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wardenparker · 10 days

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 10

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* In-laws (nice ones though!), passing mention of federal agents possessing guns, family dynamics, that one family member that married someone awful, the mystery of Agent Bailey begins to unravel, discussion of life in the public eye, planning for the future, discussion of collaring. Summary: After a rather dramatic birthday, heading to Texas to meet Marcus's family seems like a walk in the park. Notes: I am 100% certain that I have missed errors this week, loves. But alas, ya girl is back to working five days a week and she is SO tired. ✌ Please enjoy the chaos that is the Pike extended family!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The flight from Washington DC to Dallas is just over three hours long and you had agreed that it would be better to leave early in the morning on Saturday to arrive at his family's compound before lunchtime. The last two weeks have been a dream as you and Marcus spend basically all of your extra time together, sharing dinners after work and alternating beds for overnight stays. He's even come to his first Friday Night Dinner with your family, which makes it all the more appropriate that you're now flying with him to meet his.

Airline points used, Marcus was well aware that on a commercial flight, Agent Bailey would be much more comfortable with First Class and boarding the plane last. Allowing for the rest of the plane to embark so they were not filing past her and you. Now that the flight is closed and you are settled into your seat, he looks over at you with a smile. "Ready for chaos?" He asks playfully, picking up your hand. "My family is....energetic."

“I’m excited,” you assure him. You’re also nervous, but that’s natural. His big family is having their annual springtime get together for the start of baseball season and — according to Marcus — this is the biggest Pike family get together of the year. It’s a week of pickup games with his cousins, big family meals, revisiting old favorite haunts, and catching up on life. It used to be a way to help distract Marcus and his Mom as his Dad started out the new season every year and started traveling, but now it’s just their favorite reason to get together.

“Don’t feel like you have to do anything you don’t feel like.” Marcus insists. “Plenty of times half the cousins or wives and husbands end up in the stands watching and shit talking.”

“Baby if you think I’m not playing at least one game, you’re nuts.” Marcus has been so sweet about reassuring you and making sure you know nothing is expected of you on this trip, but frankly it just sounds like fun. Like the kind of happy chaos that is a complete break from your normal life.

He flashes you a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He admits shamelessly. “After the games, we grill out or eat whatever we threw on the smoker that morning.” He shrugs. “It’s a party the entire time.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You have been, and you are, and seeing him get excited would make the whole thing worth it even if you weren’t.

“Everyone is excited to meet you.” He promises. “Oh and mom asked if you had any allergies? Food or otherwise?” He shoots you a sheepish grin. “Forgot to ask.”

“Nothing at all. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me and sniff whatever weird Texas plants you guys have got.” A teasing grin counters his embarrassed one. “My brother and I did a campaign stop in Texas; I don’t think there was anything too sniffly in Austin. But I know the state is big.”

“Huge.” He snorts, smirking slightly. “You know what they say. ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’.” He jokes.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk that forms on your face is immediate and you lean over to nudge his shoulder. "Is that how you grew up so big?"

“Not that big.” He chuckles. “My cousins – the males – are bigger.”

Snorting slightly, you can't help but laugh as you nudge Marcus again. "That sounds painful."

“Shit.” Marcus chokes and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

"Well good," you're still laughing, juvenile sense of humor on full display even if you're quiet. "Otherwise I'd feel bad for their spouses."

He snorts and leans into press his lips to yours. “I’m the biggest.” He boasts, completely lying and he winks to acknowledge that. Not like him and his cousins have compared…since before puberty.

"Naughty." It's chastising, but you giggle as you steal another kiss as you both settle back in your seats for a short but comfortable flight.

Marcus hums as the flight attendant comes by. “Do you want a mimosa?” He asks softly. “Start our vacation off right?”

"Why not? Let's have a fancy flight." First class is already a bit of an extravagance, and you smile at the flight attendant gratefully. They are well aware of who is on board – Agent Bailey had background checks run on the flight crew as a precaution – and discreetly point out your agent to the gentleman. "And a cup of coffee for the woman in the suit right over there? She'll say she doesn't want anything but I know she'd love a cup right about now."

“Yes madam.” He nods and smiles back at you, finding it refreshing that you aren’t over demanding like some political figures. One asshole really set his teeth on edge last month.

"Thank you so much." The last thing you want to do is make a fuss for the flight crew, and you sit back with Marcus's hand in yours. As nervous as you might be, this is going to be a good week.

“Anywhere you want to see in particular?” Marcus asks, stretching his legs in the extra space the first row gives you. “We don’t have to rent a car. Although I know Agent Bailey will want one of the Secret Service vehicles to follow.

"I want to see whatever you want to show me. Any place you used to hang out when you were growing up, or favorite local places, or even places you've never been that you've always wanted to go." It's his hometown, after all, even if he wasn't born there. Texas is where he became the Marcus that you know and love.

“There’s a band that’s playing Friday night.” Marcus tells you. “At the bar where I used to play.” He chuckles. “It’s my old bandmates.”

"One hundred percent." Your agreement is absolutely instant and there is a giant smile on your face. "No contest. It will be the perfect way to spend our last night in Dallas. Well...last night for now. I know we'll come back plenty of times."

“Awesome.” His grin is wide, happy that you would want to listen to some music and hang out. Potentially meeting old friends. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You’ll like the place.”

"I'll love it." Just like everything else this week, you're looking forward to it because it's something that you'll share with him. It's the early memories of your relationship, as you share the things with each other that made you who you are.

The family compound is exactly that. A compound. Built during the first contract with the Yankees, Pike’s Place as it was fondly referred to, had started out as a way for Marcus’s dad to build the retirement home of his parents’ dreams and ended up being the multi-generational property it is today.

There are more than a half dozen buildings in the property, a large pool and a garden, and even their own personal baseball diamond. It’s like having a resort built specifically for his family. Stuck smack in the middle between a ranch to the south and another large family property to the north, no one would even have any idea that neighbors existed around here if they weren’t told about it.

The main house is a beautiful American Craftsman-style building with a deep front porch and a swing out front, painted bold blue and white against the yellow Texas sun. Matthew and Donna Pike’s house is well-appointed but far bigger than it looks on the outside, and all around it is a stunning garden that they keep together as a shared hobby. The backyard sprawls on endlessly, but for right now you can see more cars than people. It looks like everyone is congregating with Uncle Matt and Aunt Donna.

Marcus’s smile gets visibly wider the closer you get and when the car stops, he’s almost vibrating with joy. He’s not nervous at all, knowing that his entire family will adore you. “Are you ready?” He asks again, not even waiting to the reply before he is shooting out of the car to open the door for you.

“You didn’t tell me you grew up in the cutest place on Earth,” you tease happily, practically giggling at how picturesque it is as you get out of the rental car.

“It’s home.” He looks around the property proudly. “Even when we were living somewhere else because of dad’s job, this was always home.”

“It’s beautiful.” You squeeze into his side and grin back at Agent Bailey as she gets out of the second rental car. “I hope you get to relax a little while we’re down here, too. It’s got to be a hell of a nice change of pace from looking at the inn every day.”

Agent Bailey notes the fence that seems to stretch around the property with approval. “We might be more secure here.”

“Glad to hear it.” Anything that makes her more comfortable is more than okay with you. With as hard as she works, she deserves to be able relax whenever she can.

“Dad installed a fence when he had some fans come up to the house when he was on an away trip.” Marcus explains. They had done one of those ‘where the star athletes live’ things in the Sports Illustrated magazine and someone figured out where it was.” He shakes his head. “Dad was furious, and the compound got an upgrade.”

“Sounds like a solid response to me,” the Secret Service agent agrees as she looks around the property.

“Although, he does open the compound up for youth programs. Training, spending the day with baseball players.” Marcus smiles proudly.

“I love how proud of him you are.” You slip your hand into Marcus’s again and give him a beaming smile. “Time for the chaos, baby. Let’s do it.”

Marcus laughs as the two of you hear the playful shouts from the backyard. The little welcoming barbecue that your father had insisted on was already in full swing. He can’t wait to see how you take all of his cousins and nieces and nephews wearing name tags.

It only takes about a second before someone notices you, letting out a boisterous shout across the yard and garden. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in!”

“Charlie.” Marcus leans in to tell you as every head turns your way. “First cousin from my mom’s side. Can’t believe he’s the first one.”

“Is Charlie not usually this friendly?” You ask under your breath, smiling and waving as more and more heads turn your way.

“Just…unobservant.” Marcus hums, smiling wider when his mother drops her platter of finger foods on a table and rushes forward. “You made it!”

Dr. Donna Pike is a tall woman with a wide smile and honey brown eyes, but right now her most noticeable feature is her long arms which reach out to fold out her only son like a protective mama bird. "Flight was okay?" She asks, smiling at Marcus's nod before she shifts over to hug you in turn.

When she had been told that Marcus had found his soulmate, she had been thrilled. Not because he had to be with his soulmate, she wasn’t narrow minded like that, but because he’s always had so much love to give. She can only hope that you will do well receiving it and return a fraction of it back to him. The others hadn’t seen how pure his heart is. She says your name and squeezes you tight. “How are you? It’s such a delight to meet you.”

"Thank you for having me." Her hands are on your shoulder and it's instantly obvious where Marcus's beaming smile comes from. "I've heard so many wonderful things from Marcus about his family, I'm really excited to meet everyone."

“Well if anyone is too much, or we all are, you just tell us to go away.” She snorts, shooting you a grin. “We are a bit much as a collective.”

"I promise my threshold for much is very high." It has to be, with the kind of people that are always around political figures, but this week is not about you. You do smile again, though, and urge Agent Bailey to come closer than her usual three steps away. "And thank you for understanding that things are not very conventional for me right now. This is Agent Bailey. She's my duty agent and an absolutely superb human."

Donna smiles at the agent, although she doesn’t attempt to hug her. Aware that it might be deemed as threatening. “She is also extremely welcomed.” She nods and offers her hand. “I hope you can relax and have some fun as well, Agent Bailey. We have a comfortable room set up for you at the top of the stairs, just down the hall from them.”

"Thank you, Dr. Pike." Agent Bailey accepts the handshake gratefully. Some people perceive her presence as threatening and that just isn't the case. Especially not here.

“Please, call me Donna.” She insists. “Now, we’ve told the children they are not to ask about your gun, but I do hope that you will change out of your suit into more weather appropriate clothes?” She asks. “Texas is too hot for bespoke all day.”

Agent Bailey actually laughs at that, and you smile when she nods. "I'll be dressed down while I'm here, don't worry about that. Being conspicuous doesn't do much good in protection most of the time."

“Good.” Marcus’s mother smiles. “I’ve also taken the liberty of moving Marcus’s gun safe into your room. For when you are needing to secure it.” She frowns and looks towards Marcus. “Did you bring your own, sweetheart? I didn’t think to ask.”

"Very kind of you, ma'am, but not necessary." Agent Bailey assures her. "I have a portal safe in my luggage. Agent Pike also has his firearm so we'll both be secure and safe that way."

“Told you.” Matthew Pike snakes his arm around his wife and kisses her cheek. “Always overthinking. But I love it.”

"Precautions are good, sweetheart," Donna reminds him, but she smiles.

Marcus and his father could be twins, except for the older man has more pronounced wrinkles from a career spent in the sun. “So this is the gorgeous creature the universe paired you with?” He unwinds his arm from around his own soulmate to pull his son into a bear hug. “Aren’t you a lucky man?”

"I swore I was only going to do this once while we were here." Standing beside Marcus and practically vibrating, you know you probably look silly but you don't care. "Mr. Pike, I am a huge fan and I promise there will be no more fangirling from this point on, but I just wanted to say that once."

There’s a grin that matches his son’s, currently on both of the Pike men’s faces. “Marcus….she has taste.” He teases, winking at you and pulling you in for a hug. “You can fangirl all you like, sweetheart.”

“I’m just very excited to be here,” you admit, laughing as you hug your soulmate’s father in turn. “Marcus…he’s absolutely amazing. I hope you’re as proud of him as he is of both of you.”

“More-so.” Matthew promises, already liking you. “Although, let’s get you settled and a first drink in your hand before we introduce you to everyone else, hm?”

You and Marcus follow his parents through the house and Agent Bailey notes the features of the house with interest but doesn’t interfere. So far, everything is straight forward. She just hopes it stays that way. For your sake.

The tour of the house is easy. A large, open concept main living area is perfect for entertaining, and lines of sight. “Our bedroom is downstairs.” Donna explains. “So you kids will have the top floor to yourselves. Everyone else is staying in the bunkhouse this trip.”

The bunkhouse, as it has been explained to you, is the largest building on the compound which basically amounts to a Pike family motel. Plenty of parking and plenty of rooms to stay in makes it the place that is customarily occupied by Marcus's enormous brood of cousins. "And I'm sure Marcus told you," Matthew glances back at you as the five of you walk together. "But the basement is a game room. Foosball table, game systems, all that kind of thing."

“I was going to show her.” Marcus admits with a shrug. “But she’s bowled in the White House, I doubt our game room would impress her.”

"You are seriously underestimating my love of foosball," you assure Marcus. "I'm terrible at it, but I love it."

“Don’t worry.” Matthew chuckles. “My son excels at pool but cannot figure out a foosball table.”

"Then we can be terrible together," you decide, thankfully garnering a laugh from both Marcus and his parents.

“Which will be a lot of fun.” Marcus chuckles. “When bad weather rolls through, we enjoy the game room and there are people everywhere.” He warns. “One time, we had a checkers tournament, so all the little kids could be involved too.”

The group of you stop in the kitchen for large glasses of sweet tea, and Agent Bailey excuses herself to bring her things upstairs and change into some more civilian-oriented clothes. There are pictures of the family all around the house, but none as prevalent as the pictures of Marcus. His graduations, his triumphs, and some absolutely adorable childhood photos adorn the walls of the house, and you smile at every single one. At one time his wedding picture must have hung on these walls too, or other pictures of him and Lara, and for a moment your heart clenches with regret that he was ever hurt but swells with the knowledge that he’ll never be hurt like that again. The next wedding pictures on these walls will be of you with him, and those will never be coming down.

“Home sweet home.” Marcus hums, watching you take in the space that he had mostly grown up in.

“Ready kids?” Matthew Pike chuckles, opening the sliding kitchen doors to the backyard with great ceremony.

“Don’t worry.” Marcus quickly assures you. “Everyone has had their rabies shots. So they aren’t as feral as they seem.”

For all the teasing, the hugs from his cousins are immediate. They descend on you like a swarm of eager birds, flapping their wings and chattering away as they all introduce themselves and say how happy they are to see Marcus and to meet you.

Marcus smiles at every one of them. Greets them like long lost friends, which they are. They are the friends of his entire childhood and he's happy to introduce you.

A man wearing a name tag that marks him as Uncle Rob holds up two more name tags proudly — one emblazoned Marcus and the other Birdie. “Marcus told us you prefer your nickname,” his father explains with a grin.

“It’s perfect,” you assure them, taking the name tag with a bursting heart. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Uncle Rob is a treasure.” Marcus tells you as he is pulled into a hug and slaps his uncle’s back.

"Uncle Rob is his mother's younger brother," the man clarifies with a happy grin. "Four of the cousins are ours, but I won't quiz you on the family tree just yet."

"I appreciate that." Your laugh of acknowledgement comes easily. "But I've been studying, I promise."

Marcus laughs, knowing how worried you had been over this visit, and it seems as if you are blending in well. He reaches out and squeezes your hip affectionately. “She’s a quick study.”

"Probably mandatory." One of his cousins – her nametag says Selena – teases as she offers you a hug. "Can't imagine the way family debates go when your Mom is the President."

"They're....active." You admit with another laugh. The hug is readily accepted, too. Pikes are apparently very huggy people. "I'm just glad we don't have to come up with opening and closing arguments."

She laughs and nods. “No, but here you might be asked the ERA or RBI stats of anyone you are a ‘fan’ of.” She advises. “So beware.”

"I can absolutely handle stats." For some reason Selena's energy is a lot more calm and reassuring than some of the other cousins, and you feel a little more at ease with her at the moment. "Most of the time I've got those on lock even when nobody's asked."

“How do you take your hotdog?” She asks, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Get it right and we can be friends.”

"It's not gonna be what you want it to be," you laugh, though you do appreciate the way Selena measures her new acquaintances. "I'm from Philly, so pepper hash and spicy mustard."

Her frown is replaced by a smirk and she nods. “You didn’t say ketchup, so you’re good in my book.” She smirks, eyeing Marcus who is huffing and rolling his eyes. “I don’t claim her.” He snorts.

"Too bad," you tease back, looping your arm through his cousin's. "She's delightful and I'm adopting her immediately."

“She’s not housebroken.” He warns, ducking the playful swat she aims towards him.

"Neither is my brother, and we let him into the White House," you snort, laughing even harder when Selena snickers.

Matthew chuckles and he pats his son on the shoulder. “Too late now, son, Selena has charmed her.” He advises.

"I steal hearts," the woman beside you jokes, throwing you an exaggerated wink. "My parents named me after Selena Kyle. It's not my fault."

“Last year you said you were named after Selena Quintanilla-Pérez.” He reminds her with a grin, slapping away her hand again and tapping her chin fondly. “You were lying?” Of course she was, considering she was nine when Selena rose to fame.

"You should keep the Catwoman reference," you advise her with a grin. "Mysterious and nerdy. Very sexy choices."

“See?” Selena smugly grins at Marcus. “Your soulmate has taste.”

Marcus can’t help but grin at that. “So I keep hearing.”

“I have the very best taste.” You agree with that assessment wholeheartedly, leaning back over to Marcus to kiss his cheek.

That makes him laugh quietly and he leans in to hug Selena. “You do. Especially in soulmates.” He teases.

“Oh no.” Pretending to be grossed out, Selena rolls her eyes dramatically but is smiling fully at seeing her cousin happy. “Did you finally find someone as gross as you are when you’re in love?”

“Grosser.” Marcus hums, grinning at you lovingly. “My perfect match.”

“Stop hogging them!” A voice calls out from halfway down the yard, and yet another of Marcus’s smiling cousins can be seen lounging on a picnic table. “We all need to get our annual harassment in, ya know!”

“Oh god.” Marcus hangs his head, even as he laughs. He knows everything is in good fun and he will be harassing them right back.

Thank god for the nametags. You'd be utterly lost without them, even after the flashcards you made for yourself with permission from Marcus to scout his Facebook page for photos of his family. There are just too many of them. The conversations swirl and so do the introductions, but Marcus sticks with you. By the time everyone starts eating the conversation dies down a little and you find yourself at a table with Marcus, his parents, Selena, and her twin sister Harper. Plates of barbecue and cold salads come with fresh glasses of cold sweet tea or cans of soda, and the most relaxed atmosphere of chaos you've been in the middle of in a long time. In your book, this is vastly preferable to a State dinner.

“So what do you think?” Even Agent Bailey has a plate and a drink in her hand, talking to Rodger, one of his dad’s oldest friends. He always comes to these weeks. “She’s gonna relax some?”

"Seems like it." The sight of Agent Bailey socializing is like a miracle to you. A unicorn in real life if ever you saw one. "Any chance your Dad's friend is a beer guy? I found out last week that Agent Bailey brews her own as a hobby and I am endlessly fascinated by all the niche hobbies I keep finding out she has."

Marcus chuckles. “Rodger owns the brewery that supplies the Rangers with the Pike’s Pints.” He explains. “So he’s kind of a renaissance man when it comes to beer.”

"So she has a new best friend?" You laugh, leaning into his side as you eat. "That's fantastic. I hope she has some new ideas to be excited about by the time the week is out."

“My question is this…when does she have time?” He asks, shaking his head. “She’s always with you.”

"I don't think she sleeps." It's a question you've asked yourself plenty of times, but have yet to find an answer. "Apparently she has a dog and a husband and everything? A whole damn life. I'm so glad that doing the job she does hasn't kept her from it."

“Holy shit.” He snorts and looks back at the woman in question with more than slight admiration. “She’s a superhero.”

"She really is." There's no denying that whatsoever.

The meal progresses and his mother smiles at you. “So please, tell me about your inn.” She insists. “Marcus said that you have created a beautiful oasis.”

"It's my happy place." The question – and the description – make you beam. "And...sort of my first child, as well. I bought it from the previous owners a few years ago and my best friend runs the restaurant. It's a beautiful historical property in Alexandria, just outside of DC."

“It sounds like it’s your baby.” She smiles happily and nods. “He has had nothing but praise for it, and you, since his first phone call.”

"He's been wonderfully supportive. I couldn't ask for a more understanding or helpful partner." You do flash him a grin, though, and decide to rat him out to his mother just a tiny bit. "I do think the restaurant is at least half the reason he spends so much time there, though. It's amazing."

“He has always led with his stomach.” Donna snorts, shooting you a conspiratorial grin. “When he was a teen, he was always starving.” She intones dramatically.

"Isn't that how all teenage boys are made?" The laugh you share isn't at his expense, just shared amusement, and you pick up your sandwich again. "At least, my brother was always that way. I swear he ate six meals a day from ages twelve to twenty."

Marcus laughs and Donna rolls her eyes. “Marcus still sometimes eats six meals a day.” She snorts. “At least that’s the way it sounds when he calls. Always snacking.”

“That’s probably my fault these days,” you admit with a guilty grin. “I’m a snacker. Maybe that’s just another fun little quirk in the broad scheme of things.”

“I just have to run more.” Marcus chuckles, picking up a pickle spear and biting it in half. “So I can still beat everyone here stealing second.”

“We’ll see.” Selena narrows her eyes at him in challenge. “I’ve been training.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Marcus snorts and winks at his cousin. “Twenty bucks says I steal more bases than you.”

“Fine,” Selena shrugs, smirking as she leans back in her seat. “I’ll be out there stealing more hearts, anyway.”

“I’ve already got the heart I want.” Marcus informs her, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it dramatically.

“I love you, too.” Over the weeks, the promise has become stronger between the two of you and little daydreams about the future don’t seem so far off anymore — though you haven’t really planned anything beyond agreeing that you want to be together.

"See?" He smirks towards Selena with a fluttering of his lashes. "She loves me, so I am complete."

“You’re completely gross and I’m very happy for you,” Selena teases back. “You’ll have the picturesque wedding you always dreamed of, and a million kids, and make an east coast version of Pike Place.”

"Ohhhhh." He tilts his head curiously as he looks back at you. "Modern day Kennedy Compound?" He suggests. "Our version of Hyannis Port at the inn?"

“That’s a lot bigger than a little colonial cottage at the back of the grounds,” you remind him, but the idea makes your chest swell with absolute love. “But I think if we build at the back of the property we could do a bigger house and get away with it. People wouldn’t even be able to tell the two are connected.”

He smiles at the idea. "We will have to find out who owns the property adjoining yours." He hums. "Expand."

“So you’re already talking about a family, then?” His father, obviously enamored of the thought, smiles broadly. His son has always been a family man, even when that definition just meant his best friends were his cousins.

"We are planning out a lot of things." Marcus admits with a grin, unable to contain the happiness at the idea. "Not sure when that's going to happen, but we are on the same page."

“Maybe sometime before we’re too old and gray to travel all the way to DC?” Matthew jokes, although he’s only half joking.

You groan quietly and Marcus smirks as he looks at you expectantly. "Told you." He laughs. "You said your parents would be first, but I knew it was going to be mine."

