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frost-queen · 22 days

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My mortal flaw // part 4 (Reader x Zuko)

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Summary: Returning to a massive city in the earthkingdom. The three of you are rather greeted with brutal force... from fire benders. What might cause them to lash out to the fire prince and what will this mean for the future. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3 ]

The ship neared land. You stood at the railing, still feeling a bit out of sense. You weren’t your full self yet. Still recovering from the Northern water tribe battle. Turning your head you caught Zuko arriving on deck. His fire nation clothing set aside. Settling for something plain. More natural to the earth kingdom colours. It made you look at your own clothing for a moment. Stating it so obvious you were from the water tribes. The brightest blue and silver.

Zuko went over to the other side, watching a small boat be lowered into the waters to head for land. Not a moment later came Iroh in sight. No sign of his fire nations colours as well. It made you wonder for a moment if you needed to change as well. One of the soldiers approached you. – “Princess.” – he greeted with a bow. He then gestured at Zuko and Iroh, who were waiting to get on the boat.

You gave him a respective nod before following him to the boat. Iroh took you by the arm, moving you forwards. – “Are you sure you are up for it?” – Iroh asked. – “Yes.” – you told him, not wanting them to be on their own. Also you didn’t want to look weak in front of them.

You got helped down in the boat. Iroh already sitting down with you. Looking up, you saw Zuko speak to his closest soldier. Slipping him something as it made you wonder what it was. Zuko then made his way down. You decided not to ask about it. Iroh handed an oar over to Zuko. They wanted to set it in the water as you got up, undoing yourself from your cloak.

With a deep sigh you sometimes wondered if they were truly dumb or just pretending to be. – “Put the oars down boys.” – you told them. Zuko and Iroh gave each other a glance. – “Princess you are not fully healed yet… let us row.” – Iroh suggested. You didn’t want to hear it. You could easily bring them to shore in a few minutes, while their rowing might take you hours.

“I’m not made of glass.” – you commented taking a stand in the centre of the boat. – “Y/n sit down!” – Zuko ordered bothered. You puffed loud, swaying your hands. The boat got pushed through the water, making Zuko fall back. Annoyed he grabbed onto the railing.

The water rippled smoothly around the boat as you steered it to land. Iroh enjoying the breeze. Zuko sitting with his arms crossed, moping grumpily. In a matter of minutes, you arrived at land. Iroh and Zuko pushed the boat further onto land to hide. You left your coat in the boat as it wasn’t cold anymore. – “Where are we going?” – you asked joining Zuko and Iroh.

“Anywhere!” – Zuko responded bitsy. Rolling with your eyes, you followed them further into the earth kingdom. After a while of wandering the forests, you started to recognized bits and pieces of previous travels. You had been here before not so long ago. Once you found a pathway, you knew enough.

Seeing the mountain of a city up head. Omashu. Frowning you wondered where all the people were. People used to line up to the gates to try and enter. Now it was deserted. You didn’t appear to be the only one confused, as Iroh was as equally confused yet didn’t commented on it. Zuko was leading the way.

Bushes ruffled as it made Zuko and Iroh take a stand. You turned around taking a stand for yourself to protect them from behind. There was more rustling till some men appeared from behind it. Zuko and Iroh lowered their firm hands with a soft sigh. They were fire nation soldiers. – “It’s the prince!” – one of them called out loud. Something about their tone alerted you.

Two or three men joined as they performed a sequence to conjure fire. Iroh and Zuko stumbled confused back. You tensed your jaw pushing between them as their fire unleashed. Moving your hands across, you caught the fire with a stream of water. They were shocked for a moment. Your expression turned serious, staring coldly at them.

“What is going on?” – Iroh called out confused why some of their own would attack. – “This is Prince Zuko!” – he told them. The soldiers ignored Iroh’s talk, pushing their fists forwards to blast fire at them. You held your hands in front of you, blocking the fire with a wave of water. Zuko grunted loud with a shout, letting his hands blaze fire.

Zuko threw fire at them with loud grunts of anger. Iroh joined keeping himself composed while he bended. Two of them turned their attention to you. Chuckling thinking this would be an easy win. You smiled witty back at them before letting water swish around you. Swiping your hands below while you spun, sweeping them off their feet with water.

A little change of your hand posture made the water go cold and turn into ice. You caught Zuko stumbling back, arms up as he blocked a wave of fire. You rushed over to him as Zuko lowered his hands. Doing a little jump, you moved your leg from up to down as you had seen Zuko do numerous times. A stream of water slashing the soldier like a whip.

The soldier got whipped to the ground. Zuko stared with wide eyes at you, recognizing the fire bending move. Zuko’s attention fell on a soldier coming from the side. He grabbed your wrist, pulling at it. Stumbling over your feet, you got moved behind him as he blocked the fire coming your way.

Another one came in view as you turned your posture towards him. Fighting back to back with Zuko against the soldiers. Water droplets nearing fire flickers. Iroh came closer as the three of you stood up right, panting as you looked at the soldiers out bested. Zuko puffed angered walking up the them. – “Who send you!” – he called out.

The soldiers were too worn out to reply, barely finding the strength to get up. You joined Zuko’s side, grabbing one by the collar. – Don’t mess with the prince again!” – you told them coldly. You then punched him in the jaw, sending him back down. Zuko turned towards you, touching your elbow.

“I’m good.” – you told him before he could ask it. He nodded firm in return. – “We cannot stay here.” – Iroh spoke urging Zuko and you to leave with him. The three of you went on, trailing up to the great city of Omashu. – “The fire nation so close to Omashu… they never dared before.” – Iroh mumbled to himself.

The city peaked up. Eyes widening as your mouth fell open. The flags of the fire nation waving gracefully in the wind against the sturdy walls of Omashu. - “How?” – you questioned. – “The water tribe was a distraction.” – Iroh commented firm. – “Who could’ve done this?” – was your next question as your eyes fell on something. You walked past Zuko closer to the walls. It first seemed little, but when you came closer it was a thousand papers sticking to the wall.

You gasped tearing one off the wall. – “What do you have?” – Zuko asked in a loud tone. His question made you move it behind your back. Not that it was many use as it was plastered a thousand times more behind you. Zuko approached you, keeping his gaze at you.

Coming to stand in front of you. – “Y/n!” – he simply said to demand you to give him what you were keeping hidden from him. Shaking your head, you didn’t want him to see. Zuko moved his arm around you, snatching the paper from your hands. It was a bit wrinkled so he smoothed it over till his eyes widened as well.

The shock in his eyes when he saw his own face on a wanted poster. He then looked up seeing a thousand more of them sticking to the wall. The poster crumbled in his hands as it flared up in flames. Turning to ashes. Zuko grunted turning sharp on his heel. Iroh neared looking at the posters for himself. – “Is it the fire lord?” – you asked him.

Iroh exhaled deep. – “Perhaps…” – he muttered. Iroh took you by the arm, leading you away from the walls of Omashu. The city wasn’t save anymore. – “Those soldiers… is that why they?” – you questioned. – “I fear so.” – Iroh commented, eyeing Zuko up ahead. Pacing like a mad man.

The three of you moved back towards the waters. Iroh keeping a close eye on every bush. They might be the first, but they won’t be the last. Not now when Zuko is being seen as an enemy of the nation. A shadow fell over the ground as it caught your attention. It made you look up, blocking the sun out to get a better look. High up in the sky, you saw the sky bison soar over the woods.

Knowing it was the Avatar. He probably knew about the fall of Omashu as well. Having been falling a bit behind, you jogged over to join Iroh. Iroh caught up with Zuko catching him by his shoulder. Zuko pushed his hand off with aggression. – “Three years I fought to restore my honour and now! I am seen as a traitor to the fire nation!” – he yelled, losing his temper.

Iroh wanted to reach out to his nephew but Zuko just pushed him away. – “I don’t need your sympathy old man!” – he cursed out. – “Zuko!” – you yelled for his temper. – “I certainly don’t need yours!” – he made clear with an angry point.

“Good because you don’t deserve it!” – you answered loudly. Zuko crossed his arms, turning away from you like a grumpy defeated child. – “You have two choices here Zuko. You can either complain about it or do something about it!” – you explained having enough of his whining. Zuko kept his clenched posture for a moment, till he exhaled deep, loosening his muscles.

He slowly turned his head back to you, ashamed that he got scolded by you. – “Now I assume we can’t go back to the ship?” – you asked Iroh who nodded. – “So we live on as fugitives until we get to the bottom of this.” – you took the lead as it seemed he wasn’t capable of taking decisions that were of ration. Zuko looked over at his uncle who only shrugged his shoulders, agreeing in silent with you.

Zuko puffed loud going right, heading away from the ship. Iroh gave you an approving nod. You were getting better at tempering him. Proudly you smiled in return. The three of you arrived at a stream. Zuko sighed soft as he came kneeling before the stream. Iroh on his right as you came kneeling on his left. Zuko took out a knife as you wondered what he might do.

He brought it up to his ponytail. With a bit of hesitation he cut it off. He then handed the knife over to Iroh, who cut the little bun on his head off. You looked down, closing your eyes for a moment. Opening them, you brought your hands to your neck. Unclipping the necklace of your tribe from your neck. You brought it forwards in your hand. Zuko and Iroh threw their cut off hair into the stream.

Staring at your necklace, you knew the sacrifice you had to do. Moving your hand forwards you wanted to toss your necklace into the water with them. A sudden grip around your wrist withheld you from doing it. Surprised you looked at Zuko. His hand tight around your wrist, his gaze focused on the water.

“It’s my sacrifice.” – you explained. Wanting to show them you were with them till the end. – “No.” – Zuko simply said. He took the necklace out of your hand, bringing it away from the water, closer to him. His hand disappeared under his shirt, where he tugged your necklace away. Your heart warmth by this, you touched his cheek, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek. Still wanting to give something up of yours, you ripped a piece of your dress. Tossing it into the stream.

Glancing to your side, you saw Zuko stare in silence in front of him. Caught off guard by your kiss. Taking a deep breath, you accepted your new faith. Not sure who portrayed Zuko and Iroh as traitors to the fire nation.

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zhongrin · 1 year

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gemesin

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, xiao, childe, al haitham, tighnari, kazuha, cyno, scaramouche, diluc

◇ tags ◇ more teeth-rotting floof what did you expect, slightly suggestive (al haitham)

◇ note ◇ translated to english, means “adorable” or “cute”

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

some (or in some of these cases, most) people wouldn't associate the word “cute” with your boyfriend, but you beg to differ.

the way he just hovers and lingers over you whenever he wants your company but doesn’t want to disturb you. if you keep ignoring him, he wouldn’t even realize it himself, but he’ll give you a wet puppy (hatchling?) look. at first, you might have thought that your eyes were playing tricks on you, but if you glance through the mirror - yup, there it is. best abandon whatever you’re doing and give him some attention now.

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 9/10

once in a while, upon your continuous insistence, xiao will transform into his bird form. a tiny little thing, with magical blue-green feathers and a darker color on his beak, his signature golden eyes no longer catlike but beady-looking. his favorite nest? the top of your head. yes, he will peck anyone who troubles you without hesitation. yes, he will tuck his head under his wings when he sleeps. and yes, he absolutely enjoys the head pats and chin scratches you give him while he's in this form.

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 10/10

drunk kazuha and severely sleepy kazuha has one thing in common: they’re utterly, completely, earth-shatteringly endearing. he’s whinier, more giggly than normal, and is very easily entertained by the slightest things. the simplest action like you booping his nose can instantly make a loopy smile spread across his lips and a breathy giggle escape his throat. oh, and did i tell you that he’s more honest and needier than usual in these states, too?

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 9.9/10

when he pouts and whines and pouts and whines and burrows his face onto your stomach like a cat. maybe you didn't give him enough cuddles? forgot to give him his morning kiss? you’re not too sure, but you’re very sure that the way he puffs his cheeks as he gives you an expectant look is just plain adorable.

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 9.5/10

this big, stoic-looking man has no weakness…. well, two weaknesses. the first one being you, and the second one being tickle fights. yes, he’s ticklish. yes, you probably discovered this because of kaeya’s big mouth. yes, you most definitely should test the theory. and if you have the physical abilities to catch up with the darknight hero, you might even be able to see a breathless, teary-eyed diluc laughing and almost choking on his own spit because he’s struggling to hold back his laughter as your fingers work their magic on that specific spot on his sides.

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 7/10

the momentary drop in his expression as you catch him off guard on one of his rare days is truly a sight to remember. his eyes widening a fraction and his lips parting a tad, body flinching and frozen as his brain tries to kickstart and amend his reaction to a more subdued one. how does one achieve this seemingly impossible feat, you ask? well... either you do something entirely stupid (please note that you might be subjected to a two hours lecture after this) or you do something entirely inappropriate (like pulling him into a kiss in broad daylight in public, but then again, you might regret the consequences later)

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 6.5/10

his ears, his ears, his ears. they’re sometimes even more expressive than his expressions, it’s worth dedicating an entire journal to observe and document their movements. his fox instincts are also very adorable, especially when he’s unconsciously trying to groom his ears and tails whenever his guard is down and he thinks that no one’s around. not many things can rival that endearingness... except perhaps the sight of the sulky pout on his lips when he presents himself to you after his grooming session and you don’t comment on it.

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 8/10

when you reply to his bad joke with another bad joke. he’s so lost. and it shows in the way his eyes widen as he stares at you silently, head tilted a tad to the sides, his lips apart. you can literally hear the neurons in his brain working overtime to try and decipher your words. and the confused-slash-slightly-embarrassed lilt of his voice as he asks you to explain? it’s guaranteed to make you want to pinch his cheeks and kiss his nose.

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 8.5/10

yeah no, there’s nothing cute about this prickly man…… unless. unless you manage to be the love of his life and earn his complete trust. it’ll take you years and the stars need to align perfectly and you'll need the blessings of all seven archons, but you might get the chance to see the rarest phenomenon in all of teyvat: a sleepy scaramouche, woken up from his slumber, clinging desperately to you when he senses you moving away from him on the bed. he looks like a cat that fell into the bathtub and is only halfway dried with all his hair sticking all over the place like that, but the cutest thing has to be the sleepy pout and the soft whines of “mm, stay with me please…”

Ꮺ 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 (surprisingly) — 9.5/10 (normally -5/10)

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headpainmigraine · 4 months

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Sometimes I really wish that it was cripplecore or cripple-other-suffix because SO MANY PEOPLE are getting confused by the "punk" part in cripplepunk

It's not an aesthetic.

Battlejackets and mohawks and spiked collars with the cuffs, it doesn't mean anything. It's just windowdressing.

You're a cripple and you're a punk. And that's cool. But you can wear business suits 24/7, or only white knee length flowy dresses, or dungarees and nothing else, and still be cripplepunk. As much as anyone else in a battlejacket and studs.

The thing that makes you cripplepunk is your crippled body, regardless of what you dress in.

It doesn't matter if you're into strictly runway fashion only, or you're in a pair of jeans you haven't taken off in 6 months, a step is still going to stop you getting into a place if you're in a wheelchair.

Websites still won't accomodate your sight loss, even if you and your service dog have matching dyed hair.

Medical professionals aren't going to believe you about the amount of pain you're in regardless of what you wear (yeah, that 'dressed like a professional at the doctor's office' thing wears off fast if you keep going back there)

Cripplepunk didn't need to be carved out of the disabled community because it looked and sounded cool.

We were being talked over, online and in our real lives, expected to be quiet and pleasant.

We needed a space, so Ty DIY'd one for themselves, and for all of us.

Worried about not looking punk enough for cripplepunk?

Can't make that intricate battlejacket because you haven't got the energy or dexterity or steady hands or means?

Can't afford a pack of studs and a tool off eBay to stud your own clothes?

Can't make your own but can't afford store-bought?

Doesn't matter.

Live unashamed of your disability, live in plain sight with your disability, be angry and loud and rude and disabled because we don't need to be palatable to the physically abled.

