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cordeliawhohung · 5 months

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OMG i just saw your !MafiaGhost on how they met but can you do how !MafiaJohnPrice met with the reader? (if you haven't already and have the time of course. 😊💕.)

mafia!John Price x fem!Reader

John Price has always walked a different path in life than people like you. And yet, despite your status, he learns that the two of you are more alike than he thought. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

mafia!141 masterlist

warnings: vague mentions of death and violence, infidelity, crude language, hurt/comfort, unhealthy relationship dynamics

wc: 4.3k

an: sorry this took me a bit to answer! as you can see i got carried away. also, as we're headed into the new year, i'd just like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who's been supporting my works! i recently hit 1k followers, and i cannot thank you guys enough for your lovely comments <3 i hope you all enjoy :)

“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Those were the first words John’s father ever said about you. He used one long, crooked finger to point you out in the crowd of other students who mingled about the room with their parents. Everyone had gathered in the school gymnasium for the science fair where all Year 8 students had projects and posters set up on rickety fold tables. Voices echoed endlessly off of the hard floor and walls that it was almost overwhelming.

Really, he didn’t agree with his father about you being trouble. You were plenty kind, and well liked by students and teachers alike due to your kindness and intellect. A proper student, one that everyone else in the school strived to be. There were times where your words bit harder than most would have liked, but John just saw that as you telling things the way they were. He liked that about you. Admired you, even. But then he saw the real reason why his father said those words.

The man who accompanied you oozed authority and power, both in his stance and the way he walked. People regarded him like he was the King of England himself both in how they spoke to him and stepped around him like he could part a crowd with just a single glance. Most importantly, this man was your father, and he donned a uniform fit for only the chief of police himself. His father never liked police officers very much. They always made things difficult when it came to running the family business.

It wasn’t until Year 11 that he actually talked to you. Or, more like you talked to him. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat the two of you together in the small, double seated desks that laid in perfect lines around the entirety of the room. He learned that you liked to doodle in the corner of your paper during lectures, and had a tendency to tap your pencil against the desk while taking exams. He liked the way your eyebrows knitted together in concentration, and how soft your voice was when whispering answers to the table next to you.

He didn’t have time to think about you often, not that he should have. John Price was unfortunate enough to come from a family that had a long line of brutal patriarchs that often conditioned equally as cruel heirs. Once he turned sixteen he was forced to go along with his father during his work escapades where he very quickly learned how to clean up bodies without dirtying himself. He often showed up at school with various cuts and bruises, and with heavy bags under his eyes. Balancing the life of a killer and a student was tiring work.

“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.”

It took John a moment to realize you were talking to him, and even then he still didn’t fully believe it until he looked over and saw you staring at him. You were leaned forward over your desk with your hand lazily propping up your head while you waited for him to answer. His pencil halted in its dance across his work as he brought his full attention your way.

“Color corrector?” he repeated.

“Yeah, you know. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’d have to find your own shade of foundation.”

Your bluntness and slight humor towards the shiner on his eye had him chuckling, which only made the smile on your face grow into a smirk.

“You sound like an expert,” he noticed.

“I am,” you quipped before grinning. Carefully, you reached a hand up to the collar of your uniform and pulled down, exposing the side of your neck and some of your collar bone. There were several, small and faint hickies that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you pointing them out. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.”

John liked your humor. And maybe there was something a little comforting knowing that someone like you was getting into trouble, too. Albeit, significantly less violent trouble than him, but that was for the best anyway. Maybe it gave him hope that someone like you and someone like him could actually have something in common. That he could resemble something that was normal.

A few years passed, and John began to drift from you bit by bit. You ended up graduating at the top of the class which earned you several offers from the most prestigious schools across the country, and it was all anyone talked about. Great things awaited you with opportunities to see distant lands, meet new people, and live a good and honest life.

As for John, his father died when he was twenty-three. Murdered, to be exact, and in a manner eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, and ruthless, his fathers existence had been snuffed out by a single bullet where his blood stained the pillow that covered his face.

The torch had been passed down, and its handle was still bloody.

Over the years he grew rigid and battle hardened in the business of violence. He earned plenty of scars, and built upon his fathers empire until it was twice as big and infinitely more dangerous. It was the only thing his father had ever managed to teach him; how to be dangerous. Everyone who once thought the Price’s were people to fuck with learned very quickly that the new Don had nothing to lose but his own life; one that he didn’t care all too much about.

The only thing he held close to him was the ghosts of his past, which was why he found himself standing in line at the florist’s shop. Even while running a quick errand, his phone vibrated in his pocket non-stop from merciless amounts of emails flooding his inbox. Mostly updates about certain events within the family that he attempted to lazily check as the woman in front of him spoke sweetly to the shopkeeper. Her voice was so soft, so comforting, so… familiar?

He didn’t realize it was you in front of him until you turned to leave with a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. Even after all those years he could recognize the features of your face like it was second nature. The shopkeeper spoke to him and asked him what she could do to help him, but her words didn’t even register in his mind. His feet moved on their own accord, and your name slipped out of his lips before he could do anything to stop it.

Once you turned around to face him he found that the air had been knocked completely out of his lungs. It had been years since he had seen you, and you had changed so much; grown into your features, and turned into a beautiful woman that left him speechless. However, you didn’t regard him with the same dreamy gaze; instead, you stood there and stared at him as you awkwardly adjusted the flowers in your arms.

“Yes?” you asked tensely.

You didn’t recognize him. Of course, it made sense. He had grown significantly taller, his facial hair was full and thick, and for once he wasn’t sporting a shiner. His clothes were also significantly nicer, as he seemed to have grown fond of business casual as of late. If anything, your confusion was more humorous than anything else because he should have seen it coming.

“John, John Price,” he said as if he was introducing himself for the first time.

There was something about the way your eyes lit up at his name that had him feeling warmer than he had in a long while. A precious grin broke out on your lips as you took a step closer to him and laughed in the way someone does when they’ve figured out the answer to a riddle, and it was too contagious for John to not chuckle with you.

“I didn’t recognize you!” you exclaimed, still giggling. “God, it’s been years! Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” he countered.

It was like no time had passed at all. You were still that star pupil that you were all those years ago, and he could still hear your pencil tapping on your desk clear as day. It felt unreal.

“What’s the occasion?” he then asked, gesturing to the flowers you held.

“Oh,” you said, as if surprised. “Well, it’s, uhm, the anniversary of my dad’s passing.”

The chief of police? Your father? That man who always held himself so powerfully had been shoved into the cold, unforgiving earth? When he was a kid that man had always seemed indestructible. Then again, so did every other adult when you’re at that age.

“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologized.

Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, you still smiled. “It’s alright. Was a while ago now, anyway. But, uh, what about you?” you asked, gesturing towards him and his empty arms.

“Mum’s birthday,” he answered simply.

His response made you smile something small and bittersweet. “How sweet of you. I bet she’ll love them.”

“Yes, they’ll make for good decoration.”

Something settled between the two of you; something that had never been there before. Not while you were children; not when you grew up together. Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar, and much too suffocating, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome it or not.

“Well, I ought to get going,” you excused politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But it was really good seeing you again, John.”

This was the part where he should have said goodbye. Wished you farewell just for you to vanish and most likely never see him again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, and instead he found his hand diving into his pocket before he could stop it. He grabbed a pen and stole one of the shop's business cards off of the counter where he quickly scribbled down something in the negative space before holding it out for you to take.

“Here. I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there,” he assured you.

To his surprise, you took the card without hesitation where your eyes quickly scanned his rushed handwriting while you thanked him. As you held the card in front of you, something caught John’s attention. There was a metallic glint on your finger, one so bright that it nearly blinded him, and he realized you wore a large, gaudy ring. It was something given to you in poor taste, surely. Something that attempted to steal the spotlight of your beauty rather than compliment it.

“Did you get married?” he asked in what he told himself was curiosity.

You paused for a moment as you glanced at the ring on your finger. With such a large and obnoxious gem on a thin band, he was surprised it hadn’t snapped off.

“Oh, not yet. Just engaged,” you said in an odd tone. As if you couldn’t stand to look at the ring any longer, you shoved the card into your pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you, again.”

He tried to forget about you after that. Tried to forget about that ring on your finger and the way your voice changed when you mentioned your engagement. But it was so easy to worry about you; to care about you. Even after all those years you were still just as sweet and well spoken, but he was still John Price. Now the Don of the most lethal mafia in the country, he shouldn’t have been around anyone like you. You were the chief of police’s daughter, the girl who graduated top of his class in school and went to university; trouble. Nothing but trouble.

So he kept to his own work. Ran his club on the south end of the city, washed the blood out of his shirt, and spent his nights sipping brandy that was too expensive and well crafted for a man like him. But then he thought about the dress that you’d wear, how you would do your hair, what song you’d want to have your first dance to… it was moments like that when he was glad that he had given you his number rather than the other way around. He was even more glad that you hadn’t made an effort to reach out to him. It was better that way.

“You alright, boss?”

Those three words tore John right out of his thoughts and slammed him right back down to earth. Back to the thundering bass that shook the walls around him in the nightclub, back to real life and the man who sat at the desk in front of him, typing away on the computer.

“Tired,” John replied simply.

“You’re always tired,” the man countered. He paused his typing at the computer and ran a hand over his hair, which he had styled into a slightly grown out mohawk. “Even then you never space out this bad.”

Whatever Soap, his electronics specialist, was trying to get at, John certainly wasn’t in the mood for it. Sighing, he leaned back further in his seat while he stared at the man with a tense expression. “Do you have the intel or not?”

A small chuckle came from the corner of the office where another man sat, seemingly bored as he typed away on his phone. “Way to piss the man off.”

“Aye, I’ll turn that phone of yours into a fancy brick if you don’t watch your tone, Garrick.”

The two men chuckled at each other’s teasing just in time for John’s own phone to go off. Not expecting a call, John ripped the device out of his pocket and stared at the unrecognized caller ID with his thumb hovering over the decline button. But he hesitated. It had been months since he had given you his number, and yet a small part of him worried you might have been on the other line.

When he stood from his chair, it caught the other two men in the room off guard, but they stayed silent as they watched John accept the call and raise the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered.

All he got in response was a sob.

By the time John had found you, all of your tears had run dry and a brutal fury filled the empty space. It wasn’t terribly late at night, but it was plenty dark enough that the park you had run off to looked eerie and uninviting in the dim halogen lights. Knees bouncing with anxiety, you sat on a park bench and bit into your bottom lip as you watched John approach from the street.

For as much effort as he put into looking calm on the outside, it did absolutely nothing to settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing you cry, hearing you beg for him to come get you scared him more than he cared to admit. Really, he was rather proud of himself for keeping as level headed as he did, even after he saw the tear stains on your cheeks.

It didn’t take long to coax what happened out of you, in fact, it nearly erupted out of you. That fiance of yours had proved to be less honest than he liked to paint himself as, and as the two of you sat on that park bench in the middle of the night you gave him every excruciating detail. How he had been acting strange for a few months, how he used to show you off and then suddenly wanted to keep you locked away. A part of you knew what was really happening, and yet you told yourself you were crazy until you had walked in on your fiance fucking his mistress in your shared bed.

“Four fucking years, John,” you said, trying not to grit your teeth too hard that they cracked. “Four years of being with this man just for him to do that? He moved me into his flat, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me. I have nothing. I don’t have my own place, I hardly have my own money, I was an idiot and gave up everything because he asked me to and I was stupid enough to believe him.”

By that point in your rant your knees were bouncing so fast your entire body vibrated. Terrified you’d disintegrate in front of him, John reached a careful hand out and brushed it against your shoulder. Though you didn’t say anything about it, or even look at him differently, your muscles seemed to relax some.

“I could’ve been great,” you continued as your voice began to break. “I was able to go to any school in this country, I got my degree, I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them. I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I wasn’t. I’m not, and that fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”

More tears fell from your eyes after that, and it didn’t take much prompting from John before you crumbled against his side. When was the last time someone had held you like that? Wrapped their arms around you and held you close? When was the last time someone comforted you and actually meant it and not just in some sort of twisted expectation of devotion? Something in you told you that you should have felt shame for blatantly sobbing on a man in such a public space at an hour like that. Another part of you didn’t really care.

It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay at his place. Eyes refusing to look at him when you gave him excuse after excuse, it was obvious that you didn’t want to burden him anymore than you already had. So you told him you could stay with your mom, or even get a hotel if that wouldn’t work, but John simply wouldn’t hear it.

Eventually you were in the living room of his house. An actual house. Not an apartment or flat in the city, but something kind and quaint in the higher end of town. He had a real lawn and backyard that was perfectly manicured, and everything on the inside of the house was much too perfect and clean. It was something straight out of the catalogs you’d see in magazines or on HGTV.

First order of business was a shower, and though it felt strange changing into John’s clothes, you would have done anything to wipe the stench of your cheating fiance off of you. And maybe it was because of the spite that boiled inside of you, but you found that you liked the way John’s clothes smelled significantly more than you ever liked your ex’s. Second was getting you food, and though you had told John you weren’t hungry, the scent of his buffalo chicken was too good to pass up.

It was near midnight by the time you went to bed, and John had made sure everything was set up for you in the guest room before he meandered back down to the kitchen to clean up. There was still plenty of work that needed to be finished that night back with the boys. He took comfort in knowing that you’d be safe in his house, at least, and well out of reach of that terrible excuse of a man.

When John finished cleaning things up in the kitchen, it took him a moment to notice the incessant buzzing sound that plagued the room. Like rattling glass, it made his ears quiver just listening to it, and he quickly scavenged the countertops until he found your phone resting on the island in the center of the room. Flashing lights illuminated the screen as your ex’s caller ID and photo popped up. He caught the tail end of the call, and the screen faded back to your lock screen where it claimed to have received 27 missed calls, as well as 84 unread text messages.

Where the fuck are you?

Answer your fucking phone.

Baby please.

Answer me.

Stop being a fucking bitch.

Goddamn skank.

Come on, honey it means nothing.

Are you seriously making this a big deal?

Come home before I drag you home.

I’m not fucking around.

You’re pissing me off.

Before leaving the house to head back to the nightclub, John swiped up your phone and hid it in his pocket, along with that god awful ring you didn’t care to wear anymore.

In the morning you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours with clothes that didn’t fit you, yet you had never felt so comfortable in your entire life. It had been a long while since you last felt like you belonged; since you felt comfortable in your own skin. Still, you couldn’t stay there forever and you forced yourself up off of the mattress as you snuck your way to the living room. You were greeted by several large boxes that sat stacked neatly in the furthest corner of the room, and once again John was in the kitchen making food. He still wore the same clothes he had the night before, and they looked terribly disheveled, yet he still continued on anyway.

“Mornin’,” he greeted as he looked up from his pan where several eggs sizzled away. “Sleep alright?”

Still groggy, you approached the island where you lazily leaned against it. “Yeah. Looks like you didn’t get any, though.”

John chuckled, something tired yet still hearty at the same time. “Perceptive.”

“Always have been.”

John quickly finished up the eggs and began to dish out the food onto plates. While you waited, your fingers lazily ran over the counter top where they collided with your phone, and it took everything in you to hold back a sigh. Looking down at it, you pressed the home button where the screen lit up, expecting to see several messages from your ex, and yet there was nothing. You stood there perplexed and wondered if the man had really let you just run away from him, until you noticed something else missing.

“Have you seen my ring?” you questioned as John slid a plate of food your way.

“Your ex took it back,” John answered simply. He stood on the other side of the island for a moment before he turned around and started cleaning up the mess of ingredients and dishes that littered the counter. “I also managed to retrieve all your personal items. They’re stacked in the living room when you’re ready to look through them.”

Mouth open in surprise, you glanced back into the living room and eyed the stack of boxes before looking back at John with a raised eyebrow. “How… how’d you manage all that?”

Perhaps he should have hesitated before answering. Thought of something to say other than the truth. Instead, John didn’t miss a beat in answering you as he continued cleaning.

“He sent you a few messages last night and I saw his name pop up on your phone. Didn’t realize you were engaged to the mayor’s son,” he explained. “I have some contacts who were able to get me an audience with him. I figured it would be easier for me to grab your items than you doing it yourself. Save you the trouble, at least. He shouldn’t be bugging you again.”

For the longest time, you didn’t know what to say. There were a few glaringly obvious holes in his explanation, namely why there weren’t any notifications on your phone. If he had only glanced at it, they would have still been there, and yet they had been cleared. Then there was the fact your ex was too self centered to ever have an audience with anyone he didn’t actively seek out. Perhaps even stranger, you weren’t at all surprised. Maybe you were a little taken aback at everything he had done for you, but not at the methods he used to get it done. Because you had known John’s secret from the very beginning. After all, you had been the chief’s daughter.

“John,” you said, voice soft and even.

Drying his hands off on a small towel, he turned around to finally face you where he was surprised to find you smiling. And god, you were stunning, so much so that all he could do was stand there and wait for you to continue.

“I’m glad I ran into you at the flower shop,” you finished. “Thank you. For everything.”

It wasn’t what he expected you to say, and still he mimicked your smile, although it was much more tired than yours had been. Life was strange. Nothing had ever gone as planned in John’s life, and yet there was you. Through all the years and the shit and the struggles, you had found your way back into his life, and for some strange reason, he found himself hoping you’d stick around this time, no matter how much trouble you caused.

“Any time, darling.”

don't let me in with no intention to keep me jesus christ, don't be kind to me honey, don't feed me, i will come back

#mafia!price #mafia!john price #mafia!141 #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader

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the-orange-tabby-cat · 3 months

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Wednesday

joel miller x fem!reader

Summary of the fic: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn't stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group. 🐾

read on AO3 | masterlist | previous chapter Warnings: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader's mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n Word count of the chapter: 3,7k

A/N: For the longest time I've thought "What if Joel lost Sarah anyway?" and this became the answer to this question. I have no clue about how big this series will be, but I do know I want to explore grief and loss with these two in the most delicate way possible. Hope you enjoy it 🐾

I. LILAC

Coffee. Sketchbook. Balcony. Five years of waking up early on Wednesdays, grabbing a cup of coffee, and sitting near the railings to wait for him. Like a clock, at 8 am sharp he appears by the street corner with a lilac bouquet under his arm.

His strong profile will be the only thing in your vision for a few minutes as he walks by. You drew it so many times that you could do it with your eyes closed. The man will walk by at a steady pace without looking around (brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of sign), focused on his way down the street.

Tall, dark hair and a patchy beard with a square jaw… He is dreamy, but also out of reach. Where is he going? Why the lilacs? Are they for a woman, his wife maybe? Every Wednesday at 8 am, never a minute late, both he and you.

As you took a sip of your coffee, you glanced over the watch marking 7:58 am, he would be here any minute. You prepared the table in expectancy, what outfit would he be wearing today? You hoped for the green shirt, but the blue one wouldn’t be as bad.

7:59 am. His hair is a little overgrown now, but you like the way his curls frame his face. The broadness of his shoulders and how tall he looks next to the other pedestrians. You aren’t sure of the color of his eyes from afar, maybe green or brown.

8:01 am and no signal of him. This is a first. Maybe you mistook the day of the week, check your phone, and… No, Wednesday still. You squirm in your seat, impatiently looking for him. 8:07 am, he never got so late. Should you keep waiting? You don’t even know his name.

At 8:30 am you give up. A wave of melancholy fills the air. Oh god, be for fucking real, are you really sad because a strange man and his stupid lilacs didn’t walk down your street?

“Don’t forget: 9 am at the gate”, you reread your grandpa's text.

You couldn’t be able to forget it, but deep down wish you could avoid it. Cemeteries aren’t your thing, the constant reminder of the death surrounding you. However, they are Grandpa’s way of dealing with it and who are you to judge?

The sketchbook is opened at the last page you drew, with the man staring in front of him fully angered. How did you end up with over 200+ drawings of a man you never met? The doctor said finding a hobby would help and so you did: drawing. “You see what no one else sees”, your mom used to say and you decided to take a test. Too bad your eyes landed on a strange man walking down the street, holding on tightly to a lilac bouquet. Even worse he had been doing the same path for five years right in front of your balcony. The only things in your sketchbook are his face, his hands, and the bouquet. This is your third one since you kept running out of pages.

As you put the sketchbook away, your mind drifted away to your mother’s (possible) commentary. “Don’t be silly, he will come by later, I’m sure something happened” and she, most likely, would be right. She was always right. 8:50 am and with your chest tightened from “talking” to her inside your mind, your feet landed at the cemetery’s gate.

“No flowers? Really? Who raised you, pigs?”, your grandpa said narrowing his eyes at you.

He, of course, was an impeccable mess in his hat, black coat, thin-framed glasses that gave him a Bond villainesque look. In his rugged hands a white rose bouquet, carefully made and held by.

“If I remember right, and I do remember it, we are talking about the same woman who said that flowers are for the living, not the dead.” He rolled his eyes in response but in good fun. “Why the flowers then?”

“My biggest mistake was to raise a woman a little too avant-garde, wasn’t it? C’mon, we don’t have the whole day,” he deep sighed while showing you the way.

You knew the path, but your feet seemed to avoid getting there, that’s why you followed Grandpa’s steps in the hope of not turning around and leave. It was a little ritualistic if you were honest: Grandpa would have some kind of gift in his hands that he would leave at the tombstone, and you would pretend to do not care as you deeply cared about it. She wasn’t there anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time.

Behind his glasses, you could see a lost man driven by grief. His hands shaking as he cleaned her name at the tombstone, the gaze avoiding yours. He would always wear black on cemetery days, as if the time never passed and it was the first visit yet.

“Want to go first?” He asked, you sighed in response. “Don’t know why I still ask.”

“It’s… Fine. You know she was a Buddhist, right? She believed in reincarnation. I feel a little silly talking to her,” you confessed while chewing the lip corners.

“Oh, trust me: I knew her the same amount as you, maybe even more. She was my daughter, for fuck’s sake.” Startled, you looked at him in shock at the rare occasion he would curse. Shit. “I’m not here because of her beliefs or lifestyle. Do you quote her inside your head? Because I do too, I too remember every small detail of her. I’m here because it’s how I tell myself she isn’t fully gone. So sorry if I’m too old-fashioned and feel like talking a few words at my daughter's tombstone with my grandaughter who, honestly? Could show a little more love towards her right now. I want to talk with her like we used to at the kitchen table on Sundays, I want to bring her flowers just like I did on her birthday and there is no Buddha, Allah, or a flying horse that can stop me. Now, can you open your fucking mouth and say something nice to your mom about your week?”

Silence took the space for a second before you simply replied with, “Better?”

“Yes, a lot. Thank you for asking, now go on, please.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. You hummed, getting a little courage to look directly at the tombstone.

“Hum. I got a new couch last week, a velvety green one. A little too sexy, if I might, but you would probably say I need something sexy to attract someone even sexier. Am I rambling?” You asked, raising your eyes from the stone, but he made a motion for you to continue it. “Let me think, oh, the cat hunted a pigeon. It was somewhat disgusting because of the amount of feathers in my apartment…”

“Did the pigeon survive?” He asked, in his eyes with a slight curiosity.

“Yes, but by a thread. It was her cat, a little savage just like her!”

The conversation went on easily after it. Grandpa had found some old notebooks of your mom, including one with a cake recipe he would later send to you. You wouldn’t tell him, it did feel better not because you were speaking to her, but because you could watch him relax in his uptight perpetual state. In the blink of an eye, your mind wandered to the strange man and if he ever relaxed like that.

Grief is a strange thing. It took a little encouragement from your therapist and the need to move on, but you had started to go to weekly meetings of a grief support group at the local church (the only thing that made you enter that space). The first months were awkward, you went but avoided it at the same time. Slowly, it grew on you. Five years of not missing a single Wednesday, even on vacation.

Your grandpa tried once, but it just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to move on or find a meaning for it, he needed to feel his grief as second skin. You needed it to stop suffocating you, to scream and shout about that weight in the hope of someone taking it from your back.

This Wednesday wasn’t any different. You entered the church's back door with some cookies in hand, even if you were well aware that most people couldn’t eat as they exposed their pain, it was more of a sweet gesture than a necessity. The white walls and the cross in front of you completed the scenario.

“Cookies? You never eat anything,” Henry questioned while taking a bite. His dark eyes staring suspiciously at you.

“My grandpa found an old cookie recipe from my mom. How does it taste?” You replied as you watched him bite. You couldn’t bear to try it first, too anxious about it.

“Your mom was definitely a writer, not a chef. Taste like an old sock.” His face contorted as he spat out the cookie. Well, you tried something new.

“Yeah, no wonder I survived out of Lucky Charms and BTLs.” Henry laughed as you let go of your shoulder’s tension a bit.

The grief support group had grown and shrunk over the years. Sometimes people would feel good enough to leave the support, those were the lucky ones: grief was a period of their life, not an everyday thing. In other cases, they would get too depressed and leave before making some actual change in their being. You, unfortunately, were addicted to bond with the pain part of it.

Well, you and them. Henry was the first you met, totally wrecked after losing his little brother, Sam, to leukemia. He almost left college due to the weight of grief but kept it together, you even went to his graduation a few years back.

Tess came later. First, her kid died and then, in a stroke of bad luck, she found out she had a terminal disease that would, eventually, kill her. She wasn’t there to deal with the death of others, but her own. She was slowly dying and it was scary as shit. Not that you would know it from the outside, she had more strength (both physically and mentally) than most.

Frank was the group leader, conducting the discussion and creating the safe spaces. Everything you had said while hugging him, no matter how bad, never came back to hunt you. Which was odd on its own, but even odder considering his grumpy husband, Bill, was the exact opposite. Everything you did said in Bill’s direction came back to hunt you right after it came out of your mouth.

People come and go, but you stay there. Grabbing your regular place at the circle, putting the name tag on your shirt, and drinking some water just in case you cry. Except today you have someone new seated across you.

His strong nose and patchy beard hint someone you do know. His square jaw tensed up, brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t talk to me, I want to go home” that you could draw with eyes closed. The name tag reads “Joel”. You were right, his eyes are brown.

It feels weird to look at him without a pen and paper in hand, but it feels just right to see his features up close. Tess brings him coffee - black, you noticed - and gives him an eye silently saying “Don’t fuck it up”.

The meeting starts, Frank asks who is there for the first time. Joel and a woman, Hannah, raise their hands.

“It’s tradition to introduce ourselves at our first meeting. You don’t need to tell the details of why you are here or who you are, just simple information that people can distinguish you from the rest of the group.” Frank explains to a tired Joel, who sighs in response while Hannah overshares who she is.

Of course he doesn’t want to be there. Nobody wants to. You wish you could leave every time you cross the door, but know that the moment the meeting starts to develop you will want to continue in that deep state of pouring your heart out.

“I’m Joel, my friend Tess convinced me to come. That’s it.” He simply states, loud and straight. You catch Frank laughing.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to push you a little on it. Why did you accept to come here?” Joel furrows even deeper at the provocation.

“I didn’t. She trapped me.” Tess raises her very blonde eyebrows at him, who snaps. “You did trap me. Call me saying it was an emergency, I go to your house expecting the worst and you lock me inside there until the time to come here after I said I wouldn’t go to a grief support group.”

“See? He is an asshole, he needs this.” She answers Frank, making sure he gets her points. Your mom was right, something had happened to him.

“So, Joel, why are you here still?” Frank subtly asks.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel’s eyes are softer now, getting caught off guard. He doesn’t have any argument for it.

“Yes Joel, why are you still here? I’m not trapping you in this char, nobody is holding you down.” Tess retorts her mouth in his direction, that scoffs and looks around the room. When his eyes look into yours, you smile coyly unable to retain yourself.

“Sir, please continue.” Accepting defeat, Joel crosses his arms around his chest, fully ignoring Tess's triumphant smile.

“You are free to leave at any point, no need to tell us why. But I guarantee that if you stay, you might learn we aren’t that bad.” Frank nods in his direction, gaining a hard sigh. “Let’s start. Before every meeting, we say out loud the names of those who have gone to allow ourselves to think about them without shame, remorse, or guilt. You know the drill, Henry?”

“Sam,” Henry says firmly.

“Abigail,” you speak loudly.

Another silly little gesture, but you do allow yourself to think about her after it. Every single time. It’s almost as if the weight of her, the one that you carry around all day and pretend isn’t there suffocating you, comes to sit by you, not on you.

“Teresa,” Tess points at her.

“Sarah,” Joel almost murmurs looking at the ground. His hands are fidgeting, his mind in another place.

You have been there, you know how strange it is to say it for the first time out loud after a while, sounds forbidden and partly awkward. You aren’t supposed to say it to strangers, it’s sacred just for you, and yet, here you are saying it to whoever wants to share this pain with you.

You wonder if Sarah liked lilac flowers.

Some people speak about how they dealt with grief during the week until Frank asks you how the cemetery visit went. The group knows that meeting your grandpa there gives you a chill up the spine.

“I think I forget that he is allowed to grieve as he needs. I know all these little parts of her, how she lived her life. I’m quick to fight because she isn’t here to defend herself. I’m not even sure she would like for me to defend the memory of who she is… Sorry, was. Of who she was.” You swallow dryly, trying to ignore the miswording. “He bought her flowers. She always said that flowers were for the living, not the dead, and yet, he bought her a bouquet. I got frustrated, felt like he was trying to put her in a box of who he wanted her to be.

“He put me in my place quickly, even said fuck.” Henry makes some noise in surprise, you nod agreeing. “Exactly, it dawned on me: the flowers are for him, not for her. Just like his grief and how he needs to express it is only for himself, not for me to judge. I think he misses her more than he tells me. If I could go back in time, I would have implored him to cremate her and stop this nonsense of going to her grave, checking her tombstone, giving her damn flowers.”

“Maybe the flowers are his way of saying out loud that he cares too. She was his daughter before being your mother.” Joel speaks out loud, getting your full attention. His arms are still crossed, but now his eyes are lost in thought, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear it.

“Maybe. I just wish he allowed himself to stop pretending she is still here. I want to think of her without feeling guilty that she isn’t. He is too busy missing her to notice that I’m missing him.” You answer locking eyes with Joel, who chews the corners of his mouth, once again deep in thought.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it, need help.” His voice soft, just like his eyes.

“Maybe.” You give in, feeling that Joel isn’t speaking about your grandpa. You swallow as you remember the lilacs.

The meeting runs smoothly. The group finishes by drinking coffee before parting ways. Frank is chatting by the corner with Joel, who is running a hand by the nape of his neck. Curiosity gets the best of you and, before you can stop, you question Tess.

“Who is Sarah?”

“A million-dollar question, huh?” She teases as she sips her sugary coffee. Henry looks between you two, waiting for a response. “You both haven’t heard from me, I’ll deny til death that I’ve ever said it. His daughter, she died a few years back. He hasn’t been the same since. That motherfucker goes to her grave every fucking Wednesday.”

“He visits her every Wednesday?” The number of drawings of Joel walking down your street early in the morning with a lilac bouquet makes more sense. His face, his fast speed, how he ignored everyone that walked by, how he never noticed you at your balcony.

“Yes, she died on a Wednesday, he relives that event every week since.”

Frank walks in your direction, Joel right behind him looking everywhere, except your face. If he only knew how much you have looked at his face before.

“I recall you haven’t been a mentor yet, right?” Frank starts and you nod, curious about where he is going. “Amazing! You’ll have your first newbie. Joel, you’re in good hands.”

He leaves before you can say anything, whether yes or no. Fuck. Joel is confused as well, still looking like he would rather leave. You open your mouth and go grab your phone.

“Sooooo… How was your first meeting?” Flipping through your phone until find your own number isn’t a good move to show that you are smart, trustful and worthy but right now you only want to avoid his brown eyes.

“Pass.” You blink at him. “I won’t keep chit-chatting. Cut to the chase.”

“Oh damn, I thought you had softened a little with time.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes and you smirk at him, reading him like a book. “I’ll give you my number in case you need someone to talk to. And yes, you can call me anytime you want to. And no, I won’t get your number. You come to me or I won’t come to you.”

That entertains him a little. It was the first rule of your mentor, she made sure you would look for her and not the other way so you could understand when and what triggered you. Joel just nods as he saves your contact.

“When did you first contact your mentor?” He questions, sounding genuine in his curiosity.

“Diet Coke, couldn’t drink.” The furrowed brows are back, so you continue. “My mom would mostly only drink Diet Coke, after she passed away I would buy canes just to open and hear the sizzling. Couldn’t drink otherwise would vomit from stress. It was really hot and I craved one, made that call and drank it.”

“And you drank the whole thing?” His soft eyes are back and you feel a little foolish for thinking that he could have green eyes, not when the dark brown suits him so much.

“Yes and vomited right away. Still, it was worth the shot.” You smile and for a fraction of time, he smiles too.

He doesn’t call right after and neither shows up at the grief support group. You still draw him, but from memory, the last time you watched as he strolled your street it was three months ago. Something about his grief seems too personal and you feel awkward invading that space, instead, every Wednesday at 8 am you find another thing to do. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, ignoring his handsome profile and the lilacs on his hands, but you allow his privacy.

The only reminder of your favorite habit is the sketchbook at the table and the fresh lilacs decorating your balcony.

Time goes by slowly and too fast, the weight of your mom still at your back as the life surrounding you goes on its course. You almost forget about him until a Wednesday morning, 8 am sharp, your phone chimes and you pick up at the first beep.

“I can’t eat pancakes. I hate pancakes, but she loved it.” He softly says and you stop everything to listen.

“You made from scratch or store-bought?” You phrased it like it is an important question. He hums back on the phone.

“Store-bought, don’t know how to make the batch. She straight up bought only the mix.”

“Would you eat with her, despite not liking it?” Your hand slides the paper, creating his silhouette line after line.

“Yes.” He simply answered, as if it was the most common question in the world.

