#breach of contract series
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Breach Of Contract: Part 9
A/N: Peggy Carter bashing as usual
You felt anxious before the plane had even touched down. It started with your palms sweating and your heart racing, the steady uptick in beating had been a synonymous symptom of your changing emotional well-being.
Senator Rogers had departed your side a half hour ago, leaving you to get a briefing of the events that would take place the first night you arrived.
He had left for the back of the plane to make a few adjustments to his wardrobe and his physical appearance. In his absence, you were welcome to fall into a pit of anxiety and restlessness, the debilitating awareness that you were going to face the media as both his intern and as some specimen, they wanted to shove under a microscope.
You knew, full well, that the connection between you and Steve had been noted by both likely supporters and opposition.
You knew full well that comments were comparing the kind of chemistry you two had, versus the kind of blasé and underwhelming bond that tied Steve and Peggy together. The evidence of support or animosity had already been noticed through different socials and handles on the vast internet.
However now you were going to have to face it head-on.
Pepper had made you aware of the media circus, of the absolute hell and chaos that would ensue once Senator Rogers touched the ground. It was only natural given the attacks that the other party was trying to unleash on him in order to dissuade the public from voting for the necessary parties to vote him in. It was rather nasty, from what you had already seen and it was only going to act as gasoline for this insane and innate fire that would be all-consuming.
Once he set foot on the tarmac, the press tour started. There would be no shortage of events that would aid Senator Roger’s message for unity in the country, and the need to help each other out rather than turning our backs on each other.
The start of the press tour on the west coast would start the moment he stepped off the plane and the docket had started to take place with the first flash of a camera. Senator Rogers was ready, he was prepared with a level head and an assurance that he could and would handle whatever was thrown his way.
“I hope you’re ready.” Chase had given you a forewarning as the process to off-board was starting. “We’re coming behind him and immediately going to the hotel.”
You reached for the bag you’d packed, one of the carry-ons with little inside other than a quick change of clothes and a few books, hesitating when you felt hands grazing your own. Given the last chance to give you a pep talk, Steve lifted the bag from the overhead compartment for you and set it on the floor.
Inhaling slowly, you focused on the scent of his cologne and the tinge of spice that made you want to turn into him for comfort. He was strong and broad-shouldered but he carried so much warmth with him, warmth that you wanted to surround yourself.
“Take a deep breath, don’t let them get in your head.” He whispered, he whispered gently as if the roles were reversed and you were the one who was going to be facing the onslaught of the media circus.
“I’m scared.” You replied with a mumble, unable to turn and face him, at least not while the doors were prepared to be opened.
“Fear is not a weakness.” Steve had pulled away when it was time for him to settle into his role, and after he stepped away you looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with him. It was only a moment, it was barely half a minute before he had to turn away but it was enough.
And then the door opened, a powerful vortex of questions and the steady click of cameras had come rushing to your ears before he had even stepped out. He had upped out of your line of sight although you could easily detect the cacophonous drone from the tarmac.
“We have to go, we have to face it.” Val and Sasha both stepped by your seat, the latter helping you pick up your bag and the files you’d been scouring over. “We’re right here with you.”
The buzz that you heard on the plane was tepid compared to being on the tarmac with a line of press, different media cycles and online avenues for gossip and information vying to get his attention. It was as if you were in a wind tunnel, being accosted by the piercing noise that hit your ears with an unseemly tangency that made you grit your teeth.
“Senator Rogers reaches the LAX airport with his team in tow-“
“Senator Rogers is starting the tour here on the west coast and is said to be attending a few ceremonies-“
“The excitement for the senator to arrive has boiled over and quite a crowd has been drawn. Now I’ve been told-“
You could remain ignorant to the questions as Steve had stopped by a few press junkets as the start of his tour commenced. However, when you started hearing questions fired off at you, you were not as poised and collected as the Senator.
“Y/N! Y/N do you have any responses to the fans and supporters of Madame Carter who have accused you of interfering in their marriage?” A reporter for a popular online gossip outlet had raised their voice to garner your attention, and immediately you were thrown off guard.
You were a deer in headlights, eyes wide and tongue-tied. Your mind was not cooperating with your vocal cords or your motor skills, you couldn’t move or respond in any possible facet. Rather, you were stuck where you stood with your fingers tapping on the inside of your hands.
And when you finally could speak, when you finally found yourself able to produce a sound, it came out as a stuttering and weak response.
“I’m…I don’t-“ you were steered away, set into the protective side of Chase and Val.
“Ignore them. Keep your head down and move. Act normal.” Chase squeezed your hand and led you off to the vehicles waiting for the support team. He opened the door and watched you slide into the back beside Val before he joined you, the other vehicle held out for Pepper, Sasha and Steve.
“This is madness. It’s chaos-” you rest your head in your hands, your eyes closing for a single moment to gather your thoughts.
You weren’t prepared for this, even with all the warning and prep you’d been doing it wasn’t expected. This was your first real, true job as a PR intern for a major political campaign, and maybe it was your naivety that made you ignorant, but you didn’t know it would be like this.
“The first day and I feel like I’ve been dumped into the Arctic Ocean.” You lowered your hands, watching aimlessly as Senator Rogers approached the lead vehicle and took a pause to wave once more at the crowds.
“We have the night off. Sasha, Pepper & the Senator are going to do a kickoff press conference, so…” Chase leaned in and nudged your arm with his. “Come to my hotel room, we’ll order food and watch B-rated movies.”
“As long as you promise not to start sexting your boyfriend. The last time you invited us over, we got a deeply personal insight into your sex life, and we didn’t want it.” Val leaned forward and directed her attention to Chase, the two of them continuing their ease back and forth until the driver started taking off from the airport.
As the vehicle moved, you leaned back against the seat and angled your head, staring out the window at the masses of people or reporters who were still recording or taking pictures of the envoy.
It was endless or seemed to be and you wondered, at any point, if you would be on the receiving end of Madame Carter’s hatred in person.
“The press tour started eventfully,” the fabricated crooning which once had brought him to his knees had now been a nail upon glass to his ears, “are you enjoying playing with your intern?”
“Peggy quit.” Steve drew out his annoyance with a sharp hiss when his wife’s comments, through a picture-perfect screen, had come across as hypocritical at best. “We’re not doing this.”
“Not doing what, Steve? You’re not screwing around with a younger woman while your wife is doing charity work?” Peggy leaned forward tucking her hand under her chin, her long deep brown hair was pinned to the top of her head in a style that was as calculated as she was.
Peggy was unbothered by the weight of her affairs, by the notion that while Steve wanted to change the world for the better she wanted to acquire an endless stream of power and money for herself.
It was a reality that was more of a nightmare, the idea that she could have used Steve so easily and not found fault in the irony that she was committing physical adultery. Steve, in comparison, felt like he was genuinely falling in love with someone incredible.
“Where’s he hiding? Where do you have him this time? The closet?” Steve blew out the accusation with animosity, and disgust hanging off every syllable until his mouth was coated with bitterness.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Peggy’s lips were drawn back into a smirk, a slow-building quirk riddled with heinousness, “I should remind you…”
His heart sank and his hands were balled into tight fists by his side.
He didn’t need to know what toxic spewing ire she would fire off at him to know that it was another tactic for control. Steve knew that she and her family, who had promised so much for the man who wanted to be a great politician and make a difference, were trying to tighten the strings and spin this discourse between the two of them into a positive light.
“It’s in your little whore’s contract that if she fucks anyone in her circle she’ll be fired.” It felt like a victory for her, Steve could see it written clearly.
Every shadow and highlight on her aesthetically pleasing face, her natural beauty and charisma that charmed more than just him, was now twisted.
Every facet of her that he once loved was tainted and obliterated by this poisonous facet that made him hate her. It was despicable, it was beyond what he thought he could handle. Peggy Carter and Pierce’s were fucking with what little glimmer of happiness he could have.
“Make sure you’re a good boy, Steve. Don’t put your dick in anything that could get you into trouble.”The irony, cruel and twisted, befell him.
He was finding happiness but couldn’t step over the line they drew in the sand. It was a method of torture to keep him in their distinctive clutch, and Steve was caught between letting himself chase the glimmer of hope and squandering it all.
“I wanted to change the world, Peggy. I wanted to do good and be good. I wanted a loving wife and kids to come home to, I wanted the American dream and you-”
“I told you to fuck her, didn’t I?” Steve’s heart sank, the acid in his stomach churning as he rendered himself stuck on this terrorizing notion that if he chased you, physically seeking you, you would be ruined. “Guess you better keep your dick clean.”
He wanted to call her a bitch, he wanted to call her a hypocritical whore for this cage she was forcing him into. Steve wanted to rip into her, endlessly tearing her in two through the screen, and yet all he could do was stare at this vile poisonous snake.
She was fucking every intern she had and dangling up above him like a carrot in front of a horse.
Peggy Carter was holding everything from him.
“I’m not letting you go, Steve. I still need you and you need me, my family, to get what you want. Who knows…maybe when I become the First Lady I’ll give you the whore as a gift. You could keep her locked under the Oval Office to suck dick for all I care-”
Steve closed the screen with a snap, using enough force to crack the screen. He stood violently and reacted in anger, swiping everything from the desk to the floor. Bile was crawling up his throat, stinging his esophageal system from the inside. His heart was thrashing violently as he continued the destruction, seeking an outlet for himself.
And as he finished, as he had spent all the anger he had, Steve slowly slid down the wall nearest the window. He drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face in his hands, slowly exhaling.
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#Steve rogers x reader#senator!steve rogers x reader#senator!steve rogers#senator!steve rogers x intern!reader#Steve rogers x reader fluff#Steve rogers x reader angst#steve rogees x reader smut#steve rogers imagines#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers imagine fluff#steve rigers imagines fluff#breach of contract series#breach of contract masterlist#breach of contract part 9#anti peggy carter#Peggy Carter bashing
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She's here and she's ours - Lewis Hamilton
Pure fluff.
Series: She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you
pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!
wordcount: +1k
a/n: I'm 100% sure Lewis is gonna be a girl dad, like there's no other option in my mind. Also, I might make this a series of firsts with his kids, maybe 🙃
As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!
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First-borns took longer to come, you’d been told that much, but 26 hours of active labor seemed like a bad joke.
The due date had been almost a week prior, which meant she had to be induced, but at the end of it all a perfectly healthy, and tad bit big, 20.7 inches and 7.3 pounds baby girl had made her arrival in the early hours of a cold, but sunny, Wednesday.
The three days stay at the hospital also meant all of your and his family had had more than enough time to get to Monaco still in time to chat, have lunch and joke around with you, contractions only ever getting really strong the night before your water finally broke. At a time your perfectly thought-out labor plan had already been torn to pieces.
She was meant to be born in the water, that’s how you and Lewis had dreamt of for months, but being as stubborn as both of you were she didn’t turn and a breach meant being ready for an emergency c-section, if needed. It also meant an epidural would be more than likely required, something you fought your hardest against but eventually agreed to after a couple hours with labor going quicker with the water broken. At the end you still managed to have her naturally, with a second degree tear nonetheless.
But the tiredness, your back killing you, the heartburn, the swollen feet and the pain, none of it took center stage in your mind as you watched your daughter, as weird as that word sounded, falling asleep in her father’s chest.
As soon as she had had her first feed in your breast the nurse asked if skin on skin with the father was something you both would like to happen. His eyes, who had been gleaming with pride since the second the doctor announce she was girl, watered as the nurse handed the infant to a shirtless Lewis, seated at your side in the sofa by the window.
She squirmed a bit as her small body tried to find comfort against his muscular chest, one of his hands almost big enough to hold her entire body while the other supported her neck and head. And as if in a movie, as soon as he spoke, her body relaxed and she contently sighted with the sound she had spent the last months hearing from inside you, a voice almost as constant as yours to her.
“She’s here, babe, and she’s all ours.” You couldn’t really tell if he was telling you or himself that, his eyes wouldn’t leave the infant in his arms and his movements were careful and kept to a minimal
“How you feeling dad?” Your voice breaking the spell he seemed to be under, his eyes shining with love for his family, the one he finally had.
“Amazed, hopeful, scared… in love” He almost whispered after thinking for a bit.
It was Lewis first year with Ferrari, all the excitement and buzz from the move were gone and real life had set in. Redbull were still dominating the grid, Ferrari a bit closer than the previous year, with both driver even managing to snatch a vitory each, but still the focus was now on the new regs for the 2026 car.
The mandatory summer shutdown was the perfect opportunity to destress for at least a week before the chaos started back again and Lewis made sure the ever-shorter time he had for a vacation would be perfectly spent with family and friends alike, somewhere in the sunny Mediterranean ocean.
It was on a hot and clear night that summer that your lives began to really change.
His step mom was talking about how hard it’d become to gain a few pounds of lean mass after menopause had hit, a curiously shy Willow asking her mom what menopause was and getting the period talk on the side while you mentally panicked that your period had been due for at least about 2 weeks, something you completely put to the back of your mind with the craziness of summer shutdown preparations.
You were on birth control, but still it could happen, you both knew that and had agreed on no condoms. Later that night, while Lewis got a late workout in and everyone else went to bed, you franticly looked for the package at the bottom of your suitcase, hoping the damn thing was still there.
Almost twenty minutes later Lewis found you on the bed staring at the night sea, lost in thoughts, shaking and so in over your head it took him at least 10 minutes to comprehend your rumbles about the test, still untouched at the adjoining suite sink, the line that read “pregnant 5-6 weeks” screaming back at you both.
To say the pregnancy took sometime getting used to was a light hearted way to say you went through hell mentally and physically. But still, the moment that tiny creature first kicked you after hearing her father’s voice melted any sign of a doubt left.
You were not only gifting Lewis his most treasured wish, you were gifting yourself a perfect symbol of the respect, companionship and love you two shared. A tiny human you and him got to raise and protect until she went out into the world and left her mark.
As everyone else came into the room to finally meet the newest Hamilton, Lewis’ moment with his newborn was interrupted by his mom getting to hold her newest grandkid, followed closely by his sisters, brother, niece and nephew crowding the sofa he sat just a few moments before.
“Thank you, babe, truly. I don’t even know how to tell you how grateful I am.” His lips kissing your hair from the top of your bed, eyes attentively watching as your girl got passed around.
“We’ll have at least 18 more years with her, you’ll have time.” You looked up at him to get his toothy smile just as your family walked into the room to complete the party.
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#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#f1 x reader#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton imagine#formula 1#f1 imagine
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More Than This 4
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader
Word Count: ~6.1k
Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.
Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, Linda being Linda, a panic attack, p in v sex, sex in maybe not the best mindset, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
A/N: I thought this was gonna be a short one. 😂
Gigantic thanks as always to @paperweight91 who helped me figure out what the problem was when I was really struggling to feel inspired on this one, and then later on when the narrative took a bit of a turn that I wasn't expecting, she helped me navigate it and come out the other side. Chelsea, you continue to be the very best!
And an additional hat tip to @thezombieprostitute, who left a comment on the last part that inspired part of Linda's visit here. Thanks, dear!!
Unsurprisingly probably, this is another sad one. But I hope it'll be worth it!
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!
As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
You’ve reached the phone of Steve Rogers. Please leave a message after the beep.
“Hey, Steve. It’s me. Again. Your sister. Um, shit. Yeah, you’re at work now, aren’t you? Sorry, I still haven’t gotten used to the time difference. I got your texts, and, uh, everything is fine. I’m– I’m doing good. But I miss you. And it’d be nice to hear your voice. But I’m fine, I’m good, I promise. I just– I’ll try again soon. Love you. Ok. Bye.”
You hung up and sighed, setting your phone down beside you. You hadn’t actually spoken to Steve since you’d gotten on the plane a week ago. Which was fine. You were doing fine. He’d texted you. And he was busy. You knew he was. It’d be easier, you thought if you were too. But everything had been unpacked. The housekeeper took care of all the upkeep of the house and you got the distinct impression that she didn’t much care for your “help,” so now when she was here you mostly tried to stay out of her way. Even Lola was getting tired of going for walks around the neighborhood.
You’d barely seen your husband since your disastrous attempt at sex. He’d been avoiding you, leaving early in the morning and coming home late at night. You hadn’t talked about what happened. You’d barely talked about anything.
You looked at your laptop on the coffee table and exited out of the WebMD entry on erectile dysfunction. That wasn’t helping. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, all you could do was think about what would happen to you if you couldn’t get Ransom to fuck you. If you didn’t get pregnant. You still hadn’t seen the contract and weren’t sure what the actual terms were, but you knew the consequences would be nothing good.
Steve had had an aunt on his mother’s side who’d been found in breach of contract and had her marriage dissolved. You never really knew her, but you remembered how Joseph talked about her, about the desperate arrangement she’d eventually had to settle for, the sadness in Steve’s eyes whenever she came up. That wouldn’t be you, couldn’t be you. You knew you wouldn’t even start to feel secure in your arrangement until that part of the contract had been fulfilled. You just needed to figure out how.
But, dwelling on it wasn’t helping. Googling possible causes of Ransom’s issue wasn’t helping (although it was better than listening to the voice in your head that wouldn’t stop telling you that he just didn’t want to touch you). You needed something to do. Back in LA, you’d worked part-time at an art gallery Steve had introduced you to. You’d mostly answered the phones and greeted people as they came in, but you’d liked it. There had to be something like that available in Boston. And at least trying to find it would give you something to focus on.
So you lost yourself in compiling a list of galleries you could try to contact, sitting on the couch with Lola curled up beside you. When Ransom came home late that night, that’s how he found you. You looked up, startled when he came in the door, and found a similar expression on his face.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re still up,” as he took off his coat and shoes.
“Yeah,” you said, not knowing what else to say.
He nodded and came as far as the beginning of the living area, then stopped and just stared at you for a moment. You waited for whatever it was he was going to say. Then, finally, “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” then, gathering your courage and hoping you wouldn’t be shut down, you added, “I started to look for a job.”
“Oh,” he looked mildly surprised. “Do you have any experience?”
You pushed down the tinge of hurt that bubbled up at that. The question wasn’t completely uncalled for. Many of your friends back home had never worked a day in their lives. But you couldn’t help feeling a little defensive when you answered, “Yes, I worked at the front desk of an art gallery back home. I liked it. I’d like to find something like that here.”
Ransom hummed thoughtfully as he nodded. “Well,” he said, looking off into the corner of the room, “uh, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with that.”
“Oh,” you said, too surprised to say anything else for a moment. You’d been sure he’d say no. You weren’t quite sure what to do with an offer of help, of all things. And you would need his help if you got the job, with a way to get yourself there at the very least. But you didn’t want to jinx it or push things too far right now, so you just said, “Thank you. I will.” And then, “Uh, how was your day?”
“It was fine,” he said, stiffly. “Busy, I’ve been really busy. And I’m, uh, I’m exhausted now. So I’m going to go straight to bed. Feel free to stay up as late as you want. Obviously.” And just like that, he turned on his heel and left the room.
You should’ve gone after him, maybe. Made him talk to you about it. Or just taken your clothes off while he was talking (although that hadn’t worked the first time). Something. But you were tired too and you just didn’t have it in you, as important as you knew it was.
So, you gave it about half an hour before you went to bed yourself, going through your nighttime routine as quietly as you could in the ensuite. When you went back out to the bedroom, you found Lola already on the bed, curled up against Ransom’s side. You stopped, wondering if you should move her. She’d slept in the bed with you for the last four nights, ever since that awful night, and Ransom hadn’t said anything about making her stop. And he obviously hadn’t noticed her snuggling up next to him, so maybe it was fine. You climbed in next to her and wrapped your body around hers, ignoring the way it made you brush up against Ransom, too.
The next afternoon, you were busying yourself with trying to reorganize your walk-in closet, when you heard someone moving around downstairs. It wasn’t one of the housekeeper’s days, so you made sure you had your phone on you and started down the stairs with caution.
When you got about halfway down, you saw Linda standing in the middle of the living room. “Linda!” you exclaimed, unable to hide your shock at her standing before you. “Ransom didn’t tell me you’d be stopping by. I didn’t know you had a key.”
“Of course, I do, I’m his mother. And I’m the one who set him up with this house.” She cast a judgemental eye on the room. “I see you’ve been moving some things around.”
“Oh,” you said, now at the bottom of the stairs and looking around a little worriedly. You’d tried so hard to disrupt as little as possible. “Not much, I don’t think. Just a little to make room for my own things.”
Linda hummed in a way that made you want to shrink inside yourself. “Well,” she said and held out a gift bag. “I brought you a little something.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, forcing a smile as you took the gift, slightly afraid of what might be in it. You glanced inside, moving aside the tissue paper to find about a dozen pregnancy tests. “Oh,” you said, afraid if you said anything more you might burst into tears. It was fine it was fine it was fine.
“Just want you to be prepared,” she said.
“Thank you,” you forced out. “You really shouldn’t have.”
“Well,” she clapped her hands together, “why don’t you get us some coffee?”
You forced another smile, trying to cover the panic you felt that she was staying. “Yes, of course.” You took your time getting the coffee prepared in the kitchen. Once it was ready, and you had the cream and sugar and everything else gathered on a tray, you couldn’t delay it any longer and brought everything out to the living room. Linda helped herself to a mug, finishing it to her liking as you did the same. You caught, though, the little face she made at her first sip. That was fine, it was her son’s fucking coffee.
“This is nice,” she said, in that particular syrupy tone of voice she had that meant she was trying too hard to seem friendly. “Just the two of us. Overdue.”
You made yourself nod. “Yes,” you said, “It’s great to see you.”
“I was talking to Ransom this morning, and he mentioned that you’re looking for a job?”
“Oh,” you started, something about her tone making you cautious, “yeah, you know, something to keep me occupied. I used to work at an art gallery and I’m hoping I can do something similar here.”
She took a sip of her coffee, then pursed her lips. “Well, that sounds lovely. But are you sure it’s a good idea with a baby on the way?”
You did your best to chuckle, trying to keep things light as you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I’m not pregnant yet, Linda.”
“Maybe not, but you will be soon. And do you really think it’s fair to get a job when you’re just going to have to quit in a few weeks anyway?”
You stared at her confused, your own coffee now forgotten. “We don’t know exactly when I’ll get pregnant.” You may not care for Ransom much, but you certainly weren’t going to discuss his possible impotence with his mother. Or the fact that he just didn’t want you. “And I don’t understand why I would have to quit once I got pregnant anyway.”
“Well, I’m sure Ransom won’t want you working once you’re pregnant. He’ll want you to focus on growing his child and getting everything prepared for the baby.”
You felt the air go out of your lungs. All you could do was gape at her. What? You flashed back to the wedding, to Harlan telling you how good you were going to be for Ransom. To your mother telling you to keep him happy. To Joseph’s speech barely even mentioning you. It was like you as a person didn’t exist anymore. You were just here for him. Your whole life set up just to cater to him. You felt the tears starting to gather in your eyes, but you would not cry in front of this woman.
“But,” you started, “you worked all through your pregnancy and Ransom’s childhood, didn’t you? I don’t understand why I wouldn’t be able to, too.”
“Oh,” she said, as she gave you the most condescending look you might have ever received, “I see. You think you and I are the same. Sweetheart, no. I helped my father choose my arraignment. I came into it with my own money, having already established myself. A real career, not some silly part-time gallery job. I’m the one who supports Richard. I’ve always had the power. I was never you. And you will never be me. So, how about you let Ransom take good care of you and you focus on the things that you can give him, hmm?”
You just stared at her, feeling suddenly numb. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that? You’d only spoken to her a few times and every single time she’d made you feel so small, insignificant, weak.
She placed her mug on the table and stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now, dear, but this was so nice. We’ll have to do it again soon.” She stood in front of you as all you could do was sit and stare. She raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow at you and you finally realized that she wanted you to stand. You robotically did so, still so numb from this short visit. As soon as you were upright, she gave you a stiff hug and patted you on the shoulder. “I’m so glad we were able to put this silly job idea to bed,” she said. “I’ll show myself out. Have a good rest of your day, darling.” And then she was gone and you were left standing alone in the middle of Ransom’s living room.
You spent the rest of the afternoon running Linda’s visit through your mind, over and over. The thing you couldn’t understand was why, if Ransom was so against you working, he hadn’t said anything about it last night. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell you no right away, rather than siccing his mother on you the next day? Why would he say yes? Was it just so that he could look like the good guy before he had his mom do his dirty work for him? Was he really that much of a chickenshit?
When you got to a point when you thought you might actually drive yourself crazy if you thought about it anymore, you got your phone out and tried, once again, to call Steve.
You’ve reached the phone of Steve Rogers. Please leave a message after the beep.
