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zepskies · 5 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 14

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.”

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening.

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin’ up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’ve known him long enough to know when he’s hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.”

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle.

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

You sighed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement. He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.”

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.”

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!”

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either.

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

367 notes · View notes

s-4pphics · 9 months

Text

dial. 3 (e.w.)

wc;cw: 3.4K, fratadjacent!ellie, all ocs r black coded<3, angst😞, oc being an empath, self-esteem issues, mentions anxiety and panic attacks, ellie ain’t shit, alcohol, mentions of smoking

playlist :p

It’s been three days since you’ve heard from Ellie.

She left you on read when you reached out the next morning after the party. You tried to get some information out of Dina on her whereabouts, but she shut you down, practically begging you to let you and Ellie’s disastrous relationship rest for your sake. Niah said that she was ready to jump at any moment, but you didn’t want her— or anyone else— in the middle of your conflict. You made a mistake looking to Ellie for approval and you had to deal with it.

But there was some part of you that couldn’t let this go. You’ve been embarrassed by a good number of people in your lifetime, and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into the deepest hole imaginable and never come out whenever it happened, but you’re an adult now. So why is it hitting harder than ever before?

You never understood why people were so put off by your personality. You always craved companionship and were so giving with your heart, but people just can’t… stand you, you’ve realized. A portion of your heart dies whenever you get blasted for being too much, but you can’t help how you feel. All you wanted to do was make people happy and keep them close, but you’ve only managed to scare them off.

You talk a lot, and I don’t think you realize it.

Are you always this… touchy?

Please. Just stop talking for a second.��

It comes off really annoying, not gonna lie.

You’re really nice but… I dunno, you’re just a lot sometimes. Just ease up.

You hated that your mom was wrong; kindness, in fact, doesn’t get you where you need to go.

At least you have your aunt. And Niah. They both accept your clinginess with no grudges.

You’ve kept your head down on campus, only going to the library to study and back to your dorm. You cut your usual Starbucks visits completely; Reading without caffeine was killing you, but it was better than seeing and hearing Ellie. Plus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everybody was staring at you, waiting for you to fuck up so they could get a good laugh.

It was the last day of finals, and you couldn’t wait to go the fuck home. You were sick of being on campus and your self-esteem was at an all-time low. You needed your auntie’s food for revival.

You were desperate for an awfully long break. Hopefully something positive will come of it.

“Take a break from paaacking. Come eat with me, please, I’m starving!”

Your eyes rolled at Niah’s incessant whines. She knew how tedious you were with your luggage; She couldn’t wait another five minutes? —

“I know you’re cussing me out in your head. Your thoughts are loud, remember that!” She squinted at you while kicking her feet like a child throwing a tantrum.

You groaned and threw the sweatshirt you’d been folding back into the drawer. How the fuck did universities get away with giving students two days to pack all their essentials right after finals. As if you had any remaining brain cells to wash and fold your laundry. They’re going to hell, for sure!

“Whatchu wanna eat?” You stretched your arms over your head and stood from the floor.

Niah smirked at you, “Arby’s.”

“… Go to hell— “

She laughed aloud, rolling on her back in her bed, “I wanna fuckin’ sandwich, bro! I dunno why.”

“This is the worst pre-Christmas goodbye dinner we’ve ever had,” you stared at her blankly.

“Bitch, we’ve only had two, stop,” she flipped you off, “Dee would support me, ask her to come.”

You walked over to your desk to pull your phone off the charger, “If she says yes, I’m not going.”

“Yes the fuck you ar— “

“Shut up, it’s ringing,” the dial tone blared in your ear before Dina answered with a blood curdling scream. You instantly put her on speaker phone.

You and Niah looked at each other in concern before Dina calmly said, “Hi.”

“Are you fucking okay? What the hell was that?” Niah shouted.

“… I can’t be excited that the sem’s over?”

“… Girl, I swear to god— “

You interrupted your best friend, “Wanna come to Arby’s with us, friend?”

“…”

You snickered at her silence and Niah screamed, “Fuck both of y’all! Arby’s is top tier— “

“… Is she fucking serious right now?”

“Just come so I don’t have to suffer the meat alone,” you begged.

She scoffed, “… I never thought your gay ass would say that— “

“Please just come with us!”

“Okay! I’m not buying shit, though.”

“You really think I’m about t’pay for my own meal?! Bring your wallet, suga mama!” Niah beckoned.

And Dina hung up on you. This was the loudest you’ve laughed in days.

“On a scale from one to ten: how much d’you hate yourself right now?”

“Negative forty.”

Niah was tearing up her curly fries and smokehouse brisket sandwich like no tomorrow. She looks happy; That's all that mattered, you suppose.

Dina gave Niah her private time with her sandwich and laid her head on your shoulder, whispering, “How are you doing, hon?”

You shrugged lightly, “I’m alright, I guess. I dunno. I’ll get over it at some point.”

“You know I never wanted to see you upset over something like this. I’ve known her for so long and love her a lot but… she’s awful sometimes,” she nuzzled closer and your heart warmed.

“I’ll be okay! I should’ve just listened when you told me,” She didn’t need to know how many times you’ve cried over this recurring situation.

She sighed and let it go, kissing your clothed shoulder, “Jesse wanted to come but he said fuck arby’s.”

“Y’all are gonna stop talkin’ shit about my fav— “

“ANYWAYS!” Dina spoke over Niah. “He said he wants his goodbye hug before we all head out tomorrow.”

“He knows I’ll give him one! I gotta give him his notebook back anyway,” you peered down at her, “Did you know that he doodles you when he’s notetaking? I wanted to cry; they were so fucking cute!”

She sat up to look at you, “No fucking way!”

“Yes way!” Niah concurred, “He wants to get you preg— “

You kicked Niah under the table, and she exploded into a fit of giggles while Dina blushed and twiddled her thumbs.

“… I’ll give him a baby, I guess,” she whispered sheepishly while her cheeks burned.

You and Niah squealed in excitement. Seeing your friends happy and in love made your heart beam with joy.

Finals were finally fucking over!

This was, by far, the sloppiest you’ve ever packed for anything, but you couldn’t wait to see your auntie. You loved being around your friends every day, but you needed your personal schedule back. It’s been so long since you’ve had a self-care day! Your aunt already purchased foot baths and vanilla-scented exfoliant.

You always get a little teary-eyed whenever you have to say goodbye to Niah even though you were only going to be separated for a month. Being apart from your favorite person is always a bit soul-crushing!

You made sure she got on her train safely before powerwalking back to your dorm building. You quickly snatched your bag that held two of Jesse’s physics notebooks before catching the bus to his apartment building. You hoped you could catch him before you go to the airport; You still want a hug!

When you got to the front of his complex, you caught a glimpse of Abby hauling her luggage out of the door with an older couple. Probably her parents!

Since when did she live here? Why have you never seen her around?

Too busy being a whore!

You wanted to apologize for not reuniting with her at the party, but she most likely didn’t remember you. Everybody was lit, and she seemed eager to mingle—

Your racing thoughts were caught off at the light shout of your name. Abby sat her bags down to wave you over, and a large smile grew on your face. You scurried over to where she was and moved to shake her hand, but she gently pushed it away to pull you in for a hug.

“You were really gonna greet me like a fucking grandma?” she laughed quietly in your ear. You shuddered; Even with her coat on, you could feel how strong she was!

“Sorry! I, uh— “

“S’fine,” she pulled away, smiling just as brightly, her cheeks dusted red and snowflakes dusting her lashes, “Missed you at the party.”

You cringed inwardly, “I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to leave you like that; I got caught up with… Dina! With Dina— “

“Mhm,” Her eyes were moving over your face like water. “I was gonna— “

“Abby! Who’s this!”

You gazed at the cheesing couple behind her before waving ecstatically at them. They seemed sweet with their joyous tones! And wealthy; You peeped her father’s Gucci puffer. Abby’s blush deepened and she sighed.

“Aren’t you adorable! We’re Abby’s parents— “

You were pulled into warm hugs and given bright greetings while Abby awkwardly shuffled in the corner. You matched their vibrancy, introducing yourself with a genuine grin. You listened intensely while they bragged about Abby being on the Dean’s List two years in a row and how she was going to enroll in the honor roll program.

But Abby had enough of the boasting, “You guys mind putting this in the car for me?”

She gently pushed her carry-on into her dad’s arms, and they both departed with merry goodbyes.

“Sorry, they’re so… yeah.”

“No, oh my god, they seem so sweet!”

She shook her head with a bashful grin. She looked so pretty in the snow.

“I, um…” You started, putting yourself in the hot seat. “I’m really sorry about flaking at the party. I hope we’re… okay?”

“More than okay,” Her tone quieted. “Just as long as you promise to spark with me next time?”

Butterflies exploded in your chest and tummy. You promised to do so with glossy eyes.

“Good,” she smirked before pointing towards her complex. “Needa be checked in?”

“No, just buzzed, if you don’t mind? I’ll only be a couple minutes.”

“Course, c’mon.”

You tried to ignore the fluttering of your heart at Abby’s hand at the small of your back as you trailed through the snow.

Abby ensured you got her number before seeing you onto the elevator. She made her leave with one last weighted gaze at your appearance. The small space was burning up with you in here!

The second you stepped off the elevator, your ears were filled with booming voices from down the hall. The floor was quiet due to its decreased occupancy, so you could hear Dina’s screaming clearly. What the fuck is going on!

You bustled down the pathway until you reached Jesse and Ellie’s front door, and you instantly regretted coming to return his belongings.

“You’re being a fucking cunt, that’s why!”

“I don’t give a fuck!”

Ellie’s angered timbre made you pause at the entrance of their residence. You could’ve sworn she went home already. Why the hell were they fighting!

“She literally did nothing wrong! Why the fuck did you even pursue her in the fucking first place! I told you how she is and now you’re acting surprised that her feelings are hurt!”

The shaky breath you'd been holding left you with the last bit of your dignity. There was no way they were talking about you.

“That’s not my fucking problem! I was clear about my intentions when we first started fucking just like everyone else. She has to deal with that shit on her own time, I’m not a fucking babysitter.”

“It’s not about babysitting! It’s about being a decent human being! Maybe stop leading her on and making her seem like you— “

“I’m not making her seem like shit! She’s clingy as fuck on her own. She would’ve gotten attached regardless.”

The more their argument pursued, the more upset you got. You didn’t realize how tight your fists were clenched until you felt your nails pierce the skin of your palms, but you hardly cared. Your heart was crumbling to pieces and the shards were slicing you open, and the pain overtook your sadness. And fury. You could almost hear your mother scolding about emotional control.

Your breaths got heavier the more you tried to steady them, tears jerking in your eyes while they went back and forth about you.

You didn’t even have time to register how insane you must’ve looked standing at their front door crying before booking it down the hallway, frantically pressing the elevator button so you could get the fuck out of here. You tried to bring yourself back down on the ride to the first floor, but your techniques weren’t working. Your heaves were erratic and coarse, your lungs burning with each harsh exhale through your nose.

The elevator door opened, and you left in a rush, pushing through all the exit doors of the building until you rushed into a larger frame.

You could hear Jesse calling out your name, asking if you were all right and what happened, but you pushed him off you and bolted for the main entrance. You ignored the calls of his name and shoved the doors open, not even bothering to wait for the last bus pick-up. You need to get home now; Your flight wasn’t for another six hours, but you couldn’t stand to be here a second longer.

The tears on your face frosted over as every ridicule from your past and present came crashing down on you on your way to the dorm. The mockery, the bullying, the lies from people you trusted.

No matter where you go, it all follows you like a shadow.

You turned your phone off the second you arrived at the airport.

Going through TSA was such a hassle; You were so disoriented that the security had begun to get suspicious and asked if you had anything to drink before you arrived. And people were staring. Does the humiliation ever stop!

You shut your phone off when you arrived, ignoring the multiple calls from Dina and Jesse, and sent one last message to your auntie about how you couldn’t wait to see her; Ellie even sent you one before your screen went dark. Fuck her apparent guilt; You swore to block her the second you touched down.

You made yourself as comfortable as you could in the airport chairs since you were going to be here a while, and just cried. Your tears fell from the remaining wait hours until boarding.

You calmed a bit when the plane took off, silently thanking your aunt for booking you a window seat. The clouds were always gorgeous during winter.

You felt a little hand gently tap your forearm, and you turned to see a little boy holding a tissue in his hand for you. You cried harder and accepted, bumping your fist against his smaller one as a thank you.

You didn’t sleep the entire plane ride home.

You hugged your aunt like you hadn’t seen her in years.

Shhh, it’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise.

You sobbed into her shoulder the second she stepped out of her car and just held her. And she held you back.

Until the fucking security complained about her blocking traffic. She gave your head dozens of kisses before grabbing your bags to throw into the back seat.

You both scurried into the car and she pulled out driving onto the nearly empty road and parked her car.

“Talk to me. What happened.”

Your breaths were still trembling, but you made one request.

“C-Can,” you cleared your throat when it cracked, “Can we reschedule our self-care day?”

“Of course we can, baby. When do you wanna do it?” Her brows pulled down as she cooed.

“W-When we get home?”

Your aunt flew down the freeway like a bat out of hell.

“I just don’t understand why this keeps happening to me,” you’re going to cry again.

“People just fucking suck. There doesn’t have to be a reason.”

It was three in the morning, and you were still going on about everything that’s happened: how you met Ellie, what you two did over the past couple of weeks, how she talked about you behind your back. You watched your aunt’s hands as she filed your nails to perfection under the beaming lamp while you babysat your mimosa, recalling all the events that happened twelve hours ago.

“Y’know,” she shook her head as she buffed your nails, “Your parents told me they were scared of this happening to you. You’re too fucking sweet for your own good.”

“Because that’s how they raised me! They always wanted me to be the bigger person when something happens.”

Hold your head high and turn the other cheek. All the benefits of that will come later, even if you don’t think they will.

Your dad’s repeated mantra always made you feel lighter when you were young and needed comfort. But now, it’s starting to make you feel guilty because… frankly, you’re still fucking pissed.

Your aunt paused her work to down the rest of her mimosa, shaking her head when she sat the glass down, her eyes boring into your soul.

“I never wanna steer you in the wrong direction, but at some point, enough is enough. People have shit all over you for years, and you allowed it. Did you not confront them when it happened?”

… You stayed silent. She sighed.

You knew your aunt was insightful, but she was never this serious. You always enjoyed being around her because she was fun and allowed you an outlet: the cool aunt who didn’t have rules, but the burning look in her eyes confirmed that she meant every word.

Everyone makes revenge seem negative, but to me… It got me and mom through a lot of shit. Maybe that’s why she never wanted you to think of it as a problem solver.

You recall your aunt sneaking stories about how she and your mom used to jump bullies at school whenever you came home with tears in your eyes from people messing with you, but you never knew the extent of their retaliations. You remember being in disbelief envisioning your mom hurting somebody, even if they deserved it.

“But you’re an adult… you can make your own decision— “

“What’d you have in mind?”

Your aunt’s eyes met yours with an arched brow, the glasses on her face shifting with every twitch of her nose. You shocked yourself.

The corner of her lips came up into a devilish smile. Her shoulders lifted in a cocky shrug.

“I gotta couple.”

You didn’t touch your phone until after the holidays. You and your aunt were having a ball, going shopping and sipping Moscato while you both schemed, and you didn’t want to disrupt the peace with negativity.

When your screen came back to life, an influx of text and missed call notifications rushed through with alarm alerts. Most were from Niah and Dina begging you to return their calls, but you had one… one text from the only person you didn’t want to talk to.

You made sure to answer Niah first.

And then Dina.

You took a deep before opening Ellie’s message and… what the fuck is this—

…

That’s the apology?

She shouldn’t have said all that? Is she fucking serious? Everyone already knows that; She probably never gave a proper apology in her fucking life!

You finally, after years of being tormented and belittled, allowed anger to overtake the graciousness that your parents instilled ever since you were in second grade. Your fingers tapped the keyboard, expression turned in aggravation.

The second you tried to block her, the text bubble popped up.

You nearly snapped your device in two.

The fucking audacity! Your fingers typed out words that you never even said aloud before you paused.

Why the fuck are you wasting your time? She never cared about anything you had to say, anyway. She would ghost you for days, only reaching out to ask if she could smoke you out. You closed your conversation with her, and sparked one with someone who you knew would be of service.

Your heart pounded in your chest when she answered. You suddenly couldn't wait to get back to campus.

hi yall omg

cant wait 2 write p4 LOOOOOL

squirting contest?

taggie waggies love yall down :3 @dyk3ang3l @iced-metal @sawaagyapong @kittnii @mariefilms @villainousbear @pick-me-up-im-scared @dragonasflowercrown @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @freakumfilm @robinismywifee @ohitsjordynn @womenofarcane @inf3ct3dd @nil-eena @kaispaws @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @yuckyfucky @machetegirl109 @ximtiredx @mattm1964 @liabadoobee @tfuuka

teaser, 1, 2, four, five

#fratadjacent!ellie #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie tlou #the last of us #ellie williams angst #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x black!oc #black!oc #lesbian #Spotify #works 𖧧࣪

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arysbruv · 2 months

Text

Runaway

You were a relatively newer student. You normally kept to yourself but you always dreamt of being friends with the main trio, especially with the infamous Suguru Geto. Yet, he always seemed to hate you, even when you openly showed you felt the opposite.

pairings: suguru geto x reader

warnings and whatnots : I was gonna end it here but i wanted some conflict hehe. So probably part 6 will be the end. Pride and prejudice mentions. Angst. I apologise in advance. Sorry for short chapter and late release have been busy 😔😔🙏🙏. Not proofread.

chapter 1 : are we still friends? chapter 2 : can we be friends? chapter 3 : sorry, not sorry chapter 4 : green looks good on you. chapter 5: [currently reading] chapter 6: burn.

You scanned the books on the shelf, you index finger nudging the edges.

The notifications on your phone going crazy, irritating you. You click your tongue as you look at the messages in the groupchat.

Gojo Hate Group ⁉️⁉️

Satoru 🧑🏻‍🦳: Me and shoko going out coz books r for nerds and ITS BORING

Shoko 🚬: Have fun lovebirds

Suguru 💔: wtf? Where are you both going?

Satoru 🧑🏻‍🦳: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS SHOKO HURRY UP BEFORE HE CATCHES US

Satoru 🧑🏻‍🦳: OMG I CAN SEE SUGURU HE LOOKS PISSED

Satoru 🧑🏻‍🦳: SHOKO

Suguru 💔: Where the hell are you.

Shoko🚬: LMAO

You click your tongue, peering out the store window to see Satoru and Shoko leave the store in a hurry. Shoko gives you a sly smile, a small thumbs up while mouthing a small ‘you can do it.’

Note to self: kill Satoru and Shoko when you go back.

“They abandoned us.” A sudden voice says from behind you. You turn quickly, almost losing your balance on the smooth wooden floor.

A hand grabs your waist, stabilising you ensuring that you didn’t fall and make a mess on the floor.

Your eyes widen as you look at Suguru who was standing in front of you. He stared back, his eyebrows slightly lifted up in shock. Why was he shock? Your face heats up as his hand retracts.

A pang of sadness hits you as you felt his hand leave you, yet the way his fingers grazed your skin drove you mad. What was he doing?

“Yeah… they did.” You turn away from him, swallowing your saliva as you feel him come closer to you. This was insane. What was he doing? Didn’t he hate you? Was Shoko right?

“What are you buying?” He asks, looking at the book in your hand. He scoffs as he looks at it.

You eye him down hearing his scoff. “I’ll let you know Pride and Prejudice is an amazing book.”

“I know, I’ve read it.”

You look at him curiously as his eyes move from the book to you.

“You remind me of Elizabeth. Hot-headed and always thinks you’re right. Oh and your quips, you think your so smart huh?” Suguru says, hands in his pockets as he stares you down. What was he saying? Satoru told him to be nice and confess his ever so obvious ‘feelings’ for you but he didn’t understand. What feelings were Satoru talking about? The feeling of his stomach turning every time he saw you? How he craved to be near you, to see what you were doing. To see you walk around in your own world?

“Oh? You remind me of Darcy, prideful, tact and socially inept.” You say, finger pressing on his chest.

He laughs.

“You wish I was the Darcy to your Elizabeth.” I wish it too.

You huff, crossing your arms. It drove him crazy how you looked. Your clothes matching his. He stares at you, observing the way your hair parted and how your lips were sewed tightly into a frown. It was cute.

To the untrained eye, you would’ve looked like a couple in a small argument. In your eyes, you wished he was your boyfriend and having a small argument. Yet, you knew it was probably never happening.

“Whatever…” You blow him off, trudging off to the counter to pay for your book, Suguru following closely behind you.

“Just this please.” You say to the lady at the counter, old in age. She smiles at you, her wrinkles becoming more prominent. She takes the book, smiling as she looks at you and Suguru who stands behind you, glued to his phone.

“You and your boyfriend are cute, I saw you both squabbling over there and I couldn’t help but remember my late husband. We were just like you, always arguing.”

The woman didn’t take her eyes off the book as she talks, your face turns red as you bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You turn back to see Suguru, a small smile etched on his face as he looks at the old woman. His eyes glance at you. His smile drops before he clears his throat.

“Oh, we’re… we’re not a thing, we’re just…friends.”

Suguru feigns a smile as he talks to the woman. She smiles back.

Friends. Friends. Friends. The word replays in his mind. He wanted to be more than that. He wanted to be more than friends. Why? What was so intriguing about you? You were just some random person! Was he mad? Was he delirious? Had he not felt anyone’s touch for so long he was willing to try it with you? No, if that was true he would’ve gone for Satoru or Shoko. You appealed to him. What was it with you? Did you release a pheromone that attracted him to you? What was he thinking?

“Thank you ma’am.” You smile politely at the woman. She smiles back, sympathy and hope in her eyes. Did she notice your feelings? Seems like everyone noticed except Suguru himself. No, he did notice. He just didn’t want it. That was worse. “Suguru let’s go hunt those idiots down.” You say, punching his shoulder as you walk to the entrance.

You found them in a nearby cafe, by nearby, it was around a 2.5 kilometre walk. Suguru and you talked, smiling. It was the first time you did so in a while. The walk that lasted for roughly 20-30 minutes evolved from tension filled to dumb jokes and quips. Suguru watches as you laugh. He missed this you.

As you saw them through the cafe window, you wave out to them. Shoko smiles at you as she urges you and him to come inside. You nod, going to join them. Yet, a hand stops you before you could make a move.