Cripplepunk is not about being seen as punk, it's about being seen as a cripple.

#cripplepunk #cripple punk #cpunk #crippunk #crip punk #physical disabilities #physically disabled #my head is tearing itself apart #but this is annoying too #just having a bitch

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spacecowboyhotch · 4 months

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In Plain Sight, Ch 2: A Hoard of Cupids

summary: nathan’s much more insightful about you than he used to be. it’s making you uneasy…and curious.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, pining, nathan trying to be nice but he’s so abrasive lol, pining, mentions of caretaking/sick family members, mentions of emotionally abusive parents, masturbation (m), sub!nathan if you squint

wc: 2,745

AN: back at it with part twoooo. thank you all for the kind words and support on this fic, i didn’t expect it to get the response it did but i’m really excited to give y’all the rest. fair warning that these chapters seem to be getting longer as i write on. happy reading!

in plain sight masterlist | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan gives you space— at first. When you return the next day at 7 a.m. sharp he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the living room or in the kitchen, not on his patio boxing. You assume he’s in his room, probably toying with one of his bots in a distasteful manner. The idea makes you shudder. But is it not easier to come to work with every task he could want you to do placed on his desk, no fuss?

You don’t like Nathan Bateman. He’s a pompous asshole, a know it all, a man who thinks only about his own desires. When he apologized— or rather attempted to— yesterday you thought that maybe you slipped and fallen down the stairs on your way out. By his standards, it was a top tier apology. You’d never once heard him apologize to anyone. On your drive home you had wondered if he had ever apologized in his life. The thought made you giggle, and then you’d turned up the music and forgotten about him until right now.

Sat at your desk, an ungodly stack of things to do. There’s a note sat on top. It’s simple and straightforward, lacking emotion but somehow still has your stomach flipping. It reads:

In meetings all day— let me know if you need anything. Go home early today.

Mr. Bateman

P.S. I’ll spruce up my apologizing skills.

You regard the note cautiously, raising your brow at it before you let yourself laugh a little. Was this a joke or had Nathan Bateman taken some criticism to heart (which is rumored to not exist). You fold the note up, and for some reason slip it into your bag.

The last thing that’s on your mind is that Nathan’s watching you. He sits in the dark at his monitors, leaning in closely. His eyes trace your figure on the screens intensely, watching as you read and read and read. He expects no reaction from you beside maybe throwing it in the trash. But then you laugh, and he watches you store it for safekeeping. A piece of him will go home with you. Nathan never thought he’d be jealous of a piece of paper, not when he seems to have the entire world at his fingertips.

—

He returns to his normal behavior after a week— partially because he thinks you settled in. And partially because…well he begrudgingly can admit to himself, in the comfort of his own mind, that he misses you. When you get to work the next Monday he’s sat on an observation table, examining what looks like a deconstructed robot brain.

You aren’t even able to open your mouth and say good morning before he’s talking to you.

“Are you sleeping okay?” He asks, his eyes appraising you intensely.

You stop in your tracks, regarding him as always, your expression pieced into that calm expression. So you’re back to normal, none of that fire. He expected it but that doesn’t keep him from feeling disappointed.

“Sir?”

“You look really fucking tired. Exhausted,” He tacts on for good measure.

Your spine goes completely rigid, your grip on your bag tightening. You are tired. So very tired. You work shitty hours for incredible money and then go home to take care of your younger sisters and mother. Dealing with Nathan is for them. For your sisters’ schooling, so they won’t feel left out when the other kids have the newest gadget or shoes. For your mother’s ever piling medical bills. It’s important that you don’t jeopardize something so precious.

“Is it affecting my work? Have I done something wrong?” You ask him softly.

“No— that’s not why I’m—“ He stutters before closing his mouth and starting anew. You’ve never seen him like this. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was flustered. But knowing Nathan, he’s just never asked a single employee he’s ever had if they’re alright. “I’m your boss, I worry about your well being. That’s what good bosses do.”

“Are you sure?” You ask evenly, eyes still trained on him.

“Am I—“ He stops, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he bites away his smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

If he was looking at you so intentionally he would miss the way your mouth twitches. “I’m fine, Mr. Bateman. I have a lot of responsibilities, not only here but out there as well.”

“Out there?”

“The real world. Thank you for the concern, sir.”

For the second time, you’ve rendered Nathan speechless. That night he lays in bed thinking of you, like many nights prior. He turns your words over in his head time and time again. The real world. Do you think he doesn’t know what it’s like out there? He wonders how much research you’d done for the job. Nathan used his brain to get here, climbing and climbing. He hadn’t been born into this but his personality lent itself to such a conclusion. Nathan knows what his real world used to look like, though one day he hopes that any of his contraptions can help him forget. He wonders what your real world looks like.

There’s no ring on your finger, but you could have a partner. Kids? Another job? He pays you well enough for that to not be necessary. Maybe you volunteer at a puppy shelter. He could picture it. You in something other than your stuffy work clothes, a smile on your face as you drown in puppy breath and slobber.

He groans, rolling over in bed to plant his face deeply in the pillow. Maybe he can smother himself out of this. Thinking about puppies? He might as well be one, he’s practically lovesick if you have him thinking like this. When would he get used to feeling this way? His usual cynical thoughts feel like they’re being pillaged by a hoard of cupids.

He doesn’t even know if you feel the same. Being better for you is one thing, but what if there’s no payoff? What if he changes for you and you leave him high and dry? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He feels the back of his neck sweating and sits up.

Nathan’s been down this road before, it’s brought him his fortune and an insane work ethic. It’s all brought him sorrow he’ll never be able to escape. Being with his parents feels like a fever dream sometimes and other times he feels 6 again, like he’s drowning in their expectations and insults, trying to measure up. He’d given up eventually, once he realized that they would never love him the way parents should. Why try to do anything anyone wanted but himself when they could still treat him poorly for it?

He’s the way he is from his own indoctrination. He doesn’t know where he would be if he hadn’t convinced himself that he was the only person that truly matters.

But, now there’s you. You, who looks so soft, you that scratches an itch he didn’t even realize he had. You, that he wants to goad and prod and poke until you unleash all of yourself on him. He closes his eyes and lays back, envisioning you right here with him. He feels insane, his heart— his mind, his dick— are taking him through a whirlwind of emotions right now.

He palms himself through his boxers, eyes squeezing shut tighter than before as he tries to narrate. He pictures you in one of his white shirts, it’s fabric nearly see-through with the way it clings to your breasts. He grasps his length through his boxers letting out a heaving sigh. Fuck he wishes this was you.

If there’s anything that Nathan knows how to do its not only being smartest but the most imaginative. He’s been daydreaming for as long as he can remember. Universes with better outcomes— having worth, or loving parents or anyone for that matter. Anyone to be on his side. He imagined codes and synthetic body parts that live and breathe in front of him. He can surely imagine you, breathy and horny in his bed, jerking him off. He doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, or inappropriate. He wants you, and maybe this is the only way he can have you. He slides his boxers down, finally done teasing himself. Licking his palm, he grabs his cock, starts stroking and succumbs to the thought of you.

Another moan bubbles out of his throat. He can see your nipples through his shirt when you straddle him like this. Your thighs are soft against his own and he would reach for your free hand, thread his fingers through your own. Your hands are smaller than his, smooth and supple. And god, you’re stroking him just the way he likes it, the soft wet sound making pleasure shoot through his groin.

You’d overstimulate him wouldn’t you? With that clever mouth barely pulling up a grin, eyes full of fire as you stroke him past the point of pleasure. Would you make him watch? See the way your hands would grow slick and shiny with his cum as you kept pumping and pumping, pushing him to another release. Covering you both in him, until you’re too needy to keep toying with him. Nathan cums just as he’s imagining the feeling of you dragging your bare pussy against his sensitive cock. He whines and keens off the bed, the high singing in his veins. He swears he can almost imagine the way you would moan.

His eyes open, the spell broken. He’s alone, covered in his own spend, chest heaving like he just ran a 10k. He avoids his reflection when he walks into the bathroom to clean up. His loneliness spikes again and he heads to the kitchen, reaching for the first bottle he can find.

—

“You’re late,” He says stiffly, crossing his arms as he watches you cross the space to sit at your desk.

The day after he’d gotten off thinking of you he’d had the slightest difficulty looking at you. It quickly faded, he was too greedy. Too needy, if he’s being honest. He can’t get enough, he doesn’t know if he could ever say it but you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You’re openly frazzled; your shirt isn’t tucked in, your hair is a little more frizzy than usual and you look as tired as ever. He regrets his biting tone immediately.

Even as you explain you’re moving, setting your to-go mug on the desk, fetching your calendar, booting up your computer. “I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman. My sisters were less than cooperative this morning.”

Nathan turns completely away from the bins he’s been searching through, raising a brow at you in surprise, “Your sisters?”

“Yes— one is 7 the other is 14. The little made getting out of the house…difficult,” You murmur distractedly, eyes trained on your screen.

“Isn’t that your parents’ fucking job?”

His question snaps you back to the present— you hadn’t shared nearly as much as you could’ve. But you’d gone into this job wanting to be nameless and faceless. Memorable only for the quality of the work you do.

You shake your head, daring a quick glance in his direction that you immediately regret when your eyes meet his.“I realized that I’ve shared far too much about my personal life. I should work, Mr. Bateman.”

Nathan immediately understands your deflecting. How many times has he been asked by reporters and interviewers where his family is? Enough times that he’s had his publicist strike the topic from the acceptable lists. That was about all he was good for anyway, Nathan says what he wants when he wants.

He goes back to the task at hand— though now with you here he doesn’t quite remember what that was. A part…some sort of part that he needed. Wires? Screws? A metal plate? He sighs in frustration and leaves without another word.

Your gaze is on the door as soon as it shuts, making sure he’s gone. The tears that you’ve been biting back fall and you bury your face in your hands. Your youngest sister had begged and pleaded for you to stay warm in bed with her this morning. With your mother so sick, you’ve practically raised her yourself these last few years. It makes her needy, which you understand. But what she doesn’t understand is how delicate the balance you found in caring for your entire family is. Middle sister lacks just as much understanding, with heaps of attitude. She doesn’t want to snuggle with you or with younger sister. Mediating this entire situation is what made you late.

It feels like you’re cracking under the pressure but that isn’t an option, is it? As if the universe wants to make it clear, your computer chimes. It’s Nathan, asking you to come to his office.

—

He’d meant to go clear his head in his office and come back to get whatever part he was in need of. But, when he sat in his chair he was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk, presumably crying by the way your shoulders jerked every once and a while.

He’s pinging you before he can think better of it. He watches you read his message. You’re such an anomaly— you sit up immediately, reaching for some tissues and cleaning yourself up as if nothing happened. You even check yourself in the reflection of your computer, fidgeting with your hair, tucking in your shirt once you stand. As soon as you start out of the office he turns off his monitors, not one to be caught snooping around though it’s right and was clear in the contract. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Perhaps you don’t think your anything worth watching…Nathan would like to change that assumption.

“You pinged me, sir?”

How would he play this? He couldn’t admit that he just watched you cry.

“Trying my hand at this apologizing shit again. I— Nathan Bateman— am sorry for being insensitive. Like I said last time, I don’t know your life or you. Alright, how was that?”

“I would say a solid, 5/10, which is a 50% improvement.”

“Fuck me, you’re a tough crowd. What am I docked for? You know I’m all about perfection.”

“There was a lack of originality. And you omitted your middle name.”

It takes everything in Nathan not to giggle. The way the words come out of your mouth are so funny… or maybe he’s just obsessed. It could be both. “My middle name is classified information.”

“Does Wikipedia know that?” You ask, tilting your head in that uncanny way.

Nathan can’t hold in his laugh this time, running a hand over his beard, “You’re funnier than you look.”

Your mouth twitches, and you give him the smallest nod, “Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

He pretends to think about it. “This apology is feeling pretty one-sided to me.”

“I accept your apology, Mr. Bateman, thank you.”

“Accept something else,” He proposes, going out on a limb. Suddenly your stare is too intense, the room is too hot and small. What the fuck is he doing?

“What’s that?” You ask, as soft and sweet as ever.

“Dinner. Tomorrow,” He says simply.

“With you?”

Nathan ignores the twinge in his heart— your tone barely changed. If he wasn’t with you every single day, studying you, he wouldn’t even have noticed.

“I can invite the droids if you want. They’ll just stare at us while we eat.”

Your hand tightens around your planner. Dinner with Nathan…choosing to be around him? It seemed like as of late he was trying to be…more palatable. This could be an act of good faith. But, you have your sisters and mother to think about. You’ve given her nurse enough overtime hours in the last few weeks.

“Without getting too personal, I don’t think I’ll be able to swing it sir, I have to get home to my sisters as soon as possible.”

Yes, your family, that you never talk about. He could accommodate, what’s he the fucking boss for if he can’t?

“We’ll do it early.”

You sway a little as you think about this— that’s new, he thinks to himself, filing that information away for later.

“You’ve already got me apologizing, I can’t add saying please to the list of acceptable behaviors. I’ll lose my fucking edge.”

“How early?”

“3:30.”

“Alright, then, sir.”

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue , @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @kotaropuppy

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x fem!reader #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fanfiction #ex machina fanfiction #in plain sight #arson writes #not sfw

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lucid-loves · 3 months

Text

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 3

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.7k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction.

Chapter Synopsis: The great 141 road trip is fine in the beginning, but being on the road for eleven hours clearly gets to everyone, especially you. For once, Ghost tries to show you some genuine compassion without any ulterior motives.

A/N: Thought that this would not only be a fun part to write, but also a breather to get to develop more character dynamics. Feel free to comment what you think each member of the 141 favorite music genre is! Including your own~

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Such a long drive was new territory for the boys. They were so used to helicopter rides, armored cars, and jets to take them where they needed to go fast. For their size and stature, the minivan was cramped, slightly rough on the road, and just plain weird. It took a few seat adjustments before everyone was as comfortable as they could be. Save for Gaz. He just prayed that a pit stop was coming soon and someone would be willing to switch seats with him.

For the first hour, the ride was noisy with conversation. Conversation that tried to reel you in. Price, looking through the front windshield, asked you a question. “How do you know where you’re going, Hex?”

“I’ve spent time memorizing road maps around the area. We’re taking a back road. A scenic route. Any other cars on the road would further see this minivan as a family road trip through the country.” You elaborated, your eyes steady on the road ahead. There were a lot of twists and turns on this route, but you knew that it would pay out in the end.

“Hidden in plain sight.” Soap added, his tone showing that he was a bit impressed with the logic of it all. Perhaps you knew what you were doing after all. Without you meaning to or doing anything extraordinary, the group was slowly starting to trust you and your judgment as evidenced by your creative planning. You were becoming quite the leader as well. But, you weren’t completely out of the woods yet. They still kept some of their guards up, just in case.

“There’s a method to the madness. Don’t underestimate the power of assumptions.” You advised, a word of advice that would hopefully stick with them after all of this was over. If they listened, perhaps some problems the world was facing could actually be solved.

Soap pulled out his phone with the intention of making this trip more enjoyable. Making sure that his VPN you required was turned on, he began to browse through songs using his music app. Once he added his favorite songs, he passed it to his captain. “Whatever you want, Cap. No genre limits.”

Price took the phone and rubbed his chin for a second in thought, his brick-brown beard moving with his fingers. Eventually, he added some songs to the playlist. Once he was satisfied, he passed the phone to Gaz who lit up at the idea. “Now it’s gonna feel like a real road trip!”

A few more songs were added before the phone was passed all the way up to Ghost. Hesitantly, Ghost added his own favorite songs. His teammates knew him decently well. They’re even seen his face before under the mask. However, there were still things they were learning about when it came to his personal life. One of which was his favorite kind of music. Thankfully, he was willing to share that information, trusting his team more and more with each passing day.

