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SO MUCH TO LOSE part 10 - dark!Joel x f!reader
rating: 18+
words: 7.5k
TW: HEAVY EMOTIONAL CHAPTER. MENTIONS OF TRAUMA. Allusions to oral sex, m receiving, allusions to f/m penetrative sex.
a/n: I told y'all this chapter's a doozy. Well it is, but maybe not for the reasons you think. . . To me its one of the most important chapters of this whole story.
series masterlist
REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.
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SO MUCH TO LOSE CHAPTER 10
You visit Maria the following week with a plate of cookies in hand. She’s the one to answer the door and you are relieved when you see that she is showered and dressed. Things must be improving. She brings you into a tentative hug when you arrive, urging you inside out of the fresh dusting of snow.
“Tommy has Douglas out for a little walk. I’ll make you a coffee.”
“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just came to drop off some baking. I’m heading to Ellie’s later this week and needed to get some practice in. I haven’t done much baking lately and wanted to make sure I wasn’t rusty.”
You join her on the couch, watching as she wraps her hands tightly around her coffee mug. She takes tentative sips between munches of cookie. At the first bite she literally moans.
“This is so good.”
“Thanks. They were Charlotte’s favorite.”
Maria licks the crumbs from her lips before leaning back on the sofa. She’s always been slender and she looks almost as she did back before she gave birth, except for the small pouch at her lower belly. You think she looks better with it.
“Was Charlotte your daughter?”
“Oh no. I never had kids.”
“We’re you ever married?”
“Me?” you almost laugh. “No.”
“Oh,” Maria blinks and her mouth tugs to the side. “I thought you might be. You have a nurturing quality about you.”
“I think you give me too much credit.”
Maria grins, taking another bite of cookie. The two of you chat amiably a bit about the changing weather, of the way the inhabitants of Jackson City get along so well. Of how she feels the pressure of being Jacksons’ ‘First Lady’. Of how the bandits that fuck with the dam that supports the city stresses her daily.
“It’s a fucking nightmare some days,” she cites with a grumble. “Thank goodness for Tommy.”
“He’s a good man,” you tell her.
“He is,” she smiles indulgently before shooting you a lingering look. “What do you think about Joel?”
“How do you mean?”
“You do patrols with him, right?”
“Can’t say I was always his biggest fan,” she says, taking another sip from her mug. “But he’s grown on me.”
“Yeah.”
You hold in the scoff that’s already begun in your throat.
“My friend Jennifer seems to think he’s pretty wonderful,” you offer instead. “She was delighted to help him repair the window last week.”
“She the blonde one? Used to do textiles?” Maria knows everyone thanks to her position.
“Yeah.”
“Not his type,” Maria insists with a shy grin. “She’d eat him alive.”
Jennifer doesn’t seem like she would eat anyone alive.
“Joel is all harsh edges,” she explains when she sees your confusion. “He needs someone soft to balance him out. That Jennifer girl is hard.”
You don’t think that you would consider Jennifer hard and you don’t fight Maria on it because the conversation quickly turns to Jackson’s continued increase of population, the place swelling with new life.
“Plenty of single men,” Maria says with a quirked brow in your direction. You give a soft laugh.
“Not really interested.”
“Single women too.”
“No no,” you laugh again, cheeks pinking. “I like men, I just . . . I don’t think I’m the partnering type.”
You think of Luke and his sweet features and his muscled forearms. For him you could perhaps be the partnering type. Perhaps. The thought of romance appeals to you; it just doesn’t seem realistic at times. A crush feels fun and safe.
“You must have had your share of dates,” Maria insists. You can see her relaxing and you think she must be enjoying what she views as girl time. You think she must not have had much of it lately.
“Normal crushes and stuff,” you shrug. “But I was a late bloomer and then the outbreak started when I was a teenager so I didn’t have a chance for a lot of firsts back then.”
“Sex,” Maria nods.
“Uh yeah… that…” you say, trying to appear nonchalant. “And uh, kissing, dating, all that stuff.”
“But you did eventually,” Maria cites smiling.
“Sex? Oh yes,” you nod. You weren’t a monk or anything in your time before Jackson City.
“What was your first time like?” Maria settles back against a cushion, nibbling at her cookie looking at you eagerly. “I remember mine was all fumbling in the backseat of his truck before curfew.”
You laugh and think Maria must be starved for company to be intrigued by your limited romantic experience.
“Uh… fast,” you say with a laugh before allowing yourself to be transported back to that time. “He worked at one of the bakeries that I assisted in. I remember he had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man. They were so blond you could only see them if he turned at a certain angle. He made me laugh. One night he invited me back to his apartment and… that was that.”
“How old were you?”
“Uh, twenty two, twenty three?”
“And you didn’t date after?”
“Nah, my family left that QZ kinda in a hurry.”
You aren’t expecting your voice to hitch on that last sentence, but it does. Maria grows somber, her dark eyes expressive.
“Can I ask why you left?”
You blink back the sheen of tears starting and gaze around the room, trying to land on something that will steel you. You find it in the small carving of a horse on the bookshelf nearby. You tell your story to that delicately made creature instead.
“We moved east through the QZ’s for about ten or eleven years. Stayed in a few of them before we’d pick up and keep moving to the next one. Hard to make connections and date with all that. I didn’t trust that I’d have the time.”
Maria looks like she wants to ask more when the door is opened and Tommy’s cheerful voice rings out announcing he and Douglas are home and ready for lunch.
“We have company!” Maria says cheerfully.
Tommy turns the corner to see you and he greets you. He wears Douglas strapped to him with fabric, snuggled under his large jacket. Jackson is sleeping soundly and barely notices when Tommy unwraps and hands him off to his mother.
Douglas squirms, his tiny head burrowing into Maria’s neck. She smiles and for the first time you’ve known her it looks sincere. There is a lightness in the house you realize, something that had been missing before.
“He enjoyed being out in the fresh air,” Tommy announces. “Everyone who saw him wanted to kiss him.”
“Tommy!” Maria looks horrified.
“But I didn’t let ‘em,” Tommy finishes, pressing a gentle kiss to his wife’s worried brow. “I’m gonna make some soup. You two want a bowl?”
“I’m alright,” you say. “I just brought by dessert. I’m actually heading over to Ellie’s to do some baking.”
“Joel’s letting you use his place to bake?”
You still, brows raised. “Uh… yeah. Is that… should I not be?”
“No, I’m just surprised,” Tommy admits after a pause. “I don’t think he’s ever let anyone in that house aside from me and Maria. Think the only reason he and Ellie don’t kill each other is ‘cuz she’s in the garage.”
“Oh.”
You don’t know what else to offer besides that.
Tommy nods and for a moment you see something in his expression, a pinched look when Maria looks away from him. You realize that Tommy looks harried, running a hand through his glossy curls.
“What’s up?”
“Nothin’,” Tommy replies too quickly.
You see the panic in his eyes as his gaze darts from his wife back to you. You understand immediately. Maria is doing well, if there’s something stressful in Jackson City he doesn’t want to bother her with it.
“Thanks for the tea Maria, but I better head out,” you inform them both.
Maria wraps you into a side hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other holding her son. You run your knuckles down his spine gently.
“Come back soon,” she whispers.
“I promise.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Tommy says, feigning manners. The two of you walk to the front door around the corner. As you toe on your boots you look up at him expectantly.
“Well?”
Tommy looks over his shoulder anxiously before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper only you can hear.
“Rumor is Raiders were spotted by A Patrol this week,” Tommy says with a sigh. “Up by the traps.”
“Fuck,” you breathe. “Really?”
“Not positive. A Patrol isn’t always the most reliable. They spook easy and are overly cautious. But I’d rather that than the alternative.”
“Of course.”
“Just make sure you and Joel are extra cautious,” Tommy says. “I know you’re both responsible but, you know…. Just be extra responsible.”
You nod, feeling your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way to Rancher Street.
///
You didn't really want to go to Joel's house today. But Ellie had found you last night heading home from The Tipsy Bison and had guilted you into it when she told you that Joel had brought back all the supplies needed.
You'd tried to sway her into baking at your place but only the burners on your oven work. You'd never really considered getting the main oven fixed, since you take most of your meals in the dining hall.
But in moments like this, you heavily regret that choice.
You feel like even your footsteps sound timid as they make their way up the wood steps.
Ellie is at the door, pulling it open before you can even knock. She must have been looking for you at the window, counting down the seconds until your arrival. The thought warms you. She gives you a broad smile that lights up her face.
"I got everything set up!"
She takes off down into the kitchen and you venture into the Miller home tentatively, still anxious about what happened last time.
A sound to your right draws your attention and you take in the tall form of Joel coming into the room. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater, obviously feeling the chill despite the cheery fire that roars behind him.
"Mornin'," he greets.
"Morning." You lick your lips nervously. "Thanks for letting me bake with Ellie."
"'Course. She's been looking forward to it for weeks. Can't stop talkin' about it.'
Joel gives you a whisper of a smile but the thing that really throws you about this interaction is that he looks almost nervous. You've never seen Joel look nervous.
He'd been so stiff after last patrol, not even saying goodbye to the group after you'd all disembarked off the horses.
It had been embarrassing. Him storming off like you'd all done something wrong. Only Jennifer seemed to still be under Joel's spell citing that watching him hammer the window would fuel her fantasies for months to come.
You're still really irritated with him but it's lessened slightly because his greeting isn’t hostile. You could almost relax if it weren’t for the intense way he’s staring at you.
You hear your name being called by Ellie in the next room so you toe off your shoes and head into the kitchen. She's got an apron on, borrowed from the kitchen or Joel because it's far too big for her small frame.
"Alright," you give her a warm smile as you enter. "You got everything?"
"Yep."
You place the bag you brought on the counter. You remove your own apron, baby blue with ruffles on the end. A recent gift from Jennifer who told you “since you’re a real chef you need your own apron”. You tie it as you speak to Ellie.
"So what I like to do is set up all my supplies on the counter just to double check I have everything. Nothing worse than being halfway through a recipe and finding out you you’re missing ingredients."
The sentence isn't even out of your mouth before Ellie’s opened up her cupboards and ice box and begun to take everything out. Flour, eggs, bowls, milk and more, all the items you gave Joel on the list. She places them on the counter before looking at you like a proud student.
"You'll need measuring spoons."
The two of you turn at the same time to see Joel standing by the entrance to the kitchen, lingering. His hands are in his jean pockets, standing like a chastised student outside the classroom.
"I brought some," you inform him, trying to hold in your irritation. You pull them from your bag, putting them next to the eggs.
You feel Joel's eyes on your back and you're sure he's silently judging you, eager to point out what you're doing wrong. You stiffen under the perceived scrutiny. Ellie must sense the change in the room because she whips around to shoot him a jeering look.
"Joel you don't need to supervise," Ellie says rolling her eyes. "We won't break the damn stove."
Joel looks at his feet mumbling something about needing to do stuff upstairs anyway before he's making his way out of the kitchen.
You go back to your lesson with Ellie who turns out to be a very focused student.
She asks smart questions, measures everything perfectly and takes her time. It's only when you put her in charge of cracking three eggs into the bowl that she gets frustrated.
"Fuck, it cracked wrong. Shell got in."
Her fingers pinch into the egg bowl, trying to grasp the fallen eggshell. Of course the viscous nature of the raw egg makes it impossible and it’s not long before she pushes at the bowl angrily, her face is set into a deep frown.
“S’fucking bullshit.”
"Happens all the time," you tell her kindly. "Don't stress about it. I’ll show you a secret my mom taught me and my sister to get ‘em out."
Ellie watches as you take the empty shell half still in her hand. Her brows knit in confusion as you lower it into the bowl, using it as a scoop. Unlike with her fingers, the egg shell piece floats easily into the makeshift scoop. You pull the shell from the bowl, tossing the mess into the garbage.
“Holy shit that actually worked.” Ellie smiles at this and it transforms her pale pinched features into that of a warm, approachable teenager.
You smile, feeling strangely proud. You’ve never baked with anyone else before, aside from the kitchen. But that was following the same boring recipes given by the head chef. You were usually boiling rice, cutting onions or apples. Baking is a different beast, a calmer, more relaxing one.
After that hiccup Ellie is more patient with herself. She's keen to learn about baking but she's very eager to talk to you about you. When you pop the formed pastries into the oven and set the timer she decides that now is the time to chat.
"What kind of music did you used to listen to before?"
Memories of Joel’s warning float in your mind. The reminder not to tell her too much. To make her long for a life that he can’t give her.
"Enough about me,” you deflect. “I want to know about you."
At this Ellie balks slightly, the smile wavering just a fraction before the mask is replaced and she nods. Her mixing increases but now her eyes are on the batter.
"Whadda you wanna know?"
"What was your life like before Jackson?"
"I was in the QZ back in Boston,” she says slowly, as if she's trying to make sure she doesn't give too much away. "Hated it."
"Parents?"
"Never met 'em."
"What brought you to Jackson City?"
"Joel."
She doesn't offer you more or less than that. You understand it, you don't push it.
"How'd you end up here?" She asks, mixing the dry ingredients.
You realize the stupidity of you asking her those questions. How easily you opened them to be doubled back on yourself.
"You asked me what kind of music I listened to before?" You smile, hoping that this will distract her. "I remember I saw Chicago about a billion times," you laugh. "I was obsessed. I listened to the soundtrack over and over."
"Chicago," Ellie says slowly as if trying to recall before a light seems to go on. "Oh, I've heard of Chicago. Joel likes ‘em."
Them?
It takes you a minute to understand what she's talking about. You finally answer giggling.
"Chicago the musical, not the band. The musical had great songs. And dancing."
"Do you dance?"
"Not very well."
Your dual laughter combines and you can't help but enjoy the sound. Ellie really does make you laugh. She reminds you of how life was before. When everything seemed new.
You can tell Ellie wants to know everything about your life before the outbreak. And you want to indulge her but Joel's words rub their imprint on your the inside of your skull.
"Hey I promised your D- Joel that I wouldn't keep talking about this stuff with you," you explain quietly. "He's worried it makes you want stuff you can't have."
"Jesus," Ellie says rolling her eyes. “Overprotective much?”
"No he's right," you insist truthfully. "I mean, I get where he's coming from. He doesn't wanna keep disappointing you."
"Joel could never disappoint me."
The timer goes off and you peer into the oven. The pastries are a golden brown. You smile before taking them out with the oven mitt. Ellie closes her eyes, inhaling.
"They smell so good."
"Just wait until you put icing on them," you encourage with a grin. "Delicious."
The two of you get to work making the icing while the pastries cool.
"It's gonna snow," Ellie comments out of nowhere as she peers out the window, mixing idly.
"Hate to break it to you, El, it's already snowing."
Ellie gives you a smirk along with her side eye. You don't know if it's from your sarcastic comment or the fact that you called her El.
"I mean I think it’s gonna snow a lot." She explains. "I heard some of the other kids talking about it at school."
"Huh," you offer noncommittal as you look at the consistency of the icing. "Wonder how they can tell."
"They said they could smell it," Ellie says with a grin, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt so that it doesn't drip into the icing bowl. "They said tha-"
You can't hear anything she's saying after that. All you can focus on is her now bared arm and the ugly bite mark. Blood rushes in your ears and you cry out before giving a blood curdling shriek.
“No!”
Ellie jumps, startled at your sudden screams. She throws herself back against the wall, eyes wide and glancing around as if she expects hordes of infected to come streaming in.
"What? What is it?"
You know she's never seen you be loud, never seen you scream and the sight must terrify her.
But all you can focus on is the clear outline of bite marks on her forearm visible after she rolled up her sleeves. The clear sign of an infected’s mark. She’s going to turn into a clicker before your eyes. She’s going to become soulless and inhuman and you need to go. You need to get somewhere safe.
Joel. He’ll be so devastated.
You can hear the heavy footsteps of Joel approaching the kitchen but all you can think of is escaping and getting yourself safe. You have to warn the town. You run towards the front door, your socks slipping over the smooth floor.
You're still screaming incoherently, your voice cracking as you lunge for the doorknob, tears in your eyes. Your hand closes around the brass knob just as two muscled arms go around your waist, pulling you back harshly. A hand covers your mouth and a deep voice is at your ear.
"Quit," he repeats, shaking you slightly in his arms. "Stop screamin'."
There's an increasingly paranoid thought that believes this was all a trap. A way for Joel to get his daughter fed. You feel it, Joel's arms wrapped around your entire body, pinning your arms to your sides. His body is warm and solid behind you, terrifying in its strength. It takes you to a time you've tried to forget.
"Get the fuck off of me!" You shriek against his palm, trying to wriggle out of his grip but he holds firm. You're screaming expletives, trying to kick out. You shake his hand off your mouth. "She's bit, Joel! I saw it!"
Ellie hasn't moved from where she stands cowering in the corner of the kitchen. But you can only imagine how soon it will be before she turns. You can't be here for that. You can’t watch that sweet girl turn into one of them.
"I know," Joel rumbles against your temple, hands still gripping you tightly.
"You know," you repeat and now a dread begins in your feet and floods the rest of you.
Joel knows she is bit. Joel welcomed you into his home knowing she was bit.
You are going to die.
"Let me go!"
High on fearful adrenaline you give a frantic kick backwards, elbowing into Joel's abdomen at the same time you thrust the ball of your foot onto his socked toes. Joel gives a strangled grunt and his arms loosen in pain momentarily allowing you a chance to break free from him.
You tug open the door and speed out without your boots. You feel the snow on the porch under your feet, freezing your toes immediately. You throw yourself down the porch stairs, feet slapping the wood as you hold back sobs. The street is deserted; the houses all empty as they usually are on bright Saturday afternoons. You go to cry out for someone, anyone, when Joel's arm bands around your waist.
You give a devastated howl of defeat before Joel is dragging your struggling frame back into the house, telling you to calm down.
Ellie is by the sink, her eyes on the ground.
But you still struggle, trying to get away from this house. Joel gives a frustrated growl before he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. His hands hold your wrists on either side of your head, pressing them into the wall.
"Stop fuckin' strugglin'," Joel seethes when you jerk against him, his chest pressing you so tightly to the wall you can't breathe.
