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snowfll · 5 months

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A Soldier I Will Be; Treech

pairing - Treech x mentor!reader summary - your one goal was to get him out of the arena, you didnt care what the Capital thought of you words - 2.54k warning - fluff! note - I am actually in love w Treech, there isn't enough fanfics about him on the internet so I decided to write my own! part 2 part 3

The day arrived for the reaping of the 10th annual Hunger Games, and you were far from excited. The games are cruel and unfair to district citizens, and your values set you apart from the heartless enthusiasm displayed by many in the Capitol.

Walking into the giant room filled with Academy students, you heard the whispers of those you passed. You learned to ignore everyone after years of being treated differently, but there were only two people you could tolerate: Sejanus Plinth and Coriolanus Snow.

“Ms. Graham, I'm glad you made it after all.” Sejanus Plinth, the only other person open about their hatred for the games.

“Oh, you know they would drag me into this either way, Sejanus.” He had previously warned you that the Plinth prize would not be awarded that day, and in its place, something that goes against everything the two of you stood for.

Although you voiced your opinions, you were still a capital sweetheart. As you come from one of the oldest and richest families in the capital, you were expected to act a certain way, despite your rebellious spirit.

Sitting between Coriolanus and Sejanus, you heard a throat being cleared, signaling the beginning of the reaping. Casca Highbottom, the one and only creator of Hunger Games, chugged down a vial of what looked to be morphling.

“The prize is a bit different this year. The top performing students will each receive a tribute, only one, and whichever tribute… performs the best, will receive the prize. Winning is set aside but will be taken into consideration…”

So this is what the capital had planned—put the capital kids in charge of the district kids? You couldn’t help but feel horrible for Sejanus, coming from the districts, he was bound to be given a tribute from his old home, District 2.

Dean Highbottom started announcing which student would mentor what district. When it came to Sejanus, you were right; they gave him the District 2 male tribute. Reaching over, you grabbed his hand in hopes of providing a sense of comfort. On multiple occasions, he has expressed to you how being from the districts has affected him.

“District 7 male,” you heard Highbottom pause before looking up to you, “belongs to Ms.Graham.”

Making your way to the big screen in front of you, you saw your tribute. He was staring straight into the camera, almost like he could sense you were watching him. ‘Treech’, you read below his figure. You couldn’t help but smile, but it was soon replaced with a frown once you saw the condition he was in.

You took in the image of the boy; he seemed your age—maybe 17 or 18? The hat he wore looked bent out of shape and covered his dark eyes. He looked as if he were about to scream or cry, and he was trying his hardest to act tough in front of his district. All you felt was pity and a sense of needing to help him survive.

After all the mentors were given their tribute and a speech from Dr. Gaul, the head gamemaker, the ceremony was brought to an end. Sejanus was called by his father, and he bid you goodbye. “I’m going to the tributes train arrival, and you’re coming with me." You jumped at the sudden voice and turned around to see Coriolanus staring at you.

“And why would I?” You crossed your arms, unsure why he wanted you, of all people, to accompany him. Sure, you were friends, but you didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on things, often bickering while Sejanus was there to calm you both down.

“The peacekeepers will let me in if you are with me,” he explained, knowing that most peacekeepers know not to mess with you. “They won’t turn you down; you’re the capital’s top sweetheart.”

It’s true; every peacekeeper knew of your existence and obeyed you in fear of upsetting your father. You didn’t like to take advantage of your capital status, but it did come in handy when you got into trouble.

“Fine,” you agreed, “but only on one condition: you leave me and my tribute alone.” Coriolanus nodded his head and explained that you two would meet at the train station the next morning before school.

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Arriving at the station, you walked up to Coriolanus, who was already waiting there with a white rose in his hand. Groups of peacekeepers were stationed every few feet. Guns in hand, ready to shoot at any kind of violent nature.

A loud whistle was heard, causing your head to snap towards the track, where a large mechanical train began to slow. Once the train pulled into the station, you took notice of the carriages; there were 12, one for each district. The peacekeepers that once stood still were now making their way towards the train. Slowly, they began to open the carts, and tribute after tribute came out. As each tribute climbed off the train, you were on the lookout for ‘Treech’.

Passing by each cart and watching each pair climb down, you eventually found the pair from District 7. Lamina, whom you remembered as Pliny’s tribute, noticed you as you walked up to her. Her eyes were red from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling. You gave her a warm smile, which she returned, except there was a sad look in her eye.

“Who are you?” A voice called out from next to Lamina, and your face turned to see your tribute. He had placed a protective hand in front of his district partner, like you were going to hurt her. You felt sad at the fact that he thought you would hurt either of them.

Reaching your hand out, you told him your name, “But everyone calls me by my last name, Graham, so it’s up to you!” As he looked at your hand, hesitant to shake it, you realized you hadn’t explained why you were there. "Oh, right, I’m your mentor. Thought it was the right thing to come and introduce myself as you arrived in the capital."

“Well, I don’t need no mentor. I don’t want your help." He spat with a look of disgust in his eyes, causing you to lower your hand and stare awkwardly at the ground. You heard Lamina whispering to him something about how he should be nice to you. Looking up, you smiled at her again as a sign of thanks for being kind to you, even though she didn’t know you.

“I don’t have to be nice to her, Lamina, she’s from the capital." He looked at you up and down as if trying to prove his point with your outfit. You could understand why he was acting like that—if you were in his spot, you wouldn’t trust anyone from the capital.

“I am just here to help you; I don’t mean any harm." You saw his face start to soften but quickly change back to his sour expression once two peacekeepers appeared behind you and began to drag the pair towards a big van being filled with the other tributes. The two stared at you as you began to chase after them.

“Hey, where is that van taking them?" You called out to a peacekeeper, who just rolled his eyes and walked away from you. “Don’t ignore me.” Before you could walk back up to them, you felt someone grab your arm. You were ready to hit whoever it was, but you realized it was only Coriolanus.

“Just wait; once the peacekeepers aren’t looking, we will sneak into the van.” You nodded softly, praying that you were able to be by Treech’s side the entire time.

As you made your way into the van, you were pushed to the ground as it started to move. You saw many of the tributes staring at you and Coriolanus as the two of you stuck out like a sore thumb with your bright red uniforms. The tributes had threatened to attack the two of you, one of them even grabbing Coriolanus by his shirt. Fortunately, Lucy Gray stepped in for Coriolanus as Treech pulled you up off the floor once he saw you sitting there, afraid for your life. He stayed standing in front of you, with Lamina behind you, instead of going back to his spot, standing with his hand grabbing the bar above his head.

There was a sudden stop, causing everyone in the van to jerk forward before it began to tip over. Once the doors opened, everyone flew out, falling on the hard rocks. You groaned as you tumbled down, and you ended up landing next to Treech, who groaned as well. Noticing his hat was no longer on his head, you looked around before crawling to grab it for him. He muttered a quick thank you as he took it from your grasp.

“Where are we?” He questioned, seeming confused about where they were dumped. As you fully took in your surroundings, you gasped. The tall bars and the animal-like environment—they dumped everyone in the Capital Zoo.

“They are keeping you in the zoo? You guys are not animals. How could they do this?” You were beyond outraged. They force them to fight each other to death and don’t even give you a decent sleeping place.

Turning to Treech, you kept apologizing over and over, “I am so sorry about this; I had no idea they were going to keep you here.” He looked like he did when you saw him at the reaping, as if he were about to cry.

"Well, look over here; is that another Academy student I see?” The two of you turned your heads to see Lucky Flickerman and his camera crew on the opposite side of the bars. It looked as if he had just finished talking to Coriolanus and Lucy Gray. "Ahh, isn’t it, Ms. Graham? You're certainly a favorite here in the capital." You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not; either way, you walked over to him, dragging Treech behind you, who was protesting the action.

"Hello, Lucky, it is nice to see you again. Have you met my tribute yet? Treech, here, is quite the gentleman." You continued to talk him up to the camera while he just stood there behind you.

“It was amazing to speak to you, and thank you for introducing Treech to us, but it seems as if you are about to be whisked out of the cage.” He warned you as you turned around to see a peacekeeper making his way to you as another made his way to Coriolanus. To try and avoid any more violence, you stepped away from Treech as a sign of your cooperation, but the peacekeeper still grabbed you with a great deal of force.

“Don’t touch her like that." Treech yelled as the peacekeeper tightened his grip on your arm, “You’re going to hurt her.”

“They won’t even dare to hurt me; don’t you worry about me." You called after him as he looked at you with fear in his eyes. Lamina had to hold his arm to warn him not to go after you. “Take care of yourself; I will be back later today." The last thing you saw before you were forced to exit the enclosure was Treech giving you a hesitant smile. It was barely noticeable, but, you know, it took a lot for him to do it.

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Unfortunately, you weren’t able to make it after school like many of your other classmates. By the time you arrived at the zoo, it was dark and everyone was already gone.

“Treech, where are you?” you whisper-yelled for him as you made your way to the bars. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it earlier in the day; my father did not like the little stunt I pulled. I had to sneak out to be here.” As he made his way to where you were, you started to pull packages of food and water out of your bag.

“Did you bring anything for me?” He asked, sitting down, once he saw you cross your legs on the floor.

“I sure did. Tons of stuff." You began to list off everything you brought. “I even brought enough for Lamina, so be sure to share with her.” As you handed him everything, he turned around and tossed some of it into her lap.

“Did her mentor stop by?” You nodded your head towards Lamina. You were curious to see if Pliny would actually take on his role as a mentor or just sit back and let you do it, knowing you cared for them.

“He did for a few minutes, but she didn’t speak to him,” he sighed, remembering the event that occurred a few hours prior. “She only wanted to speak to you. She seems to trust you, but how do I know I can?” He asked, taking a bite of the cookie you brought him.

"Well, for starters, I made that cookie you are eating, and I don’t bake for just anyone,” you said as he bit into it again. “Secondly, I care about you. I don’t agree with how the capital treats the district.”

He looked at you like he didn’t expect you to feel that way. “You better not be lying to me, sweetie. Are you sure you aren’t in it for the money? We heard that man mention it to his camera earlier.”

“Oh, I don’t care for the prize; even if I win it, it just ties me down to the capital like I owe them something, and that is the last thing I want when I try and escape this hell.” One day, you were going to leave the capital; you truly were not meant for this place. You explained to him that you wanted to hide out in one of the districts and live out your life away from the capital.

“Whose side are you on? Are you a saint or a sinner, Ms. Graham?” He shot you a look before continuing. “I have a feeling the way you treat me isn’t going to be liked by the capital. I’ve grown quite fond of you, so I’d hate to see them turn against you in the comfort of your own home.”

“I don’t care if the capital hates me for protecting you. It doesn’t matter if they won’t take me back, Treech; all I care about is getting you out of this.” You grabbed his hand through the bar to provide comfort. At that moment, he knew you weren’t lying, but just for safe measure, you spoke up again.

“I’ll throw away my status, just to keep you safe.”

The relationship between you and Treech evolved from mentor and tribute to something deeper. Bonds formed in the face of distress were not easily broken, and you both found strength in each other.

As the 10th annual Hunger Games continued, the Capitol was about to witness a different kind of uprising—one fueled by empathy, compassion, and a shared desire for freedom. And at the center of it all was the unexpected alliance between a Capitol sweetheart and a district tribute determined to defy the odds.

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thesunisatangerine · 6 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of death/dying

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5k

A dull, stabbing pain throbbed in your right rib and you put a hand over it–you hoped to ease it somehow but it remained–as you replied, “I… I don’t know, Derek. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

The movement didn’t go unnoticed from Derek’s watchful gaze, especially when he was sitting right there beside you on the couch, and his blue eyes shone with the familiar question, ‘Are you okay?’ You answered him silently with a reassuring raise of your brows and a wave of your hand. Seemingly placated for the time being, he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

“There’s no pressure. I just thought I’d let you know before I pass it on over to Jersey and before I inform the client she’ll go in place of you. But if you’re interested in just going to watch, we can arrange that, too.” Derek paused, opened his mouth then closed it, and he looked a bit unsure about the words he wanted to say.

Then he continued, “I… I think it will be good for you.”

The thought of returning back to the field, albeit for sporting coverage, still instilled anxiety in your stomach. Sure you had made enough progress in therapy to pick up a camera again without having a breakdown–you remembered crying out in relief when you did it for the first time after your last photojournalistic coverage–but covering the Olympics with tens of thousands of people present, one of them being Alexia?

It was painfully obvious that that was something truly out of your depth. You just weren’t ready.

But the thing was, would Alexia even care if she saw you there? You hadn’t spoken to or seen her in person in, what, fourteen months? What would she even say? What would you say? Considering that you were just a fling, you doubted that Alexia would even recognise you, much less care. The last time you were tempted to search up her name, you burnt yourself when you saw a candid photo of her and another woman. And the fact still stood that–and she said so herself, didn’t she?–you meant nothing to her.

Another firm refusal was poised on the tip of your tongue when a round of giggles that erupted from the backyard, carefree and full of glee, captured your attention. Through the open sliding door of the living room you found your daughter with her Uncle Robert, head thrown back in a heartfelt laugh at whatever her uncle was telling her with his animated gestures.

You smiled at the sight, chest immediately feeling full and warm.

“For the both of you.” Derek added and when you looked back at him, you found his focus directed to where yours was only a moment ago. You regarded the scene again, fiddling with the string on your wrist as you mulled his words over.

More than a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom imagining that you’d be able to behold a scene such as this. More than a year ago, you almost died–no, you did die–and the months that followed were nothing short of arduous, the first few weeks after you woke up even more so. It was as if the time between then and now existed on its own plane; you remembered it so vividly that sometimes when you sink into the darkest recesses of your mind, it almost felt like you were still there, and this–the now–was an illusion your lamenting mind had conjured to mollify yourself.

This almost felt too good to be real–too tranquil.

And as if awoken by the mere whisper of it, the memories pulled you away from reality and made a spectator out of you as you sank back into the most difficult time in your life.

From nothingness came the noises, followed by sensations, gentle in their intrusion at first before they made their presence more pronounced, rousing you finally.

There was a steady beeping and a gentle, mechanical hum coming from somewhere beside you and as the scope of your hearing widened, muffled footsteps and chattering registered not a moment later. Your mouth was parched but when you tried to swallow, a tightness in your throat prevented you from doing so and you groaned. Then you felt a dull ache along your right side, from the top of your shoulder, to your ribcage, and down to just by the side of your abdomen.

It took considerable effort to lift your eyelids but you managed. You found a grey ceiling to begin with but as your eyes fleeted through the room you were apparently in, you eventually found your mom asleep just beside your bed. She was curled in on herself, bent and tense, knees tucked close to her chin while her arm supported her head as a makeshift pillow against the chair’s arm. Even in her slumber, she didn’t look at peace: her brows were furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted low, her lower eyelids looked red and raw, cheeks void of their usual carmine tint. From where you were, you could see the lines that had etched themselves on her face as if years had passed since you had last seen her.

She flinched as if a rough hand had jolted her awake, her eyes weary as she opened them at first. The moment she caught your eye she froze–she didn’t even breathe–before her eyes lit up with tears. Then she was beside you, enveloping your head in her gentle cradle as her tears fell on you, searing against your cold cheeks.

In that moment, you didn’t realise how cold you were until you felt your mom’s tender warmth and the comfort it brought. Emotion bubbled in your throat and you sobbed around the apparatus in your mouth for your mom’s presence. So enraptured were you by her grace that you didn’t even realise that the both of you weren’t alone anymore until a nurse urged your mom to step aside so the doctor could check on you.

You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twelve hours after waking up from an eleven-day coma, the doctor told you in a gentle manner as she assessed you. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to your mom and gave her a reassuring smile. She said that your state looked promising, that the likelihood of you slipping back into a coma was slim, but you should expect to sleep more deeply–for more than twelve hours a day–during the next week or so due to the damage in your right lung and your increased brain activity. True enough, just the brief interaction and exposure to the stimulants had taken a decent chunk of your energy, and you were beginning to feel exhausted already.

The doctor and nurse left shortly after that and your mom stuck by your side. She clung to your hand, her fear that you would disappear if she even let go for a second as apparent as the tears in her eyes. Her grip was crushing you but even if you could tell her, you didn’t have the heart to do it because you saw how much she needed the closeness, the physical contact, how much it brought her relief so you let it be. And if you were being honest, the slight pain grounded you to her presence–to be present in that very moment.

The door of your ward opened again, the movement catching your attention, and in came your brother. His cheeks were red and he was heaving his breaths through his open mouth, blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. As his gaze found yours, his mouth closed in a tight line but not before a sob left his lips, chin shaking and brows furrowing which made the tears in his eyes to finally fall. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to your side, his arms immediately around your head as he sobbed out apology after apology against your temple.

Tears welled in your eyes and you longed to grab his face, to put your palms over his ears, and tell him that he had nothing to apologise for. Your heart broke and when you felt the warmth of your mom’s arms around the both of you and felt her own tears against your cheek again, a gravity pressed against your chest as the realisation of what nearly happened finally sank in.

You wept then as it hit you, sobbing into the arms of the people you cared most about in the world.

You cried in relief.

You cried in grief.

And you cried because you were alive to do it.

The next time you woke, a nurse stopped by to take out the ventilator tube from your airway and replaced it with a nasal cannula for your oxygen support. She said that depending on the rate at which your right lung would recuperate, you needed to be on oxygen support for six to eight more weeks.

Your throat felt raw from the extraction but the relief that came from it was very much welcome. You’d been itching to ask your family about what you missed and what exactly happened. There was an empty space in your memory where memories as to how you ended up in the hospital should be–at that point you couldn’t recall anything about the child, the gunfire that wounded you, the dreams; your mind was completely out of the loop.

And you did just that.

In response, your mom pursed her lips in a thin line, stern and stubborn as mothers often were when they got protective of their children, before she shook her head firmly.

“You heard the doctor, hon. You need to rest for now.”

You tried a couple more times that day, even with Derek, to gain some insight but your family remained resolute in preventing you from being stressed out. They reminded you that you had plenty of time to put the pieces together.

Then familiar faces jumped in your mind and the guilt blazed in you, unforgiving. How could you have forgotten about them?

“Derek. Where’s Jones and Gilda?” Tremors made the rawness of your voice all the more apparent, and you stared at you brother in apprehension. The monitor began to beep as it detected your accelerated heartbeat, and your mom was automatically beside you to hold your hand, brushing the hair on your crown to soothe you.

“They’re fine, sis. Breathe.” Derek replied quickly, patting your covered foot over the blanket. “Gilda fractured her wrist and Jones is actually on standby.”

You sighed, tension immediately leaving your body at the information. You nodded your thanks to your brother for at least putting your mind at ease by telling you that.

“That’s enough for today.” Your mom said sternly before she pointed at you. “You. Rest. Now. And you, zip it.”

Derek put his hands up, pulling his brows up and the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated manner, and at that, you laughed.

Despite your growing impatience over the days that followed, bits and pieces of your memory finally returned to you but not without some help. On one occasion your mom, albeit with a tightness in her voice as if the mere act of speaking about it brought her terrible pain, finally told you what happened after you lost consciousness.

She recounted what she’d been told by the first doctor that took care of you: how a returning convoy with a paramedic onboard heard the gunshots and managed to get to you on time. Any longer and they wouldn’t have been able to–she stopped to wipe her tears and tried to find her voice again–they wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate you when your heart stopped on the way back to camp. Your right lung had collapsed from the penetrating wound in your chest and, along with the ones in your right abdomen and shoulder, you’d lost a lot of blood already that by the time you were put under surgery, you slipped away again. This time, you very nearly succumbed to your wounds for good, and it was a miracle you came back–that the surgeon said you were lucky to have lived.

Derek put a comforting arm around your mom as she put her face in her hands, breaking down again. You ached to do the same but weakness still occupied all parts of your body so the only thing you could do was offer your words.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened her back and wiped her tears away, seeming to have calmed down now but Derek continued to rub her back with a soothing hand and continued where she left off.

They found your press ID badge and contacted the photojournalism firm you were under. After receiving the news, Derek told your mom who–even though Derek told her to wait so he could go with her–flew herself out on the first plane there. He flew himself the next day after he sorted things out around the firm.

“If you’re here, who did you leave in charge?”

“Robert. Don’t worry, he’s fine. I may or may not have told him I’d break up with him if he messed up.”

Your mom gasped at that, scandalised, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “Derek!”

“What? I’m just joking!” Derek asked looking very much like a reprimanded child with his eyes wide in disbelief at being told off. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at your brother’s antics but you knew that your future brother-in-law was very much capable of keeping the firm afloat.

“Poor Robert. You’re a menace, you know that right?”

“He knows it, sis, why do you think he’s with me?” He wagged his brows and you grimaced at the innuendo–the last thing you’d like to think about was your brother’s sex life. “Anyway, after I landed, Mom and I decided that we should move you to a different hospital. Farther away from the conflict zone. So we took your belongings there and now you’re here. Which reminds me, we have your rolls of film and camera at the hotel.”

At the mention of your camera, images flooded in: the explosions, the guns, the massacre, the blood… and the child. The child! Where was she now? Was she okay? What happened–

“What? What is it?” The sound of Derek’s voice, thick with apprehension, disrupted your thoughts.

“The little girl. I was with a little girl when I got shot. Derek, where is she?” The words gushed out of your mouth.

“I–I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything about–”

“Derek, please. You have to find her. She’s probably still in the other hospital. I–Derek, I need to know if she’s alright. Please, Derek–” Tremors wracked through your body and your breathing deepened, quickened, every fiber of muscle rigid with tension as the gruesome scenes from that day played like a movie in your mind–the shadows and all the blood and… the beacon of hope–the future–that shone bright in those young eyes.

“Honey, listen to me. Breathe. Breathe.” You felt your mom’s warm hand brushing over your forehead before the sounds and the blurry figures in front of you registered in your mind. There was an incessant beeeping noise coming from the monitor and you didn’t realise a nurse had come in to help calm you down as Derek stood by the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, a hand over his mouth as he watched on with glassy eyes.

After the nurse had left and you’d finally calmed down, Derek sat by your side and took your hand in a gentle grip.

“Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”

You blinked slowly in gratitude and allowed yourself to drift off to another dreamless sleep.

“I think I found her.” Derek’s voice filtered through the room as he entered. You tensed and the instinct to sit up was only dampened by the weakness of your muscles, and the straps and tubes wrapped around you.

“Where? Where is she?”

“The paramedic who was there that day remembered you so he also recognised who I was looking for, thankfully. She’s still in the same hospital but she’s about to be discharged in a few days because they’re running out of space.” Derek began as he sat by the otherwise unoccupied chair beside you since your mom went back to the hotel to get some rest–you insisted for her to go. “Is this her?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped and tapped for a moment, before he held it out so you could see the screen. There, you found a familiar face and it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders to know that the little girl was alive. She looked thinner than how you recalled but the light in those eyes remained.

“What’s her name, do you know? Has she found her family?”

“Her name is Elisa. And from what I’ve gathered so far, no.”

Your heart ached as another image came to you, this time it was of the unconscious woman next to Elisa when you found her. What was their relation to each other? Were they family? Her sister? Her mother?

You chewed on your lower lip. “Is… is it possible to transfer her to this hospital? Only if she feels comfortable, of course.”

“Already on it. And I’ve already started asking around for information about her family.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

“What?”

You stared, not believing the words that just left your brother’s mouth.

It was a few days after Elisa was moved to the hospital you were in that Derek brought you the news. He was hunched over himself in the chair beside you like a weight was pressed against his shoulders, head in his hands, shaking his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the words he just told you.

“They’re dead. All of them.”

And the universe screamed in harmony with the dead’s unheard agony.

During the weeks that followed, your schedule was routine; prosaic.

You were bedridden and sleeping for the most part of your recovery, mainly due to the delicate nature of your injury. You were told it was normal to feel fatigued most of the time and to feel the occasional chest pains but those should go away after enough time had passed. The lightheadedness and breathlessness, though, were a different matter: the damage was irreversible, your breathing now impaired for life, and the risk of experiencing a spontaneous collapsed lung event would forever be with you.

Your schedule was routine and so with that much time in your hand, you began to write.

Elisa’s therapy was going well, you heard from one of the nurses–as well as it could get for someone who had suffered the loss she had at the tender age of eleven. Physically, she was doing so much better. She’d put on a little weight after being transferred and after a few weeks since her initial arrival, she started visiting you and began hanging out at your ward.

During this time, the Women’s World Cup just began and you noticed the way Elisa straightened as she sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, eyes raptly glued on the mounted TV in your room, animated and dynamic in expressing what she felt as the match unfolded before her. That was the exact moment you knew that Elisa loved football with a passion.

And so a sort of ritual was established, changing your routine and, once again, brought Alexia back into your life as you kept up with Spain’s matches, Elisa’s favorite team. Despite that fact however, you were grateful that Elisa could find reprieve in watching football even for ninety minutes from the ongoing turmoil and her grief.

It was Spain against the Netherlands when you asked Elisa a question. She was curled up beside you, eyes peeking through the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while your mom dozed off in the chair, brows pulled tight in concentration as she scanned over the players on screen. Maybe it was one of the universe’s cruel tricks or maybe it was a sign, but her answer caught you off guard and you wondered how a single name could have this much effect on you; how a name could disarm you completely.

“Who’s your favorite player?”

Without any hesitation and without even taking her eyes off the screen, Elisa replied with enthusiasm, “Alexia Putellas.”

As you watched Spain’s match against Japan with only Derek for company–Elisa had pouted when she found out she couldn’t watch the match live as she needed to go to a therapy session during that time–your brother suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the TV. The noise and the movement startled you, the monitor beeped loudly in response to the spike in your heartbeat.

Derek looked at you abashed, scratching the back of his head as he apologised. “Sorry. But it’s her!”

You looked at the person who he was pointing to: Alexia. You schooled your features and tried to maintain an even tone when you replied. “What about her?”

“She contacted us multiple times asking about you and your work a few days after you left to be here.”

At his words, you heart quickened and the monitor responded to the rise in the rhythm of your heart accordingly. Derek’s eyes flicked from you, to the monitor, to the TV where Alexia was still being filmed, and then back to you.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm which you hoped your brother wouldn’t take notice of. “And what did you say?”

“That you were unavailable, of course.”

A pause.

“Wait, did you two–”

“No.” The sharpness in your voice nearly made you flinch as your firm gaze bored directly into the blue ones of your brother’s, hoping that he would get the message to drop the subject. Derek opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to the game.

It wasn’t until several minites later that Derek spoke again.

“I have a feeling she’s the reason why you left Barcelona early. But I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it, sis.”

That night, what Derek told you kept you awake. Did Alexia really asked for you–was she missing you? Ever since you left Barcelona, not once did you let yourself give into the temptation but this new knowledge cut the last thread of your will. So you searched up her name but what you saw made you wish you hadn’t.

A photo of Alexia with another woman: Alexia with her sunglasses on, a black leather jacket over her bralette, and high waisted pants; an arm around the other woman’s shoulder who had her lips on Alexia’s neck and had a possessive hand over Alexia’s jaw. It was recent, you noticed, the article the candid photo belonged to.

You dropped the phone as your hand shook, and you stared up the ceiling. The lights from the passing cars and the nightlife outside created dancing shadows through the gap in the curtain. Closing you eyes, you felt a tear fall dawn and you stuttered out a breath as you reminded yourself.

She wasn’t yours.

She never was.

Yet still… you ached.

It wasn’t until the next morning did the dreams–the ones of your family, of your deceased parents, of Alexia–finally returned to you in vivid clarity. And the pain from the night before returned to you twofold.

Before you knew it, the Women’s World Cup ended with Spain emerging triumphant in the end as they blazed their way through the tournament. In spite of yourself, pride bloomed in your chest at the result knowing how hard these women fought–endured and resisted–in this competition and the fact that they did so while resisting their federation made their accomplishment all the more admirable.

An image of Alexia, weary and exhausted, materialised in your mind.

You remembered the way she dragged her feet as she entered the door, eyes downcast and hair ruffled, shoulders hunched forward. When she found you standing in the archway, she clung to you without a word and you felt the gravity on her shoulders, the pressure of being who she was–of being La Reina–settled against your bones. That night, the both of you ended up sleeping on the couch, Alexia’s head against your chest, your fingers threading through her hair to soothe her even just for a moment.

“You’re so strong, Alexia,” you’d whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it’s easy to forget that you have people on your side in this fight. You’re never alone, Alexia. Please don’t ever forget that.”

And as you watched her with her people on that stage lifting the trophy, the urge to whisper the same words returned to you. Even though you couldn’t, in your mind you did.

In your mind, the words echoed: I’m so proud of you.

Upon your insistence and with a lot of reassurance, Derek reluctantly agreed to leave you to return back to the firm. You promised you would video call with him every night to appease him so now, you were left with your mom and Elisa’s company to keep. But after being bedridden for nearing two and a half months, finally, you were excited to be moving around even if you were aided with a wheelchair.

When you began your physiotherapy, you couldn’t walk for no longer than fifteen minutes before you felt lightheaded. But as the weeks passed on and as you pushed yourself a bit more each day, little by little, you built up your tolerance. The next thing you knew, you didn’t have to be put in a wheelchair anymore, a small triumph but a triumph nonetheless.

The moment the doctor medically discharged you was one of the best moments of your life. But instead of going back home with your mom, you stayed behind as you needed to sort out one important thing.

Throughout your recovery, Elisa had been one of the constant in your life. The moment you knew she had no family left, your heart instantly knew what you had to do and the idea of adoption took root in your mind. You sorted out the paperworks, carefully explained to Elisa what you planned to do–that you wanted to be her legal guardian, sister, aunt, or mother; whatever Elisa wished for you to be–and gave her time to decide herself if she wanted to go through with it.

As you waited for the paperworks and for Elisa’s consent, you supported Elisa through her therapy sessions all the while you busied yourself with being immersed in as much of Elisa’s language and culture as you could out of respect for her family. Elisa was patient with you during the times you couldn’t quite accomodate the phonetics of her language, speaking slowly and enunciating the words multiple times until you got it.

A few months later, you walked through the airport with two passports, Elisa’s hand in yours, heading towards home. The road was not without difficulties, of course, and it took a long time but the fact that you were there was enough.

Even though the conflict abated just before your departure, the tension was very much alive and the cost forever unjustifiable; senseless, a transgression against those that paid for it: the dead and the ever-hungry living. For Elisa, months of therapy had helped–the first time you heard her laugh was truly one of the best moments of your life–but you knew that the wound would never truly heal, the cut too deep that even the sands of time would do little to fill it completely.

But as you looked into Elisa’s wide eyes, hope filled you as you saw it: that eternal flame that burnt in every person, passed to each other as one life touched another, a bright beacon in what seemed to be a never-ending night made from humanity’s long shadow.

A guiding light to a better future.

As the plane took to the early morning sky, as the sun peeked through the clouds to paint everything in its soft, golden glow, you made a promise. For as long as you live–for as long as Elisa would let you–you would do everything to preserve that light.

“And I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she still asks for you, you know? Sure, it’s through her agent or through her club’s PR department but it’s still her.”

Derek’s voice pulled you back from your memories.

