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#something she learned from her mother; something she learned by being a white woman in the world
kysuguru · 8 months
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dear mother — stsg x fem!reader
synopsis : you’ve finally enrolled into jujutsu tech, sad thing is, you’re totally clueless.
includes / cw : emotionally abusive mother
all mine masterlist
a /n : ch1 of my “all mine” series!!!
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"i'm ogawa [name]. i'm from sendai japan. please take care of me."
you bow politely. smiling at the tiny class of three as you rise, posture nervous and stiff.
"if i knew there was someone new i would've thrown a welcome party!" a white haired boy who's eyes are protected by circular black glasses exclaims excitedly, a smile big on his lips. you admit you're a bit intimidated. the idea of a party for you seems a bit over the top, though.
a boy on his left scoffs almost affectionately, the soft look he sends to his counterpart familiar to you. you always looked at the street cats like that, your mother as well (you try not to think about it). he has a bang over his left eye, you wonder if someone has ever tried to tuck it behind his ear.
"there's no need for a party. my arrival can't be that exciting," you chuckle shyly.
they all analyze you. so you settle with looking at your shuffling shoes.
"she speaks so formally." the gojo boy leans over with a hand cupped around his mouth as he whispers to his best friend, causing you to look up. it's a bit silly that he's acting as if he's whispering a secret even though everyone can hear him.
his friend eyes you apologetically.
there's another girl, the only one who seems actually interested as she stares you down. you flinch as you catch her gaze. her hair is short, in a brown bob that frames her face perfectly. her bangs are tucked behind her ear and there's a mole you catch on her face that convinces you she's model worthy.
other than your mother you've never thought a woman was so pretty.
"so new girl, what's your cursed technique."
new girl.. but i swore i said my name. did i not?
ignoring the white haired boy's lack of manners was easy, since you weren't all that aware he was being rude.
"i actually... don't know."
all three students chorused at the same time.
"hah?"
scouted? me? when you heard such a thing, you were confused and honestly, really surprised. you weren't talented by any means. outside of studying you didn't have much going on. not only that, but your mother kept you in the house a lot. so to hear of someone from jujutsu tech finding you worthy enough to attend had you blinking, astonished.
you were aware of what jujutsu was, cursed techniques and all of that jazz, but your knowledge was still limited beyond that. your mom was adamant on you not attending for reasons she refused to tell. obviously you didn't push. you never liked seeing her with a temper.
the man who recommended you was named yaga masamichi. he'd taken note of the significant amount of cursed energy you possessed when passing by you on your way to school. your family weren't jujutsu sorcerers from what you were aware of — you honestly weren't even sure that there were jujutsu sorcerers or people like you until now. but you'd never put it past your mom to hide something like that from you.
she always kept jujutsu related talk under wraps, only giving you little information to quell your curiosity.
you didn't even know what your cursed technique was. or if you even had one. even though you tried to understand why she does what she does, it still felt very lonely — seeing such heinous creatures and having to pretend they didn't exist for your own safety.
if it weren't for the fact that you instinctively learned to control your cursed energy output, you could've been in serious danger.
and although it was painful to go through such things alone — not being able to confide in a single person — you understood why your mother did it. all she wanted to do was keep you safe.
and even if you followed all of her rules of no jujutsu to a T, you couldn't help the sensation of excitement and relief knowing that there were so many other people out there just like you. a school of them, even.
you wanted badly to be upset with your mother, the fact that she knew about all of this and kept it from you. but even the thought of being angry at her when all she wanted was to protect you had you pushing down those foolish feelings.
other than secretive, your mother was also very stubborn. a trait that you always admired until this very moment.
she argued that you didn't belong into a school that was practically a death trap for young teens. always listening to your mother like an obedient puppy, you looked down at the floor, preparing for the inevitable rejection, expression sad as you shuffled your shoes alongside your mothers that were planted firm on the ground — you resisted the urge to distance yourself from her.
your eyes drifted to the shoes that were yaga's hoping no one would question your silence (they never did).
your mother wasn't a bad person. never that. but sometimes you couldn't help but get upset at the decisions she made in your stead. you wouldn't say that she didn't consider you, but sometimes it kinda felt that way.
"i get where you're coming from. jujutsu tech is a dangerous place and i hate to bring such young talented kids into such risks. but you have to understand your daughters side," he gestured towards you, your mothers eyes dropping to your head that perked up before they glared back at yaga.
"how do you think she feels knowing she has the opportunity to branch out and gain knowledge about these abilities. do you think she wants to stay ignorant because you do?"
your ears rang as the last sentence was spoken.
"do you think she wants to stay ignorant because you do?"
it resonated with you in a way you couldn't comprehend. all you could do was clutch your chest as a foreign feeling of relief left your choked up throat in a bated breath. the exhale feeling as if you were being freed from something. being seen.
"[name], my sweet darling baby," she caressed the top of your head. it was instinct to lean into her touch, even though at the moment you couldn't sort out how you felt towards her.
she's protecting you. the words whisper in your ear, like a disease that is incurable, like a predator that sinks its fangs and refuses to let go.
"mommy wants you to stay home with her. please consider it. it's so dangerous out there, and i really don't want you to get hurt," she cooed. it made you feel sick and you hated not knowing why. even though her words were meant to console you, they only made you want to run.
your eyes were glued to the dirty mat that you and your mother refused to clean, maybe because it was the most familiar thing in this constant changing house. there were five pairs of shoes, you, yaga, and mother and two unworn pairs off to the side, both meant for other occasions, better ones. ones that don't include the ringing of your ears and the well of your tears as they collect on your lashes. maybe it's an occasion where you're at a nice dinner with your mom, a rare treat whenever she deemed herself in the mood.
the bigger pair of shoes shifted. yaga.
"miss ogawa. i don't mean to overstep, but have you considered you're babying your 15 year old child? maybe you need to consider that she can make her own-"
"don't you dare tell me how to parent my own damn child." her voice is dripping with venom, the venom that seeps through you and whispers in your ear.
i just want to protect you.
your mothers anger was never a calm one, it was loud and furious, voice bouncing off the walls as she tried restraining herself from getting violent. so hearing her talk to the man in such a familiar tone had you quivering in her hold.
your mother, never under the assumption that she could ever be the reason you were upset, deduced that your shivers were caused by yaga.
so she glares, long and hard, and her lips move to form the words you were dreading, "my daughter is not attending your shit school. get out of my house.”
...
other than the sound of life beyond the door, there only laid cold, anxious silence.
you were afraid to look up, your mother's shirt being your only anchor. but from the resigned sigh that left yaga's lips, you were well aware of the expression he was making — one of anger, and disappointment. realizing that seeking you out was a waste of his time.
or so you assumed.
for he could only look at you in pity, acknowledging how painful a relationship like this must be for you, and in longing, hoping foolishly that he could lend a helping hand.
a rough calloused hand entered your vision, a piece of ripped paper in the grip of his fingers.
yaga gestured it towards you patiently, a look of sorrow marring his usually calm expression. "if there's a change, please call this number."
your mom ripped it from his grasp right before you could touch it. she crumpled it in her hand. "there won't be a change. now get the fuck out of my house."
you could only stare in horror at your mothers fist that held the only thing that could possibly change the trajectory of your life. even as yaga bowed and turned around, even as the door slammed shut behind him. even as mother soothed you with quiet coos meant for a baby, even as she turned towards the kitchen to start on dinner, even as she sat you down and commented on your silence. even as she watched you absentmindedly pick on your food, even as she started to become agitated at your lack of response, and even as she treaded up the stairs to her bedroom. your eyes stayed glued to that one hand.
you blinked, eyes dry and mouth parched as you suddenly remembered that you weren't at the front door anymore while your mother cradled you in her arms.
your eyes drift to the front door, and you approach it slowly. you don't know why you stand there or why your hand touched the door knob.
maybe it's because you're hopeful that the man is behind this door. waiting patiently for you to open it, prepared with the words of acceptance. maybe something amongst it that helps you figure out what the hell to do.
"a school of them." you whispered, the only thing capable of leaving your dry mouth.
there was a school of them. proof that you really weren't alone in this cursed world. how could you possibly go back to the difficult life of acting as if everything was normal when it wasn't? blue auras were around everybody, and the grotesque creatures festered from the negative feelings surrounding those people. and there were those out there who knew how to get rid of those things for the sake of others.
knowing all of this, you couldn't stand by and not lend a hand, not learn to control the one thing that's burdened you your entire life. but..
you looked up the stairs, seeing just the top of your mothers door.
what would she do? she needed you. you both took care of each other, you couldn't leave her behind.
but you needed this. you wanted to figure all of this out. control theses abilities and hopefully get to know people who were just like you. and... you could always come back.
yeah.
who said you had to stay? you would go, go to jujutsu high, reach your goals, and return to your mother.
because even though you may make friends with those of similar backgrounds to you, your mother was a constant in your life, never changing. you couldn't abandon her. you wouldn't.
so with this new resolve in your heart, you snuck up to her room. she kept her door creaked for unknown reasons, maybe to keep an eye on you, but you ignored that and thanked its convenience for this very moment.
she was asleep. snoring.
you treaded carefully over to the bed, eyes focused on the bags growing under her lashes. the sight made your lips twitch into a small frown. you delicately tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. listening to her steady breathing as she dreamt the night away.
"wait for me, mother.”
you turned away and grabbed the piece of paper off of her nightstand, leaving the room with a sense of urgency.
you dialed yaga's number after locking your bedroom door, pacing around in circles as the phone rung. the ringing resonated in your ears like a ticking clock. you didn't really have time. if he wouldn't answer now you'd never get your chance.
your mom was an early bird and you could already feel yourself getting drowsy.
"i mean. who even calls this late. he might be asleep..." you whisper defeatedly and pull the phone away from your ear to hang up, but it lights up with his icon and you jump in excitement.
"miss. ogawa?"
"masamichi-san. it's [name]."
Dear mother,
I've departed, something I'm sure you noticed. As much as I wanted to obey you, I couldn't just abandon the opportunity that could help change my life for the better. I know you were trying to protect me, and I know that it's dangerous. But I can't live knowing that my life could be different. I can't just sit by and watch this spark of light dim, let my world go dark again. I'm not like you, mother. I will not stay ignorant. Wait for me, please.
I lov-
a loud shrewd rip echoes through the quiet house. your mother's eyes are dull, face empty as she starts furiously ripping the paper to shreds.
she suddenly screams out in anger, tears of frustration bubbling and blurring her vision. she grips her hair in agony as she starts chanting curses.
"dammit dammit, dammit!! i told her it was dangerous. i told her. damn her!! good for nothing daughter... not listening to a fucking word i say!!"
your mom stomps angrily out of her room, not caring for the small pieces of paper she tramples over.
"I love you,"
"mother."
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adventuringblind · 9 months
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Defensive Maneuvers
Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader
Genre: fluffy with a pinch of angst
Request: yes! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Requests are open for Max, Charles, Oscar, and lando. Don't hesitate to send me ideas!
Summary: The normally soft-spoken leclerc sister becomes the out spoken girl her family knows. What triggers this change? Max Verstappen and his ridiculous father.
Warnings: Jos being Jos, mentions of verbal abuse, mention of physical abuse if you squint, *best Daniel Riccardo voice* nooooot prooooofreaaaad
Notes: written in third person . I am neither the youngest nor have brothers, so I tried my best to get an accurate relationship depiction. Ironically, I'm the oldest with sisters.
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The Leclerc sister is known by her brothers as the baby of the family. Even Arthur, who is only older by mere minutes, holds it over her head that she is the youngest.
The constant teasing from her siblings made her learn how to use her quick wit. Verbal comebacks becoming her specialty at a young age. Because of her ability to be polite in public, no one suspects what she is truly capable of.
Her brothers tease her regardless but she lets them. Her sharp tongue making them regret not holding theirs.
Pierre had made this mistake once. Mainly under the influence of Charles convincing him to say something at her expense. The verbal lashing he received in response had him apologizing profusely. Charles doubling over in laughter as her practically lectured his friend. Needless to say, Pierre has yet to make this mistake again.
Charles was by far her favorite sibling. Lorenzo had a habit of bossing her around and Arthur shared a room with her. She loved all her brothers, but felt the most connected to Charles. She followed him around like a lost puppy some days. Ready to cheer him on at every Karting race.
This was where she first encountered Max.
After the race, she went to go congratulate Charles for a race well done. He was third but all the Leclerc’s were proud nonetheless. On the way over to him, she saw Max. He was at majority of the races Charles was at. The two had never talked formally, but they were aware of the others existence.
Something about the situation she was witnessing didn’t felt right. Max was standing with his dad, his knuckles turning white from gripping his second place trophy so tightly.
As she walked by, she almost fell over at hearing how his father was treating him. The slander leaving his mouth over his son placing second almost made her tear up. She was only nine at the time, but even she knew whatever was happening was wrong.
So she steeled herself, took a deep breath, and entered into the conversation. She walked up and tapped Max’s shoulder. He jumped at the feeling, not having seen you coming.
“Hello Max, Charles is busy with family but wanted to congratulate you.” She smiled warmly at the Dutch boy. Obviously taken off guard.
Jos turned to her, also not knowing how to handle this. “Not much to congratulate,” he sneered. The young Leclerc narrows her eyes at him. Not realizing how brash the older man is.
“What do you mean, Mr. Verstappen? There is plenty to congratulate.” She questions back, her tone mildly snarky. Obviously having no intention of backing down. The older man didn’t even bothering responding to her. He turns on his heels and walks away. Yelling back to Max “I’ll be in the car.”
Max looks between the girl who he’d never spoken too and his father. Unsure of what he should do in this situation. Thankfully the girl notices this. “Sorry for stepping in. He sounded unreasonably upset.” She apologized with a huff.
“Thanks actually- for what you did.” Max stutters out. No one had ever taken the time to defend him.it was an unusual feeling. He knows he can’t stay long though. “I should go. I’ll see you around- I guess.” Then he runs off. Waving as he goes.
She had told her mother about it. The older woman explaining what was probably happening at home. It made her sad for the Dutch boy. Having to hear that it happens more often then just races.
This was only the first encounter with Max. The Leclerc sister made it a point to find Max after every race and praise for a job well done. Much to his fathers dismay. She knew she couldn’t stop what was happening, but maybe her words would help ease some of the hurt.
The girls mother occasionally helped out with her quest. Walking with her daughter to find the Dutch and congratulate him.
It became a routine. One that Max was starting to enjoy. The seeking out now being reciprocated. The two even finding time to converse about things aside from racing.
Max’s father had started to become increasingly more annoyed at this fact. Pulling Max away from you. Spitting vulgar words at a child that wasn’t even his own.
Pascals had made a note that if she was directly insulting to Mr. Verstappen, it might make things harder for Max. She still made her snarky remarks and threw insults at the older man, but only loud enough to make Max chuckle.
Her brothers eventually caught on. Charles and Arthur saying nice things to Max in passing. Charles was more strained, but was trying nonetheless.
The brothers began teasing her relentlessly as they grew up. Her fondness for Max only growing. Her quick tongue seemed to falter when they brought up Max. She held a soft spot for him, as he did for her.
When Max and Charles were in formula 2, she was incredibly proud of both of them. She divided her time equally between the two boys. Still always making sure to sing Max’s praises loud enough for everyone to hear.
Originally she though Max’s father would cool down and maybe start to see how talented he is, but she was mistaken. The older man somehow seemed to get more competitive.
It was increasingly easier to talk to each other now since the two both have phones. She comforted over video calls as he ranted about something stupid his father said to him. He listens to her talk about her fathers battle with illness. The two became inseparable. Being the reason for each others smiles on most occasions.
Then formula 1 came. Charles driving for Ferrari and Max for Redbull. The youngest Leclerc baskets in both boy finally making it. Years of hard work paying off.
Max no longer lived at home. Having moved to an apartment in Monaco. This meaning the two could spend more time together. The, now young woman, takes pride in that fact she convinced him to move closer to her.
She’d become more outspoken recently. Opening defending both her brothers and Max. Most people knew not to say anything if she was within earshot.
The year is now 2021 and Max and Lewis are both fighting hard for the championship title. Max was visible upset at the end the race. Second place wasn’t enough if Lewis is going to keep winning.
The young woman immediately trying to find him after the podium celebration. She had seen the look in his fathers eyes and is now frantically trying to beat him to Max. Charles and Arthur found her in a frenzy. Confused because she is usually calm, her sarcastic remarks and opinions given so level that you’d think it was rehearsed.
“I need to find Max.” She explained, panting from running around the paddock. They decided three sets of eyes would be better then one and split off in different direction.
She was so caught up in her search for Max that she hadn’t noticed her phone buzzing in her pocket.
A text from Charles reading: In the back of the Redbull garage. It doesn’t look good.
She took off running spotting snarled waiting for her outside. She could hear the commotion from Jos.
“I was going to try and break it up but they won’t let me in.” Charles gestures to the wall of Redbull engineers. She however, wasn’t going to let them stop her from getting to Max. She shoved her way through with determination and surprising strength. Immediately settling herself between the two Dutch men.
Jos had turned his anger towards her now. His finger getting dangerously close to her face. “You are part of the problem.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “The only problem currently is you.”
“My son has been distracted because of you. His hopes for a title this year not getting any better because of you.” He spits. She can feel his breath on her face.
“Personally, I think Max is a good racer because he wants to be. Not because of you or me helping or distracting.” She lets a smirk form on her lips. “Your just angry because your finally running out of things to berate him about. Hard to be angry when Max is better then you.”
Jos’ face had turned red. She could feel Max’s anxiety increasing from behind her.
Then everything happened in slow motion. She hadn’t noticed Jos’ hand raised above her. Charles moved faster then anyone. Shoving Jos to the side, his hand not getting to connect with anything but the nearest wall.
He was raging now. Thrashing like a child who didn’t get their way. Pierre and Charles who had somehow managed their way inside kept a firm grip on him as Christian ran to get security.
The Youngest Leclerc. The one who spent her days defending Max in secret, keeping the haters at bay never letting Max go a day without know he is loved. Finally she turned around and stared deeply into his eyes. Blue irises glasses over from tears he’d been holding back.
She embraces him warmly. His face buried into the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” She apologized softly.
Max pulled away and gives her a confused look. “On the contrary, I think you were right on time.”
Security had come and grabbed Jos to escort him out of the paddock. Charles and Pierre now finding then tension between the two heating up. The two boys giggling. “I swear if you two don’t kiss or something I will no play nice with Max.” Charles laughed.
She didn’t care about the teasing. Just taking time to comfort Max. The two still conjoined in a loose hold.
Max leans his forehead against hers. “You know I’ve loved you for awhile right?” He smiles.
“You would be stupid to not.” She remarks. Max shaking his head at the remark. “But I have to agree with Charles on this one.”
Max doesn’t hesitate any longer. Placing his lips on hers. Pulling her as close to him as he can. He then pulls away, his lips still close to hers and voice barely a whisper.
“Thank you, for protecting me all these years.”
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mikavlcs · 1 year
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White Flag
Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader
Summary: Tyler is infatuated with you. Wednesday puts a stop to it.
Warnings: possessive-ish/ooc!wednesday, tyler slander, kinda abrupt ending, this is Not Good
Word count: 2.8k
Notes: this was requested by @vorsdany​ (mother<3), it’s bad but i hope you enjoy it at least a little!
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Wednesday had never been one for sharing.
She had no problems sharing general family items like poisons, explosives, or, if she was feeling generous, torture devices. But when it was her things, it was a different story.
On more than one occasion she had bitten Pugsley for trying to take her dolls that she was in the process of decapitating (the boy even tasted weak). Thing only needed to be punted once to learn not to take her throwing knives without asking.
And Lurch, well… Lurch was virtually unkillable, meaning that she was able to get more creative with her methods of discipline for his rare missteps.
Not even her parents were exempt from this behavior, though they adored her viciousness and feverishly encouraged it rather than punishing her for it.
Naturally, this only worsened when she entered what she considered to be the seventh circle of hell—public school.
In the many years (and schools) that followed, there were many, many injuries ranging from scrapes to broken bones, and she felt bad for none of them. They all served a purpose: to teach their recipients a lesson.
Words like possessive and territorial were thrown around often in regard to her temperament, and while she enjoyed the negative connotation of those words, she didn’t believe that they quite fit.
Wednesday saw her behavior as perfectly reasonable. Her things were hers, there was no reason for anyone else to try and take them from her.
And that was still as true now as it was then.
This mentality was what got her to Nevermore in the first place. When she started caring for her brother in some capacity, she wasn’t sure, but he was her brother, and no one else was allowed to torment him but her. 
And she made sure that the boys that shoved him in her locker were well informed of that fact.
The fact that she effectively neutered one of the jocks was just a bonus (and a favor for every woman that came into contact with him in the future).
Just before she left for Nevermore, she installed a lock on her bedroom door that only she could unlock, and if anyone else tried, they would be lucky to only lose a finger.
To her utter dismay, she did something at Nevermore that she had never done at any of her other schools—she grew attached to some of the students there. Mostly Enid and Eugene. 
They were people she would (hesitantly, especially in Enid’s case) consider friends. And with that elevated status came the same begrudging care she had for her brother.
Eugene was the same type as Pugsley—soft, squishy, and entirely too weak to defend himself from his tormentors. Thus, Wednesday did it for him.
Enid, on the other hand, was too nosy for her own good and incredibly annoying, but no one was allowed to tell her that but Wednesday. And anyone that tried was met with swift and just punishment.
So when you confessed your disgusting feelings for her to which she unfortunately reciprocated, and you got to the point where you could, in a sense, be considered hers, this mindset carried over to you as well.
Still not as intensely as with her physical belongings, of course—you were your own person with personal autonomy and agency that she would never try to take from you.
She didn’t care about you spending time with other people or being affectionate with your friends, no. What she cared about was other people trying to actually steal you from her. That was what she wouldn’t tolerate.
Those other people had no chance, of course. The two of you complimented each other perfectly. Like sodium and cyanide.
But that didn’t stop imbeciles from trying… and many certainly did try.
A group of furs made a bet to see who could successfully get you to go on a date with them first. They approached you periodically throughout the day—the stink of overconfidence and wet fur radiating from each of them.
All Wednesday had to do was flash a few select pieces from the vast silver arsenal she accumulated, and they were running away with their tails between their legs.
There was a vampire, far too ambitious for his own good, that attempted to court you from afar by…staring and lingering around you.
Enid said he was doing it “Twilight style” but Wednesday hadn’t the faintest idea what dusk had to do with his poor flirting, nor did she care enough to find out.
She instead woke him up with a stake pressed just above his heart and a threat. That worked spectacularly.
And the traces of garlic that ended up in his soup at lunch the next day were merely a coincidence.
There were others—a few more idiotic furs, some gorgons, a siren—all of which Wednesday eliminated one by one with ease.
(Non-fatally, unfortunately. Because even though you liked Wednesday’s quirks, you still disapproved of cold-blooded murder…she would work on that with you.)
Until, finally, they seemed to learn and accept that you were hers and nothing was changing that—especially not any teenage boys with egos too big for their bodies. No one dared to approach you with their romantic inquiries. And she liked it that way.
Even Xavier, despite how empty his skull seemed most of the time, knew better at that point.
But there remained one person that routinely exceeded her low expectations. One annoying thorn that dug itself deep in her side refused to go away.
Tyler Galpin.
The Weathervane barista was Jericho’s de facto golden boy. Devoted, handsome (allegedly), and a royal pain in Wednesday’s ass recently.
She didn’t hate him at first. In fact, her limited interactions with him were entirely uninteresting, something she would have forgotten if it weren’t for what came after. But what Tyler lacked in personality, he more than made up for in audacity.
He was hopelessly infatuated with you and made no attempt to hide it. Blatant longing stares,
And he knew that you were unavailable. You literally told him you were on a date with her once and he just…smiled and nodded.
Homicidal didn’t even begin to describe how she felt in that moment.
For a time, she tried to steer you away from the Weathervane, but you loved the quaint café, so it was impossible to keep you away from its cozy seats and overly sweet drinks for very long.
And it seemed that no matter when you guys went, he was there, grinning like an idiot behind the counter as you walked in.
His constant presence irritated her to no end. It didn’t help that he was fervid in his pursuit of you, despite Wednesday being literally sat across from you every time he made his advances.
Every visit, she had to watch him hand deliver drinks with hearts and compliments in the foam art, had to watch you try to politely deal with your discomfort.
The urge to throw the drink in his face was so potent that it took every single ounce of self-control to hold herself back from doing it.
From then on, she ached to teach him the same lesson she did everyone else, but every time she saw him, you were also present. And to subject you to such acts when she knew you wouldn’t approve would be unbecoming of her.
She would also prefer to be with you and her friends at Nevermore instead of sitting in a jail cell.
So she decided to take it easy on him. The next time she was subjected to the displeasure of sharing space with him, she would give him a simple warning and from there he had two options.
He either got the message or the sheriff would be burying his only son.
-
In recent times, Fridays had become something to look forward to for Wednesday.
Since you’d begun seeing each other, you were insistent on taking her out every Friday after classes were over to “celebrate the weekend.”
In reality, Wednesday knew it was just an excuse to spend time alone with her without calling it a “date” because she loathed the term. She accepted it, for your sake.
This tradition is how you both ended up on the school-provided shuttle into Jericho, your book in your hands as you idly watched the passing scenery, Wednesday watching you in turn.
She would have invited you to her dorm, but Thing liked to take up as much of your attention as possible when you visited, so instead she decided to take you into town.
Predictably, the moment you stepped off the shuttle, you were begging her to go to the Weathervane.
She wanted to say no. Honestly, she would rather subject herself to the depths of hell that was Pilgrim World than step foot inside that place, but you were utilizing a recent favorite tactic of yours—a brutal combination of pouting and begging incessantly.
You cradled her hand between both of yours, wide eyes drenched in overblown sorrow and, to her amusement, oncoming tears.