He looked at you when he was done, wondering if he should even offer. Having watched the interactions from the mirror, you decided to stay out of it. When Ghost was done, you just shook your head for a silent “no.” Simon imagined that you were rejecting the idea in your mind based on the warning look you gave him. Don’t even try. That made him really wonder what kind of music you liked. The records back home were incredibly diverse. But what was your favorite? Jazz? Metal?

The phone was passed back to Soap. It was quite a diverse playlist. He didn’t realize that his team had such different tastes, but it just made him excited to give it a listen. He connected it to the car’s bluetooth and hit the shuffle button. Ghost went ahead and switched the car to bluetooth mode for him. Almost immediately, the car filled up with music, starting with one of Price’s songs.

Instead of tuning out, you tuned in. Very much so. Small details, even favorite songs, could say a lot about a person. You were learning about the men now. Not for the sake of potential friendship, no. For the sake of information for potential future manipulation if things went sideways. You always prepared for the worst, even when times seemed like the best.

The discussion carried forward, now with the ease of real music in the background. Gaz decided to take the plunge and ask you a question. “So. . . Hex. . . You lived a long time out in the woods. How did you survive on your own? There doesn’t seem to be a grocery store for miles around.”

You adjusted your sitting position, trying to get comfier in the driver’s seat. If you were going to deal with this for most of the trip, you might as well get as comfortable as you can. You answered, one hand on the wheel and one arm resting near the window. “I have an acquaintance who’s a farmer that gives me whatever I need. In return, I pleasure his wife, which helps save their marriage.”

His eyes got huge, not expecting the answer. He nearly tripped over his words. “Really?!”

“No, Kyle. You really think I would do such a thing?” You scowled. Internally, though, you were cracking up at his bewilderment. Soap and Price began chuckling in their seats. Even Simon was cracking a smile that no one could see. Kyle’s embarrassed blush that matched the falling red leaves outside made them even more amused. Who knew you had a sense of humor? A crude sense at that.

He muttered an apology. At least he was a good sport about it. A part of him found it quite funny too. After the chuckles died down, you answered his question truthfully. “Kate does supply drops for me. Not all the time, just when I need more meat than the woods can provide. Everything else I grow.”

It was an answer that made sense and didn’t reveal much about yourself. Nothing too fascinating about it. At least, to everyone save for Ghost. He took note of your truth, pictured you growing fruits and vegetables, hands in the dirt and sweat dripping down your temple. He imagined you hunting too. A heavy rifle and camo. Patience, aim, fire. He thought that some of the foods he had from your kitchen tasted a little gamey.

“Didn’t you ever get lonely being out there all by yourself?” Soap inquired, not afraid to ask the question that was on everyone’s mind. All eyes were on you as you took a deep breath.

“No, Johnny. Never.”

This was partially a lie as well as partially the truth. There were times where you did feel alone. Like the only human left on the planet. Kate’s calls every now and then help curb it a little, but it wasn’t the same as actually being in the same space with someone physically. Yet, when you were surrounded by people on a classified mission or watching disaster after disaster on TV, it made you glad that you weren’t a part of any of it. The flurry of different emotions coming from all different sides when with civilization was often too much for you. You needed control. More control than what you could usually get when you were on the outside again.

Simon was watching you carefully now, trying to pick up any indication of a cracked resolve. A twitch, a change in breathing, anything to read into further. There was no way you never felt lonely. Yet, you said it with such conviction that it startled everyone. Ghost just couldn’t believe you.

Having killed the conversation, the boy awkwardly tried to change topics. Now excluding you. Good. You preferred it this way.

A few hours in and the car was quiet. Light, easy music played now from the car speakers as everyone took a nap. Except for Ghost, of course. Fortunately, he did keep himself occupied by reading the book you lent him. The first couple of chapters were a miss in his opinion. After a couple more, it started to get good. It didn’t take him long to actually get invested in the story, reading between the lines as you had done when you read. You had good tastes.

Enjoying the quietness of the trip was something you didn’t think you would be able to do. Especially with Simon in the front. Surprisingly, he was being good which you hoped would like for the rest of the trip. Unfortunately, you jinxed it in your head. Out of the corner of your eye, he bookmarked his spot and took a break. Now, he wanted to talk to you.

“You didn’t play your own music.”

“So?” You shrugged, wondering where he was going with this. Nothing good probably.

“Why not?” He simply asked, himself not knowing what the big deal was. It was just music. You could have even lied. Picked out music you hated. Instead, you just opted out, not even willing to risk three minutes of any particular melody.

You suppressed an annoyed groan. Not this shit again. “What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand, Simon?”

There you go again, saying his name with such disrespectful ease. It still made his heart beat faster hearing it from you. It still made his muscles tense in vexation as well. You noticed this from how the grip on his arms got tighter, his arms crossing his chest. “How much could music taste actually reveal about you as an individual?”

“A lot! God damn it, when are you going to drop this stupid shit? Quit playing your stupid fucking game?!” You spat, trying to keep your cursing at a low volume lest you wake up the rest of the team. Your knuckles were turning white with how hard you were gripping the steering wheel, desperately trying to keep your cool.

However, he didn’t drop it. He didn’t want to, so he wouldn’t. Simon could be just as stubborn as you which made you want to punch him. Have his teeth fall out of his mouth and get caught in his skull mask. “You mean to tell me that you’ve learned a lot about us based on our favorite songs alone? That’s just ridiculous, Hex.”

He could use your name as a curse too. Anything to get you to keep talking to him. Anything to keep your attention. To figure you out. As much as you didn’t want to give him what you wanted, you did anyway out of sheer aggravation. “It’s called Music Psychology, you fucking ass! Do they do anything besides tell you what to shoot in that god forsaken military?! Do they really keep you all fucking braindead?!”

“Watch your mouth, Hex! You don’t want to say anything you don’t mean.” Simon warned, his voice low like a bass about to snap its strings. He had to remind himself that you weren’t like them when it came to combat approach to cool down. The 141 employed leadership, strength, swift execution. An assassin like you employed other values, one being the art of psychology apparently.

He wasn’t going to let you badmouth his team and those back home that don’t deserve your slander, though. Many people back home were plenty capable with their own skill sets. It wasn’t fair to put them all in one box just because they followed the orders of the government.

“Watch my mouth?! Have you even heard the shit that’s coming out of yours?! Or is your head so far stuck up your own ass that you can’t hear what you say?” You antagonized further, making the situation worse with each passing insult.

“Why are you so fucking defensive?! You cracked a joke earlier, but now asking about your music tastes is too much? You don’t make any fucking sense, Hex. What the hell are you so afraid of?” His own voice was rising with volume as he spiraled out of control as well.

You were practically yelling at this point like the rest of the world didn’t exist except for you and Simon. A personal bubble where you could really try to rip him a new one. You didn’t hold back. “I’m not afraid of anything, Ghost! I just want you to leave me the fuck alone! Why are you so desperate to know me?!

“You’re part of this team, whether you like it or not! Whether you want to be an enemy or not! Part of that is trusting us with your life. All of it!” He argued, trapping himself in this conflict bubble with you.

Your temper was boiling over to the point you could cry. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just let this go? “Why can’t you understand that I am never going to be part of your team?! I never can and I never will!”

At that he paused. There was something about your last retort. Never can? It was oddly specific. What did that mean?

Just then, the light for gas lit up on the dashboard. You clenched your jaw, cursing more profanities that would have anyone blush. A couple miles down was a gas station. A wave of relief washed over you. Now you had an excuse to exit the car to get away from Simon.

You didn’t realize it before with how provoked you were, but the 141 in the back was awake and clearly heard the two of you bickering. The tension thick enough to choke on made it hard for them to interfere. This pit stop would hopefully let things settle down again.

As soon as the car was parked near an empty pump, the doors slid open to let the men out. It felt good to stretch their legs and breathe in some fresh air. It was about time Gaz was relieved of the back seat too. Price, Soap, and Gaz headed into the convenience store for a moment to pick up drinks and snacks, something that was essential for their road trip experience. You leaned against the car, waiting for the gas pump to finish. The entire time, Ghost sat silently in the front doing his own breathing exercises to get his temper under control. God, you were venomous. Troublesome, irritating, infernal, a million other words. Yet, you were beautiful when you were pissed. He couldn’t understand it.

Finally, the car was loaded up once again, now complete with drinks, snacks, and a full tank of gas. The seating arrangements changed, Price now in the back to allow Gaz a chance to let his legs stretch out more. Besides that, he didn’t really want to be up front with all of the conflict. He would normally break it up, but he still didn’t know enough about you to feel comfortable doing so. It was better for this to just play out. It wasn’t like Ghost couldn’t hold his own.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Soap ripped open a bag of chips followed by a joke. “Looks like mom and dad are fighting again.”

The smirk on his face was quickly wiped away as a pair of keys jingled right near his ear, embedded in his head rest. You had turned from your seat as soon as you registered his distasteful joke, thrown the car keys like a knife, and narrowly missed pinning his ear against the fabric. The car was dead silent as you stared daggers into him. Despite being a strong man with plenty of experiences with danger along with close calls, this experience had Johnny near pissing himself. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under already.

What was worse was the fact that you missed on purpose.

“Shut the fuck up! You are not to insinuate that again. Ever! Now, I don’t want anyone trying to talk to me or talk about me for the rest of this fucking trip. Talk to each other, I don’t give a shit. But no more dragging me into any conversation. Are we fucking clear?!”

You were met with quick, obedient nods followed by Soap gingerly handing you back your keys. Before you all knew it, you were back on the road like you didn’t just nearly kill Soap.

Simon was speechless, not expecting you to be so. . . dangerous. His feelings about what just happened were conflicting. On one hand, he wanted to fight you to defend his trusted sergeant that meant no harm, even if he didn’t really like the joke either. On the other hand, he’s never been more attracted to a woman in his life.

The car ride was silent for the next several hours.

Your muscles ached from your stiff position. You’ve been driving this whole time, only allowing gas breaks to be your time to stretch out. The boys have rotated seats every stop, now including Ghost who was finally giving you some space by being in the back. Last stop, though, he moved right up to the front with you once again.

You were getting the dreaded road trip tunnel vision. After so many hours of driving, you couldn’t see anything except for the road ahead. You weren’t so much as driving anymore. You more like just looking out the front windshield, barely keeping up with the surrounding area that passed by. What you normally would recognize as trees, road signs, and roadkill were now just a big blur.

“You’re tired.” Simon commented, treading very carefully. He didn’t want to start another fight. Far from it. He just couldn’t bear to see you so exhausted from driving.

“I’m fine.” Your voice strained, having lost some of it from the screaming match earlier in the trip. You weren’t used to talking so much as you have been for the past week, let alone fighting with words. A warm cup of tea with honey sounded so good right now.

Ghost took a deep breath in before he gently settled his hand on your shoulder. The fact that you didn’t shrug his touch away was very telling that you were really out of it. “Come on, Hex. Just for a bit. Pull over and I’ll take over the drive. We can switch back after you recuperate.”

It took you a minute to agree. Pulling off to the side of the road, you switched places. The room to stretch out in the passenger side was very much needed. Your bones cracked as you really gave yourself time to take it easy for a moment. “Just an hour. Then, we’ll switch.”

He nodded, finally agreeing with you on something out loud. “Just an hour.”

You ended up dozing off for longer than intended. Despite the agreement, Simon let you rest. The trip was already almost complete anyway. What was two more hours to add to your much needed rest?

When the car slowed to a stop, the gang woke up out of their naps, eager to exit the minivan and head into the average-looking hotel you had designated as the new checkpoint. It was nearing dinner-time, the city bustling with people heading to enjoy their meals. Price was ready for something other than chips. Soap and Gaz were already discussing potential food spots as if they were tourists.

As they unloaded the car to carry their things into the hotel, you stayed asleep. Dead asleep. The deepest sleep you have had in what felt like a lifetime. The men were careful to not wake you up as they unloaded luggage after luggage out of the trunk. When everything was squared away with checking in as well as bringing luggage up to the rooms, you were still snoozing away, much to their surprise.

Price opened up your door, ready to wake you up to get a move on. However, Ghost stopped his hand from touching you. “I’ll take her up. Just go ahead and grab some grub.”

Well, John wasn’t going to say no to that offer. He would rather not be bit by such a feral woman. Though, he did feel like he had to warn Ghost of what he was really doing, having observed just about everything he was trying to do in regards to you. “You’re playing with fire, you know.”

Ghost unlocked your seatbelt and picked you up out of the minivan in a princess carry. Miraculously, you still didn’t wake up. “I know. . .”

The hotel staff were concerned with him carrying you into the hotel. A large man with a skull mask carrying an unconscious lady certainly didn’t look good. In order to avoid interference, Simon had a lie ready for when a bodyguard approached. “I know the mask is scary, but it hides some burn scars. I’m just taking the missus up to the room. She fell asleep in the car.”

Not being paid enough to question the lie, he allowed the both of you to pass by.

You were heavy in his arms, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He could feel the softness of your skin, the firmness of your muscles. He could make out each individual eyelash that just barely kissed under your eyes. As much as you drove him crazy, you truly were beautiful.

The ding of the elevator reaching their floor knocked him out of his trance. Using a room key, he headed into your space for the next couple of days. The room was pretty basic. A bed, a dresser, tv, bathroom, nightstands, a desk. The only thing that really made it stand out was the original art of the wall made by local, Italian artists.

He settled your sleeping body down onto the queen-sized bed, brushing your hair out of your face as you settled into the mattress. Looking at you like this was a breath of fresh air for him. He didn’t think he would be able to see you like this so soon.

Sleeping around others was a sign of trust. Were you just really that exhausted? Probably. Ghost would still take this as a sign of victory anyway.

For a few moments longer, he studied your features. The sound of his stomach grumbling for a meal encouraged him to leave you be for now to which his brain protested. Then again, you probably wouldn’t like it if you found out that he watched you sleep.

Before he left, he took one last look at you, burning the image into his mind. “You said you didn’t sleep, kitten.”

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wardenparker · 2 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 3

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Disagreeing amongst partners, disappointments, unexpected turns, denial of feelings, unwanted revelations. Summary: It's Valentine's Day and no one's date seems to be going quite the way they expected. Notes: Apologies for the posting delay, my lovelies! Please enjoy 💖

Ch1 ~ Ch 2

When you still haven't heard from Marcus the next day, you're really pretending not to be bothered by it. You go about your work as usual, take care of your guests, manage a few nibbles of lunch, and work through the Valentine's check-ins with Malachi to make sure that everything goes smoothly. The whole day is chaotic and the inn is completely sold out, and yet you can't stop glancing down at your phone to see if you've gotten a text back.

You've just slipped into the kitchen after your shift to see Sydney after her spa-and-afternoon-tea date when the restaurant's hostess on duty comes in with a reservation slip to add to the board. The restaurant is basically fully booked now, with a few last minute cancellations and reservations working themselves out throughout the day, and a part of you wishes you could just stay here tonight and keep working, but you promised Sam. And you promised your mother's office that there would be social media updates tonight. This date might as well be public, so there is no backing out now.

“Hey babe!” Sydney grins as she looks up from the cake she is decorating, the piping bag in her hand full of dark chocolate buttercream. “Checking in before going to get ready?”

“Yup. Just came in to say hi and check the last minute reservations.” You take the slip from Sydney’s hostess with a flourish to tack it up on the board, and immediately make some sort of inhuman squawking noise that has your best friend whirling around in the kitchen.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She demands, rushing over to the board. From the noise you made, it’s either incredibly good or incredibly bad.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Not technically, anyway. But you hand over the slip with obvious discomfort — or maybe a tinge of something else deeper and darker — on your face. “It’s…I guess…Marcus has a date tonight.”

“What? Oh…” she takes the slip and reads it, frowning slightly as she looks up to see you fidgeting and looking away from the paper. “Well, um, I guess that means he will be here and it’s good that you are going out with Sam.”