Again, you fiddled with the string on your wrist. The more you thought about it, the more your reluctance grew. But when you looked at Elisa with her Barcelona kit, the number eleven and Alexia’s name bold and proud on her back, seamlessly stepping over the ball as her Uncle Robert tried to defend against her before she performed a rainbow flick that had the ball soaring past her defender, you knew then what your decision was going to be.

It would be good for her.

Your daughter’s love for football was there before you even met her, and it shook you to your core when you learnt that Alexia was her inspiration. She’d told you she loved football enough to pursue a career in it, a dream that was both hers and her parents–her remaining connection to them–a dream that you would do everything to preserve as long as your daughter wanted to chase it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You told Derek as you kept your attention glued to your daughter.

As if sensing your eye, your daughter looked over her shoulder to you, the light of the sinking sun made gold from her hair, and you watched her smile at you, dimples and all.

You smiled back.

Yes, that’s right.

After all, you did make a promise, didn’t you?

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: a 5k part for yall #also i wrote 7 revisions of this part cause i didnt know how to present it lol #also an extra round of apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes for this one #hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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hungharrington · 2 months

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Mayhaps a second part to the no-nut november story could entail... Readers turn? so either a full month of READER having to endure the curse of being horny and being at steves mercy... where steve is like "if YOU break before the end of the month: I get to fuck you" just to switch it up ya know, or something like that. Or maybe steve wants a second chance but reader has to take part too...so both of them get more pent up as the weeks go along... and they try to get the other to break first... also, and each one has a different 'bet'. Like: If I win I get this, if YOU win bla bla bla" Oh the possibilities....they truly are endless...

ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES!!!! oh my god both of you doing it at the same time and trying to make each other break…. god anon ur mind….

it would turn into an all out war. you start wearing low-cut tops, even go as far to flash him at the most in opportune moments, ‘accidentally’ getting your shirt wet at a party and letting it get a little see-through because steve has a direct line to his dick that is activated by boobs — plus he has this really adorable ticked off face when he’s getting turned on and is trying really hard not to be. and he’s obsessed with your boobs bcos ofc he is <3

but it’s not like he can’t get his revenge! he would notice how you fixate on his hands and put on a vulgar show for you, his thumb rubbing tight little circles on the edge of his cup, eating something a little too messy so it can end with him licking each finger clean with that skillful tongue of his, his pink lips smirking at how your thighs are pressed together not as subtlety as you think

having a moment at a party together where you end up in the bathroom, pressed up against the sink, both of you kissing fiercely, meanly, steve biting your bottom lip and you getting back at him by leaving a hickey under his ear. you’re both raking fingers down each others back, pulling on hair, your hips rutting against each other, trying so hard to get the other to crack first, to cum in their pants— and then having to shove away when it becomes alarmingly clear you’re going to cum first if you don’t stop and you’re both panting, staring at each other, keyed up and wanting but both so stubborn

and then you would fuck anyways, against the bathroom sink, so hard the mirror on the wall shakes a bit while you’re both riling each up up, panting in each others ears about how much you’ve wanted this for the whole time the challenge has been going on

#god i know people want a part two and it’s such a GOOD IDEA #BUT IM WRITING SO MUCH ATM #AHHHHHHHH #i have like 7 active wips please #please i need to stop having good ideas #jay answers #anon #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #jay writes

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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 7

A/N: Right, this might get a little confusing, but you know how we (English speakers) kind of went from Latin, to old English, to Now English? I’m substituting those for the Old Language, ‘Middle Language’ (the transitional phase—completely made up), and whatever the common tongue is for Prythian? Yeah, sorry about that!

Warnings: none…? I don’t think…?

Word Count: 5,587

-Part 6- -🌌🌠- -Part 8-

You stare at the page, heart in your throat.

Stare at the page, and reach for a pen.

Who is this?

Ink stains the white paper, and stupidity heats your features. He probably left it as a taunt. It’s not like he’s going to respond. You groan, setting the pen down, covering your face with your hands. Mother above. Definitely not your smartest moment. Reach to flip the paper over—not wanting to be reminded of your naïveté.

More ink has appeared, just below your scribbled question.

You may hide your intelligence around your family, but that won’t work with me. Smarten up.

The words burn your features. Scowl at the paper.

Forgive me for not anticipating the paper to talk back, Eris.

It vanishes the second you’ve written the sentence, leaving you blinking at the empty space on your desk. Winnowing isn’t possible within the House of Wind—you’ve heard both Rhysand and Feyre say it before. Yet note passing seems completely acceptable, for some reason. You suppose no harm can derive from simple exchanges.

You’ve been surrounded by magic for nearly two years. It’s shameful to still be taken aback by its multi-faceted ways.

A reluctant smile gilds your mouth. That’s Eris alright. Readjust your hold on the pen.

And it’s embarrassing to rely on stupidly long words in attempt to prove your intellect. Just say it’s versatile.

The parchment disappears, then returns. Nothing’s been added.

Amusement brightens your mouth, raising the writing instrument, poising it to attack. The words dance on your tongue, weapons to provocation: You have a bad attitude to being spoken back to. But you shake your head, instead choosing compromise for your next reply.

Did you want something? I doubt you simply dropped in to say hi. Unless this is your way of making sure I got the book?

Perhaps it was my way of seeing where you fall in this alliance.

Brow draws together. He obviously means the alliance between the Night Court and him, but where do you fit into it all? How does this show your placement? What does he even mean, where you fall? Take a deep breath, release it. It will do you no good to fall for his own provocation.

I hope you were satisfying enlightened, then, you write back.

Quite.

Stare at the neatly scripted response. He’s leaving the conversation for you to direct. First thoughts go to where he acquired the book, but somehow you feel that’s not the direction he wants you to take this in. So, sighing, you stumble straight into the trap he’s laid out.

Why haven’t you told anyone?

Paper vanishes again. Takes a minute to reappear.

It’s pretty blackmailing material. Why waste it in common conversation?

Lips purse together as you read his reply. Manipulative indeed.

Whatever you think you’ll be able to extort from me, I can guarantee you’ll end up disappointed.

Not the family favourite?

Blink at the speed of the response. Like quicksilver. Vague amusement warms your chest—how clear the mockery is. Disconcertingly comforting to know he doesn’t change. The same in every form. Precious constancy. Lower the pen to parchment.

I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?

And I suppose you’ll hide beneath the guise of observation, now?

It certainly isn’t warfare. I’d think you’d be practiced at spotting pretty, bladed words.

Again, the parchment vanishes, leaving you in the silence of your own room. Feet tap anxiously upon the clear wood, leg vibrating as you wait on him. Realisation smacks you upside your jaw—you refuse to sit here wasting precious seconds for whatever nihilistic response he carves out for you. Instead, you turn to the anthology, flicking to the index, peering at titles. Searching for one that will catch your eye.

I’m flattered—you’ve sharpened your tongue since we last sparred.

Roll your eyes. Lips quirking at the inherent Eris-ness of the response.

Wooden swords will only serve me for so long. Why not experiment with steel in a controlled environment?

The parchment vanishes, and takes its time to reappear. Time you spend scanning titles, pondering their contents. Maybe you should ask why he gave it to you in the first place. Certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.

Paper reappears.

You think merely because there are entire courts between us that makes you safe?

Peer at his reply—try studying it. Does he want you to be wary of him? It seems unlikely, somehow. He wouldn’t be able to get anything from you if you’re afraid of him. He should be encouraging you to feel at ease speaking with him if he wants something.

Do you make a habit of being as unpleasant as possible to every person you encounter, or am I just lucky?

A smile warms your mouth as the paper vanishes, fantasising how irritated he might become. From your words! Exhilarating!

Eyes land on a title that piques your interest: Movement of Light. Brow narrows with interest, flipping to the registered page number eagerly. Upon the parchment, beside the tightly knitted words, lays a neat diagram. It appears to be of a rectangle with two small holes punctured through its thin mass. Interesting…

Do you make a habit of keeping secrets from your family?

Lips purse. Cutting to the core, again. Manipulative as he may be, he’s certainly skilled at finding the right bruises to target. You wonder if it’s a skill he’d been taught through books or word of mouth, or if, perhaps, it was a nastier kind of education. Shake your head free of thoughts, pulling away from the book.

Having no secrets at all is stupidly idilic. Are there any other misconceptions you would like me to clear up?

You’re surprisingly cynical for your age.

Strange how having one’s mortality ripped away will do that to a woman.

Even you can hear the bitterness bleeding through. But the words have been written, and the paper has disappeared, so there’s no use trying to take them back. Even if you’re mentally cursing yourself for allowing that kind of opening. Surprised at how easy it is to be caught up in conversation with him. Or sparring, as he so eloquently puts it.

Wonderful immortality not treating you well?

Again, with the taunting. Amusement and something else prickles beneath your fingertips. Irked.

I’ll admit, it’s not quite as spectacular as I might’ve thought once upon a time.

That seems measured enough.

I thought humans were raised to hate us.

Observe the words—how they sit on the parchment. The contrast between your short scribbles and his elegant font.

Might a deer not wish for a wolf’s strength?

Parchment again vanishes. Once you’ve counted to three, you turn your attention back to the book, scanning the passage of writing. Brows narrow at the leap in language—words you’re unfamiliar with. A photon? Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning. Where’s a damn glossary when you need one?

Paper reappears—you take a moment to pull away from the volume.

Have you always been in pursuit of grandeur?

Brow narrows at the question.

I’d say I’ve always been rather passionate about not starving. So I suppose I did once think having three hot meals a day would be utter luxury.

I would have rather rotted away than be forced to live amongst vermin.

A surprised laugh flutters from your chest, amusement sparking within you again.

You’re much too stubborn for such a miserable end, Eris; too bitter to resign yourself to such a fate, either.

Parchment vanishes. One. Two. Three. Return to the volume, start at the beginning. Where your eyes were intended to land. Sighing, you scan the title: The Foundations of our World—Stuff. Brow narrows, lips quirking upward at the vagueness of it. Stuff. Such a lack of precise articulation, yet here it is, in an anthology of noteworthy discoveries. Somehow, this piece had been selected as important; important enough to be the base for the entire book. Strange…

Eye roll across the tightly stacked letters, mind pulsing as words soak into your brain, thumping dully as blood rushes through your ears. Take everything at it’s basest nature, reduce it down to the fundamentals, and what sort of building blocks are you left with? What makes up the world as we see it?

‘Take the prefix a- from the middle language, and combine it with the Old Language verb to cut, creating the name for the indivisible: atom. The smallest bits of matter that can exist independently.’

Intrigue returns with crushing force, making it near impossible to tear your eyes from the volume when the parchment reappears. How long has he been writing? Maybe he was preoccupied.

And yet I understand it was the youngest of you who took up her weapons and headed out into the wild. For how adamantly you protested against my lack of action regarding something I could easily correct, you seem to appear quite the hypocrite. Why didn’t you go out into those woods?

Blink away the memories of frost. Of sweat-stained clothes, and matted, knotted hair.

Getting a little personal with the questions, don’t you think?

Writing to me at all is much more personal than you should ever be getting—I’m sure your friends would agree. Yet there you are, pen in hand, thinking up your next counterattack.

The reply comes with surprising swiftness, allowing you only a brief glimpse of the following passage. Just as you’re beginning to grasp the core of what the essay is talking on.

You write with the confidence sight, you reply, eager to return. Yet he seems to have put his own distractions aside, as the response follows promptly.

Magic is a wonderful thing.

Blood ices in your veins, limbs stiffening, tongue turning leaden.

You’re lying. The House is fortified with wards; practically impregnable.

Yet here we are, corresponding. Does your High Lord know what you get up to behind closed doors?

Heart spikes in your chest, fingers trembling just a little as you lower pen to paper.

You clearly want something; you’re not going to get it if you spook me away, so quit the games.

Very well, but I’ll admit I indulged in the thought of your discomfort.

Release a heavy sigh—he doesn’t somehow have a window into your room, able to watch every move you make. Surely that would be too far, even for his manipulative ways. Skin prickles at how easily he slid beneath it—fingertips brighten.

You share that delightful, sharp-written humour with your youngest brother, you know that?

The parchment vanishes, then reappears in a matter of seconds. You laugh to yourself.

Touchy subject, Eris?

The second you dot the question mark, the door swings open; you yelp, jumping in your chair, shoving the parchment away. Vanishes again a blink later, slightly crumpled from the violent rejection.

“I knocked…” Feyre supplies, features tightening with concern. “Did you not… Oh.” She blinks, peering at the door frame; the threshold. “I suppose it must have been set up to block out exterior noise, too.” Sighs. “I’ll get that fixed at some point. Seems a waste to have a sound barrier up if you’re unable to hear what’s going on outside.”

Swallow heavily, trying to look normal. Like you weren’t knowingly communicating with the heir to the Autumn Court throne. Blue-grey settles upon you, fingers fidgeting in your lap, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. Everything feels unsettled. Her brows arrow, “you’re… What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” You reply, quickly. Far too quickly to be normal.

Lips quirk. “Writing to Bas?” She teases.

Heavy sigh whooshes from your chest, deflating a little. “How do you know about him? I haven’t even mentioned him to ‘Lain,” you say lightly. Something flashes through her eyes, too quickly for you to decipher. “Az mentioned you had someone after you,” she laughs, stepping into the room, door closing behind her. “I had no idea it was so serious,” she smiles, the happiness so inappropriate with the context you have.

Shake your head in denial, “he’s just a friend. There’s nothing else going on.” She gives you a look to say she doesn’t believe you. “I’m serious,” you insist. “There’s nothing romantic going on.” That part’s true, at least.

Feyre laughs again, then shifts on her feet. A strange quest seems to overtake her. “You know things are different here,” she begins softly, “to how we lived as humans.”

Heat flushes your features, making you groan. “Oh my gods, Fey. I am not having this conversation with you.”

“I’m just saying, if you want to get out there…see the world…maybe a few males, too… That’s fine. That’s stuff we can do, now. Well, you can do.” She amends the last part. After all, she’s the youngest, and already has a mate, a husband, and a child. An entire family. The epitome of womanhood.

Shake your head adamantly, “please, stop.” You grimace. Her lips quirk, mischief in here blue-grey eyes. She’s so lively…spirited. Bubbly? But calm, too. When did she become so adult? She seems to have aged in the blink of an eye.

(Why didn’t you go out into those woods?)

She shifts again, peers around the room—it’s a superficial move. She’s buying time, building up to something. “Your floor’s clear,” she notes, nodding to the clear wooden boards. Nod in response, trying not to wring your fingers. You were doing nothing wrong. He had spoken first. Nothing to be guilty about; no one got hurt. It’s fine.

“About our last interaction…” she begins, quietly. Spine stiffens, heart spikes. “I wasn’t trying to find something wrong with you; I’m sorry it came out that way.”

Exhale softly, shoulders lose their tension. Smile easily, waving her off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I understand. I’m sorry for lashing out at you, it was unfair on my part to act that way.” Her eyes narrow on you. Keep up the smile. “Is this your way of saying you just don’t want to talk about it?” She asks, softly. Blue-grey shimmers with sincerity.

Lips begin to ache with the stretch. “What are you talking about? We’ve made peace, there’s no need to exacerbate this.”

“Do you not want to talk about it?” She reiterates, keeping calm and quiet.

“What is it?” You laugh, turning to face the desk, eyes flitting to the volume. Scan the page; absorb nothing. “What you said last time. About being a burden.”

Body stiffens, breath catches.

“Fey, I’m getting tired,” you excuse, voice steady.

“You’re tired a lot,” she replies, quietly. Still watching. “Maybe Madja should take a look at you.” Sigh. Lean back in your chair. Tilt your face back, peering at the ceiling. “I’ve had a long life,” you murmur up to the white wallpaper, “I’m allowed to be tired.”

“You’re barely twenty-two.”

“And a lot has happened. I’m allowed to be tired.” You repeat, not looking at her.

Silence stretches between you. Gentle, but taut.

“How about you?” You ask, shifting the conversation over. Turning to peer at her. Your younger sister. Feyre blinks, then nods her head. “Good. Wonderful.” Watch her silently. Mark the lowness of her lids. “Nyx still waking you up?”

Nods again, smiling faintly, traveling somewhere distant. Somewhere foreign to you. “Eight days a week,” she laughs quietly. “Rhys and I are taking turns looking after him during the nights. Despite his work-load.” Sighs, pushes hair from her cheek, tucks it over a pointed ear. “He’s been great. Supportive, attentive, perfect. I keep trying to get him to let me handle Nyx, but he’s insisting it’s a joint effort. Wants to be there in a way his father…” she trails off, eyes misting.

Nod your head slowly. “And I suppose you want to be there in a way our mother…?”

“Yeah,” she replies thickly. “I guess that’s part of it.” The quiet turns viscous, coagulating into something almost translucent.

“I read some things…” you begin gently, “about the turbulence of motherhood.”

Her features lift into a smile, “oh, don’t worry about me. Rhys and I are working through it. It’s difficult, but everyone’s there when the strain starts to set in.” You blink away subtle surprise. “Mor’s always up for taking him off our hands for a day or two. It’s the same with Cass and Nesta,” she laughs fondly. “Amren…well, she’s Amren. And Elain’s great at making little treats here and there. Smiley faces out of his breakfast and things like that—he loves it.”

You nod slowly. Blink. “That’s great.” Again the silence creeps in.

Then she’s shifting on her feet, and. You just know—

“What kind of person is Bas?” She inquiries, not at all subtly. Nosey.

“He’s my friend, and nothing else.” He’s much more than a friend, but there’s no way to explain that without an entire Court’s worth of misunderstandings and uncomfortable questions. Still, she nods, but remains in your room. “And he… His intentions?”

“Feyre,” you scold, incredulously.

Your younger sister doesn’t flinch. Keeps her gaze straight. “Okay. Okay,” she sighs, holding up her hands in defence. “I’m wary of him.”

“Please, you can trust me he’s harmless. To me, at least. I’m sure if someone swung at him he’d be the type to swing back, but that’s besides the point.” You leave out the part that you’re fairly certain he would be the one to also somehow provoke a fight. He can be pretty provocative when he wants to. Not always in a bad way…

(…a hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.)

“I just want you to be careful,” she says quietly, eyes misting, going somewhere far away. “Males…people can be unkind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Amarantha, Tamlin… You nod your head, “I understand. But Bas…I can trust him. So please don’t doubt him; please don’t doubt me either, in this decision.”

Feyre nods again. Silence stretches, then she straightens. Pats the doorframe. “Well, I’ll have this fixed as soon as possible. It’ll need to be disabled, than I can remake it—so you’ll be able to hear people coming. It’d be awful if you got yourself hurt from being startled by one of us.” She gives you a sweet smile, then disappears out into the hall, door clicking shut behind her.

Unsure if it’s her silent feet or the sound barrier that prevents you from hearing her disappearing footfalls.

————

Skin is itching, fingers burning. Heart spiking.

Burning, burning, burning. Hands on fire.

Vision blurs, floor spinning. She’s on the ceiling.

Crash into a wall, bone crunching. Stumble to the kitchen.

Water. Where’s water. Burning skin. Charring fingertips.

Liquid drips down cheeks, splashing onto knuckles.

Scraped raw, searing pain. Bone splintering, nails peeling.

Cool water fills the sink, drown her hands.

Sweet strangulation, dulcet deprivation.

Lovely oblivion.

————

Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out.

Chest deflates, keeping your body straight but relaxed—imagine sinking into the mattress. Cheeks puff up with the exhale, calm and quiet. Sit silently. Allow the world to fade. Tension seeps from your shoulders, muscles relaxing the way you’ve practiced. Now to make sure you don’t drop off instead.

Empty out thoughts, settle into the silence. Float away on a breeze. Imagine hands being set aglow. No. They are aglow.

Eyes remain shut, tight. Picture the radiant green seeping onto your skin, setting it alight.

Fingers twitch, bones itch. Teeth grind. Nails heat.

Eyes open in time to catch the glow as it fades, sinking back into your skin. A flicker of Starfall, then nothing. Sigh heavily, back slumping, shoulders sloping. It’s something; most importantly, it’s progress. Day three of fourteen. Slow movements, slower response. Gently stoking the flames.

Remove the light from your world, lids closing, return to the darkness. Seeking solace. Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. In. And out. Fingertips warm, but eyes remain closed. Don’t acknowledge it. Can’t look or feel for it. Allow it to grow in the back of your mind, allow into latch into your blood; flourish. Swirling and billowing, gaining momentum until it can move on its own, until it can function without nurture.

Keep your back turned to the power, allow it to remain unseen. Pull it upward; hear as it cracks and fizzles in your head. Rapidly dividing…splitting at high-speed…multiplying until it boils and bubbles. One cleaves another in two…into three…nine…

(…Twenty-seven, eighty-one, two-hundred forty-three…)

(…two-thousand one-hundred eighty-seven, six-thousand five-hundred sixty-one, nineteen-thousand six-hundred eighty-three…)

(One-million seven-hundred-seventy-one-thousand one-hundred forty-seven.)

Heat burns your fingertips, flashing pain blaring so rapidly, sparking like lightening across your palms, splintering phalanges…down into the carpal bones, nearing your wrists.

Vision blasts into view, pupils contract to tiny dots, shrinking away from the pale green light that’s blazing from your hands, barreling up your forearms, crackling past elbows, bolting up, up, up… Muscles seize, contracting against the hot itch scrambling your flesh, twisting at sinew. The blinding light dims, eyes peeking open as it dulls to a quiet luminosity, tinting your skin. Feels like poison ivy…the nettles by your old estate.

Swallow, staring at the radiance. Almost mesmerising enough to block out the burn. Throat itches, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deep breaths. Ease in. And out. Deep and easy. Calm and quiet. Collected.

Slowly, warily, you rise from your bed, door swinging open on the house’s command. Silently pad down the hallway, arms and torso concealed well by your dress, cardigan hiding the faint incandescence of your wrists. Hands—no way to hide them. Ignore it for now, you need a drink. Deep and easy. In. And out. Calm. Quiet and collected.

A glass waits for you on the table, walk steadily forward, fingers tremble as they clutch the cup. Water vibrates inside, tiny ripples fluttering across the surface. Effervescent bubbles shimmer at the base. Grow larger, swelling into compact air, fizzing up. Simmering in your hands. Tension coils your shoulders, brow dampening. Liquid heats up, boiling into a volatile mess. Bubbles pop at the surface, scalding water splashing onto your knuckles.

Scream as glass shatters, burning your bare feet as the liquid sprays.

Heart spikes, glowing brighter, inching up your arms, over your shoulders. Crawling across your collar bones. Muscles knot, tangling over themselves as they seize in terror. Power coils closer, snaking toward your throat, slowly…slowly…

“What—”

Hazel pierces into you, flicking over your hands, marking the shards of glass. He appeared in a flurry of darkness, shadows pulling back once he’s materialised in the doorway. Eyes already scanning for the source of distress. Fix on the slow spread of toxic green as it tip-toes higher. Hits a barrier. It’s a small hesitation—but it’s enough. Magic flickers, recoiling from your clavicle, enough hesitation to be quashed. Like a weight sinking down, an avalanche of rock crushing vermin, bones crunching beneath the pressure. Incandescence shoved away, dripping down your arms, cut back to your fingertips.

Sweet relief washes over you, waves of coolness cresting from your forehead to your toes. Lovely reprieve. Exhale heavily, spine nearly collapsing beneath the strain, leaving a slight glimmer to your fingertips, nails curved and warped from heat. Stagger back as he silently moves toward you. Scarred hands reach out, wanting to touch; wanting to steady.

“Are you—”

“Don’t,” you bark, snapping your arms closer to your body. Feel their unnatural heat as it singes the fabric of your dress. His nostrils flare, scenting the charred material, shadows flicker.

Call breath into your lungs, soothing. Deep and easy. In and out. Calm and quiet. In. And out. Calm and collected. A familiar scent has hairs raising at the back of your neck, eyes flicking up to lock with hazel. Closer than before. Despite the heat.

“What was that?” He asks, the deep roughness of his voice curling across your breastbone, soothing the heated skin like a balm. Swallow heavily, keeping your hands tight to your torso. Turn away; move to the sink. The tap turns on independently, cool water sizzling as it washes over trembling hands. Cold metal mollifies your skin, a comfy weight around your neck. The tiny barrier your magic had hit. Tripped up on.

Azriel doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel him nearby, standing at your side. Watching silently as the water fizzles and hisses, the last of the glow dimming from your fingertips. How close he’d come to touching the blisteringly hot skin. Slowly, the cold begins to souse into your digits, running smoothly over your hands, no longer bubbling or evaporating on impact.

The house has already cleared away the shards of glass; dried the pool of scalding water by the time you’ve dried your hands. Flaky, and ashen. The smooth, creamy texture seemingly been ravished by the heat. Yet all you felt was a slight itch to begin with. You don’t make any attempts to conceal how quickly you want to escape the room, but you’re kept where you are. Waiting…waiting for him to change his mind about keeping your secret. After what he’s just seen…

Feet are pinned to the boards, muscles unwilling to obey your mind as you explore them to turn and leave. Arms feel leaden, stiff and immovable. Wait for the compromise to be retracted. Hands tremble, teeth faintly bite onto your tongue. Wait for the condemnation. For being so foolish; stubborn.

“Are you hurt?” Words thud dully against your ears, keeping your hands as out of sight as possible, hidden beneath the sleeves of your cardigan. Nod dutifully. “I’m okay,” you murmur. Lips are numb, mind buzzing faintly. Floorboards spin ever so slightly, blurring in and out of focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. Calm and collected. In. And. Out.

Boots appear at the top of your sight, just a little way from your own. Far enough not to be intimate. He holds out a scarred hand, palm facing upward. Almost expectant.

Blink away the dizziness. Flesh tingling…wriggling beneath your skin. Nails itching.

Wait silently to see what he’ll do.

Continues holding out his hand, waiting patiently to see if you’ll offer up your own. Remain rooted to the spot, numbness crawling beneath your sleeves. Mind buzzing with confusion at the outstretched palm.

Slowly, he begins reaching for your wrist, as if to inspect the results of the experiment. Analyse the consequence. Examine.

It topples you into motion.

Turn on your feet; quietly scamper off down the corridor. Behind the safety on your door.

With the wooden barrier in place, plus the sound block on your room, you can truly feel forgotten for a while. Like time’s stopped.

————

The shower had your blood moving again, temperature cooling to a regular heat. Mind working again, mentally cataloguing every thought you had, every twinge of unusualness that could have been the signposting you should have noticed to prevent that rapid surge of…burning.

Peer down at your hands, almost absently. Aside from the slight roughness to your skin; the chapped dryness to your knuckles, there’s nothing to show for the bone deep itch that had manifested within your flesh. Just the texture becoming sandpapery. Flaky.

A dark blue towel is draped over your shoulders like a shawl, preventing the damp ends of your hair from saturating the changed dress.

(What was that?)

It stopped almost out of nowhere. One moment, steadily spreading throughout your body, the next, it seemed to stumble. Like hitting a bump of some kind. Something that disturbed its momentum. Peer down at the necklace that’s sitting comfortably around your throat, resting just above your collar bones. In the dip of their joining point.

The small, glass pendant hanging from the bronze chain sits innocently on your person. Fingers brush over the map in wonder, curiously feeling. Cool metal contains the accessory, lead encapsulated within a gleaming polish. Even the underside has a pretty finish. Lead, bronze, and glass. Maybe some ink, but that’s all it is. No secrets carved to its base, no hidden compartment. Just a simple ornament, yet something about it disagreed with you. Thank the Mother.

Fingers play with the charm as you take a seat at your desk, reopening the volume. Rusty red leather creaks as you turn to your page, more than willing to submerge yourself in learning. The candles flicker as you ease out a breath, taking in the familiar scent of parchment and something pleasantly spiced. Maybe it’s an Autumn Court scent.

Crumpled paper lands on your desk, settling comfortably between the two large pages of the anthology.

It may surprise you to learn I have better things to do than spend all my hours writing to you.

Stare at the neat, elegant script. Debate the merits of responding willingly. Returning to this strange sparring match would be acknowledging your interest. There’d be no way to talk your way back to innocence. Putting pen to paper will mean…

And yet here you are, Vanserra, writing back to me.

Oh, you hope that irritates him. Hope he sends back something vicious. Something to make you spark awake again. To light up the numbness that’s turning your world monotone.

Would you like to tell me where these wrinkles came from?

Lips tug at the edges, but remain set in a dull line. Lower your pen to the roughed-up parchment. Fingers dry and somewhat cracked in the low light.

Nonsense, Eris. You don’t look a day over thirty.

Picture the way his sharp caramel eyes blaze with ire at the brazenness. Maybe his palms also heat when he’s in a mood. It’s a little comforting to remember power probably didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe. You’re making assumptions, though.

And you don’t dress a day over fifty. Considering Rhys’ wealth is at your fingertips, you have the fashion sense of someone who’s still destitute.

Mouth parts as you read the response. Brows flicking up your forehead. Harsh…

A smile quirks the corners of your lips.

I’ll have you know I dress for comfort. You’re the one who cares so much about prettification. Maybe I could visit your personal beauty parlour sometime, Eris?

Parchment vanishes, allowing you time to peer down at the diagram before you: a small rectangular table. There are various squares left blank, while others are filled in with one or two letters. The boxes that do contain letters attached are numbered, correlating with asterisks further down the page, displaying a full title.

Who would ever accompany you? It’s bad etiquette to visit a tonsorium on one’s own.

The smile fades after a few moments. Who would go with you if you wanted to visit somewhere? Elain? Feyre? …Mor? Shake your head, pushing away the dismal thoughts he’s brought to your attention. Divert elsewhere.

It’s worst to not entertain your guests. What a miserable (and sour) host you would be. I think I’m actually quite glad to not be visiting anytime soon.

Try to return to the anthology; find yourself awaiting his reply. Leg tapping against the floorboards. Minutes pass while you attempt to absorb more of the text, but nothing’s sticking. Like there’s a fog passing through your brain, stopping you from taking in the wonder of the world. More minutes tick by—the sky a solid dark blue the other side of your window. A few other candles gleam alight, and you murmur your thanks to the House. Flame flickers in response. Oddly comforting.

Eyelids start to feel heavy, weighing into your vision.

You don’t realise you nodded off until you wake from your nap. The desk is still void of a reply; you wearily peer around your room, attempting to orient yourself. Knuckles itch to be scratched, still rough to the touch. Gaze settles on your door. Perhaps it’s a little scary that you wouldn’t know if something was lurking directly the other side. Wouldn’t be able to hear any heavy breathing, or the scrape of steel. Deep breath, because there’s nothing there.

Stand to draw the curtains, but hairs stand on end. Remain still for a few seconds, centring on the feeling. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Brow knits in concentration, absently drawing the curtains, turning back to face the entrance to your room.

(The only exit.)

Sigh in frustration. It’s not good to give into your…however you’re feeling. It will only encourage your mind to exacerbate whatever problem its fabricated. Still, you find yourself opening the door, peering down the well-lit corridor. Nothing there, no strange feeling, no lurking presences. Just your mind finding something to react to, creating a madness to subject you to. Deep breaths. The House of Wind is secure. Safe, and secure. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen; you won’t get hurt.

Deep breaths, heart lowering its pace.

Move to bring the door to; notice something on the ground, beside the frame.

Crouch down to pick up the small tin. Bring it inside, door swinging shut as you hold it up to the light.