The act was topped off with an occasional pleading, “Please, Wends,” taking extra care to extend the word please to infuriating lengths every time.
But even with how well-fortified her mental walls were, there was only so much her sanity could take. So she let you drag her through the doors of the coffee shop, vowing to get sweet revenge on you when you least expected it.
Of course, Tyler was there, lurking behind the counter with his eyes already intently trained on you, likely already spotting you outside the window.
Not noticing her tension, you turned to her, excited as could be. “I’ll order our drinks. Can you get us a booth?” you asked before walking up to the front.
Her eyes followed as you set your hands on the marble, leaning to look at the full menu board behind Tyler, then she turned her attention to him.
He had that look again, “heart eyes” as Enid would call it. It made her want to rip them out of his skull.
Wednesday tore her eyes away from the interaction and looked for a seat as you asked her to. Knowing you liked the booths near the windows, her gaze traveled there, finding most of them vacant.
Usually, she preferred sitting in the back corner, but this time she strode toward the booth all the way up front, wanting to be both as far from the barista and close to the exit as possible, and sat with her back to the wall.
Her mind wandered as she waited for you to return. She thought of Thing, who she had given permission to prank other students in exchange for him remaining at Nevermore while she brought you to Jericho.
She hoped he hadn’t hurt anyone too badly—at least not while she wasn’t there to watch.
Soft footfalls brought her from her musings, and she looked over just as you neared the booth.
You set her drink down on the table in front of her with a smile brighter than the sun. She gave you a nod in lieu of thanks and watched as you settled back in your seat, flipping open whatever fantasy novel you were immersing yourself in now atop your crossed legs.
Wednesday never fully understood the love you harbored for this place, but she had to admit that at times like this, the café was pleasant to be in.
Like her, you were in casual clothes, freed from the striped confines of the Nevermore uniform, and your relaxed posture reflected that change. You looked at home in the cushioned booth with pages nestled between your fingers and a furrowed brow.
The late afternoon sun was beginning to set outside, painting the sky a vibrant mixture of oranges, pinks, and purples. 
Wednesday normally hated any color besides the dark crimson of freshly drawn blood, but the way this specific kaleidoscope of hues highlighted your features made it impossible for her to feel anything akin to hatred for them now.
The way the light refracted off the glass and onto your face was reminiscent of the Renaissance-era oil paintings she had been forced to analyze in art class. Easily more captivating than anything da Vinci or Michelangelo could ever dream of creating.
Even the sterilized music they played from the café speakers was less grating than usual (or she was being slowly indoctrinated… she would have to investigate that later).
You looked up, reaching for your drink, and your eyes found hers. A warm, if slightly mischievous smile appeared on your face, growing as you held up your cup.
“You wanna taste?”
She scrutinized the drink in your hand—some sugary monstrosity called “hot chocolate”—and immediately shook her head. “Absolutely not, I value my digestive system.”
You laughed, nose scrunching in that way that Wednesday found herself just a bit enamored with. Once your laughter subsided, you took a long sip, heaving an exaggeratedly satisfied sigh afterward.
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled her own book from her bag, a spellbook her mother had given her for her birthday. She’d been studying it for weeks now, wanting to see if she could tap into the supposed magical capabilities that her distant ancestors wielded.
The booth lapsed into silence, the only sounds being the background chatter of the few other café guests and the low overhead music as you enjoyed each other’s company, taking sips every so often.
But the peace didn’t last, for Tyler just had to pollute the air with his presence again. This time, completely uninvited.
Wednesday recognized the footsteps before he even properly approached the table, but you didn’t notice until he was in your space, feet coming directly into your line of sight as you read. You glanced up at him, brows drawn in confusion, and he gave you that stupid grin.
His hand moved and to Wednesday’s shame, it was only then that she noticed the plate he was holding. Shyly, he set it down in front of you, presenting what looked to be a Danish of some kind.
“For the prettiest girl in the café.”
Wednesday made a mental note to check if her spellbook contained any particularly debilitating curses.
Your lips pulled back into more of a grimace than a smile, but he accepted it with enthusiasm, nonetheless, and walked off before you could give any sort of proper response.
Wednesday decided that was it. She downed the rest of her drink and stood, muttering a foreboding “I’ll be right back” in the process.
The weight of your gaze settled on her shoulders as she stalked over to the counter but she brushed it off, her focus set firmly on the boy operating the machines behind it. A conscious effort was made not to crush the cup in her hand. She didn’t want to alert you to her pursuit.
Silently, she placed the cup down on the marble and rang the bell.
Tyler’s face lit up at the sound, but it fell when he turned and locked eyes with Wednesday.
“Oh, Wednesday, hey. Do you need something?”
Her lips curled into a sinister smile. “Yes, actually, I do.”
Reaching over the counter, she grabbed Tyler’s apron and pulled him forward. Tyler, eyes wide, sputtered but was quickly silenced by the murderous glint in the seer’s eyes.
“I need you to get it through your thick, bulbous skull that she’s not interested. And quickly, or I promise that you will be eating through a straw for the rest of your short, miserable life,” she assured him, speaking low so only he could hear. 
She dropped her voice even lower to the barest of whispers, leaning forward as her apathetic eyes bored into his.
“Don’t think that you’ll be safe from me just because you’re the sheriff’s son. Do you understand?”
Tyler nodded hurriedly, his normally pallid complexion growing an even starker white.
Wednesday abruptly let go of his apron, sending him stumbling back on unsteady feet. She gave him another frosty glare, for good measure, before casting her gaze down to her cup.
“Oh, and I need a refill. Make it on the house,” she said, pushing the empty cup toward the unmoving boy then walking back to her table.
The curious looks you were giving her went ignored as she sat back down and opened her book to continue her studying.
“What did you say to him?” you asked, eyeing the boy’s terrified expression.
Wednesday shrugged. “I simply asked him for a refill.”
She knew you didn’t believe her, but she also knew you wouldn’t question her further, so she kept her eyes on the pages in front of her and waited for her drink to arrive.
Tyler returned minutes later, noticeably more withdrawn. His eyes never left the ground as he delivered Wednesday’s drink and immediately hurried back behind the perceived safety of the counter. 
Your wide, concerned eyes followed him as he left.
“Just a refill?” you reiterated, skepticism dripping from every syllable.
Wednesday smirked. The familiar vindictive feeling of victory set in, creating a terrifyingly satisfying afterglow for her to bask in as she took your hand in hers, and squeezed it lightly.
“I swear on my late scorpion’s life, mon cher.”
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sunnyhvnny · 1 year
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Daemon / Maegor / Aemond
The wife start to love them after the birth of their first child. She stop to try run away and actually start to look at them with warm
Enjoy! ❤️
Tw: none!
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Maegor Targaryen
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Like most of Maegor’s wives, she was no different in the fact that she had no choice in marrying him. She remembers vividly, as does everyone else in the Keep probably, the night before she was to wed the King. When she climbed out of her window and made it halfway down the stone wall before she was caught.
Everyone knew of Maegor’s cruel and fearsome reputation. She hadn’t known what to expect but it wasn’t anything good. He ignored her most of the time until she began to swell with his child. After that, she couldn’t get rid of him.
The time he spent with her wasn’t just about the babe growing inside of her but about them. He’d take her on strolls throughout the gardens and show her what he did as the King when he wasn’t on his dragon. She, heavy with child, had even sat in on a few small council meetings.
At some point, sharing their time turned into sharing their fears and past and that was when she learned about his fear that this child that she held within her might come out monstrous and she wouldn’t survive the birth. She, in turn, told him that she feared the same. She had heard through the grapevine of what had happened to his previous wives and feared that she would meet her end in the same way. Whether in the birthing bed or by his sword if she birthed a babe that was something of nightmares.
He had stopped then and told her he wouldn’t be the reason for her demise. He would have everyone who knew anything about babes and childbirth be there when it was her time. He held true to his word, as her labors started later that night and she was quickly surrounded by experts or women who held her as she screamed. The one thing she didn’t expect, was her husband insisting on being there.
At first, she thought it was to make sure the babe wasn’t swapped but he held her hand the entire time and whispered encouraging words to her. As the time went by and the babe came closer and closer to arriving, she started to wonder if she felt genuine affection towards him. Her mother had always told her that a woman couldn’t trust their emotions while with child so she pushed those thoughts away and only thought about bringing her child into the world.
It was the hour of the owl when things had finally calmed. The babe had come and was pink, covered in blood, and healthy. It took some time for everyone to usher themselves out and for her to be cleaned up but finally, she and her husband had their child. A little girl that Maegor insisted on calling through Daenys. He showed no signs of disappointment at the child being a girl and only held the small bundle in his arms as he gently swayed her. Occasionally, he brushed a thumb through the tufts of white hair on her head but for the most part, he watched her in wonder.
She wasn’t surprised when she felt affection while looking at her husband and newborn. She was surprised when her husband smiled at her and she felt love.
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Daemon Targaryen
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She hated King’s Landing and she hated her husband. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t hate her husband but she hated the fact that she had no say in marrying him. That her father told her one day that she was to marry the prince. Her husband isn’t a hard man to read. She knows he wants no part in this marriage as well. She doesn’t know if there is someone else or if he also resents the fact that he had no choice but it doesn’t stop him from doing his duties as a husband.
Since they were wed, it was clear that Daemon found her attractive despite not wanting to be her husband. Perhaps, if she were a whore he’d buy a night with her, or if he found her on her own he would have talked her into sharing a night with him but instead, they were joined together by the seven and he didn’t have to have only one night with her.
Night were all it was in the beginning. He’d come in and fill himself with the pleasures she could offer and leave after he was done. It was a tiring and boring marriage and so she decided that she would leave. She paid a servant for their clothes and made her way out of the Keep, which was easier than she expected, and proceeded to run. She had no plan on where she was running to but soon she was out of the city and on one of the hills. She had forgotten which one, perhaps Visenya’s hill?
She hadn’t slowed down in time, though, and instead of skidding to a halt she tripped over her own feet and went hurtling over the cliff. The hill was high up and she had no idea if she would survive the fall but she was saved from the thought of death when she was grabbed midair and moved into a saddle. When she opened her eyes she saw Daemon and his dragon, the blood wyrm. She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out of her. Perhaps it was almost dying or the fact that her husband, who always seemed indifferent to her, was her savior.
Since she was small, she knew that the fates liked playing games and so she wasn’t surprised when only two weeks after her escape and rescue, she found out she was with child. It did surprise her when Daemon started to pay more attention to her. He didn’t seem like a man who was insistent on an heir but perhaps he thought she would take off again, this time with her child.
He had all of her things moved to his chambers and every second he could he spent time with her. It probably would have made her go insane had she made any friends in King’s Landing but she hadn’t so she chose to relish in his company. He was soft with her as her belly grew and she learned that not only was he deadly but he was caring and funny, too, in a dry sort of way.
What really surprised her was that when he was gone she found that she missed him and waited for him to return to her. She realized a while ago that the feelings she held for him were more than that of companionship but she would not dare to think or voice her actual feelings.
That was until she had given birth. It was painful and her screams, she was certain, could be heard in the city below, but it was quick and both she and the babe were healthy. When Daemon finally strode in, she smiled at him and then down at their son. She had gone through several different books of Valyrian and Targaryen history to find just to right name but looking down at her little boy who looked so much like his father, she felt her heart swell. She loved her boys and wanted to give Daemon something more than a babe.
“I believe we should name him Daemion.”
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Aemond Targaryen
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As far as she was concerned, she believed this marriage to be a farce. Before they wed, she had nothing against her new husband and perhaps if he had simply asked for her hand she would feel less animosity towards him every time she saw him.
Aemond had tricked everyone, though, which was the only reason she was now married to the prince. Everything had happened so fast. She remembered talking with princess Helaena about the upcoming tourney, how she favored a specific knight from the Vale, and that night she had been cornered by Aemond. She remembered her heart beating so hard that she thought it would fly out of her chest but he had simply covered her mouth with his hand and placed himself between her legs.
“Will you please stop squirming? I do not plan on doing anything to you.”
His words had confused her but nearly seconds after he had situated them in a compromising position, her father had stumbled upon them. Aemond had stumbled away from her like he had been in the middle of something and she could only look at him in surprise as her father dragged her to her chambers. It was only the next day that she realized the full scope of what had happened.
Aemond had not taken her virtue but he had made it look like he had and now her father was demanding the two be married. Within a week they were wed, “just in the chance that something comes out of your youthful dalliance,” the hand had said and she could only grit her teeth. Nothing would come of it but no one would believe her.
After they were wed, Aemond acted like the husband of stories and songs. He was affectionate, kind, and someone everyone would kill to be married to. Except, whenever he asked her about her day or walked with her through the gardens she felt like hitting him.
She had started to feel trapped. He had moved his things into her chambers and he ate his meals with her, every time he wasn’t training he was by her side. Sometimes she wondered if he acted this way because he wanted all of her time to himself or if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to have any part of her.
She had tried to escape from the Red Keep, her gullible parents, and her husband. She had thought it smart to take servant's clothes and sneak through the corridors only they used. She had made it all the way out to the yard, not yet to the gates, when her husband had found her. He looked cold and upset at the same time as he escorted her back to their shared chambers. No words were spoken and she couldn’t help but think the worst.
After her husband had a servant draw her a warm bath and let her soak in it for a while, he finally spoke. “I was with the maesters when you were making your getaway attempt. They have informed me that you have not bled in more than a moons turn.”
He didn’t need to say the words. She knew what he meant. She had been so diligent about drinking moon tea every morning, as her husband had a rather large appetite when it came to her. She sighed and closed her eyes when she remembered the day of the tourney. She and Aemond had been in bed all day and had missed the tourney completely. For the short few moments that he left and ordered the servants to bring food or drinks, she had been too tired to ask for the moon tea and the next day it had completely slipped her mind.
Her husband’s hand slid below the water and caressed her still flat abdomen. “I will have guards posted at the doors and only the servants that I approve of will be coming in here from now on. If you want to leave our chambers just ask me and I will accompany you. I don’t want anything to happen to you or the babe.”
He sounded so sincere when he said it that she wondered if he knew that he was taking away her freedoms. He stuck true to his words, though. The next morning she was awoken by a servant she had never seen before bringing her and her husband’s morning meal. When she tried to leave the rooms to go to the library, the guards outside stopped her. It was only hours later when her husband returned that he accompanied her to the library.
This routine had kept up longer than she thought it would. Her husband had stuck true to his words. She thought she would grow to resent him as time passed but with him being her only form of company she began to rely heavily on him. As her belly swelled, they talked and laughed and when the life inside her caused her to have mood swings, Aemond only held her until she calmed.
It was as they were waiting for her labors to begin that she realized that she had to put away the rocky start to their marriage. He had made it look like her virtue was compromised and that she would let a prince have his way with her in any corridor but when she thought back to it, she no longer felt angry. She felt nothing towards it truly. She only thought about the loving moments they shared together in this room after they had learned about the babe quickening inside of her.
The labors and the birth were quicker than anyone had expected or planned for. The baby was in the arms of the midwife just after one of the servants ran to tell Aemond.
By the time he walked into their chambers, still sticky with sweat but not a hair out of place, from training, she was laying on their bed with a fussing bundle in her arms. The joy that she felt when her husband walked in probably would have surprised her many moons ago but now she only smiled at him and waved him over to look at their child.
It was a little girl with tufts of silver hair and mismatched eyes. One violet and one a deep blue, both of which were staring up at Aemond curiously as he gently grabbed her and held her in his arms. As she looked on at her husband and daughter she felt love spread throughout her. Love for her baby and love for her husband.
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ssivinee · 5 months
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✧Troubled Thoughts✧
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BEBE! Bada Lee x Red Velvet! F Reader: As a beloved idol and actress, you had many eyes on you. Yet your eyes were only settled on one person, Bada. The dancer was never one to cause issues with you, but here you were, guesting as a judge on SWF with a not-so-happy look.
Word Count: 1.8k
Note: Hit u guys with two small fics BOOM. This one is barely proof read... i got a bit lazy.
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Being an idol in the kpop industry is no easy feat - it’s a gruesome battle just to debut. Yet your fight doesn’t stop there, and it continues after your first stages, fighting to stay at the top with other competing bands. Luckily, you were fortunate enough to be a part of SM’s stop-girl group of the third generation, Red Velvet.
You, Park Y/n, were the sub-vocal, main rapper, and main dancer along with Seulgi. You were also the second oldest among the women. At 30 years old, you were basically the girl's mother, with Irene. Now, being a part of a group that doesn’t put their hardcore focus on group choreography meant you didn’t have many opportunities to work with many choreographers in Korea. 
Thankfully, being completely infatuated with dance also got you far in the dancing industry. Many dancers and choreographers were big fans, but it was the same for you. So when you learned Bada Lee would begin teaching pieces for Aespa and NCT, you couldn’t pass the opportunity to meet the dancer. 
You approached her in the practice room where Aespa resided for their Illusion comeback. Truthfully, you were only there to give the girls some drinks like you usually did, but you learned Bada would be there. Ningning had informed you, so you bought an extra drink, believing this was the perfect opportunity.
Bada wasn’t expecting your appearance, but when you walked in wearing some grey flared leggings, a white spaghetti-strapped tank top, and a purple cropped sweater, you looked like the most majestic being in the world. When you greeted the tall woman, she couldn’t even let a peep out until Winter poked fun at her teacher. “Oo~ Bada-saem, see something you like?”
The dancer blushes, a giggle coming out of you from the reaction. You notice Bada’s hesitant nature during the first few meetings, but she slowly warmed up, even getting bold with each interaction. Eventually, Bada decided to ask you out, and after a few dates, she officially asked you to be her girlfriend. However, there were a few issues, and things were slowly getting to Bada’s mental.
You were both aware that Korea had been progressing, but that didn’t mean it was happening fast enough or had a major impact on the lgbtq+ community. It felt suffocating on both ends, but you two could endure it since you liked being private anyway. The next issue was when you two were extremely busy, but those fights usually ended quite easily, as it was understandable that both of you had packed schedules.
Now, Bada’s biggest problem was your acting debut, specifically your partners on certain projects. Since Red Velvet slowed down with promotions and releases, members began to do their own thing. You, Joy, and Yeri began to take up acting gigs more often. Bada wasn’t one to get jealous easily; you were an attractive idol in the industry, and she was aware the multiple idols AND actors had already tried competing for your heart, but one was worse than the rest.
Cha Eunwoo.
The idol who steals every girl’s heart with just one glance, and has made waves in the acting industry, was the only pain in the ass Bada had. The idol had been wanting to make a move on you even before you and Bada became official, but Bada had gotten to you first. Since the relationship is kept under wraps, Eunwoo never stops trying. Bada felt like the only way to put her mind at ease was for you to distance yourself as a friend, which you obliged, feeling as if it was the right decision for the sake of your relationship.
But then your next big project hit your desk, and you realized the issues this would bring. You were proposed a lead role in a drama and accepted it instantly, feeling like it would be a hit. Then, your manager informed you that your partner would be Eunwoo the following week, which made your heart drop. You knew Bada would have an issue with this and wanted to tell her ASAP, but you were overjoyed by better news.
To help promote yourself before the drama, you would guest as a Street Woman Fighter 2 judge. You were going to tell Bada the news the next time you saw her, which would ironically be the night before the SWF shoot, but you weren’t mindful that the press release of your new drama would be out tonight. So before you could even greet your girlfriend with a hug, kiss, or even a simple hello, she just bursts out at you, fuming with anger.
“So you weren’t even gonna tell me about you and Eunwoo?” Bada scowls, a condescending tone being used on you. “I was going to tell you, but I had some other news first,” you say calmly, trying to defend yourself. You never liked arguments, even if it felt like you were in the right. 
As the second oldest of Red Velvet, you were used to being the moderator of the younger girls, usually preferring to talk it out when everyone was level-headed. So this was pissing you off, especially since Bada knew how you were. “The OTHER NEWS is more important than this babe? Really?” Frankly, you understood her resentful tone, “You’re right, but my brain got occupied with this news-”
“I don’t care about the fucking news,” Bada cuts you off, raising in pitch. You were compassionate, so you wanted to let her know that you didn’t mean any harm since you would tell her anyway, but you never did well when being cut off. That was strike one for Bada.
“Look, I get your angry, and you don’t like Eunwoo, but it’s just for work, Bada. Strictly professionalism.” You try to reason, but she scoffs; a look of aggravation can be seen in her eyes, “You should’ve turned down the fucking role!” Now, you add cursing onto the list, strike two.
“You know we shouldn’t let personal feelings affect work. I don’t do that when you dance with other people I’m not fond of!”
“Cause that’s my job!” She yells, and you scoff at the ironic comment.
“Well, that’s part of my job too! Is your job more important than my own now?” You argue, and Bada rolls her eyes, “That’s bullshit, Y-” Before she could finish, you exited your chair and began packing your things. Invalidating your side of the story was strike three, and you had enough as your disappointments racked up in your mind.
Frustrated, you snapped at Bada, saying, "Talk to me when you have your act together," before storming out of the apartment, leaving the tension hanging in the air. That’s when Bada felt the weight of her actions, but with her pride, she wouldn’t give in to the fact that she may have gone a bit overboard. In her mind, you were COMPLETELY in the wrong for not telling her instantly.
So the next day, the surprise in store for her would have her facing several emotions throughout the stressful day. While on the set of SWF, you walked into the venue, a whirlwind of emotions still stirring within you. While you weren't inclined to hold grudges, you couldn't help but remain genuinely perturbed by the argument, and rightfully so. So, just being in the same building as her made you want to hit something just to release this pent-up anger.
When you enter the fight zone, Bada’s eyes grow in surprise, not anticipating you being a guest. Maybe she would've been more prepared if she weren’t fighting you yesterday. Team Bebe was aware of you two being together, but Lusher was the only one who caught wind of the weird energy her leader was showing. “Unnie? You okay?” the younger girl mumbles, doing her best not to attract any attention to them, but Bada responds with a sigh, Lusher’s speculations coming to light.
The younger girl knew her leader's jealousy toward Eunwoo and you, so she figured this was yesterday's drama announcement. “Are you guys, um, fighting right now?” Lusher whispers as she looks at you, clearly trying to avoid the Bebe girls. Now, Lusher wasn’t close to you, but from what Bada has expressed, you were a calm person who hated arguments. So, the safest assumption is that this was her leader’s fault 100%.
“What did you do?”
“Why does it have to be my fault?” Bada scoffs, but the sub-leader gives an icy glare, knowing her leader too well. “It was about the drama, wasn’t it?” The girl assumes correctly, causing Bada to look away in shame due to how minuscule the issue sounds out of Lusher’s mouth. “You have to apologize.”
“But-”
“Unnie,” Lusher warns the taller girl, tone indignant. Bada shudders at the sound of the younger girl's voice. “I know she’ll forgive you if you talk it out. You know Y/n-unnie can’t stand being on bad terms with you,” Bada’s body feels heavy, knowing Lusher was right.
“Also, it’s JUST work unnie, you should trust her more.”
“I do! I just don't trust Eunwoo.” 
“Which is a valid point, but now you're putting Y/n-unnie in a very awkward position, and it isn’t fair,” Lusher tells her leader, her gaze as genuine as usual, making Bada want to slam her head. She was a jealous maniac, throwing an unnecessary tantrum, making her slowly feel pathetic. A heavy sigh leaves her lips, her head tilted as her eyes are kept shut, “you’re right… I- I should apologize.”
After several elimination battles, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, and Bada thought this was the perfect opportunity to speak to you.
Seeing her enter as you washed your hands made you keep your eyes down, focusing on the water rather than giving her any attention in your angered state. “Y/n?” Her voice asks in a soft manner, and you suck in a deep breath. “Yes, Bada?”
“I’m sorry,” the bathroom silence felt deafening; only the sound of running water was heard echoing. You sigh as you shake your head, the disappointment lingering in your heart. “I was wrong,” she tells you, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I felt threatened by Eunwoo when I should’ve had full faith in you. I wasn’t being reasonable, and I’m sorry for that,” She mutters, and as you dry off your hands, you face her, and Bada finds your eyes darker than usual. You were still upset, and your eyes just confirmed it for her.
“Can you promise me you’ll do your best not to act this way again? I know you dislike the man, but I dislike that version of you, too.” You whisper, playing with her long hair, feeling mentally exhausted from the fight. The comparison you made with her and Eunwoo slightly broke her heart, and she did not like it one bit. She hugs you, relaxing at the touch of your arms, “I promise I’ll try and act like a proper girlfriend.” 
You kiss her on the cheek, a smile forming on your face at the genuine apology, “Good.”
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Tag list (OPEN): @chipswsauce @nimixe @yooqui @eeeetaetterswife @efyyylee @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @ssc7514 @kayascar @mrsdacherry @angel-hyuckie @letthemagicc @linda-botello @hyynee @only-minghaos @noraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @sun-nyy @tikitsune @xiakiyama @v2br33zyy @droppedmyhotpocket @ugogirlsstuff @kimisnotabigfan @waveartistry
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loveliestlovelygirl · 20 days
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cashmere, cologne, & white sunshine | 𝟙
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money is the anthem, god, you're so handsome
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dilf!finnick x nanny!reader
synopsis: you arrive at the odair estate for your final interview with finnick's mother mrs. odair. when she offers you the job on the spot, you're so surprised. quickly, you learn that the children might be a challenge for you, but finnick's support and kindness is enough to cheer you on. it seems he even wants to get close to you...
w.c: 2.7k
highlights: {minors dni} extreme wealth, nepotism, children & childcare, flirting, a hint of suggestive content near the end, slow burn romance, power imbalance
table of contents | 𝟚 {coming soon}
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You had never considered yourself to be the kind of person who falls for their employer. Not even coworkers. Out of the myriad jobs you picked up here and there to finance college and now grad school, never once did you develop romantic feelings in a professional setting.
