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sundrop-writes · 1 month

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Careful - Chapter Two

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Liar

Why should I deny what's all at once, so crystal clear?

Summary:

Spencer is eager to talk to you - to find out if your son is actually his. But there are more important matters at hand, like the fact that you might be the next target of a serial killer who is actively stalking single mothers.

The two of you get locked in a battle of wills when you stubbornly refuse his protection and Spencer remains determined to keep you safe.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst and Smut.

Word Count: 8,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of killing/murder, mentions of the reader being a target for a killer; mentions of the reader buying and using a vibrator (does not take place during the fic, more so mentioned as the reality of the ‘sex life’ of a single mom); the reader and Spencer parted on very bad terms (but the details of the situation are not yet revealed); the reader is very angry towards Spencer; the reader and Spencer argue; the reader is in denial that she is the target of a killer; there is some mention of Sebastian having similar hair to Spencer - but I don’t want that to describe or exclude the reader’s race because in the next chapter, there is a mention of Sebastian having the reader’s skin tone; mention of the reader ‘shoving’ Spencer out of anger (not hard enough to cause harm); mention of the reader owning a gun (registered with gun training) as a form of self defense; mention of the reader character celebrating a birthday - but there is no mentions of specific dates or months when the fic is set, so you can easily imagine that this takes place around your birthday (aside from mentions of holidays or seasonal weather); mentions of JJ x Will; JJ talks about her trauma regarding dogs after being attacked in 2x15; this ends in another flashback, this time including flashback sex (smut); Spencer cuts off foreplay to give the reader a birthday present - mentions of heated kissing and some groping; Spencer calls the reader ‘Princess’ (not during sex - in the context of ‘I am here to serve you like royalty’); the smut basically consists of Spencer eating the reader out. And I think that’s it for this chapter.

A/N: Okay so something I did not intend to happen - a lot of this chapter is from JJ's perspective. It just naturally started happening while I was writing it, and it was really interesting to me to write about Spencer and the reader's relationship through her eyes (especially to keep the conflict between them vague to the audience, because JJ doesn't know the details of what happened), and it's not something I did intentionally, but I really loved how it shaped the chapter, so I kept it in. Also, I really wanted to include a lot of JJ x Spencer friendship and comfort moments in the fic because (as a lot of people in the fandom have discussed) - the writers love to have the characters say that JJ and Spencer are best friends, but they don't often show it. They just show a lot of conflict between them. So I wanted to show the potential of their friendship. And I had a lot of fun exploring that. So - I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter, and definitely hope to see you come back for chapter three!!!

...

When you heard someone knock on your door, you thought it was a delivery.

You had ordered Sebastian some new educational coloring books, and some new CDs with Mozart concertos to fall asleep to, because he was getting bored of his current ones. You often felt like you couldn’t keep up with him - Sebastian was so damn smart, and you always tried to provide him with the best resources to learn. Even if he was getting to a point where he was asking for high school level chemistry text books and actually seemed to understand the material in them and you were confused about how he could comprehend any of it.

The package also could have been the new vibrator you had ordered. You weren’t sure if that package was small enough to be left in the mailbox or not. You had to roll your eyes when you thought about how pathetic your sex life had been since having Sebastian. But you couldn’t risk bringing random men through the house just for sex when you had Seb around. So battery power and smut novels, it was.

“Sorry!”

You called out, hoping the delivery person would wait, as you raced to get to the door. You hoped they wouldn’t just slip one of those ‘failed to deliver’ notes into your door handle and force you to run an extra errand with a kid under your arm. You tripped over a toy truck and cursed yourself for procrastinating cleaning up (again).

“Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-”

‘I was in my office, in the back of the house.’

The sentence died off on your tongue when you finally fumbled the door open - your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him.

Spencer Reid.

The father of your child, the man you had once loved.

Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion.

Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief.

Shock.

You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here?

Was he here because of Sebastian? Was he angry? He had to be angry that you hadn’t told him about Sebastian for all of these years. He had to be angry that you had given birth to his child and not told him about it.

You flickered back to lust for a moment as your eyes traced over him.

He looked good.

Somehow, he had grown up so much in just four years. He had gone from a gangly, boyish man to a full blown man. But he was somehow still so much the same. His hair had grown out a lot since you had last seen him - instead of the neatly combed, short cut you had last seen him with, it was downright wild. The chocolate brown locks were sprawling out into the thick curls that you had come to see sprouting from your own son’s head. It wasn’t a look that you were used to on Spencer, but it looked damn good on him.

He was wearing his usual leather messenger bag - probably the exact same one from years ago. And he clearly had the same dress sense, but these clothes in particular made you want to jump his bones. A lavender cardigan that complimented his skin tone so well - and his usual button up shirt and tie, along with his usual gray slacks.

You desperately wanted to blame the sting of attraction that you felt for him on the recent lack of male suitors in your life; the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in a long time. But you knew it was something else, too. Your previous attraction to him - the fact that because you had slept with Spencer before, you could still feel the ghost of his hands and tongue on your body.

How did he look so good?

He made you feel like a slob in your casual ‘work from home on a random Tuesday’ Mom clothes. If it had been your choice, he definitely wouldn’t be seeing you for the first time in years while you were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that you were sure had raspberry juice stained on it somewhere, and eyeliner that you had slopped in between traffic lights in the car that morning.

(You hated it.)

“Y/N,”

He finally broke the silence, speaking your name in that honey-sweet way.

Unfortunately, it brought you rocketing back to that night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over.

This chased out that tiny splash of lust and brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions.

Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. More longing. Regret.

Like your brain was a spin wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage.

And that was when you finally spoke.

“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom, your neck aching as the blood pumped hard through your aorta.

Immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and fear took over his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked fiercely, this question rocketing back to the forefront of your mind.

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that suddenly, you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say.

You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch. Without even thinking, you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You screeched.

You let your emotions carry your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was resentment and heartache that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time.

“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You screamed. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?”

You gave him another hard shove. Perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, even you weren’t sure.

Spencer just looked at you with wide-eyed shock. Clearly, for once in his life, at a loss for words.

“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat.

“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out.

“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”

You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless.

He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception.

The two of you became locked in an icy staring contest, neither of you speaking. Spencer found his throat too dry, and for once, his head far too empty. You were simply too angry and too stubborn to speak in those moments.

This stalemate was only broken up when JJ walked around the corner.

“Spence, Hotch just told me that the first woman doesn’t even match the-”

“JJ!” You cried out her name happily, your entire demeanor changing when you saw her.

She grinned, completely forgetting whatever news she had to report to Reid as you practically flew off the porch and ran to meet her. JJ eagerly opened her arms to hug you, and you squeezed her with all the warmth and kindness of an old friend.

Spencer felt a pang of jealousy that he wasn’t being greeted with as much affection. He knew that the last argument between the two of you had been bad, but he didn’t know it had left such a distinct impression on you. He didn’t know it had been enough to make you hate him.

When you pulled away from JJ, you looked between her and Spencer, and then it suddenly struck you.

If Spencer wasn’t here alone, that meant this wasn’t personal. He wasn’t just here to see you over some lost love, or - maybe he didn’t know about Sebastian at all. You felt a pang of guilt twist your gut because of that.

“What - what are you guys doing here?” You asked, now entirely confused, directing the question toward JJ.

JJ looked toward Spencer, and according to his ill-concealed frown, his reunion with you had not gone well. She doubted that you would take the news that you were possibly being hunted by a killer well on top of that.

“Is it alright if we come inside?” JJ asked, her voice tentative and soft. It was the same voice she usually used with victims and their families.

“Yeah.” You said, knowing there must be something big that you were missing, and hoping that you would be filled in soon enough. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

You walked back up the few steps of the porch and breezed right past Reid. You didn’t even spare a glance in his direction as you went back in through the open front door, leaving it open for the two of them with the expectation that they would close it behind themselves.

“So - I take it things didn’t go well?” JJ whispered to Spencer as she moved up onto the porch.

“Not quite.” Spencer mumbled in return before moving into the house, waiting for her to follow.

This made JJ even more curious about what had gone down between you and Spencer all those years ago.

What could have possibly made you so cold and distant toward him?

But she couldn’t just come out and ask. They had a job to do. They were there to ensure your safety against a man who had already killed five women and orphaned five children.

JJ walked into the house and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t surprised that she nearly tripped over a plastic toy truck in the entryway. Even though your son didn’t seem to be here (it was far too quiet for a small boy to be around), this was definitely a house where a child lived.

The first space that was visible to her eye - the living room, was clearly a space that belonged to a young child. There was a large, colorful play mat underneath the coffee table, and a few toys scattered over across the floor, showing that he clearly liked to have hands on play. In the corner, there was a child-sized desk with a small chair, which seemed to be surrounded by art supplies, and advanced textbooks? Some of them opened and were dotted with bright, colorful stickers. One glance told JJ that the reading material very advanced for his age clearly belonged to him.

So he very likely was Spencer’s son.

She wasn’t sure why, but that did bring a cluster of joy through her. Likely because she knew he would be so excited to have a child of his own.

JJ couldn’t help but to notice that many of the toys were Paw Patrol themed - it was a favorite show of Henry’s, too. In the back of her mind, she wondered if your son and Henry might be friends.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You huffed, rushing around with your arms half full of toys now - distracted from getting the coffee, as you had mentioned. You were clearly rushing to pick up some of the mess now that you had realized how it appeared in the eyes of your ‘guests’. “All the - stuff.”

You hesitated to say ‘toys’. Clearly, you didn’t want to bring up the subject of your son, even though the evidence of him was so visible all around. You didn’t want to give Spencer the smallest opening to start asking questions about him. It was something you wanted to avoid speaking about for as long as possible.

Spencer looked at you with a mournful look on his face as you dodged around him, purposefully avoiding eye contact while you picked up a coloring book and a handful of crayons off the couch. You still refused to look his way at all as you rushed off to stash the items away somewhere.

Clearly, he wanted to ask you more about your son, and simply ask that penultimate question: was he the father?

But now wasn’t the right time.

“It’s alright.” JJ assured you. “You can just come sit down. We really need to talk to you.”

You heaved out a sigh, defeated in your effort to clean up, and then came back from one of the other rooms. (JJ could only assume you had stashed the toys in a playroom or a closet, because much like her own home, all areas had become a domain for toys and playtime). You motioned for them to sit on the couch, and you scooted over a rocking chair from the other side of the room to sit in front of them, blocking the shut-off TV on the other side.

“So, what is it?” You asked, clearly eager and curious to know what they were doing in your home - why they had contacted you now after so many years apart.

JJ and Spencer exchanged a look, and with a gentle nod from him, JJ took the lead.

“Well, um… there’s no easy way to say this, but we believe that you might be in danger.” She told you, introducing the topic gently, while wanting to be honest and direct. “Perhaps you’ve seen it on the news? But if you haven’t… several single mothers have been killed in the area recently, and we have reason to believe that you might be the killer’s next target.”

You looked at her, entirely observant, quietly taking in her words. Your face was still and expressionless, and JJ was unsure if you were going to take this calmly and logically - if you were going to panic after you had fully absorbed the news, if you were going to cry.

After a moment of silence - you burst out laughing. Your laughter was harsh and nervous, a sound that cut through the air like the rip of a chainsaw. Clearly, it was the stark opposite of someone taking the news with tears.

“Oh my god.” You sighed, taking a breath from the non-humorous laughter. “You know that you didn’t have to make up some excuse just to come and see me, right?”

Spencer’s face curled into a deep frown. He was upset that you weren’t taking this seriously. JJ found herself in shock. Usually when people found out they were potentially on the radar of a killer, they were paranoid, afraid, questioning why.

But it was very rare to see denial.

She did take notice of the fact that you didn’t immediately ask about what kind of evidence or reasoning they had to believe that you were the killer’s next target. Perhaps if your brain let you assess that reasoning for yourself and found it to be valid, then fear would take over. And you couldn’t let that happen. So this laughter, this posturing and not taking things seriously - it was an unconscious way to protect yourself from that fear.

But JJ could only theorize about that.

“I did miss you, JJ.” You said, very pointedly looking at her while you said it. “But you could have just sent me an email or something.”

You continued avoiding Spencer’s harsh gaze as he bored holes into the side of your face with his intense, intrusive eyes.

“Look, this is serious-” Spencer began, and you cut him off.

“Okay.” You shrugged. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that there is someone trying to kill me,”

You spoke of this lightly, the words entirely condescending on your lips, as though Spencer’s theory was entirely wild and imaginative to begin with.

JJ saw the movement in his jaw as he grinded his teeth out of the corner of her eye, and she was surprised that he let you continue.

“I have an alarm system that I set every night before I go to bed.” You informed them. “I am a proud gun owner. I have a registered revolver that I keep in a lock box beside my bed and I renew my gun training every single spring.” You told them, not seeming the least bit worried at the idea of a killer hunting you down. “If someone wants to kill me, let them try. I’m sure you guys have much better ways to spend your time than sitting around here, chatting with me when there are people out there, actually in danger. People who probably need your help.”

You said this, trying to dismiss them. And then you moved to get up from your seat, looking to escape the conversation entirely. But once again, Spencer stopped you.

“That’s it?” He fired back, entirely indignant, standing from his place on the couch.

This caused you to roll your eyes and let out a hiss, your lungs deflating like an annoyed balloon as you paused in the middle of the room.

“Yes, that’s it.” You groaned back. “Look, I know it’s your job to see problems everywhere, but-”

“It’s my job to protect people.” Spencer replied, cutting you off. “And-”

“Funny!” You scoffed, your voice escalating in volume. It had turned into a full-blown argument now - you were entirely uncaring that JJ was there to witness it; Spencer was locked in your sight like the crosshairs of a scope, and you were ready to fire. “You give a shit about ‘protecting’ me now, but what the fuck happened four years ago?”

You glared harshly at Spencer, and he locked his jaw, staring right back. It turned into a poisonous silence as neither of you spoke - he didn’t have a good answer for this question. And it made JJ all the more horribly curious about what had happened between the two of you. But she didn’t need to be a psychic to sense that the two of you needed some privacy.

“Do… do you mind if I go get myself a glass of water?” She asked, tentatively standing up from her place on the couch.

“I’ll get it.” You huffed out, moving to leave the room.

“It’s okay.” JJ told you. “I can get it for myself. Just point me in the right direction.”

You motioned toward the kitchen and JJ left, and she heard Spencer hiss out something about you being stubborn, which turned into another cluster of voices. The argument turned even more personal and sour now that the both of you didn’t have a witness.

When JJ made her way into the kitchen, she was happy to see that your backyard was full of toys. A pair of sliding glass doors let her peek out to see a colorful swing set and a large playhouse, and a scattering of other toys meant that your son obviously spent a lot of time outside. She smiled to herself, trying to ignore the rising, angered sound of voices from the other room as she found a glass in one of the cabinets. When she moved to the refrigerator’s water dispenser, something along the way caught her eye.

A vase of fresh flowers was sitting on the counter.

White carnations.

It made her stomach churn ominously. It felt too perfect to be a coincidence.

She abandoned her half-full glass and grabbed the vase, walking back to the living room with it.

“You just can’t accept help from anybody, can you? How can you not understand that your life is in danger here? This man is not going to stop until-” Spencer ranted on.

He was still trying to convince you to take the threat seriously - but you were still boiling with rage over the past, blind to anything else.

“I can’t accept anyone’s help?” You scoffed, crowding into his personal space to hiss the words closer to him. “That is so rich coming from someone who-”

JJ cleared her throat loudly, cutting you off.

“Spence.” She got his attention from the intense gaze he was keeping on you - anger hot in his eyes even though he was staring heavily at your lips.

When Spencer looked over and saw the vase in JJ’s hands, his entire face shifted in a blink. His expression went from tight-knit anger and annoyance to ‘shit-your-pants’ worry. The danger went from being theoretical to being very real in that moment.

“Where did these flowers come from?” Spencer asked.

“What?” You gaped, so entirely confused.

“Where did you get the flowers?” He asked, rephrasing the question, his tone more urgent and demanding now.

“Why does that matter?” You replied, exasperated. You didn’t see how it was at all relevant.

“All of the women who were killed received these exact same kind of flowers within days of their death.” JJ told you. “Do you have any idea who sent them?”

“I thought my mother did.” You shrugged. “There was no name on the card. It just said ‘Happy Birthday’. She didn’t get to see me in person for my birthday, she’s traveling right now. She’s one of the only people who would send me flowers for my birthday.”

“Yes, but your mother knows that your favorite flowers are lavender and baby’s breath. Why would she send these?” Spencer replied.

Naturally, he remembered your favorite flowers.

You couldn’t get stuck on that, though. Instead, you pondered the question he posed.

Why would your mother send you white carnations without even signing the card?

It wasn’t something you had thought about. At the time, you had just thought it was considerate, and sweet. When you had called her to thank her for the flowers, you had gotten her voicemail. You had left her a message thanking her. She was away on a singles cruise with shoddy reception and she hadn’t gotten back to you yet.

“They’re just flowers.” You said, letting out another nervous chuckle - but your voice broke over this one.

Obviously the reality of things was truly starting to set in with you.

“We need to set up protective custody for you.” Spencer said, taking out his phone in order to get this done.

“No!” You snapped. “I am not having some random cops follow me around because you think I might be in danger.” You hissed angrily.

Spencer paused and stared you down, debating if he was going to go against your wishes or not, his phone still in hand.

JJ hated the look in Spencer’s eyes. That deep, bitter fear. Whatever had happened between the two of you, there was still enough care lingering there that he would fight for you no matter what. He was terrified for you. He wasn’t going to let you meet the same fate as the other victims. She knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

JJ put the vase down on the coffee table, and turned to you.

“It doesn’t have to be random cops. We can stay with you, in order to-” She started to explain, only to be disrupted by the digital ringtone of your home phone echoing through the house.

You rushed to grab the phone, and JJ heard some of the quiet conversation from you on one end.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I’ll be there soon. It’s no problem. Thank you so much. Yeah, twenty minutes. Bye.”

You hung up and then rushed back into the living room - and before either of them could speak further on the matter, you rushed past them. You went to the entryway, taking off your slippers to exchange them for sneakers.

“Look, guys, I would love to stay and hang out, but I have somewhere important to be.” You huffed out.

“Seriously?” Spencer replied, entirely frustrated with you. “This isn’t some tea party. We aren’t just hanging around here for fun. Call whoever that was and tell them that you’re gonna be late. Or call and cancel, or-”

“No!” You yelled back, entirely frustrated with him. “Dammit, Spencer! People have responsibilities, you know! I have responsibilities. I am an adult, I’m not some child you can talk down to. Now get the fuck out of my house so I can lock up, and get to the important things that I have to do. Things that don’t involve wasting my time talking to you.”

You said the last part so snidely, resenting that Spencer’s unexpected visit had been part of your day.

He opened his mouth to argue against this, but JJ put a gentle hand on his shoulder, nudging him toward the door. He sighed and flexed to this movement. He angrily stormed past you to leave through the front door, which he left wide open like a toddler having a tantrum.

You grabbed your keys and your purse from a side table near the door and JJ moved to leave as well. On her way along, she put a gentle hand on your shoulder, capturing your attention.

“We’ll check back in with you later, okay?” She said, using her most gentle, non-confrontational voice.

“Sure.” You easily agreed, unable to be angry with her. “But just call, or something. There’s no need to bang down my door over some stupid flowers. It’s nothing.”

She stepped through the door and you followed. As you used your keys to lock up, you added on:

“I would give you my number, but I’m sure Penelope can find it for you in five minutes flat.”

JJ chuckled at this.

“More like two and a half, I’d say.” She replied - it was a joking tone, but she did truly think this highly of Penelope’s skills.

You smiled over your shoulder at her and she nodded before she began to walk back to the car, where Spencer was already sitting in the passenger’s seat, stewing in his anger.

When she got in beside him, they watched you pull out of the driveway and drive off before either of them spoke.

“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips.

“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply, tired.

In order to distract himself from all of it, he was staring down at some files in his lap - some of the case files of the other murders that he had pulled out of his bag. He needed something to do to keep his mind from churning more on the fact that you seemed to hate him. He wanted to find a way to protect you now, instead of focusing on the past.

But JJ seemed hellbent on walking backward - getting him to look back on what happened between the two of you.

“I can do complicated.” She said. “We’ve got plenty of time. We should just sit here and wait for her to come back.”

“You should go check in with Hotch.” Spencer told her, dodging around the question once again. “I’ll come back after.”

“After what?” JJ questioned, finding this wording particularly strange.

JJ started the car and pulled away, hoping that you would be safe during the time they didn’t have eyes on you. The UnSub had a particular routine - he liked to stalk his victims for a few weeks before he broke into their homes and killed them. So she hoped that he wasn’t ready to make contact with you yet. She hoped that if he did, your gun and your alarm system would be enough to deter him.

“I - I wanted to get her something nice.” He answered, sounding rather shy about this proclamation. “Like she mentioned, her birthday just passed. And, according to the preschool forms, her son’s birthday was a week ago. I want to get something for him too.”

“They have the same birthday?” JJ asked.

“Not exactly the same, but their birthdays are only five days apart.” Spencer replied. “I missed his birth.” He added on, a quiet sigh, entirely melancholic. “I missed the whole pregnancy. I - I missed everything.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.” JJ reminded him. “What happened?”

Spencer knew she was asking as a friend. He knew that of all people - she was the one to talk to about this.

“It - it was right after Hankel.” He admitted quietly. “That was when Y/N and I broke up.”

“Oh.” JJ said quietly.

The air in the car became thick as the heaviness truly overtook her.

So, it was complicated.

But she definitely couldn’t understand your rage toward Spencer.

“When I came back from Atlanta, she knew I wasn’t the same. And things - we - we fell apart.” He admitted this barely above a whisper, hesitant to even voice the words as a reality. “You knew what kind of person I was back then. I wasn’t good to her. I wasn’t good to anybody.”

Spencer let out a harsh chuckle - a defense to all the hurt he was feeling about it.

JJ spotted a sign for a shopping center, and pulled into the parking lot. She knew that Spencer likely had a good idea about buying into your good graces with a late birthday gift. Even if it wouldn’t instantly make up for everything that had happened all those years ago.

“Yeah, but you’re sober now.” She reminded him.

“She doesn’t know that.” Spencer replied.

JJ ruminated in thought for a moment.

“You know, I met Will afterwards, right?” She said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer nodded.

“It was only a few weeks after everything happened, when we were working that case in New Orleans.” She explained. “And he looked at me like I was a hero. Because I helped him finish what his father couldn’t. He didn’t look at me like I was fragile or broken. He didn’t tip-toe around me. He didn’t see me as some ghost. And that is part of the reason why I fell for him. He always saw me as this goddess. Like Superwoman.”

Spencer smiled at this.

He wanted to be that person for you. He wanted to be your Superman. (But he feared that he couldn’t live up to that. That he would fail you when the time came.)

JJ found a parking spot, and parked, but Spencer lingered - sensing there was more to the conversation.

“You know… Henry wants a puppy.” JJ’s voice shook, her throat clenching up around these words.

Spencer’s stomach shook.

He hadn’t been there, but he had seen the scars on JJ’s arms. He had seen the footage of the other poor woman being torn apart by those dogs.

“And I had to tell Will everything. How I was chased down, how I had to shoot two innocent animals - the stupid fact that I still feel guilty about it, even though they would have killed me if I hadn’t done it.” She said, her throat becoming more closed off with each word. She cleared it before she spoke again. “How I lost you, how it was all my fault.”

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault.” Spencer felt the need to say this aloud, reaching over and putting a gentle hand on her knee. She nodded at him before she continued.

“Just - it was all so overwhelming. The idea of having a dog in our house. But… I told him that I wanted to try, at least. For Henry.” JJ explained. “But when we went to the animal shelter - the sound of dogs barking… I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. And next thing I know, I’m sitting on the curb outside with my head between my knees and Will is putting a bottle of water to my lips.”

“Henry seems more like a cat person anyway.” Spencer replied, hoping this slightly humorous comment would offer some comfort to his friend.

JJ let out a tired laugh.

“He’s three and a half, I think we’re still in the stage where a goldfish is more than enough for him.” She added on.

“I - I never told Y/N.” Spencer said, suddenly shifting the conversation. JJ raised her brow, prompting further explanation of this. “I never told her what happened to me. What happened with Hankel.”

JJ gave him a sad look.

“Why not?”

“I - I didn’t want her to view me as weak. I couldn’t fight him off. I accepted the drugs. At certain points, I…. I even pitied him.” Spencer replied. “I didn’t want things to change between us. Even though they did anyway.”

“Do you still wanna be with her?” JJ asked.

“What?” Spencer gaped, not expecting the question.

“If the kid is yours, obviously you wanna be in his life. But co-parenting as separate, single people is one thing.” JJ explained herself. “Do you still want to be with Y/N? Do you still love her?”

“Yes.” Spencer replied shyly.

“Then you have to tell her everything.” JJ said firmly. “Being with someone for the long term isn’t about creating some fantasy. I fell in love with Will because he looked at me like I was Superwoman, but I stayed in love because he takes care of me when I’m powerless. You have to be weak in front of her and let her take care of you, so that you can be strong everywhere else.”

Spencer sighed - letting this wisdom fully penetrate him.

He knew that being a genius sometimes meant that he wasn’t the smartest person in the room. Apparently, this was one of those times.

“You’re right.”

Then, he reached for the car door’s handle, feeling like JJ had taught him a lot with that conversation and he needed some time to think alone.

“You want me to come with you?” JJ asked. “You might need a woman’s opinion on what to get,”

“No thanks, I know Y/N pretty well.” He replied. “At least I hope I still do.” He opened the door fully and stepped out. “And I wanted some alone time, to… think all of this over. To think about what I’m gonna say to Y/N. I’m gonna walk back afterwards, the house is only a few blocks away.”

JJ nodded.

“I should check back in with Hotch.” She noted. “See if they found anything with the other women on the list. Otherwise, all we’ve got is the flowers.”

Just as he moved to close the door again, JJ spoke up one last time.

“Rubble.” She said suddenly - which sounded very strange with no context.

“What?” Spencer asked, ducking his head down to see inside the car to potentially hear her words better.

“Rubble - it’s a character from the kids’ TV show, Paw Patrol.” She explained. “There was about five action figures of him sitting on the living room floor back there. So I would assume that he’s your son’s favorite character.”

Spencer’s chest jumped at the way she said ‘your son’ - so casually.

He could really have a child in his life. This could really be his future.

If he played his cards right, this could be his future with you.

“Thank you, JJ.” Spencer grinned at her.

She smiled back and he stood up to his full height and closed the car door, walking off into the shopping center by himself.

And of course, his thoughts drifted back to you.

He thought back to the last time he had spent your birthday with you. Before Hankel, before all the madness. Before everything good in his life slipped through his fingers and he was left feeling so alone.

…

For someone with basically no serious relationships under his belt before you came along, Spencer was excellent when it came to romance.

Perhaps it was because he spent his time reading the classics - he could recite Elizabethan poetry off by heart, he could whisper epic romantic ballads in your ear before kissing you with such intense passion that it left your head spinning. He had such a perfect picture of what romance should be, and it meant that he knew how to plan a date that left you feeling like a queen.

Every single time he took you out, he made you feel like you were the only woman on earth - like he would move the seas and the sky just to show you how much he cared.

And because he insisted that your birthday should be a day all about you - a day dedicated to celebrating you - then this was certainly no different.

The night had been a whirlwind of perfection.

After dinner at a gorgeous fine dining restaurant downtown, Spencer then drove the two of you to an art gallery to stroll around. He cited that he wanted you to have some down time for your food to settle before he gave you your present. From the spark in his eye, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what that present would be. The whole evening was so utterly beautiful and peaceful. And like everything with Spencer - it was a pleasant enrichment of the mind, looking at art while he told you things about the artists or the origins of the paintings.

Before you got halfway through the gallery, he checked his watch and told you that it was ‘just about time’ for your present, and then he drove you back to his apartment.

The two of you barely made it through the door before you had him pinned against it, your mouth enveloping his in a hot, desperate kiss. You were so utterly grateful to have such a romantic, thoughtful man in your life.

The entire evening had been nothing but a reminder of that - the way he looked at you with love so pure in his eyes. Him opening doors for you, keeping his hand on your lower back to usher you gently around, speaking lowly to you as though his words were precious and only meant to be yours.

You needed him. You needed to show him how much you appreciated all of it. You needed him to know how much of a treasure he was in your life.

You reached for his belt and Spencer let out a choked off moan into your mouth.

You were surprised when he reached for your wrist, gently pulling your touch back - stopping you from unfastening the belt as he pulled his now slightly swollen lips away from your kiss.

“As - as much as I want to,” He huffed out against your mouth. “I - I still have to give you your present.” He noted, flashing you a smile.

“I thought this was my present.” You replied, reaching down to grope Spencer’s half hard cock through his pants.

He let out a groan; but then he reached for your wrist again, pulling your touch back.

“I - I promise - later - afterwards? Later tonight.” He stuttered out, hard pressed to focus as more blood rushed to his cock.

Spencer puzzled you. You had never known any other man to interrupt foreplay for something other than sex, unless it was life or death. But it made you very curious about what your present was and why he was so desperate to give it to you.

And sex was still on the table, so that panging need between your legs would be taken care of eventually.

You hummed in ascent and stepped back, releasing Spencer from where you had him pressed against the door. He gulped in a large breath of air before he moved across the room.

You were surprised when he didn’t move to turn on any lights in the apartment, leaving the two of you settled in comfortable darkness. The only lights being the light from the bathroom that he had left on before leaving, shining down the hall, and the dim lighting coming in the windows - some street lights and the occasional passing car’s headlights.

Spencer shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over the back of the couch on his way toward the window. He yanked up the blinds in front of the space where he had set up a very expensive, advanced, gorgeous telescope - one that had been there the last few times you had visited. Astronomy was one of his many hobbies, and he often invited you to view different stars or passing comets. It was just one of the many things you learned from him - knowledge you absorbed from being around him that made you feel infinitely smarter.

You always indulged in the joy of feeling smarter just from being in his presence. You loved that Spencer was someone so gifted who loved to share his knowledge, rather than gatekeeping it or being snide toward others who weren’t as privileged as him. It was just another thing to love about him - the fact that he was so kind in sharing his big brain with others.