Peer at the neat label. Pop open the lid; look inside.

It’s a small pot of hand cream.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

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#CBMTHY #CBMTHY Part 7 #Azriel #Azriel x reader #Eris #Eris Vanserra #Azriel shadowsinger #Shadowsinger #Azriel angst #Azriel x reader angst #multi-part fic #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

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zepskies · 6 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 7

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.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. 😂 (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! 🤷🏽‍♀️)

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.

Part 7: “Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle”

You liked Dean’s apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.

Though overall it felt very “dude bro” in décor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.

And while you still hadn’t met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something you’d been very much looking forward to doing with Dean…

“Not for nothin’, this is probably one in three of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” said Dean.

True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.

“Oh really? Makes me curious about the other two,” you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.

You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.

Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.

“You mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,” he’d teased.

Never mind that you weren’t an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he’d devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.

You’d promised to cook for him last week, and he hadn’t let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.

He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

“Thanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,” he said, tossing you a grin.

You smiled back. “It’s my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didn’t know why it had taken you so long to accept.

…Well, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that he’d check in every few hours until he went to bed.

“Okay, ready for dessert?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.

Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.

Sam couldn’t cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.

“Good, because you’re going to help me,” you informed him.

Dean’s smile grew. “All right…what did you have in mind?”

While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag you’d brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.

“Lemon drizzle cake,” you replied. “One of my grandma’s recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.”

“Good, because we’re not very Betty Crocker in this place. Let’s just say my kitchen tools are limited,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know, if you wanted to bake, I’m sure you’ve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We could’ve done this over there.”

You paused to consider the question he wasn’t quite asking, because he had a point. You could’ve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.

“Well, as you know, I live with my grandpa,” you said.

“Good ol’ George,” Dean grinned. “That guy’s hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.”

He particularly liked the story you’d told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadn’t told you it was face paint…the kind that clowns used.

“And I’d love for you two to get to know each other better. Don’t get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldn’t have much…privacy,” you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Dean’s resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadn’t needed “privacy” just yet.

“I guess I’m just not used to inviting people over. I’ve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,” you admitted. At Dean’s quizzical look, you had to explain.

“My grandfather had cancer last year,” you said. “He had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. He’s in remission now…but I’m still looking after him.”

You’d gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was George’s asthma acting up, you’d still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.

And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad he’s doing better now,” he said. His brows furrowed. “And your grandma passed just a few years before that?”

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been a long few years.”

So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.

He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.

“Anyway,” you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry. Ready to bake?”

Dean’s lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay, Rachael Ray,” he teased. “Teach me your ways.”

You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?” you volleyed back.

Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. “Can’t I do both?”

You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.

“Hmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?” you pondered.

His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.

“Shit,” you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.

You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.

“Am I helping yet?” he joked.

You chuckled dryly in response. “Just you wait.”

A few more minutes and “helpful” distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.

At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.

“Ever?” he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.

“Yeah. Number one top favorite.”

“Hmm,” he contemplated with a cross of his arms. “Pie, I guess.”

You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when you’d tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“I dunno. I’m not real picky,” he said.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,” you reasoned. “I’m more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.”

Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.

“Okay, fine. Apple, I guess,” he replied. You gave him a mocking look.

“Really, the most basic of them all?” You tsked at him, shaking your head. “What happened to Mr. Rocky Road?”

Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.

“You know, one of my earliest memories…” He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.

You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.

“You can’t leave me hanging on that one,” you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.

He glanced over at you. “I remember being…four, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I haven’t had a pie since that tasted like that one.”

Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.

You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.

“Have you talked to your dad since the last time?” you asked, a bit cautiously. “About his investigation of the fire?”

Dean sighed deep through his nose. “No.”

But despite his father’s warning, he had spoken to Sam.

“It’s different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,” Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Mary’s potential murder.

“You saw the pictures yourself?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. “No, but Dad—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. “This is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. I’ve been down this road with him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadn’t panned out.

“They always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,” Sam said.

He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this time…

Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.

Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.

He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.

“Dean,” you chided, even though you were smiling. “My hair’s going to get in the batter.”

“I’ll keep it away, don’t worry,” he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.

You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.

“Can you just let me get this in the oven?” you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.

So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.

You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.

“Simba,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.

Dean’s brows rose along with his widening eyes. He’d never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.

“Oh, no.”

He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.

But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.

Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.

His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss you’d ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.

You almost didn’t register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.

“What, need a little warning?” he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.

“Maybe,” you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, “Sometimes I forget how damn strong you are.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.”

You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.

And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.

You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.

Dean couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.

Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.

“Dean?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. “Are you sure?”

You blinked incredulously. “Did I look not sure?”

He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.

“I just…you know I’m trying to do this right with you,” he said. “I just want to know…”

He couldn’t seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.

“Dean, I trust you,” you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. “I think this feels real. More real than anything I’ve had in a long time… What about you?”

When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but you’d seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.

His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.

Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, he’d hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.

“Ooh, someone’s handsy,” Dean teased.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. “Is this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.”

“Call it an officer’s escort,” he supplied.

“That’s for policemen!” you argued.

You couldn’t see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.

Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.

Dean laughed. “Hey, you’re only fueling my fire, baby.”

He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.

Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.

Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.

You gave Dean a playful glare. “Get over here.”

His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.

He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. He’d pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.

He just didn’t know you’d been dreaming of the same thing.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. You’d been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. You’d dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, you’d never felt half of what you felt right now.

It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.

So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didn’t mind that though. He’d left it a bit long for a shave last week. When you’d mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), he’d kept it for you.

Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.

You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.

You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.

“That’s my job,” he teased.

“Then how about you get to it?” you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.

“A bit bossy, but I can dig that,” he smirked.

His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.

Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.

Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.

His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs.

He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.

“Really? You want to…” Your voice came out in a whisper.

Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. “Why not?”

You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.

“No reason, I guess. I, um…I’ve never had someone do this for me first.” And certainly not on the first time having sex.

Dean frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A guy’s never gone down on you first?”

You blushed. “Well, maybe with his fingers, but not…”

He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.

“Okay, baby. I gotcha,” he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. “Just lie back and relax.”

You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.

“You want a medal?” you quipped.

Dean’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

A familiar smirk crossed his lips. “Cherry.”

Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began.

And he wasn’t lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.

He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didn’t relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.

He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss.

“How’s that for a first?” he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.

You were honest, without a hint of a joke. “Fucking incredible. Just like you.”

Dean wouldn’t admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.

Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch.

“What if I want to return the favor?” you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.

Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit longer than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought.

Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.

“Very, very tempting.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got some talents yourself.”

You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way he’d done to your fingers in the kitchen.

“But I’m thinkin’ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,” said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. “This time, from the inside.”

His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.

“Okay, next time then,” you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. “But first, just want to make sure you’re ready for me…”

You leaned down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you were sitting up.

You soothed warm hands along his thighs and took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.

Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.

After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, baby. Keep that up and we’re not gonna get much farther for a while,” he said coarsely.

It was satisfying to know you’d made him feel even a fraction of how he’d made you feel.

You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. “I told you, next time I’ll take care of you for real.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.

“Oh, you’re about to. Believe me,” he said.

He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.

“I’m on birth control,” you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.

“And I’m clean,” he said. You nodded, hesitating…

“It’s our first time,” you said. “Condom, just to be safe.”

He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. “Yes, ma’am.”

He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.

When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.

You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.

“Trust me, you’ll like it this way,” he said.

You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.

And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.

Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.

Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skin…

Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.

Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.

He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.

You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.

“Wow,” you managed to say.

Dean’s chuckle took him by surprise too.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiar…and you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “The cake’s still in the oven.”

He blinked. “Well, I don’t smell burning, so we’re good.”

“Dean! You’re a firefighter, remember?” you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so he’d roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after he’d slid out of you.

You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. “I gotta get the cake!”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.

“It’s going to be so…damn…burnt!” You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.

You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Dean’s room. You didn’t know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.

The halls were quiet, so you didn’t think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.

“What’s the verdict, Chef Ramsay?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.

“It’s burnt.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. “Looks all right to me.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be dry,” you said, “even with the lemon drizzle on it.”

It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didn’t want to serve anyone something you weren’t proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m still gonna eat the crap out of it.”

You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.

“Anyway, I think it was worth it. Don’t you?” Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.

You looked up at him with a grin of your own.

“Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.

He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileen’s apartment tonight.

Good, Dean thought. That meant he’d have the place all to himself, with you.

“You know, I just realized something,” he said.

You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.

“What’s that?” you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.

“I just got my dessert twice in one sitting,” he remarked. “That’s pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.

You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Dean’s shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.

You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Think you could handle another serving?”

AN: 🫣 Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? 😏❤️‍🔥

In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...

Next Time:

While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

Keep Reading: PART 8

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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#Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle #Smoke Eater #Part 7 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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Text

Of Truths and Dreams; Lilia Vanrouge

Dreams can tell a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Baul (for a second), Sebek Zigvolt

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches), gender neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, Chapter 7 spoilers, hurt/comfort, some General Vanrouge

Content Warning; Chapter 7 spoilers, war, death (talk, I don't describe it), angst? (idk man)

Word Count; 5.5 K

Don't put my works into AI, as AI steals in order to "create".

Sebek's Story | Malleus's Story

The Thorn Fairy had gifted a blessing to the fae, a blessing of soul matches.

A connection forged between two souls. Such a connection is rare, and different variations do occur; primarily in beastmen and merfolk. Each clan had their unique soul match bonds. And the fae were no different. However, their history was not written down on paper, or carved into the corals. The information and history of fae soul matches was an oral history, passed down from generation to generation through hushed tones.

To outsiders, they shrugged it off as just another odd behaviour of the clan, but the fae had good reason to be wary. In the past, the knowledge of fae soul matches was shared with an outsider, and because of that blunder of misplaced trust, the royal family was targeted. But that was many a queen’s reign ago. But the fae do not forget such transgressions, no; that story, that history, is used as a warning. Tell no one but whom you would trust your life with any information regarding your soul match, lest it be used against you. No one outside of the fae, save for their soul match, is to know of this most treasured bond.

Despite the secretiveness of fae soul matches, they were celebrated once they manifested themselves, as they were a blessing from the Thorn Fairy herself. There is a catch though; due to their long life spans, it can take years, decades, or even centuries in the very rare and unfortunate cases, for the bond between soul match partners to manifest itself. The only thing more unfortunate than it taking centuries is if their soul match were human… for a human lifespan is only a fraction that of even the more short-lived fae clans. It was seen as a tragedy, a doomed pairing from the beginning, with a heartbroken fae as the only possible answer. Such pairings were pitied, and seen as bad luck.

But what does the bond between soul matches take the form of within the fae? What does the Thorn Fairy’s blessing of soul matches look like?

There are many speculations on that. Many scholars say it is a mark on the body; a mole, or three scratches. But that is not correct. It is not a shared song, a stone messenger, or a coloured thread on their finger. And there is a written record of the bond as well; one just has to dig deep into the records, scrolls, and tomes that exist within the library of the former castle of the Draconia’s.

It is also a melody, a hum on the lips of many fae if by chance you are able to hear it. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. The soul match bonds between the fae and their match took the form of shared dreams, tinted the colour of their soul. They cannot truly see the other, or speak to each other, but the gleam in their eyes is one that will stay in their mind, as it is so familiar a gleam.

…

Rest is a luxury, a luxury that Lilia could not spare. The war would not wait for the general to be well rested, or wait for him to have a nap. No, it would continue until it either ended with one side coming out the victor, or it would end with peace negotiations. Rest can wait. But the fae in his company were sleeping, and he was on the first watch.

But there was something else which made him avoid resting; his dreams. His dreams were black and white, devoid of any colour, and he was always alone in them. Yes, there may be other people, but they didn’t interact. His soul match was nowhere to be seen. Three hundred years and there has been absolutely nothing.

He wasn’t alone on watch duty though, Baul was beside him, staring out into the dark.

“You need to rest,” he huffed, shooting a look towards Lilia from the corner of his eye.

Lilia quirked a brow, but his gaze did not waver from the darkness of the forest. There was something out there, waiting. “I can rest when this is over.” His voice was cold, sharp, like that of a blade. “I cannot rest while a war is still being fought on our lands.”

Baul pushed his shoulders back and turned his eyes back to the darkness of the forest. “General, if you do not rest, it will eventually catch up to you. Whether you like it or not.”

He was right, if Lilia did sleep, it would eventually catch up with him in the worst possible moment. The last thing that he needed was to fall into a microsleep in the middle of battle. Thirty seconds of vulnerability in the heat of conflict could spell the very end for him. He let out a tired sigh, “I suppose you are right. When our shift is over I can rest.”

After an uneventful night watch, save for the crack of a stick in the distance — which turned out to be nothing more than just a deer passing through — Lilia turned in for the night in his tent. He stared up to the ceiling, and tried to fall asleep, but the harder he tried the more difficult it became, but eventually exhaustion won over frustration and Lilia fell asleep.

His dream was black and white, as always. They have been devoid of colour for the past three hundred years, so why would they be any different now?

He was a child again, playing in a flower meadow with Malenoa and Levan. Well, Malenoa was playing whereas Levan had been dragged along against his will. And Lilia? Well, wherever the crown princess went, he followed; part of it being that they were friends, the other being that he was raised alongside her and swore to protect her.

“Lilia! Come on,” Malenoa shouted from across the glen, a big smile on her face. “Last one to the thicket is a rotten egg!” And she took off, dragging Levan behind her, the young boy letting out an undignified squawk.

Lilia gave chase, a peel of laughter escaping his lips. “That’s not fair! You got a head’s start!” He eventually caught up to the two royals at the large rose thicket on the outskirts of the meadow. “I guess I’m the rotten egg,” he huffed before sitting down next to a dishevelled looking Levan.

He didn’t really understand why the Thorn Fairy had bonded them together, Malenoa and Levan couldn’t be more opposite of each other. But soul matches do work in mysterious ways… But Lilia wondered when the Thorn Fairy would place that blessing onto him. He had spent, and would spend, his life serving the royal family after the queen had taken him in, so why didn’t the first of the royal bloodline deem him worthy?

Malenoa was looking at the roses until she found one that she liked. She plucked it from the stem, whispered a quiet thank you to the briar patch, and then placed it behind Lilia’s ear. A baby pink rose, but he could not see the colour of the flower, only that it was pale. A stark contrast against Lilia’s jet black hair.

“What’s that for,” he asked but did not dare remove the flower. He should have been used to Malenoa’s antics by now, but she still caught him off guard despite their time spent together.

Malenoa hummed, “Pink suits you, plus since you were the rotten egg, you stunk so badly that you needed the rose to cover up the smell.” She stuck out her tongue and pinched her nose with her fingers, giggling. “A stinky, stinky egg! Right, Levan?”

Levan looked tired, but he nodded his head. “Unfortunately it seems so.” He coughed, trying to cover up the chortle that nearly escaped his lips.

The easy nature of the dream shifted, the briars from the rose thicket separating Lilia from Malenoa and Levan. The thicket then caught on fire, smoking out the dream (the memory?) in a thick, dark, smoke.

Lilia woke with a start, and placed his hand over his heart. It was beating fast, and he was covered in sweat. He then heard a commotion coming from outside, and it wasn’t the usual squabbling he heard as people tried to barter over the best breakfast options.

He strided out into the camp, and he didn’t make it very far until one of the soldiers came clamouring over to him, tripping over their feet in the process.

“G-general!” They heaved, looking pale. “N-news! From the front lines!” They handed him a scroll before taking back off to their tent.

Lilia opened the scroll and his eyes froze, pupils contracting into harsh slits. The parchment crumpled in his tight fist, but he regained his composure. They had a war to end, but Lilia’s mission had shifted from that of victory for country. It had shifted to justice; to serve justice to the murders of Malenoa. For his friend, his family, for Levan, and for her unhatched egg; the hope, and now only future, for the Draconias.

…

Another four hundred years had passed, and Lilia’s dreams were still black and white. And where he may have had been bitter in his younger years, he no longer held that resentment. Yes, he still questioned why he had not received a soul match, but he had accepted that it was simply not to be. Besides, he now had more meaning in his life. He had been many things in his life; a friend, a soldier, an advisor, and now, a father. The silver haired baby that he had found years ago, Silver, was everything Lilia could ever really ask for. He loved Malleus, but not to the same degree as Silver; Malleus was the heir to the throne above all else.

Lilia was content with how things currently were, happy even. He had found his purpose.

“Hmm, this school year should prove interesting,” he hummed to himself. The ceremony was today, and it proved to be a most interesting one at that. He did wonder what the newcomer, the one not suitable to any dorm, would do. They didn’t seem like the type to just leave things alone. He shook his head though, and made himself comfortable in his bed, turning in for the night.

He was in the meadow of his youth again, but it was now overgrown. The vines from the rose thicket choking out all of the other flowers and grasses. And all but one rose was withered away. And this single rose was pink. Lilia could see colour, and the pink bled into the rest of the dream, casting everything in a rose-tinted light.

After seven hundred years, the Thorn Fairy had finally answered his call. And everything was pink. “After all this time, now you have decided they can enter my life,” he whispered, looking directly at the rose.

If he were younger, he would have been overjoyed, but Lilia knew that he did not have the commodity of time at his side. Despite the fae’s long lifespan, he was old, and his magic reservoir was running low. And the bitterness that he had since forgotten reappeared. “Why would you put them through this?”

He turned on his heel, but stopped. At the edge of the meadow was his soul match, he could not make out their face, appearance, nor their voice, but he knew it was them. “You should leave.” His words were not spoken, but were instead written in the air in glowing pink letters. But instead of turning around and leaving, they took a step forward, and then another, before coming to rest in front of Lilia.

“Who are you,” their words were written in pink letters, just like his. And even though he could not see their face, he could distinctly tell they wore an expression of confusion. “And why is everything pink?”

Lilia woke up to the sounds of his alarm going off, ripping him out of the dream. Why is everything pink? His soul match didn’t know what the colour ment, which could only mean one thing; his match was not fae. His soul match was mortal. And that revelation made a lump form in his throat.

He was worried about his soul match outliving him, that the possibility that he would outlive them never crossed his mind. Why had the Thorn Fairy chosen them? Why did she gift him an ending that would end in heartbreak?

…

Ever since finding yourself in Twisted Wonderland you started keeping a dream journal. Alongside the weird, and sometimes downright disturbing, dreams about future overblots, you had rose-tinted ones with a stranger in them. But they kept their distance. And you hadn’t found any answers for them.

“Human!” The sharp shout from Sebek tore you away from your thoughts, as the first-year student was incredibly… loud. “Do you know how rude it is to ignore somebody when they are talking?! Did you not sleep last night?!”

In the few months that you’ve been stuck here, you came to call the abrasive Diasomnia student a reluctant friend. He may be prickly, but it was his own way of showing that he cared… in his own roundabout way which usually involved yelling and non-intentional insults.

Did you not sleep last night?! Yes, but it was anything but restful.

You were in the midst of a battlefield, which was now long over. The only evidence being the hollow armour of warriors long fallen. And, as in all of your dreams, there were roses everywhere. Their thorny vines creating a wall, trapping you and the pink stranger in together.

This wasn’t your dream, it was their’s… or more like a memory? It was all way too centred in reality, in mourning and loss, to be a dream. What did they live through?

“What happened here?” Your words floated gently in the air and only disappeared when the stranger noticed them.

They picked up a broken spear and held it gently in their grasp. “What do you think? War. War is what happened here.” Their words floated in front of you, and you could see the weight of them on their shoulders. “The dreams of many died here, the only thing remaining of them being the armour that was supposed to protect them.”

What the hell have they lived through? “... were you there?”

The dream shifted, no longer were you standing on a long forgotten battlefield, now reclaimed by nature, but you were now sitting in a dark castle. Not even the pink hue over everything could brighten it.

The stranger went up the stairs. Go away, can you not tell I am not the best person for you? Our story will only end in hurt. But they said none of that, continuing to go up the long winding staircase. “Did you hear me? I asked you if you were there!” You yelled after them, following them up the spiralling staircase until the both of you came to a halt in front of a large wooden door, scorched at the bottom.

“Yes,” the words floated in your face before fading away. “I was there… I led the battle. I led them to death.”

I led them to death. You were sweating buckets, but before you knew what you were doing you wrote down a note in your dream journal

Roses. Thorns. Battle. Magic. War. You had no real idea what it all meant, but it was somewhere to start. A step in the direction of figuring what it all meant

“No,” you said, avoiding Sebek’s concerned gaze, “I didn’t sleep well… not at all.” You hadn’t slept soundly in weeks. You hadn’t had a pleasant dream since you woke up here. “Nightmares,” you whispered, “night after night. And a stranger, the same stranger, who is avoiding me.”

Sebek’s face paled, and he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Human,” his voice was now quiet, guarded. He led you to a classroom and made sure no one was around. “Are these dreams a certain colour? Do words float in the air? Can you not make out their face?” Even though this was the quietest that he has spoken, it was also the most serious Sebek had been with you.

You nodded your head, “All of that, yes. How did you know?” Your brows pinched, and you let out a deep sigh. “Sebek, if you know something, please, just tell me.”

Sebek was fighting a war in his head; tell the truth to you, or keep the fae soul match a secret. But the dark bags under your eyes told him enough. “You have a soul match, and they are fae. I’m… sorry.”

The bell rang and he was off to his next class, leaving you alone with this world altering information. I have a soul match? They’re fae? … why did he look so sad for me?

…

Lilia noticed something off about Sebek the moment he walked, or rather stormed, to the confines of his room. So, he followed, gently knocking at the door, waiting for an answer.

“May I come in?”

He heard Sebek scramble up and open the door. “Of course, Lilia-sama!” He was just like his grandfather; loud, a bit too stiff for his own good, but loyal, almost to a fault.

Lilia walked over to the bed, and patted the spot beside him. “Come, sit. You seem to be carrying quite the burden.” He had noticed Sebek’s odd behaviour all day, and it wasn’t like him to do so. “Come now, out with it.”

Sebek picked at a loose thread on his bedding, and massaged his temple. “It’s about soul matches.”

Lilia felt the lump in his throat form again. “What about them? They are a blessing from the Thorn Fairy herself. Who are we to question her decision-”

“A human disclosed that they have a soul match, a fae soul match. And I told them that. I broke the oath to not tell anyone!” Sebek clenched his fists and looked down at the floor. “They aren’t even my soul match, and I told them!”

Lilia placed his hand on Sebek’s back, and started patting him on the back. A gesture that meant everything was going to be okay. “Well,” a breathy chuckle escaped his lips, a soft smile on his face, “they deserve to know what is ahead of them, do they not?”

Like I have been trying to tell mine, but they still have not left it alone. They keep on showing up, night after night.

Sebek seemed to calm down, but there was still a lot weighing heavy in his mind. “It’s not my place to talk. It is for them, and their match to decide. But,” he took a deep breath, and that familiar intensity in his eyes was back, “I can’t help but worry.”

Lilia recognized the look in his pseudo-adopted son’s eyes, it all too well reflected the look Baul would get before battle. And this was Sebek, concerned for a human, which would only mean one thing; whoever they were, they were a friend of his. And that narrowed everything down. Time to do some sleuthing of my own. “They’re strong, most likely stubborn. They shall be fine,” his voice was light, trying to brighten the atmosphere of the room. “It’s late, you should really get some rest.”

With that, Lilia walked out of the room and softly closed the door. There was something that he needed to do tonight, in his dream.

…

This dream was different from all the others. There were no signs of the thorny brambles of roses. There were no signs of war. No, instead Lilia found himself in the courtyard of Night Raven College, the sun high overhead and a slight breeze playing with loose leaves. This wasn’t his dream; it was his soul match’s. And you were sitting under a tree, looking up at the sky, just watching the clouds pass by.

“This is a nice change of pace,” the pink words drifted slowly in the wind. “Better than nightmares and bad memories.”

Lilia felt a twinge of guilt. Better than nightmares and bad memories. Those were his doing. And instead of him being subjected to your nightmares and memories that you would rather forget, the both of them were here, in a quiet moment in time. There was no war, there was no loss. There was only you and Lilia, and an easy feeling. “You are too kind,” he sighed. Thank you. That is what he meant.

You hummed, “I can’t control my dreams, so it’s really just a fluke.” You sighed and rested your head against the tree, closing your eyes and enjoying the filtered sunlight. “I’m just happy it’s a pleasant one.”

“As am I,” he took a seat next to you and looked up to the sky, watching the clouds aimlessly pass by. I need to tell them. “It is cruel, what the Thorn Fairy has done to you. Gifting you a fae soul match.”

You turned your head towards him. Even though you couldn’t truly see who they were, you could see that they carried a lot on their shoulders. You didn’t say anything though, but instead offered your silence as an indicator for him to continue.

“How much do you know about soul matches?” It is their and their soul match’s decision. He wanted to tell them everything, so that they could decide for themself if they wanted him in their life.

You sighed. So now they decide to tell me? “Pretty much nothin’. Just the basics; soul matches exist, which I can kinda infer what it means, they’re gifted by the Thorn Fairy, and you’re fae. I have found absolutely nothing that even talks about the subject, and nobody but my one friend has mentioned it.”

Nobody but my one friend has mentioned it. Were they friends with Sebek? That would narrow down everything drastically, and would also explain why they were relaxing at Night Raven College in their dream. Lilia knew them. They were already closer than he ever thought.

“So, please,” you turned to look at the stranger, your soul match, eyes gleaming gently. “Tell me, tell me everything.”

So he did, he and you sat under the tree for the entirety of the dream, discussing what soul matches were, the different forms and bonds they come in, and what you could expect from this.

I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam.

…

Ever since that dream from a few days ago, you have noticed your soul match get more playful and teasing in your dreams. They no longer held you at a distance, it was a drastic but welcomed change. The cold was gone, and instead there was warmth. But something still felt off. With everything that has happened, with seeing each other's dreams and memories, you still didn’t know who they were. And everytime you tried to tell them your name, the words didn’t form. It was annoying.

“Something on your mind, Prefect,” a familiar teasing voice chuckled from behind you. Lilia shot you a teasing smile, eyes twinkling with mischief. He used to startle you whenever he decided to sneak up on you, but you grew accustomed to his playful nature.

You shot him a look, but then shook your head and chuckled. “Just thinking is all. What about you?” You had noticed that Lilia had gotten more lively, the dark cloud that seemed to hang around him for the past few weeks had seemed to vanish. “You seem to be in a more chipper mood,” you chuckled.

He gave you a quiet chortle, the only real evidence of it being the subtle movement of his shoulders and the quiet exhale from his lips. His magenta eyes gleamed softly in the dim lighting of the hallway. They were familiar, but you could have sworn that you had seen them somewhere before, but the answer was avoiding you.

“Just a lot has happened is all, and it brought a surprise with it.” Lilia was cryptic, but it was a part of his odd charm. A mix of something old beyond your years, and a more youthful impishness. It was endearing.

He reminded you of somebody, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. “Fine then, old man, keep your secrets. One day I’ll make you spill.”

The two of you exploded with laughter, and Lilia patted you on the shoulder. “Maybe someday. I’ll be looking forward to it, Prefect.” He waved you goodbye as he made his way to his next class. Leaving you alone in the hallway.

You hummed to yourself as you made your way to your next class, History of Magic, where Trein was preparing on his lecture to tell the first years about the fae-human wars. Something that you had already witnessed the aftermath of, despite not knowing it at the time. After all, that’s what that one dream was about; the one of the meadow, the rose briars, and the rusting armour laying half buried in the earth. But you didn’t know the true horrors of war, and your soul match made sure that you would never have to witness what he had.

…

You were back in the meadow, in the middle of the fray. No longer were the rusted armours and broken weapons half buried, their wielders were alive again, and you were caught in the middle of it. The sky was an angry shade of pink, and thunder rumbled ominous in the distance… nope that was cannon fire.

Everything was absolute chaos, and you were thankful that nothing could harm you in the dreams, but that didn’t make you flinch any less whenever a ghost arrow flied through the air. Or maybe it would be more accurate to call you the ghost. You weren’t going to dwell on that though, since you didn’t want to push your luck. Something you seemed to be in short supply of.

You saw a flash in front of you, and a bat-masked figure was in front of you, glowing red eyes staring at you, before running back into the battle. Even though this was a dream, you could have sworn that they saw you. And then you were ripped away from the battle ground, being pulled up by your underarms. Looking up you saw the fuzzy and distorted visage of your soul match, pulling you away from danger.

“What were you doing?!” They snapped at you. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you could infer their tone and emotion from their body language and you know, hauling your ass away from danger.

You patted their forearm, and looked back down to the flashes of magic and metal gleaming in the waning light of the setting sun. “Were you here? This is more than a dream, isn’t it? This is a memory.”

Dreams are often a flight of fancy, but for Lilia, and for you, they were more than randomly concocted scenarios played out by the sleeping mind. These dreams held truth, the dreams were memories. And this memory showed the most impactful one.

“How many?”

That statement could mean so many things. It could mean how many battles. How many lives were lost. How many lives had he taken. “Too many to count,” is what he decided on saying. It was true though, Lilia had lost count of how many times he had done all of those things. “You must think of me as cruel,” a sad yet harsh laugh left his mouth, and he looked down at you. “A monster.”

You looked back. There was sadness in your match’s eyes, but also a tiredness. “I don’t think you’re a monster, or cruel though.”

Lilia looked into your eyes. You were being honest, sincere, and your eyes showed that. They were the only part of you that he could clearly make out. They were familiar, they were warm. “I am down there though, leading the assault… against the humans.” Against you.

“The past is the past. What is done, is done. We can’t change that.” Leading the assault… didn’t Professor Trein talk about the wars today? “I won’t judge you based on your past, especially if you’re super old which I know pretty well that your are, gramps. But you can’t change it. It has left its scars, but what matters most is the present and what lies ahead.”

You were right, and Lilia felt foolish to let that small part of himself, the insecurity of not being wanted, fester. “I’m the old one? You sound far more wiser than your years… you whippersnapper.”

The battle faded away, and the two of you floated down to the meadow. It had morphed, morphed back into the meadow of Lilia’s youth; filled with wildflowers, grasses, and the rose thicket was in full bloom. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the laughter of a young girl in the breeze as a raven flew overhead.

…

Lilia needed to find you. Your dreams were filled with premonitions, and they sat heavy in his mind at the repercussions they could make. They sent off alarm bells in his mind. Lilia was in a tizzy. I have to find them.

His magic was running out, and he knew that his lifespan had shortened drastically. He would be lucky to live another sixty or seventy years, which was nothing in the eyes of many fae. But that was a human lifetime. A lifetime that could be spent with not just Silver and Sebek, but you. He wanted to find you. He didn’t care what form your soul match bond took; be it like the relationship of family, of friends, or of lovers. He wanted to find you, needed to find you.

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. Those eyes, they were the only part of you that he could ever make out. Eyes filled with mischief, responsibility, curiosity, and kindness. He knew those eyes. They were your eyes, the Ramshackle Prefect’s eyes. How could I be so blind?

It made all too much sense. The dreams had only started when you showed up. He felt drawn to you, like a moth to flame. It made sense that you would be the human that had made Sebek drop his guard and tell a human about fae soul matches. It made all of the sense in the world. And it had taken until now for him to realise. Perhaps he really was an ‘old man’ and already going senile like you joked, both in and out of the dreams.