The frown that has formed on your face cuts deep, and you put down the empty mug you had grabbed to pour yourself a late afternoon cup of coffee with a slam. “Of course it’s a good thing.” You state unequivocally, not wanting to deal with or admit to the burning feeling in your chest. “He’s my boyfriend. It’s a very good thing.”

Sydney doesn’t comment, just pins the reservation to the allotted slot: 7 pm for two. There’s a note on the reservation to have a bottle of champagne brought to the table with dessert, so she’s not sure what to make of that. It seems unlikely that he’s taking his mother or sister out for a romantic meal.

“I have to get changed.” Comes the unnecessary announcement as you pace a little square around the corner of the kitchen only to end up facing Sydney again. “I just wanted to say hi, and I hope you and Juan had a good day.” Before this…intrusion into your thoughts, you had wanted to know everything. Every single thing they ate at tea and did at the spa. Now you feel like throwing up from pure discomfort.

“We did.” It seems wrong to rub it in your face right now, since you seem to be having some sort of reaction to the idea that Marcus would book a date here. She has to wonder if there’s meaning behind it, or if he had just imagined bringing someone here because it was a wonderful little place. The dining room of the restaurant is intimate, perfect for romance, especially tonight with the lights lower and the decor that had been brought out for the holiday.

“Good. I—okay. I’m going to go up, then. Malachi has a full reservation book and there’s an extra bellhop on tonight for the full house.” Sweeping out of the room is probably an overstatement, but you certainly move fast enough that Agent Bailey has to hop to in order to keep up with you as you head for the back stairs. Suddenly you have all the nervous energy in the world to walk all the way up to your apartment instead of taking the elevator.

“Okay…bye.” Sydney calls out, eyes wide at the dramatic exit and she pulls out her phone to send a quick text to her husband.

You might have tried a little harder than was strictly necessary to look good tonight. Not because Marcus might see you — that doesn’t make any sense — but to try to shut up all the whirling thoughts in your head about your loyalties and your attachments. You’ve been with Sam for almost a full year. It’s eleven months next week. And he deserves your complete attention. So if he gets you in your best little black dress and the earrings he gave you for your last birthday? That’s good, too.

Sam is nothing if not punctual, actually showing up fifteen minutes before you needed to leave. One of his office aides had run out to get you some flowers, now in hand, and he smiles widely when he sees you. “Wow.” He hums, whistling appreciatively. “I feel underdressed.” He jokes, wearing a smart suit like he normally does.

“You haven’t been underdressed since the day you were born.” Sam is perpetually put together, so you have definitely stepped up your game from the jeans and cheeky blouses that would normally have been good date clothes in the past. “Hi honey.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He offers you the flowers with a smile. “You look incredible. These are only half as beautiful as you.”

“Thank you, honey.” The large bouquet is all red and pink buds, clearly done up for the holiday, and you let the day’s earlier tension roll off your shoulders as you inhale the sweet scent. “Let me put these in the vase in my office and we can get going?” Upstairs in your place they’re beautiful, but downstairs means anyone who sticks their head in your office will see them.

“Of course.” He nods and looks towards Agent Bailey. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Agent Bailey.” He tells her politely. “Would you mind following us to the restaurant tonight?”

“No surprise stops, Congressman?” Following behind isn’t unusual, but Bailey still had to do her job. Any unexpected additions to the night just complicate matters.

His smile tightens slightly. “Just the itinerary you have planned out.” He comments, slightly irked that he has to have plans approved through the Secret Service. It’s not exactly his idea of pleasant.

“Ready to go?” It only takes a moment to get your flowers in water, and you reach for Sam’s hand. After spending your time getting ready reminding yourself to focus on your relationship and stop being so wishy-washy, you’re trying to put your best everything forward for tonight.

“Absolutely.” Sam smiles broadly, his shoulders rolling back and he puffs his chest out proudly. “Let’s go get romantic.”

The restaurant that was picked out is small and welcoming, a homespun but upscale bistro owned by a couple from New Orleans that moved up to Maryland sometime during the raising of their children. You had read the website while you were getting ready for tonight. The place boasts an impressive menu and a fan favorite étouffée, as well as an entire family working every aspect of the restaurant. From what you can tell, it looks like a perfect date spot. When you pull up it’s brimming over with people, too, which makes you even more excited. Busy means tasty, of course.

“Well this looks promising.” Sam comments, looking over at you. “What did you say the menu was?” He hadn’t really paid attention to where it was, just that you had said it was a good choice for a dinner out and photographs. You know how to work PR from your mother’s campaign, something he admires.

“New American through a New Orleans lens.” That’s what the website had said, and you could swear you already hear jazz pouring out the front door.

“Interesting.” He doesn’t particularly care for spicy foods, his stomach never agrees with it, but he trusts your judgement. “It’s perfect for the photographer and I’m assuming there’s some heartwarming backstory to the place?”

“Family owned and family run.” You can practically hear the silent commentary in his head, and you touch his arm as he holds the door for you. “I read the reviews in advance. Not everything is spicy. Don’t worry.”

“You know me too well.” He throws you a grateful look and leans forward to open the door for you to enter the bistro.

“Good evening.” The hostess at the front of the restaurant knows exactly who you are, just like everyone working tonight does. Just like their entire family does. Getting a visit from the Secret Service and having a discreetly placed photographer arrive just a little while ago gives the whole night an extra flare of the unbelievable. With two menus in her hand, she smiles a shaky, bright grin. “Please come right this way.”

Sam’s hand is on your back, knowing that a lot of eyes are turning from the staff to the patrons. It’s expected when your significant other is a recognizable face. He doesn’t miss that they put you and him at a table in the middle of the room.

There are small vases of red carnations on every table, and candles, and neat purple tablecloths that look like they have been given a little extra pressing for the occasion. You thank the girl politely and smile, not thrilled to have all eyes on you but already knowing that there is nothing you can do about it.

Sam is the one to pull out your chair and help you sit down before he pulls his own chair out. “Shall we order a bottle of wine?” He asks. “Or would that not look good?”

“How about a half bottle?” You suggest, showing him the part of drinks menu that lists half bottles. “Celebratory but responsible.”

“Perfect.” Same agrees, knowing. It wouldn’t be a positive image to have drinking and driving be recorded.

“Whatever you want to choose.” He’s pickier than you are in general, and definitely about wine, so it’s up to him.

He smiles at you in gratitude and immediately dives into the wine list to see what they have available.

“Oysters Rockefeller to start?” As a Maryland boy he loves seafood, and there’s some sort of odd determination in your mind to prove to yourself that your focus is entirely on Sam.

“Absolutely.” He agrees while wholeheartedly and when your server approaches, he finds in a polite smile to give them.

He orders the wine and your appetizer, and beams a smile at the flustered waitress before the two of you are left — sort of — alone again. Agent Bailey has gone to sit with the designated White House photographer at a separate, discreet table. It leaves the two of you to pretend that this is just as normal a date night as any other. “So,” you hum, looking over the menu. “How was work?”

“It was good.” He had kept his office hours short today, like most of the House, so he could get out on time. Plenty of other members had plans or just didn’t show up at all today. “Worked on the bill I want to introduce.”

“How close are you to having the draft done?” The House Judiciary Committee has been an important posting for him, and though you can’t claim to understand the nuance of every single detail of the bill he has been working on, you know that it is a big offering to make from such a new member of the committee.

“First draft is almost complete.” He tells you proudly. “Only a few more hours of work to be honest. My team has been working hard on it.”

“The first bill you’re sponsoring yourself is a big deal. I’m glad you’re proud of it.” Given how much of his work is paperwork and legal-ease, it’s good to have something tangible to work on and be proud of. Certainly not everyone who works in the government can say the same.

“Thank you.” He smiles, leaning back as the waiter comes back with the glasses of wine. “Hopefully it’s just the first of many.”

"I hope so, too." He has high hopes for his career, and you know he'll work hard for it. There's just the tiny voice in the back of your head reminding you that he might not value your success as highly that is bothering you. Still, you raise your glass to him and smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” Sam smiles and taps his glass to yours before taking a sip. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“I thought we could talk about it tonight?” The mention of a proposal specifically makes you shiver in a way you didn’t know you could shiver, but here you are. “Starting with…the logistics of it all.”

He admires the practicality of your statement and nods. “What are your concerns?” He can hear that you have them and hopes that the two of you can come to some kind of agreement. He’s negotiated a lot in his position and knows there is always give and take for things to work.

“I…” He’s practical. Pragmatic. And you know that. It’s something that you have always said you liked about him because it balances against your tendency to dream. “I want to move forward. Take another step.” In your impulse, you reach across the table and take his hand. “But I’m not sure I’m ready yet. So I’d like to do it slowly.”

“Maybe a drawer for when you stay over?” He offers, lifting a brow. “Space for a toothbrush?”

“That’s kind of what I was thinking, yeah.” A relieved smile spreads, glad to see that he isn’t upset at your still moving slowly in this relationship. Moving too fast in the past is what you blame some very serious relationship failures on. “Maybe try to see each other more than just once a week? Work permitting, of course. I know we’re both busy.”

“That was kind of the point of moving in together.” Sam reminds you, although he’s not put out by it. “Maybe we can, but you will have to spend less time at the inn.” He hums. “You are always there. You even live there.”

"I know." That's on you, and you know it. But you still shift in your seat like you've been called to the principle's office. "I have to cut back on late nights. Malachi is more than capable of running the place any time of day and the new night manager is doing really well."

Sam nods, it’s a conversation that he’s had with you several times but nothing has changed so far. “I understand being passionate about your work.” He reminds you with a smile, reaching for your hand. “But I also want you to be passionate about other things too.” He squeezes your fingers. “Maybe kids, one day?”

"You know I want kids." That is never something that you have hemmed or hawed about. Wanting a marriage and a family is something you were pretty up front about. "Kids, a dog, the whole white picket fence thing."

“I know.” It’s a good thing too, because he wants the same thing. Although he knows that can’t really happen if you are running yourself ragged at the inn. “Just wanted to make sure that was still the case.” He jokes.

"It is." Your fingers squeeze his gently. "I haven't changed my mind about what I want."

“That’s good.” Sam smiles and feels a little better about the fact you aren’t jumping at the chance to move in with him. He had expected less resistance if he was honest with himself.

"So the next time I come over I'll bring some things to keep at your place?" A little bag of work clothes and duplicate toiletries at his house sounds positively quaint, but very sweet.

“If that’s what you want.” He agrees, leaning back again when the waiter comes with the appetizer. “Are you still planning on staying tonight?”

You pause long enough to thank the waiter and for both of you to order your entrees and have a sip of your wine after the waiter goes again. "Of course I was planning on it. It's what we talked about. But...I felt like packing a bag to bring over tonight felt a little...presumptuous? I didn't want to jinx it."

“Nothing presumptuous about it.” Sam disagrees with a smile, knowing he would have loved if you had started bringing things over. “But we will do things on your schedule, as long as our end goal is the same.”

End goal. That part still bags at you a little and you still aren’t sure if you’re overreacting. Marcus seemed to agree with us, and so did Sydney…and it’s making you wonder. But will it ruin the night to make a fuss over it? There’s really no way to tell. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page about all of it.” You decide, making sure there is no worry or waver in your voice as you reach for an oyster. It’s just a conversation. Just a conversation with your boyfriend. No big deal. Just clearing the air.

“Good.” There’s a moment’s pause where the two of you start to split the appetizer, each of you tasting it and Sam hums in approval. “I say we live together for at least a year.” He looks up at you. “What do you think?”

“At least a year before what?” The clarification seems important, since the two of you seem to have slightly different expectations. It’s slight, but it’s there.

Sam chuckles slightly. “Before the next step?” He asks playfully, shrugging slightly.

“That makes sense.” But not knowing exactly what he meant makes you feel a little foolish, so you huff a laugh and have another sip of wine. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

“You seem off tonight.” Sam tilts his head curiously. “Fight with Sydney? Never thought I would see that.”

“No, god no, nothing like that.” A fight with Sydney is about the farthest thing from the truth. The trouble is…you can’t really tell Sam the truth. It would be a ticking time bomb in the middle of your relationship. To not only think that you might have met your soulmate but to suddenly find yourself caring immensely about what that could mean? Hell, even being attracted to him? It would be a disaster. And you can’t blame him because you would feel exactly the same way if Sam came to you after meeting the girl that the universe says is his perfect match. Instead? All you can really do is make an excuse. “I haven’t really been feeling myself for the past few days.” That is very much true. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let it affect tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Sam’s brows pull down. “Do we need to ask them to box up our meals? The photographer can take their photos now and we can go home if you aren’t up for a night out.” Despite his own views of how the night would go, he would never drag you around if you’d rather be in bed sleeping.

It’s sweet of him to offer, but you know he would be disappointed. And, unfortunately, no amount of sleep is going to pull you out of the Marcus-shaped funk you have found yourself in. No, sleep won’t help. And tonight is supposed to be about you and Sam, so it’s going to be. “That’s okay,” you assure him, shaking your head and promising yourself that the smile on your face won’t falter again tonight. “I’d rather spend tonight celebrating with you.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” He’s giving you a doubtful look, but he doesn’t call the waiter over. “Maybe it’s just that you need a night away.” He suggests. “I have a late morning scheduled so we can sleep in.”

“Unfortunately, I have an early morning.” You bite your lip, knowing he’ll hate that. “We have a big event tomorrow night and they’re showing up early in the day. Early bird check in, venue set up, all of it.”

Sam is quiet for a minute and then looks down at his plate again. “Well, I guess that can’t be helped.”

"It's all hands on deck right away." And suddenly you feel horribly guilty about it, even though it's your job. It's something you do out of love and a deep passion for the industry that you've chosen to work in. But a morning of just sleeping in sounds so nice.

“You don’t need to explain.” It’s not like you would change your plans anyway, but it definitely sours the idea he had for the next morning. “You have priorities.”

“Yes, I do. Just like you would if you had a day full of meetings to handle.” He sounds cold, and it bothers you so much more than you would have thought. Like you’d had disappointed your parents with a bad grade on your report card instead of telling your partner than you’re anticipating a demanding work day. “I would support you if that was the case, so I don’t understand why you seem so upset with me.”

“Because we had talked about it.” Sam reminds you. “Two days ago.” He clenches his jaw and takes a breath before releasing it. “You’re right, you have work and it’s important.” He agrees. “Forget I said anything.”

“We did talk about it two days ago. And we talked about me staying over, but not about doing anything the next day. Because I told you weeks ago when this group booked their party that it was going to be a big deal.” Barely managing not to drop your fork in the table, your eyes drop to your lap and you can feel the pressure of disappointment driving at the backs of your eyes like fire and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself. “I feel like we haven’t been communicating as well as we used to.”

“After we talked about you staying over, I asked if you wanted to have a lazy morning and you said ‘sounds good’.” Sam realizes you had told him about the booking. “We got our signals crossed. It happens. We will need to work on it.”

“Yeah.” You nod, quietly sitting back in your chair again while being very aware of the pairs of eyes that have all turned to witness the First Daughter argue with her boyfriend over their romantic Valentine’s dinner. Fuck. Mom’s going to kill me. “Yeah,” you agree with a vague nod of your head. “We’re just a little off. We’ll work on it.”

“It’s okay.” Sam promises with a smile, reaching out and taking your hand again. He doesn’t want you to be photographed looking unhappy, because then rumors would fly. Public figures aren’t allowed to have bad moments. “We will make the best of tonight.” He tells you. “Or…we can go back to your apartment if you’d prefer?” He offers. “That way you can sleep a little longer?”

"You normally hate staying at my apartment." The water pressure is better at his house, you'll give him that. And the bed is bigger. But the breakfast at your place is far superior every single time.

“I know, but I also know that you have an early morning and I would like to compromise.” He offers.

His hand fits around yours, anchoring you to the table and to him, and you remind yourself to breath. A miscommunication isn't an argument. And even if it is, an argument isn't the end of the world. "I would really like that," you agree, squeezing his hand just a touch. Trying to show him silently how much you appreciate that he's willing to bend a little for you. It has never bothered you that you go to him — stay at his place, attend his work and social events, usually let him pick restaurants for dates as well. But it's nice to feel a little give in your direction as well.