You wanted to scream. You were so fucking tired of talking to his machine. Every time you thought you couldn’t feel more alone, you just fell deeper.
“Hey, Steve. Um, I’d really love it if you could call me back. I know you’re busy. I don’t mean to– I’m sorry. I just– I just really miss you. I’d really like to talk to you. I love you. Ok. Bye.”
You hung up and then just stared at your black phone screen for a moment. You couldn’t just sit in the house anymore. “Lola!” you called out into the house, not sure of where she’d gotten off to. “Want to go for a walk?”
Ransom didn’t come home that night, the absolute fucking coward.
When you woke up the next day, you couldn’t tell if Ransom’s side of the bed had been slept in or not. Lola was sprawled across it, taking up much more space than her tiny body would indicate. You decided not to dwell on it.
There was a text message from Steve, sent in the middle of the night.
Hey chipmunk. I’m so sorry I keep missing your calls. I’ve been absolutely slammed this week. I’ll try to call you soon. Hope you’re doing ok. I miss you so much. Love you.
You couldn’t stop staring at it. The childhood nickname combined with the distance the message represented made your whole chest ache.
As the day wore on, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. The housekeeper didn’t want you around. All the unpacking was done. You couldn’t look for a job. You tried to read but you couldn’t focus. You called Steve but he didn’t pick up, again, and you just didn’t have it in you to leave another message.
You felt like you sleepwalked through the whole day, so when Ransom walked in in the evening, you were startled to realize the day was gone.
Lola lept off your lap on the couch and ran to him as soon as he came in the door, hopping up and down and prancing in front of him. He froze, his scarf halfway off his neck and caught in his hands. “What is it doing?” he asked, turning to you, absolutely bewildered.
“I– I don’t know,” you said, staring at your dog. It was stupid, you knew it was so stupid, but you couldn’t help the frisson of betrayal that ran through you. She was supposed to be yours. She was supposed to love you, only you. And now she was consorting with the enemy. And you were jealous of a dog. But what else did you have? Your husband wouldn’t touch you, your brother wouldn’t call you back, and now your dog loved someone else. It all made you want to sob. “I think she’s happy to see you.”
He looked at you aghast. “Why?!”
“I don’t know,” you said again. “Lola,” you called, but she was still hopping up and down in front of Ransom. “Lola!” She turned at your stern tone and reluctantly ran back to you. You picked her up and cradled her in your arms. “Sorry,” you said to Ransom, then quietly murmured, “What were you doing?” into her fur. You glanced at the time. “You’re home early.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, somewhat sheepish. “Finally got out of work at a decent hour.”
“Oh.” It felt so weird to have him here. “I guess we could have dinner. Have you eaten?”
“Uh, no. Dinner sounds great.” He finally came out of the entryway and began digging through his fridge, pulling out two of the pre-prepared meals his housekeeper kept there.
As he put them in the microwave, all you could do was stare at him. You’d had the last twenty-four hours to stew in your anger and sadness and now all you really felt was tired. There was nothing you could do. It was his house, his family that held the strings. You were far from home with no one to back you up. He’d seen to it that you didn’t have a job to fall back on. All you could do was go along with what he wanted. The only thing you could do was make your place here more secure. As he bent down to get a plate out of the microwave, you blurted out, “Why won’t you fuck me?”
He straightened up quickly and stared at you. “What the fuck?!”
“I just–” you tried, “Has that happened before? Your problem. I’ve read that as men get older that happens sometimes.”
“I’m thirty-five, not fucking sixty. What the actual fuck?” He loudly dropped the plate down in front of you. “Eat your fucking food. I’m not talking about this.”
You sullenly started in on your food, it was pasta. You barely tasted it. You needed to keep talking about this, but doing it while he was angry probably wasn’t the best approach.
He heated up the other plate and then joined you, taking a seat next to you at the island. You both ate in silence, until he finally said, “I just don’t think this is anything we need to rush into. We have plenty of time.”
You looked up at him. Of course, he wouldn’t think there was any rush. Of course, he didn’t have any personal stakes in you getting pregnant. Of course, he could forbid you from working but then deny you the one thing that would give you something to fucking do here. Something that would take a portion of your anxiety away. “We don’t actually,” you growled. “We have no idea how long it’s going to take me to get pregnant.”
“You keep saying that, but I just– I think rushing it would be a mistake. We have more time than you think and putting this off until we know each other better is a good idea.”
And suddenly, you saw red. Every single fucking thing was on his terms. His hometown, his family, his house, his things, his staff, his single car, his timetable. “And how are we supposed to do that, huh?” you yelled, standing up now. “When you’re gone before I wake up and you cross your fingers I’m in bed before you get home. If you even come home! When exactly is this getting to know each other supposed to happen?!”
“Hey!” he yelled, standing up as well. Lola ran upstairs at the sound of his stool scraping against the hardwood. “Calm the fuck down! What is the big fucking deal if we wait a few months rather than doing it right now?”
“Because the longer we wait the less time I’ll have to get pregnant! And the more likely it’ll be that it won’t happen and we’ll nullify the contract and our marriage will be dissolved. And you’ll be fucking fine! You’ll still be your grandfather’s and your mother’s heir. Nothing will happen to you. But I’ll be sent back to Joseph. I’ll have to accept a second arrangement with anyone who will take me. I’ll– I’ll–” You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. The room was getting smaller, pressing in on you, and you couldn’t breathe.
You sank down to the floor and suddenly Ransom was in front of you. He called your name, but it was hard to process it. He called it again and you made eye contact with him. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re ok. You’re alright. I’m here.” He was speaking so quietly, so gently. “I’m here to help you, ok? I’m going to stay with you.” You nodded as best you could. “Can I touch you?” he asked, and you immediately shook your head. “Ok,” he said quickly, “that’s fine. That’s ok. I won’t touch you. You’re breathing too fast, ok? You need to slow down. Can you breathe with me? Come on, do it with me.” And then he breathed in slowly and you tried to match his rhythm. In and out, in and out, so slowly. At some point, he started counting. In 1 2 3 4 5. Out 1 2 3 4 5. Eventually, you could do it on your own, without him coaching you.
You spent a few more minutes on the floor with him, you both just breathing at each other. Then finally you were able to find your words. “I’m ok,” you said. “I’m alright. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he said, still so gentle. “Nothing at all. Can you get up?” You nodded and he helped you up. “Are you hungry?” he asked and you shook your head. “Ok, I’ll clean the food up later. Can I help you upstairs?” You nodded and he, very carefully, put his hand on your back, so slowly that you had all the time in the world to pull away. His touch was warm, soft. His touch was always so soft with you.
He guided you to the bedroom where Lola was already on the bed, shaking steadily and looking at you with big, fearful eyes. You climbed on and curled up next to her. “You’re ok,” you whispered to her. “I’m sorry we scared you.” She scooted so she was snuggled up right against you and you carded your fingers through her fur, scratching gently.
Ransom hovered at the foot of the bed. “Thank you,” you said quietly.
“Of course,” he said. “Has that happened before?”
You shook your head. “No, I don’t think so. How did you know how to help?”
“Oh, uh,” he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, looking down at the floor, “I used to get them when I was a kid. I had a nanny who, uh, she was really good about them.”
You just nodded, feeling like you should tuck away that information. You knew so little about him, real things that hadn’t been in the binder. You wanted to file away everything you could.
“Are you– Will you be ok if I go take care of the food?”
You nodded again. “Yeah,” you said, softly. “I’ll be fine. Lola will take care of me. Won’t you, baby?” Lola flopped onto her back so that you could give her tummy scratches and you let out a soft giggle. You smiled up at Ransom, to reassure him. And he just sort of stopped. And stared at you. Your brow furrowed as you became self-conscious under his gaze and your smile started to drop.
He suddenly shook himself out of whatever had been happening and nodded. “Yeah, ok. Yell if you need me,” and he darted out of the room.
You weren’t sure exactly how long he was gone. You passed the time snuggling with Lola, taking comfort in her. You felt shaky and raw. And scared, still scared of everything that could happen, everything you’d yelled at Ransom about. And Ransom himself, how he would take to being yelled at like that, once he was done being worried.
You heard his heavy footfalls at the top of the stairs and looked up as he came back into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned so you could see half his face. “I didn’t–” he started and stopped. Then, after another moment, “I didn’t realize you were so worried about all of this.”
“How would you?” you asked, your eyes cast down, locked on Lola as you continued to pet her. “You’re never here. We never talk.”
“I’ve been really busy,” he said, just a tinge of defensiveness in his tone. “Work’s been awful.” He paused, then repeated, “I’ve been really busy.”
“Sure,” you said.
Neither of you said anything for long minutes. You just kept petting Lola, your hand moving over her body rhythmically.
Then finally, Ransom said lowly, “We can work on it. Getting pregnant. If that will make you feel better. Make things easier for you.”
“Can we?” you asked. “I don’t know if what happened– if that was something that happens to you a lot, or if,” you looked back down, “or if you just don’t want me.”
He moved his hand so that his fingertips grazed yours on the bed. “It’s not that. It wasn’t ever that, ok?” You couldn’t help the way your whole body heated, just a bit, at the implication. You looked up just as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I just– You were clearly so scared. You wanted to be anywhere else, I could tell. You wouldn’t let me touch you, you wouldn’t even look at me. I can’t do it like that. I just can’t.” He opened his eyes and looked right at you. “I just can’t.”
“Oh,” you said quietly. “That’s– I’m sorry, I–”
He shook his head. “No, that’s not– I just thought you should know.”
You sat quietly together for a few moments. Then you took a deep breath and said, “I think we should try again.”
He gave you a surprised look. “Now?” You nodded resolutely but he shook his head back at you. “You’re still coming down from your panic attack. This can wait til tomorrow.”
In the aftermath of your anxiety, the anger you’d felt had mostly faded away, but now it bubbled back up again. You were so tired of him dictating how everything would go. “No,” you said firmly. “I don’t want to put it off anymore. I’m fine now. This will make things better.”
He just looked at you, searching your face for something. You tried to show him how calm you were now, how sure. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Fine,” he said. Then he got off the bed and started taking off his clothes. You scrambled up onto your knees to take your top off, gently coaxing Lola off the bed. She looked up at you, waiting for you to join her, but Ransom, now clad only in his boxers, picked her up, gently you noted, and deposited her in the hallway, shutting the door behind her. He looked at you as you continued to strip down to just your bra and panties, his eyes running over your body, and for the first time, you felt it. Maybe he did want you.
He climbed back on the bed. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. You froze for just a second, then nodded. He slowly brought his mouth to yours and caressed your lips with his own. His lips were soft and warm. The kiss was hesitant on both sides, not exactly passionate, but not chaste either. Nowhere near the worst you’d ever had. A quiet arousal began to pool in your core. Not need, not exactly. But it would be enough, you thought. You broke the kiss and laid down on your back. “I’m not trying to shut you out,” you said, trying to keep your tone kind, “but it’ll be faster, I think, if we both just get ourselves ready.” You started the same as last time, one hand on your breast, the other slowly traveling down your body to play with the hem of your panties. “But you can watch,” you added. “If that’s something you like.”
He cleared his throat and nodded. Then he reached over and lightly grabbed your underwear with both hands. “Is this ok?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you breathed, trying to push down your nerves. Everything was ok, this was what needed to happen. You were fine. You were ok.
He pulled your panties down your legs, then tossed them on top of his own clothes. You closed your eyes to focus again on your goto fantasy. The man standing over you. His voice in your ear. And again, you heard the sounds of Ransom getting himself ready. The snick of him opening the bottle of lube. The wet sounds of his hand working over his cock. This time you didn’t let it bother you. This time, you willed yourself not to flinch when you felt his hand on your leg. You had two fingers in your cunt and you worked yourself open, your thumb rubbing over your clit. Once you were wet enough, stretched enough, you opened your eyes and sat up. Ransom was staring at you, one hand on his hard cock, kneeling in front of you.
“Ok,” you said, “I think I’m ready.” He started to move forward, but you stopped him with a hand on his bare chest. “Can I be on top?” you asked. “Is that ok?”
He looked down at where you were touching him and then back up at your face. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah.”
You switched places as he laid down and you moved over him, straddling his pelvis and then carefully lowering yourself onto his cock. You tried not to grimace as he stretched you. He grunted again, as you slowly took more and more of him. Both of his hands came up to grasp your hips as you began to ride him, slowly at first, then picking up your pace. He was staring at your body and it was– it was a lot. Too much. You closed your eyes against it, hoping you just looked like you were into it. As he got closer, he started to buck up into you. You couldn't help but gasp at it. One of his hands moved from your hip to rub circles with his thumb over your clit, the rest of his hand splayed over your pelvis. You breathed through it, trying to let go enough to let yourself come, but you could tell that wasn’t going to happen. That was ok. That didn’t need to happen. Only one of you needed to come tonight.
He continued to buck up into you, his movements becoming more erratic. You balanced yourself with your hands on his shoulders. “Can I–” he grunted. “I’m gonna– Can I move you?”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah.”
He sat up and tucked you into him, rolling you both over so that you were now on your back and he was on top of you. He thrust back into you, once, twice, three times, and then he was coming, filling you up. His whole body stuttered over you and then collapsed on top of you. He breathed into your neck for countless moments and you didn’t know why, but you brought your hand up to gently stroke at the short hairs at the base of his skull. “Do you need me to–” he started to ask.
“No,” you said, knowing he was offering to help you finish. “I’m fine. Good. I’m good.”
You felt him nod, just a little, but he didn’t say anything else. It was so quiet, just the sounds of him catching his breath. Then he placed a soft kiss where your neck met your shoulder and lifted himself up and off you. You whimpered, just a little, as he pulled out.
You quickly lifted your hips up to keep his cum inside of you. You reached blindly next to your head until you found a pillow that you shoved under your lower back to keep your pelvis canted up. Ransom moved around the room, picking his underwear off the floor, and then into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came back out with a washcloth. He moved it towards your cunt and you shot a hand out. “No! Wait.”
“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s ok. Just for your thighs. I know. I understand.” He gently moved the warm washcloth over your legs. “Are you alright?” He asked, not quite meeting your eyes. “Was that ok?”
“Yeah,” you said, moving your hand to brush along his forearm. “I’m alright. That was good.”
You lay in bed as Ransom lightly snored on his stomach next to you, Lola curled up between you. You couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for about an hour, probably. You sat up. It was no use. Your mind was too busy. Sleep wasn’t going to come.
You grabbed your phone and got out of bed, moving downstairs to the living room as quietly as you could. You curled up on the couch and hugged your knees. You weren’t sure how you felt. It had been fine. Parts of it had even been good, maybe. It’d just, it’d been a long night. You’d gone through so many feelings, and now– Now, you just felt a little empty.
You looked at your phone. It was just before midnight. That meant it’d be a little before nine in LA. Steve hopefully wouldn’t still be working, but he wouldn’t be asleep yet either. He might be out, or painting, or busy some other way, but. It was worth a shot.
It only rang once. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Steve gasped. “Work has been a fucking nightmare, but that’s no excuse. I was going to try to call you tomorrow, but I’m so, so glad you called me now. How are you? Are you ok?”
The tears had started as soon as you heard your brother’s voice. “Steve,” was all you could get out before you were full-on crying.
“Oh, chipmunk, no. What’s wrong?”
You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get yourself together. You finally had your brother on the phone. You weren’t going to waste the whole conversation crying. “Nothing,” you managed. “I’m ok, I just– I’m just so happy to talk to you.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and you thought that maybe his voice sounded a little thick too. “Me too. I’m so happy to talk to you. I’m so sorry it’s been so long. How are you doing? Your messages, you sounded– Are you ok?”
You sniffled as you tried to nod and then realized he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m good. It’s just a little lonely here. I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too. Everything’s so different here without you. Shit, it’s late there. What are you doing up?”
You shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep. It’s been a long day.”
Steve hummed and there was a tone to it you couldn’t quite decipher. “Is Ransom there?”
“Yeah, he’s asleep upstairs.”
“And how is he?” Steve’s tone was decidedly cold now.
“He’s fine,” you said, ignoring it. “His work’s been really busy too.”
“And how’s he been to you?” he asked and you definitely didn’t miss the challenge there.
“He’s been fine, Steve,” you said and you weren’t sure whether or not it was a lie. “Everything’s fine.” You’d already decided you weren’t going to tell him about the job thing. That wouldn’t do anything but upset him. Get him on a plane here, maybe, so he could try throwing his weight around. You rolled your eyes. It was better this way. “I’ve just been unpacking mostly. Nothing too exciting. What about you? What’s going on with you? I want to hear everything.”
“You’re sure it’s not too late there?”
“No, not at all. I’m wide awake. And nothing much to get up for in the morning anyway. But if you’re busy or need to go to bed or something, you can go whenever you need to.”
“Not a chance. I wanna talk to you as long as I can,” Steve said. And you knew he couldn’t see it, but you grinned into the phone anyway.
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His Love
|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|
Part One
Master List of Series
Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.
Author's Note: This is based on the depiction of Aegon in HBO's House of The Dragon and not the books, though I do change some details about his character here and there. I fully recognize that he is a horrible person in the show, especially, but it still makes me want to fuck him just as badly. Please give me hate for this, so I know what to add to the story to piss you Aegon haters off. Toodles!
Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of childbirth and complications, death, reference to sexual assault, Aegon speaking inappropriately to a minor.
Screams echoed throughout the dark streets of Flea Bottom, the sound emanating from one of the many brothels that occupied the townspeople and even certain royals. The usual moans the whores had listened to were gone, replaced with their encouraging words and the shallow pants of a woman in labor. The establishment was closed for the night, which was unusual. They were always open, even on holidays that were supposed to be observed in silence, but this, they believed, was far more important.
One of the fellow women was giving birth to the firstborn daughter of Daemon Targaryen, a bastard.
"Push Elaina! Push!" the Madam commanded, holding her sweating hand.
The whispers of the other girls were the only thing Elaina Black could hear, even over the pound of blood through her ears. She had taken all the proper precautions to avoid this, but it seemed the Gods had other plans for her. Elaina had been the private whore of Daemon Targaryen, reserved only for his cock. Typically, the Madam would refuse such a demand, but he was a prince, and only the best were given to the Highborn.
"I can't," she whimpered, tears streaming down her temples. Unable to hold herself up, she lay on her bed, legs held open by her fellow girls. It had been hours, and the babe had not breached the canal. She was exhausted, sweat coated all her limbs, and she had given up on the birthing chair.
"You must!" A young girl to her side whispered, dabbing her forehead with a cool, damp cloth.
"The babe is stuck," the Madam said, her gruff voice turning into a soft, worried sound. Her callused hand rubbed her stomach.
"I-I need something, anything, for the pain," Elaina cried, her whole body feeling like she was lying in a bed of flames.
"I am sorry, sister, but it might harm the child," a girl holding her leg spoke. Elaina grunted, baring down and pushing with all her might with a scream. She felt as if her eyes were going to pop out of her head with force.
"Yes!" The Madam shouted. "Yes! Yes! Keep going, Elaina! It is moving!"
"Oh Gods," she groaned, attempting to roll on her side, but was held down.
The Madam had a bright smile as she stuck her hands inside Elaina's canal, feeling the soft hair of the newborn as it slid forward. She could feel the child's head moving against her pelvis, creating an indescribable pain. A few more contractions and the babe would be free.
Elaina tossed and turned, gripping the stained sheets and nearly ripping them in half as a soft tuft of brown hair appeared. She screamed, her back lifting as she bared down, knowing that would be the last push.
A searing pain surged through her body from her core, traveling up her spine. She felt like she was being ripped open, all her insides tearing apart and coming out with the babe.
"Good. Good," the Madam soothed, the cry of a newborn echoing in the room. "You may rest now, Elaina."
And Elaina tried, she did, but the contractions did not stop. She kept pushing and pushing. The sighs of relief all the whores let out were all that could be heard. They left Elaina to tend to the babe, ignoring her raspy breaths. Though they were still in the room, she felt so alone and helpless, lying there with her legs spread open. She assumed her body kept pushing for the afterbirth, which was something to be expected, but she didn't think it would happen so soon. She felt her body pop like a plug pulled from a drain, which she assumed was the placenta exiting her body. She finally relaxed, her body exhaling all her pain and tension.
"May I see them?" Elaina asked softly, barely containing any energy.
The women finally turned to Elaina, and the newborn swaddled in one of their arms. Their faces all paled, the Madam passing the child to another girl as she ran to her parted legs.
"Wh-what is the matter?" Elaina looked down, seeing a pool of blood between her thighs. She sat up, finally gaining the strength to move before someone could push her down as she saw her organs.
She nearly fainted in shock but willed her eyes to stay open. She could not be done until she held her child.
"My baby," she whispered, but nobody listened, everyone panicking as they tried to get Elaina's internal organs back inside. "My child," she shouted, finally finding her voice. "Give me my child."
The young girl holding the still crying babe looked to the Madam, asking permission. She nodded, hands wrist deep into Elaina's heat.
Finally, she got to hold her child, numb to the poking and prodding of people's hands inside her. She wrapped her arms around the small bundle, the child as if knowing they were in their mother's arms instantly calmed. Elaina shifted the blankets to see the babes sex, smiling to herself.
"A girl," her trembling voice whispered, covering her daughter back up and whispering her name. "My beautiful girl."
She rubbed the soft lanugo hair on her head, noticing a small block of skin lighter than the rest of her scalp, white hair growing from it. The newborn closed her eyes at her mom's soft stroking, a yawn escaping her tiny mouth, smacking her gums. She knew that her daughter would have a piece of her father with her, even if she never knew him. Elaina had never felt such love for another being in her life. How could such a small thing make her feel this way?
She was oblivious to the panicky talking of the Madam and other girls, a few entering and exiting the room with different supplies. All that mattered in the world right now was her daughter in her arms, her eyes slowly opening as she stopped stroking her head. Rings of violet wrapped around her pupils, almost sparkling in the candlelight.
Suddenly, the babe was removed from her arms, and Elaina shouted, attempting to jump out of the sweat and blood-soaked sheets, but was shoved down by four women. Her daughter's cries mirrored her mother's, wanting to be in her warm embrace again.
"Where," Elaina's breath caught in her throat, realizing how exhausted she was, "where are you taking her?"
"Elaina, calm yourself." She ignored the girl's words demanding her to hold still.
"Give me my baby! Give me back, my child," she screamed, but no one listened, holding her down with all their strength.
"I need to stitch you up, Elaina! The babe tore you down to your arse!" The Madam shouted, getting frustrated with her violent squirming.
"I do not care! Give me back my child!"
"Restrain her."
"We are trying, Madam," the four girls responded as Elaina managed to free a leg and kick one of them in the face.
"Get her Milk of the Poppy, now."
It was only mere moments before a whore came in with a small glass bottle, asking another girl to help her open her mouth as she poured the liquid. Slowly, Elaina began to calm, her thrashing coming to a halt as her mind left the realm. Her child still wailed its deafening cries, never ceasing even as her mother settled.
"There, there little one," the girl who had taken her cooed. "It's alright. Your mama will make it out alright. I am sure of it." The babe continued to cry, almost as if she could sense her lies.
"Lyra, shut her up or leave the room," the Madam said, her voice returning to her routine. Lyra chose the latter, closing the door quietly behind her as she rocked the newborn in her arms.
The infection took Elaina Black in three days' time. Even though they managed to stitch her together, her insides still kept coming out. It was as if her body refused to heal without her daughter's presence. The Madam refused to let the child see her dying mother for fear that she would somehow make her sick, but she could not handle seeing her in that state. She felt like a failure. Letting one of her whores get pregnant in the first place was shameful enough, but her dying from said pregnancy under her care was terrible. She was supposed to take care of her girls, and she failed.
It was early in the morning, a week after Elaina's death, and all the brothel women were confused about why the Madam decided to call a meeting instead of letting them sleep. They all gathered around in the small room they designated for meals, waiting for Madam to address them finally. She was babbling to the bundle in her arms, letting her play with the finger she was swirling over in her face.
"I called you all here today because word has gotten to me. Rumors that some of you have broken our unspoken agreement to keep the child safe," she spoke, her eyes never leaving the babe.
"Madam," Lyra spoke up before anyone else could dig them a deeper grave. "We would never put the child at risk. Whatever whispers you have heard are false."
Madam hummed in response, finally looking at the frightened girls. "You all know her parentage and why she should be kept out of your mouths, and yet," she paused, looking at every one of their faces, "someone has spoken, and word has made it to the Red Keep." They gasped, knowing what this could mean for them and their business.