That is how he came to find himself at your front door, in the middle of the night, still wearing his hot pink and neon green pyjamas. All because of the one dream, the most recent dream of overblot, and his own realisation of who you truly were. So he knocked three times, and waited for you to come down.

You groaned awake, the faint memory of the dream still weighing heavy on your mind. I can never catch a break, huh? I swear if it’s Ace I’m going to drop kick him. You begrudgingly made your way to the front door, and opened it right as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Lilia?”

What was Lilia doing at your front door? It was like two in the morning… although his bat print pyjamas were pretty great. Was that ‘Bat-tastic’ written in swirly font? Where in Twisted Wonderland had he found that?

“What are you doing here?” Was what you said instead.

“Do you recognize me,” he whispered, taking your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Recognize you? “Your Lilia, of course I recognize you, old man.”

He looked at you, magenta eyes practically glowing in the dark. Familiar magenta eyes. Eyes that held such familiar a gleam… as if you had seen them countless times in your dreams, tinted a paler shade of the colour. “Prefect, have we met before? I could have sworn that I met you… once upon a dream?”

It all made sense. It all made sense. The coldness at first, the memories of war, the playfulness. Why everything was pink. Your match, the perceived stranger, was no stranger at all. They were Lilia.

“So you’re them,” you said softly. “We’re soul matches?”

He shot you a playful wink, “It would seem so. And I’m happy that you are them, and they, you.”

All of those centuries spent alone, wondering why the Thorn Fairy had not granted him the blessing of having a soul match, and then the confusion of finally receiving one after years of nothing, now had an answer. It was you, and Lilia knew that the seven hundred years may have been lonely, but whatever time he had left, he would be more than happy to spend with you.

Fin!

Author's Note; Enjoy this word vomit. If you want to read more, do check out my masterlist.

Tags; @xxoomiii @eynnwwyjth @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @identity-theft-101

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #general vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twst soulmate au #i had to stop myself from making reader say “cowabummer dude” to lilia #chapter 7 spoilers #wanted to try and explore different parts of lilia #also i want that bat-tastic shirt i know his ass would own one #always nervous posting diasomnia content since uhhhhhh ovo; y'all scare me #enjoy your gilf though #started august 5 ended august 9 2023 #putting my start and end dates in the tags for my own uses #sebek is next and his story SHOULD be more humorous and fluffy #should being the key word; idk what my brain is going to come up with yet #idc if it's overused; i am using the shared dream trope and running with it #if you see grammar mistakes shhhh; no you don't #soul match au #*folds my hands and judges engagement* this decides your future #idk what compelled me to include sebek in this but i did #the series is almost done YIPPEE!!!!

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mrsvalentinefucker1 · 9 months

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Sbr dick hc + how they fuck!

F! Reader implied!!

Johnny Joestar

Dick: Johnnys Dick is cute just like him, It’s about 5.5 at most. thickness isn’t too wide but not too small either. It’s just right. It may hurt going in for a second but it all is good after that. He’s circumcised and his tip is pink/redish depending on what’s happening. His pubes are like a pillow around the base of his cock. They curl in some places and in others they swoop, obviously they’re dirty blonde<3

How he fucks: He is gentle but he can get a little lazy. Obviously you’d have to ride him for the most part but if he could he’d through you on the ground and show you how much he wants you. When you ride he grabs your hips and slams you down, not in a rough way but in a loving passionate way. He always makes sure you’re ready before he does anything, he fingers you while licking your clit and when he finds your sweet spot he’ll attack it until you cum in on his hand. He’s not very vocal instead he makes a series of grunts and whimpers. Maybe once he’ll say your name. His favorite places to cum are inside of you, on your boobs, in your mouth or on your face

Gyro Zeppeli

Dick: 5.9 damn near 6. Uncircumcised and it’s extremely sensitive at the shaft. His cock is thick, like thick thick. You have to use two hands to wrap around him. His pubes go all over the place. They are never shaven but he will occasionally trim them just a bit. He will definitely hurt going in.

How he fucks: He’s passionate but playful, he’ll try anything once. His favorite position is reverse cowgirl. He loves see your ass ripple as you slam yourself down onto his cock. He’s very vocal, he tells you how he wants it and he doesn’t give a damn. Since he’s so big he has to prep both of you, using lube wont help the whole process. 69 is how he gets you both ready at the same time. While he’s fucking you he makes sure to ask you if you’re enjoying yourself. His favorite places to cum are on your face, on your chest or on your ass/lower back

Diego Brando

Dick: 5.3 he’s short so… his dick has a small vein on the underside and if you lick/touch it, wooowee you’re in for a treat afterwards. His isn’t particularly thick either, it’s more thin than anything, doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good though. He’s uncircumcised, his pubes are almost always shaven, if not shaven then trimmed to the base. He hates hair.

How he fucks: Hes not rough but he’s not loving either. You’re not his lover so it’s understandable why he wouldn’t be so caring and careful. He does his thing and then leaves essentially. His favorite position is doggy style or anything from the back so he can pretend your anyone he wants. Sucks I know. He pounds into you while saying how filthy you are to be doing this, you’re a slut, a dumb bitch, a needy whore who only wants his cum and nothing else. His favorite places to cum is on your back or stomach. Maybe your face if you’re lucky.

Funny Valentine

Dick: 6.2, he’s a tall man so it’s just obvious. His cock is thick. It will definitely hurt you when going in. He doesn’t feel bad about it though sometimes he will apologize afterwards, which is reassuring. His tip is his most sensitive spot. He’s circumcised so his cock is nice and clean looking. His pubes swoop, they don’t curl. They’re a dirty blonde with a hint of lighter blonde in them.

How he fucks: He loves role playing scenarios ex. You being his secretary and having a quicky, meeting at a restaurant and end up hooking up. Sometimes he’ll be passionate, but sometimes he just wants to bend you over his desk and fuck you until you milk him dry. He loves holding your hands down and just pounding you. As for the passionate part, he loves just having the blanket over you two while he’s on top of you, whispering how much he wants you and how he wants you to bear his child, maybe even some sensual stuff in the shower too… I’m gonna eventually make a fanfic on this<3 his favorite places to cum are inside of you, in your mouth or on your face. Oh yeah he has a serious breeding kink<3

#jjba #jjba fanfic #jjba headcanons #jjba part 7 #steel ball run fanfic #steel ball run #jjba steel ball run #johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar #funny valentine #funny valentine x reader #diego brando #Diego brando x reader #gyro zeppeli #gyro zeppeli x reader

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 5 months

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Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader) 7

A/N: I feel like an ass for posting this one, surely I am cockblocking, but this slow-burning is here for a reason! Enjoy regardless! Mentions of anatomy and some language, Y/N gets drunk and nearly blurts all.

Summary: To be loved is to be changed.

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Chapter 7

In the day, Adrian was as glorious as the sun. At night, as beautiful and haunting as the moon and its glow.

In the month you had been in the castle, you had turned the once secluded castle into a living, existing place, for you and Adrian to simply ignore the rest of the world in. It had grown not to resemble a tattered and destroyed ruin, but instead, a place Adrian could call home once again.

Adrian himself had flourished in his skin once more: where you found him to take up hobbies when you were not with him. Before was once a man, lonely beyond an age before the age of twenty, losing his parents and closest allies, now, a man you could look upon with admiration and pride. He had grown out from his enclosed shell, opening his heart to a stranger, trusting you with his life unlike those who betrayed him.

It hurt more to know that this was your final day.

You feared for Adrian’s wellbeing, whether he would grow reclused after you left him, or would he rather thrive with your farewell?

You had grown recluse yourself from the Dhampir, finding closure in the fact that you would never look upon the face of Adrian ever again. Where could you go apart from as far out from Wallachia? Nowhere was safe for a girl like me. You told yourself when you wished you could explain to Adrian—though the words would always freeze on your tongue any time you tried bringing it up.

It seemed that Adrian had almost forgotten about the promise too, and you couldn’t help but feel guilt when he spoke of promises he wanted to do for you.

“I’ll show you one day the town nearby,” he said one night, curled up by the fire as he stared into its flames. “I know you’d like it. We could buy anything you’d like: spices, dresses, jewellery.”

He spoke of a future not just with him alone, but with you co-existing beside him, and it thrilled and destroyed you to know that this promise would crumple like sand.

The day came for you to leave, silently waking with dried tears still stinging your red eyes. You had spent all that night crying before you fell to sleep, dreaming of being with Adrian, laughter shared and memories to be made. You had even kissed him, your heart fluttering as he muttered words softly in your words that gave away he did not want you to go.

'Always and forever.' His words were soft and dying in the air when you faced the morning, and your lips could still feel his against yours, a dying dream never to be lived.

You tip-toed around to not wake Adrian, gathering anything you could and folding neatly the dresses you had been given to him. They were too lovely to be ruined and deserved to be in a place that could keep its beauty.

The only things you carried on you were the same dress you came to the castle in, rags that had been sitting in the corner of the room, waiting for the day you would have to wear them. The air grew heavy with a feeling of forlorn as you walked to find the kitchen, setting yourself by the counter and waiting for the person you dreaded to upset.

It was not long until you heard familiar footsteps drawing closer, familiar honey-blond locks coming into view as the man appeared. It snapped your heart in two to see the softness in his golden eyes as if you were better than the sun itself and you were his star. That all fell apart when his smile dropped, the uncertainty washing over his face when he saw the glumness on your face.

“Has something happened?” He did not waste two seconds stepping closer towards you, giving a small gap between the two but enough that you could be up close to him. In the four weeks, it had taken some time for Adrian to grow used to touch once again, always coiling away from your closeness, before he had taken the time to build trust and reciprocate first. "Y/N?"

He was quick to reach out to you first, extending for your arm as he pulled it towards him. He was warm to the touch, and you dared not want to look upon his concerned gaze without knowing you would blubber into a mess once again.

“You remember the promise, correct?” You lamented, watching for a moment as he took in your words carefully. It was as if everything poured through just from the question, and you could just about read every emotion visible in his eyes; melancholy, regret, grief.

“Where will you go?” His voice was quiet. Don’t go, it read in his eyes.

It didn’t dawn on you, no matter how many times you came to think of it. “Some place where it is warmer, perhaps east. But that means…” your voice cracked momentarily, “Wallachia will not be a home for me.”

“But how do you know?” His calmness cracked, and beneath you could see the grief-stricken man appear, though you did not think he would be holding concern for you of all people.

You didn’t want to answer his question, despite the unknowing questions that boiled, the silence was deafening, and it hammered in your chest like the chiming of a hammer.

“I will have to leave whilst there is still light,” you squeezed Adrian’s hand before it slipped from his, “Thank you for allowing me to use your library, and… to call you a dear friend.”

You didn’t know if that pained you more to call him a friend when your feelings had bloomed for him during your time there. A friend was the only thing you could call him: why would he want anything else with you? He’s immortal, he will have lovers come and go, but none will ever be you.

“Don’t,” he called to you when he stepped out of his reach, not expecting him to call you. Your name was a whisper on his tongue, hanging in the air as if he wished to say something more to you, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I would be overstaying here, Adrian.” You could feel tears slip from your face, but you braved not to look at him, even when you knew he was staring at you. “You said a month-”

“Please,” there it was. Pain in his voice in the way he pleaded, desperate and gentle that you didn’t think you’d see this side of him, “I don’t think… living within these walls would ever feel the same with you gone.”

He stepped out to you again.

Closer.

His hand gingerly found your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze, delicately wiping the tear collecting at the corner of your right eye. You were both silent, only staring at one another, and never did you think anyone would stare at you the way he did with you.

“You wish for me to stay?” Forever?

Your mother had told you what that feeling would be like, though she had been young and never knew the experience herself. Did Alucard’s parents experience the same when they first met?

That feeling grew within your chest, butterflies you couldn’t stop from feeling: the great emotion that one day would bless you in having. Why was it that the moment you had to leave was when it came?

‘People come and go,’ your mother told you one day when you asked about it, naïve and full of hope. ‘It hurts when it grows for those you care for.’

Yes, you understand now why it came at this moment and all the times before.

It hurt.

Love hurt when it was about to leave for the first and final time.

It was his smile, so gentle and warm, so inviting and bright – full like the sun and the beginning of spring – that you could not decline his offer.

“I would very much like that.”

Telling yourself you had gotten used to the castle was an understatement.

The rooms you were more familiar with were the ones you kept to, never straying that much to explore. You knew that there were many rooms even Adrian never went into, telling you that they held too many memories, either good or bad.

You were understanding, knowing how much the castle – his childhood home – could hold a lot of disturbance to what he went through. He told you one day that his childhood bedroom was off limits: it was after all, where he had killed his father. He mentioned it was a place too “dampened with gloom” that you knew something else had happened for him to keep that part of the castle off-limits.

It had only gotten the best of you when you told Adrian you were going to do some cleaning, leaving him as he cooked in the kitchen.

You sprinted with much glee and inquisitiveness: the endless hallways could lead you anywhere!

Roaming the halls, you remembered to stay away from the rooms you were not allowed to go to, including his old and current bedroom. It was quite easy to get lost, taking to the upper floors, where the light grew dimmer, more eerie.

The rooms as you found them didn’t hold much for you to be intrigued until you passed what was another room in another endless hallway, you spotted that this room had its door ajar.

This was certainly a room you had not been told of by Adrian.

Bravely, the room seemed to be more of an intrigue to you than any other room. Slowly peeling the door back, you stepped through.

The room is dimly lit, with a sense of sweet orange that lingers in the air. It’s his scent, sweet, alluring, inviting; just like what surrounds you. There are books of all assortments: astronomy, philosophy, ecology, history – to name a few. Knowledge spanning from decades to thousands of years back, of all cultures and dynasties long gone and remaining. Maps hung around the room, some of the entirety of Europe, the world and one finally above his desk of Wallachia.

It took longer to find literature, where you find poetry, prose, children’s stories and old fables. You’re shocked when you stumble across some romance novels, not expecting that to come from Adrian.

His desk is a display of many things: papers, books, and journals. You dare not look in his journals knowing his work is private, but something catches your gaze. Since when was Adrian into drawing?

You find one first that makes you pick it up, a sketch of his mother, only a fine-line sketch that is only shaded and not with much detail, but you recognise her from the portraits that decorate the castle.

Will you be needing a muse anytime soon? You think to yourself, jokingly. You knew it was rude to snoop, and knowing you had come across Adrian’s study, you knew you had the best chance to look around when he wasn’t there.

But when you find his sketchbook, all nosiness takes over.

The leather-bound book is beautifully decorated, with its pages filled to the brim from use. The beginning of the pages were those you recognised simply by objects that Adrian used for inspiration: a stag beetle shell, many plotted plants and flowers some you recognised from your mother’s herbs. You read the dates that dated back to almost a decade ago, impressed by his skill at such a young age.

The more you draw the pages further into the book, the older the dates get, and his practice grows. His inspirations change from objects to anatomy. You’re impressed by the way Adrian draws the human body so well. Some sketches of hands in different positions and poses, full body sketches of a mixture of men and women, some clothed and others nude.

You could feel your cheeks darken, and though it was surprising to see the natural state of the human body, art was still captivating in showing it, Adrian drew with a way of conveying vulnerability. His mother was a doctor after all.

Other pages were of human faces: more drawings of his mother and father. Another was of a different man and woman: the woman had short hair whilst the man had a scar over his right eye and a shadow of a wispy beard on his face. You now had a reference to Adrian’s friends and allies: Sypha and Trevor.

A Belmont, scholar and sleeping soldier, Adrian told you, all out for different clauses and paths but joined to meet on one path; to kill Dracula.

You had forgotten to make sure you were still alone and not spotted looking through his things when you reached the last few of the pages, recently used. Wait a minute. You had to do a double take, imagining you were seeing double. This isn’t… who I think it is.

Those eyes, were similar to you, not that you could remember where you had seen them last. It dawned on you quickly why they were a distant memory: they looked like your mother's eyes—but that was impossible if Adrian had never met or seen an image of her.

But, as if looking back through a mirror, a glimpse through time, those eyes weren’t just hers, but yours as well.

Oh. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you dared not drop the book to draw attention to where you were. You didn’t close it, despite feeling that this was intruding—it was too late for that now.

He had gotten your likeness in a way you didn’t think he could: as if you had been captured in a moment, ready to come back to life on the page. Another sketch of you, reclined with your nose in a book and laying in a way that could’ve been uncomfortable to anyone else. Another of you tying your hair back, the ribbon dangling in your mouth, eyes in heavy concentration. The final one took you by surprise: a moment where you were snuggled into the armchair, a blanket wrapped protectively around you to keep you warm.

Have I been so blinded this entire time? It seemed like this wasn’t right: did Alucard… fancy you? You scoffed, absolutely not, there was no way—though you the more you spiralled, the more it had you questioning everything.

You had been so preoccupied with what you had discovered, that you failed to suspect the presence behind you, someone standing just on the edge of the doorframe.

An awkward cough brought you back to your senses.

“Forgive me!” You stumbled, throwing the papers behind you to hide them behind your back, in hopes you were quick on your feet. You were clumsy, ineptly whipping back to look at the blond Dhampir standing just a few metres in the doorframe. “I did not hear you come in.”

Adrian was dressed simply in his shirt, trousers and boots as he did if the weather was not too cold. It was only a small subtle detail that his dark trousers were coated and dusted with a light cast of flour, as if he had nothing else to wipe but on them. His hair was also tied up, revealing his slender neck, wisps of blond tresses falling to frame his handsome angular features.

How long had he been waiting there for? You panicked, knowing that he could’ve used his speed to reach you, using his inhuman scent of smell or to pick up your heart rate to find you.

“Yes, well, you did seem rather… occupied.” Adrian teased, though his face was incomprehensible, his movements leisurely as he ambled into the room, inspecting if anything looked out of place.

Was he just as embarrassed as how you were feeling? Regardless if he was or not, he was very good at hiding it from you.

He stopped just to the side of his desk, eyes quickly scanning as he spotted the disarray of papers, his sketchbook ‘neatly’ placed back where it looked to have been before. He did not say anything about it, instead, resuming conversation as if nothing was out of place.

“I was asking if you were free to help me downstairs. I needed assistance in deciding which spices to add to the cakes.” He continued, watching the way you shuffled to block what you were putting back on the desk.

You were not subtle in the slightest but Adrian did not make any remark for you to be snooping, rather, he watched on in visible amusement. The refined look when he raised an eyebrow, the small smirk that made you even more flustered when you were caught.

“Okay, ready.” You gestured for him to walk in front, hanging back as you took a final glance back, wondering when Adrian started drawing you.

It’s his idea when he decides the two of you should share a bottle of wine.

Though you think it’s not good to have the entire bottle, Adrian agrees upon a glass or two, sharing thoughts as the night grows dark with the creatures of the forest outside, and your worries melt for a moment on your tongue.

The wine is sweet, not though you like it, and it's hard to consume something that feels so foreign. Adrian drinks it as if it's water, and you struggle to keep up. You’re a lightweight after all, and though you’re slower, you can feel the haziness that crawls in your vision, and you swear you’re almost seeing double.

Your laughter is warmer, chatter easier, and you notice he’s closer beside you by the table when he first brings the bottle and glasses.

“This is nice,” his voice does not slur as he speaks, and you’re shocked just by how content he is in drinking glass after glass if he could. If perhaps you didn’t say anything, perhaps he would, “It’s been some time since I stopped drinking.”

“When did you stop?” You can feel a headache begin to dull your senses, and you’re feeling bolder.

Adrian seems hesitant when he looks back at you before he answers. “I stopped after a couple of days after your arrival.” He’s nervously swirling the glass in small circles on the table, a distraction. “I’m sure the smell of piss and blood wasn’t helping.”

You chortle, “No, it didn’t, but I don’t suppose I was any different. A girl smelling of chickens.”

“I did wonder why.” He says in a dry tone, but his eyes are sincere, and you find yourself staring periodically down at his lips, the glint of his sharp teeth some distraction from the wine.

“It seems funny when I say it now, but I used to have two, and they had names.”

Adrian seems surprised by this, that of all things to have named were chickens, but he coaxes you with a raised brow, intrigued, to say the least. “Tell me they had normal names.”

“Henrietta and Duchess.”

“Oh, my God,” Adrian laughs quietly, “Next you’ll say you had a pig called Duke and a horse called Lieutenant.”

“Well, the pig was called Truffle.”

“Seems almost cruel,” Adrian laughs at the idea, “I don’t think I was any different. I did have a stuffed wolf called Fluffy.”

“Hey, that’s cute though.”

You laugh at the idea, but you’re carrying a sad smile as you continue to sip slowly at your drink. “I loved those chickens. It was weird, but I treated them like humans rather than animals—livestock. They were much nicer than-” You stop yourself mid-sentence, unsure if you’re ready to continue.

Your stomach coils as if ready to lurch, for you to leap from your chair and leave to your room, but Adrian is calm and patient, running a soothing hand over yours to console you.

“Take your time,” he says with quiet empathy, and it’s enough to pull you back to reality. “I’m here.”

“After my mama’s death, I fled to the nearby town—I was on the streets for some time, hiding behind buildings and sometimes getting shelter from a sweet old lady, before I was old enough to sell myself as a servant to any passing man who needed my service.”

You felt sick to your stomach, and the wine was not helping. “I stayed in his service for almost a decade, serving his son and wife who was no older than me.” You confessed. “It all boiled down one day when I was fed up with the fucking treatment. I was beaten if I did something incorrect, slapped if I spoke when not spoken to, and something… snapped in me. I… hurt him when he hurt me.” You pushed the wine away from you, eyes welling with tears. “I wish I did more.”

“You survived,” Adrian said with a sad grimace, “You’re much braver than most I know.”

“I didn’t feel brave then,” you admitted. “I felt like a stupid little girl, not capable of anything.”

“Hey,” Adrian seems clumsy in giving close comfort, but he tried nonetheless, leaning closer to finally embrace you. He smelt of oranges and lavender, and you nearly broke down into his shoulder, “you’re the strongest person I know. The bravest witch.”

He seemed tongue-tied with his next words, eyes moving across your face as if he wished to say something that you yearned to hear. “I’m proud of you.” He finally said, but in your mind, it didn’t seem like it was what he wanted to say as if there was something he was holding back.

Was I overthinking? You thought as you pulled away from his embrace, so tempted to lean across the table and kiss him there and then, but you pulled enough restraint to not horrify the man. “Thank you, Adrian. I’m thankful I have you.” You finally said.

“I’m thankful too.” He confesses, quickly realising what he’s just said and the blush on his face is obvious as he tries to change the subject. “I will leave you to catch some sleep. I thought it would be a good idea to head into town tomorrow morning. Gather some more supplies. What do you say?”

You smile sadly, “That’s a good idea.” You’re on your feet fast enough as you say goodnight to one another before you’re speeding down the hallway to your room, wiping the tears that have not dried from your face.

When you reach your room, you slink against the inside of the door. Your head is hammering, vision is hazy. Damn for drinking so much. You groan, only listening to the crackling of the fire lit in your room, the soft luring sound of crisp pages of a book being shut as a lovely interference.

“Ah, there you are.” the voice that pulled you from your thoughts was the one thing you needed to hear, sweet as honey as the figure emerged to stand close by from where you stood. His soft locks are pulled back from his face, and he’s practically glowing in the soft ambers of your room, the fire gently burning to keep the warmth.

Your lips are pulled into a tired smile, which the Dhampir notices quickly enough to soothe you for a night of sleep. “You’re exhausted, my little witch.” He’s yanking you by your hand, directing you to your bed. “You need sleep before it comes for you first.”

“Was it so obvious?” You laugh dryly, and the lack of sleep is fast indeed; your eyes are heavy, limbs sluggish as your mind slows from the alcohol. “I can get myself to bed by myself, you know?”

“I don’t doubt you,” he scolds lightly, the way he moves you is more persistent. “Dreams help everything go away, isn’t that what your mother said?”

“Yes.” You drawl quietly, silent in watching Adrian move around you, sitting you delicately on the edge of the side of the bed. He is gentle in getting you settled for the night, removing your outer layers of clothing until you’re left in your chemise. There is nothing overtly sexual in the way he undresses you, more so there’s such a tenderness to his touches that it almost leaves you weeping.

When you’re ready, he follows, undressing until he stands in his nightgown. You watch as he goes to as he crawls onto the other side to lay there. Shutting his eyes, his light blond hair cascades around the pillow like a halo, his body silent and still as stone.

You’re staring for some time before he speaks up, aware even without having to open your eyes. “Are you going to watch me sleep or are you going to join me?” He cracks one eye open, full of mirth as he catches the exact moment your face brightens.

“Right.” You scootch over closer, lying stiffly beside him on your back, not daring to get any cosier before he stretches like a cat, catching you by surprise as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, little witch.” He jokes, humming as he rests his head into the crook of your neck. This is all so real, and you dare fear if you fall asleep, it’ll all be gone, a fading memory to die in the back of your mind. “Am I that cold?”

“No,” you finally relax in his hold, having turned to face him, a feeling you wish not to ever forget. “It feels nice.”

“I’m sure one thing could make you feel better,” his eyes are open, watching you almost hawkishly, scooting himself closer. “Though, I’d have to know what you think.”

“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer you directly, but his eyes tell you what you’ve been waiting for. It’s the way his gold eyes glance from your eyes down to your lips, way too slowly before coming back up to meet your flustered state.

Neither of you make the first move, your heart is hammering too fast that you can barely keep up with your racing thoughts. You know he can hear how fast it's pumping, thunderous and dreadful against your ribs. It feels like it could explode any second.

Should I wait for him to lean in? Or would it be better for me to meet him halfway? To see how he reacts.

With your mind racing, your body moves on its own, ignoring your many questions and moving with little patience. A hand finds his cheek, stroking his cheekbone in contemplation, soft to the touch that you gasp from just the exhilaration alone.

You’re not waiting for him when you’re leaning close to him, closer and closer until his face is inches from yours. Your noses bump as you catch the final moment where his eyes flutter shut as you’re copying, stretching over until your lips meet his.

You didn’t know how long you had been counting for this moment to happen. Drinking him in, he is the sun, and you are a secluded plant, waiting for his rays to keep you from shrivelling. His lips are soft, neither warm nor cool as your contact is chaste and quick, and all that is gone when you’re not chasing for more-

“No,” you rasp as you pull yourself from him, leaping up to sit on the edge of the bed. “This is wrong.”

“Oh?” He doesn’t seem dissatisfied or enraged, rather it seems more like a question. He is calm when he asks, voice a soft rumble. “Is it wrong because you wish to continue? Or because you wish to experience this with him?”

You slump in your spot, guilt overflowing your body like a wave, ready to drown. “It’s wrong because… I’m using him.” You hug yourself, ready to weep aloud from it all. “I’m using him for this twisted fantasy, just to feel happy.”

This fake version of Adrian is collected, reaching your side of the bed as he places a consoling hand on your shoulder. “Happy… that you want to imagine a future with him?”

“Yes. Is that so wrong to have?” You sigh exasperated. “I want him to be happy, but I fear… I will never give him that happiness.”

“He’s been through so much already.” You continue. “I think of him all the time: like how the sun can’t live without the moon.”

You’re completely consumed by Adrian: mind, body and soul and it aches that this crush will continue to remain as one. His acts of kindness have completely floored you, confusing you to the point that you were left over questioning every small act he did for you.

The night is long and you’re left distraught, conjuring a version of him that you hope can give you comfort. “What do I do?”

“Tell him the truth.”

Your head snaps almost drastically to glare at the fake version, who simply looks just as perplexed as you. “I’m just a manifested form you created of him in your head whilst inebriated. I’m the wrong person you should be talking to.”

Sighing defeatedly, you look to him for security. “I’m… confused.”

“How so?”

“Well, I know he sees me as a friend, but he’s just so thoughtful. He carries me back to bed, and we spend all day together. I mean, he drew sketches of me for fuck’s sake—that’s saying something, isn’t it?”

“He seems lonely too.” ‘Adrian’ answers, but it’s a reasonable answer that could be what you’re looking for, regardless of how you’re feeling.

“I know, I know. He’s awkward, but it can’t just be out of friendship.”

“Tell him in the morning,” he says, “you can’t see for yourself if he’s quick to reciprocate your feelings for him. Perhaps then you’ll be able to cuddle something that’s flesh and bone.”

You chortle at his words, knowing how uncanny and realistic he is sitting beside you. “Can we just- can we just cuddle for the rest of the night? Just so I don’t feel so lonely.”

Alucard gives you a sorrowful smile, pulling you into a side embrace. “You realise I won’t be there by morning?”

It’s a sad realisation, but you come to accept it. “I know. I just… want to imagine feeling something for once.”

“Of course, my little witch,” he kisses your forehead lovingly, leading you both back down to lie on the bed. The bed doesn’t feel as big when you share it with another, now in the fond embrace of the Dhampir you conjured in your mind.

“Sleep well, Y/N.” He tells you all the right things you want to hear, the lull of sleep pulls you in deeper and deeper, his voice growing quieter. “I’m still here with you, no matter what.”

“I love you,” you slur as darkness consumes you, the heaviness of your body pulling you into a sleep you need. You don’t feel upset when you don’t hear a response, just the arms of his embrace.

By the time early morning comes, the other side of the bed is cold, and the ghost of Adrian’s arms remains.

It’s not just knowing that the person on the other side of the hallway would never know how you felt, but the sense that you could never go back to seeing him just as a dear friend.

A/N:

This was a long one to write, but I hope you enjoyed it!

#castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania fanfic #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #reader x alucard tepes #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #reader is a witch #half black! reader #mixed race reader #part 7 #witch! reader #alternate universe

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 6 months

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Evermore - Part 7

Summary: It’s been 7 years since the love of your life left you behind for his career. When he decides to come back, is it too late to start anew? Or will you realize what’s been in front of you this entire time?

Chapter Summary: A glimpse into Steve's past leaves him reeling with confusion on how to deal with his own feelings.

Sidenote: There is just a lot to unpack in this chapter. Buckle up!

Warnings: 18+ for future chapters. General angst. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is given the nickname Peach. Unplanned pregnancy. Manipulation. Cursing. Tension. Heartbreak. Longing.

Word Count: 5.7K

Masterlist

Eddie laid there flitting in and out of consciousness. His mind and body weren’t ready to face whatever fresh hell the day had in store for him.

Somewhere before drifting back off, he felt a slight pressure on his cheek, as if something lightly touched him. He groaned just a bit, adjusting his position pushing his face further into the fabric.

A fabric he realized felt foreign. He breathed deeply, unfamiliar yet pleasant scents filling his lungs. It was something that reminded him of home even though he had never felt quite at home anywhere in the past seven years.

He heard distant voices. Not overly loud but the way they seemed to speak suggested it was an argument. Hushed, but rushed out tones. He began to rouse more, his head was already beginning to pound, a harsh reminder of what he had consumed the night before.

Then he felt it again, this poke at his cheek, a little harder than before. He peeked one eye open, as his hazy vision began to clear, straining against the morning light coming in from a nearby window.

It took a few seconds to come into focus, a chubby cheeked little girl staring at him with curly brown hair and hazel eyes that sparkled as she grinned with her baby teeth on full display. She giggled at him.