“What are you waiting for? Take a bite.”

And he does. The chewing sound from the other side fills the phone, your hand keeps drawing him in his overgrown hair, almost as if you could see the scene right before your eyes.

“So, was it worthed?” You ask looking at the draw as he finishes his plate.

“Still taste disgusting.” He soft replies after a second, you snort and he laughs. The sound is the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard. next chapter

#joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us #the last of us hbo #wednesday series

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ghost-proofbaby · 11 months

Text

you showed me colors (eddie munson x fem!reader)

"YOU SHOWED ME COLORS YOU KNOW I CAN'T SEE WITH ANYONE ELSE."

summary: the soulmate au based on "illicit affairs" by taylor swift that almost no one asked for.

warnings: ANGST, HURT/NO COMFORT, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, strategic use of pet names, allusions to sex but none described, reader is referred to as a girl a few times, no use of Y/N, canon compliant. not really edited (cause i'm not putting myself through this shit again).

wc: 15.1k+

a/n: im genuinely sorry for once. blame @abibliophobiaa and @breddiemunson for this. also, thank you @hellfire--cult for helping me with the header!!! please take all those warnings very seriously. please. (also shout out to ash who got her own divider sort of so she'd know when to stop reading because my baby doesn't like angst 😅)

The first thirteen years of your life, you only had second hand accounts to trust when it came to colors.

The sky is blue, soft and dreamy, nearly translucent until grey wisps of clouds would overrun it on stormy days (although, the clouds, you could make out). Most grass is green, verdant and rich as it sprouts from the hard dirt. Even the yellowing strands are most likely gorgeous, a sign of life and death, a sign that someone once stood atop the green and held their ground. Roses come in a rainbow of shades, but everyone seems to adore the staunch red ones the best. The plush pink of a lover’s kiss-bitten lips, the warm brown fur of the dogs you passed by on the street, the deep violet of the plums your mother proclaimed as her favorite fruit. A range of colors you had only ever heard of, never experienced yourself.

For thirteen years, all you had was stories. Nothing tangible, nothing solid in your palms. Mere crumbs of a promise of what you would have one day, when you met your soulmate.

When you met him.

It wasn’t the most pleasant of circumstances in which you two met. You’d spent a lot of your childhood fascinated with the concept and lost in daydreams about it – maybe they’d be a stranger you caught the eye of on the train, or maybe they’d be the one making your coffee at a quaint cafe in a big city someday. Whoever they would be, you wanted them to be made of all the fairytales. You wanted a meeting to challenge every romantic story you’d been fed through your youth, you wanted a love that would shake the very Earth you wandered from the first time your eyes met theirs.

Your reality seemed as far from earth-quake inducing as they could get, at the time. Looking back, though, you wish you could plead and change your youthful mind. Because the day wasn’t perfect, the situation was terrible shades of melancholy, but none of that really matters; what matters is that on that sunny Wednesday afternoon, you met him.

Scraped knees. You had scraped knees, sitting embarrassed and frazzled beneath a tree as you tried to sink into the shade surrounding its base and erase the memory of what had just transpired. You could still hear all the other kids’ taunts echoing through your mind, cruel and unnecessary words that were suited to follow you the rest of your days. Comments on your looks and teases of things you couldn’t change. Seeds of insecurity that were hard to swallow at the beginning of your teen youth.

You were still picking at the edges of your open wounds with slow drying tears still coating your cheeks when his shadow joined the tree’s.

“Are you alright?”

You looked up immediately to find a boy standing there. Your eyes had traveled slowly, taking in his baggy jeans with patchwork knees and his oversized faded t-shirt first. Even with the hand-me-down clothes, you could recognize his gangly limbs beneath it all. A frail frame and hunger-panged face. An overgrown buzz cut, no doubt prickly as the hairs stood to attention. Sunken in eyes brimming with concern for you. Whatever shade they were, they had to be dark; they were nearly black in the shades of grey your eyes could currently pick up on.

The thing about soulmates, is the colors don’t happen until you touch your soulmate.

“I’m fine,” you stubbornly replied, wrapping your arms around your shins and tucking your knees beneath your chin despite the sting.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.”

He threw his hands up defensively, shrugging a bony shoulder, “Sorry.”

He wasn’t sorry. Even with the wince that graced his face, he wasn’t sorry for checking in on you. You knew it the moment you caught the broken skin on his knuckles, nearly matching the cuts on your knees. You had fallen on the pavement as you’d tried to run away from the bullies, determined to not let them see you cry. The entire ordeal had been mortifying. You wished you would have just stood there and cried, let them hear your sobs and let them crown you the school’s newest crybaby.

“What happened to your hands?” you sniffled, moving to wipe at your nose. Your cheeks were drier now, the skin nearly stiff where the tears marks remained.

When you mentioned it, he suddenly shot his hands out before him, flexing each hand for emphasis as he looked down with boredom, “What? The cuts? Carver has sharp teeth, ‘s all.”

“Carver?” One of the kids who had just partaken in tormenting you.

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, suddenly plopping himself onto the ground beside you. You flinched and he grimaced in a silent apology once more, “I think he was in the middle of saying something when I punched him, but that’s not surprising. He always has his big mouth open-”

He was cut off mid-insult by a soft snort of laughter. Looking up, all of the previous annoyance at his injured knuckles melted away as he caught you fighting back your laughter.

“What? I say somethin’ funny?” he was biting back his own grin, raising an eyebrow.

You only laughed more, shoulders shaking now with entertainment rather than sobs. “I- Yeah, sorry, I just- God, you’re right. Carver does have a big mouth.”

“The absolute biggest.”

“Bigger than the Atlantic ocean.”

His chuckling joined yours, along with a face splitting grin and eyes that you swore shone between the monotonous tones. “God, bigger than the fucking Pacific ocean. Every ocean, as a matter of fact.”

You both leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, just close enough you could feel his heat through the summer air but not quite touching. Not yet. You let the back of your head thump against the trunk and tried to not think about any of the debris sure to end up in your hair.

“So…” you sighed once the two of you composed yourself from your laughing fits, “I’m assuming you punched Carver?”

He only nodded in answer.

“Can I ask why?”

Part of you wanted to assume that the two events were connected; Carver bullying you, and this boy punching him. But you didn’t want to make such a bold assumption about some stranger. Fellow peer or not.

“Because he made fun of you.”

The assumption wasn’t so bold. Your chest constricted, you remembered the sting of your knees, heard the echoes of the other students’ laughter at your fall once more.

“You punched him just because he made fun of me?” you tried to force out a joking tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t making your heart swell, “You don’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t matter. He made fun of you,” the boy said with concrete decisiveness. There wasn’t a quiver of doubt to be seen, as if the logic made perfect sense to him. Your heart swelled more, painfully so. He looked down at one of his hands for a moment, before suddenly shrugging and rolling his head to look at you, sticking it out towards you, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

A certain security blanketed the moment. This kid, Eddie, had punched a guy for making fun of you. You’d never even spoken to him before that day, much less would you have considered bruising your own knuckles for him. But he had for you. Without hesitation, apparently. Just some boy with a sliver of a gap still between his front teeth, a promise of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and blood on his hands as a reminder of your honor.

Teachers were certainly going to be coming to find the two of you soon. There would be consequences, most likely more on Eddie’s part than yours, but that didn’t matter. There, in the shade of an oak tree of a middle school you’d soon be departing only to join the ranks of some awful high school with bigger and badder bullies, with larger and crueler problems than skinned knees, you had a friend.

“I’m-” you started, reaching out your hand to meet his halfways. But you stopped, because the moment your palm met his, it happened. Suddenly, quickly, unexpectedly. It nearly gave you an instantaneous migraine; the flood of color was so overwhelming.

The first color you saw was the soft, whiskey brown of his eyes. Two warm and comforting orbs, blown out to be as wide as your own, as his face echoed back the same shell-shock on your own. His eyes were brown. Not grey, not black, but something more, something russet. Brown.

Colors. You were seeing colors for the first time. You both knew what it meant.

“You,” he breathed out with a boyish grin, letting you catch the pink of the tip of his tongue as he finished your introduction for you, both of your excitement buzzing in the breeze, “are my soulmate.”

—

Fifteen was the age of awkwardness. Thirteen had been awful, sure, full of changes and growth and such, but fifteen made it seem like a cake walk.

You wouldn’t have survived it without Eddie.

Two years into the friendship, the two of you were inseparable. You had always spent your entire childhood assuming that when you found your soulmate, it would all fall into place, romantically speaking. But then Eddie happened. Eddie, your soulmate, fell right into your lap and you realized all of your childish dreams were pale in comparison.

He was your best friend first and foremost. Even if he hadn’t been revealed as your soulmate on that day, you have no doubt that the trajectory of your friendship would have stayed on this path. From the beginning, both of you decided to Hell with society’s expectations of soulmates. Sure, most people didn’t find their soulmates until later in life, when it made sense for the sparks of romance to fly instantly, but the adults still seemed to expect that when the news broke. Your parents had been concerned, Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had been weary, your teachers had been blatantly confused.

It was fun for the two of you, though. The thrill of introducing each other as, “This is my best friend. Oh, also my soulmate, but, hey. Technicalities, am I right?”

Most of the kids in your grade hadn’t met their soulmates quite yet, especially those first few years. A sense of superiority sprouted in both of you to be able to know, to experience, to lavish in a world of color. To have the weight of finding your better part lifted off your shoulders so soon in life.

You and Eddie had an entire lifetime to figure out the romantic aspect of it all. For now, he was your best friend, and you were his, and that was enough.

Once you two had entered high school, one thing did become very clear: the parading of being soulmates had to cease.

Jason Carver had been enough of a menace in middle school, but grew into a fully formed monster once he joined your ranks in high school. People were not kind to Eddie – they hadn’t been in middle school, when he first moved to Hawkins, and they weren’t going to change their tune suddenly in high school. The bullying you had endured had begun to fade, but his age of torment had just begun.

You never once left his side. It didn’t matter to you if the entire school knew you were soulmates or not. It didn’t even matter that you two were soulmates; he was your best friend, and you would be damned before you left him to battle the tides alone.

“I hate this,” he mumbled as he sat on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Wayne in their trailer, you kneeling between his legs as you blotted at his split lip with an alcohol wipe, “I should have punched the asshole back.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you scowled, furrowing your brows even deeper in concentration, “And stop talking – you’re making it worse.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but you quieted him with a glare.

Just as you wouldn’t have survived the Age of Awkwardness without Eddie, he wouldn’t have survived it without you.

You finished cleaning off the dried blood before tossing the wipe into the overfilled trash can, sighing heavily as you fell back onto the ground and supported yourself against the wall opposite of him.

You leveled each other into a staring contest, eyes blankly boring into each other with emotionless expressions.

“You’re lucky Wayne isn’t home, y’know,” you finally broke the silence, shooting a hand out to grab his ankle and give it a squeeze, “He’d probably be driving down to the school right now and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved you off, shaking his head, “I know. Trust me, I know. I think Principal Higgins is starting to hate him more than he hates me.”

“Principal Higgins doesn’t hate you.”

“You’re right – he loathes me.”

The hand that was squeezing his ankle quickly traveled up to his knee to slap it, “Eddie.”

He raised his hands up in the air, lifting his brows for emphasis as he exclaimed, “What? You know I’m right, kid.”

Kid. The loving nickname Eddie had adorned you with the moment he found out he was a mere six months older than you. You hated it, and he loved that you hated it.

“The day you’re right is the day pigs fly, old man.”

Old man. The nickname that served as your attempt at a rebuttal. It didn’t work, not as intended.

He chuckled softly at that, as he usually does when you call him that, and only smacked his palms onto his thighs, “Well, doc, I must say – you’ve done an exquisite job. Am I free to go?”

You tried to fight your smile, tried to linger in the anger sparked from seeing Eddie hurt. Your disdain wasn’t directed at him; it was always a loaded gun pointed at whoever dared to lay a hand on your boy. You probably could have had a spotless reputation without Eddie Munson in your life, but you’d found your fists quick to fly in his defense.

Your parents hated it. Wayne secretly adored it, even when he’d still join in scolding you and Eddie alike on avoiding violence.

“Sure,” you shrugged, before grabbing his calves through denim to stop him. Dark blue denim, a deep shade of navy that you still hadn’t grown used to seeing. You hadn’t even realized jeans came in so many different shades until you met Eddie, and you’d always chastised him when he’d opt for a boring black pair, “But first, a payment is required.”

“A payment?” Eddie tilted his head, looking down at you curiously.

“A payment.”

“And what would this payment be?”

“A movie night,” you grinned wildly, finally letting your grip on him go, taking in the chestnut highlights of his curls and the red font of his t-shirt, a band shirt you’d never heard of but that he had recently gotten into, “Snacks provided by my loving host, you, of course.”

He exaggerated his pondering, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking dramatically. As if he was ever capable of saying no to you.

“Hm,” he hummed, his voice echoing through the tiny space and encasing you in warmth. As serene as that first summer day when he’d taken the leap of sitting down next to you in the grass, back to a tree, palm in your palm as colors had swarmed your vision, “I suppose that can be arranged.”

—

Movie nights were a frequent occurrence. A sanctuary from the shit show of your small town. Sometimes, they had been the illusion of a bargain like that night, and others, they were an unspoken agreement. You’d show up to Eddie’s trailer or he would end up on your doorstep, your favorite candies in hand, and the two of you would just know. No words needed as you’d situate yourself on whoever’s couch, legs intertwining and blankets shared across laps. A bowl of popcorn that usually ended up being spilled inevitably.

Movies were more fun in color. Some of your friends didn’t get it, still living in a world of black and white, but Eddie loved to listen to your rambles about how the vivid shades appeared across the screen. He loved the way your eyes would light up passionately, he loved how you still smiled so widely at special effects that were made more poignant by this gift the two of you had been given.

Time. You two had been given the time most soulmates weren’t allotted. A gift you always thanked the Universe for.

The latest Slasher film that had been released was currently displayed on the small television in Eddie’s living room, the two of you practically molded to the worn cushions of his sofa. Wayne had left within the first ten minutes for his shift, bidding the two of you a farewell with the warning of behaving. Vibrant reds splashed across the screen as one of the protagonists takes a stabbing, and while you should be shying away from the gruesome scene, you can’t help but stare in awe.

Even after years of experiencing colors, they took away your breath.

“Jesus,” you sighed wistfully, “How do they even make the fake blood? It’s so… so…”

“Red?” Eddie laughed from the other side of the couch, prodding at your thigh with his sock clad foot, “Probably food dye. Maybe some corn syrup.”

“It’s just so bright,” you eagerly leaned in closer to the TV, squinting with a wide smile, unaware of his stare.

He was quiet for a moment, simply enjoying your joy. Your awe and wonder at the world, the way it seemed as if you two had just met that day rather than years before. As if colors were still a fascinating color to you. Eddie had grown used to them, let them become a part of his daily routine, but you always seemed to shine a new light on them for him.

Around you, all the colors seemed a little bit brighter.

“How do you do that?” he whispered so softly, it nearly got lost in the noise of the movie’s climax.

You hummed in response, eyes never leaving the screen. You were watching the movie in fascination, and he was watching you in serenity.

His miracle. His gift. His soulmate.

“You just…” he trailed off, no longer caring about the movie, “You always treat them like they’re brand new.”

It caught your attention. The way his tone was so… velvety, so caring, so affectionate. You looked at him, “I treat what like they’re brand new?”

“The colors.”

“Because they are.”

The same assuredness as he used that very first day. As if it were obvious, as if it were simply a matter of fact and not such an endearing trait. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and it only made his heart clench tighter.

You were his soulmate.

“We lived without them for thirteen years, old man-”

“Thirteen years and six months, in my case,” he piped up in interruption, wearing a Cheshire grin.

You nodded and rolled your eyes, “Yes, in your case. Thirteen years, give or take. I just… I don’t know. They still… they still get to me. I don’t think I can ever get used to them. Are you?”

“What? Used to them?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know how to explain it to you, not at that moment. How could he articulate to you that after so many years, the colors had dulled ever so slightly? The novelty had worn off, had run its course. The only time they’d ever become as vivacious as the first time was when he looked at you.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain it to you, so he only shrugged, “I guess.”

I guess, except when I see the color of your eyes, and I realize they’re my favorite color. Except when I notice the varied shades of your hair, and realize how lucky I am to see them in their full glory rather than shades of grey. Except when you wear that favorite mauve lipstick of yours, and I can’t get over the shape of your lips. Except when you wear that pretty red dress, and your confidence has my head spinning.

I guess, except when it’s you.

“Well, that’s just sad,” you huffed, focusing back on the movie after kicking gently at his shin. You lapsed into a comforting silence for a few more minutes, letting the movie fill the air. The same cycle; you watched the screen, he watched you, and the Universe watched both of you with a smile as it knew that the right choice had been made. The two of you were meant for each other. In this life. In the past lives. In the next lives. The two of you were the epitome of soulmates, even if the concept had never existed before.

Thank the Universe it existed. Thank the Universe that he found you that day, below an oak tree, scraped knees and all.

His voice shook as he quietly confessed, “I love you, you know that, right?”

The movie faded in a blur for you instantly. Your neck could have snapped from how quickly you turned your attention to him. “What?”

“I love you,” his voice continued its waver, not from being unsure but from pure emotion. The flood of love that pulsed through his veins currently.

You smiled, the apples of your cheeks punctuated and the chip in your tooth from your youth he hadn’t had the privilege of being apart of on showcase, “Well, yeah. Duh. I’m your soulmate. You kind of have to love me.”

“Even if we weren’t soulmates,” he rushed to clarify, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing your knee beneath blankets that smelled of home, “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I would love you.”

Your face softened. He wished he would have kissed you in that moment.

But the vulnerability was terrifying, and all that could echo through your mind is the fact that you two had time. So instead of matching his serious tone, you joked, “Well, it’s a good thing I am your soulmate, then. It might have been awkward for your hypothetically soulmate you would have had instead in that scenario, trying to explain why you love your best friend more than them.”

“Shut up,” he laughed, squeezing your knee tighter, “I’m being serious, kid. I love you. I really, really fuckin’ love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m the reason you see colors.”

“Fuck the colors,” he was quick to reply, “The Universe can take back the colors, as long as I still have you.”

There it is. The earthquake you dreamt of as a little girl. The trailer’s across the park never felt it, the kids surely getting into trouble in the forest behind Eddie’s home didn’t notice it, but you felt it. A rumble through your chest, a groundbreaking discovery, a world-ending confession. Your world began, and your world ended, and your world restarted with Eddie Munson.

“You don’t believe me,” he noted, suddenly shimmying out from beneath the blanket.

“Wait, hold on-”

“Stay here.”

You stayed frozen in your seat, wide eyes following his broad back and the army green of his t-shirt. No longer a frail frame, face filling out with puberty. He was becoming a man. No longer the young boy who took punches and threw them back twice as hard.

He was becoming a man, he was your soulmate, and he loved you. He loved you enough he would give up what everyone else considered the greatest gift, just for you.

Eddie Munson didn’t need colors to love you so ardently. And you knew, at that moment, that the same could be said for you. You would have loved him no matter what. The moment his shadow had spread over you beneath wide leaves and simmering heat, he was destined to hole up in your heart, never to leave again.

By the time he had returned to the living room, you had paused the movie, eyes locked on where he emerged from the hallway with a polaroid camera in hand and a mischievous grin gracing his features. The camera had been a joint gift from your parents and his uncle the previous Christmas.

Your eyes weren’t on the camera. They were on him. His hair had grown over the years, wild auburn curls finally surpassing his ears. The awkward style made for ridiculous bed head, something you’d been witness to many mornings after impromptu sleepovers.

You were fascinated with the way the sunlight caught each strand as they bounced with his eager steps. The trace of gold you could outline. Shades of autumn you loved to run your fingers through when he’d offer the opportunity.

He shook the camera into the air for emphasis, finally catching your eyes’ attention, before he propelled himself back down onto the couch across from you, both of you sitting up instead of being reclined now. “Let me show you something.”

“O-Okay,” you stuttered out, unsure.

He fiddled with the camera for a few moments before he brought it up to his face, resting against his cheek as his eye peered into the small peephole. You were so busy memorizing him like that, that the flash of the camera took you off guard and effectively blinded you for a few seconds.

“What the-” you started with a scowl, hands flying up to rub your knuckles into your eyes in a sorry attempt to rush away the stars blocking your vision.

“Just wait,” he insisted, snatching up the polaroid the moment it printed from the camera. When you flashed him an unconvinced look, he continued on, “Trust me.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. You always trusted him with your entire being, whether for better or for worse.

The polaroid was slow in developing. Eddie hummed to fill the silence, occasionally fanning around the small capture of you that was slowly filling out in color rather than blinding white. You spent your energy on trying to decipher what song was stuck in his head and not focus on how slow those damned photos always seemed to be in coming to fruition.

It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity when you finally gave up on figuring out the song and succumbing to your impatience with a sigh, “This is the world’s slowest magic trick ever.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but tossed you the camera. You thanked the Heavens for fast reflexes as you were able to catch it rather than let it fall to the ground. The two of you would have never heard the end of it if you managed to break such an expensive gift.

“Hey!” you shouted as you clutched the camera tightly to your chest, “Be careful with this thing, Eddie. It’s fragile.”

His eyebrows raised from behind where he held up the polaroid he took of you to his face, “Is it? Can we really be sure that it’s that fragile if we don’t knock it around for good measure?”

“We can,” you snappily replied, glaring down at the camera and fighting amusement, “If you want to throw it around, be my guest. But you’ll explain to Wayne why you broke it – not me.”

“Of course, kid,” he grinned so wide that it spread to his cheeks peeking out either side of the photo still obnoxiously close to his face, “What else is a best friend good for? Basically signed up to be your permanent scapegoat until the end of time the moment I gave you the gift of colors.”

“And yet, I’m the one usually talking us out of trouble,” you dramatically called back, finally looking up at him and holding up the camera, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I dunno. Break it, take a picture of me. The choice is yours, sweetheart.”

He still hadn’t put the photo of you down, so you finally reached across the sea of blankets to yank on his forearms. Once you were faced once more with those warm doe eyes rather than the blank back of a photo, you narrowed your eyes at him in indecision.

He was still smirking. Wide enough that his teeth just barely peeked out between his barely parted lips. You recalled the tales of kiss-bitten lips, the way you’d heard adults describe that deeper shade of pink, and for a second, you considered that it would look good on Eddie. Something about imagining him flushed and bruised by love and lust rather than malice made your gut twist stormily.

“Picture it is,” you muttered, “Put that stupid polaroid down and smile for the camera, pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

The camera went off mid-teasing, his dimples on full display and eyes shining wonderfully with the flash of the camera.

“Nope,” you mumbled, “Just said it so you’d keep smiling.”

It was a lie. A horrible, pathetic, and badly-veiled lie.

The photos developed faster. Yours is finally in full color and detail by the time the two of you can make out the shape of Eddie in his, and he was quick to toss it to the side before he shoved yours into your lap.

“There, look.”

It wasn’t anything magnificent to look at. Just another photo. The same old color of your hair, baby hairs frizzing at the edges. Same old eyes fighting from crinkling in adornment at the boy before you. You weren’t anything special, not in your eyes. But Eddie’s expectant stare told you that there had to be something more there, something he was waiting for you to pick up on. You scoured the background of the photo for pops of color only to come up empty-handed. All you could find were the tired dark tones of the Munson’s furniture and living room behind yourself in the picture.

“Eddie, what am I supposed to be looking at?” you squinted, bringing the photo closer and trying to figure out the useless puzzle he had presented you with, “It’s just a picture of me-”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, “A picture of you. My soulmate. That right there,” he leaned over and plucked the photo from your hands, holding it up tauntingly just out of reach, “Is a picture of the girl I love. A picture of the one person who makes colors worth seeing, and makes colors worth losing.”

The sentiment had you choked up.

“You’re my favorite person,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he held up his hand with his knuckles facing you as he put down the polaroid in his lap, “Have been since that very first day.”

There was still a faint scar, right there, clear as day. It casted over the knuckles of his ring and middle finger as a permanent reminder of that fateful day. As if the colors weren’t enough, as if the swell of your heart inside your chest wasn’t enough reminder of the love and care you’d always felt pulsing from Eddie.

You reached out to the coffee table suddenly, picking up the photo of him, glad to see it finally developed. You didn’t even glance at it before you held it up to him, “And this is a photo of my favorite person.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture.”

“I don’t need to,” you breathed out, moving the picture out of your vision to look at him dead in the eyes, “He’s right here in front of me. In full color, treating me far kinder than I deserve.”

His touch was ginger as he pinched the corner of the photo and took it from your grasp, placing it down atop the polaroid of you, “Don’t do that. You always deserve my kindness – you deserve the entire world’s kindness. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who argues otherwise.”

A soft and shy smile ripped at your lips, made the corners and your cheeks ache as you shrugged, “Whatever you say, old man.”

He only looked at you, only wore the lovesick look of a man face-to-face with his soulmate.

The movie was long forgotten. All snacks carefully put on the table before Eddie threw the blanket off of the two of you and scooted backwards while leaving a space large enough for you between his legs.

“C’mere,” he beckoned, motioning for you to crawl forward and fit your head to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you impossibly close to him, until your cheek was tight to his t-shirt and your ear was thundering with his racing heartbeat.

You melted into him easily, letting your own arms encase him to the best of their abilities in this position. You took a few selfish moments to just be there with him, to just let his words sink in beneath your skin and the reality of them weigh heavy on you. The heavier it weighed, the further into his embrace you pressed.

The warmth of serenity and peacefulness of the picture perfect moment nearly lulled you to sleep. But even in the drowsiness, you felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head.

“I love you, too,” you admitted, muffled by his chest. You hoped he felt the words and wouldn’t teasingly make you look him in his eyes as you confessed, “I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Sure you could-” he began, but was cut off but the abrupt lifting of your head, just as he fingertips had started on a path down your spine.

“I couldn’t,” you insisted, “I really, really couldn’t. I need you to stick around for a long time, Munson. I’m not in the business of losing my soulmate until we’re old and grey and gross. I want to keep you around until I lose count of all your wrinkles and weird moles.”

He chuckled, and the force vibrated against your shoulder digging into his torso.

You retrieved those two polaroids before you resettled against him, your back now pressed to his chest as you held the two snapshots side by side for both of you to look out.

He was right. You think you get it.

When you look at the photo of yourself, you see nothing extraordinary. But when you look at the photo of Eddie, everything just… the world seemingly stops, all moving parts suddenly snapping into place. A boy vibrant with color and glee, a boy who tugged on every heartstring you’d hung in your chest throughout your lifetime. It sent warmth to every crevice of you, from the top of your head where the ghost of his lips still lingered to the tips of your toes wiggling beside his within thick socks.

It’s more than an earthquake or the world stopping. Eddie doesn’t just stop or begin your world – he is your world.

A world of wild hair, charming smiles, unfiltered laughter and fierce adoration. Even the brightest shades out there that you had yet to discover were dim compared to the boy photographed in time for you.

His arms slide around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer,“Just out of curiosity, what is your cap on wrinkles you can count? Because I’ve seen Wayne, and some photos of my old man, and let me tell you – time is not kind to us Munson men.”

You rolled your head and pressed a kiss to one of his forearms before smashing your cheek into it, breathing deeply as his fingertips drew random shapes over the spot on your chest that your heart rests beneath.

“As many as it takes, old man.”

“Whatever you say, kid.”

You brought a hand up to curl around the arm, right beside when you kept your cheek nuzzled. He finally laid his palm flat against your chest, and you wonder if he can feel the way each beat of your heart called out his name. It was okay if he didn’t – he had all the time in the world to figure it out.

—

“I just don’t understand why you’re so mad!”

“I’m not mad, Eddie – I’m fucking pissed!”

“Okay, then I don’t understand why you’re so pissed!”

Seventeen is the age of being reckless and redundant. Of big feelings and reckless decisions. It is the time in your life for being an absolute idiot.

Eddie Munson was proof of it as the two of you stood outside of his van, the whistle of the winds around you two from the impending storm lost on your current screaming match.

“Figure it out,” you seethed, stomping your feet almost childishly as you began to turn away from him, “And while you do that, leave me the fuck alone.”

“I- Hey!” he reached out for you, but you’re already quickening your pace and hopping up onto the sidewalk, “Hey! Don’t fucking walk away from me!”

You didn’t reply, only widening your strides.

He called out your name, and you heard his frustrated groan before he easily caught up with you.

Damn him and his newfound height.

“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted, latching onto your bicep and spinning you around harshly to face him.

You yanked yourself out of his touch quickly, eyes blazing, “Why should I? I’ve seen what I needed to see, Eddie. Just go back inside to your preppy girlfriend. Forget about me. Pretend like she’s never stood to the side while her boyfriend bullied you like- like- like some asshole.”

His hair was longer now. Ringlets that cascaded to brush over the top of his shoulders – shoulders that had broadened impressively as he neared the end of his youth. His newest clothing staple covered them; a denim vest you’d helped him distress and sew multitudes of patches onto, a display of his favorite bands that had only painted a new target onto his back.

Satan worshiper. That’s what they called your soulmate in terrified whispers amongst the halls at school. That’s what all the PTO mothers’ eyes silently cursed when they’d see him with you at the grocery store.

He’d made quite the image for himself. And you’d stayed by his side, defending his honor at every chance. Your best friend, your soulmate.

Only to find him eating the face off of some cheerleader at that goddamned party.

Yeah, you didn’t need to listen to him. You really had seen enough.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he waved his arms wildly, the storm roaring loader with his increased volume.

“What is she then?” you insisted with venom, crossing your arms and effectively closing yourself off from him as you took another step back, “Just some one night stand? Some fun to have before you have to accept that you’re shackled to me for the rest of your life?”

You hated the way your eyes burned. You cursed the tears gathering as you glared at him viciously, masking all the pain with as much rage as you could muster.

He wouldn’t even kiss you, his soulmate. But he would kiss her.

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he warned lowly, tone no longer making a spectacle of the two of you, “You know that’s not how I see it.”

“You won’t even kiss me.”

He was stunned into silence. As you spat out the words, the first few tears slipped.

It was about more than the pretty blonde girl you’d found him with. It was about more than the fact he was kissing someone else.

“I… What?” he whispered, his entire body going slack with defeat.

The tears fell more rapidly now as you replayed the moment in your head. The two of you were only at the stupid party for Eddie to deal weed from some weird guy he’d met in the arcade, a way to make extra cash. Cash he claimed he was putting towards your future together. You had no idea how you’d gone from sitting on the couch together to tipsy, joining a circle of fellow peers who momentarily forgot their cruelness between shots of whiskey and pours of vodka.

You were going to hate the game of Spin the Bottle for the rest of your life. You were sure of it.

When Eddie’s turn had arrived, when the neck of that dingy beer bottle casted shades of ambers in your direction, you had been so excited. Your heart had been in your throat, your head dizzy with the excitement of him finally kissing you. Your soulmate by Nature, your best friend by choice, finally would be kissing you. You had been so sure it was an affirmation from the Universe that the right choice had been made when it came to the two of you. That it was all real, and the colors weren’t a product of your delusion.

And then he said no.

“You wouldn’t kiss me,” you choked out, pulling your arms around your torso tighter to fight back any shivers or shaking, “The bottle landed on me, on your soulmate, and you wouldn’t even fucking kiss me. The one person you should have kissed. And you didn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, a deer caught in your headlights, as he started to stutter out a sorry excuse.

You didn’t want to hear it. You only threw your head back in bitter laughter, spinning on your heel and preparing to leave him behind once more.

“Wait,” he begged, grabbing your shoulder this time.

You shrugged it off harshly, “For what? For you to make up some bullshit excuse for it? I don’t want to hear it, Eddie. I get it. I’m so sorry that I’m your soulmate. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m so-”

He cut you off by rounding in front of you, blocking your escape route and cradling each of your cheeks with determination as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze, “Stop putting words in my mouth! That’s not why I did it, okay? It’s not!”

Your tears fell more rapidly, so quickly that his thumbs couldn’t have kept up with swiping them away if he tried. Instead, he let them puddle against his palms, focus solely on your eyes as he bore into them and whispered, “That’s not why I said no. And it’s not why I kissed that girl, okay? You’ve got to believe me, kid.”

“Don’t-” you started, but he shook his head, determined.

“No, no. Hear me out. Please. You know I don’t see it that way. You- You’re- I’m not shackled to you. You aren’t some sort of damnation for me. Do you get that? You aren’t some life sentence or burden – you’re….” he trailed off, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Constellations in his lashes to match your own. “I said no because I’m terrified. O-Okay? I said no to kissing you because… because… what if you’re the one shackled to me?”

The crack in his voice reverberated through you. Aftershocks rattled your bones at his confession.

“I- We haven’t crossed that line. And I just… if I crossed that line, and if you decided I wasn’t what you wanted…” his eyes searched yours for answers you couldn’t provide to him, not as your brows creased and your chest tightened, “If I kissed you and you decided that the Universe made a mistake, that I’m not actually your soulmate… I- Fuck, I couldn’t take that, kid. I couldn’t.”

You’re no longer poised to run, to escape him and all the emotions drowning your lungs. You felt your shoulders drop, your defenses burned to ash as you stood with two solid feet on the quivering ground below you.

There were a million reassurances on the tip of your tongue, but instead you only said, “Why did you kiss her?”

The question that had pinned you as a flight risk. Because if what he told you was true, and you did believe him, then it didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened that night made sense if what he said was true.

“I don’t know,” he seemed even more confused than you, “And- God, I’m fucking sorry for such a shitty cop-out of an answer. But I just… I don’t know. I just did. She was there, and she kissed me, and I kissed back. I pretended she was you, like a fucking idiot.”