"Please let me go," you beg brokenly as you continue to struggle in his arms. "Please I just-“
"She's immune," he rasps in your ear. "She's fucking immune! Stop!"
Immune. Immune.
"What?" You stop your screaming just long enough to twist your head to face him. "Immune? That's not possible."
But you’ve stopped struggling as hard.
You take a closer look at Ellie’s arm from where you stand, noticing that it doesn’t look particularly fresh. In fact it looks scarred. And yet something in you is still terrified. So terrified that you yelp when you feel Joel's wide hands go to either side of your face, forcing your face up and eyes to his.
"Everything is okay," Joel tells you in a husky rasp. "You're safe, I promise. I've got you. You're safe."
His eyes are locked with yours as he says this and you don't know how those words work their way into your body, but they do. The same way they wind around you as you allow yourself to get lost on patrols with your mouth on him. That sense that someone else is in charge, someone else is protecting you.
You're safe.
Your entire frame goes boneless in his arms and when he finally releases your face your head drops to your chest. He continues to press you gently against the wall with one heavy hand holding you there.
"What if it's slow acting or -" you whisper quietly, "or what if you can still pass it on with saliva or-"
"The dogs don't detect it," Joel tells you, his hold on you not lessening. "Ellie and I've shared drinks plenty a' times. She's immune."
You stare at the girl at the table, her entire countenance shifted. You can see the devastation, the fear and anger floods out of you immediately, like a deep sigh. You sag in Joel's arms, feeling as he slowly loosens you.
"She's had it for months," Joel tells you, no longer pinning you to the wall.
"Months?"
You're still stunned by the developments but it doesn't stop your eyes from traveling over to Ellie. You see now that tears are slipping off the end of her nose as she silently cries. She’s pulled her sleeve back down, covering the scar.
Your heart immediately breaks because it's you who did this to her. This girl who trusts so few. You treated her like she was a monster.
"Ellie I'm sorry, I just..." You trail off, your heart still beating wildly.
But Ellie has tears in her eyes, her neck blotchy. She's raced to the garage, slamming the door after her. You flinch at the sound of it.
Then it’s just you and Joel in the quiet kitchen.
"How long have you known?"
"Since I met her," Joel explains quietly. "Was bringing her to the fireflies with a friend in exchange for a battery. Rumor was there was a cure."
"Guess not if you're both here," you say absently, missing the pain in his dark eyes when you say it.
"Not a lot of people know about it. We'd like to keep it that way."
You nod, your mind whirring. You realize you've never seen Ellie in anything but long sleeves. Never seen her wearing bracelets or anything that would draw her attention to her arms. She’s been hiding in plain sight. You think of the friendships she hasn’t made, the way she keeps to herself, the hostile way she is with most and it all clicks into place.
"We were thinking of gettin' her a tattoo to cover it up,” Joel continues. “Haven't found anyone to do it yet."
You nod again, eyes falling on the pastries now lying squashed on the floor, the warm berries oozing out onto the wood.
“I’ll take care of this stuff,” Joel mutters, dropping to his knees and starting to pick up the supplies you brought. You think of how excited Ellie had been to recreate the pop tarts, how devastated she’ll be when she realizes they’re all ruined.
"I- I think I should go talk to Ellie."
"She doesn't wanna talk. Trust me."
"Just lemme try."
Joel looks as if he's about to protest but you're already walking quickly until you've reached the door to the garage. You knock gently.
"Ellie? It's me. Please don't be upset ... I was just startled."
There's a pause, then a sniffle that makes your heart lurch.
"Can we talk? Please, Ellie?"
You hear shuffling and then finally the door to the garage is opened a crack and you see Ellie peering through. Her eyes are swollen and red, the end of her nose pink. She glares at you through the small slit in the door.
"Fuck off."
"I just want to explain. Just let me explain and then I promise I'll leave."
She doesn't move, doesn't attempt to close or open the door. She just stands there like some sentry.
“Five minutes. That’s all I need.”
"You think I'm a freak."
"I don't," you insist, palm on the door as if you could transfer your emotions by osmosis to her. "Ellie I was having fun right before all this. I really was. Can we talk? Please? I want to explain properly."
Ellie’s glossy eyes scan your body and with a labored sigh she steps back, opening the door and allowing you entrance.
"Come in."
You follow her into the warm space, watching as she drops onto her made bed. Ellie hugs her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as you look at her. Ellie's eyes drag from the floor up to your face and you see her chin trembling as she holds in tears.
“Can I sit?” you ask motioning to beside her on the bed. She nods, shuffling to give you room to perch there.
“I know you’re not gonna come back after this,” Ellie says, eyes wide with a quiet pleading as you look over at her.
“Of course I am.”
“No you’re not,” Ellie says shaking her head and rubbing angrily at her eyes. “You’ve seen my arm. You think I’m a fucking freak.”
"Ellie I swear I don't think you're a freak," you emphasize as you shuffle on the edge of her bed. "I was just... That bite took me back to a really scary time."
"Yeah," Ellie says with her chin balanced on her kneecap. "No one wants to think about... All that stuff."
You see the desolation there in her eyes. She's hurt and even though you didn't mean to do it you did. You feel responsible for her sadness. Your eyes go to her closed door, wanting to make sure you have privacy before you turn back to her.
"Ellie, can I share some stuff with you?"
"Yeah.”
"It's not happy stuff," you tell her.
"Figured." Ellie shrugs again like it doesn't matter. Like she's seen it all. Maybe she has, but you doubt it. She doesn’t make eye contact with you.
“It’s just. . . I’ve never told anyone this stuff before. Ever.”
Ellie’s eyes go to your face now. She can see how serious you are and she straightens slightly. She goes from being hunched and holding her legs to sitting cross legged across from you on the bed.
"Okay..." You take a sharp inhale. “So, I was about your age when Outbreak Day happened. I was with my Dad and my sister. My mom was visiting my Aunt in Wyoming-“
“How come?”
“Ellie you gotta let me get this all out quick okay?” you say gently. “No interruptions.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” you breathe deeply again. “She was visiting my aunt because my aunt was getting a divorce and my mom wanted to support her. Anyway, about ten years ago my dad and my little sister and I were travelling between QZ’s. We were looking for my Mom because my Dad was convinced she was still alive and she’d be out in this direction.”
You swallow; hating talking about this but knowing that Ellie deserves this truth. So far she looks intrigued, her eyes wide.
“So one night we were exhausted. We’d been travelling for days and we were low on food and water. We see this old cabin and it looks like it’s abandoned. We figure it’s a good spot to hunker down and get some energy before we keep going.” You exhale a shuddering breath.
“Except it wasn’t abandoned. It was a trap set up by this group of Raiders. I called them The Group. They killed my dad and they were gonna kill me and my sister when one of the guys had the bright idea that they could use us as bait.”
"Bait?"
Ellie seems to remember she’s not supposed to say anything because she ducks her head slightly.
"Yeah. they made us go into new places first," you explain detached, as if you’re talking about another woman in another life. "So if there was anything dangerous it would get us in enough time to give The Group a chance to escape.”
Ellie is staring at you wide-eyed, all her teenage ambivalence lost as you detail the most terrifying years of your life. You omit lots of the more gruesome details and you definitely don’t tell her about Rock River.
"Once they hung me from a tree," you tell her, trying not to sound emotional. It's not hard. Years of hiding how that part of your life affects you makes you good at it. "They tied me to a rope and hung me on a branch to attract clickers."
"Jesus."
"Yeah," you nod. "It worked really well. There was a big group and they piled underneath me, trying to grab at me, their mouths all black and their teeth gnashing and...” you stop yourself when you see Ellie’s eyes widening. “Anyway, The Group got ‘em all and managed to get some good supplies in the town because of it. I just... It just left me kind of..."
You wince when you realize you’ve trailed off, your focus blurred.
"The point is that when I saw your arm it just all came flooding back and I reacted out of instinct. Not because I think you're a freak. I could never think that about you.”
Ellie is quiet, digesting all that you've told her. You think you hear a creaking outside her door, but you're not sure. Your attention is drawn back to the girl who’s eyes hold such a myriad of emotions; pain, empathy, fear, anger.
"How did you end up here?"
You think about not telling her. But it feels so good to be getting some of this information out, like you’re coughing up a thick black piece of flesh that’s been festering in your lungs for years, making it so you can now finally breathe.
"One guy, Chiyo, he joined up with our group a few years after I was taken. He owned a shooting range before everything.... You know…. Well, he'd broken his ankle in a recent raid and couldn’t really move much. If we hadn't come upon him when we did he probably would have been killed by another group of raiders. But as it was he had this giant stash of weapons and The Groups ranks were thinning so..."
You trail off, thinking of how you'd come upon him first when you and The Group got to town. How the leader you thought of as Red due to his hair (you never learned their real names), shoved you brutally by the shoulder.
Always the bait.
But after what had happened only the week before you didn’t care anymore. Red pushed you and you entered willingly, your feet not even dragging as you walked. It was either be shot by one of The Group attempting to escape, or see what resided inside the shop with the boarded up windows.
Chiyo’s gun was trained on you the second you walked in. The way you held your hands at your eye level when he told you he was going to shoot.
“I’m gonna blow your head clean off if you take another step.”
And suddenly you’d decided that you were done. You were so tired. And at least this way it would be quick and it would be away from The Group. And so you’d taken another step towards Chiyo, hands still raised.
You can still recall the furrowing of his thick brows and the lowering of his weapon as he stared at you.
"You want to die?"
You hadn't answered him but that had been answer enough for Chiyo. He'd hobbled over to you, dragging his lame leg, dark eyes fixed on your face.
"I'm not gonna hurt you."
And when he'd said it, you'd believed him.
You remember the way you'd convinced the rest of The Group they needed someone like him. A crack shot, you told them. You'd had no idea of knowing if it was true. But there had been warmth in Chiyo's eyes that was missing from the rest of The Groups. Something that you clinged to in the coming months.
"Thankfully he was a really good shot,” you explain. “He joined up and we stripped his shop of his guns and eventually his ankle healed thanks to the medic in The Group and he was suddenly part of the team.”
“Was he nice to you?”
“Yeah. He was really kind. Whenever they used me as bait he insisted on going with. He said it was so we could save me for really bad missions, but I knew it was to protect me. They let him get away with it because he was such a good shot, I think. Everyone liked him. When the rest of The Group was asleep we'd talk by the fire. Chiyo was afraid of horses," you tell Ellie with a small smile. “Was about the only thing he was afraid of.”
You don't tell her everything. You don't tell of the tender way he fucked you in the wee hours of the morning before The Group rose most mornings. How he whispered that he missed his dead wife and would never dishonor her memory by kissing you. But you hadn’t minded, you understood and you’d both been gentle with each other.
You’d enjoyed getting lost in the sensation of him. Of his cock in your mouth, of your cunt stuffed full of him. The rhythmic sensation of sex that took you out of your body and away from your every day horrors.
You remember how he would hold you, tears sliding onto your collar as he spilled himself onto your belly whimpering his dead wife’s name. How he would thank you over and over with your hand at the base of his skull, mouth against his shoulder while you quietly sobbed your own gratitude.
"After a few months he told me he was escaping. He'd heard about Jackson City and that's where he was headed. He wanted to bring me to see if we could find my Mom."
"Holy shit,” Ellie breathes. “Where is he now?"
"He didn't make it," you tell her tightly.
And now the shield is back in your voice and eyes and she must sense it. Ellie doesn’t press this, seems to understand that there is more there. With a teenagers’ sensibilities and a teenager’s romanticism she asks you her next question.
"Were you in love with him?"
Chiyo is a faint memory, a watercolor blur if you think about him in too much detail. When you try to recall things like the scar over his left eyebrow or the dragon tattoo on his inner thigh. But these are just pieces of him. They aren't him.
When you think of Chiyo there is a warmth. But it's the warmth that comes from having a benevolent savior. One who never told you that you were in his debt. Yes, you cared for him. Of course you did. He was gentle and he was kind and his heart was soft.
"No," you say firmly. "He was nice though and I cared about him. Probably as close to love as I'll ever get."
You and Ellie are quiet for a long time.
“I tried saving a bit boy once,” she finally offers. “His name was Sam. Tried rubbing my blood on him. Thought it would save him. It didn’t. He turned and his brother had to kill him before he killed himself.”
You don’t allow yourself to cry. You know that isn’t what Ellie needs right now.
“I’m the reason so many people are dead,” Ellie explains when you say nothing in return. “My Mom died having me. Riley… Tess… Sam…Henry... Ellie’s voice is doing that same detached thing yours does. “Sometimes I honestly think it would be better if I was never born.”
You can’t help the way your arms leap out in front of you to gather the girl into your arms. She tries to fight you on it, flinching from the contact before your unrelenting arms pull her into a tight squeeze, tugging her into your lap. Angry tears slip down her red cheeks, her cries breaking free as you wrestle her into a bear hug.
“I’m so glad you exist, Ellie.”
And then all the fight is gone from her body and she’s sobbing quietly into your shoulder, her tiny frame shaking. You hold her against you, wanting your adoration and affection to move through your body into hers so she knows how much she’s wanted.
“The world would be so much worse without you in it,” you assure her honestly. “You’re special, Ellie. And not because you’re immune. Because you’re smart and brave and funny and you make people like me feel like we’re worth something.”
Her arms wrap around your neck, face in your shoulder and she allows you to continue holding her, rocking her gently in your lap as if she were your own teenage daughter.
“And yes you’re stubborn and you can be annoying,” you add, trying to lighten the mood. “But there’s no one I like talking to as much as I like talking to you. You made me look forward to breakfasts in the dining hall because it meant I got to speak to you.”
“You’re just saying that,” she sniffles, arms loosely circling your neck.
“You don’t like liars, right?” You remind her. “Well I’m not lying. Plus, I know Joel loves you and he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that loves many people so you must be pretty great.”
Ellie gives a shallow huff of amusement in your shoulder.
“And I know Maria and Tommy adore you just as much if not more than I do. And if you opened up a little more with the kids around here I know they’d love you just as much as we do because you’re a wonderful person. The world would be so much worse without your light, Ellie. You bring light to the darkness.”
You continue rocking her for several moments, waiting until her sobs turn into hiccups and then gentle swallows. Finally she pulls back from you, almost embarrassed at the emotional display. She shuffles back onto the bed, picking at the loose string hanging from her pillow.
“I think I’m cursed.”
“Hey now that’s not true,” you insist. “I’m here aren’t I? How is that a curse? If anything it’s a blessing.”
She gives you a weak smile that you return.
“C’mon, let’s go and finish the pop tarts.”
“We’ll have to start all over again,” Ellie almost whines.
“Then I guess I’ll be staying here a little longer.”
Ellie wipes at her blotchy face, running her hands down her cheeks before nodding and standing abruptly. You two make it back into the kitchen, surprised to see Joel standing there. His broad shoulders ripple as he works on something in front of him, his back to you.
Ellie sails over to him, her eyes wide when she sees what he’s done. “Wait are those the pop tarts?”
“Yep.”
“I thought they were ruined.”
“Yours were,” Joel shrugs, spreading icing onto one of the homemade pop tarts. “Mine went okay.”
You feel as if you’ve been physically pushed.
Joel baked?
Ellie snags one of the still warm pastries from the plate as Joel starts running the cloth over the counter and wiping the crumbs into the sink. You look at the joy on Ellie’s face as she takes a bite.
“Holy shit, Joel, these are so fucking good.”
“Language,” Joel admonishes over his shoulder, though there’s nothing harsh in it. He turns around, hip resting against the counter.
“I’m gonna have you do all my baking,” Ellie continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “I’ll just be your taste tester.”
You want to grin at this but all you can do is stare at Joel and the soft way he’s smiling down at Ellie. This open look of adoration you so rarely see. Like there’s this secret Joel inside the mean Joel shell that the privileged few witness.
Joel could never disappoint me.
Joel seems to feel your eyes on him because he blinks over at you, dark eyes darting around your face. His expression is unreadable, but there’s nothing cruel or cold in it. He’s just looking at you, almost as if he’s trying to figure you out as well.
“Well looks like we’re all set here so I should go,” you start awkwardly, suddenly feeling strangely light headed. Joel steps towards you, brows rising.
“You could stay for a dr-“ Joel begins, but you’ve already made your way to the front door, pulling on your boots and jacket.
Your hands are trembling for some reason and you think it must be all this emotional turmoil you’ve shared with Ellie. It has you feeling vulnerable and exposed and you want to escape home to the safety of your bed, away from soulful brown eyes and soft smiles.
“Ellie you wanna grab breakfast before patrols?” you ask, studiously ignoring Joel who stands next to her looking at you. You don’t want her to think you’re rushing off and forgetting about her.
“Sure,” Ellie says brightly before motioning to the plate of pastries. “You want any of these to go?”
“Nah, you enjoy them,” you insist with a flash of a smile. “You worked hard.”
You don’t look backwards as you rush out the door of their home and down the sidewalk of Rancher Street, convinced you can feel Joel’s dark gaze on you the entire way.
-----------------------------
secondary a/n: The other parts I wanted to include in this chapter were gonna bloat this installment into over 10k and I wasn't even finished so I had to break it up!
CHAPTER 11 SPOILERS BELOW THE JOEL
in chapter eleven there be smut.
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They get turned on when you’re angry — headcanons
a/n: thank you 🩰 for this thought, and thank you anon for requesting it 🧡💛 (this is ever so slightly unserious, please accept my apologies)
warnings: starts out suggestive, derails into smut :)
Rhysand:
“You can’t keep insisting you’re the most handsome High Lord at the High Lord meetings, Rhys!”
You’ve got him sat on the edge of your bed as you scold him for his behaviour, Rhys waiting patiently as he watches you trying to ply the clips from your hair, your own patience wearing thin as frustration builds at their refusal to budge
“I mean really Rhys, I understand you’re no longer acting out a cruel persona, but a little tact, no? Just some discretion? Not cracking jokes left right and centre!”
You hiss as one of the clips snags on a strand of hair, cursing both him and the clip out under your breath
“Darling, will you please just allow me to—”
“Don’t you dare move, Rhysand.”