What was he doing?

“y/n. Can we talk?” Suguru says, his voice low as he pulls you to the side, away from your friends’ sight.

“What’s up?” You scratch your skin, eyes bouncing off the walls before finally landing on his’. His’ that were already staring into yours. You gulp.

“I like you.”

huh?

“I like you and it’s stupid and annoying but you’re stuck in my head and i thought it was hate because of how annoying you are and that maybe you’re just an annoying monkey but when Satoru touched you I get tingly and I hate that and…” He rambles on, stopping to look at your face. “Oh my god you’re such an idiot but I goddamn like you?”

You stare at his wide eye, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. He stares back, awaiting an answer. Without a thought, you pull back your hand from his wrist.

“I’m sorry Suguru…”

You ran, ran off to wherever it was as long as he couldn’t find you. Why were you running? You liked him back? Yet, your feet carried you away. Your feelings were about to burst and you didn’t know what to do about it.

‘Run’. Your mind told you.

‘I’ll run.’ Your legs whispered back.

It was like you were just a mere bystander to your body’s conversation. You didn’t know what to do.

So you ran, leaving a broken man behind.

#jujutsu geto #geto x reader #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #ieri shoko #geto angst #suguru geto angst #geto x you #suguru x reader

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teyamsatan · 9 months

Text

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀: 𝕊𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝔽𝕠𝕣 ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕄𝕪 ℂ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕕

pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!reader

synopsis: In the wake of your separation, your mind is made as to the future of your rocky relationship with your once best friend, now best enemy, Neteyam.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (mentions of violence, battle, blood, death, confrontation, admission of feelings), strong language.

wc: 6.7k words

a/n: besties, it brings me sorrow to say that monster in me has come to an end, and i can only hope you enjoy and have enjoyed this story, that turned from a silly little fic about two people who hate/crave each other into so much more than i ever envisioned. i really struggled writing this chapter, and i hope i don't disappoint with the ending, and i hope you like it. what i can say, is that this is not the end for Neteyam and Vi, as I have at least one more oneshot in mind to showcase their ... progress (hehe). having smut in this chapter didn't feel right to me, but it doesn't mean it's not coming ;) pun intended.

as always, thank you so much for reading and engaging with my stories and with me, it means more than I could ever express into words. I love you besties, and i hope you stick around for a long time, because i will x

na'vi compendium: txepvi - spark, oare - moon, nawm - great, tsakarem - tsa'hik in training, atokirina - seed of the tree of souls, sa'nok - mother, senpu - affectionate term for dad

lightly proof read, if you see something wrong, no you don't

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

Break my soul in two looking for you But you're right here

“Are you sure, ma ‘ite? You know we wouldn’t force you into anything, but… please think it through. Eywa’s vision was clear, and it showed you two together. Eywa is never wrong, you know this.”

You thought about it, barely able to look into Mo’at's beautiful, sagacious eyes that always felt like they could see through you, through deception and conceit, and get to the soul of problem, the inner core of your amalgamation of conflicting, earth-shattering emotions, covered by a crust of barely-there composure, ready to erupt with any slight friction of the tectonic plates of your heart. You thought about last night, about his words, that still rang in your ears in a muffled cacophony of sounds you were trying your hardest to drown out, that you were scared would end up drowning you, instead.

“I loved you, Vi.I fucking loved you. You were everything to me. And you broke me.”

“Even the smallest similarity killed me, reminded me how much I hate you, how much I want to, how much I don't. I've wanted to hate you so much, I tried so hard, but you were in every dream, in every fantasy, you haunted me my whole life."

You thought about his actions, about what drove them, about how, at the end of the day, they were the same driving forces that you acted on. Hurt. Betrayal. Jealousy. Fear. You thought about your actions. How poison crept beneath your skin and pooled in your heart and pumped it through your whole bloodstream, until it was all there was, until it blinded you, and how he started this, but you continued it.

How his fault was indifference, and yours was madness that only he had the power to force out of you. You thought about his parents, and how his dad was now your dad, and how hard you fought for hearing the magic words: “we couldn’t have done it without you, kid”. Those words, and the “you’re welcome” that followed, became as necessary to you as the air you breathe. It may have started, this need to gain Jake’s approval, as a way to get a rise out of Neteyam, your best attempt at getting him to lash out at you, scream and yell, anything but the horrible silence he ordained you with, but in time, it had less to do with the boy and more to do with you, with how his dad reminded you of your own, how the words of praise and admiration made the ones you were used to, that you’d never hear again, echo through the your tent and through the forest, hidden in between the whistles and sonorous trills of birds, but never forgotten, not to you.

You thought about his specious assumptions, and your words, and how, despite what you spat at him last night, they weren’t the whole truth. You did tell Jake that you didn’t want to mate with him, but not out of a lack of love or desire. No, the thought of one day being one with the boy who shone light through the broken cracks of your soul every day after your parents died, the boy who himself shone brighter than any star or sun or galaxy out there in the vast unknown, the boy who challenged you, and annoyed you, and loved you, and got you… it made you happy. It made butterflies flutter in your stomach and tingle, it made a fuzzy feeling gather in your brain and haze your mind until it was full of nothing but misty reveries, of a life beyond your wildest dreams and fantasies, of night flights and battles won together, of family found and family kept.

You told Jake what you did because your dreams couldn’t happen while you were pushed to the side and made to undertake the duties of a Tsakarem, they couldn’t happen if you had to forsake your talents and an integral part of yourself. You thought that, by saying no, you could make your dad proud, you could make Jake proud… make him proud. You thought that by becoming the warrior you knew you could one day be, you could help him… take away some of the burden that you knew he was shouldering all by himself, that of the eldest son, the responsible child, the prodigy of the clan. More than anything, you wanted to be worthy of him and of his love. That’s why you said no.

If I can't relate to you anymore Then who am I related to?

But now, it was all wrong. Your love, your hate, your history and your future, everything you’ve done, everything you should have done. It was all wrong. O’i’en was right, you realised. You held onto this broken relationship, this hopeless promise of a mateship, not because you wanted revenge, but because you wanted him… in any way you could get him. Your undefeated stubbornness, and the war that left too many collateral victims for you to ever be able to sleep at night again, led to scars in your soul no one could ever fix, that you’d have to mend yourself in time, that you never could while in an arrangement you should have declined to begin with. It was finally time…

“I’m sure, ma Tsa’hik.”

…time to say goodbye to the child you knew - the one you were, the one he was, and the love that took too much of both of you, the one that turned to ashes in your mouth.

And if this is the long haul How'd we get here so soon?

Neteyam’s confusion was normal for the dazed, quiet astir he found himself in after just waking up. What wasn’t normal, however, is how the confusion didn’t evaporate once the blurry haze disappeared, but only deepened with the sight, or lack thereof, awaiting him in the green, luscious clearing he felt like he was reclaiming, like it could slowly be his… both of yours again. He didn’t feel this way now, in this place that all of a sudden felt barren and cold, like an endless tundra, like his soul felt. You were gone.

In a way, it was to be expected. In some way, Neteyam knew last night was a just a fluke, a heady combination of overflowing of intense emotions that were too intense to be contained, that had to be released in the only way you both knew how, in the only way that would push the hurt aside and leave only a mess of denial and pleasure in its wake, because an orgasm is always easier to deal with than the pain that came with the cathartic act of confession, of owning up to your mistakes, of talking through years of hurt pent up in your already broken soul. You both did what you did best, so Neteyam shouldn’t be surprised. And yet he was.

He wasn’t only surprised, he realises. No, he would be happy if that was all he was. Neteyam was angry. Angry and seething, as he was, he picked himself up from the floor, the smell of you still imbedded in his nostrils, your cum still on him as he took in his naked form, before tightening his loincloth over his hips, a task easier said than done with the furious slashing of his tail whose movements he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t know why such intense, overpowering anger was washing over him in tidal waves that were crushing his spirit under their monstrous weight, removing any reason from his mind, any sane reasoning or critical thinking. Why would he expect you to stay? You didn’t owe him anything, and this changed nothing. Nothing’s different. Neither of you admitted to anything, neither were able to admit to the fault either of you had in the unraveling of your relationship, in the actions that lead to death and hurt, to pain and loss. So why did it matter?

"The first step in solving any problem is recognising there is one, brother. The sooner you admit your feelings, the sooner you can work towards fixing your broken relationship."

Did I close my fist around something delicate? Did I shatter you?

With a sigh, Neteyam made his way back to the village, hoping that once he saw you, all the answers would come rushing back to him, would make it perfectly clear as to the path he was supposed to take, the words that he was supposed to utter, which puerile confessions were better said and which better left gathering dust in the back of the rooms of his heart. When he saw you, he'd finally know...

The day was in full swing in the clan, as people were making the final preparations for the funeral processions that would take place once eclipse settled in. Neteyam winced at the mourning families, at the bodies laid on the floor, covered in leaves and flowers, in the way they'd remain, until their flesh would return to Eywa, return to the nature from which they were born, allowing for growth that would keep the community going. One life ends, another begins. That saying was as much part of him as any organ, any physical aspect of him was. That saying was the dogma of the Omaticaya, of the Na'vi as a whole. He knew it by heart, its meaning coursed through his veins, and yet, it didn't lessen the blow. It didn't stop the hurt and the pain of having to watch it, having to know to some extent, he was at fault for it.

He expected to see you by now, lending a hand, despite the fact you should be taking it easy - you were never one for rule following, and although you got better in time, especially after your blooming relationship with O’i’en, who, despite it killing Neteyam to admit, was a positive influence in your life, some things about you would never change. The need to help, to be of use, to prove your worth, the need to feel like you’re making an effort, the need to hide your pain deep inside yourself, no matter how hard life was grinding you down, it was intrinsic to you in a way you would never be able to shake. And so Neteyam was sure he'd see you here. But he didn't. Instead, he saw his mother, spotting him from across the patch of forest they called home, eyeing him intently, with a blend of emotions Neteyam couldn't quite place. There was a heaviness to her, which he couldn't say he felt surprised about, but the twinge of fear and pity in her eyes, clearly directed at her eldest son, was something he didn't expect to see, and it scared him. Without any thought, he tracked towards his family's tent, unable to break his gaze from her, whose own fell to the floor, before turning away and entering the home, the flaps swinging closed behind her, the sudden chasm between them putting a knot in Neteyam's throat. Something was wrong. What else could be wrong?

And I'm sitting on a bench in Coney Island Wondering, "Where did my baby go?"

"Sa'nok, nawm sa'nok, Oel Ngati Kameie."

His grandmother's permanent serious expression was somehow even more pronounced now, and Neteyam noticed the signs of weariness and exhaustion clear on her beautiful face. Still, with her most arduous attempt at a smile, she brought her curled fingers to her forehead and extended them in her grandson's direction, before giving her daughter a pointed look.

"What's going on?"

"Ma 'itan..."

The knot in his throat descended until it hit his stomach with a heavy splash, the feeling of dread nearly knocking him over.

"Mother, just tell me. Just please... tell me."

"She... she broke the engagement, Neteyam. What happened between you?"

The fast times, the bright lights, the merry-go Sorry for not making you my centrefold

The river that the Omaticaya used as a source of water, and nourishment, and entertainment, and hygiene, the one that was normally bustling with life and energy, was barren and deserted as you settled on its bank, leg mindlessly swinging back and forth in the cold, clear water. You focused on the way it felt, the flawless flow, as it touched your skin and how every once in a while, fish would nibble at your feet, and you were almost relieved that at least some creatures still looked at you like you were still alive. You didn’t feel like it, not anymore.

You didn’t feel like a Na’vi, like a person, more like a mix of pure grief and guilt that managed to swallow you whole, leaving just a cloud of misery in its wake. You knew you shouldn’t be here. There were better, more important things for you to do. Help was needed in the village, you needed to prepare for the ceremony, you needed to claim your ikran, wash her, cover her in the leafy shroud she would spend the rest of time in. You had to say goodbye. You owed her a proper funeral. You owed her a goodbye. And yet, your body was paralysed on the edge of this river, staring into nothingness, trying to find a way to make your mind, which was simultaneously empty and full of thoughts, each one more horrifying then the next, work and move your muscles, do the thing it always does where adrenaline takes over and makes you focus, makes you try, makes you brave. There was nothing now, not anymore.

Your ears twitched as the shrubbery rustled with movement behind you, and your scrunched nose relaxed as it picked up Jake's scent. Your coiled, immobile tail found its place nestled next to your thighs, and when you turned your head, you noticed your surrogate father, the mighty Olo'eyktan, dressed in ceremonial garbs, the red, feathery vest contrasting nicely against his dark, azure skin. You couldn’t look in his inquisitive, shocked eyes, that knew you to your core, the eyes that always looked at you with love and care, with pride and encouragement, that now you assumed would be filled with sorrow and disappointment, so you settled on looking at his headpiece, the imposing, oval stone a much more manageable sight right now.

"Kid..."

His feet picked up pace, the same way your heart did in your chest, and you let out a shocked, pained gasp as he kneeled by your side and took your body into his, his hand finding the back of your head and you melted in his embrace, listening to his erratic heartbeat that mirrored yours, that you focused on like a hymn, that pulled you out of stupor, and you watched as your tears stained his chest, before your hands found his back, tightening your grip on him.

"Sempu..."

"Shh, kid. It's ok. You're ok... we're gonna be ok."

Over and over, lost again with no surprises Disappointments close your eyes And it gets colder and colder When the sun goes down

Neteyam was trying to calm himself as he was pacing the floor of his grandmother's tent, so much so the rugs were now matted and torn. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe you. After everything, everything that has happened, everything you've both done... after losing O'i'en and Oare, after destroying his relationship and all his plans for the future, after promising him you would never undo this arrangement, after threatening him you'd both get to burn together... after everything... how could you do this?

The anger was all-consuming as it was lighting his every nerve on fire, as it was playing back, in his mind, over and over, your relationship, your rise and fall, the fall that never seemed to end, no matter how hard he wished for it to end, no matter how hard he didn't. He thought about how broken you both were now that the the fall did come to its unsightly end, and how it left you both in pieces, in sharp shards that found each other's flesh to dig into and lacerate, unable to stop yourself from falling apart around each other even at the bitter final act. He thought about how he should be relieved. It was all he wanted, right? You out of his life. He could go back to the girl, the girl he didn't love, no matter how hard he tried, to the life he was once envisioning for himself. If you truly gave up on him, on your quest for revenge, he should be happy. All he's wanted for the past seven years was you out of his life, right? If all you had and all you were was over... if the nightmare was over, that meant a new dawn would be breaking soon. He should want it... right?

And maybe he would want it, maybe he would be happy about it, if only there wasn't this intense hatred blinding him to the truth of the matter, to the potential this new revelation opened up in his life. Because fuck, things changed. Things changed when Oare died, when his sister talked to him, things changed when you woke up, when he found you in the clearing... things changed when you slept together. He told you things, things he didn't even know he felt, but he did feel, as you came around him, as he saw your face writhing in pleasure when you left scratches down his back. He saw your eyes as they locked with his, and in your eyes, for just a moment, there were confessions that maybe you didn't speak out loud, but maybe you didn't have to.

And then... you just... left. You left him, abandoned him without a word, or an explanation, without as much as a disdained "good riddance, asshole". How could you have done this, after everything that's happened? After everything, Neteyam felt like he deserved at least that... or anything, but not this. Not the silence, not to be told about it by his mother. He deserved more than this.

His legs stilled in place and his stomach dropped as your words, the words you shouted at him yesterday kept rushing back to him like the river after a storm, unrelenting and powerful, ready to knock out everything in their wake.

“You keeping your mouth shut and going about your life as if your life wasn’t impermeably connected to mine was what fucking hurt me, Neteyam!"

"You saying nothing, doing nothing, acting like I didn’t exist, like I was just a toy you outgrew, that was worse than anything I could have ever fucking done to you, don’t you understand that?"

"Do you understand that you abandoned me? I was everything to you, and you just acted like that meant nothing at all."

Fuck.

Do you miss the rogue Who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Jake." you tried to contain the cries, you did, but as he held you tightly to his chest, caressing your almost-dry braids and cooing patiently in your ear, it was harder than you could manage in the moment. The sobs were loud and coming out in broken hiccups, but you couldn't find it in you to care anymore, and he didn't seem to mind.

"I did this, we did this... Neteyam and I, this stupid war, all the fights, and the battles, and the never-ending need to make the other pay... and all for nothing! All for something he heard, something I said, that I-... If he just asked, I could have told him, I could have explained, I -... fuck!"

"Shh... hey, look at me, kid." His fingers found your chin, that he raised, despite your silent protests, and you were taken aback by his own tears falling down his face, by the unending depth of emotion behind his beautiful, yellow irises, that reminded you a little too much of his eldest son.

"This wasn't your fault, baby girl. It was mine."

"I love you, you know? So much. I look at you, and I see Neytiri, and I see myself. I see your parents, I see this clan, that I chose to be a part of, that I'm grateful for every day of my life. This clan, this family I have, that includes you, this planet... it saved me from myself, from a broken path. And the thought of losing you, losing any of it... it haunted my every dream, it turned into a recurring nightmare that kept me up at night. So I did the only thing I knew how - I tried to mould you into the soldiers I knew you needed to be in order to survive the humans and their poisoned reach, their need to hurt and kill."

You were in awe of his monologue, that you didn't want to - you couldn't - interrupt. You needed to hear this, and he needed to speak it, and so you waited, and listened, and he spoke and cried.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. A father protects. But I failed to recognise how that would affect you, how much the pressure I put on your shoulders, on Neteyam's shoulders, would come to hurt you, to push you to this point. My words and my actions were what drove you both to the dark place you find yourselves in right now, and I'm sorry."

You tightened your grip on him yet again, and let his words sink in you, pass through you. You let them succumb you, like the water in the lake as it took over your body, until you were submerged in it, until you were a different person as you emerged back into the world.

"I'm still learning, kid. We all are... We all make mistakes, and sometimes the mistakes hurt and they cut and they fester, sometimes they are big enough to take over your whole world and eclipse any light shining through. But... people deserve a second chance. People deserve to be able to make amends, to fight to show you they can do better. And I hope I'm one of those people. And I hope Neteyam is, too. I think you two were meant for each other - I saw it every day of your lives, from when you were best friends to best enemies, you completed each other, complemented each other. You made each other better... and worse. But maybe that shows that one of you can't exist without the other. That maybe the connection you have is more than anything life can throw at you, or that you can throw at each other. Maybe it's time for both of you to get a second chance."

Will you forgive my soul When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

Neteyam felt dizzy and nauseous, a sudden need to anchor himself onto the ground more necessary than he could ever remember feeling. Seven years worth of mistakes came rushing over him, ready to swallow him whole. Is this how you felt? This whole time... this is how you felt? So insignificant and small, so used... abandoned, angry and heartbroken... just how he felt. He made you feel this way, he made 12 year old Vi, the person he loved most in the world, feel this way. You left him, just as he left you, and now Neteyam finally could see, finally understood, that you were right. It was worse. The not knowing, the self-doubt and guilt, the feeling like you were nothing more than a toy, ready to be outgrown, knowing you were disposable to someone you thought loved you... it was worse.

He knew he had to find you, he had to, he had to talk to you, he had to tell you all the words his heart was begging him to shout of the top of his lungs, begging him to stop holding inside of it, for it was done keeping his secrets, for all it wanted was to feel again, to dream again... to love again. But it would have to wait. Just a little bit more, it would have to wait, because right now, Oare needed him. Oare would be put to her eternal rest today, and before the ceremony, she still needed to be cleaned and prepared, and while you might not feel capable of facing such a challenge right now, he could do this for you. This he could do, and would, because he needed to, and he knew, deep down, you did, too.

It took a long time, but near eclipse, the ikran was ready, and Neteyam felt a pang of hurt taking in her beauty, so ethereal and extraordinary, so much like the person who came to call her a sister. The person whose voice stopped Neteyam dead in his tracks and sent shivers down his spine.

“Neteyam…?”

When he turned, and saw you, eyes puffy and red, filled with tears that weren’t the first you were shedding, based on the deep stains on your beautiful face, your chest heaving in panted, uneven breaths, released in soft, sorrowful sobs, he couldn’t help in himself, and with a few steps, he closed the distance between you and enveloped you in a tight, rib-cracking hug, one that, to his unending relief, you reciprocated immediately.

“She’s dead, Neteyam… she’s really dead. I wasn’t there for her and now she’s dead.” You were sobbing in his chest, and he tried not to let the moment overwhelm him, this moment that felt more like dreams he’s had than the reality he had to live through, ones in which you came to him, and let your guard down, one in which he got to comfort you instead of bring you pain, ones in which you were his and he was yours, one in which things were good, and pure, like you were.

Were you waiting at our old spot In the tree line, by the gold clock? Did I leave you hanging every single day?

“I’m surprised you’re still alive after today’s training. Dad’s not going easy on you, is he?” Neteyam looked at the little girl, laying on the ground, chest heaving, with eyes of steely determination he doesn’t think are like anything he’s ever see before, and how the tears that pooled in your eyes refused to drop, no matter how oversaturated they got. The tears just didn’t drop. He watched intently, determined to see the first one fall, determined to prove to himself that a girl who’s never trained before, a girl who just lost her parents, a girl who was not from a family of warriors, like his was, wouldn’t be able to withstand the pressure that his father never failed to put on him, and he now seemed intent on putting on you.

But much to his surprise, the tears never did fall. Instead, you got up, canines sunk in so deeply, the blood was pouring out of your lower lip - anything to stop the sob of pain he knew you wanted to let out. When you were on your feet again, you ran your hands over your bloodied knees, where the gashes were still spilling red liquid from when you fell off a cliff and scraped them, before shaking them dry. Neteyam watched in awe as the blood dripped from your fingers and into the ground, and all of a sudden, he was left behind, your footsteps echoing through the forest as you made your way back to the practice arena.

“Guess he knows I can take it.”

Were you standing in the hallway with a big cake? Happy birthday Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray? A universe away

"Have you ever considered, Neteyam, that I'm not your enemy? I see you, waiting for me to fail, praying that your dad... and my dad, were wrong about me. Have you ever considered I could help? That if I do this, you don't have to be alone anymore?"

Neteyam's eyes went as wide as his mouth as you turned to face him once more, a soft smile on your face and crinkles around your eyes, that almost hid the soft tears that dropped down your cheeks and mingled with the blood as they reached your lips, and he felt his heart skip a beat, and then two, then three... What was happening to him?