“I’m still shocked my Dad didn’t bring it up at dinner last night,” you admit. You had been absolutely certain that your folks would use Friday night dinner as a chance to interview you about your intentions as a couple.

"I'm sure he wanted to." He laughs. "But we've classified that as Need To Know." He jokes.

“That may be the only way to survive with them.” Still, you can’t help but let the smile grow on your face. “By their standards, we’re taking positively forever.”

"I guess that means we should just run off to Vegas and get married." Marcus teases with a wink. "Really mess with their expectations."

“We would have four parents very upset with us,” you remind him. Every time you joke about getting married or have a little daydream it just sounds better and better, but you would never push him to elope. His family means to much to him, just like yours does to you.

"Yes they would." Donna points her fork at him playfully. "I don't care how you get married, I just want to be there."

“Yes ma’am.” That gets an instant agreement from you — not at all ready to set the precedence of going against your future mother-in-law about something like this.

"Good." She smiles in approval and smirks at her husband. "We will clear our schedules whenever they decide on a date."

"Well," you laugh, leaning into Marcus's side. "I guess you were right about not needing to worry over their approval."

“The fact that I love you is all my parents ever need to know.” He smiles and Matthew nods. “Marcus has a good head on his shoulders and a heart of gold. With you being his soulmate, you have to be the same.”

For dinner on your second night in Texas, Marcus promises to take care of everything and disappears with a grin on his face while his mother and Selena take you on a long walk around the large gardens of the compound. Anticipating a little girl talk and some bonding with his family, you had readily agreed.

“So how are you liking Texas, Birdie?” Donna asks curiously as the three of you stroll in the warm morning. You have been a dream to have visit and it’s obvious that you adore Marcus, so she has loved you being here. She just wants to make sure the feeling is mutual.

“It’s beautiful.” It’s not too hot yet, being the beginning of April, and walking around the compound is a nice way to settle in and work off the big breakfast everyone had this morning. “I’ve only been here once before and this is far less stressful.”

“I am sure the campaign trail was never relaxing.” She sympathizes softly. “Although, if you have to take up the trail again, we can offer you a respite from the questions and prying wherever we can.” With being her baby’s soulmate, she will be just as protective over you.

“I’m sure when re-election comes, I’ll be volunteering to come to Texas again just to be able to see my in-laws.” The thought is actually relaxing, to be able to take respite with such kind people, but the in-laws part excites you a bit.

“In-laws.” She beams when you say that. “Now I promise I won’t insist that you call me ‘mother’ or anything, but I hope that we can be friends.”

“Let’s start with Donna and Birdie and go from there,” you suggest, smiling just as broadly as she is. “I absolutely want us to be friends. Marcus loves you all so much and I know it means the world to him.”

“He is our only child, and we want him to be happy.” She promises. “But that doesn’t mean smothering him or not letting him live his life.” She laughs. “Matthew almost had a heart attack when he came home one break to find Marcus with shoulder length hair and an earring. But he never said a word.”

“Oh, please tell me you have pictures of that.” Marcus had told you about his long hair phase, but claimed no photos remained. You’ve been hoping that his parents have one tucked away somewhere.

Donna grins. “I have them all.” She promises. “Snuck them up to the attic before he could burn them.”

“He looks like the nerdiest member of Nirvana,” Selena snorts, giggling with the jovial malice only family can truly master.

“He was…too polite to really pull off the grunge look.” Donna admits, smiling at Selena’s almost evil outlook.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” There are hearts in your eyes when you say it and you don’t care to hide them one bit. “It’s—he’s better than I could have dreamed of for myself. Truly.”

“I have to confess….” Donna looks out over the gardens and sighs. “I have been so very worried about Marcus. He’s is such a loving man. He always has been, from the time he was a baby. But when he called me to say he had discovered his soulmate…” she looks back at you. “I was so very afraid that you wouldn’t understand his heart.”

“How do you mean?” She obvious cares for her son very deeply, and you do want to make sure that the relationship you have with her is honest. No misunderstandings if you can help it — which means asking for clarification. “Because he’s so giving and quick to jump in headfirst?”

“Yes….and no.” She admits. “Marcus is….well, he’s a caretaker. A fixer. You have a problem, he comes up with a solution. You feel tired and down, he will take some of your burden and try to cheer you up.” She sighs softly. “Oftentimes, so many women have been conditioned to be strong, independent, so they view that as misogyny or finding them helpless. It’s insulting to them and they resent him for it.”

“They don’t understand that offering care is his way of being supportive. It’s not that he doesn’t think they can do it themselves, it’s that he views being helpful as a romantic gesture as much as anything else.” You nod, understanding that entirely. “I think the hardest part for Marcus and me right now is that we’re both like that a lot of the time. Which means we’re constantly doing little fixes or giving little gifts or making little gestures. We’re still finding the balance.”

“That makes me feel better.” She admits with a smile. “You understand his need in doing it.”

“He wants me to know I don’t have to do it alone,” you acknowledge, offering her a smile as you walk. “And I want to make sure he knows the same.”

“You two truly are soulmates.” She chuckles. “And I have never been more happy to say those words.”

“Just as happy as I am to hear them, I promise you.” Stopping in your steady tracks, you touch her arm gently and offer her a slightly more serious look. “A lot of people interpreted the things I said on the campaign trail to mean that I’m against soulmates, but I’m absolutely not. I just don’t think anyone should be discriminated against for who they love. Anyone, and unfortunately a lot of people still believe only soulmates should be able to get married.”

“Those people…in my most professional opinion…” Donna snorts. “Are assholes.”

“Agreed.” You nod your head but Selena snorts at her aunts phrasing as the three of you start walking again.

“Do you have any specific plans while you are here?” Donna asks, curious if you had wanted to spend the entire time at the compound.

“I want to see whatever Marcus wants to show me.” It seems like an easy answer, but honestly you’re just here to meet his family and spent time with your soulmate. Anything more is a bonus. “Or anything you guys have in mind. I just…” you shrug in admission. “I never take vacations. So I’m reminding myself not to worry about work and trying to relax.”

“A workaholic.” She smirks slightly. “Something I’m very well-versed in.” She teases.

"Can't exactly stop yourself from taking work home with you when you live at work," you admit with a grin.

“As long as it’s work you love, I don’t see a problem with it.” Donna tells you.

"I really do." They already know that, of course, from how much and how proudly you talk about the inn. But still, you're beaming. "Marcus suggested we look at building our house on the property since I already own it, and I think it's only going to be a little while before we start in on that plan."

Building something together is something that Donna highly approves of. She nods. “Word of advice?” She offers with a smirk. “Have a general contractor negotiate any and all disagreements.”

"Noted," you agree instantly, knowing that Marcus's parents have a whole lifetime of experience in this particular area.

“It will solve a lot of arguments.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Over tile size!”

When Selena snorts out a laugh you have to suppose it's a family joke or at least and a family story, and you laugh too. "It's always something small, isn't it?"

“Yep.” She shakes her head and laughs. “One fight was about if the dishwasher should be on the left or right side of the sink.” She huffs. “Matthew rarely loaded the dishwasher, but thought that it continuously unfair to live in a right handed world as a leftie.” She rolls her eyes again, although it’s more amusement than annoyance.

Small things always seem large when they're under the microscope, and you can see how those things could get out of hand. But fortunately, from what you and Marcus have talked about so far, you're mostly on the same page right from the start. "I can see us tussling over little things pretty easily, but I think it will all turn out pretty well in the end. It's definitely a solid way to work through our skills in compromise and communication, though."

“Marcus knows how to communicate.” She promises. “He’s good at it, and if he’s not, I’ll give you free sessions.” She jokes, knowing the last thing any couple would want is to have an in-law involved.

"You'll be glad to hear that I have an excellent therapist to help me handle stressors and any manner of other unexpected event in my life that I need extra help in processing." The importance of simply having an impartial third party is not lost on you, but having a professionally trained and educated one is all the more important when possible stressors could include death threats sent to your family members.

“Very glad.” She nods and reaches out to pat your hand gently. “You are under a lot of pressure. That is obvious.”

"When we get back I have a meeting at the White House." Though you shudder for dramatic emphasis, it is unnerving. Those meetings about social outreach and the image of the First Family had gone well for Junie and Alex but since you're fairly certain what your mother will ask of you, you're dreading it.

“If you ever want to talk, just to vent, you can call me.” Donna offers softly. “Not in a professional capacity, although anything you say would be kept between us.”

"I really appreciate that." It's not something she has to offer. Not at all. But you're so grateful that your soulmate's parents have so far turned out to be wonderful people.

“Of course.” You might not take her up on the offer, but she wanted to extend it.

"And I hope you know you're always welcome in DC. Anytime, no hesitations." You swing back to grin at Selena on your other side. "You too. We could use another partner in crime."

“I am absolutely going to come visit.” Donna promised, and Selena nods eagerly. “Me too! I want to see this inn.”

"If you want to come and stay there, I'll have a word with the owner," you joke, and throw in a wink.

“And the food.” Donna insists. “Marcus has raved about your best friend, Sydney.”

"She's an absolute goddess." You promise them both. Building up your friends and loved ones is always easy for you. "Just the most talented chef you could possibly imagine. And an amazing person, to boot."

“She has to be.” Selena isn’t joking this time. “Marcus doesn’t waste time on people who aren’t amazing.” Now she gives a small, preening grin. “Which is why he loves me so much.” She jokes.

“I know what it is.” After about one full day of hanging out with Selena, you’ve narrowed down why it is that you are so comfortable with her, and it makes you laugh endlessly. “You’re exactly halfway between my best friend and my brother. Who are two of my top three favourite people in the world, despite the crap I give my little brother on a daily basis.”

“That sounds like a high compliment if I’ve ever heard one.” She laughs. “I’m the little sister Marcus never wished he had.”

“He loves all of you like siblings.” Even if he hadn’t said so explicitly, it’s easy to tell.

“We grew up together.” She agrees. “Even if we lived apart, summers together were important. Holidays spent driving each other and our parents crazy.” There’s a fond smile on her face. “Hopefully our kids will experience the same things.”

“I hope so, too.” The idea head settled into your bones and made you sunny with daydreams. “My siblings’ kids, too. The biggest family we can possibly make for them, since we never had any cousins growing up.”

“Pikes tend to assimilate the families that join them.” Donna shoots you a grin. “They are like the Borg.”

“That’s how we collected friends when I was a kid,” you laugh. The Pikes are definitely not like the Borg — they all feel far too much for that and you adore it. “Make friends with one of the three of us and suddenly you were just another family member.”

“That sounds familiar.” Selena snorts. “We love having people around. The more the merrier.”

“Absolutely.” The morning sun has hit the top of the sky but it’s not too hot, just making you stop warding off the crisp breeze as it disappears into a mellow midday.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Selena hesitates. “There was some talk about you dating a Congressman?”

There it is. You were wondering how long it would take someone to ask the very fair question. At least it’s Selena and not Cousin Terry’s wife Hannah who seems to distrust you purely for being the daughter of a politician. Which…is also fair…just not a stereotype that applies to you personally. “I was. For almost a year. I was still seeing him when Marcus and I met, but…” you shrug your shoulders a little, with honesty in the sheepishness. “I fell in love with Marcus so fast, and so deeply. Even if he hadn’t turned out to be my soulmate, I still would have ended things with my ex.”

“I didn’t want to pry, I just hadn’t seen anything about a break up and wanted to know if you were ‘public’ yet.” Selena reassures you. “There’s already been a message in the family chat about not posting while we are here on social media. So we don’t potentially ‘out’ your relationship.”

“It will be out by Easter.” Breathing a sigh of relief isn’t subtle, so you swallow it down and simply tighten your smile into an affirmative. “He’s coming to the Easter Egg Roll at the White House with me. After that, just…try to be conscious of people asking about family photos? If you’ve got ones with Marcus and me in them, we’ll just ask everyone to keep them private. You know, friends only.”

“We are used to that.” She nods and sends you a smile. “We’ve got your back. Don’t worry. No one here is going to judge you. Besides Hannah.” She snorts. “And let’s be honest, she’s a bitch.” Donna chokes out a laugh, quickly smothered, and swats at Selena’s butt from behind you. “Selena!” She scolds, obviously still trying not to laugh.

“Oh.” This time the relief whooshes out of you, but you end up laughing. “So it’s not just me?”

“Hannah is…the least comfortable with the easy, familial closeness of our family.” Donna snorts. “When she first started coming, there was an…accusation.” She hums delicately.

“What could poss—” As soon as your mind spins on it for long enough to actually ask the question, your mouth falls open in horror. “Oh my god! That’s—obviously, obviously I don’t think that. Please know that I have never ever thought that.”

“You don’t think I’m sleeping with Terry?” Selena snorts. “Thank God!”

“No, I definitely do not think you’re sleeping with your first cousin,” you laugh but still shudder.

“Apparently, Hannah doesn’t believe men and women can be friends. Not even relatives.” Selena shrugs. “So if it seems like all the female cousins keep their distance from Terry, it’s not because he’s a pervert. He’s actually amazing. His soulmate is just fucking nuts.”

“Got it.” Even though you flash a thumbs up in acknowledgment, all you can think of is how glad you are that Marcus didn’t stay with Vanessa. She would have hated this for the exact same reason. Probably been Hannah’s only ally.

“Hannah isn’t all bad.” Donna adds, trying to soften it some. “Just….a little…set in her ways. But honestly, this is the only time of year they come. They rarely join other holidays.” She looks over at you. “And pleased don’t think that we expect you to come for every holiday, but we will invite you.”

“We’ll come as often as we can.” You can promise that easily, though you know sometimes he’ll have to work and you’ll have to be at official events with your family. “It…will be easier once my mother is out of office.”

“I understand.” Donna is well aware of the demands of public figures. She had to be seen at a certain number of games and it was her own personal mission to attend the post seasons games any time Matthews’s teams made it. “Just know that we want what is best for you.”

“And that is so much more appreciated than you could know.” Maybe she does. Maybe she understands every bit of it. But because you appreciate the honesty of the words from your soulmate’s mother so much more than you expected to, you leave the phrasing as it is. No stumbling or correcting.

Donna winks at you and links her arm through yours. “You and I are going to be good friends.” She predicts with a happy smile. Marcus is over the moon in love with you and from what she could see, you are much the same. There is nothing more than Donna could ever wish for her baby, to find a smart, loving, good person – and you fit that bill perfectly.

Most of the day is spent in the massive pool down by the bunkhouse, with a little day drinking and a whole lot of horsing around and even a little heckling when some of the cousins got into a competition over best diving form — which quickly degraded into silliest dive. Now it’s sunset, and you’ve thrown a shirt and shorts over your dried out swimsuit for Marcus’s surprise.

“Hey babe.” Marcus finds you again, smiling at the relaxed smile on your face and he hands you a new drink. “You look like you’ve had a good time.”

"Well howdy stranger!" A slight affectation in your voice is just to make him laugh, and you grin when it succeeds. "Where have you been all day? Did you have fun with your Dad?" Matthew Pike had disappeared after breakfast along with his son, and when you had remarked on it to Donna during your walk, she had just said not to worry.

“Of course.” He grins, unable to stop himself as he moves over to caress your neck. “I was taking care of a few things for tonight. Why? Did you miss me?”

"Every second." And you don't care who knows it either. You sit up in your chair and stretch a little more to kiss him, catching the fresh scent of the bodywash he favors as it mixes with his bergamot and musk cologne. He's fresh and clean and it makes you wonder what he's been up to as much as it makes you want to drag him up to his bedroom.

“Good.” He smirks against your lips and offers you his hand as he steps out of your sphere. “Come on.”

"Ooo, is it surprise time?" The look of delight on your face is undisguised as you readily take his hand to pop up from your seat. "I'm all yours."

“Yes you are.” He beams about that fact as he pulls you closer. “Say goodnight to everyone, Birdie.” He hums quietly. “We probably won’t see them again tonight.”

"Good night everybody!" You wave immediately, wrapping your arm around Marcus's waist and barely sparing a backward glance in favor of grinning up at him.

“Damn.” He whistles as he guides you away from the pool and over to the truck. He’s already talked to agent Bailey and cleared things with her, so he just nods as the two of you pass by.

“Damn what?” You pose, laughing a little as you wonder if he’s amused at how quickly you’re ready to leave just about anyone behind to spend time with him.

“I could be a kidnapper and you would just go willingly.” He teases, reaching out and tugging on your ear gently.

“You’d be the best looking kidnapper around and Agent Bailey would have a hell of a time bringing me home,” you tease, hopping into the pickup when he opens the passenger door for you.

“Yep, you have Stockholm Syndrome.” He teases, leaning in to steal one more kiss before he closes the door and hurries around the hood.

Once he’s back in the cab beside you, you flash him a grin. “Belle got a library, I got the softest dom in the whole world and awesome in-laws. I’m okay with it.”

“Softest dom?” He snorts, tilting his head while he tries, and fails to look offended. “I’m a hard dom.” He protests.

"How hard you fuck me when we get going is not what I mean," you clarify, settling into the corner of the seat as he starts to drive the two of you across the compound. "You have the softest heart in the world and I feel very lucky to be the one you've decided to give it to."

“I know.” He promises. “I was teasing. I want you to be happy, healthy and loved. That’s all I want.”

"I am. All three, absolutely." Leaning against his shoulder on the drive, you hum slightly and end up sounding a little sheepish as you look out the window. "I missed you today. Even though we weren't apart too long."

He chuckles slightly and lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles and scrapes his teeth over the delicate skin. “I’ll show you how hard of a dom I am.” He teases. “I’ll put a collar on you.”

Not expected that reaction from him, you make a remarkably incoherent noise of interest and surprise before turning your head to look at him. "Don't tempt me with a good time, Pike."

He had been joking, but the way you react has him pausing. “Is that something you’re interested in?” He keeps the question casual, not wanting to seem like he’s pushing or judging, he’s doing neither.

"I always thought it sounded kind of sexy," you admit, wondering if he was just joking and not serious at all. "I mean it's not like...like something mandatory for me to be happy in a relationship, obviously. If--if you're not into that and at all and you were just joking—"

“Baby.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “Anything you are interested in is something we can talk about. If it’s an absolute no, then I’ll explain why. But I think it sounds kind of sexy too. Collars don’t have to be spiked dog collars where I pull you around on a leash and make you bark.” He snorts.

"A lot of day collars just look like cute little necklaces." Alright, you may or may not have done a little looking into it a few years ago with the guy you were seeing at the time. He was long gone now, but the idea had remained in your head. It was not something Sam would have gone for so it had never been brought up to him.

His brow ticks up, noting your interests and he hums. “They do.” He agrees. “Something sexy about being claimed, isn’t there?”

"Absolutely." He turns left at a pair of apple trees on the western part of the compound and keeps going, while you continue to snuggle next to him like a contented house cat. "I mean...I'm wearing a Pike family nametag. That's about as claimed as it gets."

“Not quite.” Marcus chuckles. “There’s definitely more claiming that can be done.”

"Is that a promise?" You tease, grin growing a little wider when he turns toward a tree line up ahead.

“Absolutely.” He follows the less worn paths through the trees, although it’s obvious from the tire marks through the grass road that someone has been there recently.

"So can I have a hint about where we're going?" This isn't a part of the property that you've been to yet and it's beautifully woodsy in a distinctly Southwestern way that you're finding fantastic.

“You’ll see.” The tree line gives way to clearing and Marcus smiles as the pond comes into view. “Right now.”

The little clearing in the trees is picture perfect. It looks more like a movie set than real life, the tree-lined pond ringed with fairy lights sitting side-by-side with a red and white checked gingham blanket and large picnic basket, and a small cooler to boot. "Baby," you sigh out the endearment excitedly. He knows you love surprises -- your family told him so -- but you weren't expecting anything. That, of course, it was makes surprises so wonderful.

“Now you know what I’ve been doing all day.” He tells you as the truck pulls to a stop close to the picnic sight. “Wanted to make this perfect.”

"It's gorgeous!" You breathe, practically squeaking with excitement as you turn to snuggle into his side as soon as he parks the truck. "Is this your old make out spot? Because if it is? It's an awesome choice."

“Maybe a few times?” Marcus shrugs his shoulders and gives you a boyish grin. “Not too many times.”

"Could make it one more." The exaggerated wink you aim at him makes both of you laugh. "If you wanted to, I mean."

“That was my evil plan.” Marcus admits without any remorse. “Bring you out here, woo you, make out with you.”

"Pretty good plan." Right about now he could undo your seatbelt and haul you into his lap in the truck and you wouldn't protest even for a second. "It's absolutely gorgeous, baby."

“Wanted to give you a special night.” He’s explains, unlatching his seatbelt so he can open the door and walk around to help you out.

“Every night with you is special.” As soon as you’re out of the truck you press in to kiss him, enjoying the lingering warmth of the early evening.

“So you’d rather go have dinner with everyone else than have a romantic picnic by the pond?” Marcus asks, reaching for the door handle. “We can go back…”

“Ohhhhh no.” You shake your head immediately. “We’re staying right here. In our perfect little oasis.”

“I thought you would say that.” Marcus chuckles as he takes your hand to guide you over to the blanket. “I brought wine, but we don’t have to drink anything stronger than lemonade.”

“Wine sounds nice.” You’ve been moderate in your drinking today, having two cups of water for every alcoholic beverage and making sure to eat, so you’re not worried about being too inebriated. “And very romantic, but I don’t ever doubt that from you.”

“Well. I know that it might not be the fanciest, but I wanted to make an effort.” He grins at your praise and both of you sit down on the checkered spread.

“You’re perfect level of fancy for me.” Once you sit down here starts to unpack things, and you fidget slightly on the blanket. “But…Speaking of…of that? I wondered if I could talk to you about an idea that I had.” The actual thought has been rolling around in your head for a while for uncomfortable reasons, but now that it’s Marcus it’s actually a nice thing you don’t mind dreaming about a little.

“Speaking of fancy….” He chuckles. “Alright. I’ll pour out the wine. You pitch me your idea and we will strategize.” He jokes as he opens the top to the wicker basket and produces two, picnic friendly wine glasses and sets them down to retrieve the wine from the cooler.

“Unless you had something else you wanted to talk about?” Maybe that’s what this beautiful picnic is and you’ve usurped the purpose of the night by jumping the gun, you can’t be sure.

“I’m wanting to talk about whatever you want, my love.” He promises as he uses the corkscrew to open the bottle.

“Very accommodating of you.” But that’s Marcus and you know it. Instead you focus on opening up the containers he’s packed away that are holding your dinner. “Do you remember I told you that my mother wants the three of us kids to all do…sort of…family publicity type stuff? Like Junie getting a dog and being willing to be public about it?”

“Yes.” He nods and pours out the wine into each glass. “You didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it, although you tried to put on a good front.”

“I’m not terribly enthusiastic about it.” You can admit that, especially to him. “Which is why I’m not sure if this idea is selfish or not.”

“Honey….” Marcus hands you the wine and takes the container with the cheese from you to open. “You are not a politician, you don’t seek the spotlight. Sharing yourself with the public in a way you need isn’t selfish.” He’s pretty much guessed that it has to be some idea about your relationship, and he’s okay with that.

“It’s selfish because it’s something I’m asking you to do with me.” The wine glass is cold in your hand, a soothing and grounding change from the warm day. Although now that the sun’s down it will be cool sooner rather than later. “Because I’m more comfortable and more confident with you beside me in that spotlight.”