You watched him with intrigue while you took your wrap off your shoulders and tossed your purse onto the couch. Enjoying the quiet and the peaceful darkness and watching him work, you moved to sit on the arm of the couch to begin unstrapping your heels.

He checked his watch again, and then looked to a small side table he had near the telescope. He flipped open a notebook that he had there, and you supposed that the minimal light coming in through the window was enough for him to see whatever it was that he had written there. He adjusted the telescope slightly, then looked at the notebook again, then adjusted the telescope again.

Then he said ‘aha, there you are’ under his breath, grinning widely to himself.

The entire thing made your insides glow with curiosity.

Spencer then turned back to you, still grinning widely. When he noticed your shoe half-hanging off your foot, he stepped over to you and softly grabbed your ankle, sliding your shoe off the entire way before gently rubbing the sole of your foot.

“Let me help you with that, Princess.” He said quietly, before moving to take the shoe off your other foot.

Again, your insides tingled as he made you feel like you were the most important woman on earth.

“Thank you.” You replied, almost speechless at the action.

“If you’ll step right this way, I can show you your present.” He said, motioning toward the telescope with a dramatic flare.

You let out a giggle as you stepped over your abandoned shoes and moved to look into the telescope.

You wondered if he had written some poem and taped it onto the other end of the lens or something like that (it was Spencer, it must have been something epically romantic). But as you bent down and closed one eye to get a good look, it was entirely ordinary.

The telescope was focused on a single, tiny star.

It was beautiful, but it was very… plain. And more than anything, it was confusing.

Your present was… a star?

“Spencer, I don’t really get it?” You sighed, standing up to your full height once again.

“I got you a star.” He said proudly, grinning even wider now.

When you stared at him with more intense confusion, Spencer reached over to the notebook and pulled something out. After he handed it to you, you leaned into the light of the window and studied it carefully.

It was a certificate stating that Spencer had paid to name the star after you.

He had literally changed the night sky for you.

“Oh my god.” You gasped quietly.

You felt so overwhelmed.

If he had made you feel like the most important woman in the world before, then now - you felt like the most important woman in the galaxy.

“Spencer, this is - this is too much.” You said, your throat clenching up slightly due to the intensity of the emotions.

“No, it’s not.” He said firmly, reaching out and putting a hand on your jaw, tilting your face up from looking at the certificate to look at him.

There it was again, all of it spelled out in his eyes - the adoration, the pure, overwhelming affection that he felt for you. It bloomed nothing but those same feelings in return from you. It was almost so overwhelming that you felt like you could have exploded from how much love you felt for this man, all of it swelling inside of you so quickly that you felt like your body couldn’t contain it. Like it was a sickness that was going to overrun your body if you weren’t careful.

“Spencer.”

His name swelled in your throat like that throbbing love, and you couldn’t help yourself from reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him into another kiss. Because of course, words weren’t enough. You smothered him with your mouth, trying desperately to communicate every ounce of passion and gratefulness you were feeling with the heat of that kiss.

Spencer held you, engulfing both your cheeks with his large, warm hands, kissing you back with just as much intensity.

Both of you lingered there for a few moments, savoring each other’s lips, mingling in each other’s breath.

You were disappointed when Spencer pulled away.

“There is something else.” He told you, a bit of glee edging on his voice.

“What?” You gaped, shocked by this.

“There’s something else I have to give you. Another part of your present.” He clarified, pulling back completely - likely in order to fetch this thing.

You let out a breath. You weren’t sure how this magnificent man could possibly do more.

You placed the certificate for the star down on the table where Spencer had kept it. Later, you would take it home and have it framed, wanting to display it proudly. You could imagine yourself putting it up in the front of your home when you eventually moved in with Spencer. You could put it next to your marriage certificate; eventually, put next to wedding photos when the two of you eventually got married. (And sometime later, it would be hanging alongside photos of you and Spencer with your kids. You tingled, realizing that this was the first time you had ever thought of having kids with him, but it fit so well. It seemed right.)

The thought made you tingle.

You could truly imagine yourself having a life with Spencer. Standing proudly because this was just the beginning of it. He truly felt like ‘the one’ you had always been waiting for.

“Here.”

Spencer’s voice pulled you from your plethora of dreamy thoughts, and you turned to see him holding a velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat at the passing thought that it might be the box - but no. Now wasn’t the time. The two of you had only been dating for a year and a half. And while you were so deeply in love, you knew that it was a bit haste to assume that he was ready for marriage when you were his first serious girlfriend. You were still both so young.

He opened the lid and you let out a small gasp when you saw it.

It was a simple, elegant silver necklace. The pendant was a four pointed star, with a small, dainty stone in the middle. You easily recognized it as your birthstone, meant to represent the fact that he had given it to you on your birthday. And obviously the star pendant as a whole represented that he had also gifted you a literal star in the sky on that same day.

“Spencer, it’s so beautiful.” You said, utterly breathless.

“Traditionally, the four pointed star is believed to represent the designation of a goal. It marks one’s great endeavors, because it seems to point to the four cardinal directions. This star is meant to guide someone, like a map - the way that sailors used the stars to guide their path.”

Spencer explained, knowledgeable as he always was.

“I - I chose this for you because… well, because when I met you, I felt as though I had accomplished great things in all areas of my life, except for one. Academically, I was satisfied. In my career, I was happy. But when it came to matters of the heart… I was utterly clueless. And when I found you… it felt like you were my guiding star. Like you were the person I had been waiting for to finally show me - show me the meaning of love.”

“Oh, Spencer.” Your voice cracked around these words, barely able to form them. “Oh, honey. I love you so much. Thank you.”

It was all your mind could gather at the moment. It wasn’t the first time you had said it to him, but it was certainly one of the most intense.

“I love you too.” He replied. Through the dimness, you could almost see tears forming in his eyes. “You truly make me so happy.”

Spencer then cleared his throat harshly, wanting to clear away his intensely emotional tears.

“Can - can I put it on you?” He asked shyly, motioning with the necklace in its box.

“Of course.” You grinned. “I’d love that.”

You turned around and Spencer took it out of the box, fiddling with the dainty clasp for a moment before he put it around your neck and then did it up for you. It felt so right around your neck. It felt like his love was being carried with you. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t want to take it off anytime soon. You could easily imagine yourself feeling so proud to answer whenever random strangers or your co-workers asked where it was from.

When it was secured around your neck, Spencer leaned in and laid a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against the chain. This simple act reminded you of that needy throb between your thighs; of what you had been wanting so badly the moment you had come in the door.

“So…” He whispered against your neck. “What else does the birthday girl want?”

“I can think of a few things.”

That was how you ended up with your back pressed against the softness of the couch - too impatient to even make it to the bed - with your dress pushed up around your waist, your panties tossed somewhere in the middle of the living room rug. Spencer’s glasses were pressed up onto his forehead while his knees dug into that same rug, his fingers splayed across your thighs, holding you open to makeway for his tongue.

He ate you out with all of the intensity and passion that he had kissed you with - moaning into your pussy as though he was singing directly to the gods.

“Fuck, Spence.” You moaned, raking your hands through his hair, holding him close - not that he would want to pull away for even a second.

He loved your taste more than anything in the world, and he savored every second that he got the privilege of being on his knees for you. He moaned into your pussy, loudly, almost pathetically - hot echoes coming from his lungs as though he was the one being pleasured. He laved his tongue across you with an open jaw, drinking in as much of you as possible while your thighs quaked around his head. Your nails dug into his scalp and he only moaned harder, loving the sound of your needy whines and your gasping breaths as your clit throbbed under his tongue.

Spencer hummed in delight while he bounced your clit on his tongue, loving the feeling of that sweet little bead throbbing against him; loving your taste, loving your echoing moans. Loving how much he could bring you pleasure.

“Fuck, Spence, so close!”

He put his lips around you and sucked then, holding you gently against him by the hips. He couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of your body quaking against his face while your orgasm overtook you. It was overwhelming and beautiful and warmed your whole body - just like the love you felt for him.

He pulled away after a moment, when he was sure that he had seen you through to the satisfying end, and he grinned against the mound of your pussy.

“Happy birthday, pretty girl.”

…

After the break-up, Spencer often looked up to the sky and thought about you.

On the nights when your star was in place overhead, he felt a particular pang in his chest. He wondered where you were and what you were doing. He wondered if you were safe. He spent many nights staring out his telescope, wondering if you were happy, blanketed under that inky sky.

You thought about the star sometimes, too.

You thought it was a lot like your relationship with Spencer. Placing all of your hopes and dreams onto something already dead - something where the light had died out long ago.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Three - Turn It Off

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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jupitercomet · 8 months

Text

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life—but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, I roasted Mav in this a bit my bad, mentions of violence, “Bob” is kind of a stupid boxer name so I changed it, no use of y/n

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 4.6k

okay, here's the start of under the hard deck: rewritten! obviously some parts of it are going to be the same, I don't plan on scrapping all the chapters I've written. it's just that some of the characterizations/pacing/plot points are going to be different. anyway I hope you enjoy (for the second time)! - bugs

sweeter than sugar masterlist

Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.

He’s made mistakes of course—everyone has—but he has his morals and he sticks by them. His world is fast paced and, often, it was hard for him to feel grounded when everything seemed to be changing around him. So he took solace in one universal truth. He’s a good person.

He’s kind to his family and friends, a ray of light that could shine in any room. He’s a respectful son, making sure to remind his mom any chance he could how grateful he was for her sacrifices. He could make jokes and laugh, comfort and console.

But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person. A weight that couldn’t be lifted as he exhausted himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good. When he was a kid, his mom always used to read him a book called “Do Unto Otters”. It played on the saying “do unto others as you would have others do unto you”, a story about manners and treating people with kindness all told through the perspective of a rabbit and some otters. His mom would sit next to him on the bed, reading aloud with silly voices for each character, and Bob would giggle, and grin, and trace the illustrations with his index finger.

When the landlord came pounding on the door and called his mom names that Bob knew had to be insults, with the way they were laced with venom and dripping with malice, and all Bob wanted to do was yell back all the insults he knew, his mom would shake her head with a tired smile.

“Do unto otters, Bo.”

When the new kid at school didn’t seem to be fitting in and Bob felt like maybe he should invite him over to hangout sometime, his mom would kiss his temple sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Do unto otters, Bo.”

And when dinner had finished and all the dishes had been put away and Bob really wanted some vanilla ice cream but he knew he’d already had candy at lunch, his mom would suddenly set down a bowl with two scoops and some sprinkles and wink at him as she took a bite of her own.

“Do unto otters, Bo.”

So Bob holds open doors for people, even if they’re on the cusp of being too far away for that to be expected. He says his “please”s and “thank you”s and tries to be polite. He gives up his seat on public transportation and has reusable shopping bags so he doesn’t have to use the plastic ones at the grocery store. Do unto otters. Be a good person, do good things.

But what does it mean to be good? What does it mean to put so much weight into the strangers in passing or the people constantly present in your life? Eventually you burn out. Eventually, you don’t feel good anymore. Eventually you do something, anything, that makes it so you look in the mirror and can’t defend yourself, and your whole self perception comes crashing down. It’s a lifestyle that no one can maintain, not even Bob.

Bob Floyd was a good person. Bob Floyd was a good person until, suddenly, he wasn’t. And it could all be traced back to the first time he ever stepped foot into Sugar Plum Bakery.

“Thanks.”

Bob sends back a small smile in response as the stranger quickens his pace slightly to catch the door Bob was holding open for him.

The air smells like buttercream and green apples, a combination that intertwines with Bob’s senses as he stuffs his hands in his flannel jacket. There’s a small line in front of him—and the stranger behind him too—all seemingly content as they wait for their turn at the register. From this view, Bob can make out some of the treats behind the glass. Cheesecakes and crème brûlées, cupcakes and macaroons, and a promising looking jelly filled danish fill its shelves, shining under the fluorescent lights of the case.

Someone brushes past Bob to get to the exit and he mutters out a quiet apology, taking a step forward to match the rest of the line. He isn’t sure what exactly drew him here in the first place, a quaint bakery tucked between a bookstore and a GNC, but his feet were leading him to the door before he could stop himself.

Of course Mickey would say it was because Bob ate so much sugar, all his teeth would fall out by 30—“How you put that much shit in your body and still look like that is a marvel to all scientists”. And then Bob would say, “This is what I get for trying to be nice to the new kid”. And Mickey would grin, “You’re just mad you still can’t beat me in Mario Kart”.

But maybe Mickey was right. Because here he is, having just left the gym, craving something sweet. The line moves again and Bob realizes it’s his turn, stepping closer to the register.

“Hi!” You pop up suddenly, smiling brightly. There’s a smudge of flour on your cheek, stipples of it all over your apron, and Bob's almost certain there’s some in your hair too. “What can I getcha?”

Bob smiles slightly, ducking under the brim of his cap as he scans the shelves. He clears his throat, “Um, what do you recommend?”

You bite your lip, eyes squinting as you appear to be sizing him up. It reminds Bob of his opponents in the ring—though their eyes aren’t nearly as pretty as yours—and it almost makes him laugh. It’s a look so similar except, instead of trying to figure out which side of your jaw is going to get shattered by his boxing glove, you’re trying to figure out if he’s a vanilla or chocolate person.

“Well, our cupcakes are usually a big hit,” you say finally and then light up as if remembering something. “We also have green apple tarts. They’re today’s special.”

Bob’s eyebrows raise slightly in agreement. “Today’s special, huh? Then I should probably get one of those, shouldn’t I?”

“It’d be sacrilegious not to,” you tease back, a smile growing on your lips.

Bob lets out a whistle, having to bite back a grin when you laugh sweetly. “Well, I can’t be disrespectin’ you in your own shop, can I?”

“No, sir,” you shake your head, quieting from your giggles as you press a few buttons on the register. “Will that be all for you today?”

Bob nods, watching you open the glass case with a piece of parchment paper in your hand as you grab a green apple tart. You box it up for him with skillful hands and Bob slides his credit card into the chip reader. It only takes one glance at you for him to confirm his 20% tip. You hand the box to him with that bright smile and—just like every romantic comedy Bob has ever watched with his mom—his heart stutters when your fingers brush.

“Have a good day!”

“Hey, I think that guy’s back.”

You set down the steaming hot tray of croissants on the stove top, sliding off your oven mitts as you turn to Eloise. “Ball cap guy?”

She smirks incredulously, tracing her upper canine with her tongue. “You’re telling me, you saw that fine specimen who’s so tall he has to duck under our front door and you’re only calling him ‘Ball cap guy’?”

“Oh?” You turn back to the croissants, pleased with their golden brown color as you move to transfer them to a different tray to bring up front. “And what would you call him?”

“Hottie with the body, America’s ass, God’s gift to women…” she lists them on her fingers unabashedly and you almost drop a croissant.

“Eloise!”

Your laughter fills the back kitchen and Eloise wiggles her brows at you.

When you first started working at Sugar Plum, you never expected you’d find your best friend in the girl with fiery red hair who was chucking cinnamon rolls at one of your coworkers when you’d walked in for your first shift. You found out later that it was because your coworker had been saying something rude about you.

“Brenda said she went to pastry school. Can you imagine how stuck up she’s gonna be? And she must not even be that good either, if she can only get a job at a place like this…”

Eloise had never met you—she didn’t even know what you looked like—but she’d had your back with some choice words of her own and probably a few too many cinnamon rolls. And when your boss Brenda confronted Eloise about the wasted treats your coworker had no doubt snitched about, you'd had her back too.

“I’m sorry, I slipped when I was holding a tray of them.”

The two of you had been best friends ever since.

“What?” She giggles, taking the new tray of croissants from you. “He is cuh-yute!”

You shake your head endearingly. “Okay, okay, I get it. Have you taken his order?”

“Don’t think it was a cupcake he was hopin’ for,” she looks at you knowingly and you feel slightly flustered at her implication.

He wanted to see you?

“Oh,” you try to put yourself together a bit, having been up since 5:00 to get everything baked in time for opening. “Do I look okay?”

Eloise scoffs, pushing you towards the front of the bakery with the hand that isn’t holding the tray of croissants. “You look cute as a button, honey. Now go talk to that man before I stick my claws in ‘em. You know he couldn’t handle me.”

You laugh, wiping your hands on your apron.

Ball cap guy sticks out like a sore thumb against the few customers in Sugar Plum, a head taller than everyone else even as his gaze is tilted down to look at his phone. He’s weaning another flannel jacket—this one is navy blue, the black checkered pattern hardly visible against the equally dark color—and a pair of black joggers that seem a bit too insulated for the nice weather you’re having. He’s still got on the same hat though, a black ball cap with an iron on patch of a white circle on the front of it. Embroidered inside the circle is a flying eagle that looks like it’s mid-attack.

At the sound of your laughter, he looks up, pocketing his phone, and he meets your gaze with an adorable raise of his hand.

“Hey.” His voice is kind of quiet—but you like that—coming from his chest with a bit of grit and you can already hear Eloise gushing about it in the back of your head.

You smile when he reaches the counter. “Hi. Back for seconds?”

Ball cap guy chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah actually. You make some real good pastries. My friend was mad that I didn't bring him any back.”

“Well, we don’t have any more green apple tarts, unfortunately.” Though you’re sure you don’t look very unfortunate with your large smile. “But today’s special is sweet pea cupcakes.”

“Sweet pea cupcakes?”

“They don’t actually have any sweet pea blossoms in them,” you confess, wiping your hands on your apron again. “We’re calling them that because the frosting looks like flowers… Sweet peas are poisonous, so that would be pretty dangerous if we made them with actual sweet peas. You can eat the vines though, they’re supposed to be good. But that would be kind of weird in a cupcake—”

You cut yourself off when you realize that you’re rambling, eyes widening slightly because what kind of weirdo uses plant facts as a pickup line?

“That’s really interesting. I didn’t know that,” Ball cap guy—for some bizarre reason—is grinning at you.

You bite your lip nervously. “Yeah, um, plants right?”

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Ball cap guy chuckles in agreement. “Plants right,” he echos. “I’ll take three nonpoisonous sweet pea cupcakes then.”

You nod, distracting yourself with adding up the total of his order in your head since Eloise was using the register with other customers. Ball cap guy keeps his eyes on you, looking almost nervous, though it wasn’t like he had anything to be embarrassed about. Trying to shake yourself of the mortification, you place his box of cupcakes on the counter.

“That’ll be—”

“What time do you get off?” He blurts suddenly.

You blink.

“Fuck, sorry,” he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before letting out a breath and starting again. “I meant, if you want to, I was hoping that maybe you’d like to have a cupcake when you get off. With me.”

You’re sure you look like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Ball cap guy looks just as nervous, his hat casting a shadow down on his pinkened cheeks and his eyes meeting yours hopefully. You collect your bearings—only somewhat—nodding weakly until you can push your voice out.

“I, um, I get my break in an hour, if that’s not too long for you?”

Ball cap guy smiles. “I can wait, sweet pea.”

He moves to sit at one of the tables once he’s paid, box of cupcakes in hand, and you have to look away before your excitement becomes obvious to everyone in the bakery. When you turn, Eloise is shooting you a not at all subtle thumbs up.

For the rest of your shift, you have to avoid staring at Ball cap guy. A task that is not easy, so you settle for making sure he doesn’t catch you staring at him... You’re only mildly successful.

True to his word, Ball cap guy stays seated at one of the tables, scrolling through his phone and leaving the box of cupcakes untouched. You know that this technically counts as loitering and that, if Brenda were here, she’d demand that you kick him out. But Brenda’s not here and that man’s hands are probably bigger than your face and, for whatever reason, he’s interested in you, so she can suck it because he’s staying.

With that little act of defiance towards your boss fueling you, you manage to make it through the last hour before your break without deciding to hide in the kitchen and never come out. You’re sure you look a bit of a mess, covered in sweat, flour, and frosting, but it’s not like you really have time to clean yourself up. You do the best you can, washing up in the employee bathroom before taking a large breath.

Time to talk to Ball cap guy.

“Hey,” he greets you with a warm smile as you walk up to his table.

You slide into one of the chairs, trying to ignore how obvious Eloise is being as she stares at you. “Hey.”

“You hungry?” He slides the cupcake box over to you slightly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “I heard the girl who makes these is really good.”

You can’t bite back your smile as you open the box carefully. “Oh, I heard she’s the best.”

There’s a lull in the conversation and then Ball cap guy looks down bashfully. “I’m Bob, by the way. I probably should have started with that.”

��It’s okay,” you shrug off, supplying your own name. “But it’s nice to finally put a name to the face. We’ve just been calling you ‘Ball cap guy’.” You laugh suddenly in recollection, “Or ‘God’s gift to women’, I guess.”

Bob, who up until this point had taken one of the cupcakes and peeled back the liner to take a bite, turns bright red, choking on the vanilla cake in his mouth. “God’s… God’s gift to women?” He asks slowly.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your hand flies to your mouth when you realize what you’ve just said. “It was Eloise’s idea, I swear!— Not that I disagree! I mean—” Words fail you completely and you can’t even bring yourself to look Bob in the eye, letting your face fall into your hands. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s— That’s okay. That’s really nice of you to say,” Bob tries to console, but all it does is make you cringe. He’s quiet for a moment. “If it helps, I lied about coming back because my friend wanted something… Well, he did, but I was planning on eating his anyway. I just wanted to see you again.”

You peek out through your fingers slightly. “Really?”

“Really.” Bob chuckles, the sound deep and rich and coming from his chest, it almost makes you dizzy but in a good way—a very good way.

You let your hands drop from your face, a small smile playing on your lips as Bob takes a somewhat teasing bite of his cupcake. For a guy you barely know, he makes you feel weirdly at ease, a calmness about him that almost grounds you when you often tend to feel anything but. You really can’t think of any other guy you’d stick around and have a chat with after accidentally telling him that you call him “God’s gift to women”.

Normally an incident like that would have you bolting to the nearest bathroom to lock yourself in, but instead you reach for one of the cupcakes in the box, moving it to your mouth to take a bite of your own. Licking your lips of the buttercream frosting, you set your cupcake on the table.

“So what do you think?” You gesture to the treat.

“Really good,” Bob nods earnestly and then something mischievous lights up his eyes. “I also enjoyed the botany lesson that came with my purchase.”

You do your best to look annoyed, though you’re hardly successful, a smile breaking through your scowl. “You should have. I don’t give those to just anyone, you know.”

“I feel extra special, then.” This time, Bob isn’t teasing, looking up at you from the brim of his cap with a soft smile.

And truly it’s that look you have to blame for the fact that you’re practically melting like butter, stomach swarming with butterflies. “You should,” you say quietly, trying to hide all the heat rising to your cheeks.

Bob looks like he wants to say something else, but then his phone is buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up. He spares it a quick glance before his eyes widen slightly and he grabs it quickly.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I have to go.” He’s looking at you like he’s praying you won’t be upset with him and, really, you’re not. The man waited an hour for you to get your break, you certainly can’t fault him for having other plans.

“It’s okay, I understand,” you assure him, getting up with him as he rises from the table. You watch him fumble with the cupcake box before looking down at your fingers shyly. “I, um, I really enjoyed this.”

Bob straightens, relief washing over his features when he turns to look at you. “I did too. Are… Are you working tomorrow?”

“I am.” You confirm.

There’s an unreadable look on Bob’s face suddenly, his brow slightly furrowed. You’re about to ask him if everything’s okay, but before you can he’s taking a step forward, his Timberland boots creaking against the floorboards. His large hand—the one that makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl just thinking about—raises up, anchoring itself delicately on your check. Tenderly, his rough thumb swipes against the corner of your mouth, taking with it a small dollop of buttercream.

His hand lingers for a second longer than necessary, his eyes transfixed on yours, and for a moment the air feels charged with electricity. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, sweet pea.” Bob lets his hand drop, sending you one last smile before he starts making his way out of Sugar Plum.

You can only stare at his retreating figure, brain practically short-circuiting as you try to process what just happened. Did it even happen? Or is this man just so attractive that he’s actively causing you to hallucinate? When you turn around, Eloise is staring at you, jaw dropped and lips pulled into a wide, open-mouthed smile.

Okay… so that did just happen.

Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.

He always tips at restaurants. He calls his mom every Sunday and texts her frequently throughout the week. He has a recycling bin. And compost.

Once when Mickey got sick, Bob drove to four different CVSs just to get the kind of cough medicine he liked. He always puts back his weights at the gym and wipes down the machines he uses. He’s a good person.

But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person.

“—box?”

The word faintly makes it through Bob’s music, a sudden alert that someone is speaking to him, and he stills. His knuckles are tender under his wraps, grateful for the reprieve. Bob looks up from the bag, pulling out one of his headphones.

“Sorry?”

Before him is a shorter man, looking at him like he knows some joke that Bob doesn’t. His black hair is pomaded almost straight upward, stiff and brittle, perhaps in an effort to look taller. It’s dark too, all encompassing in its saturation. He dyes it, Bob realizes.

On his wrist is a thick, gold watch. It catches the light shining in from the gym windows and glistens in sparkles that scream its extravagance. Aside from the watch though, every other item on the man’s person seems muted. He wore a long sleeve black button up, rolled to the elbows, and had left a few of the buttons undone, revealing just the beginnings of his salt and pepper chest hair. He definitely dyes it. His slacks were about the same—a reddish brown, form fitting, expensive.

Bob thought he looked like he just walked off the set of The Godfather.

“I asked if you box,” the man repeats, gesturing to his wrapped hands. “You have good form.”

Bob looks at him wearily. “Thanks.”

As if understanding this current approach is proving unsuccessful, the man sticks his hand out.

“I’m Pete. But you can call me Maverick.”

“Bob.” Bob gives it a single shake.

Maverick grins. “You don’t talk much, do you Bob?”

“No, sir.”

Bob knows he’s being slightly rude, standoffish at the very least, but it was hard to get a read on Maverick. Clearly, he wanted something. Bob just doesn’t know what.

“I like that,” Maverick decides, before gesturing his head towards the punching bag. “Where’d you learn to box like that?”

Bob shrugs. It had been Mickey’s idea, insisting that Bob needed a hobby before he turned into a mole. He’d signed Bob up for a boxing lesson without his knowledge, telling him to just try it. Hit something, break something.

Ultimately, Bob found that he enjoyed the lesson, signing up for a few more, before he decided to continue pursuing boxing recreationally. His instructor would probably throw a fit if he knew Bob tended to box without gloves, but he preferred free movement of his hands.

“Just picked it up,” Bob says finally.

Maverick seems impressed by that, his brows raising, and then his mouth twitches into a smile.

“You ever think about fighting, Bob?”

There’s a weight that can’t be lifted as he exhausts himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good.

“What do you think?” Maverick asks. “There’s a rush, right?”

Bob looks down at his hands—his gloves, rather—and stares at them wordlessly. He can still feel it. The windup, the contact, the follow through. It’s weird to him, the fact that these gloves are the reason a man a few feet away from him is sporting a purpling bruise on his cheek bone.

One fight. That was what Maverick had said. One fight, just to see if he liked it. No stakes, no pressure, just a one and done deal. One fight.

“Damn, man,” his opponent, Brigham, is grinning as Bob looks up. “You’ve got a mean right hook.”

Maverick laughs. “I told you not to underestimate him.”

That catches Bob slightly. I told you not to underestimate him. Though Bob loves his mom more than anything, sometimes he felt that she was too good at hiding. She thought it was better that way, that it helped avoid problems. To take it, and take it, and take it, and never wonder if maybe you shouldn’t. And so Bob hid too.

Sometimes, when his mom is quick to wipe her tears when Bob catches her after the landlord stopped by, or Mickey rolls his eyes at a group of preppy college boys that just dined and dashed, Bob can’t help but wonder if his mom was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t “do unto otters as you would have otters do unto you”. Maybe it was “do unto otters as they’ve already done unto you”.

Maybe if Bob had done that to the landlord, he’d stop making his mom cry. Maybe if Bob had done that to those preppy college boys, Mickey wouldn’t have to shrug it off with a “People tip pretty good at Charlotte’s anyway”. Maybe if he’d never taken it, and taken it, and taken it, and actually stopped to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to, they wouldn’t have had to take it either.

“Look, kid,” Maverick’s hand is on his shoulder, pulling Bob from the curious weight of his gloves. “You’ve got fight, I could see that the moment you stepped into my gym. You wanna do more than hit some flimsy, old bag a couple hours a week, it’s obvious.”

Bob swallows. Do unto otters, Bo. And what had that made him? Some sorry sucker who couldn’t do anything when it mattered. Who sits on the sidelines and hides, and makes up for it with reusable shopping bags and a few manners.

“How much would you pay me?”

Maverick chuckles. “You’re smart, Bob. I’ll give you that.”

But Bob isn’t a little kid anymore. He no longer has a book about rabbits and otters, manners and kindness to tell him what to do anymore. All he has is this question. This blank space. What does it mean to be good?

“You’re late,” Adler grunts as soon as Bob steps through the locker room door.

“Got caught up with something.”

Adler scoffs in disbelief, before a small smile fights its way onto his face.

Bob had always liked Joe Adler. He pretended to be all big and bad, with the mouth of a sailor and the boxing history to back it. But he was a softie deep down, the kind of guy that made Bob feel slightly better about his occupation. Because if Adler could come out of it all a good man, Bob could cling to that hope for himself a little longer.

“Alright, I know Mav always wants you to milk it,” Adler helps Bob slide on his gloves, a teasing glint in his eye. “But I wanna go home, so knock the motherfucker out fast, yeah?”

Bob’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Georgia makin’ meatloaf tonight?”

“You bet your ass,” Adler snorts, giving Bob one last once over, before the announcer's exaggerated cadence could be heard through the door.

Bob glances at it, before looking back to Adler and the older man nods. Bob shakes out his arms one last time, taking in a breath as Adler opens the locker room door for him.

“Give ‘em hell, Grim Reaper.”