"I'm alone, too. I'm all alone. And I'm scared... of being alone. Of ending up alone. And I think you are, too. So maybe... maybe we can be alone together."

Almost as if controlled by a disembodied presence, Neteyam's body started moving on its own accord until it reached you, until his hand was in your extended one, a peace symbol you both learnt from the once-human Olo'eyktan.

“Friends?”

“Friends.”

And when I got into the accident The sight that flashed before me was your face But when I walked up to the podium I think that I forgot to say your name

“I know… I’m so sorry, Vi.” His hands found your face, that he angled upwards to look into your eyes, holding you tightly, as if letting go meant letting go forever, and he couldn’t, not anymore, not until he told you what he needed to say. Your warm breath brought life into him as he inhaled it, and the courage given by the revelations that loomed over him his entire life, but were only manifested today, it was enough to speak the words nestled in his chest.

“I’m so sorry… not just about Oare, but about everything. Vi, you were right. I did this, I started this. I should have… I should have trusted you, and confided in you. I should have given you the respect you deserved, the consideration of telling you what hurt me. You deserved the chance to explain your point of view, and I took that from you. What you said hurt me… what my dad said hurt me, but… you were my best friend, and I should have come to you. I should never have let you go, Vi. I’m so sorry.”

The words you've waited for what seemed like your whole life opened the dam of your soul, so carefully put together over so many years, now broken as it flooded your whole being with the full force of the sorrow and relief you've buried so deep, you didn't even know if you'd be able to ever make it surface again. But there it was, and his words brought your own forth, and with Jake's words in mind, with lessons of forgiveness and second chances learnt, you spoke, hoping he'd listen, hoping these words could undo at least some of the hurt you put the other through.

“I’m sorry, too. Teyam, I’m so sorry. After losing my parents, you, this family, were all I had. You were everything to me, and I came to rely on you so much, I couldn’t envision life without you. When you left, it broke something in me. It brought back feelings I was yet to deal with, ghosts that haunted me in the middle of the night, insecurities that continue to plague me to this day, fears of being unlovable, of being too much, of not being enough. I have always been too harsh, too guarded, I have always answered every problem with my fists first and my mind second. I’ve never known how to deal with grief, and so I did it in the only way I knew how - by turning it to anger. By making you the enemy. Every time your absence hurt, I needed my presence to hurt you. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being cruel, I’m sorry for taking it too far. I’m so sorry.”

It was necessary, this moment that was long overdue, and although you were sorrowful of the fact it took losing so much for you to realise it, you were grateful that did come in the end. You were happy that, as you moved your head slightly to rest your ear against his chest, listening to his slowly-calming heartbeat, you felt safe again in his embrace while you finally took in your sister’s body, that he spent more time that you could even conceive getting her ready for the ceremony, when you didn't. You were grateful that you didn’t have to go through it by yourself, but with the one person who’s known Oare just as long as you, who’s loved her just as much as you loved Seze, the person who despite it all, knew you to your core - your biggest dreams, your biggest worries, your biggest fantasies, your biggest fears. And here it was, the biggest fear, manifested in front of you like a sleep-paralysis demon, that you had no choice but to brave through, but at least, right in this moment, you didn’t have to brave it alone.

"Thank you. For taking care of her while I couldn't."

"You don't have to thank me. So many things might have changed between us, but this... this never will."

The ceremony was as hard on you as you expected, and by the end, you were so spent, both physically and emotionally, you knew you were in dire need of a nap, one that didn't end in the morning, and maybe not for a few good days. You looked over at Neteyam, who kept his distance, allowing you to be caged in between Lo'ak and Kiri's bodies while you mourned, but who helped you lower Oare into the tree nook where she would lay forever, shedding silent tears as he placed an atokirina on her, his hand finding your lower back as you both said your final goodbyes.

One day, you'd find another ikran. One day, you'll be able to fly again, and think of flying as the beautiful, freeing experience you have come to rely on for your sanity and happiness for the last 7 years. One day. But not today. And not for a long time. Oare made your life special, and worth living. Flying meant what it did to you in no small part because of her. Her thoughts, peaceful and serene, a nice balance to your own, kept you steady and focused in battled, mid flight. Not being able to return the favour would be something you'll have to deal with in time, but as you felt your entire family's presence surrounding you, enveloping you in love and care, as you felt Neteyam's lips make contact with the side of your head in a gesture you've known him capable of, just not with you, you knew, one day, you'll be okay again.

'Cause we were like the mall before the internet It was the one place to be The mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams

It was hot and humid in the forest as you trained - something about the deforestation brought about by the humans made the weather feel hotter, or so the human scientists told you. Either way, you felt as though you were inhaling water instead of air as you tried to catch your breath, the last drill always the hardest in the routine, always the one that broke most Na’vi who were unfortunate enough to be considered good enough to be trained directly by Toruk Makto himself… but not you. You did it, feeling fire in your lungs and sweat mingling with the blood spilling from various cuts from across your body and exacerbating the sting you felt prickling like needles throughout your whole being. Each muscle felt like it was being split in half, but you couldn’t care less. Not now, not when you were so close to beating Neteyam, not when victory would feel so sweet, not when you would be able to collapse in the dirt and pass out the moment it was over.

In the few months since the ceremony, life was more about healing for you than it had ever been. It was a nice change of pace, the peace, one you haven’t known since your parents were still alive, and for the first time in your life, you felt… almost whole. There were still things missing of course - your parents, who you kept in thoughts and prayers every day, and your sister, who you swore Eywa reincarnated in your new ikran, whose thoughts reminded you too much of hers for it to be mere coincidence.

“Vi, you better focus if you want to have any chance at beating me.”

You scoffed, and watched as he flew past you, not before sending a small wink your way, that made you lose your footing for a second, before quickly composing yourself and continuing.

“Don’t get cocky, mighty warrior.”

As far as your relationship with Neteyam went, it took a long while, but in time, you managed to mend what once seemed unmendable and earn each other’s trust once more. It was an uphill battle, most days, but you were grateful to have your best friend back, and to be able to finally meet the Neteyam everyone knew and loved, the one that was kind and considerate, funny and charming, helpful and loving to everyone around him. You were grateful that now, that included you, too. Your mateship was never brought up again, not to the family, that knew you needed this time, and was happy to let you have it. The possibility of it was no longer looming over you like a threat, but more like a golden aura of inevitability that you wouldn’t mind giving into, once the pieces were soldered back together through the mutual effort you were both willing to put into to rebuild both your broken hearts. One day he'd be yours and you'll be his…

But not today, as he beat you, with just barely a split second to spare.

“Ah, that’s too bad… maybe one day. One day, you’ll beat me at this, and on that day, Vi, I will fall to my knees in eternal servitude.”

When you kicked him in the shin, with all your might, and watched as he fell on his knees in front of you, you smirked, the grin wild and unwavering as you circled him, lifting his chin with your index finger and willing him to look in your eyes, mischievous and filled with amusement.

“Hmm, look! You’re already on your knees, Teyam. Now… about the eternal servitude…”

You had no time to react as he grabbed your wrist in his hand and pulled you towards him, until you both fell on the ground, and when he kissed you, you melted, like you normally did in the few times it has happened since that first time, in your clearing. You promised you’d take it slow, but in your defence, you were only Na’vi, and this was, in fact, a lot slower than how you wanted to take it.

You let his fingers roam your body and rejoiced at the way his lips were warm and skilled as they moved on yours, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before you parted them, allowing yourself the pleasure of this kiss, that meant so much to you, that you will never ever take for granted again.

“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.”

You both laughed in the kiss, and with a mental note to yourself to apologise and behave tonight, you knew you were ready to take the next step in this new life, one which neither you or Neteyam would ever have to brave alone ever again. When your lips parted, and he got up from the ground with a soft groan, images of your childhood flashed before your eyes, warm and beautiful, once more, as he stretched out a hand for you. You took it gratefully, allowing him to help you rise, making a silent promise to yourself to commit to more risings than falls, for as long as you could help it.

"Friends?"

"Friends."

The sight that flashed before me was your face Over and over, when the sound goes down

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janaispunk · 3 months

Text

i’d beg you on my knees (to stay)

series masterlist • this is part V

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~5.1k

summary: Dave opens up to you (somewhat). You have a good day and an even better evening. You just wish that you didn’t have so many feelings.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), angst, feelings, fluff (kinda), smoking, alcohol consumption, infidelity (Dave is cheating on his wife), able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, hints of a sir kink and a degradation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (it’s never stated in the fic but i headcanon that reader is on birth control), dirty talk, Dave is a menace, praise kink, one (1) ass slap, idiots in love, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: shoutout to @amanitacowboy, who, when i shared my notes that said “cigarettes?”, responded with “cigarettes!”, so now there are cigarettes.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates <3

“No, I don’t want to leave.”

You release a breath that you didn’t realize you’ve been holding. “But, what’s going on? You can talk to me. Please, I want to h-“

He cuts you off sharply. “Don’t say that you want to help me. That’s not- you can’t-“

His voice cracks and he rolls onto his back, his hands rubbing over his face. You don’t think that you have ever seen him this vulnerable.

“But I do,” you insist. “Just tell me. You can trust me, I promise.”

He heaves a sigh, his eyes finding yours in the semi-darkness. You cautiously let your hand wander across his chest, trying to soothe him, but half expecting that he’ll push it away. Instead, his fingers wrap tightly around yours, pressing your palm down onto his skin, holding onto you.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s not- it’s not about that.” You can see the conflicting emotions run across his face, like he’s debating what to say, until he finally sighs again.

“There are things that I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because it’s not safe. Do you understand that?” You nod your head quickly and he gives you a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay. I don’t know how to explain this, but what I do, it’s- it’s dangerous. People that I know could get hurt, people that I…” he inhales sharply, “people that I care about. And last night in my dream, something happened to my daughters, and- and to you.”

He stumbles over his words, talking fast like he’s trying to get it all out as quickly as possible, his voice trembling, and you can’t help the way your heart breaks for him.

“Dave…” you whisper, your hands flying up to his face to comfort him, but he shakes his head and you bite your lip, falling silent again.

“I’m not good for you. I never should’ve taken you here, shit, I never should’ve taken you up to my room that night, back when… Something could happen to you and it would be my fault.”

The rational part of your brain tells you that this is the part where you should get scared, where you should start questioning your relationship with him for your own good. You believe every word that he says, you’ve felt the danger that’s surrounding him all along, even if he’s never admitted it this openly before. But instead, all you want to do is comfort him, wrap him in your arms until that pained look on his face and the shaking in his hands disappear. You want to tell him that you’ll make sure of it, that you’ll keep him safe, no matter how ridiculous that sounds.

You sit up and face him, noticing how his gaze follows you like he’s expecting you to get up and leave.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” you whisper, looking straight into his eyes, trying to make him believe in your words. “Not to the girls, not to me. And not to you.”

He cups your face, his thumb smoothing over your cheek, as he looks at you, his expression tainted with sadness. “You don’t know that, sweetheart.” You cover his hand with yours, melting into the touch that you had been craving all day.

“But I know you. You don’t make mistakes. I trust you.”

You bend down to kiss him, swallowing your insecurities, praying that he’s done with shutting you out, praying that he’ll let you. You feel him hesitate for a brief moment before he tilts his head up to meet your mouth, his hand traveling from your cheek to your neck, holding you there as your lips softly move against the other's.

It feels like finding a piece of yourself that you didn’t know you’ve been missing, like things are finally sliding back into place the way they’re supposed to.

When you part from each other, a small smile is playing around his mouth like he can’t stop himself, his hand still on your neck and tangled in your hair, but not in the demanding way that you’re used to, but in a way that feels safe, like he’ll hold you close and not let you go.

You smile back at him and let your body sink down until you’re resting on his chest the way you have during the last few nights, until you can hear his heartbeat in your ear and feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Let’s just sleep, okay? We’ll figure it out. Let’s not…” You force your voice to remain steady. “…let’s not waste this time here.” He’s said that he doesn’t want to leave, and you believe him, but you’d be lying to yourself if there wasn’t a part of you that’s terrified that this trip is the last time that you’ll see him.

You feel Dave nod and press a kiss against your forehead and you can’t help the warmth that’s spreading through you. Maybe, just maybe, things will actually work out somehow. You haven’t addressed what you are to each other and you still can’t bring yourself to ask, but you like to think that he wouldn’t act like this if you didn’t mean something to him.

When you wake up the next morning, Dave is still asleep beside you. You study his handsome face, looking more peaceful and younger when he’s sleeping. It’s moments like these when you realize how tense he is most of the time, how often he clenches his jaw, how hard the look in his eyes gets.

You replay your conversation from last night in your head and despite the fact that you’re aware of how you should know better, you still don’t feel scared. At least not for yourself, not in the sense that you want to leave, to run away from him and the danger that he says comes with being close to him.

You’re… worried. About him. You had known that there was something dark about him, something that he could never fully shake off, no matter how hard you tried to help him, to let him release some of it. And no matter what he says, you know that you’re gonna keep on trying as long as he lets you.

You reach your hand out to touch his face, to glide your fingers softly over his jaw and the slight stubble there, tracing up his cheek until you reach his hair, disheveled from sleeping. You smile to yourself as you run your hand through it, lightly scratching his scalp and a low groan travels up his throat, his eyes blinking open slowly.

You had told yourself that things were good between the two of you again, but there’s a second of uncertainty in your head before his eyes find you and for a short moment you’re afraid that he might push you away again. A glimpse of tension flashes across his face as well, but when he takes in your smile and your hand in his hair, the corners of his mouth slowly turn upwards too.

“Hi,” you whisper, feeling like you might break the moment like bursting a bubble if you speak too loudly.

“Hey,” he answers, keeping his voice just as low. “Everything okay?”

You know what he means to ask but is probably scared to specify.

“Yes. Everything’s good,” you assure him, shifting your body to get closer to him until your head is resting on his chest once more. He starts drawing shapes on your arm and shoulder with his fingers, humming when goosebumps start to rise on your skin. You’re both quiet for a moment.

“You’re not… hurt?” he presses after a minute, with a hint of pain in his own voice. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t take proper care of you yesterday. I’m sorry.” He exhales shakily and you gaze up at him, looking straight into his eyes, trying to convey your sincerity.

“It’s okay, I promise. I’m fine.”

He still looks unhappy, but nods eventually, pressing a kiss onto your forehead and pulling you into a hug.

You shower together, the warm water raining down on the both of you. Against your expectation, and while his hands are all over your body, working shampoo into your hair and soap onto your skin, his touch never turns sensual. You would have let it happen, you think, but it seems like he wants to make up for his lack of aftercare last night, taking care of you in this way now.

You enjoy it, being so close to him, a form of intimacy that you’ve rarely experienced with him before, if at all. It’s easy to let yourself fall into it, to let yourself imagine how it would be to always have him like this. His guard down, a touch of vulnerability still hanging in the air. You know that the last night has changed things between you, that you won’t be able to go back to pretending that there is nothing more than sex between you.

With this in mind, you almost get sad about the fact that you’re on borrowed time, that you’ll fly back home in a few days and that there’s no way that he’ll abandon his family to be with you. You don’t know if he even wants that. He’ll go back to his life and you’ll go back to yours and maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to convince him to keep meeting with you. Just for fun. No matter what he said last night, realistically, that is how it’s gonna go.

You sigh and lean back against him, relishing in the hot water and his hands on your skin. You’ll deal with that when you get there. Right now, for a few more days, he’s yours.

After staying put all day yesterday, you decide to go exploring the area today. The receptionist recommends a hiking trail that leads you up one of the smaller mountains that surround the hotel.

The hike is beautiful, the air a little cooler underneath the treetops and the sunlight falling through the trees creates small patterns of light on the ground. The higher you get, the more you get to overlook the rich tones of green of the surrounding forest and the small bays where the mountains give way to the sea.

You’ve never traveled much before and definitely not to a place like this. Your eyes are wide as you take in the scenery around you and you’re beaming every time you look at Dave. He’s gorgeous, a thin layer of sweat covering his face and his bare arms that you could stare at for hours, and the smile that he gives you every time your eyes meet could make you melt.

You keep things light, chatting with him like you’ve gotten used to in the past few days, excitedly pointing out whenever a new part of your surroundings catches your interest. It’s so easy to be with him like this. You don’t want it to end.

When you reach the mountaintop, you throw your arms around him and eagerly press your lips against his. His surprised huff makes you smile into the kiss.

“Thank you for taking me here,” you whisper against his mouth when you finally break the kiss. You take in the clear blue sky, the soft breeze that’s playing in your hair, now that you’re higher up and out of the trees, and the sound of the rolling waves deep below you that you can still make out. It almost feels too perfect to be true.

Dave shakes his head, as if to remind you that you don’t have to thank him, that you deserve it, like he’s already told you countless times. He’s looking around too, but his gaze keeps drifting back to your face, his smile deepening when you look back at him. He looks so beautiful like this, you think, the lines around his eyes deepening and his expression at ease.

No matter what happens, this is the version of him that you want to carry around in your memories forever.

He takes you out to dinner again this evening, insisting that you deserve the whole experience and ordering another meal that is one of the most delicious things that you’ve ever tasted. You’re gonna miss this place when you’re back home and cooking pasta in your tiny kitchen, you know that much.

You think back to your first evening here, a memory that feels like it happened a lifetime ago. His hands on your skin, his dirty words in your ear. The rush that you felt when he pushed your limits. Things between you were less intense then, you think, almost solely based on the physical parts of your relationship.

You had a crush on him, yes, but looking back, you don’t think that you knew him, not really. You’re not sure if he wanted this to happen, but he opened up to you during the past days, letting you in in a way that he didn’t before.

When you’re entering your suite again, you almost expect him to pounce on you the way he did every evening before. Instead, he leads you out to the balcony, pulls out a chair for you and brings another bottle of wine from the minibar.

That’s how you end up on the chair where you had your breakfast two days ago, when things still felt much… easier. You’re sharing the wine, drinking straight from the bottle and trading it back and forth between you, your feet are resting in Dave’s lap and he pulled out a packet of cigarettes five minutes ago, causing you to burst out laughing.

“What’s this? You of all people smoke?”

He rolled his eyes at you and wordlessly offered you a cigarette, which you eagerly accepted. You don’t smoke regularly (and neither does Dave, as he’s quick to let you know, only to take the edge off sometimes), but in this situation, it feels nice. Now you’re both blowing smoke out into the air and watching as the sun slowly sinks beneath the ocean’s surface, painting the sky and its reflection on the water orange.

You’re both tipsy, you feel like you’re giggling uncontrollably and Dave’s deep laughter comes much more easily as well. It’s nice, having your energies match like this and for the millionth time, you think that you could get used to being with him like this. Carefree, unhurried, just spending time together.

Eventually, he gently puts your feet back on the ground and stands up, gathering your hands in his and pulling you up as well. You stumble into him, another giggle on your lips. His arms encircle you and his broad hands splay over your back, pressing you against his body. His lips find yours, moving against your mouth with heated urgency.

You wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling into the short hair and trying to pull him closer. His hands move to your hips, bunching up the fabric of your dress as he’s pawing at your body, his lips still pressing against yours. You move back inside, still wrapped up in each other, tripping over each other's feet and laughing into the kiss.

A feeling of warmth is spreading from your chest through your whole body, mixing with the familiar feeling of need that always rises up in you when he touches you like this. It grows and intensifies until you feel like you’re ablaze with longing for him, like you can’t possibly get close enough to him, like you want him just like this, right here, for forever.

“Dave…” you whine, one hand still desperately pulling at his hair while the other is moving down his torso until your fingers slip under his shirt and you’re met with the exhilarating feeling of his bare skin under your fingertips.

He groans as you slowly scratch your nails over his abdomen, feeling his muscles twitch at the sensation and his grip on your body becomes more demanding, maneuvering you until the back of your knees hits the bed. Dave pushes you down and follows you, caging you in with his arms propped up on either side of you. He’s still kissing you, his tongue licking into your mouth and eliciting soft moans from your throat as he starts toying with your nipple with one hand, flicking against the quickly hardening nub through the thin fabric of your dress.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling back a little and taking in your appearance, your swollen lips and the arousal that you know must be burning in your eyes. His intense gaze makes you feel shy and you tilt your face away from him a little, but he tuts at you, grabbing your chin and turning your head until you’re looking straight at him again.

“You look at me when I speak to you” he chastises you, his voice still nothing more than a smooth whisper.

“S-sorry, sir.”

The short display of dominance is enough for you to reach a new level of neediness for him and you’re acutely aware of the already obscene amount of wetness that’s gathering between your thighs.

A frown flies across his face and he seems lost in thought for a second.

“We’ll skip the ‘sir’ tonight,” he decides, a look that you can’t place flashing over his features.

You’re surprised, but not in a bad way. Warmth is spreading through you once more as you nod and raise your head to capture his lips again. His tongue is ravishing your mouth and his hands become more demanding, pushing your dress up until the fabric is pooling around your belly and your lacy underwear is revealed to him.

He sits back on his haunches and his hips force your legs apart, his fingers pressing into your thighs and you know that you can see how soaked you already are, how your panties are wet and sticking to your folds. He inhales sharply as his fingers inch closer to where you want them the most and his gaze is trained intently on your aching cunt.

He teasingly runs one finger over the fabric, giving your clit the lightest bit of pressure and your hips buck under his touch, desperately seeking out more contact.

“Always so responsive…” he murmurs, a smirk on his face, “and so goddamn needy.”

“Please, s- Dave,” you whine, his name feeling weird on your tongue in this setting, but you like it. It’s intimate, less like a game, more… real. Like he’s actually yours.

His eyes darken when you say his name, a possessiveness in his gaze when he looks at you. Like he feels it too.

“Please, what?”

He raises an eyebrow, his finger still rubbing over your panties while his other hand is planted on your hips, holding you down.

“Please touch me,” you whimper, squirming under him. He purses his lips, clearly mocking you.

“But I am touching you.”

“M-more, please.”

You’re already breathless, your mind overtaken with need for him. You reach your hands out, trying to pull him closer, to press his fingers against you, to give you anything. He leans forward again, propping himself up so that his face is hovering over yours.

“You want my fingers?” he rasps. You nod, another whine stuck in your throat. “Beg me. Say my name again.”

“Please, Dave. I need your fingers inside of me, please please please.” Your voice comes out shaky and too high, but you don’t care how pathetic you sound anymore, you just need him.

