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luveline · 5 months

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𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

remus’ touch after a long night prompts a tired confession (and a slew of clumsy kisses).

requested here. modern au. fem!reader, 3.6k.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“I'm going to bed,” Sirius mumbles, scratching at his eyes as he gets up. “Don't let her sleep in her makeup. She'll get an eye infection.”

Your eyes are getting sore, but it's hardly Remus' responsibility to make sure you wash your face tonight, nor Sirius’ to remind you. “I'm a big girl.”

Sirius sends you a smile, ignoring your chiding. “Goodnight, my loves,” he says, waving you both away as he heads out of the living room and up the stairs.

“Notice how he didn't do his dishes?” Remus asks, shifting beside you.

He's sitting as he tends to, slouched in a way that can't be good for his back in the long run but is clearly comfortable short term. His chin is on his chest, his legs kicked out under the coffee table, which is decorated by the casualties of the night. Sirius’ dinner plate, Remus’ mug, James’ rarely used handheld console. He'd been playing a cutesy farming sim before he said goodnight an hour ago. Sirius stayed to mess with James’ crops and eat a late supper. You're surprised it took him as long as it did to admit defeat.

“What time is it?” you ask.

You're laying on the sofa with your socked feet tucked behind Remus’ back, of which he's yet to complain. His elbow brushes your shin as he brings up his arm. “Nearly one in the morning, now,” he reads from his watch. “Let's go to bed too, yeah?”

“I don't want to.” You turn your face into the pillow behind your neck.

“Me neither,” Remus says, dropping his hand on your knee.

You watch another twenty minutes of TV together failing to summon the energy to stand, but the want for a glass of water grows too big. Your head throbs as you get up, offering your hands to the pretzel that is your favourite housemate.

Remus turns off the TV and lights. You lock the front door. He carries the dirty dishes to the kitchen and you fill up two glasses of water to take with you. It's all so… regular. A routine you share nearly every night, only to climb into your two separate beds.

He ushers you out of the kitchen and down the hallway with his hand behind your shoulders, his touch a phantom as you ascend the stairs.

You're silent beside the creak of the old wood, too tired to speak. Remus is similarly quiet, though he does whisper, “Watch,” when you nearly kick the box of Halloween decorations waiting to be taken up into the attic.

You leave your water on the towel box in the alcove and dance around one another in the bathroom. Sirius’ toothbrush lays on the sink still wet, but otherwise there's no signs of him.

You're feeling very, very tired. You hadn't realised how bad it was until you're putting your toothbrush in your mouth, leant up against the window sill, a slot of cold air seeping in from the dark outside. Your eyes shutter closed. The scrubbing sound of Remus brushing his teeth is almost lulling.

He swills out his mouth and washes his brush. “Here,” he says gently. You open your eyes just enough to see him beckoning you forward. “Dove, your necklace.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You turn your back to him.

His fingers are damp and cool on your skin as he unclasps your necklace. He often takes it off for you. It's one of the things you'll miss when you guys aren't living together anymore, the slow meander to his bedroom, the wood of his door jam on your cheek as you lean against it and give him a hopeful smile. Sometimes he's awake, reading a novel on his side in bed or listening to music at his desk, other times he's sleeping. On those occasions you spend too long lingering, stolen seconds spent staring at the rise and fall of his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you say as he puts your necklace in the jewellery dish. It comes out missing vowels, lips stuck together as though honeyed.

You spit pathetically in the sink, rinse your brush, and consider sitting down. “I'm tired,” you whine, wiping your lips.

“I know,” Remus says, giving you a fond nudge. “Just wash your face and get on with it.”

“You first. I'm going to nap standing up for a bit.”

He puts as much of his hair behind his ears as he can and turns on the tap. This is just as familiar as brushing your teeth together. It's not quite as bad as watching James Perfect Skin Potter wash his face with bar soap, but you have to admit that Remus’ eight-nine pence face soap hurts your heart. He washes it off, pats his face dry, and takes the small bottle of bio oil out of the medicine cabinet to pipette onto his pinky finger. “Wash your face,” he says, smoothing the oil into his scars one by one.

You shake your head. “M'gonna do it in the morning.”

“That's why your eye was swollen a few weeks ago. You know yourself you won't.”

“I might,” you say, letting out a big breath as you rub your sore eyes even sorer, “I'm too tired.”

“Can you sit up, at least?”

“No.” Remus takes you by the shoulders and forces you to sit on the edge of the bath. “Aggressive?”

“Don't fall in,” he says, cupping your cheek briefly as if to make sure you've heard.

You are hearing him, seeing him, even feeling the immensity of his touch, but you're tired, and you know you can let yourself relax completely with him. You'd be the same with James or Sirius, though neither of them could have your head feeling so dizzyingly light from a single touch as Remus can. You probably wouldn't let them persuade you into this, either, tilting your head back to watch through blurry vision as Remus soaks a cotton round in your facial oil.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

“Was that a dracula impression?”

“I command you.”

You close your eyes. The queasy feeling of oil drags against your lids as Remus wipes them, loosening the stiff tubes of mascara that coat your lashes. It's not a short process because he's very, very gentle, holding your face delicately as though you're a flower in need of coddling, and him the sun. It's the only metaphor that would ever make sense for you and Remus; he's like the sun even if it goes against every statement he's ever made about himself, or anyone else has, for that matter. People think he's a moody, sarcastic boy, and he is, but he's also a vestibule of sweetness, softness, and warmth. The kind of heat you'd only ever feel kissing your skin under the summer sun. But more than that, he's the relief that follows when the clouds come out.

And his hands are all over you. Your head gets heavier by the minute, eased into dozing by his touch and quiet tones. “We're almost done. I'm gonna have to carry you to bed at this rate.”

“I'm going to miss this so much one day,” you say. It's easier to admit when you're not looking at him.

Remus turns on the tap. Hot water runs, you can tell by the sound as strange as it seems, and he wrings the dirtied cotton round before replacing it with a new one. He wets it, bringing it just that touch too hot to your cheeks to wipe you down. “What are you going to miss, dove?”

“Us. You. I'm going to miss you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, but one day I will be. James will finally have had enough of us and I'll,” —you swallow around nothing as a rivulet of water runs down your cheek, a cooling tear from the cotton round— “have to move out and we'll never see each other anymore.”

“Don't be silly, you're not going anywhere.”

“It's not about the going,” you murmur, peeling your eyes open tentatively as his dabbing follows down your cheek to your neck. “I miss you sometimes and we still live together. I can't imagine how much I'll miss you…”

Remus puts the cotton round aside. He takes your face into his hand, and suddenly his touch feels raw, nothing like it had moments ago. Because Remus would wash your makeup off for you any day of the week, but his looking at you like this, so unshielded and unabashed, is a rarity.

“You won't have to miss me. Even if we did move away from each other, I wouldn't let it be that far.”

“Friends move away all the time. We don't speak to half the people we knew at school.”

“I only really knew you and the boys,” he says. It isn't true but it is at the same time. Together, you'd been a happy lot, but your current housemates are the ones you'd known. “And see? We're still together.”

“But for how long?” you ask.

Remus brings his second hand, holding your face entirely. He covers your cheeks, index fingers sliding slowly under your ears. He's exceedingly gentle, and his eyes are soft. He holds you like you're made of glass, like you could break under a hint of pressure. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side as though he might lean in for a kiss. Maybe he doesn't know he's doing it, but Remus is a very purposeful soul. He'd do much worse to wind you up if you wanted him to.

You sober up. It's like he has caffeine in his palms.

“You want to go where I'm going, is that it?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you say, barely say, voice shame-facedly weak. Is he asking what you think he is?

“Do you want to start now?”

You breathe out as one of his hands shifts down your jaw. “Yeah, I… I want to start now.”

“Okay, dove. Then close your eyes again.”

You hold his gaze for a second that feels infinitely long and short at once, your heart racing. Clarity has returned, a thrust into wakefulness even if your fatigue ties knots around your ankles. You look at him in his late night glory, his scars shining a pink-white like the petals of a young peony flower, and you know it's happening now.

You shut your eyes.

He steps closer, though the bath you're perched on is low, and he has to bend a considerable amount to reach you. The weight of his hands on you doesn't change, not even as he grows near enough to sense the heat of his breath against your lips. It's his nose that makes first contact as it slides against yours, and then his forehead presses down into you, his lips noticeably absent. Each contiguity between you thrums.

A pit opens in your chest, cleaved by his voice as he says, “I'm going to kiss you, okay? S'that what you want?”

Your hands don't feel like your own. Under the sickening nervousness twining its way through your ribs, you're excited. You're smiling, your voice shaped by it. “Yeah. It's what I want,” you say.

“Good. It's what I've wanted for a while–” while pressed into your lips, all shaken up by an emotion you've never heard him speak with. He kisses you and you're frozen, and he waits and waits and pulls away to push back in. You remember yourself then, responding to his wading with some pressure of your own. Sparked back to life.

It's so strange. It doesn't feel real. Remus Lupin kisses you heated and hard for just long enough to feel it in your teeth before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his fingertip running down your cheek, following that same path as your earlier rivulet. To think he saw it, really saw it, locked it away to remember and trace into your skin now… maybe he's seen much more of you than you realised all along.

“Will you do it again?” you say under your breath.

Remus must hear the thread of insecurity running through your question; you're afraid he'll say no, but he strokes your cheek again with that unfathomable softness and says, “Yeah, dove, of course I will.”

“Do you want to?”

And that's less insecurity and more selfishness, wanting the confession. He hears that, too.

“I want to kiss you more than I've ever wanted anything,” he says, eye to eye with you, your head tipped up and your heart in your throat, twitching and fizzling like a firecracker. “Yeah? And all that missing me you've been doing? All your worrying? You don't need to do that. You've never needed to do that–”

“I just never thought you liked me like that.” You and Remus aren't new to one another. “You've been the same since the day we met.”

Remus’ hands get a little more solid where he's holding you. “Dove. Dove, are you mad?”

“Remus–”

“Maybe I have been the same, but did you really not notice that I–” He squeezes your cheeks playfully, almost in disbelief. “If you want me, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere without you. You're not going anywhere without me.”

“So you like me?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyebrows pinched together at the starts. “Of course I do.” He laughs. “That's what I'm trying to tell you.”

“Oh,” you say, lifting your head.

Remus shuts his eyes a millisecond before you shut your own and kisses you again. The second round is softer, his smile to yours and struggling to find purchase. His breath huffs out in a minty laugh, shockwaves through your mouth.

“Stop laughing,” he breathes, his hands falling to your neck, your shoulders.

“You first.”

Your lips part under his, a split-second of contact. He yanks away before things can get too heavy, and you're glad he does, but for a moment you feel the loss like a wave of vertigo.

“Sorry, I'm going too fast, and you're tired.” His touch is ticklish behind your shoulder.

“It's okay. Maybe it is a bit fast, but I'm not tired anymore,” you confess.

Remus hugs you, cementing every feeling for him you have as he wraps his arms around you from over your shoulders, a deft hand cupped behind your neck. “That's not true. I can feel your back shaking. Let's go to bed.”

“After that?”

“What, are you worried it won't have happened in the morning?” he asks genuinely.

You go limp in his arms as he takes your weight against his chest. Not worried, but rather not sure you can be away from him so soon. You ask him in a whisper if you can come and sit with him, not to sleep with him, not to do anything else, and he whispers back, Anything you want. You both entertain the lie that you won't fall asleep in his bed.

—

Remus tenses as he hears the scuffling sounds of movement downstairs. It takes a train of thought awakening for him to realise it's only James, rising early as usual to put on a load of washing and prepare bits for lunch before he goes off for training. He can see him in his mind's eye if he tries, his friend dressed in the red and white rugby uniform, green socks up over his calves and white cleats scrubbed pristine for another ruck in the mud.

Remus’ relaxes, stretching out in bed until his hand bumps into something rigid.

He flinches.

You're laying on the mattress beside him, your head slipped off of the pillows and your arm tucked beneath you. It doesn't look comfortable, and if it were any other morning he'd pull it straight for you, but.

I kissed you, he thinks to himself, as though talking to you. He turns away from you until his back clicks and alleviates the ache in his hips, though he has to settle eventually, back on his back, no way of ignoring you. He doesn't want to ignore you. The opposite —why are you so far away? Can he hold you?

What are the rules here?

Kissing… not dating… You're here in his bed, you'd asked to stay.

He takes your hand and pulls at your arm. Still sleeping, you mumble and move onto your back, releasing the pressure on your shoulder as he pulls you toward his chest. Your face is impassive, lax in sleep.

He should let you sleep.

“Dove,” he says, stroking up the length of your arm.

“Mm?” you hum.

“I need to ask you something.”

You twitch awake with a small cough. Your eyes are red with a lack of sleep as you open them, blinking, and he wishes stupidly that he could make it better. He makes a sympathetic sound for want of more to do.

“Why have you woken me up?” you ask, blinking at him. You gather that there's nothing urgent happening and push your face into his shoulder, practically nuzzling him. “It's Saturday.”

“I just need to ask you something.”

“So ask me,” you encourage through your sleepiness.

The washing machine whirs downstairs. It’s an old machine that you often joke is taking off into orbit during the final spin, loud as anything. He can barely hear your sluggish breathing underneath it, but he can't miss the catch in it after he asks, “Can I be your boyfriend?”

It's not the catch he's expecting. You laugh and readjust, wrapping your arms around him from the side and kissing the side of his neck clumsily. “Y'u asked me last night,” you say in a borderless run-on, sounding about as dopily in love as he's ever heard you.

He thinks about it. Yes, he did, after he'd kissed you many more times than he should've and curled up in bed with you, hands held loosely beneath the blankets. He remembers the question, the answer. The last kiss that followed, and you falling asleep beside him.

“I need a coffee,” he says, encouraging your head back so he can kiss your temple.

“No, you need to sleep more with me. And maybe kiss me again. If you want to.”

Sleeping isn't half as interesting as kissing you. He slots his nose against yours and languishes in the feeling of your lips, wondering if he's having a false start. He could still be dreaming. It would make sense.

The door clatters open with a curse. James stands in the doorway with a folded pile of Remus' washing from the radiators in his arms, an apology on his lips, “Sorry, mate, the door got away from– oh my god. Oh my god?”

Remus isn't an overly shy guy but he can't deal with this. “For fuck's sake,” he mutters, dropping his face into your shoulder. Your arm wraps under his neck, fingers splayed across his cheek.

“James–” you begin, resigned to your fate.

“This is flat-cest. This is the cardinal sin.”

“We don't live in a flat,” Remus says.

“That makes it worse. You can't even blame close quarters.” Remus peeks up to watch James in the doorway, still clinging to Remus’ washing, pure shock curdling his features. He shakes his head. “I'm telling Sirius.”

“Please don't!” you say.

You slump back into the pillows as James leaves anyways.

Remus hugs your soft abdomen. “Don't worry,” he says.

“I guess it's a good thing you've already asked me out,” you say.

“Why, what can they do?” Remus asks, wondering if he's allowed to put his face on your chest or if that's too forward. You rake a hand through his hair and encourage him forward, to his delight.

Frantic words. You and Remus loved up in bed despite it.

“I'm chucking them out!”

“James, they've been seeing for weeks. Can I go back to sleep?”

“What?!”

You grumble into his hair. “That's not even true… Does everyone know, then? That I liked you?”

Remus thinks of the shadow of you in the doorway, that sheepish smile you send his way before you ask him to unclasp your necklace before bed, or your face as he’d wiped the sooty stain of mascara from your cheek last night, half in love with him as you fell asleep in his palm.

“I don't think so, lovely,” he comforts. “Don't worry about it. We'll clear it up at lunch time. James isn't even mad, he's just sulking thinking we didn't tell him.”

“How could you not tell me?” James asks on cue, rounding the door again, arms ever tighter around the bundle of Remus’ clothes. He assumes it's being kept hostage. “I thought we were best mates.”

“James,” you say softly, all sympathy.

Remus likes the feeling of your voice under his ear, and your slightly too-quick heartbeat. He could fall asleep here and now if it weren't for the company.

“It's new,” you're saying, softness melded to a sweet pride. “Okay? I've barely told Remus how I feel, of course I was going to tell you. We were only talking about it last night. It really hasn't been weeks, Sirius is a stirrer.”

Remus pulls the covers up over your heads and climbs on top of you in a rush, demanding that the both of you be left alone, to James’ great annoyance but your delight, your laughter loud in the shell of his ear. Your chest shakes with it beneath him.

A great wad of fabric hits him in the legs. “Twats,” James says, seemingly stalking off.

Your whisper sends shivers down his spine. “We're alone again. Do you have anything else to ask me while you're too tired to remember?” you tease.

There's not a chance in the world that Remus would ever forget this.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed, it's been a little bit since I wrote for remus like this so I was actually a bit nervous and I hope it's okay :D <3

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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tgcg · 3 months

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bad mouther, hole master

TG: kissing with tongue is gross as hell

CG: COME THE FUCK OFF IT.

TG: what

CG: I'M SAYING SHUT UP.

TG: oh

CG: IT'S NOT THAT WEIRD. IT'S LIKE THE NATURAL PROGRESSION OF REGULAR KISSING TO EVENTUALLY INCLUDE THAT. IF YOU HAD ANY SEMBLANCE OF ROMANCE GHOSTING THROUGH THE DEVOLVING REMNANTS OF YOUR THINKPAN YOU'D APPRECIATE WHAT IT BRINGS TO THE NUTRITION PLATFORM OF ANY CONSENTING CONCUPISCENT RELATIONSHIP!

TG: youre talking about it like its a goddamn military weapon or some shit

TG: some kinda scientific fuckin method to fondle a dudes mouth with your own mouth thats

TG: thats gross

TG: this isnt supposed to be a debate before fuckin congress on the pros and cons of getting your mack on

TG: its i would say a reasonably personal thing to react about and thats just my reaction man you dont gotta arbitrate it

TG: and like why the hell do they have to linger on it so long in these movies do they really want me to immerse myself in people necking each other that much

TG: roll the sounds around in my earholes like im swilling a fine fuckin wine

TG: well my professional opinion is that shit tastes and sounds mad gross and tbh i havent seen a single movie where it was close to being any kind of necessary

TG: its just a cringy waste of everyones time

CG: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, AND I DISAGREE WITH EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR IGNORANCE GASH, YOU LUMP OF TIGHT-LIPPED CLUELESSNESS.

TG: did you just homestar me

CG: FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT, SINCE YOU'RE APPARENTLY DESPERATE TO START SHIT WITH ME RIGHT NOW: HAVE YOU EVER EVEN DONE IT?