The honesty threatened to shatter you, but you decided it was better to hear his truth than risk being lied to. You could move past the anguish in both your eyes, the confusion and the hurt having brewed – you wouldn’t have been able to move past some half-assed lie in an attempt to save your feelings.

“I regret it,” he whispered, “The moment I kissed her back, I regretted it.”

“Why?”

An opportunity to seal a bandage over the bleeding wound. A chance for him to make it all better.

“Because she isn’t you. She isn’t my soulmate - she never could be. It’s you, and it was always going to be you, even if the Universe didn’t agree with me.”

You took a moment to try and picture a world in which the man stood before you wasn’t your soulmate. A world where your palms touched, and your world hadn’t exploded in technicolor. Another Universe where the first color you had seen hadn’t been warm, brown, honey coated eyes. A twisted timeline where you hadn’t been awarded the gift of memorizing the red of his guitar, his sweetheart, or the calm blue tint his room bathed in every early morning. A world where you don’t know the shade his skin turns in during golden hour, or can’t see the way his few tattoos he’d gathered in the past year on his skin are actually a fading shade of blue-green rather than stark black. A world where you couldn’t pick up the Fruity Pebbles stuck between his teeth as he rushed to class late and you teased him mercilessly for it. A world without color - a world without the guarantee of Eddie Munson.

A breeze roared by, and you could hear the Universe you were in whispering to stop it, to not do this. Because you weren’t living in a world without color. Your world had burst to life when your palm met his. You knew all the colors of his lifeline like the back of your hand.

“It wasn’t worth it?” You knew the answer. You still needed to hear him say it.

And say it he did, nodding in confirmation, “It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.”

He could have left it at that and you would have offered him your forgiveness anyways. Even if the bond formed between you two didn’t feel like a shackle of chains binding you two together, you knew that there would always be an invisible string wound around your soul and connected to his. You could have spent longer being mad, you could have still walked yourself home and left him broken in the middle of that neighborhood street. But even if you did, you would have eventually found your way back to him. Whether you left in anger, whether you left in sadness, whether you left in mourning – your final destination remained the same. Him.

You may have all the time in the world with Eddie, but even a second spent upset with him felt like a second wasted.

Not even forever felt like long enough. You knew that now, glaringly obvious by the chain of events the night had followed.

And so he could have left it at that. And all would be well. Wounds would heal and time would soothe the ache that echoed. But he didn’t.

He took a step closer. Took a shaky, deep breath. And then another step. One foot after the other until he was toe-to-toe with you as he breathed out, “You’re my future. You’re everything to me. Soulmate or not, you’re all I want. I want to grow old with you until I lose count of your wrinkles, and then some.”

His chin tilted down, lips daring closer and closer to yours as your stare into his eyes refused to waver.

Deep, deep brown. Endless, molten, a kind of comforting that says you’re home, you can rest now. How fortunate you were to see the twisting of lively carob and umber rather than lifeless greys.

Your eyes tried to flutter close, but you couldn’t let them, not yet. Not until he was close enough to feel his breath on your chin before he let out a raspy, “Baby.”

You folded immediately, took the plunge as your eyes finally shut and you pressed forward with fervent.

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t fluid and instantaneous. There was hesitancy and there was awkwardness, and your noses bumped one anothers hard enough to make both of you chuckle into the rarity of space left between your mouths as you both gasped in waves of air before returning to one another. His hand took its time before it grabbed your waist, and it trembled the entire time. Your arms shook the entire way they lifted until they wrapped around his neck and shoulders, unsure of where exactly to lay comfortably.

But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you – your soulmate was finally kissing you. And you had never kissed another soul before that night, but you knew immediately you’d never want to kiss another soul.

It wasn’t like the movies or fairy tales, but it was enough.

And you knew he felt the same way when the kiss was broken by the grin that split his lips just as the sky began to spit out the beginning of its inevitable downpour.

—

You hadn’t heard from Eddie in three days. Which, fair enough. Finals season was nearly upon you two and you knew he had been stressed. Since the night of that party nearly a year before, you two had become even more inseparable if possible. You two had finally crossed a line, had finally accepted your status of soulmates, and no one would dare to demand the two of you detach from each other’s sides once you made the announcement that you were officially together.

Wayne had worn a knowing smile. Your parents had simply warned Eddie to not hurt you (as if that was even an option for him at this point). Even Principal Higgins had offered a polite smile when he caught you two holding hands in the hallway, surprisingly not commenting on the public display of affection. You two were officially dating, officially succumbing to the status quo of what soulmates should be.

Everyone had already sort of known there was something there between you two, but making it official removed any sliver of doubt any of them may have harbored.

And so it was fine if Eddie needed space. It had been that way before your first kiss, occasionally learning how to stand as your own entities rather than solely a joint force, and it could continue to be that way after your first kiss.

But after three days, you had started to worry.

Pacing your room, you told yourself you were being ridiculous. This was fine. Space was good – space was needed.

Space didn’t help with all your what-ifs, though.

What if he was hurt? What if he was sick? What if he was mad at you? What if the longer you gave him that space, the starcher of a revelation he would have that he didn’t need you? What if the two of you had flown into all of this too fast, too quickly, too soon? It may have taken years to get there, but what if Eddie suddenly decided the last year had been too much?

You were in your car, driving recklessly down the streets that would lead to his house, before you could even think of another what if.

If it was that last thought that crossed your mind, if everything between the two of you had become simply overwhelming for him, you convinced yourself it would be okay. It would be just fine, you could handle it as long as he told you as much to your face rather than hiding behind distance put between you. It remained a mantra spinning through your storming mind the entire drive; it will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it. Anything for him.

You never considered that one of the other possibilities was more likely. Not until you had your car haphazardly parked in front of the Munson’s trailer, fist banging on their front door before Wayne threw it open with tired eyes and wrinkles bunched in concern.

“Is he here?” you breathed out in lieu of a proper greeting, breathless from your jog up to the damn porch from your car that you hadn’t even bothered with locking up.

It will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it.

Wayne understood immediately, stepping to the side as he nodded and motioned for you to come in, “He’s in his room. But listen, he got some news, and he’s not do-”

You didn’t hear the rest of Wayne’s warning, too busy storming past him and flying to Eddie’s bedroom door. You didn’t even knock, bursting through the door and already fighting tears as you geared up to hear Eddie say that he needed time and space, that he had gotten sick of you, that he wanted to experience more life before you guys really gave any of this a fighting chance.

“Eddie, can you please tell me why you’ve just up and disappeared-” you cut off your plead the moment you laid eyes on him.

He wasn’t facing the door. He was curled up in bed, back to you, clad in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You could see the stubborn knots that had built up in his hair, immediately keyed in on the way he was trying to collapse into himself. His knees were nearly buried in his chest, and if you squinted into the dark room, you’d see the outline of his spine beneath the flash of skin peaking out from where the back of his shirt had raised.

It wasn’t just the state of him; the state of the room also immediately silenced you.

Almost as if a war path had been torn through it days before, the bedroom was messier than normal. Eddie was never the most organized or pristine person, but he kept his living space well enough to… well, live. Kept the floor always within sight, tried to never let any collection of trash overflow on the tops of his dressers or desk. He even found himself emptying his ashtrays without your reminding most of the time. Usually, most of the clutter simply came from mountains of papers detailing campaigns or writing new songs, or different sets of dice being left out from planning said campaigns. A t-shirt here, a pair of ripped jeans there – sure. He was a teenage boy. It was expected.

It looked as though a level five hurricane had hit Eddie Munson’s room.

Clothes strewn everywhere, dresser drawers thrown open and never closed. Beer cans collected across each surface and both ashtrays were overfilling with cigarette butts. You even spotted two half smoked joints on his bedside table. His sweetheart had been taken off of its wall mount and laid to rest on the floor. He would never have let his prized possession be discarded like that. Ever.

Your voice came out weak as you took a step closer to the bed, “Eddie?”

You’re surprised he heard your whisper. He stirred, and your eyes followed the dust particles dancing in the single stream of sunlight that was bursting through a hole forgotten in his makeshift curtains. Navy blue sheets the two of you once used to make a pillow fort in the Munson living room, thinned to the illusion of a sky blue in some patches.

You’d always warned him they make shit curtains; he’d always shrugged and said it added to his feng shui.

“Eddie,” you whispered again, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress as you looked down at his broken form, “I… What happened? Are you… are you okay?”

You hadn’t known how to approach it. Whatever happened was even worse than the first time he’d received a phone call from his dad in prison.

He mumbled something against the pillow he has one arm curled under.

“What?” you questioned, nearly ready to climb into that damn bed and force him onto his back, force him to look at you if only so you could guarantee there were no tear tracks on his cheeks.

You don’t have to, though. Eddie finally loosened his grip on that pillow and rolls ever so slightly, just enough for you to see half his face and feel your heart break at the confirmation of tears. Translucent pink eyes, glossy wet cheeks, the tip of his nose glowing as his gaze met yours. He looked tired.

“I’m getting held back,” he croaked, “I fucking- I flunked. I’m not graduating.”

You nearly sighed in relief. For his sake, you don’t, but the weight on your shoulders lifted immediately.

“Oh, sweet boy,” you murmured, giving into the need to crawl into the bed. You folded your knees as you situated yourself on the bed behind him, and the moment you’re situated, he wasted no time twisting himself to face you and bury his face into your side, “Why didn’t you call? You had me losing my goddamn mind-“

A strangled sob rattled against your side. One of his hands gripped your thigh, fingertips holding on for dear life, “Because your soulmate is a fucking loser.”

Your chest cracked further, a valley beginning to form as a hand buried into the back of his head, holding him to you as the other hand moved to rub his back in soothing motions.

“My soulmate is not a fucking loser,” you tried to keep a gentle tone rather than scold him at the moment. He didn’t need scolding — he needed patience, he needed care, he just needed you to be there, “Keep talking about him that way, and I’ll have to get the fighting gloves.”

He wetly laughed into your t-shirt, and you were sure that there would be tear stains when he finally lifted his head, “I’m the one who taught you how to throw a punch, baby.”

“Exactly. Which means I’ll have you on your ass in ten seconds flat.”

It was a few minutes of silence that followed; just you holding him, just him clinging onto you. His life line — his single ship of hope in what had been a terribly rocky sea the last few days. An irreplaceable peace settled across all the wounds and damage that had been done in private. You had been right. He should have called you immediately. He should have known that if anyone could make the situation feel less like his world was ending, it was you.

His soulmate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you questioned in a soft, lulling tone. The endless patterns you’d drawn on his back had nearly put him to sleep, “Maybe be a bit kinder to yourself this time?”

“I just…” he started, finally removing his face from being buried against you, “I sort of had a hunch. O’Donnel wouldn’t round my grade, you know? And I’ve skipped a lot of classes, I know. But hearing Higgins say it just… just…”

“Made it real?” you offered a weary ending to his sentence.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Real. It made it really fucking real.”

He didn’t feel judged at that moment. He felt seen as you continued on, “It is real, and it sucks. But it’ll be okay, Eds. I mean, I was already planning on the community college for my first year, maybe even taking a year off. If you need any help with classes, you just gotta ask me. Don’t forget I was one of O'Donnell's pets, as unfortunate as it was. I know how to work that woman into rounding up some grade.”

You rambled on a little more, all the while still stroking his hair and back, offering even more solutions. The longer you spoke, the better Eddie felt. You made it all sound so easy — like this was nothing, like it was the smallest of blips in plans that had been years in the making. You weren’t upset, you weren’t disappointed. He deserved your negativity, and instead only received your optimism.

You were with him for the long haul, he realized. Truly. It wasn’t just some one off promise or chain of the Universe holding you to him. He wasn’t dragging you down.

When you finally trailed off, his lids finally heavier than his heart, he sighed, “I love you. You know that?”

“I love you,” you smiled, “That’s kind of part of the soulmate package, isn’t it?”

“Fuck the soulmate part,” he lifted out of your hold despite everything in him screaming to stay put, to let you to continue to coddle him, “I’ve seen plenty of people be shitty to their soulmates. I watched my dad-“ he cut himself off, throat tightening with memories of his parents. You don’t make him finish that sentence, only nodding in understanding, “The Universe doesn’t force you to be a good person. You choose to be that. Every single day, you choose to stand by my side. You always have. You could have made me feel shitty about this, could have let me see how bummed you really are about sticking out another year here, but…”

But you didn’t.

Your eyes softened, a stormy shade of his favorite color, “Do you remember the way you punched Carver that day, before you even knew me?”

That very first day. The day two souls destined to intertwine had come in contact. The day the Universe had sighed in relief as your palm met his.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, “You didn’t even know me. And yeah, whatever, maybe the Universe nudged you to do it, whatever. But there’s tons of people who know their soulmates for years and never realize it. Tons of people go to school and never interact with their soulmates. But that very first day… the first day you were at that school, the first day you saw me — we met. You defended me. And that counts for something. And I like to think it speaks more about us than it does about the grand scheme of things,” you brought a hand up, wiped away whatever tears were left on his cheeks with enough tenderness he almost started to sob again, “You didn’t know I was your soulmate. I was just some random classmate, and you defended me without even thinking about it. And I will always do the same for you. Always.”

You always had, you always will. The two of you had proven, time and time again, that you will always choose one another. It was never about that inevitable bond.

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed, quickly moving to keep your palm there, resting on his stubbled cheek, “You deserve a soulmate who isn’t a fuck up. Someone good, someone who can give you the world and someone who… who isn’t repeating another year of fucking high school.”

“You still don’t get it,” you grinned sadly. Your fingertips press into that soft spanse right before his ear, cradling him more urgently on their own accord, “I don’t want or need someone else. You do give me the world- you are my world, you idiot.”

Idiot sounded perfectly aligned with lover as he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck. Home — he was home as you wrapped your arms back around him, pulled him a little closer in your embrace, clung to him as tightly as he clung to you.

All the colors in the world, and the only ones the two of you cared about were the ones confined to that small space for the time being, shades of you and shades of him, all overlapping perfectly in sync.

—

You stay true to your word. The first time Eddie repeats his senior year, and the second time.

Endless nights are spent studying, you forcing him to focus when he couldn’t, trying to invent new ways to learn that work for him rather than against him. He’s brilliant; you never let your boy forget that.

It’s nice for a while. Sickly sweet kisses and teasing exchanges. Enough lovesickness to make even those around you two nauseous. Nights spent out by Lover’s Lake, exchanges of promises of a future to come and discussions of whether your kids will have his eyes or your eyes. Kids. You two were discussing fucking kids. And it had scared Eddie half to death to even bring it up, but you hadn’t been phased. You’d answered terrifying question after question with ease, had even joked about what color flowers the two of you would have at your wedding and listened to Eddie describe the house he’d want to grow old in with you in excruciating detail. Sometimes the two of you even brought up what kind of dog you’d have, fantasized about the big yard which would not have a white picket fence (because, according to Eddie, that shit was too cheesy even for him in all his adoration for you). It made Eddie realize that after all these years, maybe you had become the brave one.

You’d both succumbed to the stereotypical soulmate trope. Become exactly what society had expected from the two of you since the beginning. And honestly, you couldn’t even be mad about it. You get it – you got the allure as you had laid with a head pressed to Eddie’s chest, observing all the stars again, a night sky the vision of black and white as your vision went blurry with fatigue.

“You know, that house sounds awfully expensive,” you yawned, curling a bit tighter into his side. You’re in nothing but his t-shirt, his chest still bare from the night’s activities.

Another new development. Even after all your time together, you two continued to find novelty to explore. New ways to learn each other, new ways to love each other, new ways to further tie your two souls together. An unbreakable knot. If anyone, the Universe included, tried to loosen it, you would spill blood without second thought.

“Oh, it absolutely will be,” he chuckled, vibrations echoing in your eardrum, “But that’s fine. We’re going to tap into that rockstar money, baby.”

In between talks of the future, more honest versions had arisen. Eddie and his band. You and your aspirations. Things that neither of you laughed at quite as much as the talk of children or houses with wraparound porches because they were in reach.

“Do you think you’ll have groupies?” your voice was a murmur, mouth half pressed into his skin as you lazily traced circles on his pec you aren’t using as your own personal pillow.

It made him chuckle once more, “Groupies? Sure. Don’t think any of them will be very successful, though.”

“Bold of you to assume I meant just you,” you’re able to snark back even half asleep, “Gareth deserves to be fawned over, too. Jeff is definitely a ladies killer.”

Your hand moved just fast enough out of the way for Eddie to lazily mimic stabbing himself in the exact muscle you were painting invisible imagery across, “You wound me, sweetheart.”

From this angle, you could catch the exact shade of brown that his faded freckles shone. You could see the differences in tan skin, see where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on his chest during a lake day over the summer and the tanline had remained stubborn. That had been a good day – Eddie had thrown you off the dark, wrapping his arms around you and turning the world to a blur of passing greens and blues before you’d been dunked beneath the lake’s surface. The cold water had stunned you, but him joining you seconds later hadn’t. Always by your side, even when he was being a little shit.

You’ve gone quiet on him, mind overcome with fond memories as the silence came naturally only for a few seconds before Eddie felt the need to fill it again.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the hand that had mock-stabbed himself now curling around your forearm.

Your hand against his chest turned to a fist, pressing deeper into the skin, just to feel him closer, before you teased him, “How do you even know I’m thinking? What if my mind is just blank right now?”

“Psychic-soulmate-telepathy powers,” he answered without hesitation. When you only huffed, clearly unimpressed, he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering in honesty, “You were smiling.”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. Usually, you loved memorizing all the colors of him. You loved taking in his doe brown eyes and the harsh blush of his swollen lips. You’d memorize the twinkling of pink staining his skin across his chest and up his neck. You’d pick at the vibrant cherry shade of his painted nails, a sharp contrast from the usual black or sharpie scribbles he’d wear on them instead.

That silver glint of his rings. The forest green of his plaid boxers. All shades in the palette of Eddie Munson, your soulmate.

You love him so much, your chest is ready to burst from it. And you told him as much, too.

“I’m just really glad I have you,” you said for only him and only the trees to hear, “I’m really happy you came after me that day.”

There’s no rush to memorize all his colors and all his shades. You had all the time in the entire world, and then some. The only reason anyone had ever reported losing their colors was due to the death of their soulmate, and he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. He was there, sturdy beneath you, deep breaths syncing with your own.

If you didn’t learn them in this life, you wouldn’t rest until you found him in the next to finish what you had started.

“Yeah?” you could hear his grin as he held you a bit tighter. Another deep breath, another expansion of his ribs, and you feel all that time laid out at your feet. A lifetime of learning and memorizing Eddie Munson. A life well spent, “I’m glad, too.”

“Did you have even a single moment where you…. I don’t know, hesitated coming after me?” your speech began to slur, and you knew you were one foot in unconsciousness at that point.

“Never,” that same certainty he has always held since day one laced his tone, “Never. I just- I went for it. I made Jason Carver eat his words, and I ran after you. The only thing I’ll ever regret is not throwing a second punch at the asshole.”

Your smile widened, and you knew he felt it. Imagined the comfort he felt at the feeling. Imagined the peace that was washing over him just as it encased you, “But not about coming after me?”

“I don’t regret coming after you,” he told you, not growing the slightest bit annoyed at your need for constant reassurance. His fingers and palm slowly spread across your lower back, the warmth of their weight carrying you into sleep, “I’ll always come back to you, baby.”

—

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Spring break was supposed to be nice. Time spent with friends, lazy mornings that you and Eddie slept through, night drives spent screaming out in relief to empty highways because he made it – you both made it. The college transfer was already put into motion, making it so you’d start the fall semester at a University in upstate Indiana. Eddie had taken a few roadtrips with you at his side, already having gotten on the good side of a boss at one of the car shops within range of where you’d be attending. You two had littered his floor with ads for apartments, the ones in your price range circled in brilliant and glaring red. Everything had been perfectly in line. Everything was set in place. Spring break was supposed to be a break to just be kids one last time – it was supposed to be nice.

But then Chrissy Cunningham happened. And Jason Carver, and an entire town of people who had always hated your soulmate. Suddenly, your own plan for the future had been scrapped, and in its spot a line of new dominos had been placed. One falling down after the other, too quick for you to keep up with.

A group of strangers had banged down on your front door. Had demanded to know where Eddie was, claimed they were friends trying to help him. You hadn’t even seen the news yet. They’d tried to fill you in, but only confused you more in the process, because the words Eddie and murderer should have never been used together in a sentence in the way they claimed the entire town was currently spewing.

You were his soulmate. They were sure you’d know where he was, but you didn’t.

That didn’t matter, though. The young boy, Dustin, had been determined. You’d heard all about him from Eddie – about the brilliant mind hidden beneath baseball caps and unruly curls, about the smart mouth you witnessed mouthing off to Steve Harrington first hand as you’d been searching for your boy.

It reminded you of Eddie. It made you ache. It made you only more voracious in your search.

And you’d found him – terrified, alone, trembling and crying. A version of him you’d never been privy to had pinned Steve fucking Harrington to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. Wild, scared eyes and hands that shook harder than the day his father had called him and he’d put a goddamn hole through his kitchen wall. More desperation on his face than the day he’d informed you he’d be repeating his senior year for the first time. Shoulders more tense than the night you’d nearly walked away from him over some silly kiss with a cheerleader.

When he saw you, he’d shattered completely.

The sight of you had him collapsing into your arms, unable to explain himself in full sentences as he gasped and panicked and clung to you. And you had held him, had forced the others to give him time. You were like a feral animal, standing between him and them, friends or not. Your claws and teeth alike had been out, ready to mar anyone who would dare to lay a hand on your soulmate.

He’d calmed down. He’d explained. And then they had explained and reassured Eddie that he wasn’t crazy. His eyes had found yours over and over, and not a single time did they hold a single doubt for him in them. You believed him; you would always believe him. The cries of the town had been nothing more than static noise. You knew the man before you, you loved the man before you. Your soul knew his intricately, intimately. It would always know him, no matter the circumstance and no matter the troubles to come. In this life and the next.

The colors were never the gift. The gift the Universe had offered you had always been him.

You stayed with him those short few days. Ran from Carver and his posse, swam in the lake and had kept a level head as you formulated a plan. Find a walkie-talkie. Call for Dustin, call for help.

When the rest of them had jumped into the lake after Steve, you’d put a selfish hand on his bicep. For a moment, the only thing you were thinking of was him. You couldn’t lose him.

When he jumped in after Robin and Nancy anyways, you’d followed, no hesitation.

A dreary, nightmarish world. You’d followed him into Hell – quite literally, it seemed. Except they didn’t call it Hell, they called it the Upside Down. A place made up of all the things children fear, of awful creatures that only served to attack, to kill, and terrible storms of flashing red lightning. A blue tint to the town you’d come to know. Shades of flesh and shades of grey – shades of death – flooded the place. And only you, Eddie, and Nancy could see them.

Nancy’s soulmate was somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. But she understood that protective stance and the way you’d stuck staunchly at Eddie’s side. She got it.

A stolen RV, shields made of trash can lids and nails rather than make believe, goddamn spears made at the hand of people all far too young to be handling these things. They were handling the end of the world, and you suddenly hadn’t felt as brave as Eddie always claimed you were. The plan was formulated, and the entire time, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You watched Eddie play fight with Dustin, real weapons discarded to the ground, and you listened to Robin whisper the same sentiment to Steve.

“I just have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time.”

You agreed with Robin. You hated that you agreed with Robin.

And so you stood like a watch dog at Eddie’s side, nearly lashed out when it was suggested you might be more helpful joining everyone else going after this Vecna rather than staying with Eddie.

It was his turn to put a hesitant hand on your bicep. Brown, russet, umber eyes that flashed with the unspoken question of are you sure you want to do this?

But he was sure. And just as quickly as you’d followed him into that lake, just as quickly as you had dismissed those awful claims against him, you’d nodded. Because if he was sure, if he was going through it, you would follow him.

You should have insisted on staying with him and Dustin.

Because your group of rag tags re-entered that Hellish landscape, and you flinched with each flash of red, not even soothed by Eddie’s hand in yours. And the people around you were now friends; you’d realized in a few short days that you would do almost anything to protect all of them as well, but you knew there was nothing that you wouldn’t do to keep Eddie alive.

“Hey,” he insists once the two of you stand outside this alternate version of his trailer, somewhere that you should know all too well but that has morphed into something unfamiliar in this world.

His hand holding yours spins you to face him, a few steps off to the side from the rest of everyone.

“Hi,” you whisper back, trying to only focus on him. Not the bleak colors of the landscape around you two, but the vibrancy of his shades. You hate the weakness written all across your features, unable to offer him any reassurance in return for all that he had given you over the years. You were terrified. As Robin had said, a terrible gut feeling was gnawing at you from the inside out. You couldn’t help the tears gathering, couldn’t unravel the restriction of your throat.

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” he does the talking, nodding and lowering his chin to stare right into your eyes. His favorite color now wet with emotion, shining even in the dullest of environments, “Can’t be worse than punching Jason Carver, right?”

It could be. It could be much, much worse. Everything you two had endured together was children’s play compared to this. But you don’t say that; you nod in dishonesty, biting your lip to stop from letting a whimper escape.

“I’ll always come back to you, I promise,” he swears so vehemently, voice spitting with determination. Those brows half hidden by the bandana atop his head furrow, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

That, you at the very least, believe. Just as you would find him every time, in this life and the next, he would find you.

“You better,” you choke out, hands reaching up just to latch onto him one more time. To feel him, sturdy beneath your palms. Alive. Your gift from the Universe, the boy who let you see colors. You almost regret spending so long fascinated with the shades you’d discovered when you should have allotted more time to imprint the features of his face to memory. You should have cared more about that freckle beneath his right eye, the slight crook to his nose, the way each of his calluses feel against your bare shoulders. Shades of blue, red, green, violet, yellow – none of them matter as much as the boy before you. They only matter because they paint the picture of him for you fully. They only matter because he matters, “I still need your rockstar money to pay for that wraparound porch.”

He laughs at that. And God, he’s gorgeous – his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with genuine joy for the first time in days. No one else catches the tear that slips from one of those pinched eyes, the hidden sadness for only you to catch onto.

That gnawing feeling – the one you and Robin felt. He felt it, too.

“Of course,” he finally sighs, opening his eyes back to yours and now holding so many words that neither of you have the time to exchange. It kills you – you don’t have time. You thought you’d always have more time. “Think of this as a test run for that rockstar money. See how a crowd of bats feel about my rockstar skills.”

“Careful,” your voice cracks, a few tears slipping that he’s quick to swipe away, “I hear they’re a tough crowd.”

He smiles at your joke, but doesn’t waste his breath on laughing. His lips find yours instead, pouring out every single thought and emotion possible. You feel a tug on that knot you’d tied between you two, everything in your being protesting from pulling back from the kiss. You try to move your lips in a response, to tell him it’ll be fine, to tell him you’ll both return to each other. To tell him you’ll have more time.

When he pulls back, realizing you can’t, his hand falls from you only to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You don’t understand until suddenly, he’s thrusting a laminated square into your hand.

You know what it is before you even turn it over. Your entire body strangles down the broken sob as you look down at a polaroid of a younger Eddie. Somewhere safe and somewhere that time is still yours.

“Keep that safe for me, yeah?” his voice wavers as he produces his own polaroid – the picture of you, “I mean, I’ll have yours, obviously. But… but just… it’s gonna be worth a lot of money once I’m the next big thing in the Upside Down.”

He’s trying so hard to make you laugh just one more time. It only surges more tears to burn your vision.

“All I’ll have to show Vecna is this,” you start to joke back, letting more tears stain your cheeks, “And- and-”

You can’t finish the joke. He gets it, putting a hand over yours, forcing you both to put away those polaroids.

“I know,” he assures you, “I know. Show him my ugly mug, and he’ll go down without a fight. That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, baby.”

Another tear, only for you, slips. You trace it all the way down his cheek, memorize the way his skin looks in the horrid blue tint and try to remember the shade it glows during golden hour instead.

“I love you,” you say. But once isn’t enough, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he takes your hands in his palms, finally presses his forehead to yours, shares his breath for a moment as he focuses on your sad eyes, “So fucking much. You always were prettier than all the colors combined. Better stay that way till I come back to you.”

He releases you. Wipes away his tears, has to give you an encouraging shove on your shoulders to force you to join Nancy and Robin’s sides.

Steve catches your eye, a look on his face telling you he’d been watching the entire interaction. Something yearning crosses his features, and then something clicks. As if this is the first time he’d ever witnessed soulmates. As if he’s the one seeing colors for the first time.

Maybe that’s why he gives his little speech. Maybe that’s why he tries to plead your case and make sure that Eddie and Dustin don’t do anything stupid.

After Eddie has made his final request to Steve, to make him pay, he looks at you one last time. A ghost of a grin, wearing his bravest mask to date as he mouths I love you.

You echo the silent sentiment. A silent prayer. For the Universe to bring him back to you. To bring you back to him.

—*ash, stop reading here*—

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died. It’s one of the first things you learn when school first broached the sensitive topic. Your soulmate dies, they take the colors with them. They never told you how the soulmate takes the colors with them – never discussed whether it would fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate, if the colors would drain from you in real time and leave a path of chromatic grey behind, or if you’d watch them flicker from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You’d been morbidly curious that day in class despite finding it all a bit dramatic. Had looked around a black and white classroom and processed your classmates' different greyscale reactions. Some were forlorn, some were snickering beneath their breath. Some just looked plain bored. It made sense; you were all kids, none of you had ever seen the blue sky or the verdant grass. Only heard about it. Only listened to adults drone on and on about it wistfully. It was never something tangible, something to have and to hold and to lose.

You wonder how younger you would have looked upon you now. As you faced down an alternate dimension’s fiercest villain, hand paused midair, prepared to launch a lit molotov cocktail with aim to kill, when you suddenly paused.

The shades of the fire burning brightly in front of you have dulled. Microscopically. The smallest of flickers in vibrancy.

“What are you doing?” Steve screams when he notices your hesitation, “Throw it! Jesus Christ, throw it before-”

Robin cut him off, being the closest to you and reaching over to snatch the ticking time bomb of a bottle, tossing it for you.

As it explodes against the mangled being before you, another flicker occurs. You swear you feel a stabbing pain in your side, as if that gnawing has taken to ripping you apart.

You swear the bright flashes of yellow amongst the flames have turned to white. The orange has gone so faded, the dullest bits have shadowed over in grey.

Nancy takes another shot, but you can’t move. You watch it all in slow motion: she doesn’t miss, her shot ricochets dead center, Vecna stumbles before crashing through the wall behind him.

The world flickers a final time, and all the air leaves your lungs.

It’s black and white.

The floorboards, all of your sudden friends beside you, the walls of the old house, the lightning flashing amongst storm clouds in the sky outside.

It’s black and white. Shades of grey monotone.

As everyone rushes to look out the hole, your knees collide with splintered wood.

The colors are gone. It’s black and white.

“Where’d he-” Steve starts to question before he turns and sees you. You’re folding into yourself, no longer breathing as you look down at your palms. Grey. Not a single sliver of flesh tone to be seen. “Are you okay?”

The colors are gone.

A cold washes over you like never before, and even if you wanted to take another breath, you couldn’t. It’s not ash burning your eyes – it’s tears, hot and vicious as your face begins to crumple in panic.

Eddie.

You don’t even hear them cross the room back to you. Can’t hone in on what’s happened, if the evil has been defeated and if you’d all won. It doesn’t matter; your colors are gone.

Your hands finally fumble without thought, patting down your person until you catch the corner of the polaroid. You yank it free, breaths finally strangling into your throat without purchase, your shoulders shaking.

It’ll be in color. It has to be in color. He has to be in color.

That familiar and well loved photo stares back at you. Your boy, curly hair wild and unruly, grin soft and fond. A twinkle captured in his eye and all that adoration that had been rolling off of him in waves somehow frozen in time.

Frozen in time, frozen in black and white.

Steve shakes your shoulders, Robin begins to pace and match your panic. They don’t understand.

Gritted sobs leave your mouth, tears blinding you as you look at the shadow of what must be Nancy.

She understands.

Even through the strangled breaths, earth-shattering sobs that make you nearly incoherent, she knows.

“Eddie,” you manage to gasp, fist curling around the photograph.

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died.

“Eddie,” you manage a mangled sob as Steve pulls back, horror-stricken as he looks down at the polaroid, slowly piecing together what was happening.

Fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate. Draining from you in real time and leaving a path of chromatic grey behind. Flickering from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

“Eddie!”

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You finally had your answer. You wish you didn’t.

#my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfic #gonna run and hide now sorry bye #Spotify

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matan4il · 7 months

Text

Daily update post:

One of the issues that caused the delay in the hostage release yesterday was Hamas' violation of the agreement. Israel demanded that families will be released together, mothers with their kids, Hamas agreed. Yesterday, on just the second day of implementing the accord, Hamas violated this term, when the list only included a 13 years old girl named Hilla Rotem, but not her 54 years old mom, Ra'aya. This is tragic in itself, but it was compounded by the fact that Hilla is the only daughter of a single mom. Think about what it means to her, that she's being released, but not the only immediate family she has in the world. Israel insisted that Hamas must honor the agreement, but Hamas said the only way they'd stick to the agreement of not separating Hilla Rotem from her mom, is if the girl wouldn't be released. But seeing as the kids are considered the most vulnerable, Israel relented and accepted Hilla being released without her mom. Why is Hamas so insistent on separating the two, we can only guess.

So, for those keeping score, Hamas violated the agreement twice (potentially three time), first with firing rockets 15 minutes after the fighting was supposed to stop, then forcing families apart. The third issue is that Hamas promised the Red Cross would be allowed to meet the hostages remaining in captivity, but so far, that hasn't happened. If it stays that way, that's another violation. We're all waiting to see what will happen today, since on both previous days, the hostages release was delayed.