“Good girl,” he growls. Then his mouth is back on yours with a bruising kiss and he shoves your panties to the side, plunging two thick fingers into your tight heat without preamble. You gasp out something between a wail and a moan at the sudden stretch and he chuckles darkly.

He starts pumping his fingers into you, pulling back so that he can look at your face. More moans are falling from your lips, your back arching at the pleasure of his touch. You manage a breathless thank you and get rewarded with his mouth on your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin there while his fingers slow down and he starts curling them instead, hitting your g-spot again and again while his thumb swipes over your clit. You feel close to coming already, your nails helplessly digging into his shoulders as heat spreads through you, the pressure in your lower tummy pulling tighter and tighter.

“Can I- please, can I come, Dave?” you plead, not sure if you could hold it back if he says no.

“Yeah baby, you can come as many times as you want,” he breathes against your neck. “Looking so beautiful like this, you’re so good.”

The praise is what pushes you over the edge. You’re clinging to him as your walls contract around his fingers and your back arches higher. He gently works you through your orgasm, his fingers moving inside you until you squirm away from the overstimulation and he pulls them out.

You watch with hooded eyes as he brings them up to his mouth and starts sucking them clean, a low moan rising in his throat at your taste. You reach for them almost subconsciously and he chuckles.

“You want a taste?”

You nod quickly and start licking eagerly when he presents them to you, humming at the familiar tang of you and the thought that you’re also cleaning his saliva from his fingers right now.

“Good girl,” he coos again. His pupils are blown wide and you see the hunger in his eyes that you’re used to, but none of the usual cold and darkness.

Before you can linger on the thought, he works on pulling your dress over your head, leaving you bare underneath him except for your panties. He rarely lets you undress him, likes to play with the power imbalance of having you naked in front of him while he’s still fully dressed, but tonight, you feel like things are different.

You push yourself up into a sitting position and cautiously reach your fingers out towards the buttons of his shirt, looking at him with the silent question in your eyes. He gives you a nod and a soft smile and you almost melt into the mattress. You love when he’s rough with you, but this gentleness tugs at your heartstrings in a way that you’ve never experienced before.

You work the buttons open slowly, revealing the expanse of his chest, more tanned now after days in the sun. Your mouth waters at the sight of him and you lean forward to press your lips against his skin, inhaling his scent mixed with the lingering cigarette smoke and sighing softly.

“I-“ you begin saying, before your brain catches up with your mouth and you snap it shut quickly. You’ve never even allowed yourself to think those words when it comes to him, and now you’ve almost said them out loud. You feel heat rising in your cheeks and bury your face in the warm skin between his neck and his shoulder. You don’t love him. You don’t. You can’t. You’re just emotional because this situation right now is so different to what you’re used to. You don’t love him.

You take a deep breath and look up at him. “You’re beautiful,” you say instead, and you mean it. If he noticed your almost slip up, he doesn’t let it show. He shakes his head and laughs, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against his chest.

“That’s you, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. You lean into him for a few moments, trying to get your emotions back on track.

Then you keep unbuttoning his shirt, letting him help you to pull it off his shoulders and watching as he flings it into a corner of the room. Your hands roam over his shoulders, taking in his broadness, the silent strength that you know he possesses. You don’t think that you’ll ever get tired of just looking at him, but your fingers skim over the bulge in his pants and your body is screaming at you for more.

You watch him undo his belt and pants and impatiently slide your hand under his waistband, eager to feel the silken skin of his cock under your fingers. He inhales sharply when you wrap your hand around him, mesmerized by his hardness that you can’t wait to feel inside of you.

“Take these off? Please?” you ask, motioning to his pants and he gets up quickly, not even scolding you for your boldness but ridding himself of his clothes in a swift motion. You drink him in hungrily, his narrow hips and his hard cock that’s already leaking precum and has your mouth watering once more. You lick your lips absentmindedly as you shimmy out of your panties, leaving yourself just as bare as he is.

His eyes are trained on you as he walks around the bed and lies down, reaching for your hips and pulling you on top of him with a low “come here, baby”. You situate yourself, your thighs on either side of him, your hands on his chest, holding yourself upright. His cock nudges at your pussy and you experimentally shift your hips a little, feeling him glide through your wet folds and rubbing at your clit, making you gasp.

Dave’s hold on your hips tightens at your movement and he clenches his jaw. You lift yourself up a little, reaching down between you to position him at your entrance. It feels almost wrong to be in control like this and you glance up at him, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“Can I…?” you ask, biting your lip. The need to feel him inside of you is suddenly overwhelming.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking like the same need is taking over him right now, “make yourself feel good, sweetheart.”

You sink down on him, pure bliss coursing through your veins as his cock fills you up and stretches your walls. You’re a little sore from his rough treatment during the previous days, but the dull hint of pain only fuels your arousal. You open your mouth to a loud moan, all of your senses on fire, and start to slowly grind down on him. Your legs are trembling from the overwhelming pleasure of feeling him inside you.

“Good girl,” he coos, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Look at me, come on.” He slips his thumb into your mouth and you greedily suck on the digit. You obey without even thinking about it, keeping your eyes trained on his face as you start riding him faster, more moans escaping your mouth around his thumb.

Dave groans at your movement, the hand that’s not on your face digging into your hip in an almost painful way. You love that you have this effect on him and grind down harder, ignoring the way that your thighs are starting to burn. The drag of his cock inside of you feels like heaven.

“Fuck,” he moans, his fingers moving from your cheek into your hair. “You take me so well, looking so good like this. My good girl.”

His hips buck up into you, his cock nudging at your cervix and you fall forward, muffling a scream into his shoulder. His hands travel up your body and he holds you steady, thrusting into you. The change in angle lets him hit a different spot inside of you and you whimper against his neck, feeling like your limbs are turning to jelly.

He lands a single slap on your ass, not nearly as biting as you know he’s able to, but enough to make you break down on top of him as your second orgasm of the night hits you unexpectedly. It has you moaning out his name as you tremble, clawing at his shoulders while he presses you against his chest, his thrusts not relenting until your high subsides and leaves you shaking against him.

He gently slips out of you and rolls you both over, cradling your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours. You smile into the kiss as you snuggle into his touch, still arching your body against him and holding him close. You still want more, want him to give you everything, to never let this end.

His fingers trail down, toying with your nipples, his touch so light that it has you squirming again in no time.

“Please,” you whimper, tugging at his hair, “more, Dave, please.”

You hear him groan under his breath when you say his name again. “Still feeling needy, sweetheart?” he asks, his hands on your tits turning rougher. You nod quickly, gasping when he pinches your nipples unexpectedly and another wave of arousal floods you.

He props himself up on his elbows and thrusts back into your dripping wet pussy with ease, knocking the air out of your lungs once more. His movements are fast and deep, filling you up again and again until his name is the only thing on your mind and on your tongue.

“Touch yourself,” he demands, pressing his sweat slicked forehead against yours, “give me one more, come on.”

You reach down before he even finishes speaking, rubbing at your swollen clit in quick circles. You can tell that he’s close from his erratic thrusts and the way he pants into your ear, and you want to give him everything that he asks for.

“Come on, be a good girl and give it to me,” he grits out, giving you a particular hard thrust. It hits deep inside of you and you feel your eyes rolling back into your head as you scream out his name and shatter around him.

Pure bliss is pulsing through you as his hips come to a stuttering halt and paint your insides with his cum, his own groan of your name echoing in your ear before he collapses on top of you.

His skin is flushed, hot under your fingertips as you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, breathing him in and kissing his neck. The urge to say those words grabs a hold of you once more, but you swallow them down, keeping silent and gently rubbing over his skin.

When Dave gets up, he gives you the most attentive aftercare that you’ve ever received from him. He cleans you up, runs you a bath, gets you something to eat and to drink, never leaves your side and wraps you up in your blanket when you’re finally back in bed. You protest at first, trying to convince him that it’s not necessary, that this was probably the softest he’s ever been with you, but he won’t hear it. You eventually realize that it’s his way of making up for the night before, so you let him, soaking up the care that you did miss 24 hours ago, letting him mend this connection between you.

When the lights are out, you curl into his chest again, the way you’ve gotten used to. His arm wraps around you and more kisses are placed on your forehead. You talk a bit before you fall asleep, your quiet voices filling the darkness of the room. Eventually, the conversation dies down and you close your eyes, ready to let sleep take you.

“I’ll get out,” he suddenly says, his tense voice ringing through the bedroom.

Your eyes fly back open, your head tilting up, trying to make out his face.

“Of my job,” he answers your silent question. “I can’t do it anymore, it’s not- it’s not worth it. Hasn’t been worth it for quite some time, really. I’ll get out.”

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, it would mean a lot to me 🫶🏻

#janas fics #the dress series #dave york #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 fanfiction

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neteyamslovrr · 1 year

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RETURN - PT3

summary: five years ago he left you. left you alone with nothing but memories of your love. so how dare he come back now?

contents: 2.8k words, depression, angst, slight conflict, not very well proof read but that brings authenticity lmao

authors note: thankyou all for being so patient with my upload <33 ALSO LOOK AT WHAT MY BAE @cinetrix made omg (its the header pic) THATS GROWN UP NETEYAM THATS OUR BABY hes so handsome and bae is so talented and kind

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It had been over a month since they Sully’s had returned to the clan. While they slid back into their forest way of life, like a lost puzzle piece that was finally found you felt like you were back to being a bunch on scrambled up pieces with no way to connect yourself back together again.

Seeing him was a constant reminder of the despair that took over your life for years. The rotted you from the inside out leaving you as a shell of a woman as he took your soul with him when he left.

Those closest to you noticed your decline. Especially Mo’at. Someone you had to start seeing regularly due to your mothers pestering.

“Child…it is not hard to see the way your spirit has left you.” She spoke softly yet with so much truth it felt as is she had stabbed you with a dagger.

You were sat on the floor of her large medical tent that was set up in High camp. It was cold, the cool breeze making the fine hairs in your body stand up as you consciously avoided any gaze that Mo’at threw at you.

“He took it with him.” It felt like a deep dark secret that you had ripped out of your throat as it sliced its way up. Admitting that Neteyam had broken you so much that he had managed to start cracking you away with his return made you feel weak. Made you feel defeated.

“Maybe…he is here to give it back.” Mo’at sighed softly, a kind hand pushing your hair out of your face as she crouched in front of you. “Dear child your heart cries out. You must listen when your body talks to you.”

“I am afraid, so afraid.” Mo’at nodded letting you fall into her arms, a much needed hug that you craved for.

“Fear is never unreasonable child, but do not let cowardice infect your heart like it infected his.”

Neteyam had desperately tried to even get you to look at him after the last time you both conversed. It ended in him running away. As soon as he walked off he wished he could have socked Va’tep. Knocked him hard enough that his grubby paws would never caress your precious skin ever again.

He would try and talk to you only to be shut down by a harsh glare or excuse to leave. However whenever he even entered the same room as you he would immediately watch you excuse yourself and leave.

And Eywa did it crush him. To see how opposed he was to your presence. To see how his face repulsed you so much. He knew it was naïve to think he could return to you running into his arms so he could spin you around and hold you close. It was stupid for him to think you would ever wait for him. Not when he abandoned you.

A habit he had as a child was always to go to his grandmother for wisdom. Something he had sorely lacked the past half decade. He knew you were close with her. He knew she was the wisest woman this tribe had. But he was also terrified of a reality check that would hit him so harshly he wouldn’t know how to react. That’s why he was so resistant on approaching Mo’at.

But when he looked over to the top levels of High Camp where you and Va’tep had sat yourselves as you weaved expertly. He saw the way Va’tep’s smile was not as wide as it could be, he noticed that your eyes never met his even as you talked. He stared closely, squinting his eyes to focus on how Va’tep’s hands would crawl up your thigh and your body would stiffen and squirm instead on relaxing into the touch. As if his hands were grating your perfect skin.

When he saw how miserable you were when you looked away from Va’tep to wipe your eyes subtly. His heart sunk. He could not go on without you, he couldn’t continue without being able to get you back.

Neteyam hesitantly opened the curtains of his grandmother’s tent as he sucked in a nervous breath.

Her ears perked up immediately to the sound. “Neteyam…I expected you sooner child.” Her eyes were always sharp, enough to slice the strongest man in half.

Neteyam let out a soft chuckle. “I assume you know why I am here.” He sat beside her, shuffling awkwardly on the mat so he could watch his grandmother mush together fine pastes that turned into her medicines .

“Is she troubling your mind?” Even the mention of your cut his soul, like a sweet melody that sudden struck the wrong chord.

“Grandmother… I know I messed up. I know I abandoned her… if I could take back everything I did, I would in a heartbeat.” His voice was pained, head hung low in shame. “I just… I just want her back.”

Mo’at nodded as she laid an empathetic hand on his back. “You must give her time…”

“But I have already been here for so long! I know I was gone for so…so long but I thought she may have at least… warmed up to me slightly. I don’t expect her to change completely. I just want to be able to talk to her, look into her eyes. I miss the warmth I felt when I saw her smile…I never see her smile anymore.”

Neteyam tried desperately not to cry, but oh how difficult it was when he felt the weight of your absence lay so heavily on his chest.

Mo’at let out a sigh, one that felt heavy, one that changed the atmosphere as she exhaled. “She is scared child. She was…she was gone once you left. Your absence was sorely missed, but it truly broke her. There was nothing left of her when you left.”

Neteyam said nothing, though his eyes begged for some sort of explanation, his pupils pleaded as his entire focus was centred on the words exiting his grandmother’s mouth.

Mo’at sucked in a sharp breath, repeating your despair was always hard, to think you experienced such depression. “The day you left she didn’t stop crying. For days she replaced the strongest waterfall in the forest. Her sobs racked through the village as she cried your name out. She screamed it in her sleep, she sobbed it as she woke. She was completely broken. But that was not the worst of it.”

Neteyam already felt his heart sinking. It floated down as he thought more about the anguish he had caused you. His ears hung low in shame as he attentively listen as Mo’at continued to speak.

“It was after the tears. The acceptance. The betrayal. She was no longer her, she was a shell, a corpse. The poor child…she didn’t move for months. No one could get her to leave her hammock, she laid there for days, she didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t speak. She was nothing.”

Neteyam let out a whimper. One that tried to cover up the sob that was aching to escape him. Guilt racked through him as he could barely look in Mo’at’s eyes as she continued to speak.

“Some days I look back and remember the state she was in, the way her body was so frail, so weak. She was so sick, riddled with the disease of heartbreak. My child I know you left her here because it was safe. Child I know you thought were saving your lover. But Neteyam…she does not want to remember her anguish, but every time she looks at you she is remembered of those times.”

“What could I possibly do” His voice is raspy and quiet. Barely able to let out a noise as his throat betrays him.

“Create new memories, let her remember new days with you, why she loved you so much. Enable her to let go of the sadness she holds in her heart that filled in the place you took from her.”

Neteyam nods. His mind swirling as a million epiphanies hit him at once. There was no way he could ever forgive himself for causing you sorrow, but he only prayed that you would be able to feel enough forgiveness to let him put back the missing puzzle piece in the jigsaw of your heart.

Va’tep was Tarsem’s brother, the Olo’eyktan. So Va’tep was his right hand man, right beside him through every decision and every battle. Which meant as Va’tep’s promised mate, had a large amount of expected participation in war party meeting such as this.

“If we attack from the east we will get a clear shot towards the demons.” Va’tep said as he drew out a map with a stick onto the large plot of dirt that everyone was circled around.

You couldn’t help but notice the flaws in his plan. East was directly in front of the base the demons had there. While we would have clear a view…there would be significantly more danger.

“Va’tep…I think we should maybe approach it from the south.” You hated speaking up in these meetings, as all the warriors’ beady eyes locked onto you. It made you queasy, as if you were going to spew instead of saying the words you were thinking.

Va’tep’s eyes sharpen as he looks as if you had slapped him across the face with your suggestion. “The south has many sight obstacles…it will be harder to navigate” His voice was deep, and husky. It was obvious he was starting to fume.

“But the base is right there. It would be dangerous to approach that direction!” You raise your voice slightly, only in a way to show how desperate you were to get your point across.

Neteyam watched this interaction closely. Studying every single inch of your body language. He always knew how wise you were when it came to stuff like this. You were always calculating the best solution for anything that may spring up in the battlefield. When Jake was Olo’eyktan, you were one of his greatest assets because of your knowledge.

The back and forth goes on for a while as no other warrior dared to speak up. Until he did. Neteyam of course.

“She’s right…there would be much more danger if we were to take the East route.” As soon as you heard his voice it felt like a spotlight of hope was shun onto your heart.

Va’tep grunted at the unwanted input. “The South route is a cowardice route. Something I guess you can sympathize with.” His words were like venom, scorching Neteyam as he stared daggers into him.

“The East route is brazen, unsafe and uncalculated. Something you definitely can understand. Isn’t that right Va’tep?” Neteyam rarely stooped to a level this low, but with the overhanging threat of you being shut down by your ‘mate’ was enough to make Neteyam seethe.

“I’ll show you something you’ll understand-”

Va’tep fumed as Tarsem decided it was his time to step in, changing the subject and postponing the decision for further analysis. But you didn’t forget the way your heart-beat as Neteyam supported you. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Supported.

The day turned to dusk as you sat by the river, kicking your feet in the cool water as you listened to the world around you. Each sound was perfectly tuned together, a perfect song of the world.

You heart-beat is slow, resting on your hands as the dirt meets your soft palms. Your eyes closed to protect themselves from the harsh rays of light that shun down onto your body. It was peaceful, it was calm.

The unfamiliar sound of crunching leaves grew behind you. Ears perked up tail swishing in alert you turn to see Neteyam approaching.

You can’t deny the dread you feel when you see him. And you can’t deny the way your heart beats like crazy whenever you are close enough to see how much he grew. How much he changed.

You wonder if he thought about you. If he ever noticed the changes of your mature figure or if he couldn’t notice if you looked different to how he remembered you.

“Hey you.” His voice was sweet and musky, enough to send shivers down your spine as you refused to meet his golden eyes.

“Hi there.” Your voice was always quiet…but these five years made it dull. As if there was nothing much else for it to be excited about.

“I thought I would find you here.” Your brows moved in curiosity, body facing him as he sat beside you, waving his defined legs in the water.

“Why’s that?”

“This was our river…do you remember.” Oh you remember. How could you forget. This river was the one thing you held into when he left. As you slept on the riverbed pretending the rushing water was his soft voice hushing you to sleep.

“Yes…I do.” Neteyam felt a rush of joy run through him. Maybe it was hope. Hope to get you back. Hope to show just how much you mean to him, that you are his treasure. He let out a soft chuckle, fighting the urge to let his fingers slip over your knuckles. He knew it was too soon.

“You were wise in the meeting today.” He said earnestly, looking at you with nothing but sincerity as he watched a blush form on your face, as you turned away from him. Avoiding his intense stare.

“It was just common sense.” You shrug, trying to not seem flattered. “I am at the meetings for a reason.”

“Well…it was still impressive. Was your mate as impressed?” The subject of Va’tep left a sour taste in his mouth and a sour look on your face.

“Please do not speak of him.” You say defeated. Va’tep was a sore reminder in your mind of how you were nothing but a trophy to your parents. A woman to marry off to gain rank.

You were lucky enough to be fated with Neteyam. But it all crumbled when he left. Everything did. Like an earthquake that broke the foundation of every single building in your soul.

Neteyam gave a curious hum, nodding. “Why not?”

“Neteyam. Stop.” He freezes at the tone of your voice, his mind begging that he did not mess up the harmonious moment you were both sharing together.

“W-What?”

“Neteyam…please have mercy on my heart.” You sucked in a sharp breath as you looked into Neteyams watery eyes. “Please.”

He frowned at your plead. “Have mercy on yourself… please… please have mercy on me. And I will never hurt your heart again.” Neteyam gasps after he talked, his sentence being so vulnerable it took the breath out of him.

“I can’t do this…Neteyam you know I can’t” And oh how you wanted to run away with him. To escape your dull life with Va’tep and be able to freely be who you were. To find yourself once again. But it was all too much, his absence took your hope. But he was adamant on giving it back.

“…We can… trust me. Please we can start over… I know. I know I have hurt you, I have scarred your heart. But on the great mother’s name, I will never leave you again… you were my everything and still are. Please don’t think for second I ever stopped loving you.”

The tears started running down your cheeks, but you barely noticed as you stared into the ripples of the water. His words seeping into your skin like a tender kiss.

“Neteyam I’m afraid.” It was barely a whisper. A soft confession that made your lips quivered. “I’m afraid of losing you and myself again.” Neteyam frowned, his brows furrowed as he took his rough fingers to turn your face towards him. His thumb wiping the tears off delicately.

“you have every right to be afraid… but please let me prove to you… that its okay to let go of your fears. Let me... please.”

And in that moment it was as if a switch flipped in you. Every worry washing away as you felt his warmth once again. The years of built up wishes and cravings for him were finally met. As his gaze melted into you, a sad smile across his face as he held onto you tenderly. Every ounce of love pouring into you.

“…please show me how to let go…”

thankyou so much for reading my lovelies!! reblogs + replies extra appreciated!!

series taglist (closed): @notsaelty @mommyneytiri @hannabanana-09 @gloryavila @peachinsominac @jaidalise @neqeyam @hello222sthings @tsuteysyawntu @neyetams @yhern05 @emjeez @adaiasafira @kiri-tuk @yaya6765 @biscuitbeater15 @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @plooloo @savvysscandles @dilucslilmeowmeow @69cocktimusprime @newjeansbonnie @chatoicboy @pinkpantheris @plzfeedmebread @afro-hispwriter @lollife1617 @goddesslilithmoriarty @cinetrix @grierpilots @melsunshine @valentineheartzz @tsveria @mikeyswifie @junnniiieee07 @wifeyofeveryone @baebinana @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @neteyamssbaby @taleiak @cheyehc @shoyos-sugarbaby @be3flow3r

everything taglist: @8resa @ilovejakesullysdick @neteyamsblog @live-laugh-neteyam @reyalvr @trashfox @darkacademictrash @scntfrhs @dreamyescapesfromreality @fanboyluvr @neteyamzmate @neteyamyawne @neteyamssbaby @oceanstar19 @sharkybabe9 @laylasbunbunny @s-surreality

733 notes · View notes

day-drawn-blog · 6 months

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Part VI : It's not my fault. I'm not to blame. These ain't my sins. I broke my chains. - "I want to live"

Back to some angst before the good stuff.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader -- This is set in Act I

Tags: angst, fluff, sadness, angst, fluff, then maybe eventually smut because I do love that

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : maybe tonight I'll rest in peace

Part IV : There is more to do and I still want to live

Part V : our futures bound, our bodies known

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours?