TG: hell no

CG: THANK YOU FOR PROVING MY POINT.

TG: proving your point--

TG: bro have uh

TG: have YOU???

CG: EXCUSE ME? HAVE I WHAT?

TG: come on

TG: i walked into this stupid conversation with a fucking shovel and by god am i digging myself a damn hole big and wide enough for every dave across time to squeeze in so i might as well get cosy in this shit before we all start collectively shoving dirt in our mouths

TG: bet your ass im taking you down with me though

TG: grab your spade and get digging man

CG: GRAB MY WHAT????????

TG: just tell me

CG: ???????!!!!!!!!

TG: karkat

CG: NO!

TG: f-

CG: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!!! WHAT PART OF "SHUT UP" DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND????

TG: wait no

TG: oh my god dude

TG: you can spin that shit all you want but you can do it the hell away from me

TG: i do not need to be hip to your weirdo foursquare fantasies

TG: patently not my business

CG: STOP RIGHT THERE. JUST SHUT IT. I AM PUTTING US OUT OF OUR MISERY RIGHT NOW. I AM CONDUCTING AN ACT OF MERCY ON THIS INSANE FUCKING CONVERSATION AND YOU ARE GOING TO ZIP YOUR LIPS AND TAKE IT.

CG: HERE IT IS: YOUR SINGLE OPPORTUNITY TO PRETEND YOU NEVER SAID THAT TO ME. I AM GOING TO FORGET YOU MADE A COMPLETE MOCKERY OF ME AND MY CULTURE THIS ONE TIME. AND LET YOU CONTINUE TO DIG YOUR STUPID, SHITTY HOLE.

CG: AND DAVE, I AM BEGGING YOU NOT TO WASTE IT.

CG: TO ANSWER YOUR SHOCKINGLY INAPPROPRIATE QUESTION, NO I HAVE NOT DONE IT.

CG: WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK.

CG: HAPPY?

TG: ……..

TG: way to defuse the situation solid work

TG: real gold star effort grabbin that lit wick and blowing on it

TG: ok first of all you asked me first so dont act like im the one being a weirdo about this

TG: second of all i didnt mean it like that and you know it

TG: THIRD of all what the hell was the point of engaging the knightly theatrics then if you cant even verify that shit

CG: WELL FUCK, SORRY DAVE! I GUESS I'M JUST A FUCKING ROMANCE ENTHUSIAST! I GUESS I GIVE A MAJOR SHIT ABOUT THE THING YOU'RE OPENLY MOCKING TO MY FACE! IS THAT SO IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO WRAP YOUR THOUGHT SPONGE AROUND?

CG: AND IT WAS COMPLETELY REASONABLE FOR ME TO ASK YOU THAT, YOU CONGEALED FETID NOOKSTAIN! MY STATUS ON THE MATTER HAS LITERALLY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE POINT EITHER OF US IS TRYING TO MAKE.

CG: TRY TO KEEP YOUR NUGBONE FROM CAVING IN ON ITSELF WHEN I DROP THIS BOMBSHELL: I'M ALLOWED TO HAVE OPINIONS ON THINGS I ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT, EVEN IF I HAVEN'T DONE THEM! I DON'T JUST GO TROUNCING THE FUCK ABOUT LOBBING MY UNFOUNDED OPINIONS AT PEOPLE LIKE I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING. UNLIKE SOMEONE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INVOLVED IN THIS CONVERSATION WE'RE HAVING RIGHT NOW!

TG: youre

CG: I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU BY THE WAY. THE SOMEONE IS YOU.

TG: oh gimme a break

TG: bro youre going apeshit over something you havent even done

TG: you know what that sounds like to me it sounds like an overcompensating fake fan who doesnt get any

TG: you heard of troll napoleon complex

CG: AT LEAST I ACTUALLY FORMED MY OPINION BASED ON CAREFUL CONSIDERATION --

TG: -- oh yeah i bet huh

CG: -- INSTEAD OF JUST BANKING ON NUBJERK --

TG: -- not a real thing you just said

CG: -- REACTIONS AND WRINKLING MY SNIFF NUB AT ANY SIGNS OF GENUINE PHYSICAL INTIMACY!

TG: stop saying nub

CG: YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED BULGEWAD

TG: not too much worse than being a perpetual fountain of emotional diarrhea

CG: DON'T YOU DARE.

CG: DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO USE THAT AS A "GOTCHA", YOU--… YOU! FUCK!

TG: dude did you actually run out of insults

TG: okay this is getting concerning

TG: youre the international dude of verbal dunks

TG: that can not be happening

CG: AAGHRJRGHJRGRHJAGHRJGRHJAGRHJRGRHJRGRHRJR

TG: you cant run out of em youre like the ultimate peddler of hate

CG: YOU DON'T THINK I'M CRITICALLY AWARE OF THE HOOFBEASTSHIT I'M SPEWING NIGH FUCKING CONSTANTLY?! I AM PAINFULLY COGNIZANT OF HOW MORONIC EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS!!!!

TG: feel like ive done some damage here

CG: ESPECIALLY MYSELF!

TG: alright bud time to calm down

CG: YOU CALM DOWN!!!!

TG: okay whatever!

CG: WHATEVER!!!!!!!!

TG: jeez

…

TG: here

…

CG: UGH.

TG: yeah

TG: really glad stuff like this happens in private

CG: YEAH. SAME HERE.

CG: JEGUS, CAN WE GO BACK TO BEFORE WE HAD THIS CONVERSATION? I DON'T ASK YOU MANY FAVORS, SO SURELY YOUR SLURRY OF ILL-DEFINED TIME POWERS CAN ALLOW YOU TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

CG: JUST LIKE, WIPE THAT WHOLE THING OFF THE SLATE.

CG: LET'S START OVER. SAY, FIVE MINUTES AGO. HOW DOES THAT SOUND?

TG: what conversation?

CG: OKAY, GOTCHA.

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #comix #bad mouther hole master

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louloulemons-posts · 7 months

Text

Old Bear Diner

Cook!Eddie Munson XFem!Waitress!Reader

Summary : Reader becomes a waitress at a diner where a cook named Eddie works.

Word Count : 5.8k

Warnings : Not proofread, rambly, swears, use of Y/N, original characters, petnames, cuteness, reader gets hurt, douchebag customer, parent loss, grumpy eddie, sunshine reader, fluff, idiots in love, i haven’t wrote a fic this long in a while.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Mom I’m home,” you spoke, as you locked the door behind you. Sliding your feet out of your shoes and hanging your jacket up, you found her.

Face lay on the table, pen in hand and eyes closed. Letters, notices, bills. Just a whole bunch of paperwork lay on the table, it’d been like this for a while. Since your dad got sick. Then he was gone.

“Mom,” you whispered, shaking her lightly. She groaned, body wriggling as she woke up, “Mom go to bed.”

“I’m awake.”

“I know, but go and rest now. I’ll put this away.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah.”

“How was work?”

“It was fine, the kids were golden.”

“Good I’m glad. You’ve got dinner in the microwave.”

“Thank you. Now go get some rest,” you said, kissing her cheek. “You’re such a good girl. Goodnight honey.”

“Night mom.”

And that’s how life had been for the last 18 months of your life. Just you and your mom. You sighed, walking over to the table. Stacking up the papers and putting them away.

There wasn’t much mess, your mom had been working all day and you’d been out most of the night. She was a nurse, and you had about any job you could get.

After quickly eating your dinner you picked up a few pieces of washing, swilled your plate and went up to bed. You babysat for a couple people in the neighbourhood, and sure they were fine, but one of the little ones came down with something and was near inconsolable.

Your bed was like heaven, after taking off your jeans you didn’t even bother to swap into pyjamas, falling to sleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Morning mom,” you said, kissing her head as you walked passed. There was a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, along with a cup of coffee waiting for her. “Morning, where are you off too?”

“Oh I’m just about to go clean Mrs Harris’, her daughters out of town and she said she’d pay me good. Plus she’s a sweet woman so.” You mom sighed, taking a drink of her coffee.

“What did we say about taking more jobs?”

“Mom come on, it’s not a big deal. It’s just one time.”

“You said that about the babysitting and the store and the tutoring.”

“Mom-“

“You need to take care of yourself.”

“So do you. Do you have a shift today?”

“No.”

“Great, I’ll pick up some movies from Robbies work and then we can have a day together.”

“Honey,” she sighed.

“I gotta go mom, love you.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“You are an Angel,” Mrs Harris smiled as you placed a mug in front of her, taking one of your own in your hands. “Thank you for doing this for me, Anna had this holiday booked for months.”

You hummed taking a sip of the drink, “I bet the kids were excited.”

“You have no idea! Bouncing off the walls telling me all about it yesterday.”

“Well the beach is exciting.”

“It is, now how about you? How’s your mom?”

“We’re good, you know,” you shrugged.

“Hm, I do know. You remind me of myself and Anna when we lost Paul,” she smiled fondly at the thought of her husband.

“We’re just trying to learn how to do this all without him.”

“Of course. I found something for you actually,” she smiled, walking to her fridge. Pulling a piece of paper from under a magnet she passed it over.

“I saw it in the grocery store, thought it’d be better than you doing 20 different jobs a week. You could just stick to 2,” she joked. It was a slip for wanted workers at a diner. Waitressing staff.

“Thank you.”

“Of course Honey, now you get going. Enjoy your day with your mom,” she smiled, nodding you took the flyer with you. “Let me know if you need me to come and clean again.”

The woman chuckled, shaking her head waving goodbye as you headed to your car. You knew the diner, you drove past it going to and from jobs, you’d just never stopped by.

You’d have to pass it on the way to Family Video anyway, so there was no harm in asking.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It wasn’t too busy in the diner, there were people dotted around, some groups, some alone. Some eating, some not. It seemed like a great place to people watch, to see so many people from different places, with different lives.

Walking up to the counter you smiled at an older woman, crows feet by her eyes, flecks of grey through her dark hair, but her eyes shone, young and playful. “Hiya Honey what can I get for you?”

“Hi, I actually came to ask about the waitressing position, is it still available?”

“It certainly is, have you got any experience?”

“I’ve had a couple different jobs, I worked at a cafe during summer break. I’ve worked cleaning jobs, with kids, in retail.” The woman hummed, nodding, “Well the shifts would change, you’d have to do 4 or 5 a week.”

“I can do that.”

“You’d serve customers, do waitressing, help in the kitchen if needed, cleaning.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, if you leave your name and number we can call and talk about you having a test day and we’ll see how we go.”

“Thank sounds great.” She slid a writing pad and a pen across the counter to you, disappearing to refill someone’s coffee.

“Liz, order up,” you heard a male voice speak from the back.

Two plates of delicious looking food was placed on the window out to the front, but the chef themself wasn’t visible. The woman moved quickly, weaving around stools and booths, taking the plates to a couple at the far end of the diner.

You’d imagine that they’d all know each other forever, the way they spoke like old friends. The woman, Liz, made her way back over to you, taking the pen and pad back.

“We’ll give you a call,” she smiled.

“Thank you.” She nodded giving you a wink and you were on your way.

You could only hope you’d get this job, 4 or 5 shifts a week would be great, then you could have room for a couple of odd babysitting jobs and still keep the house clean for your mom. All you had to do was actually get it.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You dried your hands with a towel, leaving the dirty dishes to air dry before you put them away. Dinner was cooking on the stove, and your mom would soon be home.

The music of your radio hummed with static, the station hiding the silence of the house. That was until the loud sound of the phone ringing overpowered it.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi, is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Speaking.”

“Hi there honey, this is Liz from the Old Bear Diner. I’m just calling about the waitressing job.”

“Right I see.”

“Well the position is yours if you want it, we’ll get you trained up.”

“What about the test day?”

“Well Mr Miller, the owner of the cafe you worked at, came here and when I mentioned you he couldn’t stop telling me how great of a worker you are.”

“That’s very kind. When would I start?”

“Wednesday if that’s possible, you’d start at 9am and finish at 5pm.” Quickly looking at the calendar you didn’t have any babysitting gigs, so it’d be perfect.

“Of course.”

“Great, I’ll be seeing you Wednesday Honey.”

“See you then.”

You couldn’t help grinning as you hung the phone back on the hook, taking dinner off the stove. Your mom found you dancing to the music on the radio, plating up your food.

“Good day?” she smiled, as you began to eat. “Mhm, definitely. How was work?”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Liz had shown you all the basics, how to use the till, where everything was stored, along with giving you a dark apron that sat around you waist.

“So when we have food orders, you hang them up here. Eddie will call when they’re ready, write the table numbers on the ticket if that’s easier for you,” she smiled.

“Right, is Eddie the chef?”

“Mhm, the one and only. You can also have anything off the menu for lunch, so just let him know and he’ll make it. I’ll introduce you now.”

Following her into the kitchen it was a lot of stainless steel counters, ovens, grills and deep sinks. “Eddie, got someone for you to meet,” Liz spoke, catching the taller man attention.

Turning to face you, you took him in. Dark curls, pulled back to sit in a bun at base of his neck, he was tall, lean but muscular, with tattoos dotted around his arms. His own apron sat around his waist, freckles and beauty marks decorated his face like his own personal constellation.

And his eyes, they were beautiful, like melted chocolate, you could very easily get lost in them. “Eddie this is Y/N our new waitress.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said softly, trying not to stair at the gorgeous man in front of you.

“You too. You shown her the basics?” he asked Liz. “Course I have, so be nice,” she warned, wagging her finger at him. “Always am.”

The older woman snorted, “You take that back, your uncle didn’t raise a liar.” This made Eddie smirk, smile lines and faint dimples appearing.

“Well we’ve got customers to serve, come on Honey.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Working at the diner was strangely something you looked forward to, something you enjoyed. Your mom wasn’t over the moon about it, worrying that you’d work yourself to sickness.

You were okay, you’d do your shifts go home, help around the house, spend time with your mom and still had time to do your babysitting gig. It worked out quite well.

“Morning Honey,” Liz smiled as you pushed through the door, “Morning.” You headed to the back, hanging up your jacket and your bag, tying your apron around your waist.

You walked past the kitchen, “Morning Eddie,” you called as you went, receiving a grunt of acknowledgment in return. He seemed nice enough, grumpy, but nice and beautiful - but you wouldn’t tell him that.

The diner was a 24 hour one so customers were already dotted around, it was a weekday so it was a lot of people travelling through, especially truckers.

“These are for table 4,” Liz smiled, handing you 2 warm drinks, nodding you went on your way. “Morning, I’ve got two hot chocolate.”

“Thank you,” an older man said, the younger one with him smiling slightly.

“Can I get you anything else?” you asked.

“Could we order some hot food?”

“Sure, let me just get a pad. I’ll be right back.”

Walking around the diner had become like a dance now, bouncing around the tables and chairs, back and fourth to the counter. “Eddie order for table 4,” you said, sticking the paper under a magnet.

Another grunt in acknowledgment, as the ticket was pulled down and into the kitchen.

“Morning Y/N,” a familiar voice spoke.

“Mr Connors, good morning. What can I get for you?”

“A tea for Cynthia,” he said, smiling over at his wife, “And a coffee for me.”

“I’ll bring them over.” The older man nodded, making his way to sit across the booth from his wife.

“25 years they’ve been coming here, and every time it’s like their first date all over again,” Liz said, sighing dreamily.

“Are you married?”

“Mhm, coming up to 15 years. Got a couple kids too, they mean the world to me. How about you Honey you got someone?”

You shook your head, “Now that does surprise me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I mean, look at you. You’re pretty girl.”

“Thank you,” you said shyly, “Honestly I’m just too busy.”

She nodded, filling up a mug with warm coffee and another with tea you heard an order called. “Order up.”

“I’ll take the drinks, you take the orders,”Liz said, sliding the mugs from the counters.

“Is this all of it?” you called over to Eddie, he turned half way so you could see the side of his face. He nodded and you moved quickly, feeling your face flush. Hoping that chatting with customers would take your mind off the beautiful man through the other room.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“I’ll see you later Liz,” you waved to the older woman, “Oh hang on Honey, I’ve got something to ask you.” You stopped in your tracks, car keys in hand.

“Do you think you could do the night shift on Friday?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar when I get home, I’ll call and let you know.”

“Okay, thanks Hun, you have a good night.”

You hadn’t done a night shift yet, Liz did a couple a week and Eddie seemed to live there, often taking doubles. Speaking of Eddie you raised your hand to wave goodbye, as he took a drag from his cigarette.

Nodding your way he let out a breath of smoke, sitting himself down on an old crate at the door. You climbed into your car and we’re on your way.

“Mom,” you called out when you entered the house. It was strangely quiet, her car was on the drive so she must be here. Hanging up your bag and jacket, you slid your shoes off.

Your feet padded across the floor, finding your mom on the couch. Her eyes closed, her chest moving up and down gently. “Mom?” you said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She was burning up, “Mom, come on let’s get you to bed.” She groaned as you helped her up, eyes barely opening as you took her to her room. “I’ll be back I’m just getting you some water.”

Taking a glass from the side of her bed you went to the bathroom, filling it with water and grabbing her some medication from the cupboard. “Here you go mom,” you said, helping her sit up.

Closing the curtains, the room was almost in darkness. “Was work okay?” she croaked out. “Yeah it was fine, they’ve asked me to do a night shift on Friday, gotta check the calendar.”

“You go do that honey, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay. You rest up, I’ll come and check on you later.” The woman hummed softly, snuggling down under her blanket and resting her head on the pillow.

Luckily Friday was free and you could take the shift, and your mom was off so she could rest and and get rid of whatever sickness this was. Dialling the number for the diner you waited for a few rings, a voice finally appearing.

“Old Bear Diner, how can I help?”

“Hi Eddie, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh hello, you alright?”

“Yeah was just calling to tell Liz I can do the Friday night shift.”

“Right, I’ll let her know.”

“Thank you.”

“Hm. See you Friday.”

“See you.” After hanging up you pressed your hand to your chest, how could a 20 second conversation do this to you.

You couldn’t even see him, it was just his voice. Dear god his voice. Get it together. He’s just a hot guy at work, would you find him hot outside of work? Probably not.

Okay that’s a total lie - grumpy metal head. Yes please.

You groaned placing your forehead on the cold wall, suddenly feeling the need for a hot shower.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Honey go to work, it’s just a cold.”

“Fine, but you’ll call if you need me?”

“Of course I will now shift it, you’re going to be late,” your mom said, pulling you to the door.

“Drive safe, I love you.”

“Love you mom.”

