ living room after Billy watches Harrington painstakingly scrub down the bathroom and the muddy trails he and Eleven made on their way in. Honestly, watching paint dry would have been just as interesting, but Billy, strangely, liked the company, muttered cursing included. 

The Harringtons’ sofa is comfortable, almost too much so. As the young Harrington settled down with a book, Billy sat beside him. He felt a little weird about it—Neil had never let him or his mother on any of the furniture if they were shifted, and that is really the only example of home life Billy had ever had—but Harrington had been the one to invite him up onto the cushions so he just went with it.

It’s proving more and more difficult to stay awake, now. Warm and clean and full, resting on a comfortable sofa, Billy finds himself reluctantly laying down and fighting his eyes as they drift closed again and again. Each blink seems to last a century, becoming harder and harder to fight back open.

At least, until he finds himself waking with a start at the sound of the doorbell. 

With a groan, Harrington pushes himself to his feet, moving to answer it. All of Billy’s fears come rushing back. 

It could be anyone out there! He should never have let his guard down. What if Hawkins Lab had finally caught up to them? What if someone had seen Billy and Eleven sneaking around? What if Mr and Mrs Harrington have come back? 

No matter what, any situation seems to spell doom for them, but Harrington is just up and walking over to the door like it’s nothing. What if it’s him? What if he took advantage of the time Billy fell asleep for? Maybe this has all been some sick ploy to sell them out.

Billy jumps up, darting over to stand in his way, a wary growl rumbling from his throat.

“It’s fine,” Harrington dismisses, walking past without a care.

Billy should fight him, do whatever it takes to stop him from opening the door. He should buy him and Eleven a little bit of time to run. But he just doesn’t have it in him. After everything, the idea of causing Harrington any more grief has his stomach churning in despair. 

But he has to do something.

His hand clamps around Harrington’s wrist, holding him in place as he startles at the sudden contact. He turns around in a panic to face Billy, eyes darting downwards before resolutely focusing on his face, cheeks burning.

Billy, though, pays no mind to his state of undress. It doesn’t matter that this is the most vulnerable he’s been in years. He needs to get Harrington to listen, he wants to be able to trust him. It’s been so long since Billy has had a good thing.

Harrington is a good thing. He just wants to keep it, this one indulgence.

“Don’t. Please.”

The word hurts coming out. Pleading has never gotten Billy anything good, any sympathy.

“Holy shit!” Harrington shouts, stumbling a step backwards. “No way. No fucking way.”

“Please,” Billy repeats.

“I didn’t think— I mean some part of me— …shit, dude.”

“Please. Don’t.”

Harrington regains his breath, not even seeming to notice as the doorbell rings once, twice more. It’s followed by pounding and some kid yelling. Neither of them move, eyes locked seriously on each others’. Harrington flexes his hand, making the flesh in Billy’s grasp shift. 

Billy’s eyes flash, it’s instinctive. Harrington feels like home, has done since the first time they came across each other, even if Billy didn’t let himself acknowledge it. Harrington’s shine their own unique shade of amber in return. They’re beautiful.

“It’s fine,” Harrington whispers to him. “It’s just the kids I babysit. My ex’s brother and his friends.”

His eyes dart towards the staircase.

“Is… is the other one like you?”

“Her name is Eleven, and yes. Don’t… I can’t let you do anything to put her in danger.”

“I won’t, I swear. Seriously.”

Billy nods, satisfied.

“But I have to let these guys in or they’ll break down the door.”

At that moment, someone presses down on the doorbell and doesn’t let up. It constantly chimes through the house, echoing through the empty halls.

“Fine.”

Billy lets go and Harrington takes a step away before hesitating.

“What’s your name?”

“Billy. What’s yours?”

“Steve.”

---

Next up in the race is the lovely @intothedysphoria so hang around to see what he's put together for us <3