"The child is my concern, and I want no word of her to anyone. Do you understand?" The sternness in her voice was enough to make even the strongest of men falter. "Or I will have you all kicked to the streets."
They all nodded without protest, knowing that she would follow those threats. Madam took a breath, turning around to dismiss them as she kissed the babes forehead wordlessly, her purple-lined iris' glinting up at her. She knew she wouldn't be able to hide her from the royal family forever, but she would try. She'd be damned if she failed you too.
Several Years Later...
You giggled as you ran along the Streets of Silk, a mischievous grin plastered on your face as you dropped a few apples from your tiny arms. A few City Watchmen chased after you, and their shouts for you to halt fell deaf on your ears. You weaved your way through the crowds of people like a snake in the grass while the guardsmen ran through them like bulls, bumping into almost everyone they saw.
It was easy for you to get away, slinking down an alley and hiding behind a corner in your dark cloak. You turned, making sure the men ran past before you stepped out of the shadows, putting the rest of the apples into your brown satchel but leaving one out to eat. You took a bite, smiling triumphantly that you had gotten away with your crime as you skipped back to your home in Flea Bottom.
You had just reached the back entrance of the brothel you called home, always listening to what Madam said as it burst open, revealing an incredibly drunk patron as you fell to the dirty sandstone, the cloak of your hood dropping.
"Ouch," you cried, rubbing the back of your head from where it hit the ground. All the apples roll from your bag.
You looked up at the man, only to realize it wasn't. It was a young boy, barely looking at the age of ten and three, with a leather patch over his left eye and tears in the other. He, too, had a cloak of his own, now pushed back and revealing hair as white as snow. It took you a moment to comprehend what that meant, a young boy with hair like that, but then you realized, quickly scrambling up into a clumsy bow.
"Your grace, I-I did not mean to-"
A hard shove knocked you back to the ground, but this time you caught yourself staring at him with an angry look. You knew you couldn't do anything to him, he was royalty, but that did not stop you from trying.
"Get away from me whore. I have had enough of you." The prince rubbed his tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve as you attempted to get up again, but he pushed you back down, stepping on your hand as he ran away.
It was your turn to cry now, the pain and anger mixing as you whimpered, clutching your hand to your chest. What had you done to offend him so dearly? It was his fault he ran into you. Maybe he could have seen you if he wasn't such a baby. You did nothing wrong. You had half a mind to chase after him for hurting you the way he did as you got up, debating if you could catch up to him in time. You probably could. He was a selfish, pampered palace ass, not a street rat like you.
"A bit young to be whoring yourself out, aren't you? But I suppose it never hurts to start young." A tall but stocky man stood in the door frame, eyes roaming your body. He had the same white hair as the boy from before, only shorter and curly and reeking of sweat. You stepped back, trying your best not to scrunch your nose up in disgust at his smell.
"I am not a whore," you spat, putting your hands on your hips. He crossed his legs, still leaning in the doorway as he observed you, an almost calculating look on his face.
"Ah, my apologies then, dear maiden. I only meant whore in training," he said with a smirk. You scoffed, fixing your pouch as you knelt to pick up the red apples on the ground.
"Hardly. I do not whore myself, nor will I ever."
"A pity," he said, crouching down to be level with you, "for I would love to see your body once fully grown."
You grabbed the last apple, ignoring his comment and putting it in your bag as he placed his hand over yours, staring into your eyes. You grew uncomfortable at his unwavering gaze, heat rising to your cheeks as he ran his fingers through your white strand of hair, comparing it to your eyes. If you weren't any brighter, it would seem like he was about to kiss you. He hummed to himself as if he was inspecting a relic he did not understand.
Your name being called sharply moved your gaze from his, standing up as you shoved the apple back into your satchel. The prince stood up, his knees cracking as a part of his tunic moved, showing an indentation of teeth in his skin, and suddenly you remembered why he was here in the first place.
"I am coming, Ma." You brushed around the stranger, his fingers ghosting your arm, sending gooseflesh throughout your body. "I brought us some apples," you offered in peace as she clutched you to her bosom, hiding your face from his.
"Thank you for your patronage, my prince. I hope on your way home, you and your brother offer the upmost discretion of your time here." She stroked your soft hair as you peeked, catching his eyes for just a moment before Madam pulled you closer. "After all, it was a joyous celebration of Prince Aemond becoming a man, and special memories like these are best kept close to the heart." You knew she was trying to protect you, as she did with any man or woman you met on accident, but this time she spoke in riddles.
A thick air of uncertainty hung between them before he responded. "Of course, Babette, I would not dream of soiling such a memory with loose lips," he replied, walking away with a curious expression. "Though," he said, causing Ma to tighten her grip on you, "I must admit, your daughter has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen." She nearly suffocated you now, shoving your face in between her breasts. "The hint of violet in them, oh, how exquisite. They remind me of my own," he turned to her with a devilish grin, "or perhaps someone else who has frequented this brothel, my Uncle, maybe?"
You weren't ignorant to his words, you knew what he was implying, but you did not have any of the same features of Daemon Targaryan. You did not have the same silver hair as him, nor the purple irises he has. You would hardly call yourself related.
"Thank you, Prince Aegon. To have my daughter be compared to the likes of royalty is the highest compliment of them all." Ma bowed her head stiffly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a business to run."
Before he could utter another word, Madam shut the wooden door, locking it with the keys she always kept on her swaying hip. She released you, crushing your small frame with her large one.
"Oh, I love you, little one," she let go before smacking you on the side of your head. How many times were you going to get hit today? You didn't want to know. "Don't you ever talk to a stranger again, or else I will have to send Lyra to be your chaperone." You tried to squirm from her firm grip, but she tugged you closer.
"Ma, I cannot breathe," you complained. She laughed, nuzzling her face into your neck.
"If you can speak, you can breathe," she said plainly, waiting a moment before letting you go. "Now, what did you say about some apples?" You smiled, showing her the bag as she took it off your shoulder. "How did you get all of these? I did not give you that much coin."
You giggled, looking away as you tossed the money she lent you. "I am very good at haggling, Madam." She sighed, knowing you must have stolen them, as she pulled you into another hug, kissing the top of your head.
"Oh, my sweet girl, whatever shall I do with you," she jested. Half scolding and half praising that you managed to get a dozen apples on your own without getting caught.
You ignored the loud moans and squeaking beds from the rooms above, going to the cramped kitchen. You stood next to Madam as she began peeling the skin off the apples, handing you a knife to do one. Ma had made you gather some ingredients throughout the week, but she did not tell you what she was planning. She knew how much you loved this dish.
It was your mother's favorite, too, so she should have known. Madam did not make it much for her, though, as she was just one of her many whores that came and went. She did not care for Elaina until she realized the prince had taken a liking to her. He had brought in most of the brothel revenue at the time, and when Elaina fell pregnant, she was angry. Any appreciation Madam had towards her was gone. She thought Elaina's stupidity would surely bring her to ruins under the realization that she would have to refuse prince Daemon now in fear of the bastard child's life, but the Gods seemed to favor her when another prince decided to frequent the halls. He made up for any loss in profits.
Madam did not want to lose you; she had grown quite fond of you over the years and knew the girls under her care did too. She didn't want to turn Aegon away, for that was a risk she could not take, but your safety came first. She would have to be more thoughtful about this. Madam would need to pull some strings and ask some favors of people to make sure you were either hidden or not here when he came. That was the only way you could remain safe.
"Ma, will I be a whore when I am grown?" Your question nearly caused her to faint, shocked something like that would even be on your barely-of-age mind.
"No, sweet thing, you will not," she answered curtly, cutting off a big chunk of fruit instead of a peel. You paused your actions, pursing your lips in thought before asking another question.
"What will I be then? Like you?" Madam sighed through her nose, putting the apple down on the cutting board.
"If you want, yes." She placed her hands on her wide hips. What had Aegon said to you? "Why do you ask, sweet one?"
You mirrored your caretaker's actions but didn't reach her eyes. "I-I do not know, Ma. It was just a silly thought. It does not matter." She could see you recoiling within yourself, hugging your young body. Her urge to comfort you overpowered any worry she had as she softened her posture and voice.
"It is not silly for you to have thoughts. Do not ever let anyone say that to you. Everything you think or feel is valid." You furrowed your brows at her, confused at where this sudden sentiment came from. "But do not worry yourself with thoughts of the distant future; you still have the breasts of a toddler." Madam pinched your slowly stretching skin as you yelped and swatted her hand away, chastising your guardian. "Now, go to the cellar and fetch me the items you got at the market this week." Your face brightened at finally knowing what Ma was going to make you.
"Apple Muse! Oh, Ma, I love you so much," you squealed, wrapping your arms around her in a bone-crushing hug before running down a hatch. Madam smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. For now, she was worried about the thought of your future.
I know, I know— such a boring chapter. No smut, which is crazy for me, but don't worry, it'll get nasty eventually. On that, I can promise you. ;)
Master List of Series
#hotd aegon#aegon the second#aegon the usurper#aegon ii#aegon x you#aegon fanfic#aegon targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen x reader#haelena targaryen#aegon x reader#aemond one eye#daemon prince#daemon x rhaenyra#aegon smut#aegon targaryen smut#house targaryen#targcest#aegon targaryen fanfic
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Happy to Help
Xu Minghao x GN!Reader
Genre: sickfic, fluff.
Word Count: 8k
Warnings: adult language. food mentions. mentions of death/funerals (no one even comes close to dying though). a very bad case of the common cold.
[Series: Serenity Street 17] The heating in your apartment is broken and the landlord is not in a rush to fix it. By the time you gather the courage to ask your neighbour for help, you’re sick and now he’s stuck nursing you for a week.
note: Serenity Street is back, y'all!
For four whole days, you had gritted your teeth and smiled when Jihoon promised to get your heating fixed. For four whole days, you tried ridiculous Tiktok hacks to warm up even just your bedroom, and when that failed, wrapped yourself in three blankets and drank all the tea you could afford.
But everyone has a limit, and you finally met yours.
“Listen, I am only one man,” Jihoon told you – and frankly, he seemed to be on the verge of crying as well – when you practically broke into his apartment in search of justice, “and I do not know anything about heating systems or why yours specifically has broken.”
“Then tell someone else to fix it,” you complained, completely sick and tired of this treatment. “There has to be, like, a million people out there who could fix my heating.”
He sighed. “My parents have a contract with one specific company. Unless you want to pay for a breach of contract, you’ll have to wait until they get here.”
“It’s been four days already,” you spoke through gritted teeth, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “My apartment is colder than the basement right now. It’s February – do you know how freaking cold it is outside? Are you going to pay my funeral fees?”
Jihoon raised a brow – half in concern and half in annoyance. “I don’t.. I don’t think it’s that bad…”
You countered with an eyebrow raise of your own.
That seemed to do the trick: he sighed and sat up straighter, reaching for his phone. “Fine, I’ll give them another call. Maybe they’ll come quicker if I offer an extra fee or something, I don’t know. Just… hang on until then.”
Scoffing, you stared at him. “And what? I’m just supposed to go back to the Arctic and pray that your handymen will come before I freeze to death?”
He frowned at that. “You’re not going to die. It’s only been four days.”
“You try turning your heating off for four days in winter and tell me how you feel after that,” you practically growled, challenging him.
Jihoon rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Just go stay with someone on your floor. Minghao has a spare bedroom. I’m sure he’ll share if you asked nicely.”
You wanted to physically fight him at the mention; not because he was wrong (god knows Minghao wouldn’t hesitate to let you take over his spare bedroom if you, or anyone, just asked nicely), but because he knew what you felt for Minghao.
As one of your very few friends in the building, Jihoon was more than aware that you had been harbouring a crush on your quiet artistic neighbour. You had had your eye on Minghao ever since he brought you a package – the mailman had mistakenly delivered it to his apartment and Minghao brought it to you with a heart-melting smile.
A whole year later, your knees still felt like jelly every time Minghao smiled at you in the hallway and you had to refrain from squealing out loud every time he spoke to you. You were, as the youths would say, ‘down bad’ for your neighbour.
And that’s why you couldn’t bear the thought of asking him for help in this situation.
When you didn’t reply to his suggestion, Jihoon sighed. “I’ll give him a call–”
“Don’t you dare!” you threatened. “If you as much as tell him my heating’s broken, I will kidnap Peaches.”
“Peaches?” he wondered, blinking at you in confusion before glancing back at where he last saw his fluffy cat. Once he was satisfied to find his pet snoring away in the armchair, he turned to glare at you. “I’m just trying to be a good friend and you’re threatening my child?”
You gave up then and there, turning on your heel and marching back to your apartment.
The next morning it appeared that Jihoon, as magnificent and powerful as he was, unfortunately had no power over the heating company. They rejected his attempts at bribes and offered him what they called ‘a tentative date’.
The problem? It was a whole week away.
[i asked my parents if they’d let you stay in 5a until then, but apparently they rented it out just a few days ago. the new guy’s coming tomorrow. nothing i can do. srry.]
You sniffled as you read the messages on your phone, hidden under three blankets and two sweaters. Groaning at your bad luck, you got off the bed and stumbled towards the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The hot drink was the closest thing you had to heating at the moment, besides a tiny and barely useful (and frankly one step from being a fire hazard) space heater Jeonghan and Sunny had left behind your door the evening before.
As you walked, you concluded you were a little dizzy and your nose wasn’t letting in as much air as it should have. While the water boiled, you also realised your throat was strangely scratchy. It didn’t take much to figure out the lack of heating had finally defeated your immune system.
Frustrated at the realisation, you pulled out your phone again and sent a text back to Jihoon.
[u owe me cold medicine]
The reply arrived just as you began pouring hot water into your mug. The soothing smell of tea filled the kitchen and you couldn’t help but lean a little closer to the heat of both the kettle and the mug as you read his message.
[you’re sick???!]
You chose to not entertain his much-too-late worry spree. After all, had he worried a little sooner, you’d probably have a warm apartment by now – or so you bitterly chose to believe as you shuffled back towards the bedroom.
But before you could even make it out of the kitchen, a knock sounded on your door.
Burdened by the onslaught of what appeared to be the common cold, your brain failed to realise opening the door usually meant a whole new set of problems.
You put your mug down on the counter and went to open the front door, revealing the one person you wanted to see the least in your condition.
Minghao couldn’t even muster a smile when he saw you. “Are you okay?”
You blinked at him. “Why?”
“Jihoon texted. He said your heating’s broken.” (You made a mental vow to find and kidnap Peaches the Orange Cat – full government name and all.) “How bad is it?”
“I’m fine,” you lied through your teeth. In retrospect, this was not one of your brightest moments. “It’s just a little chilly. I manage.”
He gave you a once-over, growing more confused and concerned by the second. “How many blankets is that?”
“Three.”
His eyebrows rose. “... You manage, huh?”
“One hundred percent. You don’t need to worry about me,” you confirmed with a smile and tried to shoo him away. “I’m sure they’ll fix the heating soon.”
“Well,” he took a deep breath, as if hesitating, “if you get too cold, you can always come over to my place. My apartment’s warm.”
You shook your head even as your freezing body screamed at you. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“You wouldn’t be–”
“My tea’s ready, so I should go,” you interrupted him and waved him goodbye before closing the door.
Once you were no longer confronted by his worried eyes, you sighed in relief, before cursing yourself for damning your body to another week of frost.
Your bad luck just never seemed to end.
What you thought would be just temporary discomfort was quickly turning out to be the worst cold you had suffered in years: sniffles quickly began to look like needing to go to the store to buy a few more boxes of tissues, your scratchy throat turned into a near-complete lack of voice, and you didn’t need a thermometer to know you were too feverish to really leave your bed.
You sent a mostly typo-free text to Jihoon to inform him that this was all his fault and burrowed back into your blanket cave. All you wanted to do was sleep – and sleep you would.
In your feverish and sleepy daze, you failed to register that someone was knocking on your door until you heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, are you home? (Y/n)?”
You contemplated if opening the door was a good idea in your state. After all, one can only imagine the kinds of things you could accidentally confess while in a paracetamol-induced daze. So, you told yourself, Minghao could wait another day.
Except – as you’d soon realise – your body refused to acknowledge that decision. Like a drunken sailor following the call of a cursed siren, you stumbled out of bed and just about dragged yourself to the front door. You had half a mind to wipe away your snot before unlocking the door, revealing a distraught Minghao.
He had his phone pressed to his ear, a muffled voice sounding from the speaker. His eyes lit up at the sight of you. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got it.” He rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other side of the call was saying. “Yes, they opened the door. I’m going now. Bye.”
Finally, he turned his attention to you. “What were you doing? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Why?” you wondered all the while trying to force your eyes to focus enough to admire his pretty eyes. And his hair. Had he dyed his hair? You were sure it was blonde yesterday, so how was it brown now?
“Because Jihoon thought you were dead,” he deadpanned, reaching to place his hand on your forehead. He sighed at the touch, disappointed but not surprised. “You’re really sick, you know that?”
You snorted out a laugh – and quickly came to regret it when you almost choked on it – before croaking out, “Of course I know that. I’ve been trying to sleep it off.”
“I don’t know if just sleeping will–”
“It’ll be fine,” you chuckled and reached over to pat his hair, silently marvelling at how soft it was to your touch. Reality called you back soon enough and you reiterated yourself under his disbelieving gaze, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need to sleep, drink a lot of tea, and take some more medicine and then I’ll be good as new.”
He was still struggling to take your reply seriously. But finally, under your unrelenting smile full of content, he agreed. “Right, take good care of yourself. Sleep is good. Do you–” He hesitated for a moment. “Do you need anything from the store? I can get it for you.”
“Nah, I’m fine,” you told him and waved before closing the door. “I’ll see you once I’m better.”
And with that, you made your way back to your tiny somewhat warm base in the bedroom. A nap would soon claim you once again, your dreams filled with Minghao’s smiles and soft voice.
You sat up suddenly just as you were about to fall deep in slumber, eyes widening: you could’ve asked him to buy you more tissues. You groaned and fell back into your nest – snotty noses are a curse.
Hoping some fresh air would clear up your nose and the headache your condition had brought along, you went to check your mail in the morning. ‘Went’ might be a bit of a strong word, you’d soon realise, as you nearly blacked out just crossing the doorstep. ‘Attempted’ – that might be a better word.
As you gave up on your mission – after all, how would you go down a whole floor if you couldn’t even get out of your apartment without nearly fainting? – you noticed a bag on your welcome mat.
Suspiciously squinting, you picked up the bag. The squint quickly melted into a grateful smile when you recognised Minghao’s name signed on a note on the very top of the goodies.
Suddenly filled with a much-needed extra ounce of energy, you took the bag to your kitchen and began unpacking it. You found various cold medicines, a large pack of undoubtedly expensive tea, and some snacks, tissues, topped off with a bright-yellow post-it note from your neighbour.
Please take good care of yourself and get better soon. You can always come to my place if you need anything at all. – Minghao, 2B.
A giddy smile appeared on your face as you hugged the note to your chest. You rushed to find your one heart-shaped magnet before using it to stick the note onto your fridge, right in the centre. You’d cherish this note for as long as your crush would last – you knew this even in your feverish state.
But before long your joy was replaced with annoyance and despair as a cough fit paired with cold shivers up your spine shook your body. Your rational brain came back online soon after. Perhaps it was the words on the note, or perhaps you were finally just defeated – either way, you reached for your phone.
[hey, this is weird to ask but… can i come stay over for a while until my heating gets fixed?]
“Are you awake?” you heard Minghao ask as the door of his room creaked open. Too exhausted and relaxed to move or even speak, you only let out a throaty hum. His face – albeit a little blurry – appeared in your line of vision. “How are you feeling?”
Your reply was not legible to Minghao.
“What?”
You sighed and cleared your throat the best you could before repeating, “I feel as awful as yesterday…”
“But?”
“But way warmer,” you mumbled and burrowed back under the blankets he had wrapped you in the night before when you arrived at his door. “I missed heating.”
He chuckled sympathetically at that and placed his hand on your forehead like he had the day before (the touch made you feel just as giddy as it did back then too). “Heating’s nice, isn’t it? I hope yours gets fixed soon too.”
“Me too,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you basked in the warmth.
“Your fever’s still pretty bad. I guess the medicine’s worn off.”
He sighed and gently brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. (You couldn’t help but imagine the touch as that of a caring boyfriend rather than just a concerned neighbour.) Feeding your fever-induced delusions, he kept stroking your cheek as he stayed in front of you, contemplating his options.
“Do you want some tea?” he offered after a long minute of thinking. “I think someone said lemons and honey in tea help.”
“I’ve had so much tea though,” you croaked.
“Clearly not enough,” he joked. “Stay here, I’ll go make you some. Maybe some food too? I made waffles earlier, if you want any.”
You smiled at the thought, sighing dreamily, “Waffles and tea...”
“Right?” he chuckled and gave your cheek one last affectionate pat before walking out of the room.
When he returned, he was carrying a tray. He carefully placed it on the bedside table before handing you a steaming mug, a plate of waffles and a handful of cold medicine pills.
“I don’t know how sweet you like your tea, but it has a lot of honey,” he warned gently, smiling proudly when you took a sip and hummed happily. “Is it good?”
“It’s better than what I’ve been drinking so far,” you told him with a raspy chuckle.
He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he did feel a slight concern over your tea preferences. Wordlessly, he reached for the second mug on the tray and took a sip. His confusion only grew: this wasn’t his best attempt at making tea at all. In fact, he’d argue he hadn’t made tea this bad in years – maybe he was just so worried that it was affecting his performance.
“Drink your tea, eat the waffles, take your medicine,” he sternly told you instead of thinking about it any longer, “and then you can go back to sleep if you want.”
“I do love sleep,” you mumbled before taking the medicine, barely aware of what you were saying in your feverish state. You took a bite of a waffle to wash away the bitter aftertaste. “I love you, Minghao.”
He snorted and took another sip. “Sure.”
“I mean it!” you decided to declare, glaring at him for not trusting you. “I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”
Dumbfounded by your confession, he blinked. “How about you just get better quickly, hm?”
You hummed. “Will you love me back then?”
He chose not to answer that.
Jihoon had more important things to do than nurse a sick neighbour back to health, but he felt he had no choice when Minghao practically dragged him to the apartment by his sleeve.
“Why me?” he wondered groggily, barely awake enough to even take care of himself. “Why can’t you take care of them yourself?”
“Because I have an actual job,” Minghao pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Just make sure they don’t leave and that they take their medicine. Remember, they have to take these pills every four hours.”
Jihoon’s eyes twitched as he tried to blink. “Why me?”
Minghao was tempted to just lock him in the apartment and not share a word of explanation. But he supposed he owed him that much. He sighed. “Because you’re their friend and they’re completely out of it – I can’t leave them alone.”
“They’re a grown adult.”
“Poor (Y/n)’s very sick,” he said with a worried look in his eyes. “They must be hallucinating or something too, because they said they loved me? Can you imagine?”
At that, Jihoon’s jaw dropped. Then, he began laughing – not just giggling or chuckling, no: fully cackling.
“Don’t be too entertained by my misery. They’re your problem now,” Minghao deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as Jihoon all but folded over the sofa’s backrest in his fit of laughter. As the man finally calmed down, gasping for air but laughing no more, Minghao sighed and asked, “So, will you watch them for me?”
“Can I bring my cat?”
“Hi, Peaches!” you cooed a few hours later, the cat snuggled in your arms. She purred loudly in reply, kneading at the blankets you had piled over yourself. It was a welcome sensation, you decided.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jihoon leaning against the doorframe, smiling in a way that seemed just a bit too smug to be well-meaning. Your eyes narrowed at the sight.
“You’re not Minghao,” you deadpanned.
His smirk widened. “Yeah? Too bad you can’t confess your undying love for me then.”
You groaned. “Fuck off, Jihoon.”
He let out a hissing noise. “Can’t do that. Minghao asked me to look after you for a bit.”
“So no Minghao?”
“Only your best friend and a cat.”
You snorted. “For a cat, you sure are talkative.”
Jihoon only sighed at that. “I think that means it’s time for you to take your medicine.”
“I feel fine though.”
“But you’re talking nonsense.”
You chuckled and hummed in agreement. “You brought Peaches. You never bring her to my place. I’m a little offended.”
“Stop being so dramatic,” he joked and handed you the pills and a glass of water. “I just brought her over so she wouldn’t be bored.”
“I bet you were worried about me,” you teased and took the medicine, groaning at the stupid bitter aftertaste. “Those pills are so gross. Why can’t medicine taste more like candy?”
“How would I know?” He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. You silently sighed at the realisation that it didn’t feel half as nice as when Minghao did it.