Arriving at the diner it was already busy, but that made sense for a Friday night. You parked your car up and went in through the back, not wanting to squeeze your way past the customers.

Eddie was there, standing on a cigarette he was clearly finished with. “Hey,” you said.

“Hello.” He held the door open for you, letting you duck under his arm. You held your breath as you did so. How did he smell so nice?

“Is Liz here?” you asked.

“It’s her anniversary, so night off. So it’s us, May and Chris.” You hummed, May was older than you and Eddie, but Chris was around the same age.

“Okay well I’m gonna go and get sorted.” He hummed, heading back to the kitchen, but watching you go first. Soon enough you were out on the counter saying a quick hello to May and Chris.

“Evening,” the man smiled, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. “How’s it going?”

“You know,” you shrugged. He looked like he was going to continue, but a group of teens sat down at a booth.

“I’ll go and sort them,” you smiled, grabbing a pad and pen from the counter. “Hiya guys what can I get for you?” And so the shift began.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It was busy, manic even. When one table was dealt with another three seemed to need your attention. By 11pm your feet were burning. “Y/N, you can have your break now honey,” May spoke.

“You sure?”

“Mhm, grab something to eat, have a drink.”

Your shift would end at 5am, so keeping your energy was important. Nodding you headed to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water as you went.

Eddie turned slightly to see who was coming in, “Order?”

“Just mine.”

“What can I get for you?”

“Just some fries please.”

The man raised a brow at you,”That’s all you want?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, turning back to the grill, there were no tickets so it shouldn’t take too long. You opened your bottle of water, taking a swig.

“Go sit, I’ll bring it over.”

“You sure?”

“Do you know you ask that question about 50 times in a shift. I’m sure, go rest.”

You chuckled, pushing back into the main area, taking a seat on the furthest table. You head rested on your folded arms on the table, closing your eyes.

There was the faint sound of music playing from a jukebox, chatter, the sizzling of pans in the kitchen. It had become a soothing sound, a sound you were used too.

A few minutes passed, lightly dozing as you sat there. A hand pressed on your shoulder, “Hey.” Eddie.

“I’m awake.”

“I can see that. Eat up.” You rubbed your eyes, looking at the food on the table.

There was fries and a burger, “I only asked for-“

“I know. But you’re also falling asleep, so you need the energy. Eat up,” he said, offering you a tight lipped smile.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm. Eat.” You nodded, taking one of the fries, Eddie left you to it. Turning you head to watch him, you saw his eyes already on you.

Both of you looked away quickly, faces flushing. You tried to focus on your food, your shift would soon be over, then you wouldn’t see Eddie for a few days.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It was finally the end of your shift and you were dead on your feet, you had no idea how the others did it. You threw your apron into your bag, sliding on your jacket and getting your car keys.

“See you later,” you waved to Liz who’d just arrived. “You get some rest Honey.” Heading out the back, you were met by Eddie, he stood by the wall smoking a cigarette.

“You heading out?” he asked.

“Mhm, I’ll see you Monday,” you replied, heading towards your car, feet heavy and eyes sore. “Y/N hang on.”

You turned to see Eddie, he threw the cigarette butt to the ground, “You’re dead on your feet, let me give you a ride.”

“It’s fine Eddie.”

“No it’s not, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep at the wheel. Come on we can even take your car, if you trust me.”

“Sure, but are you-“ he cut you off.

“Honestly, I’m sure. I don’t want you getting hurt. Now key,” he said, holding out his hand. You dropped them into his large palm without another word, heading to the passenger side.

“So where are we headed?” Eddie asked, you mumbled out your address, “Not too far then.”

“No not really. You really don’t have to do this.”

“Sweetheart, honestly it’s not a big deal.”

Holy fuck. Sweetheart. Oh my god. Your half asleep brain couldn’t deal with this.

“W-what about your van?”

“I’ll just walk back and pick it up, no big deal.”

“Eddie-“

“Shush.”

You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to win this fight. You sat quietly, it wasn’t awkward it was nice. It was a comfortable silence. Resting your head against the window, you heard Eddie pull out from the diner.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Hey, Sweetheart, wake up.” Eddies soft tone brought you back. “I’m awake.” A light chuckle came out, “I know you are. You’re home.”

Looking up you were parked outside your house, “Thank you,” you said.

“Anytime.” The pair of you climbed out of your car, Eddie placing the keys back in your hand.

“You get some rest okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, looking at your feet. “Sweetheart, seriously,” he lifted your face softly with his fingers, holding it so you’d meet his eye.

“How many jobs have you done this week?”

“Well … I did a couple shifts at the diner, then I babysat Holly Wheeler, then I helped out at the green grocers. That’s about it.”

“And then you’ve been coming home and cleaning? Making dinner?”

“My mom can’t do it all alone.”

“You don’t have to do it all either, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“Seriously you need to rest. I’m gonna tell Liz to swap your Monday shift okay?”

“No! Eddie please I’m fine.”

“But you’re not.”

“I need the money, I need to help my mom.”

“Your mom is the parent this can’t all be on you.” You felt anger bubbling up in your stomach, an emotion you’ve never felt towards Eddie.

“Well hospital bills don’t pay themselves, my dads care won’t pay itself off. I need to help her or we loose everything and I won’t do that. So think what you want, but if I don’t work at the diner on Monday I’ll find somewhere else,” you said, pulling your face away from his hand.

“Thanks for the ride,” you slinked passed him, unlocking the front door, not even looking behind you as you went in.

“Shit,” the curly haired boy said to himself.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were back in the diner for your Monday shift, and maybe Eddie was right, maybe you were making yourself sick. On Saturday night you babysat some kids down the street. Then on Sunday you helped clean Mrs Harris’ house again, then came home to do your own.

“Order up,” Eddie called from the kitchen, you walked over taking the plates. “It’s for table 7.” You hummed in acknowledgement, heading over to the group.

It was 4 men, older than your mother, but younger than Liz. They seemed to be businessmen, you didn’t have a lot of those passing through here.

“I’ve got the waffles and bacon,” you spoke, sliding the plate in front of one of them. “Blueberry pancakes.” Another man raised his hand, “I’ll be back with yours in a second.”

“Take all the time you need Sweetcheeks,” one of the man said, his voice was sickly and you could feel his eyes on your behind as you walked back to the counter. You skin crawled at the feeling.

“Is this the last of it for 7?” You asked Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s all. You okay?” He questioned, you could see his furrowed brows through the window. “Yeah, fine.”

Turning you headed back to the men, “I’ve got scrambled eggs, bacon and hashbrowns.” You placed the plate down as quickly as you could without throwing it at the man. “And here’s the Old Bear special,” you said, to the creepy man.

“Thanks Sweetcheeks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“How about a top up?” he said, shaking his empty coffee cup. “Sure.”

Grabbing the jug of freshly brewed coffee you, took the mans mug, along with the others at the table, filling them up. “Can I get you anything else?” Please say no.

“Actually, I’d love a piece of you,” the man smirked, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to him. This caused you to panic dropping the coffee jug, the glass exploded everywhere and the hot liquid splashed your skin.

“You stupid girl!” The man exclaimed, throwing himself from the booth, his lap covered in the scalding liquid. “I-I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed.

“How stupid can you be! You burnt me! You absolute fool!”

“What’s going on over here?” Liz asked.

“This stupid waitress spilt hot coffee all over me and my breakfast, I demand that she’s fired!”

“I only dropped the coffee because you grabbed me!” you shouted.

“You stupid bitch! I’ll grab you alright,” the man launched for your throat, but was stopped by a hand around the back of his shirt.

“Get out,” Eddie said in his ear, his tone deadly, his eyes unblinking. “Me? She’s the one who-“

“You come in, you assault my staff and she panics, that’s your fault. You want to press charges go for it, but I doubt your wife will be happy when she finds out you’re trying to get with other women.”

“You asshole.”

“Get out of my diner, all of you. Before I show you how much you’ve pissed me off.”

The four men scrambled out, falling over each other as they went.

“Are you alright Honey?” Liz asked, wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’ll uh, go and get a broom and the mop.”

“Oh no Honey I’ll do it.”

“It’s fine, it’s my fault.”

“No. Don’t even think that,” Eddie spoke up, walking over to you, “It was that assholes fault. You’re going home.”

“W-what no!”

“Yes, well actually you’re going to the hospital to get your arm checked.”

You looked down, not even realising the burning sensation on your right arm. It was covered in hot coffee. “I have a shift to finish.”

“Fine, I’ll drive you there now. Liz, you and James will be okay right?” he asked.

“Sure and if not, I’ll call Chris or May or Connie.”

“Great, come on get your stuff, let’s go.” Eddie led you out the back, holding your things in his hand, another on the small of your back.

“We’ll take my van okay, we can pick up your car later,” Eddie spoke. You just nodded, not really having any words to say. Climbing up, you took your bag and jacket from him, placing it by your feet.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Minus the humiliation, the burning on your arm, being assaulted by a man, and you know probably losing the best job you’ve ever had - yeah you were great.

“Sweetheart, hey. It’s okay, you’re alright.” Eddies hands touched your cheeks, wiping away at tears you didn’t even know had been falling. “I’m so sorry,” you sniffled.

“What on earth for? None of that was your fault!” he stated.

“But I could’ve just-“

“Sweetheart he was a slime ball who hasn’t got any in years cause his wife thinks he’s gross. It’s not your fault that he doesn’t know how to behave when a pretty girl is around.”

Pretty.

“I’m just sorry. I really liked working here.”

“Liked? You leaving or something?” he asked. “I thought that after that I’d - well you wouldn’t want me to work there anymore.”

“You’re like my favourite person at this place, if I had it my way you’d go nowhere.”

“I don’t want to leave.” He leaned over and squeezed your good hand, “Then don’t, except right now because you need a doctor.”

You huffed a laugh, and Eddie pulled away, started up the truck and you were on the way.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Walking into the ER, it wasn’t overly busy, and Eddie led you to a seat. “Stay here I’ll get us some help,” he said. You nodded as he went to the desk, speaking to the nurse sat behind it.

The nurse.

Oh man.

Your mom.

“What’s the name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Eddie repeated. Your mom stood up walking around the desk, eyes meeting yours.

“Baby! What happened,” she said, rushing to your side. “I’m okay mom, just an accident at work.”

“Well thank goodness you came here. Let’s get you fixed up.”

It would probably get her in trouble, but she didn’t care, pulling you through to an examination room. Eddie followed you through, standing at the door.

“So I’m gonna clean it up and wrap it, we’ve got some creams at home to help.”

“I’m okay mom.”

“Thank you for bringing her in,” she spoke to Eddie. “Oh yeah of course.”

“So you work together?” she asked.

“Mhm, yeah Eddies the cook and uh the owner.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Eddie.”

“You too ma’am.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“I can finish early, take you home,” Your mom said. “It’s fine I’m okay.”

“I’ll drive her, can bring your car by later.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“What a sweet boy. Now go, my shift ends at 4.”

“Okay.”

Your mom pressed a kiss to your head, saying goodbye to the pair of you. Sat in the van, Eddie spoke, “Your mom seems nice.”

“Mhm, she is.”

“I can see why you want to look after her.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day.”

“I deserved it.”

“You didn’t, how were you supposed to know.”

“I should have backed off, I am sorry about your dad though.”

“Yeah me too, but you know we’re getting by.” He nodded, and sighed before talking, “Sweetheart, I know you’ll hate me for this, but I can’t let you come back to work until that arm heals up a bit okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“But as soon as you’re good to come back, you can.”

“Thank you Eddie.”

“Of course.”

The drive to your house wasn’t a long one, and your arm wasn’t tingling anymore. “Thank you for today,” you said to Eddie.

“It’s okay, uh feel free to say no, but do you want some company?”

“Don’t you have to get back to the diner?”

“I’m the boss, I can go back whenever. So company?” You smiled, nodding, allowing him to follow you into the house.

“Your house is lovely,” he smiled.

“Thank you, uh get comfy, I’m just going to change.” You motioned to the lounge, as you headed to your room, wanting to get out of your work attire.

Changing into sweats and a short sleeve tee, you returned to find Eddie looking at photos dotted around the place. “That was the first vacation we ever went on,” you smiled.

You were stood between your parents, all of you had snowboards, thick coats and pants along with huge boots. You grinned a cheesy smile, a few teeth missing due to your age. Your parents were smiling too, laughing at your enthusiasm.

“You were cute,” Eddie nodded.

“Were?” you joked, but Eddies ears went pink. “I’m not saying you’re not cute now! You’re beautiful! I just mean that-“ You laughed, “Eds I’m teasing.”

The man smiled, face flushed, “You, Sweetheart, are a pain.”

“Hm, sure. Want to watch a movie?” you asked. “Yeah that sounds great.”

“I’ll go make some popcorn.”

I’ve got it, just tell me where it is.”

“I can do it.”

“Seriously, we don’t need another trip to the ER, what would your mother think of me?”

You rolled your eyes at him, making the man chuckle and leave to go to the kitchen. “It’s in the cupboard above the microwave,” you called to him.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The boy looked down, feeling a soft weight on his shoulder. They were half way through Return of the Jedi when he felt it. Looking down his stomach fluttered.

She looked so peaceful, her eyelashes kissing her skin, her chest rising and falling softly. Her hand didn’t look so red and sore now, her mom had done a great job. Soft breaths left the girl as she fell into a deeper sleep.

The curly haired man couldn’t help but smile, resting his own head on hers, letting his eyes fall shut.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You felt a comforting warmth beneath your cheek, rising and falling. A hand on your waist and a chin on your head. Shit. You’d fallen asleep.

Looking up slightly, you saw Eddie dozing away. He looked so cute. So calm. “Eddie,” you whispered. “Hm?” he mumbled.

“Eddie.”

“What’s wrong?” he said, voice deep and grumbly from sleep.

It was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

“We fell to sleep.”

“So?” You laughed at the sleepy boy, letting your head stay on his chest. “See, isn’t that bad is it?” he said.

“No, apart from the fact my mom is definitely home and has seen us.”

“I should probably go then,” he mumbled into your hair. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I need to check on the diner.”

You nodded, pushing up off of him, leading him to the front door. “Thank you for today.”

“Of course, I hope you don’t mind if I call to check how you’re doing.”

“Not at all, I mean you could drop by if you want.”

“Well I have to bring your car back so, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I’ll see you,” you smiled softly. The man raised a hand, walking to his van.

Shit, you couldn’t let him go.

“Eddie!” you called, jogging over, feet cold on the concrete beneath. “What is it?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“Um, I just,” you began, but stood on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his plush ones. They were warm and soft and made your stomach burst. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whispered.

“I’ll see you,” he smiled.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading!

Please leave any requests 🤍

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

Note

Might I request an enemies to friends to lovers with Astarion?

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A QUICK LITTLE DRABBLE. IT IS ALMOST 4K WORDS. It also became a songfic. The song is "Your Stupid Face" by Kaden MacKay

Also it is 11:20. I am so tired. I do not have the energy to proofread this rn. So it's as good as it's gonna get

Warnings: self-doubt, bickering

Word Count: 3,957

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AO3

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I just really hate your face

Though I know that won't surprise you

But, to me, your skin is one giant wart

And your laugh's one big snort

And you stink, so in short

I despise you

You disgrace the human race

'Cause you're more of a mosquito

I would rather have the dentist and drill

Then this swine in the swill

And if you were a bill, I would veto

And if the world was perfect, you would be gone without a trace

But since the world could never be that great

I'll just hate your stupid face

Astarion sighed just behind you. You glared over your shoulder at him. Did he really have to be so annoying when you were trying to help? What did he have against doing the right thing?! Or were all high elves as up their asses as him?

The little girl glanced nervously between you, her hands fiddling anxiously with each other. “I-Is that alright?”

You turned back to her with a big smile, though Astarion could see the strain behind it. “Of course! It’s no problem. We’ll find your toy and bring it back before nightfall, how’s that sound?”

“Really?!” Her eyes became wide and excited, bouncing on her feet like there were hot coals beneath it. “Thank you so much!”

You watched as she ran off back to her mother, jumping as she grabbed the woman’s arm and pointed at you. You smiled, genuine this time, and waved to them both. Then, you turned to go back into the woods.

The joy didn’t last long.

“I thought being an adventurer meant slaying dragons, learning powerful spells, gaining power - that sort of thing.” Astarion sighed again, long and dramatic, as he stepped over a branch. “But, no, here we are, armed to the teeth, tadpoles crawling into our minds, looking for a stuffed animal.”

You grit your teeth together and tried to ignore him. The sooner you found the girl’s stuffed bear, the sooner you could stop listening to his whining. “She said she lost it over here, somewhere, but something could have taken it or moved it by now. If we split up, we can cover more ground.”

You could almost feel the way he rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. If I find it, I’m not telling you. And I’m certainly not going to touch it. Gods only know what’s on it.”

“You’re such a child!”

He lays a hand over his chest, looking down his nose at you. “I’m so sorry that I have some dignity left.”

How did you get stuck with such an annoying, self-entitled, brat?

“Fine! Then I’ll look, and you can follow me around like a lost puppy.” You smiled sickeningly sweet up at him, your whole expression filled with sarcasm and annoyance. “Happy?”

He scowled. “And I have to follow you because…? If you’re so eager for my company, you should just say so, darling.”

You shook your head, facade falling. “You’re impossible.” You stomped off. He could follow you or wait around, you didn’t have the energy left to care.

—

Oh, no

I just really like your face

You don't have to look so happy

I'm not really into love that you flaunt

In some glittery font

But if that's what you want

Make it snappy

I just feel so out of place

Well, except for when you're near me

When you're gone, I'm like a plant with no root

Or a song that's on mute

Don't you dare call it cute!

You should fear me!

And if the world was perfect, you would've never invaded my space

But since the world's obsessed with saying, "psych!"

Now I like your stupid face

You tilted your head, watching as Astarion held up a mirror. The tadpole kept him from burning in the sun, but it did nothing to bring back his reflection.

“Looking at something?” His voice catches you off guard. It was odd to have someone talking to you with their back turned, even more so when he could see your reflection and you couldn’t see his.

“Just looking,” you tell him. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, forlorn. “I’m looking, too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my affliction.”

“Do you miss it?”

He stands and turns while he speaks, finally meeting you face-to-face. “Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?” He sighs again. His face looks so droopy and sad, like a puppy left out in the rain. “Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

You look at his eyes, really look. It was hard to picture him with any other color. It was a side-effect of his vampirism, but you could go your whole life believing they always were and always had been red. “What color were they before?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past.” His face scrunches up in rage as he throws the mirror on the ground. You step back to avoid the shards that break from it. “Another thing I’ve lost.”