I do not have a taglist but you can follow my library @jupitercometgold to be notified when I post

#bob floyd imagine #bob floyd imagines #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd angst #bob floyd au #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd imagines #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd angst #robert floyd au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #sweeter than sugar #under the hard deck #buggy's got a pen

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blueiight · 1 month

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can i ask your thoughts on the fandom’s heavy focus on louis as an object of desire? it sometimes feels to me like people are more interested in other characters reacting to louis than they are in louis himself. i know the “helen of troy” stuff is a joke but it genuinely seems like he’s often rendered oddly passive in his desirability, like we’re looking at him through the eyes of the other characters even though it’s his story (to be clear: in the fandom, not the actual show). or am i being uncharitable? either way, you always have interesting things to say about fandom reception.

i think the focus of louis as an object of desire arose largely in response to a lot of racially-charged nonsense about show louis, namely, where a loud minority of fans tried to deny the abuse and horror of season 1 and frame louis as the primary antagonist/abuser of his own story. which in of itself had the potential to go somewhere, especially considering the feminized role louis occupies in parts of season 1. unfortunately its spiraled off into its own dead end at this point to where now people, a year and a half removed from the release of s1, can box louis's character arc into this tale of getting all the hot boys to look her way. when this is a horror and tragedy series. romance is part of that, but is a piece of the full picture. classic romance is very much horror tbh but thats just me

if we're discussing the show strictly, majority of louis's relationships are antagonistic. even with his lovers, they love him as much as they seek to control him. 'his love is a small box that he keeps you in', trailer louis saying 'i knew who i was without those pieces [of myself?]' . so on and so forth. the first three episodes of season 1 are about louis's struggle to maintain a link with his mortal community, in the midst of increasing racist tensions against the city leaders, all as he struggles to come to terms with his existence as a vampire and how his relationship to lestat fits in relation to all these pieces of himself. doubly so, there is also the nature of the second interview in present time, and the sort of antagonism between daniel + louis as louis eventually pushes daniel into burning the old tape. the latter half of season 1, episodes 4-7 is squarely about the triad of lestat, louis, and claudia, how lestat increasingly tightens his hold over them both, claudia breaking them free of it, and louis's response to such. doubly so, daniel becomes more hostile the less he knows, and the more louis's composed 'master of his instincts' personage collapses to show the broken man thats underneath. armand comes in at the end bc the interview has reached a breaking point once more [as it did in the 1970s]. i know, im looking too hard into the meme, but so much of where louis errs, where his memory falters, where history is completely revised, has to do with the question of claudia. even book interview foundationally was about this grief, though not nearly with the level of depth+ gravity the show has added to the story.

where focusing on louis as an 'object of desire' most impedes analysis has to do with claudia as well, bc if u see louis as that solely, then what is claudia to u if not a 'child interfering in [louis's] romantic affairs'? why are people already seeking to write claudia off as a wayward child unduly 'taking out her anger on louis', when it was louis at the end of season 1 who strangled her against the wall and refused to let her burn lestat? when its louis in the trailer thats throwing claudia's words from season 1 back at her, evading her questions in the cafe? when claudia is having to dress as a baby doll and advertise with a sandwich board for a theater + a coven-master that all want her dead?

i think this is by nature of the fact that iwtv is canonly gay and isnt afraid of showing that, and modern fandom is mainly interested in romance. claudia's relationship to louis is secondary, if not tertiary, to all 'camps' of this tiny tiny fandom bc she is clearly established in s1 as not being a viable romantic option for louis, despite claudia's perspective and her story taking up the second half of the first season, and will continue to be important in the second season. the 'helen of troy' fixation on his desirability in relation to romantically viable vampires [or even men] seems to be another means by which fans can ignore this part of the story, just as the mutual abuse nonsense about louis being clarence thomas the third self hating black man who stole lestat's lunchables and is 'just as bad as the rest' drowned out and continues to drown out any other conversation for the past year and a half. it is very difficult to have conversations on this character precisely bc of this state of fandom, where many people seek to crack the whip over a fictional character for not being mother teresa and having a complex response to trauma, then instead of discussing that, some seek to fixate on the fact that mother teresa can be sexy, actually. when thats not the point. why is modern louis so full of grief and all but suicidal in dubai, if not for the fact that claudia is permanently dead, he still lives, he regrets something, and wants to find the truth under it all? the jokes are cute and all, but lets put our thinking caps on.

#yn.#yn answers #is this even worth being in the main tags?#idk.

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years

Text

{2} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Slight focus on Yeosang & Jongho this chapter)

Words: 9,536

Warnings: Mental Illness: talks of depression, suicide and suicidal thoughts. OC gets angry a lot. A mug gets thrown at someone’s head. Slut shaming, but not done by any of the guys. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Surprise bitches!!! Guess who’s back, back again!!! Early update for you all since I wanted to post it and I like where I ended it. Definitely expect more parts coming out, I have a lot planned for this, especially with little interactions between each of the guys and the OC in the future. Hehehe, I hope you enjoy!! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I hope you look forward to the rest of whatever this series has to offer~

Main Story - Part Three

The first few days after that one fateful evening, you were a mess. Your mind was all over the place, yet at other times, completely silent. Any attempt to wrap your head around the situation you currently found yourself in resulted in either tears of hopelessness, of frustration, or you screaming your lungs out for them to let you go.

Then, came the silence. The deadly calm as the weight of the situation finally sunk in.

It happened only once, and the thought had only crossed your mind for a brief second, but it was enough to have all eight of them appearing in your room immediately. Worry was clear on all of their faces, but not only that, panic was as well. The thought of losing you, after finally having you with them after all this time, after all of their meticulous planning, had a fear unlike any other washing over them.

You had yelled at them then, screamed at them with a burning fire in your eyes as they crowded you. They needed to let you breathe. The constant checking up on you, asking if you were going to be okay was really grating on your nerves.

At least you knew they cared. At least what they told you, about only wanting what’s best for you, about wanting to love and cherish you all seemed to be true.

There was no doubt about it, not when San would bring you your favourite meals almost every day just to make sure you had eaten something. The first few times were a bit annoying, seeing as how he wouldn’t leave you alone until you had at least a few bites of food, but at least he knew you were eating.

Similarly, Mingi would always make sure you had a fresh jug of water in your room. Every day, he would make sure you drank at least two full glasses to keep yourself hydrated, making you whatever other drinks you wanted when you wanted them. Unless you were planning to get yourself drunk. Then he wouldn’t exactly comply with your wishes.

Jongho would offer to read to you to take your mind off of things, but you’ve still yet to accept his offer. He would pout, but place whatever book he brought with him on your nightstand, at least giving you something to do to take your mind off of things for a while. An escape, if only briefly, that would give you some semblance of normalcy after being thrown into a world unlike any other.

Yunho and Wooyoung would always attempt to cheer you up in any and every way they knew how. Their antics, unfortunately for you, would sometimes work, unable to stop yourself from cracking a small smile at their banter back and forth, or some stupid joke they would tell you in attempts to make you laugh.

Yeosang was probably the most respectful out of giving you the privacy you so desperately craved, except when you would start thinking about when you needed or wanted something. Then he would be the first one to appear with said item held in his hands, bringing you ice cream more often than not in the middle of the night when you were truly feeling sorry for yourself and the situation you found yourself in. He always lingered for a bit, silently hoping you would ask him to stay and comfort you, but you never did. Honestly, it was probably for the best, anyways. They all were probably the last people you really wanted to see at this point in time.

Still, you refused to so much as even look at Seonghwa or Hongjoong. Each time they passed by your room to check up on you, you would pointedly ignore them, curling in on yourself until they would sigh deeply and finally leave you alone.

Two weeks later, and you decide that you’ve had enough. Finally, it’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and take whatever control you can back of your own life. No more wasting your days alone, in the dark, with only self-pity to keep yourself company. If they truly intend to put their money where their mouths are, then you’re going to test that every chance you get. After all, if they are ready and willing to do anything and everything for you to prove to you how much they truly love and care for you, how much they want - need - you in their lives, then you’re going to make them prove themselves to you.

Perhaps you hold more power in this situation than you originally thought.

Letting out a sigh, you allow your mind to go blank, humming a small tune to yourself as you toss the covers off of your legs. First things first, you really need a bath. Perhaps some self-love and personal care will end up going a long way.

Sinking into the warmth of the frothing bubbles, you hum. Again, the calming scent of lilac and honey drifts through your nostrils, the water serving to relax your tense muscles and soothe your mind. You figure you’re going to need all the rest you can get in the next twenty or so minutes as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to do.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later and you’ve finished washing up, dried yourself off, and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. Briefly, you shoot a tense smile at yourself in the mirror, mentally preparing yourself for what you’re sure is going to be a shitstorm as soon as you step outside of your room.

Turning towards the door, you take a few cautious steps forward. Taking a deep breath, you turn the handle, exiting these four walls that you have familiarized yourself with over the past two weeks. Finally, after hiding yourself away for so long, wallowing in your own thoughts, you step outside the room, crossing the threshold into the hallway and feeling as if you’re stepping into a new life. Which, in reality, you are.

As soon as your foot enters the hallway, both Yeosang and Jongho are in front of you, Wooyoung following close behind. The three of them watch you carefully, worried that you might try to do something rash, like attempting to sprint past them and run for the exit again.

You tried it. Once. The first night when everything happened. They watched you sprint right past them, still wearing that gorgeous gown, and practically fling yourself out of the front doors. Only, as soon as you left through one door, it’s like you were entering back through the other.

A looping entrance. A simple spell, or rather, curse in your mind. Every time you attempted to run out of the front door, you found yourself sprinting back through the entrance, a frustrated look on your face as a feeling of hopelessness washed over you.

That was the final snap to your sanity which landed you in such a state of limbo for the past two weeks. You’re just glad you managed to pull yourself out of it.

When you meet their gaze, you make no sign of acknowledgement. They cannot hear any thoughts of you wanting to escape running through your head for the moment. The only thought they can hear, is a constant repeating of you wanting some coffee.

“Where-“ Jongho takes a step forwards before halting right in his tracks as you raise a hand to stop him.

“No.” Your pointer finger is raised as if to say ‘hold on a moment’, making sure to keep a safe distance away from all of them as you look into each of their eyes. “Just follow.”

As soon as you turn to start walking down the hallway, Mingi appears before you, a steaming cup of coffee held in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands it to you, and you meet his gaze for only a moment.

A curt nod is all he receives as you take the mug from his hands, sipping on the warm liquid. He swallows. At least it’s better than nothing.

What’s going on? Hongjoong’s voice echoes through all of their heads, a tinge of worry to his words.

We don’t know, but at least she’s out of her room. Yeosang replies, following silently behind you as you begin to lead them down the hallway.

She’s out of her room? San’s voice is full of excited disbelief, and they can hear the clanging of a pan falling onto the ground coming from the direction of the kitchen before he’s appearing right next to Wooyoung just as they breach the lobby.

Yunho is the next to appear, having been walking down the opposite hallway at the time, monitoring your thoughts as soon as this commotion started. Her mind is blank.

Should we be worried? Jongho’s fingers twitch, itching to pull you into his arms and ask you what’s wrong. A thought he knows is echoing through all of their minds this very second.

The last time her mind was blank, she stabbed Hongjoong with a knife. Seonghwa reminds them, appearing in the lobby in the next second, a swatch of fabric still clutched in his hands.

She also tried jumping off of her balcony. So, let’s not forget that, either. Wooyoung says, worry lacing his tone.

I don’t think I could forget that even if I tried. Mingi shivers, recalling the panic he felt seizing his entire body when he walked in for your daily glass of water consumption to see you with one leg already hitched up on the ledge of your balcony. He’s just lucky he caught you in time before you could hurt yourself. Not that you would have gotten very far, anyways.

Reaching the main desk, you turn back around to face them, leaning back on the counter with the mug held in your hands. As soon as you raise your head, Hongjoong appears before you. Though, this time, instead of averting your gaze like he’s become so used to these past two weeks, you meet his eyes, and the intensity that he sees shining in your own has a pleasant shiver running down his spine.

The eight men all stand around you in a semi-circle, giving you enough space so that you do not feel crowded by them. Starting from your left, Jongho stands, followed by Yeosang, San, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Wooyoung, and then Mingi.

A moment of silence settles over all of them as they stare at you, waiting patiently for you to speak. Some - San, Wooyoung, Jongho, and Mingi - even find themselves holding their breaths in anticipation. Not that any of them particularly need to breathe…

“We need to talk.” Your first words to all eight of them in weeks, and they can only blink at you in shock. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Your words seem to snap them out of whatever daze that they’re in.

“You know we can’t let you go.” It’s Yunho who says it, and they watch as you turn your gaze to him.

Your eyes flash, a fire igniting behind your irises as you take a deep breath in.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I know.” You watch as they all visibly flinch at your words, but you continue anyways. “For five minutes, I would like to not be reminded of my own helplessness right now. Thank you very much.”

This time, they grimace, having the audacity to look somewhat ashamed of themselves. At least, San, Jongho, and Mingi do.

“Look,” you sigh, bringing your one hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired of feeling like I’m trapped here, and that I have nothing to do. More than all of that, I’m fucking tired of letting myself fall back into old habits. Bad habits. I do not need to go back to feeling exactly as I did during the darkest part of my life.”

They can all hear the way your breath hitches, voice straining with the emotion of your words.

“We didn’t know-“

“Of course you didn’t! You don’t know anything about me!” You cut Mingi off, your anger rolling off of you in waves as you glare at them. The mug of coffee is clutched so tightly in your hand that you’re surprised it doesn’t break. “Do you even know how I felt at the lowest point of my life?”

Even though the question is rhetorical, you can sense that they want to respond. You can just tell that, no, they do not know how you felt because they weren’t there. However, you bet the very air you breathe that they’re dying to figure it out. Probably about to probe your mind for those memories. Memories that are painted with the darkest parts of your soul; moments in which you felt the most empty, the least in control of your life.

“I know you all want to know, but it doesn’t work like that.” You say, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t get to shift through my memories whenever you damn well please. None of you deserve that privilege. None of you deserve to know me, especially not like that.”

“We just want to understand,” San reasons, a pleading look in his eyes.

“You want to understand?” You throw his words back at him with a voice of disbelief. “Fine.” You huff out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here’s a little glimpse into the second worst night of my life.”

It happens so suddenly, that all of them are inhaling sharply as images fill their heads. In an instant, each are overcome by the exact same emotions you felt - grief, anger, disappointment, loneliness - that their senses get overwhelmed. So much so, that Jongho, Wooyoung, and Yunho have to steady themselves on their feet as your memory washes over them.

And that wasn’t even your worst night.

Just as quickly as it started, the memory gets cuts off, all eight of their gazes fixating on you in a moment. You can just feel the way they’re looking at you right now, and you hate it. Especially when Yeosang, San, and Hongjoong all take a cautious step towards you, each wanting to comfort you in their own way.

“I didn’t do this for pity, and don’t any of you dare feel any gratitude for what I just showed you. You know nothing.” You resist the urge to slam the mug down on the front desk, opting to take a few deep breaths and gently place it on top of the counter instead. You turn back to face them with another deep sigh. “Look, if this is going to work, there are some things I need from you all. Do you understand?”

A light begins to shine behind their eyes, heartbeats increasing as hope floods through their veins. Even though you basically just told them not to, they all cannot help but to feel that you sharing that memory with them meant something. No matter how insignificant, you trusted them for a brief moment, and they sure as hell will not let it go to waste, nor will they ever forget this.

Is she saying what I think she’s saying right now? Wooyoung’s eager voice echoes through their minds.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve accepted this,” you motion around the general vicinity with your hand, narrowing your eyes slightly at the eight men before you, “or any of you. I simply have some conditions of my own so I don’t end up like that again.”

Mingi’s, San’s, Yunho’s, and Wooyoung’s shoulders all drop, while the other four do their best to look unaffected by your words. Still, it doesn’t mean they won’t try. It doesn’t mean that you haven’t just given them all hope.

“Anything,” Seonghwa breathes, clinging onto that piece of fabric in his hands for dear life.

Your one eyebrow twitches upwards, meeting gazes with him briefly, as you cross your arms in front of your chest. Leaning further back onto the counter, you nod to yourself.

“I want my phone back.”

You can practically see the protests building on their lips, so you cut them off before they get a chance to speak.

“Listen,” you begin, “you’ve said it yourselves: I’m in your domain. I don’t even know if there’s service here, and who the fuck would believe me if I told them about the situation I’m in. I’m pretty sure I’ve already lost my job for up and disappearing out of the blue, and I’m sure my family is probably worried sick about me. Let me contact them to tell them I’m okay, so they at least get closure for however long I’m going to be stuck here for. I don’t want my parents thinking I’m dead.”

“That’s all you want your phone for?” Yeosang asks, slight disbelief coating his words.

“Of course not.” You huff out a laugh. “I need some source of serotonin. I want my phone so I can do all the things I usually do on it. Minus a few things, of course. I need some sense of normalcy back in my life.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Yunho speaks once more, crossing his own arms in front of his chest.

“That’s rich, considering I should be asking you that.” You match his tone. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you all can hear whatever I’m about to do through my thoughts, anyways. There is a severe lack of privacy there, but put it this way. How do you expect me to trust you if you can’t trust me? It’ll have to be an effort on all of our parts to make this work.”

There’s a hint of worry in your tone, the slightest bit of fear hinted at in the way your shoulders tense ever so slightly as you look at them. Even without your thoughts, they can see the uncertainty radiating off of you towards them. Truly, it pains them to no end.

“You know we would never hurt you,” Mingi says, his voice soft as it cuts through the tension suddenly filling the lobby.

“We promised that we would protect you,” Hongjoong adds, just as tenderly as he watches you with a gentle gaze.

Your eyes flash, “can you protect me from yourselves?”

Immediately, they all straighten, save for Seonghwa who takes a small step backwards as they all stare at you with wide eyes.

“We just told you that we would never hurt you.” Yeosang frowns.

“That’s not what I meant,” you shake your head. “There are many ways one can be hurt rather than just physical pain.” A thought flashes through your mind that has them all recoiling as if you’ve just mentally burned them. “Do you understand why I’ve been so terrified these past few weeks? I know nothing about who you are, or what you’re capable of. I bet you’ve only shown me the bare minimum of what each of you can do with these powers of yours. How do I know you’re all not just waiting for the prime opportunity to take advantage of me? How do I know I can trust you?”

“You think we would force ourselves on you?” Jongho’s voice comes out small, echoing the hurt and worry each of his brothers are feeling right this very moment.

Even though you say nothing, your gaze says it all. The uncertainty, the fear they can all see hiding within your eyes has their hearts feeling as if they are being suffocated. Never do they want you to think that they would do such a thing to you. Never do they want to have you look at them with such terror in your gaze again.

“Is this part of the reason why you’ve been hiding in your room this whole time?” Seonghwa voices, a hint of sadness tinging his words.

“We would never do such a thing.” Hongjoong states, eyes pleading for you to look at him, to see the sincerity shining in his gaze - in all of their gazes - but you refuse, averting your gaze to your feet. “Especially not to you.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” Your lips tighten into a thin line as you give him a terse smile. “But if you ever break that promise, if any of you go back on your word,” you take the time to meet each of their eyes, squaring your shoulders as you do so to let them know how serious you are in this very moment, “I will never forgive you.”

None of them have to look into your mind to know the deadly truth that lingers in your words. The statement of fact that you have just uttered settles into their very core, echoing through their minds as they continue to stare at you, watching your every movement carefully as you take another shaky breath in.

Then, it’s as if a switch has flipped inside of you as you mentally tell yourself to calm down once more. You need to at least attempt to start trusting them, and they’ve given you no reason to think otherwise. Yet.

“So,” you raise a brow, “my phone.”

Immediately, Hongjoong makes your phone appear, holding it in his hand. Just as he goes to hand it back to you, he pulls it away and out of your reach. You frown.

“You can have your phone back on one condition.” He says.

“What?” You ask him expectantly.

“Change your lockscreen.”

You simply look at him, incredulously. Your mouth parts slightly in shock as a mental image of what you remember to be your lockscreen flashes in your mind. Like hell are you going to change your favourite photo of your favourite male idol who managed to help you through the darkest part of your life in his own way, even if he doesn’t know it. Of course, you do not fail to miss the way that all eight men tense around you, the jealousy clear on all of their faces.

You huff out a breath. “Do you really think you’re in any position to be telling me what I can and can’t do with my own belongings?”

“Then I guess you don’t want your phone back that badly, do you?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice as he quirks a brow, his eyes shining with that tint of jealousy as he holds your phone just out of your reach.

“I could go back to completely ignoring your existence, if that’s what you want.” You deadpan, eyes narrowing as you watch him visibly stiffen at your words.

Only Seonghwa truly knows exactly what that feels like right alongside Hongjoong, so he offers the younger a comforting hand placed on his shoulder. Neither of them want to experience that again. They would rather spend twenty years in the arctic, buried beneath the snow than have you go back to pretending that they do not exist.

Though, Hongjoong cannot deny the sense of pleasure he experiences at knowing you can essentially go toe to toe with his remarks. Your wit truly is like no other. He loves that about you, he always has.

Wordlessly, he hands you your phone, and the relieved smile that paints your face makes it feel as if the whole room has just brightened. Truly, there is nothing like seeing you happy, and they will do anything and everything they can to please you, starting with this.

Tucking your dead phone into your back pocket for safe keeping, you lean back onto the counter, resting your palms against it for support.

“I also want my laptop back.” You say. “Same terms and conditions apply. Just let me have access to wifi again.”

This time, it’s Wooyoung who makes your laptop appear, holding it delicately in his hands as he passes it to you. Your lips quirk ever so slightly as you hug the piece of technology to your chest, mind already reeling with everything you need to catch up on.

“Okay,” you nod, unable to keep the relieved smile from tugging at your lips. “Okay. This is good.”

A small silence settles over all of you as they allow you to collect your thoughts. A tenseness that they didn’t realize they had all been holding in their bodies leaves them as they see you relax, even if only just the slightest. Faintly, grins tug at their lips.

Progress. They’re making progress.

“If I’m going to be living with you from now on,” you begin, “then I need to get some things from my apartment.”

“Whatever you need, we can grab for you.” Jongho says almost immediately after you finish talking.

“No,” you retort, shifting your laptop to your left arm and cradling it like you would a baby. “I need to grab some things from my own apartment. I don’t care if you come with me, but I need to get my clothes.”

“Again, just tell us what you need and we’ll get it for you,” Mingi repeats the youngest’s words from only a moment ago.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head. “There is no way I am letting eight men pick and choose my own clothing for me, let alone my underwear.”

You fail to see the way Wooyoung’s lips twitch upwards in nervousness as the sound of tearing fabric reaches your ears. Immediately, your attention is on the man standing just to Hongjoong’s left, now holding two torn strips of cloth in his hands.

“See what I mean,” you gesture to Seonghwa who stands there, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he clutches onto the fabric held in his hands for dear life. “Keep it in your pants, Handsy.”

Seonghwa’s scowl only deepens when he hears Wooyoung laugh, his eyes flashing as he looks towards his younger brother. “That’s rich, coming from the one who already stole a pair.”

A silence so deadly settles around the lobby as you stiffen, your breath hitching in your throat as Seonghwa’s words register in your ears. Slowly, almost robotically, you turn your head to the right, staring directly at Wooyoung with a tense smile on your face as you blink. “What?”

“So, clearly, neither of you are going with her to get her clothes,” Yunho sighs, shaking his head.

“Hang on,” you practically slam your laptop onto the desk behind you before circling your hands around each other in front of your body in a rewind motion, “can we just backtrack here for a second.” You turn once more to look at Wooyoung. “What did you do to my panties?”

Wooyoung sucks on the inside of his cheek, his eyes looking everywhere but at you for the time being, “I don’t think you want to know.”

An image of your ruined panties flits through all of their minds as Wooyoung recalls the very last activity he remembers doing with them. Almost immediately, the seven of them groan, Yunho smacking the younger upside the head as Wooyoung chuckles.

Again, you smile tensely, your eyes blank as you watch Wooyoung rub at the back of his head right where Yunho has just smacked him. Honestly, it’s freaking them out how you appear so calm, tilting your head slightly as your eyes close and your mind goes blank, that forced smile still tugging at your lips.

Before any of them can react, you grab your empty coffee mug from the desk and fling it at Wooyoung’s head. Luckily, he manages to dodge in time, the sound of ceramic shattering against the floor behind him breaking the tense silence.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t take things that don’t belong to you!” You shout. “Especially if they’re mine!”

“Do you want them back?” He offers, holding his hands upwards as a sign of defence against your rage.

“No! I most certainly do not want them back after whatever the hell you did to them!” You fume, an image of burning whatever pair of underwear he stole flitting through your mind. “This is what I mean when I say I want privacy. I don’t want to have to worry about any of my other things going missing because of you guys.”

“And they won’t.” Hongjoong promises, shooting a pointed look at Wooyoung who just narrows his eyes in response at his leader. He knows they all would have done the exact same thing as he did if given the chance. Hell, Seonghwa even told him to ‘save some for the rest of us’, if he recalls correctly.

“I sure as hell hope not.” You retort, another sigh falling from your lips.

“Some of us will take you to get your things, soon,” Mingi voices, cutting the tension in the air.

“Good,” you nod. “I’d appreciate it.”

Turning slightly, you grab your laptop from the desk and tuck it under your arm once more. You turn back to face them.

“I can take you after you put your laptop back in your room and plug your phone in to charge,” Yunho offers, yet again reading your mind.

You shoot him a look. “I am not going anywhere with you until you learn to stop doing that.”

“Then who-“

“I’ll go with them,” you cut San off with a motion of your hand, pointing at both Jongho and Yeosang using two of your fingers. “They can take me.”

Jongho stands there, momentarily stunned as all six of his remaining brothers turn to look at both him and Yeosang. The elder of the two is just as shocked as the youngest is, though he’s simply better at hiding it. Though, Yeosang cannot help the smug grin that tugs on his lips as he sees you turn away, his brothers glaring at him with jealousy clear in their eyes.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” you say without so much as sparing a glance over your shoulder. “Then we can go.”

True to your word, it only takes you two minutes to make your way back to the lobby. Though, now that you take a closer look, it appears more as a grandiose foyer than a hotel lobby. In the back of your mind, you begin to wonder just how extravagant they made this place. Perhaps you’ll have to go exploring when you get back.

“Ready when you are,” Yeosang smiles at you, waiting off to the side with Jongho standing right beside him.

A simple nod of your head is all he receives in response, noticing how the other six stand off to the side. You nearly let out a huff at the way both Yunho and San stand with their arms crossed in front of their chests. Wooyoung, Mingi, and Seonghwa all wear slight pouts on their faces, though at least the eldest is better at hiding it that the others. Still, there is no mistaking the classic downturn of his lips. The only one who remains an anomaly to you is Hongjoong.

There he stands, eyes transfixed on you as his hands are shoved into his pockets. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost looks unbothered. Only, you know that that isn’t the case. It’s moments like this where you wish you could read people’s minds just so that you could know what he’s thinking. Hongjoong smirks.

“Okay,” you say, turning back to the two men beside you. “Let’s go.”

You manage to take a few steps towards the front doors before you notice that they aren’t following you. You quirk a brow, seeing Jongho’s shoulders shaking in laughter.

“What are you doing?” Yeosang asks, having not moved a single inch.

“Heading to my car. What does it look like I’m doing?” You shoot him an incredulous look.

“Oh, no, we’re not taking a car.” Jongho says, closing the distance between the two of you in a few strides. “Hold on tight.”

“Wha-“ before you can even protest, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and transporting the two of you to your apartment.

As soon as your living room comes into view, you’re stumbling out of his arms. Your head spins as you see Yeosang appear from thin air right before your very eyes. Blinking a few times, your one hand comes up to cradle the side of your head, nausea building in your chest.

“Fucking hell, Jongho, you can’t just do that to her for the first time,” Yeosang is immediately in front of you, helping to guide you into sitting down on your sofa. “She’s never jumped before.”

Concern is written all over Jongho’s face as he comes to kneel before you. Though, only Yeosang can hear how smug the youngest is right now. Of course he just had to be the first one to wrap you in his arms and transport you here. It’s not like Yeosang wanted to have that privilege, or anything.

“Are you okay?” Jongho asks softly as you notice Yeosang dart off into your kitchen, appearing not even thirty seconds later with a glass of water held in his hand.

“Yeah,” you brush him off, accepting the glass with a small nod in thanks before taking a sip. “Just a warning would be nice, next time.”

“I did tell you to hold on tight,” Jongho chuckles, receiving a smack upside the head from Yeosang. “Ow.”

“Do you want to freak her out again?” Yeosang reprimands, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head.

“Relax,” you shoot Yeosang a look. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”

Both males simply quirk their brows at you in response, Jongho getting back to his feet in the next moment.

“How did you even know where my apartment was, anyways?” You stare at them expectantly, the worst already flitting through your mind as you take another sip of water.

“I don’t think you’ll believe us when we say this is our first time stepping foot in your apartment.” Yeosang replies, casually making himself at home and sitting in the recliner closest to you on the couch.

Your eyebrows raise, placing your glass onto the side table. “Stepping foot in my apartment? What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Jongho begins with a giddy smile, sitting down on the sofa beside you and casually throwing an arm to rest behind you on the back of the couch, “we’ve never actually physically been here before.”

“How exactly does that work?” You stand, turning to face both men as you cross your arms in front of your chest. You do not fail to notice the way Jongho pouts as you do so, missing the fact that he just technically had his arm wrapped around your back, even if only for a brief moment.

“When you first summoned us, we could only appear near you through glass objects.” Yeosang explains.

“Summoned you?” Your head tilts, disbelief clear on your features. “When, and how the hell did I summon you?”

“October twenty-fourth.” Jongho recalls, smiling fondly as if the memory is the most pleasant one he has ever experienced in his life.

At your confused look, Yeosang speaks once more.

“You and that one friend of yours, Reina, decided to ‘read from a book of spells’ if I recall correctly.” Yeosang adds air quotes around that specific phrase, an amused quirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No, it was Reina who read from the book,” you frown. “Why the fuck did you decide to haunt me?”

“You’re the one who caught out attention first,” Jongho admits with a shrug. “You weren’t panicking, and you were skeptical about the whole thing. Well, until Hongjoong and Seonghwa started moving shit around in the room you guys were in.”

You think this is the first time you’ve ever heard Jongho swear, and to say it catches you off guard would be an understatement.

“Yeah, don’t let his little innocent act fool you,” Yeosang chuckles. “He may be the youngest, but he swears worse than a sailor.”

“Hey!” Jongho protests, throwing one of your couch pillows at Yeosang who easily catches it with one hand while making a face at the younger.

You cannot help yourself. A chuckle escapes you. One which you immediately regret when both males are whipping their heads over to look at you, their gazes locking on your figure as soft smiles adorn their features. You clear your throat.

“That still doesn’t explain much,” you mutter, averting your gaze almost shyly. A fact which has both of their chests swelling with warmth.

It’s been so long since they’ve had a decent interaction with you, that they’re both going to savour this for as long as they can.

