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jarofstyles · 4 years

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Crush

A/N: this one.... biiiitch.... giving you all a little college!harry, he’s so cute 👉🏼👈🏼 enjoy hehe 😈 - n + d

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pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: smut. FILTH.

word count: 9.7k

Harry felt a bit creepy.

It wasn’t as if it was on purpose! No... but she was at all of the places he went. At first he had thought it was a coincidence, but as he developed a routine for his classes, he found that they were often around each other for similar reasons. And usually? He would try and go up, introduce himself, and make a friend. The problem was... she was pretty.

Not like normal pretty. Pretty as in, holy fuck you make me so nervous and perhaps I’ll word vomit, pretty. He was shit at making the first move. She was in his Monday and Friday classes and sat not far from him, he noticed. And they always ended up at the Coffee Bean on Tuesday and Thursdays, sitting not too far from one another again. She got tea with a few cookies, and he got a black coffee and an orange scone. They’d work on their coursework and Harry would wait for her to leave and see her make it to her car before he would leave, not wanting to make it seem like he was following her. He’s found out her name through friends stopping in to see her. It was Y/N. Gorgeous, just like her.

Funny enough, Harry wasn’t the only one who had a bit of a crush. Y/N realized in the second week of classes that Harry was in fact one of the most intimidatingly cool and attractive men she’d ever seen. College boys weren’t supposed to look like that, but he was all soft in his sweaters and baggy pants. She wasn’t sure how he pulled it off so well, but she could admit she was jealous.

Seeing him at the Coffee bean was a relief because well, he walked in after her every time. She assumed it was because he had a class that ended later or something, but it didn’t go unnoticed that he was there. Usually it wasn’t too busy or loud so she could glance at him from the corner of her eye as they sat at one of the big tables. She felt like it would be too weird to talk to him, he seemed so... quiet. She’d never heard him speak, hell, she’d only ever locked eyes with him for milliseconds. Y/N wished she could be one of those girls that could effortlessly flirt, ask for a pencil or something, but she knew she’d freeze up and forget her rehearsed line.

Today however, when Y/N arrived, Harry was already there at his usual spot. Okay, Y/N... act natural. She thought to herself, going to order her usual before walking to boldly take a seat across from him. It would have worked out fine if her tote bag didn’t accidentally catch the corner of one of his books, sending things flying.

“Shit— sorry, I—” Y/N swore, setting her bag on the table before bending down to get the book and a few papers and a pen. Real smooth.

Harry was slightly startled when his shit went flying, but when he saw who had knocked it over, his heart picked up. Oh, shit.

“Oh— it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Harry’s voice was a bit gruff from not using it much today, pushing his chair back and bending down to grab the stuff with her. “S’my fault for putting it so close to the edge. I used to do that at home and my cat would knock it all off.”

Great. Already rambling.

Y/N didn’t register it at first, but he was british? Fuck. If she wasn’t already on her knees she would dropped down anyway, biting her lip to stop any noises that could have escaped. She giggled when he said his cat used to knock things over, “mine too.” She mumbled and went to stand up, feeling a tug at her arm.

“Ah, shit.” Harry had caught his ring in her sweater, pulling one of the threads. “Damn, I’m so sorry.” He blushed slightly, knowing how annoying it was to have a pulled thread. His collection of sweaters was immense, thanks to his nan— and he felt terrible. Damn his chunky things. “They always get caught in mine too but I wear them anyways. I can replace the sweater, if you need.” Damn it. He was trying to come off as smooth... not so nervous. But he was. She was so pretty and she was up close, she smelled like peaches and vanilla and a bit of sweet mint and her hands were so soft.

“Oh no, It’s fine! it’s old anyway— I can just cut it off or tuck it in or something.” Honestly, Y/N would figure it out. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel bad, it was an accident after all. She let him untangle it, holding her hand still though it seemed like he needed some help. “Smaller fingers...” She mumbled, using her nails to get the thread gently off of the ring. “‘s a nice ring.” Y/N complimented, finally meeting his eyes and feeling the breath leave her lungs at the close proximity. Her lips parted naturally, scanning his face for any signs of discomfort.

She was beautiful Harry though he may get sick because wow. Wow. He had imagined holding her hand and kissing her but this exact moment he hadn’t a clue on what to do. So he improvised.

“Are you in the 8 am psych class on Mondays?” He tilted his head. “I know I’ve seen you before.” Oh, he had seen her a lot. Especially in his dreams, day and night. It had been a bit intoxicating, really. At her nod, his grin came on his face. “Sick. S’that what you’re gonna study for?” He didn’t bring up the other class because... it would be embarrassing if she hadn’t noticed him before and he knew all too much. He needed a refill of his coffee though so he grabbed his cup, gently taking her things and placing them on the table next to his. “At least let me buy your stuff though. I feel awful about your sweater.”

“I’m actually just waiting on them to finish making mine, I was on my way to secure a spot but—” Y/N blushed, realizing the mess she had made. “Could you get it for me while you’re up there? It’s for Y/N. I can sit here and watch your stuff.” She felt like that was a subtle way for her to tell him her name.

This was the most she had ever spoken to him and it had been about a month or so that she’d been eyeing him up. She knew he was in her English literature class as well, but psych was her major. Y/N wondered if maybe he too was a psych major, maybe that’s why they sort of had the same schedule? Regardless, she felt a bit nervous making conversation so she spent the time he was away coming up with what she was going to ask him and how she was going to keep the ball rolling. Hopefully she didn’t interrupt his studying, if anything she’d leave him alone.

“Y/N?” He tested it on his tongue out loud for the first time. It tasted good. “Yeah. M’Harry. I’ll be back.” He nodded, going towards the front. His heart going a mile a minute, he couldn’t believe how quickly his luck had changed. He ordered an extra cake pop today, for her. she had said it didn’t matter but to him, it did. Eventually he hoped he could buy her a replacement. Or... maybe she could wear his around. Wow. That would stroke his ego and his fragile heart to the core. He could already see her on his lavender fishermen’s sweater, in front of his fireplace back at home. She would be so cute. The voice calling her name snapped him out of the fantasy, Harry grabbing it and then his own shortly after before returning to the table. “Here. I got the last cake pop for you. Don’t tell anyone I’m the offender.”

“Ooo you’re a dead man if they find out.” Y/N said, looking around before gently taking it from him. “Thank you... that’s sweet.” She blushed, taking a bite of it before taking a sip of her chai latte. Now that she had stuff to fiddle around with she could take a breather and not have to worry about filling space. “But um.. did interrupt something? Don’t want to distract you...” Y/N nodded over to his laptop, secretly hoping that he wasn’t up to much so that she could chat to him. She just wanted to know the basics, literally anything would satisfy her craving. Harry was quite literally her wet dream, she’d been looking all around campus for someone like him to come around. “I uh... I think I’m also in your English lit class? I feel like I see you around often.” Y/N spoke, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “What’s your major?” She felt like this conversation was light, something that would eventually lead into other things like... if he was single and looking for a girlfriend.

“Oh, you’re not bugging me. I’ve kind of been staring at the screen and zoning out if m’honest.” Harry chuckled, embarrassed a little to admit it. But everyone could relate to that, right? “And yeah... actually I think so.” He smiled lightly before taking a sip of his drink. Victory! She had noticed him too. He wasn’t the lonely creep who stared at the first who had no idea who he was. She knew who he was, kind of. He gently drew his sweater over his hands like little paws before going to her question. “English. I want to write and stuff, edit maybe. My dad has a publishing company so, I’m lucky I like a bit of the family business.” He tried to joke, looking at her. God. It was unnerving how beautiful and also, how fucking comfortable she was to be around. What a contrast. “And you? What major?” He took a nibble of his scone, not wanting to make a mess.

English? He’s a writer? Goodness. She was going to lose it.

“That’s cool, any specific genre you like to write?” Y/N asked curiously because well, it would actually tell her a lot about him and the kind of person he was. “I picture some mystery or possibly poetry, could go either way.” She said and squinted her eyes as she looked at him, pretending to size him up. “I can’t say I’m all that interesting, a psych major. Just like every other artsy person who doesn’t exactly want to commit to an art degree.” Y/N chuckled, “still deciding between criminal justice or counseling but... either way I’d be happy to get to pick someone’s brain. She did have the habit of analyzing people but only so she could understand them better. Y/N knew that all people wanted at the core was to be understood and loved for who they are, for the most part. Harry seemed reserved, calm and relaxed, secure in himself that’s for sure. It was extremely attractive.

“Oh? That’s really cool though.” Harry was genuinely interested in what she had to say either way. The major didn’t matter in his interest in her but it gave him information and something to talk about. If she was marketing or math he would be just as interested. “Criminal seems particularly interesting. Like that criminal minds show then? You’ll learn how they work and all of that?” He didn’t really know what it meant or why she had chosen it. “But close. I write romance novels.” He blushed fully. “Don’t judge me for it. But s’easy for me and I’m good at it, or so I’ve been told. I’ve been writing for a while.” He felt himself loosen up as they talked. Even if she intimidated him, she was really nice and sweet. “Poetry too, lots of it. But romance is my main thing, I’d like to do novels and that sort of stuff.” He could see she didn’t think it was lame, rather interesting. Which was a major relief. He wanted to impress her, so so badly.

“Sorta, yeah. Like... being able to predict a criminal's next move, psychologically.” Y/N explained and shrugged, “feel like it’s really fun and interesting but terrifying all at once. Dunno if I could actually interview a criminal without feeling like it was going to cry.” She let out a laugh, knowing she was quite soft. Her face lit up when he said he wrote romance novels. Wow. Well, as if he wasn’t a character right out of a romcom himself! She felt like that’s what this was. A romcom. Bumping into him at a coffee shop like a scene straight from one. “Really?! So you’re a proper romantic then? Buy the last cake pop for every girl, hmm?” She gave him a bashful smile. The very last thing she was doing was judge, she was more so thinking about their wedding. Yep. Already. Daydreaming because she swore she’d hit the jackpot. Wasn’t even sure if he liked her yet, but she was hopeful. After all, she’d turned on her charm.

“I guess I am.” Harry smirked to himself slightly at the good reception. Damn. He had been so worried and hesitant- he should have just talked to her. She wasn’t... that scary. Only a little bit.

He let her talk a bit more about her degree and Harry went on to speak about his favorite authors, and then the conversation shifted towards their classes and how he had been struggling slightly in psych— which led to her offering to help. Harry was shocked because honestly he hadn’t expected it from her, but he was pleased. He was happy to have an excuse to hang out with her more. See more of her and be able to teach himself to relax properly around her. He felt like a damn wind up toy, giddy and excited.

“That would be so helpful, if you could. And if you don’t mind.” He stressed. “I have a place off campus, if you’d want to go there? I’ll buy you some pizza or something for your help.” He was a giver and if it meant getting a $20 pizza for her because he wanted good quality, then he would!

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Y/N was practically jumping up and down with joy in her mind, this was a turn of events. She went from secretly crushing on him to being invited over his house in only a few hours. “I can never say no to pizza, but it’s really no problem. They say if you can teach it to someone else then you truly understand it so it’ll be a good test for me. Y/N also knew that they wouldn’t just study. Come on. It was a Friday night and study was practically code for hook up, especially considering he had invited her to his place and not the library. She had to prepare, had to make sure she looked cute and everything. She’d shower before hand too, the whole nine. “I can be there around 6?” Y/N suggested, checking her calendar app even though she already knew when she could come. She had to at least look like she wasn’t jumping at the idea.

“That’s cool. Uh— here, if you want I can put my number in your phone and whenever you want I can text you the address?” Oh, fuck. How, how the tables have turned. He had gone from wistfully staring at her every day to having a scheduled study session with her, the girl he’d been practically having wet dreams about. Having a full conversation and then her having his number! He was giddy and playing with the sleeves of his sweater as a result of the excited nerves. “Do you have any allergies? I do have a kitten at home.” He wanted to make sure he wouldn’t have to put Marie away. He loved his baby but he wanted to try something and see if she would be cool with him in a private setting. It would be less hard to talk about deeper things without people around. He took her phone from her and typed in his number, adding his name with a little 📚 after it. That wasn’t too much, right?

“Aw you do! I have one too, well... he thinks he’s a big boy.” Y/N shook her head at the thought of her sweet little Milo. Despite not doing anything she planned to do at the coffee shop, it still felt like a productive day in her eyes. Finally getting to chat with Harry felt like a breath of fresh air and he wasn’t all that scary now that she got to chatting with him. She took her phone back and smiled at the cute little emoji, sending him a text to let him know it was her before hesitantly getting up. “Alright well, I gotta get back to my kitten... but, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/N smiled, watching him stand up as well. The two of them walked out of the coffee shop and to their cars, Y/N being bold enough to give him a hug before opening her car door. “Night!” She was surprised with herself. Y/N was proud, completely over the moon and honestly she wasn’t sure how she was going to sleep tonight.

-----

Harry laid out on the bed that night with Marie on his chest. He had told her all about how the pretty Y/N had met him and that she would be coming over. The pretty cat was a long haired white kitty, and she purred along with Harry as he spoke. She liked hearing Harry be happy. It made him want to squeak when he heard his phone buzz and a little text from her popped up— he saved her as ‘Y/N 🌼’ because he felt like it fit. Part of him wanted to put a heart but he would be mortified if she saw and thought it was weird. She wore a yellow flower shirt one day so he figured that’s what he could excuse it as.

‘Hey, happy to hear from you! :) I hope your kitty is doing well. I meant to ask, you aren’t vegetarian are you?’

Y/N smiled at his text and attached a photo of her gray kitten laying across the top of her head while she laid down.

‘Yes, he’s quite cozy.’

‘I am actually! But I’m not too fussy.’

She couldn’t help it, she loved animals and she couldn’t bring herself to do it anymore. Occasionally, she would indulge in a chicken nugget or seafood, but for the most part she didn’t feel like she had to.

‘I’m going to get some sleep though, Good night Harry 💓’

That wasn’t too much was it? It was just a heart! She sent them to everyone. Y/N stayed up for a good ten minutes just digesting the day. Tomorrow would be even better, she had a feeling.

——

Harry was... well, he wasn’t sure how to describe the emotion. When Niall inevitably quizzed him on why he was acting strange, the best he had come up with was a mix of nerves and giddiness, also terror and extreme happiness. He was going to hang out with the girl he had been silently crushing on— and they had been texting quite frequently in the short time they had each other’s numbers. Was this going to be a regular thing? Was it going to blossom into more? He knew that he had wasted time before, not talking to her. She wasn’t scary! No... she was so sweet and kind and beautiful and everything she said made him a literal heart eye emoji. She had taken to sending him random photos, even so quickly in and it felt comfortable. He had even sent her a shot of Marie on the counter this morning, on top of his school notes. It was odd. The excitement he felt when he heard the bing from his phone of the vibration in his pocket... it was incredible. He liked this feeling. Damn it. This was such a new thing. He wanted to do more.

He saw her in class, watching as she crept in a bit after the last call should be with a sheepish smile on her face. He waved to her silently and watched her climb up, his heart beating quicker when she chose a seat closer to his than before. She wanted to sit near him? He clutched the rainbow patchwork sweater by the sleeves and fiddled with the cuffs, nerves and excitement swirling in his tummy.

If class wasn’t already on, Y/N knew she would have tried to spark up some conversation with Harry, but for now all she could manage was passing him a note.

‘I like your cardigan :)’

It was really cute. Most of Harry’s wardrobe was and in her dream world she already stole a few to wear. English literature wasn’t exactly the most exciting class, but Harry seemed invested. Y/N enjoyed watching him focus and take notes while she mostly doodled some random flowers and bears in her notebook. Her mind was thinking about what she was going to wear to his house and how she definitely needed a shower before and that she had to put on the lotion that matched her perfume. Was she overthinking this? Maybe. Of course it was just a study date, but you could never be too sure where things could go. And if they did— she wanted to be ready.

He knew that he needed to contain himself but his smile made it hard. She liked his cardigan. The random compliment had him feeling mushy and happy and there was definitely a blush on his cheeks as he clicked his pen and wrote back to her.

‘Thanks :) my nan knitted it for me. I like your little head band.’

He passed it back before opening his notebook back up. Her stare could be felt and he wanted to smirk a little at it because, well, who wouldn’t? She was so great, and he wanted to experience more of her but he was trying to not rush shit. He was a romance writer after all. All of it felt so in tune with his own wants and he had a hard time believing it was real. Sweet little Y/N wanted to hang out with him and she complimented his cardigan!

‘Awe!! That’s cute and thank youuuu 🥰’

She drew him a little smiley face with hearts around it, felt like it was very on brand for her and her emotive texting. Y/N felt all giddy because she had made a new friend but she was really hoping they wouldn’t just be friends.

Y/N knew she was hard to read because she was generally nice to everyone and honestly, Harry seemed to be the same way. She could only assume he liked her because he asked her to hang out so quickly. And he’d bought her a cake pop and was planning on buying pizza tonight. Was it a date then? Gosh, she needed to stop reading into it. Her leg kept bouncing up and down, mind trying to refocus and thankfully, their professor was discussing something she too had noticed in her reading. She still managed to steal quick glances at Harry for the rest of the class, giving him shy little smiles. It wasn’t till class ended that she ended up speaking to him, but even that was quick. She needed to get home and get ready.

Harry had gotten a quick hi, and a ‘see you tonight!’ With her hand brushing his arm before she skipped off to.. wherever she went. And that had him nearly sprinting home. Cleaning top to bottom, vacuum, scrub, vacuum again. Changed his sheets— why, he wasn’t sure— put his laundry in the basket, filled up Marie’s food and water, fluffed the pillows, cleaned the windows and coffee table... he did it all. Even cleaned out the fridge! Like she would care? Harry didn’t know. All he did know was that he was finally showered and smelled nice, hair fixed and the pumpkin patch candle was lit! The tv was on low because he was nervous and needed some filler noise to keep himself from overthinking.

Y/N was doing the same, not cleaning her apartment but cleaning herself. She stripped out of her clothes when she got home and immediately got into the shower, taking one of those full maintenance ones for good measure. Once she was positive she was squeaky clean and smelled nice, she jumped out to take the next steps. God, she really wanted to impress him. He’d been her crush for a while and she needed this. She wanted to look like she didn’t put in my effort when she did so she decided to put on some light makeup and chose an outfit that was more laid back. Usually, she was seen wearing sweaters and jeans, nothing too fancy, so that’s exactly what she settled on. Y/N wanted to look warm and inviting.

Milo mewed beneath her feet as she collected all her study supplies, rubbing against her ankles in need of attention. “I’m sorry bubs, I know I didn’t get to spend lots of time with you today but don’t be too mad.” Y/N pouted, picking him up and giving him a cuddle for a few minutes. She held him up to her chest as she finished up, deciding she needed to leave now.

‘Leaving now, be there in 20 ✨’

She sent, hopping into her car with nerves bubbling up in her stomach. God, she really hoped tonight went well.

——

When Harry heard the knock at the door he shot up, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants before forcing himself to be slow, walking to the door. And when he opened it, it really did feel like being hit in the gut. Seeing someone so beautiful, so up close? It got to him. He had to admit that. Y/N has this natural beauty that he drooled over. That felt like a hit. Every time he saw her he swore she got more beautiful.

“Hi.” He spoke with a smile, opening the door up for her. “Come inside. Marie is wandering around so I have to close the door. A little escape artist, she is.” He joked, letting her scurry in and close the door behind her.

“Hey! Oop— okay!” Y/N giggled and stepped past him into his apartment. It was very cute and very tidy. Y/N felt a little flutter in her belly, it was freshly cleaned. She stepped out of her shoes before further examining the decor. The style was something she very much expected for Harry, it was cozy and artsy. Lots of earth tones and that sweet autumn smell coming from the candle made her feel that much more excited. “It’s so nice in here! I love the pillows.” Y/N complimented, liking how some were fluffy and some had funky patterns on them. It was then that she heard a meow from below, Marie sniffing at her sock covered toes. “Oh hi there... sorry if you can smell Milo on me, gave me lots of snuggles before I left.” Y/N cooed down to the kitten, dropping down so she was closer to the ground and extended her hand for her to sniff and get used to.

Y/N realized this was very real now, especially because he had gone out of his way to make his place look nice. Most guys wouldn’t care, but maybe Harry did this for everyone. When she stood back up and turned to face him, she got a whiff of him and noticed his semi damp hair. He showered too. Oh—

Harry smiled at her and Marie, happy his kitten seemed to like her. Usually she would sniff his friends and run off but she began to weave over her legs and beg for pets. He was in awe. Christ. She had him by the balls already.

“Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got diet soda... apple juice, lots of teas. And water.” He hummed, going into the kitchen with her behind him. It was an open concept though, the kitchen the first thing near the door and it opened into a large living area, the hall down going to the master bedroom. It was simple but perfect for him in college. He gave her a moment to think it over as he looked at her. So cozy and... cuddly. He wanted to slide his hands under her sweater and feel her warm skin and nuzzle into the crook of her neck, let her fingers play through his hair.

“Apple juice sounds good.” Y/N smiled, having picked up Marie at this point to carry her into the kitchen with them. She had a feeling she’d get along just great with Milo if they ever got to meet. “You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” Y/N cooed at the kitten, seeing her comfortably settled against her. “Does your Daddy spoil you with snuggles too?” She asked toying with her little paw before looking up at Harry with a smile. He had fumbled a bit with the lid of the juice at her words which made her giggle, “How are you? How was your day today?” Y/N was genuinely curious, deciding to make some small talk before actually sitting down. In her head she could already imagine the two of them hanging out here constantly, tangled up in one another, kissing and laughing and doing all the cute things that Harry likely wrote about in his stories.

“I’m— im good.” Harry’s mouth was dry. He knew that she hadn’t meant anything by it, but he heard her say ‘daddy’ in reference to him, and his stupid cock had jumped, tummy felt hot. Damn it. He wished he wasn’t so deprived but... she had been at the forefront of his mind. “It was a good day. I was happy to talk to you. You’re fun to talk to.” He meant it too. She was so interesting and funny and he was completely whipped and okay with it. Damn. He wished he had maybe a bit more restraint with his imagination but he didn’t. Not at all. “I have a harder time meeting people... i can be a little shy sometimes. I’m in my own head a lot you know? I have my core group of friends but... it’s hard to get to know people. I want to know them.” Her. That translates to her.

“Yeah?” Y/N felt her heart jump. He was happy to speak with her even just a little bit? He wanted to talk to her and get to know her? It wasn’t just a one sided thing. They were both making an effort in their own way and she was thinking someone had to break the tension. “I’m happy you think so.” Y/N blushed, “I um... I also like talking to you.” She had her little friend group as well but she never thought she’d actually end up being friends with Harry. Listening to him explain how reserved he was definitely made her feel special though. He chose to open up to her, she was special enough for that and that made her cheeks grow warm once again. “I’ll tell you just about anything you want to know.” Y/N smiled, hesitantly placing Marie down before taking a few steps closer to him to get her glass of apple juice.

“Ooooh, a little daunting. Anything? Your social security number?” Harry was joking. Trying to clear the air and make her relax because she was a bit shy too and he wanted her to be comfortable here. This place should be a good spot for her. He motioned for her to come sit on the couch with him, Marie trailing after Y/N. Little traitor had a new favorite already but... he couldn’t say he could blame her. “I dunno... it’s hard sometimes, in this age to make genuine friendships. Feels like everyone’s already got their friend groups and you don’t want to infringe upon them yeah? And... I write a lot. I’m not a partier. Not to sound cliche but again.... I’m a writer.” He chuckled.