You can’t imagine forgetting your face. It’s a rather big portion of who you are, after all. Thinking about looking in a mirror and seeing nothing stirs your stomach like a witch’s brew. You study his face, eyes tracing over every curve and sharp edge and wrinkle. You tried to imagine being him, no longer able to see what you looked like.

Astarion frowns at you. “What?”

“I’ll be your mirror.” The words are out before you can even think them, but a spark of hope flickers in his eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to back out of it now. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me.” He pauses. His voice gets soft, lacking its usual bravado. “What you see.”

He waits as you look at him. You try to figure out what the world sees, versus what you see. The world may see his eyes, sharp and red and keen. The world would see his dangerous smile, full of pretty teeth and sharp fangs, threatening to bite.

But it’s not what you see. You see his hair, paler than freshly fallen snow. You see the way it curls around his ears, how there’s always one stubborn strand hanging by his forehead. You see the wrinkles that crease his face when he smiles, surrounding his mouth and crowding in the corners of his eyes. And you’re startled, trying to figure out how long ago you’d noticed these things about him.

“I see… the creases when you laugh.”

He sneers, placing a hand over his chest. He takes it as an insult when you mean it in the kindest way possible. Without his wrinkles, he wouldn’t be Astarion. “Excuse me? I’m an eternally young vampire, not your doting grandmother.” He huffs. He looks like he wants to stop - never mind what he looks like, he doesn’t want to hear what else you could possibly say. But he continues, “You can do better. What else?” The curiosity wins out.

You wonder if you should tell him the easy answer. Tell him what the world sees. What everyone else sees. But to do so feels like a huge disservice. You inhale, prepared to be scolded once more. “I see the way your hair curls around your ears.”

“This is meant to be flattery, not poetry.” He sighs, creases forming between his brows as he frowns, annoyed. “Just tell me I’m beautiful and we can call it a day.”

“Is that all you want?” You don’t mean to sound as angry as you do. “Shallow praise?”

He scoffs. “Hardly.” He begins ticking off fingers. “There’s also gold, sex, revenge - quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise.”

You shake your head. “What I see isn’t good enough for you then? The seductive, charming face you put on for everyone else - that’s what you want to know about?” He sneers. He hates how easily you’ve read him. And you hate how much it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s because your words mean nothing, or because he can’t even allow himself a single, beautiful flaw. “The world sees your eyes. They’re strong and piercing. And your smile: Dangerous. They see you for the monster you are. Are you satisfied now?”

You leave before he can answer you. Anger trembles in your fingers, but they’re weighed down with sadness. A conflicting bundle of emotions twists in your chest. You shouldn’t care if all he wants is to be called pretty and move on. You shouldn’t! And you don’t!

But you do…

—

I just really miss your face

Though, by now, I must disgust you

I had tried to be the stubbornest mule

'Cause I knew life was cruel

So I guess I was foolish to trust you

But I wait here just in case

Though I know I'm being senseless

How could I have ever been so naive

And wear my heart on my sleeve

When I knew it would leave me defenseless?

And if the world was perfect, you would be here in my embrace

But since the world denied me one last kiss

I'll just miss your stupid face

The sun burned. Truly, honest to gods burned. And he ran. What else was he supposed to do? Bake in the sunlight while everyone else said their teary goodbyes, “We’ll see you down the road”, yadda yadda?

But, he can admit when he messed up.

He should have stayed longer. By the docks. The sun was just beginning to rise, he had plenty of time to slip from one shadow to the next before it was high in the sky. He could have said his goodbyes. He should have.

Already he missed Karlach. He fondly remembers when she hauled him over her shoulder, jostling him about as she ran. He certainly wasn’t too pleased at the time, but now… And he missed her nickname for him. And the banter, and teasing, and… everything.

Everyone had their charms, he supposed. Gale was, well, Gale, but even he wasn’t too bad. And you.

It was hard to admit. He could say he missed the others all day, but you? You who dragged him into the woods to find a stuffed animal for a kid? Who begrudgingly let him have a sip that night he revealed himself? Who yelled at him when he couldn’t bear hearing anything other than he wanted to when you offered to be his mirror? Who hugged him after he killed Cazador? Who helped him save his brothers and sisters and all the other souls whose lives he ruined? Who smiled so sweetly at him?

He couldn’t say it.

After he ran away, cursing and damning the gods for confining him to the shadows again, he disappeared to the Underdark. You’d mentioned how they needed a leader, guidance. And, well, he had nowhere else to go.

He never got to see you run in the direction he left after saying your goodbyes, smiling and excited. Or watch as you search and search for him. How you shout his name. How tears well in your eyes as you realize he’s gone.

And maybe it’s better that way.

—

What are you doing here?

I didn't run away!

It was... it was a strategic retreat

What is there to talk about? It's over—I ruined it

Well, yeah of course I'm sorry, but

No, no, don't forgive me!

Why do you do that?

Why—why give me another chance to mess things up?

Because you—what?

Those three little words

Out of the blue

Completely uncalled for

Especially from you

Why don't you hate me?

Why do you care?

Can't you berate me? Isn't that fair?

Where is your glare?

Don't you dare leave our problems and pain on the shelf!

Because if you don't hate me, I can't hate myself

But that's why I need you

You shatter my fear

'Cause despite my misdeed, you are still right here

Though it's stupid to date me

You're willing to try

And if you don't hate me, then why should I?

Are you sure you don't want to give up on me?

You're a moron

The last thing Astarion anticipates is you barging into his home, stomping and angry. The next last thing he expects is for you to throw a cloak in his face. He backs up as fast as you approach, tripping and falling backward over an armchair. It tips back with him and he lands with a thud. When he pulls the cloak off his face, you’re standing over him, still just as pissed as before.

“Ah.” He grins sheepishly. “Hello?”

“You ran away!”

“Yes, yes, I know-”

“You ran away! I went chasing after you and you were gone!”

“The sun! I couldn’t-”

“I know! That’s why I went and got you that damn cloak! And I was going to give it to you on the docks, but you ran away!”

He struggles to get up, grunting as he tries to push the armchair off so he’s not bent in half. You huff and sit the chair upright. Then, you offer him a hand. He’s not sure if he should take it. He’s half-certain you’ll flip him over and crack the floor with his body. But you wave your hand, insistent, and he does not want to piss you off any more, so he takes it. You haul him to his feet.

He holds the cloak out in front of him, studying it with a frown. “Darling, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but clothes don’t actually protect us from the sun.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” You sigh, hands on your hips, but you seem to have cooled off some. “It’s the Cloak of Dragomir. Gale helped me find where it was hidden. I figured, if the tadpole is the only thing keeping you safe in the sun, then after it’s all over, you’d need something else to protect you. So.” You gestured at the cloak.

He was speechless, and perhaps a bit skeptical. It had already been several weeks since the docks, and every day he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. Basking in the sun. Lounging in her warmth like a cat as he sleepily flipped through a book. It sounded too good to be true - a simple piece of fabric that could prevent him from turning to ash?

“Are you sure it works?”

You laughed, airily and annoyed. “No, I had a shortage of vampires to test it on at the time. I was going to find out when you tried it on. If it didn’t work, well…” You let out a long breath. You refused to take your eyes away from the cloak. Like looking at him again would bring all the rage and frustration back. “I’m still in touch with Gale. He can help me look for something.”

He spun it around to look at the back. It was a deep purple, with the only remarkable feature being a sort of fur around the neck and shoulders. He could almost imagine it hanging up in a shop.

You cleared your throat. “Put it on.”

“Hardly the best place to test it. The sun doesn’t exactly reach down here.” Still, he unclasped it and swung it over his shoulders.

It was light and breezy, allowing air to move through, but warm enough it kept away any chill - not very concerning for a vampire, but still a nice feature. It reached mid-thigh. He shifted around in it, testing its movement and fit. He bristled when he felt something brush against his arm.

He lifted up the edge of the cloak where he felt it, and his undead heart stopped all over again. There, messily embroidered on the lining in gold thread. Little Star. A poor imitation of embroidered stars surrounded it, forming a sort of faux night sky.

“I did that.” You clear your throat and scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes everywhere you looked. Every time you glanced back at him and his dumbfounded face, your cheeks heated up. “I know it’s not as good as yours, but, you know, I thought it was the best way to get a message across.”

His chest was full of emotion. He still had a hard time deciphering it all, even after so long of you carefully teasing them out. But through it all was one resounding question.

“Why?”

You finally made eye contact with him. You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this can’t have been easy to get your hands on. You could have sold it when I ran away, but you embroidered it, sought me out… Why? Let’s be honest, dear, we’re not exactly friends.”

“We’re not exactly at each other’s throats either.” It came out harsher than you meant. You took a breath to calm your nerves. “I know we didn’t really get along when we first met - hells, we still argued about everything under the sun with the slightest prompting, but I do care for you.”

His lips quick up slightly. “An unfortunate choice. I’m not exactly the easiest person to care for.”

“No.” You smile, soft and patient. It was hard to look at you now and connect you to the person who barged into his room moments ago. “But I want to. You’re worth the effort.”

—

So you think that we could work?

Here I thought I'd been the dumb one—what?

You're forgiving me for all I did wrong

You're unmuting the song

And, again, I belong to someone

No! You can drop the stupid smirk

Though by now I guess you've earned that

'Cause no matter how intensely I pout

Your stupid face will win out

And I guess it's about time I learned that

And though we go together like a Chanel Nº 5 and mace

At least it's not as dull as fitting like a glove

'Cause you're a nightmare that I've not been dreaming of

But I suppose that when push comes to shove

Fine!

I love your stupid face

You tugged Astarion through the city, releasing short apologies left and right to any early-risers you bumped into. He’d tried asking multiple times where in the hells you were taking him, but you never answered. You just shot him a bright smile over your shoulder and kept on running.

Before he knew it, you were at the docks. A light orange hue lined the edge of the ocean, signaling the sun’s appearance. He frowned. “You dragged me all the way out here to watch the sunrise?”

“Yes.” You squeezed his hand. Your eyes were wide and bright and filled with overwhelming glee. “You never got to see it last time you were here. But now you can!”

He scoffed, a grin teasing at his lips. “Darling, we could watch the sunrise from anywhere. We don’t need to be exactly here to do so.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, no, but it’s more about the principle of the thing. You didn’t get to see that sunrise and say goodbye, but now you can.”

Red eyes scanned the horizon. Oranges and yellows flooded from the ocean-line, chasing away the dark blue of night. He couldn’t deny it was beautiful, but…

He swallowed, frowning out at the sea. He couldn’t look at your face as he asked, quietly, too afraid to actually put the words out there, “So this is goodbye?”

The edge of the star poked her head out. He’d enjoyed watching the sunrises and sunsets during your adventure. He would welcome her touch onto his skin every day, grateful for even just a brief moment to be able to feel her warmth again after 200 years. And every night he would mourn her loss, a seed of fear planted deep within that any sunset could be his last, before he would be contained to the shadows forever. He never got to savor the last one. The one time he wasn’t prepared to go gracefully into that night.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you whisper back. If you hear the shuddering breath he lets out, you don’t say anything. If you see the tears building at the corners of his eyes as he turns to look at you, you don’t point it out. “I can stay. With you. If you want.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.” But I wish I could. He wants nothing more than to be selfish. To take every single scrap you offer him and give nothing back.

You release his hand only to better tangle your fingers together. Your thumb runs along his palm. “You wouldn’t have to.”

“You’d be living in the shadows most of your life, even with this,” he lifts the edge of the cloak to make a point.

“Okay.”

“You wouldn’t be able to go on adventures. You wouldn’t be able to find someone else, have a family, live your life.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so willing to give up everything for me?”

You raise your free hand to his cheek. It’s haloed by the red-orange light of the sun. He hates the way he leans into it without a second’s hesitation.

“Is it so hard to believe that I’d stay because I want to be with you?”

He opens his mouth, shuts it again, and tries to find the words. Strained, he chokes out, “Yes.”

“My lovely little star, even without the cloak, I’d stay in the shadows with you for eons. Adventure would be empty without you by my side. There is no one else I could bear to put up with besides you.”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes. It’s hard for the words to sink in, but he urges them to. Staying with him would not be a burden. He is not a burden. He holds your hand to his cheek, pressing it tighter against his skin. By the time he opens his eyes again, the sun is halfway risen.

“I’m not good at… this. Whatever this is. I have no idea how to do anything more than what I had to do. I have no idea what will happen.”

You smile. “Now that sounds like an adventure.”

He chuckles. The knot in his heart loosens. When had you turned from an annoying thorn in his side to this? How long ago had you wormed your way into his soul? What would he do without you?

He feels like he’s just been thrown downstream - caught in the current and waiting for it to burn. He’s uncertain as he leans forward slightly, experimentally. You let him come to you; you wait patiently and smile at him encouragingly until he rests his forehead against yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

The sun warms his skin as he lets go of the guilt holding him back. He’s a mess. He’s still working through his emotions with Cazador, trying to find footing amongst the spawn in the Underdark, trying to be good enough. And here you are saying he already is.

He catches your lips and allows himself to forget for the briefest moments that this is a terrible idea. How can he possibly think this is wrong when you sigh into his mouth and pull him closer? How can this possibly be wrong?

The reds, oranges, and yellows fade from the sky. Bright blue dominates the sky. And everything is okay.

---

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wileys-russo · 8 months

Note

idea! you and Alessia meeting in Ibiza and she’s got the hots for you but you play hard to get? but a cute happy ending where they eventually get together

such a low quality pic but she looks so 😮‍💨🤩 criminal we didn’t get more Ibiza content

bodyslammer II a.russo

alessia was dancing like a mad woman beside lois in the poolside beach club, her carefree good mood fueled by many cocktails and a lack of impending stress now that she had finally secured a new contract. no longer needing to stress over what her future career in football would look like.

it had been years since she had been able to take a proper break and go on holiday, and to do it with the girls she grew up playing football with and hardly ever got to see all together only made it all the more enjoyable and easy for her to let loose.

she’d made herself a promise to stay off social media as much as possible during the trip away.

with her transfer not yet announced she knew the world would continue to spread rumours and speculate over every little thing, and alessia was determined to enjoy the week off in ibiza in ignorant bliss before returning to reality.

“less i’m gonna grab another one! you good?” lois yelled to her, cupping her hand around her ear due to deafening house music pumping around them. “yeah i’m still going!” alessia confirmed, yelling back and holding up her drink she’d only taken a few sips out of, the shorter girl beside her sending her a toothy grin and thumbs up before melting away into the crowd.

looking around and spotting the rest of their group not too far away alessia started to make her way over there, mumbling apologies as she elbowed her way through the throng of drunken party goers.

she had almost made it to her friends when she felt someone slam into her back, sending her hurtling forward and meaning her own body smacked into someone else’s, her drink going all over them as alessias eyes widened.

she opened her mouth to immediately ramble out a hasty apology but as the girl she’d just accidentally swilled turned around alessia seemingly went mute, apology drying up on her tongue before she could make it.

the girl was gorgeous, and it had alessia feeling light headed in a way she knew wasn’t just the alcohol currently pumping through her.

“i am so so sorry!” the blonde finally managed to spit out, the mystery girl simply grinning at her. “don’t be. i’d never wear anything here i didn’t expect to be covered in some sort of liquid, its like a zoo in there!” she laughed nodding behind alessia to the thickening crowd of sweaty bodies building behind her.

“you’re telling me, though i think whoever just rammed me might have actually realigned my spine?” alessia joked, stomach fluttering as she was rewarded with a loud bout of laughter from the girl in front of her.

“sounds like you should go thank them! chiropractors don’t come cheap you know.” the girl teased, her nose scrunching up as she grinned and alessia once more swooned.

“can i buy you another drink?” the blonde moved a little closer due to the noise and offered sincerely. “you’re offering to get me a drink when you just spilled yours?” you asked with an amused smile, alessia’s cheeks flushing red with embarrassment as she nodded none the less.

“you’re cute. i should go find my friends before one of them disappears in there, once calvin harris starts later i fear i may not ever be able to get them back.” you’d grinned, and before alessia could even say another word you’d pressed a kiss to her cheek and you were gone, leaving the blonde tenderly touching her face which burned where your lips had just been.

with a deflated huff she dumped her now empty cup onto a nearby table and continued on her way to find her friends, throwing herself down onto a sun lounge.

“woah now! we’re in ibiza baby, why the long face?” anna asked as she sat down beside the blonde. “i bumped into a cute girl, spilled my drink all over her and didn’t even get her name before she dissapeared!” alessia groaned, dragging her hands down her face before flicking her sunglasses off the top of her head and sliding them onto the bridge of her nose.

“i’ll say it again we’re in ibiza less! there’s loads of fit people around, go find someone else to dance and flirt with!” anna shouted, handing the blonde her drink to finish off and running away after taylor who snatched her sunglasses off her head.

sculling the last few mouthfuls of the lukewarm tequila alessia winced at the alcohol burning it’s way down her throat before deciding to heed anna’s words.

she grabbed lois’s hand as her friend returned, dragging them both back onto the dance floor.

but hard as she tried to dance and drink the afternoon away to forget you, you were a thought that consistently lingered in the back of alessia’s mind.

which is why when she heard someone call out her name and quickly turned, knocking into someone who stood a lot closer than she had bargained, alessias hands quickly steadying them as they slipped, a smile tugged at her lips seeing she had once again bumped into you, literally.

“i’m beginning to think you’re doing this on purpose now!” you teased, alessia instantly noticing you’d ditched the top she’d spilled her drink all over last time and your top half was now only just covered by a bright green bikini. it took all of her willpower to focus her eyes on you and not your partially exposed chest.

“no i think this time’s on you!” alessia grinned, her left hand resting on your waist where she’d grabbed at you to stop you from falling over. “alessia.” the blonde removed her hand from your side and held it out with a beaming white toothed smile as she introduced herself.

“then consider us even!” you winked, cheekily snatching her drink from her right hand and once again melting away into the crowd.

“hey! you pinch my drink and i don’t even get to know your name?” alessia didn’t let you get away so easily this time, shouldering her way over to you and slinging an arm lazily around your waist to stop you from running away again.

“i believe in fate alessia, so let’s see if this happens again then and maybe you can get my name if you’re lucky.” you shamelessly flirted, sending her one more wink and again kissing her cheek before charging off after your friends into the crowd.

“unbelievable.” alessia threw her head back with a groan before hands fell to her shoulders and her friends surrounded her, dragging her away with them as the sun began to set, bathing the cluster of drunken sweaty bodies below in a golden orange glow.

deciding that it clearly wasn’t meant to be, alessia didn’t even know your name let alone if you were into girls, she forced you once again to the back of her mind, throwing down shots and cheering loudly as they announced calvin harris.