“You were the one that stepped up to protect your friend,” Yeosang continues. “You were the one who took charge and disposed of the mirror you guys used for the summoning.”

“Yeah, and?” You cross your arms.

“And we liked that about you.” Jongho replies, leaning further back into your couch with a smile still visible on his lips. “We’ve all been hooked ever since.”

“Getting rid of the mirror didn’t actually get rid of any of you, did it?” You sigh, shaking your head slightly.

“Nope,” both men reply at the same time.

“Great,” you exhale a long breath. “Well, I suppose this is my life now.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Yeosang jokes, immediately regretting his decision to attempt to tease you when your eyes flash, a frown painting your features.

“I’ll go pack now,” your voice is bitter, a tenseness to your shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago when you turn your back to them and begin to retreat to your bedroom.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Jongho is throwing the other couch pillow at Yeosang’s head.

“Way to go, asshole.” Jongho hisses. “And we were finally making progress again, too.”

“Oh, don’t you dare blame all of this on me.” Yeosang rolls his eyes. “You’re the one that got all handsy first.”

“No, our eldest did that,” Jongho retorts, his words rumbling with the hints of a growl.

A scowl pulls onto Yeosang’s face as he leans back in his seat, both men now reeling in the bitterness that they felt - that they continue to feel - at the fact that Seonghwa of all people got to touch you first.

What they each wouldn’t give to have been in that position. To have you beneath their touch, to hold you in their arms, has always been one of their biggest fantasies. If only they could make them all into a reality. They would do anything to please you, and they hope that one day you’ll let them prove it.

Thirty minutes later and you’re appearing from down the hall, lugging two full suitcases with you. Immediately, both males are on their feet, each taking a bag from your hands.

“I have more, hang on,” you say, moving to turn around. However, before you can so much as face your hallway again, you see your suitcases disappear from their hands, vanishing in thin air. “What the fuck.”

“Our teleporting works on all things, both organic and inorganic.” Yeosang explains, casually, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” you reply, a hint of wonder in your tone which makes them both smile faintly. Then, you blink, as if realizing something. “Wait, if you guys can do that, then can-“

“Wait!”

“Again, what the fuck!” Your eyes go wide as you open the door to your spare bedroom where you keep all of your bookshelves to find them completely bare. Your stomach drops as panic washes through you. Have you been robbed? No, you don’t think so. It wouldn’t make sense with all of your valuables still here. “Where are all of my things?”

Of course, you had more than just books on your shelves. Photos, little trinkets, and even some extra folded blankets were held in this room, not to mention all the volumes of manga and albums you have been collecting over the years. All of them, vanished without a trace.

“One of you start explaining.” You turn to look at the two of them who stand wide-eyed in the doorway, and you just know they had something to do with this. “Now!”

“Remember that library Hongjoong told you about?” Jongho answers, a nervous lilt to his voice.

“You’re telling me, that he came to my apartment, alone, and brought all my belongings from within this room with him back to your domain?” You ask, a deadly look shining in your eyes.

“He wasn’t alone,” Yeosang replies. “Seonghwa went with him.”

Yeosang shouldn’t have said that. Yeosang really should not have said that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Angry doesn’t even begin to describe you as you run a hand over your face, feeling your body begin to heat as white hot fury courses through your veins. “When?”

“The day after you finally came to us.” Jongho decides that there’s no use in lying to you anymore. You were bound to find out soon, anyways.

“So, that thing about only being able to appear near me in glass objects was complete bullshit, wasn’t it?” You narrow your eyes at them.

If either one of them so much as damaged anything, or so much as got a spec of dirt, or hell, even a fingerprint on your collection, there will be hell to pay.

“No!” Jongho immediately raises his hands in front of himself in defence. “That was all true, we swear!”

“There needed to be a physical connection between us before we could transport ourselves anywhere that you’ve been that we haven’t,” Yeosang tells you, attempting to be a voice of reason for you during this time. “Your friend may have summoned us, but you didn’t. So, even if we wanted to appear around you in the physical world, we couldn’t. Only metaphysically until we established that connection.”

“Well, this is just making me feel loads better,” you huff, sitting on the edge of the guest bed while rubbing your hands over your face. “I-“

A knock sounds from your door, interrupting your train of thought.

Immediately, both males are turning around with a scowl on their faces as they practically glare holes into your front door. Neither particularly enjoy the loud thoughts radiating from your much too friendly neighbour who has just decided to pay you an unexpected visit.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you say, going to move past them as you hear another knock - this one a little more eager than the first - sound at your door. However, before you so much as undo the lock, you turn to face them once more, quirking a brow in the process.

Do you mind grabbing my other bags? They’re in my room.

Both males can only stand there and blink, momentarily stunned by the fact that you’ve just willingly spoken to them using your thoughts. Ecstatic doesn’t even begin to describe how they’re feeling, forgetting for a brief moment about the male behind your front door as pleased growls build in their throats, threatening to escape them at any second.

Without another thought, they hastily head to your room, practically shoving each other out of the way in order to be the first one to cross the threshold into your own private space. A space in which you’ve just practically invited them into for the first time, completely unaware of the meaning behind your request.

As soon as you see them disappear down the hallway, you’re breathing a sigh of relief. Turning back around to face the front, you flick the locks, swinging the door open in the next second. The sight that greets you brings a smile to your lips.

“Calum, hey!” You don’t think you’ve experienced this sense of happiness, this sense of normalcy in weeks. “How’ve you been?”

“Hey!” He greets back with a smile, pulling you in for a hug which you gladly accept. “I’m doing great! How have you been? I haven’t seen you around lately, is everything okay?”

You pull away from him, holding him at arms length as your smile shifts from genuine to semi-strained. “Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just busy lately. Life has really been kicking my ass.”

You share a small laugh, worry tugging at the back of your mind. You feel as if there’s a storm brewing behind you, hidden just around the corner of your hallway. One that you cannot control.

“If something’s the matter, you can tell me,” he says, genuine concern reflected on his features as his hands move to hold your own in his. Gently, he strokes his thumb over your skin, squeezing your fingers reassuringly. “I’m here for you.” Then, as if he’s finally decided to speak his mind, “I’ve missed you.”

A soft call of your name draws your attention to the side as you feel an arm snake around your waist from behind. Sparing a glance to the side, you see Jongho standing beside you, glaring directly at the man standing across from you. “Who’s this?”

“This,” you not-so-subtly elbow Jongho in the ribs, getting him to drop his hold on you in the process as you shoot him a pointed look, “is my neighbour, Calum.”

“What’s taking you two so long?” Yeosang appears beside you, his hand finding purchase on your lower back and causing you to stiffen immediately at his touch. He meets Calum’s gaze, a look of disinterest painting his features as he scrutinizes every inch of the mortal before him.

At least Jongho and Yeosang can agree on this. This human has nothing on them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Calum blinks, a bit taken aback. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit-“

“Watch your mouth.” It’s Jongho who cuts you off, successfully making you jump at the harshness of his tone, words directed at the man before you.

You can feel Yeosang’s fingers tense on your back, and you just know something bad is about to happen.

“Anyways,” you say quickly, already reaching to close your front door. “Great seeing you again!”

Without another word, you slam the door in his face, turning to look at the two demons practically fuming now as you rest your back on the now closed door. One look into their eyes and you see nothing but darkness swirling within.

“What the fuck was that about?” You frown, a hint of fear trailing down your spine.

“We’re leaving.” Yeosang reaches for you, but you recoil back, eyes wide as you press yourself against the door.

“Please, don’t be scared of us.” Jongho says, his tone suddenly soft as he finally reverts his eyes back to their normal colour.

“You would not believe the thoughts projecting themselves out of that thing’s head.” Yeosang adds with a huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“That person has a name,” you mirror his stance, frown still tugging at your features.

“Not for long,” Yeosang mumbles, and you swear your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

“Excuse me?” You look at him, incredulously.

“He doesn’t deserve to live with the things he was thinking about you.” Jongho breathes, eyes seeing past you and appearing as if his gaze is following Calum’s figure as it retreats back down the hallway and into his own apartment.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Well, they did tell you that they would do anything for you. Honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised that killing isn’t beneath them.

Yeosang and Jongho share a brief look. Of course they would kill for you. What type of demonic lovers would they be if they didn’t?

“Go on, then,” you motion for them to continue with your head. “What was he thinking?”

It’s Yeosang who meets your gaze first. “He didn’t actually care about how you were doing. The only thing on his mind was how he could get into your pants. Apparently, in his mind, you’ve been nothing but a ‘teasing bitch always leading him on’.”

“Huh, you think you know a guy.” You scoff, shrugging in the next moment. “Not any different than the majority of men I know. Honestly, I’ve been called worse.”

“He called you a-“ Jongho pauses, his entire body shaking with white hot fury as his eyes flash black once more, “a ‘slut’. A ‘fucking whore’ as soon as he saw us appear beside you.”

“Again, not the first time a man has called me those things after I’ve rejected them,” you say, nonchalantly.

You want to question whether or not they’re lying to you, but their reactions are far too genuine to simply be an act. You’re starting to understand what it means for them to lose control, especially when you are concerned.

“Who?” Yeosang immediately takes a step forward, causing you to push yourself further back into the door until he’s correcting his mistake, making the both of them take a few steps backwards to give you some space.

“You think I keep a list of all the people who have wronged me?” You laugh dryly, a roll to your eyes. “Yeah, Samantha pushed me off of the swing set when we were five and I scraped my knee. Jaehyun broke my heart last year and he didn’t even care about it.”

They both scowl, thoughts overcome with the need to protect you in any and every way they know how. These people have wronged you, and they no longer deserve to live for defiling you in such ways.

You sigh, not believing the words that are about to come out of your mouth. “Take me back.”

They blink at you, attempting to put a leash on their rage for the time being.

“Take me back,” you repeat, pushing yourself off of the door to stand in an upright position as your eyes close. “I’ve gotten everything that I came for.”

Just as Yeosang goes to reach for you, your eyes are flinging opened.

“Wait!” You’ve just remembered something.

Immediately, you brush past them and reenter your bedroom. A moment later and you reappear, three large stuffed animals clutched in your arms.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot these guys,” you shake your head, noticing the way the two of them wear looks of amusement on their faces. You narrow your eyes. “Not a word.”

Jongho raises his hands in a motion of surrender, while Yeosang simply quirks a brow.

“I sleep better when I’m holding onto something,” you admit, a heat rising to your cheeks. “The pillow isn’t quite cutting it anymore.”

Little do you know of the way your words effect them. Both would gladly let you cling to them whenever and wherever you wanted, especially if it meant you slept better through the night. Hell, they know they would rest better holding you in their arms for as long as you’d let them. Really, you need only ask.

“Alright,” your voice manages to pull them out of their thoughts. “Let’s go.”

It’s a bittersweet feeling. One that settles into your bones and fills your lungs as you take what are probably your final breaths in this apartment for the rest of your life. The harshness of reality slaps you in the face as your emotions begin to overwhelm you, resisting the urge to cry as you realize that you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to leave the home you so delicately created for yourself the past few years. You don’t want to abandon who you were, or what you did.

Only, before you can so much as utter a final goodbye, Yeosang is placing his hand onto the small of your back once more. In an instant, your room at the hotel greets you, and you find yourself blinking away tears as you throw your stuffed animals on the newly made bed. It looks as if someone cleaned your room while you were gone, your freshly packed bags sitting off to the side.

“Are you okay?” Jongho asks, voice soft as he takes a step towards you.

“No, I am not okay.” You hiss, turning around and sitting on the edge of the bed.

However, before either of them can say anything else, San, who had been walking past your room at hearing your thoughts returning within the vicinity, storms inside at seeing you in tears. Cautiously, he kneels in front of you, worry clear on his features as he spares a glance at his brothers out of the corner of his eyes. Cupping your face in his hands, he manages to wipe one of your tears away before you’re shrugging him off.

San stands, turning to face the others in the room. “What the fuck did you two do?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Yeosang narrows his eyes at the aforementioned male who is currently glaring at both him and Jongho.

“If this is about that bastard-“ Jongho begins, before you cut him off.

“I couldn’t give less than two fucks about him right now,” you snap, and you swear both Jongho’s and Yeosang’s chests rumble with pleased growls, whereas San just looks confused, his brow furrowing in response. “I really didn’t think I had to spell this one out for you.”

No, you really don’t. Your emotions lingering throughout your thoughts tell them enough, and all they can do is frown. If they could, they would take all of your pain away, replacing that longing, that sadness within you in a heartbeat. However, they cannot. The best they can do is offer you any sort of comfort that they can. Whether you choose to accept it or not is another story.

San turns his attention back to the other two males, his voice low. “What happened?”

Both Jongho and Yeosang share a look between themselves before they’re sharing their memories with their brothers. All of them.

And you let him live? Seonghwa snarls through their minds, and none of them have to see him to know the pure and utter fury that is shining in his eyes right now.

Anyone care to take a trip? Yunho hums, and they all know a maniacal grin is stretching over his lips in this moment. I think we owe the little worm a visit.

Already ahead of you, Wooyoung replies, a malicious glint in his eyes as he catches his own gaze in the mirror.

Skin him alive for me, would you? Mingi voices, already deciding that he’ll stay behind to make sure you don’t do anything rash. Besides, you thought about wanting to explore your new home earlier, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t at least one of the ones to show you around.

I’d prefer if you burnt him to a crisp, honestly. San adds, watching you carefully as you stand from your seated position on the bed and walk past the three of them into the bathroom. He’s also determined to stay back and watch over you, even if he so badly wants to unleash the seventh layer of hell upon the pathetic excuse of a human that so much as thought he could have any type of chance with you.

If anyone gets first dibs on how we torture the mortal, it’s us. Yeosang states, a cold fury held within his eyes.

Yeah, Jongho huffs, you guys had no idea how hard it was not to tear him apart limb from limb right then and there.

Then why didn’t you? Wooyoung snaps, anger clouding his mind.

Believe me, we wanted to. Yeosang sighs, both him and Jongho vanishing from the room as they meet the others at the front.

We just rather preferred not to have our beloved terrified of us for the moment. We’re pretty sure we’ve already freaked her out enough for one lifetime. Jongho purses his lips, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the five of them converge.

Looking around, their brows furrow. Someone is missing. Someone who has been very silent throughout this whole ordeal. Someone who is usually the first one to act when something like this happens.

Immediately, the five of them are transporting to your apartment. Opening the front door, they make the short trek down the hallway to Calum’s apartment, already feeling the wrath radiating outwards in waves. Carefully, they push the door open, eyes bleeding black as smirks tug at their features.

There, in the middle of the living room, stands Hongjoong. A blade rests in his hand, dripping with fresh blood as he glares at the man pinned to the wall before him. A man who lets out a muffled scream, struggling against the daggers piercing his skin and holding him in place off of the ground as he sees the five men enter the room, their eyes as dark as night and screaming for vengeance.

Hongjoong turns to look at them with his eyes already pitch black and screaming for blood. “Took you long enough.”

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jostyriggslover96 · 7 months

Text

Someone Unexpected

Summary: Kira (OC) and Jack met through mutual friends (Nolan Patrick and Nico Heiser) unexpectedly one summer. Feeling an instant connection, they decide to go on a date. Nerves take over as the two set out on what might be their first date of many. **This is a continuation of Kira & Jack from Summer Rituals, it might be helpful to check that out! *Kira's thoughts have been italicized.

Part of the HEART FIRST Series

Note: Thank you so much for all the love on Summer Rituals, I am super excited to continue Kira and Jack's story! All of your support means a lot to me! I have a lot planned with them, if you want to be tagged let me know.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, past relationships

Word Count: 6k

Life can be surreal sometimes with the way things fall into place. There is this saying about dating that I’ve always hated, ‘you’ll meet someone when you least expect it’. That saying has always set me off because it's never been true. I have spent my fair share of time alone and in relationships with shitty guys; yet, I have never met the right one when I’m not looking for anything. That is, until now.

To say I didn’t expect to meet anyone, let alone Jack Hughes on what seemed like a normal summer day was an understatement. I thought it would be a quiet day on the boat where I could read and Nolan could fish. When I showed up at the docks this morning, there he was in all his glory. Despite being completely enamored with Jack from the moment our eyes locked, I kept a safe distance from him when we all got on the boat. If Nolan invited him, I’m sure he wouldn't be an asshole, but I’ve been hurt one too many times to let my guard down. The last guy though, he did a number on me and it took a lot of time for me to heal. Between the cheating, body shaming, and belittling I experienced with my ex I learned to be very wary about trusting men. Even though it's been two years since I left my ex, I’m just starting to feel like I’ve found myself again.

As a protective factor, I kept my distance from the starry-eyed forward and focused my attention on ensuring Nolan didn’t hit any other boats as he backed out of the marina. Still, I didn’t think anything would come from meeting Jack until he sat down beside me and asked me about the book in my beach bag. That question started everything…the perfect day spent getting to know the perfect guy. I explained to him that the book isn’t really a normal book, but it’s actually a collection of poetry.

“So the poems all flow together, but they aren’t about the exact same thing,” I tried to explain to Jack as I thumbed through the book to show him some examples. He was surprisingly eager to listen to my explanation of what was probably one of my favorite collections of poems. Normally guys don’t really care much about my interests…but maybe Jack is different.

“Okay, and they’re all about milk and honey?” Jack questioned while he processed what I was saying. I let out a hearty laugh at his statement; not because he was way off, but because he actually cared. A smile crept across Jack’s face, “what’s so funny?”

“Milk and Honey is the title, but not really the theme,” I smiled while crossing my legs to lean closer to Jack, already starting to warm to him. “They’re about relationships and healing actually.”

“Oh, that actually sounds pretty good,” Jack mirrored my movements, shuffling closer to me on the bench we were sharing.

“Thanks for caring,” I said softly, shooting Jack a more timid smile. Feeling myself retreat to my meek demeanor.

“You like it, of course I care,” the words slid out of his mouth so naturally. Jack Hughes might actually be different.

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about anything and everything. Movies, music, food, some horrific stories I had from my time as a bartender. We even got into deeper topics too; what it was like growing up in Toronto for him, why I decided to get my first degree and my second, what it was like growing up with two brothers, my differing thoughts on only having one brother, and of course, hockey. Despite being apprehensive when I first met him, he was quickly knocking down the walls I built around myself to stay safe.

“So I originally wanted the number 6, but someone already had it when I came to the team,” Jack explained to me after we had been spending some time discussing what it was like being drafted and playing his rookie year.

“How did you come up with 86 then?” I asked as the sun glinted on my sunglasses. It had been a long afternoon on the boat, but we didn’t care. Jack spent the whole time talking to me, even ignoring the offers to try out wake-surfing when the guys asked.

“Well Quinn wears 43 so I wanted something that tied me to him,” he smiled softly as he tucked his wavy hair behind his ear. The wind was starting to pick up as he attempted to keep his flow at bay.

“He must mean a lot to you,” my fingers brushed his arm as I instinctively reached for him to offer some form of reassurance. Sparks shot through me like lightning as we touched for the first time. As I glanced down to where we connected, Jack reached forward to tuck the stray hairs that had fallen in my eyes. Warmth went rushing to my cheeks as my eyes darted back to his, he was watching me closely.

Shaking his head, as if he was in a daze, he refocused. “They both do, just don’t tell them that,” he joked, his laughter sent fireworks through my body.

Somehow he could be so serious yet sarcastic at the same time. The conversation with him just flowed, it felt so normal. He felt so normal with me. I never imagined that someone who is considered a rising star in the NHL could be so normal with me. Nothing felt fake or ingenuine, it all felt natural and comfortable. Feeling this way with a guy was a completely foreign feeling for me. Jack Hughes was a completely unexpected addition to my life, but even in the 10 hours I’ve known him it is beyond clear to me that he is someone unexpected that I was meant to meet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a long day out on the water, everyone was happy to get out of the sunshine and back to Nolan’s cabin. Despite being initially hesitant around Jack, we had bonded so much on the boat that we were basically attached at the hip. He even came with me when I stopped by my families’ cabin so I could change into some clothes for the evening. In the 5 minutes we were in the cabin, Jack was practically glued to the wall of family photos. He kept shouting questions to me while I was in my room, “Kira is this you in the Mickey ears?”. He was surprised to find out that I used to be a dancer, knew how to play hockey, and that I have a niece. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself as I gathered my things, Jack actually seemed passionate about learning more about me. He’s the first guy, probably ever, who has made that effort with me.

Jack and I walked back to Nolan’s cabin hand-in-hand, which captured the stares of our friends. I knew why my friends were surprised, I honestly haven’t shown any interest in another guy since my last breakup. I’m also not usually one for PDA, but there’s something about Jack that pushes me out of my comfort zone. We settled on a giant lawn chair big enough for two around the firepit and got cozy while everyone got ready to roast hotdogs. This was a typical summer night at the lake that I’ve always loved, with the welcome addition of Jack by my side.

As the night carried on, there was a slight chill in the nighttime breeze that sent shivers down my spine as I watched Nolan tend to the fire. Sensing my sudden chill, Jack pulled me into his side as we shared the plaid tattered blanket that was in the bed of Nolan’s truck. My body froze for a second at the sudden closeness of Jack, normally I was not one for any cuddling or closeness to any guy, let alone someone I just met. Yet as I gazed up into Jack’s soothing blue eyes, I relaxed almost instantly into his warmth. Our friends have been giving us both strange looks all day, clearly shocked at our instant connection. Cuddling under a blanket by the fire was sure to raise some eyebrows.

I didn’t care at all though, completely oblivious to the smirks and pointed looks of our friends as Jack and I settled into comfortable conversation while we roasted marshmallows for smores. Talking to Jack was so easy, maybe because I’ve never met a guy this interested in my life before. We spent the evening chatting about college, hockey, family, travel plans, and much more long after the sunset. We were so caught up in each other, we didn’t even notice that most of our friends had trickled inside or out to the dock.

Taking the final gulp of my beer while Jack told me a story about the lake house he was planning to buy with his brother, I finally noticed that Jack and I were alone by the fire as I set the bottle down. Glancing around over my shoulder to see where our friends had gone brought the same realization to Jack’s attention. Silence filled the air between us for a moment, tension buzzing between us like electricity.

“Soo…,” Jack trailed off as a smile graced his lips. “Guess they ditched us,” he smirked as my lips turned up into a smile to match his.

I let out a slightly nervous chuckle while I regained my bearings. Jack made me nervous, but not in a bad way. Not in the way I was uncomfortable with, but in a way that excited me. “Guess so, jerks,” I joked sarcastically. Jack let out a boisterous chuckle that sent fireworks right to my heart. I would love to hear that laugh for the rest of my life. Jack’s laughter didn’t last long as a serious look that I didn’t recognize graced his features.

“Actually, I was hoping to get you alone tonight,” Jack stuttered. He started scratching the back of his neck while fiddling with the ends of his hair. Suddenly I recognized the signs, he was nervous. It was actually quite sweet watching his demeanor shift.

“Oh yeah?” I questioned as I raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to explain himself further.

“Uh yeah,” he nodded for a moment. “Kira, there’s something I want to ask you.” His speech stopped as he waited to gauge my reaction.

“Go on Jack,” I encouraged, reaching for his hand that was resting on my shoulder to give it a squeeze.

With my reassurance, a smile formed on his lips once more. “Well, I was wondering if…” he paused to take a breath and perhaps gain some confidence. “Would you like to go out on a date with me?”

As the words left his lips and the sound met my ears, shock fell upon my face. My mouth went dry as I scrambled to find the words to answer his question. When was the last time someone asked me on a date? How do people usually respond to these questions?

“Shit, I freaked you out. I know we just met…” he trailed off. My shock was obviously spreading to him in the form of insecurity as his eyes dropped from mine. My mind continued to race as I struggled to find the words to convey my feelings on the matter. Oh god, what if he regrets asking me out?

“I’m not freaked out,” the words tumbled from my mouth without thought. Jack’s eyes lifted from my tattered black converse. “Surprised maybe, but not freaked out,” I commented while sending a warm smile his way.

Jack’s smile mirrored mine once more, god he has a beautiful smile. Moment of truth, time to answer a question that might change my life forever. “I would love to go on a date with you,” I let out a shaky breath as relief filled my body once more.

“Really?” Jack beamed.

“Absolutely Jack,” happiness filled my entire body like a tingle as I watched the gorgeous hockey player’s excitement grow.

“It’s not too soon?” He rebounded quickly.

“Jack, not at all,” I let out a breathy chuckle. “Would I say yes to anyone who asked me out on the first day we met?” I paused for a moment as curiosity filled his eyes. “Definitely not, but there's something different about you, Jack Hughes,” I commented as I stared longingly into his eyes.

“There’s something different about you too Kira,” his voice was but a whisper as he leaned closer to me to brush a few stray hairs behind my ear. His eyes darted to my lips before meeting my gaze once again. Before I could nod in silent permission that he could kiss me, Nolan’s deep voice shook me from my thoughts.

“Yo Kira, your car is blocking Jayden in,” Nolan shouted as he approached us from the cabin. My eyes rolled back as Jack dropped his head in defeat. I let out an exasperated sigh, fucking Nolan.

“Okay, I’ll move it,” I called back before smiling softly at Jack once more before throwing the blanket off my lap and pulling myself from the chair. I guess I’ll have to wait for our date for another chance at a kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A whole 12-hours have passed since my late-night cuddles by the fire with Jack and with that, our first date grew closer. 12-hours felt like an eternity since I last saw Jack, I miss those blue eyes and his smile. Neither Jack nor I wanted to wait long to have our first date, so we planned to have it the very next day. Since I was the resident expert at the lake, I planned our date because I know all the good spots. I also have my family cabin to myself for the week, meaning there won’t be any more interruptions from anyone else, especially Nolan.

As the clock struck 2, I nervously climbed into my hatchback feeling my heart race as I pulled out of the gravel-road makeshift driveway by our cabin. The drive to Nolan’s cabin was short, mere minutes, this didn’t help ease my nerves as I stopped in front of his cabin. Getting out of my car, I rounded the front and leaned against the passenger side to wait for Jack. As I was waiting I started nervously picking my nails, a bad habit I picked up many years before. Pulled from my thoughts as I heard the cabin door swing open, I glanced up and was graced with Jack’s heartstopping smile.

“Hey beautiful,” He smiled as he jogged down the few stairs on the deck and pulled me in for a hug before I could react. Inhaling for a moment as I felt his warmth, my nostrils were met with the soothing smell of his cologne, which could only be described as hot boy cologne.

Recovering from my initial shock, “don’t flatter me, I’m just in comfy clothes,” I retorted. Jack pulled away from our hug, I felt disappointment creep into my bones wanting to pull him closer once more. He eyed me skeptically before glancing down at my outfit; I was sporting lavender leggings with a matching sports bra and a loose white crop top.

“You make comfy clothes look good,” his voice filled with desire as he leaned in once more. He was so close that I could feel his breath dancing across my skin. “You look beautiful,” he whispered before pressing his lips to my cheek and pulling away. My hand shot up to my cheek, skin burning from where his lips once were.

Shaking myself from my momentary trance, I dropped my hand from my warm cheeks. “Well, let’s get going. You’re going to love this hike, it’s my favorite,” I commented as I made my way back to the driver's side to hop back in the car.

“Nice ride,” Jack commented as we were buckling in. Glancing up at him I sent him a warm smile as I started the vehicle before putting it in drive.

“I mean, it’s no Range Rover but it gets me from point a to point b,” I chuckled as we moved away from the cabin. Jack and I chatted comfortably on the short drive to the hiking trail, discussing the lake and its cutesy shops. I was focusing on the road but the few times I glanced over at Jack I caught him staring; he would always look away quickly but I did notice blush creeping up his neck. Maybe he had the first date jitters too.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly the rest of the short drive, I turned into the parking lot by the trail, relieved to see there weren’t any other cars parked. That meant the trail would be quiet, which is perfect for a first date. We both got out of the car as I made my way to the trunk to pull out the small backpack I brought with me. Jack offered to carry it as I reached back into the trunk for the bug spray.

“Did you use bug spray?” I asked softly. Jack scrunched up his face, clearly unhappy to see the repellent.

“No, I hate that stuff,” he mockingly gagged as I shook the can at him. I let out a laugh, my nerves slightly easing at his distaste.

“Well, unless you want to be eaten alive, I would use it,” I commented as I stepped back from him to spray myself down. Once I was done I handed him the can which he reluctantly accepted.

“This is necessary?” he questioned as he hesitated with the spray.

“Welcome to Canada,” I joked as I nodded my head. He sprayed himself with the bug protectant before tossing it back in my trunk. We locked up the car and headed over to the start of the trail just off the parking lot.

“So, you bring a lot of first dates here?” he teased. My cheeks felt flush as I glanced up at the hockey player who was towering over me. After staring into his eyes for a moment I determined that he was joking, we’re still figuring out these quirks about each other.

“Only the ones who are worth it,” I shot back as we started making our way onto the trail. “So my family normally comes on this trail every summer. It’s not super long or uphill but there is a gorgeous lookout point about halfway through,” I explained as Jack and I matched each other's pace. He seemed to enjoy my explanation, listening eagerly when I told him the story of how our family dog jumped into the pond on the side of the trail when she saw a butterfly one year.

“I see why you like this hike,” Jack commented. His voice was a little shaky in a way I didn’t recognize. “Worth it for the bug spray,” he chuckled. I let out a snicker at his clear hatred of bug repellent.

“You lived in Canada before, this can’t be your first experience with bug spray,” I teased. As we continued on the trail I started picking at the hem of my shirt, noticing a few rouge strings pulling away from the material.

“Doesn’t mean I like it, it feels greasy,” he scoffed. I nodded in agreement, he wasn’t wrong. As we rounded a corner venturing deeper into the trees, I stepped over a large tree root.

“Just be careful,” I commented, glancing up at Jack who was staring at me intently. “There are a lot of roots to watch out for…” I trailed off. Just as I was warning Jack about the trail I caught him catching a tree root with his shoe out of the corner of my eye. As Jack started to tumble down I instinctively reached out to grab him with both arms. He gripped my arms tightly as he went down on one knee, his cheeks were red when he met my gaze once more. “Are you okay?”

He took a moment, “Yeah, just my first time walking,” he joked sarcastically. I threw my head back in laughter for a moment before helping him get back on his feet. “Good to hear your laugh,” he smiled as he brushed himself off.