That fully caught his attention, he opened both eyes and sat up in a flurry, throwing the blanket from himself, which made the toddler laugh out louder. His hair frizzy, sticking up. He knew he looked a mess; a wave of nausea momentarily seized him with the sudden movement.

“Hi!” she spoke sweetly.

It all slowly started to come back to him. The Hideout, Hopper, You.

You had come to get him. Even if you didn’t care about him that had to mean something, right?

He sat all the way up, putting his feet on the ground, head falling into his hands. He let out a low groan. Not meaning to ignore the other person in the room, but his hangover was washing over him, slowly dragging him under.

She sat beside him, pressing her small leg into his thigh. He looked over at her still bleary eyed, she spoke again with a bright smile on display.

“Hi!”

“Ugh, hi.” He finally replied.

“Your sock is gone.” He followed where her little finger was pointing. Indeed, his right sock was missing. He turned to the end of the couch spotting it tucked into the end cushion.

“Ah ha!” he smiled, producing the lost item. She giggled again as he bent to return it to its rightful place.

“You wan play wif me?” she tilted her head as she spoke as if trying to figure him out.

“Ugh, where’s your mom and dad? In the kitchen?” he asked her, not trying to be rude to a kid but he bet you and Steve were ready to kick his ass out as soon as you caught wind that he was awake.

She scrunched her nose slightly as her little eyebrows knit together in confusion. She was about to speak but you came into view and drew his full attention.

“Maddie, baby, there you are.” His eyes darted to you then to Steve close behind.

“Peach! Daddy!” She squealed in his ear, earning another shot of pain in his already throbbing head.

You walked over to where they both sat, pointedly ignoring the look Eddie was giving you.

“Come finish your breakfast, then we’re going to do whatever you want! It’s Maddie’s day!”

She immediately hopped down from her place on the couch, taking your hand and happily following you back into the kitchen. Why the hell did she just call you Peach instead of Mom? He didn’t have time to dwell as his eyes trailed after you.

He had to admit, motherhood looked good on you. Even in your pajamas and hair a mess you looked beautiful. You’d never explicitly told him you’d wanted kids but then again you two were still young and had never really brought up the subject.

Steve caught him staring, giving him an overly annoyed look but didn’t say anything, rolling his eyes and turning to join you.

He sat back on the couch, pressing his palms against his eyes momentarily to collect himself. It was unusual at this stage in the rockstar life that he had a hangover; he knew he had overdone it.

He slowly started to take in his surroundings.

You had been doing well for yourself, your house wasn’t lavish, but it wasn’t modest either. He imagined Steve had some cushy job at some law firm, but Steve was never the type to show out, surprisingly that had been a trait he hadn’t inherited from his parents.

There were pictures of all various shapes and sizes hung on one of the living room walls. It was evident each one had been placed there with the utmost care. He skimmed each photo; most faces he recognized, a few he didn’t.

Max in a graduation gown, your arm wrapped around her shoulders hugging her tightly, faces pressed together grinning ear to ear.

Dustin and Suzie on their wedding day, smiles walking hand in hand down the aisle just after saying their “I do’s.”

Mike, El, and Will in their swimsuits at what appeared to be the beach. Each one sitting on a towel catching some rays.

Robin and Steve packed like sardines beside each other on a small love seat fast asleep.

Lucas and Max looking away from the camera, but you had captured them holding hands. A rarity for Max to show affection in public.

You even had a rare photo of Hopper smiling with Joyce in front of a Christmas tree.

Then he saw one that stopped and made him stare a little longer. You were holding a baby looking down at her with the most adoration he’d ever seen but it’s a look he already knew well. It was the same one he saw in you back then, looking at him. Except he knew there was no expectation of this little, tiny being you were holding. It was unconditional love.

He slowly made his way down the rest of the wall, seeing everything that took place in his absence. All the younger teens were now fully-fledged adults. Married, getting married, or even having children of their own. Life in Hawkins had moved on without him.

He was so lost in the faces of his old friends, he hadn’t noticed Steve re-enter the room, standing behind him now. He cleared his throat, momentarily startling him.

“Christ,” he spat, holding his chest for a beat as he looked over at an unamused Steve, who was leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest. He didn’t immediately speak, so Eddie broke the awkward silence.

“It’s ugh… it’s amazing what you miss being away. Life really does just go on without you.” Looking away from the other man to finish scanning the wall.

“What are you doing?” Steve was already irritated and wasn’t going in the mood to tip toe around.

“Uh, I… looking at photos…,” pointing to the wall, like it was the most logical answer ever.

“No, man. I mean what are you doing here? Showing up out of nowhere, interrupting her life?” he shoved off the door frame, standing up straighter as he spoke, squaring his broad shoulders.

“I…,” he wasn’t sure how to answer. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a response.

“I’m not really sure anymore,” he finally exhaled, truthfully. He dropped his gaze to the floor as his shoulders drooped.

“She doesn’t want you here.” He hissed lowly. Eddie snapped his head up at that, tilting his head slightly.

“That so Harrington? Why am I here then? Hmm?” looking the other man directly in the eyes. “Unless…” a moment from last night suddenly came back to him but Steve interjected before Eddie could finish.

“You’re here because you’re an idiot. You do what you do best, fuck up and she doesn’t have the heart to turn you away. Even after everything you did to her.” Steve stepped closer.

Eddie’s anger was seeping through, though he knew the other man was speaking nothing but the truth. He scoffed.

“You know I’m betting the only reason you haven’t kicked me out yet is because you don’t want to piss her off. No matter how mad it makes YOU that I’m here.” He paused, examining Steve a moment, “She said you didn’t live here, right? What’d ya do, knock her up and decide a relationship wasn’t worth it? Staying friends would be better for you? King Steve, always looking for the next thrill. Never looking out for anyone but himself?”

Steve squared up to the metalhead, at this point he was fuming. His hands fisted at his sides. He knew he had to control himself for Maddie’s sake. He took a step closer, poking his finger into Eddie’s chest.

“Back off Munson, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure Harrington.”

Eye to eye, neither backing down until they heard you call for Steve down the hall.

He turned without another word to the metalhead retreating to the kitchen leaving Eddie alone once more with the wall of smiling, happy faces looking back at him.

In this moment, he longed to see his own smiling face staring back at him. At least then, he wouldn’t feel this regret blooming up through his chest threatening to suffocate him.

But he had lived and had a life outside of this place. He was happy. Wasn’t he? Why was it beginning to feel like he didn’t know anymore?

Back in the kitchen, Steve rounded the corner. His cheeks and tips of his ears tinged pink, jaw clenched, mouth set in a thin line. The way he stalked over to you made you a little nervous. He was so mad it radiated from him.

“What happened?” you asked timidly.

“Why don’t you ask Munson?” he spat, pausing briefly before you. You were stunned momentarily. The way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, but you could tell there was something else there behind them. He looked hurt.

He shook his head and walked over to Maddie’s bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Steve?” Asking again, a little more tremble to your voice, worry working over your features.

Choosing to ignore you, he made his way over to the young girl blissfully unaware of the newly added tension in the room.

“Maddie,” he got down to her level, she was in the chair chewing on a muffin she had settled on.

She looked up at him, soft eyes, happy from having her sugar fix first thing in the morning, happily swinging her feet.

“I know you wanted to stay with Aunt Peach today, but Aunt Robin is going to watch you instead. You can take your muffin with you.” He was trying to speak softly, but it sounded forced, as he patted her small leg.

“But daddy…” she began to protest, her bottom lip forming a small pout as she spoke, crossing her arms in protest.

“Maddie, you’re going to Aunt Robin’s,” he shot back. Her little lip wavered with his harsh tone, eyes sparkling with tears threatening to spill.

You weren’t sure what had gone on in the next room, but there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. His mind was made up.

You leaned down to her as well, side pressed into Steve, who flinched momentarily. You tried to ignore the way small movement made you feel dejected as you focused on speaking to her.

“Hey Maddie,” you spoke softly, but firmly, gaining her attention. “Auntie Peach had something come up but you can come over this weekend and hang out. How about that? We can even go out to Benny’s if you want?”

She looked at Steve, then back over to you.

“Okay.” She still had a small pout, but she was satisfied for now.

With that, Steve stood, picking her up and taking her muffin along without saying another word.

“Bye Peach,” she waved behind him. “I wuv you!” With an exaggerated kiss to her palm then opening it toward you, trying to blow it your way.

“Love you too sweet girl.”

You watched them leave, without protest, he didn’t spare another glance toward you. There was no tender touch or hug to bid you goodbye. No chaste kiss to your temple or forehead bidding his departure.

He only slammed the door behind him, which made you jump. The house was suddenly too quiet.

You took a deep breath and took a step toward the living room.

Steve hadn’t meant to leave you like that. He really didn’t mean to slam the door.

When Eddie started spouting bullshit he didn’t have a clue about he let it get to him. All he could see was red. It took everything in him to keep his composure and not go ballistic on either of you. He wasn’t King Steve. Hadn’t been for a long time.

Once he settled Maddie into the back seat and took his leave, he only made it a couple of blocks before pulling over.

He pulled his glasses off, pinching his nose, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

“Shit,” he hissed low, pushing his head back against the headrest. He eyed Maddie in the rearview. Luckily, she was still far too interested in the muffin she seemed to be savoring to notice the brief stop and changes in his demeanor.

When he thought he had calmed down enough, he started the drive to Robin’s.

When she opened the door, her smile immediately dropped. She knew something was off. Taking in the sight of his disheveled hair, like he had been running his hands through it. A habit she knew all too well of when he was upset.

“Aunt Bobbie!” Maddie yelled, already trying to wriggle free from his arms.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” she rushed out.

“I… I just need to talk to someone. Can we come in?” he asked sheepishly.

“Of course. Get in here.” She moved aside, ushering them both in. “As if you have to ask, Dingus.”

He sat Maddie down, who bolted into the living room where Vickie sat watching the morning news.

“Vick, can you watch her just a few?” Robin asked her girlfriend.

“Yeah, of course. Hey Steve.”

“Hey Vickie,” he shouted back as they made their way into the kitchen for some privacy.

Before Robin could ask him if he wanted something to drink, he made his way over to the phone. She looked at him with confusion for a moment before he began to speak.

“Hey, yeah, it’s Steve. Something came up, I won’t be coming in today.” A few more words were spoken into the receiver before he uttered a goodbye and hung up.

He turned back to her; she was already squinting at him with more suspicion.

“Um, ok. Spill it. You never call out of work unless it’s an emergency.” She bid him to sit down in the chair beside her.

He sighed. Melting into the cushion, letting the weight of the morning sink in. He suddenly felt exhausted.

Robin slowly rubbed circles into his back.

“Fucking Eddie…” he grumbled, almost inaudible but she caught it.

“Eddie? What… I thought… He’s still in Hawkins?” She was trying to process those two small words.

“He… He’s at Peach’s.” Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, rubbing his hand through his hair yet again.

“What?” She whisper yelled, still cognizant of the fact Maddie could pop in at any moment.

“I thought he’d be gone by now. And what the hell is he doing over there? Oh my God, Steve, did she sleep with him?” She got up and started to pace behind him, getting a little louder and more frantic with each sentence.

“Rob,” he sighed.

“Steve, what the hell is she thinking?”

“Rob,” a little more forceful.

She started to chew her bottom lip just a bit, “What…”

“Robin,” he all but yelled, pulling her back into the chair by her wrist.

“Yes, yeah. I’m here.” Focusing all her attention on her forlorn friend.

“He slept on the couch after a drunken night out.” He thought for a moment, licking his lips before choosing his words carefully. “I… I can’t watch her go through all that again when he decides to leave. I can’t sit back and watch him take all of the best parts away from her. You remember what it was like?”

Her gaze softens, she remembers how it was but Steve, ever the best friend, took the brunt of it. Watching her two best friends being idiots around each other then and even more so now.

“This isn’t really about Eddie though, is it?” she spoke softly.

He didn’t respond, still looking at the floor. He was hurting. It was written all over his face.

“Steve,” she took his hand, wanting his full attention as his soft eyes looked into hers, “you have to tell her. If you don’t do it now, I think you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. You aren’t going to lose what you have, that could never happen to you two, but what if you lose the chance to have something more?”

Even back then, she knew he was in love with you but then Eddie happened. Then once he left, it had taken your heart so long to heal that Steve was scared to lose what you had he didn’t want to mess it up.

You had leaned on him to bring you back from the brink. He’d almost confessed a time or two, but it had never felt right. You had closed off your heart and sworn off love altogether.

February 1988

Steve had just gotten back to his apartment that afternoon after a long day of classes, exhaustion hitting him like a ton of bricks. Emily would be over soon so they could cook dinner and watch a movie. Friday nights were strictly for relaxing. The rest of the weekend was used for studying. Just one more year and he would graduate and finally start this life he had planned.

What he hadn’t planned was a frantic knocking at his door, jostling him from his momentary daydream.

He stood from the couch, a little slowly. Whomever was at there must have been impatient because they knocked again.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming.” He shouted, reaching for the door. “Hold your…”

As it swung open, the words died on his tongue. He had never expected to see you standing before him. His eyes practically bulged out of his head, taking in your drastic appearance. You were wearing stained pajamas, hair in a messy bun with bags so heavy under your eyes it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

“Peach, what the hell…” before he could finish his sentence, you practically threw yourself at him, momentarily knocking him off balance. You clung to him for dear life as you started to cry. He wrapped his arms around you pulling you further into his chest.

He was so worried when you wouldn’t stop crying, he had no idea what was going on. He was panicking on the inside but was trying to keep his composure.

“Honey, you have to calm down. You have to tell me what’s going on.” He spoke softly, cradling your head, while his other hand rubbed soothingly up and down your back.

You had driven all the way to Indy without a phone call. He knew it was bad.

He finally coaxed you to sit down with him on the couch. You were still clinging to his side but calming down.

“Peach, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

“Eddie left.” You whispered into his shirt, muffled where your face was still pressed close to him.

“What do you mean he left? I thought he was still in LA?” he asked softly, matching your tone.

You finally found enough strength to pull yourself up to face him. His eyes full of concern, searching yours for some kind of answer.

“He came to visit me last weekend.” Your lip trembled, voice threatening to give out as a fresh wave of tears began to spill but you needed to get it all out.

“I could tell something wasn’t right. The way he had been acting. I… I should have known this was going to happen. God, I’m so dumb.”

“Hey, hey. Stop it. You’re not dumb.” He grabbed your hand as you threaded your fingers through his.

“God Steve, I was just so happy to see him. He was trying to tell me before… before I told him it could wait. I just… I wanted to have him close to me.”

Steve knew what you were saying without coming out with it. His stomach lurched at the thought. You’d had sex and he’d left you when you had been at your most vulnerable. He stayed silent, letting you continue.

“We didn’t talk, we… and then he… he was gone in the morning. He left me a stupid fucking note that just said I’m sorry. I’ve called him for a week, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls. He’s just gone.”

Steve was stunned. He’d never thought Eddie could do this to you.

“He’s an idiot.” He mumbled, “You want me to track him down and beat some sense into him? I mean what the hell is he thinking?” At least he could try humor, he was good at deflecting.

“Given your track record with fights, I’m not sure how much use you’d be.” You smiled and giggled for the first time all week.

“There she is. At least I can still make you smile. I’m useful for something.” He grinned back.

He had all but forgotten about his usual date night with Emily, until he heard the door open as she stepped in. It startled the both of you, as he jumped to his feet to greet her.

“Steve, I…” she stopped as soon as she saw you, eyes rimmed red looking an absolute wreck.

“Hey, Em,” he kissed her cheek, and took her bags, setting them down. “Uh, I am so sorry, I would have called but uh,” turning back to you as if trying to convey a point.

“Is she okay?” her gaze left you to look back at her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, no. Do you think we can just take a rain check for tonight? Back to it next week?” he smiled that crooked grin that most women couldn’t resist.

“Yeah, sure. Sure.” She looked back at you then and waved. You raised your own hand in a wave back.

“I’ll call you in the morning babe.” He pecked her lips quickly, as she walked back out of the apartment.

You felt like a nuisance, an intruder. Steve had his own life without you barging in unannounced dragging him down with you.

“I’m sorry. I should have just called but I…”

He immediately shut you down, no apologies needed. He ordered pizza from his favorite place, and you mostly spent the night in comfortable silence eating and watching some cheesy horror fic.

He insisted you take his bed for the night, and he would take the couch, but you wouldn’t hear of it. You laid face to face, chatting about nothing and for a few moments it all seemed right in the world.

All of a sudden, it felt like summer break and long chats at night by the pool spending all your time telling your best friend all of your secrets. You had missed him. He spent the rest of the night reassuring you that it wasn’t your fault, and it would be okay. You would get through it.

He woke the next day to find you were still facing each other. You were curled up tightly with your fist under your chin as if on guard even in your sleep. He couldn’t help but feel helpless. He knew he couldn’t make it better, but he could at least make it easier.

He let himself brush the hair out of your face. The subtle touch had you chasing the warmth of his hand. He cradled your face for a moment, his palm resting against your cheek fingers slightly tangled in your hair as your breathing evened back out.

For a moment, he let his eyes trace the features of your face. Your eyes danced slightly behind your eyelids, and he wondered what you were dreaming of. The way your cupids bow beckoned him forward as your lips parted just slightly with every exhale that produced the perfect pout.

He knew it was wrong. Eddie had just broken your heart and his thoughts were selfish. He internally scolded himself and removed his hand, instead opting to pull you close to his chest, kissing your head softly as he heard you sigh. He slowly drifted back off the sleep with you curled into him.

Once you both woke, untangling from one another, the reality of the day set in.

You couldn’t stay here. You both knew that.

He called to check on you nearly every day after; coming to visit at least every other weekend. You felt like he had you on suicide watch. Which, for the record, never once crossed your mind.

All the extra time spent with you began to put a strain on his relationship with Emily.

It’s like she could sense what he wasn’t telling her. What practically anyone from the outside looking in could tell. Steve would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself.

She had finally told him that it was either you or her. Her mistake was thinking that she was even a choice when it came to you.

Dating was put on the back burner for a while. He instead helped you through the most difficult year of your life.

He stayed in Indy after graduation, landing a good job. You two stayed close despite the small distance.

He encouraged you to start dating again, even though it was killing him inside. He wanted to see you happy.

“And what about you Steve? You need to get back out there. You haven’t had a proper date in over a year.” You snorted.

“Yeah, well this isn’t about me.” He chuckled back to you.

“I’ll start dating when Hell freezes over.” You shot back.

“Well, maybe I’m right there with you.”

Time passed after that conversation. He never brought it back up to you.

1991

Steve Harrington could never seem to find the right girl to settle down with. Not for his lack of trying. He had broken numerous hearts, and in turn, had his own broken a time or two.

All he really longed for was someone to call his own. Someone that would stick around after they really got to know him. Get married. Start a family. He had it all planned out in his head.

He still had the occasional hook-ups from time to time. He wasn’t celibate and he got lonely.

And one day, he got a call from someone he had fooled around with about 3 months prior. She broke the news that she was pregnant, and it was his.

His world literally felt like it was caving in around him and his plans were crumbling before his eyes. He barely knew this woman and yet she was going to have his child.

He remembered the cheery blonde with piercing blue eyes that he knew absolutely nothing else about. They had met at a bar close to his office. They had fooled around exactly two times. He supposed it was a sick joke the universe was playing on him.

He was drunk the second time and forgotten to wear a condom. He had royally fucked up and there was only one person he trusted enough to talk to.

“Hey Stevie! Aren’t you working today?” your voice immediately calmed his rattled nerves.

“Yeah, I am but uh, I’m leaving early. I need to talk to you.” he sounded breathless near the end.

“Steve, is everything alright?”

“No. I’ve got some news and I just need my best friend right now, but I don’t really want to talk about it over the phone.”

“Well, just come over to my place. We’ll just figure everything out. Whatever it is, okay?” you tried to sound convincing, to placate him even though you were freaking out at what he wasn’t telling you.

When he made it to your house, he laid it all out on the line. Everything he knew thus far. You had listened without judgement and reassured him that you would be there the whole way. No matter what. And you had, with no hesitation.

Once his parents heard the news his dad offered to bribe her into getting rid of baby, but Steve immediately shut it down.

“It’s your grandchild, how the hell could you even say that?” But it fell on deaf ears, they didn’t care. They were trying to preserve the Harrington name from any scandal.

He tried to do the right thing. Date her, take care of her. Hell, it’d crossed his mind to marry her, but it quickly dawned on him how truly different they were. It would never have worked out. She was a waitress at the bar where they had met. She wasn’t wealthy by any means, but she knew he was or at least his family was.

He had hoped they could remain civil, but it wasn’t in the cards for him. It didn’t take her long to start asking him for money to stick around.

He didn’t know what to do so he kept her paid and content.

He drove her to every doctor’s appointment making sure the baby was good every step of the way.

They found out they were having a girl and Steve was over the moon. He immediately went to your place showing you the sonogram. The way he traced her small features in black and white still had your heart melting. He was already in love with her.

It was a beautiful, crisp day when she arrived that October. A perfect day in his mind. You accompanied him to the hospital. Both of you were jittery and anxious. Much to his dismay, she wouldn’t let him in the delivery room. Your heart broke for him. If she wasn’t in the middle of giving birth, it had crossed your mind to punch her stupid smug face.

She arrived without any complications. A beautiful, healthy 7-pound 3-ounce perfect little angel. Madelynn Grace Harrington. Luckily, Steve had been able to name her. Oddly enough that was one thing she hadn’t fought.

You watched him gingerly pick her up for the first time from the bassinet, cradling her tiny head and pulling her tiny body into his chest. His eyes began to tear at the sight of her. It was pure joy written on his face as he looked down at the tiny bundle. He was awestruck.

“I just,” voice quavering just a bit as he spoke. “I just can’t believe that she’s mine. My daughter.”

He looked up at you as you let out a small laugh. Your own eyes watering at the scene before you.

“Hi Maddie, I’m your dad. I’m so happy you’re here.” He spoke softly, looking down at this tiny little thing that he had a hand in creating.

“Stevie, I think you were always meant to be a dad.” You were settled beside him, your hand on his back, looking down at his twin. Thankfully she hadn’t inherited the looks from her mother with a head full of chestnut locks and hazel eyes just like Steve.

“You want to hold her?” You quickly nodded.

You sat down, as he brought her close and laid her gently in your awaiting arms. Swaddled head to toe in pink, with a matching pink cap.

She was the most precious thing you had ever laid eyes on. Your finger gently stroked her tiny cheek, as she yawned, with a tiny sigh.

“Hi Maddie. I’m your Auntie Peach. I already love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Steve silently watched you as you watched Maddie. His heart ached in his chest seeing you with his baby. It also broke a little.

After they were discharged from the hospital, Steve only got to see Maddie on the weekends. He had a sinking suspicion this was how it was going to be from the start.

About six months after she was born, blondie threatened to take Maddie and leave town if she didn’t get more money. Fed up, he finally asked her how much it would take for her to leave for good and not come back.

He had to take a loan out that would cost him a small fortune just so she’d sign over her rights, even though she never wanted their daughter to begin with, that much was evident. But he would gladly do it again. He was so thankful you and Robin were there to help him.

You hadn’t given it a second thought when it came to her. Doting on her as if she were your own. So, it was no surprise when Steve had told you he was moving back to Hawkins you insisted on him moving in with you until he found a place.

At some point, you both fell into a routine that felt so natural. So domestic. It felt like the right time, but his anxiety got the better of him. He was so happy with the way things were he didn’t want to lose you by confessing his feelings that would just make it awkward if you didn’t feel the same. He would keep you this way, even if his own heart was aching for so much more.

He waited, biding his time. Waiting for the perfect moment that never came.

“Rob, I can’t complicate things for her. If she wants Munson, I’m not going to stand in her way. She can make up her own mind.”

Robin audibly groaned, shaking her head throwing her hands up in defeat. “You two are even bigger idiots than I thought you were.”

He looked at her, puzzled, eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Rob, what? What does that mean?”

The only sound was Robin dropping her head in dramatic fashion to the table with a loud thump.

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Text

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, drinking, mention of vomitting, rpf, fem!reader, eventual smut

Author’s note: we get drunk in this one! and, little side note: Mark's not the worst. Stupid, sure. But we love him still.

Wordcount: 4.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

Something was wrong.

The wedding shower looked great - people were chatting, drinking, laughing. Mark and Poppy were stood near the entrance to greet everyone who came in, to receive gifts, to welcome family and friends. Sometimes excited raised voices alerted everyone in the room when someone who said they wouldn't be able to make it walked in through the doors. There was hugging and there were smiles and Joe was happy, because Poppy seemed happy.

Joe found the best venue. The perfect place for a wedding shower. Not extremely formal, not too wedding-y. But nice.

Still. Something was off. It started with you showing up way later than Joe thought you would've.

Drunk.

Joe saw you enter from where he was stood by the bar. He'd been chatting to a colleague of Mark who had recognised him, and immediately had all sorts of questions. About being an actor. About the industry. About the people Joe worked with. All things Joe didn't mind talking about, but this was bad timing.

You'd just walked in, with half-lidded eyes and a dopey smile, and you were quick to sling both your arms around Poppy. You let your body fall into her fully, and Joe saw Poppy stumble back at the surprise of having to unexpectedly carry your full bodyweight. You slurred some things into her ear, things that made her look at her fiancé with a worried glint in her eyes.

Looking at the two of you hug, Joe realised he could still feel you in his arms if he thought about it long enough. The way you just... fit him so perfectly. Had relaxed into his hold so readily. You'd only sobbed maybe twice before your breathing had steadied. He fixed it. Sort of had to, Joe thought. He'd asked you a question that he hadn't expected such an emotional answer to, and he'd regretted asking it the second he saw you well up.

He'd done that. Was responsible for that. Felt awful for it, too.

How could Joe not have hugged you?

It had been such a short, quick thing. Effective, though. You'd stopped crying just as fast as you'd started. The moment had been so small, but definitely special.

To Joe, at least.

But Joe knew he was on thin ice. Joe remembered your shared moment in vivid colours, but he also remembered the fact that Poppy breaking it up by her loud knock on the window had made him feel like he'd been caught cheating.

Ever since then, he'd been riddled with conflicted feelings.

Needed to make sure he kept distance. That he wasn't going to fuck it all up.

So he made sure that this party was perfect. Perfect venue, perfect bar staff, perfect DJ and perfect guest list. Even the lighting! Brightly coloured lights, all pinks and peaches, no blue tones to be detected. Joe had thought of everything to please Poppy. To make sure she was pleased with him.

Joe saw how you squeezed Poppy until it hurt her, and then you didn't greet Mark at all. Instead, you beelined it straight to the bar where you ordered two gin and tonics.

Even though fucking gorgeous, Joe could see how you were staining this beautiful affair. A big dollop of ketchup on a pristine white shirt, and this party wasn't allowed any stains.

Why the fuck were you drunk already?

From a distance, Joe saw Mark clench his jaw as Poppy touched his arm. She seemed to tell him to calm down, or, something along those lines at least. To not pay you any mind, perhaps.

But you just necked a full glass and seemed ready to throw back the second one too.

This had disaster written all over it.

Joe had to step in.

Do something.

Mark's mother found you, and you greeted her warmly. She'd been talking to Poppy's mother, and since you were greeting and hugging already anyway, you also leant in to embrace her.

You and Poppy's mother had never hugged before, ever.

Joe saw from her face that it was a little unexpected. You really squeezed her properly before you let go and found the straw in your drink with your tongue.

Classy.

Where you'd just seconds earlier greeted the two mum's like they were your own, now, it was like they didn't even exist to you. You stood and looked across the room, eyes roaming, your mind somewhere else entirely.

"Excuse me," Joe said to Mark's colleague who was still talking to him, and he made his way over to you.

"Hey,"

"There he is," you slurred through narrow eyes, all exaggerated suspicion, and one of your hands wrapped around his forearm by ways of greeting. Nails dug in harshly, and your teeth did the same to your bottom lip as you frowned.

"What's going on, are you all right?"

None of this was normal. Not that the two of you ever were or had been, but, you were fucking plastered.

You had a hard time keeping your eyes straight, and there was something vengeful about you, Joe thought.

You shrugged, spat, "Ask Mark," before spotting Mark's brother over Joe's shoulder and quickly stepping around him to make your way over.

There was no hug for Mark's brother, but just a sloppy high five, followed by lots of giggles and spilt gin and tonic. You were barely able to keep your balance, and when Joe checked on Poppy and Mark, he saw they were watching you as well.

In fact, Joe took a scan of the whole room, and from almost all directions you had eyes on you.

You looked good, still. Banging body in a banging dress. You still smelled lovely, your perfume lingered, and you didn't have a hair out of place. Skin all dewey, all healthy looking... it did something to Joe.

You looked fucking amazing if you asked him.

But you swayed on your feet. Laughed loudly. Fell into the people you were talking to. Held onto them for balance. It was so clear that you were well past the point of being just a little tipsy.

Jesus Christ, was Joe going to have to ask you to leave?

Joe and Poppy made eye-contact, and she beckoned him with a nod of her head.

"She's pissed," Poppy said the second Joe stepped into earshot. Yea, no shit you were pissed.

"I'll go tell the bar staff to only give her mocktails," Joe said, already thinking of solutions, of how to keep the peace.

"No, she'll notice," Mark grumbled, and rubbed his face. He seemed annoyed.

"So go apologise," Poppy said, and Mark was quick to react, "I have! I have apologised! Like, seventeen times!"

Joe had no idea what was going on, but he used context clues. It sounded like Mark had fucked up one way or another.

"Make it eighteen," Poppy hissed and pointed in your direction.

Joe could see people around trying to piece together what was going on. A hushed conversation between the three of them, Poppy's extended arm pointed your way - this wasn't difficult to understand. They were figuring something out, and so, nobody interfered.

Mark sighed.

"She's too far gone, it's of no use now. Saying sorry won't do anything. It'll just kick things off again. I honestly didn't think she'd come tonight,"

"Mark, this is our wedding shower, of course she's here. Listen, I'm not going to let–"

"Don't put this on me!"

"I'm not, but, she's your best man!"

Mark and Poppy started bickering a little too loud for Joe's comfort.

"I'll," Joe spoke up loudly, shutting the two of them up instantly. "I'll take care of this,"

"No-" Mark started, one hand up to stop Joe, but Poppy shot him a glare and said, "Let him," and all Mark could do was sigh and let his hand ball into a fist that bumped Joe on the shoulder.

A look was shared between the two men. Joe thought it meant, good luck, but Mark wasn't really sure what he meant. He didn't know what he could've said that would've helped Joe before he turned and made his way back over to you.

Joe politely interrupted the conversation you were having. Mark's brother immediately helped out and diverted your attention to Joe.

"Come," Joe said into your ear, "Let's go sit somewhere,"

Compliant, you immediately followed, much to Joe's surprise. He wasn't going to let you notice that, though.

Joe lead you to seats near the short end of the bar, furthest away from the entrance. It was a little tucked away, but pretty much still out in the open. Mark and Poppy would have had to move just by a few steps to see around the bar, to see the two of you.

You fell into a seat. Nearly missed it. Joe had to reach and grab you by the arm to make sure you didn't topple over.

"Mark says he's sorry," Joe started, but said it all casually like it wasn't a huge deal, and it made you scoff at him.