“Whatever you need.” Marcus promises. “Undercover work was never exactly fun for me, and I’m out as a UA now that the picture of us dancing was posted in the papers.”

“I feel like I ought to apologize.” The wine he chose is fruity and dry, much more complex than you would but for yourself despite his claim that it’s not fancy.

“No, sweetheart, please don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was aware pictures would be taken. It was my own choice. And I don’t regret it for a second.”

“I didn’t know art crimes required undercover work. Though I suppose it makes perfect sense now that I think about it.” And you’re definitely stalling, but you push it further by assembling a charcuterie bite from the containers around you.

“It’s rare, but I only took the last assignment where I went undercover was because I needed to get away after things ended with Teresa.” He explains.

"Well, you'll have nothing like that reason ever again." The idea of Marcus with a broken heart is too much to stomach, and the coping mechanism of assembling the perfect charcuterie bite for him now pushing the thought out of your mind.

“I know.” It’s freeing to know that you two are very much in the same pages. Despite the fact that being soulmates does guarantee happiness, you and him will do everything to make sure that your story is a good one.

"So...the thing I wanted to talk to you about..." Enough stalling. Time to be an adult. "Is not because I want to push you, or rush you, or anything like that. But...because I keep thinking about it and thinking that getting ahead of the curve is the only way to really control it, and controlling it will be so much less stressful and make half as much work in the long run."

You’re cute when you’re flustered, Marcus leans back on the blanket, completely relaxed as he takes a sip of his wine. “So are we talking televised wedding? Or just pictures?” He asks.

"We are not broadcasting the wedding." That's the point at which you draw the line, you already know that. It's too much. Too invasive even for a family in the public eye. "I was thinking more like...letting photos be released along the way. Like sharing engagement photos, or photos of dresses that I don't pick. Things like that?"

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” It’s an easy agreement, one that has him lifting a brow. “That was all?”

"Even if that includes sharing photos of your bachelor party or sitting down with a reporter yourself?" The fact that he's willing to agree to it so easily is utterly shocking to you, and you feel like you have to do your due diligence and double check. "Or even share part of the proposal?"

“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Marcus agrees. “It’s like the family days at the parks or when mom and dad would have interviews.”

Sometimes you really do forget that he already has a frame of reference for all of this. That he understands being a family in the spotlight. You take a sip of your wine and build him another bite from the charcuterie containers, offering it to him with a grateful smile. "I love you. Completely. I really hope you know how grateful I am for you."

“Why don’t we plan to have photos released from our engagement, you and I can sit down with a reporter about the expectations of soulmates and politics. There can be a website for all this with links to charities or causes that you want to champion or bring to light?”

"I don't understand how you get even more perfect." When he takes the cracker from your hand you run a finger under his jaw and end up feeling heat in your cheeks all over again. "When we get back I'll talk to Mom and whoever from her team is supposed to be coordinating my media stuff. And..." That same hand of yours squeezes his knee gently. "This is not me trying to rush you into anything. I'm sure we'll get enthusiastic and rush all on our own."

“Us?” He feigns surprise and smirks slightly. “Maybe we will, maybe we will surprise ourselves.” He turns and kisses the palm of your hand. “But I doubt it.”

"I doubt it, too." It's a kiss from his lips that you want most, and lean forward to steal it without shame. "But I love that we're on the same page so easily."

“So after that birthday….um, debacle…” he makes a face. “Are you totally opposed to the idea of a surprise proposal or what?”

"As long as it's you proposing, a surprise is fine." Debacle is the right word, and you roll your eyes slightly. "I actually do love surprises. Mom told you that."

“You might have changed your mind.” The sun is setting and right on cue, the fairy lights that he had spent the majority of the day stringing around the pond come on.

The way you coo at the change in lighting is full of delight, and you lean into his side on the blanket with nothing short of delight on your face. "See this is why I love surprises. For things like this."

“I was hoping you would like it.” Marcus grins as you stare in loving awe of the lights as they play off the water and the sunset.

"You know...the back of the property at the inn has a little pond like this." You lean back against him and enjoy the view around you. "There's nothing around it really, so I haven't thought about putting a garden there or anything. But...it could be in the backyard of our house if we wanted it to."

“I think we could do that.” Marcus smirks and reaches out to touch the rim of his glass against yours. “Our own little escape.”

"And it's far enough back from the inn to soothe your very sweet concern over historically matching buildings." Which you love, but you don't want him to get so hung up on it that he ends up sacrificing another aspect of the house he might truly love.

“You have something else in mind?” He asks, wondering if you want something different for how you raise your children and where you live.

"I don't really know a hell of a lot about architectural styles," you admit. "I just don't want us to miss out on our dream house because we got stuck on making the buildings match. We can set our house back enough that it will have its own space."

“Any house that has you and our family in it is my dream house.” He promises, smiling at you happily.

"I love you, too." In a way that makes you feel like your heart is going to swell right out of your chest, but in the absolute best possible way.

“I know you do.” Marcus murmurs softly, wondering how he got so lucky with you. “I am a lucky man.”

Leaning back lets you kiss him, just a soft thing but tender and full of desire and promise before you pull back and smile at him softly. "I guess we're both lucky, then."

“Oh!” Marcus pulls out his phone, forgetting that he had programmed it and opens it up to the music app to start playing music. “Forgot that part.” He huffs. “Too eager to pour wine.”

You know even on the first song that it's a playlist of love songs. There is nothing more supremely on point for Marcus than a night like this, with all of the magic that he's infused into this beautiful little dinner. "I don't know how, but you keep making it better every second."

“That’s high praise.” He hums, putting together a bite for you and holding it out for you to eat. “I’ve enjoyed having you to spoil.”

“And you’re about the only person in the world I’ll ever let do it.” The admission comes with a laugh, and you place another soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for suggesting this trip, love.”

“I’m glad you got to come.” He admits with a smile as you take the offered bite and groan at the taste. “I know it was hard to take off last minute and I appreciate it. Next time we will have it planned better.”

“It’s less that it’s hard and more that I get very determined about being hands on,” you admit. “Malachi can run that place in his sleep during the day, and my managers are great. I just…always worry.”

“It’s your baby.” Marcus acknowledges easily. “It’s like a case for me. My team is incredibly proficient at their jobs, but if there is a stake out or some kind of op to be run, I like being there.”

“I’m grateful you understand.” Others hadn’t, and so the fact that Marcus is supportive of your need for work as well as your need for a family is very much appreciated. “And Sydney was joking about sending care packages to your stake outs if you wanted them, so I think your team is about to be very happy, too.”

“If she did, she would become an unofficial member of the team.” Marcus snorts. “They wouldn’t be happy with pizza anymore.”

“I’d have even more FBI agents on my doorstep,” you giggle at the image. “There’s already three of you, we’ll need to designate a dining room or something.”

“The Fed Room.” Marcus snorts, grinning at the idea. “It would never be empty.”

“Syd may have thrown a tiny bit of a fit when I told her I don’t want her to cater any of our wedding stuff,” you admit, cringing slightly as Marcus starts to open another round of containers from the picnic basket. “But she’s my best friend and will be my maid of honor. I want her there by my side, not stuck in the kitchen.”

“How about she can cater the engagement party?” Marcus suggests. “That way she’s involved but it’s not taking over her enjoying your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about an engagement party.” The compromise makes you turn up your chin to look at him with wide, starry eyes. “It’s perfect. Just like you, love.”

“We have to have a party.” Marcus teases, kissing your nose. “The press can have the story of my proposal and the engagement party. That’s also a good way to keep our actual engagement to ourselves.”

“I’m so fucking glad you’re with me on this.” The honest laugh is stifled but full of relief as you lounge with him in the blanket. “I would never think of any of this and I’d just end up stressed out or going along with whatever anybody else planned to avoid having to think about it.”

“I will fix anything you ever ask me to.” Marcus promises. “But if you ever don’t like something, you never have to worry about me being upset by that.”

“And the same goes for you,” you promise him, with the same measure of seriousness in your eyes and honesty in your voice. “I hope you know that.”

“I know.” He picks up a grape to pop into his mouth. “You and I are very communicative.”

“I feel like I should apologize.” Your voice lowers slightly, the unsureness seeping through it.

“Why?” Marcus frowns slightly, not liking that comment at all. You have nothing to apologize for. He loves that the two of you are talking and planning your lives together.

“Past relationships…have not been as okay with my tendency to talk everything out at length.” It’s not something that you really ever planned on bringing up, since Marcus likes to dream and plan and plot like you do. But maybe it’s good that he knows, since it has slipped out without you meaning to. “I always felt like I was bothering them with it. And ended up apologizing a lot.”

He frowns even more, reaching out after he sets down to his wine glass and pulls you close. “Sweetheart, I want to talk things out. Even if it’s as mundane as brunch locations or if the entryway table should be moved.” He promises. “Please never feel like you should apologize. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

“You might regret saying that when I get going about the logistics of booking rooms for large parties.” It’s a decent attempt at a joke, even if it’s wry, and you lean into Marcus’s comforting warmth with a sigh. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you are as straight forward and wholeheartedly enthusiastic about this entire relationship as I am. It seems surreal but it’s too wonderful to be a dream, so I’m just doing my best to process the whole thing.”

“You process however you need to.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right here to reassure you again. You’re my partner, my lover, and my friend.” He murmurs. “The most important person in the universe to me.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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lesbianloml · 1 year

Text

the beginning

my babysitter au

type of piece(s): imagine, oneshot, drabble, series

type(s) of writing: smut, angst, fluff, dark (the story will contain all of the above)

pairing(s): milf!dom!dark!wanda maximoff x innocent!sub!immune!witch!fem!reader

warning(s): legal age gap (wanda is 33, reader is 21), perverted men, mentions of sex, this is just where they meet so nothing big

summary: when wanda hires a new babysitter, she is shocked to find that there are some things she doesn't know about her town. the biggest shock is you, you are immune to wanda's powers. an even bigger shock comes when wanda finds out you have powers of your own.

a/n: this series is going to be LOOSLY based on my wandavision dr. if anyone has anything they would like to see or something, let me know. and if anyone wants to talk about shifting, hit me up. i kinda imagined reader as a soft and quiet girl. also, you're kinda a whore. and you love to read and bake. in this series, wanda doesn't really do a tv show or different eras, it's all just normal. but the agents and stuff outside the hex have a big part. reader works at the local café that she owns and spends most of her free time in the library. anyways, enjoy part one!

1.8k words

(not my pics)

(pretend she had billy and tommy before the hex)

"what's the name for your order?" you asked, a little annoyed. you loved your job, but the older man standing in front of you made you want to throw your apron down and quit. "cohen, babe. don't forget next time" cohen shoots you a wink. you hold back a gag as you try to smile politely, writing the name on the side of the cup and turning your back to begin making the drink. grabbing a bag from behind you, you set the cinnamon pastry you made a few hours prior into a container and set it in the bag. as quick as you can, you mix up his drink and slap a lid on it while rolling up the top of the bag, wanting him to leave as soon as possible. "here you go" you say, spinning around and handing the bag and the drink to him. he gives you a look and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, you tap the counter three times swiftly. your work best friend, sophie comes around from the back. "hey babe! is he causing you trouble?" cohen glares harshly at sophie, but one thing you love about her is the way she doesn't back down. sophie gives him a look that immediately has cohen scurrying out the door, tail between his legs. "thanks soph" "anytime love. we get off in fifteen, where you going tonight? your apartment or your mom's house?" you look around to see an empty café, emptier than usual. usually, the shop is packed full of starved or thirsty customers. but it's dark outside, and who would come get caffeine and food at 9:45 at night?

"I'll just stop by the library real quick before it closes and then head home and watch a movie or something." you say, smiling as you think about the old library downtown. it was your favorite place to be whenever you had free time or just needed some quiet. you turn and stacked some more cups and filled up the napkin container while waiting for your shift to end or another customer to walk in. you hear soph come out from the back room, where she was restocking supplies. "hey girl, can i ask a favor?" "yeah i'll stay and lock up so you can go fuck shawn" you say with a smirk and a giggle. sophie gasps dramatically. "how'd you know what i was gonna ask?" "because you ask me at least once a week. and the fact that you're a year older than me and supposed to be more mature makes it even funnier" "thank you! i'll see you tomorrow. don't forget, on sunday night we're baking treats for the elementary school bake sale on monday." "got it. i love you. see you sunday. enjoy shawn!" you sing as sophie laughs. "i will. love you too." "today is friday so on sunday, i need to be here by 5:00am so i can set up the tables and stuff to be ready to open at 6:00am. then i'll work until 10:00pm, close up, and help sophie bake some treats for monday's bake sale at the elementary school" you plan your day tomorrow in your head. glancing at the clock, you see it reads 9:55pm. 5 more minutes until you can lock up and leave. you work on monday, wednesday, friday, and sunday from 5:00am to 10:30pm. you usually open at 6:00am and close at 10:00pm 4/7 days a week. you love your job but hate the hours. your job at the coffee shop payed extremely well, so no matter how much you hated waking up before the sun, you weren't going to quit. you grab a rag and wipe the counters down. 3 minutes until you lock up and leave.

you spin around when you hear the little bell above the shop door ding, signaling someone came in. you almost drop the damp rag you're holding when you see her, a women, maybe in her early thirties. she had beautiful red hair and striking green eyes. her clothes were casual and relaxed, but you were sure she was some sort of powerful figure from the way she walked and held herself. you had never seen her in westview before, you were sure you'd remember her, and you'd lived in westview since you were eighteen, so three years now. you shake your head before walking around the counter to greet the women. she's even prettier up close. "you came in at the perfect time. i was just about to lock up." you tell the women with a smile. "oh, i can leave if you're closed-" before the women starts apologizing, you cut her off. "oh no, it's ok. i don't mind, i was getting lonely in here anyways. what can i get for you tonight?" "just a coffee and a piece of apple pie, please" you nod and turn to make her order. you don't ask her name, too shy to do so. it's a good thing that this women isn't. "i'm wanda." "y/n. i don't remember seeing you around westview. did you just move here?" you ask, sliding her drink and bag with the pie in the container to her over the counter. "no, we haven't moved here yet. i was just looking around, getting ready to move in with my boys" "oh, you have kids? how old?" "i have twin boys. they're ten" wanda's face lights up when she talks about them. "cute! i guess i'll be seeing you around more if you're going to move here" "you sure will, sweetheart." you wonder what that's supposed to mean as wanda smiles at you before paying and exiting the café, leaving a trail of perfume in her wake.

wanda turns the wheel to the left, not really knowing what she's looking for, but knows she's looking for something. wanda reminds herself that she needs to head back to the hotel and rest up for tomorrow when she and her boys were going to move into their new home. ever since vision kicked them out, they've been staying in a hotel but then wanda remembered the house that she owned in westview. the perfect place for her and her boys to start over. as wanda is thinking, her head droops and stomach grumbles. she hasn't drank or eaten anything all day. wanda continues driving around the streets, looking for a restaurant or something that she could get a bite to eat at. wanda slows the car when she sees a little café on the corner, letting out a sigh of relief as she sees movement and light from inside. she wouldn't have made it the forty five minutes back to the hotel without eating something. she quickly climbs out of her car and enters the café, not really paying attention to who's there with her. wanda just wants to get back as soon as she can. "you came in at the perfect time. i was just about to lock up" wanda almost falls over at the sound of the other female's voice. it was so relaxing and quiet. so beautiful. she glances up to look and sees you. wanda swears she stops breathing for a moment. you were the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. with the prettiest smile, even at the disturbance, and the softest voice, wanda swore she just met an angel. you had to be an angel. you're smiling. at her. "oh, i can leave if you're closed-" "oh no. it's ok. i don't mind, i was getting lonely in here anyways. what can i get for you tonight?" you were so sweet, so kind. "just a coffee and a slice of apple pie, please" wanda smirks to herself when she sees the tint of blush on your cheeks. you were so cute, too shy to talk to her or ask her name. "i'm wanda" "y/n. i don't remember seeing you around westview. did you just move here?" wanda watches you slide the bag and coffee across the counter towards her. "no, we haven't moved here yet. i was just looking around, getting ready to move in with my boys" wanda states. "oh, you have kids? how old?" "i have twin boys. they're ten" she smiles at the thought of her boys. "cute! i guess i'll be seeing you around more if you're going to move here" "you sure will, sweetheart."

as wanda clambers into her car to begin the drive home, she thinks about the girl at the counter. "y/n" wanda thinks to herself, smiling at the name. she thinks it suits you. and as wanda is turning onto the freeway, she thinks to herself, "that girl will be mine"

as you lock up the café and slide into your car, you think about the women you saw. she was very pretty, and you hope that her and her kids move in ok. as you turn you car on and pull out of the parking lot, you rest your hands on the wheel as you begin driving home. your mind is pleasantly empty on the drive back to your apartment.

the first time wanda ever met you, wanda thought about you the entire drive back to the hotel. you were the most angelic person she'd ever met, and she was enchanted by you. the first time that you met wanda, you thought about her once before driving home. she was just another customer to you. but little did you know, you were becoming so much more to her.

little do you know, this is just the beginning

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 6 months

Text

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SUPEERR sorry for the late update! i went through a hellish week but I really wanted to go on with the story 😭 i wrote down the setting so the ending’s kinda set in stone, so buckle your seatbelts and prepare yourself for a ride.

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker [CAN THE OTHERS REDO THEIR NAMES I CANT FIND YALLS ACCOUNTS IM SCARED OF TAGGING THE WRONG PEOPLE IM SO SO SORRY IM NEW TO THIS]

⚠️ 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ PLOTTTTT. This chapter onward will mark the beginning of heavy themes. There will be mentions of death, manipulation, discussion of political issues, and profane language. Discretion is advised.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

And when the rain stopped, you two were back to the same scene, but with your hand on his sleeve.

You and Miles walked down the same Brooklyn road, your fingers pinching the corner of his jacket while he led your bike on with his free hand. Your shoes crunched against the autumn leaves, each step like a snapping twig, marking your each step.

Even at its darkest, Brooklyn never slept along with its sisters. The bright windows, the music playing from the underground bars, and the other couples maneuvering through the night like mice on the run. Still, everything seemed lazier and slower— and you didn’t know if it was just Miles or the atmosphere in general. Miles rambled on and on about his childhood show, going on about how his seven-year-old-self thought olives would be the greatest thing to snack on after seeing Jerry pine after it so much, and how after plopping it into his mouth changed the entire course of his life.

“Ever since then, I never ate another goddamn olive for the rest of my damn life.”

You laugh at his dramatics, at the way he shakes his head, but despite the dramatic way he moved, Miles never shook the arm your hand was clinging onto— you needed it more than his story-telling.

“I mean, olives do look like grapes, so I kinda understand the confusion.”

“That’s the biggest foul, really: that olives look like grapes.”

“It is kinda one hell of a foul. Mine’s the fact that raisins also look like grapes.”

And the image pops in his mind like a bubble. “… Jesus. Why the hell does everything look like grapes?”

“Ionno.” You shrug. “Same thing can be said about your head, though.”

He feigns offense, parting his mouth into an ‘o’ while leaning back. “Stop projecting your grapefruit-lookin’ ass.” Miles shoots back, earning a sharp swat from you. “Fucker, you’re the one built like a bamboo shoot.”

"You're the one talkin taller than your own height, you lil, dehydrated, un-sunned potted plant lookin' ass."

You gawk at the full-blown insult, earning nothing but a guffaw from Miles who shook his head.

"I'm just kidding, my girl, m'just kidding." He swiftly pulls you closer, pulling you in with his hand over your shoulders. "You know I'm just playin' with you, ma, you're the prettiest in my eyes." The way he sweetly coos tugs at your heartstrings, your tiny giggles muffled while he sways you around.

"Apology accepted," You snicker. "Riley Freeman.”

“… Future child bride.”

“Future enemy of the state.”

“Thas why you daddy don’t want’chu.”

“At least I got a daddy.”

And the squabble just went on and on.

Tiny jabs of flirting disguised as well-crafted insults, and subtle touches concealed as playful punches. The two of you were crazy in the sort of way that only the two of you can drive each other insane.

Ironically, you loved these sorts of moments with him— just two people simpering down the streets in good ol' New York. But in the back of your mind, there was still that lingering guilt that endlessly knocked against your psyche, begging you to tell the truth.

But the truth wasn’t the hotel, or the life you were living. The truth was a decaying matter locked in a finely decorated cage, where everyone could smell the stench, but they instead choose to ignore it all for the sake of preserving peace.

Miles would never do that. He wouldn’t turn around and shrug his shoulders just for the sake of preserving whatever peace or comfort New York had— he would absolutely fucking riot to disturb the comfortable.

But the thing was, all you had left was that peace, and the slightest piece of your dignity scrapped up like leftovers of a meal.

“Hey, ma.” Miles snaps you out of your thoughts, earning nothing but a small hum from you.

“… Do you know anythin ‘bout about parallel universes?”

You pause for a moment, processing that question like a printer— eyes slowly traveling to meet his as if to confirm if what you heard was correct. Miles shifts a bit, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“.. What?” You airily query, brows knitted together in confusion. He laughs at the way your mouth hung like a lost toddler. “Parallel universes? Ionno, I just heard ‘bout it from my dorm mate.” His fingers reach to scratch the nape of his neck. “Something ‘bout there being another version of us in another universe n shit like that— slight changes, maybe?”

“.. I’ve heard about it from my Physics professor, but I never really delved much into it.”

“Well, I’ve been thinkin a lot ‘bout it.”

Your nose scrunches. “Why though?”

“Well,” The two of you start walking again, with the pace much slower. “It made me wonder if there’s another us in another universe.. Doin’ shit like this.” His hand gestured at the both of you, soon dropping by your side. “You n me, just walking and talking. I wonder if we also like each other in another universe.”

It sounded cheesy. Being lovers in more than one world.

But you liked the sound of it. Lovers.

“I probably hate you in every other universe.” You laugh, lightly pushing him away.

“Well, maybe there’s somethin’ special ‘bout me in this universe that made you fall for me.” He smoothly chimed, leaning a bit closer. You try to hold back a smile, but it still seeped in the corners of your lips.

“Ionno ‘bout that.”

His grin only widens. “You know you love me, ma.”

You stare a long stare.

I do.

“Shut up.” You mumble, pacing faster when Miles reaches out to hold your hand. “Maaaaaaaa.”

“What do you want, Miles?”

And he looks at you with those eyes of his. The kind that dragged you into this whole mess, the kind that made you crawling back in four days. Subtly, he leans down to your level, eyes in line with your own. Only then, so gently, he presses his lips against yours for a second.

"I wonder if that happens in every other universe too?"

You blink at the act, somewhat speechless.

“I’d be missin out on a lot if I don’t get to kiss you like this in every universe.”

You try to snap back at him, but you could no longer find anymore ammo to fire. Miles sets your brother’s bike aside, kicking the stand down just to take both of your hands— placing them over his shoulders.

"How about you? What do you think?" He suddenly asks. "Who would we be to each other in another world?"

There were a million thoughts blundering your mind, a sort of disarray you weren't used to— the thing was, you didn’t even know who the two of you were supposed to be to each other in this world. Everything seemed all blurry in the future, and you couldn’t even think of one for yourself.

But for once, you couldn’t help but think of what could be.