“I did try to warn you,” I feigned, throwing my hands up in mock defense.

“I just meant, you seemed…tense earlier,” he commented as he tried to gently find the words to point out my nerves. Pursing my lips I debated in my head for a moment, do I tell him?

“I’m a bit nervous,” I hesitantly replied, deciding to go with honesty.

Jack let out a long sigh of relief, “So am I, first dates ya know?”

“Oh I know,” I agreed as I felt the tension melt away from my body. Just admitting to the nerves helped relieve them.

“You have nothing to be nervous about Kira,” Jack’s voice was soft as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side as we started to walk again.

“Oh yeah?” I questioned, glancing up at him in uncertainly.

“Yeah, I like you,” he stated matter of factly, so sure of himself. I do love the confidence, he’s not even cocky at all.

“I like you too,” I feel a smile spreading across my face as I glance at the ground making sure we don’t take a repeat tumble. We walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, Jack’s arm still wrapped around me tightly. “So, are you going to hold onto me for the rest of this hike?” I teased.

“I’m not falling again,” he joked sarcastically. I echoed his laughter, feeling bold I wrapped my arm around his lower back as we continued walking. We spent the rest of the hike with our arms wrapped around each other, not caring that doing so slowed down our pace significantly. We just enjoyed being close to each other, it felt comfortable. The silence in the trees was filled with our discussions about our favorite summer memories with our families, he shared a lot about his summers in Michigan and I feel that I grew to know him even more with those stories. Despite being so hesitant yesterday, Jack was easily proving that we could have a normal connection despite his hockey superstardom.

After our hike, we planned to head back to my cabin for dinner. As we parked out front and pulled ourselves from the vehicle an idea crept into my mind. “Still feel greasy from the bug spray?” I questioned as he shut my car door. Nodding his head vigorously he swiped some of the bug spray off his arm as evidence. “You know we could go for a quick swim?” I gestured to the water just off the cabin. My family was lucky enough to have a lakeside cabin with a private dock that I spent most of my summers sitting on.

“I don’t have my swim trunks,” Jack commented hesitantly. I smirked at him for a moment before I started toying with the bottom of my shirt.

“That’s never stopped me before,” I teased before pulling my crop top off and tossing it at the hockey player. Jack’s eyes were wide for a moment as he mentally processed the shock from the shirt hitting him in the chest. He was quiet for a moment as I stared at him, hands on my hips waiting for his response.

“Yeah, I’m in,” he shrugged as a playful smile grew on his lips. We both quickly shed the rest of our clothes before we were left standing with him in his briefs and me in my underwear. Thank the gods that I chose cute underwear today. We both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, I had to try very hard to not openly gawk at his abs. Damn, he is gorgeous.

After taking in all of his beauty, a sly smile crept onto my face. “Race ya,” I shouted without warning as I took off for the water. Jack chased after me as I shot across the grass and to the wooden dock. I should’ve known he would be faster than me, I thought as he quickly caught up to me. He grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off the ground to spin me around. I couldn’t help the fit of laughter that spread through me as Jack twirled around while I was safely in his arms. “Jack, put me down,” I playfully smacked his shoulder as he carried me towards the edge of the dock.

A mischievous smile crept onto his lips that let me know that it was payback time. “Put you down? Are you sure?” He taunted as he held me over the water. I clung to him tightly as nerves spread through my body. He better not.

“Jacky don’t!” I pleaded as he swung me over the water haphazardly. He was obviously having a good time with this, laughing as I clung to him like a fearful koala bear. “Jacky please!” I begged.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” his voice dripped with sarcasm as he set me down on my two feet. I instantly stepped out of his hold and crossed my arms over my chest, inadvertently pushing my boobs up which caught Jack’s attention. Smirking as I noticed his distraction I quickly shifted all my weight forward and shoved him off the dock; I knew it was deep enough to be safe, having jumped off this dock my whole life.

“Shit!” he cried out as he stumbled backwards into the water, fully submerging beneath the surface. He emerged within seconds, a pouty look forming on his face. “That wasn’t very nice,” he whined. I chuckled, crouching to my knees to lean over the edge of the dock.

“Sorry Jacky,” I mirrored his pout. Before I knew what hit me, he smacked his arms against the water to splash me. Letting out a small scream as the cold water hit my skin, “meany,” I pouted.

“Sorry babe,” he teased but I didn’t care. Hearing the pet name shot butterflies to my heart and maybe elsewhere. He reached his hand out for me, which I naively assumed was to pull him out of the water. Using all of his strength, he pulled me off the dock and into the water as I crashed into him. Pushing my hair out of my eyes and sputtering water as I emerged from the surface, I gave him a playful shove.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I huffed as I sent some water splashing his way.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” he said between fits of laughter.

“Oh yeah, very funny,” I scoffed as I treaded water. “I thought you liked me,” mock sadness filled my voice.

“Babe, I like you, like a lot,” Jack commented as he swam closer to me, catching me with his arm and pulling me to his firm muscular body. My hands rested on his bare chest as I felt the butterflies once more. There we were staring into each other’s eyes on a beautiful summer day in the water. I couldn’t help but feel this wouldn’t be the last time this happened.

“I like you alot too,” I smiled softly. “But only if you stop splashing me,” I followed up quickly as I traced random shapes on his chest.

“Deal,” he snickered. We spent the better part of an hour swimming around, laughing, inevitably splashing each other more, and drying off in the sun on the dock. Our conversations continued to get deeper as we surpassed the surface level aspects of getting to know each other. He listened intently while I explained why I wanted a career where I could help people. I couldn’t hide my smile as he described having his dreams come true when he was drafted, hockey clearly brought him so much joy. We spent time discussing different sports we loved playing, and even more importantly, the sports teams we loved watching.

Our conversation never died down or got boring, I never want this date to end. After a while, my stomach started to grumble. I decided it was better to get started on supper before I got hangry as I shifted from Jack’s arms and pulled myself to my feet. Offering my hand to him to help him up, “how do you feel about steak?” I asked once he was on his feet towering over me once again.

“Like you might be my dream girl,” he smiled as we wrapped our arms around each other and walked off the dock together.

“Good, I might need your help with the broccoli though. It’s pretty tricky,” I joked sarcastically knowing it would get a rise out of Jack. Jack stopped dead in his tracks, stopping me with him.

“Did Nico tell you about that?” his voice was full of embarrassment. I smiled and leaned into him, wrapping my other arm around his waist as I nodded.

“I think it’s cute though,” I reassured him as he let out a sigh of relief as we stopped to collect our clothes before heading inside.

Once we were back in comfortable dry clothing, we got started on supper. Jack was surprisingly helpful in the kitchen, washing the lettuce and putting together a salad with my guidance. He was incredibly impressed that I could work a grill as well as I could and gave me endless compliments on my steak. Even joking that I needed to come live in Jersey to cook for him during the season. The dinner conversation was comfortable as we chatted about my plans for my final year of school, my tattoos, what it’s like to travel so much in the league, and our surprising shared love for fantasy football. Jack very passionately described all the fantasy leagues he is in while he cleaned up the whole meal. He insisted I sit down while he washed the dishes because I cooked such an amazing meal.

“A man who does chores, you truly know the way to my heart,” I joked as he topped up my glass of wine and started cleaning.

When everything was dried and put away, I felt dread seep through me, not wanting the night to end. I suggested we go sit on the dock to watch the sun set, an opportunity that Jack eagerly jumped on. So we dragged deck chairs down to the dock and comfortably settled in as the sun made way for the stars.

We sat in comfortable silence, my feet dangling in Jack's lap as he traced shapes on my ankles over some of my tattoos. He broke the silence first, “This connection is crazy.”

“Hmm,” I hummed as I tore my gaze away from the sun setting on the water to pay attention to Jack.

“The connection between us,” he reiterated. “I don’t know how you feel, but it feels strong to me,” he commented as his hands stilled on my legs. His gaze was soft, reassuring.

“I feel it too, feels like we’ve known each other way longer,” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear as I leaned back in my chair. “I feel comfortable with you.”

“Me too,” he smiled while giving my leg a little pinch, maybe to reassure me. I have never felt so comfortable with a man this quickly, not in any of my past relationships. It feels like there is this force pulling Jack and I closer, it’s what’s made our connection so strong. This feels so different for me, maybe he’s different from the other guys. I have a feeling he is. “Kira?” Jack’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as I let out a shaky breath. “You okay?”

Nodding silently, I try to muster up whatever courage I have within myself. “I was nervous today,” I start, Jack nods encouraging me to continue. “I was nervous because…” I pause for a moment and take a deep breath. Jack pulls me from my chair and into his lap, his arms feel like home. “Well, my last relationship ended quite badly. He really hurt me, I think intentionally and it’s just…just hard for me to open up to people,” letting out a shaky sigh as the words tumble out of me. It feels freeing actually, getting all that out, so it isn’t a secret looming over me.

Jack shifts me in his lap so I can meet his eyes, “I don’t know what happened in your last relationship, but Kira, I promise you I will never do anything to intentionally hurt you,” his words pierced my soul as his thumb grazed my cheek. “I can’t guarantee I won’t fuck up sometimes, but I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His eyes were locked on mine as I melted into his touch. “I know you will Jacky, I feel comfortable around you,” my voice is small as my eyes break from his and dart to his lips. He seems to pick up on my gesture as he takes my face in his hands.

“Can I kiss you?” Jack asks gently. I bite down on my lip to try to hide my smile as I nod my head. Time stops as Jack leans down to connect his lips to mine, his lips are warm against my own as they move in unison. Jack’s tongue ran across my own as I granted him entrance; he tastes sweet, like the wine we were sharing earlier. Our lips locked for a while before we both pulled away for air, huffing as we did so.

“That was…” I trailed off, resting my forehead against Jack’s.

“Pretty damn amazing,” Jack finished my sentence. We stayed like that for a while, foreheads resting on one another; the sunset in the distance long forgotten.

“You know,” Jack’s voice broke through the comfortable silence. “You got to plan our first date, it was cool to see your favorite spots,” his breath tickled my skin as we remained close.

“I’m glad you liked it,” I smiled as I pecked his lips gently.

“This just means that I need to plan a date where I show you my favorite spots in Michigan,” he smiled as a playful energy danced through his eyes.

“Bold of you to assume there will be a second date,” I teased. Jack threw his head back in laughter, enjoying the playful jokes we were already comfortable sharing.

“If you’ll have me,” he pouted jokingly.

“Oh I guess, if I must,” I mocked, unable to hide my smile.

“If you must,” Jack scoffed as he brought his lips back down to mine. Resuming our passionate makeout session, pulling away a few minutes later we were both panting like teenagers with no stamina.

“Okay, fine. I’ll go on another date with you,” I commented as our lips were still attached.

Jack smirked against my lips, “Good, glad I could convince you.”

“You are very convincing,” I said before pulling him in for more. We spent the rest of the night kissing and cuddling underneath the stars, enjoying each other’s company and growing closer than I ever imagined.

It’s hard to believe this was only our first date, everything is so comfortable between us. Feeling hopeful that there would be another date with the gorgeous hockey player, I can finally smile when thinking about meeting someone when I least expect it. Jack truly came into my life when I didn’t expect it and I hope that he’s here to stay.

#jack hughes #my writing #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes fic #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl hockey #hockey #nj devils #new jersey devils

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januaryembrs · 2 months

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [10]

Description: Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

Word count: 12.6k

Trigger Warnings: okay so; HEAVY TRIGGER for drug use and overdose/ accidental suicide. guns. blood. gore. abusive relationship. poverty. HEAVY ON THE ANGST PEOPLE. suggestive tones in parts.

authors note: I'm sorry this has taken forever and a day to post, I had planned to upload on valentines day however life got in the way in every way it possibly could and so this got put on hold for few days, I hope that's okay! enjoy!!

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Boys, get down here. Dinner’s going cold.” She called up the stairs, her voice already that of a tired mother. Mathew practically skidded past her bounding down the stairs, god knows that boy knew how to eat, even if the parsnips were stone cold he would still devour them whole, “Where’s Mikey?” She yelled after him, her tattered apron tied around her waist, greasy fingerprints dragged down the whites.

“In his room,” Joey said, his bulky glasses deep in his new crossword book, “Nine down, a second chance at life?”

His sister looked up the stairs worried, her natural expression whenever Mikey wasn’t under her constant watch, before she met his gaze, adjusting fake pearls around her neck.

“Huh?”

“Second chance at life. Nine letters.” He repeated, scratching the light smattering of facial hair he had only just been able to grow. He felt her fingers deftly begin to fix the tie around his collar, the golden fairy lights wrapped around the bannister illuminating where her red nail polish chipped around the edges.

“After life?” She guessed, straightening his shirt out for him, fussing like she had always done. He shook his head, wincing as she screeched over his shoulder into the dining room. “MATHEW, PUT THE ROAST POTATOES BACK- THOSE ARE FOR EVERYONE,” She tutted under her breath. Sometimes he forgot she was only seventeen. “Sam, can you get the stuffing out the oven,”

A grunt of agreement from the second boy, before a six foot tall, moody boy shuffled past the open door with bumblebee oven mitts on which took every ounce of attitude out of him.

“One word,” Joe said, his eyes flicking over to the vinyl player that stuttered on its eighth run through of ‘Fairytale of New York’.

The tinsel she’d braided into her hair rustled, eyes identical to his own watching his mouth quirk in thought.

“You’re supposed to be the genius of the family,” She teased, her finger nudging under his chin affectionately before she released him, pecking his forehead as he passed her to go take a seat at the table. She fussed some more over the baubles hanging from the tree on her way to the kitchen, straightening out the few stragglers, her pruning fingertips brushing over the fleece blankets covering the back of the sofa, as if she needed to feel their home to remind her where she was, “How about Migration?”

“Good, but it ends in T,” He called out to her, watching his eldest brother look up guiltily where he had a dollop of mash on a spoon, his mouth already full.

It seemed their sister caught onto his greed as she sharply smacked him over the back over the head, ripping the spoon from his hand, “Pig,” She spit at him, not that it seemed to phase him too much as his eyes already set on the small beef loin, the fat dripping off the plate tenderly, “I’m going to get Mikey. Resurrect?”

His eyes lit up at the suggestion, scribbling it down in his book. The cinnamon candle burnt strongly in the centre of the table, warm and spicy, just how Christmas should smell.

It didn’t negate the fact they had all had to go easy on showers for the week, or that the house was freezing at night or that it was obvious all of their “Fancy day” clothes smelled like a charity shop.

Joseph was only thirteen and already he’d noticed how exhausted his sister seemed every day. He’s stopped thinking about it so much, seeing as she’d always been that way, but the drain on her body was clear as anything nowadays.

Joey was just a kid, but so was she.

It wasn’t long before the final two of their little family came traipsing down the stairs, Mikey’s hand tight in his sister’s. At twelve years old, he was still a dot of a boy, scrawny, practically all ribs she would say, and he was a weepy one too. It wasn’t a surprise the kids at school were so cruel, even their own father, when he bothered to drag himself home from the pub or his friends’ sofas, would say the fire had died out a little more with every kid that came out of his ex-wife. His sister was so fierce she could melt the world’s core if she wanted to, Joey was convinced of it. Matt simply was untouchable despite the kids at school taking digs at him just as often as they did Mikey, as if he knew from birth he was getting out of this hell hole, that he was made for better than this. Children could sniff out the ones among them that were struggling like a cadaver dog onto a corpse, and once they latched on they rarely let go. Then was Sammy, and well, one look at him and he spoke for himself. At fifteen he was already broad enough that the kids picking on Mike turned to deadly silence when he was around; grumpy as a mule, cold as their mother, a boy with a bitter face. His sister would rub her thumb over the scowl that marred his brow, trying to flatten the crack where his nose met his forehead, where the anger seemed to settle. She hated seeing them upset; had the unshakable need to fix them.

Joey was her smart boy, trying to fly under the radar and cause her less anguish than he saw the rest of the boys gave her. He thought sometimes, when she would come home at 2am in her clothes from the club, bruises on her arms, when she would make them both a cup of tea and help him with homework, he thought then that he might even be her favourite. They all vied for her attention, only her and Matthew even remembered their mother, it only made sense that she was the next best thing for her boys.

But she was more than just a stand in for their mom. She was their everything, even with the fights over who was doing laundry, the yelling between her and Sammy when she would have to pick him up from the station for the nth time that month for petty thievery, even when Matt started wolfing down a rogue handful of carrots that had fallen onto the dinner table and she had all but dragged him by the ear into the kitchen to go get them drinks.

They revelled in their little bubble, knowing the only thing they’d be given for free in this world was each other.

And when they had finally sat down for christmas dinner, the smoke from the DIY Christmas crackers tiny Mikey had made lingering with a sulphur bite to their nose; when Sam flashed them all a rare laugh as she read out the terrible jokes hidden inside, the paper hats falling down over their eyes as they laughed, their full tummies hurting, plates polished of every scrap, Matt ofcourse eating the left over yorkshire puddings as if they were crisps. When they’d sat in front of the TV that only had four channels and a hefty video player underneath, Joey fiddled with the only film they ever bothered to watch on Christmas Day.

The sepia scene met the soft orange of the fire she’d lit for them, every light besides the ones on the tree turned off for their movie. Joey and Mikey sat practically two inches from the screen, a somewhat stale bowl of popcorn passed between them.

They watched in awed silence as Dorothy ran down the country lane, Toto at her heels, her auburn hair jumping behind her in bunches as she looked over her shoulder.

Running away, always running away, same as she was every year they watched.

“She isn’t coming yet, Toto. Did she hurt you?” Judy Gartland fawned over her pet, the gingham dress bunching around her knees.

Worried, always worried. Always preening. Always fixing.

And by the time the twister came to rip her away from her family and send her to Oz, the girl who wasn’t Dove just yet was already asleep on Sammy’s shoulder, the grumpy boy knocking his head against hers affectionately, silently, the crunching of popcorn and the slurping of an off brand Cola the only things that cut through the sound of the movie.

Unaware, naive to what was about to happen to her.

—

Dove and Steven had a glint in their eyes that she was sure would never be wiped off as they walked beside one another, their pinky fingers clasped tightly together.

He had a dopey look on his face, not even watching where they were going as he stared at her side profile, seeing the warmth meeting her eyes for the first time in a while. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from the smiling, biting her bottom lip like she had a secret.

She would glance back at him every so often, only to see him already staring, his brown eyes softer than a cup of hot chocolate, swirling with adoration and melting at the sight of her meeting his gaze.

After the fourth or fifth time, she reached up to brush her nose gently, “Do I have something on my face?”

He didn’t even answer, he just pulled her in for another kiss, his free hand tugging at the fat of her hips, squeezing gently as he kissed her with a greed she felt high on.

She held back a whine, the hands on her body kind and loving, overwhelming, invading, saturating her with something so entirely like home she felt her face run hot.

She giggled into his mouth as he released her, her hands finding the sides of his neck, thumb running over either side of his jaw as she felt him smile under her touch.

“Steven?” He seemed dazed, eyes never leaving her lips as she said his name again, giddy like his brain had malfunctioned and slowed, “Do I have anything on my face?”

He mumbled something wordless, shaking his head slightly, looking back at her goofy smile as she waited for a real answer. As if it had only just caught up with him, his brow creased, meeting her eyes with a bit more clarity than before.

“Huh?” He asked, to which she giggled and kissed him some more. She was sure her heart was pounding out of her ribs, and that he could hear it from how closely he was pressed to her front.

“You’re staring, I thought I had something on my face,” She said, his nose brushing against hers as he dipped in to kiss the laugh lines of her cheeks, “Do I?”

Steven shook his head, his gaze fanning over the entirety of her face and landing where he wanted her the most, back to her lips that smiled at him in content.

“No, just,” He stopped himself from kissing her again, worrying he was smothering her, though some part of him knew she craved the touch as much as he did. She told him as much by the way her fingers intertwined in the root of his hair, pressing into him like a cat purring under his hand, “You make me really happy,”

Her throat bobbed, the smallest of tears springing to her eyes as she kissed him one last time. She wished she could meld her body to his, couldn’t wait for them to have a moment alone when she could take him fully if he would have her again. Truthfully, selfishly, she couldn’t give a damn about Harrow all that much anymore, her entire being hollow the moment she pulled away from him. He’d changed the epicentre of her world the moment she’d heard those three words.

He loved her.

She didn’t deserve it, but he loved her.

Shuffling away from him, not entirely unaware of how his hand was reluctant to drop her waist, how his lips chased hers, how he seemed to pout when she put some distance between them.

“You make me really happy too, Steven,” She said, her voice mellow and buttery, moving to hold his hand properly, the two of them setting off back to where Layla seemed to be fiddling with something from her backpack.

She knew she would never be good enough for him, that he deserved someone so much better, but it was difficult to hear the horrid thoughts that whirred around the abyss of her head when she heard him softly chuckle, smiling to himself as if he couldn’t believe the words out of her mouth.

Sometimes it’s not about deserve. That’s what Marc had said. And maybe she could start believing him. Because it was Marc, and Marc knew everything. Marc would know what to say, know how to soothe the feeling of rot that threatened to ruin Steven’s sweet words, his soft kisses.

Marc would fix it. Marc would understand. She was sure of it.

–

“We’re going to belay down there,” Layla explained, securing the mountaineering rope to the clasp on her waist, tightening the notch and giving the cable an experimental tug.

The two of them blanked, looking at one another in their own sets of gear that the woman had them step into with little explanation.

“I think we should be right on time, Harrow shouldn’t be too far ahead of us-” Dove started, only to be cut off by the older woman with a scoff and an eye roll.

“Belay. It means we’re going to lower ourselves down using our own weight.” Dove’s face fell in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly as Layla shook her head with a hidden chuckle.

“Right, got it.” She held her hands up, nudging Steven’s when she saw his smile widen, if that had even been possible, “Floor is yours,”

Layla hid her laugh with a cough, taking one confident step off the ledge and down into the tomb, the rope gently dropping her into the darkness.

Dove and Steven watched with bated breath, the former leaning forwards to ensure she had reached the floor safely. Her eyes squinted, not seeing all too much other than the broken steps that would have once been functional, that were half buried in sand by now.

“Be careful love,” She felt his fingers loop into her harness, keeping her safe even though they both knew she could survive the fall and much worse.

She smiled, ready to reply when she saw a flash of Layla’s torch from below, and the woman’s face returned.

“Alright, it’s safe. Come down one at a time,” She instructed, the younger woman sticking a thumbs up at her and moving back into a hard chest where Steven hovered over her.

“I’ll go first,” She said, reaching for the clip and tightening it to her harness the way Layla had.

“Wait, shouldn’t I go first? Make sure it’s working properly?” Steven said, though his voice hardly matched the chivalry of his words. She smiled toothily at him, tugging on the rope once to set it in place.

“Put it this way, honey. I can survive broken legs, but I need every bit of you to function or else I don’t know how I’m going to repay you,” It was new. It was flirty. She had a cheeky twinkle in her eye that reminded him she was able to be girlish and happy and tease him and call him honey and it all felt normal and he wanted more of it by the bucket load. He’d not seen her like this perhaps ever. He fell in love with her even more. He didn’t even think he could.

His mouth moved in an attempt to say something, his face tinging red at the implication of her words.

“You don’t have to repay me,” He murmured, feeling her fingers loop through his belt, a heat to her gaze that had his skin prickling.

“I know,” She pecked his lips one more time before they had to be parted even if it was only for a matter of a minute or two, “I just really want to,” She drew back when she heard his breath stutter, his cheeks growing all the more darker in their cherry red shade, and gripped the top of the rope the way she’d seen Layla do.

“Ok-kay,” The man stammered, his palms sweating, nose tingling with heat.

“See you in a minute,” She quipped with a deep breath for courage, stepping into the darkness as her body weight tugged against the rope.

Her feet met the sand faster than expected, stumbling a moment before she steadied herself, fingers quickly undoing the harness that sat around her thighs and waist.

Taking in the small entrance to the catacomb, she saw Layla crouched over the foot of a statue, her own torch clamped tightly in her grasp. Figuring she was conducting her own search, she chanced a look back up to where Steven’s dopey grin looked down at her, as if cartoonish pink hearts swirled around his head.

“It’s safe!” She called up, as she fumbled with the latch around her harness, “Just need to get this off-”

The wind was knocked out of her as a body crashed into her own, two startled voices filling the cave, two hands pinning either side of her, landing on her back with a shooting pain through her brow.

She groaned in unison with the heavy body atop her, feeling where his head had banged against hers.

“Guess you could say I’m really falling for you,” Steven’s joke melded with a grunt as he pried himself off her, feeling Marc huff in annoyance from inside the head.

“Huh?” Her voice was muddled, her face scrunched in pain. She barely heard what he said before he had stumbled to his knees, holding his hand out to lift her off the floor.

“I said- Nothing- Sorry love,” Steven stuttered, his hand pawing at his aching temple, pulling the girl back to her feet, “Guess I just need a bit of practice at that Belay thing,”

“A bit?” Layla scoffed, though she watched the pair with a hidden smirk, the bumbling mess of limbs as they dusted themselves off and unhooked their gear, “You okay?”

“I’m aces,” He said, turning to where Dove had dirt collecting in her hairline. Reaching a hand up to help her brush it away gently, he was distracted by the huge statue of big cat, most likely a lion, engraved into the stone, “Look at you,” He murmured breathlessly.

It was her turn to warm under his brazen words, stilling her movements, fingertips rubbing away the traces of sand clinging to her clammy skin.

She laughed with more shock than anything, though it sounded more like a choke, swallowing heavily as she braved to meet his gaze.

Her brow furrowed as she flicked a glance over her shoulder at the artwork along the wall, untouched for hundreds of years, the paint lines a thick and dark umber red as if sketched only yesterday.

Looking back to him, she crossed her fingers he hadn’t seen her flattered expression, knowing better than to be embarrassed around him yet she couldn’t deny those three words spread the heat back through her gut that he had satiated only moments earlier.

Clicking her torch back on, she threw her attention away from those soft brown eyes, back to the sculpt of the lions, the stone cracking as chalky under their years of solitude, but striking nonetheless.

“If they just sprang to life right now and asked me a riddle for passage, I’d be thrilled,” Steven said, his voice that of a boy at Christmas, “I’d shit myself, but I’d be thrilled,”

Giggling behind besotted eyes, Dove moved to head further into the tomb, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw freshly drawn initials in the sand.

Glancing back to where Layla seemed to shrink in demeanour, she gestured to the markings with her light, “Did you do these?” She asked, curious to her motives.

“Yeah,” She cleared her throat, averting her eyes to the wall opposite them where vibrant blues and sunflower yellow strokes stared back, “Yeah it’s for my father. He would have loved to be here,”

“Big history buff is he?” Steven asked, the three of them setting off through the tunnel, leading them further into the crypt.

“So much worse,” The El-Faouly woman replied with a smile, falling into step with the duo, “Archeologist with a mission,”

They all breathed a laugh, the air stagnant and musky around them, the smell of a place only the dead seemed to know the past few thousand years.

“And to him it was a dream worth dying for. And he did,” She went on, Dove’s face falling into solemn sorrow. She knew, if Layla was anything like she was, she would hate the idea of hearing an apology, would hate the idea of someone feeling sorry for her. She had barely been treading water the past day or two, fighting to stay in Layla’s good books, she feared if she were to show any remorse now it would only earn her a slap to the face.

“Did he dig it?” She asked, her face forlorn and wary as she toed the boundary between their friendship. Casting a glance back at Layla and Steven, she gulped, “So history, you could say he dug it?”

The light bulb went for both of them, Layla frowning with a defeated grin.

“That was awful,” She playfully shoved the younger woman, who took it with no bother, smiling back in relief her joke had been taken kindly, “That was the worst-”

“I quite liked it,” Steven inputted helpfully, also earning a bash to the shoulder as Layla laughed.

“Not a word from the two of you now unless it’s something useful,” She scolded, leading the way through the tightening corridor, the darkness encompassing them in something that felt like comradery.

“Did you want to hear the one about the dinosaur’s dog-” Dove started, the words echoing around them as they headed further in, only to be stopped again by Layla’s softened voice.

“Do-you-think-he-saurus rex!”

–

She stared at the house, the one she’d been born in, the light in her room long since switched out. She wouldn’t blame them if they’d taken over her room, it was the biggest one, though that wasn’t saying much. She could see it now, Mathew shotgunning the double bed the moment she left, there was more than enough room for Billie’s small cot next to him. She’d grabbed what she could the day Oz had taken her away, but she wouldn’t bat an eye if they’d sold the clothes she’d left, or even thrown them on the fire to stay warm.

No, she wouldn’t blame them for erasing all memory of her. She’d been the one to leave, not them. As far as they knew, she’d not made contact whatsoever. Her letters had never been sent, never even left the house.

She’d not seen home in three years. It was smaller than she remembered. Darker.

The duffle bag was clutched tightly in her hands, wringing the fabric of the handle between her fingers. The accelerator had been to the floor the entire way here, the blood was still caked thick in her hair, under her nails, stained parts of her skin.

Frank’s blood. She wondered if the neighbours had called the police yet, if they ever would since he kept them so isolated. Wondered if she was already a suspect in his murder.

She shook in her shoes at the thought, though that may just be the December night air.

A figure came storming out of the front door, hands in his pockets, his coat thin and moth eaten.

Mathew had never been a tall boy, not even at eighteen when she’d last seen him, especially not now at twenty. He was always thin in his face, despite devouring the most out of any of them, his eyes always tired. Though, becoming a dad at such a young age would do that to someone.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes roving over her with a grand mix of anger and worry. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, as if he’d seen a dog returning home with its tail between its legs. Which was sort of how she felt.

“Matty-” She breathed, her exhale clear as day in the freezing night, only he scoffed at the words. He may as well have spat in her, “I don’t have time to explain-”

“What?” He growled, lip sneering in a way that looked too much like their mother, “Where the fuck have you been?”

She baulked, eyebrows furrowing in a way that she willed herself not to burst into tears. She wanted to head inside, wanted to curl up on the old, ratty sofa they’d had since she was young, wanted to feel Sammy’s head knock against hers affectionately, the only sign the grumpy boy ever gave that said he loved her, despite the fact she knew. She wanted to scold Matty for eating all the bacon out the fridge, help Joey finish his sudoku, wanted, no, needed to see Mikey, see he was okay. Last time she’d been here, she’d found him stashing pills for his friends she knew had a one way ticket to juvie or the streets.