Part VIII: Your blood like wine, I wanted in.

Part IX: I'll welcome my sentence and give you my penance

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die

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Next morning. You wrapped some bandages around your neck. Your armor should cover any bite marks. You knew no one knew yet. And you didn't want to give his secret away till he was ready.

You stepped out, pushing away any thoughts of last night. He was putting his armor on. Very focused. The party soon got going. Unlike other times, it was Astarion who was trailing behind the rest this time.

Curious. You thought.

You glanced back at him a few times. He was never looking at you. You were traveling in the underdark. As you were passing by a group of statues, you were all ambushed by a spectator. You found yourself unable to deal as much damage as you normally did. You were definitely enfeebled after last night.

"Keep up, would you." Astarion chided as he swiped an enemy right next to you. "And whose fault is that" you snarked back at him. He said nothing, looked a bit displeased at your accusation, but continued to support you in combat.

At least he is taking responsibility.

After the battle was won, he left without a word. Again. That night everyone camped near one of the pools by the several waterfalls. You decided to wash up, and found him there by himself. If his earlier behavior was any indication he would not be inclined to talk now, you reasoned. You turned to leave when he called you.

"I'm done. Il be leaving".

You turned around. He wrapped a long cloth around his waist. And walked away. You looked at his muscular upper body. There were some carvings on his back, illuminated by the moon. Strange. You thought. He kept walking away without as much as another glance at you.

He wanted nothing to do with you.

This was probably your fault. You thought as you stepped in. You should have not crossed the line. You were friends before. Now you are strangers. A momentary temptation had cost you what had taken so long to earn. Your only hope was that he would soon crave your blood. You prayed for it. You didn't want to lose him. You were ready to accept him for everything that he was.

Including that he loved someone else.

Surely he loved her. Why else would he be so conflicted, angry, at last night. He felt he did her wrong. Surely. That's why he doesn't want to talk to you. Because he blames you. For tempting him. And you did. Despite promising yourself you won't take what belonged to her, you did try. You reached out and grabbed him. Greedily tried to have himself.

You failed yourself.

A few days passed. Nothing changed. Astarion was still cold and distant. Your heart was giving up hope, slowly. As he showed no signs of visiting you at night for your blood. He would ignore you during your short rests. And during the nights. He was indifferent during combat too.

You let him be.

Perhaps you hurt him somehow. And you wanted to make amends. When you all met a trader, at the myconid colony, you decided to gift your friends some nice things. A nice armor and a morningstar for shadowheart. Enchanted helmet for Karlach. You found a pendant that would cast spells, necrotic damage and fear.

You gave those to Astarion.

"To help you in combat". You said. He looked up. Accepted them and proceeded to study them. "Thank you" he said in his deep voice. "Of course. I'm buying, for everyone". You reassured him. Then walked away, hoping he would feel happy. But you dared not look back. You didn't want to seem, desperate for his approval.

"What are you buying your lover this time?"

Karlach teased. You thought she was teasing you. Shocked you looked at her only to find her talking to Shadowheart. Right. No one thinks of you and Astarion because no one knows. Because he didn't tell anyone. Because there is nothing to tell in the first place. Your heart was wrenching with every thought.

"I remember the spell amulet he bought you him last time. You lovers and your lovey dovey hearts, it's so cute!" continued Karlach.

"I supposed we used to be. But of late, I do not know if we can call each other that". Your sharply looked at her! What?! "What? Did he break your heart?! I always knew that smooth talker couldn't be trusted. Didn't I tell you! I'm going to talk to him tonight" Karlach huffed.

"No need". Shadowheart stopped her.

"I don't think there was "love" between us to begin with. I think we were both ... enjoying...each other. And now, we have had our fill". "Good" chimed laezel. "Nothing to distract you in battle anymore, or disturb your nights rest". "I suppose... " Agreed shadowheart. With a tinge of sadness laced in her voice. You felt sad for her. You wanted to comfort her. Maybe you will, later. And be comforted in return...which probably won't happen, because unlike her, your burden was yours alone.

No one to share with. No one knew.

You were fighting duerger on pair of boats. You all thought the battle was easy until someone screamed. A duergar cast Crown of Madness on Shadowheart. She was right next to Astarion at that time. She hit him hard. Several times. He could only protect himself in defense.

But she kept going.

Everyone else watched helplessly as Shadowheart's morning star struck him mercilessly. His mouth was bleeding. He arms took the brunt of him. He fell to his knees. Bloodied and beaten. You prayed she wouldn't use her burn spell. None of you could take her down. She was one of yours. Everyone looked on horrified. Helplessly. Terrified, as Astarion was steps away from falling in the water.

You have to save him. You just do.

Frantically, ignoring the enemy beside you, you blasted the one that cast the spell on Shadowheart. She snapped out of it and fell unconscious. Astarion caught her. It was too strong a spell to bear. Astarion had lost a lot of blood. Karlach rage killed most of the people around you and the battle was wrapped up soon. You all needed to carry them to camp and tend to him.

He was barely there.

In his tent that night, you and Karlach and Halsin spent hours tending to his several wounds. Afterwards you stayed behind to clean and dress them all as Halsin had instructed. Halsin left to make more medicine. Karlach went to make food. You looked at his sorry state. Halsin had eased his pain at least. You hoped he would recover soon. Shadowheart was still unconscious in her tent.

One by one, you tended to all his wounds. His face. His neck and chest. His hands had suffered the most of them. Cleaning, applying salve, wrapping in linen. You took his arm, and placed it next to your face. You could feel warm tears welling up. His arm was so bruised. You kissed one of his fingers. Then hugged his arm as your tears fell silently. The silence was comforting. You loved this man. There was no denying now. He didn't. And you forgave him for that.

It felt wonderful to admit that. Honesty. Felt good. You felt at peace. You would not feel guilty anymore. You loved everyone of your allies. You didn't take to him at first. And he is mischievous, chaotic and unpredictable. But he has shown you love and care, in his own way. And you respected him for that.

"Where is he"?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a frantic Shadowheart who ran inside. You stood up and got out of her way. She knelt next to him. Broke down and put her head on his chest and started crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry " she wailed. "This was me. I did this".. Karlach was right behind. "Told her he was not awake, she didn't listen". Karlach shrugged at you. "I gotta go back. Holler if you need me."

You looked at shadowheart.

You could understand her guilt. The crown of madness is a cruel spell indeed. You had once seen a githyanki soldier attack her commander to whom she had sworn an oath. It's difficult to bear. You wanted to console her. You moved closer to them.

"You are awake, my love?"

What? You both looked at Astarion. He had opened his eyes. In obvious pain. Frowning. As if he didn't know where he was. Slowly, wincing in pain, he turned around and saw you both. You standing. Her kneeling in front. Crying. With one arm, he slowly placed it against her back. He managed a weak smile at her. At which she broke down even more. Her cries were hard to hear. You were unsure what to do.

Awkward you stood there as her cries filled the tent. Astarion closed his eyes again. You decided to pack up all the medicine and bandages. You needed to change the water anyway. When you looked up at him again, you met his eyes.

Piercing eyes, smouldering in ...anger? You tried to read. But you couldn't. He was looking at you, while his arm was around shadowheart who was crying on his chest. He seemed displeased... What did he want? Whatever it was, you felt, unwanted. Like ...the third wheel... You couldn't help but smirk a bit. Familiar. Yes. But I can be the bigger person.

I will leave, because I love you.

And you left the tent.

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours?

#astarion romance #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #fanfic #fluff #vampire #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion

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cvlutos · 1 year

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HE KNOWS!!

✡︎ | May.02nd.2023 | 0.7K | Discord Req: @bby-sparkler

✡︎ | Jade Leech | Gn!Reader

✡︎ | Synopsis: Humans are cruelly fascinating.

Humans are fascinating creatures.

The way they walk, talk, eat, breathe. How you see the world through your eyes is unique. The way your heart beats, when you feel different emotions, and the ways you breathe, the way your lungs expand and release. It’s interesting. He finds you interesting, entertaining, amusing, much so that you bring out a side of him that he’s certain didn't exist when he was back in the coral sea.

To have the time to explore, to partake in interests, and to love. Before there wasn't time. Far too worried about surviving—killing others before they kill you. A life often fast-paced and dizzying, yet you. You bring a certain calm that lulls him, that makes him relax. That makes him sit a little easier, and that makes him observe more than act rationally.

He likes to keep such an emotion close. He likes to keep you close, enjoying the customs of closeness, the feel of your hand in his, the feel of your lips against his. He loves the ease as much as he loves the unpredictableness. He loves you.

Yet, there's a certain look in your eyes.

One that you only share with his brother. A certain look that no matter how long he watches—observes in silent curiosity, that he can't slightly understand. A look that you in no sense share for him. That it always seems to go away when his brother is not there. That vanishes quickly as the wind when his twin is carried off by whatever it is that captures his attention.

That's simply how Floyd is.

Yet something about his personality fills you with such utter joy, that there are moments Jade's conflicted. And whatever ache in his chest doesn't cease when you grab his hand, call his name, kiss his lips, lead him where it is you desire for the day. When you spend time in his company, when you proudly proclaim yourself to be his partner.

Yet the ache doesn't leave.

Simply because you don't look at him the same. And surely happiness is objective, the way people act with others changes, but it's as if the shine in your eyes utterly disappears when Floyd isn't in your vicinity. As if living isn't worth it without him. When he isn't talking to you, leaning against you, rambling on about his—everything. And you, shamelessly, give him your undivided attention.

He knows it isn't love...

It couldn't be love...

Yet Jade can't help but feel unneeded in your presence when his brother is there. Unable to fill whatever desire you need; he cannot do it no matter how much he tries. Yet you're his? That should be enough, it should. Yet you don't desire him…. You don't crave him.

Jade doesn't make you feel like how you make him feel. He brings you nothing.

“I truly wish to understand.”

Even in your cruelty, there is a part of him that cares for you. That should simply brush off this moment and be understanding, yet he won't. He’ll drag out this painful game, being the perfect boyfriend, catering to all your needs like no other. Drowning you in his unwanted love, until you say it. Until you say the truth with tainted lips, kissed again and again by his brother.

He watches from afar, watching you lean too close, yearning to be closer, yearning for his brother to hold you. He knows. He knows. He knows. It hurts. Yet what satisfaction can he get out of letting you go, what should Jade gain from letting you go and letting you be with him, when you so desperately desire it. He won’t. Not unless you say something. Not until the words spill from your lying lips that you fell out of love—when you never loved him to begin with—he wants to watch you struggle. Forcing out the words with guilt. He wants you to hurt. He does. He does. He does. Yet it hurts him to hurt you.

He knows.

He does.

It hurts.

#t.manor.writings #jade leech angst #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jade x reader #jade angst #twst angst #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland x reader angst #twst x reader

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farfromstrange · 3 months

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Do No Harm

CHAPTER SIX: "You Deserve To Be Happy"

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Foggy has a bone to pick with his best friend, and you decide to call Matt later that night.

Warnings for this chapter: attempt at humor, slight (very slight) angst, Matt's POV, mentions of sex, suggestive language, flirting, Matt being Matt

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: I finally finished this chapter. I had more planned, but that would have made the whole thing too confusing. I also realized that I suck at finding the right chapter titles, but oh well. Enjoy this little fluff piece!

Read Chapter 6: "You Deserve To Be Happy" here on AO3

The air is brisk when Foggy and Matt step out of Metro General and into the night. Pieces of gravel stick to Matt’s shoes, and he can feel them digging into his skin through the thin soles protecting his feet from the wet asphalt. The wind resembles a leather whip as it brushes his heated cheeks. He can smell the odor of the city in every breath he takes.

Matt may hate hospitals, but every time he talks to you, the world turns a little quieter. All he has to do was focus on your heartbeat, the faintest hint of vanilla and salt that always lingers on your skin, and listen to the gentle melody of your breathing—your voice builds a bubble of safety around him, but now that he is no longer standing right in front of you, reality begins to seep back in.

Foggy, whose arm he’s clutching as they make their way across the street, stares at Matt with eyes the size of dinner plates. Matt can feel his gaze burning through the skin protecting his skull, right into his brain. His friend is trying to decipher what he’s thinking, but he struggles to process what happened in the past thirty minutes and what on earth caused him to behave the way he did.

The thought of you must have possessed him, he’s sure of that. You, and you alone. You were right there in front of him, and the part of him that craved some sense of normal took over when all he wanted was to stay away and forget this day ever happened.

Does he regret it? Matt wants to, but his chest hasn’t felt this light in a very long time. The truth is that the tiniest selfish part of him, the part of him that is a born masochist, wants to see you again. He wants to see you again because he knows that it will inevitably hurt him in the long run. Good things don’t happen to him without a cost. Though, when he thinks about it, he might as well end up hurting you, and he would never forgive himself if that were to happen.

He’s conflicted, but he’s also oddly happy. He’s excited. He feels… giddy. It’s a feeling he isn’t too familiar with, and he still has to decide whether or not he likes it. It is a contrast to the constant self-loathing and the darkness that surrounds him.

Foggy finally finds his voice again on the other side of the sidewalk. “Dude!” he says.

Matt flinches at his voice in his ear. “Foggy,” he warns.

“Dude!” he repeats, stopping to grab his friend’s arm.

“Foggy, don’t,” says Matt.

He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. If he sees him blush like a schoolboy with a crush, he will never hear the end of it. But after what Foggy witnessed back at the hospital, he is already one step ahead of his desperate attempts to prevent a tirade of endless teasing.

Foggy shakes his head. “What the hell was that?!”

“Listen–”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot doctor friend that you met while I was dying?”

“Okay, Foggy, you weren’t dying, you dislocated your shoulder. And besides, how would I even know if she’s hot?”

“You always know! I don’t know if you can smell it, or–or if you have a built-in radar for attractive women with questionable morals, or if you just attract them because you’re a very good-looking guy. Either way, it’s not fair.” Foggy groans. “God, if you could’ve seen how she looked at you, Matt,” he says. “I don’t know if I should be jealous or impressed.”

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but he breaks off into an awkward chuckle instead. The blood in his cheeks has spread, and he knows for a fact that his entire face is red. Thankfully, it’s too dark for Foggy to notice. His ears perked up when he mentioned the way you looked at him, even though it shouldn’t matter to him. He knows you are beautiful because he sees you in a way someone with functioning eyesight could never, but he can’t explain that to anyone. He knows, and that’s enough.

“She stepped in front of a gun for a stranger who was high off his ass,” Foggy adds. “Who does that other than people with a death wish? Oh, and did I mention that you literally made her swoon after someone punched her in the face? She couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“Foggy,” Matt tries to stop him again.

“No,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought I was your best friend. Your wingman. The Maverick to your Goose. I deserve to hear all about your crazy love life! Especially if it’s a hot doctor who jumps in front of guns.”

“I–uh–” One hand clutches his cane while the other reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Look, she patched up that bump on my head last week while you were getting your shoulder X-rayed, alright? We talked, but that’s it. I didn’t think it was important.”

“And you didn’t think a stranger offering to patch the reminder of your clumsiness up for free would be worth mentioning to your best friend?”

“She’s a doctor, Foggy.”

“A hot doctor who looked like she was undressing you with her eyes,” Foggy retorts.

Matt groans. “And how was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know. I told you, you always know. It’s fucking creepy.”

His groan turns into an exasperated sigh. “Can we just… walk?” he asks.

Foggy nods. He offers his arm, and Matt takes it gladly. His cane taps in a steady rhythm against the asphalt. The gravel underneath his shoes is still stuck there.

He’s not sure why it agitates him so much that Foggy is talking about you as if you are comparable to other women. You’re not. You’re in a league of your own, one that Matt isn’t sure he could ever reach. And you’re different.

Everywhere he goes, Matt encounters a variety of personalities, a lot of which he comes across often. While that’s not a bad thing, he tends to tune out those who overwhelm him for the sake of his sanity. Your personality can’t be sorted into a category. You’re unique enough to stand out from a crowd. Matt can’t put his finger on it.

Foggy can think of you what he wants, but he will never experience you the way Matt does.

“You think she’s gonna call?” Foggy asks into the silence that had settled in between the two of them.

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Do you want her to?”

For a moment, he’s rendered speechless. That’s the dilemma, isn’t it? Whether he wants you to call or not? It would be so much easier if he could just be honest.

“I don’t know,” Matt says again.

“I think you do,” Foggy answers. “You two would make a hot couple.” Sometimes, his mouth is faster than his brain. “Not in an “I want a threesome” kinda way, of course. That’s not—I mean, you’re a very good-looking guy. I’d think that if I were, you know, a woman or- or into you, which I’m not, but... I meant ‘cause she’s hot and you two together—well, you know what I mean.”

“If I say yes, can we talk about something else?”

“No, dude. I’m invested.”

“Liv isn’t… it’s not like that.”

“It’s never like that with you, Matt. Until two days later, and I walk in on you two naked with a bottle of whipped cream on your nightstand, and her name written in melted chocolate on your back.”

“Okay,” Matt interrupts him, “that was–” He tries hard not to smirk, but he fails miserably, “that was one time!”

Foggy shakes his head. “One too many, my friend. One too freakin’ many.”

“To be fair, I couldn’t see what she was doing.”

“I’m just saying,” Foggy says, “if you decide to go for it with Miss I-Jump-In-Front-Of-Guns-For-Fun, I wanna know so I can hype you up and make sure that I don’t barge into your apartment unannounced on a Friday night, at least not without a bottle of bleach to burn the pictures out of my head.”

His chuckle resembles a giggle when he opens his mouth to respond, “Alright, I can, uh, live with that.”

“Hey.” Matt can feel Foggy’s eyes on him. “You deserve to be happy, man.”

That wipes the smile off his face. Happy. He can’t remember a time when he was truly happy. The few times he was can be counted on one hand, and every time he found himself in a place of happiness, it ended up shattering like a fragile wine glass, spilling the maroon contents everywhere and scarring him for life.

Matt isn’t sure if he can believe Foggy. In his mind, deserving happiness is equal to walking the path of redemption until God decides to forgive him for his sins. He repents every day. He has prayed until his knees are bloody, and still, it is never enough.

Foggy continues, as if that one display of his never-ending devotion to his best friend wasn’t enough, “If this Olivia chick makes you happy, I think it’s worth pursuing. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Off the top of his head, there are several scenarios Matt has played with, and none of them have a happy ending. There are a lot of bad things that could happen, each worse than the other. But he can’t tell Foggy that. To him, Matt’s disdain toward being happy stems from a desperate need to self-sabotage because of his childhood trauma, and while that is true for the most part, he doesn’t know about the dangers of the second life he’s leading.

He indeed sabotages himself because it’s all he’s ever known, but there is a lot more that Foggy doesn’t know about. Matt has to protect him from the truth. He’s one of the few people Matt can’t stand the thought of losing. If Foggy knows, Karen will know, too, and that is not bound to end well for any of them.

His phone rings with the name of an unknown number later that night, long after Matt has returned home. He just laced up his boots when the silence in his apartment suddenly gets disturbed by his ringtone.

“Unknown number,” the automatic voice tells him.

Adjusting the tight black shirt that has seen better days, Matt walks over to the dining table to grab his phone. His fingertips search along the tabletop for the device. When he’s finally found it, he taps the screen twice before lifting it to his ear.

“Yeah, this is Matt,” he answers.

It takes him not even a second to realize who’s on the other end. Something about the way you breathe when you’re nervous strikes him every time. He can hear the faint sound of your heartbeat on the other end of the line. His eyes widen, and he drops the leather gloves he was about to put on.

“Hi,” you finally say. “It’s… it’s Liv. Olivia. From the hospital? You, uh, gave me your number earlier for the, uh, second time. I don’t know if you remember. I’m the girl who got hit in the nose.”

You’re cute when you’re nervous, he notices. He can tell that you probably don’t do this often, calling strangers who have given you their number. There is something oddly endearing about how awkwardly you act around people who aren’t your patients, but behavior like that often derives from a much darker secret. Matt knows all about that. For him, it was the day he lost his sight, his father’s death, and Stick’s relentless conditioning before he left him behind, and then years of self-loathing and wondering, “What if?”. What it has been for you, he can’t help but wonder.

He snaps out of it when he hears the uptick in your heartbeat. You’re anxious, and he’s been quiet for longer than he should have. He can’t stop his lips from curling into a soft smile.

“Yeah, I–I remember,” he says, his voice slightly breathless. The things you do to him without even trying… it’s not fair.

Foggy’s words come back to his mind. You deserve to be happy. He still isn’t too sure about that, but you make him feel things he can’t remember the last time he felt them, and it’s… exciting, almost.

You let out a little sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God,” you say.

Matt chuckles. “I wasn’t sure you’d call.”

“Yeah, me… me neither, to be honest.”

He appreciates your honesty.

“I’m sorry for not calling the first time. And, um, sorry for today,” you say. “I don’t usually get into that much trouble in one day.”

“Not in one day, huh?” He smirks.

Your laugh reminds him of honey. You laugh, and warmth spreads through his chest, wrapping its comforting hand around his heart and squeezing as tightly as it can.

“You’re my lawyer. Shouldn’t you advise me to plead the fifth?”

“That depends,” Matt answers, “Would your answer incriminate yourself?”

“Yes, very much so,” you say.

“Then you should plead the fifth in front of a judge, not in front of your lawyer.”

You laugh again. “I still choose to plead the fifth, counselor.”

You may be a threat to yourself, but that’s what he sparks his curiosity, and maybe a little bit of misplaced overprotectiveness. He doesn’t own you, but God, he wishes he did. Matt pushes that thought aside as quickly as it pops up.

You got into trouble not for the sake of getting into trouble; you got into trouble because that is just who you are. It’s an admirable quality that he can’t disagree with.

Matt chuckles, directing his unfocused gaze toward the ceiling. “Someone should teach you about the correct use of the amendments, Miss Clarke.”

“I’m well aware of my rights, sir,” your voice drops to an octave, resembling a sultry murmur.

It rolls over him like an avalanche, and the use of the honorific darkens his eyes. A fire starts to burn deep within his soul. The candle tips over, setting everything around it on fire. Matt feels on fire.

“Also,” you add, “It’s not Miss Clarke, it’s Doctor.”