Jihoon pulled his hand away to glare at you. “You don’t get to diss me just because you’re sick and I’m not Minghao.”
Your eyes widened. “I didn’t– Did I think out loud?”
He stared at you for a moment before blinking and looking away. “I’m starting to think that medicine is not very effective.”
“It’s kept me alive this far,” you shrugged.
“Alive and loopy,” he concluded with a defeated nod before smirking again – god, you hated it when he did that. “I heard you confessed to Minghao.”
“I did wHAT?!”
Peaches startled at your sudden rise of volume before settling back into her oddly cat-shaped hole in the middle of the bed, but you did not care. You had more urgent matters to worry about than the comfort of a spoiled orange cat.
Confessed to Minghao? You? There was no way. Surely Jihoon was lying – right, he did that sometimes, after all.
Jihoon only laughed though. “What? You didn’t even know?”
“I didn’t– There’s no way I could have, right? I’m not that out of it?” you reasoned.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged nonchalantly as if you weren’t going through an actual crisis right in front of him, “he seemed kind of distraught when he told me this morning. Thought you were hallucinating or something.”
You could only pray the mattress would swallow you whole before Minghao’s return. Either that, or maybe the universe could send a sign that Jihoon was indeed lying. You were half-sure he was anyways – he probably thought it would be funny to see your reaction. Right. That had to be it.
But, as always, your prayers were met with disdain and spite, and the front door opened. Wordlessly, you begged Jihoon for mercy as Minghao’s voice echoed from the hallway.
“Are they awake yet?”
You shook your head and clasped your hands together and tugged at Jihoon’s sleeve, but he seemed to be dead set on causing you more misery. “They’re awake! Just took the medicine.”
Minghao appeared in the doorway, a relieved smile on his face. “Oh, good. You look a lot better today than yesterday– Not that you ever look very bad, but–” he seemed to panic and it was an odd sight because this was, after all, the ever-so-calm Minghao. He cleared his throat and smiled again. “You look healthier!”
“I… feel… healthier,” you slowly said, trying to take all of it in.
“You’re home early,” Jihoon noted, already gathering the orange loaf of a cat in his arms.
Minghao’s ears seemed to go a little more red at the mention. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I– I left work early. Got worried.”
Jihoon smirked and leaned closer to you to whisper, much like a co-conspirator when he was the villain of your tale, “He got worried.”
“Count your days, Lee,” you told him with a deadly glare as he backed away, a carefree smile on his face.
“I’ll see you guys later then,” Jihoon announced and waved. “Get better soon!”
“Kim Mingyu, I swear to God— No, I know I asked for the recipe— But that doesn’t mean— Mingyu, I asked for a soup recipe not for your grandmother’s life story!” Minghao argued with his friend on the phone. His attention was soon diverted though, just to glare at you. “You should be in bed! –no, not you, Mingyu– Why are you up?”
“I feel better,” you croaked. While your body didn’t feel like it was made of lead-filled balloons anymore, your throat still hurt and the sniffles and coughs weren’t really helping with that.
Lowering his phone, he rolled his eyes and pointed towards the sofa. “You’d better lay down.”
“I’m fine–”
“I can see you struggling to stand upright from here,” he deadpanned before lifting his phone back to his ear. He sighed right after. “Yes, you did tell me about the time she went to Tokyo already, Gyu. So about that soup–”
When you still didn’t budge, choosing to admire the decor instead of following his directions, Minghao grabbed your hand and led you to the sofa himself. You were practically forced to lay down, a blanket thrown over you with care, the cushion fluffed for your ultimate comfort. With the phone still tucked under his ear, he pointed a warning finger at you and slowly told you, “Stay right here.”
“But I feel fine?” you mumbled but made no attempt to escape your fate. The sofa was nice enough you concurred and melted into the cushions, pulling the blanket further up your chin to hide your fully rubbed-red nose.
Just as you got comfortable in your new spot, listening to Minghao’s desperate attempts to pry a soup recipe from Mingyu’s mind, he appeared in front of you again. You were handed a mug full of…
“Tea? Again?” you groaned softly, but he silenced you with a warning glare and put on the TV instead of addressing your complaints. It was enough, you decided, as a drama rerun played.
After what felt like forever, Minghao’s arguments with Mingyu quieted and all you heard was the TV, the simmering of something in a pot, and your temporary roommate’s humming from the kitchen.
“What are you making?” you asked him when he came to check on you.
His hand on your forehead just like many times before, he smiled. “Some soup. It should help your throat. How are you feeling?”
“A little chilly,” you half-joked. Half because it was still a relief from the freezing temperatures in your apartment, but the living room area was still much colder than the bedroom Minghao had set you up in. It wasn’t meant as a complaint, but, judging by his deepening frown, Minghao seemed to take it as one.
“You’re cold?” he worried and, to your surprise, straightened up and reached over his head to pull his own sweater off.
Thoroughly confused, you watched as he shook the clothing item a few times before handing it to you expectantly – as if you were supposed to know exactly what to do with it.
(Newsflash: you had no idea what to do with it. Your brain was running at 20% power and still stuck on the fact that he had taken off his sweater in front of you – and looked so damn attractive doing that.)
When you made no move to grab it from him, Minghao’s frown only deepened even more. He sighed softly and took the matters into his own hand: he shoved the head hole over your head and guided your arms into the sleeves before rolling the hoodie downwards until it covered your torso.
To top it all off, he adjusted your blanket to make sure not a single gust of cold air could get you. Once he was done, he offered a sweet smile and patted your cheek as if you were a beloved household pet. “Better?”
You could only stare at him in response and dumbly nod.
“Good,” he nodded and smiled wider before glancing at the clock. He hummed in thought. “The soup needs to simmer for another 15 minutes. If you’re still cold…” He hesitated, eyeing you almost shyly and averting his eyes when your gaze met his. He cleared his throat. “If you’re cold, we could cuddle. You know, to share the warmth.”
Embarrassingly enough, it only took you half a second to agree. But thankfully, he didn’t seem put-off by your sudden enthusiasm. Ears reddening as he shuffled closer, he reached over to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you to rest your head against his chest instead of the pillows.
To this day, you’re half sure you hallucinated the entire thing (and that he definitely didn’t go to check on the soup at the 15-minute mark. You had no memory of having that soup at all).
Your barely blissful sleep was interrupted by a vibration under your pillow. You startled awake and looked around until you found the source of your disturbance – the phone under your pillow, Jihoon’s name flashing on the screen.
“What?” you grunted into the phone after swiping to answer the call. No sooner had you spoken than your head slammed back into the pillow — you had no interest in fighting gravity today.
Jihoon snorted at your response. “Good day to you, dear neighbour. Glad to hear you’re better.”
You had no interest in small talk when dreamland was still at hand’s reach. “What do you want, Ji?”
“The handymen finally came. I just wanted to ask for your permission to enter your apartment.”
“Handymen?”
“To fix your heating,” he reminded you softly. “This cold really took you down hard, huh?”
“Oh, the heating!” you perked up, sitting up again. “Of course you can go inside. Should I come too?”
Jihoon hummed in thought before concluding that “Minghao probably won’t let you leave his apartment yet.”
“I’m an adult!” you argued. “He can’t keep me here against my will.”
“I think you’ll be surprised at how convincing he can be,” he laughed, “but I guess you can try. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
But when you went to tell Minghao about your plan, he proved Jihoon’s point a little too perfectly.
“No,” he told you sternly before you could even put on your shoes. “You’re still sick.”
“I’ll just be next door,” you argued.
He was having none of it. “Two days ago you almost collapsed on your way to the bathroom – that was even fewer steps away! You’re not going.”
“Why not?” you whined, frowning at him. “I’m fine! I’m standing up, see?”
His stare was one of disappointed disbelief. “You’re leaning against the wall, (Y/n).”
“There’s walls in my apartment.”
He sighed. “Please just go back to bed. I’ll go myself.”
“But I wanted to get some things–”
“Send me a list and I’ll bring them to you,” he solved your problem easily and you had no room to argue.
Minghao had never actually been in your apartment – not since you actually moved in and packed your things anyway.
He knocked softly on the door before walking in to see Jihoon and a pair of handymen chatting away. The former offered him a polite smile and a nod before returning to the discussion.
Minghao took that as a sign to look around. He took a deep breath and found himself shivering, his breath fogging up in front of his very eyes. How you had survived in this apartment so long without getting frostbite was beyond his comprehension so he decided to not think about it anymore – the idea of you shivering in your bed, desperate for warmth, upset him anyway.
He shuffled into the kitchen where he quickly found the phone charger you had told him to get. He also found a familiar bright-yellow post-it note on the fridge, his hand-writing proudly on display under a heart-shaped magnet.
He scoffed before smiling at the sight; why would you keep that? It’s just a note? He hadn’t even spent a full minute on scribbling it.
Did you actually like him? He shook his head – there was no way. You were too good for him anyway.
Without another thought, he opened the list you had texted him and began gathering the belongings you so dearly missed: some sweaters, shirts…
A single small plant stood in the middle of your bedroom, somehow still green (if not a little droopy) and not frozen over like its compatriots on the window sills. He picked it up – perhaps having even this tiny plant survive would cheer you up, he reasoned.
As he looked at the other, less fortunate plants, Jihoon wandered into the room.“That thing is still alive?”
Minghao hummed in agreement. “It seems a little frostbitten, but it’s still alive, I think.”
“I think they’ve had this thing for ages,” Jihoon told him with a chuckle, leaning forward to inspect the plant. “Who knows? Maybe you can bring it back to life.”
“I sure hope so,” Minghao whispered in response before offering him a smile. “So, what’s the latest on the heating?”
Jihoon grimaced. “They said the system is entirely screwed. They’ll have to replace most of it – might take a few weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“At best.”
Minghao was already mentally drafting the best way to deliver the news to you – he didn’t see it going very well either way. “I guess I will have a roommate until spring then.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Jihoon sighed. “I know they’re a lot to deal with – especially when they’re sick.”
He felt insulted on your behalf. “They’re a delight!”
“You’re lying,” Jihoon laughed. “Mingyu told me how you had to scold them to lay down yesterday.”
“They're just a little stubborn,” Minghao defended you to his best ability, trying to limit his lying.
“If you say so.” Jihoon nodded at the bags at his feet. “Do you need help getting all that to your apartment?”
“No, I’ve got it,” Minghao told him with a reassuring smile before picking everything up. Sure, he struggled, but he’d struggle even more if he hurt his pride by asking for help with something this easy.
Even if getting back to his apartment took him a little longer than he’d like to admit, he still made it all on his own. And he was decently proud of that.
“Minghao?” you called out his name the moment he opened the door.
Oh, what he’d give to hear this every time he returned home. He froze at the thought – he was starting to become delusional and that was not his brand. No, he had to get himself together – you were just a friend staying in his spare bedroom because of an emergency. Yes. So it was.
But he couldn’t help but feel a little deluded when he spotted you sitting on the sofa, his white hoodie around your frame, smiling at him hopefully. His heart was about to fail him.
He didn’t even have to try hard to smile – it came naturally at the sight. “I got everything you said.”
“Oh thank god,” you breathed out in relief before sneezing. “No offence, but I miss wearing my own clothes.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”
Your smile faded a little as another thought came to your mind. “Did they say how long the repairs will take? It shouldn’t be too long, right?”
“Jihoon said they have to replace the whole heating unit,” he regretfully told you. “It’ll take a few weeks.”
The remnants of your smile disappeared. You threw yourself backwards on the sofa, pulling a cushion over your face to scream into it in frustration. After a beat of silence, you removed the cushion and stared at the ceiling. “Where will I go?”
“You can just stay here,” he suggested, a little too enthusiastically perhaps. “You’re already settled in.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you–”
“Nonsense,” he reassured you with a laugh and held something out for you to take. “You and this little guy can have the spare room.”
“Little guy?” You sat up to look at the item in his hand – the small flower pot he had brought along. Your eyes just about started watering at the sight. “It’s still alive?”
“I think so.” Minghao shrugged and gently handed the pot to you. “It looks like it could use a few days in a warm spot in the sunlight, but the other plants looked a whole lot worse.”
You sniffled – from tears or from your health conditions, you weren’t sure. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He gave your head a gentle pat. “I’m just happy to help.”
To say you were growing a little annoyed with your health would be an understatement. A whole week of sniffling, coughing and sneezing had passed, but you felt only marginally better.
“I’ve never been sick for this long before,” you complained to Minghao as he handed you a cup of tea and placed a bowl full of snacks between the two of you on the sofa. There was a drama playing in the background – you both agreed to watch it but, to tell the truth, neither of you was particularly invested in the plot.
You took a sip of the hot beverage, hummed in appreciation, and continued your rant, “It makes no sense. I should be feeling better by now.”
Minghao chuckled. “Well, you were pretty sick when you came here, all feverish and snotty. I think you’ve gotten a lot better since.”
“My doctor still won’t let me return to work though,” you groaned. “How am I supposed to pay rent if I can’t work? It’s not living in this building is cheap.”
“Can’t Jihoon lower your rent until the heating gets fixed? It would seem fair.”
You froze. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “Wait, you’re right! Why am I paying full rent when I can’t even live there because of the temperatures? And it’s not even my fault?!”
Before you could get more fired up about it and start harassing your landlord, Minghao changed the topic. “Do you need anything else? Are you warm?”
Snapping out of your rage, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little chilly actually.”
He sighed and reached over to once again place his hand on your forehead, as he often did. It was almost a routine at this point – not that your heart could ever stop fluttering at the simplest of physical contact with him.
“You’re not running hot today though,” he worried but picked up a blanket anyway and threw it over your lap. Then, uncharacteristically, he hesitated for a moment. “Do… Do you mind if I–?”
He lifted the corner of the blanket and shuffled under it as well, pulling his feet under the blanket for extra warmth.
“You’re cold too?” you wondered.
He offered you a funny look – as if you had asked him if unicorns exist. “Do you think you’re the only one who feels cold sometimes?”
You blinked. “Well, no, but–”
“Then stop asking dumb questions and watch the drama,” he told you and forced himself to do just that. But if it hadn’t been for the sudden red-ish tint of his ears, you wouldn’t have questioned him to begin with.
Instead of asking any further questions, you decided to settle further into your (by now designated) spot on the sofa, engulfed in the warmth of the blanket and Minghao.
You fully planned on blaming your illness for the way you leaned further and further into his space as you slowly began dozing off to sleep – even if it was fully intentional. Who could really blame you? You were sick, tired, and sitting next to your crush of god-knows-how-many months.
And so, inch by inch, your head lowered not in the direction of the head- or armrest but towards his shoulder. Finally, your eyes closed as your cheek pressed against the fabric of his cardigan.
It was a little rough from the wash, no longer as soft as it had once been, and you’d be lying if you said it felt comfortable against your cheek, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make for just five minutes of something akin to affection from the man of your dreams.
You fully intended it to only be five minutes – just a short moment to bask in your delusions. But then you felt his arm shift under your body, lifting to rest around your shoulders. He pulled you closer and rested his cheek against your head and before the fourth minute passed, you were more than halfway into Dreamland.
“I wish this happened more often. I really like you, Minghao.”
(And maybe if you had been more awake, you would’ve noticed the way his breath hitched and his smart watch vibrated to warn him of a sudden spike in his heart rate.
Maybe you would’ve noticed the way his embrace tightened just the slightest bit and he pressed his lips against your forehead in a careful gesture of reciprocation. And that his world got a whole lot brighter at the idea that perhaps this time you knew what you were saying and that maybe, just maybe, your feelings were mutual.)
You couldn’t believe you almost squealed with joy at the prospect of going back to work. You loved Minghao – really, you did, in many ways – but being stuck in an apartment with him for almost two weeks turned out to be your shortcut to insanity.
So, of course, you took the very first chance to return to work. And of course you hated every second of it – reality really is much less rosy than daydreams.
“Minghao, I’m back,” you called out as you returned to the apartment exactly 20 minutes after the end of your workday. Frankly, you weren’t expecting any kind of answer – you had just spent the past two weeks fantasising about calling out that specific phrase to feed your delusions.
You just had to try it out once, or maybe twice. Who knows what tomorrow brings.
But, just as you started to accept that it was dumb and not as much fun as they make it seem in those sitcoms, you heard a cough and a raspy, “I’m here” from his room.
You froze at the sound. A glance at the clock said that Minghao should still be at work. The art museum didn’t close until late at night so…
“Minghao?” you called out again just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Perhaps you had already come down with a new fever and weren’t even aware of it.
Another cough. Now you were sure you weren’t imagining it.
You headed to his room, finding the door ajar and a Minghao-sized lump curled up under a pile of blankets. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you heard a muffled croak and you wondered exactly how high his fever must have been for him to think it sounded even remotely convincing. “Just had a rough day.”
You pursed your lips in thought before approaching the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress near him to gently peel the covers off his face. His eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare at the sight of you and the light flooding his room.
“Yeah?” You laughed at the sight of his reddening nose. “You sure it’s not the sniffles?`”
“Who even says ‘the sniffles’ anymore?” he mocked and buried his face in the pillows. Like a sulking child, he sharply pulled the blankets from your grasp and pulled them over his head. His voice once again came out muffled, “I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. Can you turn up the heating while you’re here?”
You went to do as he said but were taken by surprise by the thermostat. “It’s already maxed.”
“Is it?” he wondered, one eye peeking out from under the covers. “I don’t remember doing that.”
“I think you’re not that fine,” you realised and went back to him to check his temperature as he had done to you just some days ago. “Hao, you’re burning up. Have you taken any medicine yet?”
“I don’t need medicine,” he whined. “I need a nap and more blankets… and to get rid of this stupid cough.”
“So,” you concluded, amused all of a sudden – is this what he had been dealing with all this time with you? – , “some cold medicine?”
“... I don’t want to bother you.”
You let out a scoff. “Dude, I practically moved into your apartment when I got sick and you’re worried taking care of you will bother me? If anything, I have to do this to pay back the favour.”
“Can’t you just do it because you love me?” he wondered, drowsy and barely lucid.
You froze. “Because I— What?”
“Because you love me,” he reiterated, turning his head to pout at you. “You said you loved me and if you loved me, you’d take care of me because of that and not because you’re paying back a favour.”
“When did I–” Your breath got caught in your throat – so Jihoon hadn’t lied after all. “Did I really say that?”
“You did – twice,” he declared, “I heard it myself.”
As you prepared to apologise, he added, “But it’s okay because I love you too. So, now you have to take care of me, right? You’re, like, legally obligated.”
A part of you was screaming on the inside, kicking and jumping and squealing and dying all at once. The other part was wondering how he had gone from “I’m fine, stop worrying about me” to “you’re legally obligated to care for me” in two minutes. You weren’t entirely sure which part of the situation worried you more.
Eventually, you decided that the second part was far more worrying.
“Let’s get you some medicine and we can discuss the legal aspect once you’re better, okay?” you told him, gently stroking his hair off his (admittedly gross) sweaty forehead.
He hummed in agreement.
But when you went to leave his room to get some comfier clothes and medicine, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. You looked back to find his eyes squinted open, an accusatory sparkle shining in them. “Where are you going?”
“To get you some medicine–”
“Stay.”
“Hao, I have to–”
“Stay,” he told you a little more assertively. The gentle pulling at your wrist contrasted the force of his demand. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Begrudgingly, you sat back down. You could use a few minutes to process the information anyways, you decided, and reached up to play with his hair. Before long, his soft snores filled the room, yours joining not too soon after.
Days passed by and Minghao was recovering way faster than you – probably because he had half a mind to not stubbornly spend the first couple of days of his ailment in a freezer-temperature apartment. That’s what he told you anyways when you went to bring him tea and check his temperature one morning.
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you argued under your breath as you tilted and rotated the slowly-dying thermometer to see what numbers it was displaying. “Your fever’s gone at least.”
He sneezed and groaned right after your comment. “I wish everything else went away too.”
“At this rate, you’ll be back on your feet and bossing me around by tomorrow,” you joked to placate him (because realistically he would spend another three days feeling like death itself, as per your own experience) and fully sat on his bed. “Any plans for when you get better?”
“So many,” he admitted with a slow grin which dropped soon after in a near-comical manner, “first of which is to go to the tea shop because I’m pretty sure you’ve cost me most of my supply.”
“Fair,” you sighed and leaned against the headboard. “I’d bring you some tea myself but–”
“Please don’t,” he all but begged. At least you both agreed that your tea tastes and knowledge did not align. He then sighed dreamily, “And when I’m done with that, I’m going to work on my paintings, and maybe redecorate, and take you on a proper date, and–”
Your jaw dropped. “You what?!”
He blinked. “Do you… not want to…?”
You could only blink back – baffled, befuddled, bewildered, dumbfounded, stunned.
Like a normal person, he took your lack of agreement as rejection. Clearing his throat and twiddling his thumbs, he avoided your eyes as he admitted, “I just thought that since you confessed, and I confessed, and– Actually, nevermind, maybe the thermometer’s wrong and I still have a fever–”
“I’d love to go on a date with you, Hao,” you whispered just as he began his downward spiral.
“–maybe I do need to go to that doctor Junhui suggested and get my head checked and– Are you serious?” His apologetic wide eyes widened some more as they snapped to meet yours. “You– You want to go?”
“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, ears and cheeks burning and, damnit, were those butterflies in your stomach jumbo-sized?
His lips spread into a wide, relieved smile. “Oh thank god. I almost had a whole breakdown.”
Too busy trying to take in the situation and calming the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach, you found yourself jumping in surprise when his fingers wrapped around your own.
And suddenly it hit you – this was your reality. Daydreams full of his smiles, long nights wishing he held your hand, sick days spent longing for the tender care of a lover – it was all real now and you no longer had to wish.
All because of broken heating and long weeks of recovering from a cold from hell.
#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#minghao x reader#xu minghao x reader#the8 scenarios#the8 x reader#svt scenarios#seventeen fic#minghao scenarios
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D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 16
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader
Word count: 3.8k
Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.
18+, minors DNI
Chapter 15 | Series Master List | Ao3
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Chapter 16
The thud of your steel-toed boots was loud in the near-empty Bounty Hunter’s hanger as you returned from the flight line to your office on Friday. Since the squadron was deployed, only a skeleton crew and the civilian DOD employees were in residence.
Plus, there was the odd Dagger who dropped in to chat.
Since you’d been back at work, someone had visited every day. Nat brought coffee. Bob poked his head in to chat for a few minutes. Reuben would swing by with snacks. And Javy? Javy showed up at the house with dinner.
As much as you appreciated them checking on you, it was overwhelming. And exhausting. They wanted to ensure you were okay, so you tried showing that. You didn’t want them to worry, and for that to get back to Jake. So, if that meant putting on a brave face and joking with your friends, so be it.
In the week and a half since deploying, Jake had texted you a handful of times. Though the carrier had wifi, it was still difficult to coordinate a time to talk between his long shifts, your work schedule, and the time difference. The ship was still traveling, but you were already steadily moving toward the 17-hour time difference. After waking up the first morning to a missed text, you turned your phone off silent mode and slept with it on your pillow. On Tuesday, you’d been able to trade five messages with Jake before he went to bed and while you waited for the nausea meds to kick in to start your day.
You were hoping to schedule a call with him over the weekend. No matter what time, you would make sure to be awake.
Nudging your office door open, you pressed a hand to your rumbling stomach. You’d been running late to work this morning and hadn’t had a chance to eat anything. The quality assurance guys had asked for you to be on-site with them as they walked some government contractors - including your old coworker Glen - through an inspection to ensure that contract stipulations were being met. The baby was making their dissatisfaction with your empty stomach known, and another anti-nausea pill was in your immediate future. “I know,” you sighed, walking to your desk and kicking off the heavy boots you had to wear while on the flight line. “We’re getting something soon.”
After swapping the boots for flats, you grabbed your purse and cell phone. Phones weren’t authorized on the flight line, and you’d reluctantly left it behind. Which was why seeing a missed call from Jake knocked the breath from your lungs. Tears sprang to your eyes as you clicked on the voicemail.
“Hey, darlin’. I know you’re at work, but I had a couple minutes and thought I’d try to catch you. I…uh… I hate to say this, but we’re going radio silent. I’ll call you as soon as I can. I’m sorry, darlin’. I love you.”
Quickly, you tried to call him back. It went straight to voicemail. On the off chance he could listen to the message, you cleared your throat and forced your tone to be bright. “Hey, babe. Sorry I missed you - I was out on the flight line. You know how the QA guys are about phones, and I didn’t want to get written up for a safety breach. Apple and I miss you, but we’re okay. Tell Rooster and Mav I say hi. Be safe. We love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
Jake smiled at you from your home screen after you ended the call, a quick picture you’d snapped of him as he woke up, hair mussed with sleep and pillow lines creasing his face. He disliked that picture but could never convince you to change it. Taking a deep breath, you forced away your tears and grabbed your purse.