“let’s go!” hands intertwined with hers as her group pushed in closer toward the stage, alessia almost tripping over her own feet she was tugged aggressively into the crowd, though she waved it off with a tipsy laugh as she hugged her friends and whooped loudly as the familiar bass started to boom beneath their feet.

the set was halfway through when alessia once again spotted you, huddled a few feet away inbetween a group of girls and throwing your head back with a laugh as one of them poked at you, twirling you around and forcing alessia ignored the weird jealous clenching of her stomach at the sight.

she heard her friends yell out for her as she began to break away from them, fueled by tequila shots and liquid confidence she shrugged off their hands and made a beeline toward you.

unbeknownst to alessia you’d already spotted her a few moments earlier, yelling in your friends ear that the girl you’d been flirting with before had indeed found you again like you hoped.

which was why it came as no surprise to you when your best friend twirled you around, “accidentally” shoving you backwards and sending your body hurtling into alessia’s whose hands again grabbed protectively at your hips to stop you from taking the two of you down onto the ground.

“we simply have to stop meeting like this.” you grinned, your friend winking at you from behind the blonde and holding her drink up in a silent cheers before turning away back to your group.

“third time seems the charm then, i’m alessia.” the taller girl wasted no time introducing herself again, knowing it meant you would need to finally reveal your own name.

“so you already said.” you teased, purposefully not giving in to what you knew she was after and watching the girl in front of you shake her head with a knowing smirk.

“it’s not nice to lie, i believe you said if this happened again i’d finally get your name.” alessias body pressed in closer to yours, her hand moving to sit at the small of your back as your own stomach now fluttered.

“I said if you were lucky!”

“well i’m certainly feeling lucky. if i do get your name then maybe you’ll be forgiven for stealing two drinks from me.”

“stealing two drinks? i think you’ll find i’m the one whose still owed an apology bodyslammer!”

“give me your name and maybe you’ll get a third drink and an apology.” alessia bargained, tilting her head with a sly grin as you shook your own in amusement.

“y/n.” you finally revealed, someone knocking into you from behind meaning you were thrust even closer into alessia, both of you now chest to chest as you both shared a smile, clearly not minding.

“come on then bodyslammer.” you grabbed her hand tugging her with you as alessia laughed at her apparent new nickname, the music getting louder and louder as pushed deeper into the crowd.

alessia tensed in surprise as you stopped and grabbed her hands, placing them on you as you started to dance, purposefully pressing yourself into her.

recovering from the brief shock the blonde wasted no time in pulling your body tightly into hers, the two of you grinding against one another to the beat, surrounded by hundreds of drunken party goers all doing the same.

by the third song you’d turned so the two of you were now dancing face to face and alessia couldn’t help but find her eyes flickering down to your lips every few seconds, a habit which didn’t go unnoticed to you as your arms wrapped around the back of her neck.

the two of you now locked eyes and you nodded reassuringly as the taller girl leant down but paused briefly, craning your neck to meet her halfway, both of your stomachs doing backflips as your lips met.

neither one of you sober it didn’t take long until the kiss became a little sloppy, alessia ramming her tongue down your throat as you held back a moan and forced yourself to pull away.

over her shoulder you noticed one of your friends frantically waving toward you, struggling to hold up your best friend who had clearly had too much to drink, signalling they were leaving.

leaning in again you shouted your phone number into the blondes ear, removing her hands from where they’d wandered dangerously low down your body and striding off toward your friends without another word, leaving the striker positively dumbstruck behind you.

“i better get a message bodyslammer, you still owe me that third drink, and an apology!” you turned to call out teasingly toward her, alessias once defeated expression quickly brightening as she scrambled to pull her phone out of her bag.

and it was safe to say you most certainly did get a message, and it was far from the last you saw of the blonde.

#woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso imagine #engwnt #woso blurbs #fic recs #woso community #wwc23

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celestialwhoree · 3 months

Text

Bourbon 🏜🥃

You linger somewhat awkwardly in Simon's kitchen, eyes darting about to take everything in whilst you run the pad of your forefinger over the ridges of the glass which you currently sip from. The newcomer seems to observe you with something you could almost see as appreciation, chocolate eyes flitting from your head to your booted toes.

"Nice place." You hum, trying unsuccessfully to break the silence, pulling the sleeves of your shirt over your palms. "Got it cheap." He nods, turning back to the casserole dish which he warms through on the stovetop. "Everything here is cheap." The sound of your voice comes out so unintentionally bitter that you force yourself to clear your throat as you stare at him with a flush overtaking your cheeks, suddenly intrigued by the contents of your glass.

"Haven't seen you 'round." Simon observes, taking the pot from the stove and placing it on the dining table, reaching too easily to the top cupboard over the sink to withdraw two bowls, sliding them across the table whilst you automatically fill them with the casserole. You can't help but to hum in satisfaction when the steam finds your nose and makes your stomach growl.

"Don't get out so much." Your voice fills the kitchen as he stares at you, handing you a fork. "Too much to get done at my place. Tryna get ready for when summer starts proper."

"It's June." The soldier before you chuffs, and you think perhaps he raises an amused brow beneath his balaclava.

You give a noncommittal hum at that, settling in the chair opposite him and pointing at the hulking figure hunched over the table with your fork. "July's when it gets real hot. Days get longer." You advise, taking an appreciative bite of your own cooking, lips kicking up in a smile when he gives a nod of enjoyment himself. With the balaclava rolled halfway up his crooked nose, you can't help but appreciate more than just his quiet company, but also the pronounced bow of his lips and the strong set of his jaw, shadowed by just barely grown out stubble and a wry smirk.

"Good to know." He grunts before taking another mouthful of his food whilst you take a long sip of bourbon to distract yourself from the off-putting sensuality of his movements.

"Marlene saw you at the body shop. You fix cars or sum'n?" "Marlene?" Simon nearly chokes at your bluntness before his surprise turns to amusement at how you're practically more socially inept than he is.

"Marlene. Pretty, blonde, talks like she's verbally incontinent? Flits around Frank like a moth to a flame?" "Frank?"

"Hell." You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.

"What?" He grunts with a chuckle that has your heart doing flips against your ribs.

"You know anyone here?" "I know you." That wry smile pulls at his lips again and you think that if he keeps looking at you like that you'll either puke or cry - or wind up on your knees - which you'd really rather not be doing when you've known this guy all of five minutes.

"Frank's a mechanic, works at the bodyshop, which Dean owns. Marlene is Frank's girlfriend - and the biggest gossip on this side of the equator."

"Right - and Marlena-" "Marlene." "Marlene told you I fix cars?"

"No. Marlene told me she say you at the body shop and by the state of the Chevy outside I put two and two together."

He gives a thoughtful hum at that, looking over at you with a glint in his eye before washing down his last bite with a swill of whiskey.

"I'm no mechanic but I know a thing or two." "About old cars?" You can't tamp down the obvious hope in your voice as you stare up at him in a way that makes his stomach tighten.

"How old?" "I got a '69 fastback. S' a mess and I got no time to look at it properly. Not even too sure where to start."

"I'll come over and have a look tomorrow." Simon grunts, leaving no room for argument as he goes back to eating whilst you stare like he's just told you he's actually Superman disguised as a very handsome, rugged military man.

"Eat your dinner."

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Steve heads outside at about 10pm, hoping that the frigid night air will wake him up a bit. He’s conscious of the fact that he’s hardly been in the party spirit, trying and failing to stifle a yawn behind the lone bottle of beer he’d sipped at before abandoning it on Robin’s kitchen counter.

It’s less a New Year’s Eve party, he thinks, and more a relieved exhale. An I’m glad we’re all here kind of party.

There’s a swing bench out on the porch, and once he sits down, he kicks the whole thing back with his feet, the movement sending more fresh air his way. It turns his forearms to gooseflesh but does little to banish the drowsiness, as if it’s somehow been waiting all year to be felt…

“Hey,” comes a voice, and Steve startles back to awareness; Eddie is suddenly sitting down beside him. “Thought you’d absconded, Harrington.”

Steve smiles at the word—“You talk like you’re in a book, dude,” he’d teased earlier that evening, when Eddie and Robin were taking exaggerated swills of boxed wine, pretending to be sommeliers. Eddie had adopted a plummy accent, went on about “heady aromas” and “full bodied complexity” until Robin snorted wine out of her nose.

“Ah, Steve, Steve, Steve,” Eddie had said in delight, “that’s part of the fun, darling.”

And it was still delivered in that stupid accent, all part of the game, but it didn’t stop Steve from feeling a glow in his chest that had little to do with the wine they ‘sampled.’

Now Eddie’s voice is back to normal, if a little softer than usual, like he doesn’t want to disturb the stillness out here. “Thought I was gonna have to look for a glass slipper or something,” he goes on, and it takes a moment for Steve, lulled by the gentle cadence of Eddie’s words, to get the reference.

When he does, he snorts. “Bit early for that. But at this rate…” And he yawns again as he speaks, aiming for a self-deprecating shrug. “At this rate, I’m sorta doubting I’ll make it ‘til midnight.”

He’s expecting Eddie to lean into the teasing, call him ancient. But instead he just looks over with a fond smile and says, “I’m not surprised, man.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not like I’ve really done anything.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Steve gives another shrug. “It’s the holidays, dude, not exactly taxing.”

“Nah, that’s not…” Eddie shakes his head slightly. “You can’t see it, huh?”

“Can’t see what?”

There’s a moment where Eddie just considers him. “Steve Harrington,” he drawls, almost like it’s a little song, like Steve is the one who’s a character in a book. Like he’s someone admirable. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you, like, stop even once. And at first I thought…” He tilts a little closer on the swing, making it creak. “Like, ‘oh, that’s just how he is when the world’s ending’, right? But no. You’re like that all the damn time.”

Steve is far too tired to work out what ‘like that’ even means. He chuckles quietly, rubs at one of his eyes. “And, what, I can’t even keep going to see in the new year?”

“Eh, time’s a construct.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Steve says with absolutely no bite to it. “Midnight countdown is the one time when it matters.”

“Well.” Eddie nods his head as if to say fair point. “We could time travel.”

Steve smirks. “Oh, yeah? You park the DeLorean somewhere?”

Eddie grins. “Nope. It’s—” He stops, smile fading just at the corners, like he’s suddenly a little shy. “Okay, it’s kinda stupid. Like a family thing, I guess.”

“Lucky for you that I like stupid,” Steve says lightly—doesn’t really know how to say that he secretly loves hearing about quirky family traditions, sometimes feels like he can live vicariously through them.

(The last New Year’s Eve he’d spent with his parents had been in New York, and when they were getting a cab back to the hotel, his mom had said that he couldn’t fall asleep because they were sharing the ride with some business partners; it would be embarrassing. He’d spent the journey pressing his forehead against the cold condensation on the car window, fighting sleep.)

“So,” Eddie says, “every year since I was, like,” he gestures with his hand comically low, nearly touching the ground, “Wayne always let me stay up for New Year’s, and it blew my tiny mind ‘cause I was never tired. At all. And then, I think I was, what, ten…? Something like that. And I figured it out.”

“What?”

Eddie leans forward conspiratorially. “Sneaky bastard wound all the clocks forward.”

Steve laughs and laughs. “I love your uncle.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, he’s something else.” Then he softens. “We did it tonight, before I came here. Early midnight countdown.”

And there’s a weight to that, like Eddie can hardly believe that he got to be there, to see the tradition continue.

Then Eddie blinks, and the heaviness is gone. “How about it, Harrington?” He pushes back his shirt to reveal his wristwatch. “Wanna try it?”

Steve smiles. “Sure.”

And he watches as Eddie fiddles with the watch until it reads as being a minute before midnight; and it’s silly, he knows they're not really time travelling, but he can’t help feeling that there’s some magic involved anyway. Like there’s suddenly a little pocket of the world that’s just their own.

They count down from 10, and then Eddie does a hushed imitation of fireworks going off, which makes Steve laugh again.

“Hey, Eddie,” he says. “Happy New Year.”

And suddenly it sounds like more than that—sounds like we made it and we’re safe.

Maybe Eddie hears all that, too, because there’s a sheen to his eyes that can’t entirely be blamed on the Christmas lights. “Yeah. Happy New Year, Steve.”

They stay put in comfortable silence. Eddie starts to rock the swing slowly with one foot, back and forth, and Steve knows that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it—probably is hearing a song in his head that he can’t help but follow the rhythm.

And at some point Steve finds that he’s catching himself on the brink of dozing, then pulling back. His eyelids keep…

The softest laugh, somewhere very close. “Oh, Steve,” Eddie sighs, and Steve can hear him smiling, can hear the fondness shining through. “There you go, big guy.”

And his head is tilting down, down onto Eddie’s warm shoulder.

“Glad you’re here,” Steve just about manages to say.

Through a dreamy haze, he feels a hand brush across his forehead; an arm around him, so he doesn’t fall. “Ah, sweetheart. So glad you’re here, too, you’ve got no idea.”

And then he’s melting into sleep, right through the gentlest turning of the page from one year into the next.

#steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie

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mcflymemes · 6 months

Text

INQUISITION PARTY BANTER * assorted dialogue from dragon age inquisition

you... actually look like that?

thank you for remembering. sometimes people forget me.

it's interesting watching you. the way you carry yourself when you use magic.

why are you so angry at your father? he wants to help and you know he does.

no one needs to see my arse.

you're set on being sad forever.

remember, do not use it like a sword.

i'd just eat the cheese.

always knew you were up to something.

you didn't always have a beard.

sometimes love isn't enough.

there were so many wonderful hats.

you're happier now, [name].

you have so many feelings.

i am uncertain whether to believe you.

the world doesn't make sense to them. it's too real.

you're right about that. they would.

do you need to eat? or sleep?

you would stop it if you could.

i can't tug it loose without tearing it.

stop. it isn't about you.

i believe i can work with that.

you have other things to carry.

you're serious, aren't you?

you let it keep hurting because you think hurting is who you are.

it is because you think you have to?

you ask a lot of questions, [name].

why be ashamed? power should be respected, not swept under the carpet.

i'll have to steal that one.

hey, when this is all done, if you ever need my help for anything, you just ask, all right?

maybe you're not a complete moron.

we were having a moment, and now you've ruined it.

i can't believe you drank that swill at the tavern.

i'm well aware you lied to me.

that is... remarkably decent of you.

i don't want to think about that right now.

you need a hairbrush.

when you charge at them, you make them hit you.

i'm curious about you. i had no idea something like you was possible.

how do you want to be remembered? valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo?

it's not easy finding people willing to shoulder such a terrible responsibility.

it's not such a terrible thing. some of my best friends are murderers.

who's judging now?

i know your kind.

i know that what comes out of your mouth is the same drivel that comes out of theirs.

careful i don't club you on the head.

if i had something to say, i'd say it.

if we're going to fight at each other's side, we need to get along.

enough, both of you.

you said i could ask you questions.

how do you get your hair to do that?

do you think we could ever be friends?

killing him won't make anything better.

if you really cared, you could ask.

you caught the eye of a young woman in that last village.

i just need to know you're capable of higher thought. for my own comfort.

i question your reasons for being here.

my reasons for being here are the same as yours.

i think that's the first time i've heard you admit anything is complicated.

what made you change your mind?

i will try to be more like you.

you should learn to watch your back.

i mean. could be naked more. that'd be better.

beardy people are supposed to be jolly.

why are you complaining?

you're smirking again.

right, here we go. what is it from you?

there is no need to tell anyone that.

does yelling while we're walking around count?

stop pointing that at me!

you need a drink or something, you tell me.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask memes #ask meme #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #mcflymemes

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baldurs-gape · 4 months

Text

Silence

There was a lot Cazador had done over two hudred years. A lot he had taken away, beaten out of or simply tainted to the point that Astarion no longer took pleasure in something. But the one thing he never could fully extinguish was Astarion's tendency to be vocal about anything and everything, usually in the form of complaining.

The tadpole and the sudden freedom was difficult to trust so Astarion kept to safe habits. He didn't miss the appreciative looks his newfound companions sent his way. As little as he was worth, Astarion knew that his value lay in his looks. Cazador had been kind enough to teach him that, had made sure he was well-built, always looked appealing to as many as possible. The price for failing was high enough that Astarion also put a lot of care into learning how to look his best.

"We're not seriously having onion, cheese and the red swill you call wine again, are we?" Astarion sighed as the group settled around the campfire.

"Don't like it, don't eat it." Lae'zel shrugged and glared at him. "Good luck foraging in the forest in the dark for something better."

Seizing the permission, Astarion sneered back as he stood up. "Fine. I'm sure I can do better." He did. Drained a whole boar and spent half the night on his back, so full that his stomach actually hurt as it stretched around so much blood.

It was the start of something. Insidious and slow in a way Cazador never had the patience for, not when it came to Astarion. The phrase "shut up, Astarion" became a daily motto to the point the others were beginning to chuckle about it. He'd heard it plenty enough before, Cazador often told him to quit his whinging. The other spawn were also prone to ignoring him. But that had been a different situation. Despite living through it for so long, Astarion knew, deep down, that it wasn't right. Cazador was just one man, one tyrant who controlled Astarion like a puppet, while the other spawn were all bitter, scared and trying to survive. To be told to shut up by them was like being stung by a wasp and being surprised about it. With his newfound allies though? Astarion had no such excuses to hide behind.

"All I'm saying is that we could go back to camp for a nice rest," he grumbled.

"Shut up and keep moving." There was a growl to Wyll's voice as he marched on at a relentless pace. It was all very well that he could continue but Astarion was tired, hungry and not in the mood to play pretend being a hero. Alas, outnumbered as he was because the others didn't slow down either, Astarion had to keep walking or risk being left behind. As it was, he didn't dare leave the safety of the group, fear of Cazador finding him was still too high.

The longer he spent at camp, the more chances he had to feed, especially as the others stopped paying him so much attention.

"Freedom suits you," Shadowheart called as he washed his shirt. "Made you softer."

Glancing down, Astarion had to think very quickly to hide his true feelings. "Darling, are you calling me fat?"

It was true though, there was a bit of give to his stomach, no longer flat and the muscles clrealy visible under his skin. Cazador would have called him fat for that, undesirable and worthless. Maybe the rest of the group were less interested in him because he wasn't appealing anymore and Astarion grit his teeth in resolve so hard that he almost missed Shadowheart's reply.

"Oh do be quiet. You know what I mean."