On its part, Hamas claimed Israel was the one breaking the agreement, even though there was independent confirmation that Israel met its obligations, such as the number of aid trucks allowed into Gaza as part of the accord. Today, the aid trucks went in even earlier, and with video documentation, so that Hamas would not be able to use this as an excuse again. Another thing that Hamas claims is that Israel is supposed to release prisoners based on how long they've been in jail, but Israel said it was not a part of the signed agreement. Hamas gave a list of 14 hostages to be released, eventually it released 13 Israelis kidnapped. The agreement said Israel is to release 3 convicted terrorist per each release hostage, so Israel was set to release 42 prisoners. When it turned out that Hamas is only releaseing 13 people, Israel still released all 42 people who were already went through the process of release. No official explanation was offered, but my guess is to prevent any riots from those three who would not be released, and their families outside.

The other day, a ship flying Malta's flag was attacked by an armed suicide drone in the Indian ocean. It turns out that while being operated by another company, one of the owners of the ship is an Israeli businessman. To target the ship for its ownership rather than operators, implies the intel probably came from Iran. The ship was damaged in the attack, a fire broke out, but no one was hurt. There's an initial report of another ship, supposedly under Israeli ownership, that was kidnapped today near Yemen. If true, this is the third ship targeted for supposedly being Israeli.

A video was circulated the other day, which I will not be sharing, but you can see it here. It shows two Palestinians from Jenin, shot to death for supposedly collaborating with Israel, and then their bodies were hung, a crowd gathered and filmed this, then the bodies were taken down, dragged along the streets, abused, and eventually they were dumped in a garbage site. Are they really informants for Israel? I recently watched a documentary about Yahya Sinwar, Hamas' current leader in Gaza, who was imprisoned by Israel up until 2011. But it wasn't for killing Israelis, it was for murdering Palestinians for supposedly collaborating. An Israeli internal security official said that out of the dozens upon dozens of Palestinians that Sinwar killed with his own hands, maybe 2 or 3 were actual informants. Sinwar murdered these people to make a reputation for himself (he was nicknamed "The Butcher of Khan Younes"), and for an array of other, more personal reasons. So... I'd say most odds are these people had nothing to do with Israel, too.

As antisemitism is on the rise, and too many are adopting a narrative that justified or dismissed Hamas' crimes, the Prime Minister of Ireland did the sameon Twitter. He got community notes correcting his erasure of an Irish-Israeli 9 years old girl's kidnapping.

Just a reminder that when one terrorist in Dublin stabbed five people, three kids included, there were massive riots, with lots of public infrastructure burned down, and rioters arrested. What would Ireland do if they would have been subjected to a terrorist attack equivalent to the one Israel suffered on Oct 7?

The really tall guy is an Israeli officer whose name can't be published, only his initial Y.

He finished a specific military role two months before Hamas' massacre. On the day of Oct 7, he realized that the guy who replaced him, who lives further to the north, would not be able to make it to the fighting zone in time, so Y jumped into his car and drove there, without a weapon or a bulletproof vest. On the way, terrorists ambushed his car, and shot him in the stomach. Realizing he's beginning to pass out, he stopped his car at the side of the road. He woke up to the sight of the second guy in the pic, Mulogate Gazhai. He's a citizen of Eritrea seeking sanctuary in Israel. Mulogate was in a taxi, getting away from the fighting, when he saw the wounded Y's car. He asked the taxi driver to stop. When Y regained consciousness, Mulogate told him, "I'm with you all the way." He stayed by his side, putting pressure on Y's wound to stop him from bleeding out, for almost three hours, hiding together in a ditch on the side of the road, while terrorists keep driving through this area. Today, for having saved Y's life, Mulogate was granted an honorary Israeli citizenship.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #antisemitism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish

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throneofsmut · 6 months

Text

BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 6

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader

Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood and death.

Author's Note: None.

Word Court: 4.9k

****

Alis stepped out in the hall and you followed after her, leaning on the wall next to the door of the room you were given, waiting for Feyre.

The both of you waiting in silence. Not awkward or uncomfortable silence—just silence. Exhaustion finally wearing on you as you stood there, head against the wall, eyes closed. You heard her before you saw her, “Is Y/n, already down there?” Feyre asked quietly. The door of her room opened before the servant who helped her get ready could respond.

“No, she’s right here.” You answered before the servant could, Feyre’s eyes lighting up at the sound of your voice, shoulders relaxing just a bit as she took you in. A small smile only for her gracing your lips at the fact that you could relax her.

You love the fact that your voice, your presence, alone can relax your sister. Yet, it’s bittersweet because if she knew who you really were, what you really were, she wouldn’t trust you. Maybe she would even fear you. . . hate you.

Moving to stand right in front of her, placing your hands on her shoulders, eyes searching for any hint of her being hurt. When you didn’t find anything wrong, you met her gaze and she gave you an incredulous look. You arched a groomed brow, “What?”

Feyre crossed her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed, “Shouldn’t I be the one checking you. Worrying over you as the older sister?”

“No.” You replied simply.

Her brows furrowed. “What? Why?”

Now it was your turn to cross your arms, eyes narrowing in challenge, “Because I can handle myself. Take care of myself.” And take care of you. Take care of the both of you—you implied with your tone.

Feyre scoffed. “So can I!”

“No. Not like I can and we both know it.” You said matter-of-factly, holding her gaze—daring her to challenge you.

She didn’t.

****

The High Lord of Spring and Lucien were lounging around the table when Alis returned you to the dining room. Food still remained on the table, the array of spices lingering in the air, beckoning. You were starving, your head unnervingly light. It had been days since you’d last ate, since Feyre last ate.

The High Lord’s mask gleamed with the last rays of the afternoon sunshine. "Before you ask again: the food is safe for you to eat." He pointed to the chairs at the other end of the table. No sign of his claws. When you didn't move, he sighed sharply. "What do you want, then?"

You said nothing.

Lucien drawled from his seat along the length of the table, "I told you so, Tamlin." He flicked a glance toward his friend. "Your skills with females have definitely become rusty in recent decades."

Tamlin. He glowered at Lucien, shifting in his seat. You willed your face into neutrality at the confirmation that he had survived all those years ago.

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on you, then Feyre "You two don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though tunics aren't as pretty as a dress."

You were all too aware of the way your jaw clenched and unclenched, of the very breath you took as you said, "I'd prefer not to wear a dress."

"And why not?" Lucien crooned.

It was Tamlin who answered for you. "Because killing us is easier in pants."

You kept your face blank, willed yourself to settle as Feyre began to speak, "Now that we’re here, what. . . what do you plan to do with us?"

Lucien snorted, but Tamlin said with a snarl of annoyance, "Just sit down."

Two empty seats had been pulled out at the end of the table, one at the head and the other to its left. You sat in the one on the left, gesturing for Feyre to sit at the head. If something were to happen you’d at least have enough time to get in front of her.

So many foods, piping hot and wafting those enticing spices. It’s been years since you had food in Prythian, human food always tasted like ash. The servants had probably brought out new food while you'd washed. So much wasted. You clenched your hands into fists.

"We're not going to bite." Lucien's white teeth gleamed in a way that suggested otherwise. Feyre almost imperceptibly stiffening—almost.

Giving him a toothy grin, your sensual lips curving upwards, “Not even if I ask you too?”

He choked on his wine and gaped at you. Feyre gaped at you too, making you chuckle. Tamlin cleared his throat and then rose, stalking around the table—closer and closer to Feyre, each movement smooth and lethal, a predator blooded with power. It was an effort for her to stay still—for you too as he approached her—especially as he picked up a dish, brought it over to her and piled meat and sauce onto her plate.

“I can serve myself.” Feyre said quietly.

“It’s an honor for a human to be served by a High Fae. Isn’t it Lucien?” He bit out roughly.

“Yes. Yes it is, Tam.” Lucien’s eyes flickered with amusement for a second and the next he was out of his seat making his way to you—to serve you.

You fought back the urge to smirk as you cocked your head to the side, so you could look at Tamlin, “Which is more of an honor to be served by a High Fae or a High Lord, High Lord?” Tamlin paused—stiffening but didn’t look at you and Feyre let out a small gasp her eyes wide. Lucien paused as well, looking over his shoulder at Tamlin. The High Lord only cleared his throat and continued plating Feyre’s food, earning a snort from you.

They both only stopped piling food onto your plates when they were heaping with meat and sauce and bread, and then filled your glasses with pale sparkling wine. Feyre’s eyes were still wide with shock as they both prowled back to their seats.

They watched both of you, too closely to be casual. Tamlin straightened a bit, his gaze settling on Feyre and said, "You look. . . better than before."

Your brows rose and you blinked a couple times. Was he trying to flirt? Was that a compliment to flirt with her? You could have sworn Lucien gave Tamlin an encouraging nod.

"And your hair is. . . clean."

You couldn’t hold in the laugh that worked its way up your throat. Earning glares from the two high fae seated across the table.

Feyre looked at you before looking back at them, "So you're High Fae faerie nobility?"

Lucien coughed and looked to Tamlin. "You can take that question."

"Yes," Tamlin said, frowning—as if searching for anything else to say. He settled on merely: "We are."

"And you’re High Lord?" She asked.

Tamlin’s eyes didn’t leave her face. "Yes."

A few moments of silence passed before Feyre spoke again, “What do you plan on doing with us now that we’re here?”

“Nothing. Do whatever you want.”

“So we’re not your slaves?” She dared to ask.

Lucien choked on his wine. But Tamlin didn’t smile, “I don’t keep slaves.”

Feyre and Tamlin went back and forth for a bit, before Lucien started with her. He was still upset about Andras—understandably so but Tamlin put an end to their bickering. Then he and Feyre started again. He took a breath before his gaze flickered between the two of you.

"I'm going to warn you once," Tamlin said too softly. "Only once, and then it's on you, humans. I don't care if you go live somewhere else in Prythian. But if you cross the wall, if you flee, your family will no longer be cared for."

You opened your mouth, but his snarl rattled the glasses. "Is that not a fair bargain? And if you flee, then you might not be so lucky with whoever comes to retrieve you next." His claws slipped back under his knuckles. "The food is not enchanted, or drugged, and it will be your own damn fault if you faint. So you're going to sit at this table and eat. The both of you, Feyre. And Lucien will do his best to be polite." He threw a pointed look in his direction. Lucien shrugged.

The invisible bonds he had placed around the two of you while he and Feyre argued loosened, and she winced as she whacked her hands on the underside of the table. The bonds on your legs and middle remained intact. One glance at Tamlin's smoldering green eyes told you what you already knew: his guest or not, you weren’t going to get up from this table until you’d eaten something. You'd think about the sudden change in your plans to escape later. Now. . . for now you eyed the silver fork and carefully picked it up.

They still watched you—Feyre watched you—watched your every move. You gave her a small nod as you picked up the silver fork beside your plate and that was all she needed to start digging into her plate.

It was an effort to keep from grunting. You hadn’t had food this good in years and Feyre hadn’t since before your family’s downfall. But still the mortal realms' food couldn’t compare to Prythian’s. You both ate your entire plates in silence, too aware of the High Fae observing every bite. Your sister was reaching for a second helping of chocolate torre, the food vanished. Just vanished, as if it had never existed, not a crumb left behind.

"One more bite and you'll hurl your guts up," Tamlin said to Feyre, drinking deeply from his goblet.

The bonds holding you loosened entirely. Silent permission to leave.

"Thank you for the meal," She said.

"Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat.

She braced her hands on her chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep."

"It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it.

"You're High Fae," Feyre said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all—or dining with me."

Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you’d rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"—he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face—"surely we’re not so miserable to look at. Unless you have someone back home. Unless there's a line of suitors out the door of your hovel that makes us seem like worms in comparison."

"I was close with a man back in my village." Feyre confessed.

Tamlin and Lucien exchanged glances, but it was Tamlin who said, "Are you in love with this man?"

"No."

"And do you. . . love anyone else?" Tamlin said through clenched teeth.

“No.”

Then Lucien looked at you, cocking his head before he spoke, “What about you? Do you love anyone, Y/n?”

“No. Love will get you killed.” You told him, giving him a sweet smile.

A laugh bursted out of your sister, tinged with hysteria. "Is this really what you care to know about? If we find you more handsome than human men, and if we have a man back home? Why bother to ask at all, when we'll be stuck here for the rest of our lives?"

"We wanted to learn more about you, since you'll be here for a good while," Tamlin replied, his lips a thin line. "But Lucien's pride tends to get in the way of his manners." He sighed, as if ready to be done with both of you, and said, "Go rest. We're both busy most days, so if you need anything, ask the staff. They'll help you."

"Why?" She asked. "Why be so generous." Lucien gave us a look that suggested he had no idea, either, given that we'd murdered their companion, but Tamlin stared at her for a long moment.

"I kill too often as it is," Tamlin said finally, shrugging his broad shoulders. "And you're insignificant enough to not ruffle this estate. Unless you decide to start killing us."

Feyre’s cheeks and neck were tinged pink as she thanked Tamlin for the meal. He gave a distant nod and motioned for the both of you to leave. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave you a lazy half smile. You walked behind Feyre until you reached the doors, and whispered only for her to hear, “Go straight to your room.” Without turning to look at you she nodded her head and you shut the dining room door behind her.

Lucien groaned, “Now what?”

“Shut up. I’m gonna talk and you’re going to listen.” You snarled at the red head.

“Who do you think you—“ He started but Tamlin silenced him with a raised hand.

Eyes boring into the high lord of spring, “How much time do you have left to attempt to break the curse?”

Tamlin’s mouth opened and then closed before opening again, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stalking closer until you were face to face with him, you let out a bitter laugh, “That was a pathetic attempt at a lie… I know about Amarantha, Under The Mountain and the curse. So. How. Long.” It was a command not a question.

His and Lucien’s faces went pale, then he swallowed hard, “Months. A few months.”

You swore under your breath and shut your eyes. Fuck, months. There were only months left to kill Amarantha. You knew monsters like her couldn’t just be stopped, they had to be killed. When you opened your eyes again Tamlin was studying you, head cocked in a way that was more animalistic than fae, like he was sizing up an opponent.

“What?” You gritted out.

He narrowed his eyes, suspicion lacing his tone as he asked, “How do you know?”

“I hear things.” You answered smugly, letting your lips set in the all too familiar wicked smirked you’d mastered as a child.

You rolled your neck before placing both palms flat on the dining table. Leaning in you said to the both of them, “I’m only gonna say this once, I’m not the one that’s going to fall in love with you and break the curse—“

Lucien cut you off, “Why? Because the hate you have for us is stronger than the chance of love?”

You sighed, “No. I just. . . I- I can’t. Feyre is your best chance but. . . I will not help you make her fall in love with you. It already feels like I’m raising a lamb to the slaughter. It’s already bad enough I can’t tell her—my sister—about the curse. I can’t tell her just like you can’t. But it doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t break the curse, I’m going to kill Amarantha.”

“Why?” Tamlin asked.

“She took something from me.”

“So. . . What? You want it back?”

“What she took, I can’t get back.”

Your mother.

The High Lord of Spring glanced at his emissary. Then Lucien scoffed, “And we’re supposed to trust that you can kill her.”

“Trust my rage.” You said with lethal softness. Letting the wrath you usually kept buried deep within you show in your eyes. They tried to suppress a shudder as you let your rage roll off of you in waves.

Their voices cut through the silence as they spoke simultaneously, “All right.”

Sleep didn’t find you that night. Most nights if you were being honest. Instead of restlessly staying in bed you opted on going out onto your balcony, climbing onto the roof and staring up at the stars. You always felt less alone when you were close to them. As if your mother was there—your real mother. A soft warm breeze caressing your face and if you closed your eyes it felt like she was doing it.

****

Days passed and you saw Tamlin’s poor attempts at trying to woo your sister. It was almost laughable. But you saw the small bits of progress between them. Especially after she had caught the Suriel and was attacked by the naga. She had injured two by the time you and Tamlin got to her side. He had been tracking them when he heard her scream. You were already making your way to the direction she’d gone in before she screamed. Feeling something was off, you’d picked up an axe that was left out in the garden and as soon as you heard her, you sprinted to her and killed two while Tamlin killed the others.

Feyre was surprised that he’d come to help her. Feral rage still shone in his eyes as he knelt beside her but he was gentle with her as he healed the cut on her cheek and gave her his tunic to wear since hers was ripped.

They still bickered but they were starting to find some common ground. Starting to understand that they were similar in some ways. Well at least that’s what she told you.

****

A couple weeks passed and you were finally dozing off when you heard shouts and someone’s screams sounding through the crack beneath your door.

The shouts weren’t aggressive—more like orders but the screaming was agonizing.

Shooting out of bed and ripping the door of your room open you practically leaped down the stairs making your way to where the screams were coming from. Ripping the front doors to the manor open and Tamlin rushed in, a screaming faerie—summer court by his appearance—slung over his shoulder.

You heard footsteps behind you, turning your head to look at the top of the grand staircase, where Feyre stood. Watching. Even from atop the stairs, you knew she could see the blood gushing down the faerie's back—blood from the black stumps protruding from his shoulder blades. Blood that now soaked into Tamlin's green tunic in deep, shining splotches. One of the knives from his baldric was missing.

Lucien rushed into the foyer just as Tamlin shouted, "The table—clear it off!" You shoved the vase of flowers off the long table in the center of the hall.

The shattering glass set Feyre’s feet moving, and she was halfway down the stairs before Tamlin eased the shrieking faerie face-first onto the table. The faerie wasn't wearing a mask; there was nothing to hide the agony contorting his long, unearthly features.

"Scouts found him dumped just over the borderline," Tamlin explained to Lucien and you, but his eyes darted to Feyre. They flashed with warning, but she took another step down. He said to Lucien, "He's Summer Court."

"By the Cauldron," Lucien said, surveying the damage.

His wings. His wings.

"My wings," the faerie choked out, his glossy black eyes wide and staring at nothing. "She took my wings."

She. . . Amarantha.

Tamlin flicked a hand, and steaming water and bandages just appeared on the table. Your body started to shake with rage. She hadn’t just taken his wings—she ripped them off.

Your mother had always made sure you understood how valuable—how priceless your wings were. To lose them and live was worse than death. And for Amarantha to have ripped them from his body was the cruelest thing she could have ever done to the summer court faerie.

"She took my wings," said the faerie. "She took my wings," he repeated, clutching the edge of the table with spindly blue fingers.

Tamlin murmured a soft, wordless sound—gentle in a way you hadn't heard before. Blood oozed from the black velvety stumps on the faeries back. As if she'd sawed off his wings bit by bit. The wounds were jagged—cartilage and tissue severed in what looked like uneven cuts. And your Mothers once glorious—beautiful—wings flashed through your mind.

Large, leathery soft wings. The tips of them tipped with a single talon. Black membranous bat-like wings that looked like a sunset, purple and pink when the sun shone through them. Just like yours.

But other images of them flashed through your mind as well.

Shredded and covered in blood from whatever magic Amarantha and her most trusted soldiers used to mutilate them.

She lost hers to save yours. Just like she did with her life.

"She took my wings," the faerie said again, his voice breaking as he trembled, shock taking over, his skin shimmered with veins of pure gold—iridescent, like a blue butterfly.

"Keep still," Tamlin ordered, wringing the rag. "You'll bleed out faster."

"N-n-no," the faerie started, and began to twist onto his back, away from Tamlin, from the pain that was surely coming when that rag touched those raw stumps.

It was instinct, or mercy, or desperation, perhaps, to grab the faeries upper arms and shove him down again, pinning him to the table as gently as you could. He thrashed, strong enough that you had to concentrate solely on holding him. “Feyre!” She didn’t hesitate to help you hold him.

You looked to Lucien, but the color had blanched from his face, leaving a sickly white-green in its wake.

"Lucien," Tamlin said—a quiet command. But Lucien kept gaping at the faeries ruined back, at the stumps, his metal eye narrowing and widening, narrowing and widening. He backed up a step. And another. And then vomited in a potted plant before sprinting from the room.

The faerie twisted again and you held tight, your arms shaking with the effort. His injuries must have weakened him greatly if you and Feyre could keep him pinned. "Please," you breathed. "Please hold still."

"She took my wings,” the faerie sobbed. "She took them."

“I know,” Feyre murmured. “I know.”

Tamlin touched the rag to one of the stumps, and the faerie screamed so loudly that your senses guttered, sending you staggering back. Your mother’s ruined wings flashing in your mind. He tried to rise but his arms buckled, and he collapsed face-first onto the table again.

Blood gushed—so fast and bright that it took you a heartbeat to realize that a wound like this required a tourniquet—and that the faerie had lost far too much blood for it to even make a difference. It poured down his back and onto the table, where it ran to the edge and drip-drip-dripped to the floor near Feyre’s feet.

You found Tamlin's eyes on you. "The wounds aren't clotting," he said under his breath as the faerie panted.

"Can't you use your magic?" You asked, wishing Amarantha hadn’t stripped him of most of his power.

Tamlin swallowed hard. "No. Not for major damage. Once, but not any longer."

The faerie on the table whimpered, his panting slowing. "She took my wings," he whispered. Tamlin's green eyes flickered, and you knew, right then, that the faerie was going to die. Death wasn't just hovering in this hall; it was counting down the faerie's remaining heartbeats.

You took one of the faerie's hands in yours and Feyre took the other. The skin there was almost leathery, and, perhaps more out of reflex than anything, his long fingers wrapped around yours, covering them completely. "She took my wings," he said again, his shaking subsiding a bit.

You brushed the long, damp hair from the faerie's half-turned face, revealing a pointed nose and a mouth full of sharp teeth. His dark eyes shifted to mine, beseeching, pleading.

"It will be all right," you promised, and hoped he couldn't smell lies the way the Suriel was able to. You stroked his limp hair, its texture like liquid night. “It will be all right.” The faerie closed his eyes, and you tightened your grip on his hand.

Something wet touched your feet, and you didn’t need to look down to see that his blood had pooled around you.

"My wings," the faerie whispered.

"You'll get them back."

The faerie struggled to open his eyes. "You swear?"

"Yes," you breathed.

The faerie managed a slight smile, squeezing your hand with his last bit of strength and closed his eyes again. And in that moment you made a silent vow to avenge him. To kill whoever Amarantha had ordered to take his wings knowing she believed this faerie to be beneath her. To be nothing.

Your mouth trembled and you wished for something else to say, something more to offer him than empty promises. For the ability to heal him and give him back his wings. But Tamlin began speaking, and you glanced up to see him place his hand gently atop the faeries head. "Cauldron save you," he said, reciting the words of a prayer that haunted your dreams. But you said it with him. “Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain." Both of your voices wavered, but you finished. "Go, and enter eternity."

The faerie heaved one final sigh, and his hand went limp in yours. You didn't let go, though, and neither did Feyre. She kept stroking his hair after Tamlin released him and took a few steps from the table.

You could feel Tamlin's eyes on you, but you wouldn't let go. You didn't know how long it took for a soul to fade from the body. You had done the same for your mother—held her hand for hours after she died. Too young to know any better. You would've stayed with the wolf in the forest for hours too had Feyre not been there.

Feyre and you stood in the puddle of blood until it grew cold, holding the faerie's spindly hand and stroking his hair, wondering if he knew you'd lied when you'd sworn he would get his wings back, wondering if wherever he had now gone, he had gotten them back. Just like you wonder if your mother did.

A clock chimed somewhere in the house, and Tamlin’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "He's gone. Let him go." His hand was gripping Feyre’s shoulder. He didn’t try to touch you.

"Feyre," Tamlin said and she brushed the faerie's hair behind his long, pointed ear and let go.

You wished you'd known his name, still you would never forget him.

Tamlin led her up the stairs, no one caring about the bloody footprints she left behind or the freezing blood soaking the front of her nightgown. Hearing her pause at the top of the steps, no doubt twisting out of his grip, and gazing at the table in the foyer below.

"We can't leave him there," She said, making to step down.

"I know," he said, the words so drained and weary.

"I was going to walk you upstairs first." Before he buried him.

"I want to go with you."

"It's too deadly at night for you to—"

"I can hold my—"

"No," he said, "I must do this. Alone."

You heard your sister’s departing footsteps but Tamlin remained at the top of the stairs. "Feyre," he said softly "Why? You dislike our kind on a good day. And after Andras... So why?"

She took a step closer to him, her blood-covered feet sticking to the rug. "Because I wouldn't want to die alone," she breathed, her voice wobbly. "Because I'd want someone to hold my hand until the end, and awhile after that. That's something everyone deserves, human or faerie." You heard her swallow hard. Her voice sounded painfully tight as she continued, "I regret what we did to Andras.” She said, the words so strangled they were no more than a whisper. "I regret that there was. . . such hate in my heart. I wish I could undo it—and. . . I'm sorry. So very sorry."

You couldn't remember the last time—if ever she’d spoken to anyone like that. And then they were silent. Moments later Tamlin’s heavy footsteps were nearing and he moved to grip your shoulder but you moved out the way. He spoke to you gently, “Go. Try to get some rest.”

You hadn’t realized you had started crying and your voice cracked as you whispered, “No. I’ll bury him.”

“It’s alright. I can do it.”

You sniffled and then let out a sharp breath, “No. I need to bury him.” Find a beautiful place and lay him to rest and mourn the loss of the nameless summer court faerie. Mourn the loss of his wings. Tamlin—no one would understand unless they had wings. You had to do this.

“Did she? Did she take your wings?” He said it so low if it wasn’t for your enhanced hearing you wouldn’t have heard him.

You shook your head no. “Please. I need to do this.”

“All right. But. . . why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” You didn't look at him as you positioned the faerie’s limp broken body across your shoulders and carried him to the garden doors beyond. You carried the faerie through the moonlit garden and into the rolling fields beyond. Never once glancing back.

Walking the fields of the Spring Court until you came across a tall beautiful Yew Tree. Remembering your mother telling you that the old gods saw the Yew Trees as the guardians of the dead. That they purified the dead as they made their journey to the afterlife. Ensuring their souls made it to eternity. Which was why you buried her under a yew tree and why you were going to bury him here.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

part 11

Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle @sleepylunarwolf @cutie232 @meepmeep-318 @belledawnidk

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

#acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris fanfic #eris smut #eris x reader #bound in flames #eris vanserra x you #eris x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris x y/n

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rayassecretlife · 1 year

Text

Hold onto me

Pairing: Aged up!19 Year old Neteyam Sully x Fem!Human!Reader

Summary: You and Spider grew up like one another, left behind after the sky people perished in the war, but also like spider, you made a connection to the forest and the reef—very loved by its people. You get hurt doing something you shouldn’t have, and your mask breaks before you can react, but your best friend wouldn’t let you go.

Warning(s): Mature language, overprotective Neteyam, Mentions of death, Blood, mentions of drowning, etc (i suck at warnings)

Not proof read!!! Sorry for mistakes

Some might say that human’s don’t belong with the Na’vi, that they are alien to the clan and always will be—or how they’ll never learn the Na’vi ways. But to you, the Great War between your people and the Na’vi changed your life for the better. Unlike spider, you were loved amongst the clan—even by their Tsahìk, Neytiri. She treated you like her own, braiding your hair for you, making you new outfits to wear, offering her home to you, she was the sweetest woman you’d ever met.

Your mother was very close to the clan, kind of like grace in a way. You had many connections to the forest, but none to the reef. You also had an avatar body back in the forest, but you were always too scared to go through the transition with Eywa. You’d only been in that body once or twice, and Neytiri never pushed you, but she’d always tell you it would make things easier even though she was scared she’d lose you.

There was something about you. Something…different then spider. You were treated like one of them while he was the stray cat just walking around somewhere he shouldn’t be. When Neytiri and jake weren’t around, you had their children protecting you like their lives depended on it, never really letting you get so close to danger like spider. Along the many years of living on pandora, you befriended the oldest sully brother quickly, and he was now your best friend. You two went to each other for everything, he’d even find himself on his way to your small hut in the forest just to sit and talk during the night.

You fit in at the reef slowly but surely, seeing as Ronal didn’t know how to feel about you at first. Although she soon realized how useful you had been to the clan. You were a great healer to her surprise, better then most of the ones they had already. You were also very helpful in any aspect they needed you to be, an amazing swimmer too. You were so respected in both clans, the people would do anything for you. You were one of them.

“Y/N!” You ignored the voices behind you and jumped into the deep water, the few bodies following closely behind you. “I told you to wait for me!” You scoff at him and continue to swim, holding onto his Ilu.

“You worry too much, I’m a much better swimmer then you” you hum, tapping the mask that sat on your face before sinking underwater, letting his Ilu guide you to random spots along the floor. You could feel him watching you, ears still up with worry. It was funny, even being human you had still been a better swimmer then most of the sully family—except Kiri of course.

You soon swam back to the surface, laughing at the boys worried expression in front of you. “It’s not funny, you could drown!”

“And you can’t?” He glared at you but you didn’t care, only shrugging your shoulders with the click of your tongue. “Calm down, Forest boy. I can handle myself” The wave came at you fast causing you to sink under a little, water getting all over your mask in the process.

Before you could see the sky again, you felt strong arms pull you and you already knew it was him, practically pushing you above him and out of the water. “Ow, ow!” You whine at his tight grip and he instantly loosened up, still keeping a firm hold on your waist. He forgot how much bigger he was compared to you. “Neteyam, I was fine-“

“Fine? That’s not fine! You-“

“She’s fine, bro” You turned your head at the sound of Lo’ak’s voice, him and Tsireya approaching on their Ilu’s. “You guys wanna come see payakan?” Your face lit up but Neteyam instantly shook his head, dismissing his brother.

“No way. It’s too deep out there, what if-“

“Don’t be such a loser, Nete” His ears fall at your words while you climb onto his Ilu, running a hand along its back before smiling at the younger brother. “When are we going?”

“Y/N-“

“Right now” you nod and look over at Neteyam, his eyes staring you down with that same death stare they always gave. He didn’t want you to go but he knew you would anyway, even if he wasn’t there.

“Either come with me or I’ll go with them by myself” You always used this against him because he was way more protective over you then Lo’ak or spider. He grew up treating you how Neytiri did, respecting you and treating you like the fragile human you were.

But he was also your best friend, and he needed to protect you no matter what. With a groan, he hopped onto his Ilu behind you, connecting his queue with theirs as you giggled to yourself, one of his hands holding on and the other holding your waist firmly. He hated when you did that, when you used your life over any decision he had to make—because he knew he’d always choose you.

The water was surprisingly warm as you glided through the ocean, Neteyam refusing to go under the water because you weren’t too keen with holding onto the Ilu. You slowly approached the large animal after awhile of searching, stopping in the middle of the water as Lo’ak and Tsireya slowly sunk down into the waters.

You tried to follow but Neteyam wouldn’t let you, only making you glare at him. “Let go!” He shook his head and you groaned, trying to pry his hands from you but you knew you wouldn’t be able to. He was Na’vi, and jakes son after all. “Your such a scaredy-cat!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms. You wanted to explore, to swim with Payakan and the others. This is why you never came out with Neteyam, you tried to hide from him most days for this exact reason. “Is that such a crime?”

“What the hell did we even come here for if you won’t let me go!” You complain and he sighs in defeat, still holding you against him. “Skxawng” you mumble and he couldn’t help but chuckle, the vibrations in his chest sending through your own. “What’s so funny!”

“You, Syulang” You look at him but he wouldn’t stop, only laughing harder once you smacked your teeth. “You trying to hurt my feelings makes me laugh”

“I can handle myself” He hums, nodding his head at your words. He knew you could, but the thought of you getting hurt scared him half to death. “I’m serious, Neteyam”

“I know you can, Trust me” He sighs, sliding off his Ilu with ease and dipping his head down into the water to check where Lo’ak and Tsireya were. He pulled his head back up to your pleading gaze, practically begging him to let go. “If I let you go, you have to stay close to me”

Your eyes lit up with excitement. He’d never let up that easy before. “Really?” He raises his eyebrows and you nod your head, his hands guiding you down into the water. “Oh my god, there they are!” You both look over watching Payakan surface, Lo’ak and Tsireya laughing from afar and waving you over. “Come on!”

“You said you’d wait!” Neteyam yelled as you swam away from the boy, making your way quickly to the younger brother. He pulled you to sit along Payakan’s fin, ruffling your hair with a laugh.

“He finally let up, huh?” You push his shoulder as he laughs, Neteyam holding onto payakan’s fin to get in front of you. “Oh come on, bro. She’s fine! She used to jump through the trees like it was nothing” He glared at the two of you, shaking his head at your laugh.

“Neteyam, it’s fine” You ran your hand along the animal’s skin, smiling as it looked at you. You signed to the beautiful tulkun, telling him how pretty he had been. You loved the reef and it’s animals, it was calming to you. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so scared to go through the transition” you sigh, turning to look at the people around you.

“I’d be scared too” Lo’ak agrees, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you know where spider is? I tried looking for him before we left but he was nowhere to be found” you shake your head at the boy along with the other two, but you weren’t really thinking about that. All you could think about was going underwater, wanting to swim so bad but you knew Neteyam wouldn’t let you. True, he couldn’t tell you what to do, but he was much stronger and definitely could stop you.

“Can we go under?” You ask slightly nervous and the two next to you instantly nod, already on their way back into the water. “Neteyam?” He sighs in defeat after looking at your expression, holding his hand out to help you back into the water. You smile huge, slipping back down while taking his hand. You almost instantly followed Lo’ak and Tsireya down, Neteyam being quick to follow your trail.

You followed Tsireya through the cracks and plants, signing to her here and there once you saw something new. Lo’ak stayed behind with his brother, watching him watch you.