Colour warms the tan skin of his cheeks, eyes appreciatively running down the trail of your spine, heat gathering at the spankable curve of your hind. The tone you’d used…
“I know you think you’re charismatic and charming, but your arrogance is getting out of hand,” you continue, oblivious to the dark dip in his thoughts, “I suppose it’s inevitable when you have no one to keep you in check, but—”
“No one to keep me in check?”
You whirl on him, hair at last free and unbound, whipping over your shoulder as you turn to him
He’s undone the top most buttons of his shirt, leaned back on the bed, long legs parted—not at all ashamed of the reaction he’s having to the sharp, clipped tone you’d been using on him
“Rhysand!” You hiss, “I’m trying to…”
But he’s not hiding anything, arousal heating the glimmering bond that lies between you, skin tingling with awareness as warmth pools in your belly
“What was it you said again? That I have no one to keep me in check?” He muses, hand shifting over the muscle of his thigh to the obvious hardness between his legs. “No one to remind me of my place?”
“Rhysand,” you warn, “we have a dinner tonight, do not…” but you trail off when he palms himself through the fitted fabric of his trousers, a low groan coming from the back of his throat.
You pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth, delicately licking over dried lips, an action he marks eagerly. “I suppose you could serve being taught a lesson to two…”
Cassian:
“Cass, hurry up! We’re going to be late! Again!”
Really, you would have thought as a General he would have excellent time management skills and would never struggle with being late. And usually, that’s true. But something about going out to dinner to see his family just sends all of that training out the window
“Cassian?” You question, leaning over the banister to call up to your mate’s room. “Cassian, are you nearly ready?”
A series of knocks are landed to your front door, and you blanch, wondering if it’s another pair thinking of walking with you to the River House. But when you open it, you’re greeted with a proudly grinning Cassian, wings tucked in tight against the chill breeze
He must have flown out the window and round to the front again.
“Cassian!” You snap, “I was stressing! Why can’t you just please be on time and save me the anxiety?”
He opens his mouth, pride gleaming in his eyes at what he no doubt thinks is a clever trick, but the amusement has already seeped from your bones.
“For goodness sake,” you mutter, “you haven’t even—” You push up onto your tiptoes, leaning flush against him for support as you set straight a curled lock that was blown the wrong way, flopping to the wrong side of his head
You huff impatiently, settling back onto the flats of you feet, lightly smacking your hand over his chest as you reassess him. “Right. Good. Let’s go.”
“Sweetheart, don’t worry,” he tries, realising too late you’re genuinely bothered, agitation zinging down the bond. “They won’t even—”
“Cassian, I am not in the mood at the moment,” you snap sharply. “How many times have I told you. We need to be ready to leave half an hour before hand. You’re a General for crying out loud, put your knowledge to good use.”
You’ve never snapped like that before at him. He knows you get a little tightly wound when it comes to time management, but never anything like this. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten your gears turning like that. But your arms have crossed over your chest, drawing his attention to the dip in the neckline, a little further than usual. The strict set of your brows, and the disapproving cut of your mouth…
He zones back in when you click your fingers in his face, “are you even listening to me? For Mother’s sake Cassian, will you at least pay attention when I’m talking to you?”
“I’m paying attention,” he manages, caught off guard by the arousal that’s stirring in his stomach at the terseness of your question. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t. Now hurry up and let’s—”
“Don’t cut me off like that,” he breathes lowly, pupils dilated as he stares down at you. The rise and fall of your chest as you glare impatiently…holding your ground…
“Cassian!” You inhale sharply as his large palm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his heat, nosing at your neckline, his scent wrapping around you, and— “Cassian…” you whisper, back curving with arousal
“Where’d that attitude go?” He asks breathlessly. “Bring it back for me. Won’t you do that, sweetheart?”
“Cass…we’re going to be late…” you manage to get out, knocked off your feet by the abrupt display of hunger
“We won’t,” he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to your throat as he works his way down. “Besides, what were those thirty minutes originally put in place for?”
You flush at the reminder—at how frequently things like this would happen so you would both agree to prepare in advance in the case of certain appetites arising
“Though if you want to keep using that tone on me…” his hips roll against yours, pressing the hard outline of his cock into your tummy, groaning at how it feels. “I don’t think I’d mind…”
Azriel:
“Azriel.” You hiss, gripping his hand by the wrist, tight. “Don’t even think about it.”
The shadows scuttle away from beneath your skirts, while the others peer up at the painting Helion’s currently showing off.
“You can’t just put your hands on me whenever you feel mildly compromised,” you whisper sharply, hoping the others won’t notice how you’re lagging behind.
“He just invited you to his bed,” Azriel growls lowly, pupils contracted as he stares razors into the High Lord of Day’s turned back. “And you hardly mustered up a refusal.”
“I was being polite. And of course the offer wasn’t serious,” you hiss back. “Besides, he’s invited you to bed plenty of times, and you never see me getting all territorial about it.”
“I wish you would,” he breathes, voice roughening as he flicks his wrist out of your grasp in favour of gripping your hip lightly, pulling you a little closer. “At least then he’d get the idea.”
“He’s doing this because you’re making it so apparent we’re recently mated,” you snap, “obviously he’s going to enjoy at last being able to get a rise out of you.”
“I need him to know that you’re mine.”
Heat flutters between your legs, suddenly feeling breathless. Your tongue flicks out over dry lips, and that familiar warmth zips down the bond, still so new and sensitive to every change, keyed to one another.
“You keep that sort of nonsense in the bedroom, Azriel,” you manage to hiss to him. “I do not belong to you. I am your mate.”
You can feel even on your side how overpowering, how dominating those instincts are, made worse by the unwelcome and incessant advances from another male. Can feel how he’s straining under the urge to claim you in a very obvious way.
“You belong to me, as I belong to you,” he growls lowly, darkness thickening at his back as those great wings flare menacingly.
“If you belong to me then I command you to be quiet and behave,” you hiss, the crackling tension between you having you snap, frustration simmering beneath your skin as you’re forced to keep your hands off each other until this bothersome tour comes to an end.
It seems to be the last straw for Azriel, however.
He releases a snarl that sounds mixed with a groan, starving lust barreling down the bond as he’s no longer able to keep his side entirely concealed, large palm shackling your wrist as he drags you away from the others, too hungry to wait
The command had been his breaking point, arousal burning through his blood at the sharpness you’d used
He hopes you’ll use it on him again, even once the initial frenzy has at last faded…
Eris:
“Either make me cum, or I’ll find someone else who will,” you hiss, nails scraping over his scalp, gripping the silky locks in your fist
“I wouldn’t recommend that, fawn,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing his body tight to yours, so you’re trapped between him and the wall as his thigh is pushed flush with your heat. “Besides, you’re already dripping all over me. You think you’ll be able to find anyone else who’ll give you the intensity of one I can?”
“I don’t care at this point,” you counter. “Either give it to me or I’ll have to use something else.”
The impatience catches him off guard. You’re usually so sweet and docile—he wonders where the spark has come from. It seems rather fun to tamper with
“Like your fingers? Your pillow?” He asks, voice deepening as he presses his hips to yours, grinding into the softness of your tummy as you try to rub over his thigh, to get some kind of pleasure. “I’d love to see you try,” he whispers breathlessly
“Fuck you,” you hiss, heat fluttering between your legs, mind turning dizzy with hunger as your arms wrap tight over his broad shoulders, leg weaving round his to try and get him closer—
“Quit it,” you snap, flame blazing in your eyes as your lip curls when he pulls his thigh back, leaving you without stimulation. “You’re being a fucking pain,” you hiss, tugging on his hair
His eyes flutter, hips bucking against you with hunger as he dips down, attacking your neck with kisses and nips, arousal having him firmly within its grasp at that demand
You moan at the sensations, back arching up into him as you feel the pronounced outline of him against you, twitching as he grinds against you
“Fuck, Eris…” you pant, so near the verge of pleasure.
“Get on the bed,” you whisper, hands shakily pushing him away, so he’s stood to his full height, looming over you
When he doesn’t move, you snarl, too impatient to wait for his games. “I said get on the bed.”
The intensity of his arousal hits you then, practically knocking you clean off your feet, both of you seemingly taken aback at just how heavily affected he is
“You like this?” You breathe, pulse spiking as you peer up into his eyes, irises almost fully eclipsed by hunger
He doesn’t need to answer as your hand slips between the two of you, cupping him, feeling just how hard he is, how hungry he is… You curse lowly
“Oh you’re going to pay for every damn teasing thing you’ve ever done to me,” you whisper over his mouth, pushing for him to walk back until his legs come into contact with the bed
“And you’re going to pay tenfold.”
Lucien:
“I just don’t get it, Lu,” you sigh frustratedly, pacing back and forth as he watches you from the plush armchair. “I’ve tried so many different things, she just seems to have it out for me.”
“Are you sure you’re not overthinking this?” He suggests wryly. “We both know you have a habit of assuming the worst when it comes to how other people perceive you.”
“I’m not overthinking this one,” you snap. “She blatantly cut me off and turned her back on me during tea the other day. I don’t know what it is other than she just dislikes me.”
“And wouldn’t it simply be the end of the world if one female didn’t absolutely adore you,” he drawls, stretching out in his seat, long legs crossing at the ankle
“Don’t take that tone with me,” you say sharply, spinning around to face him, glaring
Lucien stiffens under the fire in your gaze, the anger simmering away as you stare him down, surprised by how hot his skin feels beneath that look
“I know for a fact I haven’t done anything wrong this time—and I’m certain of that,” you huff, beginning to pace back and forth, allowing him a moment to grapple with the reaction searing through his body
“Why is she trying to bring me down? I don’t understand it. I’ve never done anything, said anything that could harm her standing in some way, so why is she trying to bring me down?”
He listens to the harsh puff of breath, the sharp sighs coming from your lips, the clean cut of your steps as you spin at the end of a pace—pulse increasing as he slips a long finger beneath his collar
“We females are already at a disadvantage,” you go on, brow tightening now with anger, “can’t she understand that? We should stick together to help one another, not step on each other to further ourselves. It’s so backward! Why are you fighting against me when the problem is with the males in charge? Do you see what I mean? Lu? Lu—”
A hot flush warms your cheeks, thoughts instantly fading from your mind, replaced by the view before you
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to readjust the tightness of the already close-fitting riding trousers he wears. “Continue,” he manages thickly, “I’m listening.”
But you’re done with the conversation already. Done the second you looked at him, the outline of his arousal for you so clear and prominent
“I’m glad you are, but I’m certainly not,” you murmur, already walking over to him, putting yourself into his lap, straddling his hips as you pull your skirts up, feeling that delicious press between your legs
“I think I’m in need of a distraction anyway.”
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there’s an outdoor shower at the chateau—a tiny thing, really, just three planks of wood and the wall of john b’s home where the showerhead is attached. the water pressure depends on the day, depends on if anyone is using the bathroom inside the house or if jj accidentally left the faucet in the kitchen running.
there’s a rusty hook where clothes can be hung if the other shower was occupied, and the towel is always thrown just over the door opposite the water so it doesn’t get too wet.
you are well accustomed to this shower. you know exactly how to hang your towel to avoid the waterfall, where to avoid stepping because the rocks get slippery. sometimes the door opens up by itself, the result of old hinges and worn out screws, but you don’t pay it much mind, because after all, it’s nothing the boys haven’t seen before.
you’d consider yourself still decent, even showering like this. your bikini was filled with grains of sand, the result of being pushed around at the beach by jj and pope for the last hour. there’s a huge sandy hand print on your shoulder from where john b had helped you up, and you let the water wash it away with a smile.
you’re sandy everywhere, but that’ll have to wait until you’re back home. you wash your hair with the cheap shampoo sitting on the ground, the three-in-one you and kiara beg the boys to dispose of.
but at the very least you feel clean, rinsing the suds from your scalp and watching them run down your body and then onto the ground, draining into the grass. you’ve been spending too much time with kie—your first thought is that you hope this stuff doesn’t leach chemicals into the soil.
lost in the warmth since you’re the first to shower and the boys haven’t used up all the hot water yet, you close your eyes and forget the door’s opened by itself. you think it doesn’t matter since everyone’s at pope’s already. you were the only one who insisted on showering before joining them, promising you’ll bike over after ten minutes, though pope reassures the others it’ll be at least twenty-five.
there’s a voice coming from the backyard, rafe thinks, stalking further and further into the shoddy little house. the land wasn’t terrible, right on the lake, but the place was anything but well kept, a mess of missing shingles and splintered wood. he stops thinking about the house as soon as the voice becomes clearer, the further he steps into the back. he was here to convey a message to the pogues that call this place home, but no one that he wanted to find was around.
stepping in mud and grass, he walks to the backyard, a pretty voice filling the humid air. you’re singing something he doesn’t know, something that sounds vaguely familiar. maybe something ward used to play on the record player in the study, back when rafe used to spend time with him.
you, whoever you are, sound nice, even muffled by the sound of the running water. when rafe gets closer, he sees there’s no door blocking his view to a pretty girl washing her hair and singing softly. you’re in nothing but a yellow bikini, showing him all too much but at the same time not entirely enough.
he’s not sure how long he stood there. it must have been some time, because when you twist the shower knob and stop the water, turning to grab your towel, you see rafe and curse loudly, shoulders raising in fear by themselves.
you stand like that for a moment before realizing rafe is staring, probably because you’re in a tiny, wet bikini. you yank the towel and cover yourself.
“can i help you?” you demand, the sweet voice all gone. even if you didn’t recognize rafe, the clothes he wore and his expensive shoes covered in the dirt of the chateau’s grounds were a dead giveaway.
“yeah. m’lookin’ for the idiots that live here. seen them around?”
“no. goodbye.” he laughs at that. eyes raking over your body again. you’re covered now but still feel exposed, like he can see through your towel.
“funny, kid. when you see ‘em give them a message from me, will ya?”
“leave a voicemail like a normal person. i’m not your messen-”
“yeah, yeah. tell your boys we know what they did.” you stare back at him, confused by what he means but angry at the intrusion and the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you.
“sure. whatever that means. are you all done being a stalker now?” he laughs again.
“we’ll see. bye kid.”
#this has been in my drafts for ages but i only had the first line#idt anyone else is gonna like this but i do#<3#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#singing pogue reader#i guess....
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A Poorly Planned Escape
Misa x Reader, ~2k words, part 1/?
hey so I wrote this and I thought why not post it. I've started writing the next part already, so I'll probably post that as well if there is any interest. It didn't start out as being about Misa, but I got partway in and thought "yeah that's definitely about Misa" so here we are. Don't be confused by María, it should become clear that it's misa, not one of the other marías lol. Also my spanish is limited to two semesters several years ago in college, so all dialogue is written in english, but in my mind they are speaking spanish.
I've written things before, but not like this and not posted, so apologies in advance for things like messed up formatting. Also not proofread, but such is life. Enjoy!
no smut, but some general descriptions of people hooking up
You weren’t sure what you had been expecting as shouldered your way into your flat, hands full of leftovers your mum had insisted you take back for Alma, your girlfriend. Probably her form on the sofa, tv bright with one of the Spanish reality shows she preferred. Maybe even a dark, quiet room if Alma was out with her friends, something she seemed increasingly inclined toward the last few months. You certainly weren’t prepared for the sight that did greet you.
Your girlfriend was draped rather artfully across the plush sofa, head thrown back and eyes shut, a position not unfamiliar to you. In fact, the only thing really unfamiliar at all was the stranger who knelt between your girlfriend’s legs. Her smooth, broad shoulders and bowed head obscured the rather intimate details of what was taking place, but between the sounds and the way Alma’s fingers were gripping the stranger’s dark hair, it wasn’t hard to guess. You were frozen in the doorway, watching the ripple of muscle under tan skin as she slid her palms up to your girlfriend’s hips to hold her down, pressing her firmly into the couch. You wondered for a moment what hands that big might feel like against your own hips, shaking your head suddenly when you realized the absurdity of that thought.
After a deep breath to compose yourself, you kicked your heel firmly back into the door, slamming it shut behind you. Both bodies stilled, but it only took a moment before Alma’s head snapped up and her eyes met yours. You turned away, willing your shoulders to stay down and relaxed as you walked to the refrigerator.
“Sorry to interrupt, but my parents say hello. I’m putting the leftovers from dinner in the fridge, please have some. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.” You said, back still turned and only a slight waver in your voice. “I think I’ll head out and stay with one of the girls tonight, just need to grab a few things.” Alma didn’t reply.
As you walked into your shared bedroom, you heard a soft voice ask “your roommate?” Alma didn’t reply to that either.
--
When you emerged a few minutes later, overnight bag over your shoulder, only Alma sat on the sofa. She had clothes on now, shorts she must have been wearing before and a hoodie of yours that had been across the back of one of the sitting room chairs. You resisted the urge to snap at her to take it off.
“I just don’t understand, Alma. I know things haven’t been great, but why didn’t you just say something?” Even as you spoke you knew it didn’t really matter. There was no going back from this and you didn’t need your feelings hurt by whatever reasons she gave. You sighed and turned toward the door again. “I’ll call you to sort things out once I’ve calmed down.”
You thought she wouldn’t say anything at all, but as your hand grasped the doorknob, she finally spoke, “Are we done?”
“Yeah, Alma, I think we are.” You pulled the door open and left.
--
When the elevator doors opened at the ground floor of your building, you were surprised to see a familiar figure. She was fully clothed now, but the broad shoulders and thick, wavy hair were unmistakable to you. She half turned as you stepped into the lobby, dark eyes meeting yours. You expected her to look away, but instead she held the eye contact. She was striking--beautiful, but intimidating, all heavy eyebrows and unreadable expression.
“I’m sorry.” She said, still not looking away.
“Did you know she had a girlfriend?” You asked.
“No.” She shook her head.
“Then it wasn’t your fault.” You gave a half smile. “I thought you might be trying to escape my wrath, but it looks like you didn’t get far.”
At this she finally looked away, shrugging a little uncomfortably as she answered, “My phone is dead, and I-- well, I’m still figuring the escape out.”
“I can give you a ride home.” You spoke without thinking, regretting it when the silence stretched afterwards. “I’m leaving anyway, and I promise I won’t try to kill you or anything.”