"Mark can go suck a thousand dicks,"

Joe couldn't help but stifle a laugh as he signed for water to bar staff.

"I'm sure he could,"

"No, he fucking can't," you immediately argued, your face all scrunched up. "He wouldn't know what to even DO with a thousand dicks."

"Mmh, well, I don't..." Joe raised a shoulder. "A thousand is a lot of dicks, to be fair,"

Joe got handed two glasses of water, and held one out to you.

"Drink this,"

"Fuck off," you refused, but didn't put a lot of effort in when Joe forced the glass into your hands.

"Drink it." Joe said sternly.

So, you did. When you wanted to lower the glass after one small sip, Joe didn't let you. Using two fingers pressed to the bottom of the glass, he made sure you downed the full thing.

You gasped for air when you slammed the empty glass down.

"You're– dick," you grumbled.

"I– .... my dick?"

You thought it was stupid how Joe was humouring you. Like you were a toddler.

"Why are we talking about my penis?" Joe's brow was set in a deep frown, but the corners of his mouth gave away the smile underneath.

You sloppily shrugged, all annoyed.

"It's probably pretty, isn't it? You know, in dick terms,"

You got all angry again, but now it was all aimed at Joe instead of at Mark. Which was good, Joe thought.

"Golden boy Joseph," you started, speaking into the room louder than Joe cared for. "Posh little squeaky-clean Joey, with his beautiful pretty penis, ugh, you're the worst,"

Even your facial expressions were slow and messy.

"That's all right," Joe just said. It made you cover your face with both your hands, elbows up on the table, and you groaned loudly.

"You're not the worst, Mark's the worst,"

Oh. Back to Mark.

"And apparently I'm the worst for wanting a plus one,"

You slung your arms about.

"I don't even want to bring anyone!" you defended, "I just asked why I didn't get one because he'd been all vague about it, and he still hasn't fucking said why,"

You nearly hit the empty glass in front of you.

"Careful," Joe warned, sliding it away from you, just in case.

"But obviously I'm awful for even bringing it up,"

Joe saw you look around, in search of Mark, he assumed. You got up a little from your seat, and leant heavily on the small table.

Unable to find him, you opted to just shout, "I'm clearly the worst friend," loudly into the room.

With a warm palm to your shoulder, Joe pushed you to sit back down and as you fell into your chair, your head bobbled.

You looked like you could use some sleep.

Or, some food.

You sighed deeply, clearly annoyed at... everything. Mark, mostly.

Looking at you, there was an overwhelming feeling to protect within Joe. To shield, even if he was unaware of what, exactly.

He just... he needed to make sure you were safe, and he'd use the excuse of Mark keeping tabs on him again if he needed to. It was an easy cover-up. Even if the two of you were fighting, you knew Mark would still need to make sure you were all right. But the way Joe was prepared to throw his own flesh and blood in between you and whatever could do you harm felt new.

He could’ve never seen it coming.

You were strong. Held the strength of thousands. Were stubborn and didn’t let people mess with you. You could be harsh, and sharp, and if Joe said something wrong, you would always make him feel that he did. Would just get up and leave without feeling bad about it.

But now Joe understood it was all coping. It was how you’d been shaped. By the years. By others. And Joe wanted to undo it. To fix it. Keep you safe.

From where he was sat, he made eye-contact with Poppy's mother. She looked a little worried, but Joe just smiled. Gave her a little wave. Signaled it was all good, even though he really wasn't sure if it was.

De-escalate. Take deep breaths. They always helped.

Joe kept looking around. Seeing if he could find Mark after not finding him in the spot he'd been in before. He either needed to get the two of you together, or needed to keep you as far apart as possible at this party. He wasn’t sure which one was better right now. But he needed to at least know of Mark’s whereabouts so that he could decide what was best later.

A loud gulp of air next to him made Joe turn to look at you.

You were crying. Holding it in, doing deep breaths to not let any audible sobs out, but your mascara was leaving dark tear stains all the way down to your chin.

“Fuck," Joe muttered, and was quick. Looked for napkins, checked tables and the bar surface, but there were none. He then patted his pockets, and immediately screwed up his face - did Joe think he was carrying a handkerchief? Had he ever done that in his life?

Without anything else around, he then just used his forearm and pressed the inside of it over your cheek, getting the left side of your face.

You immediately grabbed hold of it, and turned Joe’s arm in your hands to show him what he’d done.

Black and brown make-up stains on his white sleeve.

“I’ll have it dry cleaned,” he said, twisting his arm out of your grip, “Close your eyes,” and then, he got the other cheek.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Of course Joe didn’t wash his own shirts.

"I think I need to leave," you then hiccuped, eyes still closed, Joe now softly wiping the fabric of his shirt against your face. He used the hem to get real close under your eyes, letting fresh tears disappear into the cotton.

"Nah, just need to sober up," Joe said, all casual. Like you hadn't just made an awful entrance and were very clearly ruining your best friend's wedding shower.

"Here." Joe then said, and pushed the second glass of water towards you a little. You'd assumed before that that was Joe's glass, but noticed it was still full and realised he'd gotten both glasses for you to drink.

"They want you here. You're the best man after all,"

"I'm not so sure anymore," you said after downing more water. "He said some dumb shit, about how I always think everyone's in love with me," you winced, "Knows right where to fucking stab me,"

"Joe!"

Poppy called for him, and when Joe looked, he saw she was smiling. Happily chatting away in a group of girls, some of them bridesmaids, and she beckoned him to come over.

"All right, finish that. I'll be right back, okay? Don't move." Joe said to you before he dashed off.

You watched him walk away before your eyes landed on the glass in front of you.

Water was stupid. Tasted of nothing but your own saliva.

Water could go and fuck itself, like Mark could go fuck himself.

Water could go suck a million dicks, for all you cared.

You wanted more gin.

Mark sucked. And gin didn't.

Poppy pulled Joe into conversation. The girls said Joe's suit had to match their bridesmaids dresses, since he was part of their group. Joe agreed, politely smiled, said he'd wear whatever shade of pink he had to. Poppy swore he looked good in anything, and Joe jokingly agreed that he did.

People were laughing. Having fun. Some started dancing, and Joe thought to himself that this wedding shower was fun. Poppy was smiling, and so he was happy too.

Joe didn't forget about you, but in the crowd, being amongst people, he got swallowed up into conversation for a little bit. Into jokes. Into chats with friends and family, and people were interested in him. Wanted to know all sorts of things, asked him questions, wanted to tell him things.

When Joe eventually made his way back over after a little bit, you were gone, and your table held five glasses - one still with some water in. Four empty. Three with straws in.

Shit.

You'd not listened at all; hadn't finished the water, and you'd clearly moved.

The venue wasn't huge, but it was fairly packed. Looking around, it was impossible to quickly spot you.

He spotted Mark, though.

"Hey,"

"She's vomming," Mark said,

"Toilets?"

"Toilets."

Joe nodded, but didn't walk off yet.

"Do I... should we put her in a cab?"

Mark sighed and found his phone to check the time. The party had been going for a bit already, and Joe could tell he was annoyed.

"Where's Pop?"

"Mingling,"

"Okay, good. That's good."

A silence fell where Mark seemed to think about what would be the best course of action.

"We didn't give plus ones to people we know aren't seeing anyone," Mark then suddenly said, answering a question Joe didn't ask.

"That's why we didn't–"

"Yea man, no worries," Joe quickly replied. He needed Mark to know it wasn't an issue for him at all. Joe didn't want to be the cause of more drama, just wanted to make sure the rest of the night ran as smoothly as it could. Needed to, for Poppy.

"My mum's with her now, but–"

"I'll go, I'll take her outside and get her into a cab." Joe interjected, feeling like he should be the one to handle this. He was the maid of honour who had organised the wedding shower, after all.

"You and Poppy can stay," Joe pointedly said. Then he took Mark by both the shoulders, shook him firmly and pressed, "Celebrate. It's your wedding shower."

Mark turned to see Poppy laughing loudly. Good. Mark cared about a lot of things, but right now, the most important thing was for Poppy to enjoy herself tonight.

Joe found you in the ladies. Mark's mother was stood by the sinks with you, doing her best to wash and wipe the vomit from your hair.

You were a full mess of a girl.

"I'm taking over," Joe said, smiling politely.

"Are you taking her home?"

Joe had told Mark he'd just throw you into a taxi, but his mother made him commit to bringing you all the way to your doorstep.

"Of course," Joe had no other choice.

"Darling," Mark's mother turned back to you and grabbed hold of your face with both hands. A wide grin spread across it as your eyes remained closed. "You're going to get home, eat something, and go to sleep,"

The mere thought of food made you shudder.

"Nothing crazy, just some bread or something, carbs," she quickly added.

When Mark's mother turned to look at Joe again, Joe took it as his sign to take over.

"Come on, we're leaving. Let's go,"

Joe held out an arm, which was meant to just guide you. Get you in front of him so he could maybe hover both hands close to your shoulders to make sure you didn't bump into anything on your way out. Instead, you took hold of it and curled into it, and suddenly Joe had his arm around your neck as you leant into his side and he had to focus all his energy into keeping a straight face.

Getting you outside was easy. Getting rid of the blush on his cheeks wasn't. The fresh air made you push yourself into Joe more, and it made Joe mentally have to count to ten.

Joe was shielding and, fuck, it felt amazing, but he knew he was overstepping. There was no way in hell Joe was going to let people - let you be able to accuse him of taking advantage of a situation. Nothing he was going to do could lead to accusations, Joe needed to make sure of it. Nothing.

Deep breaths. They always helped.

And Joe had to take more deep breaths when a taxi stopped in front the two of you, and you didn't really make any moves to get in by your own accord.

Joe had to use his arms, his hands, his fingers, to manoeuvre you into the backseat and get you into a seatbelt.

"Where to, mate?"

And that's when Joe realised he didn't know your address.

He knew whereabouts you lived - he had walked you home that one time, remember? But what the fuck was your address?

"Um," Joe squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

What the fuck was your address?!

He could contact Poppy, or Mark, but the second he thought of either of them receiving a text or a call from him, he knew how that would make their mood drop. Joe didn't want to be a bother. Couldn't let you be more of a bother than you already had been.

"Just..." Joe looked at you. You were already asleep.

Then, he gave is own address to the cab driver and slid across the seat to get into his own seatbelt.

All right.

This was fine.

Joe had bread. He could give you some bread, have you sleep on his sofa, make sure you were actually okay, and, Joe checked his phone for the time, there'd still be enough time to make it back to the party.

Yes.

This was going to be fine.

You were going to be fine.

But Joe looked over, and you had your head slumped forward and were hanging into every turn and it looked painful.

Protect. Keep you safe.

Joe sighed, undid his seatbelt, got into the seat next to you, buckled up again, and used careful hands to push you into him. Give you something to rest your head on.

And you fucking snuggled.

Deep breaths, Joe. It wasn't that far to go still.

Joe took deep breaths for the rest of the trip, and then Joe took deep breaths as he held you up by slinging one of your arms around his neck as he got you into his house.

More deep breaths when he let you fall back onto his sofa and he saw your dress had ridden up.

More deep breaths as he went to the kitchen to get you bread like Mark's mother had said, and water too. A paracetamol sounded like a good plan as well.

More deep breaths when Joe stepped back into his living room to find an empty sofa.

Footsteps on his stairs.

Fuck.

Joe called for you, followed where the noise came from, and saw you disappear onto the landing.

Fucking fuck. Shit.

With the bread, water, all of it in hand, Joe quickly toed his shoes off and rushed up the stairs after you. Picked up the handbag you'd dropped halfway. He heard the rustling of his duvet and knew he was too late.

Tonight Joe was going to be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Joe wasn't prepared for the sight of you in his bed, your feet still in heels that stuck out on the side. It made him feel too many things at once, your face pressed into his pillow, on his side of the bed. He didn't even care that he'd just witnessed someone washing vomit from your hair.

He placed the water, food and medicine down on his bedside table and knelt down to take your shoes off for you.

Joe was touching the skin of your ankles with his fingertips and he felt his face heat up. Your little hums did not help in the slightest, and even though Joe loved them, none of this felt right.

Joe was overstepping.

With your shoes removed, you slid both legs under the covers and moved to get more comfortable.

"All right," Joe whispered, leaning a little closer to catch sight of your face. "There's some dry bread here on the side, some water, a tablet if you need it, your bag's here, on the floor, and–"

"Mmmhm, 's just a nap," you interrupted and reached a hand up that found Joe's cheek to pat.

It burnt his skin, and he wanted to smile. To allow himself to enjoy your touch, but he couldn't.

Joe reached to draw the covers over your more, tuck you in a little before he'd head out again, and it was the worst thing he could've ever done. Because your hand found his arm and suddenly, you were holding onto Joe's shirt and pried your eyes open to look at your own make-up stains.

"Go, have a nap," Joe cooed, trying to create distance, and fully expected you to close your eyes. You were drunk, so you'd probably fall asleep fast.

Instead, Joe felt his heart skip several beats when you softly said, "Nap with me."

Inhale. Hold.

Hold.

Joe couldn't fuck things up any more than he already had, but you were in his bed, on his side of it, and you just asked him to get in as well and, what the fuck?! Joe was just a man. One with insides that churned at the sight of you, even now, all drunk. All soft. And the pillows looked cool, and clean, and inviting. And you asked him to nap with you.

Exhale.

Joe thought of Poppy.

Thought of Mark.

Thought of how you and Mark met. How you became friends.

Thought of how everything that had happened tonight had lead him to this exact moment.

There was no way Joe was going to go back to the party, still. He should. Probably should, you know, for Poppy. Really didn't want to, though.

He wanted to get into bed with you.

He shouldn't. Really shouldn't. But fuck, he really wanted to. And he could, maybe, if he kept his clothes on. Right? That would be okay, wouldn't it?

Joe took too long. Hovered in the space above you for too long. So you decided for him by also grabbing hold of Joe's arm with your other hand and turning over, essentially encasing yourself into his arm like you'd done earlier when Joe'd lead you outside.

And then you scooted over, further into the bed. Made space behind you, and didn't let go of Joe, pulling him in.

Yea, Joe wasn't going to go back to the party.

Gently, Joe laid down behind you, hoped and prayed you didn't notice- didn't feel the effect it all had had on him below his belt.

"I love a good nap," you whispered, all breathy and gentle, and like you'd done in the cab, you snuggled. Joe had to bite his bottom lip not to let any noise escape him.

Deep breaths.

You were in Joe's bed, in Joe's arms, and you were safe.

Joe got to keep you safe, and suddenly, it all felt right like nothing had been more right ever before.

Rest now, Joe told himself. She's not going anywhere.

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #To Have And To Scold #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #part 7

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icycoldninja · 5 months

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Fluffcember #12 (Reno x Reader)

Fluff headcannons

-Defining Reno in two words: Chaos. Gremlin. He's cute, but crazy. If you are an introvert, dig yourself a hole and jump in it now. Reno is that extroverted friend we all have that drags us out to do unnecessary shit even in the middle of the night.

-This man legit shows up at your front doorstep at 3:00 A.M. with a bottle of wine and a Walmart bag full of those Great Value "Frosted creme sandwich cookies" that are obviously knock-off Oreos, declaring "Babe, we're gonna re-invent the cookie industry! Let's make Winey-O's!" "Reno, for God's sake, it's 3 in the morning!"

-Comes up with ridiculous projects to do with you, each one getting weirder and weirder as the days go by. It started with something simple and innocent such as making homemade slime out of butter or the fluffy bits inside diapers, and soon evolved into really weird shit such as using glow-in-the-dark paint to redecorate your toilet. Life with Reno is crazy.

-Regardless of whether you guys live together or not, Reno wakes you up at 5:00 A.M. every day, no matter how late you guys stayed up last night trying to put glitter on the sides of your TV. He'll either jump on you and bounce up and down like a kid on Christmas or call you and sing scream a really off-key rendition of "I Will Always Love you" once it goes to voicemail. The sound of it is terrifying--never ceases to jolt you out of bed.

-Loves to run up and tackle you to the ground before pinning you there and peppering your face with kisses akin to the way a dog licks it's owner's face.

-He misses you so, so, so, so much when he has to go away for Turk work, but when he finally comes home, he will literally run into your arms screaming "IT'S MY BAAAAAAAAAAAABIEEEEEEE" And then proceed to sob about how much he missed you until your clothes are wet with his tears.

-This dude can't cook. At all. If you leave him alone with food in the kitchen for 5 minutes, when you come back, the stove will be on fire, your frying pan will be lodged in the ceiling, several knives will be stuck to the fridge, salt, sugar, and spices will be everywhere, and Reno'll just be chilling in the corner, whistling while trying to chop a carrot with a mangled spoon.

-When he's not burning down your kitchen, he'll be lounging in the living room trying to find a Netflix series to watch. Eventually you wander in and the two of you sit down to a nice movie. His favorite genres are comedy and romance (partially because then he can "re-enact" the scenes), but he'll watch just about anything as long as you like it.

-Loves to get all snuggled up during your movie nights, especially by lying in your lap and having you play with his hair. He likes it so much because it acts like white noise and gives him something to focus on so he can fall asleep.

-Always falls asleep in your lap, and looks so cute, too. Gone is the mischievous smirk; the troublemaking gleam in his eyes, replaced by a precious, serene look of utter peace that is reflected by his smushed up cheeks.

Just like this. Adorable.

#Ffvii #Ff7 #Final fantasy 7 #Ffvii Reno #Ff7 Reno #Reno Sinclair #Reno of the turks #Reno x reader #Headcannons #Fluff #fluffy headcanons #Fluffcember #Part 12 of 31

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snowfll · 5 months

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A Soldier I will Be III; Treech

Pairing - Treech x Mentor!reader summary - after all the pain, the two of you have reached the end of the fight. words - 1.19k warning - fluff! again! note - for everyone who wanted one more part, this is the last part! i hope you guys liked this mini-series for Treech! more Treech fics coming soon and a Tom Blyth fic coming asap <3 part 1 part 2

That same night, the night before the 10th Hunger Games, you arrived at the zoo. With everything he said in that interview, you had to see him. You couldn’t deal with the fact that he might die in that arena without knowing how you felt.

“You came,” he whispered as his hands gripped at the bars that separated the two of you.

You placed your gentle hands over his calloused ones as you responded to him. “Of course I did. I heard what you said in the interview.”

He looked at you and blushed. “Oh, uh-- I didn’t think you were actually watching," he continued to ramble on as you giggled at his reaction. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomf—” You cut him off as your soft lips met his. Ever since you met him, you have had dreams of this exact moment.

Pulling away from the kiss, you rested your forehead against his, smiles on both of your faces. Now you were definitely not letting him die in that arena.

“Is everything you said real?” God, how you prayed it was real. You wanted him more than anything the capital could ever give you.

“Everything… I want to grow old with you. We can run away to District Seven or even stay here in the capital. Whatever you want, sweetie, I just want to be with you.” Your heart ached. You wanted to break him out of the cage right there and then, but you knew it would have consequences.

“Don’t die on me, Treech. Please, do not die in there.” You plead, placing your hands on his face and pulling him closer—if that was even possible. Your lips brushed against his for a moment before you leaned in for the second time that night. His lips smiled against yours before kissing back.

“Two kisses in one night? I feel like I won the games already.” He smirked at you while you playfully pushed his shoulder.

You noticed a couple of peacekeepers making their rounds and knew it was your time to leave, plus he needed as much rest as he could.

“Get some rest; you have a long day ahead of you.” You advised him as he grabbed your hand.

“One last kiss before you go?” He snickered. Did he want a kiss, absolutely. He just got you, and he already couldn’t get enough of you.

“Win the games, and you can get another one." You smirked at him as you kissed his cheek. He rolled his eyes at you as you waved goodbye. He was going to win—he needed to win for you.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Sitting in your designated seat, you watched as the games played out. It had been days, and thankfully, he was still alive. Maybe allying with Coral was a good thing; maybe he had an actual chance of surviving.

Earlier in the games, Treech and his allies were seen walking over to where his district seven partner was hiding away. Coral ordered Treech and Tanner to stay put and watch as she and Mizzen climbed onto the beam. Poor Lamina; all she had was Treech, and he abandoned her.

He looked guilty as he watched his allies attack the girl he came with. As her body fell off the beam, you saw a small tear escape from his eye before he wiped it away.

Now, they were after Lucy Gray; you just prayed she would be able to get rid of them before they got to Treech. Watching the singer run from the group, you knew she had a plan—a plan that might get Treech free from his allies.

You had a feeling he might actually win, like he promised you he would. There was hope, something you don’t usually have while living in the capital.

However, the hope soon disappeared as you watched as a huge cylinder was placed down from the sky. Whatever was in there was making its way out. The glass had broke, and hundreds, possibly thousands, of rainbow-colored snakes spewed over the arena.

One. Two. Three — three tributes were killed by the snakes, leaving Treech and one other girl, Lucy Gray. The both of them began to climb onto the ruins in the arena, with Treech on one side and the girl on the other.

The snakes began to slither their way up the ruin, inching closer and closer to the two remaining tributes. Before you knew it, the snakes got the the poor girl, the sound of a cannon booming, signaling her death. He did it. Treech won.

Yet he was still in the arena, the snakes crawling over him as he sat there, not moving a muscle. Why was he not being rescued?

“Let him out; he won!" you yelled to whoever would listen. Everyone was silent. Turning your head, you saw Coriolanus staring you down. He was pissed that you won instead of him. Still, you walked over to him; you had to get Treech out, and you hoped what you were about to do would work.

"Please, Coriolanus, I will give you the money; just tell them to get him out of there.” You whispered to him, knowing that Dr. Gaul took a liking to him and would listen. You didn’t care for the prize money; you were never doing it for the prize—you just wanted Treech to live.

Coriolanus nodded to you, yelling for them to save him from the snakes. By now, everyone in the crowd of students and parents had joined in, chanting for them to let him out as more and more snakes made their way onto his body.

“Ladies and Gentlemen." was heard over the loud sound system. “The 10th annual Hunger Games victor.” You let out a sigh of relief as you saw peacekeepers make their way into the arena, shooting at the snakes. They got him out as soon as possible, and you ran—all the way to the arena, you needed to see him.

As you arrived, you saw him being carried out on a stretcher. Making your way up to him, you noticed the condition he was in. He was no longer wearing his jacket, nor was his hat lying on his head. There were cuts and bruises all over his body.

“Hey, hey, you won." You grabbed his hand, squeezing as a way to reassure him that you were with him. He was going in and out of consciousness, but he was fighting to stay awake for you.

“Is it over?" He whimpered as they placed him in the van.

You nodded your head as you replied, “It is; you are finally going home.”

“What about you, sweetie?” He was afraid he wasn’t going to see you again. That you were going to stay in the capital; after all, you were still a capital sweetheart, and he was just a lumberjack.

"Sorry…" you paused as you stood next to his bed, holding his face in your hands. “I meant to say we--are going home.” He smirked at you, placing his hand over yours before speaking up.

“Can I get that kiss now?”

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peakyltd · 22 days

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New Endings - Part 7

A/N: We're at part 7 already, who would've thought that? Things are changing in this chapter, it's for you to find out if it's good or bad 👀As usual I want to thank every single one of you for reading and reblogging, it means a lot!

Warnings: Swearing, verbally fighting, mentions of weapons, mentions of injuries.

Words: 4.2K

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS PART

An orange glow illuminated the small living room of the old Watery Lane home. The flames in the fireplace clawed at the just added logs, trying to withdraw the energy to fuel the heat source. John was sat on the sofa, the warmth and the after effects of the multiple whiskeys he drunk had made him fall into a slumber after he had lit the fireplace.

The wooden stairs were creaking while (Y/N) carefully made her way downstairs, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, covering her nightgown. She was finally able to warm up after walking around the whole day in her soaked clothes. John offered to stay while she took a quick bath. The water welcomed her, embracing her body into a warm hug she desperately needed. It was not until much later, that she realized John was still waiting for her and she really needed to get out.

As she turned around the corner she saw the flames reflecting shadows on the wall. The younger Shelby was slumped down on the sofa, his cap had fallen on the floor while his body was in a state of deep rest. A shaky sigh escaped her lips while she held the gun in her hand, carefully covered with the blanket.

It could be easier like this. Quick and painless, he wouldn’t notice and she didn’t have to face him. He would understand… right? She gulped as she made her way in front him and took another look at his face. He seemed so peaceful, clueless of what his future would hold while she kept his fate in her hands.

She thought about the words he told her not too long ago. About his wife, his kids, the big grin on his face.

They would never forgive her.

But who said it was her? Nobody would expect her here, she left after all. Her thoughts wandered to David and the threats he made. The gun pressed against her head, the bullets engraved with the Shelby names. He said it, John had to be first, it would be easy.

She stood there, frozen while she felt her chest growing tight, making it hard to breath.

Memories of her past with the Shelby’s replaced the ones that were haunting. The good times and happy memories, remembering her of how much each and every family member had made an impact on her life.

This wasn’t her, there was no way she would be able to pull the trigger.

A quiet sob left her mouth as she felt hot tears running down her face. She quickly tucked the gun under her gown as she saw John stir at the sudden sound she made. She wiped her tears and cleared her throat before gently grabbing John’s shoulder and shaking him softly. “John?” She called out his name. “John, wake up.”

A soft groan left his mouth as he stretched his limbs, finding the woman he had been waiting for in front of him. “Took you long enough, eh?” He slurred, a soft chuckle left his mouth. “Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot the time.” She apologized while he sat up straight, fetching his cap from the floor. “Is alright.” He answered while he got up. “I hung your coat there, so it could dry.” He pointed at the chair close to the fireplace her coat hanging neatly over the back. She felt the tears prick in her eyes by his thoughtful gesture.

“Thank you so much, I appreciate it.” She softly thanked him while she quickly blinked to chase her tears away. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, yeah?” He put the cap back on his head and walked over to the dinner table to get his coat. “Oh and (Y/N)?” He put his coat on before turning to face her.

“Yeah?” She answered carefully, afraid of what he was going to say next. “Don’t go back to him. We’ll figure something out. You don’t deserve that.” He said, pointing out the bruises on her face. She just nodded, feeling too guilty to speak up. “See you then.” He called out before leaving to house. “Bye.” Her soft voice was cut off by the wooden door falling into it’s lock.

The feeling of the build up anxiety and stress overwhelmed her once he left. She took the gun from her gown and put it on the cabinet between the pictures and decorations. Her hands hid her face once she took her place on the sofa as she gave in to release of her emotions.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and sobs filled the room. She gasped between cries, barely able to catch the breath needed for the next, question after question ran trough her head. Was she really going to do it? Did she want it as much as David wanted it? What if he finds out? What if David finds out? Was her life worth more than John’s? What did she had to do now?

The fire had died down in the meantime, taking it’s warmth with it. It could’ve been minutes or hours but the lack of rest, the stress and the release of it all made her more and more aware of her worn out body and mind, accepting that she needed to give it the break that was so desperately needed. Her exhausted legs dragged her up on the stairs to the reach the bed where sleep quickly catched up on her.

The chirping of birds filled the small bedroom, the little animals let out their happy sounding melodies that were matching the change of weather. Dark clouds and rain had made room for a clear blue sky and softly glowing sun.

Bed sheets rustled as she slowly woke up from dull sounds coming from downstairs. Her body tensed until the moment John’s words from the night before wandered trough her head. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, yeah?” She was at Watery Lane, not at home. She was safe. A relieved sigh fell of her lips before she got up.

Once she had changed, she took her time to brush her hair while she listened to noise that were coming from the streets. The thin windows didn’t block much of it but she didn’t mind as it reminded her of the many days these sounds had filled her room. Back then she envied them, plans of moving away growing day by day but once she had left these streets she realized she left a part of herself.

While she finished, she took one more look in the dusty mirror. Her tired eyes were red and sore, dark circles had formed underneath them from the lack of rest. The swelling on the side of her wasn’t as bad anymore but the bruise seemed darker than the day before. Hopefully it would take just a few more days for it to disappear.

Her hand held onto the railing as she walked down the stairs, ready to thank John again for letting her stay and trying to forget about the moment of insanity she had the night before. “John?” She called out before she turned the corner.

She froze once she saw a different man sitting at the dining table. His eyes immediately focused on her, his gaze full of anger but besides that his face didn’t give away any sign of emotion.

“Tommy…”

Her heart dropped at the sight of the gun in front of him. Her gun. The bullets were neatly lined up next to it. Meant to be their bullets.

“Listen, I can explain…” She nervously blurted out as she came closer. If she had been only more careful. “I think this explains enough.” His low, toneless voice cut her off. “No… no it doesn’t. It’s not what it looks like.” She desperately defended herself.

“So you want to tell me that this is not a bullet with Arthur’s name on it?” He questioned fiercely while holding the bullet between his fingers. As he continued he put it down and lifted another one. “Or this one? This one does not have Polly’s name on it? It means it’s not meant for her?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she listened to him. “I know what you’re thinking but I didn’t want this Tom, I swear.” Her voice came out desperate, not knowing how she could get herself out of this. “Then why is it here, eh?” He raised his voice, feeling the adrenaline spreading trough his body at her words. “You’ve been planning this, don’t you?”

She shook her head. “No, he forced me. He wanted me to do it becaus-“ Tommy slammed his hand on the table. “Because you’ve been working with the fucking Changretta’s. You came here for us!” His voice boomed trough the small space as he got up, pointing at her. “You knew, you fucking knew.”

A few tears escaped, chasing each other down her cheeks. “I did not. David lured me into it.” Her body grew tense, afraid of the unknown things that would happen after this. “He promised me a house and a happy life away from London once he finished business, that’s why I came here. I didn’t know until much later it was only a bait to get to you.” She softly sobbed. “I had no choice.”

The feeling of betrayal fueled Tommy’s anger even more while Polly’s words repeated in his head. “She’s in on it too, she’s the one that knows everything about you after all.” Not only (Y/N) betrayed him, he betrayed himself. How could he so easily trust her again after she had been out of his life for so long.

But how could he not, it was (Y/N) after all.

“When.” He spat, his eyes narrowing at her. “He told me the day I saw you for the first time in years at the hotel.” She confessed softly while she looked down at her hands. He kept his eyes on her, his gaze lingering a little longer on her bruised face, a sudden feeling of pity filling his senses. The bastard had touched her. Again.

“After you helped me, I-I came across him again when I went with Arthur to the market. He threatened me to hurt everyone I love if I didn’t kill you.” Her teary eyes held his cold blue ones, rage beat the pity and took over as she made another confession. “But I can’t and I would never because I-I…” She stopped herself, the pressure of his intimidating gaze becoming too much.

His thoughts brought him back to the night she had spend at Arrow House, where things seemed going to right way until she suddenly announced that she was going back to him. "Were you planning on doing it in my own house?" He snarled, her eyes widening at his question. "What? No, absolutely not." She denied. "I wasn't planning anything, I swear Tommy."

"But you went back." He stated angrily. "To protect you." A deep shaky sigh escaped her lips. "But when I went back to David he threatened to kill me while he put his gun against my head. He wanted me to go after everyone else..." Her eyes fell on the ammunition on the table. "He wanted me to start with John and end with…” Her eyes found his again. "You."

He kept quiet for a moment as he looked at her, not recognizing anything anymore from the woman in front of him. Once bold and confident, now looking around like danger would could come out of any corner.