She’d left for all of them, left to get them a better life. And now she was standing outside her childhood home, drenched in bloodied clothes, her body used, beaten, betrayed. Grace was gone. Frank was dead.

This was all she had left. Her boys were all she had left.

“I don’t have time,” She repeated, forcing the duffle bag into his hands, hoping he missed the way the blood collected beneath her nails. She’d scrubbed off what she could before she left, but she knew had it been daylight he’d notice the red ichor immediately, “This is for you,”

“Wha-” Matty looked as if he could swing for her, and she knew she deserved it. She’d left them. Her bottom lip trembled at the very thought. He said her name, only now it seemed dirty, filthy, tainted, like that name had been said by so many awful men she felt as though it was muddied even Matty when he said it, “You leave us to rot for three years, and all of a sudden you just swan in here with presents-”

“Mathew, be quiet,” She barked, hearing his voice grow louder and louder, echoing in the silent street she used to run down to catch her bus, “I have to go,”

He stopped, staring at her teary eyes for a moment, and then laughed. Loud and cruel, and she knew his vitriol was still ongoing, knew she wouldn’t even stop him if he wanted to throw a cruel hand across her face for running away.

She was such a coward. She was a liar. A murderer. But she was a coward above all of that.

“Did we stop being good enough for you, huh?” He spat, trying to hand her the bag back, “I don’t want your pity or your little presents, take it-”

“It wasn’t like that,” She pleaded, wrestling with him to keep the bag strap in his grasp, “Mathew, just take the bag,”

He shoved her away, but she didn’t relent, her mind set on getting him to take the damn money, the fucking notes that mean nothing to her anymore. There had to be at least thirty grand in there by now, probably more.

“We needed you, and you weren’t here,” Matt stumbled away from her as she forced the bag into his chest. His voice trembled in a way it hadn’t since he was a boy, since she used to bathe him with that damn toy boat, wash his hair with dish soap, “Social Services know about Mikey and the pills- they want to take Billie away-”

She stopped at that, the two of them looking at each other for the first time since she’d shown up. His eyes were watery, where hers were empty. His sister had always been strong, Matt didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry in all the years of shit she’d trodden through for them. She had always looked exhausted, as if her brain was fired up every moment of the day, as if she could go for a three day nap and it wouldn’t so much as touch her.

But this was worse. She wasn’t tired. Wasn’t thinking hard. His sister didn’t even look alive.

Whoever it was staring back at him was not the girl he remembered. Someone could tell him a wraith had crawled into his sister’s skin and dragged her back here with the sole mission of getting him to take the damn bag, and he’d believe them.

She looked dead. She felt it too.

“Is that-” He stopped himself, a bitter hand reaching up for a mark on her face that glinted under the moonlight, “Blood?”

She froze, and for a moment neither of them said anything.

Her breath rattled in her chest, the stickiness of Frank’s blood clinging her clothes to her skin, and he realised once he’d actually taken the sight of her in, that she smelled metallic, that she had a thousand mile stare that had not been there the day she’d left them.

“Everything I’ve done, I did it for you.” She said after a moment’s reprieve and the anger brewing in his frown wiped immediately, the words soothing his fury into a simmering guilt.

He tried to say her name again, only to have her cut him off, shoving the back into his arms with finality, her eyes blank, leaving no space for questions, for retaliation.

“Get Mikey a lawyer. Get him to rehab. Read the letters, or not, I don’t care,” But she did. She cared more than anything. Cared so much she needed to run, now, cared so much she knew every moment she spent talking was more time for him to be incriminated in what she’d done. “I have to go, it’s not safe,”

He wanted to hug her; he’d never been the affectionate one, she usually saved her cuddles for the younger ones. He wished he’d hugged her now. Wished he’d dragged her back inside, gotten her warm in front of their fire, forced the truth out of her. Anything to tell him what that look on her face had meant. Anything to make her stop seeming so dead it scared him like a child.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t, not even as she all but sped away in a car he’d never seen before, a limp he’d not noticed through his anger fogged brain as he’d stormed down their front path.

He barely caught Sammy, filling their entire doorway with his form that had only grown tenfold, if that had even been possible, since his sister left, looking like a kicked dog behind angry eyes that glinted with rare tears.

“Come on, Sam,” Matty said, brushing past his little brother, though he towered over him for a nineteen year old, heading inside their small house that had felt colder since she’d abandoned them, “We’ll sort it out in the morning,”

But Sam didn’t. He watched the broken tail lights of the car speed off into the distance, until they were no more than a sound rattling around the silent neighbourhood. Only then did he let himself begin to cry, hoping she came back for them soon.

–

“It’s a maze,” Layla said, as the three of them traipsed through the tunnels that certainly looked like they had seen better days. Dove startled a bit at the bugs that skittered up the walls as the light hit them, no doubt a little frightened themselves at the rude intrusion from the trio, though she stuck behind Layla. She’d fought demon jackals, men with guns, lived a double life but bugs were what scared her.

“It’s a-maze-ing,” Steven replied, snickering to himself, which had her giggling too, shaking her head at the man behind her.

“She means there are six paths, Steven,” D ove clarified, and he hoped the light covered the way his cheeks rouged.

“Right, yeah, yeah,” He replied, sticking his head down one of the thin alley ways to scope out the labyrinth they’d found themselves in, “Six points,”

Dove hung back as Layla went towards another one of the pathways, eyes clocking a stone surface planted directly in the middle of the antechamber, the sand laying thick over the top, yet uneven as if the stone wasn’t entirely flat.

Her brows furrowed, and she traced her finger deeper in the dust, carving out where the ridges grooved into the table. She made an almond shape, an arching line parallelling it, before she realised what the marking was, her brows shooting into her forehead.

She saw a torch flick over where she worked, felt Steven’s body press against her side as if he’d forgotten what personal space was exactly.

“You don’t think…” He started, watching how her soft fingertip swirled around into a spiral the two of them had seen a million times walking past the exhibits on the way to the gift shop, “This whole structure is-”

“The Eye of Horus,” She finished, curving around to create the iris. As if proving her point, Steven’s light reflected off the the shiny stone of the table, producing the identical symbol on the ceiling of the room, which had her nudging his hand, pointing to the light, “Look at that,”

“Wow,” He hummed, his eyes flicking between the eye and the wonder on her face as she smiled wryly at the stone, “It’s the royal symbol, protection in the afterlife.”

“I mean the resources needed to build this-” Layla added, looking between all of the corridors that had certainly not been crafted in a day’s work, nor had it been done cheaply, judging by the quality of stone that surrounded them. She stopped, her eyes wild with excitement as she looked at the two of them, “Her final avatar was a pharaoh,”

A breath whooshed from Dove’s lungs, jaw gaping, feeling Steven practically buzzing in his shoes beside her.

“A bloody pharoah,” He repeated, the joy coating his words like a kid on Christmas. He and Layla chuckled between one another, before their gaze fell on Dove, who stared at the drawing in the sand as if it would outright speak to her.

“So you think it’s a map?” Layla asked, her fawn eyes dropping to the girl who bit her lip unsure.

She nodded, gaze scanning over the drawing again, as Steven’s rough finger followed where her own hand had traced just moments before.

“Right. So the eye of Horus is also the Eye of mind, yeah?” He asked, his face now more serious than she’d ever seen him, as he thought harder, “Representing the six senses, six points.” He gestured to each of the corridors that lead away from the chamber they huddled in, “So you’ve got the eyebrow that denotes thoughts. Pupil, sight obviously.” He followed each of his words with his calloused fingers, the same ones that had been down her trousers not so much as a few hours ago. She felt her stomach writhe at the thought, “This point here is, uh, hearing. Smell. Touch. And this long line ending in a spiral is the tongue,”

She felt her eyes train on his lips as he said it, his gaze falling to her face where she stood besides him, watching every movement on his lips as if she could barely hold herself back from meeting their mouths then and there.

“The avatar would be Ammit’s voice,” Layla murmured, entirely unaware of the heated thoughts racing through the girl’s mind as she stared at the man, his own expression indiscernible, meeting her eyes with his own chestnut hues, “We should head this way,”

Layla took off towards the route the tongue pointed them to, the two of them hanging behind for a moment, unable to rip their eyes from one another.

“What’s that look for?” Steven asked, chuckling nervously as he tried and failed to pull his gaze away from her where she licked her lips slowly. Leaning towards him, her fingers found the front of his jacket as she pulled him closer, kissing him gently, though there was a subtle bite to it that went straight to his trousers as he melted.

Pulling away, she looked at him with a spritely kind of excitement, as if she loved every moment of looking at him like that.

“Did I ever tell you how amazing I think you are?” She asked, her face warm with adoration, and the words had his cheeks blazing instantly.

“You mentioned it once or twice,” He joked, both of them knowing full well the girl was known to give him every compliment she could even before they had been brave enough to admit how they felt for one another.

She snickered, pulling away from him to follow where Layla had wandered off too, looping a pinky finger in his own to encourage him to follow. Had she not, he was sure he’d be rooted to the floor, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down, or even for his cock to calm enough that he could move without feeling it press against his trousers.

He cursed himself moments later, when his brain caught up to him, that he hadn’t told her just how amazing he thought she was.

Yet Steven felt his jeans tighten again when he thought of one other way he could show her just what he felt.

The heavy panting was the only sign either of them were even there as they walked through the narrow corridor, the smallest slither of light meeting them at the end, not unlike when they had trudged into the Great pyramid. That had seemed weeks ago, when in reality it had only been six days, how her life had been flipped upside down all the more since then.

Her head rattled on her shoulders, thoughts flitting over Layla and her whereabouts as they stepped through the hallway, dust thickening in their lungs with every pant. Her ears were alert to the smallest of movements, her heart pounding in her chest, the image of that thing, the resurrected Heka Priest, replaying in her head, the screech of its rotted vocal chords keeping her arm hairs standing in goose flesh.

“She’ll be alright, won’t she?” Dove asked solemnly, her brow creased so tight she reminded herself of Sammy, knowing they had always looked the most similar out of all of her brothers. She knew, by the way Steven blanched at the sight of her worry, that she looked as guilty as she felt, “I shouldn’t have left her-”

“We didn’t have much choice, sweetheart,” He sighed, grabbing her hand tightly in his own, stopping in the middle of the darkened chamber to look at her properly. She tugged her lip between her teeth as she averted his gaze, the disappointment in herself shadowing over her chest, “We did everything we could- it’s Layla, she’s done this a thousand times with Marc. She’ll know what to do,”

Though he was more convincing himself than anything. He wasn’t so sure from the way Marc scoffed inside the headspace that she had in fact not run from undead creatures that threatened to rip her limb from limb a thousand times. Not even once. This was new territory for all of them.

She didn’t seem convinced as she nodded, her lips quirking as if she was about to say something, only for him to kiss her forehead before she could.

“I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if something happened to her,” She confessed, after he drew back, watching her thoughts swimming behind sad eyes, as if he could see the way she bit her tongue to stop herself from calling herself the worst names imaginable.

He stroked her cheek gently, tilting her chin to meet his gaze, his chocolate gaze warmer than summer and he smiled at her sadly.

“None of this is your fault,” He said, though she said nothing, chewing her cheek silently, “The faster we get the ushabti, and the faster we can go find Layla. Deal?”

She nodded again, and he squeezed her hand, pulling her towards the end of the corridor with a small smile.

Steven Grant was not a brave man, not by any means. But for her, he would be. He thought the same as she had, worried for the El-Faouley woman more and more with every step they took towards the tomb, his own body on high alert for an incoming attack from one of those creatures.

The end of the hallway drew near, the path widening out to accommodate an entrance, water trickling between the tiles in a silent stream, and he held her hand tighter as they navigated over the stepping stones, her boots slippy over the moss that clung to the rocks.

It wasn’t until he reached the end, where the corridor opened out, that he let go of her hand in favour of flicking his torch on. His entire body froze at the sight, satiated in awe of the tomb before him.

She hopped the final stepping stone, hands grabbing onto the wall and his shoulder for support before she followed his gaze to the room, and her jaw dropped too.

“First ones in, tomb fit for a pharaoh,” Steven hummed, stepping further into the antechamber, and he wasn’t wrong by any means. The walls were all but covered in bright paints that had yet to wash away, the tales of heroic battles and armies surrounding them like one huge mural. Solid gold plates, figurines, vases scattered neatly around the room, each one shiny and polished as if the death bed had never been touched since the day it had been sealed. Four bronze horse statues the size of her watched them enter, carefully avoiding the water that surrounded the sarcophagus in a deep pool, stepping between cracked slabs towards the coffin.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding as she saw the sheer amount of engravings on the sarcophagus, each one proving the power the dead king had held over his people when he’d died. It was more than she’d seen even on one, more than she would ever see.

This was a wealthy, wealthy pharaoh, she realised, her brows flicking into her hairline

“Thutmose II?” Steven guessed, leading the way to the coffin, the excitement blaringly clear in his voice. He couldn’t so much as catch his breath behind his smile, “Nefertiti. It’s gotta be one of the bigg’uns, Dove,” He said, flicking a grin over his shoulder as her eyes scaled every inch of the tomb. Her jaw hung open, ignoring the dusty task of musk in her mouth, the stagnant smell of water, her eyes pure wonder of what she was seeing.

This was the stuff of movies, of adventures she read to Joey and Mikey before bed, never did she think she would be part of it, let alone with Steven Grant, a man so quiet he apologised to pigeons, who jumped at his own shadow, who missed his bus every single morning.

“Must be, I’ve never seen so many offerings,” She replied, willing her feet to hold steady as they stepped between the stones and water carefully. “The engravings, there nothing like I’ve studied before,”

“Oh wow, look at that,” Steven gawped, taking the final step onto the centrepiece, heading towards the sarcophagus with ravenous eyes, “Look at all these relics,”

She was hot on his heels, quick to hop over, and expand her search with an eagle eye as she closed in on the sarcophagus.

“Hold on, Macedonian?” Dove stopped in her tracks, clicking her torch on and nearing the engravings with wide eyes, “It can’t be right-”

“That’s Macedonian,” Steven echoed, kneeling next to her with wary fingertips. He brushed over the markings, a gobsmacked laugh coming from his chest, “Well-b-but the only pharaoh-”

She grabbed his arm with a clawing strength, head drinking in the facts before her, gently hands following the engravings as if she needed to touch it herself to believe what she knew to be true, “H-He insisted on calling himself Egyptian,” She swallowed, standing on shaky knees to behold the rest of the coffin, her heart hammering. The two of them approached either side of the king’s burial place. “Steven, I think we found the long lost tomb of Alexander the Great,”

Taking a moment, if not to catch a nervous breath, their eyes met across the top of the sarcophagus, an identical expression of astonishment on their faces.

She couldn’t help it then; she started laughing. Nervous and yet amazed, she was lost entirely for words.

“We have to open it, Steven,” She said, her chuckles dying out, a hand flying to her forehead when she realised what a desecration they were about to cause, “The ushabti has to be inside, we have to open it up, oh goodness-”

“Everything inside me is screaming not to touch this thing,” Steven agreed, shaking his nerves out through his hands while watching her also fret over the slight grave robbing they were about to commit.

“You want Harrow to get to Ammit first?” Marc snapped from the glint in the cursive gold writing across the sarcophagus’ chest. He seemed to have roused from his silent protest and come back swinging, Steven thought with a bitter huff, his hands coming up to the side of the opening.

“Alright, alright, alright,” He replied, a nervous grip settling on the cold sandstone. His eyes flicked to her again for reassurance, though she herself looked to be coming to a sobering understanding they needed to disgrace the burial sight to get what they wanted. She nodded, her hand drifting to clutch over her mouth in shock, like she needed to stop herself from protesting his actions, and with that he pushed.

The smell of death invaded her nose, choking her for a moment as the stone slid to reveal the mummified corpse of the man historians had been babbling about for decades.

This had once been a conqueror, a king, a pharaoh everyone whispered about, a man who’s name was spoken a thousand times a day on the guided tours in the museum.

And they had found him.

A plated scarab sat across his chest, one she assumed was a sister to the one they had used to find him, the one Harrow took, below it; a huge, solid battle axe with engravings the entire length of its sharp edge. An offering to a man so revered for his wars.

A shiver trickling down her spine, she looked up at Steven through wide eyes, the two of them entirely stumped for words at what they were discovering, the thousands of years they had just peeled back with one fell swoop.

“Oh man,” Steven shook his head, barely ripping his eyes away from the mummy for a moment as she moved to stand at the head of the sarcophagus.

“Where’s the ushabti?” Marc spoke again, this time from the fresh golden sheen on the axe, seeing no other offerings or trinkets inside the coffin besides the weapon.

“Well, if you’re going to hide it for all eternity, you’d probably put it in a place where the average looter wouldn’t think to look,” Steven replied, his heart a hummingbird behind his chest, almost, almost as excited as he had been when he’d been kissing her against that post.

Almost, but not quite.

She stayed silent, attuning her ears into keeping watch for Harrow’s men approaching, or hopefully even figuring out where Layla was, while Steven’s brain whirred, conferring with Marc.

She hoped he wasn’t mad at her for Steven pushing him out of the headspace, for throwing that mirror into the sand the moment he’d gotten his lips on hers. She hoped he would understand. Marc always understood.

Steven’s face smoothed out in realisation, whether he had come to it on his own or Marc had helped she wasn’t sure, but she grabbed his wrist gently nonetheless.

“What is it?” She murmured, his eyes trained on the tightly wrapped linen, an almost horrified look on his face.

“Alexander was the voice of Ammit…” He trailed off, his hand coming to rest on the corpse’s jaw, “All right, I’m gonna try something, I’m gonna do something here.”

His fingers found the lip of the cloth where the head met the body, weaving their way under and tugging them away carefully.

Dove released a shaky breath, her hand returning in shock over her mouth, knowing that this was technically known as grave desecration, let alone ruining thousands of years of history.

“Steven, oh my god-” She gagged as the smell hit her, the man beside her writhing in sickness as his fingers touched the mummified skin beneath.

“Oh god- so sorry- sorry, Mr Great,” He choked on his words, the disgust running over his skin when he touched something cold and wrinkled.

He tore the bandages with more force, the linen coming away easily, but they both shuddered hearing something crack under the weight of his hand, something she could only imagine was a bone.

Steven pulled the cloth away to reveal a perfectly mummified face, and the sight wasn’t so uncommon as she’d thought since they had two preserved in the museum. But seeing it so up close, without the temperature controlled glass, it made her want to vomit and stare in awe all at the same time.

Steven took an unsure breath, before he went even further, his fingers resting on the lower mandible, pulling back whatever remained of the lips to slip between his teeth, his other hand holding his cranium still.

She forced herself not to wince as he started tugging the mouth open; the look on his face was torture for him enough.

“All right, open up. Oh, sorry, Mr Great,” He bit out, bile rising in his own throat at the sensations beneath his hand, the jaw cracking and ripping down with a nauseating crunch. His hand reached down the gullet, and she had to turn away then when he started rooting around the throat, resisting the retch that fought her own mouth, “Oh, sorry, oh god, I couldn’t be more sorry,”

It wasn’t until she heard a squelch they both heaved, Steven’s own noises of disgust filling the tomb as his entire upper arm wormed its way into the chest cavity, and she thought he might just be the bravest man she’d ever known.

His arm twisted for a moment, before he started pulling it out, not without some resistance from the collar bones, only for it to come away with one final tug, and in his hand producing a small ceramic figure of an alligator headed woman, and two audible gasps filled the silence.

“Steven-” She started, turning to him with something warm and gooey and close to pride in her eyes, “Steven, you did it!”

She threw herself at him in a hug, ignoring every morsel of her that cringed when she imagined where his hand had been, feeling him squeeze her to him just as tightly.

“We did it, we did- I could never have done any of this without you,” He replied, nosing her hair for a moment before he pulled her away to look at her face, beaming with glee. It didn’t matter then, that he had been chased by that creature, or that he’d been shot at, or that he’d been digging around a dead man’s throat. It didn’t matter then that his life had been turned upside down, or that he was actually one man split into another, or that he’d lost his job. He didn’t care. Because seeing how she looked at him, as if she’d just watched him solve string theory or win a nobel prize, healed every wound he’d ever had.

He only needed her; only ever wanted her.

“I really do love you,” She said, and he wondered it she’d heard his thoughts, fought the urge to kiss her then and there.

Her head snapped to where they had entered the tomb, something wary in her gaze until he saw Layla appear in the doorway, looking entirely scraped up, as if she’d just been dragged through the caverns backwards.

“Layla!” Dove called, bounding over the stepping stones, “Layla, are you alright- we got the ushabti-”

“Layla, look! We won!” Behind her Steven held up the figurine, the pair of them with billion dollar smiles on their faces, watching the woman approach on shaky legs, “And the ushabti goes to; us. I had to go digging down old Alexander the Great’s gullet, but we found it,”

Dove giggled at his teasing, shaking her head, and fighting the urge to yank Layla into a hug of her own. They had done it, they’d won. Now they could get out of here and away from Harrow, she could go home, go home with Steven-

She was quick to notice the stare Layla pinned on the man behind her, something visceral and in pain beneath her skin, something raw, a wound ripped open. She knew it well, knew it like an old friend. Layla was the pure image of betrayal.

She stalked forward silently, not paying the younger woman a scrap of attention as she approached, stepping over the cobbles with not a single hesitant foot. Her eyes gleaned with unshed tears, something rageful keeping them bay.

Dove stopped still, her eyes trained on the woman, her smile dissolving into confusion.

“Layla, are you alright-”

“Can he hear me?” Layla cut her off, not giving a shit for her soft lilted voice or her concern. She only cared about Marc, Harrow’s words rattling in her head like a foghorn calling every shred of anger she’d ever felt for her ex-husband to arms.

“Alexander? No, I don’t think so, god I hope not,” Steven snickered, and Dove winced. Layla’s eyes darkened, her honey tones near black in the lowlit antechamber, and the younger woman knew whatever had happened in the moments passed since they’d parted, Layla was now out for blood.

“What happened to my father?” The El-Faouley woman spat, her hands shaking with anger, and Dove could do nothing but wait for Steven to understand that she wasn’t kidding around.

She dared a glance at the man who stood there like a lost child, whatever celebration and relief they had felt swept away in a matter of moments. Seconds.

She knew from the silence that lingered Layla already suspected something.

“I’m talking to you,” Layla seethed, stepping towards the man without a bat of an eyelid at the woman who watched whatever progress they’d made swirl down the drain like yesterday’s newspaper.

“What?” Steven murmured, a frown on his face as Layla’s hands came up to shove him in the chest hard.

“I’m talking to you, Marc,”

He barely stumbled, barely blinked, but she saw it. Saw the way the innocence melted away, and his frown became cold and distant. She saw the moment Marc took the body, and her heart dropped at the flash of guilt that glinted in the crook of his eyes as he saw his ex-wife’s expression in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go-” He tried to pull her away, but Dove knew it was his own brand of avoiding the subject. She’d never hold it against him, who was she to judge someone for running from responsibility, but she knew. And so did Layla.

“No,” The woman dug her heels in as he tried pulling her to the exit, her empty fist weakly beating on his wrist while he yanked on her coat.

“We have to go right now,”

“No, Marc, no,” She fought, the venom in her tone only growing. He tugged her harder, the two of them all but grappling with one another for control.

“We have to go, right now,” He repeated, eyes flicking to where Dove stood still, her hands playing with one another nervously, “Come on, we gotta get out of here-”

Layla forced his head back to her, away from where the younger woman moved between each foot, watching it play out like a tragedy.

“What happened to my father?” She said again, louder this time, and it was clear no amount of deflection would stop her from getting an answer.

“Listen to me,” Marc said with a seriousness Dove had never heard, real life panic in his tone that had her shifting to check the doorway for signs of Harrow’s men following closely behind, “We need to leave right now, I will explain everything, I swear. But we have to go,”

“Did you kill Abdullah El Faouley?” Layla’s voice cracked, because the answer would break her if it were true, if it was what she feared.

“Of course not. Of course I didn’t,” And it was the first honest thing Marc had said to her in years. The pain in his eyes at the accusation said it all.

Layla sighed in short lived relief, running a hand over her face.

“But you were there,” She said quietly, and the four words cleaved Marc’s resolve right down the middle, his brow furrowing in agony, “You were there, right?”

“I was- I was there,” He confessed, Dove’s stomach turning over in anguish. She wanted to hug both of them to her in entirely different ways. Wanted to grab Layla, stroke her hair the way Grace used to when she was upset, hold her to her chest and tell her how sorry she was that her father was taken from her so cruelly. She wanted to pull Marc in, slot him right over her heart and tell him he wasn’t bad, not even now, not ever, that he was good, pure, golden goodness, just as good as Steven. That he wasn’t guilty, he was just unlucky.

“My partner got greedy, he executed everyone at the digsite. Shot me too, I was supposed to die that night,” Marc spilled out, his expression bleak, distraught.

She knew better than to interrupt, than to get in between the two of them when they fought like this. That is, until her ears pricked up with her inhumane senses, the sound of guns cocking and creeping footsteps dragging through the sand stones they had just come from, whispers between comrades that they were getting close to what they had been searching for.

“Someone’s here,” She said, before she could think better of speaking. Their heads turned to her, as if they’d forgotten she was there, Marc’s face a picture of a tortured soul. She angled her head to distinguish what the men were saying, try give her some pointers how long they had, “Harrow is getting close, I can hear his watch-”

“Who’s Grace?” Layla asked, her tone guarded, as if she’d begged the question the entire time she’d known the girl, “Marc’s not the only one who’s been keeping secrets,”

But Dove was frozen. Entirely frozen. Not so much of a breath in her chest, not even a blink.

Because hearing that name again, her name, hearing Layla take everything close to her and toss it around as a conversation piece shattered her into a million small pieces, floating down neatly into the water right then and there.

He saw it.

When her eyes glazed over, as if hearing the name pressed play on a movie she’d not seen in years, and she no longer stood there, with them, but she was transported somewhere else entirely. It was the same as when she’d been in the car, staring out that window, he wanted to yell out to her, grab her delicate face and scream Where do you go? Come back to me, take my hand and come back to me. Where are you where I can’t follow.

Because she wasn’t there, inside her own body. And she feared she would never be again.

She was back in that room, in that window sill, replaying every single night she’d spent in Grace’s room. Who’s Grace? She was opening that door, the one Frank told her not to go in, she was staring at the body, the unmoving one, the cold corpse, frozen in pain, what was once her entire world ripping away from her soul, pulling her apart right down the middle, the empty bottle staring right back at her from the bedside table as if to say ‘I won, I won.’ Who’s Grace? She wasn’t there, wasn’t in the tomb at all, she was rotting in her bed, lying still and waiting for death to take her too, because it seemed impossible that the person who had been made as her mirror image in every way but looks could be culled but not her.

How could she explain who Grace was? How do you even begin to explain to a person what every cell of your body is?

“Harrow said you let her die,” Layla said, and she knew she’d hit a home run with whatever that look on Dove’s face meant, knew that everything he’d said had been true, “He said you could have saved her and you didn’t-”

“Don’t,” It was a snarl, something unearthly and rotten, but the grief in the single word was clear as a bell, “Stop it, Layla,”

She hadn’t ever spoken to her like that, had snapped and rolled her eyes, but never had such a clear threat to her words.

The woman blinked in response, the hairs on her arms standing on end at the voice that was entirely not Dove’s coming from her throat. It was monstrous, and part of her wondered if it was Seth who had in fact taken her body, only to see the eyes she knew well staring back at her with the image of a deer at the barrel of a gun.

Vulnerable. Ready for slaughter. Ready to be laid bare on the butcher's block.

Layla thought twice before she opened her mouth again, second guessing pushing for more answers, but something in the way the girl looked told her there was a truth to it.

“And Frank?” Layla asked, watching Dove’s hands shake. With anger, Layla guessed, anger that her little secrets were being poured out on the cobbles for her precious Steven to see.

Layla was not a cruel woman, not by any means. But she despised liars. And Dove was one of them.

“You and Harrow seem to be best pals, Layla, why don’t you ask him who Frank was,” Dove hissed, and it was like Marc was looking at someone else entirely, like he was watching a mutt backed into a corner snapping at everyone who approached, like watching game gnaw at its own leg to be free of a trap, “He got what he deserved,”

And Marc didn't doubt it. Not even when he reeled back in shock at her tone of voice, not expecting it from his peaceful dove, but then again Layla had ripped all sorts of wounds open in the interest of her own search for answers.

Marc opened his mouth to reinforce their need haste, only to hear for himself the footsteps draw nearer, and the three of them swivelled to look at the direction they came from.

“They’re here,” He said with a pit opening in his stomach, right around where his heart had fallen, springing into action as Layla paced across the stones, searching for a hiding spot.

“There must be another way out,” Dove said, though she felt her brain wrestling with images of that day, that last day, the feel of the mirror beneath her fingers, the scars that to this day marred her palm from the glass as she’d driven it into his chest.

“You find it, I’ll hold them off,” Marc ordered her, backing on himself to grab the battleaxe from inside the sarcophagus. Layla followed orders without protest, heading for the small alleyway she had come from, knowing she couldn’t go back that way with those creatures lurking behind the walls.

Crouching behind a pillar, she watched them with doubtful eyes. She knew they could find her in a matter of seconds. She was beyond angry at both of them for their deceit, yet she watched Dove summon the claws of her suit around her hands, ten blades sprouting over her natural nails in a small motion.

“Get out of here-” Marc waved her off, trying to nudge her body towards where Layla crouched, only for her to gently brush his hands away, careful not to scratch him with her talons.

“Marc, I’m not letting you do this alone- you don’t have a suit-” She argued back, hating the way he was still ready to go down swinging for her, hating the way he’d brushed off what Layla had said because it was Layla and Layla had every reason to throw her under any bus coming.

Her heart plummeted even more, dragging her shame down with it, and she understood then what it was.

He didn’t believe she’d done anything. He didn’t believe something was wrong, something was wrong with her. Didn’t believe she had lied, and kept things from him, didn’t entertain the idea for a single second that she was not the Dove he thought she was.

She knew if he would ask, she wouldn’t have the heart to lie to him to his face, knew she couldn’t keep betraying the undying loyalty he had to her. Knew he would take Steven away.

But she also knew he wouldn’t ask in the first place. Because to Marc, she was innocent of everything everyone accused her of, no matter how true.

She felt even worse than before, if that had even been possible.