Jake turned off his phone and hung his head. He’d known it was a long shot to catch you during the middle of the day, but he’d wanted to hear your voice. It was a harder transition than he’d expected, from talking to you daily to subsisting on a few texts. He missed hearing your music as you got ready in the morning, how you’d mumble in your sleep occasionally, and your commentary on his driving. He even missed finding strands of your hair all over his stuff.
He didn’t want to constantly compare his first and second marriages. Still, this deployment was definitely more brutal than any before. And it wasn’t only because of the baby.
For the first time in a long time, Jake had someone he wanted to be with at home. And who wanted to be with him. He’d never really had an issue with the lack of communication while underway before - an email or two to his sister, a couple-minute call to his mom, and stilted conversations with his first wife had been the norm - and had happily traded away his scheduled call times. But now, going radio silent was killing him. He couldn’t send you a good morning text or check on how you were feeling. There were no updates about how big the baby was getting or the doctor’s appointment he knew was coming up.
Hopefully, it was only for a few days, he thought, pushing to his feet and slowly returning from the Officer’s Lounge to the stateroom he shared with Rooster and Fritz. Mav was billeted with the other captains. Though stationed at the same base, Jake hadn’t interacted with Fritz much after returning to Lemoore, other than nodding at him when passing in the hallway of the Bounty Hunters’ hanger on his way to visit you. He, Rooster, and Mav were the odd men out on the mission. The air wings were tight-knit after training and previous deployments together, so he’d take whatever comradery he could find.
When Jake pushed the door open, Rooster was lying in his bunk, scrolling on his phone. Clocking his stormy expression, the aviator decided against teasing him about how his call went as Jake returned his phone to his assigned safe. “I’m gonna grab a coffee before heading to the ready room. Want to join?” he asked.
“I guess,“ Jake replied. They were due to a briefing on the multinational war games they were to participate in. It was good experience for them to practice flying sorties against potential combatants, especially with the additional steps the US military took to make the engagements harder for their pilots. The US military basically tied one hand behind its back during the games, pushing its aviators and sailors to think creatively when faced with potential barriers.
There is more to gain from losing than winning. The brass could use the information to devise new strategies and tactics, which was the ultimate goal of these international scrimmages. But that didn’t mean that they liked losing. While sailing to the designated site, they would devise a plan to help defeat the enemy. And Jake had been drafted to help teach those tactics.
“Fuck,” you growled, slamming your hand against the cool shower tile. Blindly, you turned the water heat down as the room spun. Over the last few days, you’d started feeling lightheaded again, something you hoped was behind you. But apparently, dizziness was expected in the second trimester of pregnancy as your blood volume increased. Hopefully, you thought, this wouldn’t land you back in the emergency department. You could only imagine how Jake would feel if that happened while he was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
With that in mind, you slowly lowered yourself to sit in the bathtub and attempted to rest your forehead on your knees. Between your stomach and how the position made your back twinge and breasts ache, you huffed and leaned back against the tub. A stab of pain shot down your right side, and you whimpered, hands going to your belly as you stiffened. Thankfully, it faded quickly. Dr. Shearer confirmed that the pain was normal during your check-up on Thursday.
An unwelcome sob rose in your throat, and you clapped a hand to your mouth to trap it. There was nothing to cry about, you scolded yourself. The shooting pain was an unfortunate side effect of your body changing to accommodate the baby. Yes, it sucked that Jake wasn’t there to dig his thumbs into your lower back and kneed away that tension or hold you when your head spun, but tough shit. It was something you needed to get used to. As much as you wanted your husband there to hold your hand and make you feel better, billions of women got through pregnancy alone. Seventeen weeks down, twenty-three to go. Sunday - tomorrow - would mark the beginning of week 18.
And you were luckier than most. Your husband and parents were supportive, and you had a great group of friends around. Like Nat, who would be there shortly to help you go shopping now that you were officially getting to the very limits of your wardrobe. For all that she was stuck wearing a uniform at work, the aviator enjoyed clothes shopping and had promised to make it a fun day even though you were dreading it. And your coworkers were being phenomenally supportive. Even Jake’s squadron had taken to popping over to check on you. Admiral Tritz’s wife had offered support and connected you to some of the other officers’ wives.
It didn’t matter that it had been a week since hearing anything from Jake. He was busy, and so were you. This was just part of life, loving someone in the military. Hell, growing up, you’d done this. In kindergarten, your dad had been gone so much that you vividly remembered picking him up from the airport, confident that you were dreaming because Dad was home. There were so many weekend mornings that you’d woken up to your mom in front of the computer on a video call, trying to catch a few minutes with one another before he went to bed when assigned to temporary duty in another country. Your sophomore year of high school, Dad had gone on a solo remote tour to Korea for a year in exchange for orders to Florida because that’s where you wanted to go to college.
Mom had encouraged you to stay busy. That would help the time fly by. And it had, to some extent. Work was a good distraction, and you tried to keep in touch with your friends back home. But the loneliness crept in at night. You missed the casual intimacy of getting ready together in the morning, driving into work and commenting on the talk radio conversations, standing beside one another in the bathroom while brushing your teeth, and how he would make sure you were settled before turning off the light and crawling into bed beside you.
Three weeks alone in the house, and you were slowly building a new routine. You were back to cooking dinner on Sunday and making enough leftovers for the week. After forgetting to set the coffee pot the first day - that was Jake’s chore - you did it while getting a glass of water before bed. His truck became your weekend car to make sure the battery didn’t die.
Hot tears trailed down your face, and you slid under the shower spray to rinse the conditioner from your hair. You needed to get ready because Nat would be there soon. Wallowing would get you nowhere.
It took a moment to realize that your music had become a ringtone. You pulled back the curtain to see who was calling, and your heart stopped.
The last picture Jake had sent you - him in his jet, smiling behind his oxygen mask - appeared on the screen.
Quickly, you wiped your hand on the bath mat and reached for the phone, swiping to answer. “Hold on!” you said, letting the curtain fall back and turning off the water. Reluctant to stand too quickly, you ripped back the curtains and sat on the tub's rim, yanking the towel from the rack and drying your hands. Goosebumps erupted on your skin. “Just a second!”
Jake’s laugh echoed through the bathroom as you quickly tapped the speakerphone. “Take your time, darlin’.”
“I’m getting out of the shower.”
“Don’t move too fast, then. Don’t want you to slip.”
“I’m being careful,” you answered, grinning through your tears while swinging your legs out of the tub. Sniffling, you grabbed the phone and held it tightly, wanting to have him closer. “I’m here.”
“Good.” The phone beeped, signaling an incoming video call. Reluctantly, you accepted it, ensuring the camera was pointed at the ceiling. The angle allowed you to see him, hair flattened to his head and dark circles under his eyes but kept you out of frame.
“Hang on, let me put some clothes on.”
“Lemme see you first.” Mistaking the reason for your reluctance, Jake quickly added. “I’m not around anyone now. Everyone else’s already gone to bed.”
“What time is it?” you asked, trying to distract him. It had to be early, given the time difference and the way his accent was stronger with exhaustion.
“Almost 3:00AM. I wanted to call you as soon as we got the okay, but I fell asleep after my shift.” It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him to go to sleep and that you would talk to him later, but you selfishly wanted him to stay on the phone. He yawned, scrubbing a hand through his hair and blinking tiredly into the camera. “C’mon, Mama - lemme see my girls.”
Sighing, you chewed your lower lip while lifting the phone so you were in the frame. Jake’s smile dimmed as he frowned. “Hey, babe.”
“Were you crying?”
“‘M fine,” you said quickly. “How are you? How have you been?”
“Why were you cryin’, darlin’? What’s wrong?”
“‘M fine,” you repeated, blinking away the tears. “I just… I miss you.”
Jake sighed your name, brows furrowing. “I miss you too. How’ve you been? Taking care of yourself?” Nodding, you dried off your legs and slowly stood. “Sloane behaving?”
“Oliver’s been okay. Making me lightheaded and a bit achy, but other than that, we’re good.”
“Lightheaded? Did you fainted ag - ”
“I’ve been fine, Jake. Just taking it slower and making sure that I sit down when I need to. I promise,” you added, wishing he was close enough to smooth the worry lines on his forehead. “Did you get the newest sonogram picture?”
“As soon as I turned on my phone. She’s getting big.”
“As big as a bell pepper tomorrow. And apparently, they’ll start developing their hearing this week.” He smiled tiredly.
“Gonna have to make sure I spend some time talkin’ to her then. Make sure she knows her daddy’s voice.”
“Say the word and I’ll hold my phone to my stomach. He’ll probably have some good acoustics.” Chuckling, he shook his head.
“Maybe next time. Wanna talk to Mama today. And see what you look like - you didn’t send me a picture of you.”
Rolling your eyes, you walked to the vanity. “No one’s around you?”
“Officer’s lounge is empty,” he confirmed. Sighing, you covered the camera with your thumb, ignoring his grumble of discontent, and propped the phone against the mirror. With a deep breath, you dropped your hand and stepped back. Jake let out an appreciative whistle that made you blush. Scoffing, you quickly grabbed your underwear and put them on. “Slow down, gorgeous. I wanna get a look at you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re sexy as hell.” Moaning, he shifted in his chair, hand disappearing to where you could picture him adjusting himself. “Damn, Mama. We’re gonna have to have another kid so I can enjoy you lookin’ like that in person.”
At that, you laughed and snatched up your leggings, yanking them on. “Again - ridiculous. Let’s survive our first pregnancy before talking about another one.” The stretchy material clung to your stomach, emphasizing the curve.
“Hang on, turn to the side,” Jake said, bringing the phone closer to his face. When you did, placing a hand on top of your stomach, he breathed, “Fuck.” You watched as he tapped the screen, taking a picture. “I’m the unluckiest son of a bitch. Look at you, gettin’ bigger with my baby, an’ I’m not there to take care of you.” The exhaustion on his face was mixed with a different type of hunger, making you think of the nights you woke him up with teasing touches and soft kisses. Nights where words weren’t needed, conscious enough to be lost in the dreamlike pleasure of one another.
The thought made you shift, a familiar ache appearing between your thighs. While it wasn’t the main reason you wanted your husband home, you missed him in your bed. You'd gotten used to his touch in the year you’d been together. At the slightest hint of being turned on, Jake was happy to take charge and make you cum. Your body craved the feel of his calloused fingers, his soft lips on your skin, and his weight holding you down.
And it felt like you were turned on most of the time now.
A devilish smirk crossed Jake’s mouth as he watched your nipples harden. “Cold, darlin’?”
“Not exactly.” Slowly, you dragged your fingers up your chest, lightly running your nail across your bare breast. “Miss you.” He groaned, reaching to adjust his earbud.
“From sad to horny, huh?”
“More like sad and horny,” you corrected.
“Same, darlin’. Wish I was there to take care of you the way you like.”
“Me too. It’s not the same without you. Doesn’t feel as good.” At that, his head dropped back onto the chair, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he let out a heavy breath.
“You’re killin’ me, Mama.” At your sharp inhale, his gaze snapped to the camera in time to see you pinching your nipple. “Fuck. Do it again.” With your lower lip between your teeth, you did as he said, whimpering at the rough feeling. Jake shifted, a pretty red flush appearing on his skin. “Tryin’ ta get me in trouble, darlin’?” he rasped.
“Never.”
“Liar.” He watched as your fingers slid into the top of your legging and underwear, tugging them down.
“Tell me to stop,” you challenged. At his silence, you pushed the material down your hips and legs, letting it pool at your feet. Stepping out of it, you picked up the phone and made your way to the bed, settling on his side. “Cat got your tongue, Hangman?”
“Just admiring the view, Mrs. Seresin,” Jake said, tongue darting out to wet his lips as you flipped the camera to show your fingers trailing down your naked body. While your breasts were easily viewable, your stomach hid your lower half. “Gonna give me a show?”
“Tell me what you want to see.”
“Wanna see my pretty - ” Jake’s eyes darted to the side, and he quickly sat up. The seductive, teasing tone was gone when he said, “Girl’s ultrasound.” His gaze tracked someone, and he nodded before looking at the camera. Quickly, you flipped the view so he could see your face.
“Someone’s there?”
“Yup. Would you send me one of the pictures?” Scrubbing a hand down your face, you moaned. Arousal hummed under your skin, and a small part of you was tempted to take care of yourself while on the call, but that would be cruel to your husband. Especially if there was another person around. As much as you loved teasing him, that was a bridge too far.
Huffing, you flipped back the covers and propped the phone on his pillow. You could smell the faintest hint of his shampoo clinging to the fabric. “Are you asking for an actual ultrasound picture or dirty pictures?” you smirked, tugging the blanket up to your chest.
“Both.”
“Anything else you’d like, Lieutenant Seresin?” His eyes darted to the side again.
“So many things, darlin’. But I’d settle for some snacks.”
“Sure. I’m running low on my snacks, too, so it’s good timing.”
“The normal ones, or are you having pregnancy cravings?” he asked, cocking his head. Jake hated that he had to ask, adding it to the running list of things he was missing.
“Well, I don’t usually crave beef jerky or yogurt-covered pretzels, so I’d say pregnancy cravings.”
“Anything else?”
“I mean, there’s been a few nights I’ve gone out for a milkshake and fries.”
“Wish I was there to make the run for you. You go to our anniversary spot?” Laughing, you nodded while sliding a hand under the covers to cradle your stomach.
“I did go to our anniversary spot. Their fries are so salty, and the ice cream machine was actually working. So this one will probably be more than happy to go twice a year for our anniversaries.”
“Once, Mama. We agreed to go to McDonald’s for our dating anniversary, not our wedding one. Wanna at least have one night where I can spoil you.”
“I believe you said you’d think about it. And you can still spoil me, but we can end the night with chicken nuggets and fries.” Jake rolled his eyes before yawning. “Babe, you should go to bed.”
“‘M fine. Wanna talk to you.”
“I need to get ready. Nat’s on her way, and we’re going shopping since I can no longer fit any of my work clothes.” His gaze softened as he frowned, thinking about how upset you’d been about that before he left.
“You okay?”
“Our credit card might not be.”
“Darlin’.” You sighed, looking away to gather your thoughts.
“I’m okay. It’s easier now since I look pregnant, and people know.”
“Good. ‘Cause you’re beautiful, Mama.” Tears pricked at your eyes, and you turned to hide your face in his pillow. Jake groaned, and you peeked to see his thumb brushing the screen as though he could touch you.
“I’m fine,” you sniffled. “I’m fine, babe.”
“Fine, beautiful, and gorgeous,” he agreed, causing you to blush. “Love you, darlin’.”
“I love you too.” You watched as he clenched his jaw to keep from yawning again and sighed. “Go back to bed, honey. Call me when you wake up.”
“Alright. Have fun with Phoenix, and buy whatever you want. Send me pictures.”
“You’re ridiculous. Goodnight.”
“Night, Mama. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
When the call disconnected, you let the phone fall. Lightly stroking your stomach, you heaved a sigh, feeling better that you’d at least spoken to your husband. “I miss Daddy,” you whispered to the baby.
And, though you knew it was your mind playing tricks on you because it was too early to feel movement, you thought you felt the slightest of flutters against your palm.
----------------------------------------------
Author's Note: This chapter fought me because, though I knew the story was going to be angsty given the premise, it still hurt to write. Definitely brought up a lot of memories of my dad deploying, and what a toll that took on the family. Snuck some personal experience into the chapter, when Darlin' was reflecting on what it's like to love someone in the military. I definitely remember being 5 years old and thinking I was dreaming coming back from the airport with Dad in the car, because he deployed to Saudi A LOT that year. And he and Mom agreed for him to take remote - when the service member gets orders but the family doesn't - to Korea when we were ready to come stateside to make sure we got to Florida. (My older sister was already in college, and Mom put her foot down about living overseas while one of her kids was in the states alone.)
Thanks for your patience with me getting this out. I'm excited for the next chapter! Hopefully I'll be able to get that one out quicker, as I'm also working on a holiday story about Jake.
Read Chapter 17
Tag list: @mamachasesmayhem; @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle; @hardballoonlove; @maeleeme; @emma8895eb; @xoxabs88xox; @queenslandlover-93; @memoriesat30; @queerqueenlynn
#hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#top gun fic#top gun maverick#jake seresin#Hangman top gun#soft!Jake Seresin#hangman smut#hangman fic#D-Day fic#jake hangman seresin
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Okay I don’t know if you are accepting requests or suggestions but can I ask for a one shot or something of like what happens between Vox and reader from the one author, two host series when alastor returns. Like what would happen and I feel like Vox would be FOMING at the mouth from anger because he knows how much pain it caused reader and all doesn’t even tell them where he was
Went Away | OATSH
Vox had long since regretted saving Valentino’s pathetic little soul. He could have and should have found someone else to be the head of the porn industry. Unfortunately, with the deal they’d made, Vox couldn’t harm the man unless he broke the confines of their contract. Valentino toed the line, most certainly, but he hadn’t yet broken it.
Velvette was complaining about one of her models being scared shitless by Valentino and having some of her work torn up but no harm had actually come to any of them. That was always the thing, always the line he just barely stayed in.
He couldn’t hurt anyone without justifiable cause. That is what was in his contract. He could scare, he could manipulate, he could yell, but he couldn’t hurt.
Vox walked into Valentino’s office.
“Fucking finally!” the man yelled. “Kitty, another drink! Can you believe what that piece of shit did?! The ungrateful whore!”
Vox side stepped the glass that had been thrown his way. “Which whore are we talking about this time?”
“Fucking Angel Dust, who the hell else would I be talking about?”
Vox leaned away from Valentino as the man breached his space. Many answers to that question raced into his mind. Too many sex workers, too many models, too many people on the street, himself, once you. Only once had Valentino called you a whore. Never again.
“That fucking slut walked out on me. Me. I made him! Without me he’s just a bag of meat with some mildly entertaining holes.”
Vox had gotten out his phone while Valentino went on his rampage. He felt himself relax just a bit, a small smile coming to his lips as he saw a message from you.
Sorry about leaving early this morning. Star called. Stuff came up. Fixing some roofing. Hate this time of year.
His soft smile though changed from soft to hopeful.
“Angel Dust quit?” he asked.
He was hoping for a yes. You’d be so ecstatic if he finally was able to quit. That was another reason for him to hate the fact that he saved Valentino; the fact that Valentino had a contract neither of you knew about beforehand and under Angel’s contract, he could do whatever he wanted and it would be seen as justifiable.
“No, he didn’t fucking quit. It’s worse.” Valentino grabbed Vox’s phone from his hand and threw it against the wall. “He moved!”
Vox hadn’t even been able to text you back.
“He thinks he can just walk in here, work, and then go home somewhere else? Can you fucking believe that? He thinks he can just run off and shack up with Lucifer’s bimbo daughter.”
“Angel is living with Lucifer’s daughter now?”
You’d be happy to know about that at least.
“Yeah, that bitch. Chalky or Chandler or something manish like that,” he said as he opened up his closet. “She’s got this hotel and— which of these makes me look sexier?”
Anyone else. He would have let the man go in a rampage, break their contract, and discard him if it was anyone but her. Had it been anyone else other than Lucifer’s daughter, Vox would have let him.
“What are you doing, Val?” he asked, venom entering his voice before his eye began to spiral. “You’re not going over there.”
“That slippery twink is going to remember who owns him. I’m going to fuck everyone in that rancid hotel, I swear to god,” Valentino continued, ignoring him.
Vox scowled to himself before he grabbed Valentino’s wings and pulled him close, his face brightening so the man could actually see him.
“Val!” He laughed before he smoothed his wings back into their coat-like shape. “Think about it. My brand is perfection. What do you think chasing whores around town would do for my image?” He grabbed the gun from Valentino’s hand.
“Uh, fuck it up?”
Vox played a game show ringing as he said, “Right! Do you want people thinking I can’t control my employees and that you can’t control yours?”
“No.”
“Exactly! And, hey—“ Vox knew you would hate what he said next— “you still have him under contract. He’s not going anywhere. So, you should. . .?”
“Do nothing?”
“Great idea!” Vox pulled Valentino down into to put his arm around his shoulders as more game show sound effects played. “Now that’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“But I really wanted to shoot someone,” Valentino said as he pulled out his cigarette. “You never let me have any fun anymore.”
Vox lit the cigarette with the tip of his claw. “Well, let me pull out my wife’s hit list. Let you have a go at some of them, hmm?”
“Aw,” Valentino said with a chuckle, “you know me too well.”
Of course Vox did. He had to. The man was practically a child most days. He constantly questioned how he could have been so stupid as to have let him live. Regardless, it was a choice he now had to live his second life with.
He twisted his wedding ring with his thumb as he summoned a new phone.
Don’t worry about it. Turf wars are always a hassle. I get it and know by now you’re always busy this time of year. We all are. When you get a sec, can you send me some people on your list? Valentino’s being a piss baby again, as Vel so eloquently put it.
“You know, Angel isn’t the only one spending time at this ratty hotel with the devil’s princesa,” Valentino said after taking a draw of his cigarette.
When is he not?
“Oh, who else is there?” Vox asked as he opened the document you’d sent him. “Someone who owes you money?”
Valentino laughed once again. “Someone who owes us much more than money. The Radio Demon is there.”
Vox collapsed on himself as he tensed. His claws dug through the metal of the desk, breaking his phone as he did so. His entire body sparked with electricity.
“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice coming out distorted as he turned to Valentino, his eye spiraling as red pixels began spilling from his mouth.
“You heard me.”
Oh, he was going to kill Valentino, contract be damned.
“Alastor, my wife’s father—“ he glitched— “is back and he is with Lucifer’s daughter instead of his own—“ he glitched again— “and that wasn’t the first fucking thing you told me?!” he pulled Valentino down to his height as sparks flew off his body and his voice raised to a yell.
“Hey, Alastor missing is your problem,” Valentino said as he walked to the computer desk and pressed a button.
A distorted feed came up on the screen. Vox immediately teleported to the desk, leaning as close as he could to make out every detail of the scene.
He could make out the blonde hair of Lucifer’s daughter, the white fur of Angel Dust, and the extra distorted figure that Vox knew from previous videotapes to be Alastor.
He snarled, a full growl come from his mouth. His claws dug all the way through the desk. His breathing started to quicken.
Vaguely, in his subconscious mind, he registered an anger at a different thing. Alastor was torturing someone and he hadn’t told you? He hadn’t invited you? He always had before.
He didn’t even register Valentino’s words. He didn’t find any amusement in the squeaks that came from the man like he normally would. All he could focus on was Alastor walking away from the hotel.
“Vox? Vox!” Valentino called out, finally breaking him from his trance.
“That fucker is back!”
“Yeah, I thought he was gone for good tooAfter seven years!”
“You still pissed he almost beat you that time?” Valentino grabbed the corner of Vox’s screen. Vox pushed him off, still sparking. “Ow!”
“Fuck off!”
Vox’s breath started coming out harshly as he began to spiral.
How was he going to tell you? How dare Alastor? Oh, sure, Vox was the problem. He was trying to steal you from Alastor when it was Alastor who left you for seven years without a word, not even telling you goodbye or where he was going or when he came back.
He hadn’t been there. Did he not know what pain he caused you? The worry, the tears, the depression. You had been a mess those first couple months. Did he not think you would be effected by his sudden disappearance? Was he really, truly that stupid?
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re really this peeved?” Valentino said.
Vox ignored him as he walked out of the room to his own office.
Valentino pouted as he watched the door close. Then he went to pick up Vox’s phone to look at that list only to see the screen cracked and back scratched.
“Fuuuck!” he said as he threw his head back. He picked up his gun that had been left behind as well and shot a hole through the wall.
Vox pulled up your vitals on his screen. You knew he had them. He monitored them as well as your location through the ring on your finger and you had access to his own through the same.
There was a stark difference in how often the two of you looked at them though. Yours got pulled up multiple times a day while his only got pulled up a few times every couple months.
That was alright though. You knew he could be possessive but more than that, you knew how often he worried.
He quickly found and quickly sent a dispatch of construction workers that way before he went there himself.
You didn’t even flinch when he knelt behind you and draped himself over his back. After so many decades, it’d become second nature to know when the other was around. What did concern you was how tightly he held you.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice ever so slightly distorted with some filter. “Alone.”
You turned, unafraid of falling off the roof in his grasp. You held his screen between your hands. “What’s wrong?”