But the Odair Estate... is an experience, one dreamed up by a romance novelist with its white rose greenhouse, angel water fountains, and vintage cars. And inside, gold and marble, crystal chandeliers, and winding staircases. And yet the majesty of the home could never blot out the brilliance that surrounds the man who resides here. In your gaze, a halo of light outlines his silhouette. You can’t be the only one who sees it. 
He draws you into this fantasy world. A world of sweet pleasure and romance.
Finnick Odair draws you to his arms, to his lips, to his love—all so effortlessly.
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“Smith! Come here! You’re going to get jelly all over the furniture!” A handsome man half-dressed, only in a pair of khaki slacks, sprints down the stairs to chase after a small blonde boy with a smear of grape jelly across his cheeks and hands.
You couldn’t help but steal a glance, even during your interview, when you heard the low, melody of his voice. You see the urgency upon his sharpened features as he dashes after the boy, Smith, you assume, who looks to be four years old. Smith leads the chase into the parlor where you are being interviewed.
The greying woman, Mrs. Odair, across from you almost lunges from her loveseat to capture the tiny boy between her two delicate arms. She picks up the child in her arms and seats him on her lap. On the side table is a box of tissues, and she recruits several to wipe the sticky jelly off his face.
“Smith,” she scolds lovingly, “Nana is talking. You are being quite rude. Did you even say hello?”
Smith crosses his arms and pouts his lips, blowing air through them. He looks at you with these big, bright-green eyes surrounded by thick, doll-like lashes, finally acknowledging your presence.
“Hi,” Smith sighs.
“Hello,” you say back.
His nana grounds him, though holding onto his shirt as he tries to scamper away. “Be good!”
A manly laugh to your left startles you. “Smith isn’t interested, Mom.”
 You gaze over your shoulder to watch the man crouch down to his son’s level. “Come now, Smith. You have to get ready for school. I’m already late for work!”
Nana snorts. “Finnie, Daddy understands!”
He gives her, who you assume is his mother, a firm glare. Then he looks to you and smiles. You like his crooked teeth. He offers his hand, and you shake. “I’m Finnick. Thank you for coming to interview with us.” His hand is a little calloused but very warm and very strong.
“Thank you for having me,” you say back, on autopilot because ever since he stepped in, the rest of the world, including your own thoughts, have faded into the background.
He smiles again. “Of course. I typically would be a part of the process, but I’ve got to take Smith and Ruby to school now.” He waves. “Nice to meet you.”
He turns to his mother and mouths something to her with the same smile on his face. You wonder if it’s about you. And you wonder if it’s something nice. You haven’t exactly done anything to offend them... yet.
“Nice to meet you too,” you say a little too late because he’s already walking away with his back turned. You doubt he hears you.
Once Finnick and Smith are upstairs, Mrs. Odair looks back down at her clipboard and continues the interview. Your background is flawless of course. The agency cleared you. You’ve yet to have a single encounter with the law, though you speed often when you’re late to work. To Mrs. Odair, you explain why you are interested in the job, how you need to save up for graduate school for next year’s applications. She seems impressed with your academic successes and your determination to pursue higher education.
While the interview went well, you didn’t expect a job offer on the spot. As you got up to leave, you step over to shake her hand, and she says, “You are taking the job, right?”
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The next day you drive back to the estate to begin. Mrs. Odair promised to show you the ropes of taking care of her two precious grandchildren Smith and Ruby the first week of your employment. And you were glad she did that first day. Smith, who you learn is five years old, is more than a handful. Ruby is eight and loves only her daddy.
You park your dated Prius—the paint has finally begun to flake off—on the stone road between the three-tiered fountain and the concrete pathway to the manor. At the door, you rang the bell once, and the butler answered.
He says, “Good day, Miss,” and he shows you to Mrs. Odair’s room.
She’s sipping tea and reading the paper. When she notices your arrival, she stands to greet you. The butler disappears without a sound. It’s impressive.
“So glad you are here. And so punctual!”
“Of course,” you say. Never would you show up late on the first day. “I studied the children’s schedules you sent over last night.”
She claps her hands twice. “Marvelous, dear! When do the children need to leave the house for school?”
Put on the spot, you shift a little. Geez, she’s testing me already.
“Seven-forty-five at the latest. But preferably seven-thirty.”
She smiles. “Good job! We should probably wake the children now. I’ll go up with you today. Wouldn’t want to scare them.”
“You did tell them that I would be here today, right?”
Caught up in her own musings, Mrs. Odair must miss your question because she starts to ramble on about the greenhouse as you leave her guest room. She tells you she’s only staying here for a while because the old nanny quit. There’s bitterness in her tone as she mentions the former employee, and you wonder what exactly happened.
On your way to the stairs, you catch a glimpse of Finnick alone at the dining table for breakfast. He’s also reading the paper like his mother did. His brow is furrowed as he reads. It’s a mystery what he finds so interesting on that paper. He’s so oddly invested.
The stairs creak on your first step, and he looks up from the paper. His smile is immediate and dazzling. “Mother!” he calls. “You didn’t tell me she was here.”
Mrs. Odair rushes into the dining room. “Darling, I didn’t want to interrupt your morning routine.”
Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Ah yes.” He waits for a moment and says, “I haven’t had a routine since the moment Ruby was born, Mother.”
She shrugs. “Maybe with this beauty’s help, you’ll have one.” Mrs. Odair pats your shoulder. “Come along. The children are slow to rise.”
As she drags you along, you can’t help but look at Finnick. He’s ungodly pretty. It almost hurts to look at him. And you find it strange that he’s looking back at you with a vivid curiosity. You chide yourself for ogling him like that. One, he’s sky-high out of your league. Two, he’s employed you. Three, he might not be single. Usually, the second reason to not crush on him would be enough. But your previous bosses have never looked like Finnick.
As you ascend the stairs, the walls are covered in family photographs. They’re clearly arranged by the time they were taken. When you arrive at the second floor, the photos are black and white. Mrs. Odair moves fast for someone her age, and you’re panting as you try to keep up with her. Your vision is slightly blurry when you reach the top.
“Smith’s room is...” she pauses, staring at you, clearly expecting you to recall from the floor plan of the house she also sent you along with their schedules.
You close your eyes for a moment. “First door on the left?”
She claps for you. “Such a smart girl!”
You smile, unsure how to respond to such a compliment.
Entering Smith’s room, the thick curtains are closed, and it’s because of the seashell nightlight that you can see at all. The boy is lying on his stomach on top of all the bed sheets but his head at the wrong end.
“Smith,” his nana calls.
Easily, Smith wakes. He rubs his eyes and sits up. He stares at you for a long time.
“Who’s she?” he asks, pointing right at your face with his tiny index finger.
“This is your new nanny. Isn’t she lovely?” Mrs. Odair gushes about you. Her support is endearing. But you’d be lying if you didn’t find it disconcerting.
Smith crosses his arms. “No!”
“Isn’t she pretty!” Mrs. Odair exclaims to Smith.
“I miss Herbie. Bring him back!” Smith shrieks. “I don’t like her.”
Wrinkled hands on her hips, Mrs. Odair hangs her head in momentary defeat. “Smith, I am so disappointed. You are being very rude.”
The child crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out.
She grasps your forearm. “I’m sorry about Smith. I promise he will come around.” She moves around to his bureau. “I can show you where his uniforms are and the proper way to dress him.”
You watch the elderly woman chase Smith around the room for a minute or two without breaking a sweat. She finally snatches him up in her arms and holds him down on the bed. He restlessly wiggles, trying to get away, but she is strong. Somehow, she manages to dress Smith and she scolds him for behaving dramatically.
“Smith, Daddy will be very, very upset when he hears of your actions.” He remains unfazed, as if discipline is a foreign concept to him. “Now, go down for breakfast.”
When his nana opens the bedroom door, he sprints out like a racehorse. You blink and he is gone.
Mrs. Odair turns to you again and sighs. “He’s a handful. Just like his father.”
“It’s quite alright. He won’t be my first difficult case. I just hope he warms up to me. My last family never did.”
“That’s wonderful for us. We desperately needed a nanny!”
Promptly, she leaves with sudden, passionate intent. And you follow her anxiously.
“What happened to the last one?” you ask.
“Ruby is much easier than Smith,” she halts at a room near the end of the second-floor hallway. 
Just when you think that she didn’t hear your question, she says, “We do not speak of him.”
Stomach dropping, you step back and swallow. “Oh. Oh, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend.”
She scoffs. “He’s not worthy of a mention.” Mrs. Odair quickly breaks into her granddaughter’s room, as if to escape the topic.
Ruby’s room is a true girl’s room. You hardly step past the entrance before you are frozen over in wonder.
Cherry red must be Ruby’s favorite color. Everything is cherry red. The armchair by the column window is topped with cherry red velvet. There are red roses on each nightstand. Her headboard matches the armchair. The curtains match too. Her frilly duvet stands out in ivory lace embroidered with clusters of little cherries.
Ruby’s long red hair fans out over her pillows. She’s a sleeping angel. And you hate to see Mrs. Odair wake her.
Her brown eyes flutter open when her nana taps her on the shoulder. She looks up and her freckled lips smile widely.
“Good morning,” she whispers and stretches. Quickly, she notices you and sits up to talk. “What’s your name?” She has the slightest hint of an English accent.
You reply, hesitantly inching closer to the bed.
Mrs. Odair gets in the way of your conversation, picking up her granddaughter to dress her. She’s eight years old. By this time, you were responsible for dressing yourself for school.
In a few minutes, she dresses Ruby in her private school uniform. Together, you all go downstairs to fetch Smith, and then Mrs. Odair takes them outside to the car where the driver will escort them to school. Once the children leave, Mrs. Odiar pulls you aside to discuss your other duties while the children are away.
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Rummaging through the cabinets is not how you planned to spend your afternoon, but you were told to treat the estate just like you would your home. It’s completely new territory to you, much like a castle with so many secrets you’ve yet to uncover. Today, you’re only trying to find the tea. A cup would do you well. Your thoughts have been a little more unorganized than usual. There’s much you must learn about Mrs. Odair’s standards for childcare. She seems to be more involved than the father, which bothers you.
“Left door. Top shelf.”
You glance over your shoulder.
There he is. Smith and Ruby’s father. You scold yourself for already having an opinion about him. You haven’t even known him for a day.
“Excuse me?”
He smiles. “The tea.”
You can’t think to respond in an intelligible way. How’d he know you were looking for the tea?
“Make me a cup while you’re at it.” He looks at you steadily. “If you don’t mind.”
Pulling the correct cabinet open, you see the boxes of tea neatly stacked on top of each other. You select a black tea and pour boiling water over the bags in porcelain mugs. They steep for four minutes.
You pick at your cuticles and glance out the window. Finnick sits at the table on his laptop, typing frantically.
Once the timer goes off, you walk over to the table to hand him his cup of tea. He doesn’t immediately register your action, but when he does, he offers you the biggest smile.
“Thank you. I do appreciate it.” He closes the lid to his laptop and pushes back the chair next to him away from the table with his foot. “Sit. I would like to get to know you.”
Shaking ever so slightly, you situate yourself beside him. He smells of luxury cologne, too expensive for your tastes. In your previous jobs with the agency, the families never were too interested in developing a personal relationship with you.
Finnick rests his chin on an open palm. “You’re really a lifesaver. Work has been a nightmare, and with Herbie gone... I’ve had to also look after Smith and Ruby more.”
For a moment, you narrow your eyes in judgement.
“Before you form opinions about me, let me say, they are my greatest joys. However, working a job that requires eighty plus hours in a week and two kids isn’t as easy as it sounds.”
You set your cup down before you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”
Finnick massages his brows. “That’s an understatement. Dad won’t be around forever. I’m to take over the family business. I’m planning to make a lot of changes when that happens. For Smith and Ruby’s sake. They might not want this.” Finnick quickly covers his mouth. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
You shrug. “I think I might understand. You want them to have a choice.”
Finnick nods. “Don’t tell my mother. You’d get me in trouble.”
You laugh together.
“Snitches get stitches.”
Finnick laughs again. “And disciplined.” He hides his expression as he takes a sip of tea.
Though you don’t quite know what he means by that, you laugh at him anyway. “I don’t think Smith likes me very much.”
“He doesn’t like many people. He’s like me in that regard.” Finnick looks at you. “But I know that if you stick around his feelings will change.”
“I hope that’s true.”
He leans close to you. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with his fragrance and his golden warmth. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
You giggle. “What?”
“Smith likes anyone who will play hide-and-seek with him. That and chocolate chip cookies are the way to his heart.” Finnick pats you on the shoulder. His hands are massive. “Besides, I’m on your side. I’ll put in a good word.” He winks at you, and your heart drops in your chest.
This is... bad. You really shouldn’t be having these feelings for your employer. But his charming nature is hard to resist. He must have lots of girlfriends.
“Thanks,” you whisper, too caught up in your own worries to recognize that he’s flirting with you.
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lady-ashfade · 9 months
Text
Blessed from above
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Young!Aemond targaryen x Young!Fem!Reader Drabble.
I just wanted something cute. I might do a part two of when they are older and meet again before getting married.
Warnings: Forced marriage, young love, short and fast paced , Maybe a hind of bit Yandere Alicent and Aemond.
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Gossip and whispers of the beast you had yet to met clouded your brain before you knew the truth, many people telling what they believed or heard from someone else. Young ears picked up the tone they spoke with fear and disgust laced in their judgmental voices. You hated gossip, it filled you with rage when the older woman spoke like they were better then people just because of their wealth.
Being a young status lady, you were surrounded by the ladies telling you what they thought was best, how to act and look. You, a noble lady waiting for a marriage proposal from a man from any age. Thankfully, your father was on your side no matter how many times your mother wanted you to be married off. But this time, even he couldn’t save you. It had been a few months since you had first bled and the news traveled quickly to everyone across Westeros.
Tears flooded down your cheeks as you first heard you had been betrothed to someone you had never met. Your mother’s voice fell death to your ears from that point and didn’t listen to anything she said. The thoughts of a old, mean man wanted you to bare his children filled you with rage and worry. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be a wife because you did, you learned ans worked your whole life to be the best wife you could be. But you wanted true love and someone caring and sweet to fill your days.
“Get ahold of yourself.” Hands gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, your mother bend down to your level. “The prince will be your husband. This is the highest honor you will ever get and you can not refuse, so get ahold of your sense. If you mess this up, I will disown you and you’ll be glad you had the chance to become a princess.” Had you heard that right? The prince is your betrothed? The beast you had heard of, a year ago the boy had turned from the laughing stock of the kingdom to someone only spoken about in whispers and behind closed doors. But did you actually believe anything you had heard?
It didn’t matter as you sat in the queen’s chambers with her eyes glued to you. “Hello dear.” she spoke and made her way over to you with a kind smile. You bowed and bend your knee to show respect and she chuckled softly and immediately thought you had embarrassed yourself. “I have heard the tales of your families beauty since I was a little girl,” her hand reached up to your chin and moved it up. Your eyes meeting her soft ones, “I underestimated them until now.” You couldn’t believe a complement like that from the queen. “Thank you, my queen.” You smiled politely and tried to keep your voice straight. “I know this must be scary for you, but there is no need to be. I will be here each step of the way.” But no matter how she sounded, if they were true or false..
You were still terrified about meeting the price.
Again the fear took ahold of your stomach as you twirled your fingers together in waiting, the garden was peaceful though. You saw the queen and your mother sit above the garden and stare, talking amongst themselves, you knew your mother was kissing up to the queen. But the only real comfort you had was your lady in waiting five feet away from you. The dress you wear was a lovely shade of green that the queen had made just for you.
The white haired figure made your mind go blank as you stood up quickly and not fully get a look at the young boy. Throat going dry and knees almost going numb at the nerve. The shadow creeped closer until it was at your feet and you felt your heart drop. Clearing your throat you began to speak what you had rehearsed so many times in your head. “Hello, my prince.” You couldn’t look up. The boy took notice of your body language and how you avoided eye contact with him. You were scared. Of course you were, everyone was.
“You can look at me, or are you afraid I’d hurt you.” Eyes going wide you stood up straight and look at him. Your mouth ready to defend yourself but chocking at the boy you saw. His handsome face with unbelievable soft looking skin, the eyepatch on his face making your stomach twist. Not in fear but in pity he has been stripped of his eye, undoubtedly once beautiful as the other. He was glaring at you, his face held nothing sweet but his young features.
“Forgive me, I had no intention of offending you.” The tiny smile and sweet voice that sounding like heaven to his ears. You looked like a goddess when he first saw you arrive at the castle, so far away but he couldn’t wait to get closer. He knew you’d be afraid of him like the rest, so afraid to look him in the face. He needed to get ahead before you broke his heart. “You could do no such thing.” He huffed, his voice cold and held no emotion. Maybe he was stone hearted? But why didn’t that feel like the case for you?
You just smiled and giggled for him to hear and fiend to hear it again, to have it marked into his scull. “Shall we go for a walk?” You offer him your arm with a face that lit up like the sun. All he could do was freeze and blink at the kindness you showed him. He didn’t since any fear of himself but just about meeting someone new.
Blessings from above was what you were.
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unholyhelbig · 4 days
Note
I have a request as I see they are open! I enjoyed the last Oversight AU! Could I request a one shot of Kate’s imitation / first meeting with Natasha? And maybe go into the specifics of the Eli situation? I love to see the badass protective side of Natasha!
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Title: Dig Your Own Shallow Grave [An Oversight Oneshot]
Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff (Technically, this is one part of a bigger story)
Summary: Kate Bishop is known as the ex-heiress that was welcomed into Natasha's fold long before you. You learn pieces about her everyday, but never the full story. Not until today.
Warnings(PLEASE READ): physical violence, handcuffs, thunderstorms, threats, mentions of death, mentions of jail, incarceration, cheating, toxic relationship dynamic, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, horrible grammar
[a/n: This one is different! I don't know anything about the Elijah that's portrayed in the MCU, just the Young Avengers Eli and I can't stand the dude.]
Check out the full Oversight universe
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
The large leaden handcuffs seemed like an unnecessary and overzealous precaution to Natasha Romanoff. They rattled as if the young girl was nothing more than a ghost of Christmas past. They were sinched at her waist, both hands balled into fists until her knuckles were a sickly shade of white.
There was red around her eyes, making a charcoal gray hiss into something muddy and sad. There was a flash of confusion and then disgust that fell over her features when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large two-way mirror that stood parallel.
Natasha turned in her seat, made eye contact with the guard. They had a silent understanding. The cameras that were situated at the corners of the room had been shut off- technical difficulties, they would say.
She collapsed into the chair adjacent to Natasha, never taking her eyes away from the only other distraction in the room. The chain connecting her cuffs were bolted to a hook in the table, but her feet were left free. Unless she was an Olympic swimmer, which she wasn’t, that would be no problem.
The guard nodded before he left them in the room and locked the door behind him. The mechanism in the metal door was loud and sighed with age when turned. The light above them swung back and forth within its cage. A circle of yellow enveloped them both.
Her hair was unkempt, nearly feral. They must have kept her separate from the other prisoners but that didn’t ease her tossing and turning under the fluorescent lights. Natasha had been in holding cells, she’d been stripped of her clothes for testing, and her dignity for much less. Something inside of her broke for this girl. This heiress.
“Who are you?”
It was clear that her voice had gone unused for at least a day, maybe more. She shivered and shrunk into herself at the sound of it. Natasha’s features softened ,that break in her soul cracking just a little further. Her file said she was twenty-two, but the girl in front of her was nothing more than a scared child.
“The woman who is getting you out of here.”
“Please don’t talk in riddles,” She moved to press her fingers against her temples. Her hands were pulled back viciously by her binds. “That’s all my mother does. Did. She talks in circles until I’m too confused to find the start.”
“I suppose that’s fair. You’re Eleanors daughter. Katherine?”
“Kate, but yeah. I’m her daughter.”
It was said with so much bitterness. They weren’t being held at the same facility. Kate was in a deep blue shirt made out of something that was less like fabric and more like paper. She wore the pants to match, her clothes being tested for gunpowder residue.
Eleanor was in a large brick jail in an orange jumpsuit. Natasha had considered going to her but found much more interest in her daughter; the one brave enough to stand up against Wilson Fisk and his incredible size. Bishop took King and destroyed a good amount of property in her district in the process. She’d have to pay thousands to get the folded storefront fixed.
“My name is Natasha Romanoff.”
The sentence was simple and conjured fear. She could see the look in Kate’s face. The girl threw her back against the metal chair, and it screeched from the force. “Why are you here?”
“You smashed my window, and a few displays, and I’m pretty sure you set off an explosive.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“With what, Kate?”
She paled at this. It was apparent that not only had her assets been frozen, but her mother’s as well. They barely had enough to cover legal fees, much less cosmetics that suffered the aftershock of the blow. She sighed and stared at the cold metal table. It was too scratched to show her reflection.
“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad, Kate. Calling law enforcement on your own mother is a ballsy thing to do. It also makes you a snitch. If you get charged, if you get locked up, it’s not something you’ll make it out of.”
“I know that.” She whipped her head up, eyes hard with anger. They softened after just a moment, to something scared. “I know.”
A silence fell over them both, one that Natasha let settle heavily on her chest. Kate was a spitfire, she was a spoiled girl who had a moment of clarity and turned her mother into law enforcement. She was regretting that now, shivering into herself, having to wait until after the holidays until anything could move from the stone it was trapped in.
Natasha had influence with the guards, and with the chief of police in this district. They had an understanding, and she fully intended to walk out of here with Kate Bishop under her wing. Not for free, of course. Natasha was charitable, but even her good deeds stretched so far.
“I’ve already paid your bail and they’re more than happy to release you into my custody.”
She scoffed “Your custody? I’m an adult.”
“You might be an adult, but you’re one without money, without a home, and I’m guessing everyone that’s still alive and free in your life isn’t too keen on taking you in.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay,” Natasha said in a breath, staring hard at the girl across from her. She looked so washed out under the harsh lights of the room. Despite her anger, her poisonous words, she reminded Natasha of a dog that broke free from her leash and had almost too much freedom to handle.
The woman stood, her chair sliding elegantly compared to the horrid noise that Kate’s had produced. Natasha moved to pull on her coat, covering the deceivingly hard muscles in her arms. Kate had pretended not to stare; but it was fruitless. All she could think about was what those hands had done, what they could do.
Of course, she felt some veil of safety with the cameras being here. Surely, someone would come in and pull Natasha back the second she started to advance on her, if she started to advance. The distance between them was closed and she sat on the edge of the table. Kate pushed herself flat against the back of the chair.
 Natasha didn’t do well with being told ‘no’. She also didn’t do well with expletives directed towards her instead of because of her. Natasha’s slender hand wrapped around the cold chain attached to Kate’s wrists, she pulled forward and Kate’s sore ribs collided with the edge of the table. She let out a dissatisfied grunt.
She grabbed the back of Kate’s head and slammed her cheek against the cold surface with a dull thud. Natasha didn’t’ let up on her weight, instead, she held her in the perfect position to maintain control.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Natasha knelt down, making eye contact with Kate. She pushed against the hold, but Natasha had the leverage. Kate flexed her fingers, still in chains. “You destroyed my storefront, and while I toyed with the idea of killing you for that alone, you’ve impressed me.”
“I’ve impressed you?”
Her words were smushed, drool pooling from her lips. It was almost comical, but Natasha pushed harder on the back of her neck, making her cry out. “I’m talking. When I’m talking, you’re not.”
She was met with silence and figured that was as good as she was going to get with this one. Her spit-fire reminded her a bit of Clint when he was younger. It made Natasha gravitate towards him, but this girl had a lot more to learn than her closest friend.
“You’re a spoiled little brat who crumbled one of the oldest clocktowers in the city. The habit didn’t’ seem to improve when your mother cut off your credit cards and that’s a dangerous thing. Getting the shit kicked out of you in jail might serve you well. So, by all means, you can try your luck, or you can follow me out of here so I can correct your behavior.”
Kate swallowed hard, but she didn’t’ say anything. Natasha’s first lesson seemed to be sinking in. After a few moments, she released the girl who sprang up like a jack in the box. She was giving Natasha the same look that she was used to, one of absolute fear. Her face was red and when she moved to wipe her chin of drool, she was stopped once again by her chains.
Natasha took pity on her, for just a moment, and used her thumb to ebb away the line of spit. Kate knew better than to pull back, instead she looked up at Natasha like a kicked puppy, making a small noise in the back of her throat.
“Anyone who stands up to Wilson Fisk is too valuable to kill for some property damage. But let me be clear, Kate, this is not a get-out of jail free card. You work for me. You belong to me. And we’re going to fix that attitude of yours.”
He had moved to the city during Kate’s senior year and wasn’t much for talking. Eli Bradley was as mysterious as they came. He was lanky and had deep brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black in color. Eli wore a gold hoop in one ear, and while Kate would usually find something like that off-putting, it worked on Eli.
She played cello in the orchestra, first chair with pride, and he was modest with a viola. She made a point to make eye contact with him at least once a day, and eventually he started to return her small smiles. She thought the subtle way his lip quirked up at the corner was nothing but endearing.
In early October of that year, when the air was still crisp but not exactly cold, Kate had sat in the courtyard until the sun threatened to dip behind the horizon. She was avoiding going home to get ready for a party her mother was hosting and had worked it out so she could take the last bus uptown.
“Isn’t it a little dangerous for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone? It’s getting dark.”
Kate frowned, but quickly retracted the expression when she made out the form of Eli Bradley and the silhouette of his viola case. It hung at his side like a briefcase filled with important papers. Instead, she hiked herself forward and leaned her elbows against her knees. He’d never spoken to her before.
“I’m a 9th degree red belt in Jiu Jitsu, and I have pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”
“Impressive,” Eli grinned “I guess it would be pointless to walk you home then, Kate Bishop.”
“I think I can make an exception, Eli Bradley.”