"Did you trick John into bringing you here?" She shook her head again at his question. "I wanted to see if the Garrison was still open but he was closing it, he offered it himself. It was coincidence." She explained as she felt herself become smaller and smaller in his presence. "Coincidence." He repeated bitterly, not believing a word she was saying. "Yes." Her voice sounded determined but came out as a whisper.

"He was an easy target, fucking kaylied when he left the pub." Tommy stepped closer. "Told me he even fell asleep, must've been a great moment to take advantage of that." He stared her down while she took a step back. "What did you do?"

She kept quiet.

"That fucking gun didn't put itself on the cabinet, eh?" Her trembling hands held onto each other as she took another step back, her back hitting the wall. "Did you try to do it?" Tommy's voice tinged with menace made her quiver. When he got no answer he repeated himself louder. "Did you?"

Her guilty eyes stared right into his fierce ones while she kept quiet, the betrayal she had committed giving her no words to speak out but giving him everything he needed to know. She watched him in silence as he shook his head angrily. "For fucks sake!"

The loud clattering sound of metal hitting the floor made her squeeze her eyes shut for a moment while he wiped everything from the table with his arm. He ran both his hand over his face as he came to a realization of what had just happened.

"I'm not a murderer."

Her tight and cracking voice made him turn around. "What did you say?" He barked at her. "I'm not a murderer." She repeated, tears had not stopped streaming down her already wettened cheeks. "I would never hurt him or anyone else."

"You fucking tried (Y/N)! I bet you pointed that fucking gun!" His voice boomed trough the house. "I did not." She cried. "I held it but it was a moment of panic. I could never and I-I didn't want to."

"I don't want to hear it. Don't even try to make up your shit excuses! I want you out, go fucking back to him and tell him that we'll be coming for them. Every single one of them, even you." He spat, the venom dripping from his words while he took in her frame. She swallowed harshly at his words.

"Then do it now." The words fell easily from her lips.

"I'd rather have you pull the trigger on me than having to wait for my fate when I go back."

His eyes ran over her face, her words stopping him from continuing his rage. Her eyes showed him the desperation and fear that had been a consistent factor within in her for months. "Just make it quick." She begged softly, accepting that this would be her best option, knowing that if she went back to David it would be pure torture.

Her request made his heart drop, never expecting to hear her say that. He gulped and shook his head. "Leave, (Y/N)." His voice was calmer and softer than before. "I-."

"You have to." He finished before turning his back to her, grabbing his coat and putting his cap on his head. "I'm so sorry." The soft apology made him turn his head, her tear stained, bruised face showed that she meant it. "For everything."

He nodded his head slightly before he turned around. "Me too."

Her fingers slid over the locks of her suitcase once she had closed it. The cold feeling of them against her skin grounded her for a moment before she got up from the bed.

She made her way down the creaking stairs once more, when she entered the small living room to fetch her coat, she was met with the Shelby matriarch. Her brown eyes giving her a disapproving look. “I was right all along although I never expected this from you.” Polly sneered.

“I know.” She simply stated, too tired to explain it once more. “Why didn’t you tell the truth?” She wondered as she lit a cigarette. “To avoid a situation like this, I guess.” She sighed as she walked past her to get her coat that was still hanging in front of the fireplace. “I don’t know what Tommy told you but I swear that I didn’t want to hurt any of you.”

“Tommy didn’t tell me anything, I heard everything.” Polly answered before she put the cigarette to her lips. (Y/N) turned around to face her. “And so did John and Arthur.” She added after she let the smoke escape from her mouth. “What do you mean?”

Polly pointed at the doors that led to the betting shop. “We came here after John told us that he’d let you stay here but Thomas beat us to it.” She explained. “We wanted to talk, offer you help but that was until he found a weapon.”

The younger woman nodded slowly in response, her eyes focused on the floor, unable to make eye contact. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll leave like he asked me to.”

She draped the coat over her shoulders before switching her suitcase to her other hand. “The thing is that I do worry.” Polly spoke up. “You’re not angry at me?” (Y/N) looked up, a look of discomfort on her face.

“Oh, I am. I knew there was something with you the moment you set a foot in this house.” Her dark brown eyes staring right at her. “But like I said, I heard everything. Including the things you said.��

The grip of her hands on the handles of her suitcase tightened. “We might be able to help you.” The older woman offered. "But you have to do something for us first."

She shook her head. “Tommy wouldn’t accept it. It’s better if I leave.”

“And go where?” Polly asked, the question leaving her with a loss at words. “Well?” (Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t know.”

"We'll help you, if you help us. But if this turns out to be one of your games, I'll come for you myself." Polly warned. “So we got a deal?”

She held Polly’s gaze. “What do I have to do?”

"It's not going to happen Pol. We're not doing it." Tommy said sternly as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Oh we are doing it." She shot back. "She's can easily infiltrate their plans without being suspicious and give us everything we need to be a step ahead of them."

The Shelby's had gathered into Tommy's home office at request of Polly who shared her plans with her nephews and niece.

"Who says she's not lying again, eh? She might put up a whole facade to do the exact opposite and work against us." He refuted bitterly. "If she dares to betray us again, I promised her that I'd come after her myself." She answered. "But I don't think she would. Not after I heard the things she said."

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed while he looked at her with a withering stare. "Do you hear yourself talking?" He pointed his burning cigarette towards his aunt. "You told me how she was fucking bad news, that we should stay away and now it turned out you were right, you want to fucking help her?!" He fumed at her.

"Don't you dare to raise your bloody voice at me like that." Polly yelled back. "Have you seen the state of her? Did you listen to what she said? The woman practically begged you to end it so she didn't have to go back home."

Tommy shook his head. "Lies Pol, all damn lies." Polly slammed her hand on his wooden desk. "Those bruises are not lies, you've seen them yourself!"

The sudden burst out of Polly's anger made everyone in the room remain silent. The memories of her bruised body entered Tommy's thoughts, he felt so sorry for her, it was the last thing she had deserved. Just like the fear that made her body tremble when he had offered her a way out only for it to backfire right in front of his eyes.

"I'm out." John broke the silence, bringing Tommy back from his thoughts. "How the fuck am I supposed to trust her knowing that if she didn't change her mind, I'd be fuckin' dead."

Tommy nodded while he took another drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke out of his nose, redirecting his attention back to Polly. "Hope you didn't forget about that."

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw tensing. "Don't act like I'm fucking stupid Thomas!" She stood up as she yelled at him. "If any of you have a better plan then I want to hear it now." She hissed as she looked around the office, which stayed awfully quiet.

"I think we should do it." Ada began. "I'm not too sure about (Y/N) but I trust Pol."

"Ada, are you fuckin' mental?!" John bellowed as he stood up angrily, the build up tension coming to an outburst. "We're not going to stage my death just because Tommy fucked up once again!" He took his coat and walked towards to the door to leave the office. "John!" Tommy's roared out his brother's name. "Come back here, now!"

The younger Shelby turned around, his fists clenched by his side. "It's all about you again! If you didn't bring her back into your fuckin' life, ours would've been great!" He shouted back at his brother who stood up from his chair, one hand leaning on his desk while the other pointed at John. "You brought her there last evening, remember?!" He thundered. "Because she looked like a fuckin' mess, you know who's fault that is? It's all yours!"

"John c'mon." Arthur walked over to him. "Calm down a bit, eh John boy?" He put his hand on his shoulder to calm him but it only made it worse. "Fuck off!" He shrugged his hand off and set a step closer. "You rather have my own fuckin' family believe that I'm dead so she can safely gather the information all you selfish bastards want. Don't you think about my wife and kids, eh? Esme is going to be devastated!"

"Esme will be bloody devastated if you really end up six feet under and you won't come back!" Tommy's answered harshly.

"What made you change your mind, eh? Going from we're not doing it Pol to agreeing with her within a minute. Fuckin' pillock!" John kicked hard against the wooden cabinet, causing multiple photoframes to shatter down on the floor.

"Your damn wife and kids will understand, now shut the fuck up and sit back down!" Tommy pointed at the chair John was sitting in before as he gave him a cold glare.

"They will understand that you made me pretend that I'm dead?! You think they'll happily welcome me back when they find out it's not true?!" He ran his hand roughly trough his hair while fire blazed trough his eyes. "This proves again what kind of shit brother you are. Just as much as you are a shit husband and father. No wonder your wife got sh-"

"ENOUGH!" Polly's voice roared, ending the fight between both of them. Arthur was stood in front of John who's breath was growing thin and ragged while he stood ready to put up a fight.

"I fucking dare you to repeat that again." Tommy's low voice spoke up.

"No wonder your wi-" John started but got cut off by Arthur. "Enough John! Enough." He warned as he glared at him. "We're going to continue Pol's plan."

"You bloody bastard!" John's rage continued as he glared at Arthur. "It's the best thing we can do, John." Ada added. "I know it's going to be hard for you and the family but if we don't do it, things will end up much worse." Arthur nodded. "Ada's right brother."

He shook his head as he glared at both of them "Fuckin' mental, each and everyone of you." He clenched his jaw. "Especially you." He shifted his gaze to Tommy. "If this backfires, I'm going to be the first one who finds her and you'll fuckin' regret it." He turned around and left the office, slamming the door harshly behind him.

A cold gush of wind crawled over the floor when Polly entered the house, finding (Y/N) at the kitchen table. "How did it go?" She asked the older woman hopefully before getting up to get her a cup of tea. Polly hung her coat over the chair before she sat down.

"We're doing it."

A soft gasp fell from (Y/N)'s lips. "Really?" She asked softly as she put the cup on the table in front of her before sitting back down. "Really." She confirmed. "Oh god." She stared down at her own cup in front of her, the tension making the muscles in her body stiffen. "But you have a lot to prove to all of us."

Her eyes met Polly's brown ones. "I know." She acknowledged quietly. "Especially to Tommy and maybe even more to John." Polly added, lifting her chin slightly and looking down at her, showing her that she meant it.

"He must've been very angry with me."

"You could put it that way, yes." She nodded, downplaying his rage. The younger woman gulped at her words, knowing how John could be. "I'll do everything to show everyone of you that I'm not lying, I promise."

"I think that's a start." Polly answered as she took a sip of her tea. "And I also think it's a good start to tell them that yourself."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes widened, palms becoming sweaty. "Family meeting, tomorrow morning. And you will be there."

Taglist: @cyphah @kissforvoid @graciesbow @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee

@casa-boiardi @brummiereader @call-sign-shark @zablife @mommahwa1117

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#New Endings #New Endings part 7 #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x Y/N #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders imagine #john shelby #arthur shelby #polly gray

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mysticficti0n · 11 months

Text

All my attention Part 7

warnings- swearing, slow burn, flirting, dirty talk, praise, romance,

words- 4.7k

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so if you're new here I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... well. Also you guys are fucking amazing thank you for all the likes on not only All my attention but the hc and request story like it means so much ♡

(hey guys I'm finally back! I'm so so sorry this has taken so fucking long but I've been beyond busy these past few days and I've had no time to even go on my computer but anyways enjoy this- part 8 is about to be crazy thats all ima say, love you all)

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backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

I sat in the back of Gustav's dads car with a knocked out Georg and Tom who's eyes didn't leave me for the whole trip, everyone was in small slurring conversation chuckling and yawning struggling to keep themselves awake as it was 3:47am

I turned my body, Georg falling off my shoulder to lean on my back which I had to try not laugh at while facing Tom who had a small grin on his face "what?" I asked in a whisper

"nothing nothing" my eyebrows furrowed eyes scanning him, his fingers toyed with the ring on his other hand

"you sure?" he nodded before turning away to look out the window, leg bouncing "okay" I turned myself back, Georg again falling back onto my shoulder mumbling something "sorry" I whispered patting his arm which rested next to mine, I watched Tom still bounce his leg so with my free hand I placed it on his knee, he didn't look back but a breath fell from his body.

I felt us pull onto the drive and stretched my legs out as much as I could seeing the boy to my left fully wake up and get out the car giving his hand to drag me out to like he hadn't been snoring in my ear the entire ride, Tom grabbed my bag as I saw him swig it over his shoulder making Bill, Simone, Gustav and Bella laugh a lot more than it should leaving David to try shut them all up and get them into the house, I shoved Georg to the group watching him trip on thin air cursing until he hit the bonnet of the car bumping into Gustav

"Tom sweetie go take Y/n back so her mother wont pester me about it later" I laughed seeing the women wave her son to follow me home

"alright" he spoke going back out the house and pulled me with him "come on" his voice wasn't jokey like usual- he sounded pissed off but I decided it was best to shrug it off, he helped me cross the wall and up the steps to the front door

"thanks for today it was actually really fun" I gave a smile having my bag off him "did you hear what I said?" I asked seeing him only nod again "whats wrong? why are you acting like this?" I spoke in a angered whisper "you were fine with me- well more then fine with me until we got into the car then you acted like you didn't want to know me"

"its nothing I-i'm just tired Y/n I promise" his voice was softer but I couldn't believe him

"why was your leg shaking and why did you play with your ring then because you can't have been fine then hm?" he breathed out looking worried

"you saw the ring thing?"

"of course I did because I was worried about you" his eyes flicked to mine, I didn't drop his gaze feeling him get closer "you didn't speak much and then- then" I was hushed by his lips pressing against mine, his strong arms holding my back in a hug, I let my self melt back into him, my hands going across his hips kissing him back tenderly.

"there isn't another girl like you in the world Y/n" Tom pulled back placing his head on mine "not as caring, loving, sweet, cute, beautiful"

"are you proposing again?" I spoke with a tired laugh, he pressed a peck to the corner of my lips

"not yet sweetheart, goodnight" he let go cupping my jaw before walking to his house leaving me stunned 'not yet'?

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"Y/n- sunshine wake up!" I opened my eyes expecting to see my mom stood over me

"morning mo-BILL WHAT THE HELL!" I screamed seeing the boy pull away laughing, I curled my blanket around my shoulders falling back into my nest of pillows seeing the boy give me a look making me move over so he could sit with me. He jumped onto the bed beside me crossing his legs and leaning back onto the wall "what do you want at- 11:24 in the morning then, you're literally never awake at this time" I asked looking back at him from my alarm clock

"I think it's me who should be asking the questions Y/n-" a smile I'd never seen before spread across his face "so... last night" I tried to think back, I remember the meal, going to the night club, dancing, drinking a lot and- fuck

"err, yeah last night what about it?" I spoke trying to hide the nervous laugh from escaping my mouth

"oh come on you're not that stupid- I saw it y/n/n" I wanted the world to swallow me up whole- what did he see? god which part did he see?! "so wanna explain your little kiss with my brother on the door step last night?" I slid further into my bed pulling the sheets over my head whispering a 'no thanks' but Bill didn't take that as an answer ripping the sheets from above me "Hey! I wanna know your little secret with him!"

"its nothing- just like our usual flirting we do and have done since we were like 13!" Bill raised an eyebrow "okay fine maybe there's some little feelings-"

"I KNEW IT!" the boy danced grabbing my hands dragging me from the warmth of my blanket "YOU TWO LOVE EACH OTHER!" I rolled my eyes pulling my hands from the singer

"woah we don't 'love' each other- its just mutual appreciation!" I went to my door pulling a hoodie off the peg and slipping it on to try distract from the fact Bill knew of mine and Tom's little- thing

"well last night I can tell you he didn't describe it as 'mutual appreciation'" I felt my stomach drop- what the fuck had that man said! I looked to his twin who was holding his chest laughing it all up pointing to my face

"oh god what was he saying? was it only to you or did the others hear- oh my god I want to die!" I hid my face again, the red feeling like it was going to make my head pop, Bill pulled my desk chair out setting his legs onto the table in front

"no don't worry only to me- we were having a smoke while everyone was up stairs and he said- from what I remember 'Y/n's awesome right?' I agreed of course and then he went 'she notices everything and genuinely cares you know' and I was nodding along not really caring what he said because I knew he'd drank and shit but then- oh but then he said 'I just fucking love her, like actually love her' and when I say I dropped my fucking jaw-" I felt like I was going to pass out, did he say this all? he was drunk surely he didn't mean it? but what if he did? all the questions spun around my head mixing with the tiredness and hang-over form last night

"I don't know what to say-" my eyes met with Bill who still had that shit eating grin along his lips "fucks sake what now?" I asked seeing him dismiss me "no what is it?"

"he's down stairs" if I didn't feel like jumping from my window and running into the city never to return I did now, I didn't realise how embarrassed I'd be- but nobody was meant to know. Bill stood giving me a 'reassuring' pat on my shoulder and walked out my room down the stairs leaving me to now face Tom on my own.

ten minuets after I managed to pull myself down the stairs seeing my little sister sat with Tom holding her mini guitar she had from Gordon for her birthday (okay Stella playing guitar with Tom was requested and its the cutes mf thing) her small fingers eagerly playing all the strings while he tried to show her how to actually do it while containing his laughs "no-no Stella look watch me, like that boop boop boop" he sang in tune with the strings as he pulled them

"boop boop boop! Boop boo- Baba!" I smiled to the young girl who was no longer interested in the guitar running to me with a gummy grin "Baba you wake!"

"Hi Stell! I'm awake yeah!" I picked her up onto the side of my hip squeezing her tightly, she pointed to Tom who pointed back at her "who's that?" I asked seeing her little eyes work

"Tom!" I spun her around as she clapped to herself for remembering "and momma a-and daddy and Seesee" she did little grabby hands to Simone otherwise known as Seesee by Stella, I placed her to the floor so she could go sit with her, Bill and my parents. Tom had placed the neon pink guitar back and sat leaning into the cushions of the sofa

"she's gonna be a guitarist when she's older and I better get credit" he spoke eyes shut as I sat next to him flicking on the Tv

"no she'll be a singer like me" he laughed shoving me slightly but quickly grabbing my arm so I didn't fall off the end of the sofa...unlike the bed situation "have a voice better than Madonna and P!nk"

"probably I mean she's your sister after all" I looked over to him and caught his eyes already on me "what were you and Bill doing for so long up stairs anyways? he said he was gonna go wake you up then didn't come back down for like half an hour" fuck- the whole conversation came flooding back to my head, I couldn't keep this from him, he deserves to know as much as me... God why is life so annoying like that?

"smoke?" I asked getting up closely followed by him, we went to the front of the house as Stella was now playing mommies and daddies on the deck with Simone, we sat on the steps and he pulled his cigs from his sweatpant pocket "thanks- okay well... you need to not be angry alright" his head shot to mine with a weird look "say swear"

"swear" his voice was unsure sounding but he'd said it now

"right- so do you remember last night? besides the meal and club?" he took a long drag from the end of the cigarette

"yeah if you mean the me and you parts- clearly remember them" a smile replaced his straight face as he thought back to the night

"Bill knows" I spat out seeing his face immediately drop again, head snapping to me "he saw us- on here- last night" I breathed head dropping not being able to confront Tom's looks "and you also told him that you erm- that you love me... I mean you were drunk so it was probably just that mixed with us kissing and stuff" he was still silent, I could only hear his slight puffs as he had his cig

"Only Bill knows right?" I nodded bringing my head back up "Y/n don't worry he wont say anything- I promise you and well what I said I... I didn't not mean it" I finally let my gaze fall back to him. His hand moved from his knee to my thigh calming me instantly "I wish you didn't hear it from him but- I do love you" I was completely taken aback when Tom said it. I didn't expect to hear those three little words from him ever in the way he said them. I felt my heart racing and my palms started to sweat as I tried to process what he had just said again, I thought Bill was just overdramatising things but- no. it was both thrilling and terrifying. I looked into his eyes, and saw the sincerity there. I knew that he truly meant what he said

After a few moments of silence, I finally found my voice and confidence to even speak "I... I love you too" The smile that spread across Tom's face was one of pure joy, my heart soared. I felt adrenaline run through my body mixing with the blood flowing through my body as his hand moved to my face pulling me in gently, pressing his lips to mine for the first time since we really said 'love you' It was a different kiss to the others we'd shared, softer, loving, tender- I knew it wasn't going to lead to anything it was just a kiss to really set in stone our feelings- feelings we knew were more than we ever imagined having

"I've been waiting to say that to you for months- like properly say it to you not just in a friendly way" my head leaned onto his shoulder taking in his warmth as the afternoon breeze blew over my exposed legs, I stepped out my cigaret waiting for Tom to finish his looking up past his jawline that was so effortlessly sharp, skin so soft not a spot or blemish, his lips so perfectly fitted to his face, those eyes that when the sun hit them they went a golden brown "enjoying the view?" his voice rung looking down at me

"your pretty" I say back seeing a hot blush wipe over his cheeks "aww" I pecked his cheek standing up to go back into the house but a grasp on my leg stopped me, looking down I saw the wheels in his head turning

"wanna go on a date tonight?"

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I looked in the mirror one last time, checking the outfit- pulling my skirt down my thighs more and fixing my necklace- then my hair, I tried something different, a spiky bun which took so much time but finally I was done, I grabbed my phone and keys, money and sprayed myself with perfume. I looked to my clock "7:00 okay I have five minuets" I spoke to myself going down the stairs seeing my mom sat with my dad watching a movie "how do I look?" I spoke walking to them and they both smiled

"Beautiful sunshine! absolutely beautiful" she clapped her hand "did you take any photo's of yourself?" she asked getting ready to grab her camera

"of course she has Angelica its Y/n- you look lovely sweet" my dad laugh letting my mom getting comfy again into his chest "remind me what your doing again"

"Oh meeting with some old friends from school for a dinner thing-" I lied, I knew if I said 'oh going on a date with Tom' they'd be asking question after question

"so why is Tom driving you?"

"he's seeing some his mates not far so said he can drop me off " dad hummed and I herd a knock at the door "love you!" I called hearing a faint 'ditto' from the two as I walked out the house "hey!"

"wow-" Tom sounded, I smiled looking to him, red shirt with skulls, matching cap and blue bandana jeans "I feel underdressed by you now"

"come on- you look hot" a laugh escaped his lips as we went to his car, he opened the door for me giving his hand so I could get in "thank you" I grinned

"no problem babe" he climbed in to his side starting the engine making the car shudder awake, we started the drive, his hands between having to move the gear stick held my thigh, pressing the pads of his fingers when he was getting pissed of the the other drivers "your hair looks nice by the way" my heart melted, my eyes falling over to him

"I tried something different- I'm glad you like it" he nodded rubbing my leg before taking his hand away "where are we going by the way?"

"somewhere special- were like 2 seconds away- oh here" we pulled into a small car park which looked quiet empty which was refreshing, especially since the last time we went out- the car was full of flashes of light pulling us from the road, voices screaming and shouting our names as we tried to get the doors open but paparazzi knew we were coming and they wouldn't hold back on two teens. our names were bouncing around the mouths of people and people who wanted clear photos shoving forward making people knock into us. to even get to Tom I had to jump the hood of Tom's car to him, grabbing his arm as he pushed through the sea of lights shouting for them to move while we tripped over peoples feet, microphone cords and what not.

but this time it was silent besides the purrs of the cars that passed, I went to open my door but the dreadhead reached over slamming my door "stop being stupid" I breathed a laugh waiting for him to jog and open my door "m'lady"

"oh why thank you sir" he pressed a kiss to my cheek, not letting go of my hand, we walked into the restaurant named the 'star night lounge' and i nearly screamed "This-this is the one I was talking about like 6 months ago!" the boy nodded chuckling at my face

"I remember these things- come on we need to go in" hurriedly we walked in, the smell was the smell of romance, dark and rose, dimly lit tables placed around, candles hanging from rods on the wall "its better than the pictures" I nodded taking everything in

"welcome to star night lounge- how many?" a women asked with a smile looking to Tom to which he answered 2 "okay, if you'd like to follow me" she grabbed menus and turned away from us walking down a small entry way and turning to the left, we followed her and walked into the one room I remember falling In love with when I first saw it on the website "is this okay- I will say its a bit darker in here than other parts"

"this is amazing" I exhaled looking around

"no this is great, thank you" Tom spoke as the women left us, it was all perfect, the room, the night, Tom. we sat down quickly across from each other, small glances and smiles passed along the way, we weren't the only people in the room so the noise of small chatter and jazz music played in the background

"Tom this is amazing! I-i don't know that to say" my voice slipped "its just" his hand came over the table taking mine "I'm being a baby i'm sorry"

"its okay don't be sorry" his lips pressed against my knuckles "look you deserve a good date Y/n- I don't remember you once going out with Brian, I want to be better than he was"

"you already are" I smiled seeing him press another kiss to my hand "so much better- god there's a list"

"want me to be shocked?" he laughed "...you look so pretty in here babe" I felt like I could pass out there and then and never ever get back up, his thumb drawing over my fingers, eyes watching me and smiles plastered over our faces.

Together we flicked through the menu asking what each other might have, arguing over the same dish until we came to a settlement "Good evening- what can we get you for dinner to night?" a different women walked over with a calm smile pulling her pad and pen out, Tom nodded his head at me to go first

"I'll have the star burger please... with fries" she nodded writing it down and turned to Tom

"I'll have the kabab please- the er.. fuck which one?" his face went red looking over to me a slight panic in his eyes

"chilli kabab please- oh and two playboy bunny cocktails please and thank you" I ended letting the server take our menus and leave to the kitchen

"Y/n I didn't want that stupid cocktail!" he huffed falling back into thseat "it's a girly one" I rolled my eyes seeing him be a actual child, with my foot I rubbed his legs

"its one drink Thomas- grow up" his tongue pressed into his cheek, smirk creeping across his lips "you herd me"

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"Please Tom let me pay for my half at least" I pleaded seeing him shake his head "Tom!"

"Y/n I have it god sake put your money back" he said bluntly, snatching my change from my hand and throwing It back at me. I sat back glaring at him "don't look at me like that"

"like what?" I spoke seeing him roll his eyes but become distracted as the bill came over, he picked it up and his eyes widened the tiniest "lemme see" my hand went to reach over and grab the paper

"no" Tom turned to the other women swiping his card and the payment went through with a 'beep' and I fell back "thank you- Y/n come on"

"I hate you- why couldn't you let me pay?" I asked as he grabbed my hand pulling me from the restaurant "and how much was it?- thank you!" I smiled to the women behind the bar "a lot I bet and thats why you're not telling me huh?" I started again his hand tightened around mine, pushing me against the door of his car, my mouth zipped shut

"stop with the questions- I'd be a arsehole if I let you pay a single penny, so shut your pretty lips before I make you do something to keep you silent-" a red flush painted my body, his hooded eyes scanned me up and down "good" he lent forward pressing a kiss to the corner of my closed lips before opening the door for me to which I sat in and waited for his door to open.

the drive home was different- no words shared but so many things said with out looks, his hand holding my leg in place as he toyed with my skin giving me trails of goosebumps along my thigh, he threatened to push under my skirt, every time making me hold my breath waiting for some sort of friction but he just pulled away making me internally curse. we got home, our street dark, pulling into my drive nobody else was there sending a excited shock through my body.

We walked hand in hand up to my door- the same place as the night before, were we shared a kiss that would lead to us saying we loved each other not just platonically, Tom stood across from me, his hands hidden in his jeans "thank you for tonight Tom- I loved it so much"

"no problem- sorry I was a cunt about the bill, I didn't mean to sound so.. you know?" we shared a laugh as I walked to him wrapping my arms around his neck pulling him to look at me

"I liked it-" our lips met eagerly, I'd been waiting for this since we left the restaurant, the palm of his hand reached down, grabbing my ass, bringing me closer "fuck-" I let go to reach behind me to the door, opening it and pulling Tom in with me a terror washing over him

"Y/n what about your parents-" I turned back to him and smiled

"I forgot they were going out- they aren't here, Stella is at nans- it all okay" I kicked the door closed and his mood swung back, dragging my body back to him and hauling me up over his shoulder "TOM!" I screamed having to push myself up on his lower back as he carried my up the stairs, I felt the coldness of his lip ring as he pressed open kisses to my exposed thighs. we made it to my room where the main light was on and he dropped me onto my bed, crawling above me

"look at you- so beautiful below me hm?" I nodded my head listening to his every word "such a pretty girl"

"your girl-" I added seeing his face brighten slightly before falling dark again as his hand cupped my jaw

"all mine?" I nodded, his hand traveled to my waist sending a warm sensation through me "is this mine?" again I nodded my head, I felt his hand go down to my legs gently rubbing circles around the skin "is this mine?" like before I nodded "mhm.. and how about this?" his fingers drove to the inside of my thigh, involuntarily my legs parted just enough for his hand to palm me through my panties making me gasp "is this mine?"

"m-mhm, all yours Tom" I answered trying not to close my thighs around his hand, a sadistic smile painted his lips as he leaned down to me, hand not moving

"you like this don't you? with my hand just there- is there something you want?" I couldn't keep myself from him, crashing my lips onto him with so much want

"I-want-you" I spoke between kisses "please" I begged, Tom pulled off me, standing above looking down at me leaving me cold without his heat on me. he walked over switching the light off leaving us in a dim darkness, only light being from my desk, I watched as his hands went below his shirt pulling it over his head taking the cap and headband off too throwing them to my floor, his abs looked defined in the light, his muscles looking bigger than ever, the feeling between my legs only grew

"take a picture sweetheart" he purred going to his knees, the feeling of him unlacing my boots

"don't tempt me" I smiled leaning up to watch him pull the boots off and chuck them back under the bed and crawled back on top of me "thank you" I whispered into his ear

"no problem darling" he dove down into my neck, peppering kisses all over working down my chest as I struggled to keep myself propped up on the sheets, he stopped at the neck of my shirt looking up at me as I gave him a nod to take it off, he came back pressing another kiss to my lips before his hands pulled the top over my head exposing my bare chest to him, his eyes only became darker staring at me, I felt worried but the adrenaline soon kicked that as his lips pressed against mine pushing me onto the mattress below "god you are beautiful everywhere huh?" I grinned pushing him away giggling, he went down again, letting his lips go around my sensitive nipple, licking the bud until I was holding back a moan, his other free hand needing me, I let my nails dig into his back causing noises to fall from his lips

"shit- Tom Oh" I started feeling myself only get wetter, his teeth grated my skin coming back up to my neck "I- holy shit, i need you" I whimpered as his hands traveled to my thighs

"breath Y/n- I'm getting there sweetheart there's no rush" a sly smile gripped his mouth "relax"

"I am- just bored of waiting" I teased hooking my legs over his waist swapping our positions, him below me staring up in shock "relax" I mimicked

"watch your mouth" my hips rolled against his as his words exited him "Y/n-" Tom warned

"what? can't take it?" my voice was thick of lust, drowning his ears, pressing a kiss to his skin working down to his exposed collar bone "or is it you don't want me?" I whined to him, pushing myself down harder hearing a groan from him

"you're a tease y/n/n" I laughed letting my hands circle his chest

"shame..." I breathed "is this hard for you Tommy?" his eyes closed at the nickname, mouth tightening shut, his hands holding my highs still, squeezing harder than before, his jeans feeling much tighter "hm- I guess it is" as I went to climb off Tom pulled me back, slamming my torso to his

"don't you dare" our eyes met, I grinned at him but he wasn't as happy "I'll wipe that smile away in a second doll"

"yeah?" he nodded "do it Kaulitz"

215 notes · View notes

zepskies · 28 days

Text

Take Me Home - Part 7

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from.