You’ve got him. Hook, line, and sinker. You’ve got him trapped in a chokehold that he can’t escape from. Your foot is on his neck, but he doesn’t care. He would gladly get on his knees before you. Whatever is happening in his body, it’s the brightest inferno the universe has ever seen, and you’re holding the torch.

Matt exhales a hot puff of air. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “Doctor.”

“That’s better.”

“I didn’t mean to downplay your achievements.”

“I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

A moment of silence follows. Matt realizes that he dug his nails into his palms. When he unclenches his fist, the sharp pain brings him back to reality.

You take a deep breath. If he closes his eyes, he thinks, he might be able to feel it brush against his skin. He’s dangerously and thoroughly obsessed with you.

He can hear the banging of metal in the background. The sound reminds him of an old, rusty locker in a locker room. You must still be at the hospital. Your hand brushes against the metal, he can hear it, and you take another breath.

“I, uhm–” you cut yourself off. The question on your tongue seems hard to utter.

Matt doesn’t think much. He opens his mouth, and he asks what he hopes you have been thinking about. He throws all rationality out the window, even though reality is urging him not to. “Would you like to grab some coffee with me?” he asks.

Your breathing stutters. Instead of your hand, your back is the next part of you that brushes against the metal of your locker. “I was trying to ask you the same thing,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he says with a smile. “So, would you?”

“Tomorrow?” you ask.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m free tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t rest your head?”

You shake your head. The softest brush of air moves against your phone’s speaker. “So far, I haven’t had any complaints about my head,” you answer.

The words go through his ears, through his enhanced hearing into his brain. They take a few seconds to process. Matt isn’t stupid, but this is a side of you not even he expected to experience. Not so soon, maybe not ever. You’re flirting with him. The way you do it is so exceptionally smart yet almost cliché in a way, but your uniqueness makes it so much more attractive.

He’s sweating, and it’s not even warm in his apartment. The blood rushes to his head. He’s drowning, but this time it isn’t because his senses are overwhelmed. He’s drowning because you’re holding his head underwater.

Matt’s lips part in a chuckle. It’s as dark as it is flustered. “You’re a dangerously intelligent woman, Doctor Clarke,” he murmurs.

“So I’ve heard,” you retort.

“Well, does three work for you?”

“Two-thirty and I pick the place.”

He’s about to have a heart attack. His plans for the night momentarily move into the background. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes, that is what I want,” you say. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow then?” The slight crack of your voice tells him that it isn’t leaving you cold either, and that makes him feel a little better.

Matt nods and says, “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

“Take care, Liv.”

He can hear you swallow. “I will,” you answer. “You too, Matthew.”

The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine. “I will. Bye,” is the last thing he manages to say before the line clicks, and you disappear.

You came into his life without warning, and you started messing with his head. Matt is aware that you’re not doing it on purpose—how could you? Still, he can’t get you out of his head, and the phone call didn’t put him out of his misery. If anything, he has fallen into the deep end with nowhere to go. And it’s your fault.

You deserve to be happy. Sometimes, Foggy’s caring nature becomes a nuisance. He doesn’t want to hear the same statement over and over again, but it’s the only excuse he can tell himself to somehow explain what is happening to him.

Reaching for his gloves, Matt stretches his aching fingers. The crescent moon indentations on his palms only remind him of the smooth sound of your voice. It’s like a symphony that has a constant residency in his brain.

He wonders if he could be your muse. He made you laugh. He made you smile. He could do that every day. If he were normal, he could do it and not feel guilty. He doesn’t want to feel guilty for wanting this. Wanting you. And he doesn’t want to feel guilty for falling down the rabbit hole. It feels as if he found Wonderland in a world that also feels like a dystopian drama, but Matt doesn’t go to the movies, and he doesn’t know much about them either. He just knows that you are the closest thing to heaven that he could touch.

And maybe, after he has figured out what is happening in his city, he can learn how to lead a somewhat normal life with someone like you by his side–and maybe then, he can achieve the happiness Foggy always claims that he deserves but denies himself time and time again.

Matt Murdock is a masochist, after all. Self-sabotage is the only way of life he has ever known.

He slides the gloves onto his fingers. His phone lands in the backpocket of his jeans. The billboard in front of his window projects a luminescent disarray of colors onto his skin. He can still feel the blood rushing in his cheeks.

Going out now feels like the wrong thing to do after that phone call, but he can’t leave Hell’s Kitchen hanging. If he doesn’t go out, Claire will remain in danger, and she has already sacrificed so much for someone she barely knows. If he doesn’t go out, he’s not sure if he will ever be able to stop whatever it is that is keeping his city in shambles.

So, he pulls the thin layer of fabric of his mask over the upper half of his face, makes his way up the stairs to the rooftop exit that connects directly to his apartment, and steps out into the night, not as Matt Murdock but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #reader insert #charlie cox #do no harm #doctor!reader

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luciddreamingcrow · 1 year

Text

Stupid emotionally unavailable men comforting you after they were Assholes

A/n: I was craving some hurt/comfort, so I made some hurt/comfort, also if you are attached too easily to emotionaly unavailable characters but tired of reading fanfics where they are emotionally unavailable, you are at the right place boo 😘 cuz I misscharacterized them 👏just👏 for 👏YOU!!! (I hope you will be feeling better after some hardcore angst) !!!!!!!!!!Also this isn't proof read!!!!!!!!

Characters prsesent: Al Haitham, Scaramouche, Albedo.

Trope(s): Hurt/comfort, angst and in the end fluff, also it's hinted that reader is (emotionally at least)sensitive and tends to ignore their problems.

Warnings!: it isn't too serious but it's implied that reader is somewhat neglected!

--Song recommended for today is: Waterfalls by Glass animals--

Al haitham

(Pre)Scene:

From the start of your relationship with Al haitham it was expected that problems would manifest eventually and there was no way around it, from his lack of physical presence and him being "strictly" logical it made sense that having a s/o that's emotional compared to him, was only natural for a big personality crash to happen, like right now, while you were having a lot of stress due to the academia pressuring you with projects you were forced to do and having to socialize with people that drain you easily, the only thing in your mind was to go home to your lover, talk to your harts content and let all of your worries out. But the opposite thing just had to occur, because whenever you started to rant for a bit he would inturupt you and criticize your actions and give you "advice" on what to do instead of listening to your troubles, and that's the exact thing that made you break down. As he was rambling on, Al haitham turned his look at you and when he noticed the forming tears in your eyes, his rambling would slowly die down, he would slowly put one of his hands to your cheek to gently make you face him. The moment Al haitham saw your teary eyes avoiding his gaze, he felt how sharply his stomach dropped filed with regret. And the second you started to sob he in a instant embraced you trying his best to comfort you. He truly didn't meant to push you over the edge and he couldn't handle the amount of guilt he felt, but regardless of that his top priority was to comfort you

Headcanons on comforting his s/o:

☾☼☽He would keep this position for a bit longer, trying his best to comfort you by keeping you close to him and running one of his hand on your back and the other hording you close.

☾☼☽After you would have calmed down he'd make sure of how you are feeling and bring you all the things you need.

☾☼☽Of course communication is key so he would insist for you to tell him what he specifically did wrong(he most likely would have figured it out but he still wants confirmation from you specifically)

☾☼☽Afterwards you would cuddle and he'd read you books that he knows you love them.

Scaramouche (Harbinger)

(Pre)Scene:

I know EXACTLY what would cause the conflict and that would be of course the amount degradation he seems to spit at everyone that he views as lesser of. And no he doesn't view his s/o as lesser of but that doesn't save them from the teasing "insults" he spits at you without a second thought. The incident that triggered the conflict was when he came back from a tiring mission, all tired and craving some quiet and relaxation only to be disturbed by a fatui agent reporting that the said papers must be signed up as quickly as possible. After Scaramouche dismissed the the fatui agent he dug himself to more work in witch there were many other agents or butlers that filled him with more paperwork. After all night of working and getting disturbed by literally everyone did fuel him up witch ended up with Scaramouche giving of passive aggressive comments left and right just to let off some steam out of his system. And that would be for the most simple things such as: your posture, why haven't you been doing this, this, and that, why are you acting so dumb all the time, etc. Of course he didn't see anything wrong with it and kept on going and that is until he heard how you started sniffing under your nose not daring to let another sound of because you didn't what him to start degrading you again or even worse mocking you and all of these thoughts would bring you to the verge of tears. You would suddenly snap out of your mind when you felt Scaramouches hand guiding you a silent private room with a calming atmosphere. As he turned around to face you, even as he felt like he didn't even deserve to be in your presence and just leave you alone, right now he knew he had to stay with you, unless you didn't want him there. He would look at you as gently as he could and ask you what's the matter? what's wrong? Tell him. After you'd voice your concerns about how he treats you without a good reason, he would start reflecting for a second because he didn't expect you to take his "insignificant insults" actually seriously, and the first thing he would do to make things better is:

Headcanons on comforting his s/o:

⋆✭⋆Scaramouche would firstly let you cry your heart out while he's holding u tightly

⋆✮⋆After you would have calmed down he'd start to run his fingers through your hair or soothe you how you prefer, and with a gentle voice correct his previous degrading comments and telling you what you want to hear and need to hear

⋆✮⋆Of course he'd let you vent for as long as you wanted and would be right there besides you listening carefuly

⋆✮⋆Later Scara would offer you some water and food for you to calm down completely

⋆✮⋆And after this event he'd try his best for something like this to never happened again because he's a firm believer that actions speak louder than words.

Albedo

(Pre) Scene:

Ok let's get something clear, Albedo is a really good lover and is attentive in his romantic relationship but despite him being viewed as a genius he does lack communication on a affectionate level not being quite sure what to do on some social situations that involve showing affection and care for the people that he views as great companions because he believes that the said people already know that he views them positively and doesn't feel the need to express it. And that lead to him accidentally neglect his s/o. This situation took the form of the snowball effect, slowly but surely the more Albedo didn't express his gratitude, appreciation, etc started to pile up on you thinking that he was emotionally distant to you on purpose and thus you started overthinking, did you do something wrong to upset him?, and if so what would that thing be. The more you thought about it the more stressed you became and until the end you confronted him about it since there was no way around it. When Albedo heard your concerns for the first time he was really surprised to say the least, his surprise wouldn't last long because he put two and two together and it made sence why you'd have these thoughts running around your head.

Headcanons on comforting his s/o:

≲•≳At first Albedo would explain to you his thought process and reassure you that you have nothing to worry about and you should have asked him from the start try to be more vocal about praising you.

≲•≳After that he would try his best to be more vocal with you even if it was hard for him in the start.

≲•≳Eventually you would be spoiled rotten by this man and sometimes use it to his advantage to tease you, now that he knows what gets you weak in the knees/hj.

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whoyacallinyellow · 2 months

Text

Pastures New

John Marston x F! cowgirl reader

Spoilers: RDR2 chapters 1-3 (just in case) Content: 18+, John is an asshole, angst, possessive, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes. Type: third person limited (wc - 1540) / pc: pinterest

Summary: You have not been with the gang for very long. You’re leaving a little earlier than John expected, feeling betrayed by your actions, he snaps at you.

John stood perched up against a tree at the end of the camp path, it had been an uneventful nightshift at Horseshoe Overlook, like every other night that is. A part of him nearly craved a fight, but Dutch was keen on preaching patience, or something like that— maybe he could just doze off for a few minutes, no one would pay any mind, he’s still recovering after all. John was beginning to relax, with the trees gently rustling, the crickets chirping… a horse trotting quietly from camp—

Must be one of the boys going out on a lead, he peaked out from under his hat, pulling his worn body from the trunk.

“Who’s there?” John’s sharp words sliced into the night, creating a soft “easy,” from an unexpected voice.

“Whatcha doin’ out this late?” John hollered, his gruff tone softening and showing much more surprise than he first anticipated.

“Evenin’ Mr. Marston.” Your voice loomed as you wowed her horse in front of him, the stallion's coat shining off his lantern. John’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, with a satchel hung around your frame, and rifle on your back, he ogled at you in unintentional disgust.

“Got a lead?” He finally inquired suspiciously.

“Not quite—“ you began through a sigh, unsure how to break the news to your short-tempered companion. Shifting his weight from foot to foot in anticipation, your unusual tranquil tone began to make John nervous.

“I’m headin’ out.” You suddenly concluded, words that nearly sounded foreign— words that felt like a rip of a bandage to John. But after all, you were always trying to rile him up. Getting him all flustered was a near hobby at this point.

John erupted in bitter laughter, his harsh chuckles carrying throughout the thick trees and brush.

“Tell ya what, darlin’— how’abouts I take ya fishin’ tomorrow.” John proposed boldly in the midst of his laughter, taking any chance he could to dig under your skin. A sorry excuse he called payback for the torment he received from you. But to his dismay the comment earned not much of a word from you. Something about John brought out your confliction, your usual straightforward thoughts were mixing with your fondness of the outlaw.

“There ain’t much ‘ere for me, John.” You spoke lowly, unsure how to properly convey your thoughts to the brickhead. John swallowed dryly, you waited for him to speak, expecting a ‘am I not enough for ya, woman?!’.

But instead he tried to catch a glimpse of your face in the dark path where you both resided, for some sort of explanation. Knowing the all too familiar look in his bloodshot eyes, along with the small line his lips formed into, his anger overpowered any desire he had to rationalize with you.

“What’er you talkin’ about, girl?” John demanded, his arms crankily gesturing towards you.

“You know very damn well what I’m talkin’ about.” You snapped immediately, your harsh words hissing towards the stubborn outlaw.

“It’s over John— your ol’Dutch is gone looney! I pity the damn cocksucker who can’t see that.” You shouted, staring up your nose at him.

John shook his head in frustration, deeming this a match he yearned to not fight sober, it was so damn hard for him not to get upset— especially when it came to you.

“How ‘bout you sleep on it— I’m afraid I can’t let’cha go on by your lonesome in the middle of the night.” John calmly compromised, but to be fair— he wasn’t asking.

“Give me a break, Marston— Ms. Adler could just abouts spit on me right now, ‘nd I don’t fancy myself on your bad side— I’ve seen what you’ve done to that there O’Driscoll boy.” Your voice came out with an uncharacteristic shake, nearly resembling the whine of a child.

John’s fingers dug into the leather of his belt, his grip tightening with every passing moment as he gnawed at the inside of his lip.

“C’mere, girl.” John’s brash instructions eventually left his gritted teeth, he did not have the patience nor energy for your silly antics.

To John’s surprise you hesitantly obeyed, meeting the ground before him with a small plop.

The space in between you two closed a bit, his body heat radiating off you, turning the aura oddly intimate.

Yet you could not bring yourself to look at John, his smug eyes burned through you, wondering when he should speak— seeing you this vulnerable was a sight for sore eyes. Maybe he enjoyed it a little too much. Your usual cocky attitude held no chance against him, they were still outlaws after all, and a lot of them at that. Watching you squirm from simply being under his authoritative gaze made his ego violently soar.

“Hey now, look at me.” He instructed through a breath, you shook your head with a huff of protest.

“Fuck you, Marston.” The words burned right through him, bringing his power trip to an abrupt halt.

After quick consideration and no second thoughts, John decided he was not having it—in one swift motion his calloused fingertips met with your jaw, craning your head up to meet his dead-eyed gaze and freshly healed wounds, which only put emphasis on how he towered over you with dominance.

“Oh, there ya are.” He teased cunningly with a hum, admiring his beat hands on your soft skin, which resembled silk under the blue moon.

John thought the worse you could do was shoot him point blank, or scream bloody murder to alarm the gang— just to spite him. He reckoned you did not have the gall for either.

Your frightened doe eyes glistened off the moonlight that broke through the treetops, face remaining unable for him to read.

“I reckon you behave.” John murmured shortly, the cooed rasp in his voice nearly sounded sickly sweet. He decided to leave you to interpret what the full extent of his words meant.

He tightened his grip ever so slightly, causing a burning pain to vibrate through his bloody knuckles from an earlier altercation. A part of John hoped he did not hurt you, while another part so desperately wanted to leave a small reminder of who you belonged to— how could you leave him this soon? Right when things were getting back on track.

“If… if you do so much as to speak— I’ll hunt you down my damn self.” John growled through gritted teeth, his words slithering out in a near whisper.

An empty threat you have summed up to being all talk, but John knew you would not challenge him under these circumstances

You were not surprised by his words, knowing the man would not have taken your departure easily, especially after nearly dying and all. You exhaled gently, face softening under the small illuminance of John’s lantern, now placed at your feet on the forest floor.

John squinted in sudden discomfort, his once gripped hand now resting gently on your cheek, causing regret and shame to wash through him, the subconscious movements just proved how sweet on you he was.

“‘M sorry, little miss.” John mumbled softly, realization dawning upon him as the guilt began to eat him inside-out.

Without speaking you hoisted yourself on your tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on the outlaw’s newly healed cheek. An embarrassing gesture he was just beginning to get used to— who would have thought he would still get loved on with that nasty scar.

“Jus… just be a good girl, alright?” John murmured huskily, desperately trying to backtrack his prior threats.

As your lips retreated John’s heart beat increased in anticipation of what you would do. After planting a small kiss on his lips was almost enough for him to ride off into the night with you.

He broke away, running his beat hands down your shoulders as he thought of what to say.

“I can’t.” Was all he mumbled to himself, despite your lack of words.

“But at this rate— maybe.” He chuckled meekly, leaning away from you to prevent any more of your convincing.

John was so focused on you that he barely noticed the stallion fidgeting anxiously due to the commotion, small snorts and stomps of protest could have nearly been enough to alarm one of the gang joining him on patrol.

“Whoa, easy now boy.” John hushed, beginning to adjust the saddle and bedroll you lazily threw on in the dark.

“That scared bastard’ll buck you off at the snap of a twig.” He stated, reaching his hands towards the stallions freshly groomed coat— oh how you desperately tried to get the ol’bastard to tolerate you.

“Hey now, that bastard is my ticket outta’ere— or perhaps ours.” You defended the poor beast with a shy grin.

John sighed, finally hearing the suggestion come from you out loud and not just his racing thoughts. The fact that if you would have led with that offer, he might have accepted without second thought. Before John could dig himself out of his trance you mounted up.

“Farewell John.” You mumbled, fighting the uncertainty in your voice that John so clearly caught on to— he wasn’t the village idiot everyone thought he was, surely.

“Go on.” You breathed with a small click of your mouth. John watched his greenhorn cowgirl disappear into the night. Evidently the same girl who could barely mount properly weeks ago— the same damn girl who nearly got her insides turned out by the same damn stallion— the same damn girl he would follow around camp in a drunken stupor for one more kiss before bed.

“fuckin’ idiot.”

John spat, to himself or you, he could not quite tell. He was not exactly sure what stopped him from racing after you through the warm summer night before losing you for good, or why he wanted to in the first place— maybe it was to laugh in your face when things didn't go your way— maybe it was to prove to you that Dutch’s plan would work— maybe it was to take you for all you’re worth and donate your share to gang, fair and square— or maybe it was for reasons he was conflicted with, thoughts kept quiet he was not sure he could rationalize just yet.

All he knew was for now, the gang needed him.

#second time writing rdr it might suck womp womp #rdr2 headcanons #john marston x reader #John marston headcanons #John marston #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption fandom #rdr2 #rdr

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30-3am · 10 months

Text

G R O U P I E • L O V E

✰ James Hetfield ✰

" He wanted to run with her even though he knew all he could do was run from her. "

˚ · • . °

part seven of ten

groupie love contents

warnings: angst, smut (facefucking fun 🤗), a slightly plot-driven chapter, normal groupie love angsty antics

word count: 4.7k

˚ · • . °

Chapter Seven - Three-Word Sentence

She’d woke to the soft whisper of her name and his face looking down at her, a beer in hand, a distant expression etched into his features. She’d rubbed at her eyes and he’d stroked her thigh through the fabric of the sheets, asking her to come with him and watch them on stage. She had forgotten they were playing tonight. It was easy to let time go when she didn’t have any responsibility. But she’d only been backstage once or twice and the fact he was asking meant “I’m trying.” So she had agreed, a smile on her face that he struggled not to reciprocate.

Being backstage was different. There were always so many people about, all of them focused on their jobs. She felt like she was in the way when James wasn’t there to talk to her and that all eyes were trained on her every move, silently telling her to “fuck off.” But she stayed for the whole three-hour set because he’d told her to, and by the way he kept glancing into the wings, searching around in the dark for her, she knew that he wanted her to stay put.

When he came off stage for the guitar and bass solos, sweat dripping down his chest he’d smiled at her. And it was nice. Something deemed so normal had sent warmth shooting through her body, forcing her own smile to grace her face. He hadn’t paid her much attention after that, but it was so casual that she didn’t really mind. Comfortability and familiarity: it was what she craved and what he was giving her.

And once the set was over and done with and her ears were sufficiently ringing, he was there, wrapped up in a robe and hair sticking to his face.

“You’re sweaty.” She’d said.

“I know.” And he’d slung an arm over her shoulder, dragging her along with him as the excitement of backstage faded into the background.

“You enjoy yourself?” She’d asked as he guided her to the dressing room.

“Always.” They didn’t speak again after that, not until they rounded a corner and reached the dressing room door. That’s when she was taken off his hands.

“Just stay out here a minute.” His hands were on her shoulders, looking down at her. “We gotta talk about some shit. Then I’ll come find you.” “Okay,” she replied.

“Okay,” he said back. And his hands were off her shoulders and there was a beat before he pressed his lips to hers, harsh but soft, loving but unloving. It was a conflicted kiss - full of sorrow and longing. Then he pulled away, voices drifting down the hallway and to his ears.

It was the rest of the band, all of them sweaty and smiling, Jason trailing behind them. He smiled when he saw her and she smiled back. There was a nod from Lars and a grin from Kirk and then they were all behind the privacy of the door. Just the two of them again.

She looked down, feeling his hand grasping hers tightly. It was not intertwined with hers, just squeezing her fingers and her palm so hard it almost hurt. He was looking at her with a certain intent she couldn’t decipher, eyes set and lips parted. He looked like he desperately wanted to say something, like if he didn’t say it now, he’d die on the very floor he stood upon.

Then he breathed softly and let go of her hand, head spinning and eyes on her.

“There’s a room about four doors down. It’s empty, lights are off it’s not hard to find.” A hand was under her jaw, forcing her gaze upwards. “Wait there for me. I won’t be long.” And then his touch was gone and the chatter from inside the room filled her ears until it left again with the slam of the door.