Kate did find herself making exceptions for Eli Bradley over the next few months. She would let him order for her, even if she didn’t find the dish he chose at all appetizing. She had to gently remind him that she was, in fact, allergic to shellfish and if she ate the pasta he insisted on she’d need an epi-pen.
He made up for it by being a gentleman and opening the car door for her when they pulled up to said restaurant.
Kate stepped behind Eli one winter evening when it was the type of dark outside that breeds bad behavior. A woman in a hoodie stepped out from an alleyway, twitching and with a wild look in her eyes. Kate could have easily disarmed her, could have gotten her someplace warm. Eli had delivered a hit to the stomach and pulled Kate along. It was a blur. But she’d never felt fear- just regret.
He made up for it by holding her tight that night, his warmth and sturdiness eventually lulled her to sleep and convinced her that maybe she could live with herself. Maybe she could live with Eli.
Clint Barton glowered at her over his bowl of cereal. Natasha didn’t know if it was some sort of interrogation technique, but it even made her uncomfortable. It was much too early in the morning and Kate’s wrists were still an ugly purple from how tight her cuffs had been. Natasha may have pulled a bit too hard, aggravating the already raw area.
“Your cheerios are going to get soggy,” Yelena entered the kitchen in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, scratching the exposed skin of her stomach with a stifled yawn. She stopped for just a moment to regard Kate, who sat up with a rim-rod quickness. “You always dump them down the sink and it makes the drain smell.”
Clint looked towards Natasha for help. She shrugged, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had pulled the paper in this morning and was very careful to remove the front page story of Kate’s mother and her set trial date. She may be cruel in some aspects, but psychological torture was Yelena’s department.
“Who is this?” Yelena asked, voice muffled by the chill of the refrigerator.
“This is Kate. She’ll be here for a while, and if she behaves well enough, she’ll be here longer than that. I expect both of you to regard her well and teach her everything you know.” Natasha took a sip of her steaming black coffee. “Hand to hand combat should not be an issue, isn’t that right, Kate?”
Kate waited a moment, remembering the sting of the table against her cheek. Natasha had asked her a question so it was okay to answer, right? It must be. She had a tendency to not stop talking once she started but it was clear from the prying eyes in the room that she was expected to reply.
“Yes,” She found her voice easier than she had in the jail. “I’m advanced in Jiu Jitsu, hand-to-hand combat, fencing, sword fighting, archery, kick-boxing. Once I used a set of staves from this really nice woman named Bobbi…”
She trailed off when she realized Clint had stopped fishing for the last cheerio and Yelena had cracked open a bottle of juice like she was snapping the neck of a small animal. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and she averted her gaze.
Natasha smiled softly and took another long sip of her drink. The blonde woman, the one with the chiseled jaw and the striking green eyes, let out a hum. Her stare raked up and down Kate’s form, even while she was shrinking into herself.
“I will train her.”
“That’s not an option, Yel. I want to utilize her, not kill her.”
Kate’s head shot up at the word. She caught Clint’s stare, and he gave her a dejected shrug before pushing the little life-raft of a cheerio under the milk once more. He had no interest in eating it, just drowning it.
Yelena was smiling wolfishly, lilting her head to the side like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “Kill her? Sister, I would never. She’s clearly an asset. If you let Clint train her then she’ll be regressing.”
Kate watched the tension bounce back and forth between the two like a sadistic game of ping-pong. Yelena had just hit the little orange ball with enough force and trajectory to burn a hole directly through Natasha’s paddle.
She’d never dream of pushing Natasha in the slightest, much-less the way that Yelena did right now. Her body language was relaxed and quiet. The two of them stared at each other, and the newspaper was folded, discarded in favor of the stand-off.
“I will not kill her,” Yelena reassured, yet somehow, Kate hadn’t been assured the first time, nor the second time. “Give me a chance.”
Susan Bishop had a harder stare than Eleanor. She had inherited it from her, Kate was sure, but knew how to work it like a double-edged blade. Rarely would she look at Kate. Even rarer so was the two of them being in the same place for more than six minutes at a time.
Kate had her eyes downcast, pretending to read the same paragraph of the same book over and over again. Once she felt the sharp stare of her older sister on the side of her face, it shown brighter than the sun above them.
She’d been stretched out on a poolside chair, just enjoying the pungent scent of chlorine and the occasional low hum of a car passing their large home. It was too chilly for her to actually swim, but she had a fuchsia bathing suit under her long-sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.
Susan had settled into the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh as she typed quickly on her cellphone. Kate had cast her a sidelong glance, but quickly pretended to lose interest. They were going back and forth like this for a long, pregnant moment.
Eventually, Susan sighed and softly closed the book in Kate’s hand, not regarding the page that she was on. Kate didn’t mind much. Her older sister never did anything softly. Kate’s heart thrummed in her chest when their eyes met.
“Hi?” Kate cautioned.
“Hi. We need to talk.”
“What do you want?” There wasn’t anything Kate had that Susan didn’t. Hell- she could ask Eleanor for anything and would instantly get it. There were no rules for the eldest, responsible, child. All of that strangling focus was on Kate.
“I don’t want anything. I just want to talk. Sister to sister.”
“Right… sister to sister.”
“You need to break up with Eli.”
The statement through Kate back. It was like Susan had kicked her directly in the diaphragm. The oxygen in her lungs deflated and she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then in startled rage. What did right did Susan have to meddle in her relationship like this?
Kate wanted to tell her just that, but nothing came out except for the last squeeze of air that could be interpreted as a noise of discontent, but Susan never was good at reading signals and Kate needed a fleeting second to catch her train of thought after it had been so violently derailed.
“I get the appeal of the student athlete, I’ve had plenty of them myself, but Eli is not the man for you. You can do better.”
“Seriously? Is this mom speaking or you?”
“This is all me, sweetie.” She didn’t’ say it in a condescending way. In fact- Susan actually reached out and gently touched Kate’s bare arm. She tensed under her, but the hand wasn’t removed. Not even when dark grey eyes looked at her incredulously. “I don’t like the way he changes you.”
“Changes me? You think Eli changes me?”
“I think he makes you shrink and Bishop women are never meant to shrink.”
“That’s all mom has ever done.” Kate bit back venomously.
“Wrong. Mother has full control over Father, she just makes him think that he doesn’t. She’s the decision maker and if she has to keep a hand on his shoulder to do that, then so be it. The world listens to men, and looks at women. It’s how society is. But Eli? He’s binding your hands, not taking them.”
Kate shoved Susan’s hand from her arm and placed both feet on the ground. She didn’t have to listen to this… this practical stranger. Susan didn’t’ know what she was talking about, and neither did Eleanor. They were both ignorant to the way she felt about Eli and the way Eli felt about her. He wanted to the best for her.
Sometimes- she just had to remind him that she was allergic to shellfish.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She gritted before standing. She disregarded her book, not that interested anyway, and began walking to the patio doors. Tears had started to sting her eyes. First out of sadness, and then maybe a mix of malice.
“He’s cheating on you.”
Susan said it so softly that could pretend she hadn’t heard it. The water filter for the pool was loud enough to drown out the statement. But she’d stopped with one foot on the bottom step of the patio and the other planted firmly on solid cement. Her nails dug stinging half-crescents into palm.
“You’re wrong.”
“Ask him.”
“I won’t,” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Because I trust Eli. Maybe you could grant the same to me.”
Her childhood home held onto the darkness like a vice. A place that was once so maintained and bright was past falling into lawn decay. The pristine shrubbery had springing curls of foliage and the grass hadn’t been painted like her father insisted upon each year.
The structure stood strong, only a few months and some change abandoned. A small strip of tape on the mahogany door was the only indication that this had been an active crime scene at one point. The FBI had taped an order against it before they shattered the wood with a battering ram and raided the home.
Kate hadn’t been back since. She’d been living out of her Aunt Mira’s apartment and wearing her eccentric clothing. But the elder woman would be back soon and eventually she would need to get her own belongings back. If she didn’t, then squatters would when they realized just how vacant the home really was.
Yelena let out a low whistle as she peered up at the home, as if they didn’t live in one with the same amount of wealth. Even the tone she produced sent shivers down Kate’s spine. It had been four months since that day in the precinct.
Each day was spent from dawn to dusk in Yelena’s presence, and it never became easier for Kate. She was a bumbling and incompetent mess around the woman but had grown some kind of comfort in her presence. Kate no longer believed she was in danger at her hand specifically.
That didn’t’ mean that her body didn’t ache from the constant hell that Yelena had been putting her through to put her in ‘the peak performance state- Kate Bishop’. Yelena only said her first name and barked it at her if her pace lessened on one of their multiple-mile runs, or grueling weight training sessions.
Kate didn’t want to admit that she was entranced by the tone of Yelena’s muscles. She chalked it up to admiration, because that’s all it was. Admiration. And a bit of resentment. But Kate’s chest puffed out proudly when she noticed the way her own body began to change under Yelena’s tutelage. Enough that she was ready to go back to her old home for some closure, for some clothes.
Natasha shoved her keys into her pocket and fell in line on Kate’s right side. She peered up at the expertly crafted wood. It had begun to chip. Kate thought that was ironic; it had always been so pristine, but the more she thought about it, she’d often duck under a ladder to step into the foyer.
Bad luck all around, and a simple patch job that would crumble if not properly cared for.
“We can just buy you new clothes,” Natasha urged in that flittingly careful way that made Kate know she really did give a damn, but not if you asked. “You don’t have to go in there.”
“And add to the debt I already owe you for busting me out of jail?”
“I think she has to do this.” Yelena said firmly.
She was right. Kate had to do this. She was always handed everything in life so easily and it made her reckless, but far from undisciplined. It just took Natasha slamming her face against the cold metal of an unclean table for her to get some sense knocked back into her.
Kate had called the police on her mother. She’d done it after the knowledge of crimes committed festered and grew in her mind. It bred resentment in her mind until she came face to face with the fact that she wasn’t putting her mom away, she was putting a monster away.
Stepping through these doors would humanize her and it would cut Kate deep enough to draw blood. But then, she felt Yelena’s fingers on the small of her back. A light touch that was telling Kate that she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.
The door let out a whine of protest when she pushed it open. They were met with a stale scent and a soft glow that ruminated from what Kate knew best as the living area. There was a grand piano that was mostly untouched, and large oak bookshelves that had multiple editions of old encyclopedias bound in leather.
She and Susan used to flip through them and try to pronounce the words by phonic spelling. They’d trace their little fingers over the inked illustrations and giggle if they had found something even remotely obscene. She remembers the word ‘Dam’ making them laugh until they couldn’t breathe.
Natasha’s hand darted out and pressed against Kate’s mid-section. Her other one grabbed the gun from the back of her pants. She shot the girl a sideways glance. “You left that on?” she mouthed.
Kate shook her head, her fingers itching for her own weapon. She didn’t have one. While Kate was an expert at professional archery and her aim wasn’t in question by anyone in the room- her familiarity with handguns with the serial number scratched off was minute. Yelena had pulled her own weapon, jaw firm.
Maybe squatters had broken in, and if they had, she’d gladly allow them to have the place. She just needed to stuff a duffel bag full of items and the small sentimental necklace she had gotten from her father as a child, and then she would be on her merry way.
Natasha stepped around the corner and raised her gun, screaming something that was drowned out by the startled yells of another. Kate recognized that yell, that rasp. She frowned, letting the tension in her shoulders drop before she got a good look at the living room herself.
It was incredibly lived in and lit by a single lamp that had it’s shade discarded. It was blinding and left spots in her eyes, but not enough to disregard the box of white sticky rice that had spilled all over the floor like maggots.
There was a makeshift bed on the couch and a few of those encyclopedias strewn about as if they were bedtime reading. In the center of it all; Eli Bradley with his hands up and a fork between his lips. His mouth dropped open and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.
He was shirtless, in a pair of boxers that Kate was pretty sure was her fathers. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before this because the simple fact was enough to make her gag.
“Elijah?” She exclaimed.
“You know this guy?” Yelena asked, voice tight. She lowered her weapon, but Natasha kept hers in the same position it was before, trained right at his genitals and ready to shoot at a moments notice.
Kate wished with her entire body that she didn’t. His boxers held his athletic thighs, his deep brown eyes flashing to the guns aimed at him. Yelena was never a patient woman but somehow, in this moment, Kate knew deep down that she would be patient here. Her mouth was dry and her throat like sandpaper. It was incredibly hard to swallow.
“I’m her boyfriend.” Eli sounded out, his fingers twitching “I have a key.”
Yelena looked at Kate with pleading eyes, to which she received a nod in return. Kate supposed she hadn’t officially broken up with the man in front of her. The aimed weapons were lowered to the floor, but Natasha kept her hold. One false move and she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through his bare foot.
“Yel, idi soberi yey sumku.”
Kate didn’t understand a lick of Russian, but she knew that Natasha’s tone was not to be questioned. Yelena holstered her weapon and slinked up the stairs. She’d be able to guess which room was Kate’s. The trophies and medals and photos tacked up to bulletin boards. It was the only room Kate was allowed to personalize, and even then, it was meant to be spotless.
Natasha must have caught onto the tension in Kate’s stance. She shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched and eyes submissive. It wasn’t something she wanted to see in her young trainee.
It wasn’t at all the woman that sat across from her in an interrogation room. Not even with her face her neck in Natasha’s grip. Something was wrong, and it was something stronger than Kate being back in her childhood home. That warranted sadness. But compliance? Absolutely not.
“Katie, baby. Who is this?” Eli asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”
When Kate opened her mouth to speak, Natasha held up a hand, instantly silencing her. The woman lilted her head to the side, unripe eyes taking in the scene in front of her; the discarded take-out containers, the balled-up socks in the corner of the room. The rain that had begun to pound against the roof and slather itself across windowpanes.
Natasha’s voice came out as a snarl “I’d love to introduce myself, but first, could you ask your little friend to come out from behind the curtains?”
Kate’s stare hardened and she whipped her head up accusingly. Still, she didn’t say a word. The wine-red Versailles fabric shifted; the view blocked by the grand piano but not enough for Natasha to ignore. Kate’s mother had spent hours looking over Swatches that would fit the room, and eventually chose the option that brought the room into a gothic elegance.
Kate didn’t need to wait to know who it was. Cassie Lang. Best friend, confidant, and exactly who Kate caught in bed with Elijah weeks before. But this was different. This was her home. It had already been violated by law enforcement. Torn apart just for two of her friends, people she trusted and loved, to take advantage of its vacancy.
“That’s better,” Natasha purred. Cassie was shaking because of the cold, wearing only a silk robe that belonged to Kate’s sister. “Now, let’s all have a chat.”
 “Kate, Katie, it’s not what it looks like. Just… tell your friends to leave and I’ll explain everything.”
Eli attempted to step towards her, hands no longer raised in caution but reaching towards Kate. Natasha felt a surge of anger lick against her skin. She stepped between them, splaying her hand out on his chest before shoving him recklessly onto the center of the couch.
He sprung back onto his feet, voice dripping in venom “Back off lady! I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend here!”
Natasha let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her gaze to Kate. Something about this situation was juvenile, but so important. Though she only had the girl under her care for a few weeks now, she felt nothing but warmth towards her.
She’d mislabeled her as a rich, undisciplined trust fund baby. Natasha didn’t’ often admit her mistakes but that had been one that weighed heavily on her. Sure, Katherine Bishop had a bit of an incorrigible sass to her, but it wasn’t unwarranted. Her boasting was backed up by actions true to her words. Strong, determined, actions.
Natasha hated how she was shrinking. Hated how this man had chipped away at her until she was hugging her mid-section to stop the thrumming pain of betrayal. She couldn’t’ find the words, they were lodged in her throat. There was the strong suspicion that if she hadn’t sent Yelena away, they’d be scrubbing blood from an imported carpet.
Something tole Natasha that Kate never got a choice in this relationship, and she wasn’t about to continue the toxic pattern that had led to her demure state.
 “Ketrin,” Natasha’s voice was soaked with her native tongue “Would you like me to take care of this?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again, almost like a fish. Words escaped her. Natasha’s soft exhale brought her back to the room. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and reminded her of the first time she had pushed herself too hard in competition. She never lost consciousness but came close to it.
Yelena had successfully pilfered a duffel bag, having removed the sabers that resided there and filled it with whatever clothes she could find. Kate felt her stomach flip at the naive idea that the Russian woman had gone through her underwear drawer.
She flicked her eyes back to Eli, his chest heaving up and down as he eyed the gun still in Natasha’s grasp. Cassie was still like a statue, rubbing her palms on the silk fabric of her robe. She had the decency to look guilty.
“Take care of it.”
The words were barely more than a hurt whisper. She didn’t trust herself right now, not with the sharp pain that coursed through her veins. Tears had stung her eyes in the back of the detective’s car, but she didn’t know if that was on account of Eli or Eleanor.
Kate silently excused herself as the silence that settled over the room became thicker, palpable. Yelena’s deep stare was on Kate in a way that made her squirm. But she remained at the head of the stairs, even stepping to the side when Kate began to trek to a room that had already been rifled through. There was an unspoken agreement. Natasha would take care of it.
 “What’s your name?” she asked, directing the question towards the girl.
“Cassie.” Elijah answered.
Natasha held her hand up to him again, fingers barely ghosting his shoulder. He shivered at the near touch but snapped his mouth shut. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her. Sweetie?”
“It’s Cassie… Cassie Lang.”
“Okay, Cassie.” She kept her voice soft, cajoling. “I want you to go home and get some rest. And under no circumstance are you going to call law enforcement. I’ll be informed immediately if you do so. Do you understand?”
She nodded frantically, keeping her head down as she moved to smooth past Natasha. The woman grabbed her sleeve, holding her in place for just a moment. She was so close she could smell the sex on her, see the sweat against her brow and the fear in her stare.
“Sweetheart. I suggest you learn to keep better company.”
Cassie let out a squeak that almost bled into a whine before taking advantage of Natasha’s loose hold. She darted with a quickness unseen, the door slamming behind her, the roar of the rain hissing to a muffled stop.
“And you?”
“What about me?” Elijah asked in a nauseatingly confident way.  
Natasha let out a long sigh and studied him. Everything from the way he stood to the faux dog tags that hung against his chest bled fury. This was exactly the type of man that would attract someone like Kate with a level of badger-like charm before clamping his jaw down on her throat.
Thankfully, Kate’s mother had fantastic taste in artwork. A bronze Clyde Ball piece lingered by the entryway. While he was known for his extensive statue work and abstract designs, Natasha liked that he used a heavier metal, one with a base that was easily grasped.
With a sly swing of the hand she connected the corner of the object with Eli’s temple. A flash of blood instantly stained his skin and splayed against the floor when he collapsed. Natasha dropped the artwork next to him. She let out a hum, figuring that a Clyde Ball may be worth purchasing after all.  
His truck had kicked up a rut in the normally spotless lawn. Eli had barely missed the mailbox with his erratic driving- which was bold considering the amount of unmarked and marked police vehicles that encircled Kate’s property.
Kate was sitting on the front steps, the concrete cold and unwelcome against the small of her back. They’d handcuffed her and her fingers were numb. Still, she flexed them when the commotion caught her attention. They didn’t’ bother with police tape, but a man in a wrinkled suit stopped Eli.
It took her a few long moments to realize that Cassie was in the passenger seat of the truck. She made eye contact with Kate, a look of sorrow forcing her to glance away. She was wearing Eli’s lettered jacket and naively, Kate convinced herself for a fleeting moment it had something to do with the busted heating vents in the old vehicle.
She knew better.
She’d smelled Eli’s specific spicy brand of cologne and deodorant on Cassie the last time they embraced. His lips tasted of the bubblegum ChapStick that Cassie had worn everyday since the six grade when Kate landed on her during a game of spin the bottle. Admittedly, she felt more during that kiss than anything she’d ever shared with Eli.
Kate adjusted her shoulder against the hold of the cuffs. They were uncomfortable, digging into her wrists. Even if she wanted to break out of them, she couldn’t. She was a nervous fidgeter and Elijah was using some degree of charm to weasel his way past the officer blocking him. Just as he’d weaseled his way into Cassie’s pants.
“Oh my god, Katie.” He rushed out when he got to her, kneeling down on the damp sidewalk. It was unnaturally cold and they hadn’t let Kate pull on a jacket over the tank top she wore for her morning run. His hands ran down her thighs and squeezed her knees. “Fuck, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Kate’s stare brushed past Elijah blankly and to the fogging up window of his truck. If Cassie hadn’t already been wearing his jacket, she was sure he’d offer it to her, an offer she would vehemently deny. All of his charm, his commanding power, had been washed away with her mothers as she ducked her head and settled into the back of a squad car. One that probably had heat.
“Jesus, I heard that this place was swarming with cops. What did you do?”
“What did you?”
“I don’t… Katie, babe, come on.” He glanced back at the car and when he turned to face Kate once more, their eyes locked. He didn’t’ need to say anything and neither did she. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Kate felt the warmth of Detective Brigid O’Reilly behind her. She wasn’t a stranger to Kate, but she acted like one when she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. Temporary informant or not, Kate was still a Bishop and they weren’t trusted in this town.
“Miss Bishop. It’s time to go.”
Her forearm was gripped and she was pulled to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were numb, needles rushing through them. Part of her was grateful for being dragged away. The other part was terrified, sad, hurt and angry. They’d all betrayed her.
“Where are you taking her?”
“Fifteenth precinct. Don’t waste your breath, kid. She’ll be indisposed for a few hours. Take your little girlfriend home.”
He winced at the detective’s words and averted his stare to the ground. Kate let herself get let to the unmarked Lincoln town car. At least she’d save the humiliation as the whole lights and sirens routine.  
Most of the time, they didn’t wake up screaming, but Elijah did. His senses were overwhelmed, and his body instantly registered the cold and the slickness of muck beneath him. Even over the brutal beating of falling rain, he could hear the cars that swept past on the highway.
His head was pounding, and the headlights of vehicles passing over the highpoint of evergreens only served as something more disorienting. It was only when a crack of lightening flashed across the sky did he notice the woman standing over him, a shovel slung over her shoulder.
So, he screamed, and he swore she smiled at the sound.
He turned over on his stomach and coughed into the mud, his toes not finding purchase in the mud. Natasha’s boot came down on the center of his back and he found himself sprawling, tasting a mix of metal and dirt. He realized that he underestimated the situation Kate had gotten herself into.
“Good morning, Elijah.” She crowed, dropping the shovel next to his face, barely missing his brow. He flinched and shrunk into himself. “I have a job for you.”
She used the tip of her shoe to flip him over onto his back. The falling rain that had gotten through the pine needles above him hit his face in a cooling effect. He saw another set of headlights, eyes darting towards the road. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, all of this would be over.
“I need you to dig a hole.”
“What?” He panted out, his breath leaking out in puffs of condensation. “a hole?”
“Mm, glad I didn’t rupture an eardrum. It needs to be a big hole. How tall are you?”
“I don’t… What?”
Natasha knelt next to him, a sadistic smile falling from her lips. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Almost as if a flip was switched. Her deep red hair was adhered to her forehead from the rain, her jaw clenched and unclenched.
“I don’t know you, Elijah. But, I know Kate and that girl has been through hell and back. She’s guarded and hides behind her humor to deflect the pain that she’s experiencing. And to me… it seems like you’re a big catalyst here.”
His breathing had become shuddered. Natasha grabbed the shovel before standing and delivering a swift kick to his side. His ribs instantly ached and a cry escaped him. She wanted him to right himself and to safe another deadly spark of pain, he complied.
She had, in fact, started a small divot where she expected him to dig. Tears were running down his face, small sobs muffled by his determination to put on a front. She didn’t’ find any admiration in his sniveling. Instead, she let him scoop out three frothy loads of dirt before she continued, circling like a lion.
His hands had started to bleed.
“She believed in you enough to trust you and you turn around and fuck her best friend?” Natasha got close, yelled over the rain. He stuttered in his movements, clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t stop digging! Was she not enough for you?”
Elijah stuck the tip of the shovel back into the soup of rainwater and mud. It was a black slush at this point, something he could drown in if he laid facedown for long enough. “She was… she was.”
“Then why did you do it, huh? You took everything she was and whittled her down to nothing before discarding her for someone else you could break. Is that it? Did that make you feel more like a man?”
He didn’t’ respond, instead, moving another round of slop to the side of a hole that was starting to look more and more like a grave. He was up to his knees in cold, unforgiving water. His toes flexed in the icy earth.
“Answer me!” She yelled with enough anger to split earth. However, Natasha didn’t give him the chance. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoved him forward into the muck. He could taste dirt, words bubbling.
Elijah groaned and brought himself to his knees. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his throat. He was crying loudly now, sitting back on his heels. Natasha was above him, standing on the edge of the grave he had just dug. Headlights flashed over her cold stare.
“If you’re feeling helpless, Elijah, so was she. Kate needed you, and you weren’t there for her. She was suffocating, and everyone could see it, but you kept her just out of reach, didn’t you?”
“Yes! Yes,” He groaned out, digging his fingers into the soft earth. “Fuck, yes. I hurt her, I know that.”
“Lay down.”
“What?” His voice broke.
“You’re going to lay here until morning.” She knelt down “You’re not going to move a muscle.”
“I’ll drown,”
“You might.” She growled, taking account of the heaviness of the rain, the way the tires of passing vehicles sloshed around in the collected puddles. “But at least you’d understand how Kate felt.”
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aliaology · 4 months
Text
HOUSE THAT BUILT ME
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summary: reader (older hughes sister) takes a small flight to toronto to say goodbye to the home she grew up in before moving to michigan.
pairings: hughes brothers x older sister!reader
warnings: just angst. part three of my older hughes! sister au so it kinda contradicts never grow up bc i almost made the michigan house be her childhood house with the childhood room line, but the toronto house was her childhood house, i just lowkey forgot they lived in toronto in the first part.