“I said just about!” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head to herself at his joke. She felt like she was an open book, she was pretty open with the things she liked and generally she aimed to spread positivity and love where she could. Her hobbies included lots of things, music, knitting, reading, gardening. That kind of stuff. “But yeah, I get that... I’ve been pretty content with my group of friends, though I think most people are open to making new ones. At least I am... I am a bit shy though.” Y/N took a sip of her apple juice before setting it down on the coffee table again. “Yeah, you said. Romance novels.” She smiled and leaned back into the couch, getting comfortable. “What sorts of romance novels?” What? Could you blame her for wanting to know what sort of content was in them? Maybe it could give her some insight on what he wanted.

“Oooooh. Hard hitting stuff.” Harry huffed out playfully. “I’m... it’s a variety, I think. I’ve done supernatural, classic tropes, historical romance was very fun. I am partial to enemies to lovers or forbidden romances though. They’re the most fun to write.” Y/N genuinely looked like she cared so he continued. “I’ve been trying out different stuff but....” he blushed again. “I’m... looking at erotica right now.” It wasn’t something he usually would blurt out but hey, she seemed trustworthy. Plus she didn’t seem like she would judge either. It was a new favorite of his. The rawness of it and writing sex scenes... it was amazing. Reading it, writing it, he thought he could do some on the side and sell it under a pen name. It would be a fun thing to try.

Erotica. This man sat down and wrote detailed sex scenes, likely kinky, for fun? Thankfully she didn’t have any juice in her mouth because it surely would have been spat out.

“H-how are you finding it?” She asked, reaching for her apple juice because she felt like she couldn’t sit still now. How else was she supposed to go about things when all she could think about was sex. Sex with him specifically. Y/N wasn’t blind, she knew that Harry was very attractive and very much gifted with beautiful hands. She could only assume he would have a wonderful cock as well. She knew there was no way someone so quite couldn’t have the filthiest of minds, she knew hers was. Her fantasies were where she roamed free.

“I mean... I do like it a lot, actually. I hope that doesn’t come across as creepy or pervy but I like to be able to write something like that. It’s freeing, in a sense.” Harry couldn’t really properly describe why but, he was a kinky dude. You’d never think it. He was soft and wore sweaters a lot and drank tea at home from a kitty mug but he was.... a kinky fucker. And he loved sex. There was just something about it. He wanted to try more and more of it but he had a tendency to get attached to his partners, even hook ups... so he had put that on a hault.

“I’d like to read some...” Y/N felt like at some point, she’d want to read his writing. If he felt comfortable now she didn’t mind. It was just writing, wasn’t it?

“You want to?” She looked at him with bright eyes and her a fast nod so Harry decided to say, fuck it. If they were going to work as friends... or lovers, which is what Harry really wanted... she would need to accept this side. He grabbed his laptop and boosted it on, letting himself grab the latest completed scene. “Here. You can read this, i'll order the pizza.” There were obvious nerves in his belly from letting her read filthy smut from his computer but Y/N... she was different. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but she was.

They were meant to be studying.

That was long forgotten though as Y/N nodded and got comfortable on the couch with his laptop sat in her lap. It felt a bit taboo, but she figured she could separate the writer from the story.

The scene was from a male character’s perspective, describing him having a long and hard day at work where all he could think about was his partner. Y/N felt her face get progressively warmer as the character spoke about his partner, she couldn’t help but imagine this was how Harry was when he was horny and needy.

Y/N knew that if she was his, she would certainly brighten up his mood after a tough day at work. Seeing her own name in the document however proved that Harry thought the same. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head, her eyes lifting from the screen to look up at him as he ordered the pizza completely unaware of her discovery.

This is what he imagined? This is what he wanted to do.... with her?

Harry ordered two cheese pizzas and some cinnamon dessert thing because there was a a special going on. He had thought about getting more but he didn’t want to go overboard with it, so he finished the order. Thank god for online ordering.

“Okay... it’ll be here in 25 minutes I think.” He hummed, looking up and freezing slightly. She looked blushy and her eyes wide as she read the post and he wondered why she looked a bit startled. “Hey... y’alright love?” He asked quietly. God damn it. Had he freaked her out too much? Was it just too much in general for the first time they properly hung out? He couldn’t remember exactly what scene he had pulled up. Just that it was recent, a billionaire type of thing.

Y/N casually moved the laptop on to the coffee table without answering his question. She didn’t think twice before she climbed on to his lap, hands settling on his shoulders. Sure, it was a risky move, but after what she’d read? She felt like she had to make her move. She wanted to be just as hot and sexy as he had imagined her to be. Harry’s shocked expression made her smile, hand going up to cup his cheek.

“You left my name in the document...” Y/N’s voice spoke low and slow, thumb brushing over his now parted lips. Never did she think she could be so bold so soon, but fuck did it feel good. She felt so powerful, so sexy, and so so horny. “Thought about me riding your cock so much you wrote about it?” Y/N whispered, leaning in to kiss the skin just below his ear before nibbling at the skin. “Noticed me before we properly met... thought about me... is this what you wanted, baby?”

Harry blanked.

Oh. fuck.

He hadn’t expected her to climb into his lap. Climbing on and straddling him, cupping his cheek, talking in that hot little voice that had his cock filling a bit. Holy fucking shit.

“Oh—” He was cut off by her thumb over her lip. She was into it, into him. How had this happened? He had to be dreaming. But... no. Her heat was too real to be a dream. Her eyes too clear and dark, her smell too real. It was real. “Y-yeah...” He whispered, gasping when she kissed his skin, hand grabbing her waist. Oh, hell. Under his pants, his cock was quickly hardening. You couldn’t blame him, his dream woman, his crush, was straddling his lap and kissing his neck. Talking like this.

“Thought about it ‘lots.” He muttered. She was so bold for this and that was something he found so sexy. When her teeth scraped his skin and bit down a bit harder, a dark groan left his mouth, hand on her waist tightening. “Holy shit... Y/N.”

“Hmm... feels good?” Y/N questioned, licking over the spot that she bit before moving to a new one. “Think I can make you cum in 25 minutes?” Y/N felt like she could take on the challenge, his cock was already hardening beneath her and she was a bit of foreplay away from being completely soaked. “Wanna try all of it, yeah?” Y/N muttered, nipping at the spot just where his jawline met his neck. “Riding your cock.... you bending me over, can choke me too. Please do...” She moaned at the thought, her hormones completely taking over. He still seemed to be frozen, despite his hand now on her waist so she moved her hips forward a little bit and tugged at his hair. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Y/N had a kink for giving but it seemed Harry did as well. She expected a needy hook up, rough touches, quickness, pure lust. It’s exactly what she needed. It’s been a while since she’d hooked up with anyone and she was desperate for Harry to break her dry spell.

“Ah, shit.” Harry hissed. The tug at his hair sent a shock of hot arousal down his spine. That got him going so quickly. She wanted to fuck? Right now? He would be a fool to say no, and he wasn’t raised a fool. “Yeah? Y’want to ride my cock?” He asked lowly. “Fucks sake... I didn’t know you were so dirty.” He never would have guessed it from her either but... they were here. And he was snapped out of his shock by the tug, and now he was ready to do whatever the fuck she let him. “What did y’want the most, love? Tell me.” He had taken into account that she wanted to be choked, raising a hand to gently cuff her throat, bringing her close to his face. The confidence was soaring now, and all because she was leaking it. She wanted it, desperately. “I said, tell me.” He gave a quick squeeze to her throat. “Want to know what you need.”

“Need your cock, daddy.” Y/N moaned out, eyes blown and glazed over with desire. Y/N could feel the tension in her bones, cunt throbbing and aching to be touched. “Need you so bad, please— wanted you for so long, please make me cum, please!” She pleaded, fully giving into the fantasy. Y/N was never one to hold back and from what she had read, he certainly didn’t want her to. Her body felt like it was on fire, hands grabbing fist fulls of his sweater in hopes that he’d just take it off. Y/N wasn’t sure what type of body would be beneath it, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to feel his warm skin, lick and kiss all that she could while she worked her magic. Y/N waited for his directions, falling into the submissive role easily despite her initial approach. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna have to re-write that scene.”

Harry was going to give this girl any fucking thing she wanted. He let her guide his sweater off, the cool air hitting his skin not even getting a chance because her hands and mouth were all over him. It was like she had fallen into a heat, and Harry.... he loved it. He placed his hands under her sweater, feeling her hands smooth over his chest as she kissed at his neck and over his jaw. Her skin was hot under the sweater, his hands gripping her waist and smoothing over her hips, going up and sip to her ribs where he realized— fuck.

“Not wearing a fucking bra?” He hissed. “Jesus... you’re a little minx, aren’t you? Off with this.” He spoke lowly, grabbing the ends of it but barely had a shot before Y/N ripped it off of her body. Fucks sake. She was sexier than he had ever imagined. “My god... you’re so sexy, baby.” He whispered, sitting up and burying his face between her breasts. Kissing the hot skin between them, working his way up with the wet, open mouthed kisses to her throat.

“Oh Daddy...” Y/N’s body shuddered at the feeling of his mouth on her, head falling back as she let out a happy sigh. He seemed to like her hand in his hair so she happily gripped at his locks as he scattered kisses over her skin. “Come ‘ere...” She whined, guiding him up to her lips. “Wanna taste your mouth.” Making eye contact with him in this moment felt intimate. All those quick glances in classes and at the coffee shop, all the day dreaming, it all built up to this moment where she fully felt she could let herself let go. The both of them wanted this, it was so reassuring, this was a safe space and they could do whatever they wanted. Y/N’s body rolled forward, pushing him further back onto the couch and angling her hips so she could tease the both of them before she let herself have it. Fuck was he hard... and full. Another moan left her lips, sounding more like a plea and cry for more.

“Fuck me... you’re needy. I love it.” Harry hissed, pulling her mouth to his. It wasn’t soft. No, this kiss... it was hot. Heavy. Her mouth opened and immediately he dragged his tongue inside, meeting hers. She tasted like the apple juice and a bit of mint, and he could groan just from how good it was. Sweet little Y/N wasn’t too innocent at all. “Fuck— keep teasing me like that. S’like you want to end up crying.” He had a feeling now that she did. She wanted his cock inside of her pussy, thrusting in and out and letting herself soak him. Yeah... he wanted it too. “Keep calling me daddy. You’re so dirty. Who would have fucking... known.” He spoke between the kisses, hands going for her jeans. He wanted them off, like hours ago. He was finally going to get her. “M’gonna lay you out in my bed after... first m’gonna fuck you, but M’gonna clean out your cunt with my tongue. And then M’gonna take you again. Yeah?” She has come for studying but was staying for hot sex and he hoped to turn it into a nice marathon. He had all weekend and he was hoping she wouldn’t have to go. He had too many idea for her. “Gonna let daddy lick it up?”

“Fuck— yes, gonna let daddy have his way with me...” She kept her hips rolling against his slowly, keeping the rhythm in check with the passionate kiss they were sharing. Y/N already knew this was going to be the best sex of her life, the kiss alone let her know that. His tongue would work wonders on her cunt and she’d be more than happy to return the favor. Hesitantly, Y/N began to stand to get her jeans off, one of her hands staying put on the back of his neck so the kiss didn’t break. She let him fiddle with the zipper, feeling his fingers hook both her jeans and underwear before yanking them down to which Y/N let out a little squeal.

Y/N knew she had to pull away from the kiss for air but she didn’t want to, waiting till the very last minute until she couldn’t anymore and went to get his jeans off.

“Come on. Be good.” He murmured against her lips, brushing his hips up so she could get his pants off. She tugged and easily they came down, Harry kicking them off as he pulled her back in his lap. His hands gripped her bare ass and groaned when she pushed into them, not thinking twice before pulling his hand back and smacking it the sound rang in the room and she let out the most sexy noise against his mouth, making him hiss. Fuck. He wanted her so fucking badly. This girl... she was everything. One hand went to feel and fuck. Fuck shit, motherfuck, it was wet. She was so, wet. “Jesus— you’re so wet. Baby— holy shit, you’re soaked.” He whispered. “S’cause of me? You wanted daddy’s cock this bad?” He pulled his fingers off slightly, the arousal still stringing to his fingers. He placed them at her mouth and pushed them in. “That’s it. Clean them up, sweet girl. You’re so filthy, y’know that? Precious little thing. So slick and hot, want cock so fucking bad don’t you?” He cooed, feeling her suck on the digits. “Now.... rub it against your pussy. Don’t put it in yet. get it wet.”

Y/N sucked at his fingers as if it were her job, making sure to treat it like she would his cock which included eye contact. She loved looking at him, seeing his hungry expression and his eyes that seemed to say so much more than he did. Even the feeling of her cunt sliding over his cock sent tingles up her spine. It had never affected her this much with other guys, but she assumed it was different with Harry because she had wanted him for so long. Y/N let out a whimper, feeling a gush of wetness accumulate when he pushed his fingers in farther. Harry was hot in ways she couldn’t explain, there were little things he did that just hit the spot and made her want to fuck him even harder. Y/N was practically bouncing on his cock, aching for him to let her have it inside.

“You’re such a good girl. Listening so fucking well.” Harry took his fingers from her mouth, smirking at the whine and slight chasing of his fingers when he placed it on her breast. She gave it all to him and honestly, he was ready to just... lose it. “Go ahead. Take what you want.” It was not even a moment later that he felt her begin to sink down. She was tight— so damn tight, and he choked slightly at just how good the squeeze was. He let out a hiss, head thrown back in the couch as the slick, hit cunt sucked over him, squeezing hard as she stretched open slowly. “Holy fuck.” He growled, gripping both hips now and looking at her with a darkness in his eyes. “You’re so bloody tight— Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so good.” He whispered.

“Daddy!” She whimpered as she slid farther down on his cock until she couldn’t fit anymore of him in. “I’m so full— feels so good.” Her eyes rolled back a bit as she began to bounce at a slowed rhythm. Small moans and little huffs came from her throat with every stroke of her hips, it wasn’t until she felt warmed up that she actually went for it. Y/N shifted so that she had better balance, keeping her hands on his shoulders before dropping back down on his cock. “Fuck!” She squeaked, making sure to clench one her way back up before repeating the action at a quicker pace. It felt incredible. He was touching every little part of her, feeling small waves of pleasure spread throughout her body. “Daddy! Fuck— feels so good ahhh!” Her moans were pornographic, whiny, desperate and needy. She didn’t even know she could sound like that, but apparently it was possible when she was as thirsty for cock as she was.

Never would he have guessed that this would be the outcome of their hang out. He had hoped, sure. Dreamed? Absolutely. But the reality was so much better. He had the hot, wet and extremely tight pussy gliding up and down his cock. She was moaning, tits bouncing in his face, and she was vocal. More than he could have asked for. The infatuation he had with her was only growing.

“Fuck, you’re a good girl. Such a perfect little cunt. Like bouncing on my cock, hm? Knew you’d be the perfect girl for me. Keep going.” His hand squeezed her ass, encouraging her to work herself on him. “Feels so full, yeah? Such a big cock filling such a little pussy. A nice stretch for you hm? So eager to be filled up...” her face was of pure bliss and Harry couldn’t help but take a mental photo. He hoped this could happen more than this once. “Knew you’d be good for me. Throwin’ yourself in my lap and begging to be fucked. Never guessed you’d be such a little slut, but I love it.” He took his hand, bringing it down sharply on her ass.

“Fuck!” Y/N gasped, her own hand moving to cuff his neck. It wasn’t as effective as him doing it to her, but it got the point across. The both of them grabbing at each other roughly, him thrusting up into her each time she slammed down. It could only be described as pure ecstasy, surely the hottest sex she had ever had. She needed him, she needed him to cum. Y/N couldn’t stop herself from leaning down to kiss his mouth again, making a mess of the two of them. “You’re so fucking good— love your cock, daddy... fucking love it!” She moaned between kisses, increasing her pace just enough so she could fuck him hard and steady. “I want you to cum for me daddy, wanna feel it nice and deep.” Thank fuck for IUDs. “Want you to fill me up while I cum all over your cock, can you do that for me? Can you cum with me?”

He was panting, lowering himself so he could properly thrust into her sopping cunt. He hadn’t gotten any in so long but this blew any and everyone out of the water. No one could ever understand how good this was. All the pining and imagining had come to an even better conclusion.

“I’ll do it... but you... gotta promise me.” He growled, giving a particularly sharp thrust inside of her, making her wail. “Promise me I can do it again. Let me have this pussy more.” He didn’t want it to end if it was the only time he could get it. It was too good to let go of. Drooling all over his cock and her soft whimpers and dirty words had him more worked up than anything else. “Promise, baby, and I’ll let you have my cum.”

“Promise— I promise— fuck!” She felt her breath get caught in her throat at the particularly hard thrusts Harry was giving her. “Please Daddy, please give it to me.” Y/N whimpered, moving her hands so they cupped his cheeks, keeping eye contact with him as they continued to relentlessly thrust into each other. There was nothing more satisfying, nothing that managed to hit every part of her both physically and spiritually and made her feel so alive. When you’ve wanted something for so long it makes getting it that much better and she knew that she’d always be chasing this high that only he could give her. “I’m so close, fuck, daddy—“ She mumbled between kisses, squeezing around him and continuing at her pace to bring herself to the perfect high. “Cum with me daddy, please— ah!”

Harry would work on his stamina next round. But after the whole thing, he was close to losing his mind. She was giving him the most tempting offer and he wasn’t going to give it up.

“Oh— fuck me.” He thrusted in again and again before he let himself go. Feeling her clench up around him and sob against his mouth, he let out a deep growl as he buried himself deep. Hot cum shooting inside of her cunt, rocking his hips in to get it all in there. There was no doubt that this was some of the most intense sex of his life but he was almost ready to go again, as soon as it ended. Holding her shivering form, her orgasm was tapering, he could feel her clenching still. “That’s it. Take all of it inside of you. Good girl.”

Y/N gripped Harry’s shoulders, loud screams of pleasure coming straight from her throat. There were no words to describe the high, she almost felt out of her own body as he showered her with praise. With her body shaking and face contorting with a silent scream, she found it in her to come back down letting out a pathetic whimper.

“Daddy—” She swallowed thickly, mouth finding his messily, pressing kisses to his lips and his face. The two of them were both lightly covered in sweat, breathing heavily and enjoying each other’s company. Y/N was far too blissed out to think about what just happened, but blissed out enough to know there would be many more rounds of this tonight. Y/N smiled as she nuzzled against his neck, still sponging kissing to his dampened skin. “Better?” She mumbled, smirking against his skin a bit.

“Mm.” He hummed, hands holding her hips still. Holy hell. This was the beginning of an amazing weekend- because he didn’t plan on letting her out at all, if he could help it’ he wanted her to stay, to let him indulge in her. “So fucking good.” He muttered lowly, rubbing his hand up her back and smoothing over her skin. Fucks sake. This was paradise. Nothing could pop him out of this.

At least, that was until the doorbell rang.

“Ah, fuck. The pizza.”

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Text

Oh Baby Chapter 10

Wooo there’s a lot happening in this bad boy! And a lot of cute dad Gibbs moments! Enjoy! Thanks to the lovely @leroyjethrogibbsgirl for the brainstorming and writing sessions!

Masterlist | oh baby master list

—————

Since Amelia’s party the Gibbs family had been doing pretty well. They were still doing family counseling sessions, and Y/N and Gibbs had been going together as well. Y/N knew since gibbs wasn’t a talker, if they went together he’d get to hear strategies that they told Y/N to try and wouldn’t feel so alone.

Gibbs had even agreed to start a low dose of medication to help with his panic and episodes. Y/N was beyond proud of her husband and couldn’t believes the process he made. Sniper was also a big help, and the fact that his little girl loved snuggling up to him, which always calmed him down.

Y/N was feeling close to normal again until Gibbs got a call from Vance that had him seething. She set Amelia and Piper up with toys in her room and went in to check on Gibbs.

“Hey baby wh-“

“He’s out”

“What? Who?Y/N asked and then froze. “That maniac that tried to take our daughter is out?”

“Escaped during transport. Agents are coming here to guard the house, but I’m staying and working the case from here. Dinozzo’s got point at NCIS. I’m not leaving you girls.”

She hugged him tight, amazed that he was not running to the navy yard to make sure he can tackle the man himself.

It had been a solid week of fear for the Gibbs family. All three of them stayed hunkered in their home with police details around the perimeter. Y/n made sure to not scare Amelia by making it like a mini vacation but Gibbs could tell it was getting to her. And y/n could tell it was wearing Jethro down. She had even began to suspect that he had stopped taking his medication.

He was on edge, more so than normal, moody and a little snappy. Y/N also noticed that when she went to put her bottle of new meds away that Gibbs’ hadn’t been touched.

Y/N had woke up that morning, expecting her husband to already be up grumbling around like usual.

She was surprised when she walks downstairs to Jethro making breakfast. She smiled and kissed his cheek, scooping Amelia from her seat.

“Hey there my cuties! How are we doing?” She asked as she goes to put coffee on.

“Good just got up” Gibbs said as he kissed both girls.

“I can tell, no coffee yet.” She laughed and Amelia said.

“Poppa love coffee!”

“He sure does!” Y/N agreed.

“Coffee and my girls, all I need” He said with a smile.

As they sat down for their breakfast they suddenly heard a loud bang and yelling at the front door. Suddenly their door was knocked down and the man that had once again put them through hell was facing him.

“Where is my grand daughter!?” He screamed.

Gibbs grabbed his gun quickly from the safe and Pushed Y/N with Amelia in her arms behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gibbs yelled and moved further between his girls and the man.

“I’m here from my grand daughter!” He lunged forward and Y/N thought quickly throwing the freshly brewed coffee at him, giving her time to get Amelia out of the room and lock them both in the bathroom, calling 911.

By the time Y/N was off the phone, she heard a gun shot and huddled Ami closer to her until Jethro knocked on the door “it’s me it’s safe.”

He whispered and Y/N leaned enough to unlock the door while huddling Amelia close. Gibbs pushed in and scooped his girls in his arms.

“He’s gone” he said and kissed her head. “We’re safe.”

“Gone gone?” She asked.

He nodded “pulled a gun on me, officers saw it. It’s already been declared self defense... it’s over.”

She nodded and snuggled into him allowing Amelia to cling to them both as he continued to sooth them both.

“We need to head to NCiS to for debrief and report officially.”

“Bad man gone? We see my Ziva?”

“Yeah baby the bad man is gone and we’ll see your Ziva and uncles probie and Tony.”

“Yayyy daddy keep us safe”

“Always” Gibbs said as he snuggled her close.

The Gibbs family showed up and NCIS a little worse for wear. Y/N was holding onto Amelia pretty tight, she clung back around her neck even tighter and had her little hand around her dad’s finger as they walked.

Gibbs was very agitated and y/N could tell. He separated and went to debrief with the director.

Y/N and Amelia say and Gibb’s desk with Ziva and the rest of the team when Gibbs came out. “I’m done with this, you should have done more they heard Gibbs scream and slam the door, his flip phone bouncing off the floor.