He didn't though. Or rather, he did but wished he didn't. That night Astarion didn't go out to hunt. He went hungry the next day. And the next.

By the time his true nature came to light, Astarion was back to his usual self. It was probably what had saved him. As Cazador used to say, it would have been such a shame to rid the world of such beauty, even if it couldn't keep quiet. Part of Astarion hated that Cazador was right, people really were less likely to murder the beautiful.

In the Underdark Shadowheart had turned to him with a lewd smile. "This place suits you. Perhaps it's part of being a creature of the night. It's always night here."

And it was desolate as fuck, devoid of any living creature. So was the Shadowcursed Lands. Astarion was hungry. So very hungry.

"I just want a small nibble," he sighed. "Not even enough for anyone to notice."

"We all need to be on top form, soldier," Karlach muttered. "And it's not like any of us are feeling satiated by any sense of the word. You're not that special."

No, of course Astarion wasn't special. They were all hungry, tired and scared. It was nothing out of the ordinary compared to the last two hunderd years.

Coated in grotesque slime wasn't Astarion's idea of a pleasant time. He wipes ineffectively at his face and flicked what he could to the ground.

"Ruined my shirt. Ruined my hair."

"And you're ruining what little I have left of good will," Gale spat angrily. "Can't you just be quiet for once. I get it, you're a special little vampire who lived in a castle and now has to slum it with the rest of us. But Mystra have mercy, you're making the rest of us feel even worse."

"At least I'm making you feel something. Better than being a forgotten, burnt out waste of talent." Hurt had Astarion lashing out. He hadn't even been talking to Gale, just muttering to himself about his own misfortune. But Gale made a very good point. If he wasn't having a positive impact on the group then he risked being left behind. The more he saw of the world, the more Astarion knew for sure that he wouldn't last long out there on his own. Cazador's spies were everywhere and it was just a matter of time before he was dragged back and punished. It was better to stay quiet and appease his protectors than risk such a thing.

Lifting the curse meant Halsin joined them in their camp. Even stranger, he offered himself up as a meal for Astarion. Hunger outweighed the worry of cost. Astarion knew what he had to offer and acted accordingly. After only a few sips he licked the wound clean and shut before kneeling back.

"You can take more," Halsin offered with heavy lidded eyes. "Don't go hungry."

"I've taken all I need." The lie rolled off Astarion's lips as he patted his flat stomach. Under his shirt his muscles were outlined once again, exactly as they should be. "You've done me a great favour, I haven't had anything as delicious as you in a long time, if ever. How could I ever repay you?"

Halsin smiled up at him. This was it, this was where Astarion traded his body for survival again. Despite knowing this was the outcome when he accepted Halsin's blood, he still dreaded it.

"I was hoping to hear more about your adventures."

The absurdness of the request had a laugh burst from Astarion before he could cover it with something more airy and appealing. "Darling, if you want bedtime stories then Wyll's your man. My talents involve my mouth but a lot less talking."

Still smiling, Halsin shook his head. "Maybe another night then, when you're more comfortable to share some memories."

Such words lingered on Astarion's mind. He hadn't ever been wanted for conversational company. Usually as long as he had one hole stuffed, him companion(s) didn't want anything coherent out of him. Still, it made him hope which Astarion hated so much. But if Halsin was interested then maybe he could try it. Settling by the fire as everyone ate, Astarion listened, waited for his opportunity.

"That ended my attempts at learning to keep the shape of a rat," Gale finished his story and the whole group laughed. "Tara was mortified and I couldn't get the whiskers to retract for a week!"

"Rats were one of the constants in Cazador's castle, no matter how hard he tried to eradicate them." It was a smooth transition, at least Astarion thought so.

"Urgh, spare us the woe and misery," Karlach groaned. "Can't we have just one night where we don't talk about the shit things in life? Let us have a bit of fun!"

Looking around the fire, Astarion saw various nods and heard murmurs of agreement. He knew when he was beaten and Cazador had taught him well. Averting his eyes, he slouched a little, nonchalant yet deferential. "My apologies, I didn't realise my stories about training rats to do circus tricks would be so depressing." Standing up, he gave the group a hollow smile. "Please, enjoy your evening of careless fun away from reality."

As he walked away he heard mutters of "didn't have to take it so personally" and "what a little bitch". The rest of the words he tuned out, not needing to etch into his brain yet more derogatory comments to harmonise with Cazador's words. Walking past his tent, Astarion made his way away from camp, into the dark wilderness. Plopping down on a mound at the edge of a small clearing, he closed his eyes. This was fine. He had changed to suit Cazador's tastes, he could do it again. Not overnight, he needed to learn exactly what was needed of him.

The fact a bear lumbered up next to him should have been a shock. Instead, Astarion stared at it and wondered what he'd taste like to a bear. However, rather than attack, the bear shifted and Halsin stood there.

"Apologies if I startled you, it's easier to find people in the dark as a bear."

"Nothing to apologise for, I should have been paying more attention. Did you need something."

Settling at the base of the mound, Halsin gazed up at the stars. "I was intrigued by rats and circus tricks."

A bitter laugh trickled out of Astarion. "Darling, I did no such thing." Leaning forward, he teased as if imparting some great secret. "Karlach was right, I was going to say how rats all tasted different based on what they'd last eaten. And how Gale likely still tasted just as vile in rat form as in human form. That orb of his certainly sours his appeal."

He didn't expect Halsin to laugh brightly. "I would have loved to have seen his face at hearing that. Do you think Karlach would taste like a fiery pepper?"

Something like delight briefly flitted over Astarion's face as Halsin so easily picked up the thread.

"Well, you're earthy and rich. I think she would certainly have a kick but more like a prank candy. Shadowheart would be a fine aged brandy that has started to turn so it just ever so slightly bitter."

"Lae'zel would taste like pickles!" Halsin blurted out with a wide smile. "And Wyll would be water." It had Astarion actually grinning even as Halsin continued, "My apologies, I do not have the poetic skills you harbour. Leather shoes or wooden clogs are about as creative as I can get with descriptors."

"And yet you're all the more compelling for your upfront honesty. Like a cool breeze on a hot summer night, refreshing yet also mysterious."

The way Halsin flushed was a delight. Without thinking too much, Astarion gave up his perch in favour of scooching down to sit next to Halsin. Their shoulders bumped together and Astarion stayed quiet. He could learn what Halsin wanted him to be. But something told him that all Halsin wanted him to be was himself. A terrifying prospect yet Astarion found himself looking forward to finding out who he really was.

#bloodbear #halstarion #astarion/halsin #astarion x halsin #astarion #bg3 astarion #halsin #bg3 halsin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 11 months

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 2: Meeting

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Welcome to the second chapter of my rework! Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs, my slap daddy Ange, for reading through this chapter for me!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, objectification of women, age gap.

For the first time in a decade, Daemon and Rhaenyra sit together and talk.

She pours him wine, and he drinks in the first true taste of home he has had since arriving. Ah, Westerosi strongwine. None of that watered-down Pentoshi shit. She snickers gently at his expression, watching him as he swills the dark liquid around.

“Is it to your liking, Uncle?” she asks teasingly, glancing towards the cradle as she has been over the past few minutes. It is truly a miracle the boy had not stirred while they were engaged in their battle of wills.

“Hm.” He smiles wryly at her. She does know him well, he supposes. “It’s good.”

The brief moment of levity passes. They stare into their cups for a time, not knowing how to move forward. It is Rhaenyra who makes the first move.

“So,” she begins. “That happened.”

He snorts. He has missed her brazenness. “Quite.”

He takes another swig of the wine, relishing in the fullness of the flavour as it bursts across his tongue. It is unlike him to be so reticent, but he is unsure of what to say, how to possibly put into words what he is thinking.

When were you replaced by a stranger, niece? Where is the girl I used to bounce on my knee at feasts? The girl I used to race across the skies, laughing? The headstrong, haughty creature that I would have once called the other half of my spirit?

When did you leave me behind, Rhaenyra?

Where his thoughts are trapped in his mind, swirling fruitlessly with no hope of release, hers are not.

“I think it’s safe to say that won’t ever be happening again,” she says, looking over at him inscrutably.

He sighs, finally making eye contact with her. “No. I suppose not.”

He expects she is right. But it burns him to have spent so long wishing and hoping for something that would never live up to his dreams. There is an adage there, he thinks to himself, about being careful what one wishes for. It seems the fantasy he had conjured up would only ever be that.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. But we aren’t the same people we once were. And I think you know that.”

“I do.” He takes in her appearance almost wistfully.

She really is beautiful. But life had changed their trajectories irrevocably now. She had made a family for herself, had become a mother, had become something more than he’d ever thought her capable of—and he cannot say the same for himself.

“Does he treat you well?” He has to ask her; has to know she is satisfied with her life before he can let her go once and for all.

“Which one?” Rhaenyra laughs suddenly, wickedly. She knows he knows of the rumours, it would seem.

It shocks him from his stupor, and he guffaws lightly in response.

“Either,” he says. “Both.”

She smiles, looks over at the babe again. From what he can see, the boy is a handsome one, dark hair and pale skin and as bonny as any babe fresh to the world is.

“Laenor is a good man. He has never once begrudged me Harwin; sees him as part of us, even”—she narrows her eyes at him as he snorts at her mention of the Strong boy’s name—“and he treats the boys as his own. Calls them ‘fine Velaryon specimens’. You’d think he actually sired them from the way he goes on.”

Daemon’s curiosity and a twisted desire to indulge in self-flagellation prompts him to ask. “That’s all very well and good, but how does he treat you? ”

“He’s my best friend.” Her voice is soft. “I trust him—more than I’ve trusted anyone. I love him, and he loves me, though it is not the love you’d expect between a husband and wife.”

“I’m glad.” He is, though he smarts at the boy’s new designation as his niece’s prized confidant. He had once taken that role in her life, after all. “And the other?”

It surprises him to see his unwavering niece colour bright red. The part of him that loves her purely is warmed to see such delight cross her visage.

“He is good to me.” Her grin as she glances over at baby Joffrey again tells him all he needs to know. “He loves me, Daemon—and I love him, too.” It is as though she is beseeching him to understand why she had forsaken him.

He does not begrudge her for finding love, not after the way he’d left her so bereft. That’d be too cruel, even for him.

“I’m happy for you.”

Though it is a bitter loss, he can find it within himself to be pleased for her. He senses she has something else to add, but that she is hesitant to broach the subject. Searching for a means with which to tease it out of her, he continues the line of discussion.

“Say—did I not hear something about the Strong lad wedding our very own cousin?”

He is taken aback when the flush on her cheeks deepens further, and he leans in anticipatorily as he realises he has struck upon the correct line of inquiry. There’s something suspicious about her shiftiness, about the glow of her skin and the way she cannot hold his gaze for long.

No… It couldn’t be—

“How is Laena?” he asks, prodding, relishing the look of discomfort on her face.

“She is… well,” she replies hastily, “and is preparing to welcome a third child.”

He baits her to the finish, knowing all too well the reason for her prevarication. “Ah—I’m sure your Strong man is pleased.”

Had she not reddened in his own company, once? Had she not fluttered her lashes and smiled with closed lips in that kittenish, secretive manner whenever he dared step too close? Had she not been incapable of staring back at him, flicking her eyes to his for a moment before departing, face flushing ever brighter with each attempt? A Rhaenyra in love is an easy thing to spot, it seems, even after all this time.

He goes in for the kill. “What of you? Equally as delighted?”

“What?” Rhaenyra’s head snaps up, her tone startled. “What does that mean?”

“It’s merely a question, niece; no need to get so upset.” He pauses, gives her a moment to collect herself. “How long have you been bedding her, then?”

He can see that his niece knows there’s no chance of hedging. She sighs, rolls her eyes.

“None of your business” she says, shaking her head as he laughs his victory.

He had not been expecting her to be quite so adventurous, taking man and woman both as her lovers. But then, he is realising ever more clearly that he doesn’t know this woman before him.

What did I awaken that night in the brothel? he wonders.

Suddenly, the door clatters as someone knocks, startling the babe in his cradle. He begins to cry, and Rhaenyra sighs as she makes to get up.

“‘Nyra!” a man’s voice calls through the wood. “You decent?”

She is now, Daemon thinks wryly. An hour ago, perhaps not—he’d had to lace her into a new gown after the mess he’d made of the last.

“Yes!” She is already taking the child in her arms and bouncing him softly to soothe him. “Come in!”

“Do you have any idea where I can find Luke? Or your si—”

Laenor’s speech halts as he takes in the scene before him and the guest he has found in his wife’s chambers.

“Daemon!” He laughs, striding forward to clap him on the back. Daemon rises and does the same, looking over Laenor as he returns the greeting. The past ten years had served him as well as they had served Rhaenyra. “I had wondered where you’d gone!”

“Merely reminiscing with my niece.” Daemon glances over at Rhaenyra. She wears a look of fond annoyance, and he wonders if this is the normal dynamic between them two.

“Try the library—she took him for his lessons earlier, remember?” Rhaenyra answers Laenor’s previous enquiry, returning the now-soothed baby to the cradle. “And really, Laenor; do be careful with that fucking door. You woke Joff up again.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Laenor reaches over the cradle to brush light fingers along the babe’s head.

Daemon is struck by how practised the scene before him is. The realisation that he has missed more than he can possibly comprehend settles in further and further with each moment that passes, with every word that is spoken between his niece and her husband.

Then, he catches up to the conversation properly.

He frowns. “Who took him?”

“My sister,” Rhaenyra brow wrinkles. “You know—your other niece? You’re getting old, Uncle. Your memory’s terrible.”

“I remember her, you silly woman,” Daemon says, arms folding. How the fuck am I supposed to know that was what she meant? “Small thing she was, when I left.”

I will miss you, Uncle. Even now, it twinges.

You had always been small—too small, he’d thought as he held you for the first time, your tiny body nearly lost in the crook of his arm. You were a slight waif of a child, calling to mind the stories of magic and mystery from the shores of times past, from the very fount of Old Valyria. You were his ‘fairy girl’, ready to depart the lands of Westeros for your enchanted homeland at any given moment.

Such irony, it is, that it had been he to leave you.

Laenor cackles, the sound slightly deranged as he shares a glance with Rhaenyra. Daemon frowns, insulted, though he’s unsure what part of his statement is the source of the Velaryon boy’s amusement.

“Believe me, my Prince”—Laenor shakes his head sardonically—“what I would give to hear men call her that and only that, nowadays.”

“Oh, stop it, Laenor.” Rhaenyra smacks his arm chidingly, moving over to refill her goblet of wine. “If you keep that up around her, she’ll find somewhere else to hide and it’ll be that much harder to coax her out.”

“Our little princess not enjoying her royal matchmaking?”

He is intrigued by the facet of knowledge gleaned about you, his precious baby niece, his sweetling. Ah, but how like you to find the notice of others so unsettling, to be so overwhelmed by an influx of attention that you’d slip your minders to seek a place of temporary respite. He assumes the conversation has turned to the news delivered in that last letter, of the fact that you are seeking out a husband—or rather, being made to, as it now seemed. Ire tics strident along his jaw, threatening to grind his teeth into dust.

“Oh, do call her that,” Rhaenyra seats herself once more. “One more patronising pet name and she’s sure to ride off on that great beast of hers, never to return.”

Laenor is laughing once again, sitting in the seat at the head of the table and grimacing as Rhaenyra shoves his feet off the table. Daemon’s focus is drawn by mention of a beast. Last he knew, you’d not yet claimed a dragon.

“… and when you’re older,” he tells you, hand engulfing your own much smaller one, “you’ll go to Dragonstone and find yourself a hatchling, or a young dragon, or perhaps even one of the larger ones.”

“Like you and Caraxes?” you ask, head tilted up to him as you walk, seeking his assurance. “You got him when—when you were thirteen?”

He grins down at you. “That’s right.” Warm fondness wells when you wiggle happily at his approval. “And I’m sure that when you’re of suitable age, you’ll have your own chance.”

“But—but ‘Nyra got Syrax when she was seven,” you protest, stumbling over your sentence. Gods, does he miss the way your small self had pronounced ‘r’ as ‘w’, an adorable lisp that had lent unwitting comedy to all that escaped your mouth. It is strange to hear the words so carefully uttered, the slow shedding of babyhood made evident through speech. “And I am—I’m nearly four. So I have t—”

“So you have time, riñītsos.” He grows weary of your slow pace and hoists you up suddenly. Little girl, he calls you, and you are so, so little in his hold. You squeal at the motion, clinging onto his neck with tiny arms. “Don’t go rushing toward the future just yet.”

Don’t grow up, he wants to say. Don’t lose what makes you so precious to me.

“But I wanna ride a dragon just like ‘Nyra!” you chirp in his ear, high sugared voice ringing like a bell. “I want to be like you!”

He laughs, squeezing you to him. “One day,” he promises. “One day, you’ll claim yourself a mighty beast, and we’ll go flying together—how’s that?”

“Yeah!”

Unease blooms like first frost along the back of his neck, raising the hairs at his nape. Is there no vow he has broken to the girl you had been? What must you think of him now? To have found a dragon without him…

He pursues this line of conversation, eager to learn more.

“Yes, an awful-tempered wild thing she’s named ‘Afizar’ or some such—do get her to pronounce it for you, because I cannot.” At his befuddlement in expression—what does she mean, ‘wild thing’?—Rhaenyra adds, “I’m sure you would have seen it coming in on Caraxes. He’s usually menacing the skies at that time of day.”

The goliath from earlier. “That’s her dragon?” he asks incredulously. “The bastard nearly tore Caraxes from the sky!”

He cannot imagine his shy, guileless little niece claiming such a savage creature as her own mount. Perhaps he’s underestimated her.

“Sounds like him.” Laenor snorts. “Can’t believe she got that fucker to follow her here from Dragonstone. The Cannibal, if you’d believe. Nearly killed the King with fright when she landed it on Rhaenys’s Hill. Thought he was going to lock her up for the next five years.”

“He nearly did,” Rhaenyra says. “Except, after the beast ate several Dragonkeepers, the only one who could get him to calm down was her.”

The Cannibal? Seven fucking hells. So few had gotten close enough to see the beast in any detail, so it’s no wonder he’d not recognised the dragon earlier. He wonders idly if he can persuade you to introduce him. To be so close to such a force of nature…

“Well.” Laenor stands, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the top of Rhaenyra’s head. “I’d best be off—Luke has training before it gets dark.”

He heads to the door, straightening up his doublet, which has rumpled from the slouch he had been sitting in.

Rhaenyra calls to him as he shuts the door. “Make sure that those boys don’t beat him around like they did the last time!”