“In another universe, we’re just us.” You mumble, your fingers tickling at the back of his neck.

“In another universe, I’ll be doing painting commissions at random shops to save up for Christmas. I’ll be working at that café we saw. You’ll be there, and we’ll meet up and I’ll be the one to ask for your number.” Your hand runs down his sleeve just to intertwine your fingers with his.

“What do you mean you? You can’t do nothing, I’ll be the one asking for your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “It’s another world, Miles. We ain’t entirely sure if we’re going to be the same people.”

“You’ve got a point,” He piques. “But—“

“Let me finish.” You sigh, and immediately, he snaps his jaw shut. “… I don’t have to escape every night just to see you, nor do we have to meet exclusively every Friday and Saturday. We’ll see each other everyday, and you’ll go to my house— and my mom will make us food while going on and on about us dating, and my dad’s going to scold me to keep the door open just so he can keep an eye out on you.”

Suddenly, all the fantasies you’ve mentally illustrated for yourself every night to dwell upon came running out of your mouth.

“Maybe, I’ll have a few childhood scars, and I’ll paint my nails any color I like— I’ll get a new set monthly, and I’ll let you choose the color. We’ll walk to school together, and I’ll never miss any of your basketball games…. We’ll just be,”

Normal.

“Us.”

Realizing your rambling, you shift away a bit, somewhat embarrassed of all the stuff you’d blurted out. It’s like you could sense him trying to piece together what you’d just said. With a cautious hand, he wraps it around your waist before nuzzling his head into your hair.

"What's stopping us from being like that in this world too?"

You hold onto him a little tighter.

“… It’s getting colder these days, huh?”

Noticing your hesitance to break open, Miles decides to simply play along for now. “Yeah, it’s getting colder, ma, so you,” He softly pulls away, placing both of his hands over your cheeks. “You should start taking care of yourself or else you might start a whole new bubonic plague.”

“Why the fuck do you keep linking that to me?”

“Cause you’re a host of viral plague.”

“I’m not even sickly, damn it.” You say, while feeling an itch in your nose. “You’re just making shit up at thi— hACHOO!” You sneeze down to the ground, narrowly missing your sleeve. Miles takes a step back, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“… Maybe I should be a plague doctor for halloween, and you should be a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague.”

He pictures you with comically large bags beneath your eyes, frail lips, and a white dress with its frock lost in the wind— and he’ll stand beside you, with the large black beak of the mask poking at your hair, with a large black cape flying behind his back.

“… Isn’t halloween this Saturday?” You think back with a frown. “I haven’t celebrated that in a long, long time.”

That was a lie. You’ve never celebrated halloween before.

“Huh?” He snaps in shock. “You don’t celebrate halloween?”

He watches you shrug. “It’s a kid’s thing.” Was what your Father always told you, in the same tone you were currently speaking.

“Awe man,” Miles mumbles. “… I thought you got the hint that we’re going trick or treating for our date.”

“Trick or treating?” That too, you also haven’t done. “I-Isn’t it dangerous? My mother said people would poison the candy and plant shit inside the chocolates.”

“What?” At that point, Miles was piecing together an image of your family with each passing story. “That almost never happens— who can afford poisoning children in this economy? Shit, might as well just use it on yourself with all the bills you have to pay.”

And there it goes again. The economy.

And it strikes you a bit. That guilt of being brought up pristinely uncomplicated. Privileged, as most would call it. Your problems were rather personal, never financial. Growing up, you’d been living lavishly in the comforts of your manor, never having to worry about tomorrow or next month or next year.

And, admittedly, it was unfair.

“… Miles, can I, um, discuss something with you?” You silently query, unconsciously matching your pace along with his. Miles only hums.

“Look. I don’t mean to get political, and I don’t want to sound privileged— but honestly speaking, I kinda am, and I can definitely recognize it.” You confess. “I wasn’t.. Raised in a home where we had to be conscious about money. My parents are well-off, in the way I’m sheltered as hell, but I’m not blind. I can see the city crumbling apart. My brother says that it’s all because people don’t wanna work anymore, and I never understood why.”

He raised his brows. “That’s… Well, I’m not gonna judge your brother from that alone,” Miles states, keeping in mind that he still wants to appeal to your family. “But honestly, that whole view is kinda whack. Listen, nena,” He takes a deep breath. “Imagine working your ass off nine to five— and you’re still getting paid the minimum wage. Rent is due, groceries are expensive, and you’re tired as hell, but it’s all not enough. You can’t even spend any of the money on yourself.”

“Well,” You pique. “… My father said that if the people would just stop buying irrelevant things and save up, they’d be able to live.”

Miles grimaces. “Do only the rich deserve happiness?”

Your head tilts. “Don’t they say that money can’t buy you happiness?”

He shook his head. “They say that because they’ve got the money.”

He spots the confused look on your face. Relatively, he takes your hand and further conveys. “Well, as you said, it’s a capitalist world. Only the wealthy say that because they don’t know what it’s like to be down here,” His hand points below. “In the slums, starving to damn death. Money can fix that shit. Money can fix all this, but they choose not to.”

Your mouth hung open.

“… I never thought of it that way.”

“Mhm.”

“My whole life, my parents have always chalked it up to hard work— but the city never sleeps, so it’s impossible that nobody here ain’t doing nothing.”

And it all processes through you. “Huh, it’s all.. New to me.” Naturally, your hand drags up to pluck the skin off your lips. “I never delved into that sort of issue before. My parents have always been kind of.. Sort of,”

“.. Elitist?”

“I was going to say stuck-up, but that makes so much more sense.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda seein’ it, not gonna lie.” His clicks his tongue. “Look, ion really talk ‘bout this sort of thing much, but I like discussing these sorts of things with you— ‘cuz it’s interesting seeing how open you are to these kinds of topics, even if you were raised like that.”

You turn your head to look at Miles, and your brow twitches ever so slightly at the pang of anxiety drumming at your chest.

“We’re… Really the opposites of each other, huh?”

He hums. “But in a way, we’re still kinda similar.”

“How so?” You ask, a bit dubious of the remark. You were all this, and he was all that. You doubted any sort of similarities you two had, but Miles holds your shaking hand.

“If you and I were solely made to be opposites, we’d be nemeses by now.”

And you ponder.

How long would it take before you start hating me?

How long would it take before I stop seeing that loving gaze of yours?

How long would it take before you discover the truth?

From afar, you could already spot the Gristedes building, as though it were the portal parting your world from his. You eventually take the bike back to yourself, dragging it by the handles. As the edge of the block materializes, you turn to look at the boy behind you.

“I’m gonna have to go ride back now.”

And when he draws closer, a flick of your mind takes the image of Miles’ exhausted face, assuming it’d be similar to what he’d look like once he recognizes the truth about you. You wonder if he feels it too— this strange air between the both of you, going past tension, and delving into something deeper and darker.

You’re so unsure. So afraid of how fragile this entire thing was.

“Ain’t I getting a kiss, nena?”

“You’re so needy.” You huff, opening your arms anyway. “If you get the bubonic plague, you’re gon’ be the one complaining all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, nena, whatever you say— just gimme my kiss.”

And he penguin walks his way to you, leaning down like a kid in search of candy. Miles steps into your view, following wherever you turned— his hands making their own journey across your waistline. Your palms snake up his shoulders, heels faltering backward when he presses you up against a brick wall. Your hands fall down to grip his arms instead, head tilting ever so slightly before taking his lips.

He takes you like you were his favorite drink, digging his fingers into the side of your waist— his body melting like ice on a summer day. With his hand, he angles your chin much higher, while yours trail up his chest, parting your lips to gasp for air, only for Miles to steal it away from you.

And when you part, you’re left a heaving mess.

“Trick or treating on Saturday?” He asks again. “Please?”

“… I—“

“I’ll take a bite of every candy you’ll get just to make sure it ain’t poisoned.”

You laugh at his remark.

“Fine.”

It was strange, almost unfamiliar to you, to meet the gate of the manor at this time of night.

It had you questioning your choices, your rationality, and the soundness of your mind. Your mind wasn’t entirely sound to begin with, fortunately for you Miles liked that about you.

After bribing the security, tossing Antonne’s bike to the side, and creeping into the damn place, suddenly, you’re thrust back into the stillness of your family’s generational household.

The marble tiles, the limestone brick walls, and the grandeur steps that parted by the center were all normalcy to you— in spite of how you’d always deemed your family as ‘capable’ to Miles.

Instead of childhood photos and potted plants, you were greeted by the sight of marvelously carved statues and antique paintings. Rather than a home, it felt more like a museum to you— but in a way, it was also your fault for keeping everything too clean.

It’s unfair.

One day you’ll leave this very house and leave it under the care of Antonne who hardly bore any interest for managing things. Despite the way you’ve learned to force yourself to take interest in numerous fields of whatever-the-fuck, this manor was something you treasured along with the hotel. Your father was well aware of your passion, your skills in tidiness, and that was the reason why he appointed you as Antonne’s proxy initially, but you were greedy for more.

You were a little too greedy to want Miles and the life you’d desired for the longest time. You didn’t know what the future was like, and you’ve grown too sick of having everyone else decide your own future for you. This life of infinite spending and glamour was the only life you’d ever known, and you weren’t prepared to abandon it all. As your mother said, no one’s privileged enough to be born as wealthy as you, and you’d likely carry that sort of financial ignorant bliss to the grave.

But Miles didn’t have that.

His family didn’t have generational heirlooms worth thousands of dollars, nor did they have antique paintings bought from highly private auctions. His home only had two bedrooms, unlike your own which housed tens of them.

You and him were astronomically different in more ways than one.

One of these days, those differences might end up either empowering or deadly to one of you.

Step. Step. Step.

As you treaded up the staircase, your hand jolts away from the icy ivory-pillared railings, cussing a subtle “Fuck,” as you went on. In the dead of the night, the halls appeared eerier and darker— as though you could see your own ancestors walking past the red carpets with their frilly gowns and downcast looks of disappointment. Like you could see them shaking their heads just after seeing you there, wearing Miles’ hoodie.

A scandal capable of ruining the family name. As if Antonne wasn’t enough, you ended up falling for a boy you’d likely run away with had you ever gotten the chance.

Elopement. Dramatically cliché, and somehow it still exists in the twenty-first century— for the star-crossed lovers and the filthy rich. Or maybe you just have really bad taste in men… Or parents! Pick a struggle.

You carried your shoes along with your guilt while trudging down the corridor, knowing you’ll likely have to have someone secretive clean the mess up for you. Antonne’s room was in a separate hall, with Malachi’s closer to your own. Even then, like a mouse, you scurry in silence just so you wouldn’t get caught. When you finally reach your door, a thousand burdens escape from your shoulders, only to hear a faint click when you try to twist the handle.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Why won’t it fucking open?” You whisper to yourself. A few more Click Click Click Click Click’s and you manage to finally recognize that you��ve been locked out of your own damn room. You search through your clothes to find the key, only to realize that it’d been in the pockets of the hoodie you’ve left at Miles’ place. In your anxiety, you pull on the edge of your hair, cursing a million words.

I can’t wake up Malachi.

You place your hand over your mouth.

Your breaths begin to stagger, your exhaustion taking hold of you. You tug at your hair a little harder, as though your current goal was to rip your scalp out— and it hurt, it hurt like absolute hell, but nothing was up to par with the pain brought to you by your own mean mind.

But you think, and you think.

Then you lean back, take a breath, and sigh.

And the next thing you know, you’re stabbing through the lock with a knife.

Well, it was less of a stab, more like a saw to jam the bolt. It took a few several tries, but it did manage to unlock after a snap. You heave a sigh of relief, heading right in before gently closing it shut. Immediately off to rest your head against the flat of your door as a sort of celebration for your success.

“… Where have you been?”

You celebrated a little too soon, unfortunately.

Antonne stared at you from the sill of one of your opened windows, the gleam of the new dawn gleaming in pink and blue behind him, casting a long shadow that trailed past your fluffy carpet and dawned over your darkened face. Ever so slowly, he plucks the dying cigarette from his teeth, the intoxicating scent tugging at your nostrils. For once, Antonne’s taken you aback after the longest while. He looks similarly exhausted, with his unbuttoned dress shirt and disheveled hair, while also reasonably confused by your current appearance.

“I was out.” You shallowly answer, as if it weren’t too obvious. Antonne furrows his brows, only heightening the permanent arch he already endowed. At the sound of your words, he clicks his tongue and flicks the cigarette out the window.

“Was it that boy again?” He speaks a baritone lower, like something being dragged through gravel. His shoulders heightened as he rested his palms above the sill. You sense a sort of imposing façade.

“… Miles Morales?”

Your eyes flit open, ventriloquist-esque. Like a dummy brought to life to perform for the circus. At that moment, the two of you siblings began to notice the semblances mirroring your parents’ ways; the younger sister who weaponizes her own ignorance like her father, and the older brother who, like a dog, barks endlessly like their mother. Your body leans against the handle, placing all your weight down a single foot while preparing yourself for whatever Antonne’s spared to speak.

“… Fifteen years old, lives with his single mother, Rio Morales, who’s a nurse at Langone. He’s close with his uncle, Aaron Davis, and he keeps steady high marks at Visions Academy... And yet,” His gaze narrows distastefully. “Despite going to such an elite school, he continues on to live a shady life, having at least once or twice participated in vandalism, destruction of private property, and simple assault.”

Antonne eyes your reaction, but you only shrug.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He clears his throat.

“His father, Jefferson Davis, momentarily worked for father and applied for security three years ago.“ Antonne takes a step forward, the shadow over his face growing darker. “And on the opening night of Aureum, he signed up to take a shift at the evening party.”

Antonne stood eerily, and so did you. The tension a blur, cuttable with a single slice from the knife hidden behind you.

“Did you know about that too?”

“... What are you insinuating?”

Antonne yells out your name in a bellow, but you don’t flinch. Like a deer, round and wide, your eyes were hauntingly frozen, scrutinizing the way he heaved. He struggled to search for the words to describe you— crass, cruel, wicked, bitch. And it only mulled him downer seeing you look guiltless. With his hand, he drags you by the collar.

“You’re wearing the hoodie of a boy whose father died in the tragedy you’re fucking covering up.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 sent a picture || Just now

Aaron peers at the message at his phone, swiping it upwards, thinking it must’ve been some sort of scam or bot. He chugs down the final sip of his coffee, settling by the couch with a disgruntled moan. He rests his head by the armrest, placing his mug down by the table before him. As he stretches the ache off his limbs, another chime goes off from his phone.

He lazily plucks it from his side, wincing as the bright screen flashed him.

+17479256640 || Just now

This is your nephew, right?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“Shh." You pull a finger over your lips, hushing him as though he were a child. Your other hand drafts away from the lock, and you toss the knife to the side. The loud, clacking way it fell made Antonne jump. And he sees you, and the way your lips curled into this amused smile.

At that smile alone, he falters, remembering so suddenly every detail about the mother you two shared. Every strand of her beautiful hair which you endowed, the darkening of her gaze when she was having fun, and the deriding way she looked at the people she deemed inferior.

I don’t need a knife to kill you, Antonne.

That look you had, a smile which he now recognized as a sneer, was what true hatred was.

“Antonne, maybe you’re forgetting that I’m not covering up just any fuck up, I’m covering up your fuck up.”

And when you took a single step forward, all of what was left of Antonne’s confidence crumbled.

“The building collapsed because you forced the workers to rush the process of the construction— and when the media got a hold of what was happening, you ran to Switzerland with Richard just to avoid the consequences, and all of who dealt with everything was me.” You dug an accusing finger into his shoulder. “I took care of everything in your place, and I sacrificed so much for it. But when you realized how I might take over your spot in the hotel, you came back after three whole years— going through every detail of me that you could find as a weakness. Well, let me tell you one thing, my dearest brother,”

You whisper over to his ear. “You can’t beat me at a game you’ve never fucking played before.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“What the fuck?”

Aaron sits right back up, clutching his phone with strength he never thought he had. Swiftly, he presses the notification— greeted with a photo of Miles and some girl walking down the streets with their hands clasped together. When the text bubble reappears, another photo surfaces with the girl’s face being much clearer. A sense of familiarity strikes him, and he couldn’t quite place what it was.

He zooms into the picture, fingers grasping the bottom of his chin while scourging through his memories.

His eyes trace the details of your hair, every curve and curl— your eyes, downcast and very attentive of Miles’ presence. So aware of him, it’s as though he was all that was left in the world. And he looked at you the same way. For a moment, it was like witnessing Rio and Jeff once more, with those gazes smiles.

‘Pretty. The kind of pretty who knows what she wants, and she can use her own face to get it. When you say something stupid, she’ll let you know that what you said was stupid with just her eyes alone— and it’ll shut me up, and I love it.’

Those were Miles’ exact words. For the last two months, you were all he ever really talked about. Seeing you now, Aaron couldn’t help but raise his brows at the sight of your hand intertwined with his nephew’s. He ought to be lying if he ever said that Miles was exaggerating— you were definitely a looker. And that was what unsettled him the most. He had this gut feeling he couldn’t shake, a burden gnawing at his stomach.

He soon drags his thumbs across the keyboard, typing out immediately.

Aaron Davis || Just now

who’s this?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“… What’s happened to you?”

It was genuine. And it wasn’t just curiosity, Antonne was seriously wondering with worry.

“What have you done to the sister I grew up with?”

The sister he grew up with?

Antonne could still remember, every aspect and smile you bore three years ago. And he remembered as though it’d all disappeared just yesterday. You were a smiley little girl— always a little too smart for her own good, and always a little too cheeky. But you were shy, and often kept to yourself. Even during those days, you often hid yourself in the shadows, crawling into the corner of every room you entered with a book in your hand.

He recognized you then. Now you were a complete stranger.

Your hand drops, and you shove your shoulder against Antonne’s. “Grew up with? You never grew up.” You trudge towards the window, closing it shut as soon as you got to the handle. “Meanwhile, I had to be an adult as soon as possible because if not me, then who? Mom’s not here, Dad’s a mess, Malachi’s ten years old, Montrell’s in London, and you ran away.” Your body sinks down to the floor. “When I’m with Miles, I feel… Sixteen, like how I should be.”

“… But if you’d just give me the job—“

“I’m not giving you shit.” You spat. “Not yet, at least, stop fucking rushing.”

Antonne stood, watching you sit by the sill, hand over your nightstand to reach out for your vape.

And the way it exits, so lividly and hatefully, like how mother would smoke after every silent dinner.

You were everything like her.

No matter how much you tried to erase yourself from your mother’s legacy, it didn’t help that you were the spitting image of her.

Even in the way you struggled, you were still your mother’s daughter.

“You.. Remind me of...” Mother. The comment slips after seeing her image overlap with your silhouette. You already knew the ending of the sentence as soon as it exited his lips. As the smoke trickles past your teeth, you look up.

“… You want me to do what she would’ve done?”

The way the moonlight pooled before you reminded him of how the glass shards glimmered around your mother after she’d wrecked her own room.

“You’re already doing what she did,” He murmurs. “Doing stupid shit for stupid ideals.”

You grab whatever you can off of the nightstand, throwing it right at Antonne who steps back from the impact of the book. As you heave, he stared hauntingly.

“You think you’re the only one trying so hard in life? I’m also doing my fucking best. You’re basing me off of a mistake I did when I was seventeen.” He took a step forward. “You weren’t the only one forced into adulthood. Instead of playing soccer and going out on first dates, dad made me run a hotel. Sure! I didn’t do half as great as you’re fucking doing, but once you fuck up, dad’s going to abandon you too.”

“I know that.” You shakily admit. “I know that no matter what I fucking do, the hotel’s going to end up in your hands, and all I’ve got is a shitty arranged marriage bound to go down the drain and a few many nights with too much wine and regrets ahead of me.” You rub your hands together for the sake of warmth, your voice growing shakier as it settles to break.

“But what I want, what I really want— I just want dad to look at me and think, ‘oh, maybe she can take hold at least a part of the conglomerate!’ instead of selling me off!”

It’s as though the Hotel was Antonne’s toy, and you’d been polishing it all these years with great care, knowing damn well he’d leave it off to rot.

But you never wanted that toy in the first place. You wanted your father to see you taking care of that toy, in hopes he’d gift you one that you could take care of for yourself.

“The reason why he’s not giving you any of it is b—“

“Because he doesn’t want the Fisks to use me after the marriage, I know.”

You run your fingers through your hair, tugging as though it were about to fall of your scalp.

“I’ve found… A way to escape it.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 || Just now

Do you recognize the girl beside him?

You replied || Just now

No.

His knee jumps along to the drumming of his chest. He thinks of Miles, wondering if he’d been kidnapped, coerced, or attacked. He knew the boy— he’s strong enough to fend for himself against many things. He’s well taught, he’s a genius and…

He’s a fucking fool for his lady. Just like his father.

God, who knew that the lone weakness of the Prowler was a sixteen-year-old with a pretty face?

Ding.

+17479256640 || Just now

Sent an attached file

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

You and Antonne’s heads swerve at the sound of your phone’s ringing. Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself off of the floor, scrambling to get your phone. With another hit off of the pen, you answer the call.

“What is it?”

And in the background, you hear yelling— commands being thrown in chaos and panic. You look at the ID, finding out that it’s one of your father’s aides. With a hushed whisper and a jagged breath, he reports.

“The Warehouse is being raided, miss–“ A gunshot soars through the air, chillingly searing through a momentary silence. The man whimpers, his voice muffled by his hand. “Raided?” You repeat, voice coming to a hush. “Raided by who?”

And with his jaded breath, he answers.

“.. The Prowler.”

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txttletale · 9 months

Note

I just wanted to let you know that I just found your tumblr within the past week and you have immediately become my 2nd favorite tumblr, being only behind Blogatog. Love your ttrpg takes.

Anywho, you said to ask about flags, so what is your biggest/are your biggest red flags when it comes to ttrpg design?

thank you! i'm glad you enjoy my silly little posts. anyways i think my biggest red flag is unintentionality--the feeling that the writer of a TTRPG has done something by 'default', the inability to put myself in their shoes and understand (or even better, be told by the text itself) the reason why a particular decision has been made.

one of the biggest places this rears its head is in terms of tone and voice. let me quote jay dragon's really good the storyteller technique:

Another advantage of getting to know the narrator of your RPG is that it helps mitigate unconscious bias in your design. Dungeons & Dragons has a notably anthropological narrative voice, explaining other cultures and creatures like a scientist in the field. The language of D&D mimics the writing style of mid-century scientists traveling to “exotic” locations and cataloging non-Western experiences as part of a documentation of the Other. It’s easy for newer designers to want to “write a game like D&D” without regard for how even the narrative voice of Dungeons & Dragons carries unintended political baggage. Is a bird’s-eye and judgemental perspective really the energy you want to bring to your whimsical fantasy world? Or is there another perspective within your world that can be more useful, and allow you to find new perspectives on the world you’ve created.

narrative tone is a choice--the attempt to use a 'neutral' tone for rules text and description is also a choice, how formal and how informal you get with it is a choice, and when i read a text that seems to have made that choice thoughtlessly it imo bodes very poorly for the rest of the game.

other examples of this kind of unintentionality are games that have a comabt system despite not being about combat in any way--games with equipment rules despite them not setting out to tell the sort of story where which sword or gun a character has matters--games that measure themselves in exact distances without actually using a battlemap--&c.

while most of this unintentionality takes the form of 'falling back onto what DND does' because DND is the market leader and many people's first TTRPG, so imitating it without purpose is something that both cynical market-share chasers & unexperienced designers without a wide range of expereicne can do--it's absolutely not unique to it. one form of unintentionality i see a lot in indie TTRPG circles is creating far more Moves for your PBtA game than necessary--clearly more out of a sense that 'AW/MotW/Masks has a Move for this' than any specific understanding of what that move will do in your game

in game design--as in any art--there is no such thing as a 'neutral' choice or a non-choice. there are only choices, and how much someone's thought about these choices is important!