You are so in love The youngest brother signs, watching Neteyam roll his eyes before he began to swim faster, Lo’ak following behind him with a smile. Neteyam watched you closely, admiring how happy you looked. Your smile made his creep but he held it back before Lo’ak could see,

More animals begin to come into view around you, Neteyam’s Ilu nudging your leg as it passed you. Eywa, it was so beautiful down there. Neteyam came behind you once you stopped, smiling at Tsireya who was talking to one of the animals. He could tell you were so jealous, feeling left out like you always did—but you also knew you couldn’t do things they could.

You turn to the boy, giving him a small smile. Thank you. You sign before heading up to the girl, leaving him by himself once again.

But something was wrong—very wrong. Neteyam could feel the growing pit in his stomach while he looked around, ears perking at the thudding sounds behind him. You and Tsireya looked back at the noise as well, your body carrying itself over to him before you could think.

Stay close he signs to you, fingers intertwining with your own. Sighs of relief leave your body when you see Lo’ak swimming toward you, but just before you could shake it off—the large shadow behind him catches your attention.

Neteyam quickly calls to his Ilu and your almost instantly scooped up, trying to track down Tsireya but she was nowhere to be found. You tugged at his arm but he shook his head, only worried about getting you out of there. You caught a glimpse of the animal as it swam past you, it was an Akula. One of the most dangerous animals in the sea. You needed to get out now, before you got hurt.

But it wasn’t until you felt the firm grip on your arm tear away, and Neteyam was no longer next to you. His Ilu swam away, and you were left alone in the open ocean, barely keeping your self afloat. You felt so scared, so lost without anyone around you. Everyone was gone, everyone was gone and you were left to fight for yourself against this huge animal.

When you thought it had been safe enough, you quickly tried to swim to the top, moving your arms and legs frantically not bothering to look behind you. You should have known it would’ve never been that easy, because In just seconds you were thrown halfway across the area you had came from, body colliding with one of the many rock structures.

You could barely open your eyes as water began to fill your mask, fear taking over your now bleeding body. Your mask is broken—on pandora.

Just as the huge animal was about to charge back at you, Payakan came clashing against it, your body getting swept up by a moving force under you. Originally, you thought it was Neteyam or Lo’ak, but to your surprise, the smaller creature under you was trying it’s best to keep you on its back, swimming with its queue wrapped around your arm.

Neteyam’s Ilu. You knew it was unusual for an animal to create a bond with anyone but their rider, but it felt like his was yours, always at your beck and call just like him. Once you reached the surface you could hear her cries as she approached a small rock island, Neteyam finally coming to view.

He was on his knees on the rock, one hand out for you to grab while his other held his side, small grunts of pain leaving his mouth. He had been wounded—he sent his Ilu to get you because he couldn’t.

After noticing your broken mask, his heart practically dropped from his chest. Lo’ak and Tsireya quickly reaching the two of you with calls of urgency to leave. “Come on! We have to go!” Lo’ak urged but soon realized your struggle to walk straight onto the rocks surface, struggling to breath the thick air they so easily did.

“Y/N!” Neteyam called loudly as you slowly felt your air cut off, your feet stopping almost instantly as you clawed at your throat. “Come on!”

“N-Nete!” You manage to choke out and look at him with the most fearful eyes he’d ever seen, Lo’ak and Tsireya now noticing at the same time. “M-my mask is broken!”

His head whipped back around to you, watching you fall to your knees with a gasp. He quickly caught you, pulling you into his arms while he tried to cover the hole in your mask, obviously not achieving much. “Shit! Lo’ak! We have to get her out of here, now!”

You couldn’t focus on anything as your vision became blurry, fear being the only thing you felt as Neteyam moved quickly with you onto Payakan, trying his hardest to calm you with the desperate words against your ear. You couldn’t breathe—God, you couldn’t breathe! You couldn’t cry, you couldn’t move, only suffer the loss of air making it to your lungs.

“I’m gonna get you help just hold your breath, Baby. I’ve got you—we’re almost there” His hands caressed your hair, voice becoming frantic while watching you struggle under him. “Great mother—fuck!” He watched as a single tear fell from your eye and he cupped your small face, tears threatening to fill his own. “Your okay. I won’t let anything happen to you”

His heart burned with fear—screaming for help as you approached the village. Even far away, the clan were able to notice you coming because of the large animal you’d been riding on. Neteyam’s wound hurt worse but he couldn’t pay attention to anything except you, trying his hardest to calm your fear.

“We’re here, we’re here—it’s gonna be okay” He takes your small hand into his own, but just as you look at him for the last time, your air had already ran out. “Y/N” Suddenly, everything felt blank. Everything felt silent. You stopped struggling, and your once loving eyes turned into nothing—that exact moment is when he lost it.

“Neteyam!” He couldn’t hear his fathers voice or anyone else’s behind him as he yelled your name, tears falling down his cheeks like waterfalls. Everything was static, nothing was there but you.

“Great mother! Please!” He begs, pulling your heavy head against his chest as the clan approached, Jake quick to run to his screaming sons aid. “No! No, no, no!” His cries were so loud, practically alerting all of the villages around the reef. He couldn’t let you go, he wouldn’t let you go.

Jake felt his heart tear into two at the sight in front of him, Neytiri coming up behind him to see what was going on. “Neteyam!” He had to hold her back once she realized what was going on, her own sobs still not enough to cover up her sons. “Get her something! We need the healer now!” Her voice was frantic but still nothing could be heard by Neteyam, his eyes and ears were only set on your lifeless body.

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t of let you out there—I shouldn’t have took you” He hugs your head, voice cracking at every word. The whole clan watched him fall apart, Neytiri desperately trying to get ahold of the healer.

“Brother, it will be alright” Kiri’s hand against his shoulder was enough for him to snap to reality, looking back at her with his eyes stained with tears. He felt your body lift up and he instantly turned back, watching as a few of the guys from the clan picked you up. “Neteyam!” He tried to follow you but his father stopped him, only to earn a single push against his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jake stood there unable to respond as Neytiri sat crying for you, following the clan’s members to the healers pod. “She needs me! I need to go!”

“You know you can’t, it’s too crowded. Please, just wait-“

“Wait? She can’t breathe! And it’s all…it’s all my fault” His knees practically buckled under him, body sinking to the sand in front of the whole clan. It felt unreal—the pain in his heart was almost unbearable. Now, Jake noticed the blood pooling from his sons abdomen, falling to the ground to hold his sobbing mess of a son. “I’m supposed to protect her! I’m supposed to protect her, dad” his words stunt his chest like a thousand bees while his dad shushed him, Lo’ak now sunk to the ground as well only a few feet from them.

Guilt filled the youngest brother, tears brimming his eyes as he stared at the blood on his hands. He told you to go—he said it would be okay. His mother raised them to protect you and he couldn’t even do that. This was more then guilt and sadness, it was disappointment.

Lo’ak couldn’t watch his brother fall apart over you, not imagining the pain he was feeling. You and Neteyam were best friends but in everyone else’s eyes, you were so much more.

They needed you. The sully family needed you. But now, you’d never be able to experience the love he had for you—all because they didn’t listen.

There WILL be a part 2 to this! Stay tuned, this is just a small little thing to keep y’all occupied while I procrastinate the smut writings 💀

#avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x you #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x reader #avatar james cameron #atwow neteyam #neteyam angst #neteyam gif #neteyam fluff #neteyam x human reader

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stardustsorbet · 10 months

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 ― ♡

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⁞ mentions of unrequited feelings, mentions of death and lost loves, kitsune!reader, there’s a little bit of poetry I lowkey pulled it out of my ass

“Escort me, my memory is a bit hazy,” she lied. She knew the path like the back of her hand, allowing her friend to take the lead. (Y/N) loved to tease him, the silver-haired judge, Neuvillette. He wasn’t gullible per se but sometimes oblivious to jokes.

He couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter, you really wanted to go back. To that lake where you spent your youth. When you were just a young kitsune and he a youthful dragon. His horns were so petite, and your tails were so small, yet soft. Where there was so much unresolved tension, unanswered questions he had.

“That lake holds many of my memories,” he spoke, trying to keep his words to a minimal, just small talk. With his arm hooked in hers, he couldn’t help himself from trying to appear to others as maybe being her lover. The press would sure milk this for all its worth, but he almost wanted that. Fontaine’s dearest kitsune, a sweet woman, and the cold Chief Justice.

“Wouldn’t you think it’s rather romantic to go somewhere like this, especially so late at night?” He whispered, leaning down so she could hear. His height was quite different compared to yours. A smile crept onto his lips; this was his way of flirting with you, and you knew that better than anyone.

“Aren’t you presumptuous?” A laugh escapes her lips, playfully shoving her friend, not enough to hurt him. “Just.. take me there, okay?”

The walk from where the two had dined to their lovely lake was not too far, and he could not pretend like he didn’t enjoy being with her in pure silence like this. It had been years since their falling out, but now? Things were so much different. They’d both grown, both changed in so many ways.

She took a seat in the rustic swing hooked onto a branch of a cypress tree, swinging gently as she gazed into the water. The pale moon reflected Neuvillette’s features so beautifully; she had forgotten just how beautiful he really was. She couldn’t help but notice in such an intimate moment like this.

He sat himself next to her, worried the swing wouldn’t be able to support them both, but alas, it did. It was rather old, much more used to supporting two young teenagers and every conversation they had. “You look most beautiful tonight. I’m not sure I told you that already.”

“Thank you.. and you look just as beautiful. This moon makes every feature of yours that much easier to see and therefore appreciate.”

“Hah, thank you, (Y/N). I wonder, do you still remember every moment we shared here just as I did?” He asked, gently taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

“My kitsune mind betrays me.. you’ll have to remind me.” She knew he wanted to tell the story, but of course leave out his embarrassing moments. If she brought up how he’d fallen in the lake all those years ago after kicking a rock out of anger, he’d become a blushing mess.

“I remember how we’d enjoy the morning sunlight reflecting on the lake, hiding under the ripples of the water as the wind blew and storm clouds thundered. Things were so much different then… Do you still care for me as much as you did then?”

“Time decays the friendships between mortals, and though it has been centuries now since we’ve crossed paths, I feel like nothing has changed between us. I could reminisce in these moments forever and still hold the same comfort I’m bathing in now, despite all that has happened. If only time could pause, how kind would that be, Neuvillette?”

Her eyes were tired and emotional, every memory she had flowing through that bright mind she held.

“Pausing time, we could never find a way. But, I wouldn’t mind spending all my time with you, dearest (Y/N).” His eyes watched her so lovingly, his old friend. His friend he’d messed things up with so badly.

It was nice to sit in silence, your fingers intertwined. No romantic connotations, at least on your end, he just enjoyed being comforted like this. The touch of his warmth next to you made everything feel okay again.

“I remember I buried my book of poetry around here, I’d like to read you some of my writings.” He knew exactly what she meant, smiling at her. It didn’t take long for them to find the book with the leather cover, the dirt covered pages, and the writings of all (Y/N)’s feelings.

“Do read me some of your writings,” he spoke, helping her into the swing again, sitting beside her with admiration beaming from his blue eyes.

“Ahem… gosh, this is embarrassing, haha. Vintage clothes, antique catches. All the cracks and burns from matches. I love the imperfection of these things. Humanity, so precious, like diamond rings. Everything about you is so raw, so real. So unrealistic how you appeal to me.”

He smiled at her words, they were beautiful and vulnerable. With each word, he knew there was something in her heart when she wrote them down. “Who was this about?” He questioned. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“A general. I fell in love with him. He died in the cataclysm.” Her breaths weren’t shaky, and her eyes weren’t full of tears. Enough time had passed now, it wasn’t something she dwelled on. “He was a very dear friend of mine.”

“Ah, I’m very sorry. I’m sure you were very dear to him, you’re so bright and beautiful.” He had a hard time comforting people, according to Navia (he’d taken that very personally).

“It’s okay, these things don’t haunt me anymore. I’ve moved on. I hope that lived up to your expectations. It was just my younger mind, all very real with her feelings.”

“Is there any more?” Neuvillette inquired, resting his chin on her shoulder as you flipped through the pages.

Flipping over the pages, scanning the words quickly, she found one she’d be okay sharing. “Beautiful, even when you’re wrong. You are like the static and crackle in lightning. Please, just give me time to leave. Your soul is old, but your thoughts are new. Your mind is bright, but your heart is blue.”

He listened to the way she wrote about this mysterious general, her heart was dedicated to this man. His mind wandered astray, wondering if maybe one day she could think of him like that. Alas, he was too shy to ask her something like that. He wasn’t as bold as he was when he was younger.

“Have you ever been in love with someone other than him?”

“Feelings are so complicated. They change, just like weather patterns. In our youth, things were different, but now… I’m too work oriented to care about romance anymore. I see it as just a distraction.”

Neuvillette understood that notion, and in a way almost felt similarly. It was hard to find time for your heart in a world like this, where they were both always so busy.

He fell quiet for a few moments. Perhaps the alcohol from dinner earlier had gotten to him, but there was so much he wanted to say now. “Could I ask something of you? It may be a bit invasive and awkward, so don’t be afraid to shut me up.”

With a nod of her head, she allowed him to continue. “Have you ever felt affectionate toward me?” His face was almost sad, nearly desperate. She knew her answer would break him, and it was awfully inconvenient she didn’t bring her umbrella.

“I know our feelings.. changed. You grew to prioritize your profession more.. And I respect that. But, I can’t help but wonder. Did you ever feel anything.. for me?”

“I… don’t know what I feel. Feelings are just so complicated to understand. I just don’t like dedication. I enjoy the feeling of freedom and independence, not being tied down by housewife work and kids running around!”

“I understand. I feel similarly. But, that’s not the key to a relationship, it’s the love you feel for one another.” He smiled, feeling her head against his shoulder.

“But the distractions become just that.. distracting. It’s hard to be close when there are things leading your attention astray.”

“It’s just additional effort, I suppose. But, it’s not for us all. That I can most certainly understand.”

Their hands were still intertwined, her peace sinking into him as well. She was quiet, breathing slowly against him. Letting him do all the talking was easier, especially on tired nights like these. “My thoughts are hard to understand, I’m sorry.”

She spoke after a long while, biting her lip almost uncomfortably. “I find it easier to not love then to love and lose it.” Her way of thinking was clearly damaged, but he’d wait. He’d done it this long, he would do it longer. Because, at the end of the day, when the moon went behind the lake, when the bugs lurked around the shoreline, the chief Justice was sure of one thing. Neuvillette was most definitely in love with his dear friend, (Y/N).

Sorry about the corny ass poetry I thought it would be nice to add. I’m embarrassed whjdsjdb

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oweninadaydream · 4 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar.

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead.

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept.

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her.

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However, nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body.

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature.

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience.

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day.

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured :

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

#oweninadaydream #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #female reader #fem!reader #the hunger games imagine

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bumblebugwrites · 5 months

Text

chapter 1: nothing's new

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: After nearly two years of peace, you are called back to the Capitol only to find that the future they promised you was a lie.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Use of Weapons, Mention of Injuries, Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Coriolanus Snow is many things, he thinks to himself, but incompetent is not one of them. So there had been the Lucy Gray hiccup. Helping her cheat the Games only for her to die at the hands of Dr. Gaul’s snakes after he failed to slip the handkerchief into their tank was inconvenient, to say the least. As was his brief stint as a Peacekeeper as punishment for his dishonest tactics following the discovery of a certain compact with her remains. Still, he had learned a valuable lesson. Love is no more than a disadvantage, a distraction lodging itself like an unfortunate bump in his flawless plan. And now, he is back, having traded Sejanus’s life for his own advancement. It was nothing personal, really. Personal is a luxury, the only one he can not afford.

Sure, the loss had hurt, but the District 7 boy made a fine victor and one he could control with a far greater degree of ease, given the detachment he felt in regard to the kid’s safety. New year, new him, new Games, and this time, things would be different.

His proposals had gone through without much struggle, especially with Dr. Gaul practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He is the protege; his mentor is the kind of woman you do not cross without bearing the consequences.

And so, on this fine morning, as he stands with the casual grace of a cat, elegantly perched on the corner of his desk, he can’t fight the grin that spreads across his face as he delivers the order he’s been waiting for weeks to give.

“Well? Go get them.”

It is a cold day in District 10, at least colder than most you think as you finish your daily sweep of the ranch and its expansive territory. You pull back lightly on the reins, bringing the horse to a slow stop.

“To name an animal, any animal, it’s counterproductive. Selfish even. Makes for a more difficult slaughter; always best to remain detached.” Your father’s words echo in your head as you dip your neck to whisper soft praise to the creature below, her hind branded with a string of three numbers: 039. Her label, to call it a name, would be to demean anyone granted the privilege of such a thing.

“That was good Bluebell, nice easy ride. Told you it would get better.” She is young. Young enough to spook with a fair amount of ease, but then so are you. Had been ever since your Games.

You dismount, hitting the ground with a soft thud before coming around to face the gentle giant and fishing a handful of sugar cubes out of your pocket. She nuzzles the food in your palm before beginning to eat, and you run a hand up and down the bridge of her nose. The world is quiet, dew still catching the light of the rising sun when you see it in the distance: the armored vehicle speeding towards the cabin housing the front office. It is not unusual for Peacekeepers to come and go from the building, but the night shift typically does not end until 8:00 am, and dawn’s colors still paint the lower half of the sky. Something is wrong.

Two men exit the vehicle, entering the small building before quickly reappearing at its entrance, a third companion in tow. He stands on the porch for one beat, two, a lazy hand draped over his eyes as he scans the field for something. Someone. And then he points. You. They are looking for you.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and your body screams at you to mount once more and ride as fast and as far away as you can, but you stay rooted. Frozen. You watch, helplessly still, as the car only comes closer, pulling to a stop on the other side of the fence, keeping the pastures separated from the open road. The Peacekeeper in the passenger seat steps out, boots scraping the gravel.

“Ms. L/N?” You only nod.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us; you’ve been called to the Capitol.” You feel like screaming, but your throat constricts, and all you can do is take slow, encumbered breaths as your body caves in on itself and you crumple to the ground.

“I– What?”

You do not mind the mud on your knees, and the slow chill that begins to spread from the places dampened by the wet grass is barely perceptible in your state of shock. Called to the Capitol. Your mind jumps back home, your brother and sister still tucked away, blankets to their chins. They would not rise for another thirty minutes at least. You picture your mother. Savoring a final moment of quiet in her busy day, sipping the coffee you’d left in the pot just for her. Your mind replays the goodbyes you had paid them this morning. Careless and quick, not like the day of the reaping. Just sloppy kisses pressed haphazardly to their foreheads and a gentle farewell on your way out the door.

“That’s not possible– It’s not– I haven’t…” There is an eerie stillness to the world at this time of day. One that only seems to press inwards, suffocating you. Distantly, you feel the soft pressure of Bluebell’s muzzle on your shoulder as though urging you to get up

Though the man in the driver’s seat seems annoyed by the inconvenience, his partner fails to shield the look of pity that flits across his face as he dips to pass through the fence, pulling you up and then back through the gap with him. He is not rough as he sets you in the backseat, not like the Peacekeepers you remember from your Games, or maybe he is; everything seems a blur as the car makes its way to the train station, and it is only as the compartment doors to close behind you that you think of Bluebell, left out in the pasture, probably licking fallen sugar cubes off the ground.

Treech releases a labored exhale as he tries once more to readjust his grip on the axe. It’s just a tree. He can sense the nearby Peacekeeper shuffling from foot to foot, anxious for him to get on with the process. This is not the arena. I am safe. I am home.

There is no time off granted to returning victors following their stint in the Games. Production is production, and there are quotas to be met, so Treech had arrived home, and the following morning, before the sun had kissed the hilltops with its light, he had risen to go to work. Only work didn’t come easy the way it used to, lulling him into a rhythmic sense of comfort with its repetitive motions, and each time he raised his axe, all he saw was them. The other tributes waiting to receive the killing blow.

Treech wipes the sweat from his brow in a single frustrated motion in spite of the cold, then, squaring his jaw, he takes a swing. Crunch. The axe lodges itself in Teslee’s head, and he stumbles back, eyes wide with fear. Only it is not Teslee. No. He blinks once, twice, and it is only a pine tree, and he is back in the forest, sinking under the weight of the Peacekeeper’s heavy glare. The man, stationed less than a yard away, begins to move towards him, and Treech prepares himself for another beating, the sharp threats from the last time still ringing in his ears.

“Officer,” a voice calls out in their direction as another man of higher rank, from what Treech can gauge, approaches the pair. The two men meet and begin to speak in hushed voices, eyes flitting in his direction every few sentences. They’re gonna fire me. Or worse, string me up in the square and use me as an example. His grip on the axe tightens. His axe. His father’s before him. He will not go down without a fight.

“Hey, you,” Treech keeps his eyes on the forest floor, silently praying to any higher power that will listen that he is not the you in question.

“Hey! Hey, you!” He can hear the man approaching, but the sound of his footsteps is dulled by the pounding of Treech’s heart. He feels like a child in a bathtub, head halfway under the surface as the water beats at his eardrums, completely still and as loud as a tidal wave. A firm grasp settles around the fabric of his winter coat, far too thin for the cold but the best he can afford.

“Listen to me when I’m fucking speaking to you,” the Peacekeeper spits, and Treech’s mouth settles into a hard line, his hand curled into a tight fist, twitching by his side. The man before him huffs in frustration.

“Call came in from the Capitol; you’re on the next train out,” he moves as though he’s going to release Treech before yanking him back in, close enough to press his mouth to the boy’s ear.

“You’re lucky the order came from above; if I had a say, I’d gun you down right here for the disrespect.” With that, he gives the kid before him a hard shove before beginning to stalk off.

“Let’s go.” But Treech feels as though the ground beneath him has disappeared. Back to the Capitol? Would they send him into the arena? He was done. Won his Games fair and square. He was supposed to be free. What more could they want?

The first thing you notice about the train is that it is the nicest thing you have ever set foot inside of. During your Games, and all those before and after, transport to the Capitol had been relegated to old cattle cars used to shuttle livestock across Panem, and the same had been true on your return trip. This is different. Every inch of the compartment is decorated with the lavish and ornate, all-cushioned seats and elaborate chandeliers.

The second thing you notice is the boy. He is older than you, you think, by several years. Five, maybe six. He seems out of place, tucked into the corner of one of the booths, sizing you up suspiciously. He looks familiar.

“I– Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met before,” he responds, cold and guarded. But there is something about him, his build, tall and broad, dark skin and brown eyes; you could almost imagine them looking soft and kind in a different environment.

He keeps the sharp look on his face, and you have yet to move from the doors when it clicks.

“You won seven years ago; I remember you. District 11. Teff, right?”

“You’re the girl from 10,” he says, and his posture relaxes, if only by a fraction.

“Y/N.” You smile, and you mean it to be a comfort, but there’s a fear in your eyes that betrays the anxiety deep in your gut. Still, you move closer, sliding into the seat across from him and bringing your hands into a neat pile on your lap.

“What are we doing here?” It’s small and whispered as it escapes your lips, and your gaze refuses to meet Teff’s as you wait for an answer.

“I have no idea.”

It is several hours before the train stops again, and though they are mostly passed in silence, the occasional attempt is made at small talk. Whispered theories mingle among everyday questions. So, what do you do in District 11? Do you think they’re gonna kill us? There’s lots of horses back home, cows too. They can’t put us back in, right? Only once, that’s what they said.

The next time the doors open, you are in 2, as indicated by the towering stone walls keeping it separate from neighboring Districts. Three people get on. One of the boys you recognize immediately: Octavian Blackwell, the first victor. His hair is dark, clipped short in a sort of military cut, and his eyes look as though they are carved from steel. Beside him is a girl, small and lithe, her posture relaxed and tense all at once. Antonia. The name echos out from some dark, cavernous corner of your mind. The first female victor, 3rd Hunger Games. The final boy is taller than both his counterparts, though leaner in build than Octavian; you wrack your brain, praying for some form of recollection, but he remains unfamiliar to you.

“More victors,” whispers Teff, and you watch as the three faces before you seem to come to the same realization.

“What the fuck is going on?” It’s the District 2 boy who breaks the silence, the one whose name continues to elude you.

“Hector,” Antonia hisses, a warning lacing her tone, but her eyes betray a curiosity lingering beneath the surface.

“They can’t put us back in, right? There’s not enough. Not to mention, half the districts wouldn’t even have tributes,” you sputter the words up, an involuntary torrent of concern spewing from your mouth. Your gaze flits nervously from face to face, and in spite of the many hardened exteriors, you can feel it beneath the surface, a brewing apprehension. Octavian breaks the silence.

“They won’t put us back in.” And he seems certain. He is old, you think. Not old in the way a grandparent is, but aged certainly. You had never taken the time to imagine a tribute outside childhood, escaping adolescence into fully formed adulthood, but here was Octavian, who must have been at least twenty-six, with several deep-set wrinkles beginning to mar his brow.

“Probably just rounding us all up to kill us, send a real message after those shitshow Games last year,” Hector grumbles, moving further into the compartment and thrusting himself into the booth across from you and Teff. “Just watch; I bet we’ll hit 4 next, then 7, and 1.”

The noise of uncomfortable shuffling seems to fill the compartment, and eventually, Octavian and Antonia settle into the booth beside Hector. You can’t help but allow the shell of a laugh to brush past your lips. A whole train car for the lot of you, and here you were, pressed into the two corner booths. Sure, the cage is bigger, but you still cower like animals. Like you’re back in those trucks ushering you from the train to the arena, gleaning a last moment of comfort as you brushed shoulders with the children you would watch die.

Hector was right. The train stopped at 4, though only one boy got on. Trawl, he’d won the 8th Games, just before yours. You remember distantly hearing of another victor from 4, a boy who was killed upon return. Murdered by the father of his district partner, who accused him of killing her. Stabbed him in the town square, they said. The Peacekeepers only watched.

The train grinds once more to a halt in 7, and quick glance outside the window reveals a station made entirely of wood, grand posts carved with ornate designs supporting the massive roof. You glance towards the door, waiting for him, the newest victor. You do not have to work hard to recall his name, Treech; the two syllables had echoed from every radio in your mother's house the day the 10th Games ended.

The doors open with a hiss, and he stumbles in as though pushed, a mop of curls obscuring his eyes. He seems dazed. As he lifts his head, you watch it happen. The same realization that had dawned on every victor to enter the compartment after you, but then his gaze only grows dull as though accepting some secret fate you had yet to be alerted of before he shuffles forward, taking a seat on a longer bench facing the door. Alone.

It is several more hours before you reach 1, and although some hushed conversation continues to fill the train car, you sit in silence, casting worried glances at the quiet boy with his head in his hands. He is not crying, you think; his shoulders are too still, but his breathing remains too rapid to indicate sleep. Maybe he just likes to listen, you suppose, trying to grasp the newest direction of the chatter around you. Maybe he’s scared. As you turn once more to analyze his hunched shape, Trawl catches your line of sight, speaking up from beside you.

“Just leave him alone; if he wants to sit by himself sulking, that’s his problem,” he mutters close to your ear.

“For all we know, we could be walking into an ambush. Give him a break,” you say, moving to stand before making your way over to the place on the bench beside him. You are quiet for a time, unsure how to start, but as your lips begin to purse around a greeting, he interrupts you.

“I like your hat.” His voice is flat, a single eye visible from behind the curtain of his hair. You forgot you were wearing a hat. It was your father’s from his brief time on the ranch before transferring to the slaughterhouse, where he met your mom. Your hand darts up to trace the brim.

“Thanks, it was–” But then his tone registers, and you recognize the snark behind the compliment, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“You some sort of cowgirl?”

“How do you know what a cowgirl is?” You ask, and your eyebrows draw together in surprise at the knowledge.

“Read about them in school once, before I dropped out.”

“I guess so. Usually, people just call me a ranch hand.” He lifts his head at this, and you realize he’s quite pretty on closer viewing.

“Doesn’t sound as cool.” The ghost of a smirk lights his face as he says it.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” you say, grinning back. His smile is quick to fade, and he turns once more, fixing his gaze ahead, away from you.

“Why are we here?” He asks, his cocky demeanor gone in an instant. You ache to be able to provide him with an answer, but the same question has been clawing at you since the two men showed up on the ranch this morning.

“I– I’m not sure.” He nods, and it is solemn, like a prayer, but he does not return his face to his hands, instead watching the miles of land roll by in a blur, no single thing occupying the space outside the window for longer than a second. You find yourself looking, too, imagining how it must feel to go 250 mph. You decide it's probably like flying.

By the time you reach 1 to collect its two victors, a searing silence has spread over the train, the atmosphere tense. The journey to the Capitol is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and as the skyline appears over the barriers built to keep people like you out, you feel the apprehension shrouding the compartment begin to buzz. It is only then that Hector speaks, shattering the stillness with a single phrase.

“Welcome back to Hell.”

The sun is setting as the train pulls into the station, and you twitch nervously, scraping your nails against the pads of your fingertips. Beside you, Treech watches your movements with a fixed gaze as though pondering reaching out to still the repetitive motions himself. He does not, and you fail to notice his attention on you at all, eyes fixed ahead on the double doors.

When they open, a swarm of Peacekeepers descends on the car within a matter of seconds, hoisting you from the seats, snatching at arms and shoulders in their attempts to muscle you out of the compartment. A startled yelp escapes your lips as the man with a harsh grasp on the collar of your shirt rips you forward and onto the platform, jostling your hat from your head.

“No–” You lunge for the single remnant of your father, straining against the Peacekeeper working to wrangle you towards an awaiting vehicle, but it is no use. He wraps you in a firm pair of arms, lifting you, kicking and biting from the ground the remainder of the distance before tossing you onto the floor of the car. As you whip around to assail him once more, the doors fall closed with a thud, leaving you to pound futilely against them.

Eventually, your jabs lose their power, and you sink down, forehead pressed to the cool metal, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming tears from spilling over. A hand makes its presence known on your shoulder as the car begins to move, and you turn to glimpse Trawl, his face painted with concern. A quick once over of the vehicle reveals only half the victors had been loaded on: you, Trawl, and the two tributes from 1, Lux, who sits with both hands clasped primly in her lap, and Beau, whose only visible sign of distress is the repeated preening of his hair.

“My– My hat. It was my dad’s–” you stutter out as Trawl helps you onto the seat beside his, “I don’t– there’s nothing else left.” The concern in his eyes settles into pity, and you feel like shrinking under the weight of his compassion, tired of feeling helpless.

It is not long before the car pulls to a stop, and the doors come open once more. It is dark out now, and you can’t help but find it unusual, the feeling that you are being smuggled, rushed in under the cover of night. Typically everything is a display in the Capitol. If they are going to kill you, where are the cameras? You are ushered into an elevator, and one of the Peacekeepers extends an arm, scanning a card before pressing the button for the top floor. You think distantly this might be some sort of hotel. You have never been inside a hotel before. A simple ding alerts you to the fact that you have reached your destination, and you are jostled out and through the door directly before you following the swipe of another card.

It is a large room. You had always believed hotels came with the promise of a bed, but this seems more like a home: a kitchen with appliances you do not recognize, a luxurious lounge with a semicircular couch facing a large projection, and a man, his hair as white as snow.

“Please, let’s not manhandle our guests,” he calls out to the group of Peacekeepers herding you into the center of the room, and they back away, taking up posts on the surrounding walls. Their message is clear: you are not permitted to leave.

You reach up to rub at the place where, only moments before, your arm had been kept in an iron grip when the door to the room flings open again, the remainder of the victors stumbling in. Teff comes first, ripping his bicep from the man beside him upon entrance, followed by Hector, Antonia, and Octavian, who seem more contained. Last is Treech, a newly formed bruise beginning to darken the area around his eye, and your father's hat held delicately in his hand, fingers pinched around the rim. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor but lifts his head upon hearing your stifled gasp.

“Come, make yourselves comfortable. I don’t bite, I promise.” The man at the front of the room speaks with a placating tone and words meant to dulcify, but he smiles like a wolf. No one moves.

“Let’s try this again. Sit down.” From behind you, you can hear the Peacekeepers beginning to shuffle from their stations, inching forward. Octavian is the first to budge. He takes a tentative step in the direction of the couch before nodding at Antonia and Hector, who follow close behind. You look to Teff and then to Treech, only a few feet away from him, still holding your father’s hat. The former surveys the room once before giving you a slow nod, and you move to sit. They file in behind you, Trawl quick on their heels, and the four of you occupy a single corner of the couch being sure to leave room for Lux and Beau. As he slides into the seat next to yours, Treech tenderly sets the hat atop your lap, and you mouth a subtle thank you that he leaves unacknowledged.

“Much better.” The man before you grins, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a look of recognition pass across Treech’s face.

“So glad you could all join us.” He claps his hands together before clearing his throat to begin.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what you’re doing here, and I want to assure you that in spite of the worries you expressed on the train, we are not going to kill you.” A chill passes down your spine at his implication: they had been watching you.

“See, you represent a new beginning. The birth of a different kind of Games. A better kind of Games.” A wave of confusion seems to pass over the lot of you. Though it is more like anxiety, and you feel a bit like you are drowning in it.

“Now, last year, well, that was quite the mess,” he says, nodding to Treech as though they are in on some sort of joke together. Your stomach turns.

“But the important thing is, we learned something: the people of the Capitol need someone to care about. To root for, if you will. Which means it’s time for a new way of thinking.” He pauses as though for dramatic effect, and you can’t help but think his speech feels practiced. Had he smiled this morning, delivering his death knell to the bathroom mirror?

“Right now, the Games, they make people sad, uncomfortable even. Too much humanity, not enough spectacle.” Beside you, Treech tenses. “There is nothing commodifiable about the current structure. But if, say, we were to place a higher value on the victors and make you celebrities of sorts, then this blight becomes an honor.” The nine faces before him appear as though they are sculpted from stone; he clears his throat before continuing.