He makes an affirmative noise as it closes; his niece sighs at the firestorm Laenor has taken with him as he departed, leaning her head onto the back of the chair and closing her eyes.

He sees now what she has made here, the laughter that has brought lines to the corners of her eyes and the love that pervades the interactions she has with those she cares for. His heart clenches in mourning for the life he missed, the life he will never have with her. They were once reflections of each other. Now, they are strangers, memories to take forth into a new existence. He wants to be bitter, angry, resentful—but he just feels drained. Carved out. Empty. All those years wasted…

“I’d best be going,” he says softly, feet already carrying him to the door.

She murmurs something at him, too low for his hearing to pick up. He turns to face her. She’s smiling at him, though it’s a sad, wistful thing.

“I’ll see you around, Uncle.”

His mouth twists up dryly, accepting the closure as given. She’s beautiful in her wisdom, her maturity, but she’s not his—not anymore.

“I’ll see you around, niece.” He shuts the door on her. On the past.

It is an ending. He can only hope that a new beginning lay somewhere around a nearby corner, waiting to give him a reason once more.

Well—when he said he was looking for something new, he wasn’t expecting it to smack him clean across the fucking jaw quite so suddenly as this.

Daemon spends the next days idly wandering the halls, lost in thought as he considers all that had transpired between him and Rhaenyra. He wars at times between white-hot rage at what has been lost to him and the melancholy of knowing that it—she—was never truly his for the taking in the first place. It strikes him that he might relieve the strain that pulls at his mind and stiffens his joints by frequenting one of his old haunts; but then, he’s not entirely sure he has it in him to sustain his lusts long enough to spill his seed in some nameless whore’s cunt.

A royal gift for the commons to mark my return. The notion amuses him.

Today is much the same—same old bejewelled sycophants looking for leverage with the King and Council, same old perfumed halls barely concealing the ever-present stink of shit, same old serving girls and page boys darting off at the very sight of him, like he is a plague to be outrun—until it is not. The endless monotony is interrupted when he catches the metallic glint of a finely polished breastplate in the sun.

Speaking of shits…

Squinting, he looks across the way to see the staid figure of Ser Cole, Crispin or Colin or whatever his name was. Beating in a knight’s head at a royal wedding wasn’t enough to get the man exiled? he wonders, dubious. The man is standing at the entrance to the garden, staring watchfully in at its occupants, and Daemon can hear the sounds of light chatter and laughter. What the fuck?

Daemon is striding toward the Kingsguard before common sense can rein him in.

“Still here, Cole?” he asks, enjoying the look of thinly veiled vehemence on the Stormlander’s visage. “I’d have thought you’d be an exile after the little stunt you pulled at Rhaenyra’s wedding.”

He relishes in the further lines of tension that spread across his face. Perhaps the only enjoyable part of that day had been watching the knight slay a royal guest during festivities, in front of all and sundry. It was remarkably transparent of him—what man didn’t desire his eldest niece? He wonders if she’d bothered to let him into her cunt, or if he was still pining pathetically.

He refuses to consider the potential that such a thing would make them more similar than different.

“The Queen was charitable enough to advocate for my continued presence, my Prince.” The knight narrows his eyes at him. “Unlike some, I was seen to have use yet.”

Daemon cannot help it. He laughs, impressed and infuriated and enraged by this juvenile upstart from some little-known region of Westeros. Who does he think he is?

“And indeed, you are! A fine guard, truly—of a tree.”

“I am the Princess’s sworn shield,” Cole says hotly before catching himself, reining himself in. The man exhales and returns to that vacant, accommodating stance that had first tickled Daemon with enough amusement that he felt it worth venturing over to have fun.

“How interesting.” Daemon steps closer to the man, forcing him to look up into his line of sight. ‘Tis an exercise of dominance if there ever was one. “I seem to recall you had sworn yourself to the elder one, not the younger; Rhaenyra is safely up in her chambers now.”

For whom else could Ser Cristian mean if not you, his little girl?

In three days, he had yet to encounter you. Always there is an excuse presented via messenger to the expectant ears of the King at mealtimes. Whether it be tutoring, minding your nephews and littlest brothers, or simply nowhere to be found, you are a whisper on the wind, a person in name only. If it were not for the frequent mentions of you made in casual conversation across the Keep, he would think you did not exist at all.

Cole smiles tensely. “Allegiances change.”

Daemon quirks a brow at the admission, not having expected such a sentimental acknowledgement from the knight. A change of loyalty, eh? Well, he shall have to see what it is that has turned Caradoc’s head so. Stepping away from the guard with a mocking little twist of the lips, he treads forward into the garden.

What had long been a place of silent contemplation is now alight with the sound of merriment. A group of young ladies all sit about on laid-out furs, giggling over grapes and sweet-wine. It is an endearing display of girlish delight that would have made any other man smile at the scene before him. Daemon is not other men. Staring upon the scene, he wonders darkly at just how many of them he could persuade to let him slip a hand into their smallclothes, to pry apart their coltish thighs, to wet his cock on their maiden’s blood and hear them scream.

He snorts at the thought. Knowing King’s Landing, I’d wager at least half of these girls have already trysted with some man or another.

He rolls his eyes at the sight of that crotchety old Septa—Marlow, was it?—the very same wretch to have ruled Rhaenyra’s childhood household with an iron fist and stern voice, sitting undercover with a silver-haired girl. At first, he thinks this is you. But upon looking at her closer, he sees the Hightower bitch pasted over Valyrian colouring, limbs too long and spindly, not as comely as your little-girl self had promised to be.

Wrinkling his nose slightly, he realises this must be the smaller one. Helen? Helaenys? He cannot think of her name, and nor does he care to know it. Casting his eye across the landscape, he frowns as he fails to see the form of a second silver-haired girl.

“Your Highness!”

Ah, fuck, his mind supplies. The old sow has seen me.

The hag’s eyes are upon him disapprovingly, and it pleases him wryly that he can at least count upon her to remain unchanged by time. Septa Marlow had never liked him, had constantly reproved Rhaenyra for being taken in by his gifts, his attentions, his flattery. He supposes she was right to be so concerned for her naïve charge.

“You have returned.” She sounds disappointed.

“Septa,” he says, bowing to her, though he’s sure the derisiveness of the movement is not lost upon her. There it is—her eyes narrow, lips pursing as she glares at him disfavourably. The young one tracks the interaction with a tilt to her head, wondering just who had come to disturb the peace of the afternoon. “It is truly a delight to see you once again.” Old cunt.

“Hm.” She turns back to the young girl before her.

No doubt proselytising about the dangers of letting a reprobate like me see so much as a slip of an ankle beneath her skirts, he thinks scornfully.

Once it is clear that is all he will get out of the old bitch, he wanders further into the garden. He smirks in an affectation of gentility as the girls whisper to themselves, staring at him, likely plotting their way into his line of sight.

As he passes the shade of the tree, he receives his first glimpse of you in ten years.

You are laid outstretched on the bare grass in a pretty summer gown of pale violet, so like the gown you’d worn that night, the night he’d left you, and your legs are folded at the ankle. He can see the limbs twine through your skirts, the barest hint of calf and thigh contoured by the dip in the layers of silken fabric, and your wild pale hair—that same untameable mess, artful now where it had been unsophisticated once—spills carelessly in a halo about your head. Your eyes are closed, your smile tipped up to the warming sun, your once-cherubic face lengthened, defined. He tracks the familiar slope of your nose, the arch of newly unveiled cheekbones and plumped lips, a red-mouthed nymphet of a girl become a woman in his absence.

Fucking—fucking fuck—

He cannot stop himself from studying you, tracing the curve of your bared neck—and why is the sight so obscene, gods help him—the spill of your tits regrettably encased in the cut of your gown and the way your little hands clasp together in chaste repose under your bust, highlighting the blooming of your body.

The sight exhilarates him. It devastates him. Who the fuck is this—this Maiden come to life, this princess-shaped, doe-eyed dream of a girl? Certainly not the child he had left behind, for there is nothing gangling or babyish about you now. He is utterly annoyed with himself at having expected some flat-chested, androgynous approximation of that little girl grown up.

He calls your name, and your startled head whips to face him directly. Your eyes open and widen in shock and confusion, a quizzical furrowing of brows disturbing the peace that had smoothed your expression only moments before. You sit up further as he advances towards you, making no move to leap up from your place situated below him. ‘Tis a place for gullible girls with pillow-soft lips and pink little tongues held out in prayer, begging to lap up his milk—but you only stare up at him, an utter lack of comprehension on your face. It is then that he knows, as only a man who’d stolen the virtue of half the ingenues now selling their wares in the Street of Silk could know.

How could he have stayed away for so long when an unspoiled prize such as you awaited a conqueror to snatch her up, to teach her what pleasures could be found in defeat?

How could he have stayed away when you—his littlest princess—awaited your beloved kepa?

“Hello, sweetling,” he says, crouching down beside you.

He feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when your brows uncurl, wet posy-petal lips unfurling into an open-mouthed expression of awareness as you recognise the sound of him, take in the ashen hue of his hair and the long-forgotten features that comprise a familiar face.

“Uncle Daemon?” you ask softly.

Uncle Daemon… you promised. Two images are affixed in his mind’s eye, the you of the past and the you before him now, warping and blending confusingly. It alarms him—excites him—to feel the twitch of his cock in his breeches. How can he debase an affection so pure as the one he bears for you?

And yet—as he looks upon you—how can he not?

Self-reproach stirs in his gut as he takes in the slow-dawning smile upon your face, the look of a little girl who’s favourite long-distant uncle has finally come home.

“I did not know you had returned!” you breathe.

Daemon shifts to sit before you properly, gaze roving. He takes in the tumble of Valyrian-white spilling from your crown, the dusky lavender-bruise of your eyelids, the cinch at your waist and all that damnable skin begging for hands to map its surface.

How did you not know? he wonders. It is surely all the city had been gossiping of since his homecoming.

This is not what he chooses to say. “I did not announce my arrival.”

You nod an acknowledgement, humming gently. Then, your eyes—deep lilac, soft, the same as they had ever been—flick to his. “You have been gone for so long, Uncle.”

A wistful sort of sadness, wrenching, steals the insistence from your voice. All at once, your expression is an echo of the forlorn girl he’d all but abandoned in the chill of evening, wide wet stare and trembling bottom lip and flushed nose, though the present display incites an unnerving pulse of—something—in his lower back, in his groin.

Your words speak to a greater loss than just his absence. Who has taken care of you since I left, my girl?

There is an ever-growing inkling taking shape in the back of his mind that you’ve been as terribly isolated as he has been all these years. Any other possibility seems daft upon reflection. With naught to yourself but a sister and father with their own new families and an old Septa to punish your desire before it is even allowed to spring into fruition, how could you have been anything other than bereft?

“It seems I have.” Though Daemon rails at the injustice of it, of a world in which you had not received every little thing you wanted, his taste for debauchery rules him. Helplessly, his scrutiny falls again to the figure below the face. He spies the hint of a collarbone as it peeks out from under an irritatingly high neckline, the darling swell of tits playing at the game of adulthood before they have been invited to the gathering, the flare of hips shrouded in damnable silks and satins. “You were a little girl when I left. Look at you now!”

At that, you laugh. “I still am.” You smile. “I am not so changed, really.”

He cannot resist but to picture that very same smile, lips wide-stretched and exhilarated as your downy-soft cheek nuzzles between his legs like a cat seeking cream. Little girl, little pet, you could be as guileless as you’d like on your knees, wide-eyed ‘kepus?’ as he tugs his laces undone to reveal his—

Fuck’s sake. He swallows, yanks back the tidal wave.

“Surely not.” His eyes rove again over you, uncontrollable, his hand reaching out to tuck the hair behind your ear before he has truly thought it through. “There’s not a trace of ‘little’ before me, talītsos”—the old pet name springs out unbidden—“but a woman grown!”

The turn of conversation—the turn in his behaviour—makes you uncomfortable. He can tell from the way your shoulders stiffen and your spine straightens, from the way you break eye contact with him and shift away ever so slightly, from the pretty peevish set of your rosebud mouth.

“You know, then? What I have been asked by Papa?”

In this, he sees Rhaenyra—the unwillingness to hedge, the direct line of pursuit—though the uneasiness is new. So too is the lack of delight at the pronouncement; it is the greatest wish of all young ladies to be perceived as mature, coveted, worthy of the attention of men. He knows this from experience. And yet, it seems you crave existence of another kind, a wish for anonymity most unlike the spoiled haughtiness of the highborn.

Strange.

It is frustrating, too, to be countered so early in the game of desire. He’d never had to coax out a maiden for long, the allure of his exterior qualities and his princely title and his roguish charm making even the most pious of virgins a willing whore without much work. He had certainly never had to lead Rhaenyra much, for she was all too eager to follow him to the darkness.

A small part of him is raging at the larger, how could you disgrace her so, how could you ply her with your cad’s tricks, but it is growing ever easier to ignore it. The temptation is too great.

“He mentioned it,” Daemon chuckles at the twitch your eye makes at the knowledge. This is different, a concrete evolution that helps ground him in reality, helps him resist the call of memory and the child you’d been. “Why—are your suitors so terrible?”

You sigh, looking down, twisting your hands in the skirts of your dress the way you did as a child. Like it had been when he’d first set sights on your elder sister, he finds that the comparison is becoming less and less disturbing. A moment to grow accustomed to the idea, he thinks, that is all. Child become woman become lover—it is practically a rite of passage for Targaryens to find their way into the beds of their own kin.

Could I? Dare I? As he stares at you, he finds he knows not.

You glance down at your lap. “I do not thi—”

“Princess!” the Septa calls, interrupting you.

Daemon’s gaze settles on her, the drab crone herself, face like thunder as she watches you both from the path. Her hand is out, ushering you forth. Like a marionette whose strings are being jerked, you stumble to your feet, brush the grass from your skirts—revealing the shape of your arse, and if that doesn’t set off a fresh round of depraved musings—and make for your minder, heeding the call as faithfully as any hound.

Then, you turn back. “Oh!”

You look to him startled, as though something has just occurred to you. You plod back up the hill as if on tiptoes, dainty, dropping to his side. Before his foul thoughts have the opportunity to register such a boon, you press your lips to his cheek, a whisper of “farewell, kepus” and the faint scent of rose oil heralding your departure.

In your absence, his head hurts, catastrophic in the wake of such momentous overhaul. He slumps on the grass, staring off into the distance, disoriented by the revelation of you.

Well. Fuck.

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/105793659

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halfway-happyyy · 2 years

Text

invisible string (rooster bradshaw)

AN: the one where rooster’s about to leave on a mission he doesn’t know if he’ll be back from, and he wants you in every way imaginable. as always, soft feelings ensue! under a cut because there is some 18+ sexual content!

pairing: rooster bradshaw x female reader

side note: rooster has been really fun to write for recently so thank you for all the love and feedback on my other two works 💙

“There’s an invisible string between the two of us,” Bradley Bradshaw confesses over a pint on the eve of mission day.

Struggling against the background hum of the Hard Deck you quirk an eyebrow in question. “I beg your pardon?”

He leans in closer to you; his coarse moustache hairs tickle the delicate shell of your ear, and make you shiver involuntarily. Taking your smaller hand in his, he traces a circle around your ring finger. “There is a string around this finger that connects to mine. You can’t see it, but wherever I go, you go with me.”

He has completely dumbfounded you, and so for lack of anything better to say, and also because you’re in serious danger of telling him just how much you love him you ask, “What color is this mysterious string?”

“Red,” He simply states- as if it were the obvious answer- and swills back the last of his beer.

His umber gaze smolders under the low light of the bar while he watches you; the beer he has just finished is a catalyst for the blush that colors the apples of his cheeks, and which threatens to spread even lower. A sudden, subtle shift in the atmosphere occurs; like moments before the sky rips opens and bleeds rainfall in torrential sheets.

“Rooster?”

He tilts his head to the side, a smirk pulls the corner of his lips skyward- and yeah, he knows.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Take me home.”

It comes out as more of a desperate plead than you were anticipating, and hot flames of embarrassment lick at your cheeks.

He senses the not-so-subtle urgency in your tone, and because he’s always had a rather difficult time saying no to you, he grins from ear to ear and says, “Sure thing, kid.”

The drive home is silent save for the static of the FM radio in the background, and when he rolls up in front of your house eleven minutes later, a breath of pent-up air rushes from your mouth in a soft sigh. Rooster exits the car and makes his way around to your side to open the door. Taking your hand, he leads you up to the front door where he struggles for a moment with the keys, and finally- you’re in the comfort of your front foyer. Kicking off his boots, he leads you by the hand to the bedroom down the hall. Once there, he doesn’t wait a moment before pushing you up against the wall and kissing you like it's his last time.

Because maybe it is.

When he pulls away from you, he’s breathless, his chest heaving from the sudden lack of oxygen. “You really are something else, you know that?”

Tugging impatiently at the hem of his cotton t shirt, you gaze up at him from under long lashes, a sly smile dances on your features. “Oh, shut up and take me to bed, Rooster.”

If he senses the desperation behind that sentence, he makes no mention of it. Instead, he gazes at you for a second before pressing his lips to yours again. It’s a languid kiss that carries with it an underlying frenzy; he wants this as bad as you do and when he pulls away, you are left breathless and utterly yearning for him. His taste on your tongue is so familiar- so intrinsically Rooster- that it causes tears to prick behind your eyes and when he pulls away to study you, his lips glisten with shared saliva. When you ask him what he's thinking of, he offers a half shrug. “This moment- with you, right now, makes everything worth it.”

The late nights. The suicide missions. The missed birthday parties and holidays. Time with you.

You kiss him now because you can’t bear the weight of those words yet- maybe not ever, and your need for him is entirely primal now. He wordlessly rids you of your sundress, pleased to see that your proper undergarments were somehow completely forgotten.

“That’s my girl,” He grins into the muddled air before you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. His warm, sure hands roam your body freely; they find purchase in your hair, moving to your neck, then further down to caress your breasts and- goddamit, if this is the last time, you resolve to commit every second of it to memory. No one has ever made you feel the way Rooster does, and you doubt anyone ever will again.

Bending his head down to suck a nipple into his mouth, he tugs and rubs at your free one with calloused fingertips. You arch into his touch, feeling the weight and friction of his clothed erection as he grinds up against you. Rooster sinks to his knees then, leaving scorching trails of open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of soft flesh between your chest and ribs, while you writhe in anticipation beneath him.

“Rooster…” A low moan claws its way from the hollow of your throat as you watch him hook your leg over his toned shoulder.