#ask #aork14 #nicey ask :)#ttrpg

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halfmoth-halfman · 8 months

Text

the willow maid

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!Reader Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: implied smut, blood, death, loss, bittersweet ending Prompt: Fairytale!AU & “It was the biggest mistake I ever made.” & the song, the willow maid by erutan Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: here it is!!! the final fic for @glitterypirateduck’s GazFest 2023!! i hope you guys had as much fun with gazfest as i did!!! and thank you to the amazing glitterypirateduck for putting it all together!!!!! 💜

The tavern is nestled on the far edge of town, a barely held-together building run by an even more decrepit barkeep. Half resting on the edge of the forest, half consumed by the rich greenery, vines and roots split through the walls and upend the cracking cobblestones around it. The windows are covered in a layer of dust, door hanging on by a single bolt, entrance covered in years of muddy boot prints. Every imperfection is only amplified under the light of the early morning sun.

They’re given bread while they wait, circled around the lopsided table pressed up against the clean window, and MacTavish is the only one brave enough to try it. It’s good, if a bit off in a way he can’t fully describe; it’s sweet and light, but there’s a bitterness lurking on his tongue when he swallows.

The ale arrives and, with it, their long-awaited companion.

He’s quiet, Simon notices. There are only two other people in this tavern, a shifty-eyed child with no shoes and fidgeting hands and a cloaked figure lying with their head on the bar, but Simon hadn’t seen their newfound friend approach. It sets him on edge, more than usual.

(It had been MacTavish who found him, bursting into the inn they'd been staying at with a wide grin and a piece of torn parchment.

“Got a lead on the flower,” he’d said, handing Price the scrap to let him examine the hastily drawn map. “Met a man who claimed t’ have seen th’ bloom himself. Said to meet him there in three days’ time, jus’ after sunrise.”

Price had been skeptical, but it’d been weeks since their last lead dried up, and their gold was beginning to run low.. Desperate times, and all that.)

MacTavish told them everything he knew about his mysterious contact, but they hadn’t expected him to be so young.

Barely a year older than MacTavish, the man sits across from them with a polite smile and his hands clasped on the table where everyone can see them.

Everything about him is dark. His skin, his hair, his eyes. Even his cloak is a deep plum material, unpatterned and plain.

There’s nothing particularly special about him at first glance, but they know something’s not quite right about this man.

He’s too…clean, too put together. There’s no mud on his boots, no signs of hardship or travel, and his clothes are too purposefully plain despite the high quality of the stitching. His movements are too practiced, too elegant, as he takes a slice of bread and fills his cup with manners befitting someone of a far higher station. There’s not a mark or scratch on him, save for the single scratch across is left cheek.

This man is not what he seems.

“Your friend tells me you’re looking for the Willow’s Wail,” the man speaks, polished, measured, curious.

The three straighten at the mention of the flower.

It was supposed to be a myth, an old wives tale to tell your children when you put them to sleep. A story about a powerful Fae and a cunning boy who outfoxed her, obtaining a single seed from her garden as a reward.

But the boy, in his excitement at besting the Fair Fae, didn’t notice he’d dropped the seed just before leaving the fae realm. When the boy finally realized and returned to retrieve it, it was too late. The seed had fallen on the wrong side of the barrier between his world and theirs and he was forced to watch it grow until it bloomed a beautiful, glowing white.

The boy had one night to admire its beauty before its petals began to fall and the flower wilted. The wind carried the drifting petals, spreading them far and wide to bloom across the mortal realm. The boy was lucky enough to catch one, and it was said that the magic from that single petal granted the boy his heart's desire.

There were countless names for it.

Moondrop. Angel’s Kiss. Ghostheart. Star Rose.

It changed over the centuries, varying region by region, along with the story, but the details stayed the same.

A glowing, white flower that blooms for one night with enough potent magic in a single petal to keep you safe and sated for the rest of your life.

So many had claimed to have seen it, to have picked an entire bloom and reveled in its sweet scent. How many of the rich and mighty claimed to have one hidden in their vaults? How many urchins kept themselves going with the hope of one day finding a bloom, and pulling themselves from poverty?

How many rumors had their own merry little group chased, claiming to know where to find a moondrop or angel’s kiss or ghostheart?

Though, Simon’s never heard someone refer to it as the Willow’s Wail before.

“You know where to find one, I take it?” Price asks. The man nods through a mouthful of bread, taking a sip of the spiced honey ale before he answers.

“Not just where to find it,” he hums, picking at the crust of his bread. “I know how to grow one.”

That’s new.

There have been plenty who claimed to have found a petal. Even some who’ve said they’ve made their own deal with the Fae from the story.

But there’s never been someone who claimed to have a seed before.

The man says it so casually, Simon is almost inclined to believe him.

“S’pose ye’ll be wantin’ a trade for it?” MacTavish chuckles, already bracing himself for what will either be an absurd amount of coin or a request for a near-impossible task.

“Of sorts,” the man shrugs.

Simon does not like this, and one glance at Price tells him that the older man feels the same.

Price folds his arms across his chest, metal bracers clinking against his chest piece. “What’s your price?”

“A story,” the man simply says.

“You want us to tell you a story?” Even through the shrouded mask, the disbelief is clear in Simon’s voice.

This has to be a trick. The man is clearly a swindler, wasting their time to get a free meal.

“Quite the opposite,” the man laughs. “I’d like to tell you a story. One about how I came across this flower, and, if you manage to make it to the end, I’ll tell you how to grow the flower for yourselves.”

The trio shares a look of wary skepticism, knowing they all share the same thought. Something isn’t right here. It can’t be this simple, this easy. Not when they’ve spent months exhausting every resource, every contact–from officials in the high courts to the lowest of street urchins–available only to come up empty-handed.

This man is bold, brazen, and a liar. On that, they can all agree.

But there’s something about the way he’s so casually confident in his words. Something simmers just beneath the surface with this man. Something strange. Something…sad.

He may not be telling the truth about the flower, but they’re sure he has some information that could be valuable to them.

Price looks to the other two, brows raised in question. Simon and MacTavish each give him a single, reaffirming nod.

“Alright,” Price sighs, leaning back in his crooked chair. “Tell us your story, Mr…”

There’s an awkward pause when Price realizes MacTavish never gave him this man’s name, made only more awkward when MacTavish’s eyes widen as he realizes he doesn’t know the name, either.

The man takes it in stride, a soft chuckle as he tells them, “Garrick. Kyle Garrick.”

An old name. A rich name. A name written in royal histories about the first kings.

The name of a family that’s been dead for over a century.

There’s a hum around the table, a low buzz that sinks deep into their bones and weighs down their limbs.

Kyle sets his plate aside, staring them down with a toothy grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something flashes across his face, a brief flicker of silver barely caught in the sunlight. There are no words spoken, but they all know–

They are trapped here.

“We’ll start with something familiar, then,” Kyle hums, sharp eyes sliding over to MacTavish. The look of someone who’s obtained a victory.

“Once upon a time…”

…There were no kings or queens to rule over the land.

No kingdoms, or even cities.

There was simply the Village and the Forest.

It was a simple exchange, a simple harmony between the two. The Forest would provide food, lumber, livestock, and protection so that the village could thrive, and the villagers would take only what they needed. No more, no less.

The villagers did not ask where these things came from. They did not demand to know the name of their benevolent caretaker. They said their thanks, made their offerings, created festivals to celebrate their Forest.

They were grateful.

Until the night of the full moon, when a young man, drunk from a week of celebrating the harvest, wandered into the trees. It had been a dare, a test of bravery from the woman whose hand he sought.

“Name your price, and I swear to you, I’ll provide it!” the man had foolishly declared, loud enough for all of his friends to hear.

The woman had no intention of marrying him, desperate to be rid of his affections as she preferred another, richer man. She smirked at him, nose high in the air as she told him, “I’ll take your hand and name, but three things you must bring me. First, a ring made from the brightest star in the sky. Second, a dress sewn from the silk of the sea spider queen that resides in the lake–”

Already an impossible task, a joke made of the proposal and the man.

But the woman was not finished, her grin cruel as she spoke her final request, “And last, a cloak made from the hide of the rarest creature to dwell in the Forest.”

Where there had been laughter, silence now loomed.

To go into the Forest…

It had never been done, an unspoken rule passed down through generations. They were only meant to take, to thank, to leave. Never to enter.

But the man would not be deterred, a dangerous mix of love and liquid courage coursing through his veins.

He turned on his heels, picked up his bow, and marched straight into the Forest.

It didn’t take long for the noises of the village to fade behind him, and the world to grow dark. The trees were too thick for the moonlight to reach, plunging him into unfamiliar darkness.

But the man would not be discouraged. He pressed forward, walking until his legs shook and the drink wore off, determined to find his rare creature.

And a rare creature he did find.

After hours in the black of the Forest, the man heard a voice. A sweet song, drifting through the leaves to reach down into his very soul. He felt light, the pain in his muscles fading as it lured him deeper and deeper and deeper.

–Into the very heart of the Forest.

A weeping willow larger than any tree he’d ever seen resting in a ring of red toadstools. So large was it, it broke the canopy of the Forest, its weeping white blooms glowing in the pale moonlight. Soft petals and catkins drifted in the gentle breeze, littering the pale blue grass beneath his feet.

And there, in the gold of its branches laid her.

Skin textured like bark, clothed in a dress of draping pale petals, hair so long it wound high into the branches, the Willow Maid sang into the warm, night air.

Entranced by her voice, her beauty, her presence, the man abandoned his bow. His proposal forgotten, he stepped forward eager to hear more of the maiden’s song.

Unable to keep his arms from her ethereal form, he unwittingly stepped over the threshold of toadstools. A gust of wind carried the last of her song, as she turned in her branches to stare down at him.

A piercing gaze, ever-shifting through the colors of the rarest gems. She watched him, staring into him, around him, through him.

Cautious. Curious.

So overcome by her beauty was he, the man spoke without thought, “Fair Willow Maid, I would seek forgiveness for interrupting your lovely song.”

A dangerous thing, to be indebted to her, but the man did not care.

“Then my forgiveness is granted,” she said, voice echoing in the drifting of leaves and waves of the grass. “But it is not forgiveness which brought you to my willow bed. You seek the hand of a woman. A love to be bought and born of my demise.”

“A hide,” he corrected, flinching under her accusation. “Of the rarest creature to dwell in this Forest.”

“What is rarer than the Forest’s own master?”

The man could not answer, stunned by this revelation.

Master of the forest, of beasts, and of men. And he had sought to kill her for a love unrequited.

“You will return to the object of your desires, a failure. My hide is mine own, and I will not allow it to be taken by a love-sickened hunter.”

Foolish and guilty the man may have been, but he was also clever, and a solution quickly came to his mind.

He could not return with the hide, but that did not mean he had to return empty-handed.

“Come with me, dear maiden,” he called into the branches. “Come from thy willow bed, and meet those who would worship at your feet.”

There was no anger in her, no offense at the thought she would be so vain as to want of worship, but instead peace.

Calm.

Serenity.

A gentle, pitying smile, her voice soft as the moonlight, “I cannot leave this place, daring hunter. Instead, I may present you with a parting gift.”

The winds shifted, drooping branches caressed his face.

The man blinked and found himself at the Forest’s edge, staring out at the sun rising over his village with his bow in hand. Around his neck hung a locket of pure gold, a glowing white willow carved into the center.

“I give you this gift,” her voice drifted into his ears, faint and distant. “Proof that you have been blessed by my forest. You may return if you’d like, but I warn you. Don’t ask me to follow where you lead.”

Kyle pauses to take a drink, his attention elsewhere long enough for their limbs to loosen slightly.

“Tha’s quite the tale ye have,” MacTavish says once he regains control of his mouth.

“So, the flowers are Fae magic,” Price hums. “Guess the stories were right about that.”

“More than you’d think,” Kyle sighs, a bitter chuckle as he sets down his cup.

“Forests are all cut down and contained now,” Simon says, cold, calculating eyes kept on Kyle.

“Aye, and th’ Fae Folk are all but gone,” MacTavish adds. There’s a grimace on Kyle’s face, a flinch that he covers by pretending to rub at his eyes.

“The flowers must be left over from the willows, then?” Price deduces, his head tilted towards their storyteller. Kyle shrugs, with a noncommittal nod that sets off alarms in Simon’s head.

“Where did you hear this story?” the masked mask asks. “We’ve heard all of the tales, the bedtime stories, the songs. Yet, I don’t think we’ve ever heard of a Willow Maid.”

“Very few have,” Kyle says simply. “For good reason.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Simon scoffs. “A man we hardly know, telling a story no one else has heard of, about a flower that might not even exist.” He looks to Price, the request clear in his eyes.

This is a waste of time. We should leave.

“The deal wasn’t for you to believe me.” Kyle’s voice is sharp, a dangerous edge laced across the tight smile on his face. “The deal was for you to listen.”

The word hisses from his mouth, and Simon feels his muscles tighten painfully. MacTavish groans next to him, and Simon knows he and Price are feeling the same. A weight holds them down, keeps them in their chairs, unable to move or look at anything other than Kyle.

Kyle simply smiles.

“If I may continue?”

…The village had hailed him a hero.

To have gone into the Forest, and emerged with its blessing? There was no higher achievement, no feat more accomplished.

They showered him in gifts, in favors, in endless wealth.

The woman whose hand he sought all but threw herself into his arms, so proud to accept his proposal now.

Yet, he denied it all. He did not want gold nor gems nor silks. He did not care if he had the biggest house, the fattest livestock, the fullest larder.

His heart’s true desire rested in the heart of the Forest, nestled safely in her tree.

He visited the Willow Maid often, disappearing into the Forest trees for weeks at a time. Others tried to follow him, tried to gain the Forest’s favor just as he had. All but him were spurned, led into the depth of the trees only to be twisted and turned and led back to where they had started.

The woman he once sought grew so green with jealousy, she marched into the Forest promising to find what had stolen his affections with a sharp knife and bundle of matchsticks. She never returned, and the Forest refused to provide until the man visited again to apologize on the village’s behalf.

They stopped following him after that.

The man was not bothered, content to be left alone with his Willow Maid. He enjoyed his time, resting in the shade of her tree, listening to her sing or telling her tales from his childhood. He spoke with her, laughed with her, learned about her and her Forest and her creatures.

Years passed, and his visits grew. He had befriended her, treasured her, loved her.

And she loved him in return.

The village was alight with rumor and speculation when the man walked into the Forest, dressed in his finest with a bundle of fresh sunflowers in hand.

Unwavering faith. Admiration. Sincerity.

To love until the end.

A proposal with the highest affections.

He stood beneath her willow and wrapped the flowers in the moonlit branches. They carried the fresh blooms to his love, his declaration loud for all of the Forest to hear–

“You’ve captured my heart, my sweet Willow Maid. With your Forest’s blessing, I would be honored to be your groom.”

She smelled the sunflowers, cradling them in her arms like the most precious of gifts. She released them to the branches, watching them drift high into the willow, out of her sight and out of his.

The wind whispered across his cheek, blossoms shrouding the maiden before she appeared before him at the base of the tree. He took her into his arms, holding her close against him. Everything about her was perfect, the velvet soft petals of her gown, the radiating warmth of her skin, the smell of ambrosia in her hair.

There would be no other for him, in this life and every life.

His heart was completely hers, just as hers was his.

“My dear, darling hunter,” she spoke, her hands a soft caress on his cheeks. “I can wed you never. Not near, nor far, nor soon.”

A heart-shattering rejection that would have ruined him for love eternally had she not looked so mournful. So regretful.

“Why?” he begged. “What is it that keeps you from me?”

A hand on his heart, the other on her tree he feels the pulse–the life–thrum through her fingertips. “I told you, I cannot leave this place.”

He grasped her hand in his, his voice a sweet murmur as he gave her his solution. “Then don’t.”

A long-awaited kiss, and an even longer-awaited night possessed by the feel, the touch, the love of one another. A promise of dedication, of ever-lasting love. Whispers sewn into the infinite roots of her willow.

They rested against her tree after, pressed against one another as she traced along his chest, a glowing willow forever marked over his heart.

“The Forest is not your home, my lovely hunter, and I would not be so cruel as to bind you to it. You may come and go as you please. I will always be here, awaiting your visits, but you cannot ask me to follow where you lead.”

A plea unheard, falling deaf on sleeping ears.

The barkeep comes to refill the ale, and the pressure releases as Kyle thanks him with a smile.

“This is startin’ to sound…personal,” MacTavish jokes, and Price is thankful for the man’s sharp eyes and unrestrained tongue.

Kyle murmurs something they don’t catch, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Perhaps it is,” he shrugs. There’s something playful in his tone. Mischievous. As if he's proud of their keen attentions.

“Laying with the Fae’s an awfully bold thing to do, but promising yourself to one?” Price lets out a low whistle.

“Foolish, more like,” MacTavish chuckles.

It wasn’t unheard of. There were stories of humans being whisked away in the night to live a life of comfort and luxury among their Fae lovers. They were mostly fairytales, told to satisfy young children and hopeless romantics, as most of those who’d grown already knew of the dangers of the Fae.

They knew the true nature of the Fae, and that a mortal’s comfort often went hand in hand with servitude. Wealth and luxury were rewards for proper entertainment and could be stripped away at a moment’s notice. The Fae were as cruel as they were kind, and their promises were not to be taken lightly.

“Maybe a little of both,” Kyle hums. “Love makes fools of even the best of us.”

“I’ll drink t’ tha’!” MacTavish laughs, and the pressure in his limbs loosens enough to allow him to toast his cup against Kyle’s.

“So,” Simon speaks up, flexing his hands as a test of mobility. When he’s given range, he leans back his chair, one hand resting around his cup. “What happened next?”

There’s something mournful in Kyle’s smile. A pained regret they very easily recognize.

They’ve all known that sting of loss.

“What happened next…”

…It was the tree.

The willow–her willow–kept her bound to the Forest, away from her love. She had tried everything in her power to make it see reason, to let her wander from its ring of toadstools.

She made offerings, formed new creatures to take her stead, begged at its roots.

It denied her every time.

The man tried to stay with her, but I–he could not thrive in the moonlight alone. He could not live off of Forest’s magic as she could. He had to return to the village.

They were resigned to spend their years as often apart as with each other. Not a moment together was wasted. Their joinings were beautiful–soft and tender and full of love–and their partings were miserable. They mourned in their time away, grief-stricken and sick with yearning for their other half.

Five years of this unending misery, and the man had had enough.

He stormed through the forest, a fury of determination. The trees parted for him, in fear of the sharpness of his eyes and of the axe in his hands.

He was going to take his faerie—his wife—and free her from her prison. They were going to be happy together, raise their children together, live their lives together as they were meant to.

He did not waste time when he reached the clearing, did not give her warning before his first swing.

The roots sprung forth, ripping through the earth to lash at the hunter, striking across his face to draw blood from his cheek.

Still, he did not stop.

Neither did the tree.

The Willow Maid dove from its branches, shielding her hunter’s body with her own, taking the strike in his place.

The willow halted its assault, axe planted firmly in its trunk.

She stumbled to her feet, the split across her back dripping into the pale grass, staining its blades a shimmering gold. She stepped a sure foot forward, crushing the toadstools beneath her bare feet, and took the axe in hand.

The echoes of her wailing melted into the cracking of the wood.

The cry of her willow as it fell would haunt the forest for a millennium.

She collapsed into sobs, but it was not for her willow that she cried. She cradled the bloodied body of her poor, dear hunter close to her chest. Hair falling around them, its long tendrils soaked by the sweet smelling blood-sap oozing from her tree.

She wept.

For him, for her, for their freedom and love.

She wept.

Her willow personified.

She waited until he was strong enough to stand, to face her, to hold her. A kiss over the cold corpse of her once caretaker.

He led her back through the forest, hand clasped tightly around hers, ready to bring her home. His home, her home, their home.

When they came to the forest edge, she gasped at the sight of the village. The burning orange sunset streaked across the fields, the speckle of lights from their windows against the darkening land, the sound of cheer and laughter and freedom.

Her smile was bright enough to rival the stars, eager to start her new life with her love eternal.

Two steps past the forest edge.

That was as far as she got.

Two steps beyond the threshold and her knees buckled beneath her. Her hunter held onto her, lowering her into the warm grass. Her body seized in his arms, barkskin peeling and flaking into thin wood chips. Cheeks sinking in, hair thinning into long blades of grass, petal clothes wilting against her body.

She pawed at his face, eyes wild with fear and confusion. Her whimpers and wordless pleas broke his heart, begging every god he could think of to fix his sweet Willow Maid.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be happy. Together.

He felt her fade, her body melting in his arms, and a shrieking lament tore from his throat as he lost his one and only love, left with only her dim golden blood sliding through his fingers.

The sun set, the moon taking its place high in the sky.

The wind whispered across his skin, a fresh sting against the cut on his cheek, carrying with it the voice of her fallen willow.

“You’ve stolen from me that which is most precious. Don’t you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?”

The Forest murmurs, trees rustled in the growing moonlight. Shimmering silver growing and growing from the dense woods, until it was almost blinding.

“You have taken but you have not given in return, and so I make this trade instead. I will take from you what you took from me.”

The golden blood began to glow on his hands, glow on the ground, glow in the moonlight, light rising and rising and rising. It skimmed petal-soft across his hands, slinking into the grass where the dirt drank and digested it.

There was shouting from the village as the lights crescendoed into one final, blinding beam then faded entirely. Everything was left in muted, dull tones as if the color was stripped from the world, the Forest silent and still for the first time since its conception.

He knew that the Forest would provide for them no longer.

All that remained was a beautiful, glowing flower. A moon-white blossom, a cruel reminder of what he had done.

The earth rumbled beneath his feet, one last biting sentence from the willow.

“You can not take from the Forest what was never meant to leave.”

Kyle finishes his tale with a sigh of longing.

“It was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he says, eyes cast down at the table.

“A cruel lesson,” Price laments, eyes full of sympathy for the young man.

“And one repaid in blood,” Kyle sighs grimly. He takes a deep swig, setting his cup aside as the pressure lifts entirely from the group across from him.

“The flower wilted by morning, taken from me forever, and I…did not respond kindly. I took up arms against the Forest’s creatures, hunted them to near extinction, and cut down every tree in sight. The magic was gone, but my people rejoiced. They named me Garrick, Spear King.”

The table goes still.

They’ve heard of the Great Spear King. There’s not a soul alive who hasn’t. The story of how he founded the kingdoms, brought the world to rule under one benevolent ruler, was taught to every child, passed on through every generation.

There were holidays named for him. Parades in his honor.

Respects paid to his burial chambers every year.

Kyle watches the realization wash over them, the skepticism, the caution. He stands from the table, a small gesture out the window.