“And how, you may ask, do we plan to do that? Well, starting this year, the past victors will be in charge of mentoring the children from your districts.” Here, there is some breakage. Anger, plain and simple, seeping through the masks. Antonia begins to speak.

“Fuck no–”

“I’m not finished, thank you. Now, this will come with an array of new challenges. There will, of course, be interviews to prepare them for, something you obviously have no experience with, as well as a tribute parade.” Your nose crinkles in disgust as the sole image your mind conjures is last year’s tributes chained to a flatbed truck, Brandy’s dead body swaying from a crane above them. Brandy, who you knew. Who was only one year younger than you. Who had a talent for soothing any creature with which she came in contact and who cried for three days the first time she killed a hog.

“And you will be in charge of organizing sponsorships once they are in the arena, networking, and such. But not to worry, each of you will be given an escort from the Capitol, someone to help you navigate the trickier aspects of the job. And you will not go unrewarded either. Starting this year, victors will be granted financial compensation as well as eventual housing in a Victor’s Village, which will be put up in each of your home districts. Still, we will need to begin with a sort of reintroduction to teach the public what your new role as a victor is, and–”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, so quiet you think no one hears.

“Excuse me?” The man’s gaze is icy cold, like a knife to the chest.

“That’s– That’s not fair. What about the kids in 12? 8? 6 and 5? If you do this, the same people will win every year.” You stare back, and when your hands begin to shake, you hide them beneath your thighs.

“I don’t typically give lessons in power for free; you should be grateful.”

“You’re evil.” And it is not a question. You are certain.

“Not evil, just practical.”

“The Capitol hates us, they think we’re scum. They’ll never get behind this,” Treech offers from beside you, and you see it on him, the mark of last year's Games. The toll they took.

“If the citizens of the Capitol think we care, they will too. I’ll put you on television with the goddamned President if I have to. This will work.”

“What if we won’t do it?” Teff demands, his voice low, tinged with a warning.

“You have a family, do you not?” The man asks, and the threat pools in his eyes, but he voices it anyway. “Would you like to continue having a family?” It is quiet for a moment, and the weight of his words feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried in your life.

“We were supposed to be done. We won our Games,” It is Hector who speaks this time, rising from his seat. He pauses for a moment, then raises his brow as though in a challenge. “Well, I don’t have any family. Not anymore. Not thanks to this bullshit fucking system, so you know what? I think I’ll pass.” From beside him, Antonia claws at his arm, a pleading look in her eyes. It is too late. The man with the white hair nods, and two of the Peacekeepers on the back wall step forward.

“That’s too bad. He can go.” They are on Hector in a matter of seconds, but they do not make for the door; instead, they seize him, one on each arm, and turn towards the hallway, splitting off from the large central room. Several victors move to stand, with Trawl and Octavian making an attempt to follow, but they are swiftly restrained, and you sit in silent shock as the sounds of Hector’s struggle become distant. A door slams. Then, a gunshot. After that, it is quiet. Your limbs feel stiff, frozen even. From your other side, Lux releases a stifled sob. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Teff throw up.

“Anyone else have any concerns they wish to voice?” It’s as though you have all stopped breathing.

“Wonderful. We’ll begin in the morning. You’ll each have a team here to prepare you for the press tour. Your rooms are numbered by district. Be ready at 5:00 am sharp. I’d hate to have any more incidents.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” You speak again, though the sound of your own voice comes as a shock. The man only sighs.

“This is not a prison, no. Though we would prefer you not leave the premises–” You don’t give him time to finish, making a hasty exit through the door where you came in.

“Just make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he sighs with a haphazard wave of his hand in your direction.

You are at the bar when Treech finds you, two glasses of Posca deep.

He hadn’t meant to go looking for you, really, only to clear his head and get away from that room. Shortly after your departure, two men had entered with a stretcher and left only minutes later with it full, the vague outline of a body visible beneath a white linen sheet. He had followed them out and then quickly abandoned their company at the prospect of sharing their elevator, instead descending the stairs. From the 32nd floor. And there you were, right as the door to the lobby opened, hat on the bar and your eyes fixed on something he wasn’t sure was really there.

“No hard liquor here. At least not for us,” you huff, slumping in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest.

“And don’t bother asking for the bottle either. They’ll just give you one of these. Nothing more dignified than drowning my sorrows in a glass that costs more than my mother’s house,” you wave a limp hand at the ornate flute before you, doing little to disguise the biting sarcasm in your tone.

“I’ll take what she’s having,” Treech mutters to the man behind the bar, though he keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, unwilling to bear the weight of the curious gaze being pressed upon the pair of you.

“Do you remember them, the other tributes?” You ask suddenly, as though the thought had been clouding your mind for hours.

“The other victors?” You shake your head.

“No. The other kids in the arena.” Treech freezes for only a moment, caught off guard, but it’s enough time for the truth to plaster itself across his face. Every day.

“Sure.” You don’t say anything, only sit patiently, waiting for him to continue. “There was– There was Lamina; she was from home.” I watched her die. I sat by and did nothing. “And there was Coral and Mizzen; they were from 4. And the youngest. She was from 8. Had these hearts made of buttons on her pants. Wovey, I think. From 12, there was Lucy Gray, the girl who sang. Reaper, he was the last to die. I killed him. Killed the girl from 3, too. Teslee.”

He feels his voice begin to waver and opts to stop talking. You sit in silence for a moment, trading quiet nods with the bartender as he returns with Treech’s drink.

“Rye.”

“Sorry?” Treech asks, still lost in the memories of his fellow tributes.

“He was the youngest. He had these eyes just like my kid brother, big and sad. He just stood there, I remember, when the games started. The boy from 2 killed him; just walked up and broke his neck. Couldn’t have been that hard; he was so small. But he looked so surprised like he hadn’t known it was coming, even after he hit the ground.” Treech thinks he might be sick, and beside him, the color has drained from your face.

“Twenty-four kids every year, and we’ll have front-row seats to all of it. The people in the districts, in the Capitol, they’ll forget, let a name or two slip, but we’ll see them all. Watch them train, see their interviews, pick them apart in hopes of a weakness.” Treech downs his glass in one go before signaling to the bartender he needs a refill. You push your flute in the same direction, looking the District 7 boy up and down as though you’d never given him too much thought before.

“I never envied you. The way the Capitol dragged you through the streets for all those funerals, put you behind bars in a fuckin’ zoo, had you play nice and pleasant before sending you off to slaughter. At least ours was quick. Picked us all up on the train, threw us in the back of a truck, and then dumped us in the arena. Nobody knew who we were. Nobody wanted to.” You break off in a laugh that is brittle and unforgiving.

“Maybe it’ll be better this way. I’m in the market for a new job. Turns out you’re no good at chopping trees when you can barely hold an axe anymore,” Treech jokes, but the smile on his face does not reach his eyes.

“They–” but you are quick to pause, halting mid-sentence as though contemplating continuing. You exhale softly before clearing your throat and lifting your eyes once more to meet his.

“They had to fire me.” Treech’s brows lurch forward in confusion, creating two dimples in the flesh just above his nose.

“At the slaughterhouse,” you supply. “They had to fire me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t kill anything. The Peacekeepers, they just wanted me gone. I’m pretty sure they would have just gotten rid of me too, you know, set an example, but I knew the guy who ran the place. I used to give his daughter art lessons. He made a call, and I got transferred. Started working as a ranch hand instead.” You stop, and for a moment, Treech thinks you’ve finished.

“I kept thinking they were him. I would pick up the knife, and suddenly, it was like I was back in the arena, watching him die.” The last part came out in a whisper.

“They say what I did to that kid; they say it was mercy. A mercy kill. But I still killed him, and he’s still dead. And I have never stopped thinking about it.” You clear your throat once more and cast your gaze down, hoping to disguise the tears collecting in your eyes. Treech takes notice. He remembers a conversation not two months prior with his mother. The way his voice shook as he spoke. About the games. About the other tributes. He recalls the twisted expression of discomfort she bore, the pity, and above all, his own anger at feeling helpless. Wounded.

“Art lessons? You paint?” Relief, instant and undisguised, etches itself across your features.

“Draw, mostly. Charcoal, pencil, anything easy to come by. I was gonna be a veterinarian before– Well, you know. I was practicing for scientific sketches, but I just sort of fell in love with the way they moved– animals.”

“You have a favorite?”

“Horses are the hardest. Cows– they’re soft, like people. Some people, I guess. I saw a fox once, little gray thing, sleeping in the grass. I think maybe I liked that one the best. My mom used to say it was good luck, a fox crossing your path. Though, I can’t imagine how. That– That was the day before my reaping.”

You sit in silence for a moment before Treech speaks again.

“You lived. Maybe that was it: the good luck.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Like maybe everyone else got out easy, and here we are still living in a nightmare.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” he whispers, but it’s as though he’s pleading with some higher power that it might be true. “It can’t be.”

“Wake up, Treech. This is it for us. They are gonna drag us out here every year to flounce around the capitol, parading new kids to their deaths– or worse, whatever this is, the horrible aftermath–”

“There’ll be new mentors. New winners–”

“Yeah, in 1 and 2 and maybe 4. Don’t you get it? We’re the runt districts. We’ll be lucky if we see another Victor in the next twenty-five years,” Treech swallows hard, willing his mouth to stop tasting so dry; he can feel his heart in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe you ran with the pack in your games, but things are gonna change. Look around. They already are.”

#treech #treech fanfiction #treech thg #treech x reader #treech tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #hunger games #district 7 #x reader #thg #no evil angel but love #neabl

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thefreakandthehair · 8 months

Text

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 22nd: First concert | Triumph of King Freak - Rob Zombie | Eager a/n: a missing scene from an older fic, counting stars (when I look in your eyes)! post-canon fix, eddie pov, established steddie, fluff with a dash of angst, mention of eddie's late mother read on ao3 + ao3 masterpost | tumblr masterlist

December, 1988

“Why does your acoustic have that written on it? ‘This Machine Slays Dragons’?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie strum without looking at his hands. It’s a bit mesmerizing, the way his fingers glide along the strings of their own accord.

The song stops and Eddie slaps the body of the guitar in his lap.

“This old girl is an homage to one Woody ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’ Guthrie. Ever heard of him?”

“He did ‘This Land Is Your Land,’ right?”

Eddie claps his hands together and points two finger guns his way. “Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Yeah, he wrote that and a shit ton of other political critique folk music.”

“I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing. Sounds pretty far removed from Metallica, y’know?”

“Only in delivery. You’d be surprised how much overlap there is in meaning. But yeah, my uh—” Eddie stops and pulls the guitar closer to his torso and swallows the dust in his mouth that’s gathered from years of not talking about his mother. “My mom was a big fan of it. She loved Guthrie, Baez, Dylan, Grateful Dead, Cohen. You name it, she loved it.”

Steve’s heart tries to claw its way out of his body to run towards Eddie sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, timid smile, and fidgeting hands.

“That’s really cool, man. She sounds awesome. How come you don’t talk about her more?”

“It just—I don’t know. It still hurts, I guess. Which is stupid, I was eight when she died so it should get easier, right?” Eddie laughs humorlessly and stares at his strings like they hold answers to questions he didn’t know he had. He wants to crawl on top of Steve, desperate for warmth and comfort now, and looking at him makes the urge damn near impossible to beat back. So he doesn’t look up.

Steve adjusts his position on the bed, subconsciously making room. “Hell no, that’s not how grief works, Ed. Wish it was that easy but I’ve seen a lot of death personally and with work, and it changes people. You can tell me to fuck off if I’m like, overstepping here but you were a kid. You’re allowed to be sad about her death, and you’re allowed to talk about it.”

Eddie pauses for a long moment, considering the validation and how much he trusts Steve. He trusts him with his life, his soul, his heart, his everything. Maybe everything could include his past, too. His voice is wistful when he starts.

“She used to sing Dylan’s ‘Forever Young’ around the house.”

December, 1974

Eddie sits cross-legged on the floor, threadbare couch behind him as he flips through a comic book gifted to him by his Uncle Wayne. The page crinkle with each turn and he traces the illustrations of each villain and superhero, the words a bit lost on him but the pictures jumping off of the page. Varying shades of saturated reds and blues disappear and reappear beneath his pointer finger and grins. He hasn’t read the story yet– he prefers to make up his own first– but he can see that the good guy is about to win.

Happy endings are just so rare in real life.

His mom is in the kitchen, singing softly and stirring something on the stove in a corroded aluminum pot. Eddie picks up the delicate scents of tomatoes and peppers, maybe some kind of meat. She’s been in a bright mood today, singing as she cooks, singing as she did her best to clean up the beer cans and bottles that litter the living room. Eddie even heard her singing in the shower that morning.

It’s not lost on him that his dad’s been gone for a few days. Hell, that’s the only reason he’s able to sit in the living room: there’s room for him.

His dad is always too loud, drowning out the soft soprano of his mother’s voice. Everything she sings sounds like a lullaby, so it’s fitting that Eddie closes his eyes to listen.

Eddie loves when his mom sings, especially the song she’s singing now.

May you always be courageous

Stand upright and be strong

May you stay forever young

She never tells him, but he feels like she sings it just for him.

November 1990

Steve hasn’t been this nervous to give Eddie a Christmas gift since that first Christmas of theirs two years ago. Funny enough, the gift then had been related to his late mother, too. Maybe he has a pattern. The envelope shakes in his hands as he sits next to Eddie on the couch– their couch, actually. At least as of a few months ago when they’d put down their down payment on the small, one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Indianapolis.

Eddie glances over and sees Steve’s right hand nearly crumpling whatever his gift is, his fingertips white and his smile tight. Whatever it is must be time sensitive, since he’s insisted on giving it to Eddie so early.

“What is it, Steve? You look like you’re gonna shit yourself.”

Steve laughs, nervous and breathy. “I actually might, and we just bought this couch, so. Just– here. Open it.”

He pries the envelope from Steve’s hand and tears it open, Steve having to caution him against ripping it in half and voiding the fucking the gift. Three rectangles fall out onto his lap, full of typewriter style font.

“Oh shit, concert tickets!” Eddie smiles and knocks his knee against Steve’s. “Why were you so nervous? This is awesome!”

Steve nods at the tickets. “Did you see who it is?”

Eddie’d been too excited about finally getting to a proper concert, one that he doesn’t have to set up and break down with Gareth, Jeff, and Frank. When he looks down and actually reads the headliner, his heart stops.

University of Dayton Arena Presents: BOB DYLAN TUESDAY, NOV 13 1990 7:30 PM

“Steve… is this…?” He can’t find the words, buried and lodged behind the lump forming in his throat.

Steve watches him carefully as he traces the letters with one finger, a habit he’s picked up on over the years, and gently rests a hand on his thigh and gives it a squeeze. “You okay?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, yeah, I’m definitely okay.”

Okay is an understatement. He’s bewildered, he’s humbled, he’s ecstatic. When Eddie tears himself away from the small rectangles that sit on his lap like the gold bars they are, he looks at Steve with wonderment. First, the music box. Now, this. How is he ever going to keep up?

“I know it’s your first concert but I saw that he was coming around and I just figured it’d be cool, y’know? I don’t know who he’s touring with or anything–”

He does this, Steve knows. He knows that he rambles when he’s nervous or when he’s put himself out there and for some reason, giving Eddie these tickets feels incredibly vulnerable. Even years later, even after Eddie’s constant reassurance that he could never, Steve would hate for Eddie to think that he’s encroaching on special memories.

Before he can finish his stream of thought, Eddie kisses him. Just leans over, tickets still in his lap, and claps both hands on either side of his cheeks as Eddie plants one on him. Then again. And again. And again.

Eddie peppers every inch of Steve’s face with kisses, interjecting in between each one.

“You’re–” Kiss to the nose.

“So fucking–” Kiss to the cheek.

“Perfect–” Kiss to the forehead.

When he finishes, Eddie rests his forehead against Steve’s and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, feeling them shake beneath him as Steve laughs. “Always so dramatic.”

“And you love it. But, wait,” Eddie pulls back and picks the tickets back up. “Why are there three?”

“Do you honestly think Wayne would ever speak to me again if I got tickets for Bob Dylan and didn’t include him? C’mon, man. Christmas would be so fucking awkward.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie month #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #eddie month prompts

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criminalamnesia · 1 year

Text

Intertwined

warnings: blood, angst, heavy themes briefly mentioned (murder, alcoholism, PTSD), undefined age gap between price and reader (just a few years), not completely proofread, she/her pronouns used

summary: missions with price never seem to go as planned.

author’s note: I have no clue what this is. I just wanted to write for Price, and ended up with this long one-shot. I also tried sort of a new writing style, so let me know what you think! also this is sorta an oc x price bc I’ve given somewhat of a backstory and the callsign “viper” but you could also read it as a reader insert! :)

Sometimes she didn’t know how she got here.

Blood soaked her shirt. Her shoulder throbbed. Her fingers were sticky with blood– hers and her attacker’s.

He had gotten her good– the knife was still sticking out of her left shoulder. She knew better than to remove the blade. They were in the middle of nowhere; jungle spanned for miles around. She’d be lucky if she didn’t bleed out before her team found her.

“Viper,” Price over the radio. “Status?”

“Took a hit,” she said through gritted teeth, yanking her own knife out of her attacker’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound, pooling around the dead body. His eyes were still open, staring at her. She ignored them.

“Jus’ the shoulder. I’m good,” she told her captain. She could hear Price grunt in response. If she were anyone else, she might have thought that he didn’t care. But she wasn’t, and she knew he was concerned– worried, even.

There wasn’t anything he could do. He was too far away and in the middle of his own fight. She didn’t need his help, anyways. As she always told him:

“I’m a big girl, Cap. I can handle myself.”

That always earned an unamused hum from him.

“Keep moving then,” the crackle of his voice on the radio broke her from her thoughts.

“Roger that, Cap.”

She really didn’t know how she got here.

She hadn’t been interested in the military. Hell, it wasn’t even on her radar. She had been a girl from a shitty, small town with a decent family. She wanted to go to university, get a job, start a family.

Now she was alone in the middle of a jungle, a knife in her shoulder, and the mission the only thing she truly cared about. Well, one of the only things.

Price had found her when she was twenty-two. He wasn’t even a captain yet.

“You alright?”

His voice had startled her. She hadn’t known anyone else was in the room. Her head nodded instinctively, her eyes still on the dead bodies of her family strewn before her.

“Sir, we’ve got a survivor.” He was speaking into his radio. She heard a voice respond, but whatever was being said didn’t register in her mind.

She would come to find out later that her family wasn’t as decent as they had seemed. Her father had been in deep with a drug-lord. He’d betrayed him, ratted him out to the cops– and next thing she knew, she was sitting in a pool of her family’s blood.

Price had helped her up from the floor. Her pants were soaked through with blood. A bullet had grazed her cheek, leaving a nasty cut in its wake. Somehow she had survived, barely hurt. She didn’t think she deserved it.

She thought she should’ve died with her family.

“What’s your name, dove?” He asked her, his hand wrapped gently around her bicep. He led her out of the room. They passed more soldiers.

She told him. He said it was a pretty name. He didn’t leave her until she was situated in a hotel, two hours away. She hadn’t insisted he stay– yet he had. Perhaps he knew that she needed someone to just sit there.

Before he left, he put his number in her phone. He shouldn’t have– he knew better. But there was something about her, he just couldn’t help it. He told her to call if she needed anything. She never did.

He ran into her a year later by pure luck. She had fallen down a hole. Dropped out of school. No job, no friends. An alcoholic with a death wish. Price had saved her. He gave her a purpose. He made her smile again.

“You good, Cap?” She was moving again, eyes scanning her surroundings, her gun in her hands.

“Peachy,” was his response. She snorted.

He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. It was supposed to be simple reconnaissance mission. In, gather intel, out. Simple.

Funny how the simple missions always seemed to go south the fastest.

“Cap,” it was Gaz now, finally piping up. He’d been quiet for some time. “Target spotted. Next moves?”

Price didn’t respond. A gunshot sounded in the distance.

“Shit,” she hissed, picking up her pace. “Captain, how copy?”

Nothing. Her blood was pounding in her ears.

“Viper, position?” She could hear the worry in Gaz’s tone.

“Heading towards the gunshot. Stay on target, Sergeant.”

“Roger,” Gaz spoke.

She raised her gun as she stepped through the foliage, hoping that when she found Price, he was still breathing.

“You broken?” Price was talking to her, a hand outstretched as he stood over her. She huffed, reaching up a shaky hand to take his.

“Not the first time I’ve been shot at.” She spoke, her voice steady, but he knew better. She was shaking like a leaf– and Price knew. He knew that she was back in that moment, seeing the blood pool around her. Seeing those lifeless eyes, lifeless bodies. It had been two years, but those images were still as fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday.

“Right,” he said, his tone disbelieving. “If you’re gonna stay with me, kid, you’re gonna have to keep up.”

She had kept up. She had worked ten times harder than those around her just to keep up. She was at a disadvantage– she didn’t have training or discipline. She didn’t want to follow just anyone into a firefight. She wanted to follow him.

“Price,” she was trying him again. She could hear the leaves rustling nearby. “You broken?”

A cough. Not just over the radio– to her left, too. She picked up her pace, jogging as she moved towards the sound.

“I’m solid,” he finally spoke into the radio as she found him. He looked up as she pushed past low-hanging branches. “Gaz, status?”

Gaz was talking, but she didn’t hear anything he said. She moved to the captain, eyes scanning him for his wound. He got hit in the thigh. She withheld a sigh of relief.

“Fancy new jewelry,” Price teased, the hand not pressing at his wound reached up to tap the hilt of the blade. She hissed and jerked away from him.

“This the thanks I get for coming to help your old ass?” She replied, holstering her gun and reaching for his pack. He’d gotten it partway off before giving up. She tugged it the rest of the way off his body, then began to dig for bandages.

“Thanks, dove,” he said, his voice a familiar, conceding grumble.

She pulled out the supplies and swatted his hand away from his thigh. Blood oozed from the wound. Price gave the slightest wince as she began to wrap the bandage, pulling tight in hopes of stanching the bleeding.

“Why didn’t you take it out?” He questioned, breaking the silence.

“Risk of bleeding out. Didn’t have bandages,” she shrugged. He gave a disapproving hum.

“I’ve been telling you that you need to better prepare–”

“Save the lecture for when we’re home, yeah?” She interrupted, tying off the bandage. He grunted in response.

“Cap, Viper, I’ve got the intel. What’s your position?” Gaz was talking again.

“We’re moving back towards the truck,” she said, earning an eyebrow raise from Price. “Meet you there.”

“Copy.”

Without a word between them, she ducked forward and slung one of his arms over her good shoulder, tucking herself into his side. She slowly helped him up, his only protests coming in the form of barely-there grunts.

“You broken?” She asked again once he was on his feet.

“I’m fine,” he replied, trying to hobble forward ahead of her. She scoffed and hurried to help him, wincing a little as his hand brushed the knife still in her shoulder.

“Should’ve pulled that damn knife out,” he grumbled.

“I’ll pull the knife out and stick it in your other leg, old man,” she huffed in response.

“That’s no way to talk to your captain.”

“Lecture when we’re home,” she reminded him.

“I don’t need a lecture, John.” She had seethed. Three years into her service. She was twenty-five, now. “You of all people should understand.”

“What I understand,” he began. “Is that you’re risking what you’ve built here.”

“Over seeing that guy for drinks? Are you kidding?”

“You’re being childish.” He said. His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked angry. She didn’t understand why.

“I’m trying to live again! You dug me out of that hole, John. I’m grateful for that. But I’m fine now– I don’t need a babysitter. I want to rebuild my life– make connections.”

“You’ve made connections. Me, Gaz–”

“Maybe I want something more!” She interrupted. “Maybe I want something more than a mission. More than a man who pities me and brought me here to clear his guilty conscience.”

Price bristled. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know anything with you. We’re comrades, we’re friends, we’re something m–”

“Alright,” his voice was tense. “Go then.”

The truck was up ahead. Gaz wasn’t there yet. She inhaled deeply as she helped Price towards the passenger’s side.

“I can drive,” he told her. She rolled her eyes.

“Gaz is driving.” She slipped out of his grasp and left him leaning against the hood of the truck before moving to open the passenger door. “Can you make it a few steps, or do I need to help you?”

He said something under his breath, but she didn’t catch it. She watched as he limped forward, one hand on the car to support his movement. Once he made it to the door, she grabbed one of his arms to help.

“You should be keeping watch,” he scolded, but there was no real bite behind his words.

“I’d rather not have to deal with you falling and breaking a hip.”

He gave another huff– but she could see a hint of amusement on his face. He was only a handful of years older than her, but she always teased him about it. He acted annoyed, but most of the time she could tell he was trying not to laugh at her jabs. At least, she liked to think he was.

She helped him get into the truck, and he didn’t complain. They were both quiet as they moved. It was a well-practiced routine at this point. One gets hurt, one helps. Get them into the truck. Get them into the helicopter. Keep them breathing, whatever it takes.

“Viper, you die on me and I’m gonna kill you,” Price seethed, his hands pressing down hard on her abdomen. She had already lost too much blood. Her eyes were barely open.

She gave a weak chuckle at his words. “We… both know… you’re dyin’ first, old… man.”

Once he was settled in the passenger seat, she shut the door and scanned the area. It was quiet, which meant one of two things.

They were in the clear, or they were fucked.

“Gaz,” Price was back on the radio. “Position?”

One beat. Two. Three.

“Almost there– shit! They’re on my tail!” Gaz was panting over the radio.

They were fucked.

Her eyes widened as she ran to the other side of the truck, throwing open the driver’s door and jumping in. Price glanced her way, but said nothing.

She winced as she moved, the knife still in shoulder an obstacle as she frantically fumbled for the keys they’d hidden in the truck, just in case shit hit the fan.

“Price, Viper, we gotta go!” Gaz was yelling as he pushed his way into the clearing, sprinting to the truck and all but diving into the truck bed.

“I know, I know!” She shouted back, fear crawling up her spine. No matter how often she was in these positions– having to act fast or be killed– she could never shake the absolute panic that consumed her.

“Viper, focus,” it was Price, his voice bringing her back. His voice always brought her back.

Gunshots could be heard nearby. Some hit the truck and Gaz was yelling. She finally found the keys, shoved under a pile of junk in the center console. She jammed them into the ignition and the truck sputtered to life.

“Fuck, go! Go!” Gaz was returning fire, shooting into the foliage as men pushed into the clearing. Price grabbed his own gun and leaned out the passenger side window to cover them.

“I’m going!” She yelled back indignantly, stepping on the gas. The truck lurched forward, nearly throwing Gaz out.

“Viper, watch it!” He called over the gunfire.

She didn’t reply, too busy on trying to get them out of that damn jungle. Bullets dinged off the metal of the truck, but none of them hit home. She inhaled deeply as the gunfire eventually stopped, and they were in the clear.

“Bloody hell, Viper, you trying to kill me?” Gaz peeked his head through the rear window, staring at her. She rolled her eyes, hands clutching the wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.

“That’s enough, Gaz,” Price. Gaz didn’t protest, but she knew he was grumbling under his breath.

“Viper, what the hell are you doing?” Gaz was yelling at her as she stared through her scope, her eyes locked on her target. Her finger itched the trigger, but she just couldn’t bring herself to pull it.

The man had looked startlingly like her father. Her father, who had gotten almost his entire family murdered. Her father, who had lied and cheated and sealed his own fate. She didn’t know why– but she couldn’t pull the trigger.

All she saw when she looked at that man was the image of her father, smiling at her at the dinner table. Her father, teaching her how to ride a bike without training wheels. Playing games with him in the backyard. Watching movies with him. Her father.

Price shouldn’t know– couldn’t. But he did, apparently. “Gaz,” his voice was stern. “Enough. She’s got it.”

She took the shot.

“If I was tryin’ to kill you,” she threw the words at him over her shoulder. “You’d be dead.”

Gaz snorted, but didn’t take the bait. She didn’t know if she had wanted him to. Silence fell around them, then.

“Safe house is up ahead,” Price broke the silence that had consumed them for the past twenty minutes. “No bickering when we get inside, you two. Like a bunch of damn kids,” he said under his breath.

The safe house was a dilapidated little cottage on the edge of a forest. It was hidden enough to the naked eye that no one unwanted should stumble upon them, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t be cautious. She slowed the truck to a stop behind a thick bush nearby, just in case.

The three clambered out of the truck, grabbing previously discarded gear and trudging through overgrown grass to the house. Gaz went in first to sweep the house. Once he gave the all clear, she and Price beelined for the small kitchen. Gaz was somewhere else– probably the shower.

This was their routine. Find safety and patch each other up. He usually helped her first, but she forced him into a rickety wooden chair before he could so much as gesture at the knife still in her shoulder.

Her hands were shaking as she untied the bandage around his thigh. His chin was tilted down, eyes watching her as she worked. Neither said a word. Another part of their routine.

Safety. Silence. Stitches.

She cleaned the wound. He barely flinched. She threaded the needle. He breathed in. She looked up at him, a silent signal. He breathed out as she pushed the needle into his skin and sewed the wound shut.

“Thanks, dove.” He spoke when it was done.

She gave a small nod as she finished tying off the clean bandage. She stood and started towards the kitchen sink, but one of his hands grabbed hers.

She looked down at him, still situated in the chair. His thumb brushed the back of her red-stained hand.

“Captain…” she breathed out, her eyes meeting his.

There was a softness in his gaze that she would never truly understand. She didn’t know what he saw in her.

She didn’t know why he had done what he did for her. Stayed with her after that night, all those years ago. Put his number in her phone. Pulled her out of that hole she put herself in. Helped her through her recovery. Trained her, believed in her, stuck his neck out for her.

He released her hand.

She really didn’t know how she got here.

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brooooswriting · 1 year

Note

Heyyyy I finally got an idea (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

It again Mafia Au since I liked the prev one so much shshshhshshs.

Buuuuut this time it's an enemies to lovers.

R and J's gangs have a rivalry for wtvr reason.

But when J and her groopies gets captured by another gang (too many gangs) one of jens dudes who fled the scene came to R for help.

After a while she went and got her rival back (and the others ಠ⁠∀⁠ಠ)

Maybe R patching up Jenna, them getting together? only if you want. though

Again if this makes you uncomfortable pls delete or ignore this

Thank you broko loco

I hope you have a wonderful day

I love your requests 🫶🏻

Small heads up: I still don’t know anything about the mafia so this kinda sucks soooorrrrryyyy.

Also I figured out that Mafia stories aren’t really my thing, they just aren’t as good because I don’t know shit about it

Changes

Jenna Ortega x reader

The mafia was something you grew up in, as a small kid you lost your dad. Your mom didn’t have a lot of money, you were about to live on the street when someone swoop in and decided to help you. He was a friend of your dads, his death hit him nearly as much as it hit you guys so he decided to take you in. It was how your family got into the mafia thing.

18 years later you were second leader of the group, after your second dad. He thought you everything, how to use guns, the codes of the mafia and how to earn yourself respect in a group of men.

This was also how you met the Ortegas, leader of one of the other biggest Mafia groups around. You were taught to despise them and honestly you got why, they were arrogant, it was impossible to talk to them and they were unfriendly. Your group also had its flaws, that’s for sure, but there was no way that you were this bad. Sure, sometimes you guys were a bit stubborn but you were always willing to help, or at least most of the time, and it was always possible to talk to you.

The rivalry with the other group went from verbal fights to physical fights in open spaces or bars. Nobody has ever been killed but people were hurt to the point where it was a close call. Sometimes you wish for the fights and the rivalry to end but then their first and second leader showed up, being all snappy and up on their high horse because they had a lot of money and suddenly you were back to understanding why you had these fights.

Every once in a while on a blue moon you met Jenna, daughter of the leader of your rivals, in a bar. If you were both alone you’d sit next to each other and drink in silence for a while, then you’d talk for a minute before a weird tension builds between you two which is the moment the conversation turns into a fight and you guys part.

You were sitting in a cafe one of your members had as a side hustle, it was nice, kinda cute with lights and plants everywhere, coffee and cake, just like any other pastry were great. You were doing some work, looking for your own side hustle and drinking some iced coffee when a friend of yours came in. “It’s been quiet lately hasn’t it? I mean like suspiciously quiet” he said as he sat next to you, stealing a piece of your cake. “What are you talking about?” You mumbled as you kept scrabbling down numbers, “the Ortegas. No fight in 3 days, nobody of us has seen any of them. You have been home from the bar early yesterday which means that miss Ortega wasn’t there like she normally was” he explained, and it suddenly clicked. He was right, she wasn’t there yesterday and nobody came running to you about how someone was beaten up again. “Well, maybe they finally backed off” you answered as if you didn’t care where the girl was. “Oh, be honest. You were sad that she wasn’t there” he teased earning himself an elbow to the ribs. “Shut up and get going, I still have work to do” by now he has eaten your cake, drank half of your coffee and destroyed your order. “Alright, if you wanna lie to me” he grinned before disappearing.

Two days later and nothing happened with the Ortegas again, they were nowhere to be seen and nobody heard anything. You also hadn’t seen Jenna for a while now.

———————————————————————————

“Go and get us out of here” mister Ortega whispered towards one of his newbies who managed to escape the handcuffs and ropes. “Who am I supposed to get?!” He whispered back, “just anyone” he looked around anxiously. “I don’t know anyone, I’m new and nobody listens to me. The only one I know is y/n y/l/n” he said and started creeping away a bit. “No! Everyone but them” the leader scream whispered, “just get anyone to get us out of here. Damnit” Jenna said and ended the discussion with that.