“Alright, then it’s settled.” He nods quickly and smiles at you. “We will have to swing by my house to pick up a change of clothes though.”

"We can do that." You'll tell Agent Bailey after dinner, and the message will get relayed. It will all be fine. Whatever is causing this gap between you and Sam, you'll figure it out. Starting with a little bit of compromise. "And tonight we'll clean out a drawer for you at my place. We'll each have a drawer."

It’s on the tip if his tongue to refuse, to remind you he doesn’t like staying at your place. It’s too busy and he likes privacy in his home, not people coming and going at all times. “It’s a plan.” He decides to say instead, happy that the meal is coming out.

The restaurant is busy tonight, full up with reservations for dates and girls’ nights out. Tables are packed full and the kitchen is bustling, but Malachi sits calmly at the reception desk making sure that all of the inn’s reservations for the night are being taken care of to the best of his ability. The less you have to worry about tomorrow with that incoming party, the better.

Marcus smiles as he walks up to the desk, guiding Vanessa up with a warm hand on her lower back. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, especially on Valentine’s Day, so he had once again tried one of the dating apps. Tinder Without Marks was kind of the opposite of Mate Marks and he appreciated that. There wasn’t any emphasis on tattoos or scars, just on personalities. He had been talking to Vanessa since you had bailed on his offer of dinner and tonight was the first date. “Reservation for Pike.” He greets Malachi warmly.

"Special Agent Pike!" Malachi was not going to forget that face or those shoulders anytime soon, and he smiles genuinely for what seems like the first time all night. Holidays are always a lot of extra running around. "Reservation for the restaurant tonight?" He would have noticed the name if the FBI agent had reserved a room at the inn. He definitely would have noticed that.

“Yes.” Marcus nods and smiles. “How are you Malachi?” He remembers the concierge’s name and greets him like a friend. “I knew that coming here would be a fantastic treat.”

“And…Miss D’Amario.” When the concierge’s eyes light on the woman beside Special Agent Pike, he nearly bursts out laughing. This is going to be the biggest gossip amongst the staff. Multiple staffs. “Does chef know to expect you? Or should I let her know?”

Marcus tilts his head and looks at Vanessa. “I didn’t realize you’ve been here before.” He had told her where he had made reservations, but she hadn’t said. “Do you come often?”

“Once or twice.” She admits with a sheepish smile as Malachi comes out from behind the desk to escort them into the restaurant. “Usually just to run errands. My boss…he comes here a lot.”

“Interesting coincidence.” Marcus muses as the two of them follow Malachi. “You never actually said who you worked for.” He reminds her.

She hadn’t. That’s true. Because on a dating website all kinds of information can get taken out of context or photoshopped into other things. All she had said before now is that she works on Capitol Hill. “Congressman Chase.” She tells her date, a little more secure in handing this information over after having looked into him and agreeing to this dinner. A girl can never be too careful, after all. “I’m the senior aide in his office.”

To his credit, Marcus doesn’t freeze, although his eyes blow wide. He can hear Malachi snicker quietly, although the agent isn’t sure why. Even though he doesn’t have anything against the congressman, the knowledge that she is his senior aide dulls the excitement of the date almost immediately. “I met him just the other day.” Marcus admits. “My friend and former colleague is the event planner here.”

“You know Juan?” Vanessa seems to ease immediately, the tension of meeting a stranger off the Internet soothing with the knowledge that Juan Badillo is an excellent judge of character. “Okay. So you know who owns the inn, then. And why I’m running errands here fairly often.” She smiles when Marcus pulls out her chair for her and thanks him before sitting. “I’ve always wanted to try the restaurant but never have a chance.”

Marcus smiles and nods, even though he’s not exactly sure how this dynamic would work. “Then it’s a good thing I got reservations here.” He tells her and picks up the menu. “Do you want some wine? I think I would like some.”

“That sounds great.” She nods happily, not catching the change in his demeanor even in the last few seconds.

He’s still not going to be rude. Vanessa is a lovely woman, and he shouldn’t feel guilty for being here on a date with her. Not even if you know her and she works for your boyfriend. “Are you a red, white or rosé kind of woman?” He asks, scanning the selections and looking back up at her.

“Usually white. But if you like red I’m happy to try something new.” Vanessa is happy to let Marcus take the lead, not feeling strong enough one way or the other to have a preference.

“There’s a wonderful Prosecco on the menu.” Marcus offers, lifting his brows. “It’s Valentine’s Day after all, and we aren’t alone. We should celebrate.”

"Perfect." Her smile spreads again and she sits back, looking over the menu and regarding the man across from her. "So what department of the FBI are you in? We haven't really talked about work yet."

“Art Crimes.” He supplies wondering where you and Sam are. A discreet glance around the restaurant was a relief and a disappointment not to come up with you. “I’m actually the head of the department.”

"So...is that forgeries and thieves? Like in caper movies?" Vanessa sounds suitably impressed even though it isn't the part of FBI work that gets glorified on tv or in movies. "I didn't know that was a whole department on its own. You must have a lot of responsibility."

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” Marcus admits. “Although I’m sure you have plenty yourself.” He chuckles. “I wish that it was like the movies, or that show White Collar that was on a few years ago. I could use a Neal Caffery sometimes.”

"Oh, I don't think I've ever seen it. I guess I have a little homework to do." On whatever the show is, plus on art as a whole. Art class or art history...museums in general aren't really Vanessa's thing. It just never seemed very practical. "Paperwork is okay when there's a rhythm to it. Sometimes I even turn on music quietly in the office while I'm copying and filing. It's really helpful even though it's kind of a no-no."

“Why would that be a no-no?” He wonders if Sam is a stick in the mud. “Most of the time, I encourage my team to listen to music, it helps engage your mind.”

"We try not to have anything on in the office that could interfere with being understood on the phone," she explains, like it's some kind of party line or sage advice that has been handed down to her. "Staying on message is important. And it's hard to stay on message if you can't be heard."

“And what’s your message?” He asks, finding it slightly intense, but he’s not the politician.

"Right now, our message is about serving our community. Working to bring business into our district without threatening existing small businesses, and making sure that we take safety standards into account." Obviously very proud of her work, Vanessa sits up straight in her chair and folds her hands in her lap with the air of someone being interviewed. "The Congressman is paving his own path and we're all on board for the ride."

“I see.” He can approve of such a message, admire it even. The congressman is obviously working for the best of his district and there is something noble about that. “That’s a good message to have.”

“It really is.” When Vanessa nods, it’s eager. “He’s on the fast track to the White House. It’s a privilege to get to work for him now.”

“A fast track, you say?” Marcus works so hard to keep from frowning, not liking the way that it makes it seem as if you are a steppingstone for Sam. Even though that shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

“Absolutely.” She pauses long enough for the waiter to return for their drink order and explain the beautiful Valentine’s prix fixe menu before leaving them be again for a few minutes. “Congressman Chase has seven more years to be the youngest president ever elected, and he can do it.”

“That’s a lofty ambition.” Marcus agrees, wondering how much of dating the current president’s daughter is included in those plans for the White House.

“It’s going to be great.” She laughs, not the least self-conscious, but shrugs her shoulders. “I like my job a lot. Sorry if I get carried away a little.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus waves that away, although he’s sure he sees hero worship in Vanessa’s eyes, and perhaps a crush on her boss. Nothing wrong with that unless they are being inappropriate and he can’t see the congressman doing that with his ambitions. Some congressmen, sure, but not Sam. “I wish a lot more people enjoyed their jobs like that.”

“It makes hard work worth it,” she agrees, though she does demure and tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “You…must love art? To be so involved with those crimes specifically?”

“I have come to really appreciate it.” Marcus tells her. “I never really stopped to look and think about much art before, but some weekends, I enjoy going through the museums for pleasure and not trying to research a piece.”

"DC is a very good place if you like museums." Even if she's not very big on them herself, she knows that to be absolutely true. It's where she ends up bringing family whenever they visit, so she has seen quite a few of the Smithsonian museums by now. She'd just rather be at a game.

“They are nice. Especially if a game gets rained out.” Marcus agrees, leaning back when the waiter comes back with the first course. “Thank you.” He hums and looks up at Vanessa. “This looks amazing.”

“It really does.” Vanessa looks as delighted as Marcus does and she offers him a sincere smile. “I’m very glad you decided to ask me out tonight.”

“I am too.” He smiles at her even if he feels guilty that he’s not as glad has he had been before he realized the connection to Sam Chase and therefore….you. He picks up his Prosecco and holds it up. “To positive first dates.”

“Absolutely.” Their glasses make lovely clink as they tap together and Vanessa smiles again, very glad that she decided to take this step to try to get over the crush she has on her boss.

“Looks like the inn is fairly packed tonight.” Sam hums as he pulls into the employee only portion of the oyster shell parking lot. He’s not upset for you business-wise, but he wished there weren’t so many people there.

“The night manager had the idea to keep our sitting room open for some live music, and it seems like people have stayed. It must have been a success.” The rooms aren’t sold out tonight because there are early check-ins for that party in the morning, but managing to keep people in house and engaged is a huge deal.

“Interesting concept.” Sam’s not really sure if that would attract the kind of clientele that you want here, but he’s a politician, not an inn owner. “Hopefully not too late?” He asks, wondering if it will be noisy into the late night. That’s not romantic.

“It should be over soon,” you promise him, seeing that your watch reads almost eleven o’clock.

“Good.” Once out of the car, he rushes around the hood and wraps his arm around your waist. “I don’t want them to interrupt our plans for tonight.”

“Nothing’s going to interrupt us.” Heading for the back door, you can pop right into the elevator to head upstairs without having to interrupt anything that’s going on or get sidetracked by Malachi. You just want to take a peak into the sitting room but that’s all. “And you can sleep in, in the morning after I’ve tired you out.”

"Is that a promise?" Sam asks playfully, allowing you to lead him away from the elevator and down the hall.

"Absolutely." The rest of the date had smoothed out, being a relatively quiet and pleasant night Now that you're back at the inn with a bag of Sam's things to stash away in your bureau, you're feeling a little bit flirtier and more upbeat. "And when you come downstairs after you finally drag that excellent butt out of bed, I'll have Syd make you some breakfast."

“I do love her breakfasts.” Sam groans, smirking at you playfully. “So you are planning on wearing me out completely?” He squeezes your waist and looks ahead towards the music.

"I'd say you deserve a night of intensely deep sleep, and I intend to make sure you get it." There is a little line waiting for the elevator as guests start to go up to their rooms for the night, so you hang back with Sam and look toward the sitting room instead. The music coming through is atmospheric and sweet and you are right about to lean your head on Sam's chest while you wait — when you spot someone unexpected in the sitting room.

Marcus had decided that just because Vanessa works for Sam doesn’t mean that he can’t have a nice night with her. The music had sounded lovely floating from the sitting room and he had asked if she wanted to stay. Now, they are dancing and he hasn’t thought about you in at least five minutes.

It's not exactly a gasp, but you end up trying to swallow whatever noise of surprise you were going to make when you spotted Marcus with his date in the the other room — and instead of keeping your reaction to yourself you end up choking on your own damn spit and coughing hard enough to worry Sam.

“Are you alright?” Sam pats your back and leans in with a worried look on his face while you wave him away. “What’s—” he glances around the room and immediately stiffens. “What is he doing with Vanessa?” He asks, his voice bristled with a slight anger he can’t shake.

"Vanessa?" You hadn't even seen who he was with, just choked at the sight of Marcus enjoying a quiet, romantic moment with another woman — something which you know shouldn't bother you but it had been a whole five minutes since the last time you thought about him so apparently that is your maximum. "Like your aide Vanessa?"

“How does he know her?” Sam ignores the question, staring holes into the FBI agent that is currently slow dancing with said aide and making her beam up at him in a way that has Sam wanting to drag her away from him.

"I don't know." He's practically fuming, and your forehead furrows as you turn your eyes back from the couple in the other room to Sam beside you. "Why does it matter?"

“I find it funny—” his tone definitely says otherwise, “that this man just magically shows up, gets invited to a game night and is now cozying up to my top aide.” Sam knows that he’s already been tagged by the DNC as a rising star, his own seat on the council is indicative of that, and now there’s this FBI that is showing up everywhere.

"He's friends with Juan." The defense in your voice is impossible to miss, and you cross your arms defiantly over your chest like you're waiting for him to pick a fight. "Maybe they were introduced by a mutual friend? Met in a coffee shop? Found each other on a dating app? Who knows?"

“And they just happened to book your inn as a date?” He scoffs slightly, unable to believe that fanciful tale and narrows his eyes as Marcus twirls Vanessa around and pulls her back against him.

"Why don't you go interrupt them and find out if you're so curious?" This has taken a very deep turn for the worse, and you can only be glad that the last guests waiting for the elevator near you have gone up so you're more or less alone now. Of course Agent Bailey is nearby, but she never comments.

“No.” He wants to. That’s the problem, and he knows it’s not a good move. Frowning, he turns away from the dancing couple. “Let’s go upstairs. The music is horrible.”

It's not. At all. But this isn't about the music and both of you know that silently even if it isn't said out loud. Sam jams his thumb in the 'Up' button for the elevator again but you say nothing, glancing back at the sitting room one more time to wonder if Sam is upset about the date that is happening for the same reason you are. And if he is...what does that mean for the two of you?

Once upstairs, Sam steps out of the elevator and sighs. “Can we just have the apartment to ourselves?” He directs his question to Agent Bailey, not looking at you.

There are certain protocols that have to be upheld, and Agent Bailey looks to you before starting them. “Ma’am?”

In your mind it’s awfully rude, knowing that asking her to sit in the hallway means hours and hours of uncomfortable sitting, but you also know that Sam is…in less than a good mood right now. And while you’re cranky too, you would rather try to smooth things over if you can. “If…you wouldn’t mind?”

“Please stay here.” Bailey directs you both. She’ll do a sweep of the apartment to make sure no one is waiting for you, and then she’ll take a chair into the hallway. She won’t say so, but she doesn’t mind not hearing a fight if it happens. Or the makeup sex. Neither one is her favorite.

Once you two are alone, Sam sets his bag down, aware that the mood of the evening is ruined and it’s his fault. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks, not even sure if he wants to stay at this point. Especially if Vanessa and that agent will also be spending the night under this roof. He’s not happy to see his best aide here, and usually he’s always happy to see her.

“Can you explain to me why you’re so upset?” It’s definitely uncomfortable, this tension that hangs in the air now, and you try not to let your eyes drop to the right before going back to him. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just surprised. He’s the one who got mad.

“It’s— I’m not—” There’s not a rational reason why he’s upset, and logically he knows this. “I don’t like the fact this man seems to be everywhere.” You had told him about meeting Marcus at the market and it seems as if he’s suddenly everywhere when a few weeks ago, no one knew this man was even in the area. “Strange in my eyes.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” That’s what you’ve told yourself, anyway. It has nothing at all — nothing whatsoever — to do with the universe putting you into situations where you’ll bump into each other. Not at all. “The Secret Service did a background check on him. He’s totally clear.”

“Then I guess I’m just overreacting.” Sam sighs and wipes a hand down his face. “I should go.” He knows that if he stays, the night won’t proceed like it was planned and he’s better off going home. You don’t seem too happy with him. “Unless you want me to stay?”

What you want, and what you should do, and what seems like the healthiest decision for your mental health all are different things. You should tell him to stay, brush it off, and try to salvage the evening. You want to go downstairs and interrupt that damn date to find out if Marcus Pike is as good a dancer as he seemed to be in the small space of the sitting room. But what’s best for your mental health? Is probably neither of those things. “Maybe I can come over this weekend and we can try to have a less stressful night at your place instead?”