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you didn't expect to be here. you didn't expect yourself to take a last minute flight to toronto and stand in the front of the house you used to call home. but you felt drawn to do so, you had to come back one last time. even if people told you you couldn't, you still did.
you felt yourself walking up the stairs. your handprints littered them, along with little quinnys, little jackys, and little little lukeys. the multi-colored handprints were a stark contrast to the white, chipped paint of the porch stairs.
they creaked under you, causing you to step slower. you now stood in front of the screen door that covered the red door. your hand shakily reached up to the doorbell, pressing it. the all-familiar tune played. it wasn't a normal 'ding!' no, your mother made it ring to a beat. one you would tap your foot to every time it was rung.
the door creaked open, revealing a slightly older woman. "can i help you?" she asked, eyes squinted from the sun.
"im so sorry to bother you, i know you dont know me but, i um- i used to live here." you awkwardly laughed. "me and my brothers are actually the kids who did those handprints on the stairs." you informed.
she opened the screen door, stepping out. she had a soft smile on her face and waved you over to the small swing that was on the porch.
you two ended up sitting and talking. "the back bedroom, that was mine. i did my homework on a dainty desk and that room is where i learned to play guitar." you spoke.
a fond smile was on the womans face. "i've never once changed anything in this house since me and my family moved here." she told.
"i couldnt. i actually hoped one of the kids who did those handprints would show up. i like learning of what this place used to be. plus, whoever did that kitchen was amazing." she chuckled.
"my dad helped my mom do that. it was a dream kitchen for her. he helped a lot of her dreams come true with this house." you said.
you looked over the property. the green grass, the live oak, the trees that surrounded the house. you looked back at her.
"do you- do you think i could come in? i just want to look around. i swear as soon as im done, ill leave. i wont take nothing, just my memories." you smiled.
she let you. you found yourself tracing the walls as you walked upstairs. the same texture was there as it used to be. the steps still creaked twice with every step. the air was still cold, as it used to be.
you walked into your old room. the walls were still the dark purple they used to be. it made you remember who you used to be. the happy-go-lucky little girl whos only care in the world were her three younger brothers.
you weren't done looking around, but you already dreaded the idea of leaving. leaving home wasn't what you wanted to do. doing it once was hard enough. you could see yourself, your younger self, sitting at her desk.
feet kicking with a pencil in her hand as she hummed to some random song that she heard on the tv. she would smile every once in awhile as she did her math homework, realizing she understood something.
you could see young jack running in, a water gun in his hand, and shooting you with it, ruining your mood and your homework. you could see little luke rushing in behind him, tackling jack to the ground. little quinn would pin jack down and little you would tickle him as payback. luke and quinn were your little sidekicks.
after awhile, you walked back to the porch. "thank you again, ma'am. this meant a lot to me. it helped being able to see and feel the house again." you told her.
she smiled. "of course dear." you gave her a polite nod and walked down the handprint-filled stairs. you got to see the house that built you, and instead of leaving with tears, you left with a small smile.
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tags (perm); @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @um-mads , @outrunangelss
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ramp-it-up · 5 months
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To Renounce and to Claim
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader
Summary: A world where you and Bucky can be happy is seemingly only what dreams are made of. Until you complete your mission.
Word Count: 3K
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT! Read at your own risk. Curate your own experience. Pining, low self esteem, two idiots in love, Bucky in Wakanda, the White Wolf, skinny dipping, eye fucking, sex in public, sex in a river, loss of "virginity", size kink, pleasurable pain with sex, raw sex, oral sex, pulling out, cum play. Feelings of loss, (the death of T'Challa is implied) implied loss of child, feelings of revenge. Google translate Hausa and Russian.
Not Beta’d. All errors my own.
A/N: This is the second in the Bucky Barnes and the Summer Soldier series. White Wolf Bucky, liberties taken with the MCU cannon and timeline. The following terms are from google translate in Hausa: Masoyi- my love; ina son ku- I love you; ina son ku kuma- I love you too. Kulkoka- Doll in Russian. Other terms defined in text.
As always, reblog if you like it!
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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
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Wakanda, 2017
The first time you saw Bucky Barnes, you wanted to destroy him.
You, and everyone you knew, thought that he’d assassinated your king, T’Chaka.
The pictures of the masked metal-armed man which was circulated among the Dora were mesmerizing to you. The blue eyes above the black mask seemed to stare into your soul. They were menacing, determined, yet with a hint of something else that had you transfixed.
You kept your eyes on the images long past the ending of the briefing and you were still seated with the holo-pad when everyone else stood to go.
When Okoye called for you, the other Doras quirked their mouths, the loudest their merriment would go in the mixed company of civilians, royalty, and military.
Zola confronted you about it months later, when Barnes was granted asylum in Wakanda.
“I want to talk to you about your feelings for the Winter Soldier.”
You stared at your former Captain, incredulous.
Bast, this woman did not forget a thing.
“I know not of which you speak, Mistress. I was studying his photos to see if I could spot a weakness, so as to kill him easily. Now that he has the king’s protection, I will follow orders.”
You kept your posture rigid and eyes straight ahead as she regarded you. Your training was over, but she knew you better than your mother in the river valley; you’d certainly been with her longer.
“That is the correct answer, child.”
You did not dare mention that you had not been a child for years. You kept your disrespect in your head. Not that it mattered.
“I know what you are thinking. That you are a full grown woman, a warrior. But if you do not want to put all of that in jeopardy, you will be careful. Do not let him into your head.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You should have listened better, for after he arrived, the Winter Soldier was not only in your head; he was in your heart. The chaos a smile from James Barnes could create inside you would cause your father to send you to the Jabari if you were still his ward.
You chilled Bucky to the bone from the first moment he laid eyes on you; you were so regal and so strong. You were different than any other human he’d ever met.
The second he introduced himself and your beautiful lips tilted into a frown and said, “What by Bast, is a Bucky?” you were firmly entrenched in his soul.
Neither of you felt you could be honest, you because of duty and he because he felt like an incomplete shadow of a man. Bucky had a lot of work to do. And he set about the work of healing, mentally and physically with a singular focus. Becoming worthy of you was one of his primary goals and you didn’t realize it.
The day Wakanda celebrated James Barnes and gave him a new name was the beginning of the end.
For the better part of the previous year, James Barnes had been just a man. A man that you squared off with when he first arrived, a man that you watched with pity as he broke down, then listened to with sympathy, talked to with candor, trained with intensity, and eventually broke bread with trust.
Now that man was your abokin kirki, your good friend. And also the White Wolf, practically a member of the royal family.
And, like the stealthiest of adversaries, the romantic feelings caught up to you quickly and without warning. You were astonished at how you felt when you saw the way that he looked at Nareema during the Royal celebration for him. You were devastated that he could look at another in that way and more than that, disappointed in yourself.
The fact that you’d fallen for your friend was something that you vowed never to admit or act upon. Sacrifice was your duty. Your feelings didn’t matter even if they were requited. Barnes was healing, and thus did not have time to focus on frivolous emotion.
Your job, as commanded by T'Challa, was to assist him through this period, and bid him goodbye when the time came.
What you purposefully ignored was how he had acted toward you. James sought you out, how he waited for you to come back from missions and training exercises, always with your favorite dishes prepared. Cooking was a hobby that he had undertaken to help calm his mind. And he was quite good at it.
You also disregarded the way Bucky looked at you, the way his eyes changed when you were in full combat gear, and the way his bow deepened as you walked by.
Or rather, you only thought about it when you were alone in your bed at night.
You should never have taken him to your favorite spot along the river the day after the celebration and allowed him to skinny dip with you. You told yourself it was just a private celebration between comrades; it was common among friends of the River Tribe, males and females naked before one another with no illicit thought. But this was different.
The way that you and James stared at each other from opposite banks as you lay in the sun after frolicking like children was dangerous. Your eyes avoided his, but you drank the rest of him in, from the new arm, to the scars on his chest, to the water drops dripping down his skin onto the river bank. His large cock was at rest, but it was long and thick, and you could imagine what it would be like if it were awakened.
You stared innocently at his manhood while something inside you alighted.
James’ eyes were upon you, from your captivating eyes, to those alluring lips, to the water running in rivulets between your beautiful breasts. He’d always admired your body, remembering every curve and toned muscle late at night and early in the morning when he was alone. The lust inside of him wanted you, but so did the love.
His eyes sought out yours, and when you finally returned his gaze, he guessed that perhaps you shared his feelings. Sensing his awareness, you again looked at his body, studying him as if he were predator, or prey.
Your boldness was alluring, and the fact that you were sitting, legs akimbo, so that he could clearly see the folds made Bucky feel the need to go into the river again to hide his arousal.
You joined him without thinking, your heart trying to break free from your ribs. You were afraid. For the first time, you felt truly afraid as your instinct drew you closer to him.
James’ hair was in his eyes, similar to the first time you saw him in those pictures all those months ago. And yet it was different this time. This time you knew that he would be your undoing.
You reached up to smooth his hair back, and he grabbed your wrist, pulling you close to him, your nipples conducting electricity with his wet skin and his cock pounding on your belly.
“Bari in tafi James. Let me go.”
“Da gaske kike so na? Do you really want me to?”
James pulled your hand to his mouth, his lips grazing your palm and up your arm. Your other hand flew up to strike him and he caught it with his vibranium one and twisted it behind you.
You were shocked, but not at him; you were surprised at your reaction. You could have easily gotten out of his hold, you were a skilled fighter.
But you didn’t want to.
“Do you mean to take me like some common karuwa?”
James spoke as his satin lips tasted your skin.
“Stop fighting the inevitable. You know that I hold you in the highest regard. You are not a whore, you are masoyi.”
James’ mouth had reached your shoulder and as he spoke you turned your head toward him as you whispered, terrified.
“You do not mean th-”
Bucky cut you off with his mouth upon yours. You whimpered in his grip and yielded when his tongue insisted entry to meet yours.
You stood in the river, James Barnes’ fingers massaging your scalp, drowning in his kiss. You moved closer to him, throwing your arms up to caress the muscles in his back, your fingers following the traces of water down his torso.
When the kiss was over, your head was spinning.
“What is it you want, soyayya ta? If I have offended you, I will leave Wakanda and never return. I-”
This time you cut him off with a kiss of your own, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding against his cock which was trapped between your core and his belly. James’ hands cupped your ass and as he did so, he groaned. He’d wanted to touch you this way as soon as he saw you, but he’d never dared. He respected you too much.
This time when you separated, you gave him direction.
“The rocks over there on the river bank.”
You pointed behind him to where he lay moments before.
“There. Take me James, over there.”
James turned around in the water, careful not to let the weakness he felt for you, nor the river current cause him to lose his footing. When he made it to the riverbank he deposited you gently on the sun-warmed rocks.
You leaned up on your elbows as James remained half in the water looking up into your eyes.
“Do you really want me James?”
He nodded.
“I do. More than just about anything.”
He picked up your hand and kissed your palm again.
“I have dreamed of this for so long. Tell me that you want me to, masoyi.”
You nodded.
“I want you, James. Ina son ku.”
Bucky beamed.
“Ina son ku kuma.”
And just like that, you were promised to each other, on the banks of your river beneath the Wakandan sun.
You kissed again, the act feeling like a sacrament, heating both of you beyond inhibition. His mouth, his hands, even his eyes on you were alerting all of your senses, because he was everywhere, and all at once. Your hands moved to keep up with him, your ardor overtaking you while you experienced his. Everywhere he touched, bit, suckled and stroked built the fires within you.
Bucky’s hand found your clit and teased it briefly before plunging a thick finger tip inside you. You bit your lip as you wantonly moved your hips.
“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time, James. Need you.”
“You’ve no idea how much I want to be with you, too, kulkoka, but I don’t want to hurt you…”
James’ flesh hand was moving, stroking your walls as if he owned you, but your face heated at the knowledge of what he meant.
One night around the fire, he let you get drunk on some Border Tribe wine and you’d told him that you’d never been with a man. Not that you were a virgin, whatever that meant, but that sex with a man was something you hadn’t done.
Now you boldly stared at him in his mountain-ice blue eyes.
“I am a warrior James. I can handle it.”
James smirked and tilted his head as his fingers sank into your silken folds, readying you for his intrusion.
“Is that so?”
“Y-yes. I want you inside me…”
Your head lolled back on your shoulders, your shut eyelids glowing red with the sun.
“Mmmmmm, I want that too, Doll.. but I need to see you cum. Right now.”
James climbed down your body, pulling your thighs to the end of the rocks as he went. Your ass ended up in his hands and you leaned up on your elbows to watch him work. You spread your legs for him as his head dipped to your cunt.
James obtained eye contact as he delicately licked your slit from top to bottom and then stopped, watching as your eye opened, blazing as you silently demanded more by pushing his head down harder.
“Eat your meal, Sargent.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
You never let him forget that you outranked him, but he saucily winked as he went down and let his smile curl into your wetness.
As Bucky held you in two hands like a bowl and ate you like a man starved, you pulled his hair, which only spurred him on more. He would lick and then look at your pussy, pause, look you in the eyes, and then suck your clit until you were seeing stars. He continued until he could feel you clenching on his tongue. He suckled you and you trembled at how his lips looked wrapped around you. You squirmed until he had to hold you down so you couldn’t run from your orgasm.
“Give it to me. Now.”
Although you outranked him, your body obeyed his command.
You gasped as your mouth opened into a silent “O”, but you eventually didn’t care as you let out a wail with your climax.
Bucku suckled you through it, drawing out more pleasure and grinning when your pulses subsided.
When you were cognizant again, you reached for his member.
James Barnes was a model of a man, long and girthy, you could barely close your fist around him. His large glistening head projected out of the foreskin of his warm, thick and tan shaft. He felt so good in your grip, the veins that weaved around him making you crave that texture inside you. You had the curious urge to take his large balls into your mouth as your hand caressed him.
The effect of your action upon him was lost on you until you heard a groan, and you tore your eyes away from his glorious manhood to look up.
He was beautiful, looking at you with hooded eyes, hands on your thighs as he let you explore him, but obviously holding back. You could see his muscles tense as if ready to spring. With that knowledge, you leaned back as he gathered your thighs into his large hands. You knew that your arousal was leaking onto the rocks and that was confirmed at the way James looked between your legs and licked his lips.
“Take me James, I’m yours.”
“Be certain of what you’re saying, Doll.”
James lifted your leg to his shoulder and kissed from your ankle to your knee, causing you to shiver, then repeated the action with your other one. He then placed his hands on your waist as he moved close, the tip of his cock slotting into our wet, pulsing hole.
You whined as James stayed still, questioning you with his eyes.
“Please. James, I need you.”
Bucky swallowed and nodded, looking almost afraid.
“I got you, masoyi.”
Slowly, James moved forward, pushing inside you until you began to whimper. He stopped, not wanting to hurt you.
You never expected this sensation, the burning, the stretch, but you knew you were not ready for it to end.
You nodded up at him.
“More.”
You remembered your regulation exercises and used them to relax. James’s cock felt so damn good, but it was a lot to take. He was ruining you from any other feeling and could tell when he looked into your lust blown eyes. His gaze roamed your entire body to take in this moment forever and to keep himself calm. He wanted to take you roughly and immediately, but he loved you too much to ever hurt you.
You moaned as the pleasure from him filling you began to overtake the pain. When he was finally seated as full as he could, passion overtook you and you began to move.
James grabbed you harder to still your hips, trying to hold back.
“I want you to fuck me James!”
With that Bucky growled and climbed up on the rock, knees giving leverage to his hips, which snapped into yours once and stopped when you yelped.
“Easy Doll, don’t want to… damn…you feel so fucking good… so right… hmmm.”
James’ mouth explored your neck and torso, finally worshiping your nipples. You wrapped your legs around his hips, hands in his hair and whispering into his ear.
“Bast! I will not break, White Wolf. Claim me. Make me yours!”
Bucky leaned up and wrapped his hand around your throat as he began to honor your request. He was now pounding into you so hard that your body, and you swore the rock beneath you, rippled.
You moaned loudly as pain turned into pleasure and your body started to tremble. Bucky’s display of power over you had your eyes rolling back into your head.
“Thaats it. So fucking beautiful. I’m.. not gonna… fuck I’m gonna…I need you to…”
Bucky’s other hand found your clit and you let out a string of river tribe curses as you exploded around his cock.
“Holy…”
Bucky pumped about three more times and he exploded as well, pulling out in time to leave a string of pearls from your clit to your collarbone as he released all over you. You trembled as his hot spend seemed to sizzle on your sun warmed body. You watched him attempt to empty everything for you and then reached for him, instinctively sitting up to suck the rest out of him. Bucky looked down on you and shuddered, palming your head as you cleaned him off.
He reached down to play in the cum that decorated your body as you lay back on the warm rock. Then, he picked you up and took you back into the river, tenderly cleaning you off while covering you with kisses.
“I am going to meet with T’Challa. I need you to be my wife and have my babies as soon as possible.”
____
You woke up with a start and tears in your eyes, the noise outside coming through the fog in your head as Amsterdam’s red light district.
You felt a deep loss. For your King, your people, your home.. your husband.
Your child.
You slowly sat up from your sleeping bag, and shuffled to the bathroom to clean your face.
As you looked into the mirror, you vowed that you would be back with your husband…as soon as you killed the power broker.
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andreal831 · 5 months
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TVDU and forced parenthood
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I don't know if it is because Julie Plec didn't understand parenthood or just didn't care, but almost every character has a messed up relationship with the idea of parenthood.
Starting with Rebekah, whose entire identity becomes about being a mother. When she is first introduced, she behaves like an immature teenager with almost no maternal instincts or desires. But it quickly shifts in TO to focus on her desire to have a child. I am completely fine with a woman wanting to have children, but she never gave a real reason to want it. Just this general idea that she had always desired it. I get she likely would have been thinking about it when she was human since, during their human period, women tended to have children in their teen years and it was what all women did. But throughout her 1,000 years, we never see her seek that relationship with anyone. She briefly develops a protective relationship with April and then Davina, but they are easily pushed aside. She even abandons her relationship with Hope multiple times. It never seemed to me that she wanted to be a parent, rather wanted a baby.
This is even more obvious by the fact that Klaus 'adopts' Marcel. Rebekah could have adopted a child, or taken in someone throughout her long life. Now, it could have been that she feared Klaus would be angry and jealous, but this story is never shown. In fact, Klaus seems fine with Rebekah training Marcel, even after he was jealous of Elijah teaching him.
Speaking of Marcel, this whole storyline was problematic. The Mikaelsons take in this boy and then make him feel indebted to them. I've seen people argue that they didn't adopt Marcel, but rather took him in as a ward. Either way you look at it, Marcel was a child and deserved to be treated like one and not some trophy (a lot of white saviorism happening). I do think Elijah wanted to raise Marcel as a son but Klaus wouldn't let him. So instead, Klaus raises him as a friend which created a complicated relationship. I also hate how you can clearly see the difference in how Hope is protected versus how Marcel was raised. Whether it's sexist or racist or just based on him not being their biological family, it's problematic.
And then there is Hope. Hayley will always be my favorite parent in TVDU. Even when she was young and overwhelmed, you could tell her thoughts and actions were all about protecting Hope. Yes, some things she did weren't the smartest plan, but she was also a scared 20-something-year-old trying to survive against enemies that were 1000x her age. She risked her life repeatedly for her daughter and would sacrifice anything for Hope to be safe and happy. She was the one character I felt truly understood what it meant to be a parent.
I always get in trouble when I criticize Klaus as a parent, but he was a narcissistic parent for 90% of the show and that honestly needs its own post.
It's not surprising the Mikaelsons don't know how to be parents. Mikael wanted to train them to be warriors and Esther had a similar feel to Rebekah, that she wanted babies but didn't know how to be a mother. I know Esther and Mikael likely had their own childhood traumas, but that's another conversation.
I liked that Kol and Davina never discussed children. Davina was young and Kol never expressed desires to be a father. Not everyone needs to want to have children. To me, Elijah was the only Mikaelson sibling who expressed a deeper interest in being a parent. Yet, he still didn't understand the full extent. He essentially acted like a parent to his siblings but ended up just having messed up relationships with each of them. He wanted to step in with Marcel and even Hope. I like to think he learned his lesson from Marcel and fought harder for Hope, but again, the whole family just fought harder for Hope.
I also think Freya having a child makes sense, but Vincent being the father had me baffled. He hated Elijah for what he did to Davina until Elijah died, but forgave Freya for her role? Not only forgave her but decided to help continue the Mikaelson line. I just find it hard to believe that he would have agreed to help. But Julie wanted to expand the Mikaelsons and then do nothing with it I guess.
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Even in TVD, this idea that everyone wants to be a parent is pushed. Again, yes some people do, but not everyone needs to want children.
I understood Jo, Alaric, and even Stefan's desire to have children. This need to protect and care for others was built into them. We see Alaric (before his character sucked) basically adopt Elena and Jeremy. Jo was always protective of her siblings and loved caring for others so much she became a doctor. Stefan just always had this paternal need to take care of others in my opinion. I even see this with Elena and Bonnie. (Also the fact that Bonnie's future is never mentioned -- we hear about everyone else but what was Bonnie up to in Legacies??)
But Caroline and Damon having children made no sense to me. Caroline had dreams of a career and seemed adventurous, but then was forced into pregnancy at what 23 years old while she was still in school? Yes, we see she gets to become a journalist, but in Legacies we don't hear anything about her life or career. She isn't even there as a mother. Caroline's character basically disappears.
Damon never expressed a desire for children that I can remember. He enjoyed his vampire life and I can't see him giving it up to be a mortal, stay-at-home dad.
There are a lot of problems with the show, Friends, but one thing I've always loved is how they show the different pathways to parenthood. Pheobe is a surrogate for her brother, Monica adopts, and Rachel is a single mother. There isn't one way to be a parent, as long as you always put the children's safety and happiness first.
TVDU could have learned a thing about it. For a show that loved to randomly have a found family trope, it was also ready to throw it out the window the second biological family showed up. That's not how found families work, they are family through and through.
Also, and I cannot say this enough, not everyone needs to want to have children. Even women.
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The Sweetest Con
Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.
She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.
Read on AO3
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Five years earlier:
She wasn’t used to Georgia’s humidity. 
Nesta never wanted to get used to it. Standing just outside the little white house that now belonged to her, Nesta wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The town was small—no more than a couple thousand people, if that. No big buildings, no major downtown, and worst of all, no Chinese food. Not unless she wanted to creep closer to Atlanta and given that Nesta’s car was a piece of rusting junk built a full decade before she was born, she doubted she’d make it.
So much for being a hot shot lawyer. 
Nesta dumped her bag just inside the white picket fence, ignoring the peeling paint and splintering wood. It was the kind of place Elain would have thrived in. With a sigh, Nesta turned her back entirely on the overgrown yard and began walking along the only road in the town to the center—aptly named Main Street. 
There was practically no one out. A few older woman walked with looped arms down the sidewalks while a harried mother pushing a stroller made her way toward the only grocery store. Nesta made her way toward the marble carved library, taking the steps one at a time despite the unrelenting sun overhead.
The air inside was ice cold and empty save of two women who were quietly talking to each other. One of them—the red head—clearly worked there given she was behind the desk. The other sat perched on the counter, a book in her lap. They had been clearly talking with some animation though now that Nesta had intruded, the pair stared with wary suspicion.
Nesta hadn’t come to make friends. Lifting her chin with all the haughtiness her mother had instilled in her, Nesta marched toward the shelves lined with fantasy and romance and began reading the jackets. 
She needed a distraction. All she could think about lately was what would happen if Rhysand ever found them. Surely he was irate…he’d be out for blood. They’d flat out lied, pointing the finger straight at the notorious mafioso and the feds, in their eagerness to put him away, had overlooked all the evidence suggesting otherwise.
But Rhysand would know.
And Nesta wanted to forget him. Mobsters lived short lives, besides—in a year, he might be dead and the whole thing over. She could keep herself busy for that long. So long as the library kept books on the shelves, Nesta could find something to do.
She brought them to the front desk where the red head and the dark haired woman waited. “Library card?” The woman’s name tag read Gwyn. 
“No,” Nesta said, fishing out her new drivers license. Agnes Smith. Sure. That sounded real. “Here.”
Gwyn eyed it for a moment. “You don’t look like an Agnes.”
“Tell that to my mom.”
Gwyn began typing on her computer, glancing at Nesta’s ID. “Emerie,” the dark skinned, dark haired woman said with a friendlier smile. “I think you look like an Agnes.” Gwyn rolled her eyes. 
“You should come by the general store,” Emerie added, glancing at the ID for Nesta’s address. “You moved into the old Brandon house.”
“Grizzly murder happened there,” Gwyn said seriously.
“Did not. He died of all old age,” Emerie said quickly. “It’s been run down for a while. I’d be happy to help you out.”
“Do you like women?” Gwyn asked suddenly and bluntly. 
Taken aback, Nesta said, “Um…not really—romantically, anyway.”
Emerie sighed. “It was worth a shot.”
Nesta almost blurted out that she’d still take friends before she thought better of it. No need to be defensive or obsessive. “Where is everyone today?”
“It’s ten am,” Gwyn said.
“They’re at church,” Emerie replied when it was clear Nesta didn’t understand. 
“But not you?” Nesta questioned.
Gwyn handed her ID back, along with a white library card bearing her pretend name. “We aren’t welcome.”
“Why?”
Emerie grimaced while Gwyn scanned Nesta’s book. “They think I’m a homewrecker…and Emerie likes women. Openly.” 
“Fuck them,” Nesta said without thinking. It was the first smile she’d seen from Gwyn—a small, half formed thing, but a smile all the same. “We should start our own religion.”
“That sounds like blasphemy,” Emerie teased.
“It sounds like witchcraft,” Gwyn added, pushing Nesta’s stack of books toward her. “I’m in.”
Which was how Nesta found herself hosting brunch that Sunday with two strangers in a house that didn’t belong to her.
PRESENT:
“Who is that?” Emerie asked, sitting on Nesta’s front porch holding a sweating glass of iced tea. 