———————————————————————————

It was rather late, you were in a bar playing billiard with the owner. It was only you, the owner, your dad Marc and about four other members when somebody entered. “We are closed” the owner said as soon as the door squeaked, when there was no response you finally looked up. “Owen?” You asked as you saw the smaller man, “I-we need help” he mumbled out as he walked further towards you. It was the first time you could take a good look at him, he had some bruises in his face and was covered in blood. “Who needs help?” One of the members asked, “the Ortega group. We-We were captured, I could escape but I can’t get them out alone, please” he pleaded looking at you. “No! We are not going. It’s their own business” Marc said causing you to gasp, “Marc” you started but he interrupted you, “no. We are rivals. We are not going to save them” Owen stood between you, unsure of what to do or what to say. “You took me in back then, you took my mother in. You told me you did it because everybody deserves a chance. Where is their chance?!” You asked, stomping onto the ground like a little kid. “They had their chance y/n! We tried to make peace. So no, we are not going. Nowhere. They brought themselves into it, they can get theirselves out of it!” He raised his voice, towering in front of you. It was something you rarely did, probably never but the way he stood there looking down at you made you uncomfortable.

But if this man taught you one thing, it was to never back down if you really believe in something. “If you aren’t going then I am” you said looking him straight in the eyes. “This is my gang y/l/n and I say we are not going” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Then I’m going alone. You don’t have any control over me” you answered and stepped away from him to get a warm coffee for Owen.

You sat on a bench further away talking about what happened, “mister Ortega said that they are from downtown, something about them wanting to form one gang and something about a marriage but his daughter didn’t wanna marry their son. So they chose whatever this is. Y/n, I wasn’t made for this. I didn’t know it would be this hard” he explained, his hands shaking spilling some of the coffee. The thing about Jenna made your heart stop. “Give me an address and about 30 minutes. I’ll figure something out but we definitely need more people.”

So Owen gave you an address, you called one member and he send you a map of the building. “I think I have a plan” you called out, Owen immediately scooting closed. “It’s going to be extremely hard but we may be able to do it together” you started when suddenly somebody scooted in next to you. “You would really risk your life to save them?” Marc asked you as he looked down onto the plan you made. “For these unfriendly and arrogant assholes?” You nodded not daring to look at the man, scarred that you’d see the disappointment you feared would appear. “Well then, let’s call the rest” he smiled warmly with his arm around you shoulder.

He called the rest and you explained the plan. It wasn’t really a plan by now, storm the thing act like you guys were one gang and then fuck off again. “We are trying to set an example so no fights with the Ortegas!” He said before grabbing his gun and walking towards the car.

It took about 25 minutes to get there, you didn’t even try to be discreet about it, you wanted them to know that you were there. After 10 minutes you found the hostages, they were tied together. Mister Ortega looked the worst, he had open wounds, a broken leg where you could see the bone and he had bruises all over his body. You looked through the whole place but Jenna was nowhere to be found, “where is she?!” You asked her father as you pulled the gag out and untied him, “I don’t know. They took her, we couldn’t do anything” he was too weak to even stand alone. “Y/n, we have someone screaming over here” Marc called out causing you to immediately sprint towards them. The screams that came from the other side of the door made your heart clench. “We gotta go in there” you said, pulling out your gun. You kicked in the door and stepped to the side letting the others flood the room, there were around 4 shots and a like two screams, both male before you entered the room. One of yours guys was shot in the arm and the guy in front Jenna was from the other group, he was laying in front of the girl holding his stomach. You guessed that the rest of the shots didn’t hit anybody. Then your eyes finally fell onto the petite girl, her body was bloody, her nose broken and her left eye bruised, there was a cut just above her check bone and one over her eyebrow. Tears streamed down her face, rolling over the cut one her lip. Her hands were bound behind the chair and her legs were bound to a leg of the chair. She yelped out a sigh of relief when her eyes fell onto you.

You had to take a second to calm yourself before you finally walked towards her, pulling the gag out of her mouth just like you did with her father minutes ago. Pulling a pocket knife out you cut through the tape that bound her hands and legs together finally freeing her. She was still panicking and immediately stood up looking around hastily. Not even 10 seconds later her legs gave out, luckily you stood behind her and were quick to catch her. “Careful, your das seems to be okay. My guys are getting him fixed and now we need to fix you” you told her and wrapped an arm around her waist to try and support her to walk but it was no use. “I’m gonna carry you okay?” You asked her and as soon as she nodded you swooped her up, carrying her bridal style into the car. You sat in the backseat with her.

“How do you always get into stupid shit like this? You guys, all of you, could have died!” You said looking out of the window, “for real? So this is our fault?” She asked clearly pissed but you were too. “If you guys werent arrogant and wouldn’t always show how much money you have it would be possible that this didn’t happen?” She rolled her eyes but kept quiet which scared you. You looked over scanning her face, her head was leaning against the headrest with her eyes closed. There was blood coming thru her shirt and her hands were still shaking.

“Come on, let’s get you out od here. We need to take care of your wounds” and that’s what you did. You carried her out of the car and into the house where you cleaned to wounds on her face. As carefully as possible you cleaned up the dried blood and everything else before putting band aids on the cuts. “The cuts are taken care of, so you have any wounds somewhere else?” You ask as you throw the wrappers away. She shyly pulled her shirt up, which was weird because she was normally really overconfident. There were some cuts and some bruises, “I’ll clean the cuts, once the doc is done with your dad he’s going to look at the bruises alright? Don’t wanna risk Internal bleeding” you told her and disinfected the cuts. Your phone blinged, “your dad is alright. They had to bring him to the hospital to take care of his leg but other than that he has a small concussion. He will be completely fine” she smiled at you and pulled you into a hug which surprised you but you hugged her back nonetheless. “Thank you. For saving us and looking out for me” she mumbled into your neck and then you suddenly felt tears streaming down your neck. You tightened your arms that were wrapped around her waist, trying to give her comfort.

You hugged in silence for a while, then you pulled away and whipped the tears away too. “Dad didn’t think that you’d come, I know that we don’t have the best relationship but when Owen said that he only knew you I knew that we’d be safe. And I finally wanna do something about that damn tension” she rambled, her sentences weren’t really connected but it was cute. You liked her like this, it was the real her. And while you thought about how cute she was when she rambled she surged forward and pressed her lips to yours. You were quick to reciprocate the kiss, your hand on her cheek.

“Y/n, I’m here to look after … oh” the doc came inside causing you to break apart. “Oh, no. It’s fine. Come on check her out, I wanna be sure she’s fine” you smiled at her softly, a smile nobody has ever seen. “So an arranged marriage to form two gangs into one? What year is it? 1750?” You laughed out while the doc pressed onto her stomach. “I feel terrible about it. If I had agreed none of this would have happened”she sighed sadly, you grabbed her hand and shook your head. “No, that’s not true. It would have happened anyway and now you’re at least free. Which means that I can take you on a date right?” You smiled which made her smile too. “Yeah, let’s do it. I will give my dad a heart attack but hey” she laughed out causing you to grin. When the doc was done he told you that she was fine. “So how about I cook something as a first date?” You asked her making your way to the freezer to grab her something that she could press onto her bruised eye. “Or we could go to your guys bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink and I kinda just want your comfort, and you can’t do that when you’re cooking” the way she talked so shyly made your heart beat faster. Without another word you stretched your hand out for her to take. You grabbed your keys and drove her to the bar where you ordered drinks and food.

“Gosh, I’m so tired” she mumbled and rested her head on your shoulder. Without a second thought you kissed her forehead and grabbed her hand, your thumb stroking circles on the back of her hand. “I’m gonna get you home, you should sleep” you whispered into her hair. “You’re really sweet” she mumbled and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, followed by some more. When you parted you saw Marc and mister Ortega starring at you. “Are you guys trying to kill us?” Marc asked, holding a hand over his chest while Mister Ortega just had his mouth open. “Well, we are going home so if you guys die do it outside, I don’t want my bar to smell like death” you said before standing up and pulling the young Ortega with you. “Wanna sleep over tonight?” You asked her as you started the car, she immediately nodded.

That night you laid in bed, cuddled up with Jenna in your arms. Something you didn’t really imagine would happen anytime soon. “What does this make us?” You asked her, unsure of yourself, “oh wow, the big y/n y/l/n wants to talk about what we are?” She grinned and turned around in your arms. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow okay? I’m so tired” she kissed you again before laying her head on your chest and falling asleep.

You’d talk about it tomorrow. Then you could figure out what you’d do about the rivalry and about the gangs. It would work out in the end. Right?

#reader insert #brooooswriting #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n

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vaaaaaiolet · 3 months

Text

“Where are we anyway?” you ask, pulling him to the present. “Maine.” Leon breathes. “Why?” “They’ve um…got good lobster. You haven’t had lobster if it’s not from here.” “Leon.” He lets out a hum, tacking a question mark on its tail end as he stares at the wall. “You remember you’re allergic to seafood, right?”

Leon moves away from the place where he spent 20 years pining for you after it all gets taken away from him in a flash. This is the story of a particularly dull morning in which no boxes are unpacked, no walls are painted, and he accomplishes nothing.

f / m, emotional hurt, hurt / no comfort, implied / referenced character death

i watched one day on netflix and this is my take on that one scene near the end, leon is dexter you are emma, i hate myself for writing this too

word count: 940 // read on ao3

A lull – despite the chaos that comes from unpacking – seeps into Leon’s bones.

It’s the first time he’s allowed his mind to take the wheel from his body in a while. He’s used to it being the other way around, his body chugging along, all relentless go go go, but this time, something at the back of his head urges him to give in. Inner voice, subconscious, whatever the hell psychologists call it.

He ought to sit this one out.

The bedroom wall cradles his back as well as wood paneling and wallpaper can as he slides down its length. In the quiet stillness only early morning can bring, Leon watches as swirls of dust illuminate in the air. The hypnotizing dance of particles flying out from his half-unpacked boxes pulls his mind every-which-way, making his eyes furrow and his head hurt. There’s too much dust, too much he’s doing and somehow not enough, he really should be working on the downsta-

“Rather grim photo of me,” your soft voice snaps him out of his muddied thoughts.

He turns his head to see you sitting next to him, knees pulled up to your chest. Your finger points to a framed picture on a shelf he’d set up yesterday with Claire. The picture had been one of the only things she’d gotten out from his boxes before he’d snapped at her; told her in no uncertain terms that she was messing with his process.

You frown, lowering your finger. “My eyes are all screwed open and I look crazy.”

Leon snorts in response, shifting to shrink the space between you two. It’s the most beautiful picture he’s ever taken of you.

He wishes he was out of the frame so he could see even more of you in that white dress, running along the Aegean shoreline with him. The dress whose hem he’d fingered under the velvet dark of night as he itched to slip it off your shoulders. Your eyes were open and full of stars. Full of him, too.

“Where are we anyway?” you ask, pulling him to the present.

“Maine.” Leon breathes.

“Why?”

“They’ve um…got good lobster. You haven’t had lobster if it’s not from here.”

“Leon.”

He lets out a hum, tacking a question mark on its tail end as he stares at the wall.

“You remember you’re allergic to seafood, right?”

God, and he groans. Puts his head into his hands and rubs his now-bruising temples until he feels the veins shift around. Can’t you let him have this one thing?

“Maine’s not all seafood,” he mutters petulantly back, “it’s got…” Damn it, the only thing he can think of are Cape Cod kettle chips and the lighthouse on the bag. Is Cape Cod even in Maine? “Maine’s got pretty lighthouses.”

“I’m sure you came for the lighthouses, babe.” you chuckle.

“I just…” Words evade his dry mouth. He settles on dropping his head on your shoulder instead, slowly and carefully like a teenager making the first move on a movie date. You throw out a hand, carelessly gesturing towards the innards of Leon’s moving supplies strewn all over the floor.

“I don’t mind, you know,” you say after a beat, “If you just got rid of it all.”

“What?”

The same anger he felt when Claire rifled through the moving boxes with your name written on them surges through Leon again, and he picks his head back up to look at you in disbelief.

“No.” He says stubbornly.

“Le-”

He cuts you off with a tired glare. There’s no bite behind the gray-blue of the eyes you once believed could see right through you.

“I could never do that.” he finally whispers.

He always thought his eyes did the talking for him. This isn’t your fault, Leon tries to make them say this time, it’s mine. I never told you what you needed to hear when you needed it. I know you wrote poetry for me. God, I read it all. I still have the journals your bumbling idiot of an ex dropped off at our house. You can still put your head in the hollow of my back if you try, I’ll let you do it whenever you want, just please. Please don’t make me get rid of what you left behind.

“You’re actually quite gorgeous in that picture, you know?” he interjects his own barrage of telepathic apologies. “You’ve always been gorgeous.”

The smile that blooms on your features at his words is one that’s arguably more stunning than the one in the picture, but Leon won’t tell you. He commits it to memory instead. A safe place where you won’t see the flaws in yourself. It’s the place you live in these days. He thinks you understand anyway because you brush your hand over his and give it three short squeezes.

One: I’m thinking of you, two: I miss you, three: I love you.

“I didn’t really appreciate it at the time.” Your words taste bitter in his mouth even though you laugh.

“I did.”

“Sometimes.” Leon hates how small your voice has become.

He sits there for several minutes, back against the wall, relishing in the weight of your palm on the back of his hand until the sensation becomes nothing but warmth, and then a ghost of that, until it becomes nothing at all. The picture of you laughing with your eyes wide open watches him steadfastly from its perch on top of his shelf.

Eyes wide, alive, in love. That’s how he’d like to remember you, he thinks.

Organizing the downstairs can wait just as Leon once did.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #vivisaidso on ao3 #spoilers for one day on netflix #let's be real is anyone ok after that ending #vaaaaaiolet

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sirfrogsworth · 2 years

Text

Actually, I might have too many reasons.

I'm afraid it has been a really difficult few years for me and my family.

Our beloved corgi, Otis, developed a terrible condition (degenerative myelopathy) that made him lose the function of his back legs. Once his quality of life diminished passed the point where he could no longer experience joy as a dog and only had hardship and suffering to look forward to, we had to put him to sleep.

In February, despite taking painstaking measures to stay safe, my entire family contracted COVID and I also developed a kidney stone at the same time. Unfortunately, my mother was on medication that made her immune system pretty much useless. She died a horribly lonely death in the ICU. The last time I got to speak to her was over the telephone, with a nurse holding the phone up to her face. She was confused and scared and could not breathe despite being on two different breathing aids. All she could do was ask if my dad and I were okay. She was more worried about us than herself. Then they had to put her mask back on and she kept trying to talk even though I couldn't understand her. All I could hear was the fear in her voice. I tried to tell her how much I loved her one last time, but I have no idea if she could hear me.

She lost consciousness soon after and never woke up. Eventually her heart gave up and she passed. I only got to see her once briefly through a glass door. Her body was still alive, but she was already gone at that point. Just an unconscious vessel attached to machines.

My father has kidney failure and heart failure. He is being kept alive by dialysis 3 times per week. He hates going and it wipes him out every time. We hope he has a year or two left, but it's impossible to know for sure.

I am his caretaker even though I am also disabled with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Narcolepsy. I do my best to make sure his needs are met. My brother has been almost no help at all. A few friends and my aunt come by every once in a while to help with chores, but it's pretty much just me alone taking care of the both of us.

I have no idea where I am going to live if my dad passes away. I have no plan. I have no energy to make a plan. And that fear makes it hard to sleep many nights.

Then I was having these horrible stomach issues and lost nearly 30 pounds (in a bad way). The discomfort got so bad at one point I became suicidal. My dad feared for my life and so he called the police and EMTs. They admitted me into the hospital. After 2 days in the ER, being stuck in a small room because they had no other place to put me during COVID, I was finally admitted to a psychiatric ward for observation. Weirdly my stomach issues started improving and my suicidal thoughts passed.

I'm honestly not sure if I would have taken my own life if I had not been admitted. But I will say those two days in a tiny ER room did not do much to improve my mental health. It is sad that in this country with all its resources, there is no such thing as urgent mental healthcare. They just stick you in a room and make sure you can't hurt yourself as you wait in line to get the actual help you need.

Thankfully I was able to adjust some medication I was taking and resolve my stomach issues. That seemed to relieve me of my dangerous thoughts and I have been okay in that regard ever since.

My dad had a serious infection in July that placed him in the hospital. He lost the ability to walk, his heart stopped briefly, and he started having horrible hallucinations. At one point I wasn't sure if he would ever return to reality. Nothing he said made any sense. Thankfully once they treated the infection and he got decent sleep he returned to lucidity. But he had to go through brutal rehab in order to walk again (with a walker and only short distances).

He was in hospital and rehab for over a month. After what happened to my mom, I promised myself that my dad would not be alone in the hospital. So, no matter how bad I physically felt, I pushed myself to visit him and be at his bedside every day and all day until they kicked me out. It was grueling for both of us, but I don't know if he would have recovered if I hadn't been there. Partly because I kept his spirits up, but also because I was able to get him better care as an advocate. I had to push to make sure he got the tests and medication he needed and saw the doctors that could help him. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

The only bright side of his hospital stay is that we rediscovered our love for St. Louis Cardinals baseball. We bonded over it and ended up watching every game. We were very sad when they were quickly eliminated in the first round of the playoffs. But it was a magical season as two fan-favorite players were playing their final season and they had amazing and emotional sendoffs. (Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina) It is my hope that my dad has at least one more baseball season left in him.

My health took a serious downturn earlier this year. It happened on the very same day that my best friend Katrina came to visit from Florida. I got so sick I could barely appreciate her presence when she was here. I had been looking forward to seeing her for a very long time and my stupid chronic illness ruined it. I was counting on that visit to give me a mental health boost.

I recovered a few weeks later, but my health has never been the same. I had to adjust to a new normal and adapt and find ways to take care of my father despite being further impaired.

I also lost my last creative outlet--writing. I enjoy researching and writing long and humorous political essays, but since my health declined further, I have not been able to write like that ever since. I'm really hoping I can regain that ability, but I'm unsure if that will happen.

One of my best friends is trans and I have many trans friends and followers and I am just really scared for them right now. The laws that are being proposed and passed are unjust and cruel. I have never witnessed such an effective campaign of hatred in my lifetime. I mean, I know there has always been hatred of the marginalized in every era of modern human existence, but this seems to go beyond just the conservative hate-mongers. It is not couched in subtext and dog whistles. It is overt and very "out loud." And I'm seeing people who claim to be progressive join in this hatred.

They are suddenly super worried about sports they never used to pay attention to. They think bathrooms are suddenly dens of danger despite trans people existing long before this concentrated hate became popular and bathrooms being perfectly safe beforehand. And now people believe that helping trans kids with proper healthcare is akin to child abuse. They think accepting trans kids is "grooming."

I see Twitter and Reddit threads filled with transphobia and it often brings me to tears to see people openly and comfortably hate the people I love so much. They hate people who have no tangible effect on their lives. People who just want to exist and be respected.

I just don't know how people can hate my friends so much without even knowing them.

Also, I'm just... really really lonely. All the time. It feels like a constant punch in the gut. I miss seeing and hugging my friends. I miss romantic companionship. And I've got a 20+ year streak of being sexually frustrated and am completely unsure how in the world to address that.

And finally, I decided to watch The Handmaid's Tale which is just full of rape and sadness. I figured I'm already horribly depressed, so a show probably isn't going to do much more damage. But it is still a tough watch.

That's the major headlines of my depression.

I'm just trying to survive and find little ways to cope. Mostly I am leaning on my support system and amazing best friends to keep me propped up and functioning.

Best I can do right now.

#trigger warning #depression #sad things #transphobia #rape mention

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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 1 year

Text

A Choice

Masterlist

Summary: kylo struggled with his past, the lies, feelings and heavy burden of being his mothers son. But at the temple he'd found solace, not in the force or his teachings. But you, the young girl with her own struggle in the dark. He fell in love. Time passed, alliances change but his feelings did not. And now he has you captured, but not even he knows what he's going to do with the woman who makes his heart race.

Warnings : swearing, kissing, angst, fluff and general feels, softer kylo?

A/N: the promot for this is: kylo is a soft boi and no one can change my mind. I hope you enjoy my first kylo oneshot 😊🥰

Wordcount: very long, not sorry

Not beta'd

For the first time in a long time he was unsure, at a complete loss on what he should do. You looked back at him aprihensive, fearfull yet he could see the deeper concealed relief and dare he say joy?

Your eyes were wide and expressive, just as they had always been. Skin still glowing its beautiful deep bronze even in the harsh white light above. Your breathing was erratic, switching from shallow panicked breaths and low deep intakes that he knew were used to calm and center yourself.

His eyes roamed you, he felt himself flush slightly thankfully he had his mask still in place. You were no longer a small gangly pre teen but a woman. Supple curves had replaced the lithe muscle youd been youd been honing. Your hands though shackled showed no signs of calluses. And the dress you wore wasnt practical for hard labour, fleeing or fighting. It was clear the rumours were true, you hadn't stayed with skywalker to complete your training. And you certainly hadnt chose a life of a warrior.

Kylo sighed heavily, he didnt know how he felt about your fate. You'd come to train along side him, allbeit not by choice. But you'd still ended up by his side. You'd only really ended up there because you were a potential problem like him. Strong in the force, yet it was rooted in the dark side. The first time youd used the force properly you'd intentionally hurt your father. The fact it was to save your mother from being beaten to death was never acknowledged. As far as everyone was concerned you were a ticking time bomb they needed under control or eliminated.

He remebers you fondly, youd grown together becoming close despite skywalkers attempts to seperate you both. The first time he met you was the day you arrived, a small girl two years younger then him. He was nine when you were dropped off. You were scared and didnt understand why you were seperated from your parents. Skywalker didnt take time to explain things properly. Instead telling you that you were going to be trained and become a jedi. As if you should almost be excited, greatfull even.

Youd cried, pleading with wide tearful eyes to anyone who looked at you to take you home, that you had to go home and protect your mother, that your father was evil and will hurt her. No one paid anymind, thinking you were just a child making excuses to get your way. Untill kylo's own mother came to the school with the news, your father had succeeded. He had murderedyour mother, beating her to death with hks bare hands.

He remebers that day well, the way youd burst into a rage. Screaming at the top of your lungs you told them you were right and you knew he'd hurt her again. He remebers the conflict he felt. Youd been seperated from your mother for only six weeks? If that? That was all it took. Six weeks for your father to kill your mother, and kylo couldnt help but agree with you as you yelled at the two jedi. It was partly Luke and his mothers fault, they hadnt belived you when youd initially told them why youd attacked your father, nor had they bothered to try and investigate it.

Youd even tried to lunge at luke during your initial grief. Kylo had only just caught your tiny wrists tugging you back to himself, curling around you in a half hug, half wrestle. It was then youd broke down, falling to pieces on the spot bawling your eyes out. He'd felt it then the protec5ive rage twistingnin his guts as he tried reassuring you, why couldnt anyone see you were just a kid. A Terrified six year old now completely alone.

You almost looked the same now, scared lost and alone begging silently to just go home. When you were children he'd wanted to return you to your safe haven, even after the death of your mother he wanted to find somewhere you could go, somewhere safe away from the life of a jedi. It wasnt what you wanted, you just gave up after your mothers funera, seeing the coffin had given you a brutal awakening. You had no home to return to.

Yes, he'd wanted to ind somewhere for you to live peacfully away from it all. But now? The thought of releasing you alone into the galaxy left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had lost that benevolence and naive trust in the greater good. Only he could truly offer you safety.

"Sir? Is there a problem? Should we dispose of the rebel and intterogate the rest?;" the tropper began speaking, misunderstanding the supreme leader's stark silence. The unnamed male began making a move closer to you. But Kylo stopped him a single raised hand waving him off, ordering him to stand down.

"No. No i will deal with this myself. Leave us" his voice was low, calm and thoughtful. He couldnt tear his eyes from you, it was hard to belive you were here infront of him. Despite years of hardening himself to his own feelings everything he had thought and felt about you came rushing back. His stomach was twisting in anxious pulls, his heart desperately trying to beat out of his chest.

But you laid still, somehow managing not to fight your bonds that held you to the table. Instead of breaking down into a panic you were looking around the room. He could tell you were struggling to maintain calm as you saw the many tools scattered about the interrogation cell. But you were also counting, lips twitching ever so slightly. It was somthing he had taught you all those years ago, counting when panicked can help you focus. Can keep you alert and in the moment instead of crumbling.

"But sir;"

"Get. Out." with that the trooper left hastily, not wanting to push his superior any further.

When kylo was sure the hall was clear he moved stepping closer to you, hands rising to remove his mask. He paused, should he reveal himself? If he did what was he going to say? Would he be able to hold his nerve? He observed you for a long moment. How should he begin? He didnt want to interrogate you like the others, didnt want to frighten you away, he told himself it was because you could be a valuable asset. But he knew that was an excuse, he didnt want you to run from him, you were probably the only person who understood him.

They said you were an evil child too, muttered about how you were probably going to end up as a sith. That the rage had already settled into you, youd already given in it was just a matter of time. And to some extent they were right to be wary. You and him both sat up at night debating the truth in the force in hushed whispers. Wondering outloud if the dark side was truly dark, or if it was all just subjective. You both didnt see the separation between evil, and evil deeds commited for the light.

Kylo sighed heavily as he tried to weigh up what he should do for the best. He wasnt keen on the idea of interrogating you. But he didnt want to go easy on you and let you go so if you really were a rebel trying to clear your name in some desperate need for acceptance.

In truth he wanted to sooth you, to tell you everything was going to be okay and swear he'd look after you. But again, he was unsure where your loyalties lie at the moment. Afterall you were found with the rebels.

"I know who you are, they told me. Tried to use it to manipulate me" you broke the silence for him, soft spoken and quiet just as he remebered. He held his breath for a moment feeling a wieght lift from his shoulders. You knew. He quickly decided to trust your words. His hands moved slowly riseing to his mask before sliding it off tucking it in the crook of his arm.

"Its been a long time. Your prettier then i thought youd be, its actually really intimidating" You smiled up at him, and moved your trapped hand in a little wave making him scoff at your antics rolling his eyes. Prettier? Of course the first thing youd do it tease him. Stupid brat.

"You havent changed much, you still have no self preservation" he uttered leaning to the side and placing his mask down on one of the trolleys.

"Self preservation? Should i be frightened of you?" You uttered after swallowing dryly, he could see the tears welling in your eyes. Despite the tease you were scared. Scared of him, it made him look away for a second. Fuck. He had to get this over with.

"I dont know should you? Are you hiding something?" He pried sternly whilst bringing his attention back to you, his face set in stone. You frowned at him looking hurt, he just arched a brow still trying to decide if you were going to be a loose end or not. He really hoped not, but a rebel is a rebel and they must be snuffed out. No matter how painful it will be for him.

"No, but you wont belive me untill you look so go head, look. I have nothing to hide" you finally answered shaking your head with the inch of so of movement your bonds allowed you.

"I would rather you tell me yourself. I dont want to hurt you, i will actually help you if you need it. But i need you to tell me everything" he replied a little to quickly for it to be a trap. You frowned for a second, trying to find deceite in his words but there was none. He was being genuine, it made you relax a little drawing a huge comforting breath.

"Can you do that for me?" He coaxed inching closer lightly traceing the side of the examination table with the tips of his fingers. He seemed hesitant. As if he couldnt trust himself to touch you, but the temptation was there.

"Y-yeah, i dont know alot though but i'll tell the truth. I have nothing to hide, itd be useless anyway i know how skilled you are at reading people." You said with minimal shuddering breaths, trying to ease your panic induced shivers and anxiety fueled sobs. Kylos heart jerked painfully. You were terrified of him. But then again he couldnt fault you for that, he was the one whod killed your frineds, burned down the new temple and then fled to the darkside making a name for himself as a brutal warrior. He was now the ruler of a cut throat regime. The feared supreme leader of the first order well on his way to becoming Emperor. And you were at his mercy strapped to a table.

His stomach lurched. He didnt like it, you didnt belong here,not like this; tied down and scared. He hated it, the way you were so defenceless. It disturbed him seeing you in such a vulnerable position.

"How? How did you escape that night?" He hadnt intended for that to be his first question. But he had to know, he needed to know how youd made it out. He had mourned you, the guilt of killing you almost crushed him. He convinced himself you were away, created a delusion, a story in his head as to how you couldnt have possibly been in the temple. He had to tell himself you survived just to sleep at night. And then he heard a rumour, that the resistance knew of a survivor from skywalkers temple, that is was a girl. Your age. Your looks. It had been the first time he had felt true relief in a very long time.

"I was... I'd had another feeling. It was worse then any others, i knew it was bad; something terrible was going to happen and i got scared." You uttered recounting the night everything went to shit and you learned what true evil deeds were. Kylo inched closer, eyes trained on you hanging on everyword. He knew of your ability, empathic foresight, you didnt get visions in your sleep or hear distant whispers in meditation. You got feelings, gut feelings that made you experience emotional reactions of the furture. Youd feel greif before a death, pain before an injury. Fear before a fright. You'd only ever confided this in him scared of what skywalker might have said an done.

"I snuck out of my room to come and check on you, i dont know why but i just... i knew the feeling was about you. It hurt too much. Then i saw him, saw what he" you explained trailing off not needing to state the obvious. You both knew very well what Luke had done.

"After that i ran, i didnt? I wanted to help! To save you but i? How could i? Im sorry! Im so sorry i was so scared... everyone said that we are similar, so when i saw what he did i? I dont know something inside me just told me to run. So i did. I didnt want..I thought he'd done it, that he'd already? And then? I thought that he'd?" your explanation became a sob, fear and guilt pouring from you in harsh waves and half sentences. Kylo's hands clenched as your force came to life, you were almost reliving it. Terror. Confusion, hopelessness, shame he could feel it now as if he were there beside you.

"You thought you were next didnt you? That he was going to murder you after me." He uttered understanding instantly what youd belived. You were young on the cusp of adulthood but still a child, just like he was. And you were both scared, but you had the opportunity to run. He only had a few seconds to defend himself. Had he been quicker he'd have found you outside and would have taken you with him.

"I ran like a coward. I've never forgiven myself" you uttered quietly, your shame rising. Youd always felt as if youd let Ben down. Left him to die, that it was your fault. Tears finally began falling, youd struggled for so long with that. Your freind who youd loved so dearly died because you didnt have the guts to even call out and startle Luke. If youd made a noise, distracted him then maybe ben would have survived. The only thing you thank the resistance for was the fact theyd told you who kylo ren was. It absolved the guilt, freed you from that dark heavy shadow.

He finally rested a hand on you, the leather clad palm squeezing your bicep in a firm reassurance. It drew your attention to him. He held your gaze with a sincere look. Before speaking in a firm, yet calm tone of voice. Leaving no room for argument or doubt.

"No, you ran because you saw a so called jedi try to slaughter a boy in his sleep. You were a scared child who just wanted to survive. Theres no shame in that" his voice was firm. He needed you to understand that there was nothing to be ashamed of. You couldnt help your fear, or your reaction. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with his own fear. To accept it as natural, children are hard wired to run in the face of danger. Run, hide and survive.

"When i heard about what happened afterwards i... i was glad? Is that bad? I wasnt happy with the loss but i hoped it was you, hoped you were alive. But? I thought you were dead, how could you? It was luke skywalker, i didnt think you could survive. It crushed me, i was so happy the temple was gone but then guilty because i didnt stay. If id stayed, helped then maybe we could have survived together" you confessed to him slowly, still confused over your contradicting feelings. You constantly swung back and forth between being happy hearing whispers that ben had gotten out, yet angry that skywalker had pushed ben into the darkside out of fear.

Kylo nodded slowly, he too had wanted to look for you afterwards. At first he belived youd perished in the flames. But as time went on something told him you had escaped. He couldnt put his finger on it, he'd belived he had been going mad. Making pitiful hopless wishes and was trying to convince himself a miracle had happened, and youd escaped his rage.

"Im glad you didnt. Snoke was not tolerant. He'd have pitted us against one another. Years later I heard rumours youd got away, i wanted to find you, i really did. I felt...A responsibility? But in the end i decided against it... snoke would have killed one of us and made it a lesson" kylo barely contained a shudder. He couldnt imagine being put in that position. He didnt know what he would have done, having to choose between his own destiny and the only woman he'd ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

Back at the temple he'd spent many nights pondering the future he could have with you. As sexual maturity settled in he couldnt help feeling more certain in his selection, you were the dream girl, the powerful woman he could rely on. He watched you grow into your abilities and beauty. He wasnt stupid, he knew even though he was a jedi he was expected to continue his blood line so there would be atleast one powerful jedi to play hero and protector of the people for the next generation.

As he grew along side you his mind always invisioned you as that woman, his wife and mother of his child. He had dreams of a small dark haired, olive skinned little boy grinning up at him with your expressive eyes, hands reaching towards him as his own held up a smll toy only to have it force-pulled from his hand by the small boy. There was also a younger child toddling around in the hazy background of the scene. Somehow he just knew the younger cild held the same glowing caramel eyes you had. Sometimes he would hear your giggling from somewhere in the room, other times the scene was mute, not a sound he'd just watch and smile as the two children laughed happily with one another.

But each time he had these dreams a new warmth filled his chest, one not creted by rage and loathing but love. He knew without a doubt the children were his own. It was a dream that comforted him in many cold uncertain nights, it haunted him to this day.

But perhaps it wasnt a dream? Maybe it was a premonition. The force gifting him a vision of the children you would birth him. The family he will have one day. He allways thought it odd that in these dreams you and the chilren were in black robes, bright white surroundings that didnt resemble a house but a ship of somesort. So maybe they were visions of his own future, not just fantasies of a lonley teen with a crush.

This might be his chance to make the dream a reality. It was so close yet so far, the reconciliation he was almost ashamed to adimt he craved. Not that he ever told you that, he uttered nothing of the dreams. But skywalker knew, he was completely against it.