Sam is silent for a moment and then nods. Understanding that something has fundamentally shifted in your relationship and trying to figure out what that might mean for the future. “Sounds good.” He agrees and looks at his bag before picking it up. “I’m sorry about how the night ended.”

“So am I.” The air between you feels different. Colder or heavier or just more tense, but you won’t back down just for the comfort of having him next to you in bed tonight. That isn’t fair to either of you.

Instead of a romantic kiss, Sam leans in and presses his lips to your cheek. “I’ll text you when I get home.” He promises, stepping back and frowning slightly before nodding. He had honestly expected you to change your mind, but he won’t beg to stay, knowing it’s not the best idea.

“Get home safe.” A long moment passes with thick air hanging between you before Sam nods again and opens the door, stepping out of your apartment and back in to the elevator. “It’s just us tonight,” you tell Agent Bailey, who comes back into the room the moment she hears the door. “The Congressman has gone home for the night.” And of referring to him by his title instead of his name isn’t a big fucking clue to you right then and there, it should be.

It’s not surprising, given the way the evening has turned sour, but it’s not her place to say anything. “Very well.” She nods. “If you need anything, let me know.” She intends to stay outside and let you sulk if you need to. She hadn’t missed ’the Congressman’ title instead of Sam.

“You can stay inside.” Banishing your Secret Service detail to the hallway is one more thing that rubbed you the wrong way. “I’m just going to go to bed. But the coffee you like…the vanilla caramel one? It in the cupboard above the coffee maker. Any time you want to make some.”

“Thank you.” The couch you don’t mind her sitting on is a lot more comfortable than the chair in hallway and she appreciates that you don’t mind her using the bathroom either. “Is there anything you need before you go to bed?”

“No.” You’re too afraid to ask if you did wrong by letting Sam go home, so you don’t even consider it. “Tomorrow’s an early morning. Agent Sisson coming to relieve you early?”

“Five.” She nods. “If you need to be up earlier, I will be here.”

"I won't be up until after that." Unless you can't sleep, which is a serious possibility considering how poorly the night went and how half of your thoughts are currently downstairs in the sitting room. "So I'll see you tomorrow, Agent Bailey."

“Goodnight, ma’am.” It’s best to keep things formal, although she feels bad that your evening did not end up like it was supposed to. And incredibly interested in the reaction of the congressman to Marcus Pike’s presence.

"Good night." Going to your room alone isn't what you wanted for tonight, but it feels like it's for the best. All you can do now is hope that you sleep.

The next morning is a flurry of activity, but Sydney notices that you aren’t rushing in from the parking lot when you come into the kitchen, looking like you didn’t get much sleep last night. “Good morning sunshine.” She teases, reaching for the coffee pot to pour you a cup.

Teasing barely earns her a grumble in return, but you gratefully accept the cup of coffee she pours you and turn to doctor it immediately. “That early check-in group should be here in a half hour.”

“I already have a breakfast spread ready for them.” She motions to the counter and the baskets she has already started filling with baked goods. The bowl of fresh fruit is inside a hollowed-out watermelon. “I couldn’t sleep.” She explains. “Indigestion.”

“There’s a joke in there about swallowing too much cum, but I’m too tired to make it.” You huff though, trying for a smile for your best friend. “It looks great, Syd. Thank you for working so hard.”

She sees through you instantly and frowns, moving around the counter and wiping her hands on the ever present rag tucked into the pocket of her chef’s jacket. “What’s wrong?” She asks, feeling your forehead and looking like an over anxious mother hen worrying over her baby. “Are you not feeling good? Juan, Malachi and I can handle this if you need us to.”

“Not a chance.” Considering you never take sick days even when you’re actually sick, there is no way you would make your team handle a big event without you. “It’s nothing. I just…had a bad night. That’s all.”

“Everything alright?” She frowns, tutting at your stubbornness and moving over to the espresso machine to give you a shot to help boost you up.

“Sam and I had a little…series of tiffs,” you admit with a sigh. There is a pan of her fresh baked broscia nearby and the Sicilian brioche-style bread is calming to you to be crammed full with jam and butter so you grab one still warm. “We got into it at the restaurant over me having to be at work early today and then again later when he flipped out about Marcus being here on his date.”

“Marcus?” Her head whips around and she gives you an utterly confused look. “One, why was he here? Two, why was Sam upset about that?”

“He must have stayed after dinner. For the musician that Malachi brought in.” Sam had been cranky about it, but you thought the singer at the piano had been lovely. “He…uh…Marcus, that is…did you see who his date was? When they came in for dinner last night?”

“I didn’t see, it was crazy in the kitchen, but Malachi told me that it was Vanessa.” She huffs. “How the hell do they know each other?”

“I don’t know. But the same question made Sam so upset that he ended up leaving my apartment last night instead of staying over.” The best you can do is shrug your shoulders. Because as much as it bothers you? You know why it does. There’s no mystery there, only guilt. “He thinks there’s something suspicious about Marcus, apparently.”

“Something suspicious about Marcus Pike?” She chokes out, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it. “The FBI agent? The man who was an Eagle Scout?” She and Juan had pulled that nugget of information out of him at game night.

“Because apparently, he’s ‘suddenly everywhere’ when none of us had seen him before.” Jam and butter join your bread roll and you sigh a little at the comfort of it. “I think it’s just confirmation bias. Like we probably were in the same places as him before, we just didn’t know to look for him.”

“Well…Juan would have recognized him.” Syd reminds you. “So that’s not exactly true, but I understand what you mean.” She sighs and hesitates for a moment. “Do you think it’s him or because he was with Vanessa?” She knows the other woman has a crush on Sam, it’s obvious from the hero worship stars in her eyes when she’s around. She knows Sam isn’t the type to cheat, but maybe there’s some feelings there that are repressed.

“I feel like that didn’t help.” Coffee and a little breakfast is helping. You can think a little straighter even if you don’t like the thoughts. “I know Vanessa has a thing for him. It’s not subtle. But before now I didn’t think there was cause for concern the other way.”

“It could be that Sam thinks that Vanessa could give away information that he could use if Marcus wanted to cause problems between you and Sam.” She rationalizes. “Slightly conspiracy theorist in my mind, but I could see how it could be construed.” Sydney enjoys playing Devil’s advocate, even if she likes Marcus and doesn’t think he is angling for anything.

“Before last week, I didn’t think there were problems between me and Sam.” It’s disconcerting to realize, as you stand here and talk through it with your best friend, that your relationship has not been as steady as you once thought. “Now? I don’t know.”

“Other than his overreaction, what makes you think that?” She asks, aware that you’ve been a little edgy lately but every relationship has ups and downs at times.

“He seems…really agitated lately. Much more upset than usual about having an agent around. Last night he wanted Agent Bailey to sit out in the hall while we slept, how does that make sense? And making comments about the future of our relationship to other people?” To Vanessa’s parents, now that you think about it. It sometimes slips your mind that his most trustworthy aide is also the only daughter of one of his largest donors. “Everything just feels on edge.”

“Have you talked about all this? Like really sat down and talked?” She frowns, not liking what she is hearing, although it could just be a case of miscommunication.

“Before now there hasn’t really been a reason.” Or at least, there hasn’t been such an obvious compilation of reasons. “And considering he never texted me back when he got home last night, now I’m wondering if he’ll be willing to sit down and hash things out.”

“I’m sorry.” She slides the shot of espresso over and reaches for your hand. “I like Sam, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s better to find out now, than down the road.”

“With the whole soulmate thing and now this kind of…weird accumulation of things?” You shake your head and just sort of shrug awkwardly. “I feel discouraged in a way that I really wasn’t expecting.”

“I’m sorry.” Immediately feeling guilty, Sydney’s shoulders drop and she bites her lip. “I shouldn’t have teased you about finding out what kind of hummingbird tattoo he has.” She hadn’t expected it to cause so many problems, or for you to be so resistant to it. Before Sam, you would have demanded to see the tattoo right away just to disprove the soulmate theory. “What can I do to help you?”

“Honey, you’re growing a literal human. You have enough to deal with.” It’s disheartening, and confusing, and frankly you’re shocked that you’re so willing to throw up your hands. That’s not like you at all.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t be there for my best friend.” She argues, frowning at you. “Your shit is my shit, remember? I’ll be expecting you to do a rotation getting up with the baby.” She jokes, wanting you to laugh a little.

"If we still lived together, I absolutely would." Being in this apartment upstairs is actually the first time you've ever lived alone — taking over the role of caretaker for the inn when Sydney moved out of the apartment you had been renting in Old Town to buy a house with her soulmate. "At this point I feel like I'm between a rock and a hard place...and one of those blockages is purely made up of how confused I am over...just feeling like I want to throw in the towel instead of working things out. That's not who I am. Or not who I have been."

“Honey, sometimes you just…don’t want to work things out. That doesn’t make you a failure.” She hums. “You might just realize that you have different goals.”

"But why do I feel that way?" There's only a few bites of your bun left and you know that today is going to be a peckish day. You tend to nibble when you're worried. "Is it just because I'm having doubts? And why am I even having doubts? It's...soulmates never mattered to me before this."

“Maybe it’s because of the man and not the soulmate aspect?” She probes gently. “Let me ask you this….if you weren’t in a relationship with Sam, would you be interested in Marcus. Even without the soulmate possibility?”

"I—" It feels dirty. A kind of guilt you really don't like and makes your skin crawl. But this isn't a situation you're going to lie about. Not when you're literally asking your best friend for help. "I mean...probably. Yeah."

“Then you should step back. From Marcus or Sam, that decision is yours. But some space might be needed to figure out what you are feeling.” Syd suggests.

"All the social media shit from our date last night is going to go viral really fast if anyone gets a whiff that we've broken up." Just as astonishing as the idea that you would even consider ending things, it's alarming how fast your heart knows the right decision to make. Or at least what you perceive as right in this moment. "It's going to be a shitshow..."

Sydney doesn’t comment on the fact that it seems like you’ve made up your mind, just humming. “Take it slow. It doesn’t have to be some kind of announcement.”

"The last thing I want is to have to make an announcement." The end of your coffee cup comes all too soon, and you fill it up again with a sigh. This morning is going to be a lot for many different reasons. "Syd...you would stop me if you thought I was making the wrong choice, right?"

“I would definitely try to talk to you.” She promises. “I like Sam, I really do, but if you don’t see yourself marrying him, well—” she shrugs. “Just give yourself a week, how about that?”

"Have I really reached the point in my life where it's not worth staying with someone that I don't see myself marrying?" That is a fairly rude awakening because of how honest it is, and you stifle a groan in one hand. "You're right, and I know you're right. But the State Dinner for the Spanish royal visit is in just over a week. The last thing I want is to have to go to that alone."

“To make it fair, give yourself that time.” She tells you. “Give him an honest try and if you still can’t see it, then you have your answer because Sam is the type to want marriage.”

"I want to get married, too." You always have. Ever since you were little. You reveled in family weddings and dreaming in your own big day. You had even talked to Marcus about it at the market. But whenever the future comes up with Sam, it ends up feeling tense now. "I just...it's a lot to even think about, Syd. You and Juan just...you're so good together. I don't think I'll ever get that lucky."

“I think you will.” She encourages. “My relationship with Juan isn’t without work.” She reminds you. “We still have to communicate and work through issues.”

"But it's worth it because you love each other so much." The sentence is out of your mouth before you have a chance to really sit on what you're saying, and just seconds after you hear yourself say it, your shoulders fall in defeat. "Oh...fuck..."

“What is it?” She asks, frowning at the way you just seemed to deflate.

"It's worth it for you and Juan to work through your issues because you love each other so much." Repeating the phrase makes it hurt all the more, because you didn't realize until this exact moment that it doesn't apply to you. At least, not anymore. "I...don't think I feel the same way..."

“Oh honey.” Her expression softens and she is immediately around the counter again, this time pulling you in for a big hug.

"I'm okay," you insist, through very obvious tears that announce the contrary. "I'm okay." You have to be. You have work to do, and you can't greet a large family party here to announce and celebrate an engagement with runny mascara. "I...have to be okay."

“Listen.” She lets you go and takes your shoulder to look you in the eyes. “You are going upstairs. Ahhh.” She stops you when you start to protest. “Take ten minutes, take an hour, take all day, but take some time to yourself before you start running around dealing with the very obvious results of love.” She tells you. “I can get them started with food and then Juan can take over to take them to the venue.” She shakes her head, huffing when you open your mouth again. “No, I’m not listening. Now go.”

"I'll be back in ten minutes." The best thing you can do for yourself today is keep busy, but she's right that you need to have a clear head for things to go well. "I just...I didn't know this was going to happen today. Or ever."

“I know, babe.” She squeezes you again and sighs. “But I’m here for you. Completely.”

"Thank you, love." Squeezing her tight against you as much as you can, you steal your second coffee away with you from the kitchen and head back upstairs with Agent Sisson following behind.

Sydney sighs as she looks at the door you disappear through for a moment before turning back to her work. The best way she can help you right now, is to make sure the incoming clients are happy.

Walking out through the back hall, you clutch your mug of coffee and try to hang onto a thread of dignity until you get back upstairs. There are more tears pressing at the back of your eyes and you absolutely do not want them shed in public. The elevator is in use, apparently, and you jam your finger in the button a second time for good measure before blowing out a sigh. What a great fucking Valentine’s last night turned out to be, and what a terrible fucking day this is looking like…

The little toiletry kits provided in the rooms are a godsend and both Marcus and Vanessa quickly clean up after the alarm had woken them. “Can’t believe we drank so much and we don’t have hangovers.” Marcus hums, riding the elevator down to get a quick breakfast with his Valentine’s date. They had ended up finishing a bottle and then having another few glasses while dancing. Feeling too drunk to safely get home, the night manager had agreed to let them take one of the rooms on the promise they would check out early. He has been grateful and eagerly agreed. “How about you?”

“Normally I would say I’m still drunk,” Vanessa admits with a sheepish laugh. “But I’m okay. I think it’s just a miracle and I’m not in the habit of questioning those. Though I could use some breakfast.”

“I’ll get you fed and then get you home so you won’t be late to work.” Marcus promises. He will be late, but he had already told his team to come in late, so it’s just paperwork that he’s missing.

“In case no one has ever told you before, you are a consummate caretaker.” It makes a girl like Vanessa feel very special, who spend her working hours caring for someone else and her downtime making sure to live up to her parents’ expectations, and while Marcus Pike isn’t quite her dream man — he’s handsome and sweet and she would be stupid to ignore that.

"I like to make sure people are happy and safe around me." Marcus shrugs off the praise with a small grin. "I took you from your house, it's only right I deliver you back to it." He hums as the elevator stops and dings before the doors open. "Now to get you fed."

When the elevator doors slide open in front of you, the most unwelcome sight in the world is waiting. The vision of Marcus Pike and Vanessa D’Amario in the same clothing you saw them wearing last night, looking refreshed and giddy huddled together in one corner of the elevator car makes you want to turn on your heel and flee back into the kitchen. And you probably would, if you weren’t rooted to the spot in shock and trying to remember how to breathe.

Vanessa murmurs your name in surprise. "I—I didn't expect to see you here this morning!" Her eyes dart around, almost nervously as she expects Sam to pop up. "I—uh, is Congressman Chase here?" She asks, "I thought— he said that you had a date." Normally dates between you and Sam included sleepovers.

“He’s not here.” You won’t invite questions by giving extra information, but when your feet remember how to work, you step out of the way to let them off the elevator. “I—um—I was just headed upstairs.” Sam is going to be in a very foul mood if he’s coming off a bad night and Vanessa walks in looking freshly fucked, and that almost makes you sob all over again. “N—nice to see you, Vanessa. Marcus.”

Marcus can't even do more than just nod and lift his hand and wave slightly, feeling foolish as he watches the doors slide closed and your eyes meet his in a kind of silent agony. "Well," Vanessa giggles and Marcus can't help the way that he swallows guiltily, like he's done something wrong. "I guess that's one way for my boss to learn I had a date."