“If you’re sure, I’d really appreciate it.” She said, a smile breaking across her face, “I wouldn’t blame you if you tried to kill me just a little bit, though.”
For a moment, all you could do was stare at her face. The bright smile had turned it from intimidating to adorable, and you were having a difficult time collecting your thoughts with those particularly lethal dimples shining at you. You flashed her a soft smile of your own and gestured to the door.
“Come on then, follow me.”
--
Once the two of you were seated in your car, you plugged her address into the nav, then scrounged up a charging cable and passed that over to her. Fortunately, her home was near the friend you intended to crash with, so your extra passenger hardly took you out of your way at all. You sent a quick text to your friend letting her know you’d be at her place in around 30 minutes, then put your phone down and backed out of your spot.
The first couple minutes on the road were quiet, just the muffled sound from the city around you mixed with the playlist you’d started and turned down to play quietly. As you sat at a traffic light, you turned for a moment to the woman sitting next to you.
“You know, we haven’t actually introduced ourselves.” You told her your name, then held out your hand for a handshake with mock seriousness. She grasped your hand firmly, mirroring your serious expression and replied,
“I’m María, it’s nice to meet you.”
That opened up the conversation, and the two of you began to chat. It was mostly surface level, but you found yourself actually enjoying it. María was witty and interesting, but most of all she seemed to truly want to listen what you had to say. She was impressed when you described how you had moved to Madrid from London for work right out of uni, explaining that she had at times considered leaving Spain for her own job, but had worried about unfamiliar places and languages. She understood what it was like to live a plane ride away from family, with her parents back in Tenerife. You were happy to ply her with questions about her beautiful homeland, mentally planning a trip there after hearing about the gorgeous beaches and scenery. It wasn’t until María asked her next question that you realized there was a new predicament you were in.
“I think you mentioned dinner with your parents, are they visiting?”
“Yeah,” you replied, “they are here for a week, along with my sister and her husband and their daughter. They aren’t really here to visit me, but it’s a nice bonus. I’m actually taking my niece to-- oh fuck!” You cut yourself off with the exclamation.
“What, what’s wrong?” María asked, startled.
“I was supposed to take my niece to a football game this weekend, she is a huge Real Madrid fan, loves women’s footy. Except I’m now realizing this is a mess, because the only way I could get tickets was a favor from Alma. Her company has a box, and I begged her to get two seats for Luisa and I, but now even if she still lets me use them there’s no way we can sit with all my ex-girlfriend’s coworkers. If I know her at all then at least half of them will have heard all about this by lunch tomorrow, and I don’t think I want my eleven year old niece there to find out how much of the truth she tells.” Your eyes suddenly stung as you tried to take a deep breath. “Sorry, I just realized I’m not sure I can take getting cheated on and being a shitty aunt all in one week.”
“Please don’t apologise for being upset, clearly the only person in this car who should be allowed to say sorry is me.” You managed a sniffle and a small smile at her words. “Also, I definitely can’t fix the first part,” this caught you off guard and you couldn’t stifle a surprised snort, “but I think I can help with the second.”
“María it’s okay, you don’t owe me anything. Plus the game has been sold out for weeks, it’s El Clásico, I already tried to buy tickets before I asked Alma in the first place.” You could feel your voice wavering and fought against the tears. María was quiet in the seat next to you as you pulled up outside her building. You shifted into first and turned the car off, then felt a hesitant hand cover yours on the gearstick.
“I can get you two tickets if you want them, I promise. I work for Real Madrid and there are tickets set aside for us.” She sounded almost desperate.
“I can’t ask you to do that--” you started, then she cut you off.
“I wouldn’t have used them anyway! Please let me do this.” You looked at the big hand on yours, then up at her face. “Not for you, but for an eleven year old girl who loves women’s football.” She had you there and she knew it.
“Yes. Yes, fine!” You smiled at her. “Thank you, María.”
She smiled back at you, then lifted her hand from yours, reaching it up to thumb away the rebellious tear that had made it onto your cheek. You acted on instinct and reached both of your arms out to her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward hug across the car’s center console. She didn’t seem to mind the uncoordinated attempt, accepting it with grace and tucking your head neatly into her shoulder. As she held you there, the most ridiculous thought of the night crossed your mind. Why had Alma cheated on you with María? She wasn’t Alma’s type at all, she was yours.
The two of you separated after another moment, and María pulled her phone out.
“Can you text yourself so I have your number? That way I can let you know where to go to pick the tickets up.” You nodded and did as instructed, sending yourself her name, then replying with yours so neither of you would have any trouble identifying the new number.
“Please let me know if I owe you anything. I know you said the tickets are set aside, but if they cost you then please let me at least cover that.” You got the sense that she would be the type to not mention that if it were the case.
“They normally don’t charge me anything, but I promise I’ll tell you if they do.” She met your eyes and winked-- whether that meant she was trying to reassure you or just that she wasn’t going to make you pay either way you weren’t sure, but you let it go. “One more thing, does Luisa have a favorite player? No guarantees, but I might be able to leave something for her with the ticket agent. The players are usually happy to do something like that.”
“Only if it’s no trouble.” You leveled her with a glare. “She’s always on about Hayley Raso and Linda Caicedo, so either of them’s probably a safe bet.”
“Only if it’s no trouble.” She agreed, with what she must have thought was an innocent expression on her face.
“Please get out of my car before you offer to do anything else for Luisa that will leave me severely in your debt.” You pointed out toward her flat then made a shooing motion with your hand. She huffed out a chuckle then opened her door.
“Thank you for the ride… and for not killing me when you had the chance. Look out for my text!”
With that she hopped out and shut the car door. You watched as she walked up to the building entrance, turned and waved, then stepped inside. After a deep breath, you turned your car back on and drove the last few minutes to your friend’s house.
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Silver Lining 6
Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes
Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You yawn as you look into the barren depths of your cup. Bucky sits up and rolls his shoulders, a dimple in his cheek. He looks you over as you furrow your brow curiously; do you have something on your face?
“W-what?” You bat your lashes.
“Should've got ya something with caffeine,” he says.
“Oh… little l-late,” you look over as the baristas wipe the counters. It's almost closing time, “s-s-speaking of-f.”
“Mm, yeah, I suppose,” he slides over his stapled papers, “you got all my notes. When I get back, we'll figure out the final draft and get the mic going.”
“S-sounds g-good,” you stutter and swallow another yawn. When you're tired, you can barely speak straight. “I sh-should head ou-out.”
You chomp down as yet another yawn rolls up your throat and your eyes nearly roll back. You smile as best you can and stand, grabbing your bag to pack up. He gets to his feet and pulls on his jacket.
“I'll give you a ride,” he offers.
“No, n-no, it's o-okay–”
“You shouldn't walk,” he looks outside as the night contrasts the white ground, snow still piling high.
“J-just as bad d-driving,” you comment.
“I got snow tires,” he insists, “really, I'd… I'd feel bad if you walked.”
“Y-you would?” You snort.
He gives you a look. That look. The one that warns caution. You put your hands up defenselessly.
“Fine, I-I'll let y-you drive m-me,” you surrender. “B-b-but you should know, I'm n-not that h-ho-hopeless.”
“Never said you were,” he pulls a beanie over his gray hair, “not a big fan of the cold myself.”
“Yeah, i-it probably m-makes your b-bones hurt,” you slide your arms into your coat.
“You making fun of me?” He scowls.
“No-o, I just… my st-stepdad always says–”
“It's fine. It does,” he sniffs, “cracked a few ribs playing ball in college. They never heal right.”
“Ouch,” you hook your bag on your shoulder.
“You got a curfew?” He checks his watch.
“Wh-what? I-I'm thirty,” you exclaim.
He chuckles. That takes you off guard.
“I know, I'm not too old to make jokes too.”
“Y-yeah, I w-wasn't–”
“Relax, it's fine. Better go before we're snowed in,” he leads you to the door, thanking the staff as he opens the door and waits for you to go ahead of him.
Well, there might blizzard brewing outside but he seems to be thawing.
🩶
You get home to a quiet house. Your sister, Kira, hushes you as you come upstairs, her children already asleep. She has a clay mask on as she hogs the bathroom going through her nightly routine. You dip into your room and hide.
You didn't expect them to wait up for you. That's ridiculous, but no one even asked about the job. It must be the excitement of a full house. Your sister does everything right so of course they'd want to focus on her. Maybe tomorrow.
You get in your pajamas and settle into bed. It’s hard to still your mind and the jittery energy still swirling inside of you. You put on a lofi video and let it play as you close your eyes. You have the weekend to make the last tweaks and you’ll finally be onto the next step. You hope.
You spend Saturday penned up in your room, hunched over at your desk as you go through the notes from your meeting. As the clock ticks close to noon, your phone vibes, drawing you back to the land of the living. You rub your eye sockets and groan. You need to eat.
You check your phone; you have a message. You flick your thumb up and blink at the text. It’s Bucky. You still haven’t saved him as a contact, recognising him only by the last four digits of his number.
‘Quick pitstop. Forgot to ask last night. How can I pay you?’
You chew your thumb as you think. That’s the awkward part. Even though you’re doing work, it’s still a bit strange. It isn’t like a company where the money just pops into your account on schedule.
‘I can give details when you get back. Hate to add stress to your trip.’
You hit send and sit back, stretching your neck. Your phone buzzes again. You don’t expect a quick response.
‘Asking now. Will be heading into no reception. Wanted to pay you for scriptwork. Will pay rest after recording.’
Your stomach knots. You’re trying to be polite but you can’t deny that you could use the money. With Christmas tiptoeing closer, you should really get on gift shopping.
‘Right. I have Venmo.’
You tap the arrow and wait. He doesn’t answer right away. When he answers, it’s just the thinking emoji, followed by another text.
‘I’ll figure that out. Do I need your email or something?’
You sweep away the chat and tap into your app. You copy your payment code and paste it into the chat. You follow it with a quick message; ‘should prompt you how. If you need to wait, it’s fine.’
Thumbs up. That’s it. You accept that. To be fair, from him, it’s an improvement. It seems you’ve found a tenuous truce with him. You’ll take that if it means you’re not scooping into your savings.
You can hear your sister and mother gabbing as you leave your room. You stop at the top of the stairs and brace yourself. Things didn’t exactly leave off on the best terms.
You descend and sneak past the dining room where they sit and sort through your mother’s vast Christmas card collection. You’re careful not to draw any attention as you enter the kitchen and quietly pop a pod into the keurig and set your mug on the tray.
Your coffee brews with a grind, giving away your endeavour. You don’t look back as you hear the scuff of slippers. Kira enters and clinks her empty cup down on the counter not far from you. She couldn’t wait until you finished.
“So, how was your job? A bit late to be rushing off to work.”
“It’s f=freelance,” you say. “It’s g-g-good.”
She scoffs, “ah, well, that’s great. You can get out of mom and dad’s hair soon enough.”
“Y-yeah,” you agree, cheeks scalding with embarrassment, “w-working on i-it.”
“Oh, I’m sure. You know, Catherine called me the other day…” she mentions your previous coworker, her friend from college, “guess she got a promotion.”
You nod. She’s goading you. What does she expect you to say? Does she expect you to apologise for leaving a bad situation?
You take your cup of coffee and sidle away. She chuckles, the way she always does when you don’t feed into her drama. Her mug hits the tray heavily.
“I’ll tell her you say hi,” she preens.
You keep going without an answer. You yawn as you come upstairs and hear whispers ahead of you. You rush forward, sloshing hot coffee onto your hand as you approach your open door. Why didn’t you close it?”
As you get to the threshold, there’s a sudden clatter and you gasp. Jamie sits in your desk chair as your laptop lays face down on the floor. Casey is underneath the desk tugging on the power cord. You shriek and sloppily slam the mug onto the shelf mounted just beside the door.
“W-w-w-what are you d-d-doing?” Your emotion overwhelms your voice, “how–”
You hear footsteps rush up the stairs and Kira hisses as she marches down the hall, “shhh, my kids are sleeping.”
“No, th-they aren’t,” you hurry forward and take Jamie out of the chair. As you shoo Casey, your sister enters your room.
“Don’t hurt him,” she demands.
“Wh-what? I w-wouldnt–”
“Don’t touch my kids,” she comes forward and scoops up Casey then takes Jamie’s hand, “they’re just curious.”
You bend down to pick up your laptop. You turn it over and find lines streaked up in a spectrum. Smashed. Broken. Demolished.
“They b-broke it,” you whimper.
“Ugh, whatever,” she hauls her kids back to the door, “it’s just a computer.”
You stare at the ruins and shake your head at her back. What are you going to do?
#silver lining#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#drabble#au#silverfox au#marvel#mcu#winter soldier#avengers#series
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hiiii! :3 would you mind write a quick fic with ted or aaron where the reader is a cart girl at a golf course. they meet while the men are golfing and flirting ensues? just smut or fluff or whatever! anything works <3
those tg golf pics came to mind and i can’t help but think of all of the dbf and bfd!hotch fics so…. aaron hotchner it is!!!
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader
warnings: fliiiirting, everyone thinks reader is mad hot & hotch is all googly-eyed
Aaron whistled, looking over the lay of the land for their next hole.
“You’re close, but I’ve still got the lead,” he noted in good humor. “Good luck on this hole.”
Rossi scoffed. “You just wait for next week.”
Aaron laughed, watching as Rossi’s friend Mark teed up. He heard the beverage cart rolling up behind them as Mark stood, ready to swing. All three turned around, the current swing forgotten.
“I could use a drink,” Rossi noted, starting to walk closer as the cart drew nearer. Then, he paused. “I wouldn’t mind a fourth wife, either, now that I think about it.”
Mark walked near them. “I can’t say I disagree.”
Aaron laughed, though he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t seeing the same thing they were. The beverage cart girl was wildly attractive. He swallowed as she pulled up next to them, a dazzling smile on her face.
“You boys looking for a drink?” she asked, her voice like honey.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rossi replied, walking up to introduce himself as she climbed out of the cart. “I’m Dave.”
Aaron’s eyes were glued to her. Her tennis skirt showed off a pair of legs that had him very distracted. Not to mention the tight top that accompanied it. He stared her down, hardly realizing she’d already helped the other two men and was waiting on his drink of choice. There was a glimmer in her eye and a knowing smirk on her face when he finally noticed she was looking right back at him.
“Uh, just a water for me, thanks,” he said curtly, slowly walking closer.
She smiled again, grabbing a water bottle from the cooler and handing it over. Rossi paid up for all three drinks, insisting that they’d just have to make it up next time. Both Aaron and Mark knew they’d never really have to repay him for it.
Mark started walking towards his tee again with one last lingering look at her. Rossi debated staying, but after noting how she looked at his colleague he decided Mark’s swing would be more appropriate to linger around.
“Um, I— My name’s Aaron,” he said, reaching out a hand.
She took it, and he realized the handshake was a mistake on his part. Her hand was soft and pretty-looking in his own, and he was sure all of his feelings were apparent on his face. She’d already clocked him once.
She introduced herself, giving him yet another smile that had him feeling weak in the knees.
“You must be new,” he stated. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“And you’re so sure you’d remember the beverage girl, huh?” she joked.
He smiled softly. “I’d definitely remember you.”
Now, he reveled in the fact that there was a bit of a nervous smile on her face rather than his. She nodded slowly, looking at him through her lashes.
“Fair enough, Aaron,” she said in reply at last. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
‘So many things’ he thought to himself.
He looked towards the other two men who waited on him. He then reached into his coat pocket.
“I don’t think so, but,” he started, pulling out his card. “If you ever need me to solve a crime or… To buy you dinner—”
“Solve a crime,” she asked with a laugh, taking the card. She looked at it, then back at him with a new, mischievous look on her face. “I see. I might just call you up sometime, G-man.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said with a wink, gaining confidence at last.
She smiled once more, then got back into her cart and drove off towards the next group of golfers.
He strode towards Rossi, a new pep in his step.
“And I thought I was the flirt,” Rossi said with a smile.
“Maybe I’m just spending too much time around you,” Aaron replied.
His smile was stuck in place as he hit his ball, all the way through until that night when an unknown number came calling. After that, it lasted all week long.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner fanfiction
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The Boy Is Mine [Kittie’s edition]
For @carolmunson’s absolutely wonderful The Boy Is Mine community-boosting writing exercise. Thank you Carol for creating this marvellous event 💛 Everyone go look at the guidelines and JOIN IN, no tag is necessary 😃
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
WC: ~1.6k
Rating: M, MDNI
C/W: Fluffy Fluffster McFluffington, friends to lovers, a few swears, descriptions of erotic drawings and literature, allusions to arousal, drug use (smoking the devil’s lettuce), kinda forced proximity?, Eddie is self-deprecating, Hellfire Club being stellar wingmen.
Prompts included: 3 prop prompts, 4 dialogue prompts.
—————————————————————
“What do you mean, we should all cancel?”
Gareth is looking at Dustin aghast, the other members of the Hellfire Club regarding the curly-haired boy with confusion.
“I mean exactly that. We should all cancel. Make it so it’s just the two of them.”
He continues, addressing the whole group.
“Aren’t you all sick of the awkwardness, the pining, the longing looks? I know I am. They’re never going to configure their own romantic night in, so I say we do it for them.”
Ever the insightful one, Erica continues Dustin’s campaign.
“He’s right, Gare, and you know it. These two doofuses are never gonna do it by themselves. So I say, save all of us the pain, and sacrifice one night of socialising for the greater good.”
“The greater good…”, the group grumbles in unison, most nodding sullenly at the loss of a night round at Eddie’s, but all agreed in their collective aim.
—————————————————————
You haven’t known Eddie as a friend for all that long. You only joined Hellfire a few weeks ago, and have smoked with him and the stoners at the bench in the woods a couple of times, but that’s about it. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been admiring him from afar for considerably longer, although you’d never tell him that.
Tonight is gonna be the first time you’ve spent time with him. Just him. At his trailer. Alone. Somehow all the other members of Hellfire ended up dropping out or having other plans, but they all insisted that you should definitely still go. You know you have no reason to be nervous, but there’s something that happens every time he looks at you that just makes you feel, well, fluttery.