You didn’t even have time to blink before you were in the tower with him.
“You said that Hustler came to see you the other day, right?”
“Husk, but yes,” you said. “Is everything okay? Is he alright?”
“Did you ask him why?” Vox asked.
“I— Yes, it was that advertisement. I didn’t have time to look it over. I just gave it to your assistant,” you told him. “He didn’t give me porn or something, did he? That doesn’t sound like him but he said he lost a game, had to be the one to bring it to me.”
“So you didn’t watch the commercial? Neither did I. How about we watch it together, hm?”
“Okay,” you said, the word coming out slowly, hesitantly.
You didn’t sit as he didn’t either. The television just came on.
“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” a woman you vaguely recognized said.
She had white hair done in Hollywood waves that contrasted her grey skin. She wore dress that was somewhat reminiscent of a 50s dress and a large hat with floral elements. Across thAngel Dust in a pink and white suit, wearing pink gloves that he used to blow a kiss to the camera. In front of him was Niffty in a classic flapper dress. Then Husk drinking beside her.
None of that is what caught your attention however. What did was the distorted person beside Husk, back turned to the camera but you recognized him.
Immediately your eyes widened as your nose and eyes began to sting. You bit your lip to contain a scream as your breath began to quicken.
You had mourned him.
You mourned him! You’d done it once in life and now once in death and for what?! Why did you have to mourn him when he was right there?! He was there!
You took off your shoe and threw it at the television. Then did the same with the other. The screen broke, cracked. The TV fell to the floor.
“That bastard!” you yelled. “Fucking shit ass!”
You screamed so loud that is caused Vox to wince but still he wrapped his arms around you. You collapsed against him and banged on his chest. Not enough to hurt him but enough to get out your frustration. He just pulled you closer.
Vark stood in the doorway, looking at Vox. His tail was drooped and he was hunched down. Vox slowly lowered you both to the ground and gestured for Vark to come.
He did. He butted his head against your back. He kept his head against your skin as he moved between the two of you. On instinct, you put your hand between Vark’s eyes and Vox put his right at the base of his spines. Vark moved and licked your face. You didn’t smile like you normally would.
“What do you want me to do?” Vox asked.
You stayed silent for a moment, hand moving back and forth on Vox’s simultaneously rough and smooth skin. Then, “Make him wish he’d stayed gone.”
You stood and went to your wardrobe. Vox followed as you threw a more official outfit on the bed. Then you went to the bathroom and fixed your makeup or rather, tried to. Your hands shook to much for you to do it properly.
Vox picked up your phone and sent a message to Velvette.
Get your ass here now. -V
He didn’t know how to apply makeup but after years of living with two people who did, he at least learned how to take it off.
When Velvette arrived, it was no secret. “What the hell happened here? What the fuck’s going on?”
“The Radio Demon’s back,” Vox said.
“Oh, well, shit,” she said. “Alright then, move aside, Voxy. I’m gonna give our gal some revenge makeup and you go make a script for you stupid show.”
“Top of the hour,” Vox said as he spun in his chair to face the camera, “and we’re discussing a certain hazbin who has been spotted cavorting around town after a seven year absence. Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? More on tonight’s program!”
The headline read, “Dud Dad Back From Getting Milk”
Across the screen, “So the radio guy’s back. I don’t think you noticed. I didn’t at first- I was too busy being present in my wife’s life but fuck it, news is slow today, I guess. I just want to go home to see my beautiful wife and tell her about where I’ve been even though she knows where I am because I tell her about my plans before fucking off.”
“Fucking hell!” Husk yelled, catching the attention of everyone in the hotel.
“Aw, after so many years I can still startle you? How cute,” you said as you leaned your head on your hand with a smirk that immediately made him uneasy.
You were wearing a black cropped turtle neck with a pair of slightly baggy jeans, an oversized jacket that clearly was not yours with its light and dark blue stripes and pinkish-red interior. Your legs were crossed and revealed your heeled black boots. Your hair was down in loose, natural curls but your makeup was anything but with a dark smokey eye and dark nude lipstick.
“Oh, he fucked up,” Husk said as he grabbed a bottle and moved out from behind the bar.
“Um, okay,” the princess said. “Hi, I’m Charlie and you are?”
“Not here for you,” you said as you moved to take Husk’s place behind the bar.
“And who are you here for?” Charlie asked.
The television flickering on gave you no reason to answer her. Instead you mixed a cocktail as all eyes turned to the TV screen.
“So, the Radio Demon is back in town,” Vox said on the screen. “Why’s he hanging around? What does that mean for your family? Well, handily I’ve got good news. The guy’s a loser, an absent and I don’t mean to sound arrogant but he’s a really shitty parent. That one’s real apparent.
“He used to go on and on about how I’d be the one gone yet he’s the one who said so long. I’m right here, never fear. I plan on staying even when raining. I’m not afraid of things changing. So if you can’t update, maybe relocate. Go on a va-cay and stay the fuck away.
“He clung onto radio, we pivoted to video. Now his medium has gotten bloody rare. We’ve been better since he split. Where’s he been? Who gives a shit!”
The radio crackled to life. “Salutations, good to be back on the air.”
You took a long sip of your cocktail as you heard his voice for the first time in seven years. The glass nearly cracked in your hands.
“Yes, I know it’s been a while since someone with style has treated Hell to a broadcast. Sinners, rejoice!”
“What a dated voice.”
“Instead of a clout-chasin' mediocre video podcast.”
“Come on!”
“Is Vox insecure? Pursuing allure. Going for small blows towards the pros, is it really working?”
“It’s better than your chirping!”
“Every day, he's got a new insult while still thinking everything wrong is his fault.”
“You’re looking at the one who stayed! He’s the one who went away!”
“Is Vox as strong as he purports or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without that pretty ring.”
“Oh, tell us a new thing!”
“Fine, let’s try something new. I know things you haven’t been through. Nothing you say has any sway. I’ve always been here, never on va-cay. I’m still in charge. Always been here on the charts. So if you’ve got something to say, go ahead then go away. I haven’t got all day.”
“You were gone far too long. She mourned and now she’s scorned. Wished you’d never been born. So why don’t you follow through with this amazing news and tell us what you’ve been through. Better hurry or just scurry ‘cause this picture’s getting blurry. Buffering from our furry. Go ahead and have your say or go away like seven years ago that day.”
The radio clicked off.
Vox stayed panting for a moment, hands gripping the desk tightly. Then his breathing slowed and he sat back down. He restacked his papers.
“Guess he didn’t have much to say so he’s gone and went away. Nothing new. It’s old news. He’s gone once again so soon.”
The television flickered off.
Husk sunk into the couch. Niffty looked over to you with her wide eye. Angel looked down at your ring and then back at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Charlie still stood where she’d been when she came to greet you but she now rung her fingers together.
“Well, I suppose not all broadcasts are a success,” Alastor’s voice said as he came downstairs. “Regardless,” he clapped his hands together then he saw you. “My dear! There you are.”
You simply glared at him as you took a sip of your cocktail.
“Where is that darling smile of yours? You know you’re—“
“Where did you go?”
“Oh, what does that matter? I’m back now, aren’t I?” he said.
“You’re such a,” your voice trailed off as you looked down at your drink. “I cried for you.”
You thought back to late nights as a child where your father held you, whispering about his childhood in the vaguest of ways, making promises to never do you the same way.
“You promised I’d never have to do that,” you said. “You promised me the only reason I’d ever cry for you would be when you died. You’re not dead.”
“You know that my intention would never be to—“
“That doesn’t matter, Alastor!” you said.
His ears actually flicked back. You’d never done that before. You had never called him by his name.
A small part of you as happy with getting a hurt reaction from him.
You threw the glass at him. He didn’t side step it. It hit his newly tailored coat, glass breaking and liquid staining it. He didn’t even flinch.
“Fuck you, Alastor! Fuck you,” you said as you walked out of the hotel, slamming the door.
“I appear to have done something wrong,” Alastor said as he brushed the glass off his clothing, holding back a wince as his hand moved some caught in his skin.
“You think?” Husk said.
Alastor stared at where you had been before he spun around and went back upstairs.
“I’ve never seen her that angry before,” Niffty said softly.
“Yeah, me neither.”
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A professor of criminology, who was compared with “a racist uncle at the Christmas table” because of her gender critical beliefs, has won an unfair dismissal claim against the Open University.
Prof Jo Phoenix, a lesbian who set up the Gender Critical Research Network (GCRN) at the OU, was also found to have suffered victimisation and harassment, as well as direct discrimination.
She becomes the latest in a series of gender critical feminists, who believe sex is biological, immutable and should be prioritised over gender identity, to win employment tribunals.
In a judgment published on Monday, the tribunal found that Prof Louise Westmarland, head of discipline in social policy and criminology at the OU, made the “racist uncle” comment, which amounted to harassment, because she was unhappy about Phoenix signing a letter in the Sunday Times registering disquiet over a perceived inappropriately close relationship between the LGBTQ+ charity Stonewall and UK universities, and about her expressing her gender critical beliefs at a Women’s Place UK talk.
The tribunal panel, led by Judge Jennifer Young, found that Westmarland “was effectively telling the claimant off for having expressed gender critical beliefs”.
“Prof Westmarland knew that likening the claimant to a racist was upsetting for the claimant. We conclude that its purpose was to violate the claimant’s dignity because inherent in the comment is an insult of being put in the same category as racists”.
The panel found instances of direct discrimination including the prohibition of Phoenix from speaking at departmental meetings about her experiences of being treated in detrimental ways because of her gender critical beliefs or talking about her gender critical research. Additionally there was “silence and lack of praise” motivated by her gender critical beliefs when she obtained a C$1m grant while another colleague was praised just for making a grant application, according to the tribunal.
After Phoenix set up the GCRN, 368 of her colleagues signed an open letter calling for the disaffiliation of the group, which it labelled transphobic, from the OU because of the beliefs of its members. OU did not take action to ask those behind the letter, published in a Google Doc, to take it down and the tribunal said this was harassment, having “a chilling effect on the claimant expressing her gender critical beliefs and carrying out gender critical research”. A statement about the GCRN in a similar vein to the open letter was published on the university’s website by the wellbeing, education and language studies faculty/reproduction, sexualities and sexual health research group. There were also tweets and retweets from colleagues about the GCRN.
Phoenix resigned from the OU in December 2021. The tribunal found that she was constructively unfairly dismissed because the university breached the implied terms of trust and confidence in her employment contract and the duty to provide her with a suitable working environment. Remedies will be determined at a later date.
The judgment said: “We find that the claimant was not provided with effective protection from the effects of the launch of the GCRN. We find that the respondent did not provide the claimant protection particularly in the form of asking staff and students not to launch campaigns to deplatform the GCRN, or make calls to remove support for the claimant’s gender critical research, or use social media to label the claimant transphobic or TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminist). The respondent failed to protect the claimant because they did not want to be seen to give any kind of support to academics with gender critical beliefs, including the claimant.”
Prof Tim Blackman, vice-chancellor of the OU, said the university was disappointed by the judgment and would consider whether to appeal. He said: “We acknowledge that we can learn from this judgment and are considering the findings very carefully.
“We are deeply concerned about the wellbeing of everyone involved in the case and acknowledge the significant impact it has had on Prof Phoenix, the witnesses and many other colleagues. Our priority has been to protect freedom of speech while respecting legal rights and protections.”
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Looks like things are so dire with the production company behind My Ride and The Whisperer (K10/Fix Entertainment) that My Ride's author Pat Rangsimant officially distanced himself from any of the company's potential mismanagement and/or contractual breaches. The rights for the My Ride sequel remain with him (I vaguely remember there was talks of filming the sequel).
Here's the full tweet (auto-)translated into English:
Announcement Repeated Once Again
As the author of the novel "My Ride", I, Pat, would like to clarify that I have no involvement and no knowledge regarding the case where K10 Global Content company did not fulfill the hiring contract, merchandise sales contract, and any other contracts.
My latest encounter with K10 Global was during the closing ceremony of the "My Ride" show at Show DC, and it was only on stage. After that, there was no further communication.
Furthermore, the issue of the rights to produce the series "My Ride" Season 2 has never been discussed before.
Therefore, if there are sponsors, investors, or any production houses who have discussed this matter with the aforementioned company, please be informed that the production company has never negotiated this matter with me, and the rights to the novel remain with me.
This is to inform everyone.
Rangsimant
Yikes.
So basically what he's saying is that he has no involvement or even awareness of any of the company's potential mismanagement but there must be some pretty serious rumours floating around for him to address things so directly.
Do I even want to watch The Whisperer finale at this point? 🤨
#bl industry#thai bl#the whisperer the series#my ride the series#i let this speak for itself#funnily enough google translate was extremely unhelpful and grossly mistranslated some of the tweet#i triple checked with other auto-translation tools#but pls treat this translation with a grain of salt#replies suggest that k10 remains silent on the issue and that actors have been complaining as well
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Breach Of Contract: Part 8
A/N: Have you ever been stuck over details and been so fixated that you just had to give up? That’s this, as best as I can get without tearing my hair out
He was in his world, elbows deep in remunerating thoughts while his gaze flit toward your seat near the front of the private plane. He had been paying more attention to you than he should have been, rather than focusing on the campaign in LA.
He had already been informed by Pepper of the media circus that would be waiting for him, questions fired off about the trail he was leading, his marriage and of course the picture of you and him together.
Despite how Pepper had spun the story, there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that was caught on camera and had been commented on by amateur detectives. Steve knew that Peggy would try and play the role of a dutiful wife who was shocked by the turn of events, a role that was counterintuitive to the truth.
Peggy Carter had more lovers in her back pocket than she would have ever admitted to. However her family had done everything they could to keep her reputation intact and by doing so, they had earned her a mob of dedicated fans and supporters who would always find fault with him.
If he had done more, if only he had kept her attention. If only Senator Rogers was a better man…
They didn’t know that Peggy Carter had used him, that she liked having a sense of power and control over Steve that was comparable to a cat holding a mouse hostage within its paws.
Steve was held by her and her family’s reputable influence, he was always willing to adhere to the marriage because he wanted to make it work.
It was juvenile maybe, the way that he felt as if he had met the perfect person for him and had experienced some quantifiable streak of love at first sight.
Maybe it was immature to believe that he could and would have fallen in love with you at first sight.
Or maybe it was real. Perhaps Steve had been put through the wringer with such a manipulative woman that wanted to use him, and only now was he feeling a genuine and true connection.
In the end, whatever it was, Steve didn’t try to stop it or himself. He didn’t stop looking at you or studying you while you managed to look over some files Pepper had given you, he watched you as you mouthed the lyrics to whatever song you were listening to through your headphones.
The longer he watched you, the more he wanted to know about you.
Steve wondered what music drove you, what music you would or could listen to over and over. He wanted to know what song made you cry the moment you heard it or the song that you screamed to when you were angry. He wanted to know what melody you danced to when no one was watching, or what song you’d stored in your mind to play at your future wedding.
He wanted to know it all and every question he asked you in his mind made him feel like a kid with a crush. Every question that he wanted to throw at you had successfully made Steve feel lighter and enthused.
Unable to stop himself, Steve pushed himself to stand from where he was sitting. He apologized to Pepper who waved him off with a thoughtful glance and a lack of subtlety. She had only watched him long enough to take the place next to you, and then he felt her eyes leaving him. As Pepper had looked away, you had raised your head and looked at Steve from the corner of your eyes, your legs tucked under you and the files you’d been reading folded on your lap. You had balanced the file with one hand, using the other to remove the left earbud to set it in the middle of the table in front of you.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” He asked even if he was already settled next to you, the question lingering in the air as electricity had passed from you to himself when his arm brushed against yours.
“No it’s okay,” you hummed and closed the file, setting it down on the table by your earbud, “I’ve read that three times already.”
“Nervous?” Steve was speaking more to his feelings than yours, the natural anxiousness that came before a press conference or big campaign attempt had always rattled him.
“This is my first real experience being a PR intern, and it’s my first time going to the west coast. I’ve always wanted to visit the Pacific Ocean.” He watched you as you angled yourself toward him, leaning into him just as he was leaning into you.
“I love the ocean, even when it’s wild it’s beautiful.” His eyes had been drawn from yours to your lips, the slight puckering of your flesh a mild pout, and then he caught your gaze again. “I haven’t been to the beach in a long time.”
“Too busy or…?” You trailed off, your voice tapering at the implications and the sudden uncertainty while talking about his wife. He knew you hadn’t known whether you wanted to pursue the topic of bad trashing his wife, and he respected you for that. Even if he hadn’t wanted you to hold yourself back, your decision was respectable.
“Or…” Steve answered truthfully, drawing his hand toward yours to brush his fingertips against the rise and fall of your knuckles.
“There’s a lot of beautiful piers nearby.” His throat felt tight, his heart beating erratically with every breath he took, the question lingering on his tongue, his hesitancy rooted in bashfulness and the juvenile belief in love at first sight.
It was sweeping over him. It was as if the two of you were already in the shallows of the ocean, being hit with every wave of desire and connectivity that passed from him to yourself.
“We should…” You stopped yourself, biting down on your bottom lip, swept away by his blue-green eyes. “Would you…show me?”
Steve raised his other hand, first cupping your cheek and then trailing his fingers down the line of your jaw to your chin. He searched your face, taking in every crevice and shadow that fell upon you, studying every square inch of you that he could. There was never a doubt, never a single faulting moment before he had leaned in.
It was unstoppable.
“I want to show you everything.” His lips swept across yours, and yours move against his.
It was a kiss in the middle of the private plane.
It was a clear case of two people who were drawn together, magnetized to each other in every possible way. Your heart fluttered with every pulse and gentle stroke of his fingers against your flesh, the pulse of electricity that hovered between you and Steve. You had never felt your mind, body and soul so overtaken by another person. It was new and invigorating, a cathartic reaction to the warmth and comfort that he had projected, the man who wanted to change the world was the same man who spent hours talking in a cheapened diner.
“I promise we’ll see the ocean. I’ll take you to the beach.” His promise came as a whisper against you, the two of you enveloped in each other’s worlds, kept here away from the toxicity of Peggy Carter and her clutch.
“Please,” you muttered against him, eyes fluttering closed when he raised his head and kissed your forehead after stealing your heart, “I want to see it all.”
“As much as we can.” Steve had eventually pulled away, drawing his eyes toward the empty seats across the two of you, and then he looked over his shoulder.
Chase & Val were having a quiet conversation between themselves, the two interns whispering and gossiping leaving Steve wondering if they were discussing you and himself. They were friends, best friends and he had been well aware of the Peggy Carter curse they had been talking about. It was well known to him, maybe even known to her, though they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t feel they need to talk about it because in her mind she was the only one who mattered.
In her mind, having her reputation and image cast upon society as a woman of substance and finesse was more important than anything anyone else was going through.
Peggy Carter had revelled under the idea of a curse in her name.
Steve wondered if you were his future and if he would be the next to thrive under the Peggy Carter curse. He was married to the woman, tied to her family who had allowed him to grow his political career, but now he wanted more. He wanted the ability to be a husband and have a wife, a wife who wanted to be in the marriage and commit herself to him as deeply as he wanted to commit himself to her.
It made him wonder if there was a possibility if there would ever be a possibility of Steve finding his next and greatest relationship from the tendrils of the Peggy Carter curse. He wondered, hoped and longed to have a genuine and natural relationship with you. It was love at first sight if he had ever known it, it was an intense and longing want.
Steve had spent the rest of the flight with you, the conversation shifting from one topic to another. It was easygoing and free, with no rush or constraints. There was nothing held back from the two of you, nothing you wouldn’t have talked about. It was as if you two were the sole occupants of the plane, the two of you so absorbed in each other even during the in-flight meal, you were consumed by him and he was consumed by you.
It was creating another layer of intimacy between you and Steve, another endearing connection that yanked the ties that bound you. It felt less like a campaign trip with his staff and interns, and more like a private escape for you and himself.
He had felt and held onto that endearing hope that you would and could be his future. He had felt that kind of safety in conversations until the plane touched down, and the media circus had become his newest reality.
And then, Steve promised himself that he would do anything and everything he could to shield you from their anger. He would do whatever was necessary for the media circus, and his wife, to prevent them both from trying to destroy you.
#senator!steve rogers x intern!reader#senator!steve rogers x reader#senator!steve rogers#steve rogers x intern!Reader#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x reader fluff#steve rogers x reader angst#steve rogers x reader smut#steve rogers x reader imagines#breach of contract#breach of contract part 8#breach of contract series#breach of contract masterlist
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The SpindleHorse team is full of two-faced individuals. There’s a leaked screenshot of crew member (@hntrgurl13 on Twitter), telling both Lackadaisy and Farfetched to “suck a dick” on Vivziepop’s discord server and bragging about Helluva Boss winning a Streamy award…yet they told people to “support all indie animation” not too long ago on their Twitter account; what a hypocrite. This behavior is disgusting and only proves how toxic that studio is.
Credit to @showtoonzfan for this. Frankly, I think it is fine if you want to be a nasty petty person, but to publicly have such a different face, as well as then use that mask to weaponize an entire fanbase of abusers and harrassers. That's just where I have to say:
This is a situation of a creator fostering a community that is a reflection of the creator.
That dig at Ashley was personal and ugly. But you know, the HB Fandom is saying now that people can say whatever they want behind the scenes. But if anyone else says anything negative about Helluva Boss in private, they are now two-faced hypocrites.
It's the moving of goalposts for me, to be honest.
They don't have to pretend to be supportive of other projects. They can just keep their mouth shut and be a real person behind the scenes as well as an honest person in the public eye. To pretend to be a supporter or a friend is so much worse than just keeping quiet.
But this is Vivienne. This is just a continuation of posting the Lackadaisy email. This is a continuation of Sam Haft and his goons platforming the false reports to bury the concept stills controversy. And just a continuation of being angry at Ashley and Michael for the Hazbin Hotel situation and trying to act like someone announcing their employment status is somehow a breach of an NDA. Which is unenforceable as an NDA agreement due to the nature of the business.
It's the face of someone who doesn't know how to be a real person and likable at the same time. The only time Vivienne is kind or supportive is only ever in this platformed, showy way where it is obviously a performance. It feels fake every time she does it.
Like, just don't say anything. And telling other hard-working teams to suck a dick when one isn't even out and the other only has a pilot. That's not petty. That's just a nasty, mean, hateful person. Petty is saying congratulations, your 2 season series with a whole team of independently contracted artists and animators beat 2 story time channels and a parody channel that goes out of its way to be as repulsive as possible. Look at you winning that low hanging fruit. Good job.
#helluva boss critical#helluva boss criticism#helluva boss critique#vivienne medrano#vivziepop#helluva boss#vivziepop critical#spindlehorse critical#spindlehorse criticism#Im being honest about my feelings here#i try to keep my critiques impersonal#but the fact that these fans have been rather cruel to me has made me less sympathetic rn#you all are nasty#such mean people who pretend to be better than they are#its just a mirror
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BETA READING CLOSED [3/3]
CONTRACT DEDICATED TO BETA READERS
First and foremost to those who are lucky to have cross paths with us, we would like to thank you for spending time & care to be excited for our project! For this instance, we will be receiving feedback for the current available 6 episodes before we can continue on with the rest of the other 6 episodes. Not to mention the documents you will be reading will be at it's rawest so there will be no images like the colour keys & storyboards unfortunately. Before we begin we must inform you that:
NOT ALLOWED:
Documents being shared in any way
Information about the documents & its contents
Sharing media about it in public
ALLOWED:
Sharing your opinion & criticism without being direct about its content
If you were to breach the contract, there is nothing we can do. You are just a jerk if you were to leak it.
TARGET QUESTIONS
Target questions will be filled with answered to your hearts content
Did the first episode make you interested into the series?
Are the characters compelling and interesting?
How do you feel about the side characters?
Do they feel different from their Original Canon Selves?
Are their goals clear & active for the plot?
Do their motivations and emotions feel appropriate?
Is their relationship believable?
Is this a page turning series with every episode?
How does the pacing feel?
Is the world building vivid and clear?
Is the dialogue nature & fit for the character?
Is the dialogue distinct and original?
Is there anything that can distract from the main plot that you find as unnecessary?
Did you enjoy reading it?
Is it considerably iconic and funny?
Did you connect through these characters & its story?
Is it terrifying in a sense?
Is there anything we can improve on or change?
How much can you see this being animated?
PASSWORD RIDDLE: What the other name for debugging for programmers?