“He’s not local at all,” Gwyn agreed, lowering her sunglasses to take a look at the tall, muscular man making his way toward Nesta’s gate. Wearing mirrored shades and a suit that was bursting at the seams, he looked like he was playing dress up as a cop.
His dark, wavy hair half pulled in a bun didn’t seem regulation, for one. But something about him seemed off somehow. 
“He one of yours?” Gwyn questioned. Nesta had long since betrayed the secrecy she’d been sworn to, telling her friends everything but the most critical piece of truth in order to protect Feyre. 
Nesta scratched her ear. No, this man was definitely not one of hers. 
“Want us to stay?” Gwyn asked, likely thinking about the shotgun mounted in the back of her pick-up truck.
“I can handle him,” Nesta assured them. Gwyn and Emerie stood, leaving behind their cups to slip from the yard. Gwyn nodded at the man once, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. That left Nesta standing at the top of her porch steps wearing a butter yellow sundress, arms crossed over her chest.
“Ma’am,” he the man began as he approached, his expression unreadable. She waited, watching as he took off his sunglasses only for recognition to slam into her. Oh. She knew this man from pictures.  “My name is Cassian.”
Rhysands right hand man. Nesta didn’t move, unwilling to betray she knew who he was. “What can I do for you, Cassian?”
Not even a fake name? Was he that confident she’d never done one google search? He had a mugshot, had appeared in the papers just enough times for Nesta to recognize him. They called him The Lord of Bloodshed thanks to his rumored job of handling the things Rhysand didn’t want staining his hands or his conscience. 
And that man was standing at the bottom of her steps, armed just beneath his suit jacket. 
“I’m here on behalf of your case,” he said like a pretty liar. 
“Oh? Has something happened?”
“An indictment is coming. I’m to escort you back home once Rhysand has been charged.”
Liar.
Still, there was no reason to call him out on it. If Rhysand had found her, he must be still looking for her sisters. She didn’t believe for a minute he’d found Feyre—his bruiser would have pointed his gun at her by way of greeting had he. No, they were monitoring her.
And Nesta could watch them right back. 
So she smiled, hoping she seemed innocent and sweet. “What a relief,” she lied, stepping to the side so he could come up. “I was starting to think I’d be trapped here forever.”
“Can I come inside?” Cassian asked, looking around her immaculate yard with interest. “It’s hot out here.”
“Better get used to that,” Nesta said, pulling open the screen door so Cassian could get the lay of the land. “Are you staying here?”
“If you don’t mind. The hotel is…”
Roach filled, she knew. People still went, content to carry out their clandestine affairs in filth so long as no one ever found out. 
“I have a spare room,” Nesta told him. Cassian turned back for his own car—a brand new jeep  that was laughably out of place in her little neighborhood. He returned with two bags slung over his broad shoulders, eyes hidden behind his glasses. The sun hit the golden brown of his skin, making it seem as if he glowed and tragically, Nesta thought he was a good looking man.
He’d kill her if she wasn’t careful…but attractive, all the same. 
Nesta showed him to the smaller room she kept made up just in case Gwyn or Emerie wanted to stay the night, thinking the full sized bed didn’t seem big enough for this man. He had to duck beneath the doorway, putting him well over six foot three—maybe six six? He made Nesta, who stood tall at five nine, feel dainty by comparison.
“Should I call you Cassian, or…?”
“Cassian is fine,” he replied, sunglasses resting atop his head. “This is perfect, by the way. I promise you’ll barely know I exist.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nesta said in a flirty voice as she eyed him. “I think it would be hard not to notice you.” He grinned, unaware that a real agent would have shut her down in seconds. “Well, Miss Agnes, I’ll do my best to keep out of your hair.”
Nesta offered him another smile, mind racing. If she survived tonight she assumed she’d survive as long as he wanted her to—and as long as she didn’t admit she knew what he was. That meant keeping it from Gwyn and Emerie, who wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from treating him like a criminal.
He thought she was prey, but Nesta Archeron was a survivor. A predator, just like this man. And she had lived in Georgia for five years—she had guns hidden all over the house. He didn’t need to know any of that, though. Nesta waited while he unpacked some of his things and peeked around her little house, mostly quiet as he cased her. Sitting on her sofa beneath a ceiling fan moving at top speed, Nesta heard him push open the back door and walk through the yard where she assumed he was testing the gate.
He messed with windows when he returned, pushing back curtains to peer out into the street. “You’re wide open out here,” he finally said with a frown on his pretty face. And he was pretty—sculpted and rough in a way that was hard to ignore. Nesta found herself noticing the green in his hazel eyes and the way stubble clung to his strong jaw. A slit cut through his eyebrow while faint scars littered his jaw and hands, betraying a man who knew his way around a fight. 
He was fooling no one but himself. 
“This is where you put me,” she reminded him, wondering if he understood what she was really saying. 
“Maybe we’ll keep the curtains closed,” Cassian said, as if Nesta didn’t do that anyway. The sun was unforgiving and the only way to survive swampy summers was to try and keep things shady and cool. 
“Do you want to take off your jacket?”
“I want to take everything off,” he admitted, shrugging out of what she had to assume was stolen. “Even my own skin.”
“That’s how I felt when I first got here,” she told him. He’d look back on all this and remember—he’d realize she knew the moment he stepped onto her lawn. “You get used to it.”
She was going to kill him, she realized. The knowledge slammed into Nesta’s chest violently, paralyzing her for a moment. She’d never killed anyone…but at some point she’d have to kill this man before he killed her. Cassian, for his part, was unaware of the slant of her thoughts. He must have already known when he came down that he planned to kill her just as soon as he was given the order. She doubted he intended to take her home…and if he did, it would be under duress. 
That was future Nesta’s problem, though. For now, all she had to do was stay one step ahead of him. And that meant pretending like she believed every word coming out of his mouth and ignored all the obvious signs that he was a liar. 
“Hungry?” she asked. 
“Starving,” Cassian agreed. He vanished into the room she’d given him, leaving Nesta enough time to try and steady her nervous hands. By the time Cassian returned, Nesta was slicing up meat for the grill outside. There was absolutely no way she was turning on her oven.
“Can I help you with that?”
Instinct demanded she say no. She didn’t want Cassian anywhere near lighter fluid, for one. He looked so earnest and she was pretending, so Nesta nodded. “I haven’t seasoned it yet.”
“Leave it to me,” Cassian said with an easy smile. And she did, watching him from the corner of her eye while he seasoned her meat and vegetables. He vanished out the back door and when he returned, sweat glistened over his face. Nesta found herself standing there for a moment, staring as he pulled the rest of his hair off his face, biceps straining against the cuff of his t-shirts. 
Cassian was heavily tattooed with black ink that crawled over his arms and up his neck, broken only by the sweaty shirt he wore. 
“Why do people live like this?” Cassian asked, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “It’s horrible.”
“I keep saying it,” she replied honestly. “I would have preferred a colder climate.”
“Next time,” Cassian grumbled. “What are you doing now?”
“Cutting up fruit. Want some?”
Cassian picked a blueberry out of the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “How do you spend your time, anyway?”
“I’m the town lawyer,” Nesta informed him. “I work in a little office down on Main Street.”
“And when you’re not working?”
She shrugged. “I have friends…but I mostly read.”
He glanced toward her shelves of books in the living room, visible from the hall connecting the two. “Anything interesting?”
“Take a look,” was all Nesta could think to respond. Cassian didn’t take her up on her offer, turning instead to go check on the grilling meat. Had she not known who he was, Nesta might have thought the awkward environment was just because a stranger had invaded her space.
It felt almost normal. 
Almost.
Because Nesta couldn’t forget a killer was sitting across from her, his hands soaked in blood. She kept coming back to it as they ate in relative silence. Why had Rhysand sent him here? What did he want with her? Nesta needed to figure it out.
And figure it out fast.
CASSIAN:
Nesta Archeron was beautiful.
Cassian hadn’t expected it. He’d seen a picture of Feyre only once and had kind of imposed her face on all three Archerons. Walking up to her house had been a surreal experience. For one, all Cassian could see was her tits pressed against the neckline of that sundress she wore. Holy fucking Christ, but Nesta’s body was something out of his most depraved fantasies.
But her eyes were something else. Icy blue and calculated, it was no surprise Nesta had survived five years out mostly on her own. Did she even know her sisters were guarded by federal agents while she was left to fend for herself? 
It irked Cassian. Sure, he was grateful he’d been able to gain access to her life so easily, but surely someone was keeping their eyes on this woman? So the likes of him couldn’t just stroll into her home and do whatever he liked with her? 
But after two days living with Nesta, Cassian learned that no one seemed to care if she lived or died. Which was just as well—because he was starting to care. Just a little, he told himself that second night as he laid in bed staring up at the ceiling fan.
His only job was to get her back to Rhysand in one piece once he’d tracked down Feyre and married her. Nesta wouldn’t even know until it was all too late and the feds would lose their pathetic case.
And then Cassian could go back to his regular life in a place that wasn’t drenched in humidity. How did anyone sleep? Even with Nesta’s air conditioner going at full blast, Cassian found himself shucking off his shirt and kicking the sheets to the floor in a desperate attempt at sleep. 
Thinking the living room might be cooler, Cassian dragged his blanket with him to the couch where he found Nesta, half hidden in the dark with a piece of toast in her hand.
Her little night dress was enough to empty out his mind. Why was she so hot? Cassian could see every curve of her perfect body beneath the silken blue fabric and her hair was loose around her shoulders rather than braided in a crown atop her head.
He wanted to lick the salt off her skin.
He wanted to lick a lot of things, actually.
Cassian was fairly certain federal agents weren’t supposed to have sex with their charges—even if Rhysand was certain Vanserra had something going on with the middle Archeron. Cassian wasn’t anything close to a cop and fucking was his favorite thing to do. 
“I ah..” Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper aware that all he wore was a pair of loose shorts. Nesta was looking only at his face with a grim determination—as if she found it very difficult to do so.
You can look at any part of me you like.
Having sex with her would certainly pass the time. 
“It’s hot,” Nesta said, flipping on a lamp on the side table. “I keep meaning to get someone out here to look at my AC, but…”
“I’ll look at it,” Cassian promised. “Before the sun comes up.”
“You’re handy?”
He was, actually. “I grew up with a single mom,” he said, flashing her a smile before making his way to the sofa. “We didn’t have a lot of money, so I learned how to do repairs.” Nesta tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Unwilling to give her a reason to banish him, Cassian made a show of fluffing the couch cushions before stretching himself out. 
“My shower doesn’t have hot water,” she finally told him.
Cassian grinned in the dark. “I can take a look at that, too.”
“I would appreciate it,” Nesta replied. 
“Why don’t you make me a list? I’ve got nothing else to do all day and I feel like a freeloader sitting on your couch.”
That was true. Cassian was used to staying busy and suddenly he had nothing but downtime. It was tempting to go to the library and find his own books to read and treat the entire thing like a vacation. This would help build trust between them, he rationalized.
And Cassian liked having something to do. He liked being useful to people. 
“I could do that,” Nesta said, still standing in his line of sight. Even in the dark, Cassian could see her nipples pointed through the fabric. He wanted to touch them.
“I’m here to help,” Cassian reminded her.
“Of course,” she said, her tone unreadable to him. 
He nearly asked if she wanted to join him. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Nesta beat him to speaking, adding, “Well. Sleep well, Cassian.”
“You too,” he said, disappointment ribboning through him. It was absurd to think a woman like Nesta Archeron was going to crawl in his dirtbag lap.
Still, Cassian could dream. And he did, waking with a throbbing erection he had to discreetly handle in the freezing cold shower. Cassian hadn’t noticed it wasn’t hot given the air was miserable and he didn’t want to take a boiling shower for once. He could hear Nesta in her room listening to music, up with dawn just like he was. 
He found tools out in her garden shed, unused and rusty. They’d likely belonged to the previous tenant, whoever they’d been. Still, they worked well enough for Cassian’s purposes. What she needed was an entirely new unit. Cassian guessed the old one was over a decade long and judging from the rattling, it was on its final legs.
He had money. A lot of money. Would she believe him if he told her the agency had decided to replace it? Nesta didn’t strike him as particularly stupid—if they’d never helped her before, she might not believe they’d help her now. He couldn’t live the way they had been, though, which was how Cassian found himself on the phone with the local repairman giving out his credit card details over the phone.
Nesta was gone by the time Cassian came back into the house, drenched in sweat and slightly sunburned on the tops of his arms. It was a relief to get into the basement and work on the water heater, and by the time Cassian finished, the service guys were there to replace Nesta’s air conditioner. It required them to turn the air off which was actual hell, though once it was back up, Cassian felt instant relief. 
Nesta returned with a scowl on her face, dressed in a pencil skirt that made Cassian’s mouth dry out. How had Archeron managed to create her? Cassian had met him—he was nothing special. An unremarkable man in every way imaginable, including his appearance.
Nesta could have modeled. Could have had her face on billboards, her body in magazines. Had he met her back home, he knew he’d have dogged her steps hoping for just a look in his direction. 
“Any news?” Nesta asked, sliding her keys and purse onto a side table. Cassian watched her kick off her heels and turn her face upwards toward the vents blowing cold air.
“Nope,” he said. What would Rhys do if he kept her here for a year? Kick his ass, likely. “Rough day?”
Holding up a cloth shopping bag, Nesta nodded her head while Cassian rose to take it from her. Inside he found an assortment of peppers, onions, and a rather nice steak he assumed she wanted to grill. Cassian had never grilled before he met her and found that he rather liked it. In fact, he liked the whole little game he was playing. Pretending to be the sort of man who had a house and a wife and a barbeque suited him.
In another life, Cassian would have thrived.
“I’m working on another divorce and her soon to be ex stopped by to tell me what he thought about me.”
“I hope it was to tell you you’re beautiful,” Cassian replied without thinking as he peeled stickers from the vegetables.
“No it wasn’t,” Nesta replied, her tone uncertain. “It was to tell me what a bitch I am.”
Cassian arched a brow. “Did you tell him to get fucked?”
Nesta chuckled. “Not this time…but I wanted to. He thinks if he digs his heels in, he can avoid this divorce but it’s happening either way.”
“This is why I’m not married,” Cassian said, reaching for a knife.
“Oh?” Nesta asked, an amused smile on her perfect face. “Is that the only reason?”
Cassian couldn’t help his grin. “I’m off-putting to women, of course.”
“There it is,” she said with a pretty laugh. “Want any help?”
“Get out of my kitchen, Nes,” Cassian replied, swatting her away. “Water’s fixed, by the way.”
The whole thing was warm and domestic. Nesta thanked him before sauntering off, hips swaying with each step. The only thing to temper Cassian’s hot blood was the hotter grill outside and a reminder that Nesta was off limits to him.
He was merely a guard meant to get her back home before the feds scooped her and her sisters back up again. Collateral, he supposed, for the game Rhys was playing with Feyre. Cassian was grateful for that, at least—if Rhys called him and told him to kill her, he wasn’t certain he could do it. 
Cassian returned to find Nesta in a pair of tiny little shorts and a pink tank top. He wished she’d pull her hair down, still left in its braided crown, though in truth he could have stood at the backdoor and stared at her for an embarrassing length of time.
“What did I say about the kitchen?” he teased, setting his tray of meat and vegetables on the counter beside her.
“I wanted to make a little salad,” Nesta told him, showing him the bowl. “Do you even eat vegetables?”
“On occasion,” Cassian said with an easy grin. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, though. I’m not picky.”
“Tell me about yourself, Cassian,” Nesta ordered once they were seated at her little wooden table. 
“There’s nothing interesting to tell,” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ll bet you’re a lot more interesting than I am.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Nesta murmured.
“C’mon,” Cassian cajoled. Nesta sighed, eyes narrowed with that suspicious look he was growing so fond of. Was there such a thing as love at first sight, he wondered? Cassian was starting to suspect he was under its spell. Under hers, anyway. Nesta relented, telling him little stories he figured were probably half true. 
Cassian knew the right questions to ask, at any rate. Careful not to mention her family, Cassian asked her about everything else. Nesta spoke about going to law school and living in Georgia, mentioning two friends she’d made—Gwyn the librarian and Emerie the grocer. He’d seen them on his porch when he first arrived. 
He needed to do a little digging on them, but he figured they were likely fine. 
“What about you?” Nesta asked, their meal long concluded. Cassian began gathering up dishes.
“What about me?”
“Are you from Georgia?” she questioned.
Cassian chuckled. “No, I’m not from Georgia. Just got unlucky in my assignment, I guess.”
“Why did you want to do this work?”
Cassian considered that. “I’m good at it,” he replied, drumming his fingers along the edge of the sink. “I kind of fell into it, actually. I guess I succumb easily to peer pressure because when one of my friends suggested I apply, I did it without hesitation.”
That wasn’t entirely true. There had been no application process—he and Rhys had become friends as boys and Rhys’s mother had been like a second mother to Cassian. He’d always wanted to repay them for their kindness and when Rhys asked him to join him as his right hand man, the answer had been obvious.
He couldn’t tell Nesta that, though. She didn’t poke, either, seemingly satisfied with his answer. While Cassian cleaned up, Nesta made her way to the living room, picked up a book, and curled up on the couch. Cassian watched her pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over her tanned knees.
“Cold, huh?” he joked. 
“You fixed—”
A gunshot silenced both of them. Nesta jumped clean out of her skin, book falling from her trembling hands. Cassian frowned, his own heart racing with excitement. Finally, something interesting was happening.
His own gun was in his hand before Nesta ever stood. “Don’t move,” he whispered, motioning for her to get away from the window.
“Send the bitch outside!” a man’s voice yelled, filling Cassian with cold rage. He was at the door in a moment, flinging it open so it was his large body filling the space. On the lawn, a man stumbled forward, gun pointed at the sky. He pulled the trigger again, clearly trying to intimidate Cassian.
Cassian had been tied up before, a gun pressed against his lips while his cock was threatened with a knife. Some fucking rural drunk with a gun didn’t scare him. In truth, very little scared Cassian. He’d cheated death more times than he could count and he knew, as he stepped onto the lawn in the fading daylight, that he wasn’t going to die today.
This man, on the other hand…well. Cassian supposed it would depend on what he did next.
“Lower your weapon!” Cassian barked, his voice rough and menacing. The man jerked to look at him, eyes wide and watery. “Put your gun down or I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Send out your bitch—”
Cassian didn’t shoot him, but he did hit him in the face. Hard. Maybe too hard given the way the man crumpled at his feet as blood poured from his nose. Only the alcohol kept him from passing out which was lucky for Cassian.
Crouching in the grass, Cassian grabbed the man by his thinning hair and forced his head into an unnatural angle. “What did you say?”
“I called her a bitch,” the man spluttered through the blood. 
Cassian cocked his gun with his free hand and pressed it to the man's cheek. “Try again,” he whispered, fully intending on killing this man on the front lawn. Cassian’s finger pressed against the trigger just as Nesta barked, “Cassian!”
He twisted to look at her, arms crossed over her chest. She was fury incarnate right then, marching toward the pair of them without a care in the world. 
“Get out of her, Brent,” Nesta ordered, pointing her finger toward the gate. “This is embarrassing, even for you.”
“You ruined my life—”
“You ruined your own life by cheating on your wife!” Nesta spat without remorse. “And you’re ruining it by assaulting a federal officer.”
Cassian nearly choked. Did he look like a cop right then? 
“He assaulted me,” Brent protested, shoving out of Cassian’s grip.
“If I see you near her again, you’ll find yourself six feet under before you can utter one fucking word. Do we understand each other?” Cassian asked, rising to his full height. Brent glanced from the gun in Cassian’s hand to Cassian himself before offering a sullen nod. 
“Whatever,” he muttered, clearly trying to save face. Cassian watched him stumble off, forcing himself not to pull the trigger anyway at the man’s retreating back. Nesta came to stand beside Cassian, resting her soft, small hand on his forearm.
“That’s the guy getting the divorce,” she told him, as if Cassian cared who he was. Letting someone who threatened him walk away unscathed felt wrong and Cassian longed to rectify it. Where did he live, he wondered? 
“I can see why,” Cassian muttered, turning back for the house. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
“He’s not coming back—”
“He pointed a gun at you,” Cassian growled, the memory filling him with rage. 
Nesta only shrugged, proving that she was still part of the life whether she wanted to be or not. Did she know what a liar her younger sister was, he wondered? Did Nesta know it had been Feyre who killed her father? Looking at her in the warm light of the house, Cassian decided that a woman like Nesta wouldn’t allow herself to live this way if she hadn’t known. If she wasn’t protecting someone. 
Who was protecting her? 
“I’m fine,” Nesta reminded him. But Cassian knew all too well how differently things could have gone if he hadn’t been there. Cassian knew how quickly a bullet could end things. 
“I’ll feel better out here,” he said, setting his gun on the glass coffee table. “You won’t change my mind, Nes.”
She hesitated, eyes moving from him to the window. “Fine.”
Cassian had no intention of sleeping, though. He waited until he knew Nesta was asleep, slipping into her bedroom just to check. She was so lovely even in sleep and Cassian had to resist the urge to touch her face. Not tonight. Another night, perhaps—but not this night. 
The thing about small towns he found himself appreciating was how easy it was to find people. Slipping into a local bar, Cassian mentioned what had happened to the bartender, who helpfully told him where Brent lived. 
He didn’t bother to slip in quietly. If he wanted to be unnoticed, he would have called up Azriel. Cassian liked when his marks were scared, for whatever that said about him. Flexing his fingers, Cassian picked through the dirty, mostly empty house. He supposed Nesta was helping to clean him out.
Good for her.
Brent was waiting in a fraying brown chair, a bottle of Jack Daniels held loosely in one hand. “Knew you weren’t no cop,” he muttered. “You got the look of a felon.”
“Have you been talking to my third grade teacher?” Cassian asked, his tone light. “She used to say the same thing.”
“You ain’t foolin’ no one but that girl of yours,” Brent told him, eyeing the gun in Cassian’s hand. 
“She’s the only one I need to fool,” Cassain agreed, coming closer. “I swore an oath to protect her.”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“But you scared her,” Cassian said in that same friendly tone. “You came to her house and threatened her and I can’t stand for that.”
“Well, I don’t really care if I scared her. Sometimes women ought to be a little afraid.”
Cassian clenched his fingers. “Is that so?”
“Make your threats and get the fuck out,” Brent ordered, taking another swig of whiskey. Cassian saw his gun on a chipped side table. 
“You don’t have much going for you, do you Brent? Wife left you, took all your money…is about to take your house. You’ve got no job, no friends…anyone would lose it.”
“Yeah,” Brent mumbled, eyes glassy. “You get it.”
“If I were you, I’d probably kill myself too,” Cassian added, holding Brent’s gun in his hand. Brent’s eyes found him, big and wide with shock. 
“What did you say?”
Cassian shrugged, making his way closer to the inebriated man. “I don’t think anyone will be surprised when they find you. I’ll bet it takes them days before someone comes checking.”
“Look, you don’t have to do this. I can…I can pay you—”
“No you can’t,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t take your money. This is about honor, of which you have none because an honorable man wouldn’t try and threaten a woman for doing her job.”
“She fucked me over—”
“You fucked yourself,” Cassian interrupted, reaching for Brent’s hair a second time. “And you made a mistake coming after her.”
“I’m sorry—”
Cassian pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Brent’s jaw.
“I know you are,” he said, holding the man’s gaze. “It’s not enough.”
And then he pulled the trigger. The relief he felt was instantaneous, his blood lust slaked. It took another few seconds to arrange the gun in Brent’s hand, letting both his arm and the weapon fall lifelessly into his lap. The bottle of Jack hit the floor with a thud, spilling over stained wood floors.
The scene was practically a work of art. Textbook suicide—no one would look twice at him or Nesta. That didn’t stop him from wiping his prints on the way out, just in case. He found himself back on the couch, face washed of blood, before two am. 
Cassian had been right about one thing: it took them three days to find Brent.
“Suicide,” Nesta said crisply when she learned, eyes focused on Cassian’s face.
He only smiled. 
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lilyginnyblackv2 · 1 year
Text
Misaki and Kazuki - Miri’s Mother and Her New Papa - SPOILERS!
I really hope that we get to see Misaki (Miri’s Mom) and Kazuki interact again.
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In the interaction that we got in Episode 3, both Misaki and Kazuki were making assumptions about each other and their connection and experience (or lack thereof) with childcare based solely on their genders. 
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They both show room to grow as people. Kazuki as a caretaker of a child, since he is still fairly (though not completely) new to the concept of parenthood, and Misaki as a person who values herself, her dreams, and learning to nurture the small goodness that we see inside of her (like when she tells Kazuki to sit down so she can care for the cut she caused to his face).
Both of these characters have experienced trauma, and Misaki is stuck in a cycle of abuse. I don’t think Misaki is going to be a one-off character, not only because of this image from the OP, which is very likely her crying eye (the eye color, makeup, and eyelashes are all the same):
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But also because of this tweet from her Japanese VA:
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The English text reads:
I play the role of a character named Misaki Unasaka. Let me stop here for now.  I hope to see the story through with you all.
(Note, I really appreciate that her VA also wrote the message in English!)
To me, that indicates that she will be making an appearance again. Over on r/anime, I saw some thinking that Misaki would only show up again if she learns that Miri has inherited a lot of money or something. But, well...
I don’t think that is likely, since we don’t even know if that mafia boss was aware that Miri had been born/existed. Also, inheriting mafia money is probably a bit complicated, and I doubt his actual wife (if she survived, tbh, I can’t remember off hand) would allow that. But even more so than that, I feel like it would just be falling into stereotypes, and be too much of a black and white depiction of child-rearing (in a negative sense) that Buddy Daddies has largely avoided up until now.
They’ve done great stuff with the Red and Blue Oni Trope. Kazuki is the red oni, and he is more expressive and open, but he isn’t as impulsive, which is Rei, imo.