“The ruins of my village lie a tenday’s walk in that direction. Just beyond the flooded river, in a deep valley. There are remnants, sometimes, when the moon is brightest. You may not get everything you wished for, but there is power in that soil.”

“And that’s what the others found? Is it truly soil that they keep hidden in their vaults? Is it dirt that they credit their wealth and power to?” Simon scoffs.

“If it is, it’s not from the Fae,” Kyle shrugs. “There’s nothing left of their magic in this world. I made sure of it.”

“Then, why tell us?” MacTavish questions. The once-king shrugs again, adjusting the fastening of his cloak.

“Curiosity? Boredom? Or perhaps, I just wanted someone to know the truth, and you lot seemed trustworthy enough.”

It should be a compliment, the highest honor given from the man who founded their nation, but it feels…sad.

“I wish you luck, travelers. It is a rare day indeed that I find myself so open to sharing secrets.”

Kyle doesn’t wait for them to say their goodbyes, or say anything really. He gives them a curt nod, and turns to head up the stairs to the tavern’s second floor.

They wait until nightfall to leave, making their way down the path under the shroud of darkness.

Kyle watches from the window of his room, sitting tucked in the windowsill. His cloak abandoned on the uneven bed, he smooths his thumb over the well-worn metal of the locket around his neck. The tree’s glow is dim, barely noticeable unless he cups his hands around it, but it’s there.

He waits until the trio fades from his vision, shifting against the rotting wood to sit up straight. The moonlight casts its shine down through the foggy panes, but it’s enough light to satisfy him.

Pressing his fingers into the sides of locket, he holds it under the light as it opens with a soft click.

Petals burst from the seams, throwing the locket open to release a beautiful, bountiful white bloom. The flower soaks up the moonlight, waves of golden light pulsing over its velvet petals.

For one moment, he is that young man again, no longer carrying the burden of loss in his eyes, or the torment of a man who has been granted the curse of eternal life.

He presses a tender kiss to the flower. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

The flower glows just a bit brighter.

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #mw fics #moth writes #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: loss #private

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moonchildstyles · 7 months

Text

announcement/sneak peek

happy spooky season everyone!!

ive never had the time to do something like this, but ive finally timed it all right and I'll be posting a halloween/spooky centered fic for this season! and, for the first time ever, I'm trying out a mini-series kind of format! if its something ppl like and interact with ill def consider doing this more!

anywayyyyyyyy, starting next friday, the 13th, on patreon I will begin posting my new mini-series called Oleander for early access! two weeks later on friday, the 27th, tumblr will begin the story!

it's a three part mini series with darker themes and ideas than ive ever worked with before! i don't usually spoil too much of the stories but ! this is another vamp h story!! very different from my previous vamp h though!!!

this will be my last big piece of writing for the year before I go on my break, and I'm so excited for you guys to get to read it and get to know this new story!

under the cut, I have a sneak peek attached! I also have a Pinterest board you can look at if you want to get a feel for the story!

—————

She hadn't misremembered, it appeared. His eyes really were almost black, just barely tinted a forest green—if the forest in question was being spotted in the pitch of night, only a sliver of the moon and stars above allowing any clarification.

Her heart jumped in her throat, running faster than it had any reason to when their eyes met. She forced herself to swallow it down.

"Sorry, sir," she muttered, unable to pull her gaze away from his even if she instinctively wanted to look anywhere else. "Did you find all you were looking for?"

"I did, yes." His voice was a lulling rumble, rounded and heady as if the goal was to lure her nearer. If not for the table separating them, she would have fallen for it.

Offering a quiet smile, she gave him a polite nod.

No other words were exchange, as per usual for his visits. The Count wasn't much for conversation and idle chatter like the rest of the village. Instead, she could feel him watching her as she counted up his herbs and the price of each bundle.

He was buying the same ones he always did: winter savory (he switched to chamomile when out of season), tobacco, and lavender.

The buds together created a confusing scent, adding to the mishmash of what the apothecary already was. She couldn't imagine that he would put these three together in any space of that castle, the mixture too aggressive.

Though she tired her best to concentrate on only the herbs, (Y/N) was too aware of the static of his presence. She wondered what he thought when he came down to the village, what he thought when he interacted with people like her. He was always so stoic. He never gave anything away, though that didn't stop the village gossip from running wild about him.

Swallowing around her dry throat, heartbeat bubbling against her ribs, she matched his gaze. The pricing for his bounty came out on buzzing lips, "Sixteen shillings please, sir."

He didn't bat an eyelash at the price despite it being the biggest single purchase her father's apothecary would see until the next time he ventured down. Instead, he looked at her with his dark eyes and a tic in his jaw. He was unbearably handsome, made of cut edges and smooth planes, but he always looked at her as if he were angry and working to bury it down. She could never figure out why or what exactly made his nostrils flare or his jaw tight when he spoke to her, but she hoped she wasn't the only one he reacted to like this.

His hands moved quickly, pulling out a small pouch of tinkling coins before he plucked out the exact amount for her. For a moment, she could see bank notes tucked inside the pouch as well. While she wasn't surprised that someone like him would have that kind of wealth, she had never seen it before with her own eyes.

Passing off the change to her, his pale fingers grazed her open palm. Goosebumps immediately raised across her skin, his touch feeling as if he had been standing in the dawn's dew for hours, allowing the chill to cling to his skin and leach away all hope for warmth. The graze was quick, barely a heartbeat long, but she swore she could feel the lingering touch for moments after. Maybe he really did have a hard time navigating the village when the fog was this thick, having traveled in winding route and wrong turns for so long he still hadn't been able to heat up even after spending time in the shop.

Flicking her gaze up to his on instinct, she saw he was looking at swatches of skin exposed from her dress, eyeing the goosebumps he had plucked up on accident.

(Y/N) cleared her throat, nothing more than a reminder to herself to keep professional and not to gawk at the man. She placed the change in the small cup underneath the collection counter before reaching for his herbs of choice. A length of twine was used to tie up the bundle, ensuring he didn't lose anything on his way back home.

"Thank you," he muttered once she passed them back, their skin no longer grain this time.

"Have a pleasant journey back home," she chirped, her voice decidedly pleasant against the bubbling she was feeling inside, "Stay warm."

The Count didn't give any kind of reaction to her before he was leaving the shop in a flourish. Taking advantage of the window at her disposal, she watched as he ventured out into the fog. The mist mingled around him, making him appear as if he were a ghost, one with the Earth-bound clouds. She was only vague aware of the way her body heat ticked up some now that he had left.

Though she could hear the sound of footsteps descending the stairs that led up to their home a floor above, (Y/N)'s head was outside the shop and away from her father. She didn't turn even when she could tell he had made it to the landing. He was used to it by now, she knew. Her head was always miles away as far as he was concerned—thinking too big for the village and that was only going to hurt her in the long run.

The air around her shifted, telling her that her father was just behind her, likely watching to see what had caught her attention this time.

"Is that Harry?" he grumbled, spitting out the name while dismissing the faux-title since they were alone.

Her father didn't much like the Count—Harry, as he bitterly spat out. (Y/N) was never sure what had set off her father's distaste for the man, just knowing that he thought him to be something of a boogeyman against the village. He didn't even go to church, her father regularly complained. What kind of man was he if he couldn't even bother to trudge down from his palace to spend some time with God, even if it was in the presence of commoners?

(Y/N) never really minded. Though she'd never tell her father, church was boring. She couldn't blame Harry—the Count, whatever she was supposed to call him—for skipping out. Especially with the peeks a the castle she could garner if she trekked through the woods far enough. She wouldn't want to leave that place for anything.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) answered with a soft, "Yes." Her eyes were still locked on the form of him she could barely make out through the mist.

A grunt of disapproval left her father's lips. She didn't have to look at him to know that he had his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you okay?"

It was when he settled a hand on her shoulder that she snapped out of her staring.

"Yes, I'm well," she answered as placidly as possible when she turned to face him. She didn't want to show just how affected she was by the Count. Her father would do more than just grunt and disapprove if he knew just how drawn to the man as she was.

He peered through the window, his eyes surely finding the one dark figure filtering through the fog. His brows slanted into harsh slashes over his eyes. "I want you to come and find me when he comes in from now on. I don't want him talking with you, anymore."

Her fingertips buzzed at the new instructions, matching the kickstart to her heartbeats. As much as she heard her father's concerns, and had listened in to all the of the stories and webs spun about this man, those did little to deter her interest in Harry or quell the bubbling in her chest every time she saw him step inside the apothecary.

"I can handle him, father," she countered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible while attempting to hold her ground, "We barely talk when he comes in, anyway."

The creases between his brows only deepened when he matched her gaze. "I do not want you becoming one of his victims, (Y/N)."

—————

#harry #harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #vampire harry styles #harry blurb #harry one shot #harry imagine #vampire harry #harry smut #harry styles smut

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leoramage · 7 months

Text

raining in manila

⊹ masterlist ⊹ taglist ⊹

⊹⊱ trigger warning - [politics]

⊹⊱ theme - [social media au]

⊹⊱ pairings - [charles leclerc x daughter of a president!y/n]

⊹⊱ face claim - renee veronica pagano

⊹⊱ keywords - [nepotism baby. "asian chick." second chance. "everyone is a ferrari fan. even if they say they're not, they are ferrari fans." flings? "what are we?"]

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highsocietysecrets_mnl posted a picture

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highsocietysecrets_mnl pack your bags and rev those engines because this high-profile socialite is jetting off with her father to the singapore grand prix in style! 🛫🏁

while she's known for her passion for ferraris, she's hasn't just been burning rubber on the racetrack. she's often spotted donning ferrari gear, sparking rumors about her passion for the prancing horse in her instagram stories. rumor has it that she left more than just tire tracks during a luxurious vacation in monaco, catching the eye of a famous ferrari driver after his split with his ex who is an architect. 🏖️❤️🏎️

now, allegations of a secret romance are swirling around her, leaving us all to wonder: is she trading love letters for pit stops? 💌🛑 #highsocietysecrets #singaporegrandprix

speedyracer24 the way we immediately knew who that is when that SG blind was posted, its yn, the asia's nepo girl 🙄

⊳ gossipguru4u could never be more envious fr.

racingfanatic_01 lord i see the way you bless other people, but why not me too?!

⊳ racetrackromeo my delulu ass thinking i have a chance with charles because i have the same nationality as y/n

⊳ curiouscat22 girl stop living your parasocial relationship, touch some grass

speeddemon101 girl is taking "live fast, die young, bad girls do it well" motto too much

racerchick22 Y/N WAS LINKED TO CHARLES MARC HERVÉ PERCEVAL LECLERC😭‼️ SINCE WHEN⁉️😬😬

⊳ fashionistachic SHE'S LIVING MY DREAM GOODBYE

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charles_leclerc what happens in monaco, stays in monaco. it's race week, see you in 🇸🇬!

ferrarifanatic23 charles we need to know if you and y/n are for real

⊳ speedsterfanatic girl stop harassing charles!

f1fanaticsophie is the caption a shade towards the blind?

⊳ racingheartbeat DOES HE KNOW?!

ferrarifanatic88 these comments are not it

carlossainz55 lord perceval 🏎️🤴🏻

⊳ charles_leclerc smooth operator 🏎️🇪🇸

⊳ speedygonzalez CHARLES, ONE CHANCE IS ALL I NEED

⊳ instaglamgal @/speedygonzalez bffr 😭

gossipqueen365 monaco, the playground for the rich and famous! 🌟✈️

f1nightrace see you soon!

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yourusername mornings in singapore 🩷

jazzychewter fresh 🌻

⊳ yourusername imy 🥺🤗

⊳ jazzychewter xoxo 🤗

celeste_cortesi goodluck kisses to...? 😗🤣

⊳ yourusername stoooooop 😭

⊳ celeste_cortesi your biggest what if🫢

⊳ yourusername 😵‍💫😵

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yourusername lunch dates ; bon appetit 🥗🍴

jazzychewter with who? 👀

⊳ yourusername dad 🥰

⊳ jazzychewter you can't fool me hahaha

⊳ yourusername but he said hi! 🥹

celeste_cortesi just with tito? nobody else? 🤭

⊳ yourusername and a few guests!

⊳ celeste_cortesi guest list reveal

⊳ yourusername can't do that 💔

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yourusername from sun down till the clock strikes twelve 🌙🤍 bisou bisou💋

jazzychewter with your dad again?

⊳ yourusername the dinner date? no but my date asked permission 🫶🏻

⊳ celeste_cortesi boy reveal

⊳ yourusername we don't do that here 🥹😭

nadine can he fight?

⊳ yourusername no violence please 😆

⊳ michelledee what if SG meet up?

⊳ yourusername it's too late, we'll be back soon 🥺

⊳ whianwamos did he return you safe before tito's curfew?

⊳ yourusername yes! five minutes before the time 😊

⊳ maxcollinsofficial is he in the likes?

⊳ yourusername calm down please i am alive 😭😭😭

samanthapanlilio_ hope you had fun 🩷

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missritadaniella 😍😍 miss you bestie

⊳ yourusername miss you too bestie 🥺🫶🏻

piawurtzbach he looks handsome and nice

⊳ yourusername MOMMA PIA 😭😭😭

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charles_leclerc rain check? 🌧️☔ @/apmmonaco keeps me in style whatever weather it is.

apmmonaco looking great, lord perceval!

racedayrover CHARLES! CHARLES LISTEN TO ME THIS IS NOT YOU

⊳ turn1tifosi girl stop, you're embarrassing let him live a life

chequeredchase the women's jewelry of apmmonaco looks stunning 😭

TEAM_CL16 HE IS REPLYING TO Y/N'S IG STORY! 😭

⊳ curvaparabolica it's literally an advertisement, silly

⊳ leclerclove please let it be, i can't handle him being taken yet!

⊳ sennaforever omg you guys are so delusional, stop it!

silverarrowsquad what is bro yappin bout🗣️‼️

⊳ pitlanepro bro is too majestic

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yourusername maulan ba sa inyo 'pag bumubuhos dito? (does it rain there when it pours here?)

michelledee twinning captions? 👀

⊳ yourusername huh? 🤔

⊳ whianwamos hello, she's pretending again that she doesn't know again 😧

⊳ maxcollinsofficial wait, who now? akala ko ba si ano...😮 (i thought it was)

yourbrother i beg please tama na parinig, stop looping the song na. di ka maririnig non, he's too far (he won't hear you)

⊳ yourusername 🥺

⊳ yourbrother do it or i will confiscate your spotify premium

⊳ yourusername i'm not a child! 😭

⊳ yourbrother lah? please use headphones or at least lower down the volume

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⊳ yourusername wala ah (that's nothing) 😗

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highsocietysecrets_mnl whispers of romance have once again taken the formula one world by storm! it appears that a certain formula one driver may be rekindling an intriguing connection with the daughter of high socialite elite, following their summer fling after his breakup with an architect girlfriend. 🏁❤️

the singaporean grand prix played a pivotal role in this unfolding drama. on september 14, both parties posted eerily similar location shots, raising eyebrows across the internet. she hinted at a "lunch date," coyly mentioning her father and mysterious guests. meanwhile, charles shared a picture from the same spot with a different companion. coincidence or rendezvous? 🤔🍽️

then came september 15, when she shared pictures from dusk till midnight, with mick schumacher's like setting off alarm bells. rumor has it that mick was her date, even asking her father for permission and getting her back to the hotel just minutes before her curfew. 🌙💏

but the story doesn't end there. she returned home and expressed the rainy manila, while he, in monaco, subtly hinted at a rain check through an advertisement post for apm monaco. coincidence, or are these two playing the long-distance game? ☔🌧️

as weeks passed, silence reigned until she accidentally shared a deleted Instagram story featuring him at the airport this morning? 📸✈️ what's the real story here? stay tuned for more twists and turns in this high-profile affair! 🌟

speedqueenracer 💔 sorry, but I'm still not over charlotte! this new twist is giving me whiplash! 🤷‍♀️🏁

⊳ cclovers same it was just months away charles and you're back in the streets😭

⊳ fastlanefangirl now suddenly we know he's getting another girl again. but at least he didn't went after his ex girlfriend's friend💀

speedyspectator charles and y/n, the power couple we didn't know we needed! please confirm this love story soon!

racefanatic_88 I'M SORRY?? WHO??? MICK AND CHARLES???? THIS GIRL IS LIVING MY DREAMS 😭

⊳ curiouscat_16 she's so lucky but she seems like she's into charles more

⊳ f1foreverfanatic let me bag mick! (i have no chance)

⊳ sunsetchasers bffr now guys

racingroyalties can someone please pick mick up? he's going after his colleagues ex girlfriends again 🙄😒

⊳ speeddemon47 it started from luisa, right? 😭 ⊳ racingroyalties yes, but it also makes sense that y/n is in monaco. it's almost charles' birthday and he wil throw a party. ⊳ f1foreverfanatic is mick coming over? or at least was he invited? ⊳ sirhamilton_44 i highly doubt that, he was entangled dating y/n for a night during the race week in singapore. her father is a mercedes fan and has close connection with toto wolff so that is how mick probably was introduced to y/n. he invested into mercedes when lewis was dominating the grid. mick probably had to let her go because he probably had the sense that y/n likes charles and there were something brewing in between the two. ⊳ charlesofmonaco then how the hell did y/n and charles meet? ⊳ sirhamilton_44 through friends of friends :)

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yourusername happy birthday lord perceval

michelledee oh! 👀 happy birthday to him

yourbrother enjoying monaco, huh?

⊳ rociozobel you're not there with her?!

⊳ yourbrother no, duty calls.

jazzychewter chat, this is real!

⊳ celeste_cortesi @jazzychewter spill the 🫘

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charles_leclerc maison avec du soleil 🌻

yourbrother i am keeping an eye on you, charles.

⊳ carlossainz55 uh oh

⊳ racefanatic_91 NOT Y/N'S BROTHER COMMENTING A THREAT

⊳ gossipguruf1 bro is getting prosecuted if he breaks y/n's heart

yourfather to love, laughter, and many more wins on and off the track! 🏆 happy birthday charles!

⊳ leclxrc16 Y/N'S FATHER COMMENTED

⊳ ferrarif1lover MAN HAS THE BLESSINGS OF A DAMN COUNTRY

chxrlessss16 MAN WAS DOUBLE TIMING WHILE THROWING A BIRTHDAY PARTY 😭😭😭

⊳ thaweeepon_ann man has his priorities STRAIGHTER than my gender 💔

⊳ racefanatic_91 he was multitasking like there's no tomorrow! 🥹 he said hard launch my pretty girlfriend now

⊳ jensxnnnn_ still faster than a ferrari

scuderiaferrari happy birthday, charles! may your year be filled with lots of wins on and off the track! 🏆🥂

⊳ f1fanaticgirl MAKE YOUR CARS FASTER, PRANCING DONKEYS 😭

⊳ girlgossipf1 the way y/n will have to cope up with charles waking up from ferrari nightmares

⊳ champagneprxblems "box box" 💀

lovestruck_lou still happier than in a ferrari

⊳ racingroyalty you're so jailed for that

⊳ speedsterenthusiast just being realistic, man.

⊰⊹⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋄⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊹⊱

Author's Note: first smau for charles leclerc! i didn't want this fic to be too political by mentioning any politician in here. but i really enjoyed making this and thankfully it's less hassle than the other smau i made (check out the "competition" series - mick schumacher smau if you have time).. let me know your thoughts, hit that ask box it's open for everyone! 𔘓ฅ[⁠ᓀ⁠˵⁠▾⁠˵⁠ᓂ⁠]𔘓ฅ

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created by the user in response to a creative writing prompt. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or entities, whether living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and dialogue portrayed in this fanfiction are products of the user's imagination and are not meant to infringe upon any copyrights or trademarks associated with the Formula One sport or any real-life individuals. This fanfiction is solely intended for entertainment purposes, and the author acknowledges that the depicted scenarios are not endorsed, authorized, or supported by any official Formula One entities or the individuals mentioned.

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flowerandblood · 10 months

Text

Green Snake, Red Lion (5)

[Slytherin • Aemond x Gryffindor • female]

[warnings: sex content, smut, safe words, fluff]

[description: Aemond is a Chaser and captain of the Slytherin team. His biggest rival on the pitch from the Gryffindor team, turned to be his biggest fan, and he hates her with all of his heart. His hatred towards her slowly turns into something else, when she one day stands up for his sister, Helaena. This is slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond kept a straight face as Solren appeared with her luggage and an owl in a cage at the front door of their house, throwing herself around Helaena's neck. He stared at her as his family stood together in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, pretending that the sight of her didn't move him at all.

In fact, everything inside him tightened, his stomach filled with heat. He wanted to pounce on her, pick her up, carry her to his room and lock her up there, doing everything he'd dreamed in the last few weeks when he thought about her.

He shuddered when he heard his mother's voice, who invited the girl inside and slowly began to explain to her where her room would be. Solren stepped timidly inside, offering everyone a polite greeting. When his eye met hers, she blushed and looked down.

A menacing grin of satisfaction crossed his face but she didn't see it, as she headed for the stairs with her luggage. Their mother waved her wand and her trunk flew down the stairs along with her other belongings. However, she did not want to give them the cage with her black owl, saying that she would carry it herself.

Aemond had to admit that Henry, which turned out to be her owl's name, was the most sullen and indifferent animal he had ever seen. He stared straight ahead as if he were made of stone, not looking at anything around him. Aemond offered to take the cage from her, thinking it impolite for her to carry it around their house. She smiled at him and they both went upstairs.

Aemond and his family lived in a huge old townhouse that had been passed down from generation to generation. There were a lot of furnishings inside that were a hundred years old or more, so it felt like they were walking around a small Victorian mansion rather than a house.

Their house was dominated by dark shades and greens which his mother loved, so it was both gloomy and elegant at the same time. Aemond thought those two words perfectly described his family.

He walked down the hall and opened one of the small spare bedrooms. He went inside, her bags already there waiting for her. Solren looked around, dumbfounded and intrigued, a huge smile on her face.

She paused in the hallway, looking at the moving paintings and photos of his ancestors. Aemond looked at her expectantly and pursed lips, slightly frustrated that she paid more attention to the decor of his house than to him.

"Come here." He grunted low, impatient, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

He saw her blush at his words, swallowing softly and blinking rapidly. She hesitated for a moment as if afraid of what was about to happen. Aemond couldn't help seeing her confused expression and just chuckled low, his gaze softer.

"I won't do anything to you."

Solren pursed her lips and approached him timidly. Aemond noticed her big, cute winter-print sweater, her pleated skirt and her bright tights. He swallowed hard at the thought that without her school uniform, emblazoned everywhere with the frustrating crest and colors of her house, she just looked adorable and innocent.

He grabbed her cheek and pulled her to him, cupping her face in his hands, making her gasp, her lips parted in surprise. He took the opportunity and leaned towards her. He squeezed her bottom lip between his, sucking it lightly, releasing it with a loud, wet click that made her mewl softly.

The sound made him shiver as he dug into her lips. He tried to caress her as gently and tenderly as possible, massaging her fleshy, swollen skin. He flinched when he felt her hands wrap around his neck. She stood on tiptoes to deepen the kiss, returning his touch so subtly and devotedly that he was out of breath.

He pulled away from her, pressing his forehead against hers, both of them breathing uneasily, staring into each other's eyes with misty gaze. His thumb rubbed her cheek in a slow, circular motion, trying to enjoy her momentary closeness, her scent filling his lungs.