“Gibbs” director Vance shouted as Y/N and Tony stood up to go after Gibbs and Amelia became crying.

“Jethro!” Y/N yelled as she and and Tony caught up to him as he reached the elevator.

“I’m fine!” He grunted.

“You’re not” Tony said

“You’re shaking” y/n pointed out and held his hand. He shook her off and gruffly said “I am fine.”

“Boss you’re not. You need to get yourself together.” Tony said

“For us, for me and your daughter” she said and Gibbs looked up to where Amelia was crying in ziva’s arms.

He sniffed and nodded his head taking Y/N’s hand.

“I scared her”

“We’re all scared, we need you. It’s okay if you’re scared but we need you.”

He nodded again and y/N started to pull him toward the desks

“will you hear us out? Let us help you? Please?” Y/N asked as he scooped Amelia from Ziva.

“Peas let us help poppa! We no want you be angy! Me and momma give you huggies and we all feel better!” She squeaked as she hugged him. “Get help for mealia poppa!” She said nuzzling into him and he could feel the last of his walls breaking down.

“I’m sorry I yelled baby! I’m so sorry.” He sniffled and held onto her and Y/N’s hand.

“It’s Otay poppa! Me and momma and da team help you!”

“That’s right boss we’re here” Ziva said and Tony and McGee nodded.

“Jethro” y/n whispered. “Needing help, needing medication or a counselor isn’t weak.”

“I know” he whispered. “You’re the strongest person I know I just, I shouldn’t need all that to protect you.”

“You don’t need that to protect us but you do need help to manage the anxiety of the situation. We all do. And most of all we need you. So please do whatever it takes to make sure we have that?”

He nodded and hugged his girls to him “anything for you both.”

“We can all go together tonight, I’ll call in an emergency appointment, please?”

Gibbs nodded and looked at his team.

“We’ll wrap this up and we’ll deliver dinner to your house tonight” ducky insists.

“Thank you all” Gibbs whispered as he and his girls got on the elevator.

“Thank you for sticking by me, I’m so sorry I scared you.” Gibbs said as he guided his girls towards the car.

“Poppa no scary” Amelia said “poppa saved us and was angry at scary guy!”

“Yup poppa is our hero!” Y/n said

“Momma was pretty brave today too, I taught you well but where’d that coffee trick come from.” He smiled.

“Needed to protect our baby bear” she chuckled and ticketed Amelia’s side.

Gibbs smiled whispering “I love you momma bear”

“And we’re both very glad we have you as the poppa bear to our momma and baby bear!”

Gibbs smiled and kissed Y/N before driving home.

About 2 weeks after the incident at the Gibbs home and the impromptu intervention, things were looking up for the Gibbs family. Gibbs, Y/N and Amelia had all been attending counseling, together and separately, whatever any of them needed.

Gibbs was getting back into the swing of taking his medication and finally feeling safer and more relaxed about Amelia not being right near him. There were tough days for all involved but they always had each other to lean on.

Lately when Gibbs was working on his boat the girls would sneak away to Amelias room to work on a “secret project” or “the -ecret propject” as Amelia called it. Gibbs played along and smiled after Y/N told him she promised she’d give his first mate back to help on his boat as soon as the project was finished.

Gibbs knew Father’s Day was coming up and couldn’t deny he was pretty excited for their “propject”. So he would take Sniper down the basement with him instead of his girls to keep him company.

While Gibbs and His puppy son were having bonding time with the boat, the girls were hard at work on a few very special gifts and Amelia (and Y/N had been having a very hard time keeping a secret. The night before Father’s Day Y/N wrapped up the gifts in brown butchers paper and had Amelia color all over it. She hid it away and smiled as she thought about his face when he would open it.

The next morning Y/N woke up bright and early somehow succeeding in waking up before her perpetually early husband. He didn’t stay sleeping long, when she moved to get up he rasped “morning baby”

She huffed and turned to kiss him. “Good morning handsome, but it’s Father’s Day so please either go back to sleep or just lay here and pretend we woke you up in like 15 minutes. “Yes ma’am” he smiled as she got and went to leave the room before popping her head back in. “And happy Father’s Day, thanks for doing this whole parenting thing with me.” She added, causing his face to break into a big smile.

She left the room and snuck into Amelias room, kissed her head.

“Hey baby” she said and watched her daughter sleepily open her eyes.

“Hi momma” she whispered and the. Promptly added “poppa?”

Y/N giggled and answered “it’s poppa day so we’re gonna bring him coffee in bed!”

“Yayyy!” She cheered

Y/N and Amelia prepared Gibbs coffee and presents and headed upstairs.

That snuck into his and Y/N’s room and “woke” him up by kissing his cheeks.

“Well hello there my beautiful girls, and boy” he said and kissed them both, patting sniper, who had followed them in, on the head.

“HAPPY POPPA DAY POPPA!” Amelia squealed as Gibbs set his coffee down to scoop her up!

“We has presents!”

“You do?” Gibbs asked with a smile as Y/N set them down for Amelia to give him.

“We worked really hard on these ones huh meals? We started a few months ago.” Y/N said as Gibbs began to open the larger package leaving out that they had actually started this project when they were in protective custody, to help them not miss him so much.

As he tore the paper he saw 2 scrap books and couldn’t help but smile as he flipped through the first one that said family.

There were over a dozen decorated pages with pictures of his family. Every group he’d ever called his family in fact. Old pictures of when he was a boy, pictures with Mike franks and dwayne pride from his early days of NCIS, pictures with Shannon and Kelly, pictures of his current NCIS team with hand written notes from each of his 3 agents and plenty of pictures of him, Amelia, and Y/N. On the back page was a picture Amelia had drawn (with Y/N’s help) of all the people in her family. Gibbs teared up when he saw it included a scribbled frame in stick figure Amelia’s hand labeled “Shannon and my sister Kelly”.

“Poppa you like it?” Amelia peeped as she climbed up to wipe his tears.

“I love it baby! Thank you so much. He said as he smiled at Y/N.

“Momma you said da other one would make poppa cry!” She giggled as she went to sit in her mom’s lap so her dad could look at the second book.

“All happy tears though” y/n clarified as she kissed her head.

Gibbs picked up the second book and quickly understood why Y/N would say he’d cry. One the front cover were bright stickered letters that said “Gibbs’ girls” and smaller silver font that said “a picture book of proof that you’re the best dad ever”

The tears came as he opened the first page and saw 2 pictures, one of Amelia and himself sanding his boat, and one of Kelly and him sanding a boat. With decorations and Y/N’s hand writing that said “2 girls lucky enough to be their dad’s ‘first mate’.

Gibbs looked up and pulled both his girls into a hug. “I love it” he whispered.

“We used pictures we knew you were okay with sharing with us and they are all copied. Originals are safe in their boxes.” Y/N explained.

“What could be better than a picture book of all of my girls huh?” He smiled as he turned to her page that proudly showcased photos of all 4 of his girls.

“We were hoping you’d tell us the stories of some of them” y/N said and Gibbs nodded as he began telling a story about riding horses with Kelly.

“Poppa one more!” Amelia peeped after his story.

“Another gift?” He asked an took the small box from her.

“Yup, this one we didn’t hand make, but it’s still special” y/N explained.

Gibbs opened the box to see a silver with a small silver tag holding a link of chain together, the tags had the initials K and A etched in it, and on the back that laid against his arm it said “#1 dad to Kelly and Amelia Gibbs”

He couldn’t even talk he was so loved by the gift.

“Thank you” he said as he tucked both of them under his arm.”

“We wanted you to know how lucky all your girls were and are to have you J” Y/N said with a kiss to his cheek as Amelia added “best poppa Eva”

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve any of you.” He said as Y/N clasped the bracelet on. “But I am so lucky.”

The Gibbs’ spent that day enjoying and celebrating being a family, as well as visited and calls from each of the team to their ‘work dad’ and Y/N put it. Gibbs couldn’t have asked for a better ‘poppa day.”

——-//

@mac99martin @kittenlittle24 @viper-official @ilovemark1951 @theofficialzivadavid @averyhotchner @andreasworlsboring101 @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

#ncis image #ncis #ncis fandom #ncis x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs x reader

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

Note

Omg I love all your drabbles they are so amazing and brilliant I can’t believe you do that for free! What a blessing you are!! I was wondering whether there would be a part four to the vacation au and if not could you do maybe more jealous Cassian but in your lawyer au I’m obsessed but honestly anything you write has me happy!

This is so sweet I am so glad you’re loving the drabbles! I did a second part to the vacation AU a couple days ago so I’m going to go with Jealous Cassian in the lawyer AU. I already *kind* of did this but I’ve been doing jealousy light lately and this time we are cranking it up to 100. This one is kinda long and pretty angsty and I think I definitely need to smoosh all these lawyer drabbles into a mini story that follows Nessian from meeting while studying for the bar exam and then through snippets of their careers so maybe that’s what I’ll do next.

Actually facing Nesta in court was an extreme rarity. All of her non pro Bono work was strictly solicitor. Drafting contracts and negotiating deals in different chic board rooms with little glass bottles of Perrier and complimentary latte carts trolling the halls.

Nesta thought that she didn’t want to litigate. She thought that people didn’t like her and because of that she was a bad advocate. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Watching Nesta fight for something that she believed in, truly believed in, was the closest thing to a religious experience Cassian had ever known.

“And I would urge you to consider in your decision, your honour, the fact that even if it should apply in this case, the very law my learned friend is attempting to uphold is currently under review by the Supreme Court and may soon be overturned on the basis of being unconstitutional as well as unconscionable.” Nesta took a pregnant pause.

“If that happens. If this law is overturned, as you well know, it will not be retroactively helpful to my client. My client who was born here. My client who grew up in Queens. My client who can draw you a map of which bodegas has the best coffee vs the best sandwiches and their proximity to the nearest train, and if that doesn’t qualify her as an American, and a New Yorker, then I don’t know what does.” The judge smiled a little at that. It was a calculated risk, the emotional appeal. But Judge Miluski was already on Nesta’s side and she was a born and bread New Yorker and she had the rare distinction of being a member of the judiciary with a sense of humour. “If this law is overturned, which we both know is highly likely, then my client will be sent to another country, a country she has never even been to, not because she did anything wrong, but because this trial happened a few weeks too-”

Nesta trailed off, eyes caught at the quietly opening gallery door. A man stepped in. Tall and thin and… greasy. Hair slicked back with so much product Cassian didn’t think he’d feel it if he hit him on the head with a hammer. Which he desperately wanted to do. That brutish, violent, raised in foster homes in Harlem side of him that even a legal education and a closet full of Armani suits could never quite polish out of him lit on fire at the sight of this creep. This asshole who was wearing fucking asics with his $4000 suit. And no tie. Top three buttons of a pinstripe white shirt unbuttoned. What a fucking rube.

Except that this guy. THIS fucking guy, made Nesta lose her train of thought. This guy who walked into court late and had yet to drag his eyes up from Nesta’s ass, had distracted her. Caused her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and smile a little. This shy, light, cutesy little smile that absolutely did not belong on Nesta Archeron’s face.

When Nesta smiled it was a sly, knowing, victorious thing that curled across her lips and set Cassian’s heart hammering in his chest.

This… this was insanity.

The man smirked, deep and arrogant, as he stood at the back of the courtroom, hands slid into his pockets. Not even respectful enough of the proceedings to sit down.

Nesta gathered herself quickly. The whole mess over in under 20 seconds, but Cassian noticed it. Even as Nesta went on and cited the law and the competing jurisprudence and the ethics and the constitution, he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was that little smile.

Cassian said his final piece, the judge ruled, as they both knew she would, in Nesta’s favor, and it was all over.

Nesta didn’t even gloat like she usually would have. She just stuck her hand out, the absolute picture of professionalism, and shook his.

“Good working with you, Counseler.” She said, as if he hadn’t pulled her around the side of a building and pushed her body up against a brick wall the other day, moulding her into him as they fought over this case. Discussed their future. Their passions.

She’d rejected his invitation to dinner, but she always did. It was a part of the game. A game that Cassian was determined to win.

“Who’s the tech bro?” The sneakers with the suit and the unbuttoned shirt and the general shitty attitude all pointed to that being the only reasonable profession.

“Babe,” the slimy man in question pushed past the swinging waist high half door that separated the gallery and the space where counsel’s desks sat. “Let’s go.” He wrapped and arm too tightly around Nesta’s waist and pulled on her a little.

Cassian curled his fists into his palms so hard his nails bit imprints into the skin of his palms. Babe? Telling her when to leave? The pulling? No.

“I’m Cassian.” He held out his hand. “ADA. What firm do you work for? Haven’t seen you around.”

“Tomas.” The man scoffed, “And I’m not a lawyer. Not interested in all that gibberish you’re type is always spewing. Sounds like pure nonsense to me. I’m a tech investor.”

Yeah. That sounded about right. No actual skills. Not an engineer or developer or even a business manager. Just an idiot with a trust fund throwing money at whatever looked cool.

“Well, Tomas. Do you know why they call that big exam full of all that gibberish you hate the bar exam?” The weasel just raised his eyebrows. “It’s because once you pass it, then you are an attorney. And allowed to cross past this BAR.” Cassian pushed Tomas back out the little half door again. “Which separates the civilians in the gallery from the lawyers making their cases. So maybe learn how to show a little respect.” Cassian scoffed, flicking his eyes to Nesta, “In a few different areas of your life.”

“What the fuck, bro?” Tomas rolled his eyes. “This is why I fucking hate going to your lawyer parties and shit. Jackasses like this.”

“Tomas, please.” Nesta placed a hand on his chest, Cassian tensed, and that seemed to calm Tomas down. Not Nesta’s touch, but another man’s jealousy.

“Why don’t you bring the car around. I have to work out a court date for another matter with Cassian but I’ll be right out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Tomas glared, keeping eye contact with Cassian as he kissed Nesta’s cheek, hand travelling too far down her back. “Hurry though.”

“Of course.” Nesta smiled that same tiny little smile that made her look like a doll on a shelf and Cassian wanted to scream.

“What the fuck are you doing with a piece of shit like that?” Cassian minced no words as he turned to face Nesta.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty straight forward question, Nes.”

“You… you don’t know him. He’s not like that once you get to know him.”

“Sure he’s not,” Cassian scoffed.

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that your boyfriend, who I’ve never heard of or seen before today despite knowing you for years, had a chance to see you in court. Had a chance to watch you all fired up and passionate and brilliant and instead he walked in late, stared at your ass instead of listening to what you were saying, and then shoved his way up here and pulled at you to leave like you were some kind of toy he didn’t mind tearing the arm off of.”

Nesta blinked. Huffed out a breath. “We’ve been on again off again for a while. That’s why you haven’t seen him before. And he just doesn’t like lawyer stuff that’s why he’s like that in here ok? Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So you’re dating someone who not only doesn’t recognize how brilliant you are but won’t even let you talk about your job?” That was wrong. That was so wrong. That was… why Nesta was so intense with him. Why she debated and fought and talked for hours. Because she couldnt do it at home.

“Why do you even care, Cassian? Let’s just set a date and-”

“Fuck you, Nesta.” Her jaw fell open. “Fuck you for even asking me that. You know why I care. You can’t play dumb with me like I assume you do with him.”

“You don’t know anything about my relationship!” Nesta defended a little too vehemently.

“I know you can’t yell at him about his take on immigration laws,” Cassian stepped closer to her. “I know you can’t get a little tipsy off your favorite Malbec and go on a rambling tirade about the corrupt judiciary and your twenty three- or twenty five depending on the night- reasons why voting for judges completely undermines the integrity of the legal system.”

The was almost no space between them as Cassian looked down, gently set his hand under Nesta’s chin and raised her gaze to meet his. Burning with anger and passion and barely concealed desire. “I know that he didn’t understand why you were crying when RBG died. Because he doesn’t care about how appointing Supreme Court judges works or what that meant for the future of the court. And because I know that you weren’t with him that night. You were with me. Just like election night in 2016. And the Kavanaugh trials. And when the travel ban came into effect. You found me. Because I get it, and I care about your thoughts on all of those things. I’m devastated by them too. You were with me, Nes. And don’t you dare pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Nesta let her cheek sink into his palm. “It means everything Cassian, but…”

“But we fight,” he smiled. “We bicker and yell and cross ideologies and disagree on all the little things. But not the big things, Nes. Never on the big things. We disagree on how to change the world, not what we want to change in it. Isn’t that what matters?”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t risk losing you.” She said quietly. “I need you. For all of those reasons, I need you to be in my life and if we… I hurt the people I love, Cassian. So if I let myself love you, I would only hurt you. And I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

“So you date him.” Realization was an arrow sailing into Cassian’s chest. “Because you won’t hurt him. Because you could never actually love him.”

Nesta swallowed. “See? See how awful I am?”

Cassian moved his hand to her back, pulled her into his chest. “Go,” he whispered. “Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here. And I’ll be waiting for you to realize that I’m not going anywhere. That I can take it. Whatever you want to throw at me, I can take it, Nes.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.

I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.

--------------

Title: impossible scenario

Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.

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There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.

Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”

Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.

“Spidey?”

Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.

“Spidey.”

“I got it,” Peter sighed.

The gal tsked.

“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.

Peter sighed.

“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”

There was a pause.

“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”

Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.

“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”

Bye now.

“Apps, even.”

Bye, bye.

“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”

“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.

Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.

That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.

That left snark and violence.

Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.

He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.

It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.

The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.

Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.

“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.

“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.

“Luke.”

“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”

“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”

Peter was just standing here, fellas.

“Luke.”

“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”

God, what a mood.

The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.

“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.

“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”

“Kid.”

“ME.”

“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.

“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.

This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that?” someone whispered.

“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.

“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”

Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.

“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”

He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.

“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”

Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.

Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.

“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”

The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.

“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.

“Luke, please. Please.”

“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.

“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”

He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.

Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.

“You mean that?” Luke asked him.

“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.

“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.

This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.

“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”

MMMMMMM.

And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?

“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.

“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.

“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”

“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.

It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.

“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”

“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.

“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.

Ha.

Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.

“Luke. Back me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”

“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.

Han sighed.

“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.

“Not here.”

“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”

“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”

“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”

“I’m hearing you making this about you.”

“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”

“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”

“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”

“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.

“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”

“Luke.”

“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.

“I mean it,” Luke said.

Oho.

So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.

He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.

Bye, bye.

“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”

Peter stopped five paces away.

“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”

Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.

“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Shut up,” Luke said.

“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”

“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”

“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”

“Maybe there’s a chance—”

“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.

His stomach turned.

Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.

There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.

Luke was crying.

The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.

“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”

Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.

It was weird.

It was just weird.

Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.

Luke.

Han.

An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.

Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?

Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’

If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.

But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—

He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.

There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.

Only one.

PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.

NL: no promises but go on

PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????

NL: fascinating

JS: Say more

PP: who let you in here?

JS: you?

PP: SECURITY

NL: Peter say more

PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???

MJ: yeah?

PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?

MJ: what kind of breakdown

JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker

PP: Security has failed me. God?

NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.

PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.

JS: nicknames?

PP: I—

PP: oh my god nicknames

PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side

JS: 😊

MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters

NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????

PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit

NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.

PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?

JS: yes I will come search your body imminently

MJ: my job storm, back off

JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤

NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers

PP: ikr?

NL: lol imagine if they were serious

MJ: don’t say that

JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned

JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.

PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?

MJ: cue breakdown

NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.

PP: ned I’m freaking out

NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?

PP: deeply

NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?

PP: NO

MJ: on it

JS: can I join?

NL: no johnny

MJ: no johnny

PP: 😭

JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown

Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.

Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.

Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.

Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.

“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”

Ned was perfect.

“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”

Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Peter didn’t want to.

“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”

Fine.

Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.

“Keep going.”

Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.

“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.

73%.

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”

“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”

“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”

No.

“What’d he look like?”

Peter groaned.

“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”

“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”

Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.

He stared at the edge of his keyboard.

“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.

PP: sam

SC: yeah?

PP: do you like star wars?

SC: nah

PP: you’re perfect

PP: do you believe in past lives?

SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package

PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?

SC: I don’t think about those people

PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?

SC: Buddha

PP: not buddha

SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?

PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye

Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.

That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.

“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.

Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”

Thor blinked at him.

“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.

Thor lit up.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”

…yes…

Say more, Thor-man.

“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”

…yes.

“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”

Peter felt his own grin twitch.

“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.

Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”

Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.

“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.

Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’

Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.

“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.

“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.

“Same,” Thor said.

Damnit.

“Perhaps you are—”

The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.

Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—

There.

Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.

That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.

“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.

“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.

Thor made a sound of interest.

“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Wh—

Peter whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”

Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.

They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”

Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.

It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.

Peter froze.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said.

This time, Luke finally met his eye.

“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”

He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.

Peter watched him go.

“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.

“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.

It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.

“Someone’s building something,” he said.

“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.

“Nope,” Peter said.

NL: That is a lightsaber hilt

NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?

PP: I stole it

NL: give it back

PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.

NL: Peter.

NL: we talked about this.

PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother

MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.

PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.

NL: and if not?

PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling

JS: UM

JS: SORRY

JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?

PP: no

NL: no

MJ: no

JS: are

JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???

NL: …

PP: …

MJ: …

PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

MJ: fake

NL: no way

PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????

JS: I can’t

PP: nope you gotta

JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this

MJ: out with it

NL: please say it’s obi-wan

JS: HHHHHHHHHHH

JS: nope

JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃

PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

PP: I told you motherfuckers

JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?

PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?

There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.

Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.

“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.

Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.

Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.

“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.

Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.

He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.

He was right the other night.

He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.

“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.

“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.

“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.

“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.

“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.

Wait.

No, go back.

“For real?” Peter asked.

Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.

Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.

Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.

But it had shattered them—both of them.

The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.

He’d walked it before.

Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.

“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”

He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.

“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”

MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.

Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.

Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’

One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.

He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.

That didn’t work.

They tried Luke Naberry.

That didn’t work either.

They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.

It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.

Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’

She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.

Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.

He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.

He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.

“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.

“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.

Ned lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe this is his job,” he said.

There was a pause.

Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.

Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.

This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.

He had to find him now.

And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.

Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.

Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.

Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.

He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.

Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.

Ned was about to flip a table.

“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”

Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.

“So she’s a friend,” he said.

“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”

Great. Peter was approaching.

Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.

It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.

He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.

She frowned at it.

Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.

“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

Luke’s friend stared at him.

“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”

Wow.

“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”

He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.

“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.

“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”

“You again?” Luke said.

Peter lifted his head and brows.

“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

There was a long silence.

Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.

“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”

Mmm. Beginner’s luck.

“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”

Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”

Nice.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”

He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”

Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.

But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.

LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?

Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?

PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏

LS: it’s not coke

PP: I’m not judging

LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?

PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it

PP: OH NO

PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.

LS: I

LS: what’s your name?

PP: Peter ❤

LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem

LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?

PP: well you got me

PP: to talk

LS: about what?

PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter

LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????

PP: I could say the same to you, sir.

LS: I

LS: wh

LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.

PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.

LS: how would you know?

PP: what are you, a cop?

LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?

PP: To. Talk.

LS: I’m not going to talk to you.

PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?

He held his breath.

LS: I didn’t

PP: you did

LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.

PP: Man 😊

LS: Man what

PP: That’s my last name.

LS: Peter Man.

PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.

LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?

PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?

Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.

LS: I never asked you to rescue me.

PP: You did. Think back.

LS: I didn’t

LS: I just made a joke to

LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK

Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.

PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤

LS: YOU’RE

PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤

LS: YOU

LS: you

PP: me

LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you

PP: yep 💋

LS: I don’t even know what to say

PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.

LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??

PP: it’s my job

LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???

PP: yes

LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now

PP: harder daddy

LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd

LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd

LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt

PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers

LS: go die

LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.

Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

PP: I’ll bring them back to you.

LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.

PP: you mean obi-wan?

LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.

PP: where do you live?

Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”

It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.

Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.

Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.

“Made friends, I see,” he said.

“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”

“Insidious.”

Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.

“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.

“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”

Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.

“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.

“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.

“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”

“Ben.”

Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.

“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”

T-two?

“The other one is Junior.”

Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.

Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.

“Oh, it’s these people again?”

They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.

“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”

He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.

“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”

The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.

Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.

He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.

“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.

“Oh, how did you know?”

They all jumped.

Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—

Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.

“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”

“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.

They all stared.

“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.

“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.

“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”

Luke stared at him.

“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.

“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.

“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”

“More television.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. ��We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”

Ah.

Fair was fair.

Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”

It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.

Luke gave him a weird brow.

He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.

“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”

Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?

“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”

Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.

“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”

Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.

“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

It sounded like it.

Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.

What a trip.

“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.

“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”

“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.

“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”

Yikes.

Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?

“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.

Yeah, Peter sure had done that.

“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”

Perhaps.

But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?

“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”

Mmm. Perhaps so.

“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”

Peter gawked.

“I’m 27,” he said.

Luke did a double-take.

“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”

“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.

Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.

“The Force,” he said.

Ned’s face fell.

“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.

Luke flinched.

“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”

“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.

Luke stammered and caught himself.

“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”

MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”

Peter stirred his coffee nervously.

Luke’s eye twitched.

“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”

MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.

“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.

Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”

Luke covered his face in despair.

“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.

“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.

“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.

“The other Cody.”

“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”

“Ben, so help me God—”

“Force.”

“SO HELP ME FORCE—”

Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.

“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”

“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”

“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”

“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”

“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.

“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.

“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”

“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”

“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.

“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”

Er.

No.

Sorry?

“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”

Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.

Luke took a deep breath and let it out.

“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”

Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.

“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”

Understood.

“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”

Luke just stared at him coldly this time.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.

“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”

He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.

“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”

Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.

“I am, actually,” he said.

Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.

Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.

“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”

“My husband,” Luke said.

Ned choked.

Peter choked.

MJ tilted her head.

“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”

Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”

Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.

“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”

Hang on a minute here.

Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”

“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”

Ned cringed.

“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”

That—

Okay, so like.

Did these people own a TV?

“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”

UH?

“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”

What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.

“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.

“DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”

Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.

Maybe Obi-Wan?

“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.

“LOOK AT HIM.”

“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”

“You knew where he was.”

“Alright, alright. Downward march.”

Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.

He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.

“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.

“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.

“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”

“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”

“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”

“This is Basic.”

Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?

“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.

“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.

Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.

“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.

Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.

“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”

“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.

“Thank you, that was not my question.”

“What was your question?”

“Why are non-order humans here?”

“I told you, Ahsoka went—”

“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.

“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”

There was a long stare.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”

He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.

“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.

Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.

Vader blinked once.

“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”

“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”

“Negative, ghostrider.”

“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”

“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”

UM?

This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.

“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”

“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”

They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.

“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”

Uh-huh. Good night, sir?

“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”

They hadn’t given their names.

They definitely hadn’t given their names.

Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.

“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.

Correct.

“They’re barely their own characters.”

Correct.

“What now?”

Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?

“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”

Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’

After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.

That was worrying.

Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.

He texted Luke again.

PP: how many nails do you have left bro?

LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure

PP: that don’t sound great bro.

LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news

PP: oh?

LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power

PP: that’s worrying

LS: ? why?

PP: won’t he go dark?

LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.

PP: I truly don’t know what to say

LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist

PP: I know less what to say

LS: he won’t find din :/

PP: is that your priority right now?

LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?

PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.

LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?

That sounded like a horrendous decision.

PP: yeah let me get you his number.

LS: thanksssss

Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.

He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.

He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.

Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.

Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.

Another two weeks. Another text.

PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?

LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.

PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?

LS: preschool teacher.

Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.

PP: was that your calling?

LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm

PP: you honestly terrify me

LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.

PP: no shit??

LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.

PP: I’m

PP: sorry

PP: what?

LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.

PP: dare I ask what your sister does?

LS: lawyer

PP: not senator?

LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.

PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.

LS: because I’m sexy yeah

PP: that too

LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.

PP: how’s that going for you?

LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

PP: I see. So no Din yet?

LS: I will find him if it kills me

PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.

LS: that’s my son you piece of shit

There was no winning here.

MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.

Obviously he hadn’t.

She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.

Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.

Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.

They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.

It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.

Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.

Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.

Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.

They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.

But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.

Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.

Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.

Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.

“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”

Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.

Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.

Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.

Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.

That was what they currently had to go on.

Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’

He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.

He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.

Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.

It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.

He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.

He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.

Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.

Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.

He lost his shit.

Louis tried to retain his shit.

Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.

Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.

Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.

There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.

But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.

He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,

“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”

Wade screamed.

Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.

Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”

They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.

And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.

The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”

Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”

“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”

Wade whistled.

“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”

Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.

“So what now?” he asked.

Wade sniffed.

“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.

PP: Luke are you pretty right now?

LS: My face is intact

PP: take a selfie and send it to me

LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.

PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.

LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on

PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?

LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.

Selfie acquired.

Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.

They waited.

They waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then half an hour.

Then nearly two.

And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.

“Hello?” Wade said.

There was a long pause.

“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.

“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”

It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Wade brought his head down in interest.

“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.

They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—

“Anything.”

Ah.

Okay. That.

That sounded about right.

Wade cackled.

“You know his name?” he asked.

“I do,” the man said.

“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.

“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”

Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.

“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.

Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.

He was not afraid of Wade.

He was not afraid of Peter.

The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.

“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.

“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”

“Grogu,” Djarin said.

Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.

“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.

Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.

Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”

This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.

He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.

Grogu perked up and reached for it again.

“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.

Djarin looked right at him.

“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.

Ned blinked back tears.

“You’re so cool,” he creaked.

Djarin frowned.

“You...are too?” he tried.

Ned wept into a fist.

Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.

“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”

Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.

“Are you sitting?” he asked.

“I’m sitting.”

“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.

“Say hi,” Peter said.

Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.

“Hello?” he tried.

“Din?”

The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.

Djarin had gone completely still.

“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”

“DIN.”

“Dank Fucking Farrik.”

“Oh my god.”

Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.

“Bu?” he asked.

Djarin couldn’t make himself move.

“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”

Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.

He pointed at the phone.

“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.

“MMMMM. Gib.”

“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.

“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”

Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.

“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.

“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”

MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.

Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.

Grogu screeched.

Luke laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”

Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.

He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.

Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.

Djarin found a watery smile in himself.

“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.

“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Luke.”

“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”

“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”

Luke shook harder than ever.

“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.

“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.

“In the Bronx? Where?”

“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”

Djarin started shaking with laugher.

“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.

“You what?”

“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”

Awwwwww.

“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”

Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

Look at all these people hugging each other.

Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.

Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.

“Wait. Peter.”

He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”

Yeah.

Sometimes, he did.

The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.

What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.

It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.

Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.

And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.

#spiderman #starwars #dinluke #inimitable verse #ficlet #this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics #so this is for you doll #and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

YOUR EYES TELL | JJK (08)

Summary: You live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It's simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if...Jeongguk, your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?

Alternatively:

"A future without you is a world without color."

Genre: soulmate au, e2l, slow burn, angst, fluff, roommate au

Pairing: Artist!Jungkook x Lawyer!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Series: CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 9

warnings: unrealistic court happenings i am not a lawyer ok mention of physical abuse, drinking problems, child trauma, mental illness, and infidelity. I want to build a whole new world in this fic that’s why i also didn’t research about divorce trials I’m sorry. OC is kind of annoying/disappointing in this chapter (?) or not (?) Young Choi Soobin of TXT is the kid in this chapter’s moodboard

Jeongguk was the ex-boyfriend Red was talking about.

You figured this out when you were at Seokjin's party. Frankly, the way your soulmate was looking at Red was already a giveaway, but then you had to confirm it yourself.

The only way to do that was to either confront Jeongguk or your assistant.

You chose neither and it was because you were afraid to hear what they would or wouldn't say. This being said, you resorted to your last option.

"Come on..." It was hard to sit on the floor when you're wearing a damn long dress, but this didn't stop you from rummaging through Red's personal things.

It's the middle of the night. You left Jeongguk at your apartment right after he reached his high.

You just wanted to teach him a lesson for being a brat. He was always so rude to you and you honestly thought that he was just in denial—that soon enough, he would realize that you two were really destined to be together.

Apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

You went to your office at one in the morning just to find something that would verify your speculation. You got what you wanted. The photograph of Jeongguk kissing your assistant confirmed it.

Your tears fell.

You didn't know why you felt betrayed. It wasn't like they wanted this. They hadn't done anything wrong. Fate was just cruel. Why didn't you meet Jeongguk first? You couldn't blame him for falling in love with Red—she was sweet, beautiful, and smart. Anyone would definitely like her, so you had no choice but to swallow the lump in your throat and accept this.

You just had to pretend like everything was alright.

It wasn't.

The divorce trial was near and there were still so many things you had to fix. Work was seriously draining the hell out of you and it wasn't like Jeongguk was helping. He was actually adding up to the stress you were feeling.

Jeongguk was giving you the silent treatment and no—it wasn't the type of silence you were used to. Before Seokjin's party, your soulmate was quiet, but not really. He would occasionally huff to let you know that he was annoyed at you. He would also stamp his feet and slam the door just to spite you.

You didn't mind. You knew he was just being a brat; however, things were different now.

After the night of Seokjin's party, Jeongguk changed. He was eerily silent, always avoiding eye contact with you.

You tried talking to him. Regrettably, you were only greeted by stillness.

"You want pizza, Gukkie?"

Nothing.

"Have you watched the latest episode of Start-up?"

Still nothing.

"Did you have a good sleep?"

Nope. Nothing. Nada.

"Wanna make out on the couch?"

Jeongguk's head jolted to your direction. His eyes were wide, cheeks turning crimson because of your bold statement.

"Hey!" You giggled, clearly happy with his reaction. "You finally looked at me!"

Jeongguk shook his head and then he went straight to his room.

You were unbelievable.

You pouted your lips, giving up. You had a feeling that he would come around.

He did. Days later, Jeongguk surprised you when he stood right in front of the door of your apartment. He was blocking your way out.

"Gukkie, I'm going to be late." You sighed. He reminded you of Miri, your cat that's always trying to stop you from leaving.

"You can't leave." His jaw clenched.

You let out a breath once again.

"Don't do this please. Mr. Kim needs me,"

The trial was happening today. You needed to run down a few things with your client before you go to the court room.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Jeongguk folded his arms over his chest.

You stared at him.

"I don't get what?" It was hard to keep your composure when the thing you had been trying to avoid for so long was being rubbed in your face. You knew exactly what Jeongguk was implying.

"—that you want me to drop this case because you want Red all to yourself?"

Jeongguk froze. What was the point of staying silent when you always knew what was running inside his head?

You just always knew.

"You don't have to pretend that you care about Soobin's well-being. I have enough people doing just that," you slightly pushed Jeongguk to the side so that you could pass through the door.

Ah, people.

They're all the same, always trying to conceal their self-interest by pretending that they care for others.

You liked Jeongguk—actually; you were convinced you loved him. He was your soulmate after all, but sometimes love wasn't enough to just give into what he wanted.

This wasn't about your relationship. This was about Soobin's welfare. He's just a child. You were a lawyer who swore an oath to protect the oppressed and incapable. You were their voice.

It sounded cheesy, but this was the type of person you aspired to be. The world was already dark, it wouldn't hurt to be someone's light.

Jeongguk didn't understand your reasons. It was evident when he showed up in court to watch you defend Kim Seokjin.

At first, you thought your eyes were failing you. Was he really here? Was he really the man at the back of the room wearing that big hoodie?

It was him. The familiar scowl on his face said so. Jeongguk was the only person who looked at you like you had offended his whole family.

"All rise!"

You turned to your client upon hearing the bailiff's demand.

"It's going to be alright," assured by you.

Seokjin smiled. He was looking at Red instead of you. He needed the comfort of his soulmate.

Red grinned back. She wasn't worried. She trusted you. She was certain you would succeed. Soobin wasn't going to be taken away from his father.

The first few minutes of the trial went smooth. You had your story straight and with the way the judge was nodding; you instantly knew she was in favor of your side.

Unfortunately, things started to go ugly during the cross-examination of witnesses.

Jung Hoseok was the first one to take the stand. He was the expert witness.

"You are the marriage counselor of Mr. and Mrs. Kim for months now, right?"

"Yes." Hoseok answered the opposing counsel. It was weird seeing him this serious. Your friend was always grinning, but you told him to try to keep a neutral face. This way, the judge and the jury wouldn't know if he was caught off guard by the question of the other side's attorney.

"Mr. Jung, is it true that marriage counselors rarely suggest divorce to their clients?"

"Depends—" Hoseok bit his tongue. You told him to simply answer yes or no. Be responsive to the question and never explain. "I mean, yes."

"And yet here we are..." Ms. Choi, the opposing attorney, shrugged her shoulders.

"Objection!" You stood up. "Relevance?"

You didn't understand why Ms. Choi asked that question to Hoseok when she's just shrugging it off now.

"Sustained." The judge felt the same way.

Ms. Choi raised her hand as if surrendering.

"My bad. I'm just curious, you know? If Mr. Jung is indeed an effective counselor, then why did he suggest that the Kim couple push through the divorce?"

Ms. Choi was furrowing her brow at Hoseok.

"Isn't that true, Counselor Jung? You told Mrs. Kim that it's better to end her marriage with Mr. Kim?"

"Yes." The expert witness answered truthfully.

The opposing side's attorney smiled mockingly.

"It's because you feared for Mrs. Kim's safety, right?"

"What?" Jung Hoseok was lost.

"Come on, Mr. Jung you know exactly what I am talking about! You found out that Mr. Kim is an alcoholic and you are scared that he might harm Mrs. Kim and Soobin, right?" Ms. Choi pointed at the five year old kid who was busy coloring books in the far corner of the room. He was with Seokjin's mother.

"Objection, Your Honor! Compound question!" You glared at Ms. Choi.

"Sustained." The judge clenched her jaw. "Ms. Choi, separate your questions. You are misleading the jury..."

Ms. Choi was flustered, yet she still held her head high. She knew she had the upper hand here.

"Is Mr. Kim alcoholic, Mr. Jung?" She tried again.

Hoseok cleared his throat.

"He had a history of abusing alcohol years ago."

"And you know this because you're also a licensed alcohol and drug counselor, correct?"

"Yes..."

"And Mr. Kim Seokjin also told you about his issue with regard to alcohol abuse?"

"Yes." Hoseok swallowed hard.

There were papers that could attest to Hoseok's claim. This was a win for Mrs. Kim. You could see her growing sarcastic smile that was directed at Red.

You inhaled deeply.

"Mr. Jung, can you please tell us the rate of patients going through alcohol relapse?"

"Uh, it's sixty to ninety percent after the first year of treatment," answered by Hoseok.

"I see. How long has it been since Mr. Kim sobered up?"

"As far as I know, it has been three years."

"Huh." Ms. Choi crossed her arms. "So is there a possibility that Mr. Kim would experience an alcohol relapse?"

"Yes."

"What's the statistical probability, Mr. Jung?"

"About fifty percent high." Hoseok looked dejected. He wanted to help Seokjin win the case, but he couldn't lie.

"I see." Ms. Choi was smiling as if she had already won the case.

"Can you tell us now the effects of experiencing an alcohol relapse? Or a slip?"

Hoseok's palms were sweating. Slip was one episode of drinking alcohol after trying to stay sober. Relapse, on the other hand, was the return to unhealthy behavior. Slip wasn't always followed by a relapse.

Hoseok also explained that there were different stages of relapse. Emotional relapse could cause suppression of emotions, becoming more isolated, trying to blame other people, and aggression, especially when they were confronted. There's also mental and physical relapse which included glamorizing alcohol and compulsive desires to drink.

"No further questions, Your Honor." The corner of Ms. Choi's mouth turned up upon realizing that the jury was in favor of their side now.

You had to step up your game.

The next witness was Son Chae-young. She was Soobin's babysitter. Chae-young had been living with the Kims ever since Soobin was born. She's a witness testifying against Seokjin.

Chae-young cleared her throat when your eyes landed on her. She already felt uncomfortable because of the way you were looking at her.

The way you stand up—shoulder down, neck long—was intimidating.

"You have a really nice necklace, Ms. Son."

Chae-young flinched upon hearing your compliment. She was confused. Mrs. Kim and Attorney Choi told her that you were scary, this was evident by the way you present yourself, but then...the way your eyes light up made her feel at ease. Your voice was soft too.

"Ah...thanks," regardless of your sweet persona, Chae-young still couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Why were you looking at her as if she was important? As if you were here to protect and not cross-examine her?

"Is it from Cartier?"

"Yes!" The babysitter beamed at you as she touched her pretty jewelry.

You smiled warmly at her.

"Did you buy it yourself?"

"Objection! Relevance?" The opposing lawyer clenched her fist. She was shaking, causing you to smile bigger. Guess she knew what was coming to her, huh?

"I'm getting there, Your Honor," said by you. Your expression screamed confidence that the judge was compelled to believe you.

"Overruled."

You continued.

"So...Ms. Son, did you buy that necklace? Or is it a gift?"

"Uh..." Chae-young's lips trembled. She was looking at Mrs. Kim, as if she was asking for her boss' help. "I-I bought it for myself..."

"I see." You nodded. Humoring her. "Do you have any other job aside from babysitting Kim Soobin?"

The nanny shook her head.

"N-No. I'm a full-time nanny of Mrs. Kim's son." Chae-young's lips were still shaking; her eyes were quivering as well.

"Hm, interesting..." You went closer to the witness. "That means you're earning what? Two hundred fifty dollars a month?"

"Objection, Your Honor! I still can't see the relevance of this!" Ms. Choi was losing her mind.

You turned to glare at her.

"Can’t you really see the relevance of this or are you just scared?"

You heard the judge's hit the gavel; she was calling your attention.

"Get to the point right now." The judge demanded at you. It was this or your statement was going to be sustained.

"I am merely establishing my point, Your Honor." Your voice was rough. "The necklace Ms. Son is wearing is worth four thousand three hundred dollars. I know because I have the same necklace and it took me, a lawyer, months!" You paused for a while just to emphasize the word months, "to buy it."

You turned to Chae-young when the judge remained silent.

"So tell me, Ms. Son, how can a full-time nanny like you who's earning minimum wage buy that kind of luxurious jewelry? Huh?" You were standing too close to the witness so Attorney Choi used this as an opportunity to object.

"Your Honor, she is badgering the witness!"

"Overruled." But the judge wasn't having any of it. "Answer the question, Ms. Son."

"I'm sorry!" The nanny's face twisted in fear. "Mrs. Kim bought it for me—"

"It's a gift!" Mrs. Kim blurted out, unable to contain her anger anymore. God. She hated you. "I bought it for her last month! It's my birthday gift for her!"

You smirked. Attorney Choi was panicking. She was caressing Mrs. Kim's hand, telling her to calm down.

Sadly, Mrs. Kim could not be stopped.

"Why am I explaining to you when you have no right to question my intention! It's my money so I get to decide what to do with it!"

She was yelling at you and it almost made you laugh. Why was she so defensive?

"May I remind you that you are a married woman, Mrs. Kim? You have to consider your husband's decision when it comes to spending that amount of money." You said this while glancing at the jury.

Base on their expressions, you knew that they agreed with you. This was a win on your side. One of the valid reasons of Seokjin for wanting a divorce was this.��Mrs. Kim didn't know how to manage their assets.

You weren't done, though. You had to discredit the witness. You had to win the jury's side in all aspects.

"And you said you bought it last month for Ms. Son's birthday?" You shook your head, focusing your eyes at the nanny.

"Tell us, Ms. Son, when is your birthday?"

Mrs. Kim's face became pale upon hearing your question.

"January seventeen...”

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Kim again.

"Your birthday present is many months late, Mrs. Kim. Either that or you're just lying to hide the fact that you gave Ms. Son the necklace in exchange of testifying against your husband—"

"Objection—"Attorney Choi tried to stop you, but you cut her off too.

"Isn't that right, Ms. Son? You are bribed by your boss to say that you always see Mr. Kim Seokjin drinking alcohol—"

"Your Honor—" The opposing attorney was losing control, her objections were drowning because of how loud your voice was.

"Mrs. Kim wants you to lie! To say that her husband isn't a good father! That he isn't a good influence to Soobin!"

"Yes!"

You stopped trying to pressure Chae-young because it already worked. She admitted the truth.

"Mrs. Kim bribed me!" The babysitter sobbed, looking at you like you were the Lord and she was a sinner.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I can't say no, please...please...I need this job!"

"You bitch!" Mrs. Kim abruptly stood up. She wanted to attack you; fortunately the security officers were able to stop her.

The jury was surprised to see Mrs. Kim's violent reaction. You, on the other hand, didn't even flinch.

You were used to this kind of scene. Besides, you couldn't get sidetracked. You still needed to prove your point.

And so you faced the jury.

"Is this the kind of person that you want to raise a sweet, innocent five year-old kid?"

One of the members of the jury clutched her chest. She was affected by what you had said. Truthfully, they were almost decided to grant the sole custody to Mrs. Kim; however, upon seeing the latter's behavior, the jury was having second thoughts now.

"Just look at her!" You pointed at Mrs. Kim who was still seething with rage.

"She constrained an adult! Imagine the bad things she could force Soobin to do! Mrs. Kim is a manipulator!" You raised your voice dramatically.

"My actions are nothing compared to what that asshole is doing!" Mrs. Kim screamed as she angrily pointed at her husband.

She was crying.

Kim Seokjin was quiet. He was shocked by your responses. He didn't expect you to be this bold. You were different from the lawyer he thought he knew.

You didn't have any limit. You didn't know when to stop just to prove a point.

"He's teaching my son that it's okay to be unfaithful to your wife! Jury, please!" Mrs. Kim was desperate. "Don't let him come near my son! He's a drunken bastard!"

The judge was hitting the gavel again. There were too much drama and unnecessary comments from Mrs. Kim.

You shook your head. You couldn't stop now. The jury was undecided. They changed their minds from time to time. You could see sympathy in their eyes as they looked at the wife.

"Mr. Kim Seokjin is sober! You should be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Kim! You keep blaming your husband when you're the reason why he turned alcoholic in the first place—"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Attorney Choi glared at you. "The attorney is assuming facts!"

You disagreed before the judge could say sustained.

"Am I?" You smirked at the judge before turning to your table to get your evidence.

Seokjin looked at you nervously.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing," groaned by your client.

You were blinded by your role as a lawyer, so you ignored Seokjin's plea.

"Don't do this..."

Seokjin was already too late.

"I have here the evidence that will prove that Mrs. Kim is the reason why her husband turned alcoholic."