You take a deep, steadying breath and knock on the screen door of the trailer, and from inside you hear a muffled, “Come in!”
Eddie’s sitting on the floor on a small throw pillow, his back against the couch, scribbling in a small, green notebook. It’s evident from the spoon sticking out of the container in front of him that he’s been eating vanilla frosting straight out of the tub. The weed must be getting to him already.
He looks up as you enter, and hurriedly closes the book as he goes to stand. He glances at his watch and greets you with a cheerful, if a little flustered, “Hey, sweetheart! Are you early? I didn’t think… Oh, I must’ve got distracted and lost a little time there.”
He beams at you as you move into the modest living room, dimples popping and those adorable chocolate brown eyes flashing in your direction.
Yeah, fluttery... You wonder how on earth you’re gonna keep it together for an entire evening.
Eddie beckons you over to the couch, and as you perch on the edge he invites you to spark up a pre-rolled joint as he somewhat self-consciously grabs the almost-empty frosting container and goes to the kitchen to get drinks.
As he moves, you can’t help but take him in. His hair is clean and fluffy, and he leaves a cloud of a not unpleasant masculine body wash in his wake. His shirt, which fits far too nicely, is a deep, unfaded black, and the print on the front seems really vibrant. It seems to be burn and tear-free, the sleeves are intact and attached, and it’s tucked into his jeans, which also appear to be devoid of rips. Could they all be… new? But, why would he be wearing his best clothes just for a simple social?
Taking a long drag from the joint and needing a distraction from all the unbidden fluttering, you grab the notebook. It’s one you’ve never seen before. It's pretty, and has an embossed cover sporting some kind of fantastical creature. It’s very Eddie.
Looking inside, you see drawings of dice, weapons, ubiquitous Eddie stuff. But then you spot some full-page sketches of sexy elves, a long-haired medieval maiden, boobs, even a couple of well-proportioned penises. You’re a little surprised, but the drawings are so good and the level of detail so exquisite that you almost forget the subject matter.
There’s some writing too, short scenarios about fantastical characters fucking on mountain tops, magical sex toys, a wizard with an impossibly long tongue... You know you shouldn’t be looking, but you can’t tear your eyes away, and you feel a subtle heat developing in your belly.
You skip to what must be his most recent scribblings, wondering what he was so engrossed with as you came in, which is where you find content that looks oddly… familiar. There’s an outline of a story about a magical prince ravishing a fair damsel at a location that sounds eerily similar to the spot in the woods that a group of you discovered only the other week. A sketch of a figure wearing a crown, surrounded by intricate renditions of dragons, who has your eyes and lips, and physical proportions that look an awful lot like yours. A picture of a hand, adorned with something that looks very similar to a bracelet that you wear, with one of Eddie’s rings on a finger...
Eddie returns from the kitchen with sodas poured into old plastic cups branded with worn logos that look like they came from a ball game years ago.
“The maid took the week off so we’ve run out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?"
You didn’t hear his socked feet pad in on the soft carpet, and his voice startles you. You jump, dropping the notebook onto the coffee table with a small thud. It falls open at the picture of the dragon lady.
Eddie freezes, eyes popped wide and jaw dropped open. He gapes a few times like a fish as you quickly scramble backwards onto the sofa, talking quickly and apologising profusely.
“I’m so sorry, Eddie! I shouldn’t have been looking. I- I didn’t see much, honestly.”
He panics and rushes to put the cups down on the small coffee table, spilling a little from one of them. He quickly sits down next to you, and runs one hand nervously through his chestnut bangs while the other reaches shakily towards the notebook, but then pulls back.
He waves that hand in the air as he mumbles, “Umm, you weren’t supposed to see any of that. It’s, uh, ideas for campaigns or whatever. It’s just fantasy, y’know?”
He swallows thickly and his eyebrows pinch, and he’s studying your face to try to judge your reaction. Are you weirded out? Freaked? Upset? Angry?? Has he just ruined everything by forgetting to hide that damn book?
You see the terror in Eddie’s eyes, and you try to reassure him that you’re not offended by what you saw. In fact, quite the opposite. You blurt out,
“The drawings, they're really good. Amazing, actually. And the little stories, too. I sorta did read some, I’m really sorry. But it’s all really captivating. Kinda sensuous, almost visceral...”
You frown ever so slightly at your admission and chew your lip.
He asks, an endearingly hopeful look on his face,
“And… you like that?"
You look into his glinting, mahogany orbs and smile softly.
“Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”
You shift in your seat, and Eddie can’t help but notice how you subtly clench your thighs together.
The edges of Eddie’s lips quirk up into the tiniest smile, as he realises that not only haven’t you completely freaked out, you also, apparently, even liked at least some of what you saw.
But just as quickly, his face drops. Looking at his lap and rubbing one thumb over his rings, he says quietly,
“Yeah, but it’s just fantasy, right? In real life, no Dragon Queen would ever want a freak like me.”
Bending forwards to peek under the curtain of hair that’s dropped in front of his face, you look up into his eyes, and state, softly,
“Aw, don't be like that. That's not even true. Some people would give anything to be your Dragon Queen."
He turns his head to look at you with a questioning expression.
“Yeah?”
Quietly, you reply,
“Yeah. You never know who’s gonna think you’re kind, and smart, and pretty…”
There’s a beat of tense silence. Needing something to do, you teasingly push at his knee with your hand. You both let out nervous little chuckles; it helps to dissipate some of the tension in the room.
As Eddie’s leg springs back from your touch, you notice that sometime during all of this your thighs have started touching.
Shit.
Fuck it.
Whether it’s the weed, or the contents of the notebook, or the way your skin feels like it’s on fire where it’s in contact with Eddie, or simply the way Eddie’s responding to your flattery and compliments, you feel emboldened, and decide to admit just a little of your feelings for him.
“You know, I find you pretty, Eddie.”
He looks genuinely surprised.
“You- You do?”
“Yeah. Really pretty. Gorgeous, actually, if I’m being truthful. And funny, and clever, and astonishingly creative, and-”
He cuts you off.
"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."
“Oh yeah? And what kind of a problem would that be?”
His cheeks turn the most beautiful shade of pink as he admits, “The kind of problem that I’m gonna need to cover with a damn cushion, that’s what!”
You cackle, which makes Eddie laugh, a beautiful, booming sound emanating from deep in his chest.
You both start to giggle, all remaining discomfort dissipated. You theatrically bend and retrieve the pillow Eddie was sitting on earlier, handing it to him with a flourish as you dip your chin and peer up at him through your lashes.
“Might it also be the kind of problem that could one day be resolved by taking a certain Dragon Queen to a certain clearing deep in the woods, and doing certain things to her, perhaps with a certain magic tongue?”
Eddie inhales sharply through his nose, eyes twinkling, and suddenly looks dreadfully serious. His gaze locks with yours as he starts to lean into your space, and his gaze starts to flick between your eyes and lips.
He raises one hand to gently skim his fingertips down one side of your jaw and smiles a little as he says, in a low and husky voice that you can barely hear,
“Oh, my Queen, I think that would absolutely be the most perfect solution...”
—————————————————————
Thanks so much for reading!
A/N: If you haven’t seen Hot Fuzz, go do it. A reference near the beginning will make a whole lot more sense 😉 And if anyone spots the Shining reference somewhere in here, you win an invisible prize that you’ll never see, but it’s great, I promise.
Go go go check out the masterlist of other fabulous contributions for this challenge. Support your community!
Comments and reblogs give writers life, please share the love 💕💕💕
Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician, and @sunshinepeachx bc we’ve bonded over Eddie fluff 😆
#eddie munson fluff#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#stranger things fanfic#writing exercise#eddie munson#Eddie munson x you#Eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#nervous!eddie munson#prompt challenge#prop challenge#self deprecating!eddie munson
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Can You Feel This Magic In The Air? (It Must Have Been The Way You Kissed Me) | Lea Schüller
warnings: none :)
word count: 1422
summary: lea makes your today and every day a fairytale
a/n: yeah i know my writing needs work, it’s not been good recently but i wanted to post something because it’s been 100 days since i watched lea score in person
It’s exactly six when there is a knock on your door.
You open it immediately, not even bothering to attempt to pretend like you haven’t been nervously waiting for it.
Lea is standing on the other side, a blush already painting her cheeks as she holds out a small bouquet of flowers.
You’re kind of taken aback.
Firstly, she is here at six, precisely the time she promised she would arrive at. None of the people you have previously dated have been that punctual.
Secondly, the flowers. The flowers have your heart beating faster as you gently reach out to take them.
When your hand accidentally brushes against Lea’s, there is a tiny zap of electricity. Not the bad kind but the good kind. The sort that lets you know that your body instinctively reacts to her touch.
The blonde woman must feel it too because she straightens up with a smile.
‘Danke. They’re gorgeous but really, you didn’t have to.’ You murmur gratefully.
‘Well I wanted to. You deserve to be treated like a princess.’ She answers.
You give her the shyest of smiles in response.
Thirdly, as you keep looking at her, appreciating her beauty, Lea takes you by the hand.
The gesture is affectionate and warm, your girlfriend taking a step nearer to you.
‘Can I kiss you?’ The German striker whispers.
It’s the way she asks that has you weak in your knees.
She is hopeful and gentle, her thumbs running back and forth over your palm as she waits for your answer.
You don’t make Lea wait because you are never going to refuse her. Especially if she keeps looking at you like you hung the moon and all the stars in the sky.
So you nod and your girlfriend smiles the loveliest of smiles, right before she presses her lips onto yours.
******
‘You’re so pretty.’ Lea compliments sincerely.
Her crystal blue eyes give you a once over and her hands run briefly down your body before they stop at your waist.
‘I look like a mess.’ You self deprecatingly giggle but Lea isn’t having any of it.
The blonde shakes her head vehemently.
‘You. Are. So. Incredibly. Pretty.’ She insists, punctuating each and every word with a kiss.
Your girlfriend is wearing a dark gray T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. The clothes she has on accentuates her slim form. She looks stunning and the slightly crumpled dress that you had hurriedly pulled on after your post training session shower pales in comparison.
Lea gives you another kiss and then leans back to tuck a loose curl behind your ear.
Time slows down whenever you’re around the Bayern striker and you are intent on cherishing every moment.
You want to be able to memorise the exact way her eyes shine when you slip your hand into hers.
‘Thank you my love. That’s really kind of you.’
Your girlfriend hums, ‘It’s my pleasure…especially if you keep calling me that.’
******
It’s a light, hurried kiss that Lea presses onto your lips just before she runs off, back towards her seperate training group.
‘See you in a bit meine liebe!’ She rushes out, as she does so.
Forwards have been assigned different drills today so you, as a midfielder, have been forced to leave your girlfriend.
It’s only for a short time but you hate it.
Although the gesture of affection that the blonde has gifted you with has your heart fluttering in adoration as you watch her go.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the grass is green and you’re falling even more in love with Lea.
******
The blonde pulls you against her, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against yours.
It’s only for a short moment because she draws back soon after, placing her hand on your cheek tenderly as she kisses you.
Your heart rate speeds up as your world narrows to just a single point. One Lea Schüller.
When the shared kiss ends out of necessity for air, you breathe heavily, a red flush spreading over your cheeks.
The German woman’s clear blue eyes are wide and she is gazing at you with such contentment and happiness that you wonder if she can feel the magic in the air.
It’s like you are floating because such is the lightness that Lea has instilled in your heart and it must have been from the way she kissed you.
******
Your girlfriend’s smile is beautiful. It is like the sun breaking through the clouds after it rains. Like sunshine reflecting off the ocean on a sunny day.
What you are trying to say is that Lea’s smile lights up your life.
It is doing that now as you turn over to face her.
The blonde has the duvet pulled up right under her chin, a sleepy grin tugging on her lips.
‘Morning.’ You whisper, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her forehead.
Lea makes a pleased noise, her smile widening as she does so. She looks at ease and that gives you peace.
All you ever want is for her to be happy. You being the reason for her joy is a privilege that you will never take for granted.
Your girlfriend’s got a smile that takes you to another planet. It is out of this world really. The German woman might as well be an angel with how perfect she is.
Every move she makes and everything she says is right.
Over the course of your relationship, she has come to know you as surely as she knows herself so when she presses herself as close as she can to you, before giving you your own good morning kiss, the Bayern Munich forward cherishes the fact that you love her just as much as she loves you.
Lea is never going to doubt the depth of your love for her. Not when you take so much care in showing her, in each and every moment that she is by your side. The blonde considers herself the luckiest woman in the world to call that spot hers.
She hopes that you feel the same way about her. Her love for you is a love she never thought possible. It had been beyond the blonde’s wildest dreams to love someone as much as she loves you.
******
You fall in love with the sight of Lea sitting at your kitchen island, in her pajamas, with her usual morning cup of coffee.
The domesticity of it has found a special place in your heart.
You’re compelled to stand in the doorway, just taking a moment to appreciate it.
Here you are, with the woman who you have given your heart to. She’s simply sitting there and enjoying her morning coffee but it is everything to you.
Lea makes your heart rate speed up with her mere presence. It’s beating fast and hard in your chest and you wonder if she can hear it. It seems overly loud to you.
‘What are you doing over there?’
The sound of her voice snaps you out of it.
‘Just trying to remember the moment.’ You admit, with a blush already forming on your cheeks.
Your girlfriend’s amusement only grows and she leaves her half drunk coffee to walk over to your side.
‘You’re so precious.’ The German woman murmurs, wrapping her arms around your waist and placing tiny, delicate butterfly kisses all over your face.
Laughter fills your apartment, both yours and your girlfriend’s and as she holds you flush against her taller frame, you happen to catch a glimpse of the reflection in a mirror you have hung up on a nearby wall.
Lea’s eyes are fully focused on you and her hands are resting firmly on your waist. The blonde’s hair is loose around her shoulders and she is dressed in one of your old jerseys.
You fall in love with her all over again. It’s like you are going back to the moment she picked you up for your first date together.
You fell in love with her standing there then and you fall in love with her standing there now.
You are probably going to keep doing it over and over again for as long as you’re allowed to call yourself hers.
It’s your biggest and most sincere dream that you are going to be able to do that for the rest of your life because today is a fairytale.
Being Lea’s makes every single day a fairytale and you hope it never ends.
German Translations:
danke - thank you
meine liebe - my love
#lea schüller#lea schuller#lea schuller x reader#lea schuller imagine#lea schüller imagine#lea schüller x reader#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso#dfb frauen x reader#dfb frauen imagine#gerwnt imagine#gerwnt x reader#fcb frauen x reader#fcb frauen imagine
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april fool’s day - CL16
→ charles leclerc confessing his love for his best friend, y/n just to fuck it up by telling her it’s just an april fool’s prank.
y/n questions her life choices every time someone compliments her cooking. she should’ve gone to a culinary school and opened a restaurant. everyone constantly asked her to cook for them, just like her best friend, charles who begged her to cook for him tonight.
"mamma mia. you don’t know how much i missed your cooking. perhaps i should hire you as my personal chef." charles looks at the food that y/n brought him to the table.
"yeah sure, sure. eat up cha." y/n sat in front of charles and was ready to eat too.
the two started eating their meal and having a conversation, catching up and charles making terrible jokes in between. of course, you didn’t forget to roast charles’ terrible jokes.
"can’t believe it’s april already." charles puts down his fork and knife.
"i know right." y/n agreed as she grabbed her and charles’ empty plates.
"let me do the dishes; you already cooked." charles snatched the plates from y/n.
"alright. if you insisted." y/n chuckled playfully and followed charles to the kitchen.
charles brought the plates to the sink, and y/n stood behind him, leaning on the kitchen island.
"i wish you were at the race last week," charles stated.
"i wish i could be there too, cha, but" y/n was about to reply, but charles interrupted her.
"no. hear me out. i’m so used to having you around me all the time, and when you’re not around, it doesn’t feel right. it’s more enjoyable when you’re there, yes. you make me feel at ease; you make me feel—i don’t know y/n. it’s just that it doesn’t feel right." charles still continuing washing the dishes.
"what are you saying, charles?" y/n looks at her best friend, puzzled.
"what i’m trying to say is…i like you—no i love you y/n…more than friends." charles said, nervously.
y/n swore that her heart had dropped to her knees and her eyes had widened out of shock. she froze upon hearing charles’ sudden confession. she couldn’t seem to speak up or move. charles put down the clean plates and turned around to look at y/n to see her reaction.
"…got you! happy april fool’s day." charles laughed.
"haha…that’s funny…" y/n faked her laugh.
"…yeah…let’s watch the movie we talked about earlier, shall we?" charles clears his throat.
"i might have to skip out on that one; I don’t feel well suddenly. maybe next time?" y/n pretends to be dizzy.
"what? are you okay?" charles walked closer to her, looking worried.
"just feeling a little light-headed; i haven’t had a good night's sleep for the past few days." y/n stepped back and left the kitchen.
"you can rest in my room like you always do." charles followed her to the living room.
"no, i want my bed for tonight. thanks for the offer though." y/n grabbed her purse and keys.
"hey, slow down. do you want me to drive you home?" charles walked faster as y/n is basically speed-walking.
"no. you don’t have to, and i want to be alone tonight. you go get some rest too; you must be tired." y/n smiled weakly before leaving charles at the door.
y/n went straight home. she felt like crying tonight—charles’ april fool’s prank really got to her. she thought he felt the same way. y/n always liked him—loved him more than friends since she doesn’t even remember when.
arthur came home to see his brother sitting alone in the living room; he already sensed that something’s wrong.
"where’s y/n? I thought you guys were going to watch a movie while making out or something after you finally confessed." arthur chuckled, sitting next to his brother.
"she went home. suddenly not feeling well." charles replied, his eyes glued to the TV screen.
"…you fucked it up, didn’t you?" arthur looks at his brother.
"i don’t know... i confessed and she froze, so i just told her that it was an april fool’s prank." charles looks back at arthur.
"oh my god! you’re so dumb sometimes!" arthur said with frustration.
"what?!"
"of course she’s froze! how’d you feel when your crush confessed that she felt the same way? you must be shocked, surprised, and happy at the same time that you don’t know what to do!" arthur explained.
"y/n feels the same way..."