˚ · • . °

He was getting impatient.

They’d been talking for far too long and he needed a shower. There was a towel draped over his crotch, the rest of him completely fabric free and he was sat with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, tapping his foot. Waiting, waiting, always fucking waiting for Lars and his big mouth to close.

He wasn’t in the mood to discuss the set, not tonight. A girl was waiting for him. A girl who had stolen his soul, who had taken any fibre of sensibility and made him subservient. He was falling - he could feel that he was falling deeper into an inescapable hole with his grievances at the top and her at the bottom. He wanted to touch the base but something was keeping him suspended in the air, a wire unwilling to let him go to her. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know why it wouldn’t just snap.

Lars was droning on, talking and talking about what could’ve gone better and how Jason, the poor fucker, needed his mic turned down. He wanted him to shut the fuck up. To let him go to her. His baby girl. With those big eyes that gazed up at him with an innocence and pain that made his stomach churn. He had taken her naivety and turned her into something he could corrupt, to mould into what he thought he wanted from a woman.

But he didn’t have to mould her because she was it. The one. And tears filled his eyes late at night after he’d had too much to drink because he had no goddamn self-control. He didn’t know how to stop the addiction to the bottle and the addiction to her. He had to pick. It would be selfish to keep both of them.

And he loved her. Unfortunately, he did. It had been a painful realisation that had left him locked in a state of aggression and he didn’t know if he was ever going to be at peace with the fact. It was then he decided she would go within the month. If he had any semblance of control left, she would be gone. Back home to her mom in time for Christmas where she could live without his veil of deceit - without his lies and empty promises.

But those eyes pulled him in and he’d lost it.

So, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to keep her around for another couple of weeks once the month had ended. And then a couple of weeks after that. He went round and round the schedule in his head until it hurt and he couldn’t see an end - even though there would be an end because she wasn’t worth it. He loved her but she wasn’t worth it. He cared too much about her and he was in no state to care about the people around him.

“James?”

“What?” It came out snappier than he intended but he was too engrossed in his thoughts about her and too mad about how she made him feel to care. And it wasn’t worth the argument so he just wrapped his robe around him and headed for her, ignoring their protests and insults. He slammed the door behind him as he went, the childish action only adding to his frustrations with himself.

Four doors down. Four doors down.

He’d spotted the room on his way in and it was quiet. Dark and quiet. Perfect for the two of them. Some of the most focal points of their relationship had been created in the night and he planned on continuing that streak.

Fuck, he was thinking too hard. Too hard and too fast and he rounded the corner, the door in his face and he was opening it, letting it slam behind him. He watched as she jumped, all pretty in her leather pants and cowboy boots. She looked like a real goddamn hard rock groupie and when he saw her the first time, all dolled up, he had to groan and adjust himself in his pants.

“Told you I wouldn’t be long.” She just looks at him, eyes wide and mouth parted.

“Yeah.” That’s it? That’s the welcome he gets?

He coughs and goes to sit down next to her, the couch old and an ugly green colour, but comfortable enough for the both of them.

“No one came in while I was gone did they?” He fucking hated small talk and he couldn’t believe she was subjecting him to it.

There’s a shake of her head and then a squint. She tilts her head, a small hand reaching up towards him and working its way through his hair.

“You haven’t showered yet?” It was a plain and simple question, one laced with concern and he shuffled in his seat as she touched him so tenderly.

“No,” he cleared his throat, staring at her plump lips, the way they pouted slightly as she surveyed him. “Wanted to see you first.”

She removed her hands from him and smiled a little,

“What you didn’t wanna get sweaty twice?” The tilt of her lips, the mischief in her eyes, God, it made the speed of his heart pick up. He tried not to make it noticeable, tried to make it clear that he wasn’t in love with her.

So, he does what he does best and talks back, wetting his lips as he eyes her.

“It would’ve been a waste of water.”

“Not if I showered with you.” Jesus Christ.

He settled down against the couch, arms spread across the back of it. He tilted his head at her, smirking and trying to remain composed.

“When did you get so bold, hm?” She got shy again after that, blush on her cheeks and her hair covering the embarrassed look in her eye.

“I don’t know.” Then there was a pause and she got all serious, sincerity laced in her tone. “I think you’ve made me a little more confident.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

Because I’m trying not to love you. “Because I’ve been a dick.” He ended it with a laugh that sounded more nervous than he intended.

“Yeah…” She chuckled before continuing. “But I think I needed you to be a dick to me. If you weren’t, I would’ve never been able to stand up for myself.”

He ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily and then fixing his eyes on her. I love you, I love you, I love you. The words were on the tip of his tongue, an unpleasant hum forcing him to swallow hard and hope those eight letters fell down his throat with the rest of his unspoken thoughts.

“Valid point,” was all he could say.

Silence passed over them as it often did, their chests moving in time as they both breathed absentmindedly. It was stupid to love her. And now he’d given her this confidence - if she now knew how to defend herself against him, it was inevitable that she would be gone soon. He could tell from the look in her eye that she was becoming more aware of the situation he’d put her in. And he didn’t want her to go but he’d let her if thats what she really wanted. Then, she’d just be a memory. Another groupie that he fucked when he was too drunk to remember what they looked like. Maybe he’d reminisce with a roadie in a couple years and talk about that one girl he kept around longer than the rest. The one.

She was fidgeting in her seat, seemingly desperate to speak. Then she opened her pretty little mouth.

“You naked under that robe?” He snapped his head towards her and raised his eyebrows. Jesus fucking Christ, where had she come from?

There was a scoff from him as he replied, a smile unable to be sedated. “It’s too hot to wear anything else.”

She nodded and he watched intently as she moved off the couch, adjusting her position and kneeling…goddamnit she was kneeling in front of him, hands placed on the tops of his thighs as she sat between his legs. It was a goddamn sight.

“Good.” Then her hands were inching their way to undo his robe, fingers toying with the belt. “I prefer it this way.”

His hands were grabbing hers before she had a chance to expose him, looking down at her sternly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She got shy again, her fingers trembling as he held them tight.

“I was gonna…” She trails off, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I was gonna make you feel good.” He releases her, head spinning as he settles back against the couch. He can’t believe she hadn’t sucked him off before. All the time they’d spent together and he didn’t even think to ask and he wasn’t going to protest now. Seeing her, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, present and ready to please him sent a wave rushing over him - one full of love and arousal.

“Well don’t stop, pretty girl.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, clutching at her jaw and forcing her gaze upwards. There was a nervous look in her eye, a wobble to her lip and he knew he’d shattered her confidence with his actions. He should’ve just let her get on with it, let her find her own way. Everything he did now was so drastic and not thought out logically. He was slowly slipping. It would all be gone soon. But he’d decided to let it be nice while it lasted and didn’t want to turn a good moment into a bad one.

So, he stroked her cheek affectionately, dragging a thumb down to her lip, tugging on the plump flesh.

“Just take it slow.” Then he let her go, moisture on his thumb from where her spit had transferred to his skin, and undid the belt on his robe. He worked at the fabric, watching as she eyed his crotch, sitting there and waiting for him.

The cool air hit his chest and his cock as he peeled the material open, revealing his semi-hardness hanging heavy against his thigh.

She braced herself on the tops of his legs, hands smooth against the skin and he reached out for her again, hands carding through her hair and tugging lightly.

“Slow…” He nodded down at her, reassuring her that it would be fine, a look in his eyes that said ‘he would be there if she needed him.’

She was hesitant at first, just staring and unsure of what to do until she took him in her hands, fingers wrapped delicately around the base of his cock. His breath hitched at the first touch, even more so when she began to move up and down, velvet smooth in her hands.

And when she first placed her mouth around him, he could hear the angels screaming at him. This was his reward for trying and he was going to enjoy it.

She licked, experimentally at the head of his cock. It twitched in her hands, completely hard after her previous ministrations. He was absentmindedly stroking her hair back away from her face, pupils blown with lust trying not to lose it as her pretty lips wrapped around him. Her hand was gripping his thigh, the other wrapped tightly around his base and he cringed as she gripped harder.

“Not so tight, baby.” She looked up at him, eyes hooded and cock halfway down her throat. She loosened her grip on him and he smirked down at her, chest heaving at the sight. “Good girl.”

He couldn’t breathe when she took him all the way, a small noise eliciting from her when her lips touched her hand that was guiding him to the back of her throat. It was hard to stay composed when he saw her, all full of his cock, and when she finally bobbed her head up and down, he caught the colour of her lipstick stained around the girth of him, all messy.

“Fuck.” He rutted his hips up into her mouth, holding her head firmly in place as his eyes squeezed shut. “Keep going.”

She did as he asked, relaxing her jaw to accommodate his size and tasting the saltiness of his precum on her tongue. It surely wasn’t pleasant, but he hoped the noises he was making and the way he was bucking his hips into her mouth was enough for her to keep going.

“There you go,” she had picked up the pace a little, going torturously and unknowingly slow. He had to grip her hair tighter to stop himself from fucking her throat. “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.” She looked up at him as she bobbed her head up and down, eyes wide and annoyingly arousing. He groaned as she gazed at him from her place on the floor and he wouldn’t be patient anymore. She’d worked him up so much and he couldn’t manage the pulsating of his cock and the feeling of pleasure spreading throughout him. He needed it and he needed it fast.

So he grabbed onto the back of her head, holding her still as he thrust his hips up, hard and fast. She gagged and lurched forward, grabbing onto his thighs as support. Mascara was running down her face, tears in her eyes and he was moaning as he fucked her tight little throat, relishing in her whimpers and gags.

“Let me use this throat.” His head was spinning with the pleasure, legs shaking as he chased after his orgasm. His hips were moving violently up into her, eyes closed as he threw his head back against the couch. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

It was all white noise, every little problem he had drowned out by the feel of her around him, her hands grasping onto his thighs and tears streaming from her eyes. She was gagging and spluttering, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth and he looked at her once - just so he could see her giving herself to him. Just so he could see how she was letting him use her. He shouldn’t enjoy it but, fuck, he did. Her face was red and her makeup was a mess, her hair nothing but something to stabalise himself and she was being so obedient and compliant, yielding to him like she always did.

His hips stuttered when they made eye contact. God was she beautiful.

“So-,” his tip hit the back of her throat and he gripped tighter onto her head, feet planted firmly on the floor to keep himself stable. “So pretty- fuck.”

He’d never been this vocal before, never allowed himself to let go of every noise he had. It felt weak to moan and writhe, to truly enjoy the pleasure being inflicted upon him, but it was difficult to control himself. He was buried deep down her throat, sweat was coating his skin and his stomach tightened as he fucked her face, balls slapping against her with every thrust.

He was surprised by her stamina, her ability to breathe whilst he inflicted such an unpleasant experience upon her. He didn’t know what made this fun for girls or why they’d want to do it in the first place but he was close and had no time to feel guilty.

So he just continued to watch her splutter and choke, eyes barely able to stay open as his stomach tightened and then released, teasing him and making a strangled groan form at the back of his throat.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t even speak anymore, couldn’t even manage to form a singular thought in his brain. The steady movement of his hips was faltering and he was mumbling about how good she was doing, repeatedly hitting the back of her throat and relishing in her whimpers and choked cries.

The heat was warm and building in his stomach, spreading throughout his body. His grip on her wasn’t so tight, his thrusts sporadic and his moans uncontrollable. He had to grit his teeth to attempt to stop the sounds, but it only worked for so long. And he couldn’t hold off any longer, couldn’t prolong the inevitable. He had no time to wonder where she’d want him to cum, brain fuzzy, groans deep and loud and it was everywhere all at once.

His dick twitched as he came down her throat, hips bucking involuntarily as he held her head down against him, her nose tickling the hair at the base of him. He chanted her name over and over, a “baby” added here and there. He couldn’t even look at her, too overcome with pleasure to function properly. It was only when he heard her choking on him that he finally let go of her head, guiding her up and off his cock.

She released him with a pop, spit and cum around her mouth. His chest was heaving, sweat shining on his skin and she didn’t take her eyes off him, breathing heavy and makeup ruined.

He reached out a shaky hand to her, muttering a small “come here” as he dragged her towards him by the chin. She clambered over him, settling down against his lap and he pressed his lips to hers in a sloppy kiss, the taste of him unpleasant but the softness of her lips enough to stop him from caring.

Her hands were on his shoulders, hips raised slightly, considerate of the fact he was still sensitive and naked under him, not wanting to hurt him. His hand moved from her chin to her throat, holding her there and releasing her from the kiss.

“You swallowed?” It was a stupid thing to ask but he couldn’t think of much else. Everything had clouded over - love and the haze of his orgasm making it difficult for him to contemplate what he could say next.

“Yeah.” She nodded her head as she spoke, biting down on her lip. He stroked the sides of her throat affectionatley, thinking how sore she must be.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” His hands migrated to her hips, pulling her forward so she could sit just above his cock. It was still shining with her spit and he caught a glimpse of the stain her lipstick had left. It made his stomach turn.

“Just a little bit.” His hands went underneath her shirt, feeling the supple skin of her waist.

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged and settled against him, hands stroking from his collarbone up to his neck.

“It’s okay.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. Goddamnit you horrible fucking woman, I love you.

He wanted to scream it, wanted everyone from Florida to Washington to hear it. He loved this woman. It wasn’t a deep love, not yet. But he knew something was there. There was no denying it.

Why couldn’t she have come into his life at a better time? When he wasn’t so riddled with grief and pain, when he could remember what he’d had to eat the night before and wasn’t so intermittently stupid. He’d known she was trouble from the beginning, he could sense it. He usually went for whoever got his tits out for him, and they came and went like cars driving down the highway. They were the ones he picked because they were quick and fast and easy to get rid of. Easy like she was supposed to be. But she wasn’t.

She lingered.

She refused to let go because he didn’t want her to. Any girl with any modicum of self-respect or knowledge of her personal worth wouldn’t have stayed as long as she had. He wanted to know why. Why was she this way? Why hadn’t she fucked off a month ago and made it easier for him?

He was an addict to everything that gave him a sense of euphoria. Even if it was in short bursts, even if he would reap the consequences of it later, it was enough to know that for a little while, he could forget.

She was just like alcohol. She was the option, the only option. She was there when he was sad, when he was angry, when everything was so loud and ringing in his ears. She sated him, but it wasn’t fair if he couldn’t provide the same comfort to her.

So he kissed her again, softer this time, lips moving in time with hers and hands roaming the skin of her waist and her stomach.

I love you.

There was a knock outside the door.

“James!” They both looked to the noise, James closing his eyes and groaning. She swung her leg off him and settled herself against the couch, watching him dress himself. “James!” The knocks were repeated over and over again.

“I’m fucking coming.” He stormed over to the door, opening it in agitation. “What?” He snapped. It was Peter, coming to ask where he’d been. He angrily told him that it was none of his business, an argument brewing. They went back and forth until Peter gave up and left again, muttering to himself about how difficult James was.

He couldn’t even care, because he heard her giggling behind him, all sweet and he could feel his heart skipping. Why was it never easy?

She was smiling when he turned around to look at her, hand covering her face and stifling her laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” He smirked at her and raised his eyebrows, walking over to the couch and sitting down in his previous position.

“Nothing,” she defended, laughing again and he wanted to say something back, wanted to give her a look or a snarky comment but all he could do was smile.

It tugged at his cheeks, his lips spreading thin, teeth on full display. It was a genuine smile, a happy smile. And it was calling him again, distant and faint but unavoidable.

“I love you.”

The smile was slow to fade off her face, the brightness in her eyes being replaced by something deeper: a pain. Unmistakable pain.

He hadn’t meant to say it and once he had he regretted it deeply. Take it back, he begged, make it stop, he begged more. What a stupid fucking thing to do.

She was stunned to silence, they both were. Neither spoke, just stared and waited to see who would make the first move.

She was brave.

“What?”

She was braver than him.

“Forget it.” He found his voice but not his brain. There was not a single logical thought in his head, nothing to make him feel better about the situation. It was all noise. It was all so loud. He didn’t expect to lose her so soon, he didn’t expect for it to happen for a least another month. He thought he had more time to think it through, to let her go easily and never, ever tell her how much he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

But he’d been so overwhelmingly happy when he heard her laughter and the words had risen from him like vomit does before you eventually throw up. They’d been forced out of his throat, even though he hadn’t wanted to say them.

I. Love. You.

“No, James…” She looked completely lost, her eyes searching for him to give her answers he couldn’t provide. He was fucking shaking, his skin hot and his mouth dry, gasping for air as his chest rose and fell, waiting for her to speak again.

What if this was the last time he saw her? What if this was it?

“You-.” Spit it out woman, please. “You can’t…say things like that.” Her pretty lips were parted, her breathing heavy as she spoke, like she was struggling to get the words out.

He couldn’t say things like that. She was right. She always had been right.

“Yeah, I know.”

But he wanted to say it. He wanted to say it to her when he woke up in the morning and when they went to bed at night, wanted to hold her and tell her that she was loved by him. He wanted to run with her even though he knew all he could do was run from her.

I love you. “I’m sorry.” I love you. “Just forget I said it.” I love you.

˚ · • . °

She loved him too.

˚ · • . °

A/N: that was so crazy!!! james can actually say what he feels!!!! anyways, i hope you enjoyed it. i'm gonna be updating more regularly because i really wanna get barefoot started as soon as i break up for the summer. apart from that, i'll see you next time :))

#james hetfield #metallica #groupie love #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica smut #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #james hetfield x oc

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captain039 · 7 months

Text

PART 9 Intertwined with a mortal

Ascended Vampire Duke!Astarion x human!reader

Slight alpha Duke!Wyll x reader

Bridgerton x Astarion 👍🏻

Warnings: Olden times, swearing, age gap, tension, slow burn, vampire Mates, vampire things, angst, sexual, harassment, bigger reader, fat shaming, 18+, angst, Astarions trauma, anxiety, depression, learning to touch and love, big dislike for children lmao, AOB, artist reader, manipulation, jealousy, feelings

Previous part <-

You'd rushed to bed and almost hid under the covers, gods help you. You silently screamed into your blanket as you kept it over your head and huffed.

“Little pup” you shot up like you did last night staring at the duke in front of you. The vampire in front of you.

“No, I will scream-“ you said as he stalked closer, but stopped at your words.

“I want to talk” he said eyes seeming to avoid yours.

“Yes, please do!” You snapped glaring at him.

“You bit me! You’re a-“ you stopped as he finally looked to you.

“A vampire” he finished and you nodded sharply.

“Exactly” you stated wondering why you weren’t screaming or even mad at him. You forced your face to show anger, but for some reason you didn’t feel it.

“How did I not see the signs” you groaned, two hundred years of confliction? Fangs? Red eyes?! Were you stupid?!

“Because I’m very good at hiding” he said and you huffed.

“Why am I not angry at you?!” You demanded and he smirked slightly before it quickly left.

“Because I wasn’t lying when I said you were my mate” he said and you froze a bit.

“A vampires mate? Gods, I’m going insane” you rested your head in your hands and sighed.

“You’re made for me, made to need me, made to be alright with this” he gestured to himself briefly.

“I’m not alright!” You said, but found it not fully being true.

“So what it’s magic?” You scoffed.

“More powerful” he said and you groaned quietly.

“So you just never spoke to me because of this? Led me on, then broke my heart?” You said and guilt filled his features.

“This is hard on me also” he growled.

“No, no it’s not because you had no issue rejecting me!” You snapped.

“Miss?” You froze at the knock on your door. The vampire suddenly atop of you hand on your mouth, eyes staring at you.

“Are you alright? I heard chatter?” The servant added as the vampire slowly moved his hand.

“I’m alright! Sorry I just lost something” you lied.

“Alright miss, did you need help?” She added.

“No! No thank you I found it” you said heart pounding in your chest.

“Very well, Goodnight Miss” she said.

“Night” you called and almost collapsed as her footsteps left.

“Get off” you weakly shoved at his chest finding it difficult to think with him atop you. He was straddling your legs, his coldness present, now you knew why. His scent filled your nose and you finally looked to him. Your body craved something, you didn’t know what as you looked to your hands against his chest. He wore formal day attire, strange for this time of night really.

“Omega” he muttered and you jolted stomach doing a flip as you looked to him.

“No, no” you mumbled sighing closing your eyes briefly. Lips pressed to yours and you felt yourself give in quickly to the new feeling. Your hands clenched his coat the best you could as you lied back down on your pillows and brought him with you. You whined softly as his hand cupped your neck and he tilted your head more, deepening the kiss. You opened your lips trying to breathe, but he took the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips and taste you. One of your hands moved to tangle in his hair, clenching the soft white curls. You pulled back panting harshly as air filled your lungs while his mouth went to your neck and kissed the mark he’d left. You tensed a bit, but the kisses were soft.

“I should have never of harmed you” he growled and you felt your body shudder.

“You looked starving” you mumbled as he continued to kiss your neck.

“I had a moment of weakness” he snapped lifting his head and for some reason his words hurt.

“I’m a weakness?” You asked and he frowned emotions swirling in his eyes. He just kissed you again not answering your question.

“I’ll see you tomorrow pup” he said climbing off the bed.

“I’ll be-“ he disappeared before you could say anything more.

“Out” you finished before a growl left your lips and you slammed a pillow over your face to groan.

You were annoyed when you awoke. The servants unfortunately catching your annoyance and leaving quickly. You were on edge, wanting more and wanting to smack his handsome face. He didn’t talk to you, you had no idea what was going on his mind. You went out despite his words going with your mum to the bakery and seamstress. You felt calmer after that and happier. As you entered your home you felt the air shift and glanced slightly into the dining room seeing the duke there talking to your father. You cursed silently before your mum saw him and smiled brightly and urged you in the room. The two men stood and you were forced to greet the duke by your mother.

“Duke Ancunin what a surprise” she gushed and you almost rolled your eyes.

“If I’d known you were visiting we wouldn’t have gone out” she chuckled.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She said to you.

“She didn’t know lady Y/L/n” Duke Ancunin said.

“Oh a surprise visit, how exciting” your mother chuckled.

“Well you two chat, I’ll go get some cakes and tea prepared” your mum said going to move before the duke spoke.

“Actually I require your attention” The duke said and she frowned as did you. What was he up too?

“Oh? Of course” your mother nodded nudging your arm slightly.

“Continue” you said and she huffed.

“I’ve come to ask for your daughters hand” Duke Ancunin said and your mouth hung open. Your mother looked surprised, but to excited and happy while your father smiled slightly.

“Oh this is wonderful news!” She didn’t question the duke and you glared at him.