You brought out the printed photos of Seokjin's beaten up face. Bruises, cuts, and other physical injuries were seen.

The jury gasped. Attorney Choi was groaning as she told the judge that these photos were not entered into evidence.

You were playing dirty, but so were they. Ms. Choi told you that they wouldn't bring Mr. Kim's sobriety issue in this court. She lied.

"These pictures are given to me by Mrs. Kim Sunghee, Seokjin's mother." You glanced at your client's mother.

"She knows that her son's wife was assaulting him. Seokjin didn't want to feel his wife's punches so he resorted to drinking the pain away. Mr. Kim just wants to be numb."

"N-No..." Your client's tears streamed down his cheeks. He was calling your name, begging you to stop.

It felt like everyone was begging you to stop; even Sunghee was shaking her head.

It was wrong. This was a mistake. Seokjin's mother realized this when Soobin began to cry. He was silently crying at first, but when the little boy saw the photos in your hand, he started hyperventilating.

"Appa!" Soobin's eyes dilated. He could barely breathe.

Mrs. Kim stood up to attend to her son.

"Soobin!" Mrs. Kim was wailing.

Things were becoming messy.

You didn't understand what was happening, so you just stood there.

"Appa! A-Appa is hurting!" Soobin was losing it; his eyes were rolling in the back of his head.

"Call 911!" Red shouted.

The noise was deafening.

You still didn't get what was happening.

Seokjin went near you.

"I told you not to do it!" He shouted, snatching the photos away from your shaky hands.

"This isn't about me or my wife!" Seokjin continued to scream at you.

You were stunned.

Your client was blaming you.

This is your fault! Seokjin said.

You were wrong. You didn't have to bring out these photos because apparently, Soobin knew.

He witnessed how his mom used to beat up his father.

The poor kid was traumatized.

He had to get some help.

His parents thought he had recovered.

It had been years.

The thing about trauma was, it never went away. It was there—silently sleeping and waiting for that one thing that would trigger it.

You triggered Soobin.

"I-I didn't know..." Your voice was low as you stated your excuse.

No one wanted to hear your lame excuse, not even Jeongguk.

You looked at your soulmate once.

You looked at him desperately.

You looked at him hoping that he would understand—like he would comfort you.

He would never.

Jeongguk had this look in his eyes, the kind of feeling that expressed disappointment.

Jeongguk was disappointed in you.

It was clear because right now, he was shaking his head as if you had done the most horrifying thing in the world.

He shook his head before leaving you all alone.

No one wanted to be with you.

You were a disgrace.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ficswithluv #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jungkook enemies to lovers #jungkook roommate au #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkoon x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook sugar baby au #bts jungkook #bts jeon jeongguk #jungkook soulmate au #jungkook friends to lovers #jungkook e2l

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

roots.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: another one from 2026! aaron retires from federal service this year, at 57.

words: 2.4k warnings: kids!, missing haley hotchner hours, language

summary: “Every day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more and more, that the shade of retirement is as necessary to me as it will be welcome.” ― George Washington, Farewell Address. au!october 2026

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

SSA Mallory Kagan asks you to outline your career with the FBI - purposefully using your first name instead of using your title. It keeps the students guessing and paying attention.

Plus, the payoff when they figure out who you are is the best part of the whole lecture.

“My career at the FBI is more like a big tree than a path or a journey.”

You look out over the classroom - blue shirts abound - and take a deep breath to center yourself.

You’re used to giving this lecture with Aaron, but this is your first fall without him, which also means that this is the first academy class who won’t know him in person.

They’ll only hear tell of the legend SSA Aaron Hotchner was stabbed nine times, lost his wife to a serial killer, and kept going. You know they’ll hear stories about his severity, his general lack of sunniness, hear rumors about the way he laughs with his children, his wife, and nobody else.

You know the older agents tell stories about you, too. They say you ‘tamed’ Hotch, made him a little nicer. They might even say they’ve seen him smile at you, or they’ve seen you give him hell in public.

Aaron Hotchner is practically a myth, now, only supported by your reputation, tall tales from academy classes of yesteryear, and his own legacy.

That retired bastard currently sits in your house with your kids, right on his fine behind, very likely falling into boredom-addled insanity.

“Everything that I am - a parent, a wife, a friend, and an agent - is because of my work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit over the past nineteen years. My unit is my family, and I can’t get rid of them. Just like our own families, we love to hate each other.”

The room laughs, and you know you have them hooked.

“Jokes aside, I would encourage you to get to know your colleagues. Each relationship I built within my unit put a root into the ground, made the proverbial tree stronger - to extend the metaphor. I work with very few of the same people I started with, but I feel as steady and supported as I did back when they called us ‘The Elite Eight.’”

You chuckle a little, clicking through your introductory slide to showcase a photo of the BAU in 2012. You point to each of them as you speak.

“SSA Emily Prentiss, current unit chief of the Behavior Analysis unit and former head of the Interpol London office, responsible for taking down one of the most prolific international arms dealers in modern history.”

The room is quiet, a little awestruck, so you add, “She’s a bit of a big deal.”

They laugh.

“SSA Derek Morgan - you’ll probably hear stories about how he survived the Boston bombing with SSA Gideon in 2005, but don’t worry. He wasn’t there. He was with his momma in Chicago, celebrating her birthday.”

Another laugh.

You’ve honed this routine over the last five years, knowing what to add, when to pause, what to cut if the students lose interest.

“That said, SSA Morgan is one of the best profilers I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Today, he’s a consultant for DC Metro SWAT and is otherwise retired.”

Continuing down the line, “SSA Jennifer Jareau - JJ. Former communications liaison for the BAU, State Department, and DoD. She currently serves with the BAU as a profiler. If any of you are interested in PR or media relations, find an opportunity to speak with her about her experience. Her husband, Will, is a detective with the DC Metro Police and has plenty of stories of his own.”

A student raises a hand, and you give her the go-ahead.

“Sorry for interrupting -“

You stop her. “You didn’t interrupt. You raised your hand. Don’t apologize for taking up space.”

She smiles a little. “Okay. Um, I’m curious. How many people in your unit are married and/or have children? My understanding is that the work-life balance can be difficult in heavy-travel positions like the BAU.”

“It can absolutely be a challenge.” You look back at the photo. “In the course of my career, six of my colleagues have been or were already married and all of them went on to have children.”

“And you?”

You laugh a little, forgetting you’re alone up here. “Right.”

The class laughs, and you point yourself out on the slide.

“I still had my maiden name when this photo was taken, but now I share five children and a last name with SSA Aaron Hotchner.” You throw your thumb at Aaron’s likeness on the screen again for good measure.

You check in with SSA Kagan to make sure you can share everything you usually do with Aaron present - your marriage was often the punchline of your lectures, letting you toe the line of humor a little farther than you normally would.

She nods, a little smile on her face.

“While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend dating your unit chief or marrying your section chief -“ you pause, holding your hands up in surrender to the echo of laughter “- even if they are the same person - you can certainly find the best people without looking too hard.”

Hands shoot up into the air, but that always happens. It’s around this time people start asking the good questions. The people from their course materials and the people in front of them start to link together.

They also figure out that you’re Agent Hotchner. That Agent Hotchner - the one married to the Agent Hotchner.

You look out over the crowd again. “I know you have lots of questions, and I’m happy to confirm or deny any rumors about myself or my family, but,” you pause for dramatic effect. “Hold them for now - you’ll want to know the players before you ask the questions.”

Hands drop, but pens start moving. You continue down the line, skipping over Aaron.

“SSA David Rossi, a founding member of the BAU in the late 1980’s. He worked closely with SSA Jason Gideon, developing a database that we use to this day - one that outlines signatures, modus operandi, and victimology of modern serial killers. SSA Rossi is also well-known for his books - ten of them, in fact, that cover what we do in a kind of…”

You search for a word.

“Conversational format. He retired a couple of years ago, and is a full-time grandpa to all 16 of the BAU offspring.”

A few scattered chuckles pass through the room.

“And then we have Dr. Spencer Reid - I could enumerate his degrees, but we don’t have that kind of time. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, and remains an asset to the BAU in the field today.”

You click to another slide - a photo of all of you taken a few weeks ago.

“SSA Matthew Simmons - retired from the United States Army and former member of the FBI International Response Team, or IRT. He’s been with the BAU for ten years now. Like Dr. Reid and SSA Prentiss, he knows multiple languages - which comes in handy.” You look out and raise your eyebrows. “I hope all of you did well in your Spanish classes in high school - you might need it.”

Another laugh.

“SSA Luke Alvez and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia are another pair that come from, shall we say, nontraditional backgrounds. While Garcia is no longer with the BAU, SSA Alvez is also celebrating his tenth year with us this fall.”

A student raises his hand, and you call on him.

“Isn’t Penelope Garcia the hacker known as The Black Queen? I learned about her work when I was at MIT.”

You snort. “Nice way to slip in you went to MIT, there, bud.” You pause, waiting for the ruckus to die down as the student in question turns bright red. “But yes. Her experience was invaluable to our team. Just to keep up, we stole an analyst from the NSA to replace her - nobody else could cut the mustard.”

You look back, stepping forward and pacing as you speak.”And finally, Dr. Tara Lewis. Formerly working in the FBI Counsel’s office as a forensic psychologist, she joined our team on cases where specific pathologies were in play before becoming a full-fledged member of our team.

“So, as you can see, there are so many varied qualities we look for in profilers, and your own path will be informed by the skills you develop, your temperament, and your dedication to the work itself. There’s no right way to be an agent, and when you leave the academy in five weeks, the whole world of the bureau will be open to you.”

Clicking back to your introductory slide, you turn to the front of the classroom. “I know all my colleagues well enough to take any questions you may have about their careers and paths through the bureau. For any questions I can’t answer, I am happy to direct you to them with the understanding they may not get back to you due to our caseload. I’ll take your questions now.”

Hands shoot up into the air, and you specifically call on the student in the back - the one you know has a question about Aaron.

“So, when you say SSA Aaron Hotchner, you mean the same one that worked the Boston Reaper case for ten years?”

SSA Kagan checks in with you, ready to shut him down, but you call her off.

“That’s right. SSAs Jareau, Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, Dr. Reid, Miss Garcia, and I worked that case in its final year as well.”

“I have a follow-up if that’s okay.”

You tacitly give him leave to continue.

“How do you handle cases that get that… close? I know there were considerable...” He searches for the right word. “...challenges. How did you guys deal with that?”

Good question.

Returning to the podium, you lean heavily against it, lacing your fingers in front of you. “You’ve all read the Reaper case file, yes? It’s still included in the MCRT training courses?”

There are nods around the room, but you check in with Kagan anyway.

“The declassified version is covered,” She says. “They’re familiar with the full scope of the case.”

“Okay. So, as you all know…”

You remind them what happened, from 1998 to 2009, finally landing where the students want you. “And on November 23rd, 2009, Haley Reneé Hotchner was George Foyet’s 40th and final victim. She was thirty-nine years old. And she was my friend.”

The room is dead silent, all eyes on you, somber and attentive.

“The case was personal. It became personal because Foyet forced our hands. He attacked Agent Hotchner in his home and then targeted his family. So, the question is, how do we deal with that? Right?”

Even Kagan’s watching you closely. It’s the first time you’ve covered this case without the rest of your team. In your joint lectures with Aaron, the case is off-limits for questions. She’s never heard you tell the story in your own words.

You take a breath. “And the answer is… you don’t.”

There are some confused faces, so you elaborate. “There isn’t anything you can do to push the case away from you - that’s how people get hurt. In the meantime, you make adjustments. Agent Hotchner placed Agent Morgan in an interim unit chief position until the case was over, for the sake of his health and sanity. We chased down every lead, understanding that the faster we caught Foyet, the faster Haley and Jack, Agent Hotchner’s son, could come home.”

A young woman in front tentatively raises a hand, and you open a hand to her. “Yes?”

“What happened, you know, after?”

“We moved on as best we could. Going back to my original point -”

You leave the podium and take your place in the center of the floor again.

“- the trust you have in the people you work with can carry you through a great many things. And not all of you will see horror every day - but some of you will.”

You pause for a moment, hoping this is the part that really sinks in for them.

“Always have something to come home to. Always have something or someone that brings you peace, that can take you away from the work.”

+++

You set your things down and walk through the door, immediately accosted by two almost-eight-year-olds and their over-eager little brother.

“Momma!”

You haul Elliot onto your hip and kiss Sophia’s head as Caroline burrows into your side. “Hi, darlings! Did you already have dinner?”

Sophia moves to answer, but Aaron’s voice shoots around the corner. “Yes!”

With a smile, you seek him out, dragging the girls along with you. Lo and behold, Aaron’s at the sink, washing dishes. Isaac’s supervising - sitting on the counter, swinging his feet.

Aaron gets a kiss on the cheek from you as you pass and he turns over his shoulder, chasing you until you peck him on the lips, Elliot squished between you. Your son squirms, and you set him on the ground to chase after his sisters. Isaac hops off the counter likely off to investigate the happenings before retreating to his room for the rest of the evening.

For once, you’re left alone.

“How was your lecture?”

Your arms free, you wrap around him and rest your full weight against his chest as he backs himself into the counter. “Went well. Missed you, though.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Did they ask about Foyet?”

“Mhmm. It was a good segue into trusting your team and building each other up, knowing when to step back, etcetera.”

He nods. “Good way to bring it back around. How’s Kagan?”

“She’s good, loving it, as always.”

“Think she’s ever gonna retire?” He asks, tucking into your neck.

You laugh as he presses kisses to the underside of your jaw. “Probably not.”

Aaron leans back to look at you, bringing his hand to your face to brush over your cheekbone. “Are you ever gonna retire?”

“Probably not.”

“What if,” he says, his hands slipping into your back pockets, “you retired in…” He does the math in his head. “Thirteen-ish years and I make it worth your while.”

“Oh yeah? Worth my while? And you’ll be, what, a hundred years old?”

His eyes roll so hard you’re sure he could see his own brain. You pull him down for a kiss, but it doesn’t stop him from mumbling, “Give me a fuckin’ break,” against your mouth.

“Never.”

+++

tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster @quillvine @stxrrywildflower @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @mrs-marcus-moreno @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @jeor @wakatoshislover @word-scribbless @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @joanofarkansass @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @itsmytimetoodream @pinkdiamond1016

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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thatesqcrush · 3 years

Text

The Nanny, Part 2

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Follow-up to part one here. Warnings: NSFW - smut, oral (male/female receiving), squirting, daddy kink), language. WC 5.3K.

It was early in the morning when you woke up. You stretched, arching your back and elongating your limbs, enjoying the way the expensive sheets felt against your naked body. You winced as you did so, realizing you were sore in the best way. You looked over and realized Bryan was not next to you. You knew he was up early most days as he had to deal with legal business overseas.

You quickly redressed and made way back to the joined apartment, where after your shower, you admired the bruises and marks that decorated your body. As your fingers traced over the love bite on your breast, your mind went back to the events of the night prior. A feeling of nervousness developed in the pit of your belly - you wondered how you would get through the day - would Bryan have regretted it? Would you still have a job? Looking at the time, you realized you didn’t have much time to ponder the what-ifs. Sandrine and Jasper would be up soon and you had to get them ready for the day.

The hustle and bustle of the morning did keep your mind otherwise preoccupied. “Turn around, let me see.” You told Sandrine as you finished doing her hair. Sandrine did so and looked up at you a toothy smile. You gave her a smile in return as you brushed her bangs from out of her eyes.

“Ms. Y/N, did you have a fun Valentine’s Day?” Sandrine asked.

“Ummm, something like that.” You murmured as you leaned to grab a hair bow to clip to her hair. You slid the purple bow and then gave her a once-over. “All set - let's go have some breakfast.”

“Did you kiss any boys?” Sandrine continued to inquire as she followed you into the kitchen. You opened your mouth to reply when you halted in your steps seeing Bryan ahead, pouring coffee.

“Morning sweetheart.” Bryan greeted, his gaze turning toward Sandrine. You tried to move discreetly past the six-year old when Bryan turned to you.

“Morning Y/N.” Bryan winked as he sipped his coffee. He was shirtless once more, and your mind flashed to how you gripped his strong, defined arms as he came inside of you not even 24 hours before.

“Hi Bryan.” You murmured, barely meeting his gaze as you walked over to where he was. Bryan watched you as he leaned against the sink, his arms crossed. You stood on your tip-toes to reach into the cabinet to get a coffee mug.

“Let me get that for you.” Bryan offered, stepping behind you as he placed his own mug down beside you. The feel of Bryan being pressed against you and the scent of his soap caused a shot of arousal to course through you. As a result, your pussy clenched involuntarily around nothing. Bryan’s breath was hot on your neck and you felt your skin prickle. Bryan reached around for his mug once more and leaned against the counter.

“Y/N, after you get back from drop-off, you and I need to talk.” Bryan announced quietly.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach and your cheeks burned. “Um… sure.” You replied, hoping Bryan would not hear the shake in your voice. “No work today?” You asked. “I thought you had to go into the office?”

“Took my calls earlier and two of my cases have continuances. I have the entire day ahead of me.”

Jasper happened to catch the tail-end of the conversation as he placed his empty cereal bowl into the sink.

“Dad, you have the day off? Can we have a movie day?” Jasper asked. Sandrine let out a squeal, hearing her brother.

“Please, daddy, please!” Sandrine begged. “With popcorn and everything!”

Bryan smiled as he leaned over to ruffle Jasper’s hair. “Of course we can - that’s if Y/N would care to join us?”

Your brows furrowed. ‘Maybe I am not getting canned after all.’ you thought to yourself.

“Please Ms. Y/N, please!” Both children pleaded in unison.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and smiled brightly. “Of course I can! Now, if you’re done, brush teeth and put on shoes - we have to leave in ten minutes.”

As the children ran off, you turned your attention back to Bryan, who was looking at you once more. His face was unreadable and you awkwardly gave him a small wave before following the children to help them finish getting ready.

You rapped on the door quietly, with your knuckles. “Bryan? You wanted to talk with me?” You called out.

You heard Bryan beckon you in and when you opened the door, you found him sitting at his desk. He looked up at you from his laptop and gave you a smile. “Please sit.” He extended his arm to the chair in front of his desk.

Your pulse quickened and your mouth suddenly went dry. You swallowed hard and wiped your now sweaty palms on the tops of your thighs. “So you wanted to talk?”

Bryan nodded. “About last night. It - you - I…” The normally loquacious litigator found himself at a loss for words. He cleared his throat and let out a deep exhalation. “Last night was a lot of fun, but--”

“Oh that’s never a good sign.” You interjected, nervously laughing. Bryan responded with holding a sole finger up and you instantly quieted.

“We cannot let last night happen again.” Bryan continued. “I would be remiss to say I didn’t find you attractive - and really, I should be trying to find someone to replace you as we crossed an inappropriate line. That said, you are really integral to Jasper and Sandrine’s happiness, so I will keep you on unless you want to tender your resignation - which of course, would be understandable.”

You felt your cheeks burn once more and your eyes well up. What were you expecting? A proclamation of love? That he would fall for the nanny? 'This isn’t a Harlequin romance novel.’ you chastised yourself.

You put on a brave smile. “I totally understand. I would be happy to stay on. There is no reason why we cannot go back to a strictly professional relationship.”

Bryan tapped his desk with the top of his hand. “Great. I am so relieved that we are on the same page.”

You nodded and you waited for him to continue. After a beat, Bryan gave you a pointed look and you took the hint to leave. You shut the door behind you as you left and allowed the tears to freely fall. Unbeknownst to you, Bryan had just dropped his head into his hands, defeated.

Time moved forward and the seasons changed. The freezing temperatures of winter in Chicago gave way to the blistering heat of summer. The twins birthday had arrived and turning seven was apparently a much bigger deal than when you turned seven. No expense was spared. Bryan’s home was bustling with children, caterers and party professionals.

The spectacular event (held inside a makeshift circus tent, of course) included a “trapeze” photo op, circus-themed treats like popcorn and candy, an outdoor swing, tons of colorful balloons, a “TICKETS” booth and more. Circus performers were preparing to liven up the party. Topping everything off was a truly lavish multi-tiered birthday cake with miniature versions of the children as acrobats in front of a circus tent.

Bryan had gone to pour himself a glass of water when he caught sight of you through the kitchen window. He swallowed hard as he watched you busy yourself with the children. You had dressed up for the occasion, cosplaying as Anne Wheeler. You wore a lilac sleeveless leotard with a matching short length lilac cape. White shorts were molded to your ass and thighs. Your hair was sprayed bubblegum pink.

Bryan swallowed his drink, desperately hoping the iced cold water would help cool him from the sudden warmth he was feeling. He decided to go outside and distract himself with some of the guests. The sun was beaming bright and hot, nary a cloud in the sky. The sounds of children giggling and shrieking filled the yard space. Bryan couldn’t help but keep you in his line of sight. You had taken off your cape and was now in just the leotard and shorts. As you danced with one of the kids, Bryan couldn’t help but watch your tits bounce. His mind was suddenly brought back to Valentine’s Day and how he got an up close shot of those tits bouncing as he fucked you.

A hand clasped Bryan on the shoulder and he turned, seeing it was the dad of one of Sandrine’s and Jasper’s friends. Another joined, a colleague, with beers in hand. “This is one hell of a party Kneef.” The blond in a teal polo replied - Bryan vaguely recalled his name was Bryce and was opposing counsel on an old case.

“Agreed.” The other man, Derek, replied. His gaze steered to you and he let out a low whistle as you bent over to talk to one of the kids.

“Damn Kneef, your nanny sure is something.” Derek continued. “Tell me, are you fucking her?”

“No!” Bryan denied, a bit more loudly than he intended. Derek looked at him with brows arched. Bryan shook his head. “I - I - I wouldn’t jeopardize her relationship with the twins. They really love her.” Bryan replied. “Good help is hard to come by.”

Bryce snorted before taking a swig of his beer. “If I wasn’t married, I’d be taking her home right now.”

“Hell I’m married, and I am considering taking her home.” Derek chuckled. “Lily’s away on business.”

Bryan stiffened, doing his best to swallow the urge to clock both men. He was filled with a surge of jealousy at the idea of you going off with one of them, who in his mind were just a bunch of douchebags. “Really?” he sneered, turning his attention to Derek. “You’d do that?”

“Oh fuck off Bryan. You’re one to talk. If you didn’t have the kids, this would be something you’d absolutely be doing - hell, you have done it!” Derek replied, rolling his eyes. “How many times have you been caught with your pants down and some bimbo paralegal over your desk?”

Bryan chose to not respond, as the answer was too many times to count. He was the office playboy for a number of years. The only reason he was even kept around as long as he was, was because he brought in a lot of business for the firm.

“Neither one of you are going home with my nanny.” Bryan gritted, taking another swig of his beer. “She’s…a person, not just a piece of ass.”

Both men didn’t reply, instead just looking away. Bryan let out an audible sigh before walking over to another group of friends and colleagues. “Come on, the game should be on and I have some Cubans that need to be smoked.”

At one point the adults and kids changed and it became a pool party. You sipped on a lemonade and watched as Bryan climbed out of the pool. His body was soaking and was more toned than from even the last time you saw him naked. ‘What is he doing? Pull-ups on the scaffolding?’ You wondered as he wrapped a large towel around Sandrine and Jasper.