Once kylo left he couldnt help think luke had been against it out of fear, maybe by that point he'd already given up on him. Writing him off as sith already and wanted to avoid an even more powerful generation of dark force wielders. The two of you would have incredibly strong children with ridiculously high midichorian counts. It was possible luke feard the power such a union could unleash.

"I geuss things worked out in a wierd way.." you uttered after a few moments of silence, unaware of how kylo's mind had wandered into old thoughts. Old desires and hopes rearing their heads with vigor and his resolve began building. The excitment and need to keep you by his side growing with every moment he spent next to you.

"I am thankfull for things turning out this way. We are both alive" he spoke methodically, nothing giving away the temptation he felt, the dark tugging him towards you in a new seduction. It was like the force was toying with him, placing you before him once more, helpless and alone. Yet still the same young woman he knew. The funny diplomatic but anxious ridden girl he'd belived he'd lost for so long.

You smiled at his words, though automatic and almost thoughtless they sounded genuine. He sounded sincerely thankful for the both of you to be alive. Slowly you began truly relaxing into the bonds holding you. The more you spoke the more you recognised him. He was still ben, just more; dare you say honest? If that was the right word? Mybe not but you always knew he had this darkness, kylo had always been lurking , pacing back and forth behinde those hazel eyes. Ben had just masked it. Just how youd msked your own demons. You both hid parts of yourself whilst with skywalker. Kylo was the animal inside, raw unbridled power who embraced the force in aggression and victory.

"Why are you with the rebels now?" He asked in a starind voice, the words finally managing to roll off his tongue thick and accusatory. He felt a sickening anticipation his hand absentmindedly rubed his chest trying to ease the tight squeezing of his heart. He was holding his breath agonising over your answer. What if you were with them? What if he had lost you anyway? What does that mean for the two of you then? Would he have to kill you? More importantly could he?

"Im not. Or i was physically there with them but im not apart of the rebel alliance. I dont know what they told you but im not. They said you were hunting me! That you were going to!?" You paused for a moment as the fear inside rekindled. Theyd said he was hunting all force sensitive beings just as vader once had. That he would kill you slowly, torture you into insanity before ending you. They said he thought you had run off to continue your jedi training and that he was furious with you.

Youd had thoughts of him attacking you, with his saber and the force. It was terrifying, youd never out matched him, not in hand to hand combat, the force or deuling. He decimated you each time and those had been just sparring matches where you knew he held back. In a real fight you wouldnt survive two mineuts.

"Calm down, take a breath. Im not going to hurt you, do you here me? Im not going to hurt you, i just want the truth thats all. Just tell me the truth, and everything will be okay. I'm here to listen, id never belive those traitors over you" he instructed slowly squeezing your arm again trying to ease you. To coax you from your panic. You swallowed dryly, feeling a light spark of hope from his words. The fact he still held your words in high regard soothed you somewhat, he still knew you and trusted you to some degree. It was a relief. Tell the truth, you can do that. because honestly you had nothing to hide. And soemthingntold you if he did doubt you he'd take the time to look through your mind before sending you to execution.

"They tracked me down, they were trying to pull me in. They have been trying to recruit me for a while now. They're running low on force sensitive people to throw infront of you. They were willing to overlook my darkside at least untill they find skywalker themselves" you uttered after wetting your lips nervously. You had no loyalty to the resistance or skywalker. You werent involved anymore, this wasnt your fight and youd have no part in it.

You tipped your head to face kylo, a smll smile grazing your lips taking another moment or so to truly drink in the sifpght. He really had become handsome. Taller then youd expected, broader to, he was stunning. Nd the scar across his face would have marred anyones elses beauty but it... suited him, his character it gave him a visual to the rugged edge he'd always hidden. He looked dangerousnd magnificent. Your eyes flicked away frim his before he could see your flushed cheeks. Now was not the ti,e to start fawning over him. He had questions and you had the answers. Everything else can wait.

"I even debated joining just to kill him myself. But when they told me you were kylo i? I didnt want to become your enemy" you added shrugging a little before pausing hesitating on your lst statment. It was true though, you had no quarrel with the first order. Sure it was a little daunting to see another empire try to rise. But didnt that just men without the jedi this is the normal. Empires rising and falling in the external fight for dominance. There will always be someone who thinks they can do a better job ruleing. That they deserve a chance, and if need be they will take the top spot by force. Surely its better to just stick with the devil you know?

"They couldnt understand that. And still pushed, chaseing me across systems! This time they had me truley cornered, trying to scare me, telling me that the first order were after me because im a threat; that you were hunting me, wanted me dead they said they heard it in a transmission" your words grew more panicked, more weary and your chest tightened once more as the adrenaline flooded your veins. You felt more vulnerable and uncertain by the second.

Kylo growled low in his throat, rumbling in his large chest echoing off the walls as if they'd been struck. The force arou d him quivered as he began a descent into anger once more.

"So they are trying to scare you into their ranks?. Pathetic" his lip curled into a violent snarl. His hands clenching, jaw locking for a moment, teeth grinding. To think theyd try to manipulate you to brazenly. Lie to your face and threaten you with him, his fury.

You whimpered, pressing back in to the table shivering, quaking in fear so violently that he heard it, physically heard your body shuddering against to cold metal. Your eyes were closed, biting your lip willing yourself to disappear. He relaxed. The force, shit. He forgot, you were force sensitive and his rage would affect you more then others. To you it would prickly, pinch and grate on your very skin like bladed sandpaper. Cut and scrape.

"I was not looking for you, or hunting you. I toyed with the idea but you hadnt been spotted in the rebellion i? I assumed you were content being away from it all" he acquiesced, mamanging 5o control himself and dial back his rage. Instead he inched closer cupping one of your cheeks urgingnyou to look at him.

You hissed, drew a deep sharp breath cringing waiting for... something? Anything! But instead he held still, letting his palm warm your skin through his glove. You peaked up at him tentativly. He gave a small half smile, one of reassurance yet also questioning you, asking you to trust him.

"i dont want you dead, i never have and never will. Your no threat to me, you never posed yourself as a threat. So i wouldnt treat you as one. It seems noone truely understands how much we care for and trust one another" he spoke barely a whisper, as his hand smoothed over your cheek. You nuzzled into him delicatly blinking slowly, enjoying the contact. It was, nice. To feel someone, to feel him again. Youd take anything you could, any gentle touch or soft glimpse of ben you could get.

It didnt last, he pulled back removing himself from you as he spome once more, tryingt to go back to business. But that didnt ,atter, he had show you a few seconds of almost loveing kindness and that was enough for you.

"Everything they told you is a lie, a desperate attempt on the rebels part trying to recruit all the force sensitive people they can find, even ones that werent good enough to be trained" he stated firmly, dropping his hands behinde him taking on a powerful stance, hos chest swelling slightly, arms bulging in the robes he wore, tugging on the seams slightly showing off his physique.

"They were... persistent i have been evading them for years but? When they found me this time... something was different. It was odd they were trying to make me hate you, trying to scare me saying you betrayed them. They hinted at me useing my darkness, suppose they want to try fighting fire with fire" you continued slowly trying to put everything into words was hard. Because honestly there was so many emotions and caveats that you had to think through and label. So much trauma and fear, pain, regret to force yourself through to explain the situation. All while staying truthful and making your point.

"They dont know you saw the whole thing?" He asked with a frown, surely they knew what had happened for you to survive, or have an inkling? Unless they belived he loved you so had spared you and if so they were truley cruel to try and use you against him.

"No, no one seemed to know the whole story. And those that do? Well your the first person ive told. And I was small, if you recall not even you could find me when i skipped my lessons" you finished with a small chuckle. He rolled his eyes before tipping his head to the side agreeing with a half shrug and laughed.

"You were always tricky to locate, your ability to shield your life force was something i admired and loathed" It was true, you managed to get away with alot because you could effectivly disappear from the force at will. It made keeping up with your shenanigans hard.

"Yes well it didnt do me any good hiding from the rebles alliance did it? They have eyes everywhere kylo." You sighed trying not to let the weight of your failure show, it was hard though. Youd literally wanted to achieve one thing. One tiny thing and that was to be left alone, dissappear into the galaxy. Kylo frowned drawing a deep breath, not only the confirmation that the rebles did indeed have connectiones in everycorner of the galaxy, but he could also see that being found had got to you. You werent playing or trying to hide behind false pretenses. You were genuinely upset, anxious and flighty. you were never one to accept your failures well and he could see being found was frustrating. It hurt him, tore into his tightening chest, what if you didnt want to see him? Or worse, what if you didnt want to stay?

"You really arent with them are you?" He uttered, more of a self realisation then anything else. He watched spinning slightly to rest his hip against the table you were on. He expected you to flinch, to tug at the bonds or yelp trying to pull away from him. Instead you gravitated towards him, tilting your body in his dorection subtley, seeking him out for some comfort. Though he didnt get time to comment or even smile at the small subconscious movement. Instead you began speaking, blinking up at him with tearfully hopeful eyes.

"No, im not and i never will be, this isnt my fight. It never was, i never wanted training or? or stupid force abilities; Why would i fight for the jedi; or even your mother? when they only want me to kill for them. Return me to skywalker to finish training just to taint myself by killing you?" You paused trying to shake the anger frommyou. It was hard though, looking back now everything was a manipulation. You were training to be a weapon of 'peace'. Nothing more, nothing less.

"No way. Absolutely not, he took so much away from me, it was like i was an animal to them. Nothing but an evil child meant to become a tool to use. But unfortunately they wont take no for an answer" you admonished, your words drifting from sincerity to frustration, irritation and finally resignation. He could not only hear it but feel it, it would seem you have relaxed enough to let him sense you. Feel you for the first time since he'd left.

It was euphoric, like coming home in a sense. The same airy feeling. Thealmost dry smokey whistful and warm feeling you always gave him. Yet it was clouded, fear, almost frantic paranoia. Frustration and panic. Turmoil. But most of all you felt tired.

Exhausted, from the years of hiding and running. Fighting and hideing the force, blocking it out. Compressing the raw power inside of you into a tiny space hidden in your mind. Keeping the all powerful force of life itself under lock and key. Surpressing everything youd come to know and accept all while running for your life.

"i didnt think youd try to fight for them, or against me. Or i had hoped not" he offered meekly with a shrug, glancing at you offering a slight tilt to his lips.

"I dont want to fight anyone, but they are adamant i do just that. Apparently i have no choice i have to choose because i was trained"

"So if i asked you to fight for me? For the first order?" He asked unable to deny himself the chance to hear you. He wanted you to be heard, to be given the chance to speak and be given a choice. If frightened him, he didnt know what he would do if you denied him everything. But he was determined to try and keep himself in check and abode your wishes.

"i just want to live. Its all i've ever wanted to do Kylo" you whispered. Kylo hummed and nodded with a tight smile, it wasnt a no. But it wasnt exactly a yes eigther. There was no guarantees youd stay beside him, but he couldnt help feeling at ease with your answer.

"I understand" 'I did too' kylo finished the thought with a heavy sigh. He truley did understand, he wanted nothing more then to live out his life. Not be manipulated or judged for things he couldnt control. The only difference between the two of you was that he found snoke and fed his hatred letting it become his power, he'd wandered deeper into the force and his darkness. And youd dinstanced yourself from the force and hid away.

"You know they wont leave you alone untill you make a choice. Until then youll never get any peace you were a skywalker pupil they wont let that go. Youll never be free" he uttered with a sigh, hewas so ewhat greatfull to the resistance for leading him to you. But also felt a gnawing bitter anger, they had been trying to ue youjust as snoke had used him. He was no fool, he knew very well how much he'd been taken advantage of. He told himself being aware of it made it better somehow? Less humiliating? Yet he broke free of it in the end. Just as his servitude was ending, yours was trying to begin.

He was proud of you in a sense, the way you flatly refused to be a pawn. In a way you refused what he could not. Only his keeper was snoke and yohrs would have been his own mother. Yet even through all of this anger, pride and shame he couldnt help feel an overwhelming pity for you. Because as he said, youdnever be free of them, the resistance. The jedi they were parasites, latching onto anything that will ensure their own survival with little thought to those they damage and destroy along the way. All that mattered was their own ambition and goals. Youd be forever running from them.

"Well not while im here anyway." You chuckled motioning to the way you were strapped to the table with an uncomfortable grin. Kylo cursed and quickly flicked his fingers up, releasing your bonds before helping you sit up. You thanked him rubbing your wrists gently trying to stop the pins and needles from stinging your finger tips.

"You could be" kylo uttered an barely a whisper. Almost as if he didnt want you to hear him. You paused flicking your gaze to him confusion twisting across your face.

"Could be what?" Kylo swallowed as your eyes locked with his, he looked uncertain and small just as your words had been. You were vulnerable in a way he loathed, youd forgotten yourself, your power your drive. It was gone, and it made his heart clench painfully and his blood boil in his veins. He wanted you more and more as it became clear youd done nothing but hide and cower. Spent your years running from the first order, the war and resistance. Desperately looking for somewhere wanting nothing more then to forget about your past.

"Free here. You could be free here, with me. The rebels wouldnt dare set foot here and youd be protected. I would protect you" he emphasised stepping closer, his thighs touching your knees. And then his huge hands found yours. Twisting them in his grasp gently thumbs rubbing your reddened wrists trying to sooth them. Your gaze locked on to his face, trying to read his expression. But he dipped his hed down, his hair hanging down sheilding his face, keeping his secrets.

"Your-your offering me freedom? In the first order? I doubt the rebels would take that well, they'd say I was kidnapped or something stupid." Your voice waivered before laughing humourlessly, shaking your head scoffing at him thinking it was just wishful thinking. Theres no way kylo would offer you a home here in the first order. No matter the history or fondness between you. You were an ex-jedi student of skywalkers temple and found with a huge group of resistance fighters in a makeshift military base. The first order thought you were a traitor to them or something.

"Not if your decision was made public. If we made sure you were seen" kylo offered without a moments hesitation, his head riseing once more. Gifting you a single glance before his eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but you as he tried finding the confidence to say what he really meant.

He felt like a teenager again, desperately wracking his brain trying to find those magic words that would turn his dream into a reality. That'd give him his own happily ever after innthis clusterfuck of a situation.

"You want me to stand beside you when you raid bases and ships like some propergander prop? Let them see that skywalker created not one but two;" your frustrated words were cut off by him shaking his head at you. Growling leaning forward pressing his way between your knees standing firmly before you. His hands trailing up your arms, resting just below your elbows in a strangely distant yet intimate hold. Panic threatened to wash over him for the first time in years.

"No! Of course not! Nothing like that. And thats not to say i think your weak either. I know how powerfull you were, the potential you have. And even though youd become a great asset to me as a soilder or posterchild i wont use you like them, i am better then that" he grunted, his voice somwhere between offended and saddened. His anger flared momentarily, did you truly think he'd be just as dishonest as the rebles? As skywalker and his mother? That he'd use you and cast you out when he was done? It hurt, gutted him to belive you thought so little of him. He knew he had changed but even he like to think he had some integrity left.

"But thats not to say I'd refuse to train you if you wish, help you master the darkside, not fear and loath it." His words wavered as he saw the face you made, the twisting of a frown and the feeling of distaste curling around you like a potent perfume infecting him, becoming trapped in his throat with all of the words he wished he could say outloud.

"Or not, you can stay here with me as a confidant; a friend. Someone i can actually trust" he uttered shrugging, removing one hand from you raiseing it up in a surrendering motion as he began ratteling off another option. That sounded as if there was alot more thought put into it then he was willing to admit.

"Or if you want to take a place beside me. Not as a soilder but perhaps as more... As empress? I'd- i mean to say that... The position is open to you, if you wish. All you have to do is say and.. i would" he stuttered slightly, his grip on your arm loosening as he focused on his own hands grasping you nervously. Running his thumbs across the soft skin of your inner arm gently. He was anxiously waiting your reaction. He may have voiced his thoughts prematurely but? He wasnt going to take it back. He liked you. No. He loved you, you were the only person in his life that hadn't used or manipulated him. You accepted him dark and all.

"Empress? Your empress? Are you? Are you serious? What? Wheres that come from?" You fought the words, wresteling them out through hitched breaths and shock. Your stomach flipped, filling with butterflies and your cheeks burst into a bright blush. Mind instantly latching onto the idea.

You couldnt help it, the sweet gentle intimacy only brought back the feelings youd thought had died. Feelings that had been dangerous, forbidden. And yet here and now they weren't. You werent jedi, and neither was he. You were free. Free to give and take in a selfish love. Free to claim what your heart desired and protect it feircely. Not only that but its what was being offered, freely without remorse or fear or the need to hide. It was too good to be true, theres no way there wasnt a hidden catch. If there one thing you learned is the force doesnt work in mysterious ways, it was exchange. What it gives it can and will take without a moments notice and theres nothign you could do about it. Everything had a price, and to offer this up so carelessly meant the price will be dire.

"I have always liked; no thats to say? You are the only woman i've ever loved. I love you even now" He uttered suddenly, unable to catch himself. He paused when you gasped audibly hands rising to your mouth, covering the shock. He? He didnt just? Did he? He couldnt possibly have just admitted something like that so thoughtlessly. So casually, as if his words wouldnt possibly alter both of your lives.

You shook your head subtly, tears pricking your eyes. It was too much to hope for. Love. It was a fools errand, forbidden, taboo unachievable for your kind. Jedi cant escape their teachings even when they leave the orders and temples.

Kylo grasped your quivering hand pulling it from your mouth before drawing it to his own. Pressing the back of it to his lips, eyes closing as his kiss lingered. Drawing in a deep breath theough his nose andmheld still. Enjoying what could very well be the last tender moment he would ever get with you. A moment he will cherish.

You sniffled leaning forward pressing your head to his chest your other hand riseing to capture the cloak at his waist. He hummed tucking the hand at his lips into his own once more holding it to his chest delicatly. And you both stayed like that for some time reveling in the silence, just enjoying the comfort youd both longed for.

"I have always loved you" he uttered breaking the silence, taking the chance to wrap himself around you, his arms moving to hold you, drawing you closer to him, pressing you to his chest.

"Your beautiful, funny easy to be around and? You have never lied to me or tried to sway my decisions. Not once, you are grown now beautiful, articulate everythingni thought youd be. The first order needs someone to admire, a crown jewel so to speak" his words seemed light, yet sincere. Almost hopefull.

You closed your eyes whining under your breath pressing into him harder. Your hand squeezing his cloak dragging him closer. It was more then you could dream. He inched closer hands finally capturing you, arms wrapping around you pulling you flush against him dippingnhis head down to rest on yours. You responded instantly curling your own arms around his torso. Holding on tightly afraid this was ll just some fucked up hallucination thats goingnto be ripped away. That the force will tear him from you again.

"I need you. Need something; someone to fight for. All this time I've been fighting for power. Rage and hate fueling my every move. But i dont want that. I honestly dont, i want to be more then what became of vader. More then another power hungry sith or evil dictator. I want to end not just the jedi but the sith aswell. Just like we talked about. Nothing but the force itself" His explained softly, tracing light patterns across you with his fingers, flexing his rms to hold you even tighter, press you closer. You both clung to one another as if your lives depended on it. Yet there was no rush, not anxieties just the twoof you finally accepting each other as more then comrades or friends.

"I want you by my side, but i only want you to stay if thats what you want." His words waivered slightly, your ongoing silence becoming deafening.

"It would keep the rebels away if they saw you made such a decision and you were happy and i believe i could make you happy, that we could make each other happy." You hummed listening carefully. Still loosing yourself in the feeling of being so close to him. So wrapped up in his tender hold, your life forces drifting around one another as if trying to re-establish itself. Trying to find the comfortable sweet spot that would revive your bond.

"We could build something remarkable together. You and I, we could prove everyone wrong. And this isnt some sudden realisation. I have always had a strong attachment to you. Always loved you. I just didnt understand it before" the reasons continued to pour from him almost desperately. He could help it, he felt as if it was now or never. That he had to make a convincing argument to keep you by his side.

You sighed and pulled back from him reluctantly slowly dragging your hands across his ribs as you did so. He frowned, eyes searching yours, he made to grasp at you again but you intercepted raising your own hands to meet his, delicatly placing your palms to his weaving your fingers between his own.

"D-do you really mean it? That... that you love me?" You spome in a hushed secretive tone. As though testing him, testing yourself unsure if you could trust youd heard him correctly. But perhaps it was also becuase you needed the clarification, reassurance that he had admitted to something so significant, so utterly life changing.

"Yes, it was one of the many things skywalker berated me for. It was forbidden, you were forbidden. It was why i distanced myself from you in the weeks before, i was trying so hard to fight it" he gave a tight smile, it had been hard to abstain from you. To pull back and desert you as he tried desperately to be a good jedi. To follow the hypocriticall code.

When it was brought down into its most basic components the jedis code was to protect and love everyone as a whole but never become selfish enough to love and protect individuals. The greed of such selfish adoration will breed possessiveness; the refusal to give up the one you loved. This then gave way to worry, paranoia. And from there you fall to fear; the fear of loss. Settle into loathing and hate. Finally suffering; suffer the loss of your love, suffer the greif and regret when you lose all that you held most dear. That was the decent into the darkside. The journy most sith fell prey to. And it all started with forbidden love.

Kylo was pulled from his thoughts as your voice cracked, weak words tumbling from you as you revealed he was not alone in being caught out by his uncle. You too had been warned many times about your feelings towards ben.

"He got at me about it too. I love you too. He scolded me many times, even hinting at me to leave if i couldnt control it" and just like that the daydream was gone, the proverbial spell broken and it felt as if the whole world came crashing down upon you. Just like before, only this time it wasnt codes, oaths and the fear of beong caught that was stopping you from pursuing him. No, it was worse. Status, titles and public opinion.

No. this was? It cant work! Hexs the leader of the first order, a jedi killer. And you were effectivly an apostate. An ex jedi that the rebels were desperately trying to recruit. You were found with them! Brought in as a prisoner and cuffed inside an interrogation cell. Itd ruin his credibility, if he were seen with you.

Kylos heart seized as he heard the thoughts loud and clear. You were projecting in your panic. In the sorrow and anxious devastation. No. No! He wont allow it. He wont let you deny yourself happiness, he wont let you deny him now he knows the truth.

"No. No dont? Dont say that we can. We can be together we can. I can make it happen. Im the supremeleader anything i say goes. I can; we can build our own future together" kylo hissed, shaking his head sharply squeezing your hands as you tried detaching yourself from him.

"But kylo...What would the first order say? Surley they would have issues with me; an ex jedi caught with a batallion of rebel's suddenly beside you exachanging vows" kylos reply silenced you. It was a snarl, a deep frustrated growl echojngnin his chest sending shivers down your spine. Goosebumps rose on your skin, your tummy fluttered. There was something about his reaction, about knowing he would argue, that he'd fight for you. It made you feel relieved and anxious all at once. Youd never had anyone fight for you before, you normally had to do that all by yourself.

"Im their supreme leader. Theres not much i connot take care of. I would create a story of half truths. Paint you as my lover, my secret fiancé who i hid away from everyone for her own protection; that i feared snokes reaction if he ever knew" his words soothed you so ewhat, and he could tell. You relaxed, listening to him intently. It made sense sort of?

"Id say youd been hunted by the rebels because of who you were to me. Explain that the whole operation was to rescue you, that the rebels got to you before i could come and collect you once id killed snoke. And the raid was just me bringing you home.

"But i was brought here in cuffs? That trooper knows im here, in an interrogation cell it cant? I wont be your down fall;"

"It was a ruse for your safety!" Kylo finally snapped at you, his desperation to keep you becoming irritation. Why didnt you trust him? Why did you doubt he could fix it, handle everything and take care of you. He loved you, you loved him that should be enough shouldnt it?

He drew a deep breath befpre cupping the sides of your face lightly. Your eyes closed and you gave into his touch. Enjoying the warmth on your cheeks as his hands held you. You pressed into the soft leather of his gloves silently wishing he'd taken them off. You didnt want barriers between you, you wanted him, just him. His skin, his affection his love everything!

"Everyone knows anything could happen when it comes to those... vermin. I had you cuffed and brought here as a precaution. They could have done anything to you my love, warped your mind, pumped you full of toxins to insight hallucinations looking for information about me, us the first order?" His story unfolded around you, creating the perfect romantic tragedy. Rewriting the script of your romance as if he'd already finished a manuscript. You almost forgot how quick he was thinking on his feet, conjuring stories and reasons with ease.

"I had to do it this way, incase they belived youd turned on me. You could have played the part of a deserter to survive. But now, once ive had time to read you, to peer into your mind i know you hadnt betrayed us. You managed to fend off their cruel games and twisted words" he continued his reasoning, useing logic to create the perfect reunion for the two of you. Setting the stage for you to both love one another freely.

"And you came home, stronger than ever. Ready to take your rightfull place. And the rebels would feel Iied to by their general, of course she had to have known who her sons fiance was, we did grow up together. Theyd lose morale. And we'd gain it. And id finally have you all to myself. With no shame, or fear. Just us together as it should have always been" his rant came to a slow sweet end. Making you smile, grinning shyly up at him. You liked the sound of that, being with him like regular people. Normal lovers able to enjoy one another.

"But most importantly be safe and loved for the rest of your days. We could have everything we were denied, we could be together. Truley be together, do you hear me?" His hands shifted, dragging over your ears, further and further back untill his fingers stretched out i to your hair lightly massaging your scalp. And then he moved nuzzling into you, breathing deep trying to drown himself innyour scent. It was just as he remebered, light spice that seemed to cling to you from your love of the exotic, coupled with a slight sweet honeyed scent that came from every scented soap, shampoo and conditioner. And then the overall delicate scent that was your own. It was the smell of home. The scent that haunted him just as much as his dreams. He'd missed it. Your eyes fluttered closed, melting into him natheing in the long lost warmth of a kind embrace.

"We can do it. Together me and you, nothing will stop us. Nothing will ever come between us my love, please dont... dont turn away, dont leave me. I love you. I still love you and i promise you; swear to you that i wil, protect you. Protect us... there can be an us now. We will never hide, or shy away from each other again" his word grew almost frantic, pleading even. You pressed into him tighter tlitling your head tryingnto tuck yourself into him properly and rest against his chest. But he paused, stopping you carefully before tipping your head up promtpingnyou to look at him, locking eyes again.

"Please give us a chance? Give the first order a chance. You wont regret it. You wont" you tentativly moved to cup his own cheek tilting your head to the side taking in the sight of him. So vulnerable and raw. Sincere and sweet? Hopefull. You couldnt deny him. You knew it deep down, there was no way you could abandon him. Not when youd both finally revealed your true feelings. Not when he already had all the answers, all the excuses and plans. But that didnt mean you werent going to ask what was expected of you.

"What would i have to do? As empress i mean? I dont want to... i wont have to fight? Or officially join the darkside and become sith? Will i?" Kylo froze his entire body shuddered. Did that mean? Were you really going to stay?! He grinned unable to stop the giddy laugh from bubbling in his throat. It was more then he could imagine. The rush of happiness, anticipation. But quickly shook his head before speakign answering all of your fears and doubts wanting to nip them in the butt before you could dwell on them and overthink.

"No, not at all. Not for a second i wouldnt force you my love. Like i said the choice is yours, it will always be yours. Whether you become my apprentice, empress or stay as a freind i will protect you from skywalker and the rebels. You never have to fear them or look over your shoulder again" he uttered dragging his hands over yu, lower, curling around your waist resting in the curve of your back.

"That is if you stay.You-you are always free to walk away now. It would be painful to watch you go, but i would let you. Id have you escorted to where ever you want to go" his promise came with a fearfull swallow. But he wanted to make sure you understood, that you knew you had the choice. That you truly had a choice and he'd respect your wishes.

"Though id much rather have you here with me, beside me. I belive we were meant to find one another again. I really do. I dont want to let you go. I just want you to be safe, to have the saftey and security of a home. Something that had been ripped from us as children."

"Kylo;" you tried halting his rambling, the anxious words that escaped him as his thoughts ran rabid, second guessing his own offer. Would you think he was trying to takl you out of it? Trying to chase you away? Fuck. Fuck what if he misspoke or pushed to hard?

You could see the wild panic, the odd nauseating fear that spiked from him, making the force tremble around the both of you restlessly. But you couldnt manage to get a word in as he began falling into another half anxious monologue of explanations and reasoning.

"You know what it feels like to be manipulated and have your life mapped out for you. We had many decisions made for us, too many options taken from us and we both paid for them with blood and fear. We know how cruel family is. You deserved better. You deserved a choice" he finalised with conviction. He made to open his ,outh once more but you hushed him, a single palm covering his mouth, managing to stop another round of persuasion from the large sweet man.

"We both did... And maybe we can make things better together? We can make a real family, a home and right a few wrongs? Be ourselves without shame or remorse together. One united front? Us against the galaxy?" Your hand slowly drifted to his hair as you spoke, making your decision. Your fingers danced in the thick ebony locks. You smiled when he couldnt refrain from nuzzling into you once more. He really wasnt the big scary man he tried to be. Just a huge loth cat.

"What? You mean? Youll stay with me? As my empress? Youll really stay?" Your heart broke at the tiny disbelieving voice, so unlike him. Yet exactly what youd expect from the old ben. The one who felt so much weight, so much responsibility with little love for himself. Back then he was so uncertain, so frightend to chase after what he wanted because he felt denying himself made him strong.

"Id be honoured kylo. I can think of nothing id like more than to spend my life with you, if youll have me?" You anounced, dragging his face closer your own unable to stop the fluttering in your tummy, or the way your face flushed, and the excited giddiness overwhelming you.

He wrapped himself around you, nose touching your own eye flicking from your own gaze down to your lips, the temptation to press his own against yours and devour you. Lock you into a kiss that had been long overdue.

"Of course, fuck yes i mean i? I want you by my side. I love you" he whispered, not wantingnto break the spell. The euphoric haze that seemed to isolate the two of you from the rest of the galaxy in this moment.he couldnt, wouldnt jeopardise this one peacfull moment you had together. The moment youd both been praying for since your early teens.

"I love you too. Theres just one thing i ask from you?" You breathed out, grazing his nose with the lightest of touches. Barely hanging on to the thread of control you somehow maintained.

"Name it, its yours" his voice dipped low. No thoughts just feeling. Pure joy and eager acceptance. He didnt care what it was you wanted. Youd have it, he'd grant you anything even the impossible. He'd find a way to give you the univers in its entirety if you asked.

"Dont lie to me. Even if the truth hurts, even if its dangerous or frightening. Dont hide things behinde half truths and lies. We have both had enough of that for a life time" you could see his eyes soften the aprihension that your qeustion had caused quickly disappeared. He seemed saddened almost, humbled. Your unsure what it was he expected you to ask, but apparently it wasnt honesty.

"You have my word my love. I swear i will never lie to you, never. I trust you to know everything, youll always know as much as i do" in that moment he swore to you and himself. Made it an oath, his own code to live by.

You sighed fully relaxing into him before coilingnyour arms around his neck tugging him down closer and began rising you your tip toes. He didnt need to think, about his next move. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. The first light pressing on your lips together soon gve way to soemthing heated, years of repressed emotions and desire. Before you realised what was happeneing you were scooped up in hos arms. Legs locking around his waist your kiss now coupled with hands tugging you against him, rocking you against him in a delicious grinding that only spurred the both of you on.

Your kisses quickly became desperate a flurry of nips, kisses and the lapping of his tongue. The constant pressure of his tongue finally pried your own mouth open. He wasted no time in pressing on, fucking into your mouth with his tongue growling as your own fought his, twisting around his own in a decadent battle. His fingers tightened on your ass, digging into the flesh before thrusting his hips against yours. You gasped, tongue faltering in its own assault, he used the mone tto delve deeper, dominating you claiming victory over your playful defiance. Not that you minded, not in the slightest. You moaning when he began tracing the roof of your mouth lightly, a tickling pleasant feeling making you whine, shuddering and arching into his hold.

"Supreme leader i;" you yepled as the modulated voice of a trooper called out only to stop mid sentence as he realised what he'd just walked in on.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Kylos shout was accompanied with a blast of the force towards the unsuspecting trooper. Not that he needed prompting, at the forst yelled words he'd already turned trying to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Only managing a few feet untill he connected with the opposite wall on the hall. The force following closely slamming his helmet clade head even harder into the wall. And then he dropped into a heap of white armour on the floor.

"Oh god; that poor bastard. Is he gonna be okay?" You uttered flushing, giggleing somewhat nervously as there were foot steps in the distance out in the hall growing fainter. Apparently there'd been an audience.

"If he stays down he will be" kylo huffed petulantly. It would have been cute had it not been for the look of murder in his wpeyes, violence on his mind. You sighed before pecking him once more, trapping him in a barrage of sweet kisses between words.

"Kylo. Leave him be... i wasnt going to fuck you here anyway, theres cameras" his eyes flicked to the small cctv cameras in the corner. You had a point. He sighed slowly letting you stand befpre him once more and reached out to retrieve his mask, which you promptly toom from him, holding it carefully. You didnt want him to disappear behinde it just yet. He gave you a look, only to shake his head at you as you subtly twisted the carbon mask from him stubbornly. He chuckled realiseing quickly you wanted to keep looking at him.

"Right~ Come, let's get you home;" he faltered as you stepped up beside him eagerly. It was odd, having someone wanting to be so close to him. He? Liked it. But only if it was you, everyone else better keep their fucking distance... especially if you were there.

"Lead the way" you grinned cutely up at him. It was enough to stop him in his tracks. This was it, his future; your future. It all starts now, starts here. And force be damned he could barely contain the excitement. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing would ever interfere again. For the first time in years, he felt that all powerful hope the rebellion raged on about. And honestly? He could understand it. This was a new, powerful feeling. He felt like he could achieve the impossible. And he would. There was no doubt in his mind now. You'd both succeed where others failed because you had one another.

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