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @storiesofthefandomlovers

My Masterlist!

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

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triassictriserratops · 3 days

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I think if peeta even got a sniffle Katniss would go fucking feral, drop everything and take care of him (and get sick herself)

ABSOLUTELY SHE WOULD. She'd call her mom like, "he's dying, what do I do?" Peeta's in the background like, "Hi Mrs. Everdeen, I just have seasonal allergies, I took some Zyrtec, everything is fine! "YOU'RE DYING, SHUT UP AND GO TO BED BEFORE I KILL YOU." BUT NOW Now, Anon? Now i get to talk about what I think happens when KATNISS gets sick. And spoiler alert, it's GREAT. The first time Katniss gets sick after the war, she doesn't tell anyone. She just locks herself in her house, puts a note on the door saying that she's fine and to come back tomorrow hoping that Sae sees it and doesn't bother with cooking anything for her. She grabs some remedies, a box of plain crackers, a blanket, some water, and trudges her way upstairs back to bed. A few hours later she hears a loud crash in the kitchen. She waddles and sniffles her way downstairs to the sight of a cursing Peeta, sprawled on the kitchen floor, while his prosthetic is dangling from the open window above the sink. "What are you doing?" she says in a congested voice, "I left a note on the door." She moves over to the window to unlatch his prosthesis from where it got snagged on the windowsill. "This," he says, brandishing the crumpled paper in the air, "is NOT enough of an explanation. People were worried. Haymitch was worried..." He glances away at that. "Haymitch? Bullshit." she snorts as she bends down to reattach his leg. She stays down when she's done realizing that she's feeling a little unsteady on her feet. "Fine. FINE! I was worried. What's going on? Did I do something wrong?" "No! Of course not. It-it's fine. I'm fine. I'm just sick. Thanks for stopping by. I'll see you tomorr-." She's struggling to get back up when she feels the air whoosh around her and realizes that Peeta has picked her up to carry her over to the couch. "Sick? What's wrong? Have you taken anything? Let me make you some tea, or do you want soup? I can make soup." he's rambling as he presses the back of his hand to her clammy forehead. "I really am okay. I got this. I'll be fine, Peeta." she says, pushing his hand away from her face and regretting it immediately at the loss of contact. "Katniss. Please let me do this, okay? This is what you and I do, right? That's what you said. Now, tell me where you keep your bouillon. I'm making some chicken stock and a good soup for you." That's when it hits Katniss. She hasn't really been taken care of like this in years. Maybe since she was 11. For years now, her mother would do her best to take care of her during the occassional cold, of course. But for the most part Katniss struggled to accept any softness or warmth from her mother. Feeling caught between that desire to be held and comforted and the anger she still felt towards her - they instead both settled for the distant, clinical detachment her mother had with her other patients. But, really, the last nearly 7 years of her life have been dedicated to the care of her family and her loved ones. She learned to stop asking for things and began instead to meet all of her own needs, without relying on others. After the games she'd begun the process of extending that branch and allowing herself to lean on her mother a little more. But now? Now her mother isn't here. And here she was right back to what she knew. Taking care of herself. Looking up at Peeta, blue eyes shining in earnest. Ready to do and be anything that is needed of him. Anything that SHE needs of him. She wipes her nose on her sleeve and smiles. "Pantry. Top shelf. On the right. Thank you, Peeta."

#katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #hunger games headcanon #thg headcanons #thg #thg series #the hunger games #thg fic #thg fanfiction #love is a verb #hunger games sick day

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a-d-nox · 6 months

Text

greek asteroid observations (part 1)

these observations are completely hypothetical. they are based on my (the those closest to me's) experiences with each aspect/ placement! please don't take everything i say as predestined, astrology is possible outcomes not guaranteed ones. this is just a starting place for when examining singular objects in an entire galaxy (these are not the only asteroids in affect for you). take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

⚡︎ libra (7°, 19°) and taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) adonis (2101) people tend to be very in to "being aesthetic" and making things look aesthetic

⚡︎ people tend to be jealous of 7h adonis (2101) people's lovers/husbands

⚡︎ virgo (6°, 18°) amphitrite (29) people don't reject people lightly; often they end up criticizing them and telling exactly why they won't be with a person who admires them

⚡︎ 7h amphitrite (29) people are likely to get cold feet on their wedding day

⚡︎ mars-amphitrite (29) people often refuse to be the pawn in someone else's game

⚡︎ saturn trine amphitrite (29) people often raise the bar for people's expectations over time

⚡︎ sagittarius (9°, 21°) anteros (1943) people might be the fun idea people but others often get the credit for putting their idea into motion

⚡︎ 9h anteros (1943) people often have a lot of friends in college

⚡︎ saturn opposite anteros (1943) people are prone to feeling alone and as though no one is there for them like they are there for others in their time of need

⚡︎ cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) aphrodite (1388) people tend to have a lot of family drama

⚡︎ virgo (6°, 18°) aphrodite (1388) people can be very critical of their romantic partners

⚡︎ pluto negatively aspecting aphrodite (1388) people often have a lot of obsessive lovers that don't know how to quit / leave them alone post-rejection

⚡︎ nn positively aspecting aphrodite (1388) people may feel fated to help others see/find their beauty

⚡︎ part of fortune negatively aspecting aphrodite (1388) people may feel like they are unlucky in love/romances

⚡︎ air and fire apollo (1862) people are often very poetically inclined, while water and earth apollo (1862) people are often more musically inclined

⚡︎ moon negatively aspecting artemis (105) people might not enjoy the feminine companionships they find in this lifetime

⚡︎ mercury negatively aspecting artemis (105) people tend to be antisocial and often do not feel that they get along well with others

⚡︎ scorpio (8°, 20°) asclepius (4581) people might have a voluntary surgery one day or a cesarean section

⚡︎ 4h and 5h asclepius (4581) people are likely to foster children

⚡︎ 8h asclepius (4581) people, like asclepius himself, often have an idea that will break the mold and scares others

⚡︎ libra (7°, 19°), taurus (2°, 14°, 26°), and/or positive aspects to neptune astarte (672) people are good at hiding in plain sight via clothing, makeup, etc.

⚡︎ 7h astarte (672) people are likely to have a foreign partner they meet in their home country

⚡︎ higher thinking and/or religious beliefs tend to be suffocating to 9h astraea (672) people

⚡︎ mc-astraea (672) people tend to look down on the general populace (they see them as savage or lacking morality)

⚡︎ 7h athene (881) / pallas (2) people are likely to get a divorce at some point in life, but they are likely to walk away with a lot of "shared assets" - they would make great family/martial lawyers

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azsazz · 8 months

Text

Dead By Dawn (Part 14)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, mentions of cannibalism, SMUTTT

Word Count: 2,686

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13)

_________________________________________

Day 194 Part 3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The sun is setting and Cassian’s ass is numb.

He hasn’t felt his legs in hours but the way you’re clinging to him so tightly has him going strong. He had found the bunker that caused you to feel this way, so he’s going to suffer the consequences.

Though, with you in his lap, it’s not really suffering.

You’ve fallen asleep against his chest, his fingers tracing the same soothing pattern across your scalp as he had begun doing when he’d led you outside. He’s thankful you’re asleep. He was worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep with the thought of what you’d seen down in that basement running through your mind.

He can’t stop thinking about it; the blood, the bodies, the message. A desperate man seemingly wanting to keep his family safe for as long as possible, only to be their end, selfishly grasping to stay alive until madness drove him to his death.

Cassian doesn’t know if he’ll ever sleep again.

Sure, you’ve all seen things on par and worse—fuck, the dead are walking these days, but still, this particular instance has shaken all of you to the core, and there must be a reason why.

Azriel is leaning against his shoulder, as if needing the support himself. Cassian will gladly take the burden, even though he knows this is Azriel’s way of showing he understands, that he is here for him even if he doesn’t have the words to reassure you nor Cassian.

He rests his head atop Azriels.

“You okay?” Azriel asks softly, nudging his head against Cassians. His voice is scratchy and low, the first time any of the three of you have spoken in hours. He’s eyeing the stray zombie that’s groaning loudly just outside the gate. Its bony arms stick through the iron fence, jaw gaping and snapping loudly. It’s far enough away that neither of the men see it as an immediate threat, but he’ll take care of it before you leave.

Cassian nods, swallowing thick. “Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it.

“I think we should leave,” Azriel suggests. A part of him really thinks that you shouldn’t—that you need to wait here for Rhys and Feyre. They’re going to reach the van, they’ve found gas and might already be at the car by now. They’re probably just having a quick fuck in the backseat. But he’d written them a letter and left it in plain sight, right on the kitchen counter where they won’t be able to miss it.

He can’t help but run his fingers over your hand, curled tightly in Cassian’s shirt. You’ve whimpered in your sleep once and he thought you might wake, chased by the nightmares he’d seen you have the first night you met, but you didn’t. Cassian’s soothing touch had calmed you right down, signing into his neck.

Cassian hums his agreement. There isn’t much else to say, he doesn’t want to stay in this place. It’s like a bad omen, he thinks, if you all stayed under the same roof as the atrocity.

It’s bad enough you all fucked in their bed.

You rouse, lifting your head from the crook of his throat and squinting against the bright sun to meet their gazes. You stare at them for a moment, drinking them in, how they’re touching you, touching each other, searching for something they’re worried you won’t find.

But you do. You know that there is no staying, and you relax against Cassian’s chest for a moment more, letting him tuck you in tighter for a final hug before helping you to your feet.

You’re a bit unsteady, still shaken, and Azriel helps right you with firm hands on your hips, pressing close into your back so you can lean against him if you need. You take what he’s offering, placing your hands over his.

He goes still under your touch.

You want to flinch, apologize profusely for touching his scars, but you don’t. You soothe your thumb across the textured skin and tip your gaze over your shoulder to meet his, showing him that you are not put off by his scarring.

Azriel’s mouth is set in a firm line, eyes hard and closed-off. You can’t get a read on him and it's like the both of you are locked in battle, but you won’t back down. You refuse to.

Eventually, he relents, slowly melting into you, as if you’ve become a shoulder to lean on instead of something reminding him of his scars. You grin proudly at him.

“We’re leaving,” Cassian says quietly, testing the waters between you and Azriel. He looked uneasy for a moment there, worried about Azriel completely flipping his shit, but he’s smiling softly at the both of you, heart full in his chest.

You nod, agreeing with their decision. Azriel pulls away from you to head back into the house. He’s going to find something to write a note to Rhysand and Feyre, letting them know exactly where you’ve gone.

Unsheathing your knife, you hold it firmly in your grasp, preparing for departure. It feels like it’s been a century since you’ve wielded it, but it’s hardly been a day.

Cassian wants to snatch the knife away from you and replace it with his fingers, twisting them together like they’re meant to be.

“We’ll find them,” you say it more to assure yourself than anything else, but Cassian nods nonetheless.

Azriel returns with your packed bags, sliding it across your shoulders so it sits nice. It’s heavier than it was the other day, and if it's because he’d haphazardly stuffed things into it in a rush to leave, you can’t blame him. His fingers trail down your arms as he retreats, and shivers race down your spine.

Cassian’s blade slides easily into the temple of the moaning zombie on the other side of the gate. The decaying creature goes silent, slumping forward to crash into the fence before sliding into an unmoving pile of rot on the asphalt.

You grimace, watching him wipe the blood on its torn clothes before sheathing it and shoving the gate open. He lets Azriel take the lead.

No one talks as you make your way back towards the van. You’ve agreed to start there and then head north, sticking near the main road in case Rhys and Feyre have managed to make it to the car.

All is quiet as you walk. Only the sounds of your own footsteps skidding across the ground can be heard, and you’re saddened at the thought of how happy you all had been to find a place like that to take shelter in.

It had been a perfect house. There wasn’t much to do on your group's end, tasks that any homeowner would have to make anyways, normal upkeep like fixing the hole in the fence and boarding up broken windows. But that basement…what you found down there will never part from you.

You glance at Cassian from the side of your eyes, admiring his perfect profile, wondering what the normally jovial man is thinking about.

It’s not pretty, what’s going inside of his head. He’s thinking about what that father had done to his children and he’s reminded of Beron—the crazy redheaded man who had set fire to Azriel’s hands and kidnapped you.

He was going to do to you exactly what the man in the house had done to his sons.

Cassian’s fingers curl into fists.

You open your mouth to speak, to reassure him or ask him if he wants to talk about it or something, when Azriel asks, “Do you both see that?”

You whip your head around, looking at where he’s pointing. It’s an old billboard, a panel missing and fallen on its side, but it's shining bright red letters across the green read:

Eryef—15 miles north.

“It could be old,” Azriel comments. You would glare at his pessimistic answer, but you realize that he’s only being realistic. He doesn’t want anyone getting too excited over something that could be months old.

Cassian takes his knife and runs the tip of it through the bright red paint. It curls, lifting with a wretched screech that makes you cringe and look over your shoulder, checking your surroundings. Azriel’s gritting his teeth but Cassian is too invested in examining the paint.

“Can’t be more than a few days old, I’d say,” he says, sheathing his blade. “Where do you think it leads?”

The three of you turn to the message again. Eryef…could be the name of a newly founded town, like the ones you’d heard rumors of: communities filled with survivors, coming together like people should have before the world turned into this festering shithole.

Something is telling you it's not though. The name sounds too familiar for it to be that easy. You wrack your brain for solutions, wondering if Rhysand and Feyre had stumbled upon this very sign while they were out—

“Feyre,” you exclaim, clamping a hand over your mouth. Both men turn to you, looking down at you in confusion.

“We’re going to find her soon, sweetheart,” Cassian says, soothing your hair from your face.

You roll your eyes playfully, batting his hand away. He’s so sweet you feel butterflies running rampant in your stomach. His scowl turns heated at the look you’re giving him, and you know he wouldn’t say no to a quick fuck in the woods. Maybe Azriel could keep watch.

But as your gaze flicks to the other man in your group, you know there will be no keeping watch. The hazel is molten, mouth pulled slightly in a corner to smirk at you like the cock man you know him to be. You want to preen beneath their full attention, and you jump as a branch cracks loudly in the woods.

Azriel shoves you behind him, his reflexes quick. You shove his back in annoyance, swallowing thickly as you feel the corded muscles through his shirt. Now is not the time.

You move your attention to the woods. Cassian’s blade is out again and Azriel’s removed the shotgun from his shoulder, taking in the scene, sunlight streaming through thick branches and lush grasses.

A buck stands not too far away. It’s frozen still just as the three of you are, taking you in like you are it, debating if it should deem you a threat and retreat into the thicket.

You sure hope it doesn’t.

You hardly even breathe as you watch it, and seconds feel like an eternity. Finally, the buck returns to its grazing and you wonder if Azriel will take the shot.

It will be loud and zombies for miles will filter your way. There is no turning around for you, you won’t dare to seek cover at the house of horrors you’d left. You need to find Feyre and Rhys, and you need to start moving north.

If only you knew where to find them.

It’s Cassian who kills the buck. Surprisingly skilled with the blade in his hand, he tosses it with a strong arm, and you watch it soar through the trees like a spear. Bright sunlight reflects off of the shiny blade—you’ve caught Cassian sharpening and cleaning it more than once, with all of their stockade from the van—and it lights up the forest, spooking the animal, but too late.

“We’re going to be eating good tonight, my sweets,” Cassian grins, chest puffed with pride at the sight of his kill. He takes off into the forest, not a worry in the world about anything else lurking around, ready to pounce, and Azriel grumbles, hooking the gun back over his shoulder in favor of pulling out his own blade, taking your hand with his free one, and following Cassian into the woods.