Your pussy clenched, remembering how you clawed his back desperately as you came all over him repeatedly, with his cock, mouth, and hands. Arousal coursed through you and you let out an irritated sigh, knowing you’d need to rely on your battery operated boyfriend some more if you were going to survive this job.

Hours later, the festivities were over. You and Bryan each carried an exhausted twin and set them in their room, each likely down for the night. You followed Bryan out and shut the door behind you with a gentle click before making way to the kitchen. You found an empty tiered cupcake carrier and began to pack away some of the leftover cupcakes.

“You don’t need to clean up.” Bryan commented as he opened another beer. “I hired a clean up crew for that reason.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrugged, turning to him. Bryan’s gaze fell to your breasts again, and it was apparent you weren’t wearing any bra as he could see the outline of your hardened nipples.

“Idle hands are the devil's workshop.” you continued. Some frosting got on your fingers and you sucked your finger clean, while meeting Bryan’s eyes, which were blown with lust.

“I can find something to do with your hands.” Bryan retorted, stepping towards you and closing the gap. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other brushed some hair out of your face. You gazed at Bryan’s lips, pink, soft and plush and you licked your own lips in anticipation. His mouth began to drop to yours when the sound of a voice clearing caused the two of you to jump back in response.

It was mommy dearest herself, lips pursed in a thin line, arms crossed. “Am I interrupting?”

“Constance.” Bryan greeted coolly, turning away from you. “What are you doing here? Party finished two hours ago.”

“I was hoping that I could be with the kids on their birthdays and give them a present.” Constance replied, her eyes still locked on you. You dropped your head and choked out an ‘excuse me’ before dashing off to your apartment. Bryan watched as your form disappeared before turning back to his ex-wife.

“Connie - we have a custody arrangement in place for a reason. You cannot just show up unannounced.” Bryan gritted as he took the gift bags from her and placed them on the breakfast bar.

“I know, I know.” Constance stated. As she walked towards Bryan, the echoing sound of her heels against the marbled tile filled the room. She clasped her hands together, her bracelets jangling together. “I was just hoping we could make an exception for today, after all I am their mother.”

“You left us. You were never part of their lives. You may be Sandrine’s and Jasper’s mother on paper, but that’s all you are. You are lucky I was considerate enough to entertain the amount of visitation you have in place right now.” Bryan spat.

“Bryan, don’t be like that. I was young, I had a burgeoning model career that got derailed when two pink lines showed up on the test. I have more than made up for it.” Constance argued.

Bryan pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a deep breath in exasperation, wanting nothing more than for his ex-wife to leave. “Connie, the kids are asleep. Please just go - you have the kids next weekend. I’ll make sure they get your gifts.”

“Fine.” Constance looked at Bryan, her brow arched perfectly in judgment. “Before I go, just tell me since when did you start fucking the help?”

Bryan spat out his beer. “What you saw--”

“Please, I am not an idiot. Just wait til I let my lawyer know.” Connie threatened.

Bryan’s blood pressure shot through the roof. A fresh swell of rage rose inside. He clenched his fists, his guts churning in turmoil.

“Don’t you fucking threaten me. Get the fuck out.” Bryan growled. And when Constance didn’t move, he burst in anger. “Now! Go home Connie!”

***

You watched from your window as Constance climbed into her Mercedes and drove off. You climbed into your bed and stared at the ceiling as you contemplated everything from the last few months. ‘What were you doing? Sleeping with your boss - then the near kiss! You are such an idiot! How did you think that was going to end?’

‘But there is something more’ the voice in your head said. 'Isn’t there?’ that same voice continued. ‘Or were you both just so good at pretending it was real?’

There was a knock on your door and you shuffled your way to the door. The knocking continued followed by the sound of Bryan’s voice.

When you opened the door, the sight of Bryan standing there, kicked your libido up fifteen or so notches. His form was stiff, with set shoulders.

“Hey.” You greeted, stepping aside. “Come in.” There was already an awkward tension and the two of you hadn’t even spoken yet. You took a deep breath as you shut the door and followed him into the living room.

“Can I get you anything?” You asked nervously. “I can make some co--”

“Why’d you run out?” Bryan asked, interrupting you. His expression had hardened.

Looking away, you sighed before sitting down. Your shoulders sagged and you rubbed your face, smearing some of the glitter on your face. “It was awkward! We said we weren’t going to do anything… and then it felt like we were. And then of all people to show up, it was your ex-wife! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not run out.” Bryan gritted. “We could have talked about this.”

“Well isn’t that what we’re doing now?” You asked, crossing your arms. You hadn’t changed and you were still in cosplay. Your breasts were pushed up under your arms and Bryan felt his cock twitch in his pants. Bryan looked around your apartment for something to distract him and his eyes settled on a picture of you and the twins at the park. He let out his own deep breath.

“You don’t need to worry about Constance. She’s just bitter - she is the type of person who shouldn’t have become a parent.” Bryan replied, taking a seat next to you. He cocked his head. “Admittedly, I was that type too.”

You turned to Bryan. “What do you mean?”

“I won’t sugarcoat it; I had more than my fair share of partners. I met Constance at a rough time in my life and she helped settle me down. We did the whole wedding thing and she got pregnant. After the kids were born, she just had a hard time giving up her old life - it was probably some kind of post-partum thing but I was too busy prioritizing my work otherwise to notice the signs. One day she was just gone. Left me a ‘dear John’ letter and that was that.” Bryan explained.

“But the kids see her. How did that happen?” You inquired.

“She showed up around when they were older. Showed interest. Wanted to make amends. For the sake of the kids, we negotiated visitation. I have primary custody and there’s a schedule. She wasn’t supposed to come today.”

Bryan continued, now pacing the length of the room. “I was cut off guard when I saw her. With her, I always feel like another shoe is about to drop.”

You walked in front of him, pausing him in mid-stride. “Oh Bryan.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and looked up at him. Bryan watched as you licked your lips and as he saw the pink of your tongue dart out, he had made his decision. He leaned down to kiss you and you met him the rest of the way. You sighed into the kiss, molding into the heat of his embrace. You felt him harden against your belly and you dropped your hand to rub him gently through his pants.

“I thought we wouldn’t do this again. The rules.” You panted in between kisses.

Bryan broke the kiss. “Fuck the rules. Let me make sure the cleaning crew is done and then we’ll pick up where we left off.” His voice was gravelly, the tone lustful.

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed; a shiver went up your spine and your heart quickened in anticipation of what was to come. “I’ll freshen up and meet you there.”

You let out a moan as Bryan’s lips found purchase on your neck. His hands cupped your tits from behind, squeezing your flesh. You pushed your hair to the side to allow him greater access. A hand slipped down in front of the leotard you wearing. “No bra? Naughty girl.” He murmured as his thumb and forefinger tugged and rolled your nipple, until it was at attention. You turned around and cupped his face, tugging on his beard as you drew him in for another kiss. His tongue pressed at the seam of your lips, requesting access and you opened your mouth in response. His tongue slid into your mouth, exploring and rolling against yours. Bryan’s hands cupped your ass, squeezing them through your shorts.

Bryan broke the kiss. “You in those tiny shorts - all I wanted to do was haul you off and fuck you.”

“You should have.” You purred as you took his arms and led him to the bed. “And then you could have told the guys that you had filled me up and that my panties were dripping with your load.” You nipped his ear, causing Bryan to growl.

“You knew we were talking about you?” His green eyes were blown with lust and searched yours.

“Of course, I did. I have eyes you know.” You rolled your eyes. “I saw how you were all staring.”

“But now we can make up for lost time.” Bryan remarked, kissing you once more. You smiled against his kiss as you dropped his hands and walked a few steps ahead. You made a big show of removing your clothes. “See, no panties either.” You shimmied the leotard down your hips and thighs letting the material pool around your feet.

Bryan’s eyes darkened with lust as he watched you and made his own removal of his clothes. His cock sprang to attention as he pulled down his boxers and without a word exchanged, you dropped to your knees. You took the hair elastic that was around your wrist and you scooped your still-very pink hair into a ponytail.

Bryan’s cock was painfully hard and aching, with a bead of pre-cum weeping from the head. Bryan chuckled darkly and gripped his cock, pumping it a few times before dragging it back and forth along your lips. “You want this?” He asked, as he now tapped it on your face.

You looked up at Bryan and opened your mouth wide, extending your tongue over your bottom lip. Bryan let out another chuckle as he fed you his cock. “That’s it, take daddy’s cock.”

You relaxed your throat as Bryan continued to press his cock into your mouth. Once he had hit the back of your throat, he holds you in place, causing you to gag, and spit to start dripping from your mouth. He released himself and before you could get another deep inhalation of air, he slammed his cock into your mouth all the way again. He again held you in place and your eyes began to water as you gagged; more saliva dripped over your chin and onto the floor. Bryan withdrew again and this time you used your hand to pump him. You gathered some saliva and spit on his cock for lubrication. You gave him a few more pumps and then you took his length into your mouth once more.

Bryan threw his head back as you closed your mouth around him, using your tongue to go over every ridge and vein. The weight of his thick cock against your tongue caused your pussy to ache with need. Bryan focused his gaze back on you, watching as his length disappeared in and out of your mouth.

Bryan grunted and groaned, moaning your name in encouragement as you worshipped his cock. You flattened your tongue and ran it along his length before sucking on the sensitive crown, flicking your tongue against the tip. Bryan reached for your ponytail and wrapped your hair in his grip, guiding you along again. You let him set the pace and soon he was fucking your throat, the only sounds in the room being wet, slurping sounds and the obscene moans you were making from around his cock.

“Fucking love your mouth but I love coming in that pussy more.” Bryan grunted. You let out a whine and Bryan removed himself from your mouth. With your hair still gripped in his hand, he tilted your head up. “Is that what my girl wants?”

You nodded, desperately. “Yes daddy, come in my pussy! Please.”

Bryan helped you rise to your feet. He gripped your chin, and took in the sight of you. Chin messy with saliva, streaks of mascara down your cheeks. His cock twitched once more - you never looked more beautiful. “Bed - now. I want to feast on that pussy.”

You turned to climb onto the bed and Bryan gave you a smack on your ass, causing you to squeal. You flopped onto your back and spread your legs wide. Reaching down with your hand, you spread your folds apart, giving Bryan an ample look at your arousal.

“Have I told you that you have such a pretty pussy?” Bryan murmured against your skin. He used his fingers to spread your lips more, revealing your flesh. He stroked your pussy teasingly, gathering your arousal on his fingertips but never sinking them into where you wanted it most. As he continued to stroke your lips, he pressed kisses along your inner thighs. You reveled in the feel of his wiry beard along your skin. You recalled how Bryan liked a bare pussy and you were happy to endure repeated Brazilians in hopes of anything would come about in the future... and now it had.

His breath was hot on your aching cunt. You cried out as he wrecked your pussy with his tongue, burying his face inside of you, sucking and licking and devouring your slick folds.. To Bryan you were like a juicy peach, with your arousal dripping into his mouth. You were delicious and he couldn’t get enough of you. He licked you with big, broad strokes, before targeting your swollen, sensitive clit, taking it between his lips, trapping it so he could torment it with his tongue, scraping just slightly with his teeth. He reached up to grab at your tits, his large hand gripping one tightly. You cried out from the sensation of how his tongue massaged your clit furiously before dipping inside you, mimicking what was to come.

You ground against his mouth, riding against his face, as pleasure coursed through you. Bryan lifted his mouth from you and you whined at the loss. It was short lived, as he sucked two of his fingers and then slid them into your tight cunt, knuckles deep. As he massaged your walls with his fingers, he used his free hand to rub your clit.

“Gonna come for me Y/N? Gonna make a mess for daddy?” Bryan rasped as he curled his fingers, pumping them into you faster.

“Yes, fuck, yes!” You cried out, throwing your head back. Your thighs began to shake and Bryan began to rub your clitoris roughly and haphazardly. You shouted Bryan’s name as you clenched around his fingers, squirting and soaking him in the process. You began to push away from him, overstimulated but Bryan threw his large arm over you, keeping you in place.

“Oh no, no.” Bryan darkly commanded. “Daddy wants more.” He slipped his fingers back into, this time, adding one more into your fluttering cunt and began jackhammering them. He rubbed your clitoris roughly again, the squelching wet sounds filled up the room. You cried out again, feeling the pressure inside you burst, as you squirted again. Bryan lapped you, cleaning you with his tongue, enjoying your flavor.

You barely had a chance to recover, as Bryan slid his body over yours and slid his cock easily into you. You groaned as he filled you, the slight burn sensation mixing with pleasure as you accommodated his girth. He gripped your wrists and placed your arms overhead.

“Hold onto the rails sweetheart.” You looked back and gripped the wrought iron rails, which elongated the length of your body. Bryan covered your mouth with his as he began to drive into you with long, deep strokes. He pounded into you, and you could feel his balls slap against your pussy.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes, yes, fuck me!” You cried out. Bryan leaned up, so he was sitting on his haunches and took both your legs and hooked them over his shoulder. Bryan continued to thrust into you and you let out a wrecked moan as the angle changed, causing his cock to hit your sensitive spot. A sheen of sweat coated both of your bodies as you fucked each other. You released your grips on the rails and began to play to play with your tits, pushing them together and tugging on your nipples.

“Yes…” Bryan grunted. “Play with those titties.”

You moaned, and continued to do so, encouraged by his words. Bryan slowed his thrusting, rotating his hips, teasing you. You let out a choked sob as he did so, and he reached down to rub your clit. “Come for me.” Your legs trembled as you felt yet another orgasm begin to build.

“Oh fuck daddy, oh yes!” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut as you began to tighten around his cock. Bryan paused his movements and withdrew, tapping his cock against your clit furiously. A gush of your come squirted out, covering him and soaking the bed below. You had barely caught your breath when Bryan pulled you up and flopped you onto your stomach. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as you took his length into your mouth again, bobbing on him enthusiastically. You could taste yourself on his cock.

“My dirty slut.” Bryan cooed, as he stroked your now sweaty hair. He wrapped some of it in his fist, guiding you along. You squealed as he reached over and began to lay spanks on your ass.

You released him from your mouth, gasping more. “Yes, daddy, spank me. I have been such a bad girl.”

“Bad girls get punished.” Bryan growled. You looked up at him and nodded eagerly.

“Mmmm, punish me daddy!”

He pulled you up roughly and crushed his mouth against yours - the kiss was all teeth and tongue. He broke the kiss and lightly smacked you on the face and then gripped your chin.

“Is that what daddy's girl wants? To be punished for being such a dirty fucking slut?”

You nodded again. “Yes. Please.” You begged desperately. Bryan repeated the slap and then reached down to grab your tits before also slapping them. You let out a whimper, as the pain mixed with pleasure. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him back down onto the bed. He rolled so you were on top. You leaned forward, rising slightly and reached down for his cock, lining it up along with your entrance.

You both groaned at the sensation. Bryan’s grip on your hips were tight and you were certain there would be marks on your hips in the morning. The room smelled of sex and sweat and the only sound were moans and groans as well as the sound of skin slapping on skin.

You wanted one more - just one more to lessen the ache that only Bryan seemed to create. You reached down and rubbed your clit, closing your eyes as you let this final orgasm crash over you. You slumped forward, dropping your head by his ear as Bryan planted his feet up onto the bed and hammered into you, now chasing his own release. You mewled and whimpered in his ear, begging sweetly for his cum. Bryan stifferned, gripping your hips tightly as he let out an animalistic groan as he spilled his release into you. His release dripped out of you, pooling where you were connected.

You both stayed there for awhile, catching your breaths. Bryan stroked your back as you nuzzled against him. Finally, you rolled off of Bryan and curled into him, stroking his chest hair.

“You certainly know how to keep me young.” Bryan murmured, causing you to laugh. Bryan rolled onto his side, turning to face you. He pushed back the hair from your face. He observed a pink strand. “I like it - you should keep it.”

You smiled. “We’ll see.” Bryan hummed and pulled you to him, where you both fell asleep from the little party you had with one another.

FIN.

Tags: @mgarner1227 @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @dreamlover31 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @witches-unruly-heart @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @isvvc-pvscvl @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @i-justreally-like-cats-okay @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents @qvid-pro-qvo @alwaysachorusgirl @amelia-song-pond @wanniiieeee @tintinxtintin @law-nerd105

#bryan kneef x reader #bryan kneef smut #bryan kneef imagine #bryan kneef and reader #bryan kneef x you

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

#acosf fic #nessian fic #i know this feels more like a nesta/house of wind fic #but there will be nessian eventually i promise #also yayyyy gwyn!!!

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

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Day 5 | Role-Reversal

Because who doesn’t want to see Firelord Zhao, five-pronged crown and all @zhaozaipalooza?

OKAY hhdhdjd while that was my initial plan, @fire-lady-ilah’s thoughtful and bittersweet Good!Dad Ozai AU made me decide on another approach for today’s prompt(s).

Taking her lovely concept a step further, I thought I’d flip the personality of every AtLA character I can get my hands on. No more gentle, loving moon spirit, only a tidal goddess of wrath! Well, okay, okay, I should slow down…

Let’s start small.

—

Not that he would tell, but… the musician’s self-imposed trembling was, not so imperceptible.

Had he left his children to chart out the course of his remaining life, and sailed the path like a star-wise captain? Most definitely; they were his greatest counsel as Firelord. A Fire Sage couldn’t have convinced him to remarry after Ursa’s loss - but they did.

Darling heirs that held her eyes and her laughter, and where they pointed, he found himself surely to go. Was Ozai still bound to encounter waves?

… It would seem so.

He wouldn’t so much as peep: a timid, jittery captain with no growth permitted of his facial hair than what was painfully humble. Or perhaps it got in the way of his instrument - was it a jaunty pipa? A carved flute, perfectly hollowed? The erhu, once the sole sound of his wife?

Ozai floundered to begin a conversation that didn’t end before he could grow a smile. And it happened quite quickly! Still! “I find myself curious…”

The gifted, devout soldier of a respectable rank - his children’s hand-picked selection - had not taken to him like he had him. At least, he assumed.

Ozai didn’t enjoy making assumptions - not of a man’s worth. Some he would never get to know in their bravest hour; from that roused the rest of his sentence, “… to know what you think of the state of the world.”

“For- I, what?”

“As Firelord, I court many things.” He coaxed him from the shadows, moved from pillar to pillar that entwined the gardens. “The content of my people is… the result. I only influence it, and I barely can during war, can I? Families are splintered, loved ones lost… it’s a cost I can never repay. Not with a thousand years of prosperity… But I listen to their stories.”

After a tense silence that would cue a tight-lipped reply - the Firelord’s only reward for gentler inquiries - Zhao spoke, and this time, for as long as he dared:

“… Ocean.”

Ocean? The Firelord was about to turn in his hand at untangling the enigma trailing his lofty steps - what was it Azula said, that he enjoyed theater? What had Zuko prized about him… that he hid a host of gnarly battles in a crimson ledger? Then Zhao breathed out,

“I chose… a naval career. Because the waves always roll toward home. Of course, it’s concerning - since Chieftess Yue used the spirits against their will, at the cost of her tribe’s safety… The waves have risen higher, moved faster to Fire Nation shores. She may use the ocean and moon to tear us down.”

“But, if my men drown, I can hope - the bodies… they wash up where…”

Ozai sensed, rather than heard, the knot in his words, and dove to console him. “Then I pray Agni should watch over their safe return.”

He nodded, turning away.

“My wife would… take us to the waterfront, set lights and lotus flowers adrift to float down the canals.” He paused, leaned his weight against one pillar. Zhao jerked to a stop, heels meeting with a click.

“They went past grieving houses, some bereft of sons, as a sign of our deepest respect. The city grew to see them as… a brightly lit path for spirits to follow in the afterlife. We carried on the tradition after she - left.”

“My con-” Zhao began, then stuttered.

“Oh.” A shiver crawled into his tone. “Is that why… My lover, he kept a small book, made paper animals from the pages. He set them on the water for our friends. My hands weren’t for folding. I only played the song.”

“And I only played the song, when he…” His voice watered. “I couldn’t fold any paper. Couldn’t sing - couldn’t breathe. Just the erhu. No faith protects the dying… only swallows the living.” Lu… Lu… Lu.

It blossomed in Ozai, spread like wildfire through the recesses he’d barred after Ursa’s loss - a weighing darkness bursting with light. A voice crying it’s him, it’s him, your children found a jewel. And at all costs, he would protect the faith he had left.

“Seems we are no strangers to grief.” He reached for the underside of his palm, the way Ursa would when his beloveds were small - stroking the beating vein until it stilled, and the kids slipped back into sleep. How many weeks had they walked like this? Wasn’t it time to tell him - blessed enough, to taste him?

Zhao ripped out of his grasp with a start, nearly tumbling over the stone railing into a bush of pale flowers. Nearly.

He whirled on him and shrieked, “What is this for? Is it some arrangement? A charade, a test of faith? You think you can invite believers for the amusement of - of burning in your shade?”

“Wh-”

“If there’s something I should atone for - i-if there’s someplace I should voyage with the knowledge that I won’t return… If you’re waiting for me to - to - throw myself at your feet or offer up the blood in my body as tribute, a god needs only speak.” The flurry of words even the Firelord, trained socialite, couldn’t string together ended on a hiss.

Ozai fumbled. “This isn’t - no, no - I’m only a man looking to make his children happy, and what they want is a happier father.” He sought to yield or compromise in an affair, and admitted his flaws when they were complicit. I’m only a man.

His smile was soft, real. And yet.

“You are Agni incarnate.” The noise in Zhao’s throat was a bow raking over untuned string, and I am nothing, I am nothing. “If I have duty here, I will finish it. Otherwise… mercy. Mercy. Please.”

Lack of faith hadn’t ground him into silence. It was pious zeal. Clinging desperately while living stagnant; the thought of letting belief go was more terrifying than it failing. He revered spirits that would never return the favor. Ozai thought of his daughter, throwing herself into the first pair of open arms, indifferent to reason - fear is for fools. Trust is reliable.

He was on his knees - hands too unsteady to fold paper into cranes but perfectly balanced for compositions to take flight, hands calloused from war and clutched in prayer - wanting mercy.

Living to see another day, and knowing nothing more of being spared than a terrifying way to be loved.

Ozai felt the spark in himself simmer to a boil, and even behind closed lids it read, your faith will protect him.

Better than any god could.

Wasn’t that the prerogative of kings?

He knelt by the shivering body, elbows tucked to pull him in with his palms. Their heads touched, royal silk gathered against the gritty, unswept courtyard stone… but that didn’t matter.

“Too many soldiers made of this war… too many lives lost.” He didn’t consider himself soothing by any means, not as Ursa was; Zhao stilled, if slowly. “I should be the one devoted to you.”

Taste could wait, yet his conviction was overwhelming. Ozai pressed his lips to the side of his hair, and stayed; my, was he prepared to stay. “Give me the chance.”

#the polar opposite au where ozai is a sweetheart and zhao has 12 different shrines for the spirits he worships #a healthy zhaozai?? in MY rarepair fleet? a hEALTHY ZHAOZAI ??? inconceivable #thank you angie love for the inspo <<3 #good!dad ozai au #zhaozai palooza 2021 #zhaozai #zhao #ozai #YUE NO #your local clown writes!