Rei is the blue one who is colder and more closed off, but he is also the more childish of the two. 
Miri’s associated color is pink (with orange being her secondary, and honestly more fitting color), but she doesn’t have a demure or stereotypical girlish personality (because goodness knows gender presentation starts that young). 
So, I don’t think they would just write Misaki’s character like that - leans too much into poor and easy writing. Also, it goes against the writers wanting to make the child-rearing experience feel realistic.
Personally, I would much rather that they meet up again (or even a few times) and we get to see Misaki learning to value herself and reach a better place mentally and emotionally - finally being able to leave her abuser behind (perhaps with the help of Kazuki and Rei). BUT, her “happy ending” WON’T be becoming Miri’s mother and caretaker again.
How refreshing would it be to see a woman’s story end like that? Realize that the best thing she could do for her daughter and herself is to not be her mother or caretaker. While the proper and best caretakers and parents for Miri are two men. That’s a message we need to see more - the ideas that not all men are bumbling idiots who can’t care for kids and that not all women are natural caretakers.
Misaki and Kazuki both claim these things to be true, in how they spoke and interacted with each other in this most recent episode, Ep. 3. So, let’s see the series and future interactions prove them wrong and have them learn and grow together - coming to an understanding that these preconceived stereotypes simply aren’t true.
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foxymoxynoona · 2 months
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So...did we ever actually get a drabble with Jungkook getting to hold Kai for the first time after he's born? 🥺 the lil' boy who's made up of him and the woman he's loved for decades 🥺
I got carried away 😅
Story: Amended Characters: Isabella & Jungkook Length: 7,322 CW: Birthing scene with references to cutting cords and placentas and stitches, health complications at birth, stress, fluffy fluff
“There’s evidence of meconium in the amniotic fluid,” were not the first words Jungkook had expected to hear the seconds before his son’s head began to emerge from between the legs of his wife. It was surreal, what he witnessed, it had seemed like an impossible thing –like a cartoon, not something women actually went through. But Isabella was real, really going through this, really clenching her fists against her chest as she curled forward and pushed with everything in her, his tough strong girl who had agreed to go through all of this again so they could do it together. She had known what this was like. He kinda did but, he was learning in the moment, not really. 
Watching Isabella go through this pain and being unable to fix it was a guilt second only to knowing the pain he had caused for her when they were younger. Well, he had sort of caused this too… but she had asked him to! Very sexily! How was he supposed to have resisted sex and getting to have a baby with her! No mortal man could resist that.
“Head is out,” the doctor called and Jungkook realized he was both present and not. They had suggested he watch. He would never be able to unsee what he was seeing now, but it was trippy –not just the baby’s head, covered in gooey gunk and some kind of white… cheese looking stuff??-- but this whole image, this whole experience.
“What does that mean, meconium?” he belatedly asked as the nurses encouraged Isabella to wait, not to push, as they quickly wiped off the baby’s face and sucked snarfy sounding stuff out of the nose and mouth. A head of hair he hadn’t expected stuck out at odd angles as the baby’s mouth opened and closed in protest, eyes firmly shut in what looked more like anger as the injustice of this introduction to the world.
Do they look like me? he wondered, feeling like the room had gone still despite the rapid actions of the doctor and nurses.
Isabella yanked him out of it, demanding, “Do you see the baby? How’s it look? Is everything ok?”
“The meconium,” he repeated, not sure someone had answered.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” one of the nurses said. “It may mean nothing, we just want to get Baby really clean to keep it out of their airway.”
“What if it’s–”
Jungkook was interrupted by the doctor calling, “Ok let’s get this baby clear–” The baby’s cry interrupted him, like it was say yeah get a fucking move on here, I’m a head sticking out of a vagina!
Jungkook grabbed Isabella’s hand, wanting to be helpful and involved somehow but feeling absolutely unnecessarily. For most of labor Isabella had not wanted to be touched. It had all moved so much faster than he’d expected. It wasn’t like he could contribute much of anything as Isabella curled forward, face sweaty and red and everything in her clenched as she expelled a tiny human from her body.
“Fuck you’re so hot,” he rushed –not quite what he’d meant to say, but absolute admiration for her loosened the words.
“The fuck?” she laughed. “Doctor this man is harassing me.” Her breath was panted, her words a cheat as she stole a break
Maybe those were the first words their child heard from their mother, if the baby could hear anything over the crying.
“One more push, one more push, you’re almost done!” the nurses chanted and Jungkook saw with amazement that a baby from the hips up had now emerged. He couldn’t process that it was real, that this was really happening, that Isabella had not just grown a big belly and that there really had been a tiny person in there all along. Their tiny person.
“I love you,” he said to her, to the baby, to both of them. “You’re so cool, Isabella.” He had the sudden need to rush out as many good things as he could, so the baby would be born surrounded by words of love and kindness. He assumed Isabella had showered Ezra and Lily with love at their births but he knew their “fathers” had not, not the way he did now for them, not the way he would for this baby.
He had wanted so badly for everything with this baby to be different and now he had contributed basically nothing to Isabella’s labor. She hadn’t wanted the massages or the kisses, she hadn’t found it amusing that he’d driven her to the hospital in his cop car with the siren on, and it had all moved too quickly for him to walk her up or down the hall with their arms linked and his words of devotion carrying her through her contractions. 
They’d arrived at the hospital approximately eighteen minutes ago and here she was pushing out the baby.
This wasn’t what he’d planned. He wanted to be better than Landon and Stig.
“I love you, baby, you’re amazing,” he said. Isabella grabbed his hand and squeezed it this time with her push –a short one, replaced with a stunned, open face and a gasp. OUt of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw the baby suddenly slide down, followed by a rush of fluid and the cheers of the medical staff.
“It’s out!” Isabella cried.
“He’s been screaming, didn’t you hear him Mama?” one of the nurses joked. 
“Dad, are you going to cut the cord?”
“A boy,” Jungkook cried over his son’s cries, hands itching to grab him and comfort him. He glanced at Isabella to see if that was ok, that they’d had a boy. She had insisted so many times she didn’t care either way but… but a son, a boy might be like him… would Ezra be ok with a brother…? 
Isabella was reaching forward, eyes glassy as she called, “Give him here.”
“One second mama, we want to make sure we got his mouth cleared–”
“Does it look like he aspirated–”
“I see some in the mouth but–”
“Dad, you cutting this cord?” the doctor called, stretching an intestinal-looking thing as a nurse held out a pair of scissors. Jungkook took them in a stupor. He didn’t really want to do this thing, it felt wrong to cut a body party, a piece of Isabella and their baby, but in the moment he was too overwhelmed to remember he’d meant to say no. He’d never forget the way the cutting felt in his hand and quickly thrust the scissors back, attention turning towards the baby who was now being dried and looked over, a stethoscope pressed to his chest as his little legs kicked and his hands reaching for a parent who was already failing him.
Jungkook didn’t realize he’d put his hand on Isabella’s head until she grabbed his wrist, her other arm hanging in the air as she called, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Jungkook, I can’t see–”
“They’re looking at him and listening to his chest,” Jungkook said. Isabella’s panic made his rise. Was something really wrong?
“Hey, what’s going on?” he demanded, leaving her side and striding over to the rotisserie-chicken-heating looking thing the baby was on now. He didn’t know the doctor who had suddenly appeared from nowhere in all the chaos.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Gardner,” she said, “I’m the pediatric specialist here.” She held her finger up and listened again to the baby’s chest, though he’d stopped screaming. It was more of a gentle, plaintive cry now, as if he was giving up on life–
Or comforted by Jungkook’s sudden near voice.
Jungkook shifted the active part of his brain away from the doctor and to the baby –his baby– who needed him.
“Hey, hey little guy,” he cooed, leaning down and reaching right out to stroke a little chubby cheek. He got goosebumps, saying that to his son, to a real baby that was his. The baby’s head turned, wobbly, as if trying to press against his finger. “It’s ok. It’s ok you’re just born now, and your mama is waiting to hold you close.”
The pediatric doctor was rattling things off –a weight, a height, an APGAR score.
“I hear a slight crackle,” she told the nurse writing things down. “Breathing is slightly elevated but hard to say whether that’ll linger. Let’s check his vocal cords…”
“Excuse me, Dad. You can hold his hand but I need his head,” a nurse said, nudging him out of the way to first slide on a tiny yellow hat and then hold the infant’s head steady. Jungkook felt a jolt of alarm as the doctor suddenly slid a massive camera light clamp tool thing into the tiny little mouth. The baby didn’t seem more upset by this than he already was, didn’t even flail about it, though a nurse held his legs still anyway.
“Wait, what’s going on? Is this really necessary?” Jungkook demanded, worried he was already failing his son. He needed to understand what they were doing before they just did things! 
“Koo?” Isabella called. “Someone tell me what’s happening!”
“Hands and feet are still bluish but may be pinking up,” the nurse holding the legs said.
The doctor nodded and removed the tool –which Jungkook saw now was just a light, not even as big as his panic had made him think. The baby screamed louder and he felt a surge of anger that no one was answering their questions.
“Excuse me,” he said, not as politely as he intended, and promptly scooped his baby up right from beneath the doctors. There was so little weight to the body as Jungkook’s hands lifted, his skin warm and oddly dry-feeling but with a softness to it he couldn’t describe. Jungkook didn’t know what he had expected, but not for the this newborn to feel like such a baby. He was only minutes old, how did he feel so real?
Unphased, the doctor touched Jungkook’s arm and cooed at the baby, “Good good. I’m sorry, little sunshine, we just have to make sure you’re ok.”
The baby continued to cry. He was so small! And yet, not quite as small as Jungkook had expected. Sorah had been miniscule, and Amelia just about. This baby felt bigger than Sian and Parker and Sam had been, but maybe he just didn’t remember? Jungkook tucked the baby down into the crook of his arm, nestled against his chest, and took it all back; suddenly the baby felt tiny! Impossibly small! He felt like his arms were too big and awkward despite ample experience holding even very fresh babies. Many times! Not quite as fresh as this one. 
He was moving on fumes now as he bounced and hummed and tried to believe this was real.
“It’s ok, you’re ok, shhhh, I’ve got you.”
“Jungkook? What’s going on?”
“We can go to mom,” the doctor said, touching Jungkook’s arm. She had a smile on her face which soothed Jungkook because it had to mean nothing was badly wrong, though he couldn’t quite fight off the resentment that this doctor had already upset his baby and delayed his comfort and not even answered his questions.
He turned away from the chicken-roaster and saw Isabella watching with absolute terror that seemed totally disconnected from the doctor and nurses still working between her legs. She looked completely ignorant of that, her whole attention trained on Jungkook and the baby. Everything right now was so weird.
The baby gave a full body shudder and a nurse suggested, “I’ll get a diaper.”
“Who cares about a diaper,” Jungkook snapped, offended she’d think he was afraid of whatever the baby might produce. He was just born! Jungkook was his dad, he didn’t care, let babies be naked! “A blanket? Please.” It was tacked on. Politeness wasn’t at the front of his mind right now; his baby needed things and what, they were worried about some pee or poop? If that would make him feel better, he could poop all he wanted!
Jungkook’s throat felt thick as he tucked the baby higher, pressing his jaw gently to the hatted top of head as he carried him over to his anxious eomma. It was crazy. It was unbelievable. He was holding the baby and he couldn’t even make sense of that yet because it actually didn’t feel that weird at all, of course he was holding his son, hadn’t he always been holding his son since the dawn of time? Wasn’t this all just a really nice dream?
A nurse held out a blanket but first Jungkook lowered the baby into Isabella’s waiting arms, then took the blanket himself and tucked it around the baby. Isabella’s gasped and immediately pushed the hat off and stoked the hair and chubby little face and papery-thin ears as tears spilled over. 
“Oh my god, our baby. Look at him.”
Only then did Jungkook more fully appreciate that he had held his son for the first time. His real living breathing in-the-world son. The baby’s cries quieted to a single final chirp of complaint and then nothing, just peace on his mom’s chest. Jungkook decided the baby had been real a moment ago, there was this haze of unreal around everything until Isabella and the baby were together. Now it was real. Impossible, but real.
“Oh my god,” Isabella said again. “He’s got so much hair!” Jungkook laughed and reached out to stroke the baby’s face again too, leaning close on the bed beside Isabella, ignorant to the bustle around the room. That was just background noise now. All that mattered was that suddenly they had a baby and Isabella was holding their baby.
He felt complete in a way he had not known was missing. Him, Isabella, Ezra, Lily, Gidget, and now this baby to tie them all together, he felt whole. He suddenly desperately wanted everyone here so he could hold everyone at once. His heart would burst. 
“Was that you?!” Isabella gasped, looking up at him. The whining noise had come from him, not the baby at all, though it sounded like a baby noise. He tried to explain himself but only a cracked non-word came out and he blinked rapidly against the tears. “Oh my god you’re going to cry,” Isabella giggled. Her face glowed with sweat and effort and joy and Jungkook wasn’t surprised at all the way their son stared adoringly up at it. What a beautiful first view.
“I’m trying not to,” Jungkook admitted and laughed as his eyes threatened to run over. He pressed his face to Isabella’s shoulder and drew a deep shaky breath. The blanket moved against his chin, a little foot cycling. “Hey, are you trying to kick me already?!” The baby was a solid warm lump under the blanket, so warm Jungkook couldn’t believe it as he patted the little butt he’d been shown so many times on the ultrasounds. 
“Ok, I’m sorry to interrupt again, we want to draw some blood,” the pediatric doctor said.
“You have to take him?” Isabella asked, shifting as though trying to sit up. The doctor down south told her not to move, so Jungkook slid his arm across her, trying not to notice that there were stitches happening in a place stitches shouldn’t be. How was Isabella not pay any attention at all to that?!
“In a moment, but you keep holding him now. Often that helps a baby improve and wake up, which is what we want to see, he’s still a little sleepy. Right now we’re just going to stick his foot. I will explain while the nurse does that. We noticed meconium in the amniotic fluid right before he was born. Meconium is the baby’s first stool, it’s this blank inky stuff–”
“We have two other children, I remember it,” Isabella interrupted. The joy was gone from her face, she looked so serious at the doctor. Jungkook could read her mind. Spit it out already.
“The concern is whether the baby aspirates the meconium into his lungs. If so, it can make it difficult for him to get the oxygen he needs. The good news is, he looks really good, his color is good, he is responsive and strong. There were no signs of fetal distress during labor and you delivered quickly, but a quick delivery can be hard on a baby too. I do hear a slight crackle in his lungs,” the doctor continued. Jungkook watched the nurse grab their baby’s tiny foot with a needle and resisted the urge to push her away. The baby didn’t seem to notice or care anyway. He was just… existing against Isabella, breathing quickly like he couldn’t quite trust the air of this new world.
“That’s bad,” Isabella said. “Is that why he’s kind of breathing fast? Does he need oxygen or something?”
“It’s not good but we don’t know if it’s bad yet. We’ll run a blood gas to look for low blood acidity, low oxygen or increased carbon dioxide. The most accurate way we can look to see if he’s aspirated is with a laryngoscope, which we’re setting up now.”
“Right now?” Isabella asked with alarm. “He was just born!”
“The last thing we want is your baby not getting the oxygen he needs to do well,” the doctor explained. “If he needs to go on oxygen therapy, better we do that quickly.”
“But…” Isabella trailed off, face distressed, but she was already shifting to hand it over. “You can check quickly?”
“I don’t understand, he’s in danger?” Jungkook tried to catch up.
“We hope not but we want to make sure so we can react quickly. Your baby’s APGAR score was a 5, which means–”
“He needs help,” Isabella said. “Take him, do what he needs! But tell me what’s going on!”
Jungkook felt like he’d done the wrong thing bringing the baby over now. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t what he’d planned. He and Isabella were just supposed to snuggle their new baby now; he wasn’t supposed to trail after the doctor carrying his son back to the chicken oven where medical staff had set up several tools next to an incubation bed. Just the sight of that was terrifying and known. It meant something was really wrong.
Jungkook barely held himself together as the baby was braced again and the doctor slid an actual camera this time down the tiny throat. Jungkook wanted to push them all away but was frozen with the terror of it. What did it mean if the baby didn’t have enough oxygen? He didn’t understand in a real way, only that it was bad. What was happening to their baby?
“Faint staining,” the doctor said, looking at a grainy image on the small monitor that meant nothing to Jungkook. He wanted to scream at the awful image of his newborn child with a camera in its mouth. This was wrong, this was a nightmare.
“Very faint though,” she said as she withdrew the tools and set them on a tray for a nurse to carry off. “Let’s recheck APGAR.” Jungkook could only stand there as they ran through a series of questions again –about baby’s skin tone, response to thwacking on the heels, a pulse check, temperature. Jungkook felt like he’d shit himself, he was so anxious, but mindlessly called things over to Isabella before realizing she’d just delivered the placenta. Did he want to see it? No, he told the nurse; how could he care about that when they were listening to his baby’s lungs again? Also, kinda gross…
Suddenly the baby jolted and cried out.
“Ah! Sorry, little one, was that cold?” the doctor grinned and shared a smile with the nurses. She concentrated on listening and nodded, then glanced over her notes as the baby began squirming. 
“What’s happening?” Isabella called again. “Someone tell me!”
“Your baby’s APGAR score is improving,” the doctor called back. “That’s good. That’s very good.” She slid her finger along his arm and palm and smiled when little fingers curled around it. “That’s better. That’s better, little one, you’re waking up.”  
“Oxygen?” the nurse asked.
“Set up for the chest x ray, let’s do that since I saw the staining but… but these signs are good… come, let’s get baby back to mom for now.” 
Jungkook wasn’t thrilled the doctor picked the baby up this time, after the nurses had added a diaper. Something about the diaper seemed wrong, like they were already trying to clean the baby up when he and Isabella just wanted to be with the baby, no diaper needed, just them. He trailed along as the doctor whose name he’d already forgotten returned the baby to Isabella’s chest, offering her a reassuring smile. Isabella looked terrified and Jungkook didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t sure his touch would be comforting since it hadn’t been for labor, so he just hovered beside her and watched.
“Good news, mom and dad, baby’s looking a little better. I do see signs of meconium staining on his cords but it’s very, very faint which hopefully means he aspirated very little. The crackle is still in his lungs. This is all very slight but something we want to monitor closely. His heart rate is picking up and his breathing is slowing down, all very good signs. We’ll redo the blood gas in a few hours as well but there’s a balance to strike between making sure he’s supported and not being too aggressive with anything that will tax his little lungs.”
“So what does that mean?” Isabella asked, bless her, because Jungkook didn’t understand a fucking thing.
“It means he is looking better by the minute despite aspirating the meconium so right now I want you to take the time you want to do skin to skin like you are, try to nurse him, just love on him. But we will want to watch him closely for the next few hours and if anything changes, put him on oxygen, so you’re going to see a lot of us until we’re sure he’s all right.”
“Should we do that right now?” Isabella asked. “I don’t want to hold off just for my sake–”
“No no, I promise I would not risk anything. Right now the best thing is for him to be surrounded by you and watched. When you sleep though, we will want to take him to the nursery for close watch, ok?”
“I’m here,” Jungkook reminded. “I can watch him while she sleeps.”
The doctor smiled and agreed, “Yes, absolutely. I will explain the things to watch. But both of you should rely on medical staff while you are here to get the rest you need to take care of him at home. We may have him stay here a couple extra days.”
“In the NICU?” Isabella asked.
“I don’t think he needs NICU as of now, we’ll just keep watching. He is seeming stronger by the minute, we just want to make sure we’re quick to react if that changes. See, he’s rooting, that’s a good sign too.”
Jungkook couldn’t help but feel like she’d tossed a bucket of stress over them. He watched the baby with more anxiety than fascination as Isabella went through the motions of stroking his face and pressing her nipple into his mouth –something that seemed old hand to her after two kids but Jungkook thought was pretty fascinating. The pediatric doctor remained to watch too, a whole party of nurses as well, but Isabella didn’t seem to mind the audience.
“Is it bad?” he asked her quietly, hoping she would know more and could give him an answer.
“I don’t know… he looks so perfect… I think if it was really bad they’d have him on oxygen so they’re just watching…” She looked nervous. Conflicted. He resented that the doctor had interfered with their joy. He felt like worry was making him miss everything. 
“Ready to move her to a room?” a nurse at the door called. 
Jungkook trailed after them, not sure how he was supposed to fix any of this and angry that they hadn’t had more than a minute to bask in each others presence after birth and terrified that a big hand was going to suddenly reach down and steal his son away before he even got to know him.
**
The baby had been born shortly after seven o’clock in the morning. It was weird to get messages from family members about delivering the kids to school, about work, wanting to know when they could visit and asking for pictures. Jungkook hadn’t even taken pictures during labor or immediately after the baby was born. Another failure. He tried to make up for it in the room, snapping photos of Isabella exhausted but mooning over the baby, the baby snuggled against her chest, the baby trying to nurse because Isabella said that was fine to photograph. 
Eomma and Appa came by right away and couldn’t believe a whole baby had been born in such a short period of time. Soona came too, and Gina. They all fluttered around Isabella and the baby and Jungkook was glad to have something to do, taking pictures, fetching Isabella water and food, reciting the things the doctors had said even though they didn’t make sense to him. He wished he could believe everyone’s assurances that the baby would be fine, but they didn’t know.
Soona went with him for the baby’s x-ray because he insisted, needing to feel like he was doing something for his baby. His sister was a doctor, no one would refuse to answer her questions, and Soona would tell him what they were really saying. It was all so scary. It didn’t matter that the doctors were saying things were improving, there was still that crackle in his lungs, and they decided to start him on antibiotics because he was running a fever, and Jungkook worried worried worried. A newborn baby shouldn’t run even a small fever! He was glad to have his big sister there to ask the right questions.
It was several hours before family left to let Isabella rest before more family would come by later. Jungkook nodded seriously when Eomma told him to be firm if they wanted fewer visitors –that was another thing he could do. But he knew Isabella would want the kids to come by and meet their brother as soon as they were out of school. He hoped the baby would be healthy and strong enough; it wasn’t risky, right? And–
“Jungkook.” He went at her call in an instant, leaning down on the side of the bed. “You’re worried,” she so wisely detected.
“Yeah.”
“But he’s doing ok,” she said.
“Shouldn’t they put him on oxygen just to be sure?” Jungkook asked. He’d made the mistake of looking up on his phone what it meant to aspirate meconium in a quiet moment. Low oxygen at birth could cause all sorts of brain trauma. They might not even see it for months or years. He might seem fine now but then get worse later.   
“Koo.”
“Hm?”
“Snuggle down with me.” She shuffled over as best she could in the bed, and he kicked his shoes off before balancing on it with her, not trusting it would hold them both until it did. The baby had fallen asleep on her chest, sound asleep, mouth open, perfectly at peace.
“What if he’s got brain damage?” Jungkook whispered, afraid the baby would hear.
“Then we do whatever he needs,” she said. “But it wasn’t much meconium. It’s light staining. His blood gas wasn’t bad.”
“But–”
“I know,” she murmured. “Everything is so scary. Everything can go wrong and they’re so little and you feel so helpless to do anything. I feel that terror too. But look at him. He’s here, and he’s strong, I can tell.”
Jungkook had to admit the baby did look healthy and peaceful. He looked less blue and more like a little plump puffy baby. He didn’t even seem to be having a hard time breathing right now; his whole chest didn’t convulse like it had off and on all morning.
“Is he breathing?” Jungkook suddenly gasped.
“He’s breathing. I can feel it. He’s just content right now,” Isabella said. “He’s good.”
“He’s good,” Jungkook repeated.
“We have a baby.”
“We have a baby,” Jungkook repeated, then added, “And I only cried a little. There wasn’t time to cry.”
“I know. That was scary but… but it’s quiet now.”
It was. It was so quiet and peaceful. Isabella was a beast and seemed to have come through labor as if it was nothing, which he did not understand.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her, realizing he hadn’t in a few minutes.
“I’m still fine, Koo,” she laughed. “Puffy and sore. They’re going to come tell me to try and pee soon and I’ll probably cry about that. I don’t want to get out of bed.”
“You should rest. You… did a lot.”
“You think?” she giggled.
He stroked her face to get her to look up so he could kiss her and finally his touch seemed welcome. He hadn’t had time to entertain the fear it would be permanent, that space she wanted, but it was gone now anyway, just a figment of labor. He could feel she was sleepy by the low energy of her kiss, warm and soft and lazy. 
“It’s so different,” she murmured. 
“What is?” he asked. He kissed her forehead, his hand dropping down to rest against the lump of the baby because he needed to be part of this joyful love too. Whatever happened, the baby was loved and wanted and Isabella was right, they would figure out whatever he needed if something did go wrong later on.
“This part,” she answered. “It’s so weird. When Ezra was born, I almost felt bad for Landon because I just had this instant connection with the baby, he was mine and… and I think Landon felt very left out. He didn’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re amazing, Koo. When he was first born and the doctor had him over there and I didn’t know what was happening but you were there.”
“Doing nothing.”
“Being there. When Lily was born, you know it was just the two of us, me and her, and that felt right too. I would have liked to have a partner there but not Stig. He didn’t belong in that moment with me, meeting my daughter. She was never his. And this time… honestly, I was kind of afraid I would resent you being here.”
“Resent me like… being present at all?”
“I’ve never been someone’s wife. I’ve never had a partner the way you are. Just… people who interfere, Landon, Stig…  failures as parents… I was a little afraid the baby would be born and I would just want him in my arms and everyone to go away, even you.”
Jungkook swallowed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had similar fears but it was terrifying to hear Isabella admit them. She’d fought so hard to protect and raise her children, and he’d never done this before, he fully expected his bumbling might make her defensive.
“But seeing you hold him, it feels the same as if I’m holding him,” she said. “There’s nowhere in the world our kids are safer than with you.”
Relief flooded Jungkook’s body.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Koo. Labor sucks and I couldn’t have done this again without you.”