(Hint: They explain it to something)
#carmen dreams au#fionna and cake#adventure time#prismo#adventure time fionna and cake#prismo the wishmaster#scarab the god auditor#the scarab
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The Margay: Chapter 5
'That Your Husband?'
prev / series masterlist / main masterlist
Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC
Word Count: ~4.9K
Rating: Explicit 18+ / masturbation (f & m), dirty talk, Frankie offers guidance, exchanging of naughty pictures and suggestive texts / tw for physical violence (I may have beat Frankie up a bit) / Minors DNI
A/N: Frankie's grounded with an injury. Audrey's good at care packages. They both need each other more than they realize.
Every time I open this file I keep fucking with this chapter so please take it now. Your effort to overlook anything that seems overworked is much appreciated.
Their third job out, Frankie manages to get himself into a bit of a scrape.
When a hurricane flattened Barbuda’s infrastructure it created opportunity. A perfect little hideaway among the wreckage.
A waypoint for heroin exporters to rest their weary heads.
It’s just a seaplane over to St. Thomas and U.S. territory and a stack of bills pressed into a customs officer’s palm before making the jump to mainland soil.
And in the process of surveilling a safe house, Frankie manages to trip a sensor.
A blow to the back of the head drops him before Audrey or Santi can get to his location.
And so they lie in wait for the right moment to spring him free.
Santi fidgets, buzzing with impatience.
Audrey turns to stone.
Nothing else will contain her rage.
When half the men leave for beers at a local bar, Audrey and Santiago split directions, cutting a quick lap around the house.
“You take the front door, I’ll take the back,” Pope directs their breach in hushed tones. When they’re in position, Audrey counts them down before putting a boot through a rusted lock.
They can hear Frankie scream. And Audrey’s stomach roils.
In pain.
In sympathy.
In possession.
“I got him,” she spits into their comms, prowling through shadows between the bare lightbulbs that hang from the ceiling while the incessant buzz from the generator outside covers her tracks.
They’ve only left two men guarding their catch.
Well, one guard who’s slumped in a chair in the corner fucking around on his phone, and a taller man who has Frankie on his knees by the hair, arms zip-tied behind his back. He asks who sent Frankie and when he’s told to go fuck himself he lands a a kick Frankie’s ribs that has him screaming through gritted teeth before briefly losing consciousness.
The man catches Frankie, holding him up by the roots of his hair, repeating the question with the toe of his boot dangerously close to knocking against Fish’s balls.
“I need those,” Audrey mutters before a bullet finds the taller man between the eyes and the butt of her gun finds the seated man’s temple. “Santi, need you in here,” she fires off into comms before dropping her gun and dropping to her knees to keep a woozy Frankie from slamming teeth-first into the floor.
She cradles his face and surveys it, peeling each eyelid up in turn to check his reaction to light. She's not sure how hard he was knocked in the head.
“Thought you said you weren’t gonna save me,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he sees that it’s her and not Pope who has his face in their hands.
“Yeah, I dunno how to fly a chopper,” she lies with a wink, “so Pope and I are swimming to Antigua without you and I just got my hair done.”
Frankie manages a snort before he spits blood onto tile. His bottom lip is split, left eye swollen shut and blooming a neat shade of purple. Road rash or something akin to it mars one side of his face.
Frankie rests his cheek against her shoulder and she supports his weight as she searches him with her hands, checking for slashed fabric and gaping wounds. For areas of tender heat insulating broken bones.
For bullet wounds.
Frankie yelps when her right hand applies light pressure to his side over his tactical vest.
"Okay, okay, I've got you, Frankie."
"That bit's bad," he groans.
“Can you stand?” She snaps a ceramic knife through the zip ties binding his hands behind his back as they hear two more shots and Santi calling “clear.”
“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”
But he can't right himself from where he's leaned heavy against her.
She shifts to kneel with his arm around her shoulders and her fist gripping his belt, hauling him up with her when she stands.
"Take your time, find your feet," she whispers, a stone under his weight.
“You lovebirds good in here?” Santi pokes his head around the corner.
“Lovebirds is a strong word,” Frankie quips and Pope is glad for his sense of humor, but he can't help the way his mouth presses into a tight line as he winces.
Frankie's so pale.
“Get him to the car,” Audrey pauses to allow Santi to shoulder Frankie’s weight. “Careful of his left side. Find anything other than the stash in the dining room?”
“Nah.”
“Alright get him out of here I’m right behind you.”
She sets charges around the safe house on a delay, pausing when she passes the room Frankie was held in. She grabs his hat off of the floor and slips it on backwards before taking off towards the car.
Santi guns it the moment she slips into the open back of their Range Rover.
“How is he doing?” Pope chances a glance back over his shoulder at where Fish is laid out across the folded back seats.
“Keep driving. Do you know how to fly a chopper?”
“That’s what I have him for.”
“I do,” Frankie whispers.
“You don’t have to do anything but stay awake for me," she demands, sweeping sweat-slick hair off of his forehead.
But it’s becoming increasingly hard, it seems.
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. “Santi, do you know how to place an IV?’
“No?” He sounds panicked. “Am I supposed to?”
“No, I’ll do it now then. Just…call out before we hit anything rough.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Keep. Driving.” The urgency in her voice has Santiago’s heart in his throat.
He can hear Audrey shuffling around for med supplies.
He can hear how Frankie whimpers every time they hit a bump.
“I’m fine, babe,” he tries weakly to brush his knuckles against her stomach. She takes his hand and holds his arm out turning on the flashlight on her phone before slipping it into the front pocket of her tac vest. A tourniquet tightens around his arm Frankie hears the squishy crunch of an IV bag being prepped.
Mercifully, the vessels in his arm aren’t shy.
“You’ve got sexy veins, Morales.”
He starts to make an off-color comment but she tells him to keep quiet and hold still. Pope holds the car as even as he can, slowing down just a hair.
Audrey steadies her breathing and lines the needle up like lining up a shot, sinking it perfectly between beats of her own heart.
“We’re good, Santi, step on it,” she hooks the IV bag to the roof and tapes the needle in place on his arm.
Mercifully it’s only five minutes until they hit the helipad.
Audrey grabs Santiago by the shirt before he can get out.
Speaking quickly and quietly so Frankie can’t hear.
“He’s gonna need to be helped into that bird, can you walk him? I’ll hold outside until he’s in the back, just keep the IV bag up, try not to dislodge it.”
“Done.”
They have him loaded into the chopper in two minutes and Audrey has the bird in the air in another sixty seconds.
“Thought you said…couldn’t fly?” Frankie mumbles from the back seat.
“Yeah, you know how parents tell their kids that Santa Claus is real?”
They unplug Frankie’s headset after that.
So that he can't hear the worry in their voices.
“He’s not in a good spot, is he?” Santi glances back at the pained expression on Fish’s face.
“I think his ribs are cracked under there and he’s bleeding from places he shouldn’t be.” Her body is calm but there’s urgency to her words.
And anger.
“Can you get a call through to Davis? We need to change our itinerary.”
Santi’s voice crackles over the communications channel after two minutes. “They’re saying he can’t be reached,.
“Tell them it’s me.”
And he's impressed when it works but he doesn’t question it, plugging her headset into the satellite phone when they’re connected before he slips into the back seat to keep an eye on Fish. He only hears half of the conversation from there on out.
“Davis, change of plans, we’re in the helo now, but I’m going to need a charter waiting, Morales needs medical attention.”
“I’m thinking PR, likely fractured ribs with internal bleeding, he’s in and out. He needs his head scanned to rule that out too.”
“How quick can Gordon get down there?”
“Roger.”
“Beautiful. Tell him I owe him one.”
“Fine, then we’ll call it even.”
“Confirmed. Over and out.”
_____
Frankie remembers only the whirr of seaplane engines and red lights flashing through his eyelids before he wakes with a start the next afternoon.
“Easy, hermano, hey,” Santiago soothes with a smile, sitting up in the chair next to Frankie’s hospital bed.
“Where?”
“A hospital in Puerto Rico, hey, take it easy,” Santi tosses a frayed paperback onto a side table and shifts closer to where Frankie is trying to sit up. “Hey, don’t move too much, here,” Santiago puts a remote in Frankie’s hand for him to adjust the bed rather than himself.
“You took a few nasty hits. Four broken ribs, nicked your liver and caused bleeding. Probably got a bad headache too, but no permanent damage as far as we can tell.”
“I feel like shit,” Frankie croaks.
“I would expect that you do. Had us worried for a second there. You want some water?”
“Us. Where’s?”
“Jane Bond is catching some z’s,” Santi holds a paper cup out to Frankie and nods at the floor on the other side of Frankie’s bed.
He winces when he brings the cup to his split lip, glancing down to where Audrey is curled up on a blanket. He takes a few sips and hands the cup back to Pope.
“You said Puerto Rico?” His voice is thick with disuse.
“Antigua didn’t have the facilities, so she hooked you up,” Santiago continues in hushed tones. “Called in a favor and flew out the best doc that Davis has. Stayed up the whole night until they had you scanned and stabilized. I told her to head out and sleep in a real bed, but she’s fucking stubborn.”
“Mm, thanks, Santi,” Audrey murmurs before she realizes who he’s talking to.
She’s quick to her feet and quicker with a soft smile.
“Francisco.”
“Hi,” he tries to mirror it but his whole face is tight.
“How are you feeling?”
“Pretty fucking sore.”
And Audrey hums a laugh, throaty and warm and not unlike she does when they’re in each other’s arms.
She gently brushes matted hair off of his forehead but stops short of caressing his cheek even though she’s burning with the need to do it.
To touch him.
Feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart and everything that assures her he’s still alive.
To let her skin confirm what her eyes are seeing.
A soft knock sounds on the glass wall of the hospital room and a man motions for Audrey to join him in the hallway. After a few minutes they both step in.
“Frankie, this is Nick Gordon. He’s the best doctor I know, patched me up more times than I can count. We were in the same class and he was gracious enough to fly down. He’s been looking after you.”
“She threatened me,” Gordon quips with a wink and an outstretched palm. “Happy to see you’re awake.”
Frankie manages a shake as best he can with the cannula in his hand.
“I was just telling Aud that we’ll run a few more tests now that you’re up, go through a little bit of basic physical therapy and then have you back in here. We’ll probably keep you another night, possibly two, if that’s okay with you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need,” Frankie tries to sit up straighter and winces.
“Yeah alright, at ease Morales, you don’t have to impress me,” Gordon offers a small smile before turning to Santi and Audrey. “It’ll be a few hours, so if you guys want to grab something to eat now’s the time.”
“Yeah,” Santi runs a hand down his face and scratches at stubble. “Could probably use a shower too.”
Audrey swings around the bed and grabs her phone, pausing to gently squeeze Frankie’s foot, silently reassuring him that she’ll be back.
"C'mon," Santiago still has to coax her to leave.
“We’re booked in across the street, text me when you guys are through. Doesn't matter what time it is.” she says to Nick.
“Yes, ma’am.” Gordon catches her arm when he sees the look in her eyes. "Hey, I've got him, Aud."
“Thank you,” she whispers and slips out the door.
_____
Audrey and Santiago stumble into some tourist trap restaurant on the water because it’s the closest thing they can find with cold beer on the menu. They don’t speak again until there are appetizers in front of them.
“He’s got someone at home, right?” Audrey asks, taking a sip of beer. “To keep an eye on him. Help him out? Might be hard getting around the first few weeks, showering, cooking, all that. The less he does the quicker he’ll heal.”
“He uh,” Santiago pauses but her green eyes are filled with concern. “He can stay at mine for a few weeks. He did the same for me when I had a neck operation, it’s the least I can do.”
“Where’s his girl?”
Santi angles heavy-lidded eyes up at her across fried plantain, hesitating before he continues.
But she hasn’t asked it out of a need to move into an empty space in Frankie’s life.
Audrey’s asked it with conviction because she doesn’t want to hear that Frankie’s been abandoned.
And he hates that he has to tell her the truth.
“She’s not…she left a few months ago. Took the baby with her. Moved out to California to be closer to family. They’re not…"
"There’s no one at home, Aud.”
And Audrey lets out the breath she was holding and sits back in her chair and stares out at the ocean.
“Because of this?”
And she means professional pursuits rather than personal ones.
“A few months before this. Probably why he agreed to take that first job in Nicaragua.”
He doesn’t tell her about the coke relapse that drove the final nail in.
“But, is he…does he get to see her?” His daughter. Asked like anything less is an injustice to someone she cares for and therefore an injustice done unto herself.
“He tries to fly out there once a month or so. They Facetime a lot.”
It unsticks a corner of the papier-mâché Frankie’s covered in.
The shell around his heart.
What’s underneath is as battered and bruised the body in that bed.
“Fuck,” she whispers, mouth catching on the “k”.
“Yeah it’s not ideal,” Santi takes a swig of beer.
"My dance card is full over the next few weeks."
“I’ve got him, Aud. You handled the first part. I’ve got the next.”
“You’re a good friend, Santi.”
“How long you think he’ll be down for?” He says around a mouthful of plantain.
“Nick said six to eight weeks, but probably more like ten before Davis un-grounds him," she moves to run a hand through her hair and realizes that she's still wearing Frankie's hat.
“Yeah, he’s gonna fucking hate that.”
“He hasn’t got a choice.”
“He’s gonna hate not seeing you.”
And she looks down at the ice melting in her glass of water.
“I can’t be that for him, Santi.”
“I know. And I didn’t...didn't mean it like that. Didn’t mean to put it on you. Make it heavy, ‘m sorry.”
“Yeah," she looks down at her plate. "I know,” she sticks grilled shrimp with her fork. “I’ll send him a care package.”
_____
And Santi laughed in the moment.
But she does.
Every week, like clockwork, first to Santiago’s house and then to Frankie’s apartment when he’s back on his own.
An infrared heating pad shows up early on and Frankie swears it works better than the one that Santi bought from the drugstore that smells like popcorn and piss after two minutes in the microwave.
Week three she sends the memoirs of famous pilots. Books about Arctic expeditions and alpinists.
You ever climb a mountain, Aud?
He texts her from where he's shirtless on Santiago’s couch after having finished a novel about one of Everest’s most dangerous climbing seasons. He's warm and loose. Soothing heat seeping into his ribs.
Absolutely not, I’m a sea-level girl.
Why not?
Just not my medium, I suppose. Some beautiful things are better admired from afar.
And it’s probably the pain meds contributing to his reply.
You feel like one of those things right now. too beautiful. too far away.
You need to be in good working order to climb mountains, Frankie.
Miss taking you to that peak though.
Corny.
Oh she’s picky.
Discerning.
Where are you?
Uruguay. Me and mini bar gin for the night. Where are you?
Pope’s couch. he made a run to the store before it closes.
Hot. How are you feeling?
Sore. useless. bored. I miss you.
And he takes a calculated risk because he feels sore, useless, and bored.
Miss eating that pretty pussy. just thinking about how wet you get for me.
Are you hard, Frankie?
Getting there.
And he doesn’t expect what she says next.
Show me.
Frankie tongues his bottom lip with a shake of his head. He reaches under his grey sweatpants to take his length in a fist, coaxing it with the memory of her taste on his lips. He palms the base of it over cotton and snaps a picture angled down his stomach where his length rests hard and heavy angled over his left hip bone.
Fuck, you’re so big Frankie.
Miss hearing you say that, baby.
You cleared for this, Morales?
Broke my ribs, not my dick.
That would have been a real shame. Wouldn't be able to enjoy this.
And she sends a photo of her on her stomach, taken just over her left shoulder to shows off her naked back, the exaggerated arch in her spine accentuating the bare curve of her ass.
And he calls her now.
“Hi, Frankie.” She purrs when she picks up.
“I didn’t know nice girls like you sent pictures like that.”
“Who said I’m a nice girl?”
And he hums from low in his chest.
After a moment, “you ever bring toys with you, baby?”
“I was supposed to bring you,” she quips. “Now all I’ve got are my hands.”
“Well then let’s see what I can do.” He puts the phone on speaker and leaves it on his chest, rubbing a palm low over his stomach.
“You gonna listen to me, gatita?”
And she grins on the other end of the line.
“Whatever you say, Frankie.”
“You serious, Aud?”
“Keep talking, Frankie.”
“Still on your stomach over there?”
“Mhmm.”
“Stay there. Go ahead and slip your hand down. Down to that pretty little clit.” His voice is thick with want.
And he can hear the faint slide of skin against the cotton of the duvet.
“Slowly now. Just soft little circles for me, baby.”
Frankie again reaches under his sweatpants, rubbing that sensitive spot just under the head of his cock with his ring finger before working his foreskin over the tip.
“Fuck, I wish I was behind you right now. You wet, baby?” Frankie growls.
“A little,” she whispers.
“Ohh,” he chuckles darkly. “A little’s not enough, baby. You know better than that. Move those fingers a little faster for me.”
And he mirrors the command before shifting to pull his cock out of his sweatpants entirely, wrapping his whole fist around his length. Pumping his cock in time with her moans.
“Oh, yeah baby.” He grunts and squeezes the base of his dick. Frankie's breathing has picked up to something that’s starting to make his ribs smart from the exertion. He swirls his middle finger through the slick dripping from the head of his cock, using it to ease the slide of his foreskin over his shining, reddened tip. “Louder for me, gatita.”
“Need more, Frankie,” she sighs.
“Mmm, my baby needs something inside, doesn’t she?” He teases.
“I’m gettin’ real close to not following orders, Morales,” her voice is husky when she bites back.
“Okay, baby.” he grins. “Okay. Just two fingers, hermosa. Inside.” She moans as she does it. “Yeahhh,” Frankie answers, pumping himself faster.
“Bet you’re so wet for me right now. So warm. Does it feel good, baby?”
“It’s not enough, Frankie,” she whimpers. Her fingers aren’t long enough—not thick enough—to do what Frankie does.
“I know, baby,” he soothes through his own desperate ache. “I know. You’re gonna move those hips for me, okay?” He’s hissing through teeth now, bucking up into his fist. “Go on. Grind down on your hand—for me.”
And she rolls her hips to put pressure on her clit with the heel of her palm, her fingers buried in her cunt, pressing against that spot inside that builds a warm wave of pleasure on the verge of breaking.
And Frankie can tell from five thousand miles away by the way she starts to cry out.
“Feels so good, baby.” She’s breathless.
“Oh yeah,” his pace speeds up, “fuck yeah, baby. Yes. Let me hear you.” He tugs on his balls with his free hand and imagines each thrust of his hips is a thrust up into her hot, tight cunt.
“So close, Frankie,” she gasps, open-mouthed against the bedspread
“Yeah, baby. Come for me. Babyyy. Oh—ff—fuck. Let me hear it." His voice is ragged—wild with need. With desperation. "Let me hear you fucking come. As loud as you want, gatita. Come for me. Come, baby, come.”
And she pants his name until her voice breaks on a moan and a choked screech of the last syllable.
“Baby....baby, my sexy little ba—ooh fff—UCK.”
And Frankie grunts and grits his teeth through growls as his hips snap hard against his fist, spilling thick stripes of semen over his bare stomach.
His breathing is hard and pained as he hears Audrey’s soft, answering moans.
And for a moment they just listen to each other breathe.
“You okay, Frankie?”
“So good,” he murmurs.
After a thick pause, “ribs hurt like a bitch. Possibly…overexerted myself," he pants, lifting his hand up to survey the sticky white that coats his fingers.
“Oh, Frankie,” she sighs.
Sighs like she wishes she was there, fitted against the ache.
Sighs like she wants to kiss it better.
“It was worth it, ba— fuck.” Frankie hears the garage door open.
“What…”
“Pope’s back.”
“Tell him he can blame me for his living room smelling like come.”
“Fuck. Yeah, I gotta go.”
“Go Frankie.”
“Good night, pretty baby.”
“Night, Frankie. Good luck.”
He hangs up with a smile and pockets his phone, rushing to crack a window with his clean hand as quickly as he can given the sticking pain in his ribs.
Frankie slips into the bathroom seconds before he hears plastic bags being loaded into the kitchen.
“You good, Fish?” Santiago yells out.
“Yeah,” he answers and starts the shower as his phone buzzes with a text.
You’re stunningly good at that by the way, Francisco.
He sends a winking face.
Can’t wait to do it in person, baby.
In time, Francisco.
_____
The next week she sends both sweet and salty snacks because she doesn’t know which he prefers until he texts her that the sour peach rings she sent were amazing.
The following week a whole case of them arrives at his door.
Around week six Frankie finds that she tucked a tastefully suggestive polaroid into a particularly salacious chapter of The Delta of Venus and between it and the reading material and how long it’s been—
Frankie completely ruins his copy.
His ribs don’t quite hurt as much this time.
He briefly considers shipping it back to her, wrinkled cover, pasted-together pages and all, along with a note that reads “enjoyed this one” but he doesn’t know her address.
Frankie figures you can’t ship biohazards anyway and tosses it instead.
The polaroid though, he keeps.
_____
Week eight her phone lights up with a text from Frankie, right around midnight in his time zone.
I miss the way you smell.
Your hair. your skin.
And Audrey’s heart aches with the intimacy of his confession.
Oh, Frankie. I miss you too.
I've been cheating though. I have your hat.
Keep it for now. send me something in exchange?
A few days later, her favorite hat shows up at his door.
"Crossroads Bar and Grill," he reads out loud with a smile. Sure enough, it smells faintly of her hair and he idly holds it to his nose before he notices something else in the package. He lets the strap out an inch and pops the cap on his own head before pulling out a blue linen pillowcase.
Frankie crushes it to his nose and breathes in the scent of her hair, exhaling with a deep moan.
That night he slips it over one of his extra pillows and sucks in breath with his face buried in it until he comes hard into his fist.
Open-mouthed.
Lungs full of her.
_____
Week nine she’s on a plane back to DC when he texts her a picture with the caption:
PT going well. worked out without pain this afternoon. bruises mostly gone.
The text loads before the picture does, and she smiles because he’s on the mend.
Audrey is not, however, prepared for the image taken in his bathroom mirror.
He’s turned to the side, brushing his teeth with one hand, elbow picked up to display his ribs, phone held in the other hand angled in towards the mirror.
It’s a thought captured in the moment that it happened. Meant only to display the faint yellow that’s left on his ribcage, a scant suggestion of the symphony of purple and blue that marked it weeks before.
But Frankie is fresh out of the shower. Naked as the day he was born.
And the bathroom countertop is only so high.
Frankie, I’m on a plane.
That’s fine.
I just noticed that it looks a lot better. thought I’d share. Where to?
And she realizes it really was a mistake.
I’m happy to hear and happy you shared! Working out without pain is huge progress.
But half your cock is in this shot, Francisco.
Ah fuck.
I sent that to all the boys.
And Audrey has to keep herself from cackling because surely Big Dick Morales’ phone is blowing up with the kind of shit that only good friends can dish out.
Shame, I thought it was just for me.
He sends the wild-faced emoji with its tongue out.
Where you off to?
Back to DC actually.
Nice to be heading home. text me that you got in safe.
And something warm spreads in her chest.
She chances another glance at the photo, zooming in first on his ribs, then the curve of biceps that seem more heavily-muscled than she remembers.
She scrolls down the image to the suggestion of abs where he was softer before. Frankie, it seems, has been taking physical therapy seriously and then some.
And she scrolls down a little further to the brush of curls at the base of—
“That your husband?” The older lady to Audrey’s right asks and she immediately clicks her screen off.
“Yep,” she lies because you can never be too sure and she doesn’t need a lecture on the premarital sending of accidentally nude pictures. “Yeah, he fell off his motorbike a few weeks ago. Bruised his ribs, but they’re looking way better now.”
“He’s handsome.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“He makes you smile. Keep him. For now.”
And Audrey laughs with her head thrown back and buys the woman a glass of wine and they fall into easy conversation and the rest of her flight isn’t as dismal as the first half.
When she steps through the door of her apartment she remembers Frankie's ask.
Made it back home.
Not one minute later, her phone lights up.
A photo from Frankie. Taken just above his hips. The outline of his thick, hard length evident under the rumpled green of his bed sheet, hand closed loosely around the base of it.
There’s precome smeared on his tanned stomach, catching the light from a bedside lamp.
That one’s just for you.
You sure you didn’t send this to all the boys?
Only you, baby.
This right now?
Ten minutes ago, I’m afraid. fading fast.
I miss you.
I miss you too, Francisco.
_____
Week ten there’s a knock on the door of her hotel room in Trinidad.
And she opens it to big brown eyes peering at her from under the brim of a cap from Crossroads Bar and Grill.
“Audrey,” he smiles.
“Frankie,” she sighs and wraps her arms around his neck as he presses her tight against him.
She feels his ribs expand comfortably as his lungs fill with the scent of her hair. His lips are warm against her neck and she tucks her nose into the tender spot behind his ear.
Feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart and everything that assures her he’s still alive.
And her skin confirms what her eyes are seeing.
And in some small way.
They each feel a little more whole again.
next
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#frankie morales#francisco catfish morales#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie morales smut#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#ohforficsake#The Margay
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a while back my mom discovered that the owner of the company was stealing basically all of the money that he was supposed to submit for things like 'taxes' and 'health insurance' and 'court-mandated payments' for the employees, listing them on the pay stubs but then pocketing the money to help keep the company afloat
she then made sure that everybody in the company knew, submitted her resignation effective immediately, and spent about the next week calling government offices to report every crime, regulatory violation, and breach of employment contract that she could think of. and now it looks like the series of investigations that she kicked off might be the thing that finally destroys this man's company.
sometimes I'm proud of her
#and if you want a succinct summary of the American labor situation#after she told her coworkers about all of this#including things like 'turns out we all lost our health insurance a month ago because he stopped paying for it'#nobody else quit. everybody else decided that it was worth putting up with very direct wage theft and tax fraud to avoid unemployment#even the people in very in-demand positions who could trivially find work elsewhere#also i used to work for the guy too because he owned a good chunk of the businesses around my home area when i was a teenager#i met him once and it was when he walked into the store unannounced and then grabbed some stuff and tried walking right out#and got all 'do you even KNOW who I am' pissy when I informed him that this isn't how stores work and you pay for things here#being rich rots your fucking brain i swear to god
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This story is part of a joint investigation between Lighthouse Reports and WIRED. To read other stories from the series, click here.
Mitch Daniels is a numbers guy, a cost-cutter. In the early 2000s, he tried and failed to rein in congressional spending under then-US president George W. Bush. So when he took office as Indiana governor in 2005, Daniels was ready to argue once again for fiscal discipline. He wanted to straighten out Indiana’s state government, which he deemed rife with dysfunction. And he started with its welfare system. “That department had been rocked by a series of criminal indictments, with cheats and caseworkers colluding to steal money meant for poor people,” he later said.
Daniels’ solution took the form of a $1.3 billion, 10-year contract with IBM. He had lofty ambitions for the project, which started in 2006, claiming it would improve the benefits service for Indiana residents while cracking down on fraud, ultimately saving taxpayers billions of dollars.
But the contract was a disaster. It was canceled after three years, and IBM and Indiana spent a decade locked in a legal battle about who was to blame. Daniels described IBM’s sweeping redesign and automation of the system—responsible for deciding who was eligible for everything from food stamps to medical cover—as deficient. He was adamant, though, that outsourcing a technical project to a company with expertise was the right call. “It was over-designed,” he said. “Great on paper but too complicated to work in practice.” IBM declined a request for comment.
In July 2012, Judge David Dryer of the Marion County Superior Court ruled that Indiana had failed to prove IBM had breached its contract. But he also delivered a damning verdict on the system itself, describing it as an untested experiment that replaced caseworkers with computers and phone calls. “Neither party deserves to win this case,” he said. “This story represents a ‘perfect storm’ of misguided government policy and overzealous corporate ambition.”
That might have been an early death knell for the burgeoning business of welfare state automation. Instead, the industry exploded. Today, such fraud systems form a significant part of the nebulous “govtech” industry, which revolves around companies selling governments new technologies with the promise that new IT will make public administration easier-to-use and more efficient. In 2021, that market was estimated to be worth €116 billion ($120 billion) in Europe and $440 billion globally. And it’s not only companies that expect to profit from this wave of tech. Governments also believe modernizing IT systems can deliver big savings. Back in 2014, the consultancy firm McKinsey estimated that if government digitization reached its “full potential,” it could free up $1 trillion every year.
Contractors around the world are selling governments on the promise that fraud-hunting algorithms can help them recoup public funds. But researchers who track the spread of these systems argue that these companies are often overpaid and under-supervised. The key issue, researchers say, is accountability. When complex machine learning models or simpler algorithms are developed by the private sector, the computer code that gets to define who is and isn’t accused of fraud is often classed as intellectual property. As a result, the way such systems make decisions is opaque and shielded from interrogation. And even when these algorithmic black holes are embroiled in high-stakes legal battles over alleged bias, the people demanding answers struggle to get them.
In the UK, a community group called the Greater Manchester Coalition of Disabled People is trying to determine whether a pattern of disabled people being investigated for fraud is linked to government automation projects. In France, the digital rights group La Quadrature du Net has been trying for four months to find out whether a fraud system is discriminating against people born in other countries. And in Serbia, lawyers want to understand why the introduction of a new system has resulted in hundreds of Roma families losing their benefits. “The models are always secret,” says Victoria Adelmant, director of New York University’s digital welfare state project. “If you don’t have transparency, it’s very difficult to even challenge and assess these systems.”
The rollout of automated bureaucracy has happened quickly and quietly, but it has left a trail of scandals in its wake. In Michigan, a computer system used between 2013 and 2015 falsely accused 34,000 people of welfare fraud. A similar thing happened in Australia between 2015 and 2019, but on a larger scale: The government accused 400,000 people of welfare fraud or error after its social security department started using a so-called robodebt algorithm to automatically issue fines.
Another scandal emerged in the Netherlands in 2019 when tens of thousands of families—many of them from the country’s Ghanaian community—were falsely accused of defrauding the child benefits system. These systems didn’t just contribute to agencies accusing innocent people of welfare fraud; benefits recipients were ordered to repay the money they had supposedly stolen. As a result, many of the accused were left with spiraling debt, destroyed credit ratings, and even bankruptcy.
Not all government fraud systems linked to scandals were developed with consultancies or technology companies. But civil servants are increasingly turning to the private sector to plug knowledge and personnel gaps. Companies involved in fraud detection systems range from giant consultancies—Accenture, Cap Gemini, PWC—to small tech firms like Totta Data Lab in the Netherlands and Saga in Serbia.
Experts in automation and AI are expensive to hire and less likely to be wooed by public sector salaries. When the UK surveyed its civil servants last year, confidence in the government’s ability to use technology was low, with around half of respondents blaming an inability to hire top talent. More than a third said they had few or no skills in artificial intelligence, machine learning, or automation. But it’s not just industry experience that makes the private sector so alluring to government officials. For welfare departments squeezed by budget cuts, “efficiency” has become a familiar buzzword. “Quite often, a public sector entity will say it is more efficient for us to go and bring in a group of consultants,” says Dan Sheils, head of European public service at Accenture.
The public sector lacks the expertise to create these systems and also to oversee them, says Matthias Spielkamp, cofounder of German nonprofit Algorithm Watch, which has been tracking automated decision-making in social welfare programs across Europe since 2017. In an ideal world, civil servants would be able to develop these systems themselves and have an in-depth understanding of how they work, he says. “That would be a huge difference to working with private companies, because they will sell you black-box systems—black boxes to everyone, including the public sector.”
In February 2020, a crisis broke out in the Dutch region of Walcheren as officials realized they were in the dark about how their own fraud detection system worked. At the time, a Dutch court had halted the use of another algorithm used to detect welfare fraud, known as SyRI, after finding it violated people’s right to privacy. Officials in Walcheren were not using SyRI, but in emails obtained by Lighthouse Reports and WIRED through freedom-of-information requests, government employees had raised concerns that their algorithm bore striking similarities to the one just condemned by the court.
Walcheren’s system was developed by Totta Data Lab. After signing a contract in March 2017, the Dutch startup developed an algorithm to sort through pseudonymous information, according to details obtained through a freedom-of-information request. The system analyzed details of local people claiming welfare benefits and then sent human investigators a list of those it classified as most likely to be fraudsters.
The redacted emails show local officials agonizing over whether their algorithm would be dragged into the SyRI scandal. “I don’t think it is possible to explain why our algorithm should be allowed while everyone is reading about SyRI,” one official wrote the week after the court ruling. Another wrote back with similar concerns. “We also do not get insight from Totta Data Lab into what exactly the algorithm does, and we do not have the expertise to check this.” Neither Totta nor officials in Walcheren replied to requests for comment.
When the Netherlands’ Organization for Applied Scientific Research, an independent research institute, later carried out an audit of a Totta algorithm used in South Holland, the auditors struggled to understand it. “The results of the algorithm do not appear to be reproducible,” their 2021 report reads, referring to attempts to re-create the algorithm’s risk scores. “The risks indicated by the AI algorithm are largely randomly determined,” the researchers found.
With little transparency, it often takes years—and thousands of victims—to expose technical shortcomings. But a case in Serbia provides a notable exception. In March 2022, a new law came into force which gave the government the green light to use data processing to assess individuals’ financial status and automate parts of its social protection programs. The new socijalna karta, or social card system, would help the government detect fraud while making sure welfare payments were reaching society’s most marginalized, claimed Zoran Đorđević, Serbia’s minister of social affairs in 2020.
But within months of the system’s introduction, lawyers in the capital Belgrade had started documenting how it was discriminating against the country’s Roma community, an already disenfranchised ethnic minority group.
Mr. Ahmetović, a welfare recipient who declined to share his first name out of concern that his statement could affect his ability to claim benefits in the future, says he hadn’t heard of the social card system until November 2022, when his wife and four children were turned away from a soup kitchen on the outskirts of the Serbian capital. It wasn’t unusual for the Roma family to be there, as their welfare payments entitled them to a daily meal provided by the government. But on that day, a social worker told them their welfare status had changed and that they would no longer be getting a daily meal.
The family was in shock, and Ahmetović rushed to the nearest welfare office to find out what had happened. He says he was told the new social card system had flagged him after detecting income amounting to 110,000 Serbian dinars ($1,000) in his bank account, which meant he was no longer eligible for a large chunk of the welfare he had been receiving. Ahmetović was confused. He didn’t know anything about this payment. He didn’t even have his own bank account—his wife received the family’s welfare payments into hers.
With no warning, their welfare payments were slashed by 30 percent, from around 70,000 dinars ($630) per month to 40,000 dinars ($360). The family had been claiming a range of benefits since 2012, including financial social assistance, as their son’s epilepsy and unilateral paralysis means neither parent is able to work. The drop in support meant the Ahmetovićs had to cut back on groceries and couldn’t afford to pay all their bills. Their debt ballooned to over 1 million dinars ($9,000).
The algorithm’s impact on Serbia’s Roma community has been dramatic. Ahmetović says his sister has also had her welfare payments cut since the system was introduced, as have several of his neighbors. “Almost all people living in Roma settlements in some municipalities lost their benefits,” says Danilo Ćurčić, program coordinator of A11, a Serbian nonprofit that provides legal aid. A11 is trying to help the Ahmetovićs and more than 100 other Roma families reclaim their benefits.
But first, Ćurčić needs to know how the system works. So far, the government has denied his requests to share the source code on intellectual property grounds, claiming it would violate the contract they signed with the company who actually built the system, he says. According to Ćurčić and a government contract, a Serbian company called Saga, which specializes in automation, was involved in building the social card system. Neither Saga nor Serbia’s Ministry of Social Affairs responded to WIRED’s requests for comment.
As the govtech sector has grown, so has the number of companies selling systems to detect fraud. And not all of them are local startups like Saga. Accenture—Ireland’s biggest public company, which employs more than half a million people worldwide—has worked on fraud systems across Europe. In 2017, Accenture helped the Dutch city of Rotterdam develop a system that calculates risk scores for every welfare recipient. A company document describing the original project, obtained by Lighthouse Reports and WIRED, references an Accenture-built machine learning system that combed through data on thousands of people to judge how likely each of them was to commit welfare fraud. “The city could then sort welfare recipients in order of risk of illegitimacy, so that highest risk individuals can be investigated first,” the document says.
Officials in Rotterdam have said Accenture’s system was used until 2018, when a team at Rotterdam’s Research and Business Intelligence Department took over the algorithm’s development. When Lighthouse Reports and WIRED analyzed a 2021 version of Rotterdam’s fraud algorithm, it became clear that the system discriminates on the basis of race and gender. And around 70 percent of the variables in the 2021 system—information categories such as gender, spoken language, and mental health history that the algorithm used to calculate how likely a person was to commit welfare fraud—appeared to be the same as those in Accenture’s version.
When asked about the similarities, Accenture spokesperson Chinedu Udezue said the company’s “start-up model” was transferred to the city in 2018 when the contract ended. Rotterdam stopped using the algorithm in 2021, after auditors found that the data it used risked creating biased results.
Consultancies generally implement predictive analytics models and then leave after six or eight months, says Sheils, Accenture’s European head of public service. He says his team helps governments avoid what he describes as the industry’s curse: “false positives,” Sheils’ term for life-ruining occurrences of an algorithm incorrectly flagging an innocent person for investigation. “That may seem like a very clinical way of looking at it, but technically speaking, that's all they are.” Sheils claims that Accenture mitigates this by encouraging clients to use AI or machine learning to improve, rather than replace, decision-making humans. “That means ensuring that citizens don’t experience significantly adverse consequences purely on the basis of an AI decision.”
However, social workers who are asked to investigate people flagged by these systems before making a final decision aren’t necessarily exercising independent judgment, says Eva Blum-Dumontet, a tech policy consultant who researched algorithms in the UK welfare system for campaign group Privacy International. “This human is still going to be influenced by the decision of the AI,” she says. “Having a human in the loop doesn’t mean that the human has the time, the training, or the capacity to question the decision.”
Despite the scandals and repeated allegations of bias, the industry building these systems shows no sign of slowing. And neither does government appetite for buying or building such systems. Last summer, Italy’s Ministry of Economy and Finance adopted a decree authorizing the launch of an algorithm that searches for discrepancies in tax filings, earnings, property records, and bank accounts to identify people at risk of not paying their taxes.
But as more governments adopt these systems, the number of people erroneously flagged for fraud is growing. And once someone is caught up in the tangle of data, it can take years to break free. In the Netherlands’ child benefits scandal, people lost their cars and homes, and couples described how the stress drove them to divorce. “The financial misery is huge,” says Orlando Kadir, a lawyer representing more than 1,000 affected families. After a public inquiry, the Dutch government agreed in 2020 to pay the families around €30,000 ($32,000) in compensation. But debt balloons over time. And that amount is not enough, says Kadir, who claims some families are now €250,000 in debt.
In Belgrade, Ahmetović is still fighting to get his family’s full benefits reinstated. “I don’t understand what happened or why,” he says. “It’s hard to compete against the computer and prove this was a mistake.” But he says he’s also wondering whether he’ll ever be compensated for the financial damage the social card system has caused him. He’s yet another person caught up in an opaque system whose inner workings are guarded by the companies and governments who make and operate them. Ćurčić, though, is clear on what needs to change. “We don’t care who made the algorithm,” he says. “The algorithm just has to be made public.”
Additional reporting by Gabriel Geiger and Justin-Casimir Braun.
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afterdark; a svt series m.list
There is a world that runs alongside ours. Lives as full, as vibrant, as depressing and chaotic. A world with its own set of rules and regulations, with its own needs and desires. It hums and buzzes, a hive swarming just under the surface of our own threatening to spill over into the daylight should the carefully constructed, thin barrier separating them show even the minutest of tears.
You walk through neighbourhoods and city streets, content in your understanding of reality and the world that surrounds you. Going to work, going home, going out. Weaving through life as a single thread in a much bigger tapestry; millions of other threads of people that weave around you and create your world, your city. A tapestry that could unravel, expand, rip apart at the seams if you deviate.
If, perhaps, you stumbled upon the wrong nightclub one day and found yourself amidst people that populate a different reality–strangers with glowing eyes and sharp teeth–that perception of your world would have to shift to accommodate them. Maybe you’ve already found yourself among them. Maybe they work with you, maybe they deliver your mail. Or maybe they just slip sight unseen through the cracks of your life. Either way, through some subconscious effort towards self-preservation, you’ve avoided the full realisation of who (and what) they were.
But what if that all changed? Would you embrace your new reality? Or would you cower in the face of the unknown.
Enter the Nightworld. Thirteen stories of the known and unknown, the mysterious and the apparent. Urban fantasy running the gambit of moods and genres. Choose one, or choose them all, but I hope you enjoy your journey either way.
☾ Shadowboxer ; Choi Seungcheol
urban fantasy au / boxer au / childhood friends to lovers
Once on his way to an illustrious boxing career before injury soured his life path, Seungcheol sacrifices his soul for a second chance at glory. But the Devil deals in shady business, and now he’s contracted to a life of underground boxing between the boundaries of reality and the shadow realm, trying to win his way back into his life.
You meet him one night when your friend brings you out to a match in the basement of a dingy bar at the edge of the city. Something about his technique and demeanour remind you of someone from your boxing club back home. Someone who you had always hoped to see make it big.
☾ The Devil and I ; Yoon Jeonghan
urban fantasy au / devil au / opposites attract
You've been working as the liason from the Dayworld to the Nightworld for going on 6 months now, mostly dealing with low level employees and the Devil’s stoic lawyer Wonwoo, but one major incident involving a breach in the barrier between the two worlds implores you to finally meet the Devil in the flesh.
Handsome and intelligent, but most of all sly, he is nothing like what you had been expecting. A test of wits presents itself to you upon entering his office and after bumbling your way through it unprepared, you have to try and put your simmering animosity towards the man to the side and find a way to work with the Prince of Darkness to fix this mess before two worlds collide into one and the balance of nature is undone.
☾ There Will Be Blood; Joshua Hong
urban fantasy au / vampire x vampire hunter au / enemies to lovers
Another night, another new target. The only difference being that tonight you’re having to deal with a new recruit. Which means questions. And mistakes. Mistakes that might get you killed; or worse, turned into the very creature you've spent your entire adult life hunting down.
When a mistake does happen, and you get severely injured during the hunt, you find yourself a ward of the vampire you had been targeting. Presumed dead by the rest of your group, you wait on tenterhooks for the inevitable end. Will this encounter reinforce the hatred you've built against vampires or force you to re-evaluate beliefs you've held close your whole life?
☾ Death and All Of His Friends; Wen Junhui
urban fantasy au/ grim reaper au / mystery
So you’ve died. So now what? Scenes of your life flashing before your eyes? A tunnel of with a white light at the end that you float idly towards, calm in the acceptance of the inevitable end? Maybe golden sparking pearly gates in a landscape of white cloud...
None of that, actually. Instead, you’re sitting in your caseworkers office, all too similar to a cubicle you worked in during life, and wait for your assigned death worker to help you come to terms with what happened and usher you out of limbo. The only problem is, neither of you can really figure out why you haven’t already been shuffled along to the next life yet and this process is going to take a lot longer than either of you ever bargained for.
☾ Creature Comfort; Kwon Soonyoung
urban fantasy au / witch au / friends to lovers
You're closing up shop for the night, setting aside your spells, potions, and tarot cards to head to bed when a small, oddly coloured hamster squeaks his way through the front door. You try to let him know you're closing but he seems intent on sticking around, almost like he has something to tell you. Still, you manage to shoo him out and close up only to wake up the next evening to news that a friend of yours, a rather chaotic witch named Soonyoung, has gone missing without a trace.
The news unsettles you and the night starts off slowly until a familiar squeaking interrupts your thinking and you look down to see the same hamster nudging the tip of your boot. This time you decide to take him a little more seriously and see what message he has to convey to you. Maybe it has something to do with Soonyoung’s disappearance.
☾ The Devil's Advocate; Jeon Wonwoo
urban fantasy au / lawyer au / strangers to lovers
You enter the office one day on a mission. Your parents had contracted your soul to the devil when you were an infant to help their struggling family survive and now that you’re a year away from the age outlined in the contract, you are doing everything in your power to avoid paying your parent’s dues and becoming an underling for the rest of your life.
Wonwoo has seen every possible petition that people have against his boss‒all except one. He thought the idea of parent's selling their first born to the Devil was the stuff of fairytales but here you sit in his office, outlining your side of the situation and he cant help but feel a little moved on your behalf. he’s not sure he can really do anything to help you, not since he is technically working for the man you owe your life to, but he’s willing to bet he can find a loophole somewhere.
☾ Ghost Notes; Lee Jihoon
urban fantasy au / phantom au
After decades of bad luck, businesses going bust, rumours of hauntings, and sitting empty for the past 18 months, the old opera house in the city's old quarter is set to be demolished. You hear about it through your grapevine network of urban explorer hobbyists and realise this is your last possible opportunity to revisit a relic of the old city.
At best you had expected old instruments, glassware, some interesting artefacts when entering. Something to post in your Discord chat for explorers across the globe. At worst, just some dust and cobwebs inside of an otherwise empty building. The last thing you had expected was a labyrinthine basement suite housing a fully functioning music studio, apartment, and the strangest man you’ve ever met. And yet here you were, face to face with a phantom of the past.
☾ Reality Bites; Lee Seokmin
urban fantasy au / vampire au
Okay, so you messed up? So you maybe felt sort of kind of bad for the poor schmuck who ended up on the other end of your fangs and didn't fully drain him of his blood. You felt an ounce of pity and now you’re left with a newborn vampire to take care of and introduce to the Nightworld.
But does he have to be so goddamn nice about the whole thing?
☾ The Wolfman; Kim Mingyu
urban fantasy au / werewolf au / exes to lovers
You live a pretty average life. Work from home, partly some freelance coding, partly chipping away at your pottery business. You have a dog, an emotionally dependant German Shepard named Garth, and you have your small home with an equally as small yard. Your own little slice of heaven that you scrimped and saved for for years.
At least it was average, until the man you dated for 3 years, who all but ghosted you at the end, shows up completely butt ass naked in your backyard one morning. His body is bruised and broken and now you have to re-evaluate your entire concept of reality with the information he is giving you as he begs for a place to lay low for a while.
☾ The Crow Prince; Xu Minghao
urban fantasy au / assassin au / shapeshifter au / childhood friends au
No one told you that when your estranged grandmother died, leaving you as her only surviving heir, you would be inheriting a lot more than just money. For one, a strange 3-story brownstone sandwiched between two massive skyscrapers, all of her worldly possessions (and there are a lot), and last but not least, a contract on her life. A debt now to be paid with your own.
The Crows are methodical in their work, they never leave a contract unfulfilled, and Minghao is very good at his job. Now that the contract has landed on his desk, you’re going to have a lot more to deal with than just a house full of dust and books. For one, there’s this huge crow that keeps staring in through the kitchen window while you cook…
☾ Siren Song; Boo Seungkwan
urban fantasy au / siren au / strangers to lovers
It’s Friday, the night is still young, and yet you are spending it waiting in line at the DMV (Department of Magical Vocations) to get your herbalist license renewed. Boring. Or at least it was until the clerk at the counter starting sassing a death worker for not having his identification in order and now all of a sudden you’re having to remember where you recognize him from.
An achingly familiar face. You turn him over and over in your mind—eye rolls and all—as you head home. You continue rotating him like a rotisserie chicken while you open and close shop. And fold and unfold him like a secret message as you wake up, change clothes, and head into the Dayworld to indulge in an exceptionally guilty pleasure—human musical theatre. Except you’re not alone this time, and you’ve finally solved the riddle occupying your mind. The opening song begins and a voice enchants the audience in a way that’s almost supernatural.
☾ The Midnight Corner Store; Vernon Choi
urban fantasy au / convenience store au / exes au
You know you shouldn’t be out this late, the city gets weird at night, but you had a hankering for Cool Ranch Doritos that just would not quit. So now you stand, face to face with the past you tried to forget, as he yawns behind the cash register sporting an electric green vest.
The reunion is as awkward as imagined when you finally approach the counter, and you cannot leave soon enough. The store itself, on the other hand, has different ideas. You step through the door only to find yourself immediately back inside the store. Vernon stares at you agape and you try and try again to no avail until you hear a strange rustling down the chip aisle and now have to confront more aspects of your past than you had bargained for.
☾ Ghost Encounters; Lee Chan
urban fantasy au / paranormal investigator au / demon au
In a bid to impress the sceptical head of the paranormal investigation team he has joined, Dino ventures out with a few supplies scavenged from the equipment room and a desire to find any proof he possibly can.
You've been more than content to just exist in the shadow region between the real and the corporeal. Moonlit walks through the woods or the nearby cemetery, spending time combing through the libraries of the undead housed in the mausoleum of a former oil baron, the occasional tea or coffee at the only demon-friendly cafe left on this end of the city. All in all, keeping to yourself.
But now that some young, stubborn human obsessed with the paranormal has unwittingly bonded his soul to your own, will you ever really get to enjoy any of that rest? Not until you can figure out how to sever the connection.
† all aus, genres, warnings, etc subject to change with each individual release. stories may contain suggestive material.
©️ neoneun-au, 2023 all rights reserved
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