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joachimnapoleon · 3 years

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“You can never know how attached to you I am”

Today (25 March) is the shared birthday of Joachim & Caroline Murat (in 1767 & 1782, respectively), so I've put together a little something to provide some insight into their relationship. There's one period in particular during which an abundance of letters exists from Caroline to Joachim: their long separation(s) during most of 1810.

Joachim and Caroline arrived in Paris in December of 1809; Joachim returned to Naples at the end of January 1810, but Caroline remained in Paris. When arrangements began to be made for Napoleon's wedding to Marie-Louise of Austria, the Emperor chose Caroline to go out to meet the new Empress and accompany her back to France. Joachim briefly (and reluctantly) returned to Paris for the wedding, and then left again for Naples, where he was preparing to lead an expedition to capture Sicily and unite it to the throne of Naples. Caroline did not return to Naples until August, and it was another two months until she was reunited with Joachim.

The Murats' relationship had not been harmonious since Napoleon had put them on the throne of Naples in 1808. Joachim feared being relegated into a humiliating background role like the husbands of Caroline's sisters, and did all he could to minimize his wife's role in managing the kingdom's affairs. But the Neapolitan court soon divided into pro-Italian and pro-French factions, with Joachim as the figurehead of the former, and Caroline, the latter. As Joachim found himself increasingly out of favor with Napoleon, Caroline (and her faction) gained more influence, which further strained their relationship.

During their brief stay in Paris together for Napoleon's second wedding, however, a reconciliation occurred. Shortly after Joachim's departure, Caroline began to (correctly) suspect that she was pregnant. Her letters to Joachim during this period are full of affection, but also anxiety over his Sicilian expedition, and gently-worded advice/guidance on various political matters.

There are over sixty of these letters in Volume 8 of Murat's published correspondence (it’s a one-way affair; Caroline apparently was in the habit of destroying most of her received correspondence, so unfortunately very few of Murat’s letters to her remain, and none from this period). This post is a compilation of choice excerpts from some of these letters. I wanted to showcase a little of everything here--not just the affection and sweetness, but also the politics, Caroline's anxieties, Napoleon's stubbornness (note how long it takes Caroline to actually get permission to leave Paris and return to Naples later on), the references to their children, and a touch of Caroline sniping at Joachim for his "unfairness". And also, Caroline's voice isn't heard nearly enough in narratives about her life, which tend to revolve around her betrayal of her brother. These excerpts show a side to her with which most people are totally unfamiliar.

***

Source: Lettres et documents pour servir à l'histoire de Joachim Murat, Vol 8.

***

Paris, 3 February 1810

My sorrow is very deep and I am very sad over your departure. I await your news with impatience and I hope that you will give it to me soon.... I am with the Emperor in order to not cry at finding myself far away from my children. Embrace them for me and think that there is someone at the Pavillon de Flore who is very attached to you and thinks of you often.

***

Paris, 5 February 1810

I am very impatient to receive your news, it seems to me that you don't hurry to give it to me.... I am still very sad at finding myself all alone and I envy your happiness at being with our children. Embrace them tenderly for me. The Emperor is always very good to me, he spoils me, he speaks to me often of you and seems surprised that we still don't have your news. Write me very quickly.

***

Paris, 6 February 1810

I very much regret not being with you. I weep from sadness, you can never know how attached to you I am and all the happiness that I wish for you. If you go to the provinces, watch out for those wicked Calabrians.

***

Paris, (7 or 8?) February 1810

We went to the ball at Princess Pauline's yesterday and today to the hunt, the weather was very wet and the Emperor told me: "Ah well! The Lazarone forgets you, he no longer thinks of you, he is going to be very upset, because I'm marrying an Austrian." But all this while laughing. I believe that since he is marrying an Austrian, you should not show any repugnance, because as it is neither you nor I who can decide it, that it is apparently his policy which gives him this counsel.... I hope that you will come back for the wedding and that you will bring me back to Naples to leave you no more. Embrace our children for me, don't spoil Letitia and Achille too much, consider that children are not born for our pleasure but to make them happy. Do like me, I've often deprived myself of the pleasure of seeing them, for fear of spoiling them.

Adieu, Naples; Naples, I miss you, as well as the beautiful terrace.

***

Paris, 12 February 1810

I am very sad. There is talk that I will make a great voyage. The Emperor desires that I go to Braunau to find the new Empress.... When everything is decided, I will send you an auditor to tell you the day of my departure and the time of my absence.... I write to Achille often, I hope that he makes a collection of my letters. Don't take Letitia out too much, it will hurt Achille and Lucien.

***

Paris, 24 February 1810

The evening before yesterday, I had an accident that might have become a disaster, but was nothing more than a fright.

We were playing blind man’s buff in the Emperor’s apartments, when the hard and pointy forehead of Mme Duchatel came so unfortunately against my eye that the blow tripped me over. The Emperor supported me in his arms and prevented me from falling. The pain had been so bad that I gave a sharp cry and believed my eye was out of its socket. The Emperor, full of kindness, frightened for my situation, immediately called Ivan, who bathed my eye, put a poultice and a black blindfold on it, and soon I had the air of an invalid in the midst of the salon. The Emperor has showered me with attention, he came to see me, he has been anxious. Today, I have a great contusion, my eye is very black from extravasated blood, but I don’t have any pain. I am aggrieved to have to tell it to you, since you like Mme Duchatel, you find her to your tastes, but she has terribly pointy bones that hurt a lot. Indeed, the poor woman has been desolate to see me in this state by her fault.

Don’t be too worried about my accident. By the time you receive this letter, it won’t be visible anymore.

***

Paris, 27 February 1810

I strongly urge you to come for the wedding. Jérôme, the Viceroy [Eugène], Elisa, all the family will be reunited, your absence will have a bad effect and will greatly upset the Emperor. You know that I will be very glad to see you, but I assure you that it is your interest alone which makes me press you to come, because the Emperor will be very discontent. If, however, you have strong oppositions which will prevent you from making this journey, write to me secretly and if this occurs, write a charming letter to the Emperor to excuse yourself. But I repeat to you, I regard your arrival for the wedding as a very useful thing to our interests. The Emperor is excessively occupied with his future, he speaks of it all the time and is almost in love with it. Everyone who was opposed to the marriage is now in joy. You know my good and my constant friendship for you; listen to the counsels of a friend who only desires your happiness. Show no more opposition which will turn to your detriment; your inclination for the Russian alliance will become suspect in the eyes of the Emperor, who wants us to think like him.... I am charged by the Emperor with the formation of the household of the new Empress. I work from morning to evening and my apartments are always full of visits from solicitors. I cannot express to you all the sorrows I had from the fear of being named superintendent of the Empress's House, but I could not decide on it, because I would have needed to stay absent from Naples for two years and been deprived of the pleasure of seeing you as well as my children. The Emperor made me the most beautiful and kindest propositions and his intention was to elevate this position so much that it would not have been beneath the title of Queen.... You see that the Emperor wanted to do a very kind thing for me, but the separation I would've had from my family caused me too much pain, and without offending the Emperor, who always has a perfect kindness for me, I managed to see him forget this plan, because he perceived that it hurt me too much. The intention of the Emperor in fixing me with the new Empress for two years was to have her led as he desired and to prevent a crowd of people who think badly from surrounding her and showing her their bad feelings.

***

Paris, 28 February 1810

I do not want to complain of you, but I hope that on my return you will spoil me so much that I won't want to come back to Paris. Don't be upset by this little jest and read the charming letter from Joseph that I'm sending you, and give to Achille and Letitia the letters their uncle wrote them. Embrace them for me. I am very happy at the idea of seeing you again soon.

***

Munich, 18 March 1810

I sighed at the description you gave me of your dinner with our dear children, and I am quite sure that you thought of me; my entire heart and soul go continually with and amidst you. I am charmed that Achille is satisfied with his electric machine; it seems that our dear Louise will still read before Lucien, but this is not astonishing: this poor little one is still too slow in his studies by some indisposition.

***

Vitry-sur-Marne, 26 March 1810

Princess Pauline just wrote to me that you complain about me not writing you often; so you will never stop being unfair. I arrive very fatigued, very overwhelmed with matters and I often take away from my sleep in order to write you and yet you complain! I write you more letters than I receive from you. Adieu, I will be happy when you still stop being unfair, because your unfairness has always hurt me very much. I embrace you and love you very tenderly.

***

Compiègne, 18 April 1810

You have left, my dear friend, and I am very sad here. I hope that you will write me a little word before your departure from Paris and that you will promise to give me your news often along the road. Don't leave me for a long time without your letters like on the first journey, and consider that when we are separated, we are happy to receive the news of those we love very tenderly. You know if you are dear to me and if I can part in thought for even a moment with the father of my children. You are going to see them, those dear children, speak to them of their mother and embrace them for me. At the moment of your departure I still wanted to tell you many things for them, but those moments are always cruel and make you lose everything you had in mind. Adieu, my dear friend, believe that I will write you often and that we will still have in common the displeasures as well as the happiness of life.

***

Compiègne, 22 April 1810

I'm very afraid that you will not take Sicily, do not undertake this expedition if you are not sure to succeed.... The Emperor seems to me very well disposed towards you and he spoke to me about you a lot yesterday.... I am going to tell you also that I was penetrated with sorrow seeing you leave and especially penetrated by the kindness you had for me; you have never been like that and I admit that it filled me with tenderness, and it gave me the courage to ask you for what I want, without having the fear of you getting angry as you always did, which made me want to ask you for nothing nor to owe you anything.... [the end of the letter is missing]

***

Compiègne, 26 April 1810

My very dear friend, I spoke to the Emperor about the licenses and he told me he was going to send them to you, which, I am sure, will give you great pleasure. I am leaving at five o'clock in the morning to go to Saint-Quentin; will not be on the great voyage [with the Emperor and Empress], because my health is not too good, having always the same hopes, I would be afraid of fatiguing myself.

***

Paris, 4 May 1810

Yesterday, I was at Neuilly to dine with Paulette, I cannot tell you how sad I was to see once more the places which painfully reminded me of our children and you and our walks; it's a very beautiful place and the weather was superb.... Adieu, my dear friend, my health is still faltering and I am anxious about your expedition, give me your news as quickly as possible and believe in a tenderness unbounded. Adieu, my friend.

***

Paris, 6 May 1810

I will confess to you that I believe more than ever that I am pregnant, and my very sufferings prove it to me, I'm taking care of myself and I don't want to expose myself to any fatigue which might do me harm.... Write to me soon and tell me exactly if you believe you will make the Sicily expedition. This Sicily [expedition] worries me very much and I tremble at the idea of all the fatigues you are going to suffer.

***

Paris, 8 May 1810

I received your letter from the 27th which tells me of your arrival in Naples. I cannot tell you how much good and bad it did me. My poor children! To see them in your arms asking you for their mother is an image that brings me to tears. My God! When we are once again reunited, we must not be separated anymore. You have found them so grown, charming, judge what they will appear to me after a longer absence. Embrace them for me, repeat to them that their mother will never be perfectly happy far from them, far from you.

***

Paris, 11 May 1810

My dear friend, this latest separation seems more unbearable for me than the others. You were so good, so perfect to me in your last moments, that those proceedings touched me to tears and still penetrate me with tenderness. I confess to you that when you do justice to all my feelings for you, I am the happiest of women. Believe that my happiness, the happiness of my whole life, consists only of the happiness of the father of my children, of the one who I regard as my best friend.

***

Morfontaine, 16 May 1810

My dear friend, I am here since yesterday and I confess to you that these places have given me a very agreeable sensation; it is here where we were united, this is where I began to have for you the feelings that I still retain, plus those added by esteem, habit, and good friendship. I would like to see you here with me, and I believe that my happiness would lack nothing, if we could join our dear children here.

***

Paris, 19 May 1810

I am very sensitive to all the care you are taking for my apartments; the idea that you are occupying yourself with them makes these cares all the more pleasant. You've been so good to me for some time that I cannot express to you how sensitive I am to it. It is very sweet for me to take all the pleasures of my life and my happiness from you who I love very tenderly. You are right, we will be very happy, when we will be reunited, take care of your health.... Adieu, my friend, I embrace you from the bottom of my heart.

***

Paris, 31 May 1810

I desire so much to see you, to embrace you, I think unceasingly of all your fatigues, I fear also that your health might not sustain itself with this great heat, I fear so many things that I am always in a continual state of anxiety. Write to me at least as often as you are able and reflect how unhappy I am every time the estafette arrives without bringing me your letters.

***

Paris, 1 June 1810

My pregnancy advances, however I am not getting too fat and it is not very apparent, but I often have sicknesses that tire me greatly; I am of an unequaled impatience to return to Naples, it seems to me that I will be closer to you and that at least I will share in part your fatigues, your disagreements, your dangers and that I will have your news at each instant. The Emperor arrives today and I will ask him to leave in eight days, I can no longer remain here, I am bored, I am anxious, it is not living to exist like this. And my poor children! I have so great a need to embrace them!

***

Saint-Cloud, 6 June 1810

My dear friend, I hope to depart on the 30th, the fêtes will finish on the 25th, but the Emperor will not hear of me leaving before all the fêtes are finished; he fills me with kindness and is very good for you... I embrace you as I love you, which is to say, very tenderly.

***

Saint-Cloud, 16 June 1810

I have already sounded out the Emperor two or three times about my departure, but he always responds with an angry air: "To put yourself en route with this heat!" I haven't dared to insist and I'm waiting for the fêtes to be terminated to beg him to permit me to go rejoin my children and to put myself closer to you. I hope he will grant it to me, because he is very good for both of us. I receive every day news of our children and it is a great compensation for such a cruel absence. I believed I would only be separated from them for one month and here are seven months elapsed.

***

Rambouillet, 9 July 1810

My very dear friend, you are kindness itself to profit from all your free moments to give me your news and to calm my vivid worries; at last, you are able to cross, I make wishes for it to be with full success, but I still recommend prudence; reflect that your existence belongs to your wife and to your children....

***

Rambouillet, 18 July 1810

I was a little indisposed yesterday, I am better today, I count on taking leave of the Emperor tomorrow, and, if he grants it to me, I will depart the day after tomorrow. Adieu, my dear friend, I have an extreme desire to embrace you, I feel that I will only be happy and calm when I see you near me again; absence is too cruel a thing for two beings who truly love each other, and reunited to our children, what happiness could we envy?

***

23 July 1810, 1 o'clock in the morning

My dear friend, I'm leaving in one hour. In twelve days I will embrace my children. I will arrive in Naples unannounced, because I want neither fêtes nor pleasures in your absence.

***

Caserta [Naples], 3 August 1810

I only have the time to tell you, my dear friend, that I have arrived in good health, that I am the happiest of mothers, that my happiness was not complete, not having you with me, but that I am already happier by the idea that I am nearer to you and that I will have your news more often. I found our children grown, beautified; in truth, we have nothing to complain of, we are at the height of happiness by possessing such a treasure. I don't speak to you of their cries of joy, or of their tears, you can guess all of that. Oh! My friend! What a delicious moment! I will have the same when I see you again and then we will not have to complain about anything, since we will all be reunited.

***

Unfortunately, the immediate aftermath to this series of hopeful and loving letters, was not a happy one. Caroline's fifth (and final) pregnancy ended in a miscarriage in September. At that same time, Murat's Sicilian expedition took a frustrating turn; Murat's authority over the French troops participating in the expedition was undermined by orders from Napoleon to his generals, leading to their refusal to take part in the attempted (and ultimately abortive) crossing to Sicily. The expedition ended in failure and Murat returned to Naples deeply embittered. Over the next year, his relationship with Napoleon reached its lowest point--one could argue the lowest point it would reach up until its total rupture in 1814--and Caroline would find herself returning to Paris in 1811 to try to bridge the gap between her husband and her brother (again).

#Happy Murat Day!#Joachim Murat #Caroline Murat #Caroline Bonaparte #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #letters #translations #1810

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tellywoodtrash · 3 years

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balh2 31.08.21 lb

priya stops the auto to let ram in, but he's whisked away in the now-fixed car by his posse, and she's like yeahhhhhhh seems about right for rich ppl, and goes her way.

very subtle playing of song show title is based on. ram hums along happily while priya tells auto bhaiyya to pls turn it off. lol she really does hate any type of sentimentality, and i'm here for this peak grumpy girl representation.

blah blah time waste establishing ram's family. aaaaaaaaaand they have shubhaavi choksey playing his mom when she's the same age as him irl. wonderful. best. very nice. i'm not angry about this at all.

snobby rich ppl greeting exchange. air kisses missing.

priya comes home to discover maitreyi and her husband are visiting. she just ignores them and walks into her room.

meanwhile ram walks into heartache after heartache. ek toh sagaai went on without him, and shivi's toast is only for her other brother shubham and her mom and her besties. (one of whom looks very familiar, where do i know her from???????) anyway someone give ram a (non-vegan) cupcake to feel better from having a shitty fam.

vedu notices ram and points him out to shivi, who's suddenly all RAM BHAIIIIIIIIIIIII, MY BIGGEST SUPPORTERRRRRRRR. pssssh.

oh btw, that fucker who wanted to use that totally non happening video for blackmail seems to be vedu's husband/???

ponky from naagin 5 is a friend of ram's. but he's a literal fetus???? i'd have thought he was a younger brother ala rudra.

priya's brother has his fucking shoes on her bed and mereko jo gussa aa raha hai na by goddddddd. YOU JUST CAME IN FROM THE FUCKING RAIN YOU DIRTYASS............

anyway priya's like idgaf that maitreyi married my ex bf.

"humein khush rehne ke liye kisi ki zaroorat nahi hoti." she's saying words i agree with, but show immediately cops out by showing her tearing up and blubbering "i don't need anyone, i'm fiiiiiiiiiine" unconvincingly. guh. idk if i'm gonna be able to watch this show if it keeps diluting its messages like this.

ram toh udhar giving lecture on baarish. BRO ENOUGH. I AM SO DONE WITH THIS TOPIC OF CONVERSATION. itna toh baarish se lagaan ke champaaner waalon ko pyaar nahi tha jitna iss show mein log karte hain.

priya doing a very convincing mimickry of kinda pretentious maitreyi to entertain one new younger sibling. how many fucking siblings does priya have??????? (too fuckin many, is the answer.)

i do not appreciate the characterization of ram's chamcha friend's wife as a nagging ball and chain type.

new mangatar and bitchy shubham are snidely remarking about ram and his bechaara broken dil thanks to vedika.

ok if shivaay was obnoxiously self assured, ram is just......... almost annoyingly roll over and show your belly type of soft and diplomatic and people pleasing. only extremes for nakuul sir i guess.

adi's wife (brinda?) catches him looking out into baarish and shedding a few silent tears, and she's here to nag HIM now about getting a wife. yes brinda, because you make marriage look like SUCHHHHH AN APPEALING PROSPECT.

ram's like no i don't need anyone and then wistfully stares at vedu saying i'll never find someone who loves like she does her husband.

brinda's like it's all fake, dude. real couples fight and argue and cuss at each other and wow.... i think brinda and adi might need couples' counseling coz..... you're not SUPPOSED to be so complacent about your marriage being so dysfunctional.

oh breakup was 6-7 saal pehle. ok yeah sir you should have gotten over it by now. therapy for you too.

NO NOT THE EK TARFA PYAAR KI TAAQAT SPEECH NO FUCKIN NO OK

SHUBHAAVI AS NAKUUL'S MOM WILL NEVER NOT ENRAGE ME. I NEVER THOUGHT IT'D GET WORSE THAN MANASI SALVI, BUT LOVE THAT TELLYWOOD MANAGES TO FUCKING ENRAGE ME WITH THIS SHIT WITH EVERY NEW SHOW.

priya refuses to have ice cream because of her principles against capitalism. which............... ok??? there's no ethical consumption under capitalism, sis. just eat the overpriced ice cream.

just realised that the eldest sister is played by the actress who was jai's elder sister in just mohabbat.

anyway eldest sister (sara) and youngest sister (sandy) are team!priya over maitreyi.

priya is as anti-shaadi as me and asks sara if she's happy (priya clearly doesn't think much of sara's husband who leaves all the child-rearing to her, in addition to running the bakery) and sara's like "maate, mujhpe mat shuru ho jaate, pls" snort. yeah, no one likes their bad choices rubbed in their faces.

oh, their dad ran away after allll the betiyaan and married someone else. zindagi gulzar hai sitch hai.

more of priya asserting that she's happy single and show undermining her with the music cues and character reactions. fuck this messaging. why can't it be that she's genuinely happy single and ram is just a good complementary partner she finds and decides to change her mind about marriage coz that's what they want for themselves. i hate this black and white nonsense.

sisters are forcing priya to go on a date (with whom?????) and the scene just cuts off awkwardly.

ram has PINK shoes on today. man this is so a nakuul thing, this one (1) atrangi styling element of an otherwise formally dressed man.

ram also being set up on date by adi/brinda. should be with someone else, i guess. i don't think brinda and priya run in the same circles.

ram is right in that the least these ppl could do is ask consent before setting it all up.

priya is grumpily refusing to do any thaam jhaam dress up for date. good for her.

lol @ sara trying to sneak away priya's beloved raincoat.

anyway psych 101 shit ki priya has confidence issues and is so down on herself that she rejects everyone before they can reject her.

lmao priya is me at hearing the date is in some hoity toity place where they give small portions for exorbitant amounts of money.

sara di gets call ki some "unhone" didn't pay their share of bakery emi? the nikkamma husband? or some other business partner??

priya is out on warpath to go confront that person.

she's psyching herself up outside their door. i think it's her dad?

OMG CHACHI FROM IMMJ2 LMAO, IS SHE THE SECOND WIFE?

ok dad's a rudeass fuck. he's all she's not my daughter, but all ready to dole out thappads when she says it like it is. sperm donors like these should be kneed in the nads.

idgi tho? there's ONE beta there tho???? is akshay not his biological son?????

anyway, priya is right in thinking men suck. #yesAllMen

precap: her date niiiiiiicely validates the misandry by being a fucking jerk. looks like ram is cheering her up in a sweet moment? priya catches akshay getting cosy with.... shivi i guess??? idk all these girls look the same to me. #faceblindness

#bade achche lagte hain 2 #balh2 lbs #episode liveblogs

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

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Dear Lover... ❥

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 5,689

Warning: pure fluff. pure feelings. a little bit of angst but with a happy ending 😌

Summary: you dance with bucky barnes in the obscurity of your room as you recalled the first time you met and how three years later you ended up tangled in each other’s arms. (based on the song “lover” by taylor swift)

a/n: this one’s a love letter to the love of my life aka bucky barnes. it took me awhile to find the will to write about him because i truly wanna write something that gives him justice, because this man deserves nothing but happiness and love. hope you like it. please leave a like & comment.

It was a quiet Thursday evening, precisely at 8.35 PM. The rain outside of the Avengers tower was pouring, splatters of misty droplets bedewed the window glass. Through the lens of your shared room, transpierced the lights of the bustling city of New York. The city that never sleeps, as one would say. You could hear the sound of honking cars and sirens going off somewhere and it truly eased your mind.

You loved New York. You were born and raised in this vivacious city. Though your parents took the chance to move to Manhattan and fought to survive the exorbitant living cost, they managed. They taught you to fight hard and work tenaciously if you wanted to make it. The city was all you knew your entire life. But most importantly, you loved the man you were sharing this bedroom with more.