“Oh a proposal” she hugged your arm as you stared at the duke. He held the same blank neutral stare he always did, you had no idea what he was thinking as he pulled out a ring. It was a silver banded ring with a Ruby a top it, two black gems either side of it down the band. He walked forward to you as you stared blankly now as he held your hand.

“No” you said making your family freeze.

“Darling” your mother chuckled nervously.

“No mother” you said sternly and she flinched slightly.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother” your father said frowning.

“A word, Duke Ancunin” you sneered grabbing his arm and tugging him into the hallway, Ignoring your calls. You slapped him harshly across the face the sound echoing off the walls. His red eyes flared slightly as he stared at you.

“You cannot treat me like this, you cannot ignore me, not talk to me, reject me! show me your darkest secret, come to me and expect me to marry you! I know nothing about you!” You spoke quietly, but your tone was filled with anger.

Astarion was surprised by your actions and words to your parents as you dragged him out. He wasn’t completely thinking properly, his mind was scrambled and he didn’t understand what was happening himself. When he came to your room last night it was out of pure selfishness, he needed to be near you again, and with the way your body reacted, you did too. He couldn’t keep doing this eventually you’d get caught and it would ruin you both, so he resorted to this, trapping you with him, gods he was stupid. Your slap came like a cold shard of ice against his cheek and his hunger grew out of anger before it died down instantly as you spoke. Your words were true you knew nothing about him, while he knew basic things about you, your favourite colour, favourite flower and food, how you enjoyed painting, your rides together where only you telling him about yourself and he liked it more than anything, but it wasn’t a one way conversation. Your face held anger, confusion you were trembling slightly, your usual sweet omega scent was sour.

“I don’t know what I’m doing” he whispered suddenly and you froze. You stared at him, fear, confliction and confusion in his face. His jaw was tightly clenched as he avoided your eyes.

“What do you mean?” You asked your anger slipping too quickly for your liking.

“I don’t know how to do this” he added as you still frowned shaking your head slightly, you didn’t understand.

“I don’t know how to love someone” his words barely reached your ear and you felt your heart shatter.

“I’ve never had a family, I don’t remember my family-“ you saw tears in his eyes and suddenly you hugged him. You tugged him down to you, hand going in his hair the other around his shoulder as he leant against your shoulder. He trembled in your hold and you hushed him. You held him tightly, what had happened to your mate?

Next part ->

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #x reader #aob #au #vampires #bridgerton inspired

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justgottafinishthischapter · 1 year

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Writing Worlds: Homosexuality in Historical Settings

As someone who loves period romances and craves romantic relationships between queer men, it’s very alluring to write queer romances set against the backdrop of historical settings and time periods. But, due to the treatment of homosexuality for a lot of our world’s history, it can make it tricky to know the best way to handle this topic. Consider this to be a sister post to go along with my Writing Romance: Courting post. The two go hand-in-hand.

ESCAPISM VS REALISM

The first hurdle is to decide whether your story is an escapist fantasy or favors realism. In an escapist historical queer romance, the queerness is simply not an issue. The prince can flat out tell his parents to arrange his marriage to male suitors, and the only real reaction is his mother immediately listing off good matches for him. The conflict has nothing to do with the fact that the relationship is between two same-sex characters, and would work just as well for a heterosexual romance story. With an escapist fantasy, you can show the Count of Yorkshire navigating the hardships of courting by having multiple young men vying for his hand, or the whirlwind romance as he catches the eye of the Duke of Orleans. And this romance can be just as open and public as any straight relationship. This option would fall under Historical Romanticism, the term used for when historical settings are made to be more idyllic and favorable than they likely were in real life. The only media where this approach tends to show up often is Fantasy, in worlds where homophobia simply never really existed. The Elder Scrolls is one such setting where male gods are married to one another, other gods change genders and pronouns as they like, and your player character is free to romance anyone of any gender as well as adopt without anyone making biggotted remarks.

On the other hand, Realism in a Historical Queer Romance is going to come prepackaged with a lot of tension and angst, as it’s automatically a forbidden romance. Because homophobia is a real issue that real queer people deal with, having queer characters deal with these issues can help your queer audience feel seen as these fictional characters can relate to their own life experiences. It’s also just more historically accurate to have queer lovers needing to tiptoe around behind people’s backs and hoping they don’t get caught. However, due to this prejudice, it’s also very easy for such settings and stories to come off as depressing, and can perpetuate unpleasant tropes in queer media, such as Bury Your Gays, Unhappily Ever After, and downer Nomance endings. Because their relationship isn’t “appropriate” for public eyes, it makes it hard for the couple to have a truly happy ending. For someone who’s tired of dealing with homophobia in their own life, or it just being present in almost all queer media, it can be tedious for those who want an escape to enjoy two guys smooching while looking dapper in period costumes.

Homosexuality and Religion

As a medieval historian, I actually did a full research paper on homosexuality in the middle ages as a part of my final for one of my medieval history classes. I still have the paper saved, so let me share an abridged version. Pagan cultures might have had some issues with homosexuality, such as the Norse favoring the “tops” over the “bottoms”, a sentiment shared by both the Greeks and Romans. However compared to later eras of history, these Pre-Christian cultures had little problems with same-sex relationships. Every Greek God but Ares, Hephaestus, and Hades had at least 1 male lover, Emperor Hadrian had his boy-toy Antinous deified after he drowned in the Nile, and the Sacred Band of Thebes was made up entirely of same-sex lovers. The idea that homosexuality was wrong only emerged with Christianity. Just... not as soon as you’d think. Christianity became a wide-spread faith across Europe around about 300 AD, mostly spread by Constantine’s deathbed conversion to Christianity. However, it would not be until the 12th century that homosexuality as a sin would emerge. This shift first started during what is known as the Medieval Renaissance when Christian theologians like St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, and St. Jerome altered the theological discourse on sin and virtue. Prior to the Medieval Renaissance, the mindset was that simply being Christian and accepting Christ as one’s savior was all it took to get into Heaven. After the Medieval Renaissance, the focus shifted to individual sin and the worthiness of the individual soul. They came to view Earth as sort of a testing grounds or waiting room, and any temporary Earthly pleasure was a wicked temptation sent by Satan to lead men astray. How you did on the test impacted whether you passed or failed. One thing that was declared a sin was fornication without the prospect of procreation. And this went for everyone. Any sexual act that would not result in childbirth was a sin, because you were doing it for the pleasure, not for the purposes of making a baby. Furthermore, any position except Missionary was also sinful, again in an attempt to limit pleasure. Since cis-gendered homosexuals cannot procreate, any homosexual acts were universally labeled as a sin by happenstance. Later in 1179, Peter Comestor proposed to the Third Lateran Council a link between the biblical condemnation of sodomy with explicitly condemning homosexuals, and not just anal fornication as a whole, even stating that clerks found guilty of this act should be removed from office, and laymen should be excommunicated from the church. It is Peter Comestor and his stance on homosexuality that truly caused homosexuality to be labeled as a sin on principal, and is why so many modern Christians still believe homosexual relationships are sinful by nature. However, it’s worth pointing out that the time from when Christianity was a widespread faith in Europe (approx. 300 AD) to the Third Lateran Council (1179) is a span of 879 years. As of this point in 2023, the time between Comestor’s condemnation of homosexuality and the present is only 844 years. Meaning that Christianity has a longer history of tolerating homosexuality than it has condemning it. I say all of this because in any setting where Christianity is not a part of the worldbuilding, there is no reason to have homophobia, unless you replace Christianity with a similarly homophobic fictional religion, as George RR Martin does with the Faith of the Seven in A Song of Ice and Fire. As for Judaism and Islam, I’m at a loss there. My studies didn’t really lead me to those topics, and I can’t offer much insight there.

Handwaving Escapist Diversity

Let’s be real, we can’t even cast People of Color in fantasy stories without racists crapping their pants, so unfortunately, we’re going to face similar problems having queer couples openly courting each other in a historical setting. But, there are a few ways around this where we can have our cake and eat it too without the homophobes being able to hide behind “historic accuracy” as a reason to have a problem with queer romances in historical periods. It’s all about the genre. Let’s look at some of the genres we can use.

Historical Fiction: This is the base form. Any period piece is going to be historical fiction. However, Historical Fiction comes in a wide array. Historical Romanticism is the lighter approach, simply putting make-up on the era to make it more palatable and appealing. Think of Bridgerton where the dresses are shaped historically and the characters behave historically, but the Queen is a woman of color, and the dress materials are far more colorful and bright than they would have been at the time. It’s still the Regency era, just with a bit of rouge. On the other hand, there’s Alternate History. Historical settings where a major deviation has occurred in the timeline. Whether the Roman Empire never fell, the British crushed the American Revolution and took over the entire world, Christianity never caught on and the Roman Pantheon is the most widespread belief system, or the industrial revolution exploded even harder, resulting in a more Steampunk vibe. A major upheaval has altered the face of history, and your queer romance is set in an utterly changed world with a different timeline.

Steampunk: As I just touched on, your world can be more technologically advanced, however, Steampunk can also be a genre for completely fictional worlds, giving you a great way to have a story set in an era with an 1880s - 1910s aesthetic, but easily exist as it own world with its own history and values where homosexual relationships aren’t a problem. Steampunk is also the most optimistic and aesthetically oriented of the science-fiction -Punk genres, compared to the much bleaker and more cynical outlooks of Cyberpunk, Diesel Punk, and Gothic Punk.

Gaslamp Fantasy: Basically, Steampunk but with fantastical elements. It keeps that late Victorian - Edwardian aesthetic, but adds magic, faeries, dragons, vampires, etc. Now, Steampunk leans more Sci-fi, while Gaslamp Fantasy is more well.... Fantasy, so Gaslamp Fantasy does tend to lose some of the technological aspects of Steampunk, but it can also overlap with Magitech, a subgenre where machinery is powered and propelled by magical energy. So, you can very well have a Steampunk Gaslamp Fantasy where all of the steam and gears and machinery is powered by magic. It’ still Steampunk, so long as that train is powered by shoveling magic energy crystals into the furnace, instead of coal. Howl’s Moving Castle is a good example of how the two can coexist. There are normal trains as we see in Sophie’s town, but we also see Howl’s castle which can move because of Calcipher, a fire demon that needs to constantly eat a fuel source of one kind or another. The world is full of witches, magic, and curses, but there’s also muskets, trains, airplanes, zeppelins, and a castle that spews steam and smoke as it wanders the countryside.

Paranormal Romance: Especially common with Vampires, but the fallout of Twilight and Alpha/Beta/Omegas in pop culture has also led to a rising interest in Werewolf stories, and a recent trend has also swept Faeries into the pop culture spotlight as well. All three offer stories where one or both of your characters is an immortal (or very long-lived) individual. Perhaps their world is homophobic now, but when they met and fell in love, it was perfectly acceptable. Perhaps being alive for 800 years piqued the main character’s curiosity and they decided to give it a try. The long history of homosexuals being demonized has led to a large percentage of queer people identifying with the monsters and villains of media, causing them to see themselves in the hated monsters, demons, and vampires that threaten the heterosexual heroes of old.

Historical Fantasy: For everything else that’s not within that Victorian-Edwardian window, Historical Fantasy has you covered. From Cyclopes and Sirens in Ancient Greece to Dragons and Goblins in Medieval France, or a mermaid ending up in an Americana freak show, this pretty much covers ever kind of fantasy romance in a historical setting that’s not covered by Paranormal Romance or Gaslamp Fantasy.

Renaissance Punk: It’s like Steampunk, but the world’s technology resembles the contraptions of Leonardo Da Vinci, as opposed to the clockwork, gears, and steam aesthetic plastered onto the turn of the 20th century that Steampunk offers. Also called Da Vinci Punk.

Space Punk: If you’re wanting to lean more Sci-fi, you can do Space Punk. Think Treasure Planet, though I could also call that Sail Punk. It has a very Victorian clothing and technological aesthetic, but then space is full of a breathable Ethereum, and even Doctor Doppler’s “space suit” looks closer to an old-timey diver’s suit. But the ship has solar sails, the mast charges up with a power source that propels the ship into space, lockets project holograms of still photographs, cybernetic prosthetics are technologically advanced, and aliens are a common sight, even for the poorest commoner.

Same-Sex Courting for Escapist Romance

I touched on this in my Writing Romance: Courting post, but I’ll cover it again because it’s especially applicable here. The rules of courting in the 1800s relied heavily on gender roles. So, how does one make sense of courting rules when the couple are the same sex? The basic rule of thumb is that whoever is higher in status is the one to be chased, while the one of lower class does the chasing. If a Duke is looking for a husband, does the Duke chase Viscounts or do Viscounts chase the Duke? Always, the Viscounts chase the Duke. A Duke is a valuable husband, a prize catch those Viscounts would want to have. What if the romance is between two men of equal class? Two Dukes falling in love? The one who would take the more passive role is likely to be whichever is higher in the line of succession. During the courting phase, an elligible queer bachelor is likely to recieve many gentlemen callers. They would come to the bachelor’s house where his family could keep an eye on him, and judge his prospects. They would bring gifts and trinkets, and sit in the tea room, sewing room, drawing room, or whatever room is used to entertain guests. Gentlemen callers would then talk with the bachelor, recite poetry, play the piano, or whatever else they could to impress the bachelor and his family. Again, as I said before, the one being visited by gentlemen callers is whoever is higher up in the chain of nobility. The Duke’s family is going to scrutinize every gentleman who calls on their son, while the Baron’s family is going to urge him to call on every queer man who outranks him. The other thing to keep in mind is inheritance. The first-born son inherits everything, so a second-born son or third-born son will get nothing from his father, or best case scenario, he will get a small fraction of the family fortune from his father or older brother. In order for these younger sons to stay in the lifestyle they were raised in, they will have to marry someone who is coming into his fortune. In a setting where women can inherit her father’s entire estate, a lesbian would function the exact same as a gay man. Ergo, any queer romantic lead who is not inheriting his father’s full estate must seek a first-born son who will inherit his father’s estate. Meanwhile, if your protagonist is a first-born son, he is far more likely to be chased by the younger sons of distinguished families. Finally, when it comes to the social season and courting at dances, queer nobles would likely wear something to distinguish themselves from the heterosexual nobles at the party. Something to let the other guests know their preference in dance partner. That way, gentlemen know not to ask the Baroness of Agincourt to dance, but that the Duke of Orleans is all too eager to receive male attention.

Lavender Marriages in Realist Romances

A lavender marriage is when a queer person marries someone of the opposite sex to disguise their homosexual dalliances, such as Renly Baratheon marrying Margaery Tyrell, or Laenor Valyrian marrying Rhaenyra Targaryen. In these instances, the woman knew her husband was queer and was willing to work with him to keep the secret. However, sometimes the wife wouldn’t know, and the husband was keeping his sexuality a secret from everybody. However, it was usually hard for a noble to keep his dalliances completely hidden from the court, as in both of these cases, both Renly and Laenor were well-known around court to be fanciful of male attention. Everyone typically knows the wedding is a sham, but tend to turn a blind eye to it regardless. I know I’ve been using male examples this whole post, but this does also work with lesbian romances. I believe the term is still lavender marriage with a lesbian, but I could be mistaken.

Actual Homosexuality in Historical Time Periods

Scholars debate the exact nature of their relationship, but in Arthurian Myth, King Galehaut is conquering his way across Arthur’s Kingdom when he challenges Arthur to a duel for the throne of Camelot. However, upon seeing Sir Lancelot, Galehaut offers to concede to Arthur if he’ll introduce him to Lancelot. From then on, Galehaut and Lancelot became Very Close Special Guy Friends, and it’s suspected that the pair might be lovers, or at least that Galehaut is in love with Lancelot.

Leonardo Da Vinci was involved with one of his male models, Pietri Bandielli, who Da Vinci used as a model for Jesus. Which also means, If you pray to the white version of Jesus with the little beard and long brown hair, congratulations! You’re worshiping a gay Italian male model that used to have sex with Leonardo Da Vinci.

Hans Christian Andersen fell in love with the son of his financier, Edvard Collins. But, when Collins became engaged and later married to Henriette Tybjerg, a heartbroken Andersen wrote the story of The Little Mermaid as an allegory for his unrequited love. Collins was the handsome prince who didn’t return the mermaid’s feelings, Henriette was the Temple Girl who stole the mermaid’s love, and Andersen himself was the mermaid, unable to verbalize her true feelings, and suffering great pain just to be near the one she loves.

It’s mostly speculation, but it’s believed that Richard I of England had a clandestine homosexual relationship with Phillip II of France. The majority of evidence comes from one particular courtier’s writings who described them as eating from the same dish and not being separated by their beds at night. However, it’s hard to say if this is evidence of a homosexual relationship, or just the flowery prose writing of the time describing a very close bromance.

Edward II of England had little interest in war. Hoping to toughen up his son, Edward’s father assigned a squire to Edward that excelled in tournaments, Piers Gaveston. However, this backfired spectacularly, as Edward fell in love with Piers. Gaveston flaunted his sway over the king, being so bold as to wear royal purple and the queen’s jewelry during Edward’s coronation. Gaveston was hunted down and beheaded by a group of barons, and Edward himself was killed with a red-hot poker shoved up his backside.

King James I of England was a well-known bisexual, even having a secret passageway linking his bedchambers with that of George Villiers. James’ male lovers experienced royal favoritism and protection, as James absolved one male lover for poisoning a political rival, and twice protecting Villiers from impeachment for incompetency. Following James’ death, Villiers was struck through by a sword.

Anne Lister was a noblewoman who often dressed in masculine clothing and kept a coded diary which recounted her many and varied lesbian affairs over her lifetime. Lister even earned the nickname Gentleman Jack, and is often regarded as the First Modern Lesbian.

Pirate ships were one of the few places where gay marriage was legitimate. Pirate captains could perform marriage ceremonies, and marriages between male crewmates was not uncommon, even having rules about sharing property and distrubution of goods among crew members with a married couple on-board. As well as the distribution of property following the death of a same-sex spouse.

While we know that brothels and prostitution has existed since Ancient Greece, in the 1700s, it was possible to find a Molly House. A house which featured male prostitutes who catered to male clients.

Women were not believed to have sex drives, so when two women loved each other, they were often called “bosom buddies”, and two women living together without a man in the house was called a Boston Marriage.

In the medieval era, it was believed that a woman’s womb was naturally cold and had to be kept warm with regular activity. If the woman was unmarried, the womb was to be kept warm by hand. But since using her own hands would be sinful, it often fell to the woman’s female servants to do the deed.

Men and women often existed in entirely disconnected social spheres. For a man, he would go to work where he would only work with men, after work he would go to a local bar or club that was exclusively for gentlemen, and following dinner, he would often retire to a private room in his home or another man’s home to sit, smoke, and talk with his male colleagues. Even within a single house, men would retire to the gentlemen’s lounge to smoke, while women would depart to the sewing room, tea room, or drawing room to have afternoon tea with the other ladies. As men would spend their entire days solely in the company of men, and the same for women, many men and women only spent time together in public spaces, during meals, and when going to bed. Even then, it was not uncommon to see households where the man and woman had separate bedchambers, and the woman would only sleep in the man’s bedroom when he desired sexual congress. Even the Palace of Versailles had separate chambers for the king and queen. This gave queer couples plenty of time to sneak around without anyone being the wiser.

This to Keep in Mind

One of the biggest issues behind the AIDS epidemic was the promiscuous nature of gay lovers in the 1970s. Because gay men had to be discreet, they would often have anonymous relations in public spaces like bathhouses and bars. This combination of unsafe sex practices and anonymous lovers caused STDs to run rampant through the community, and allowed the AIDS epidemic to have a devastating impact on the queer community.

In Victorian great houses, the footmen were effectively the “face” of the manor’s servants, so height and attractiveness was favored when hiring them. As such, footmen make for excellent romantic interests in a historical time period, since they’re required to be attractive to be hired.

The mafia has a long history of working with and supporting the LGBT community. In the 1920s, nightclubs in the black districts of Harlem would host drag balls, these events being known as Harlem Nights. The mafia helped these groups to meet without police interference for a kickback fee. Even the Stonewall Inn had Mafia protection. In a world where homosexuality is still seen as a sin, think about what groups are willing to turn a blind eye in the interest of profit.

Homosexuals were among those rounded up the Nazi Party during the Holocaust. Just as Jews were forced to wear the Star of David on their clothes, so too were homosexuals marked with a pink triangle. The Nazi Party also destroyed research on gender and sexuality, which destroyed a lot of evidence that had been gathered of queer existence up to that point in time. Today, the Pink Triangle is among the reclaimed symbols used by the queer community.

Queer people found ways to signal to one another. At different points in time, the visual cues have included wearing green ties, having a red carnation in their lapels, and in the 1970s, a bandana in the back pocket was a common way of indicating someone was a homosexual, and the color would even further indicate what they were looking for. Many modern slang words even started out as gay code words so that gay people could talk in public without drawing attention to themselves. Codes like “buns” for butt are still in use today, but got their start as codewords to keep gay conversations undercover.

While we often remember the Red Scare of the 1950s, we often don’t mention that there was also a Lavender Scare at the same time, which hunted down homosexuals just as the Red Scare hunted for communists. It was the belief that homosexuals would be more likely to undermine American policies or spread information to enemy nations, and thus had to be kept down.

Rich men often kept “actresses”, paying for apartments for them, paying for their food, drink, fun, costumes, and whatever else. If they really were an actress or otherwise a struggling entertainer, it was not unheard of for the wealthy benefactor to pay to get the actress roles, pay for tutors and lessons, or even buying them an entire theater. It’s not so hard to believe that a wealthy gentleman could keep a male model, actor, or artist in good stead, especially because artists in particular flourished in periods where rich people would sponsor and commission artists to paint for them. And this can work for either type of story, as a husband or wife would be equally annoyed to learn that the Duke of Orleans is keeping a young actor on the south side.

Gif Sourcing:

1. Bridgerton (2020 - present) 2. Game of Thrones (2011-2019) 3. Mary, Queen of Scots (2018) 4. Downton Abbey (2010-2015) 5. Victoria (2016) 6. Cloud Atlas (2012) 7. A Place to Call Home (2013-2018) 8. Mary Shelley (2017) 9. Brokeback Mountain (2005)

#historical fiction #writing romance #gay romance #historical romance #period piece #period drama #courting #courtship #gay history #gay historical fiction #gay victorian #gay period piece #gay period drama #queer romance #queer history #gay love story

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