"she does! i don’t know why the two of you can’t see that you guys are in love with each other when it’s obvious to everyone!"
"you’re pranking me." charles shook his head, not believing his brother.
"i’m not! why’d you think she went home earlier? and no, it’s not because she’s not feeling well. that’s a lie. it’s because she’s hurt! you saying it’s a prank is like pushing her off a cliff. it hurt her." arthur is basically screaming at his older brother now.
"i really fucked up, didn’t i?"
"yes you did, but you can still fix it. go to her place now." arthur points at the door.
without hesitation, charles took his car keys and drove straight to y/n’s place. charles stood in front of y/n’s door, taking a breath before pressing the doorbell.
y/n who’s currently staring at the ceiling and already in bed, she cursed at whoever was standing in front of her door right now. she doesn’t care about how she looks right now; her eyes must be puffy from crying, but she doesn’t care.
"if it’s another prank, i’m going to slam the door at you." she opened the door to see the man that she had cried over for the past hours.
"no, no. it’s not, i promise. i’m sorry, y/n. i didn’t mean it. it wasn’t a prank. i panicked when i saw your reaction; i was being honest; i love you more than friends. i really do." charles looks at you softly.
"you do?"
"i do. i really do love you."
"i have the urge to get you back, but i also badly want to kiss you right now." y/n smirked.
"then kiss me," charles said.
y/n stepped closer to charles, leaning in for a kiss. charles kissed her back and pushed her inside. he kicked the door shut, still kissing her. she brought him to her room, and the two spent the night in her bed together.
status: proofread ✓
word count: 1.046
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc one shot
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okay hello i’ve come to offer a vague concept ❤️🤲 the first thing that came into my mind is like being in a car. and something being wrong w the car. which sounds so stupid but is hopefully vague enough?? also idk if i’m meant to specify a ship but (and you probs already know what i’m gonna say) ur bartylus genuinely changed my life and it’s always on my mind and im obsessed w it forever and ever and would die if you ever wrote them again (but also like. no pressure. i don’t wanna try and tie you down to one specific pathway) ANYWAY i hope this is vague enough but also not too vague that you’re just staring at me blankly rn… icl babe u really didn’t set any parameters so i’m kinda trying to spear fish in the dark here but im gonna stop talking now…. eagerly (but patiently!!) awaiting ur response <33
LMAO NOOO thank you so much this is exactly the level of vagueness i wanted!!! i simply need to let things cook in my beautiful mind palace before i can write + vague concepts work best for that
anyway i tried to do it justice for u. it's more barty character study than bartylus sorry but. also it's compeltely unedited!! do with that what you will xoxo
“I knew it,” Regulus murmured, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. He was slumped down in his seat, the lines of his face stark in the pale moonlight. The motorway stretched out empty and endless before them.
Barty clenched his jaw and turned the key in the ignition once more. The engine sputtered loudly, just enough to give him some small shred of hope, before it promptly died for the fifth time.
“Dammit,” he hissed, thumping his hand against the steering wheel. He turned to Regulus, “What?”
Regulus lowered his hand and glared fiercely. “I knew I was going to die in this metal box the moment you persuaded me to get in.”
“And yet, you still let me persuade you.”
“Barty.”
“What?” Barty grinned. “You’re not going to die, Regulus. Cars are only dangerous when they’re moving.”
Regulus scoffed. He looked about five minutes away from having a conniption—which meant that Barty had about three minutes of continuing to fuck with him before he got properly angry. His hands were clenched in the fabric of his trousers, and when he turned his face towards the window, Barty could glimpse the deep shadows under his eyes as they appeared under the light.
He felt his heart soften, just a tad.
“I have a plan,” Barty said.
Regulus rolled his eyes so far back that they disappeared into his skull: “Oh, joy. Another plan.”
“They’ve gotten us this far, haven’t they?”
“Yes, stranded on the side of the road with you,” muttered Regulus. “Exactly where I want all my plans to lead me.”
At that, Barty felt a strange, wild sort of affection swell up within him. He wanted to lean over and bite the nape of Regulus’s neck hard enough to draw blood, wanted to crowd him against the door until all that bluster and exasperation fell away. But there would be time for that.
“Don’t you want to hear my plan?”
“No,” Regulus said sullenly. “I want—”
He stopped. Barty’s grin abruptly fell away. He reached over and cradled the back of Regulus’s head, firmly enough that he had no choice but to face him. Regulus kept his eyes downcast, an unhappy twist to his mouth, a sickly tinge to his face that the low light couldn’t hide.
“Hey,” Barty said, and he curled his hand into a fist in Regulus’s hair. “Look at me.”
Regulus’s gaze flickered up.
He was a living bruise, a walking heartache. Two weeks ago, Barty had looked at him as they packed their things for the end of term, and he’d known that Regulus wouldn’t survive another summer in that house—not as himself, anyway. He knew it the way Sirius must have, before he left, and he understood. Better than he’d like to admit. Sometimes it was easier to pack your bags than to watch someone like Regulus tread water and insist that they weren’t moments away from sinking.
In that respect, though, Barty was different. He didn’t care what Regulus wanted. He wasn’t going to leave him to drown.
Besides. Barty was fed up, himself.
When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, and Regulus listened with wide, unblinking eyes: “We’re not going home. Do you understand? There’s nothing back there. Nothing. Forget it, Regulus.”
A beat of silence. Barty’s grip loosened, he made to pull back, and then—
“What about your mother?” Regulus asked with a horrible little glint in his gaze.
“What about her?” Barty replied without missing a beat.
Regulus blinked. Barty almost laughed at him. Could have, at the idea that Regulus thought he’d trapped him with that. His mother, who’d wanted Berty out of that house perhaps even more than he himself did. Regulus could never understand that.
What he could understand, though, was the terrifying, exhilarating sensation of freedom. Of the surprising vastness of your own mind when it was vacant of everyone but yourself. Of sitting in a car stranded on the side of the road and becoming aware of your own mortality. Death was suddenly an end to something real and full of potential.
After what felt like an eternity, Regulus asked, “What’s your plan?”
“I turn seventeen in five hours,” Barty said. “Once midnight hits, the Trace will disappear. I’ll fix the car then.”
“You don’t know how to fix it.”
“At least I know it’s called a car and not a ‘metal box.’”
“You want us to spend five hours in this thing?” Regulus said, as though catching up with his own disbelief.
“Technically, seven hours,” said Barty. “We still have to make it to Bath. And then, once we pick up the twins…”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Barty shrugged—a loose, slouching thing. He noticed Regulus’s eyes track the motion with nothing short of predatory glee. “Orgy in the metal box?”
“I hate you.”
“You love me,” Barry cajoled, grinning from ear to ear. “Why else would you run away with me?”
There was a long moment of silence, in which Regulus gazed, baleful and petulant, out at the road in front of them and Barty gazed at him. Already, he was more animated, more tetchy, more acerbic than he’d been just days ago. The cobwebs slowly clearing from his eyes.
Sometimes, Barty recognized Regulus like the slant of himself in a shard of glass. But other times, Regulus was just very beautiful. Barty wondered if there an element of vanity in wanting him, to the prideful joy he got out of fucking him out of his own head. The idea that he could press Regulus down hard enough to mold him back into himself.
On very rare occasions, he wondered if he was like his father. If the only love he knew was what he learned from the voice in his head as it puppeted his limbs about. If that presence was more himself than he was. A normal person would look at it with revulsion, would see complete and total control as a firsthand abomination.
But it was because Barty knew the abomination firsthand that he knew also the complete, total, clean satisfaction of such control.
“You were hardly the first to ask,” Regulus said mildly.
Even in the darkness, Barty could see the flush travel down his neck. He grinned and, without another word, reached over and unhooked Regulus’s seatbelt.
“I didn’t ask,” he replied, just as mild.
#my writing#bartylus#ask#thank youuu i had so much fun writing this! bartylus is such a fun challenge for me#regulus black#barty crouch jr
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So sorry for sending another thing in but I have this idea For Crowley x reader hcs
Have you seen those nebula/space themed light projectors before? (If not I can send pics in)
But I was thinking- maybe reader knows that Crowley isn't able to enjoy the stars anymore (bc of his snake-eyes)- so as a surprise, they set up the bedroom to be super comfortable and bring Crowley in, telling him to close his eyes. They turn off the lights, turn on the projector, and show Crowley.
It's not the same, but hopefully it would be something.
I apologize if this doesn't make any sense. I'm typing this pretty fast.
Also, I just finished Eden and Human and. Billy. Billy you hurt me in the best ways.
-🐝
Never Shine as Bright as Your Eyes - Crowley x GN!Reader
Darlin’ you had me at galaxy projectors. I have one. I’m impossible to drag out of the planetarium. I cried when I realized Dallas didn’t have one.
I will happily write (ex)Star Maker!Crowley any day of the week.
Aziraphale was the one who told you more about Crowley and his past, how they met those millennia ago, how Crowley literally hung the stars.
It certainly made sense, you had spent countless nights at his flat, noticing how his office contained numerous books on space and how there were a few small posters, specifically of Alpha Centauri and the Pillars of Creation. You understood why your beloved demon didn’t want to talk about it, after all he was cast aside from his work, told to never touch or make a star again. It must be painful. You were left to wonder what he thought of the humans mistaking his art as destroyed, only for a few years later for them to announce their error. Did he know the Pillars still stood or was he devastated and mourning?
A question you opted to never ask, not wanting to risk bringing up painful memories, but for now, you giggled endlessly as you opened the small box on the bed, pulling out exactly what you hoped would help Crowley.
Crowley was nothing short of a wonderful partner, showering you in gifts, insisting he pay for everything, making sure you never went a day without at least five “I love you”s, and at last you could return the favor for him, at last you could give him as much happiness as he gave you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you heard the hum of the Bentley pulling into the drive, rushing out to the car and into his arms as he stood.
“This is a lovely welcome home,” he smiled, kissing you sweetly, his arm draping around your waist, he hadn’t even had time to close the car door yet.
“I have a surprise for you,” you blurted out, smile ever growing as he raised an eyebrow, his own grin never falling.
“Oh, really, Pet?” He chucked at your enthusiastic nod, “must be something really special if you’re so excited, tell me what have you done?”
“Close your eyes, please my darling?” He carefully stepped you both out of the way so he could close the car door before nodded and closing his eyes, holding your hands so you could guide him. “No peeking.” You laughed, hardly hearing his resort as you guided him into and through the flat, the plants abruptly standing tall and green as you two passed them. Carefully having him sit down on the bed, you kissed his forehead before having him let go so you could close the door and switch the projector on, the blinds already drawn in.
You couldn’t help to let out a little gasp at the bright galaxy that now filled your room. “Okay, open.” Your heart was pounding, a little scared he’d be upset, but his gasp and wide eyes said everything opposite. You watched as he carefully stood up, spinning slowly in the room as he took it all into view.
“I haven’t… oh, it’s all right, all perfect.” He murmured, walking over to a particular cluster of stars, “these were made that day I met Aziraphale, he helped me. Held the scroll for me.”
“And these were the first ones, ever. Let there be light. That was these.”
“And these…” you sat on the bed, watching as your demon smiled ever so big, rambling on happily about his different creations.
“Thank you,” he said, looking at you with tears of joy in his eyes, “you have no idea how much this all means to me… thank you.” And with that he pulled you up and pressed his lips to yours, only five thousand or so light years away, a new nebula was born.
Once the star maker, always the star maker.
#tdkab#thedemonknownasbilly#good omens#crowley#anthony j crowley#crowley x you#crowley x reader#gn!reader#gn reader#anonymous#🐝 anon#anon ask#reqs open
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ok but what about yandere giorno who gets jealous super easily to the point where he gets jealous of everything and everyone that has his darling's attention for more than a minute
and when they are meeting up with some of his friends one of them, i don't know, let's say fugo or a random character that you can create, is too touchy for his liking (let's say hugs darling too much or tries to be near them).
how do you think he will react? what will he do?
I live for jealous yans
tags: gn reader, yandere, possessive behavior
You are late coming into the cafe this morning. Or rather, you are a few minutes behind your usual routine, because you haven’t actually agreed to meet Giorno at the little table by the window you love to sit at each morning. It shouldn’t matter. It’s only a few minutes. But this is the only time he’s able to speak with you, and Giorno has already been deprived of your presence for the last week.
It’s a shame that Passione business often keeps him away for such stretches of time, and a greater shame still that you don’t realize just how out of his way he’s gone to align his morning routine with yours. The warm mug of mocha in his hands is adequate at best. The coffee isn’t the reason he comes to this place.
Another glance at his watch, another minute you’ve yet to arrive, and he really doesn’t have much time this morning before he must get back to work. He thumbs at the tube of chapstick in his pocket. Your favorite scent, the label peeling from its time spent in the pockets of your purse. He could imbue it with life, follow it straight to you, find out exactly what’s happened to keep you away-
Ah. There you are.
Meandering distractedly down the street, deep in conversation with an individual he doesn’t recognize. A man who tugs you to the side of the walkway to lean in close and show you something on his phone. You lean in as well, angling to see the screen, and your face is close to his. Too close.
It’s a position Giorno has found himself in once before. Standing in line beside you as you wave him in to look at the newest pictures in your phone’s gallery. He remembers the soft scent of your perfume, the warmth radiating from your skin, his arm nudging yours.
He knows exactly what this man is doing. It’s what Giorno himself does every time he finds a way into your presence. The need to be near you.
You’re laughing at whatever this man has shown you. The energy of it sends you curling into yourself, further into the space of this…intruder. The man doesn’t look away from you for even a second as you straighten and settle down, distracted again by whatever video is playing in front of you. Giorno knows the look in this man’s eyes. He knows, as well, that you’re as oblivious to it on him as you are of it on Giorno.
There is something cold settling into the core of Giorno’s chest. Frigid. Tight. Bitter. You look up at the man to chatter at him animatedly, and he leans against the wall behind him to gaze down at you with something not unlike infatuation. He settles into your space and his thigh touches yours. You don’t seem to notice. You don’t pull away.
Giorno stands and brushes smoothly past the doorway.
“Ah, signorina,” he greets you as he crosses the street. “I was beginning to think you’d slept in again. And here I was thinking you wouldn’t get to enjoy the croissant I saved for you.”
“Oh my god. You did not,” you say, but your face betrays your excitement. For all your insistence against him paying for your morning meals, you’ve never once turned down food from him.
“It was the last one and I thought you might appreciate it,” he says. Giorno looks briefly at the man standing beside you, who straightens and casts Giorno a perturbed look. It’s quickly wiped away as you turn to face him.
“Carlo, this is my friend Giorno. We both come to this cafe a lot,” you say.
Carlo gives Giorno a short smile.
“Good to meet you,” he says. “I’m a high school friend of theirs. (Y/n) and I got into a lot of trouble together, right?”
You roll your eyes at him. “Whatever. You got into trouble, I saved your ass before your parents could find out.”
Carlo gives you a genuine smile, and that tightness in Giorno’s chest returns.
“(Y/n) does seem to have a knack for doing charity work,” Giorno says. “I often have to remind them to pick their battles. Sometimes it isn’t worth the effort.”
His friendly expression belies the barb in his words. Carlo looks at Giorno for a hard second, as if deciding whether or not he’s been insulted, and whether or not he should do something about it. Giorno takes the opportunity to turn to you again.
“Should I finish off your croissant myself?” he says. “I would hate for it to go to waste.”
“What? No!” you say, and pull away from Carlo with a laugh. “It was nice catching up with you,” you tell your friend as you motion for Giorno to follow you. “I’m starving. But we should finish talking another time!”
Carlo nods and waves you goodbye with a look on his face that hasn’t quite processed what just happened. In the span of a few seconds Giorno has snatched you up again, sparing one last glance at your interloper before turning on his heel and offering you his arm to cross the road.
Giorno holds the door open as you slip inside, falling straight into your usual seat at your usual table and digging happily into the food he left for you. He settles in with his mocha again, feeling the bitterness fade into a subtle thrum beneath his skin.
“I know what you were doing back there,” you say in between bites of food. “If I was feeling bold today, I’d say you were acting a little…” you place your finger to your chin in faux contemplation, fixing him with a stare that’s chastising, but playful enough that he knows he gotten away with it. “Jealous?”
Giorno hides his smile behind his mug.
“Can you blame me?” he asks. “It’s been far too long since I had the pleasure of your company. And your food was getting cold.”
You level him with an unimpressed stare as you chew your cold croissant.
“Giorno Giovanna. You’re lucky I let you bribe me with food.”
He watches you, content, as you finish off your breakfast.
“And lucky that I let you run other men off when you haven’t even asked me out yourself,” you add knowingly.
Giorno pauses with his cup midway to his mouth. His pulse skips, and for the first time he feels as if he’s the one under the weight of your analyzing stare. It’s a nice feeling, to be held under the microscope of your undivided attention. He clears his throat.
“Well. In that case, you’ll have to let me buy you dinner next. So you can tell them you have a boyfriend, and run them off yourself.”
You take a long sip of your coffee and smile at him. “I guess I will.”
The bitterness under his skin thrums quietly, but Giorno presses it down to bask fully in the light of your (finally, finally) shared affection.
There’s a phone in his pocket with a number that can take care of your interloping friend in minutes. There are any number of ways he can excise this miserable emotion from himself. A threat, an accident, a well-placed accusation of wrongdoing on your annoying new friend. Giorno supposes it will depend on his mood once he leaves you here.
But for now, he will let you ramble to him about the work day you have coming up, your plans for the weekend, your new favorite show. He’ll let you lean in close to him to show him that funny video, and he’ll lay his hand over yours to steady the phone as you dip into his space.
There’ll be time to figure out how to deal with this blight, after he’s satiated himself with the knowledge that you’re his, his, his.
The video ends and you curl your fingers into his, entwining your hands on the table.
Lucky, indeed.
#giorno x reader#yandere giorno x reader#yandere giorno#giorno giovanna#yandere giorno giovanna#giorno giovanna x reader#jjba x reader#yandere jjba x reader#asks.ll#my works.ll#giorno.ll#jjba.ll
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In Another Life
Part Thirteen
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader
Summary: Slowly the pieces of your plan for the Fold come into place, but thoughts and fears of the future continue to haunt you.