She finally smiled, so sweet, warm, light, that he kissed her again, more greedily this time, parting her lower lip with his thumb. The tip of his tongue slid into her mouth and brushed her palate. She shivered all over, letting out a muffled, sweet moan.

A soft, quivering "I missed you" escaped her mouth straight into his lips, swollen with desire. A shudder went through him, a helpless, low moan escaped his throat.

Unable to stop himself, one of his hands slid down to her buttock, grabbing it under the fabric of her skirt, pressing her against him and making her stomach feel how hard he was.

They broke apart, staring at each other in disbelief, his hand making her rub against his pants again and again, all red with embarrassment, her lips glistening with sucking and squeaking, parted in silent desire.

"I've been like this for a weeks because of you. Continuously." He purred, feeling his manhood throb through his pants in delight at her closeness, his hips rubbing against her body, searching for any way to find relief and quench his thirst.

He parted her bottom lip with his thumb and slipped his finger into her mouth. He gasped in delight as her fleshy walls pressed against him, her eyes dreamy and hot.

Unable to stop himself, he began to slide his thumb in and out of her mouth. He barely suppressed the throaty groan when he felt her start to suck on him, her tongue teasing his skin.

He stared hypnotized at this perverted, ambiguous scene without blinking, wanting to remember it exactly. He thought with delight that someday he would make use of those sweet lips on another part of his body.

He slipped his thumb out of her mouth. He wanted to kiss her again to soothe her, feeling her whole body tremble with emotion, but he quickly removed his hand from her buttock when they heard someone running up the stairs.

Aegon glanced at them blankly and said that it would be dinner in a moment. Solren nodded and left quickly, all red, not even turning back. Aemond left with her, not wanting his brother to see what was happening in his pants.

They all sat down at the table, plates, tablecloths, cutlery and ornaments fluttering around them in their proper order in a large dining room. Room had high windows on one side, illuminating a long, dark wooden table and old, antique chairs, adorned with beautiful carvings. Solren approached his mother, asking if she needed help in the kitchen. Alicent blinked, not understanding for a moment what she meant.

"There will be no need, Trembly takes care of everything." She spoke softly, and Solren froze suddenly and turned pale as if she had just realized what was happening.

They had their own house elf.

Solren sat down at the table, looking around uncertainly. Trembly paused in the dining-room aisle but did not cross the threshold. A petite elf with huge eyes snapped her fingers, and a variety of food appeared in front of them on silver platters. Aegon immediately served himself a roast, without waiting for anyone.

Aemond sat across from the Gryffindor, but he saw that her enthusiasm had suddenly faded and she wasn't looking at him. He wondered if it had something to do with Trembly and the fact that aristocratic habits such as servants were increasingly moving away these days.

He pursed his lips at the thought that she probably thought them vain, and indeed, she wouldn't be far wrong in assuming so.

The Targaryen family had a rich purebred pedigree, one of the few families in Britain to boast of. His father was no henchman of Lord Voldemort and refused to cooperate with him when he had the greatest strength. Nor did he become a Death Eater, although he was blackmailed and threatened with the death of his, then, still small children.

Whatever one may say about his father he may not have been a good man, but he wasn't a person who took pleasure in suffering or killing others either. He considered himself superior to others as a pure-blood wizard, but he had no intention of hurting the Muggles, simply regarding them as fools that he paid no attention to.

Nevertheless, he used all the privileges that his status and his position in the Ministry of Magic afforded him, completely and shamelessly, just like his grandfather, Otto, his mother's father.

He, unlike Viserys and Alicent, had been working with Voldemort throughout his entire existence until his downfall. Aemond had no idea how the Minister of Magic hadn't fired him after such a massive betrayal. He believed that his grandfather simply had the political influence that the minister needed.

Trembly had been with them for as long as he could remember, helping his mother with household chores and keeping their house clean. She was an excellent cook, his parents never had any objections to her and treated her gently.

They never hit her or insulted her, considering her a creature so intelligent and necessary that they did not want to humiliate her or cause her pain. Sometimes his mother had to reassure and comfort her when one of the guests said that he didn't like something, that she cooked.

Aemond taught Trembly to read.

After an unfortunate accident and the destruction of his eye, Tremlby would come to him every evening, bringing him cocoa.

No one had asked her to, but there was no other way she could show her concern about his condition that didn't go beyond the generally accepted master-servant relationship. He didn't talk to anyone then and plunged into the world of books, the world of imagination, the only one where he had both eyes again.

Keeping the spell on his face would require constant concentration and tire him, so he gave it up and covered his artificial blue eye with an eyepatch. His mother had made it sparkle like a precious stone, but he didn't like looking at it anyway.

Once, Trembly, placing her mug next to his bed as she did every night, looked at his book and asked what story her young master was reading about this time.

Aemond had told her then without thinking that if she wanted to he could teach her to read, so she could see for herself.

He was the loneliest in his life then. He completely closed himself off from his family but he couldn't deal with what was going on in his head. He wanted someone to break his resistance, let him cry and scream, but his parents and siblings couldn't do it, accepting his half-desired isolation, although he tried to tell himself otherwise.

Alicent secretly from her husband - and Viserys secretly from her wife - gave the Trembly a small amount of money once in a while. Trembly loved to embroider and crochet so she went to the haberdashery once in a while to buy new yarns, threads, and whatever she needed.

Aemond felt that Trembly was treated like part of the family in a way. When she fell ill, her mother and Helaena took care of her, allowing her not to do her daily chores. They barely cooked anything together in the kitchen, even bringing a poor-quality chicken soup to Trembly, which she ate out of sheer courtesy.

He knew, however, that Solren didn't know all this. He stared at her tensely, hoping that her inner Gryffindor wasn't now telling her to moralize his parents, or worse, accuse them of promoting slavery.

Solren, however, whatever her thoughts were she kept them to herself. Everyone began to eat, and Viserys obviously wanting to cheer their guest up as host decided to talk to her.

"What do your parents do?" He asked, slicing a piece of meat and putting it in his mouth, looking at her with unfeigned curiosity. Solren swallowed the bite of roast that she had just put in her mouth and cleared her throat softly.

“My dad owns a small bookstore in our town and my mom works for the town council.” She said calmly, taking a sip of juice, stressed that now the attention of the whole table was on her. Viserys nodded approvingly, looking up at her over his plate as he helped himself to more potatoes.

"They're both wizards?" He asked lightly. Alicent and Aemond gave him a shocked look as they tossed uneasily in their seats.

"Husband, this is not appropriate." His wife chided him in a slightly trembling voice, looking at her apologetically. Solren swallowed hard, ashamed.

"Yes." She said, lowering her eyes. Viserys smiled, not caring at all about the fact that he might have led to an awkward situation to say the least.

"They studied at Hogwarts? Which houses did they belong to?" He asked curiously and Aemond sighed softly, taking a sip of water from his glass, impatient.

Solren nodded.

"My dad was in Ravenclaw and mum was in Slytherin." She said softly, playing with her fork and the piece of meat that she was dipping in the sauce. Viserys raised his eyebrows in surprise, nodding.

"So where did Gryffindor suddenly come from?" He asked, amused, looking around the table to see if the others found it funny as well. Solren giggled lightly at his words, relaxing slightly.

"The Sorting Hat took my request into consideration." She said with a smile.

Aemond looked at her intrigued. He had heard that when the Sorting Hat hesitated, she allowed the child she was choosing a home to express his opinion and desire.

In the case of Aemond, she exclaimed "Slytherin!" practically without even touching his head. His father also looked curious, but didn't elaborate as dessert suddenly appeared in front of them and he reached for his favorite cheesecake right away.

The rest of the dinner passed in a pleasant atmosphere. Helaena and Solren went upstairs to talk to each other, wanting to spend some time together. Aemond, after a while, also went to his room.

He read a book for a while, and when he felt drowsy, he changed into sweatpants and the loose T-shirt that he always wore to sleep. He lay down on the bed, sighing heavily. He felt his whole body tense, he couldn't lie to himself any longer.

He wanted her.

He turned his head and looked at his walls, which were full of posters of flying Quidditch players from his favorite Bulgarian team. He thought that he had watched these characters all his childhood, promising himself to be like them.

Now, that he was the captain of the team and a successful player he realized, that he still didn't feel fulfilled. He wondered if he would ever experience that feeling in his life.

He flinched as he heard a soft knock on his door. He walked over to them and opened them. He shivered when he saw Solren, also dressed in pajamas, a T-shirt with a small Gryffidnor logo and red shorts. She looked at him uncertainly, scared.

"I wanted to wish you good night." She whispered softly, apparently afraid that someone would hear her. He swallowed loudly, his gaze involuntarily falling to her breasts and nipples which showed slightly through the material of her shirt.

"Mhm" He hummed low, unable to say anything more.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shift uneasily as she realized what he was looking at. She wanted to pull back but he wouldn't let her, grabbing her waist, lifting her up and pulling her into his room, closing the door.

He didn't let her react and smothered her startled squeal with his lips, kissing her hungrily and loudly, panting, feeling that he was at his breaking point.

He massaged with his lips her wet, wonderfully moist, hot skin, feeling her rapid breathing, her legs and arms entwining over his body. He sighed in delight, keeping his hand slid into her hair, not letting her leave his lips for a second.

He set her down on his bed, kneeling between her thighs, breathing heavily, looking at her with a look so dark and hot that she turned her face away. Her cheeks were red, her whole body trembling with emotion. He felt his cock throbbing in his pants, completely hard. He thought devastated that he couldn't hold on any longer.

"Have you ever done that?" He asked low, and she looked at him wide-eyed, inhaling quickly.

He saw her chest heave unevenly. He stroked her thigh with his hand, trying to calm her down. She shook her head slowly, and he pursed his lips. He was silent for a moment.

"Would you like to try?" He asked quietly, and she swallowed hard, a powerful shiver ran through her body. He could see that she hesitated, terrified of what was happening to her.

"I don't know." She sputtered softly, scared, not knowing what to do, how to behave.

Aemond's jaw clenched at her words, desperate. He looked at her helplessly, imploringly. He ran his fingers across her cheek. She buried her face in his hand, shivering all over.

"I want to touch you. Everywhere. I'll do it and you'll tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" He whispered, his heart pounding like a hammer, his thumb stroking her soft, hot skin.

She drew in a breath and nodded, but he frowned.

"I have to hear it, okay? You have to say it." He said, feeling tightness in his chest. He didn't want her to agree to this just to please him, terrified of rejecting her otherwise.

She looked as if her voice was stuck in her throat, her whole body trembling with uncertainty, desire and hot feeling that just fought with each other inside her. She parted her lips, breathing unevenly, staring at him with hazy eyes.

"If something goes wrong, I'll tell you to stop." She whispered softly, swallowing hard.

Aemond hummed low and leaned in, his lips brushing her thigh, pressing against her soft skin. She squealed softly in surprise, leaning back. He pulled away from her, his hands going to the fabric of her shorts and panties. He pulled them slowly from her legs, her eyes huge and terrified, staring at him in disbelief.

“Four colors, just like the colors of the houses at Hogwarts. Green will mean that you enjoy it, yellow that you want me to slow down, blue that you feel discomfort and red that I am hurting you and you want to stop. Repeat.” He said softly, parting her thighs in front of him, showering her bare legs with soft, light kisses.

He heard her mouth open with difficulty, any sounds frozen in her throat at the sight of what he was doing to her, the way he touched her shamelessly. She swallowed hard. He thought fondly that her throat was dry with emotion.

"Green means… means it's feels good − yellow means − ah!" She sucked in a breath, feeling his mouth move down her thigh, sending a shiver down her spine. Her fingers tightened on the sheets around her, her legs trembling with excitement and horror at what was happening to her.

"Easy. Yellow means what?” He hummed low, marveling at how she reacted to his slightest movement, how sensitive and gentle she was.

He wanted to purr every time his lips pressed against her hot, soft, firm skin. He wanted to lead her to spasms, to make her cry with pleasure and overstimulation. To see what he can do with her. His cock throbbed hard in his pants at the thought.

"− t-that I want you to slow down." She sputtered, gasping for air as she saw his face bent down between her thighs. A choked moan escaped her lips as she felt the tip of his tongue brush over her throbbing womanhood, wet with lust.

"− Aemond −" It escaped her lips like a plea, but she didn't finish the sentence, she moaned again, trying her hardest not to be loud, afraid someone would hear them. She couldn't help it feeling how wonderfully he teased her clit, licking and massaging her gently, making the tension in her lower abdomen unbearable.

"Blue?" He murmured, continuing to caress her, his large hands gripping her thighs and spreading them wider in front of him, his nose brushing over her clit as his tongue timidly slid inside her hot, moist core, tasting her.

Solren slipped her hand into his hair, feeling her whole body tremble with desire, a pleasure that she had never known before spreading over her belly, making her head buzz. She was all red with embarrassment, seeing him between her legs, kissing and licking her there. She had to concentrate very hard to get any words out of her mouth.

"− that I − ah − t-that I feel discomfort −" She sobbed as he felt his tongue slithering deeper and deeper, pushing her insides apart, his tip once in a while running through the spot that sent shivers of pleasure through her. He noticed it and she felt him smile.

"Very good. Red?" He grunted, breaking away from her for a moment, then went straight back to his previous caresses, beginning to deliberately lick her and press his tongue to the point where her body spasmed.

"I − oh Gods − that I want you − to − t-to stop − ah!" It escaped her throat like a helpless moan as he sped up suddenly. She didn't even know when her hips began to respond fervently to his caresses, her hand clenched in his hair pressing his face to her, wanting to feel him deeper, stronger.

"What's your color?" He panted, his fingers tightening on her thighs, his tongue sliding in and out inside her with a loud, perverted, wet click. Her whole body trembled, he knew that she was close to fulfillment.

"− green, green, God, so green −" She sobbed helplessly, moving her hips rhythmically towards him, feeling something coming.

When she was on the edge, he pulled away from her abruptly, pausing, and she let out a clumsy, disappointed moan, staring at him with wide eyes. He paused, looking down at her, undoing his sweatpants, a smirk on his face.

"Look at you, what a little mess you are. Who would have thought, hmm?" He asked as he climbed onto the bed, forcing her to lie down on her back, her breathing ragged and rapid, her mouth parted in desire.

He licked his lips at the sight, already on the brink himself. He thought that a few thrusts inside her would be enough for him to just come.

“I want to do this with you so fucking much, little one. Do you want it too?” He asked, breathing quickly, wiping her moisture from his face, looking at her expectantly. She swallowed loudly, a huge shiver ran through her body, her cheeks all red, her lips swollen with desire.

"I…yes." She mumbled softly, obviously devastated that she couldn't say no to him, that she wanted it as much as he did.

He let out a loud exhale of relief, squeezing his eyelid shut, feeling like his cock would just explode if he didn't put him inside her.

He took her thighs in his hands and spread them on either side of his hips, watching her carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort on her face. He didn't want to hurt her but he was desperate.

He saw her look away in embarrassment as he slipped off his boxers, his swollen, throbbing cock completely hard and sore. He placed one of his hands by her head, leaning into her, the other guiding tip of his member to her entrance. He heard her draw in a sharp breath, her hands clenching the fabric of the quilt around her, her body tense in horror.

"Easy, little one." He hummed tenderly, his manhood rubbing against her entrance, all sticky with her juices. "We're going to do it very, very slowly. All right?" He asked, and she nodded fervently, her lips parting sweetly.

He grunted contentedly and leaned over her, placing a tender, hot kiss on her mouth, her fleshy lips deliciously wet and full. He pressed his forehead against hers as he began to push against her, causing both of them to inhale loudly.

"Spread your thighs wider. Yes, that's right, such a good girl." He hummed appreciatively and kissed her again, muffled her loud moan. He slided into her a little, throbbing all over, his tip feeling her wet, tight walls pressing down on him in horror.

"Easy." He whispered, squeezing his eye shut as he tried to push himself deeper into her. Another helpless moan escaped her lips as she felt him stretch her walls, swollen with desire to the limit.

" I − blue, please, blue −" She mumbled in horror, feeling pleasure and immense discomfort mixed with pain at the same time.

Aemond looked at her in surprise and stopped immediately. He leaned over her again, cupping her cheek in his hand. He pressed his face against hers, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, seeking shelter for comfort, trembling all over.

"It's okay." He whispered, planting sticky, slow, loud kisses on her lips. He grunted in satisfaction as he felt her start to reciprocate, her walls slowly starting to loosen. "It's okay. We have a lot of time."

They kissed like that for a long time, tenderly and passionately. He wanted to tell her that what he felt was not just physicality. He wanted to have her, possess her, to be in her and feel her.

He needed her.

The thought of him being her first men filled him with indescribable pride.

She finally broke away from him and looked at him so tenderly, so warmly, that his heart sank.

"− I think − I think you can slide deeper, if you want to −" She whispered softly, slightly embarrassed as if she were talking about something lewd and unclean, something not to be spoken about aloud.

He grunted in satisfaction at her words, rose a little and tried again. They both moaned loudly in surprise as he managed to slide all the way in right away, filling her completely.

He couldn't help himself, his hips automatically slipping out of her gently and all the way into her again. He repeated these movements slowly and tenderly, looking at her intently, panting loudly with her, feeling the heat of her body, her rough, fleshy walls pressing against him so wonderfully.

"− yes, that's right, little one − ah − you're so fucking tight −" He panted as he stared at her in delight, her parted lips letting out a soft, sweet moan every time he thrust inside her again. Her hair spread in a mess around her head, her eyes full of hot emotion that made his cock throb even more.

He leaned over her and kissed her again, repeating his slow, gentle thrusts, sliding into her easily with the wet sound of her juices, already sticking to both of them. Her hands tightened on his hair, pulling him to her, their noses and mouths touching their faces chaotically, placing small, tender kisses on their skin.

Unable to take the tension any longer he set a slightly faster pace, making a shiver of pleasure run through him, the heat in his belly unbearable. He rose on his shoulders, looking at her, his thrusts getting faster, more aggressive.

She just moaned helplessly under him, looking at him pleadingly, feeling him deliberately rubbing his cock against the place that he had previously caressed with his tongue, driving her crazy.

"− Aemond − I − please −" She mewled, both of them panting loudly, their bodies covered in sweat, the mattress creaking softly beneath them.

Aemond couldn't think straight anymore, focused only on how badly he wanted this, how long he had dreamed of it. About her, about being inside her as now, about this wonderful feeling that filled him, about the pleasure that he felt every time his cock pushed against her walls again.

He shifted his position, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to him, squeezing her lovely spot at a more intense angle for her. He sped up and she pursed her lips to keep from moaning too loudly, afraid that someone might overhear them. He couldn't help but chuckle lowly at the sight, his thrusts getting faster and more brutal, entering her and tearing her walls apart mercilessly.

“My little girl is about to come, huh? Feels good?” He hummed in delight at the way that she writhed beneath him, no trace of pain or discomfort on her face anymore, only pure euphoria, desire and delight.

"Mhm" She choked out, focusing on how wonderful he filled her, the way his thighs slammed against her butt each time that he entered her again. The way his fingers tightened around her hips as he thrust his cock into her greedily, panting heavily and moaning with pleasure, just like her.

"Color?" He gasped, moaning helplessly, unable to construct any longer sentences either because of the pleasure that clouded his mind. His hands clenched around her buttocks in a quick, brutal rhythm, his thighs slapping against her skin with a sticky, perverted slap.

"− Green, Aemond, please − I-I think − ah! −" She sobbed, leaning back suddenly, a strong, aggressive orgasm rushing through her body in hot, long waves, blacking her eyes. She threw her head back, moaning softly beneath him, her body convulsing, overstimulated as he continued to fuck her with all his strenght.

"− I − oh, sweet God − fuck! −" He panted low, clenching his teeth, stopping himself from expressing the pleasure that he felt aloud.

He slid out of her and he came onto sheets, his hot cum flowing out of him in a stream. He squeezed himself for a while longer with his hand, panting heavily, strands of his long hair stuck to his face.

She stared down at her, delighted to see her, her soft, relaxed body, her restlessly heaving chest, her closed eyes, her lips parting sweetly in a loud, ragged breath. He thought that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Surprised by his own discovery, he lay down on top of her and just cuddled up to her.

"Sleep in my bed tonight."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses

Others: @fangirlninja67 @helaenaluvr @queenofshinigamis @scmdsblog @talesofoldandnew @godrakin @nina2697 @saminalloxo

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marwritesgood · 8 months

Text

Kiss it Better

Pairing: Steve x Hopper!Reader

Summary: While Y/n was used to going unnoticed, she was all Steve could think about.

series masterlist // main masterlist

A/N: Just some indulgent fluff in the form of backstory before we get back to the main story line.

November, 1982

Y/n shoved her books into her locker and let out a huff. It had been a long school day and she had only an hour to commute to her part time job and don the most hideous uniform known to man. A hell of a start to sixteen, but she had had worst birthdays. This one would be different, she was sure of it.

Slamming the door shut, she jolted as she recognised Steve leaning against the lockers adjacent to hers, grinning like he knew something she did not. Y/n tightened her grip on her bag and cocked her brow, mostly amused and the smallest bit flustered. She drew her lips together tightly, trying not to think about how flushed she felt.

“Did you see our grade?”

It was his first A in a while, but that wasn't what had him feeling giddy, it was the excuse he had to go to her locker and strike up a conversation with her. After their time working on their group project came to an end, he had been grasping at straws trying to find reasons to talk to her, to hear her voice again.

“I did. You’re welcome," Y/n smirked. Steve scoffed jokingly.

“I’m pretty sure it was my good looks and charisma that swayed Mrs Madison." He inched closer to her, brows raised teasingly. Y/n narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth perking up.

She could never tell if the type of banter they had was platonic or if it was just a consequence of Steve being the biggest flirt in Hawkins, but she knew it was risky to think anything else of it.

“No, I think it was my research.”

Steve chuckled, standing straight. They were quite the unlikely duo, but he liked to believe

“Well either way, we make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, smiling affectionately.

When she was first assigned as his partner for the project, she had more than her fair share of reservations. Now, her feelings towards Steve had become far more complicated for all the best reasons.

Steve put his hands in his pockets and glanced down momentarily at his shoes, contemplating what to say next. He met her gaze with a nervous smile and began to back away.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

Y/n nodded, her expression dimming until she noticed Steve’s feet come to a halt. Suddenly, he was turning back to her, his face lit up.

“Oh, and happy birthday.”

She froze, her brows knitted together, puzzled. No one ever really remembered to wish her a happy birthday except for a handful of her friends and Flo from the station.

“How do you know-“

“You mentioned it last week, remember?”

Steve felt a knot form in his stomach as he realised how potentially weird it was for him to remember a comment she brought up nonchalantly eight days ago. Steve was so sure she would grimace and find a way to politely exit the conversation, but she just smiled.

Y/n barely remembered mentioning it, yet he did.

“Um, you know actually I’m having some friends over at my place tonight, if you wanted to come,” Steve added.

It was nothing special, but if Y/n was going to be there, he knew it would be a good night. Maybe he would even get her a cake, and a nice gift that didn't cross the friend-line too far for comfort.

Y/n gave it a moment's deliberation and frowned, deciding the plans she had already set in stone were too precious to cancel.

“Thanks, Steve, but I... I’m having dinner with my dad tonight.”