“If we can afford to start a fire,” Azriel grunts, and your stomach gurgles in response. He glances down at you, a slight frown on his face in worry. You blush, squeezing his hand in reassurance. You never quite thought you’d have someone like this, let alone two, one hunting to feed you and the other worried about your well-being. You can admit, it’s mighty nice.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“Earlier,” Azriel starts, making sure you’ve had your fill of cooked deer meat before taking some of his own. He offers a thick slice to Cassian, who’s still hanging meat over the makeshift spit he’d created, hands bloodied up to the elbow. He wouldn’t let Azriel anywhere near it, even though the other man had protested that he was fine around fire. Cassian wasn’t having it. He takes the food with a playful nip at Azriel’s fingers, winking at him before continuing his work. “You said Feyre. You didn’t just mean that we had to find them.”

You nod, chewing the meat in your mouth. It’s delicious, and Cassian complained the whole time he was gutting the animal that if he’d had his garden, dinner would be accompanied by a fresh salad with all of the pickings.

It had only made you hungrier and pray for a solace where he’d be able to do just that.

You swallow, the food filling a part of you you hadn’t known was so neglected. You need to pace yourself. You don’t want to get sick off of the meat before your body can soak up the nutrients. You’ll be damned if you let Cassian’s hard work go to waste.

“Eryef, it's Feyre spelled backwards,” you explain, watching the way their eyes light up. “I think it's them—her sisters, I mean.”

Azriel looks thoughtful, considering your words as he takes a large bite of food. It makes sense, but what’s the possibility that they’re in the same area? That they’re searching for her as well?

“My smart little bird,” Cassian compliments, crouching before you to place a smacking kiss on your forehead. It makes you blush and offer him a bite of your food, but he seems more interested in your lips, though he is mindful enough to keep his bloody hands off of your clothes.

You give in, rewarding him with a kiss and a bite of deer meat. He thanks you with a grin, then slides over a foot to where Azriel is settled beside you, pouting for a kiss from the man as well. Azriel rolls his eyes but obeys, leaning forward to meet Cassian’s tongue with his own.

It makes your body stir with need, watching the two of them like this. Cassian’s fingers curl against the log as he tries his best not to get the gore of the animal on his beloved, but Azriel looks like he could care less, biting at Cassian’s lips in a feral sort of way that has you pressing your thighs together tightly. You watch their tongues clash, fighting in the loving way that they have, chests heaving together and apart, together where they’re supposed to be.

You see the moment Azriel snaps back into reality. His spine goes still and his fingers are still in Cassian’s hair. He’s probably got a load of buck fat in his thick locks but Cassian couldn’t give a shit less when you’re both looking at him like that, all bedroom eyes and squirming bodies. He leaves the both of you to tend to the small fire, needing it but not wanting to draw any attention. Cassian will be up all night smoking the meat at this rate, and you intend on staying up with him.

There had been debate about returning to the house, building the fire within the fence, but you had vetoed it, not only because of the harrowing scene in the basement, but also because of the note you’d left Rhysand and Feyre should they come back. A 911 message that you were heading in this direction, sticking close to the main road and keeping an eye out for a beat-up pink Volkswagen.

“You truly think it’s them?” Azriel asks, tone taking on a softer note.

You meet his gaze, nodding firmly. “I do. And I think Rhysand and her went that way.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36 @bionic-donut @que-serasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamer @secret-ly-here @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @harrystylesfan2686 @poppyalice2001 @fall-myriad @sstrohma @i-am-infinite @tcris2020 @jeannineee @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism

#azriel x cassian x reader #dead by dawn #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #acotar zombie au #acotar #azsazz #acowar #acomaf #acotar au #dbd

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luvangelbreak · 22 days

Text

Deprived | Twenty-two

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, injuries, angst, mentions of drugs word count: 2.9k a/n: I’ve run out of things to say honestly just hope y’all won’t kill me atp

pov: matt

After giving Layla a change of clothes which consisted of a plain grey hoodie and the shorts Allie had left here which she now claimed as her own, I let her get comfortable in the corner of my bed with the bag of frozen peas pressed against her back. I sent my mom a message letting her know that Layla was staying over and that I'd be staying home from school tomorrow. My phone vibrated as soon as I put it on the bedside table and I picked it up to see a message from Nick in the group chat with him, Chris and me.

Triple threat

Nicolas she okay? 11:23pm

You yea she's just tired atm 11:23pm

Christopher do u want me to put the bandage on now so u guys can sleep 11:24pm

You yea we're not gonna go to school tmrw btw 11:24pm

Nicolas figured i'll msg nate 11:24pm

You thanks 11:25pm

"Chris is gonna come put the bandage on for you and then we can rest, okay?" I told Layla softly as I plugged my phone on charge and she nodded in response. A moment passed before I heard a soft knock on my door before it swung open, a tired-looking Chris appeared from behind it with medical tape and a clean gauze from the first aid kit.

"Hey, you feelin' any better?" Chris asked with his eyebrows threaded in slight worry and Layla sat up from where she lay on the bed with a shrug of her shoulders.

"A little," she spoke quietly and he gave her a comforting smile as he sat on the bed. She lifted the gauze away from her face and I turned on the light so Chris could see what he was doing better.

"The bleeding has stopped which is good," Chris mumbled as he looked at her face and grabbed the clean gauze, placing it over the cut, "Can you hold that while I put the tape on? Just so it doesn't move."

"Yeah," her voice came out in a whisper as she moved her hand up to hold the gauze. Chris quickly ripped off a few pieces of tape and stuck them around the gauze before he nodded.

"That should stay there overnight. I'll get some butterfly tape for it tomorrow and that will help heal it faster," he explained as he picked up a few things from the bed. A moment of silence fell into the room as Layla looked at Chris and unexpectedly, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Thank you," I heard her small voice mumble into his shoulder and he glanced at me in shock. I furrowed my eyebrows, making a hugging motion with my arms to silently tell him to hug her back. He quickly wrapped his arms around her torso, patting her back gently as he avoided the bruise on her lower back.

"Anytime," he said softly and I let out a breath, a weird sense of pride flooding through me at the sight of them somewhat getting along. Layla quickly pulled back and Chris grabbed the rest of his things off the bed before making his way to the door, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I gave him a fist bump as Layla gave him a small smile and he exited the room once again. I closed the door behind him before I locked it and made my way back over to the bed. I slipped out of my hoodie as I left my plaid pyjama pants on and my grey wife-beater.

"My back hurts," Layla whispered as I slipped under the covers and she immediately curled into my side, placing her head on my chest as I wrapped my arms around her, "Everything hurts."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked softly as I traced my fingers against the cotton of the hoodie along her arm.

"I can't," she mumbled, picking at the lint of my shirt and I pursed my lips.

"Why not?" I asked, trying not to pry but when she looked like she'd been through hell and back, it was hard.

"It's too hard to explain," she sighed, sitting up as she slowly moved her arm up with a wince, running her hand through her hair.

"Can you at least try?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing as she pursed her lips and looked at the covers that fell over my lap, "I can't go to sleep not knowing how this happened to you, Layls."

She sighed, placing her hands over her face as she breathed for a moment. I placed my hand on her thigh gently before she lifted her head.

"Can I write it? It's easier than trying to explain it out loud," she asked and I nodded understandingly. I quickly jumped off of the bed, finding a random pen and a notepad. I climbed back under the cover before I handed it to her. She sighed, flipping over to a random blank page and beginning to quickly scribble.

I left my hand on her thigh as she wrote quickly along the page and I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing at the possibilities of how this could've happened. I don't know how long we sat there in silence, the only sound being heard was pen on paper and my laboured breathing before she tapped my hand that was on her thigh. I looked over to her to see her handing me the open notepad, the plethora of words surprised me but I grabbed it and began reading.

I don't really know how to explain all of this but after my mum left, my dad started mixing with the wrong people. It's gotten worse over the years and about 4 years ago, he got fired as a mechanic and started dealing instead. At first he kept me out of it but after a year he asked me to deliver to people for him every now and then. I've been delivering for him for 2 years and I've had run-ins with a couple of his regulars but they've never really done anything to me, only empty threats.

I didn't come over after school because I went to deliver to these guys my dad had only dealt with two or three times. Apparently they asked for more coke than what my dad gave them and they said this was the third time in a row. They said what they did to me was a warning for next time. I don't even know their names and they didn't give me the money so I don't know what to do because it will just make my dad more mad if I show up without the money.

I told my dad I only wanted to deliver to regulars because they are nice like Wes but these guys are nothing like anyone I've delivered to. They know I'm scared of them but they don't know that hurting me like this won't affect my dad in any way, it will only cause me more damage and I just don't know what to do anymore. I can't get out of it because if I do, my dad will kick me out and I'll have nowhere to go. If I stay and do deliveries, I'll probably end up like this again soon or worst case scenario, I'll be dead.

I just feel trapped and I'm sorry I didn't tell you I do all of this shit sooner, I didn't want you to get involved because this is something I've dealt with my whole life and I can't drag you into this. I'm just scared and I don't want to do it anymore, I want to be normal.

You make me feel normal.

I put the notepad down on the bed and I looked up at her to see her head was back in her hands. I felt helpless, I didn't know how to handle this and I knew none of my friends did either. I sighed, placing the notebook on the bedside table as I sat up, running a hand across my face to process what was happening.

How did I not know she was dealing drugs? Why didn't it click to me when she said she was dropping something off for a friend and came to me high out of her mind? Why didn't I ask sooner how she was getting money when I knew her dad didn't have a lot?

How could someone do this to my pretty girl?

"Are you mad at me?" she whispered, her voice small and shaky as I lifted my head from my hand. Her eyes were brimmed with tears as she held her torso, hunched forward to help the pain in her back.

"No baby," I furrowed my eyebrows as I lifted my hand, running it through her bleached hair that was quickly growing out and showing her natural brunette hair at the roots, "I'm just processing everything."

"I'm sorry," her bottom lip quivered as a few tears spilled down her cheeks and I tilted my head, using my thumb to wipe away the tears as she leaned into my touch, "I don't have anyone else to help me. I know it's not fair to you but I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Hey," I whispered, lifting her chin so she would look me in the eyes, "We'll figure it out, okay? I'll talk to Mia or something-"

"No," she interjected, shaking her head as she pulled away from my hand, "My dad will go to jail and then I'll go to jail and then everything will be fucked. You can't tell Mia, she'll ruin everything."

"She won't," I spoke strongly, knowing that if I talked to Mia she would be willing to help. Even if she didn't want to help Layla, she would do it for me, "If we can figure out how to make sure there's no evidence of you involved in this then you won't have to go anywhere."

"What about my dad?" she asked, her voice breaking as more tears slid down her face, "He's the only family I have."

"Baby," I spoke softly as I reached into her lap and laced her hand with mine, "I know you love him because he's your dad but he's not your family. Your family will care when you get hurt. You just said he will only care about the money and if that's the case, you need to know that him being in your life will only mean you're gonna get hurt more."

She shook her head reluctantly, more tears spilling out of her eyes as she mumbled, "No."

I could tell she was exhausted and all of her pent up emotions were spilling over in an instant. I just let her feel everything she needed to in that moment as I held her hand, running circles on the back of her hand with my thumb to let her know I was there.

"I want my mom," she croaked out before her body broke into a sob and my shoulders dropped. I immediately pulled her towards me as she cried into my chest and I held onto her tightly, her sorrow seeping into me as I felt my eyes prick with tears. I didn't let them fall, knowing I had to be strong for her and I couldn't let my emotions overrule anything.

We stayed like that for a moment before suddenly there was a gentle knock at my door and my eyebrows furrowed. Layla lifted herself away from me as she caught her breath and I kissed the top of her head.

"I'll check who it is," I told her gently and she nodded as she wiped her tears with the sleeve of the hoodie. I slid out of the bed before trotting to the door, unlocking it and opening it slightly to see my mother standing there.

"I saw your message. Is everything okay?" her tone worried and her eyebrows threaded in concern and I let my mouth hang open.

"Layla's just going through a lot right now, Mom," I told her quietly and she pursed her lips, glancing behind me.

"Can I come in?" she asked and I turned back to look at Layla, hesitant to show my mother how Layla looked in such a vulnerable state. Layla nodded as she sniffled, hugging her knees to her chest and I turned around, opening the door wider to let my mom inside. She stepped inside the room and I could feel the concern radiating off of her as she looked at Layla, "Oh honey. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Layla's voice was shaky and unconvincing as my Mom walked towards her. I closed my bedroom door to make sure no one else would come in as Layla hung her head low.

"Come here," my mother said gently as she opened her arms while she sat down on the bed and I smiled at her nurturing behaviour. Layla hesitated, looking over at me briefly before she curled into my mother's arms like a scared child. My mom engulfed her in her warmth, gently rubbing her back as Layla hugged her torso.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," Layla mumbled as she pulled away from my mom and my mom shook her head with a comforting smile on her lips.

"I'd rather be awake to make sure you're okay," she told her softly, running a hand through Layla's dishevelled hair, "What happened?"

"I uh, some guys jumped me while I was walking home," she lied as she shook her head. I understood why she didn't tell my mom the truth, I wouldn't either now knowing the circumstances.

"Sweetheart, we have to file a police report," my mom told her and Layla immediately shook her head.

"I didn't see their faces. It would be no use," she conjured up another lie on the spot and it made me uneasy how quickly she would spin the truth.

"Does your dad know about this?" she asked and Layla pursed her lips as she shook her head.

"He's at work late. That's why I came here," she whispered and I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall beside my door and my mother glanced towards me, "I'm sorry for showing up like this. I didn't really have anywhere else to go."

"There's no need to apologise, honey. I'm glad you have my boy to take care of you," she gently ran her hand along Layla's bicep and Layla gave her an apologetic smile, "You stay here as long as you like, okay? We have plenty of room for you and help yourself to food."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Layla denied her hospitality to which my mother unsurprisingly waved off.

"You're not asking. I'm offering," my mother insisted and Layla hesitantly nodded, picking at her fingernails nervously.

"Thank you," she whispered and my mom nodded, standing up from the bed before she walked over to me.

"We will talk about this tomorrow. Get some rest, the both of you," she said softly before she leaned up and kissed my cheek, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I mumbled back as she opened the door before closing it behind herself and I locked it before making my way back to the bed, "I didn't think she'd wake up."

"Your mom is too nice to me," she pursed her lips with a frown as I slid under the covers, "I feel so bad having to lie to her."

"I know why you did," I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple as she sighed, "Let's try to get some rest, pretty girl. We can talk more about it tomorrow."

She nodded as she curled into my side and I laid back on the pillows, pulling the covers over both of us as she sighed. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, holding her close to me as she steadied her breathing. She kept shuffling to get comfortable every now and then but eventually, I grabbed her waist and pulled her on top of me. She looked up at me, chin against my chest as her eyes scanned my face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes heavy as they met mine and I wrapped my arms around her back, careful not to touch the bruise.

“Stop apologising. You know I’m always here,” I answered softly, moving my right hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear and I got lost in the feeling of her against my skin, “My pretty girl.”

“My pretty boy,” she whispered back and my face couldn’t help but break into a smile. Her expression mimicked my own and I felt my heart swell knowing that even after all the shit she had been put through, I was still able to see her beautiful smile.

My mind was reeling with how to fix this, how to help her, but it all floated away when she rested her head on my chest as her breathing became one with mine and her heart matched the beat of my own. She shifted to get herself comfortable again and before I knew it, soft snores emitted into the air from her mouth.

I let my mind float away into all the possibilities on how to solve this. How to make sure she was safe. How to not have Mia fuck this up. How to tell Chris and Nick without making them flip out. How to make sure Layla had a place to stay with enough money to go to college if she wanted to. How to make sure her dad gets what he deserves for putting his own daughter in this position. How to get Layla’s mother and sister in contact with her again.

How to help her feel normal again.

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@dsturniolo @chrisstankyleg @lov3bug @pinklittleflower @thatcrazybitch-69 @trinity2058 @alorsxsturn @chrizznmetswife @ilovechrissturniolo1 @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @sturnfix @lilsstvrn @sturniololol @sturniolowhore @jebbie-project-blog @jaxyy219 @junnniiieee07 @mattsobvimyfav

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