Warnings: nightmare (featuring death and angst), mentions of canon level violence, references to RoW duology and the Language of Thorns (canon has officially been put in the blender, sorry Leigh Bardugo but the narrative is mine now)
My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part
“I’ve remembered something else about the Fold.” You say, your brows scrunched together as you think.
Aleksander hums in response from where he’s sitting in the armchair beside the bath in your room. Bathing was the only time you ever really used your own rooms.
At first, Aleksander had been bewildered by your insistence on bathing privately, without the help of any servants. Now that you were closer with one another, you didn’t mind Aleksander helping you.
He was always respectful about it, and he had already seen you battered, bruised, and delirious. After all that, bathing didn’t seem too intimate anymore.
His kefta and tunic had been hung over one of the chairs in your bedroom, leaving him in a white shirt and dark trousers. When he had offered to assist you, he had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms.
You shake your head suddenly, your cheeks flushing with warmth.
“I’m sorry.” You say, and Aleksander frowns. “I feel like we only ever talk about our plans or the world ending.”
“That’s not true.” Aleksander argues softly as he scoops up a handful of bath water to rinse the soap from your back. “Just yesterday we walked through the grounds and discussed the gardener’s flower arrangements.”
A smile tugs at your lips.
With Aleksander managing both the First and Second Army after Zlatan’s arrest, you’ve both been particularly busy. Quiet moments where you could walk through the grounds were a rarity, but you still worried that you might bore him.
“I’m sure you found that conversation riveting.”
“I like hearing you speak your mind.” He assures you. “It’s certainly a change being able to talk with someone about all manner of things.”
“You have siblings, don’t you?” He hums quietly in confirmation. “I haven’t read about any of them, but I’ve heard of Ulla.”
No doubt Aleksander can hear the unspoken questioning in your voice. The corner of his mouth lifts and his eyes soften, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over his features.
“We see each other once every few hundred years.” He tells you. “What have you heard of her?”
“I know she’s a saint, and some sort of mermaid.” Aleksander raises a brow, confusion in his eyes.
“Mermaid?” Your own brows crease lightly as you think over his reaction.
“You must have a different word for it here.”
“She’s half sildroher.” He offers, and you mouth the unfamiliar word over your tongue carefully. “She was born with a tail.” Aleksander tells you softly as his fingers trace over the surface of your bath water. “Baghra gave her back to her father not long after her birth.”
“How did you find her?”
“There were rumours that the sea whip inhabited the waters closer to Fjerda. I was working as an apprentice there when she visited the local king.”
You nod slowly, hands scooping up the frothy bubbles that had formed at the surface of the bath water, gliding slowly over the sweet smelling liquid like an iceberg on the sea.
“What’s she like?” You ask softly, smoothing the bubbles over your arms and watching them as they slowly dissolve into your skin.
“Independent, fiercely loyal, though it takes quite some time to earn her trust.”
He dips his hand into the water, before he runs it along the length of your arm, clearing away the soapy bubbles.
“You sound quite similar.”
“We look alike.” The corner of your mouth quirks, and you can’t help but tease,
“Have you been hiding a tail from me?”
He smiles widely and a boyish twinkle of amusement sparkles in his eyes.
“What was it that you remembered?” He prompts, as he stands to retrieve a towel for you. “About the Fold.”
“I think there’s a way to mend the tear at the making.”
He raises a brow at you as he opens up the towel, white with a delicate golden hem, and you step out of the bath. Aleksander wraps the towel around your body, and you begin to pat yourself dry as you explain.
“There’s some sort of relic. Named after one of the saints, and it’s believed that it could repair the making.”
“What is it?” At his question, you falter.
“It’s named after Sankt Feliks, I think.”
The two of you walk into your bedroom, and Aleksander lounges back against your headboard as you move behind the wooden screen to dress.
“Do you know his story?” Aleksander asks you.
“Would you tell it to me?”
“He’s known as the patron saint of horticulture, due to his rather gifted tending of his monastery’s orchard. His crop grew even in the harshest winters, and the people accused him of witchcraft.”
“Instead of realising that he could help with their crops as well?” You remark, stepping out from behind the screen once you’re fully dressed.
Aleksander hums knowingly in response to your words.
“He’s said to have been skewered on the trunk of an apple tree.”
Your eyes widen, and sympathy fills your face as you sit at the end of your bed, pulling your boots on.
“Though anyone who knew Feliks would know that it was likely a thornwood tree.” He adds, and you nearly drop your boot.
“Thornwood?”
An ache seizes your chest, and flashes of future events swirl through your mind. The thornwood tree tucked away in the mountains. Aleksander’s painful sacrifice, to suffer for eternity in order to mend the tear at the making.
Tying up your laces with harsh motions, you try not to dwell on such thoughts. They only make you sad, or angry, which won’t help save Aleksander.
“Something’s upset you.” Aleksander observes quietly.
“It’s nothing.” You insist.
Standing quickly, you move over to your vanity table, looking out of the window to stare towards the summoners’ pavilion as you try to push away your emotions.
Aleksander calls out your name softly. When you turn he’s sitting up at the side of your bed, with his hands outstretched towards you. Taking a step forward, you accept them.
“It will be nothing.” You assure him as he pulls you to stand between his legs. “It hasn’t even happened yet.” Then your expression hardens. “And I will not let it happen.”
Releasing one of his hands, you curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Aleksander’s voice is a near whisper as he says,
“Whatever it is. You don’t have to face it alone.”
You shake your head.
“I’m not alone. I have you.”
»»---------------------►
That night you dream of the thornwood tree.
Blood red blossoms fall elegantly to the ground, twirling in the breeze. One lands in Aleksander’s hair, and you smile softly as you brush it away. He smiles back at you, offering you a hand as you step over the rocky ground.
The monks stand awaiting your arrival, and you triumphantly present them with the heart of Sankt Feliks.
They exchange looks of confusion.
“This will not mend the tear.” One of them tells you, and your stomach drops. “Someone must hold it closed.”
“No.” You say, tears already flooding down your cheeks. “No.”
You turn to Aleksander, who stares grimly at the thornwood tree beside you.
“Aleksander please, no.”
He holds you in his arms, and you grip onto him tightly. His heart beats steady and firm against your ear, and you begin to shake with sobs of fear as he holds the back of your head, keeping you close.
“Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.” You beg against his chest. He cups your face in his hand.
“The Fold is my fault. I need to fix this.” You shake your head hurriedly, still crying.
“You don’t deserve this.”
He kisses you fiercely, and for a second the world melts away. Aleksander is the only thing that matters. He holds your face with infinite care, and the ache returns to your heart as he pulls away. Aleksander stares deeply into your eyes as he says,
“Nikolai will look after you.” You frown as he glances over your shoulder. “Promise me.”
Nikolai stands behind you, and nods resolutely.
“I promise.” He says. You shake your head.
“Aleksander no-”
“Forgive me.” He whispers, pushing you away.
You stumble back into Nikolai’s arms, who holds you firm against his chest as Aleksander steps away, tears in his dark eyes. Fighting against Nikolai is unless, yet you fight all the same. Begging and screaming for Aleksander.
Scrambling against the covers, you gasp and sob as you wake with a choked scream on your lips. Too overwhelmed by the final scenes of your nightmare, seeing Aleksander’s heart pierced by the thornwood and hearing his screams, you struggle to breathe.
Then a pair of warm arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a familiar bare chest. Frantic eyes search through the darkness, and you soon find Aleksander’s face, filled with concern as he soothes you.
It’s only then that you realise he’s speaking to you. A low comforting murmur, as he takes your palm and flattens it against his chest, encouraging you to breathe in time with him.
“That’s it.” He says softly. “I’m here, my love.” He presses his lips delicately against your forehead. “We’re both safe. I have you.”
One of his arms remains wrapped around your waist, and the other settles on your back, rubbing nonsensical patterns over the bare skin of your shoulder as your heart rate slows to a more comfortable level.
Exhaustion floods through you, and you collapse weakly into his body. You keep your hand on his chest, protectively splayed over his beating heart, as if you could shield it from the events of the future.
“Do you think my nightmares have some sort of meaning?” You murmur against his chest.
Aleksander is quiet for a moment, as he appears to give your question some genuine thought.
“Have they ever come true?”
“Not yet.”
Another pause.
“But you’re afraid this one will?”
You nod. Aleksander hesitates for a long moment, and you watch his face carefully.
“You said my name.” He admits quietly.
“Did I?”
“You were begging me not to do something.”
There’s an unspoken question in his statement, and a hidden fear of his is brought into the light. You lift your head up, facing him directly as you reach out to cup his face with your hand.
“You weren’t hurting me, Sasha. I’m not afraid of you.”
He nods, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly with a small smile as he traces his fingers down the side of your face. You drop your forehead down to press against his, and breathe in how close he is.
He’s still alive. You’re both okay.
Needing a little more reassurance, you kiss him softly. Aleksander’s hand settles at the nape of your neck, squeezing gently as he holds you close.
You stay in one another’s arms for a long moment trading more soft kisses until your eyes go heavy with exhaustion and you settle yourself further down Aleksander’s body.
“The heart of Sankt Feliks.” You say softly. Aleksander tilts his head in confusion. “It was pierced by thornwood when he died. It’s what we need to fix the making.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead, lifting the covers to shield your tired body from the cold of the night.
“I’ll have my people look into it.” He tells you with a nod, before he encourages you to lie your head back down into the crook of his neck. “Get some rest.”
»»---------------------►
With summer on the way, you find your usual walk around the lake even more enjoyable. Aleksander sometimes joins you, but you’re glad of some solitude today.
The sun shines down on your skin and birds chirp cheerily in the branches above your head as you veer off the path and wander through the trees towards the summoners’ pavilion. It had been repainted a week ago, and the bright white sets it apart beautifully from the luscious green leaves surrounding it.
On the steps on the pavilion, you notice a familiar face frowning deeply as she sits with her knees tucked together.
“Alina?” You greet her with a small smile. Her own greeting isn’t too enthusiastic. “Is something the matter?”
She sighs and shuffles over, allowing you to sit down beside her.
“It’s just… Mal.”
“Has something happened?”
She fiddles with the sleeve of her kefta, and you notice some of the golden threads of the embroidery are fraying.
“I found out he’s been fighting with some of the other Grisha, letting them use their power to see who wins.”
You’d forgotten about that.
“Does he win?” She shrugs.
“Most of the time apparently.”
“He didn’t tell you about this?”
Shaking her head in response, she sighs and casts her legs down to graze over the ground.
“No.”
“He probably didn’t want you to worry.” She nods absently.
“I don’t understand why he’s doing it.”
“The fighting?” She hums. “We have to wait until autumn, until the firebird flies north again out of Shu Han.”
That’s not true. To keep Mal at the Little Palace, you had crafted a lie about the firebird in order to buy you and Aleksander some time to handle the Fold.
“I get the feeling that Mal doesn’t like waiting.” You say with a small laugh, which luckily prompts a smile from her.
“No, he doesn’t.”
She looks down, kicking her toe against a few small pieces of gravel.
“I just don’t get why he’s fighting Grisha.”
“Maybe he just wants to prove that he’s still useful.” You muse quietly. “Grisha are powerful, and have these amazing skills. It’s a lot to compete with when you’re otkazat’sya.”
“But I’m not asking him to compete.”
“Maybe he’s not proving it to you. Maybe he’s proving it to himself.”
She appears to give this some thought. If Mal is who Alina wants, then you’ll do what you can to help her. Even if there’s a small twist in your heart that reminds you that he will die one day. As will you. Leaving Alina and Aleksander together.
“I feel like he’s slipping away from me.” She admits.
“You could ask him if he wants you to go watch one of his fights.” You suggest.
“And if he doesn’t want me to?”
“Offer to patch him up afterwards.” A smile spreads over your face as you nudge her shoulder. “Or spend his winnings.”
She glances up at you, and smiles back.
The two of you are quiet again, and you begin to mull something over in your mind. The question is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to upset or frighten Alina.
After another few seconds of quiet, you decide to ask her,
“If you had the chance to take the Fold down, and just get rid of your power to live an ordinary life afterwards. Would you?”
You don’t dare look at her.
“I know I should probably say no.” She admits.
At that, you turn to her. There’s longing in her eyes. As if she’s imagining a quiet peaceful life, filled with domestic happiness. The simple life. No doubt with Mal.
“But you would.” You say softly.
She nods, and you begin to think.
»»---------------------►
“If we manage to find Sankt Feliks’ heart, that means we can safely destroy the Fold.” You say quietly a few evenings later.
Aleksander lifts his head up from where he had previously been resting it on your lap, and he turns to face you. The firelight flickers over his features as he frowns.
“Alina isn’t strong enough. She needs the third amplifier.”
“Mal doesn’t die in the books. She stabs him in the heart, claiming his power, but then he’s revived by a heartrender.”
“But she would still lose her power.”
Staring down at the floor, you nod faintly.
“Yes.”
Aleksander waits for you to continue.
“I’ve always hated Alina’s ending. Your power is a part of you, and losing it seems horrific.”
Aleksander nods slowly, tracing his thumb over your knuckles, no doubt thinking about what it would be like to lose his shadows.
“But she’s only known that she’s Grisha for less than a year, and whilst she is happy here… I can’t help but think she might be happier with the simple life she’s always wanted.”
You stare down at Aleksander’s thumb, watching it smooth over the top of your hand as you continue to speak your thoughts,
“Forever is a long time, especially when she would be happier with a mere eighty years spent with someone she loves.”
“You’re saying she should lose her power?”
“I’m saying that I want to give her a choice. Where she understands the consequences of whatever she picks.”
The two of you are quiet, the sound of the fire crackling softly in the hearth is the only noise in the room, aside from Aleksander’s steady breathing and the anxious pounding of your heart as you await his response.
“I agree.” You blink in surprise.
“You do?”
He nods slowly, tilting his head aside as he watches your face when you try to look away from him.
“What’s that look for?” He asks softly, hooking a finger under your jaw to move your face back towards him so that he can study your expression.
“I can’t help but feel like I’m depriving you of a life partner. Who knows what could happen in a few hundred years time?” You reason with a saddened look. “You could grow to love her, and her you.”
“But I have you, right now, and I chose you.”
He trails his finger along your jawline, holding your chin between his fingers as he leans in to kiss you. You allow yourself to sink into his kiss for a moment, before you’re breaking away. You need him to be on the same page as you.
“You know this means we’re destroying the Fold?” You ask him.
He looks down at your joined hands, fingers curled tightly around one another, and the muscle in his jaw tenses slightly.
“Have you considered weaponising it?” He asks in a low voice and you nod.
“Yes.” He lifts his eyes to stare at you.
“And?”
“And as much as I would love to make our enemies suffer, you can only push fear so far before people become resilient.”
“And if we ensure that they have no means to fight back?”
“Is that truly the world you want to make for your people?” You ask him.
Aleksander looks away, but you know he’s considering what you’ve said. So, you continue to tell him about the Ravka you’ve envisioned.
“Once we fix the tear at the making, the Tula Valley will be what it was centuries ago. Ravka can grow its own produce, we will be reunited with the West, we will have our ports, we can be self sufficient again.”
“You’ve given this quite some thought.”
“When don’t I?”
He smiles softly.
“You think this will work?”
You nod.
“I do. It won’t be easy. But Ravka will be stronger, and better, for it.”
Aleksander brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he nods his consent.
“I trust you.”
»»---------------------►
marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur
In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan @savagejane1
Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211
BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia
#in another life au#aleksander morozova x reader#aleksander morozova#the darkling#the darkling x reader#the darkling au#shadow and bone au#shadow and bone x reader#in another life chapters
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Comments- Colby Brock x y/n- part 7-
AUTHORS NOTE: omg guys I am so so sorry just got back into Sam and Colby and decided to finish this in my drafts I had like a paragraph written already. This is my first time back into writing fanfiction since a concussion i had so I’m trying my best sorry it’s so short this is a continuation of my series where y/n got possessed in the last part
warnings: mentions on possession, fluff, slight slight angst,
“Babe” Colby called from his computer “you should come see this”
after me getting possessed I insisted on them posting the video. We were so lucky that we caught it on camera. They were hesitant at first but I said I want people to know what happened. It’s insane that I got possessed but I want people to know what really happened. It was a really scary experience. But I’m still really worried about the video. Would they say I’m just overreacting?. That it was fake and I was just a coward? But I always get some kind of nervous when they post a video with me in it. But this video was special. I still haven’t gotten to watch it yet. I had spent most of the time recovering and spending my time with Colby.
I go over to the computer and see him sitting reading comments. I sit down on his lap, even though he’s just wearing such a simple outfit sweatshirt and comfy pants he still looks hot. I look through the comments and to my surprise they are divided into basically two parts (well maybe 3 with the amount of people commenting “I don’t claim any negative energy from this video”) the first is about how scary it was when I got possessed and how bad they feel for me. The second is how people are talking about how they think me and Colby are dating and that there is so much chemistry between us. Another thing I noticed is that the video went viral. I mean stupid viral, more than most of their videos combined. It had only been out for 5 days and it already reached 50 million views!!! Mostly I think because of my possession from outside viewers who weren’t subscribed but there were plenty of fans. Some of the comments said the following:
Cheriklover333: I feel so bad for y/n she looks so scared I cant imagine how horrible it must feel to be posses like that
kurtwagnerisacinnimonroll: did anyone notice how Colby looked at y/n 😩. I need someone like that and did yall notice her hickeys 😳
Polaris-alt-account: people who think Colby and y/n are dating 👇
that comment had over 500k likes
I groan “shit! Shit! Shit!” I rub my temples “colbs I never wanted this im sorry I dragged you into this—“
“hey hey it’s okay baby” he wraps his arms around me and presses his head on top of mine. The weight of his body on mine feels good. The closeness and warmth feels good. His hands slip into mine and grasp it lightly but firm. He is protective but caring. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I don’t care what people think I just wanna be yours”
I nod but I still have tears in my eyes not much and I feel stupid for crying but I can’t help but think I’m the one that got us into this whole mess. My gaze drifts back to the computer monitor
rosefromtitanic: you guys need to chill yes I see the way he looks at her but they should come out and say it before we jump to conclusions I think they should do a Q and A
a smile on my face appears as a light bulb practically goes off in my brain. My eyes wander to my boyfriend. And again I’m taken aback by just how breathtaking he is…I can see his muscles and I wonder what under his shirt…………snap out of it!! You need to focus.