“You seemed to do just fine,” he mumbled, abashed by her affection.
“I know I didn’t want much touching but… but you were here. And you listened when I said something and you nearly shoved that elderly couple out of the elevator so I could get in–”
“I thought you were going to have the baby in the hall,” he chuckled. “They thought so too, everyone was jumping out of the way.”
“I almost did!”
“It went faster than I thought it would.”
“Me too. My perineum isn’t happy about it.”
“Ah, the tearing…”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“I’ll still eat there all the same but–”
“Jungkook!”
“We’ll wait until you’re all healed up and then I’ll take care of things,” he assured her, overjoyed by her scandalized glare. 
“You just watched a child emerge from my vagina. I would think that’d cool your engines for a while–”
“No way. You’re so cool, Bella.”
“Here, take him.”
“Oh do you need–”
“No, just you hold him now. I bet he won’t even wake up, he’s so out. Maybe he’s going to be a heavy sleeper like you.”
“Is that bad?” he asked.
“Having a baby who sleeps well would be the greatest blessing.” He was barely listening to her because she’d started to drag the baby towards him, the whole little burrito. At the last second Jungkook recalled all the conversation about skin to skin and yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it away.
“What are you doing?”
“Uh… they said that uh, skin to skin with dad is–”
“You’re so cute,” she grinned, and dumped the baby burrito onto his chest. He was so warm Jungkook thought he must still have a fever though the nurse’s said the fever was gone. His hands and feet were now a healthy pink that Jungkook hadn’t even known to hope for. 
He adjusted the little one against his chest –who, as Isabella suspected, barely stirred. His face rubbed against Jungkook’s pec and for a second he thought the baby was rooting and would wake up, but he just relaxed and slumbered on. 
“What a lucky baby to have two parents with big tits,” Isabella mused.
“I’ll scream if he goes for my nipple.”
“Count on it.”
Jungkook’s laugh trailed off. He was too mesmerized. Dark hair peeked out from beneath the cap, feathery soft over little skin rolls at the back of his neck. He wasn’t swaddled, just draped with a blanket, his little body curled up like he’d probably been inside Isabella. He was so, so new, so fresh. Jungkook knew within weeks, months, years this baby was going to turn into a little person but it was hard to believe right now. Jungkook slid his thumb into the little fist, long papery fingernails barely a scratch against his skin. He had that feeling again he’d had earlier: I am complete, my family is complete. I’ve been waiting for you and now everything is good.
“Maybe we should have let Ezra and Lily skip school so they could come sooner,” Jungkook said. “It feels wrong they haven’t met him yet.”
“They’ll meet him soon and have every day with him. Enjoy the quiet now.”
“That’s true… I just miss them…”
“What are we going to introduce him by?”
“What do you mean?”
“What should we name him, Jungkook,” she snickered, and kissed his shoulder. He kissed the side of her head, briefly again distracted by how amazing she was to have delivered a fucking baby and now just be hanging out talking to him like it was no big deal. She hadn’t even cried. He’d cried from constipated shits before and now she was asking him what they should name this baby she had made?
“We had that list of names.”
“You choose.”
“What?!”
“You pick his name,” she said again. “As long as it’s not something I hate. No Wolf.”
“But you gave birth…”
“And you’re his dad. I got to name our first two.”
Jungkook studied the little face pressed to his chest. He tried to fit a name to this person, but how? Nothing fit. He was a brand new baby, a blank slate. There was no personality yet to tag a name onto, only a little potato with a head of dark hair and a history of scaring the shit out of his parents from the first minute.
But there actually was a name on the list that had seemed familiar to him from the moment he’d written it down. Isabella had not seemed to react any particular way to it, but she hadn’t struck it out, and he’d been almost afraid to point it again in case she didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure where he’d even heard it, it had just lodged in his brain.
“Kai,” he said.
“Kai?” she repeated. “Kai Jeon?”
“It sounds cool, right?” he asked hopefully. 
“It sounds like a manga character,” she said, then grinned. “The protagonist. I like it.”
“Really?”
“Ezra, Lily, and Kai. It sounds good together.”
“Yeah, I thought so too!”
“So you’ve thought about this.”
“I just liked the name… OK, and what about Ronin for the middle name? The ronin were samurais who no longer served a master or family, only themselves… kind of like wandering knights… That’s cool, right? Ah, too geeky?”
“Kai Ronin Jeon sounds cool.”
“And it’s kind of like Ezra Ryan and Lily Eleanor… and Kai Ronin… it sounds good, like you said.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Hi, Kai. You are going to have a way easier time learning to spell your name than I did so you’re welcome,” Jungkook murmured, patting the little cushy diapered butt. “Kai.” He felt a joy course through him. Yes, the name was right, he felt it in his heart. The baby was right. The family was right. The woman was definitely right.
He wanted to say that, to tell her how much this meant to him, to tell her that he recognized the miracle it had taken for them to be together like this and married and having a baby, and that she had done most of the work. He wanted to tell her he would never take this for granted, that she’d been willing to do it all one more time with him even though the last times had been so hard for her.
What came out was, “Hey I look pretty good for a dad of three, huh?”
“If you weren’t holding him, I would push you off the bed.”
“You look banging as a mom of three–”
“Jungkook–”
“Your tits are…” He trailed off, realizing they were definitely getting bigger. He’d know. He studied them carefully.
“Yeah, I think my milk is coming in faster this time, so he better have an appetite. I can’t believe he’s over nine pounds…”
“Yeah, is that good?”
“It’s big.”
“Is it? I don’t know baby sizes. He seems bigger than my nieces and nephews were.”
“It’s big.”
“He’s strong,” Jungkook decided.
“I think it’s mostly his head. He got your head.”
“Wha? I have a normal sized head.”
“Tell that to my fourteen stitches.”
“Is it really fourteen?!”
“I don’t know, I made that up, I wasn’t listening –he’s awake.”
Jungkook’s gaze snapped immediately down to the little face, to the little dark eyes cracking open. His brow and mouth were scrunched, making him look very grumpy to get woken up.
“Oh hey look at that scowl, he’s definitely yours, Bella–”
“I swear to god, Jungkook.”
“Ah, I think he’s doing that breathing thing again,” Jungkook frowned as the baby began to breathe with his whole chest again. “I’ll give him to you to nurse and get a nurse to check him again.”
“You think we should?” Isabella asked and Jungkook was floored by the question, by the way she looked up at him, by the trust he felt from her. She was the one who’d had babies before! But she was relying on him as the father to help make sure their baby was ok. That Kai was ok.
“Yeah. I’d rather check too much and annoy the nurses than wait too long if he needs oxygen, right? I’m sure he’s fine but I’ll get the nurse.” He felt puffed up with the responsibility of it as he gently eased Kai over to Isabella. Kai let out a cry of complaint, just a little single yowl, and Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat.
“You like me already, huh?”
“Your tits are better,” Isabella teased.
“Definitely not true, sugar butt. I’ll be back.” He said it just to get her huff of annoyance at the saccharine pet name. Good. He loved Isabella grumpy with affection. He loved her needing him and trusting him and pulling him close when it would be so easy for her to push him away in her exhaustion and fear over their baby. 
He hadn’t felt like it wasn’t true, but he felt for sure now that they were in this together. Maybe that was partly where the sense of completeness came from, not just from holding Kai and feeling like his family was complete, but this bone-deep proof now that he was Isabella’s –to have, to hold, to rely on– in a way he thought he never could be.
He went off to bother the nurses again, gladly, because there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his wife and kids.
*
Isabella felt it too: that connection, that worry, that relief, that wholeness. 
Kai would be all right, she believed it because she had to, and because he had his daddy to take over when Isabella couldn’t. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t come into this with the parenting history she did. He was Kai’s dad, and he wouldn’t quit until he got it right, until Kai had whatever he needed –just like he had with Ezra, and Lily, and Isabella. 
Kai was perfect, just as both her other children had been. She had the most wonderful children in the world, and any of her fears that blending a family would be hard vanished when she held Kai. He belonged here, and Ezra and Lily would feel it too, just like they had with Jungkook even before she did. 
Jungkook came back, chatting animatedly with the nurse. He’d been up all night with her once the labor pains started, trailing her like a duckling as she paced the house, timing them because she was impatient and couldn’t remember to do it, bringing her ice water, keeping his distance when she said she needed space, jumping to her side when she needed someone to lean on.
“I think Kai needs a new diaper,” she shared as Jungkook and the nurse reached her. She peeked in the back of the diaper to confirm because these early meconium poops were odorless and easy, but she’d sensed it in the way he had just curled and relaxed. She was right. Maybe some of this baby stuff would come back to her, more easily than she had feared. 
Jungkook stretched his arms out, cracking his knuckles, then beamed, “All right, let’s get diaper duty started, huh? We’re going to ease into this, right, Kai? Start me off with some non-threatening stuff, yeah?”
Jungkook’s gasps of horror at the tarry stools a moment later had Isabella suppressing the laughter, her body too sore for this kind of thing. 
God, every time she didn’t think she could possibly love Jungkook anymore than she already did, she found she could. 
----------------------------------------
There are more Amended drabbles on my masterlist or read the main story here
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swordduels · 3 months
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A WONDERFUL DAY, TRULY.
The sun was shining, the birds were singing and all was perfect within such a place. A new world, fresh from the shackles of the old, the witch had brought those who wished for a fresh start, away from the chaos and madness of a world that was cracked, breaking like a dropped glass, it was only a mere matter of time until it shattered into endless shards that could not be repaired no matter how much one tried, the only issues with such a movement, to a better world that had not been touched.
A witches duty to nature and the people.
To protect, not destroying, aiding and not harming. An odd thing truly that one sinful being of greed did not understand. Confiding him into a small dwelling within the forest, a new life was not an easy feat, hardly. The urges and needs, wants and wishes, a new cult was calling, a world not graced with sin, so many hearts, so many, all within need for being harmed and then turned into loyal and devoted followers.
Yet that was not the witches intentions.
An argument, a fight, with insults thrown, from sin to witch, about the needs and wants, of promises made true, of his power and dangers of such a thing that can befall any who crosses him, and a witches concern of a partner who will undo balance and bring endless death, the need to protect and not harm him, to say he acted like a ass, a jackass was an understatement, and she could not have him harming anyone or going to the villages nearby, so she only did a curse, to limit him, into a form that cannot harm any.
Come the morning, she could hear it, the routine as perfect as ever, he would be within the gardens, of this endless forest, trying to figure out a way through to people, always the same, he goes through and comes back defeated and this time, when the wife would step out, it would not be the white haired partner she was linked towards, rather something else in full turn, a white furred, jackass, a donkey standing there, fully unaware of what has happened to it and how much.
It has been cursed to learn a lesson.
(Blame Mort hijinks and stupidity threads of nonsense)
Clarimonde thought the world was a beautiful paradise with lush trees and forests. Their family and friends danced and sang together while blessing nature itself. Father sun and mother moon became their chosen deities. The elders told stories about darkness that seemed like fantasy. Each day was happiness with warmth. It was all about love, dancing and working the fields or sewing clothes. They sewed clothes for everyone in the community but also made some for trading with other communities. Though no one raised an eye whenever anyone walked naked as humans are animals as well. 
Years passed by and Clarimonde grew older. There was still peace among their people. At least it felt peaceful until Clarimonde’s mother told her it was time to chose a husband to bring offspring. A husband? For the first time she felt something other than warmth inside. It was something close to jump into cold water. On some level they knew why it was nessesary to find a husband. How else would the blood lines continue if there were no children brought to inhabit this world? Especially in this case were Clarimonde was the only child. Women were supposed to build families. It was her duty. So why did it feel so wrong? 
She had never truly felt like a woman despite everybody saying that was what she was. Trough the years Clarimonde became strong when wrestling with boys and girls for fun. Thinking back to the wrestling there had been a point when one of the boys had been angered by being defeated by a girl. Why was it so bad to be beaten by a girl? Her mother had explained that a man’s duty was to protect women from dangers like wild animals but it wasn’t wrong for a woman to be strong as it would help her give birth to strong children. He had just been a bit silly and perhaps his pride had been crushed. Clarimonde couldn’t see anyone as their future husband. Even less a future of carrying children. They lay awake the whole night while thinking about every possibility. There was this strange urge to hurt someone. It was a seed that had been slowly brewing ever since the mentions of marriage was brought up. How unfair. Clarimonde sighed and decided to get some ear before the morning sun rose. They went out of the hut and met an animal. A donkey with a rather unusual color. While staring at the donkey she walked towards it slowly. “Where did you come from?” It was said in a whisper as her parents were still sleeping inside. One hand moved towards the donkey to carefully touch the head. Was this a sign from mother moon?
“Are you here to give me a purpose?” Clarimonde sat down on her knees to get eye contact. “I was told my duty was to get married and have children. But I don’t fancy anyone. I don’t know if I’m even a woman. I have always wanted to preach. I know every verse, hymn and story by heart but only men are allowed. I’m not allowed to hunt either.” There was a long pause while they looked at the sky which was slowly lit up by the sun. “I want to hurt someone.”
@fallesto
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soapybutt17 · 7 months
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Light of My Life
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Summary: The New Year meant new things for everyone in the Price Household. A not-so new face had also become an addition to the chaos if it all. Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Price!Female Reader. John Price. Simon Riley. Soap MacTavish. Word Count: 3,146 Chapter Warnings: None A/N: @glitterypirateduck: here is part two like I promised. hope you enjoy~
Part 2 for Your Are My Sunshine
Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open
“Why are you more nervous than me?” Kyle couldn’t help but point out the moment the car has stopped in front of a rather large farm house a few hours outside the city.
As Kyle stepped out of the car and gazed up the vast expanses of rolling green hills, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. You had always spoken about your family’s farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer grandeur of the place.
The farmhouse stood proudly at the crest of a gentle slope, its stone walls weathered by centuries of wind and rain. Ivy clung to its sides, giving it a rustic charm that was impossible to resist. A slate room crowned the structure, and a tall, stone chimney sent a plume of white smoke spiraling into the clear blue sky. The whole scene was like something out of a fairy tale.
You led Kyle up the gravel path that wound its way to the front door, and as they approached, he couldn’t help but notice the colorful flowerbeds that lined the walkway. Brilliant reds, purples, and yellows contrasted with the lush green grass, creating a vibrant tapestry of colors that he would have only seen in movies.
As you finally knocked on the door, the noise from the inside of the house halted. Kyle had only notice now in his amazement the array of voice that could be heard from the inside.
Opening the door, your father, Captain John Price, stood talk. A deep frown rested on his lips the moment his eyes met him as well as your own. The frown grew even bigger the first moment he caught sight of your hands holding onto his own.
“Darling. Sergeant.” Price had acknowledged, opening the door further to let the two of you inside.
That had somehow surprised him. The Captain’s reaction was the last thing you would have expected to give him at this point after hiding his relationship with his daughter and how he had downright lied through his teeth for well over a year because of it.
What surprised him even more was the sight of two familiar co-workers that also seemed to be just as surprised as the two of you the moment you step foot inside.
“What the hell are they doing here?” You questioned but your question was immediately tackled into a hug by your mother.
“You finally brought your boyfriend along. He’s a handsome fella too.”
Kyle was left stun by the short woman—shorter than you were which was saying a lot as you barely reached his shoulders and you were a few inches taller than her. But her height did compensate at how much of a firecracker she was as he was being pulled away from the pack of lion ready to devour him.
With the two of you dragged into the kitchen, Kyle was had come to realize that the apple doesn’t fall far from the three as she began her array of questions about your drive to the farm, and how meeting his parents had gone. All of which you had answered with the same enthusiasm as your own mother. The smile on your face return, Ghost and Soap being in the house was momentarily forgotten.
“I’ve dealt with your father and the two boys for you two. So you’re both safe from them for the rest of the night.” She winked towards him and he had let out a sigh of relief because of it.
“Thank you.” Kyle spoke. “I’m sorry for coming without notice.” He apologized being another mouth to feed for tonight.
“Nonsense. When I learned that Simon and Jonny were coming I’ve made food that is enough to feed the entire army.” She spoke as a matter of factly. “Besides, I am still hoping that my daughter would finally bring you along to meet us. I’m happy that she finally did—even if the circumstance isn’t on your end on this.”
Kyle nodded before turning towards you knowing the implication of his arrival.
“Now since I’ve pulled you two away from the chaos of the three boys still in the living room, why don’t you two head upstairs to your bedroom to freshen up, I’ll deal with your father for you for the time being.”
~
John Price was not happy one bit. Not even the fact that he was home for once for the holidays could brighten his mood. Not even the fact that all his children were in the same room or the fact that his own sets of children in the base were also here to celebrate the New Year could brighten his mood.
How could he be so blind to not see it?
His daughter that had been through so much growing up with a father that gave you so much empty promises that it took him years to even allow him to make his own and keep. The daughter that might not have been his blood but he loved just the same like the rest of his own. The daughter that he would die over and over again if it meant you were happy and safe.
How could he have not seen the way you look at his boy Gaz, the man that he had immediately taken under his wing since the incident in Piccadilly. The man that he had hope to be better than he could ever think of being in his career. The man that was torn and pulled apart for the war that had no beginning nor end. The man that he would take a bullet for if it ever come to it.
How could he not see the way you two look at each other the way that you did in front of him now?
“They look so in love. He looks are her just like how you look at me.”
His attention had turned away from the happy couple and turned to his own beloved. When he had first found out about you and Gaz making out in the parking lot for Soap and Ghost to see, he had a mind to drive straight to Gaz’s house just to beat the living shit out of the man, but his wife was godsend. Immediately putting her foot down at his plan and brought all the anger he had to a halt.
“I don’t look at you like that.” He muttered, refusing to admit as such—not wanting to be compared to Gaz at the moment.
“So you don’t look at me with love, John?”
“I didn’t say that.” He muttered turning his attention back to the pint of beer in his hand. “I have my own way of looking at you.”
“Like you want to get into my pants?” She teased him.
“I mean—” He trailed off with a smirk, earning a light slap onto his chest and the all too familiar giggle from her.
“You’re impossible.” She rested her cheeks against his shoulder, her eyes glued to the picture perfect sight of their daughter and his—Sergeant. “After everything we’ve been through, I never thought I would see the day that she’s happy with someone.”
“She had always said that she swore off men after what her father did to you.” John grunted, the memory of those words still haunted him.
How such a little girl like you back then had been forced to grow up and see that not everyone could be kind—not even your blood. It was a statement that had haunted them all for years. If he’s not as good as Daddy John, I don’t ever want to have any man. It was a revelations for him back then, not only how your mind works as a toddler, but how you had finally called him Dad instead of the Mister Price or Mister John. It was at that moment that he had vowed to himself that he would make sure you had everything you could ever want, protected from any kind of heartache that may come into your life.
“She ate her words.” His wife acknowledged. “Don’t be too hard on Kyle. You always said that he was a good man. What difference does it make now that he’s seeing our daughter?”
She was right. She was always right when it comes to situations like this. But he couldn’t help but still be the overprotective father to you. He could throw you into the deepest parts of hell for missions because he was confident in your capabilities, but this was different. To him, he couldn’t do anything to save you from any form of heartache that would come your way.
“I don’t want her to get hurt anymore.” John finally admits.
The boisterous laughter of his children and that of Soap filled the air, the way you had egged Soap on with Kyle as his kids tackled Soap to the ground. But his mind was still filled with the dread of such a possibility. He could not see himself being able to see you heartbroken all over again over a man that disappointed you. He did not have the heart to look at Gaz the same way if he decided to hurt his baby girl.
“We can’t stop that, John. You and I know that. All that we could do is be there for her if ever the time comes. But seeing Kyle, seeing him with our daughter, I doubt that would even happen.”
“How could you know?”
“I just know. You have to trust me on this.” She winked finally standing up and announcing it was getting close to midnight.
John’s eyes turned towards the clock. It was few minutes to midnight and the New Year. With one command from him for everyone to head outside for the fireworks. Everyone scrambled out, Soap and the kids dashing out and racing to see who would be first. It left John and his wife for a moment in the sudden silence of their home.
“I trust you.” He whispered to his wife as they walked hand and hand outside to everyone standing around waiting.
The crisp cold air immediately hand him pulling his jacket off and wrapping around his wife. He had also noticed the same gesture that Kyle did for you. His jacket wrapped snuggled around you and you beamed at him as thanks.
Again, his wife was right.
As everyone awed at the fireworks that began to explode into the air, his arms had wrapped around his wife, but his gaze shifted back again towards you, how you snuggled into Gaz’s arms, both of your gaze up towards the sky as everyone began to countdown to welcome the New Year.
10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
Happy New Year!
The dark skies burst bright from the fireworks, and he had pulled his wife in for a kiss. Well over two decades together, who would have ever thought that this would be the life he would have for himself.
“Happy New Year.” He whispered against her lips before his attention turned back to every single one of his family.
His children wrapping their arms around Simon and Soap as they wished them a happy new year, to his daughter that had her eyes close and forehead resting against Gaz’s own, words that he couldn’t read were exchange between the two of them before Kyle gave you a gentle kiss on the lips, the nose, and finally the forehead.
Maybe his wife was right. Gaz could make you happy again.
~
“Dad! We’re on holiday!”
Kyle couldn’t help but smile at your overprotectiveness for him and his sake. But for the past twelve hours, he was left unscathed at the hands of his Captain and the two overprotective older brothers you had earned in Soap MacTavish and Simon Riley. It was a win on his book but not something he would want to test.
So when his Captain had asked him for a quick walk out in the open fields the following morning, he did not even attempt to refuse the offer. But it did scare him that he had been adamant that Simon and Soap to not join along even as the Scot had insisted on it. He knew well enough to know that he wanted to talk, not as his Captain, but as the father of his girlfriend.
“It’s fine.” He tried to reassure you but the frown on your lips grew deeper refusing to break the glare that was still directed at your father.
“I agreed with your mother that I will not do anything during the New Year party, I never promised not to after.” Price had pointed out with a grin, it was his own little way of getting on your nerves and it was working far too well than even he would expect.
“You’re impossible, Dad.” You muttered plopping yourself onto the dinner table for breakfast.
Kyle turned to look towards your mother as she had placed a place of full English breakfast in front of you with an extra serving of eggs just like what you always liked. She shared a pointed look with her husband whose smile slowly fell before making his way outside to wait for him.
“Don’t worry about him, his bark is worse than his bite.” She had reassured but Kyle knew it wasn’t always the case. Working for him for as long as he did, his bite was all the more worse than his bark especially when he was certain it was for the greater good—greater good for this case was his daughter.
“I hope so.” Kyle joked, but the fear was all too evident in his voice.
Kyle had ignored Soap’s teasing as he finally made his way out of the house. His Captain was patiently waiting with his arms crossed against his chest. The moment he had noticed he was out, he began to walk and Kyle was left to follow him in silence.
It had been a five minute walk, the cool morning air a welcome companion to what he would expect would be a heated discussion between him and the man walking in front of him. All the anxiety of the secret he had hidden from him had continued to eat him up as the walk continued but he was afraid to start the conversation.
“Did she ever tell you about her biological father?” Price had began as they had halted by the herd of cattle by the meadows.
“Yes Sir.” Kyle responded.
It was the first thing you had ever told him early on in your relationship, how it had shaped the way to view relationships in general. He had know early on that there would be a possibility of what they had to be over before it had even started. He had thanked his lucky stars that it didn’t. Lucky enough that he could be everything you had hoped out of a relationship that you wanted and needed.
“Then I don’t need to tell you why I am not keen on having anyone dating my daughter, especially with someone that she works so closely with.”
Price had finally turned to look at him. Kyle had been all too familiar with the look. The stern cold wall that he used to intimidate any adversary that would even dare come their way. It was unnerving that he was directed with such a gaze instead of being in the background witnessing some other poor soul.
 “Yes Sir.” Kyle agreed. “But I love your daughter, Sir. We have thought it would be best for everyone to keep in a secret until she was good and ready.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Over a year, Sir.”
“And what are you intentions with my daughter?”
Kyle took a moment, wanting to form his words carefully without causing more tension and chaos in their relationship going forward.
“I want to be the man she could depend on when she needs me to be. I want to be the man that could make her the happiest that she could be. I—I just want to be by her side whatever relationship it may be that she would want and need from me.”
He waited with bated breath as the Captain stared at him, scrutinizing his words carefully for all it was worth. Kyle was thinking that he was mincing his words and looking for anything that would incriminate him as insincere, but he was certain he would not find any.
“I want you to know, Sergeant.” He began. “That if I ever learn that you hurt her, in any shape or form, I would be the last person you should be worried about. You will worry for your career, for your safety, for your life if you even dare hurt a single hair from her pretty little head.”
Kyle gulped but nodded, knowing that this was no longer his Captain, but the father of his girlfriend that would drag him to the deepest parts of hell if he makes so much as a mistake of making you cry.
“But last night, when I saw her with you, she was the happiest I have ever seen. It was rare and far between when she was like it. The first time I’ve seen it was when I told her that I was officially adopting her as my own daughter. Those bright eyes that twinkled in a love she never thought she would ever deserve. I saw it when she looks at you.”
Kyle couldn’t help but smile at such an information. He know the look he was talking about, he was certain that he was giving you the same, a look that was even more in love and adoration for you and everything that you do for him.
“You have my blessing when it comes to your relationship, but just know that you will both endure a couple of weeks of intense drills for lying to me about your relationship.”
Kyle thought as much. He nodded shoving his hands onto his pocket and only now did he realize the small box nestled deep inside his sweatpants.
“I also wanted to ask you blessing for something, Sir.” He began pulling out the velvet box for the man to see.
The Captain took a moment to realize what it was before a chuckle escaped his lips.
“I should have expected this.” He shook his head. But agreed nonetheless.
It didn’t take long for their holiday off to end and everyone was back to their normal lives inside the base and in mission. It did take long for Kyle to propose, who would have ever thought that he would in the brink of death while you held him close to you.
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