You had been dating Bucky Barnes, aka the former Winter Soldier, aka the White Wolf, for three summers now. Your first encounter with him wasn’t exactly the most romantic “how I met your mother” kind of story.

You were in the kitchen, late night, trying to make yourself a nice hot chocolate to cool down your nerves. Moving into the Avengers Tower had truly wearied you. Of course, you were aware that you weren’t supposed to be since there were literally a super soldier, a former Pararescueman, a man with a highly advanced iron suit, two highly trained assassins, a powerful witch, a (part-time) green beast, and an actual living human android helping you with your belongings. You couldn’t have asked for better movers.

But the adaptation of change still drained some of your energy. Maybe more mentally than physically, but whatever, you just needed a nice, sweet warm drink before you can finally sleep in your fresh, new, never used before bed. It was nearing four am and everyone had returned to their private quarters, except you.

You walked into the kitchen leisurely in nothing but your Bambi pyjamas, as you reached for the kitchen cabinet to search for a jar of instant hot chocolate. “Make yourself at home,” Tony said earlier as he was giving you a quick tour around the tower. The tower was so spacious and palatial, it was easy to get lost. “We’ve got everything here; food, snacks, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, ice creams and more… But don’t eat the half-eaten fried egg chicken on the fridge, though. That one belongs to Clint and he wouldn’t hesitate in shooting an arrow through your skull if you stole it.”

You poured the hot water into the glass and then you were ready to drink it up. You were so pleased by the taste of hot chocolate streaming through your tongue, you didn’t hear the faint sounds of footsteps approaching. Bucky had just returned from a solo mission to Brussels and he hadn’t had the chance to properly introduce himself to you. He had only heard about you through Fury and Tony’s narrative when they informed the team that they were going to have a new addition to the team.

Steve had texted him a picture of her earlier, picking up her boxes to her new bedroom… She looked lovely. She was only wearing a simple white shirt with high-waisted, ripped blue jeans to complete the casual look but, she didn’t have to try hard to catch his eye. He couldn’t wait to go back to the tower and talk to her. He crossed his finger hoping that he wouldn’t mess it up or embarrassingly stutter his own name whilst shaking her hand.

Bucky soundlessly walked towards you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, trying not to startle you but you weren’t expecting anyone to be awake, and you didn’t know that Bucky was supposed to return today. Your brain had been so occupied with moving in, that you forgot there was one member of the team missing because he was on a solo mission and that he was supposed to return in the early morning.

So you accidentally dropped your glass, spilling your little taste of heaven all over the counter, as you turned around and punched him on the face. You shrieked as soon as you felt a palm touching your shoulder, thinking it might’ve been a ghost or worse, an intruder. For a second there, you nearly forgot that you weren’t living all by yourself in a tiny apartment anymore. You were in the most highly secured building in New York, surrounded by vigilant superheroes that had fought bigger guys than a callow thief or more lethal than supernatural forces.

Bucky’s hand immediately went to his face, as he shrieked in pain. He absolutely didn’t expect a punch from you, considering he meant well. He slightly backed away on his feet, clutching the nose that had bled due to the robust force. You soon realized that he was Bucky Barnes, the Avenger that had just gone back from a solo mission Steve told you about, and you had just realized that you punched… The Winter Soldier. Oh my God. Your guilt rushes through your gut and you immediately covered your mouth with your hand in panic.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still awake, I’m so sorry.” You reached out to his hand, trying to see the damage that you did.

“No, it’s okay, doll. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that, I’m sorry.” He wiped the blood that leaked out his nose.

“No, no, no, it wasn’t your fault at all, I shouldn’t have reacted like that… Please, let me help you with that.”

“I got it doll, really. It’s nothing.”

“I insist. Please, otherwise I’d feel really bad.”

You moved to the couch in the common room, as you began patching him up. You both finally introduced yourselves properly this time, and you talked for about an hour until the sun was starting to rise. When you realized how late it had gotten and how exhausted Bucky must’ve been, only then, you returned to your individual bedrooms. And thus, a friendship was born. The beginning of something eternal and profound.

The next morning, things changed. Bucky would act differently around you whenever the team was around. Or anyone, at all, was around. Bucky would often avoid your eyes and act awkwardly around you. You didn’t see the man that you had a warm conversation with at 4 in the morning on that first day anymore. You felt like talking to a stranger that you had to walk on eggshells with. When Steve asked Bucky whether he had met you or not during breakfast, Bucky with his head down simply responded, “yeah… We’ve met.” That elicited a furrowed brows from you.

Steve later counselled you about it, “don’t worry. He’s like that with everyone. It’s not easy to start a small talk when you are the former winter soldier.”

You tried to tell yourself not to overthink it or take it personally. Of course, you were aware of the history. It was told in every history class. But you still couldn’t shake the need to get to know him more. You’d do it deliberately, you weren’t going to force him to break out of his shell, but you wanted to let him know that he had nothing to be ashamed of with you.

And so, you would often knock on his bedroom door since your bedrooms were on the same floor when you brought something from your favourite bakery shop. Or when you hear the excruciating screams at night, because he couldn’t tame down the demons in his sleep, reminding him of his inevitable, vicious past that spilled a lot of blood and caused him a lot of pain. Mentally, emotionally and physically.

At first, he would give you a sardonic look as he asked you of why you were here. You’d tell him that you thought he could use a company and so, the friendship, or whatever that you had with him would bloom through the murmured secrets and the late-night rendevous. It turned into a nightly thing that only you and Bucky shared. Nobody else had to know.

During the day, there were a lot of stolen glances and lingering tension in the room, everyone could sense it except you and Bucky yourselves. But yet, you didn’t speak many words about it to each other. Everyone who saw you two knew that you two hid some amount of feelings for each other. But yet, neither of you dared to make the first move.

Sam, Wanda and Nat were your closest friends and therefore, they knew the most about your unspoken feelings for Bucky. Starting from the awkward chats to the time where this new agent shamelessly flirted with Bucky in front of you. Of course, you were aware that anyone could flirt with Bucky, he wasn’t yours, to begin with. But it was still rude and disrespectful and you being the irrational, jealous person that you were, you’d often ramble to either Sam, Wanda or Nat in their private quarters until you felt better again.

One night, where this agent, Samantha or whatever her name was, had boldly touched Bucky’s arm at one of Tony’s flamboyant parties, in front of you, you immediately texted Sam, Wanda and Nat in the group text called “Besties” to gather up in your room because you needed to vent.

“Look, y/n, if you’re so annoyed by her flirting, then why don’t you just tell Bucky how you feel?” Wanda said.

“I don’t understand…” You squinted your eyes at her. It’s not like you didn’t actually understand what she was saying, but the concept of confessing your feelings to Bucky sounded like an absurd idea.

“Look, I’m just saying, what’s the worse that could happen?”

“Okay, Wanda, now you’re just talking shit.”

“Y/N” Sam interposed. “He might like you too. He may not say much but we all caught those stolen glances, don’t you think we didn’t see it.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Sam. Besides, it’s not just about him not liking me back… What if he’s just not ready to date? What if he likes me but not in that way? There are a million things that could go wrong. So, please, let’s cross out the idea of telling him how I feel because it’s definitely not happening.”

Sam, Wanda and Nat exchanged a look. “Okay, it’s your life anyway. But y/n, if you don’t move now, then you might lose your chance forever. Samanta could be seducing him into her bed right now as you are rambling about her to us.” Natasha closed it.

Her words had truly struck you light lightning. You never thought of it that way… You always thought you had every second in the clock, just waiting for you to be ready. Or him to be ready. But you never thought of the possibility of Bucky and Samantha actually going on a date… What if she had asked him to go out with her next weekend? And what if he had said yes? The thought hurt. It crushed your heart like a shredder. It twisted you inside out like a sickness.

And so, after Sam, Nat and Wanda returned to the party, you stayed in your room. You told them that you’d catch up, you just needed to rest your feet from standing in heels for too long. You were lying. You needed some time alone with your thoughts, as you were trying to plan your next move. You recalled all those late-night rendevous and midnight conversations, and you felt it in your heart. That mighty urge in your heart. Like the entire crowd you were standing before are chanting the words loudly to you. “Tell him! Tell him! Tell him!”

You felt all the feelings you contained inside for him rushed through your veins, like a power surging through your cells, bestowing you the courage to stand on your feet, put on your heels and reapplied your lipstick. You straightened the frowns of your dress in front of the mirror as you took a deep breath. “You got this.” You stared your reflection dead in the eye and convinced yourself.

When you were satisfied with your fixed appearance, you immediately went back to the party. You couldn’t wait to find him. Giddiness, nervousness, and anxiety were swirling in your chest. You ordered Friday to take you to the lobby, where the party was held, as you leaned back on the glass wall of the elevator and you folded your arms around you, trying to ground yourself. You tried to stand steadily and not face-plant yourself on the marble floor in front of Bucky. You would never be able to live with yourself.

When the elevator finally reached the main lobby, the metal doors separated, showing you the people in fancy suits and dresses chattering with one another, with a glass of sparkling Champagne in their hands. You immediately searched for Bucky. A slick black, long dark hair, clad in a black dress shirt and black pants. Your eyes gazed into every corner of the room, focusing thoroughly on the large chunk of a man.

You finally spotted him by the bar. He was sitting with a glass of tonic and gin in his hand, as he took a sip of it, then he put it down on the bar counter. It would’ve been a tantalizing sight that you’d love to sit back and observe if it weren’t for the person sitting next to him. Samantha was sitting with her legs crossed beside him, her body was fully faced to Bucky as she tried to reach out to feel his bicep again for God knows how many times that night. She was laughing and even from the distance, you could see the glint in her eyes at something he just said.

You felt like you had been hit by a truck. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a monster that was devouring your insides with its tapered fangs. You felt dizzy as you felt like you were going to drop on the floor if you don’t hold onto something. Steve happened to be walking past you thankfully and as soon as he saw you looking unwell, he immediately grabbed your arm, awakening you from your daze.

“Y/N, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, Steve... I’m…” You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself back into consciousness. “I think I need to lay down. I’ll see you in the morning, Steve. Please tell Tony that I’m not feeling well.”

“Alright, yeah, go ahead. I’ll inform the team if they ask about you.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You nearly stumbled on your feet as soon as you took your first step.

“Whoa, do you need me to walk you to your room?”

“No, it’s fine. I got it. Night, Steve.”

“Goodnight, y/n.” He watched you warily, feeling hesitant whether he should really let you walk to your floor alone or not. As soon as you went inside the elevator, and the mental doors had closed, you slumped on the wall as you tried to muffle your cries. Nothing could hurt you more than seeing the man that you were secretly in love with, flirting with another girl. You couldn’t find it in you to give directions to Friday. So you just stood there, listening to the Jazz music playing in the background.

Until you were finally wearied enough to say the word to Friday. The AI politely responded, “yes, miss.”

As soon as you reached your floor, you took off your heels as they swayed with every step that you took. Your cheeks were tainted by ruined mascara, and your hair was slightly dishevelled. You couldn’t care any less. You should be dancing to the slow music or even kissing him drunkenly at the bar with your hands wrapped around his neck right now. But no, he was probably doing those with Samantha. You knew you were being unreasonable, crying over a man who was never yours, to begin with. But you allowed yourself to feel the pain and then, you can figure out a way to move on. You just needed to unleash it all out first.

You put your heels in the corner of your bedroom and stripped yourself out of the white cocktail dress. You immediately ran for the shower, your limbs felt more ponderous than ever. The last time you experienced a broken heart was in eleventh grade when you ran into your senior crush, Peyton at the mall with a girl who didn’t go to the same school as you, in his arm. You nearly walked up to him to say hi but your plan was instantly crushed before you even found the courage to talk to him.

Ever since then, you made a pact with your heart that you were never going to fall in love first ever again. You were okay with being single, you weren’t the kind of person who constantly needs romantic love. You focused on self-growth, you focused on your skills which is martial arts and military tactics. You invested your mind and energy into self-love, friendship and your education.

When you were finally ready to roam around the city at night as a vigilante, you’d sneak off every night to sit building rooftops and you looked after the small guys around the neighbourhood. Until your small vigilante works were heard and Fury snuck into your apartment to recruit you himself.

After your shower, you changed into an oversized grey hoodie that you once stole from Bucky’s closet, one night while having one of those clandestine rendezvous in his room. You were cold and you were only wearing a thin-layered white shirt with a worn-out pair of old swimming shorts that still fitted you.

“Here, wear my hoodie.” He walked to his achromatic closet and revealed the tidily-placed pile of black and white shirts and pants. He didn't have that many clothes but, it was enough to secure his enormous figure cosily. He pulled out one of his fresh from the laundry sweatshirts from the heap. He handed them to you and inserted yourself into the aromatic material.

When you were both finally too somnolent to keep your eyes wide open. He walked you to your room and you didn’t realize you were still wearing his hoodie until you said your final goodnight. When you tried to take it off your body, he said, “no, it’s alright. You can return it to me in the morning.”

But you never did. And he was okay with that. At least you thought. Because never once he asked for it back. You’d even catch his demure smile when he saw you wearing it.

You did your nighttime skincare routine and went to bed. The scent of his hoodie was faint but enough to make you yearn for him. It’s ridiculous, really. To miss someone who was never yours, and someone who practically lived right next to you, considering how long he could spend hiding in his own room.

You felt the tears brimming in your eyes as they ran down your cheeks and soaked your pillow sheets. You sniffled as your mind harked back to the shared moments in the gloom and the timid touches when words could no longer bear the intimacy. The moon knows more about you and him than anyone ever will and if you could no longer feel his skin against your anymore even for just a second, you were going to hold onto the memories.

You were lost pacing down the memory lane until you heard a subtle knock on the door. Three taps and you instantly knew who was standing on the other side. You tried to neglect it, hoping that he would get the message of leaving you alone. You weren’t ready to face or talk to him. But he wouldn’t relent. He knocked once more, telling you that he wasn’t leaving until you answered him.

You stayed in the exact same spot until you were peevish enough to keep listening to it. You finally stood on your feet and opened the door with a sour look on your face. He greeted you with a nonchalant smile, his hair now was tied in a low bun.

“Hey, Steve told me that you weren’t feeling well, what happened?” His expression was filled with concern.

“I’m fine, now. You can go.” You sneered. You tried to shut the door, not even wanting to face him any longer or listen to his unprompted “I got a date!” story.

He was appalled by your anomalous behaviour, as he immediately stopped the door with his hand from being slammed on his face. “Hey, hold on a second. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I said, I’m fine, Bucky. Just leave me alone, please.”

His chest tightened at your sardonic words. You had never acted this way around him before. Did he say something wrong? Did he wake you at the wrong time? Were you on your cycle? He was bewildered.

“I just wanna know if you were alright. Steve said you looked really pale at the party and you had to leave early and if you are then maybe I could bring you a soup or something.”

“I just need to be alone, Bucky. Alright? I was feeling much better until you showed up.” You didn’t mean to be so spiteful and blunt. You just needed some space. And his presence was intoxicating and the longer you see him, the harder it would be for you to let go.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately but the look on his eyes was enough to beckon his hurt. “What did I do? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Bucky, it’s not you, it’s just-” You inhaled. Trying to cool yourself down before you continued. “Just not tonight, alright?”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” He puffed himself up, masking his frustration. No, no, he wasn’t ready to let you go before he could even tell you he loved you. So if planting himself on his feet would make you enlighten him, he was going to do that.

“Okay, then just fucking stand there all night, I don’t care.” The cool in you vanished, turned into a small flame of counterwork.

“Why are you acting like this? Huh? You can’t just knock on my door whenever you feel like and shut me out like this.”

“Well, why don’t you just vent to your new girlfriend, then? I’m pretty sure she’ll be more than happy to listen to your ramblings all night.” You stormed into the room, trying to slam the door behind you but Bucky stopped it as he followed you inside. It wouldn’t be wise to keep this argument in the hall where the whole tower could hear you.

“What? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!”

“Oh, of course, Bucky. As if you hadn’t practically just gone on your first date with her at the party.”

“You’re being ridiculous, y/n! We were just talking.”

“Bullshit! Like no one could see the bedroom eyes she was giving you. She was practically fucking your brains out at the bar. Oh and not to mention, how she was groping your biceps like you were the only two people in the room!”

“What is this? Jealousy?”

“No! Stop flattering yourself, Bucky.”

“Okay, so what is it? I can’t fix whatever this is…” His fingers motioned to the invisible string binding the two of you. Who are you kidding? You both knew there was something more than a platonic bond between the two of you, you were just too dastardly to admit it with words to one another. “…If you don’t tell me the truth.”

Deep down, you knew the jealousy was senseless but in the heat of the dispute, you couldn’t stop your mouth from conveying the words out loud.

“Because I like you and I don’t want you to be with anyone but me, okay? There. I said it. Are you happy now? I like you and I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t like the thought of you being with someone who’s not me.”

Bucky was aghasted by your vehement declaration. Did he get it right? Did you really just tell him the words that he had always wanted to hear? The words that nearly escaped his lips more times than he could count, but never found the courage because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you? Was he dreaming? This felt surreal.

“You… You like me?”

You scoffed. “Yeah. I do, Bucky. Unfortunately. But now, I understand if you wanna go out with Samantha or if you never speak a word to me again, I get it. But at least you know that I li-”

He abruptly grabbed your face and pressed a brief kiss on your lips, taking your breath away like a typhoon. It was short-lived but enough to knock you off your feet. He retreated and gazed deeply into your eyes, hoping that you could see the suppressed emotions you made him feel whenever he was with you. He wasn’t a man of many words, after all, but after spending months of excavating each other’s secrecies, you got the message. Words were futile, anyway, when the feelings that you had were stronger than anything else you had ever felt.

“I like you too, y/n. So much.”

“You do?”

He nodded, a grin spread across his face, making his eyes gleam in the obscurity of your room.

“What about Samantha?”

“Sweetheart, I never had any feelings for her. She can flirt with me all she wants, but you gotta know that I only have eyes for you, darling. And there’s no one else I wanna be with other than you.”

“You mean that?” Your smile had made its way back to your face. The smile that only Bucky could evoke. Your eyes were twinkling with hope.

“Every word.”

And that’s you ended up here now, three years later, sharing a reposeful room with the love of your life. You had just returned from a late sparing session with Natasha in the training room. Crazy, how three years ago, you’d incessantly ramble about the same person and the same topic, which is Bucky’s cluelessness whilst running on the treadmill with her but now, you talked about various random things like two normal friends would. As if the issue that you had with Bucky had been resolved. All’s well that ends well.

You spotted your boyfriend, who had a much shorter hair now, sitting contently on the bed with a Sci-Fi novel in his hands. His long fingers sophisticatedly enveloped the cover as he thoroughly focused on the words on the pages but, it was quickly disrupted when you walked into the room, greeting him with a smile. “Hey, baby. What are you reading?”

“This sci-fi novel that Sam got me for my birthday but I didn’t pick it up until now. How was the training, sweetheart?”

“The usual. Nat, being the competitive little shit that she is, kicked my ass but I got her back at least. Twice.” You had showered in the gym bathroom before you went upstairs to see your boyfriend so you didn’t have to bother concealing your musty scent due to the sweat.

“That’s my girl.” He got on his feet and walked towards you, as he looked at you with so much admiration and love in his eyes, it overwhelms you sometimes. The way he’d hold you whilst being starstruck by every feature on your face, and the way he’d tell you he loved you, with so many sincerity behind the words, even after three years of being together. You were lucky. You both were. To find a home within each other.

He kissed you deeply like he hadn’t had the pleasure to see you in three months even if you had only been gone for an hour. His lips enthralled you every time and he wouldn’t mind giving you the solace as much as you desired. He needed it more from you, anyway.

When your lips were apart, he pressed his forehead to yours. The vague light from the table lamp beside your bed illuminated the room along with the dimmed city lights, casting a dainty glow on the two of you. Like a spotlight on a stage, and you were the star-crossed lovers of the tale, illustrating a true story of unbreakable love.

“Dance with me.” Bucky said.

“Well, then, I shall put on the perfect song, sir.”

You ordered Friday to play the song “Lover” by Taylor Swift, as the first hits of the drum immediately moved your bodies against each other, his hand seized yours as you tucked your head under his chin. His other arm wrapped itself around your waist, holding you as close as possible like it was your last dance. But certainly not. This was merely one in a thousand dances to come.

We could leave the Christmas lights, up ‘till January

This is our place, we make the rules

You swayed to the nostalgic song playing in the background, echoing the words of love all around the room. Like you were the only lovers on the grand dancefloor, as the singer harmonises only for you.

And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

You leaned your head on his chest, his slow heartbeat thumps in your ear. The beat grounds you like gravity, reminding you of how the term ‘home’ isn’t only a structure with four walls and a ceiling, but rather, a figure with serum-injected blood coursing through his veins, an injured skin layering all the organs, fashioning one magnetic force of a man.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Forever and ever

His gentle hand rubbed your back, as his feet swung with the tune. He was a man out of his time. Despite being alive in the modern world long enough now, he was still taking baby steps in adapting to the culture and that includes music. Back then, this wasn’t exactly the kind of music he’d ask a girl to dance along to, but he learned to appreciate your musical preference and slowly, he grew fond of them too.

And ah, take me out and take me home

You’re my, my, my, my lover

Because the lyrics had truly hit close to home. If someone had delivered him a mail during his Winter Soldier years, that he was going to find a beautiful, loving woman who willingly took his hand; scars and all. Despite the demons in his mind and the ghosts in his past, she was going to love him faithfully and she would offer her own hand to guide him through the path of daylight… He’d laugh on their faces and told them to piss off because they were wasting his time by speaking baloney.

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

But he was wrong. You walked into his life and gratefully punched his face on that night and he will forever thank the lucky stars for that. Because what he didn’t have a single clue of was that, it was the beginning of something tangible and something that became his religion. Something that became his lifeline. Despite still dealing with his own demons that he wasn’t sure whether they will ever truly leave him or not, he was a happy man. He didn’t think it was possible to say that. He was a happy man, in love. And it sounds strange to accept that as the truth but, it was what it was.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

He twirled you around gently. Careful not to trip you. He caught you in his arms as you bent your body with peremptory trust, his handsome face never failed to mesmerize you.

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

You swayed on your feet once more, but really, you were just spending time, embracing the security in each other’s arms. You don’t care about the past heartbreaks or the haunting memories. You are not even stressing out to think about what tomorrow promises, you simply wanted to live every second of this moment with him.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be over-dramatic and true to my lover

But whatever the future plans for you, you knew there would be no hurricane violent enough to shake your ground as long as you had Bucky by your side.

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

You were going to hold onto him through the agonizing mornings or vicious nights. You were going to hold onto him through Spring until the first drop of snow starts to cover the ground in white again. You were going to hold onto him through the Christmas Eves and New Years. Whether it be when you’re sharing a midnight kiss or when you’re hungover for all the drinks from last night.

You took a vow that no matter what happened, there would be no more unspoken words that would be an emotional barrier between the two of you. You only wanted to have eyes for him because everything fades into the background and the stars align when your bodies were intertwined, unable to tell where you began and he ended.

You’re permanently stuck with each other and that’s all you ever really wanted.

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