Steve smiled defeatedly and nodded huffed, looking around the corridor as more and more students were heading out the door until his eyes landed on one of the posters for the upcoming dance. Steve drew in a sharp breath and wondered if he could muster up the courage to finally ask her. She was preoccupied buttoning up her cardigan, and it seemed like as good a time as any.

“Well, hey, the winter dance is coming up in a couple weeks and I…”

Her eyes shot up as did her hopes, despite her best efforts to steady herself and remember play it cool. It was just another stupid high school dance she would inevitably find herself at, but if somehow she ended up going with Steve, something inside her knew it would be different.

She watched intently anticipating his next words. Steve had been holding his breath, choked up at the way she was gazing at him. Panic began to seep in.

“I know the band that’s playing," he blurted out rapidly. "They’re pretty good, so should be fun night.”

“Oh." There was no hiding her disappointment. Her shoulder slumped but she maintained some semblance of a smile. “That’s cool... I guess.”

Steve swallowed thickly. He could have sworn the light in her expression dimmed, and he hated himself for chickening out, but there was always a voice that questioned if he was just kidding himself. It was hard to hear anything over it.

“Well, have a nice dinner with your dad,” Steve murmured before turning around and walking away. There was still plenty of time before the dance, perhaps by then he will have worked up the courage to ask her.

***

April, 1983

The passenger seat of Steve's car may as well have had her name written on it. It remained in the exact position Y/n had it adjusted to and the clutter she couldn't manage to squeeze into her bag by the time she had to go. Steve would not have had it any other way.

Her uniform was drenched in rainwater from just the distance she had to run from the store to the parking lot. Steve gave her on of his jackets to drape over her shoulders for the car ride, mumbling something about the radiator being broken and not wanting her to catch a cold. Y/n was too distracted by the smell of his cologne to remember his exact words.

He drove slower than normal, taking his time to focus on what he could make out of the road markings in between his windshield wipers going back and forth rapidly.

“Thanks again for giving me a ride home," Y/n said loudly, making sure he heard her clearly. His eyes never leaving the road ahead, Steve smiled easily and shrugged.

“It’s nothing.”

He did not have to think twice about it. When Y/n told him she finished in 5 and he knew the rain would only getting heavier, Steve knew he would wait around to drive her home so she would not have to wait at the bus stop. There was no chance he was going to do anything else.

Y/n glanced at him, feeling overwhelmed by all that she felt towards him. A year ago, she would have been walking in the rain, thinking about how she would scrape together the leftovers in the fridge to make herself some dinner. Now, she had Steve.

“It’s not nothing.”

Her voice was quieter, but Steve caught what she said and held it tightly. There was a sincerity and vulnerability in her voice, something he knew she let very few people have access to. He liked knowing he had become one of those people.

Steve took a split moment to steal a glance at her. She was sitting in his car, his jacket draped over her shoulders, and she was looking back at him with an expression that drove him crazy. He wanted to remember every second of this moment.

Y/n turned back to the road and her face fell.

“Shit.”

Steve slowed down when he saw it too. A massive portion of a tree must have snapped off from the wind and landed right on the road that led to Y/n's place. Officers had already blocked off the road. A familiar one approached Steve's BMW, walking towards the passenger window, as opposed to Steve's.

Y/n wheeled her window down and gave Officer Robinson a brief hello before immediately asking what the hold up was. There was no other way of getting to the cabin, only through that road. She had already thrown a wrench into Steve's afternoon by letting him drive her home, she hated to think what a road blockage meant.

“It’s gonna be at least a few more hours until we can clear it, Y/n.”

She sighed, frustrated, knowing a few hours meant they may as well clear the rest of their day. She looked to Steve, her face riddled with worry, only to be meant with a calm gaze that brought her ease.

“We can come back later,” he said softly, his tone assuring her it was no biggie even though she knew it was more than a minor inconvenience. Y/n turned back to her dad's colleague.

“We’ll come back later, Robinson.”

The officer nodded and backed away so Steve could turn the car around. The first few minutes of the drive back to the main road was filled with Y/n apologising and asking if he was sure he didn't mind killing time with her. Steve assured her it was fine, but he knew she would be difficult to convince, so he suggested they make an adventure of it.

Apparently Hawkins had a hidden gem, a spot that Steve loved that he knew not many knew of, Y/n included. It was a lookout just around the corner from the post shop. Even through the torrential rain, the view was a sight for sore eyes. The two of them sat in silence at first, as Y/n looked around through the windshield. Then, she heard the faint sound of Steve's stomach rumbling. She turned to him and smiled, amused.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?"

“Starving," he answered. He was supposed to pick up something to eat after stopping at Melvald's, but ended up getting sidetracked and forgetting about it completely.

Y/n grinned before picking her bag up and placing it on her lap. She reached in and pulled out a small box, one ominously familiar to Steve.

“Good thing I picked up some donuts on my break," she exclaimed, opening the box up to reveal four of the custard donuts from her favourite bakery, the very donuts Steve teared up trying to stomach just a month ago.

He gulped as she picked two of the four donuts and handed, handing one to him. Thankfully, she looked away just as Steve began to grimace. He stared at the abomination and decided to try his luck at keeping Y/n distracted from realising that he had not and would not eat it.

It was a good thing the lookout oversaw such a nice view. Y/n was scoffing a donut down and going back to looking around.

“How have I not known about this lookout?”

Y/n had grown up in Hawkins just as Steve had. Hell, her dad was the sheriff of the damn town. She was so sure she knew the town back to front when Steve insinuated there was secret spot she did not know about.

“How did you find this place?”

“I have my ways," Steve shrugged. "This is my special spot.”

Y/n scrunched her nose up. Special, she repeated to herself. That was a loaded word.

“Don’t tell me this is where King Steve takes his dates," she grimaced. It was no secret Steve was a player and Y/n often had to remind herself that just because he was good to her, did not necessarily mean his entire persona had changed.

“No,” his answer came quick. Steve turned to her and waited until she was looking back. He needed her to know. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever brought here.”

She drew in a deep breath and as she breath out, her lips curved into a smile. No one had ever come close to making her feel the way Steve did. Y/n never thought of herself as someone who would have people lose to her. She was used to being alone and keeping everyone, even her own dad at an arm's length. It was better that way, safer. Then Steve came along, and all of that changed.

Y/n desperately wanted him to know that, but she could never bring herself to tell him. It was not the kind of thing friends told each other, and that was all she was to him.

He looked back at the view, and Y/n drew her attention back to her donut, taking another bite and anticipating having a second one.

“Ugh, this is just what I needed," she looked at Steve and realised he was still holding in his hand, though in a way that made her suspect he was trying to hide it. “You haven’t even eaten yours.”

Steve's face went red.

“Yeah… I’m pretty full already."

“But, you said you were starving."

Y/n drew her brows together in confusion and narrowed her eyes at him. He pursed his lips together and she could have sworn she heard him curse beneath his breath.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

She couldn't understand it. Steve was starving and she gave him one of the best donuts in the state of Indiana, but he was refusing to eat it. Finally, it dawned on her.

“Steve. Do you not like the donuts?”

His silence was all the answer she needed. Y/n didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or let out a gasp. Either way, she could not make any sense of it.

“But you said you liked them when you first tried them!”

“I did! I…” Steve knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't dig himself deeper into lie that was only meant to be a little white one. He sighed. “They’re the worst donuts I’ve ever had.”

Y/n laughed curtly in disbelief. If Steve had told her he hated the donuts she loved so dearly, her ego might have been a bit bruised, but she would have been ok overall. She narrowed her eyes, puzzled by what went on beneath that beautiful head of hair.

“Why did you lie?”

Steve thought about it for only a moment. The reason was really quite simple.

“Because it made you happy,” he answered.

Her eyes went wide and everything inside her came to a stand still.

“Oh," was all she could mutter before averting her eyes from his intent gaze. She did not want to sit in silence any longer and let his words continue to simmer in her mind. Y/n knew her heart would not be able to bear it.

For the first time, Steve's car was beginning to suffocate her. Each passing second made her more and more conscious of just how close they were to each other. Y/n desperately needed a change of scenery.

“Hey, where’s that burger place you always talk about?

“It’s next to the post office."

Perfect, she thought. She needed to take a breather and Steve needed something to eat.

“Do you wanna go there and grab a bite?" Y/n quickly glanced at him, her heart still racing. "It’s gonna be a few more hours, anyways."

Steve agreed and started the car up again. It was a short and silent ride to the diner. Steve held the door to his car and the door to the diner open for Y/n, something he had developed a habit of doing, though she never thought much of it. Not until now.

The diner had only a handful of patrons when they got there. Steve muttered something about how he always sat at the counter so he could sneak a peek into the kitchen. The tension between them had begun to settle and by the time their food came, two orders of Steve's usual, things felt normal again.

Y/n took one bite of the burger Steve claimed was the best on the menu and he could hardly contain his anticipation. She chewed slowly, taking in the divine taste, with Steve watching her intently.

“Well, what do you think?”

She shook her head, taking a sip of her milkshake before going back in for more.

“I really wanted to hate it to get back at you for not liking the donuts,” she said honestly. It would have been nice to tease him for it, but there was nothing to tease about. Y/n sighed. “But these burgers are so good!“

After she took another bite, she heard a faint chuckle and realised Steve was smiling at her, clearly amused. Swallowing her bite, Y/n cleared her throat.

“What’s so funny?”

“You… you have a little..."

Before she knew what he was referring to, Steve lifted his hand and swiped his thumb over the left corner of Y/n's lips. Suddenly, she couldn't take her eyes off him. His hand was cool to the touch, but so soft and comforting, she wanted to lean into it. So she did.

After wiping away the mustard remnants, Steve locked eyes with Y/n, but only for a second. He had no time to register it. No time to chicken out and pull away. No time to reason with his anxieties. She leaned in and kissed him. Her hands rose to the sides of his face and he knew he was done for.

A moment passed and Y/n began to pull away, catching her breath as she opened her eyes and came face to face with the most dazed expression she had ever seen, and on Steve Harrington of all people. She could hardly believe that just happened, so much so, she let out a breathless laugh beneath her breath.

“You can’t do that," Steve whispered, pressing his temple against hers, his eyes going back and forth between her eyes and her lips “You can’t just kiss me like that then laugh it was nothing.”

She shook her head.

“It wasn’t nothing.”

Steve drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes momentarily. The fearful voice in the back of his head was nowhere to be found. He looked at her and sighed.

“I like you, Y/n.”

She leaned back and stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You... You what?”

“I like you," he repeated, his voice a little louder. "I really really like you. I have for a while now.”

Y/n heaved, her eyes wide and stare blank.

“Really?”

Steve smiled softly.

“You haven’t noticed?”

He could have sworn there were multiple times he had been terribly obvious about it. After all, most of his afternoons and his weekends belonged to her, as did the passenger seat of his beloved BMW.

Y/n's heart never knew such a rush. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to kiss him again, but she couldn't bring herself to throw caution to the wind and risk getting hurt by yet another person she cared too much about for her own good.

"Are you being serious?"

Steve put his hand in her and laced their fingers together slowly.

“You... You do this thing with your hands when you're focused and at first I thought it was just a crush but then… Then I kept looking for excuses to talk to you. Just to hear you say my name again."

It was like nothing he had ever felt before.

"And I listened to that ‘60s song you said was your favourite," he added. The Bee Gees were not necessarily his kind of music, but the way she described it and the way her face lit up when she heard that one particular song made him want to listen to it everyday. "I even got it on cassette so I could just casually play it in my car. And I pretended to like those terrible donuts just ‘cause it made you smile, and-“

She did it again. Leaned in and kissed him softly, shutting him up completely, silencing every thought and every voice that echoed in his mind until all he could think about was the feeling of her touch.

Y/n pulled away quickly this time. She really only kissed him to shut him up long enough so she could finally get a word in.

“I like you too," she admitted, betraying the emotionally unavailable persona she once took great pride in maintaining and deciding she liked her odds when it came to Steve.

He stared at her, lifting his hands until the sides of her face were in between his left and right fingertips. He wanted to take it in for a moment. Just a moment. Then, he leaned in and kissed her, soft and fervently.

Even with her eyes closed, Y/n could picture everything around her glowing. Her suspicions were confirmed when they pulled apart and she looked around at a room that appeared tenfold brighter than she remembered. It had been a while since she felt anything close to that.

“Do you think the road’s clear now?” Steve asked, looking outside and realising the previously torrential rain had stopped completely.

“I don’t care," Y/n answered without waiting a beat or even taking a moment to look outside.

All she wanted was right there in that diner with her. Steve looked at her and reached for her hand, grinning like the lovestruck fool he knew he was and would always be for Y/n.

***

March, 1984

They opted for one of the booths that day. Steve said he was pissed off with his basket ball coach and needed to give Y/n a play by play of everything that went wrong. She happily obliged. It was a nice breather from being cooped up at the cabin all day with El.

When they walked in, the server at the counter recognised them and pointed to the day’s special written on a chalkboard displayed on the counter. Y/n took one look at it and realised what day it was.

“Lewinsky of all people, the benchwarmer can’t make a free throw to save his life and coach still put him on.” Steve packed a small handful of fries into his mouth and chewed, before looking up and realising his girlfriend was staring blankly at her food, her eyes glossed over. Slowly, he waved his hand a few inches in front of her face. “Y/n? Are you listening?”

She looked up and sniffled, quickly realising she had been too in her head to pay attention to Steve’s story. She shook her head and frowned apologetically.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve couldn’t even remember what he was annoyed about, not when there was something going wrong with Y/n. He moved his plate to the side and leaned his elbows on the edge of the table. Reaching his arm across the table, Steve took hold of her hand.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” she whispered, wiping her eyes, not wanting to dampen the mood any further. Steve knitted his brows together and shook his head.

“No it’s not.”

She was tearing up. Whatever it was, he knew it was a big deal to her, and so he couldn’t ignore it.

Y/n sighed, realising there was no use in trying to pull a brave face. Steve knew her too well to buy it. She drew in a sharp and shaky inhale before meeting his gaze, her eyes watering again from just the anticipation of saying it aloud.

“Today’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” she explained in a hushed tone. Her lip quivered and her expression grew sheepish as she went to continue. “… And I completely forgot until now.”

The day used to carry so much weight to her. Her emotions would usually begin to deplete at the beginning of month and she would spend the entire day wallowing alone at home. Now it completely snuck up on her and she hated herself for it.

Steve shrunk back, at a loss for words. Only one came to mind.

“Shit.”

“I’ll be ok, I just-“ Y/n cleared her throat and wiped her tears away. She could wallow later but it wasn’t fair to Steve to do it now. “Finish your story.”

His expression was unmoved.

“Your mom... What was she like?”

Steve spoke cautiously, knowing it was the most delicate of matters when it cane to Y/n’s life. He had always been curious, but never wanted to pry. If there was ever a day to ask, he figured it would be today. Deep down, he knew Y/n wanted to talk about her too.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve,” she whispered.

“I know," he took hold of her hand again.

Steve didn't have the best relationship with his mom, but from the few times she brought her up in conversation, he knew Y/n had a good one with hers. A great one. He wanted to know more about it.

“How did she- uhm… never mind,” Steve shook his head and dismissed the thought, scared it was too sensitive of a question.

“It’s ok, Steve,” Y/n assured him.

He wasn't the first person to ask her how her mom died, and unlike almost everyone else who did, he didn't annoy the crap out of her.

She used to dread having the dead mom conversation with people that came into her life, but it didn't feel that way with Steve. Y/n didn't feel like a news story or neighbourhood gossip or the town's sob story.

“Was she sick?” Steve asked hesitantly.

It was hard to make any conclusions about Y/n's mom, given how little he knew about her. There were rumours that spread around town when she passed, but Steve couldn't bring himself to buy into any of it. It didn't feel right. Though he and Y/n were barely friends, they had been classmates for as long as he could remember. He still remembered seeing her the day she came back to school some time after the funeral.

He always wondered what happened, and how Y/n managed to get through it at such a young age.

“She got into a car accident," she explained. "A drunk driver hit her, and she died a few days after.”

Y/n remembered the torrential rain that fell that night. She remembered the phone ringing in the middle of the night and the scream her dad let out after he collapsed on the floor. She remembered her mom's sister coming into town the next day, and how she knew that was a bad sign. Everything that came after was a blur to her.

Steve squeezed her hand three times and offered a small smile.

“What was she like?”

Her eyes began to light up. That was the one question that she loved being asked when it came to talking about her mom.

“She was great,” Y/n started, the corners of her lips perking up as she remembered, not the rain or the phone call or aunt Jenna, but her mom. “… She was the best, actually.”

“I bet she was,” Steve smiled.

Y/n grinned, meeting his gaze. If he only knew.

“She was twice as strict as my dad,” Y/n explained. Steve was surprised, just as she expected. “But anytime I was having a bad day she used to sneak into my room with a tub of ice cream and two spoons.”

Her mom wouldn't even have to ask. If Y/n had a certain expression, or slammed her bedroom door a certain way, or said goodnight with a certain tone, her mom would be at her side with their favourite dessert. She had a sixth sense when it came to her daughters, and it wasn't until she passed, and took with her their ice cream nights, that Y/n realised how much missed it.

“Sounds familiar,” Steve chuckled, remembering El mention something about how Y/n had special ice cream in the freezer.

She grinned. Y/n always loved it when others drew similarities between her and her mom. She took pride in it. To her, the more she took after her mom, the less she took after her dad.

“People said I looked just like her too,” Y/n beamed. “Same hair, same eyes… Same laugh.”

“Yeah?”

Y/n nodded, chuckling beneath her breath. It was the one sound she would probably never forget. As strict as her mom was, Y/n grew up hearing her laughter almost all of the time. Hers and her dad's.

“My dad would tell the most stupid jokes all the time," Y/n explained, a bittersweet feeling settling in her chest. "—and she’d laugh at every single one… even when she was angry with him.”

She would give anything to relive a moment like that again. To hear that sound again in reality and not in memory. To eat ice cream and rest her head on her mom's shoulder, letting go of whatever was burdening her.

“I wish I got to meet her,” Steve mumbled, hoping it didn't sound silly to Y/n. In truth, he had met her a few times in passing, but those didn't count to him. He wished he got to meet her as the mother of the girl he loved.

“Me too,” Y/n smiled weakly. She thought about it often as well.

“Do you think she would’ve liked me?”

Steve pursed his lips together forming a sheepish grin. He thought about that a lot. Though it was merely a hypothetical, it was oddly important to him that she would have.

Y/n gave it a moment's deliberation and smiled.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “She would’ve.”

There was no doubt about it. She would have been skeptical about how much pride he took in his hair and in his car, but she would have seen how much he loves and care for Y/n and that would have been enough for her.

The more Y/n thought about it, the more she realised that, wherever she was, her mom would not be holding it against her that she forgot what today was. If anything, she would have been happy. She would have been happy Y/n wasn't wallowing anymore. That she had someone to lean on now, who didn't let her carry her burdens alone. That her sweet Y/n was so busy making good memories with someone she loved, she forget to remember the bad ones that once debilitated her.

***

December, 1984

Steve stood at the gym entrance and scanned the room. Dustin didn't have to be told twice before racing past him to find his friends. Finally, Steve spotted her standing with El by the bleachers in the same dress she wore to their high school winter dance. She had her arms crossed. That was never a good sign.

“If it isn’t the two prettiest girls in Hawkins,” he sang, approaching the Hopper girls with a nervous smile. Y/n was glaring daggers at him.

“I see Mike,” El chirped, eager to leave Steve to deal with the mess he made.

With El gone, Steve inched closer to Y/n, his arms instinctively reaching for her waist only to be swatted away.

“You’re late, Harrington."

He promised her he would be early, and he knew how much Y/n dreaded having to deal with their old teachers herself. And after all, he was the only reason she agreed to chaperone the middle school dance.

Steve froze, his expression equivalent to that of a kicked puppy.

“Woah. Harrington?” Steve held his hand to his chest. He knew she would be mad at him, but calling him by his last name was a low blow. “C’mon, I’m only a few minutes late.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, pushing him away as he leaned in to steal a quick peck.

“First of all, there’s a no kissing rule."

The teacher in charge, Mrs Bernstein was very clear about that rule. That was, after a long-winded story about renovations they made to the science labs and then a lecture about the problem with today's youth.

“Second of all," Y/n added. "You can’t talk me into signing up to be a chaperone with you just to show up late and leave me to face Mrs Bernstein on my own.”

It will be fun, he told her. We'll be doing it together. Y/n wanted to make him pay for every second she had to plaster on a smile and supervise middle schoolers on her own.

Steve grimaced.

“Bernstein still works here?”

“Yes, and I volunteered you to be on snack table duty with her for the first hour.”

Y/n gestured to the opposite end of the gym where the elderly lady was waiting with likely a million stories with a million details and no end. She smirked, pleased with herself.

“Have fun.”

Steven turned to his girlfriend and pouted. She wasn't really going to make him do that, he thought. Y/n patted his back and pushed him forward, proving him wrong.

Bernstein was just as he remembered her, boring as hell. Steve lasted half an hour before he started looking around the gym, searching for an out.

Luckily, he spotted two kids sneaking out of the gym just as Bernstein was wrapping up her spiel about the price of gas. He never thought of himself as a snitch, but if it meant getting to his girl and getting his kiss, he did what was necessary.

With Bernstein gone, all that was left to do was pay Mike five dollars to watch the snack table, and he was making his was to Y/n. She still had her arms crossed, but Steve had a feeling her stance would change. He stood beside her, close enough so that she could hear him over the music.

“Dustin had a hair emergency and asked me to stop by his house on the way here," he explained. "It took a lot longer than I expected."

Steve was expecting a comb and a bit of mousse would fix it, but when he realised what he was working with, he had no choice but to start from scratch.

“Ok... that’s pretty sweet," Y/n sighed, her lips perking at the thought of it, her arms instinctively falling to her sides. Steve started to smile and pulled a small box from his jacket pocket.

“Then, since I was already running late, I decided make another stop so I could pick up this."

He held the box out for Y/n. With narrowed eyes, she opened it slowly, revealing a small corsage. It cost him twice the normal price and a full five minutes of begging, but the florist was able to pull together a boutonniere for Dustin and a corsage for Y/n in a moment's notice.

“Still mad at me?”

“No,” she grinned, holding her wrist out so he could put the corsage on for her. After tying it on, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Y/n held the side of his face, running his fingers along his cheek until her eyes landed on the bruise still evident around his eye.

She frowned. Even a week after his fist fight with Billy, his face was still slow to clear up. She studied the bruising and scarring closely, her brows crinkled together in concern.

“Does your face still hurt?”

“Only a little,” he assured her, gently pulling her hand away before she got herself worked up again.

“He’s such a piece of shit," Y/n muttered.

"I know," he laughed.

They turned their attention back to the kids they were meant to be chaperoning, but his hand never left hers. She couldn't stop thinking about that fight. She brushed her shoulder against his and offered a playful smile.

“I reckon I could have taken him if you hadn’t stood in my way."

Another kick to the groin, and Billy would have been crawling away. That was what she told herself every time she remembered her boyfriend catching a fist that was alarmingly close to colliding with her face.

“Of course you would have," Steve smiled, squeezing her hand three times and playing along with the hypothetical she had clearly been building up in her mind. But deep down, he knew he was never gonna let her find out.

***

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