She could only steel her face over as Harrow entered the room behind her, the infuriating tap tap tap of his staff against the floor giving him away.

And in a split moment, twenty armed men followed him, crawling out from the corners of the room, their rifles loaded, torches trained on the two of them, the red aimpoints hovering over their chests. She tried to account for every single one of the guns and their wielders, but she couldn’t. There was just too many.

The only way they were getting out of here alive is if he ran, if he ducked out with Layla and left her here to fight alone. But she knew he would never. Not unless she were to throw her body over his, take every single round of ammunition in her suit, keep him protected until they had run dry, but even then she knew he would fight against having her in front of him.

She couldn’t just stand by, couldn’t just let him go, no matter how much she dreaded what was coming next, how much he would hate her once she told him. But maybe he could understand, maybe he would. He had killed people before, she knew he had, he never hid from that. Killed those who deserved it. He hadn’t cared, hadn’t treated her differently when Hellhound had slaughtered those men. She wished she was back in that bathtub, back in their hotel room, the room full of lavender and vanilla, wished his hands were back in her hair telling her she was going to be okay.

She wished. Because that was all she had left.

“Just you two?” Harrow asked, his voice a wisp of smoke in the dark tomb that seemed to be closing in on them as the men steadied their aim, fingers resting on the triggers, “The rest is silence. I remember the first morning, I woke up knowing Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating,”

Harrow pocketed the scarab that nestled in his palm, stepping carefully towards them, his damn stick tapping at the floor like death had come knocking.

“And you, little dove,” Harrow turned to her, her eyes a cold glare, twitching with every knock of the wooden cane against the floor, “The truth can be just as liberating as being rid of the voice that controls you. But maybe, you already know that.”

She couldn’t disagree more. There was nothing liberating about what she’d done to Frank. She was a woman haunted, forever tainted by that day. She was ruined, she couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she could be fixed.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” Harrow goaded, her insides shrivelling as she saw Marc’s chocolate hues flick to her for a moment, “Ask her, Marc.”

“Marc, I can explain-” She said, eyes locking onto where he clenched a tight fist around his weapon, Harrow's words cutting her off.

“You’re a free man. And ofcourse with that freedom comes choice.” Harrow continued, “You can choose to pretend not to see the guilt writhing under her skin like a serpent. Or, you can choose to keep dear Steven safe,”

“Safe from what?” Marc snapped, his hackles raised at Harrow’s words, as if there was ever a moment of doubt he would choose anything over Steven’s wellbeing, or perhaps it was the way he questioned her that did it.

“Safe from the woman who slaughtered her own boyfriend, maybe?”

Harrow’s tone was soft, gentle, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb upon the room, a tidal wave of cold overcoming the space between them.

“What?” Marc scoffed, almost a genuine laugh emerging at the levels Harrow was willing to stoop to in order to get the ushabti, including making up ludicrous tales, “What kind of shit is that, you can’t honestly think I’d believe that-”

He looked back to her, expecting confusion, aghast, anything except the deep pools of guilt encompassing her entire being as she stared at him.

He went cold.

No. No, please, no.

He said nothing, did nothing, not even when she tugged a lip between her teeth to keep it from wobbling.

“Please,” She whimpered, stepping towards him with empty hands, “Please, I can explain,”

Only he stepped back, and with it ripped whatever remained of her soul away from.

His eyes no longer were warm nests of mousy brown, his expression no longer soft as he took her in, his jaw tight and feathered with hesitation.

“I can explain, please listen to me,” She begged, she wasn’t above sinking to her knees and pleading against his knee in tears, “I was going to tell you, I tried-”

“You lied to me?” Marc bit, his face empty of whatever it was that he’d regarded her with before. The hands in her hair as she bathed were a million miles away, the kindness that had shone upon her like a warm summer now pelted her like hail in a storm.

“It wasn’t like the others, I had to-” She said, her hands shaking as she dared another step towards him, only for him to take another step back, “I thought you would understand,”

“I killed people because it was service to Khonshu, or-or because people's lives hung in the balance, not because I chose to,” He snapped, drawing his hand away from her like she’d burned him with her very being, “You killed your own boyfriend? You told me you stole- you lied to me,”

“No.” Steven’s voice was a whine, a bleat of agony inside the headspace, a man who was watching the only thing he’d ever had for himself slip away, “No, she wouldn’t Marc, she-”

“Please, just listen,” Her eyes had welled now, “Please, I- Marc, watch out!” She jumped at him, not missing the way his knuckles had quivered on the axe at her sudden movement, only for her to shove past him and descend onto a figure that had been moments away from grabbing the Ushabti.

It was like a switch had flickered then, and the rest of the room was invited into their conversation.

Marc slashed at one of the men who dived for her, snapping his forearm clean in two, the rifle falling from his grasp, and she clawed at the guards wrist, ripping through tendons and flesh like it were fabric.

He heard another of the men squeal as she slashed his face, he cut down another of Harrow’s men with a swift blow to the arm, ichor spurting over his hand at the contact.

He barely even blinked an eye as he threw the battle axe at the next one in his path, though he hadn’t even felt the handle leave his palm as it hit its mark and another one of the men went down.

He knew it made him somewhat of a hypocrite. But it wasn't just the blatant lie that had caused his walls to clamp down around him. That man, whoever he was, had been her boyfriend. And Steven... If he hadn't known something so telling about her, how could he be sure she wouldn't flip and do the same to Steven.

She wouldn't. He wanted to say he knew she wouldn't lay a hand on the man clawing at his brain in torment, but Marc felt he didn't know anything about her anymore.

She had killed someone. His dove, his innocent dove, that he had spent weeks feeling like filth for so much as touching, feeling as though he had ruined her, only to find out she was just as tainted as he was. She had lied to him. She had every chance, every moment he showed his soft underbelly, to tell him the truth, and she hadn’t. He was supposed to keep Steven safe, and he was dropping walls left right and centre for someone who could have had him lined up as her next target.

Dove’s head whirled around when she heard him grunt, fearing he had gotten a barrel to the face, or even a rogue fist. She took a sweeping glance at him from head to toe, the relief tangible in her bones, seeing he was rattled and angry, but not bleeding.

She needed to set this right. She was a liar, she knew that, she was a murderer, she knew that aswell. She didn’t deserve any of the kindness she’d been shown, she’d known she was on borrowed time the entirety of their friendship. She had known this was coming any day now.

It still hurt like a bitch to be confronted with the truth. And the truth was Marc glared at her like hated her. Marc wanted nothing to do with her, as liar, a con, an actress. A whore.

She had to fix this; if she even could. She had to try. For Steven.

Dove had gotten all of one step when Harrow pulled the pistol out of his jeans.

It was like a slow motion picture from there, like she was in the back seat trying to steer the wheel, sitting front row of the audience as the movie played out in front of her.

Harrow lifting the gun at Marc’s chest, pulling the trigger once, his aim true enough that a crimson hole bloomed through the man’s sweater in seconds, spraying out of the wound and onto his outfit.

She heard herself scream, heard his name coming from her in a deafening squeal, something weak and horrified in the tone. She heard the second bang of the bullet leaving its chamber, puncturing in the gut in a second deadly hit, Marc’s body stumbling back as the wound poured faster, harder, his eyes glazed into an entirely empty concoction.

She heard herself call him again, didn’t realise until it choked through a sob that she was crying, inconsolably actually. He swayed for a moment, before the weightlessness took over and he tipped backwards on his heel, and his cold gaze fell to hers for a split moment of reprieve of what she knew was coming.

She didn’t even realise until she had crouched over where he’d fallen into the water that she was sobbing, didn’t realise until the tears started falling on his face that she was crying over him, over every word she was supposed to say to him.

She didn’t realise until the heartbeat she adored so much, the one she’d planned to spend every morning pressed up against, had stopped beating, and Dove was swept up with a feeling she despised.

In all of two seconds, Dove was all alone again, and Marc and Steven were dead.

TAGLISTS.

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed d @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari i @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm @homuraak3mi @animechick555@1800-get-alife @peachipeachy @hoemadegrace @raineisms

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #marc spector smut

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aeithalian · 11 months

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On Apollo and fatal flaws

Vague question for my fellow apollogists out there: what do we think Apollo's fatal flaw is? I write this realizing that, in all five books of the series, all told from Apollo's point of view, we never actually have it explicitly stated, either from Apollo's knowledge and refusal to share (which, strangely, seems to me like something he would tell us), or from him not actually knowing, either.

Simply stated, a fatal flaw is any kind of weakness of a hero, god or mortal, that can be exploited and can cause the downfall of that character. That being said, we already know some that generally scope out the larger range of what they can be:

Percy: excessive personal loyalty

Annabeth: hubris/pride

Nico: holding grudges

Thalia: ambition

Leo: feeling inferior

Piper: low self-esteem

Luke: wrath

Jason: hesitation and excessive deliberation

And we are certain that immortals have flaws like these, too. Although it isn't explicitly stated in canon what Zeus' fatal flaw is, it's exceedingly obvious that it's paranoia and hunger for power, as well as his sexual infidelity.

I feel like we can easily knock some flaws off the list already:

Holding grudges is off the list for the main reason that, if there's one thing Apollo oozes, it's forgiveness, and the fact that he is always ready to give second chances to people who have wronged him and the world (Lityerses, Luguselwa, Meg, etc.)

For the same reason, I'm going to knock off wrath. Yes, he has moments of rage, but so does everybody else! It's human nature, and, as stated before, it's usually overshadowed by Apollo's choice to let go of that anger and choose forgiveness instead.

Ambition is an interesting one, but it's not at all something that really comes up in the series to the point where it ends up being powerful enough to be his fatal flaw. He rarely seeks power he didn't already have before, especially when you consider he is Zeus' most powerful son, and one of the most powerful gods period. Why would he need more power? Unless, of course, you choose to point out that one time he tried to overthrow Zeus, but I'd argue he was acting more out of a place of 'hey please be better at your job' than 'I want your title and position', which actually falls more under Poseidon's motivations in that myth.

Interestingly, there's a certain aspect of Apollo's character in the myths that totally screws the pooch in terms of this discussion, and that's the fact that Apollo, throughout the stories of Ancient Greece, is a typical example of perfection. Literally, he's written to be virtually flawless, the paragon of young men, and (in the context of Ancient Greek culture) doesn't have many moments of rage, selfishness, or paranoia, or at least, not as many as other gods (looking at you, Artemis).

HOWEVER, as much as the myths seemingly act like he doesn't have a glaringly obvious flaw, we as a part of Apollo's inner circle/audience know he's got one - I mean, look at him! It's in there somewhere, nobody's perfect, and I don't think anybody's pretending as such for Apollo. What irks me is that we know Apollo is not lacking in general character flaws, but there is one, beyond a doubt, that shapes his inner core irreversibly. And we don't know it.

Thankfully, though, we've got five books of content that might help us come to a conclusion.

The Hidden Oracle, being the beginning of the story and the beginning of Apollo's character development, is where we would get an inkling of what Apollo wants us to think his fatal flaw is. To us, Apollo appears vain, self-centered, and, frankly annoying. And he does these things on purpose. Or at least, he tells us these things.

That's the thing: if you look past all the fluff Apollo spits out to the audience throughout the first majority of the book, before his children are taken into the forest, you'd find that his dialogue, aka how the other characters of the story hear and see him, doesn't really reflect that. Most of the annoying, self-centered brattiness is only on the page, and not as obvious in his personal interactions (not saying they're not there, but it's so much worse in his internal monologue). So, what does this tell us?

That those aren't his fatal flaws. He's very good at pretending that they are, probably because, as I've read several other metas very cleverly explain, that this is what gods are supposed to be, and, Apollo, in his desperation be his father's golden child again (or, also to avoid his wrath, take that how you will) has built up a very elaborate mask for thousands of years, because that is what he is not. He's trying to be glossed over in the vast sea that is the gods, and it's not really working because, well, he got turned into a mortal. Again.

As we pass through books 2 and 3, we're still not quite past the whole "pretending to be petty and self-serving because this is what I am supposed to be as dictated by the laws of my immortal people and my father". That, almost certainly, doesn't come until the latter half of The Burning Maze. So it's further safe to assume that our best guess as to his fatal flaw probably coincides with his more honest moments with the audience, eg. books 4 and 5.

Now, I know a popular common answer to this whole question is that it's his ego and his pride. But here's the thing: as we move on to the second half of the series, we get an interesting revealing of Apollo's perception of himself. To put it plainly: Apollo is not a narcissist, as much as he pretends to be (see the above points). Honestly, he might actually hate himself and what he's become as he learns to take a more critical view of himself as the series goes on. Drawn in direct antithesis to his moments in the first two books, when he tells us that he assumes that anybody he meets is willing to help him, after the peak of his development (marked by his promise and Jason's subsequent death), this isn't the case. That's why I'm pretty okay with putting pride and ego towards the bottom of my list of possible fatal flaws for him.

Honestly, if I didn't know any better as we reach the end of the series, I'd say Apollo's fatal flaw might fall somewhere closer to poor self-esteem, insecurity and self-doubt, but for some reason, that doesn't quite fit. I'd argue that a lot of those feelings probably stem from being stuck in the inadequate body of a mortal with a tiny fraction of his usual power - of course he's going to feel like that. That, and it's almost the direct opposite of what his flaw is perceived to be by other sources, so it feels like too large a leap to me.

I'm deliberating from my point, which is this: I still have no clue what his fatal flaw is.

It's not:

narcissism

pride

OR on the other side of the spectrum:

low-self esteem

self-doubt

OR the list of things we knocked off earlier:

holding grudges

wrath

ambition

And when you compare to other characters he might also be like, I would argue he's a totally different animal. The only character I could see a similarity with is Percy. But, again, it's just not the same. Percy's flaw, excessive personal loyalty, still doesn't really fit because, while I'd argue that Apollo's never really put in a situation where he's had to choose to save the life a mortal friend over his task of restoring the Oracles, I do believe he has a strong sense of duty. No, I don't think he would sacrifice Meg's life to do that job, but it's not something we see him forced to pick between (that I can think of, at least). I like to think that, on one hand, Percy would flat-out refuse to do his duty to save the life of a friend out of principle, whereas Apollo might find a clever loophole to save the friend, do the duty, and end up doing harm to himself. If anything, while Percy would be ready to burn the world to save a friend, Apollo would be ready to burn himself first.

That, I think, is our biggest indicator. Apollo loves his friends and the world. He wears his heart on his sleeve, this is something the Triumvirate exploits to no end.

Athena tells Percy something in the PJO series (the Titan's Curse, I think?) and says that the most dangerous fatal flaws are the ones that are good in moderation. And, of course, Apollo is a main character, so naturally his fatal flaw will fall under this category.

I think Apollo's fatal flaw is of the same breed as Percy's, but isn't really the same creature. I'm sure there's a more eloquent way to put this, but it seems to me that his fatal flaw has something to do with his tendency to be self-sacrificing, easily forgiving, and empathetic. He's been stabbed in the back several times and every time chooses instead to show trust and camaraderie, to see the best in people, and give them another chance to prove themselves: with Meg, Crest, Lityerses, Luguselwa, Meg's adoptive siblings, and many, many more. That seems very dangerous in the wrong situation, yes? Especially someone in Apollo's position - there are plenty of bad people who would be ready to take advantage of this.

And what is a story if not the hero learning to overcome their fatal flaw? And, really what is the Trials of Apollo all about? How do we end? What choices does Apollo make for the future at the conclusion of the Tower of Nero that directly contradict his overwhelming urge to choose forgiveness and let others try again?

The Tower of Nero, Chapter 36

At the end of any good epic story, the hero learns to overcome their weaknesses and flaws and do the right thing regardless. For Apollo, this comes when he refuses to forgive one person: Zeus. Apollo ends his pentalogy with coming to an understanding of himself and his relationship with his father, learning to overcome that tendency see the best in everyone, and realize that not everyone can choose to change for the better like Apollo has.

EDIT: a masterlist of my other metas

#thank u for coming to my ted talk #trials of apollo #toa #apollogists #riordanverse

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that-ari-blogger · 2 months

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A New Face (Separate Tides)

During its second season, The Owl House had hit its stride and wasn't slowing down. This is my favourite season, and that isn't an unpopular sentiment.

Separate Tides is the opening episode of this season, so it needs to recap the previous goings on and themes in a cohesive way for new viewers, and take the series in a different direction that stays loyal to those themes and plotlines. I think this episode does that well.

But this isn't a summary blog, this is a blog where I find something needlessly specific and gush about the implications of that something.

So... The Golden Guard is so ****ing cool.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (The Owl House, The Harry Potter Series)

I've mentioned in the past that The Owl House uses archetypal storytelling to a truly masterful degree. It takes tropes and meets them on a superficial level, then twists them in a way that adds depth and makes the series unique.

For example, the series is directly drawing inspiration from the works of Robert Galbraith, with Willow being the bullied kid with a passion for herbology, and Amity being the school bully who definitely has a crush on the main character. Both take the archetype and shake it up a bit, as is the way with parody, but the baseline is there.

This leans into the themes of being your own person rather nicely, as it makes the deviations from the archetype more important.

I took great pains to point out that Luz is the only character who doesn't fit the mould at all. She has no analogue and is her own person completely. She has nothing to restrict her.

However, leaves the analogue for the actual protagonist of Galbraith's books. Obviously, not every character from the series is parodied, but the chosen one main character seems like a weird one to miss out on.

I would argue that Mr Potter does have an analogue, Hunter Whittebane (Or Hunter Noceda or Hunter Demonne or even Hunter Clawthorn. Whichever name you prefer, its the same guy).

He is a child soldier, raised by his uncle and manipulated into giving his life away for the cause by an old wizard. He bears a scar on his face, and is technically half witch, half human.

Although we don't actually see any of that in Separate Tides. Instead, we are introduced to the Golden Guard, a character who is suave and cool and confident.

The first time we actually see this character is in the final scene of the previous season.

"Worry not, Kiki. We'll be keeping an eye on the inhabitants of the Owl House."

The Golden Guard is a goon, an elite goon, but a goon none the less. He is simply a character whom Belos turns to in order to get the job done.

But, I find the use of vernacular here interesting. Belos doesn't refer to the Golden Guard with any name, or even as a separate entity from himself. Not "he will be watching them" or "this is the Golden Guard, I trust him to get the job done". This character is referred to as "we". He and Belos are connected. This character is simply Belos' eye.

Then, in Separate Tides, it is established that, when Lilith fell from grace, she was replaced by the Golden Guard.

"He always got special treatment because he was the genius teen prodigy. But he's really just a brat."

So, this is a child, but a gifted child. Lilith is dismissive here, but not of the Golden Guard's skill, just his personality. This is someone for whom things come naturally, allegedly, and who has never had to work for his abilities. Allegedly.

"Unfortunately, you won't have the chance."

The Golden Guard's first line is just cool. He is calm and collected. He is in control. And he has just easily captured one of the protagonists.

I also love the little fact that he has spent the entirety of this voyage in a dimly lit room, eating crackers. The room has nothing to do in it except books. So, he was definitely just sitting there, reading, and had to improvise when King burst into the room. He's a bookworm with an ability to think on the spot.

I'm saying this guy would definitely play Pathfinder or D&D if he was given a chance.

Anyway, the Golden Guard's actual introduction comes fourteen minutes into the episode, and it immediately sets this guy up as a threat. He's martially competent, magically adept, and fully in his element. This is a character who revels in control, just like the Emperor.

And that link to Belos is interesting. Because forgive me for asking, why would an Emperor's elite goon be a child? As in, there has to be a connection to Belos beyond what meets the eye for the Golden Guard to be anywhere near where he is.

We don't get told that here, but we do see that this character's skillset is kinda similar to Belos', in theory. He's commanding, and he gets people to do what he wants. But in practice, this isn't Belos at all. This is someone trying very hard to be like Belos, but coming at it from a different angle.

I do, however, think that the Golden Guard's greatest strength as a goon is revealed subtly in this scene.

"The Emperor ordered me to slay one. I'm just following orders."

We've seen through Lilith in the previous season that Belos covets blind loyalty, and that is what the Golden Guard offers him. He doesn't know or care why the Emperor does what he does, he just follows orders.

Essentially, the Golden Guard is a traditional Disney villain at this point. He is fun, bisexual, charismatic, and a physical threat. The Golden Guard we get introduced to is enjoyable to watch, and it sounds like Zeno Robinson is having a blast voicing him.

However, there is one element of the Golden Guard that we get introduced to in this episode that might fly under the radar. The Owl House is no stranger to masks, and people putting on a show to get the job done, but when we are first shown the Golden Guard in this episode, he is taking it off.

The intro sequence of this season features three characters who are under Belos' command. Lilith, The Golden Guard, and Kikimora. It then unmasks them, with Lilith becoming apologetic, and Kikimora becoming more aggressive. But the Golden Guard sits between them, removing his own mask to reveal... a single purple eye.

The eye is the window to the soul, of course. But there is something to the manner in which this is happening. Kikimora has been angered to the point of lashing out, and Lilith has been brought low with remorse. The Golden Guard, however, is lowering his own mask and staring directly at you with an air of "I'm doing this of my own accord. I see you, you see me, your move."

I wonder if agency is going to be a theme with this character.

Final Thoughts

I love Hunter so much it is obscene, and there is a ton of ambiguity about him right from the bat. What is his stake in this? Who actually is he? And why does he have a purple eye?

As for the rest of this episode, Luz's guilt is starting to be expressed. In my opinion that is for the first time, but I have heard it said that this isn't a new character trait for her.

And Lilith... *sighs* There is a sentiment online as to the expedience of Lilith's redemption arc. Some people like it, others think she should have been "punished" more, and I would like to take a third rout.

I don't believe in punitive justice for fictional characters, and I certainly don't believe in telling writers how they should write. I do, however, think that it could have been slightly more interesting if the consequences of cursing Eda were explored more psychologically.

In any case, however, the series we got is the series we got, and I think it is perfectly fine, if not better, as it is. I don't see a point in getting angry online over what could have been.

Next week, I am looking as Escaping Expulsion and boy, do I have thoughts about Odalia Blight. So, stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

#rants #literary analysis #literature analysis #character analysis #what's so special about...?#toh #the owl house #the owl house hunter #toh hunter #toh golden guard #the owl house golden guard #We need to see more of Eda in Bloodborne cosplay

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meltthefrozenheart · 5 months

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FROZEN 3 and FROZEN 4 are both in development, and I can't wait!

The news sounded odd to me initially, I didn't expect anything like this from Disney Animation, but it became immediatly appealing the moment I realized the GREAT potential a double feature could have for the franchise, most importantly when Bob Iger specified “Jenn Lee, who created Frozen, the original Frozen, and Frozen 2 is hard at work with her team at Disney Animation on not one but actually two stories.”, which would mean:

More time to enstablish new elements, new characters, time to explore new lore and new places without the risk to rush everything;

A bigger story that can help flesh out our protagonists in their new roles, their new wants and changes they might face, considering how the F2 ending brought many new possibilities;

A narrative context where the new crysis (whatever it might be) could be explored even better, also allowing to maintain things in a complex prespective just as the Frozen movies like to do, where the matter of "good and evil" not at the center, and things are first of all deeply personal for the characters

It seems to me that Jennifer Lee always wanted to delve deeper into things, this is why the Broadway Musical was a perfect opportunity for her and the Lopez to expand the characters and flesh out things in the story, also adding new elements that would've been useful for F2.

And when they worked on Frozen 2, they built it as the "second part" of the story, reconnecting almost all the aspects of the sequel to the 1st movie, and the story was clearly meant to be BIGGER and longer compared to what we ended up having because of numerous issues and rewrites. J. Lee and C. Buck didn't want to introduce something that would feel just as "a new adventure", and more about the actual characters evolving, see what they left unresolved, breaking the "Happy ending" scenario of F1, which also led them to NOT give the new human characters (Mattias and the Northuldra) the same relevance given to Spirits of Nature, in order to remain focused on Elsa, Anna and the rest of the gang.

Now, Lee will most likely not direct or write these two new movies, but she is still directly involved, because it's both part of her job as CCO of Walt Disney Animation Studio and because Frozen is her (and Chris Buck) baby. It will be curious to discover with what idea Marc Smith came out with, but the fact he worked on the 1st Frozen as a storyboard artist and the became Director of Story for Frozen 2 says a lot about him and why Lee trusts him so much, and I'm sure they will follow the approach used with the 2nd movie and carry it on with 3 and 4. Numerous sagas used the two-parter approach, like the books adaptations of Harry Potter, Twilight and Hunger Games series, or more "original cases" like Pirates of the Carribeans or what we are getting now with the animated Spiderverse movies (Across and Beyond). But I think the best similarity (and probably what led to this ambitious choice) is with Avengers Infinity War/Endgame, where the BIG FINALE gets developed in two movies.

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two-white-butterflies · 11 months

Text

coaxed you into paradise - c. 13

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series.

Chapter Thirteen: Breakbones and The Realm’s Delight (Saera I)

A dozen moons have passed, the seasons have changed from summer to fall to winter to spring and back to summer. Lady Alicent has turned into Queen Alicent - and my sister has become the wife of Ser Laenor. Daemon follows me - as the moon follows the sun. My heart reaches and heaves for him - but I am married, no longer his as much as I’d like to think otherwise.

Leila is lost to childbirth - her son, Tygos, lives.

I think of her at night, if I would have the same fate as her.

My grip on Caraxes’ snout tightens. The fate of childbirth scares me. “Did you miss me?” I ask, petting him with the same tenderness as I would to a babe. “The both of us did,” my uncle’s velvet voice floods my senses. I love him, truly - but my morals would not allow me to lay with him.

I turn to look at him - his face mirroring a thousand sleepless nights. He was beautiful, I wanted to worship him.

Something has changed within him. His eyes that shone like stars became dull and lifeless. His lips that were filled with plumpness, were now dry and peeling. His hands that were naturally placed on my waist, now laid on his side - staring at me with familiar longingness.

“Are you well, kepus?” a frown formed between my eyebrows. He was a sweet man - never intending to worry anyone of his pains. He kept his sorrows to himself. “I am well, darling.” he lied, taking a step forward, his body pressed against the warmth of my back and his hands atop mine as we pet Caraxes.

I could not stare at Caraxes after that - I only wanted to look at my kepus, and to search for any forms of treachery on his face. He takes a deep breath, aware of my gaze upon his godlike features. I had a lot of ambitions about this life - but if Daemon were to be my husband, there would be no need for ambition - no need to prove myself against my father’s lackeys. I would merely lay on our shared bed, drinking the finest wines and feeding him the sweetest cakes.

“I can feel your sorrow.” I point out, his body moves uncomfortably.

“Tis’ nothing.” he mumbles, yearning for the same things as I.

I keep my hand firm on the snout of his dragon. We were one soul - the purest of blood with the purest of blood. I could see it in his eyes and the permanent line etched on his forehead.

“You can always tell me,” my eyes softened. A year was a mere blink to the gods, but a second without him felt like an eternity. “Do not worry about me, my dragon.” he responded with his familiar coldness.

My mind flashes back to the years before us.

There was no tenderness inside him, then. Only wanton and dark desires that radiated throughout the realm. He was reserved - he’d show me his vulnerable side, but make sure to keep his crassness. He wouldn’t say that he loved me- no. He’d say that he fucking loved me.

He still did.

My uncle was a difficult creature, but I had all the time in the world to unwind him. He was an open book to me.

Without another word, he lays his head on my shoulder. Words failed to explain how much I loved him.

— (Switch Pov)

Harwin was attracted to Saera. He liked how she looked - but that was the end of it. He did not like the way she spoke - or how she rolled her eyes at his every statement. Her jokes didn’t make any sense, and her poetry seemed like a far ocean. Oftentimes he thought that their marriage was a mistake.

She smiled at him, but it would never reach her eyes.

They made love, but she’d just stare at the ceiling and lay limp on the bed.

Harwin had a feeling the Princess didn’t like him - that she tolerated his presence. Which led to him residing in Rhaenyra’s chambers, even late at night. The Princess has taught him about the secret passages - told him that he needed to know it so he could teach his children.

“The Queen hovers over me like I am some petulant child.” Rhaenyra complains, browsing through the thick book on her hands. Alicent was curious and wanted an heir for Rhaenyra - knowing fully well that Laenor was in line with his own gender. “She wishes for me to have a child, so that she may derail my children's claims.” she rolled her eyes.

The Hightowers have become overbearing. Otto was hellbent in making his grandson heir. Lancel wanted to betroth his son to Rhaenyra’s future daughter. And Alicent - she was always strange.

“I don’t see why you’re having a hard time with that.” Harwin chuckles, earning a soft glare from the Princess. “You speak to me rudely, you know that? And you’re the one to speak, my sister is yet to be heavy with a child.” Rhaenyra snides, taking her eyes away from the book.

Ser Harwin Strong has been formally proclaimed as her sworn sword. Harwin was her friend at court - a better replacement to Ser Criston.

“I don’t suppose that it is my fault, the Targaryen Sisters are barren.” he jokes. She hits him lightly with the book in her hands. “How dare you?” she gasps playfully, placing the book on her side and preparing to chase him.

Harwin’s eyes softened.

“It’s not funny,” she crosses her arms with a huff. “I’m sorry.” he hums, moving his body closer to hers.

“I feel as though a dagger is always placed upon my neck. My father asks me about being with a child - and I cannot answer him because - Laenor is having a hard time with me.” she groans, feeling his gaze upon her face.

“ - he’s not attracted to me. He likes men.” she revealed.

“The gods are cruel.” he whispers, hot breath trailing along her ears. The Princess was given a husband that didn’t want her - and he was given a wife that tolerated him. “I could not imagine ever hating you - if you were to be my wife.” he admits, playing with the rings on his finger (a habit he stole from her.)

“I wonder often - if we should’ve been the ones married.” she chuckled, and his eyes alternated between her lips and eyes. He was drunk on her love. “I agree,” he whispers, lips moving closer to hers.

Their lips merged together - tongue prodding inside hers. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, breaking the kiss. They did not think about Saera or Laenor in that moment - only each other, and the bliss that they could bring.

“Byka ōtor, my little sheep.” she cooed while combing through his hair. “How do you say, dragon?” he asked, staring deep into her lavender hues. “Zaldrīzes, but that is what my uncle calls Saera.” she hums, thinking of another possible endearment.

“Fire, then?” he inquires.

“Perzys,” she answers, and he smiles.

“My Perzys.”