“colbs how do you feel about about making our relationship public?”
Edit: I TRIED I REALLY DID ITS THE BEST I COULD DO FEEDBACK PLEASE!!! might write a part 8. But x men is currently my hyperfixation and am definitely going to be writing for Peter maximof and young Charles Xavier so if you’re interested send ideas. Going to write for young Coryo snow even though he’s evil he’s hot. Tried my best couldn’t leave you all hanging
#i’m back#colby brock imagine#colby x reader#colby brock#sam and colby#sam and colby x reader#colby brock fanfic#colby brock x reader#fanfiction#fanfic#youtuber crushes#colby brock x y/n#colby brock fluff#first fanfic in 6 months since major injury yay!!!#sorry its so short#short fanfic
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Don't Speak 27
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)
Character: librarian!Andy Barber
Note: stuff is going on at work (I'm not in trouble) but it's kinda dramatic rn so...
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
Dr. Kemp walks in with a cup of tea and puts it in front of you. He insisted on making it for you and you were too hazy to deny him. You're still reeling from your session with Andy and now you're struggling to reset before your one-on-one.
He smiles and backs away, slipping your journal from the table where you left it and bringing it to you. You take it as he claims the vacated armchair across from you.
"So," he leans an arm on the chair casually, "I know it's been a long morning. We'll try not to overwhelm ourselves, yes?"
You nod and look down at the journal. You're already there. You feel like folding over and shutting down.
"How are you feeling? Is it a lot?"
You swallow and mouth a 'yes', too weak to get much out. You can feel him watching you. You can't even look back at him.
"Right, I guess... there are some things we need to delve into. For your own good."
"Okay," you croak, resting your journal in your lap.
"Have some tea, get settled," he suggests.
You reach forward, keeping a hand on the notebook as you take the mug. You blow over the steam and inhale the scent. It smells different.
"I brought it with me, I hope you like apple cinnamon," he says.
Finally, your eyes flick up and meet his. He watches you expectantly so you take a dainty sip. You hum, it's tasty.
"Thank you," you say and put the cup back on the table.
"Not at all," he runs his fingers along the armrest, "I have a very sensitive question for you."
Your brows draw together. You stare at his neck. He takes a breath, chest rising and falling.
"How much experience do you have in intimate relationships?" He asks.
The room goes stolid as you blink. He waits as you clutch the book tight, nearly bending the hard cover. Your lip twitches and your lashes flutter.
"I..."
"I know it can be hard, but we need to talk about these things. It's obvious you have some shame associated with that part of your life and self. That's not healthy but we can't treat you if you don't talk about it," he explains, "so, you don't need to tell me everything. That's something else you can put in your journal, okay?"
"Okay," you agree, "I can do that."
"But I still want an answer. There are some things I do need to know," he prompts.
You hang your head. You bite your lip deep as you weigh how to say it. Really, it's simple.
"None," you murmur, staring at your toes, "no one wants me."
He hums thoughtfully, "maybe not before, but you must see now that that's changed. I think it's obvious how Andy feels... isn't it?"
You nod again, a lump in your throat.
"But let's not focus on him, let's talk about you. Just you. Is there anything that you've done... alone?" He leans forward, just a little.
You blanch, breathless as the room tilts. You know what he means. You can't believe it. He's only trying to help, right? He is a doctor after all.
You grab the mug, comforting yourself with the hot porcelain. You part your lips and close your eyes. Just be honest, he's not there to judge you. He might even be able to help you.
"Yes," you utter tightly, "not... much. I... I was scared... so... just a little... touch."
You hear him inhale, "right, good. Thank you for your honesty."
Your eyes snap open, "your welcome."
"Let's go over your homework," he stands and you shrink down just slightly.
You watch him as he slowly crosses the room. He has very nice eyes, you think, and his hair looks soft. There's something about him that is welcoming in that moment.
"Just a second, okay, sweetheart?" He holds up a finger.
You force a half-smile and wait as he leaves the room. He comes back with a small plastic bag. It's black and unmarked. You've never seen a bag like that.
"May I sit?" He approaches the couch. You wave to the cushion quietly, "so, this is what you're going to work on. If you're going to get more comfortable in your relationship, you have to get more comfortable with yourself." He puts the bag on top of your journal, "you can use that to... explore yourself."
You look down and stare. He laughs again, softly. "Go on and look, it's yours."
You hesitantly touch the seam of the bag. You trace your fingers to the top and lift up the edge. Your eyes widen as you see the small silver shape in plastic packaging. You think you know exactly what it is.
"I can't..." you begin.
"You don't have to use it but you do need to... experiment with yourself. It's healthy." He says, "but if you need it... you have it now."
You move the bag under your journal as if to hide it. You give a noncommittal nod.
"And you can write down how you feel after," he offers, "oh, and... I can give you my email? If you have questions outside our typical sessions. How about that?"
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a burgundy pen, "can I put it in your journal?"
You bite down and reluctantly put down your mug. You open your notebook to a blank page and hand it to him. He puts down his email and shuts the book, putting it back in your lap.
"You did a really good job," he gently brushes his knuckles down your sleeve, "what happened to that purple sweater? I haven't seen you in it."
You shrug, "Andy liked this better..."
"Well, you shouldn't wear what Andy likes, you should wear what makes you feel nice," he gives a tug on the sleeve and draws away, standing with a groan, "well, I think you've had enough of me. Go enjoy your tea, doctor's order."
You look up at him. You slide forward and take your mug, standing with trepidation as you watch him. He smells like a forest. You like it.
"See you next week, right?"
"Sure, next week," you agree before turning away. You're just happy to get some time alone. You feel like you haven't had much of that lately.
🕊️
"Dove," Andy's timbre undercuts the chirpy tones of your music. You look at the door and lower the pen from your tablet, tapping pause as your dread returns, "Steve's heading out. Why don't you come say goodbye?"
You put your tablet aside and push yourself heavily across the bed. You stand and drag your feet, the handle rattle before you can reach it. Andy opens the door from the other side.
"Sorry, I was drawing," you murmur.
"That's fine," he says, "he asked me to come get you."
"Alright," you shrug.
Andy's eyes fall to your new outfit; the one you'd chosen yourself that morning. You see the small twitch at the corner of his lips. You move past him as if to outrun his ire.
You go downstairs and find Dr. Kemp by the door, buttoning up his black wool jacket. He has a scarf around his neck and you recall the redness in his cheeks upon his arrival. You peer out the narrow pane beside the door.
"Is it very cold out?" You ask.
"Probably even colder now," he smiles with good humour, "I never mind it. Favourite time of year."
"Oh," you bounce on your feet, "Amber always says it's hot chocolate season."
He chuckles, "that's a good way of looking at it. Hot chocolate; I'll have to remember that next time I come."
"Oh, uh, no, you don't have to–"
"I didn't say I have to, but I want to," he assures, "you a marshmallow girl? Or you like whipped cream?"
You can't help a smile of your own, "either."
"Alright, I'll bring both," he promises, "I'm sure Andrew will stick with his dark roast."
Andy growls but doesn't argue.
"Well I see I've overstayed my welcome," Kemp says, "I'll leave you two alone. Oh, Andy," he continues as he checks his watch, "what did you need me to bring for Thanksgiving? You said no to the peach cobbler so I have to learn how to make something else."
"Bring whatever," Andy replies dismissively.
"Oh, now he changes his tune," he scoffs, "what's your favourite?" Kemp looks at you. "For thanksgiving?"
You think and suddenly feel very sad. You remember the little dinners you would have with Amber, just the two of you. She always made you your favourite dish even if it wasn't very traditional.
"Banana pudding," you eke out grimly, "but… it's not very seasonal, I guess."
"But delicious," he says, "you okay?"
"Yeah, I… I'm fine," you fold your hands in front of you, trying not to let your homesickness seep through. "I… I'll see you next time."
"Sure thing," he winks, "Andrew," he nods and shakes the other man's hand, "you take care of her. She's had a long day."
You stand, spaced out, his silhouette blurring as you hear the door open and close. You just want to lay down and not think. You don't even have the energy left to draw.
"Dove," Andy touches your sleeve, "what's going on?"
"Nothing, tired," you lie.
"Alright," he accepts dully, "maybe you should relax like he said. How about I run you a bath?"
You don't answer. You pass him and head up the stairs. You can't tell him the truth, you know it'll make him mad. You don't want banana pudding, you want Amber's banana pudding.
"Hey, talk to me," he follows you, "a nice bubble bath sounds nice, doesn't it? It'll help take the tension out."
"Fine," you mutter as you get to the top of the stairs and turn down the hall.
"Is that it? No thanks?" He says tersely.
"I'm sorry," you face him just as you get to your door, "thank you, Andy, I really appreciate it."
"Do you? I thought we were making progress."
"We…are," you frown.
"Uh huh, is that why you brought her up?" He challenges. You shake your head. "Amber… you mentioned her and now you're all upset about it."
You push your lip out, "I miss her."
"You're better off here, where you can get better."
"I know but… she's still my sister."
"Right, and how much do you think she cares? She's got a whole house to herself now. And you've got one too," he gestures to the walls, "you have to stop thinking of that place as home, this is your home," he insists, "so go grab some PJs and I'll get the tub going."
You dip your head. You’re just sad, you wish he would realise it’s not his fault. That you’re lost and you always have been. You don’t know who you are or where you belong.
“Thanks,” you whisper and turn to open the bedroom door.
“Grab some of your new pajamas,” he says.
You go inside and open the dresser. You didn’t fail to notice that it found its way back flush to the wall. That must’ve been when Andy took your journal. That thought bites at your sadness, instead sparking your anger. You still can’t understand why he would do that.
You stop as you open the drawer and stare inside. You sift through the neatly folded clothes. A frilly pink nightie, another pair of pajamas with shorts printed with tiny purple hearts, items you would never pick for yourself. You remember what Dr. Kemp said.
You push aside the new sets and pick out the pair of plaid jammie pants and the grey sweatshirt with Snoopy on it. That’s your favourite pair of pajamas. Amber had the shirt with Woodstock. You hug the fabric and use your hip to close the drawer.
You grab the same novel you’ve been trying to finish since you got here and go back into the hallway. You near the bathroom door and peek inside as Andy bends over the tub. You clear your throat and set your things on the counter.
He stands and shakes the water of his hand. You can smell lavender. He faces you and dries his hand on a towel. His eyes drift from you to the clothes on the counter.
“Oh, those are… cute.”
“I like em,” you wring your hands.
“Yeah, but… they’re old. You have all your new stuff.”
“There’s no holes,” you argue, “and it’s getting colder.”
“Sure, sure,” he crosses his arms, his sleeves snug to his biceps.
You keep your eyes to the floor and move to stand against the counter. You glance over at the door, waiting for him to leave. He hesitates, stopping just in front of you.
“Dove, is everything okay?” He asks.
You tilt your head and examine the tiles. Your pulse is erratic. You shouldn’t say it. It’s not a big deal. But Dr. Kemp says you should speak up.
“No,” you clasp your hands tight, “I’m… I’m… annoyed that you took my journal.”
“Oh,” he lets the single syllable hang, “is that it? I apologised.”
“Yeah, but… but you went into my room and you went through my stuff,” you say, your tone wobbly, “and that’s… that’s wrong.”
“Well, dove, your room? This is my house,” he corrects you, “it’s not like I was snooping. I just forgot to ask you to grab it so I did it myself.” He sighs, “you know, I love you but you make such a big deal out of things.”
“It’s a big deal to me,” you sniff, “and… and you didn’t mention Thanksgiving. I didn’t know– I didn’t know we would do that. I… what if I don’t want to?”
“Don’t want to. Sweetie, why wouldn’t you want to? It’s a holiday. Our first,” he puts his hands on his hips.
You’re quiet. You swallow tightly. You take a breath and release it slowly. Your heart flips and you feel the room shift.
“Can I invite Amber?” You ask so abruptly that you have to slap your hand over your mouth. The thought escapes so fast you can’t stop it.
“Amber?” He repeats bitterly. “Why would you wanna do that?”
“Well, Thanksgiving is for family and… and you said, I want to… I want…” you can’t catch your breath, “to— say… s-s-sorry.”
“Calm down, alright? Don’t be so dramatic. Why? Sorry for what?”
“For hurting her. Like I hurt you, right? That’s what you said.”
He looks away and your eyes flick up briefly. His jaw is set and his eyes are fiery. You shy away as he faces you again.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he backs up and grabs the door, “take your bath. Get your head straight.”
He storms out and slams the door. You whimper and stare at the painted wood. You’re so stupid. One step forward, a hundred backwards. You just can’t let things be good.
#andy barber#dark andy barber#dark!andy barber#andy barber x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#au#library au#don't speak#defending jacob#series#fresh#steve kemp
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Hii I saw your scaramouche streamer and I really liked it! Can I request a kazuha streamer fluff?
My No. 1 ❤️
Pairing: Streamer!Kaedehara Kazuha x GN!Reader
Featuring: Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao & Shikanoin Heizou
Genre: Modern AU, Mutual pinning (their both down bad frfr), Extremely fluffy
Summary: being a big fan of one of your classmates who happens to be a streamer (and your crush) appears to have both its up’s and downs
Reader’s Pronouns: They/Them
Warning: probably cringe dude i haven’t written in so long
Disclaimer: ⚠️ ONLY A WORK OF FICTION!
When you found out your favorite streamer would be your classmate for your classic literature class in high school, you were both nervous and ecstatic.
Of course, you didn’t tell the man himself you were a big fan of his face work, but it didn’t matter.
You decided to get close to him cause why the heck not, am I right? Kazuha seemed like a very sweet guy in his streams so that must correlate into real life, no?
Well it did. And soon after you found yourself falling for the man more and more, not that you didn’t have a crush on him already watching his streams, you already admired him then but the infatuation just seemed to grow the by the minute.
Kazuha felt the same about you, he thought you were a very charming, attractive and helpful person. He wanted to make a move, but didn’t know how cause his friend, Xiao, a fellow streamer, insists that he has ‘Zero rizz’, which his fans beg to differ.
How was he going to ask you out?
Apparently in Kazuha’s big smooth brain, asking his chat was a good idea on how to get the person he likes.
If only he knew he already had you wrapped around his finger.
Without fail, you were watching the stream, because heaven forbid you miss one, it would actually crush your soul not to look at his beautiful face. (though you stare at him in class, he pretends not to noice but def does, shhh)
You have to admit, you were feeling a bit jealous who could this mystery person he’s been pinning on be, but you thought it be best not to pry into his private life like a good viewer.
One chatter decided to ask Kazuha to described what they look like to them, and Kazuha was more than happy to indulge his fans.
“Well…they have [e/c] eyes that I could get lost into for hours, soft hands that I brushed into once and swear I wanted to hold them forever, and a smile that just melts my heart….” he says with a dreamy sigh at the end.
His chat audibly cringes at how love sick he’s being right now, and even his friends Heizou and Xiao who were with him audibly made faces in disgust.
“What a loser, get outta here lover boy!” Heizou said with a grimace, while Xiao was still making faces of disgust, going as far as doing a fake vomit.
You could only smile to yourself, sure your felt your heart strings tug a bit but you were happy that Kazuha was happy. And that’s all that mattered to you.
Kazuha rolled his eyes which landed on his chat, and he read one message that said “You should probably tell them how you feel, you never know if they like you back until you try!”
He softly smiled and the chatter, thankful that they gave actual advice and not just mocked him into an oblivion.
Who could that faithful chatter be?
Kazuha decided to shoot his shot the next day, that’s how you know he meant business.
He planned it all out in his head last night, how he was gonna romantically tell you his feelings after classes, walk you home and maybe, if he’s lucky, a kiss or two will get involved.
Apparently that day, luck was not on his side. Or so he thought.
The whole day you were extremely busy, even in the classes you shared together you barely had the chance to talk to him, much less had the chance to romantically confess to you.
Truth is, you purposely kept yourself busy, looking at him just made your heart ache, you know that you had no business in his private life, but you couldn’t help but feel a little tug at your heart when you know the person he’s been pinning over couldn’t be you.
Eventually, Kazuha got tired of this cat and mouse game and decided to tell you head on how you made him feel. Whether you were busy or not.
Apparently he thought the time to confess with you was when you were both alone, in the classroom….cleaning.
You tried to get your work finished and over with so you don’t have to stay in his presence any longer, but he just found ways to keep you there with him.
You finally acknowledged his presence when he wouldn’t stop bumping his broom with yours.
“What is it Kazuha? I’m trying to finish my work here.” You say, a little irked at the man.
Now or never, Kazuha thought.
“Y/N, I want to tell you how i feel about you, specifically…You make me feel things i’ve never felt before, and you make my stomach erupt into a bunch of butterflies. What i’m trying to say is that…I really like you, and your personality…would you,,,,like to go out with me sometime?”
You stood there, stunned, he? liked you? you were the one he was talking about in his stream?
Kazuha took your silence as a bad sign and apologized, head tilted down in disappointment. You were quick to cup his cheeks and assure him that you like him as well, you were just surprised is all.
“Surprised? Why would you be surprised?” He asked confusedly blinking up at you through his long lashes.
“I didn’t expect the person you were taking about in your stream yesterday was me…” You said a sheepish look on your face.
That definitely caught the man’s attention, immediately looking up at you, face getting even redder if that was possible.
“Y-you, watch my streams?” “Yeah I really enjoy them! I guess I’m your No. 1 fan huh?”
“My No.1 fan huh…I like the sound of that..” He says, cupping your cheeks this time, confidence seeping into him.
He gave you a peck on the cheek, a peck on the forehead, and then a peck on the lips.
He was glad he took that chatters advice and shoot his shot.
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin#genshin x reader#genshin fluff#genshin x you#genshin angst#genshin crack#genshin imagines#kazuha#kaedehara kazuha#genshin kazuha#kaedehara kazuha x reader
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