AN: For everyone who has Easter plans tomorrow (Happy Easter!), I decided to release this part a bit early. And yes, we’re at that part of the season 3 plotline…

Word Count: 6.6K

Tags/Warnings: Major angst, survival situations, violence, hurt/comfort.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 7: On the Edge of a Knife

Beau returned home that night with a large pizza for Carla and Emily. He’d already eaten with you an hour ago, but true to his legendary appetite, he still found room for a slice of pepperoni. They got comfortable around the fire out in front of his trailer.

“What held you up?” Carla asked.

Beau sighed and first wiped a bit of sauce from his face with a napkin. He admitted there was an altercation between you and your ex-boyfriend, Michael Hadley. Beau happened to be there in time to settle things down and help patch you up after you fell through a glass coffee table.

“Oh my God. Is she okay?” Emily asked. Beau noted her concern with a smile.

“She’s fine. Some minor cuts and bruises,” he said. “But I had to encourage the guy to leave town. If he’s got any sense, he’ll get gone.”

Emily looked relieved at that. Then she eyed him with a suspicious smile.

“And you just happened to be in the neighborhood?” she asked slyly, voicing the thought that Carla hadn’t wanted to.

Both women watched him closely, but Carla knew the tell-tale signs of Beau covering his embarrassment, giving his daughter a wry look.

“All right, smart Alec. Why don’t you break out the extra sheets I got in the trailer? We’ll set up the bed and the couch.”

“If you can call that glorified bench a couch,” Emily muttered with a grin.

“Ey!” Beau called after her, though he watched her go in amusement.

After a couple more hours of chatting and catching up, showers taken and plates washed, Emily headed for bed. The adults stayed up for a while, bundled in warm coats as they sat together by the fire.

Beau remembered what Emily told him days ago; that he hadn’t needed to be a perfect man for his wife and daughter. They’d just needed him to be a bit more honest about what he was going through, to let them in. After what happened today with you, your patience and understanding with him…he was beginning to get what she meant.

“I’m really thankful for you helping us,” Carla said. It unearthed him out of his own head.

“Yeah,” he replied with a nod.

Admittedly, he was still a bit distracted. Besides how he left things with you (which still made heat crawl up the back of his neck), he still had Avery and that stolen money to worry about. Otherwise known as the reason Carla and Emily would have to cram themselves in his little trailer.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Carla prodded, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

“I just got a bad feeling about all this,” he confessed. “It’s like in Houston with Randy.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You can’t go there.”

“It’s too late,” he replied. “‘Cause it feels the same. Like something’s…something is comin’, and I’m powerless to stop it.”

“Randy’s death was not your fault,” she reminded him. Just like you had.

Beau looked over at her with a humorless quirk of his lips.

“We both know that’s not true. He was my partner and I let him down. And then…then I wasn’t there for you, or Emily. I don’t blame you for leaving me.”

Carla couldn’t help it, but a part deep inside her had been regretting that choice. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She managed to blink and keep them at bay, though she let out a shaky breath.

“Well, you’re here for us now,” she said. And yet, she could’ve predicted his next words like clockwork.

“It don’t make up for the way I checked out,” he said.

Carla licked her dry lips and swallowed down the emotion clogging her throat. She didn’t cry often. She could have an ironclad grip on her emotions when she needed to.

It was part of what made her a good lawyer. She knew Beau had sometimes gotten frustrated with that aspect of her personality in the past, because he was the opposite.

The man kept a good lid on things for his job, but at heart, he was driven by his passion, his anger, his love, and right now, his bone-deep guilt and shame.

She knew he’d been drowning in it for a year and hadn’t known how to pull him out. Every time he pushed her away, it had hurt her, hardened her, making her will to try again less and less. So she left him.

It was the choice she made, and she knew she had to live with it. Just like marrying Avery.

Carla laid a hand on Beau’s over his knee. She made sure he looked her in the eyes when she said this.

“I forgive you. For all of that, okay?” she said. After a moment, he nodded. This time, she felt like he actually heard her.

“But I’m telling you, this thing with Avery…this isn’t over by a long shot,” he told her. “I’m not saying that to scare you. You understand that?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, even though those tears from earlier were working their way down her face. She wiped them away hastily.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you two,” Beau said, in a firm, reassuring tone.

It worked, and it didn’t. Carla nodded again. “I know.”

He sighed through his nose and squeezed her hand. His gaze shifted away, back to the bonfire dancing in front of them. His eyes stung at both the smoke, and the emotion rising in his chest. He steeled himself.

“Carla, I’ll always love you…”

She smiled slightly, brushing the remaining tears from her cheek.

“Though I sense a but coming,” she said.

When she said your name in question, Beau glanced back over at her and nodded. Carla had been his first real love, besides Daisy Harlow in the eleventh grade.

But you were unexpected. How quickly, how deeply you’d gotten under his skin was too hard to ignore. And at this point, he didn’t want to.

Meanwhile, Carla stared at her ex-husband in bemusement. She slipped her hand from his and folded hers back in her lap.

“What’s she like?” she asked. Half of her was genuinely curious. The other half would rather not hear his answer, but she supposed it was only fair. She was the one who moved on first.

Still, the flicker of Beau’s soft smile stung, just a little.

“She’s special,” he said. “Resilient, like you. And smart to boot. You know she’s a college professor?”

“Yeah, Emily told me,” Carla said.

Beau’s smile dimmed when he noted the resignation in her voice. She gave him a knowing look.

“I have no right to complain,” she said. “And you deserve to be happy too, Beau.”

He considered that with a nod. He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but for your sake…he would try.

“Can you promise me something?” Carla asked.

“Name it,” he said.

“I know Avery is in this thing deep. He lied to me and he created this mess. Even when this is over, I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but please, look out for him,” she implored. Beau uttered a wry chuckle and rubbed at his chin.

“He is in this deep. And he’s being stubborn about it,” he said. “I might not be able to help him walk it back, but I will try.”

Carla released another sigh and nodded in response. She supposed that was the best she could hope for.

A few days later, you walked up and down the grocery store aisles with a basket in one hand and your phone against your ear with the other.

“Okay, I’ve got all manners of junk food and chick-flick movie watching snacks, including Reese’s cups, ice cream, frozen pizzas, and no less than three bottles of wine,” you said. “Am I missing anything?”

“I don’t think so, hun. That sounds very comprehensive,” Denise replied.

She was at work, and you were still getting ready for the fall semester. It was only a little over a month away, which meant you were excited, and also nervous.

You had five classes on your roster. You’d also visited Carroll College yesterday to set up your office with all your books, both textbooks and your favorites in fiction and non-fiction (but mostly fiction). Much Ado About Nothing was front and center in the Shakespeare section of your shelf.

You also wanted to at least try and relax for the rest of your summer. Denise was all too willing to help. You’d always had a good relationship with your aunt, albeit distant, since you’d lived in different states.

Living so close now just made you realize how much you two had in common. It was nice to find a friend in her, not just someone who would try to mother you in your own mother’s absence.

“Yes! Good. Then get ready to brainstorm what movies we’re gonna watch tonight, and in what order,” you said.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t already have a color-coded checklist,” Denise quipped.

You laughed. Yes, she knew you too well. “Okay, maybe I do, but you still get a vote.”

You turned a corner in the aisles and nearly ran right into Carla, who was pushing a cart. You both jolted in surprise and recognition.

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry,” you said, at the same time she said, “Sorry, I…”

You two did the polite, nervous laughter people did when put in awkward situations. You noticed all the food she had in her cart—enough to feed a family of three for the week.

“Yeah, finally getting around to doing a grocery run,” she said. “Beau’s trailer leaves much to be desired in the form of amenities, so…”

You adopted a more amused smile. “Yeah, he’s not much of a cook, is he?”

“Do frozen fish sticks count?” Carla remarked.

“Only if there’s expired tartar sauce, according to Emily,” you joked. The two of you shared a laugh that was a little more genuine. You chatted for a couple minutes more before you parted with amiable handwaving. Then you realized that your aunt was still hanging on the line.

You sighed and put your phone back up to your ear. “Hey, sorry.”

“Was that who I think it was?” Denise asked. She was probably trying to be cryptic, if Emily was in the room with her.

“Indeed, it was. Doing a nice family-sized grocery run,” you whispered back, to make sure you weren’t overheard. You brought your basket of junk to one of the checkout lines.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Denise asked. She must’ve heard the heaviness in your voice. You both knew exactly who “him” was code for. Beau friggin’ Arlen.

“Not since we said goodbye last week,” you replied. And the memory of that kiss had been torturing you for days. It had also been the fuel of many…late nights with yourself.

Speaking of which, need some more AA batteries, you thought with a warm blush.

“Okay, forget candy. We should get cheesecake,” Denise proposed.

You smiled. “You know what, that’s a damn good idea. Definitely cheesecake.”

You hopped out of line to do just that. You knew it probably wouldn’t be as good as Chicago made, but you went over to the bakery side of the store and hunted for the most good-looking cheesecake you could find.

“Hey, if you want, stop by here later,” your aunt said. “Em is here. We’ll grab lunch, make it a real girls’ day.”

“Sure,” you agreed. You hadn’t seen Emily in a week or so either. “Where are you thinking? I’ve been wanting to try that Indian place down the street from your office.”

“Sounds good to me. Come over after you drop those groceries off at home.”

“Okay, will do. I’ll see you guys soon!” you said.

Beau knew that he was going to be working straight through lunch. What he, Jenny, and Cassie had discovered in the past 24 hours was deeply unsettling.

Not only was Walter Sunny Barnes’s son, but Paige was alive. She’d been found in the foyer of Sunny’s home, brandishing a knife, convinced the married couple were in it together on her kidnapping. Sunny claimed she’d had no idea her husband had taken the poor girl and kept her in a shack for days.

According to Paige’s testimony, Buck Barnes had tried to kill her. And since she was alive, it meant Walter had lied in confessing to her murder. It was also likely that he hadn’t killed Mary or Luke either.

That wasn’t even the worst of Beau’s headache.

He rubbed his face in frustration after getting off the phone with Carla. Thanks to this whole business of Avery’s stolen cryptocurrency, she was being followed.

Fuckin’ hell, Beau thought. The next time he saw Avery, it had better be with handcuffs, or he was going to start working on his punch list for real. Instead, Beau grabbed his cell and called his daughter.

“Hey, Dad,” she answered on the third ring.

“Hey, honey. You doin’ all right? You good?” he asked. Maybe he was coming on a little strong, but worry was a living thing inside his gut.

“Yeah, totally. Just doing some research…but guess who’s coming to have lunch with us later?” she asked.

Her tone was leading him somewhere, and Beau thought he knew the destination. His lips curved with a half-smile. When he guessed your name, Emily confirmed.

“You’re welcome to join us. If, you know, you wanted to,” she teased.

Beau’s smile twisted with disbelief. Was his daughter trying to set him up? And better yet, it seemed like she liked you well enough to do it. While the thought warmed him, his smile dimmed.

“Wish I could, but uh, I got a lot of work here to do. I’m just…checking up on ya, like dads do,” he said.

As much as he wanted to see you (and he really, really did), he wasn’t lying. He needed to follow up on the man who’d trailed Carla to the drycleaners this morning. And he already had Jenny and Poppernak looking into finding Buck Barnes. He’d fled the scene after Paige and Sunny were picked up at the Barnes residence.

“Well, okay, consider me checked. We can talk later if you want,” Emily said. She sounded a bit disappointed. Beau felt guilty for that, but he’d make it up to her tonight. Maybe he’d bring home some takeout so Carla didn’t have to cook again in his tiny kitchenette.

“All right, honey. If not, I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “Just…don’t go anywhere by yourself, okay? Make sure Denise or Cassie’s with you. Matter of fact, I’ll pick you up from there today.”

“Yeah sure,” she said. Though he didn’t think she really heard the warning in his voice.

“‘Kay. Bye, Dad.”

She hung up, leaving Beau still feeling off-balanced. Until news came in from a fellow officer: while Paige had been brought to the hospital, Sunny Barnes had been brought into the station for questioning about her husband.

“Sorry I’m so late. I started cleaning my apartment and lost track of time,” you said, walking into the office of Dewell & Hoyt. Denise and Emily waved at you from their respective desks.

“That’s okay. We’ve been busy here,” Denise said. You looked at the large pinboard on the wall filled with news clippings and pieces of evidence. Bleeding Heart Killer, read many of the subject lines.

“Ech. Still working on this?” you asked.

“Unfortunately,” said Denise. She grabbed up her purse and went over to kiss your cheek in greeting. “But we might’ve gotten a huge break on it. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

“Get back? Where’re you going?” you asked.

“To get the food! I already placed the orders,” she said, patting your arm. “I’ll be right back.”

You gave her a narrowed look. “I was going to pay for it—”

“No need!” Denise sing-songed on her way out of the office. It had you smiling, shaking your head. You looked over at Emily and tossed a thumb over your shoulder.

“Careful with her. She can be devious,” you said.

Emily smiled and stood up from her desk. She went over to sit with you on the small couch near the center of the room.

“I’m actually glad you’re here,” she said. “I’ve kinda got a question for you.”

“Kinda?” you echoed with a smile, but you pat her on the knee. “What’s on your mind, honey?”

Emily looked a little unsure. It had you giving her your undivided attention.

“It’s about my dad,” she began. Your smile slowly fell, but now you were really listening.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Emily opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the lights in the entire office went out.

Natural light still came in from the large windows at the front. It was odd though. The weather outside, while chilly, wasn’t cold enough to create an outage. You hadn’t heard anything fizzle when the lights went out either.

“That’s weird—” Emily said.

The back door burst open with the sound of hinges breaking. Both of you gasped and stood from the couch. You slipped a hand into your purse to find your phone, and then the first contact you could think of.

You were about to press the call button when a tall man with broad shoulders stepped through. He was older, balding, and his clothes and neck were stained with blood.

Buck Barnes.

“Buck?” you gasped. “What…what’re you doing here?”

He didn’t look like the easy going, kind-hearted man you knew at the camp. Now, he looked haggard, injured, and dangerous, like a wild animal.

“Hush up,” Buck held up a silver pistol in his right hand. “And drop that phone, nice and slow.”

Your heart was in your throat, but you couldn’t just think of yourself. You subtly tried to pull Emily behind you as you set your phone down on the ground.

“You tried to kill Paige,” Emily accused of the man. It had you turning to her, your eyes going wide. When you looked over at Buck to gauge his reaction, you saw how his lips pursed.

“Sit down and shut up,” Buck ordered, gesturing with his gun at both of you. He drew closer and forced you and Emily to sit beside each other on the couch. There he grabbed a roll of duct tape from his pocket and began taping your shaking hands together.

“Why’re you doing this?” you asked Buck.

“I need some collateral if I’m gonna get the hell outta dodge,” he replied.

“Fine, but let Emily go. She’s just a kid,” you begged, as tears stung at your eyes.

Buck just continued taping you up. Thankfully not your feet, just your wrists. He moved to Emily next.

“You don’t need her,” you tried again. “Come on, Buck. You really think Beau Arlen’s going to want to work something out with you if you take his daughter?”

“Oh, I’m bettin’ he’ll be more than willing.” Buck grabbed you and placed a strip of tape across your mouth, then on Emily’s. He hooked a large, calloused hand around your arm.

“Now get up.”

“What?!” Beau asked. His eyes widened in alarm. “Slow down, Denise. What’s going on?”

The more he listened, the more his heart plummeted into his stomach. He had to grip his work desk for balance.

It took him and Jenny under half an hour to meet up with Cassie and Denise back at Dewell & Hoyt, along with a forensics unit of officers. There was evidence of struggle in a turned over table and a broken back door lock.

Denise explained that she left you and Emily for just a few minutes while she went to grab a late lunch order. By the time she returned, the power was out, set off by the breakers, and you and Emily were missing.

Jenny found your purse on the couch, while Beau found your cell phone on the ground. He picked it up with a gloved hand. He’d seen you unlock your phone enough times to remember your passcode.

When he inputted those six numbers and unlocked the screen, he found his own name and phone number highlighted there. You’d been about to call him.

He squeezed your phone tight in his hand. He looked up and saw another officer pick up Emily’s backpack.

“No power means no surveillance footage,” Jenny said. “Okay, let’s think. Why take her and Emily?”

“It’s gotta do with Avery and the money he stole,” Beau said, grinding his teeth. “I needa find him.”

“Any idea where he might be held up?” Jenny asked.

“Carla will know,” he replied.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jenny was quick to offer. She could see his rage bubbling.

“No,” he said, cutting her off with a swift hand. “Get a response team ready, but I don’t want anybody doing anything without checking with me!”

He was out the door before any of the women could stop him. Denise was in tears, both for you and for Emily. Cassie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“We’re gonna find them,” she promised.

You and Emily were in the backseat of an SUV. Buck was singing along to some country song, driving them down a highway to hell knows where.

The tears had begun to dry on your cheeks. It didn’t mean you were no longer petrified, but for Emily, to give her support, you’d been able to keep breathing through it. She was still in panic mode, hyperventilating as tears streamed down her face.

“Y’all better quiet down back there,” Buck warned.

You grabbed Emily’s hands and met her frantic eyes with your calmer ones. You were hoping to reassure her, let her know that while you were scared too, you were with her. She wasn’t alone.

She squeezed your hands back, even though it made you wince. Your right hand was still injured. Again, you breathed through it so you could hold her back. You rested the side of your head against hers to try and help steady her further. If you could, you would’ve held her like a mother bear.

Emily leaned against your side and began to calm down, bit by bit. Meanwhile, Buck continued to talk your ears off—about country music, and how this particular song was the one he and Sunny danced to at their wedding. Though frankly, you couldn’t give a shit about anything that was coming out of his mouth.

All you knew was that it was nighttime, pitch black darkness by the time he pulled into a plaza. It looked like a gas station next to a bar.

Only in Montana, you mused. Though you perked up at attention when Buck parked and actually left the car.

Of course, he took the keys with him and put the child locks on the doors, but you tugged at the duct tape Buck put around your ankles when he’d forced you and Emily into this car. If you could get free, then you could shove your way into the front seat and unlock the doors.

Emily tried to help you. You winced as the tape tugged at your skin. At least I shaved yesterday.

She gasped around her gag when she saw a young man coming their way in the parking lot. You joined her in banging on the window, trying to get his attention.

“Oh my God,” you heard him say, muffled as it was through the window. You pointed at the front of the car, trying to communicate to him to break the window open there.

“Hold on, I’ll get you guys out of there,” he said. He went to the front of the car and tried at the door handles, but before he could get very far in his attempt to free you, Buck came up behind the younger man and grabbed him in a chokehold.

You and Emily screamed at him, but it was no use. You did your best to shield Emily’s eyes when Buck snapped the man’s neck.

Bad call, bad leadership, bad police work.

Beau felt the weight of his shame like never before—all while he held Carla and rocked her in his arms. She’d just arrived at the police station, after getting the news that her husband had been killed.

When he learned that Emily was taken, Avery tried to help Beau and the police confront the men he’d stolen the $15 million from, but Avery had gone rogue by bringing a gun into the equation.

Beau had just one chance to pull Avery out and send in his unit of officers on standby. Jenny had asked him what he wanted to do, hoping he would make the right choice.

Beau had been selfish. He wanted to see if the men would give up the location on where they were holding you and Emily, so he kept Avery in play. He’d thought the man would be fine with Tonya and Donno backing him up in the room.

After all was said and done, however, Avery lay dead in a pool of his own blood with a bullet in his chest. The criminals also hadn’t taken you or Emily.

By process of elimination, Beau now knew it was Buck. The man had already killed a hiker on his way out of the woods, where he’d been holding Paige.

Now it was a whole new manhunt.

“Beau,” Jenny said. “We have something on Buck.”

It prompted him to drag himself out of the dark spiral of his thoughts. He let Carla go, but kept a supportive hand on her back. She was still distraught, and understandably so—not just for her husband, but for her missing daughter.

Jenny gave Carla a sympathetic look. She beckoned him over though.

“Come see this,” she said.

Beau comforted Carla one moment more, rubbing her back, but she encouraged him to go with Jenny. She led him into another room where Cassie was waiting for them, and Jenny’s laptop was connected to a smart TV.

On the screen was new surveillance footage of a parking lot, outside a bar a few hours out of town. There was a green pickup truck parked next to a black SUV. Beau couldn’t see you or Emily, but he watched Buck drag the dead body of a man behind the truck.

“Buck was casing the lot for a car to steal,” Jenny said. “We’re guessing this unlucky guy found them.”

“It means they’re still alive,” Cassie pointed out. Jenny drew attention to the keys, or whatever it was that Buck dropped and picked up off the floor. It was hard to make out from the footage.

Cassie agreed to ask Cormack Barnes if he knew what the keys were for, considering he already had the keys to the pickup trick in his hand when he picked up the fallen set. Beau knew it was time to question Sunny Barnes again.

He headed down the hall to do just that, with Jenny on his heels. Soon though, he found himself slowing down in the hall, like his feet were made of rubber. That, and his heart was fracturing. Jenny slowed down with him, giving him a questioning look.

“It’s just…it’s the one thing we’re supposed to do. Protect our kids,” he said. “The one thing.”

“Hey,” she said. Her blue eyes were understanding. “You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

And yet again, they both knew that was a lie. Beau held a curled fist against his lips for a moment, as he tried to swallow down the lump of emotion in his throat.

“She’s gotta be so scared, Jenny,” he said. His eyes stung, but he tried to blink the unshed tears from his eyes. It wasn’t working.

“Both of them,” he said. “They’ve gotta be terrified. And every minute we waste chasing our tails just gives that twisted son a bitch a chance to do something to them—”

Jenny grabbed his arm to steady him. “I still think he’s keeping them alive for leverage.”

“Well, I hope you’re right, because there’s nothing stopping him from making an example from one of them,” he said.

But the moment it escaped his lips, he wished he hadn’t uttered the thought out loud. It was too much.

He felt like a failure of a father. That was already destroying him from the inside out. And though he’d vowed to himself otherwise, you got dragged into this too.

You’d already been through the wringer enough. Beau hadn’t even checked in on you in damn near a week since he left your apartment the last time.

Now, you’d been taken by the very same man who murdered your friend Mary. Beau hadn’t had the chance to tell you…

He hadn’t been able to tell you a lot of things.

And maybe, he’d never get the chance.

The pickup truck Buck stole had a small trailer attached, convenient for stuffing you and Emily in, along with the corpse he’d made of the truck’s owner.

On the long and bumpy ride down the road, you’d been able to search the dead man’s jeans and found a small pocketknife. You pressed a small button to click the blade open. You showed it to Emily, and then tried to cut her bonds.

You only got halfway through when the truck and trailer stopped. Moments later, you smelled gas. Buck was probably stopping for a refill on the pickup truck. You closed the knife and hid it in your hands. That instinct turned out to be a good one, because Buck slid the trailer door open.

You and Emily winced as the bright morning sun hit your bleary eyes. Not only had you not slept all night, but you’d gotten used to the perpetual darkness of the trailer.

“You girls behaving yourselves back here?” Buck asked.

You and Emily stayed quiet, but fearful. He stepped into the trailer to lower your taped gag, and then the girl’s. He uncapped a water bottle to give her some. It was a strangely humane thing to do, you thought.

But then you realized that he just didn’t want you two to pass out of dehydration. He was trying to keep you alive long enough to use you as bargaining chips.

“My dad’s going to find you,” Emily said, staring up at your captor. Buck chuckled at her cheek.

“You want water or not?” he asked.

“And when he does, he’s gonna kill you,” she said. Buck rolled his eyes and gave her a few sips of water. He offered the bottle to you next.

Instead of drinking, you used his distraction and proximity to pop open the pocketknife and jab it at his face. He pulled back fast, but you managed to sink the three-inch little blade into his neck. Buck backhanded you so hard, it made the side of your face crack against the back of the trailer.

Emily screamed and tried to catch you when you accidentally fell on her shoulder. When you recovered after a bit, blinking the black splotches out of your vision, Buck punched at the spot right above your heads and made you both flinch. By then, he’d taken the little knife out of his neck, even though it made a new wound ooze blood down his shirt.

“Forgot to check his pockets,” he gritted out. His anger then bled away, into a dark chuckle. “Gettin’ a little rusty.”

He poured out the rest of the water over your boots, but he didn’t make any further threats. At least, not physically. He stepped away and began to exit the trailer.

“Next time it’ll be gasoline and a lighter,” he warned. “Now both of you, shut the fuck up.”

Then he closed the door, casting you and Emily into darkness once again.

“You okay?” Emily whispered. You could barely make out her face in the dim light, coming from the smallest crack in the trailer door. You rolled your head her way so you could give her a smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied. Truthfully, your head was ringing and aching at the same time. Buck had knocked you out for a few seconds there. Plus, you were exhausted, and hungry, and parched.

“At least the gags are off,” she said. You nodded, letting out a sigh. You welcomed her to rest on your shoulder and tucked her wrapped hands under yours.

“We’ve just gotta keep holding out,” you said. “I’m sure your dad is on the way.”

Emily nodded in agreement. She believed every word of what she’d told Buck. She just hoped it was sooner rather than later.

It was much, much later.

Still, you and Emily were no better off. Actually, you were pretty sure this was worse.

Buck had driven you deep into the woods, then forced you to walk what felt like another half-mile until you reached a dusty old shack. He’d unlocked it and forced you both inside, kneeling in the dirt and dead leaves. Along with the duct tape already around your wrists, he’d tied you both up with ropes around the metal hooks hanging from the short roof.

Even with the gags off, it was hard to breathe in the hot, stuffy woodshed. It felt similar to being buried in a box and left to rot.

You weren’t sure how many hours it had been, but the sun was slowly inching by. If you had to guess, it was around mid-afternoon. You were sweating down your neck and back, now uncomfortable while kneeling in the jeans you were wearing. And sometimes, your vision started to blur in and out.

By now you were beyond hunger. Dying of thirst? Quite possibly.

“How’re you doing?” you asked Emily. She nodded, but she didn’t have much energy to talk either.

So instead, you tried to twist your wrists out of the rope. Very quickly you gave yourself burns, however. Buck had tied your bonds so very tight, not to mention the duct tape underneath.

What a fucking asshole, you thought. He could’ve at least left a bottle of water. Or some protein bars.

“How are they supposed to find us out here?” Emily asked. Her voice was small and coarse with exhaustion. You nudged her knee in comfort.

“The police will get it out of Buck, I’m sure,” you said. “Even if Beau can’t, damn certain Jenny will.”

You gave her a smile. Emily tried to smile back, but she didn’t quite make it there.

“God, I’m so thirsty,” she coughed.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “All we can do is keep trying to get loose.”

You both tried twisting out of the ropes for a while, but it was no use. You were just going to bruise or cut your wrists further through the tape.

You knew that you and Emily had been in the woods for hours at this point, somewhere in the middle of the mountains. You tried not think about how unlikely it would be that someone actually heard you, let alone found you.

You knew you were the adult in this situation. You had to keep it together for the girl beside you, but after a while, a feeling of desperation and despair rose up again in your chest, no matter how hard you fought it all.

Tears welled up in your eyes, though you tried to breathe through it. Emily nudged your arm this time, giving you a comforting look.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered. “I know Dad’s coming for us.”

Your lip wobbled, but you nodded and sucked in a breath. If she could be strong, then you could too…

And that was when you started to hear voices. You knew they weren’t just in your head, because Emily perked up too. You both called out the best you could to whoever was out there.

You squinted watery eyes when the door to the shed finally slid open.

Beau tested the limitations of Jenny’s SUV on his way out from the woods, and then back into them.

At the very least, Buck was dead.

Sunny had shot him—before they had gotten a location on you and Emily. Beau had been about to have a serious breakdown before Cassie called him.

“They found them,” he’d told Jenny, with red and shining eyes.

In another five miles, they reached the old cabin. Cassie had said there was a woodshed attached on the south side. Beau tore out of the car and sprinted up a hill, through a patch of dense trees, until he found the cabin and the shed.

Cassie and Cormack were talking to someone just out of Beau’s eyeline, but his gaze focused on his daughter. The moment Emily saw him, she brightened and ran to him. He met her in the middle, grabbing her tight and secure in his arms.

His tears burned in his eyes and fell as he held her, comforted her, rubbing her back. She held onto him just as tightly.

He struggled and failed to keep himself together. Relief wasn’t even the word for how he felt; it was beyond words.

And it was almost unreal to be able to hold his daughter and see that she didn’t look hurt, just shaken.

“I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he said. “God, I’ve got you.”

Letting out the deepest breath, Beau’s gaze ventured past his daughter and up ahead. There he found you, being supported by Cassie up the hill. Beau’s eyes widened.

You were rubbing your wrists. They looked raw. Your eyes were also red and watery when they met his. Your breath seemed to catch as well.

Your name fell from Beau’s lips, his voice breaking. Emily looked up at her dad and had to smile. She even made room for you when you came up on his other side. Beau still kept his daughter tucked against him, but he reached for you as well and brought you into his embrace.

He felt your body shaking with quiet, wracking sobs. His heart broke for it, but he soothed a hand over your knotted hair and down your back.

“Shh, it’s okay now,” he whispered in your ear. His voice was choked with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’."

Never gonna let you go again, he thought.

You nodded, sniffling, but you kept your face buried against his chest.

Eventually, you lifted your head to meet his kind, if tearful eyes. He was a mess, and so were you. He was right though; you knew that it was all right now, as long as he was here.

You looked over at Emily, who was still hanging onto her father. You touched her shoulder.

“You okay?” you asked through tears. She nodded back at you with a smile.

“Good,” Beau said. “Let’s get you two home.”

You realized then that you were clinging to him like…like he was yours.

“Oh,” you uttered, releasing his shirt. “I‘m sorry.”

Beau’s eyes widened at the way you pulled away from him, unconsciously lowering your gaze. He frowned, and he pressed a gentle hand to your cheek, so you’d look at him again.

“Don’t you do that,” he said, his voice still a bit unsteady.

Almost every cell in his body said to pull you back in. To sink his fingers in your hair, and to kiss you.

But he noticed Jenny, Cassie, Cormack, and even his daughter watching with some kind of smile on their faces. You stared up at him, teary eyed and waiting.

Beau cleared his throat.

He hesitated a bit too long, warring with himself all the while. So he just stroked your cheek and guided you, along with his daughter to the car.

You and Emily were going home.

AN: 🫣 Lol please don't hate me for the little tease at the end there. But how did you like how all the action and drama of the kidnapping unfolded?

Don't think this is the finale though. We've still got some drama and fun things to come. (Also, I think it's funny how this next particular chapter is going to post on my birthday lol.)

Next Time:

“I’m the one who needs you to forgive me,” he said, gently squeezing your arm. “I promised myself I would keep you safe, that I wouldn’t drag you into this mess. And I couldn’t keep my end of the deal.”

“Stop that,” you said. You grabbed the front of his shirt. “How many times do I have to say it’s not your fault before you get it in your stubborn head?”

It came out a bit snappish, but the moment your eyes met his, you both seemed to realize where your passions had led you. Just inches away from one another.

“Maybe one more time,” Beau said, in a quieter, but no less heady voice. There was a hint of humor in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back.

You released his shirt and instead, took his face in your hands.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 8

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