—

Daemon was a flickering flame without his little girl. He couldn’t think properly or participate in the meetings of the council without her in his mind. He missed the days that she would fill his cup with wine - and they would lay in his chambers playing a Valyrian game called: zaldrīzoti se ropagon. Saera always won, despite his efforts.

He places the bottles of wine on his vanity - mentally reminding himself to order the handmaidens to clean his room. He had two handmaidens, Freya and Tyanna - they were old ladies given to him by his brother, in fear that he’d fuck the young ones. In fairness to him - he has not visited the Streets of Silk since the start of his informal relationship with Saera.

He has found that the only person that could satisfy him was her.

No other pleasure in the world would do.

A knock on the door reminded him that was still alive. It was one of his trusted gold-cloaks coming to check on him. “Enter,” he commanded, already knowing who it was by the sound of his footsteps. Ser Aran, a newly anointed knight, enters the room - he was a boy of ten and sixteen.

He raised that boy - taught him all that he could, only wanting their loyalty in return. “My lord,” the man bows, holding his helmet near his waist. “The gold cloaks have been disarrayed without you.” the man reports, eyes begging for him to return. “Your new commander, does he not teach you?” his eyes narrowed, not wanting to speak ill of Saera’s husband.

“He does - but it pales in comparison to your regiment.” the man asserts, trying to convince his liege that Harwin Strong was not the right choice. “He is a stranger to us - the men have become weak without our father.” Aran adds.

“Oh, but when I was there - all I could hear were complaints.” Daemon rolled his eyes playfully, sipping on his wine like it was water. “Playful complaints, I assure you - the gold cloaks miss their rightful commander. Flea-Bottom calls us the ‘yellow cloaks’ now, because of our weakness.” Aran informs Daemon's eye twitches at the nickname.

“Fucking cunts - I built you, forged you, and year into his reign he has already turned my hard work into shit.” Daemon’s hand squeezes around the goblet. “Our loyalty remains yours, my prince. If you ever decide to create a coup -” the man tries to finish but Daemon interrupts him.

“My loyalty remains to the crown, and I am thankful that your loyalty remains mine. You are dismissed, Ser Aran.”

next chapter>>

taglist. @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @gracielikegrapes @sweethoneyblossom1 @issybee0611 @tato0od @daemonskelitsos @delaynew @thisbihreadstoomuch

#daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen headcanon #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fluff #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon headcanons #daemon prince #daemonism #hotd daemon

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violetarks · 1 year

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Roy Mustang telling his significant other for the first time that he loves them?

smallest voice ever heard

anime: fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood

character: roy mustang

summary: between the return of night and the brightness of day, roy becomes a sentimental mess that you happily stand by.

warnings: g/n! reader, second person pov, soft roy, short 😐

"you don't always have to set out my clothes for after i shower." you say, smiling at the way roy neatly folds the shirt you're going to wear to bed. he had asked to stay the night with you, and you never questioned him. "i can do that myself, sweetheart."

"i know," roy responds, closing your closet and undergarment drawers, "but i like helping you."

"i appreciate it, roy." you say, still in your towel as you walk towards the bathroom. you pass by your partner, sparing a kiss to his cheek. he is warm, inviting. "i won't be long. make sure you rest, okay?"

he stares at you, slowly nodding his head at the sweet smile you hand to him before leaving into the bathroom. you've managed to always make his heart leap, to make his head ring with his pulse, and he loves it. any other foreign feeling, he would've dismissed and put out like a fire. but you were so welcoming, so kind to him. you were the gentle nature that he had been stripped of and was now reassuringly handed once again.

he will never know why you had by chance fallen upon the bar he and his unit went to quite a lot in his time. he had never seen you there before, except for that one moment, alone and looking for a spare seat by the bartender. the one beside roy was definitely not open, being occupied by havoc who was currently talking up a lady by the bathrooms who seemed disinterested.

but he allowed you to sit there anyway, enjoying the sweet 'thank you' that left your lips as you order what he recommended. you were soft, no sharpness in your tone that told him to buzz off, and you were so easy to fall in conversation with. he felt as if he found out your whole life story in one sitting, and when you left, it was written on the tavern's walls, forever replaying in his mind. he could only think of you.

that was months ago, and still you ran through his thoughts as if it were a game. never a dull moment with you, in the nicest way possible. he wonders if its the same to you. in retrospect, he knows that what he and you do is what any couple do. breakfast together, reading in the backyard garden. perhaps it was boring to you, even though you've never said so, but it was perfect for roy.

he needed to be around you for his sanity. there was no way he could go back to his life before he knew you. addicting, you were, and he couldn't last even a moment without you on his mind.

you knew of his life and his work, and made it seem only little as you filled his story with new blooming memories throughout the seasons. you didn't mind his destructive power, turning it into an entirely new and gentle nature. you were his calm.

he'd been sitting on the bed, reading the book you had recommended to him, when you finish in the bathroom and emerge with steam and a gentle warmth. you have a towel wrapped around yourself, and another to dry your hair. you give roy a grin.

"enjoying yourself?" you ask, nodding to the novel. you move to change, roy returning to the page he was now on.

"yeah. it's nicely written." he claims, leaving you your privacy as the towel drop after your undergarments are on, "this is your favourite author, right?"

you nod your head again, pulling the shirt over your head. "mhm. they have a series i like."

he makes note of that, the light above the both of you showing your shadow moving about. you're quick to change into your pants, shivering at the night with curtains drawn closed and bedroom door locked. "what time are you waking up tomorrow?"

"at 7, i have to be in the office by 8 for a meeting." he informs you, putting his book down and patting the blanket in front of him, edge of the bed. you obey, sitting there and handing him the towel. he begins to dry your hair gently. "what do you have planned? hopefully nothing that will keep you out for the whole day."

you let out a small laugh, "mm, well i have work and then i'm doing grocery shopping after." you look over your shoulder to him, roy blinking at your gaze. "did you want to have lunch together again?"

"if you're available." he replies, grabbing the hairbrush beside you. no matter how long or short you had grew out your hair, it always tangled up after showering. he'd taken it upon himself to fix your problem. his touch has no sign of annoyance or anger, he is gentle. "there's a new cafe that opened up by my office. i'll pick you up at 3?"

you lean back a bit, smiling to yourself. "that sounds nice, sweetheart." you say, leaning in to press a short kiss to his lips.

he's finished a few minutes later, and you move to turn off the lights. he watches your movements, how you barely make a noise when walking about, as if not to disturb him. on your way back, he opens the blankets for you and feels you rustle up beside him. one arm goes under your head to support you, and one of yours wraps around his torso.

his eyes adjust to the dark ess before his gaze glides over your faze from the small light seeping in through the curtain space. you look at ease, making yourself comfortable around him. he never saw you out of that state.

"goodnight, roy." you mumble out.

"i love you, y/n." he says in the smallest voice ever heard.

in his tone, he pushes out all the feelings he's ever felt of you. shining brightly, his heart thumps against your chest, creating a rhythm that you know all too well. you knew what he was like when he was lying, and it was most obvious that he wasn't.

your hands don't falter around his waist, in fact you only look back at him with this sort of seeing that has him grinning. he knows he has just said all that he wishes, and that this is the moment that could break the two of you apart. but he only grins, because you make him do so.

"you do?" you ask, brushing your fingers across his cheek.

he was blushing, you could tell from the warmth underneath your palm. he doesn't try to hide in, instead kissing the inside of your hand.

"i do. i love you." he responds, voice set in stone. this moment is carved into your bones, it's still in your mind so you never forget. "i love you, so much more than i could ever love anybody else."

"will you love anybody else?" you say, your tone insecure as you've been before.

he kisses your nose bridge. "i can't. not when i have you here with me. i wouldn't want to." he proclaims, his heart assuring him that this was right, "if you were suddenly gone, i'd search every mountain and sea to find you. i'd risk all of my life for a moment of your attention."

you smile back at him, hugging him so close that your warmth moulds into his. "i love you too, roy. i love you with all i am." you say, and he lets out a breath of relief, "i would never ask for anyone else. only you."

he smiles into your shoulder. "only me?"

you nod your head, on your back as roy lays above you, surrounding you with everything he was "you outweigh everything in the whole entire universe to me."

in that moment, between the setting and rising of the sun, roy understands what it means to be at peace with yourself. all thanks to you.

#roy mustang #roy mustang x reader #roy #roy x reader #mustang #mustang x reader #fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood x reader #fmab #fmab x reader

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honey-stick · 2 years

Text

so i just read the hunger games trilogy for the first time as a very queer adult, and, like, there's no way katniss isn't aro or on the aromantic spectrum. i know it wasn't intended by the author, but the books seem so much less focused on romance than what id heard about them. katniss's ultimate goals through the series were protecting her family and her top priority was always primrose.

katniss approached every thought of love and romance very logically and could never tell what the romance she was supposed to feel was, and was constantly confused by it. she was more worried about what she was supposed to feel than what she actually felt about peeta or gale. she never seemed like she was interested in having a romantic partner, and was mainly just worried juggling the romantic feelings of others, which is why i think her settling down with peeta and them taking care of each other as close friends or life companions (whether or not they have kids) wouldve been a really great end for her, rather than as a traditionally married couple with kids. when reading the epilogue, we know katniss only had kids because peeta really wanted to have kids, and not out of any desire of her own, which leads me to believe that if it was a matter of marriage she probably just didnt care and got married because peeta wanted it.

her having kids in the epilogue of Mockinjay is a nice tie in to the first book, because she was always terrified of the thought of bringing kids into the world pre-revolution. additionally, given her own relationship with her mother, she'd be reluctant to become one herself, and with how she was parentified as a child and had to take care of her family so young probably added to her fear of having kids whenever she would discuss it with gale early on in the triology. however, her disavowal of marriage is odd together with that if she's supposed to be alloromantic, because she could still both not want kids and be happily married in love. im sure in book 1, if gale and katniss ran off, gale wouldve been fine with a compromise like that.

while romance was very necessary to katniss's survival, it wasn't something she ever wanted or was looking for. she was always horrified at the idea of marriage which was very prevalent in Catching Fire, whether with gale or peeta or anyone else. she was unable to relax around peeta outside of the games until they became actual friends in the second book.

the romance is only a side touch of the books whenever it's brought up by another character, but it's never something katniss is actively thinking about except for the very end, but it's so natural and in character there that it just seems like she is spending her time with peeta as life companions and not as like romantically in love, even with the kids. the trilogy focused heavily on war, government corruption, oppression, trauma, poverty, and family. romance is a part of it, but it wasn't part of the main themes of the books. so in tumblr essay conclusion:

#aromantic #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #mine

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seenoversundown · 4 months

Text

The Caravel Tavern Series : Prologue

Warnings: mentions of drinking/alcohol, sibling banter, fluff/wholesome/good vibes.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: The opening of Caravel Tavern was a dream come true for Jake. With the help of his best friends and brothers, naturally. In a small city in New England, it's rare to come across new faces. (or even run into some from the past)

A 4 Book interconnected series where they find love in the most unexpected ways. The bar was Jake's dream, but somehow is helping everybody else's dreams come true as well.

Rom-Com • Enemies To Lovers • Love At First Sight • Rekindled High School Sweethearts • Workplace Romance • AU - Boys x OCs

Night Moves - Bob Seger “When you just don't seem to have as much to lose Strange how the night moves With autumn closin' in”

Two Days until Open

Flipping the heavy lock and hearing the door chime has become my favorite way to start my day. After six long months of fixing up this place, it’s only days from officially opening. I’ve spent countless hours cleaning it up, with the help of my brothers, obviously. But it has come together and finally feels like mine.

“Goodmoooooorning!” Josh sings from across the room.

“Good Morrow!” I can’t help the slight accent that comes along with it.

Josh has been helping me decorate, thrift, and create things to match the aesthetic here. Deciding to develop a piratical vibe with a touch of retro themes felt right. We’ve spent hours finding the perfect pieces to hang, and thankfully, Josh has a good eye for all that. Red neon signs adorned the walls, with my favorite “Sinners Welcome” sign hanging behind the bar.

“I think we are getting close to finishing with the decor,” Josh says, turning to make eye contact with me.

“If you’re happy with it, then I’m happy with it,” I said, smiling back at him. “Just let me know what I can do to help. Otherwise, I’ll be organizing until the cows come home.”

The door chimes ringing as Sam, our younger brother, walks through the door, Daniel quickly following behind.

Daniel has practically been part of our family since we were kids, so he is treated like a brother. He and Sam went to school together and instantly attached at the hip, so he was at our house often throughout the years. When the time came, he chose not to go away for college, and I helped him get a job with me at the Shipyard. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a glamorous job, but it’s one of the better-paying options— at least it wasn’t a factory.

“Okay, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, we come bearing gifts, and by that, I mean, I hope you like these coffees,” Sam announces as he makes his way to the bar, “black– because I texted both of you and neither replied, so it’s your fault.”

“Some of us have jobs, Sam,” I said back.

Josh pulls out his phone, and I can see him click around for a second, “Oh yeah, there it is.”

Sam abruptly set the coffee on the bar in front of us with a shit-eating grin.

“Mental note, keep coffee creamer,” Josh mumbles and Sam holds a bag out to him before taking a sip.

“I didn’t forget your caramel cold foam whipped cream bullshit that you put in your coffee.”

Josh’s face lights up at the sight, “Wow, you do care about me,” putting on the dramatics per usual, “Also– I better not be Tweedle Dum.”

Sam let out a sinister laugh with an exaggerated shrug, “Guess we’ll never know!”

Since Sam got home from college, he’s been helping Josh and myself get everything done for the bar. Often, he’s reluctant or tries to make it seem that way. I can tell that he likes to be a part of everything. He’s been offering to take pictures of the bar. We have all the beer available, so we can post them on our Instagram, which I’m glad he understands is part of the business because I do not.

“Thank you, Samuel,” I say. “Lucky for you, I always take my coffee black.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“I think if I have to look at another beer can today,” Sam starts, “I’ll lose my mind completely.”

I giggle as I continue to track what we have in stock, “The worst is almost over, bud.”

I’m sure opening the week of Thanksgiving seems like a terrible concept, and, to be frank- it’s overwhelming. I hope the six months of bickering with everybody will prove it was worth it.

“Hey, boss,” Daniel starts, “is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

I’m not exactly proud of how much he startled me. I should be more used to how quiet he is by now, but I don’t think I’ll ever be.

“Jesus Christ,” I stop to process the question. “No, buddy, you can go home. It’s getting late, and we all probably could stand to get some rest before actually opening.”

With no hesitation, I hear Sam ask from the other room, “Does that include me also?”

“Yes, go home!” I shout over to him.

The door chime rings suddenly, causing Josh and me to laugh, walking over to find whatever he is working on. Carefully tapping the frame to ensure it’s centered on the nail, he looks incredibly focused.

“We can also be done for the night,” I tell him, putting my arm around his shoulders.

“Well, even better news, that was the last thing I needed to hang.” He says.

“You’ve outdone yourself, really.” I compliment him.

Patting my hand a few times, he tells me, “Did it up just right, and it’s all for you, brother.”

We stare at each other silently for a second.

“I’m just elated to see you finally going for your dreams.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Opening Night

The room glows in red from the neon signs we’ve hung, making everything feel real suddenly as I look at the locked door. We decided to open a little later in the day so the ambiance would be there. Also, who opens a bar on their first day at noon?

“How are you feelin’?” Daniel asked, squeezing my shoulder to wake me up from my nervous state.

“I’m not well.”

He laughs at my response. “It’s going to be great, Jake.”

I spent a moment trying to crack my knuckles before letting out the breath I had been holding. Listening to the quiet, jazzy riff that Sam is playing on the piano, tucked into the corner.

“You think so?” turning to him for a bit of reassurance.

“Absolutely. I think you’re onto something great, buddy,” he tells me.

My hands shake as I turn the jukebox on for the first official time, hearing the music start playing throughout the bar; we all look at each other for a second with smiles plastered across all our faces.

“Okay, it’s time,” I say as I turn the deadbolt. Seeing Josh pull the little chain on the ‘Open’ sign in the window makes my heart thump even louder.

The moment feels like slow motion as the door opens, and it isn’t one of the four of us who have been working here. I had hardly taken two steps back when the chime went off.

“Oh, sweetheart,” my mom gasps, stepping over the threshold, “This is wonderful.”

She immediately pulls me into a hug; all my nerves disappeared in a simple gesture.

“You did the damn thing, now didn’t ya bub?” Dad finally speaks up, giving me his signature side hug.

Before I knew it, Josh was already toting our parents around the bar, showing them all the decor he was proud of finding. A few customers who weren’t family had started to trickle in and sit at the bar.

“I actually made Jake meet me after work so he could help me pull this out of the dumpster,” Josh explains, louder than I wished he would. A collective “oooh” followed his statement, realizing that a handful of customers sitting close to the tour were also listening to him now.

“I painted this for him,” he continues, pointing at his framed artwork. He’s always been artistic; his imagination was incredible.

A miniature painting of Queen Anne’s Revenge sat in a gold frame. He’s always known that I love everything about pirates and their history. That was one of the first things he made for the bar when I told him I would officially buy it.

“That’s beautiful,” our mom gasped, leaning in to look at the little details even closer. “You really did that, Sunshine?!” Her voice raises excitedly, causing even more customers to glance over. Covering my mouth with my hand, I try to contain the laugh. Josh really did turn into Mom over the years, huh?

“You obviously know that Jake loves his pirates,”

“Oh, I sure do,” Mom says, “Remember when he would cry because his favorite pirate ship jammies needed to be washed?”

“Alright, alright. Mum, we don’t need to bring it up,” I chime in, “ again,” shaking my head at the trip down memory lane.

My dad finally snuck away from the Grand Tour, found a seat at the bar, and started to make conversation with a few people.

Glancing over to the door as it opens, Old Man Chuck strolls in, immediately making eye contact. He makes his way over to the corner stool at the bar.

Without asking, I slide a beer over to him.

“Ya did a hell of a job, kid. Place looks wicked good,” he mumbles.

“Thank you, Sir,” I matched his volume, “that one’s on me.” He gave me a subtle nod.

Old Man Chuck wasn’t a man of many words, and I respected that. He took a chance to sell me the bar; I’ll always be grateful. It probably helps that I have spent plenty of nights here when he still owned it, but where else am I supposed to go when my apartment is only two floors above?

As the night goes on, people start trickling in. Living in Portland for so long, you realize everyone knows everyone. Considering we were rapidly approaching Thanksgiving, many people were home for the holidays and in need of a break from their families.

I scan the bar to see if anybody hasn’t been tended to when I see Sam trying his hardest to converse with Chuck, and it’s not working. I walk over, touching his shoulder to get his attention.

“Sammy boy, can you just do a quick round and make sure everyone in the booths is good?” I quickly ask him.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

I watch as he makes his way to each table, collecting empty glasses and making occasional small talk with some of the groups.

“Everyone good over here?” I could hear him asking from behind the bar.

Even though he would complain daily about helping out, I could tell he didn’t mind doing this part as much. I could never say to him because it would go straight to his head, and I’d never hear the end, but I’m incredibly proud of him. Poor kid hasn’t worked a day in his life, and I’ve been putting him through it for the last few months.

“Oh, you sell things at the farmer’s market too?” he asks. “What’s your Instagram? I’ll follow you real quick!”

He’s always been comfortable talking to people; he usually seems carefree. I’ve always admired how sure of himself he is. I don’t know if it’s the amount of time he spends outside or that he got a few years away from us, but he’s gotten much more comfortable with himself.

“So.. do you have a boy-“

All of that to say, he has absolutely no game with the ladies.

“Hey bud, I told you to check on everyone,” I glance over at the girl and back at Sam, “not harass them.”

“Jake, what are you doing?” he spits out, “I’m so sorry- uhh”

I give him a quick double pat on the back and nod towards the bar.

“Are you kidding? I was trying to–” Sam continues as I stroll behind the bar. “Do you actually hate me?”

“You were not about to win her over, Sam,” I laugh. “She’s been making eyes at Daniel all night.”

I watch him deflate, putting the dirty glasses he brought back in the bin beside me.

“She doesn’t seem like your type anyway.”

“And you know what my type is?” He questions with a smug look on his face.

“She clearly wasn’t feisty enough to put up with your stubborn ass,” I quip back with a smile.

Unimpressed with my response, he goes back to mingling with customers. I find myself watching him as he makes small talk.

I probably shouldn’t step in on his attempts at flirting, but I could see that one imploding a little too quickly.

I don’t have the best of luck with women myself. I haven’t been on a date in God knows how long. The bar has kept me so busy I don’t even consider it. There are too many things I need to think about constantly, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to do that to someone.

Scanning the room, I notice a couple sitting together in one of the booths, his arm draped over her shoulders. The way she looks at him, gazing at him like he created the moon. Cradling his face with her tiny hand and pressing her lips to his cheek, a smile erupted across his face. Maybe one day.

“Come back to earth, honey,” followed by a few snaps, pull me out of my own world.

“I’m sorry, Linda,” I laugh, “I’m happy to see you here.”

Linda Graves, a sweet older lady, will quickly become one of our regulars. She runs a stand at our local farmer’s market and quickly became buddies with Sam. Her husband had recently passed when he first met her, but she was slowly making her way back out into the world. She’s an eccentric girl and, honestly, reminds me of Josh often.

“Where’s the big guy?” she asks, making her bright red glasses bounce up and down suggestively.

“You know he has a name–”

“I’m trying to play hard to get Jake. You’re supposed to be my wingman,” she whispers, gently smacking my arm, “Did I use that right?”

Throwing my head back with a laugh, I said, “Oh god, you’re right!”

Gesturing to Linda to give me one second, I find the man of her dreams, who is conveniently walking out of the bathroom as I turn into the hall.

“I have a lovely little lady who would like to see you,” choking back the laugh.

“Is it who I think it is?” Daniel asks, following me towards the bar, “Ahhh– there she is.”

He’s a good sport about most things, which is a refreshing outlook to have around, considering who my family is.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he starts, and I watch her melt into a puddle over him.

“Now, Lin, you know I’m gonna have to check your ID if you want to drink tonight.” He tells her with a little wink.

“Oh, Danny. You make me feel so young,” Linda tells him.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? You ARE young,”

“You cut it out now,” She giggles like a schoolgirl, “I look like a bag of bones. I think we both know I’m old.”

“You don’t look a day over 21.” He leans forward, holding himself on the bar. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making his arm muscles flex a little while he listens to her talk. I watch Linda taking little glances at his biceps while he talks.

I see the towel he has sitting over his shoulder starting to slip, and I lean forward to catch it as it falls. Tossing it back over his shoulder, he gives me a slight nod since he is mid-sentence.

“Good save,” Linda quips.

“Thank you, thank you,” I send her a warm smile.

I turn around immediately, bumping into Josh, his teeth on full display, giggling to himself. I haven’t seen him this happy in a while.

“Having fun?” I ask.

“Of course! I’m drunk!”

“I- uh- you’re what?” The panic lacing my voice is intense.

“Jake,” he says while grabbing my shoulders, “I’m kidding.”

Dropping my head back in relief that it was a joke, I’m disappointed I fell for it.

“What a little shit you are,” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.

“Who are you calling little? I’m five minutes older than you, bub.” He calls back over the music.

I roll my eyes and walk off. He’ll never let that die.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Excuse me.”

I turn around to find a petite older lady sitting at the bar.

“Oh, I’m sorry, how are you this evening?” I ask.

“Well, it’s much better now,” she batted her eyelashes at me.

“I’m so happy to hear,” I hold in a laugh, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Do you have any Moscato or Rieslings?

I smile as she asks, “Of course I do. Hang on”

Turning around to the fridge where we store our white wine, I giggle quietly.

Looks like I’ve gained my own Linda.

I grab a glass and turn back to her, setting the glass in front of her.

“I don’t know if you know this..” I pause, “I’m sorry, I never got your name?”

“Eleanor”

“Well, Eleanor, I save this specific bottle of Moscato for only the sweetest of girls,” I tell her as I pour the chilled wine into her glass.

“Oh, you stop,” She bashfully waves her hand toward me.

I glance at her with a smirk cemented across my face.

“Here you go, darling,” I slide the glass across the bar to her.

I give her a second to take a sip, and I can hear the quiet hum telling me that the wine is what she was hoping for.

“Actually,” I start, “I’d like to introduce you to someone. I think you would get along a little too well.”

I look over to Linda, who has taken a break from flirting with Daniel for a moment so he can get some work done. Waving her over, she grabs her bag and downs the rest of her drink before walking around to Miss Eleanor and me.

“Linda, this is Eleanor.” I introduce them and watch as they start to make small talk.

I found out that they both are into crafting and that Eleanor has been known to make the vases for the Flower Truck that goes to the Farmer’s Market. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Where are my boys?” Mom asks loudly.

Somehow, we all heard her over the chatter of the bar. Sam was already closest to her, so he wrapped her up in a hug first.

“I’m getting too old to be out this late, Buttercup,” she tells him.

“Ma, it’s only 10 PM,”

“I know, I know,” she says, patting his chest gently.

Reaching out for Josh, who’s coming in hot for a hug. Wrapping her tightly and rocking her back and forth.

“I love you,” Josh spoke with an inside voice. Something about our mom brought him down to earth.

“Oh, I love you so much, Sunshine,” Mom leans back, holding him at arm’s length, “You did a fantastic job decorating.”

“Thank you, Mama,” he mumbles, pulling her back for another hug.

“Alright, where’s my extra son?” She looks around for a moment before making eye contact with Daniel. She waves him down, watching the smile creep onto his face as he approaches her.

“Oh, my sweet little dumpling,” She has always had a soft spot for him, “I would never leave without a big hug from you.” She pulls him into a bear hug, rubbing his back a few times.

“Missed you so much,” He can’t help the giggle that comes from him at the pet name he gained as a child.

I stand there watching my brothers both say goodbye to our Dad, giving him quick hugs per usual. Dad was never one for the emotional situations, but he’s loosened up over the years. Looking over at me, he gestures for me to go to him.

“I know we’ll see you guys in the morning,” he starts, looking down at the floor with his hands tucked in his pockets, “But I just want you to know. I really am proud of you, kid.”

He looks back up at me, and his eyes look like they’re struggling to fight the emotion.

“Thank you,” Without a second thought, I wrap my arms around him.

He pats my back a few times before pulling away from the hug, “I can tell how much this place means to you, and I’m just so happy for you.”

He points behind me, letting out a small laugh.

I can hardly turn around before being bombarded by my mother.

“I’m glad you made it for the opening night,” I whisper.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t miss this,” She whispers back, pressing a few kisses to my cheek, “Can’t tell you enough how proud I am,”

I place a kiss on the side of her head, “I love you, Mum.”

I let Sam walk our parents out, returning to my place behind the bar. Happily watching Josh mingle with customers, it’s nice to see him existing in an environment that suits him. He just beams when he gets to be social and himself; Josh is much too loud and animated for his current job, and he needs something like this.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“We’ll be back for sure!” rings through the bar as the last patrons walk out.

Pulling the doors shut and locking us in, I spin on my heels to face Josh, Sam, and Daniel. We all just stare at each other for a few seconds, even though it feels longer, and we cannot contain the laughter of disbelief. We did it… I did it.

Josh quickly closes the distance between us, pulling me into a hug. Being twins has created a very different bond; he’s my best friend. I don’t think I would have had the courage to purchase the bar if it hadn’t been for him in my ear reminding me that I could do it.

“I just want you to know that,” Josh starts, “I’m so proud of you, and I will always be here to help you, even if you don’t want to ask for it,” his voice shakes slightly.

“Thanks, bub. I love you,” squeezing Josh one more time. I hope he knows I’m always ready to do the same for him.

“I think this calls for celebration, don’t you?” Daniel asks, walking over to us holding beers.

“Cheers!” I holler, raising my beer for everyone to join. We all share a well-deserved celebratory moment after the last six months.

I grab a towel from behind the bar, walking back to one of the tables where Sam collects cans and glasses.

“Isn’t this what Dad used to play all the time in the car?” Sam asks while I’m wiping down the table. I listen a little more closely, realizing it’s absolutely one of our dad’s favorite songs.

“I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds,”

We sing along as it plays, laughing hard as I whip Sam with the towel. He flips me off before walking away with a few glasses in his other hand.

We all slowly cleaned and serenaded each other, which made us giggle like a bunch of little kids.

“Workin’ on our night moves,”

Josh sings dramatically, holding his half-drunk beer like a microphone.

“Mmmm, in the sweet summertime”

This time, he leaned over to me so we could sing together, just like we used to as kids in the back seat.

“We were just young, restless, and bored,” Daniel sings as he walks from the back room.

Suddenly, the piano starts ringing through the bar, and we all find Sam playing along with the jukebox. I’ll let it slide since he was incredibly helpful today.

“And we'd steal away every chance we could

To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods.”

I finish gathering all the trash and tossing the bags near the back door. Josh still plugging away, cleaning all the glasses while serenading us all.

“And I waited on the thunder,” I sing, turning to point at Josh, knowing that he will absolutely know what to do next.

As expected, Josh belts out the line, “Waited on the thunder.” he always had a way of making the entire room laugh.

“When you just don't seem to have as much to lose.”

I prop open the back door to bring the trash out. A robust and crisp breeze envelopes me. It smells like it could snow.

“Strange how the night moves

With autumn closin' in”

I take a deep breath. The cold air is refreshing after a long night. After tossing the trash, I walk back inside to the sound of hysterical laughter. The three of them bent over in a fit of giggles as they all yelled the backing vocals.

“(Night moves) I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember.”

In the moment, I think to myself, If you can’t beat em, join em. I drape my arm over Josh’s shoulders as I shout with them. Giving him a double pat on his chest as we all laugh together.

“Alright, boys, let’s go home,” I tell them in my finest English accent.

I make my way over to the door, holding it open for them to file through. I took one last glance over to make sure we took care of everything.

“I remember, I remember,” I sing under my breath, flipping the lights off.

Caravel Tavern Master Post | Masterlist | Taglist

Sparrow Of The Dawn Chapter One

Book 1 of the series; Sam x Willa (Fem OC)

Taglist:

@gvfsstardust, @peaceloveunitygvf, @myleftsock,@imleavingyoufornewyork,@threadofstars,@mindastreamofcolours,@dont-go-home-without-me,@literal-dead-leaf,@lizzys-sunflower,@ourlovesdesire,@mackalah,@klarxtr, @edgingthedarkness, @i-love-gvf

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