When he gazes up at you, his burnt-honey orbs twinkle mischievously in the waning evening light. His kisses are sloppy as they blaze over the velvet-softness of your inner thigh while you squirm with need beneath him. Paying particular and close attention to the ways in which you come apart for him are one of his many strong suits. You reckon he could draw a road map of your body from memory alone; where to kiss to make the prettiest sounds sing from you and where to touch to have you coming apart beneath him. He parts you with ease and without warning presses the tip of his nose to your clit, inhaling your scent. Shaking his head against you, the vibrations spark shockwaves of pleasure that stoke the fire roaring in your belly. He pulls away to lick a long, firm stripe up your slit with the flat of his tongue, greedily lapping at the moisture collected there. Your fingers find purchase in his hair as you give yourself over to the pleasure he's so graciously gifting you.

“Fuck, Rooster…”

Rooster's acknowledgement of your need for him arrives in the form of a muffled groan. He continues lapping at your folds with a pressure and speed that lights a match to the unravelling coil wound deep in your belly. Filthy noises and a seemingly endless array of choice curse words flow freely from you as he helps you near the edge. He pulls away from your all-encompassing heat to push two thick fingers into your soaked core and it's all you can do to keep from falling apart right then and there.

“Always so good for me…” Rooster marvels at you, his naturally husky voice ruined by sheer want. He knows you’re close; can feel it in how tightly wound you are, how hard you’re quivering against him. His head rests close enough to you that you can feel the warmth of his breath where it really matters and suddenly- thanks to the curl of his long, skilled fingers, you tumble head-first over the edge into an abyss of pure pleasure. Stars bloom in vivid fireworks behind the lids of your closed eyes while Rooster holds onto you like his life depends on it; like he's afraid if he lets go, he'll lose you forever.

“That's it sweet girl, give it all to me." He coos encouragingly while you tremble against him.

Rising from his position, the site of his chin glistening with your arousal is obscene and only helps to stoke the fire still burning in the pit of your belly for him.

“I don't know that I've ever wanted you more, sweetheart.” His tone is desperate, almost frustrated, and your gaze travels to the erection straining the crotch of his blue jeans.

“I am yours, Rooster.” You whisper.

And it’s true.

In every way imaginable, you are his.

He strips for you now; knows it’s one of your favourite things to watch, and how quickly it gets you ready for him again. Lifting the cotton t shirt up and over his body, he tosses it onto the pile of other discarded clothing. The sound of metal from his belt buckle as it hits the hardwood floor pierces the too-warm stillness as he shimmies the black briefs from his legs. His hard cock slaps up against his abdomen- a pearlescent string of pre-come hangs from the tip of his swollen head, and your breath hitches at the mere thought of lapping up the salty-sweet fluid there.

“You want a taste of it as badly as I want to be inside of you,” Rooster muses, his orbs blown almost fully black with desire.

You’re about to argue with him- even though he’s not wrong- until he gestures to the bed with a subtle nod of his head, and the words fizzle and fade in your throat.

Bodies slick with sheens of perspiration, you continue to shiver violently beneath him as he inches up the bed to drop his head into the crook of space between your neck and shoulder blade. His kisses lack the fiery intensity from before but are instead tender and lingering, and the notion of it makes you dizzy with hunger for him. He pulls away to straddle your thighs, taking his cock into his fist and stroking it, languidly. You watch him with a hooded gaze, the very image of him exactly like this, will be etched into your memory for all of eternity. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, his normally pale cheeks burn pink with mounting pleasure, and you watch in awe as his head tips back, a pair of pink, full lips part in toe-curling bliss.

And fuck, he’s never looked more beautiful.

He’s working himself up well; another bead of pre-cum glistens tantalizingly at the head of his cock and you swallow hard, the urge to taste it still just as overpowering as before.

“Fuck,” He whines, halting his movements entirely. “Want to be inside of you so bad…” He lowers himself back to you, lining the head of his cock at the center of your wet, hot core. He teases you at first; rubs himself against your slick wetness, and just when you’re about to protest, he sinks himself into you.

“Oh,” You gasp; breathless from the sheer size of him.

Being filled by Rooster is one of those things you know you’ll never forget. It’s impossibly warm and so tight it’s almost painful- but it's also easily the most satisfied you’ve ever been. He goes slowly at first- he's careful to make sure you can feel every inch of him as he stretches you fully. His head drops to your collarbone, and a long sigh emanates his parted lips. “Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

His hips slam home again, causing you to spasm around him at the dizzying sensation of it all. His lips have found that achingly delicate part of your neck again, where they lick and suck and nibble and leave miniscule bruises in their wake.

Mementos.

He ruts into you shamelessly now; the aching push and pull of his cock inside of you has you both breathing heavily, ready, and awaiting the nearing end. Resting on the support of his elbows, his large, warm hands move to cradle your head, and he kisses your temple tenderly. He's close now; steadied movements fall in and out of rhythm, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside of you with each powerful thrust. You arch into him, bettering the angle at which he’s driving into you, and purposely rake your fingernails across the firm flesh of his back. He groans loudly at this particular sensation- his relationship with pain has always been complicated. Tilting his head back, his eyes close and his mouth falls slack with mounting pleasure.

“Tell me sweetheart,” He hisses so low you almost miss it over the sound of him fucking you into literal oblivion.

Dragging a sharp fingernail down the front of his toned chest, you gaze up at him. “Come for me, Rooster.”

His brows furrow, and his beautiful mouth twists up into a tight O. Tossing his head back in ecstasy, he stills his hips against yours and fills you to the brim with his hot release. You'll never be over the feeling of being truly full with him. Utterly spent and still riding the high of post-orgasm haze, his forehead drops to the crook of your neck where he allows himself a moment of respite before slipping from the heat of your core and rolling onto the space of bed beside you. It’s mostly silent in the room while you try to regulate your breathing; the only other noise is the slight pitter-patter of drizzle on glass window panes, and the odd F/A-18 overhead. Rooster turns on his side and gestures for you to turn over too so that he can curl up around you and you oblige him, happily.

After a couple minutes of comfortable silence, you excuse yourself to use the washroom. “When I get back, I want to hear more about this invisible string.”

And Rooster only chuckles lightly before complying. “I’ll be right here, kid.”

He’s lightyears away from you when you return, a pair of large hands steeple together atop of his chest, like he’s deep in thought about something. He’s not gone yet but the mission’s on his mind. How could it not be?

“You alright?” You ask, tentatively.

Rooster meets your gaze and hesitates before shrugging. “For the first time in a really long time, it feels like I have something to lose.”

Crawling back into bed, you take his hand into yours and press your lips to his temple. “You’re going to be back.”

But maybe he won’t.

He leans toward you and kisses your forehead gently. “Lay down, kid. Let me rub your back.”

You do as your told.

“So the string theory goes like this,” He whispers. “Two people connected by the red string are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances.” He pauses to kiss your bare shoulder. "Wherever I go, you go with me."

“That’s how you feel about me?” You swallow hard, emotion thick in the hollow of your throat.

Rooster nods against you. “It’s how I’ve felt about you since the first day, sweetheart.”

When you know, you know.

You waken a couple of hours later to the realization that Rooster is already gone- his side of the bed vacant and cool to the touch. Your throat constricts at the possibility of never setting sights on him again, when something on your hand catches your eye.

He had managed to tie a crimson string to your left ring finger while you slept. A note on his pillow reads,

To my invisible string-

Whatever happens today, I’ve loved you in this life, and I’ll love you in the next.

Hope to see you soon,

Bradley

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun: maverick #rooster bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw imagines #writing #smut #invisible string #all the feels

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 months

Text

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 19 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - With the help of his BAU family, Spencer starts making some positive strides in bettering himself. He and Maeve have a long overdue heart to heart in which they come to a mutual understanding.

A/N - here is the penultimate chapter!

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - hangovers, vomit, Spencer’s bad decision making, swearing, attempted one night stand, tears, BAU team as family, serious conversations, letting go of the past and moving on, talk of pregnancies, long overdue apologies, chapter starts angsty but there is a surprising amount of fluff in this.

WC - 5.9k

Chapter 19 - We're Good

No need to hide it,

Go get what you want.

This won't be a burden if we both don't hold a grudge.

I think it's pretty plain and simple,

We gave it all we could.

It's time I wave goodbye from the window,

Let's end this like we should and say we're good.

Spencer did wake up, but not through lack of trying otherwise. When he did open his eyes, his head throbbed so wildly he felt like someone had it in a vice.

His mouth was drier than the sprawling Nevada desert he’d once called home. His limbs ached violently, his back felt as though he’d been folded in half.

He blinked a few times, trying to work out where exactly he was. He didn’t have any memory past the fourth scotch, after that everything went black.

He was staring at a white surface, possibly a wall or a door which was no more than a foot in front of him, the surface beneath his face was cool and hard, certainly not a pillow.

He’d been laying on his side so he forced himself onto his back and tried to figure out if he knew the ceiling he was now staring up.

It was white with a nondescript light bulb hanging in the centre. A little way to the left there was a large water stain he thought he recognised.

He blinked at it, trying to pull a memory to the front of his fractured brain. Lily was two. Splashing in the bathtub. She threw her little body down so violently in the water she had sent a tidal wave crashing through the entire bathroom.

Spencer had been soaked from his head to his toes. They’d had to replace the old floorboards for porcelain tiles. The kind of cool, hard tiles beneath his back. On the ceiling had been left a large water mark.

He rolled his head to the other side and saw the bathtub next to him. At the very least he’d made it home.

He inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling and pushing himself into a seating position. He groaned, holding his head in his hands.

He’d been hungover plenty of times before but not like this. This felt like the end of the goddamn world.

The toilet seat was up and he could just about see the vomit pooled in the bottom of the bowl. He pulled a face and dragged himself towards it on his hands and knees, shut the lid and flushed it.

Using the toilet cistern he got to his feet, wobbling as he did so. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his hair a complete mess and little flecks of vomit in the corners of his mouth.

He ran the faucet and washed his face with cold water. Not having the effort to brush his teeth right now, instead he grabbed the bottle of mouthwash and swilled an ample amount around his mouth before spitting it out in the sink.

Looking back at himself in the mirror he noticed now he was shirtless. He frowned, closing one eye in an attempt to aid his pounding head. He let his open eye fall down his body to see he was in fact completely naked.

He shook his head, turning to the open bathroom door. He found his clothes in a haphazard trail along the landing leading to his bedroom.

His bedroom, yes, a bed that’s what he needed. A couple of hours of decent sleep should help cure this rotten hangover.

He stumbled through the door, ready to collapse but stopped short when he saw there was already a figure in his bed.

She was awake, staring at him with a combination of annoyance and frustration. Spencer frowned at her, still wobbling on his feet.

“Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry but who the fuck are you?”

“Wow,” she scoffed indignantly. “Just wow.”

Spencer watched through bleary eyes as she got out of bed and started throwing her clothes back on, huffing periodically. He tried to remember where he’d met her, who she was and how she had ended up in his bed but his memory failed him. Once she was dressed again she turned to him and folded her arms across her chest.

“First you can’t get it up and now you don’t even remember me? You’re a charmer.” She rolled her eyes.

“We didn’t sleep together?” He closed one eye again as the room started to spin.

“No,” she huffed again. “You must have drank too much, couldn’t get hard.”

“Of course I couldn’t.” He sighed. “That tracks. Please see yourself out.”

With that he collapsed in a heap on the bed, burying his face into the pillow. He heard her scoff and then her footsteps getting further away. After a minute he heard the front door open and close.

He closed his eyes without protest, not allowing himself to think about how royally he fell off the wagon last night. Maybe he’d never get sober, perhaps he wasn’t able to function without alcohol.

Maybe his kids would be better off living with their mother full time and leaving Spencer to spiral into alcoholism.

Thankfully his brain shut off for long enough to enable him to fall asleep, laying on his front on top of the covers whilst nuzzling the pillow.

When he woke up again, it was with a start, as though he’d been shocked by an electric current. His eyes shot open and his heart was rampantly hammering against his ribcage.

He immediately rolled over in bed, squinting against the onslaught of light through the open curtains. A silhouette stood in the window but he couldn’t work out who or what it was.

“Oh Jesus Christ, Reid,” the voice groaned. “Cover yourself up, please?”

Spencer looked down at his body, still naked and exposed to whoever was in his bedroom. Without much contemplation he pulled the sheet over his lower half and attempted to sit up in the bed.

The shadowy figure got closer and he half thought he was imagining it. He’d lived with his demon so long that maybe they were now coming to life.

When the haze cleared, Emily Prentiss’s face appeared through the fog and she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Emily?” He croaked. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I knocked for like twenty minutes, called you multiple times. I tried the door and it was unlocked so I let myself in.” She shrugged. “By the way, I found your dog shut in the kitchen. He’d almost worn a hole in the door from scratching.”

“Ah shit, I must have forgotten he was in there.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“I thought Tara went with you to a meeting last night?” Emily asked, concern lacing her words.

“She did.” He nodded.

“So what happened? Clearly you’re hungover.”

“After the meeting I went and irreparably fucked up my life.” He pulled a face, pushed his hair back from his eyes.

“What does that mean?” Emily frowned.

“It means I went to see Y/N. I slept with her and then I told her I didn’t really love her and that I only told her that to get her into bed.” He sighed with a shake of his head. “Pretty good night, right?”

“Oh Spence,” she placed her hand on his bare shoulder. His skin was hot and blanched. “You really aren’t yourself lately.”

“No kidding,” he scoffed. “Emily I am utterly lost. I am out at sea with no life raft and I can’t see the fucking shore.”

“You put your feelings over what happened with Maeve on the backburner for so long, it was inevitably going to catch up on you. You met someone, you started to fall for her and then you were reminded of the last time that happened to you. You were reminded of what Maeve did and how much that broke you.” She whispered, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“I’m going to lose my kids if I can’t sort my shit out.” He seemingly ignored her, changing the subject. “Emily, I cannot lose my girls. It will destroy me.”

“You’re not going to lose them.” She gave him one of those looks that always made him feel like she knew something he didn’t. It was hard not to believe her when she looked at him like that.

“How do you know that?” He sighed.

“Because I know you,” she shrugged. “Because you would go to the ends of the earth for Daisy and Lily, you would do anything for them. You raised Daisy whilst working one of the most demanding jobs there is. You raised Lily while your wife was cheating on you. You have raised them both this past year practically alone and they are two of the best kids I have ever met. You are the best dad I have ever met.

You have sacrificed so much for your daughter’s, things much harder than giving up drinking. You’ve got this, Reid, for that I have absolutely no doubt. You will stop drinking, last night was the last drink you ever have, do you understand me? You will go to meetings, you will let me and the rest of the team help you. You will lean on us the way every single one of us has leaned on you at some point in our lives. We’re family Spencer, you aren’t going through this alone.”

His bottom lip quivered and soon a few tears rolled from his eyes and down his cheeks. Sometimes he forgot that they were family. He sometimes thought just because he’d left the BAU he wasn’t a part of that anymore. But family was stronger than that.

“I love you, you know that right?” He sniffed. “I don’t say it enough but I love all of you.”

“That’s the beauty of family,” she smiled. “We already know.”

“I think I’d like to shower and then maybe go to a meeting.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Would you come with me?”

“Of course I will,” Emily nodded. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” He frowned sceptically at her.

“You let me call the rest of the team. I think this is something we should all be together for.”

“Ok.” He nodded. “Ok.”

“I’m proud of you.” Emily smiled as she stood up.

“Don’t be yet, give me a few weeks of sobriety first.” He inhaled, waiting for Emily to leave but she didn’t seem as though she planned on going anywhere. “Uh, Emily?”

“Yes Reid?”

“If you want me to get up you’re going to need to turn around or something. Unless you want another eye full.”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry.” She laughed awkwardly, turning towards the door. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Spencer slipped out of the bed, ignoring the pounding in his head, just as Emily opened his bedroom door.

Another figure stood on the other side, eyes quickly flicking from Emily to Spencer and his naked form.

“Oh jeez!” Luke rapidly put his hand up to cover his eyes. “What the fuck have I walked in on?”

“Did my house have a revolving door fitted without my knowledge?” Spencer cupped his crotch in his hands. “Where do you people keep coming from?”

“I thought we were taking Taco to the park.” Luke groaned.

“Change of plan, Alvez.” Emily laughed at his obvious discomfort. “Let’s go put the kettle on and I’ll explain everything.”

***

An hour later the BAU team had gathered and sat in the back row of the community hall while Spencer took to the stage.

Gathering the troops had been an easy feat. After Emily had told Luke the whole story over coffee she’d sent a text to Penelope simply stating: Spencer SOS and the address of the community centre.

As expected, Garcia had rallied the rest of them and they all met outside of the building in downtown DC.

Emily was closest to the aisle, JJ next to her who was clutching her hand for dear life. Penelope on JJ’s other side was getting the same treatment.

Luke was next to Penelope, his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder. Matt was next to him offering Luke the occasional glance and gentle smile.

To Matt’s left was Tara who drummed her fingers on her thigh until Rossi, on her other side, placed his hand on top of hers to still her.

Seven of the members of the BAU family sat and watched their eighth member awkwardly stand at the podium, take a deep breath and speak.

“I’m Spencer Reid,” he paused briefly to close his eyes for a second or two and then open them again. “And I’m an alcoholic.”

***

Two days later Spencer opened his front door to be assaulted by his daughters throwing themselves at him.

He was clear headed, forty eight hours sober and feeling surprisingly good.

Ok, maybe good was a stretch. He felt fine, average at best. But having his girls home and the grip in which they held him made him feel on top of the world.

“Daddy!” Lily screeched, burying into his shirt. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too dad.” Daisy sighed in content as she spoke.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you two.” He squeezed them tightly, relishing in having them back.

He glanced at Maeve who was standing on the steps behind them, hands in her pockets. Bobby was in his car on the drive.

“Can we talk?” Maeve mouthed at him so the girls wouldn’t hear. He nodded in reply.

“Girls, I think Taco has missed you nearly as much as I have. I think he’s in the yard, why don’t you go find him.” He placed a kiss on both of their heads as they let him go and rushed past him inside the house, screaming the dog's name. “I would invite you inside but I’ve spent most of the last few days packing for the move and the house is a disaster.”

“It’s fine,” Maeve smiled, keeping her hands in her pockets as she sat down on the front step, Spencer doing the same. “The girls said you were moving.”

“It’s time I think. I’m not sure I ever really liked this house.” He chuckled.

“Oh I’m sure you never liked this house.” Maeve laughed too.

“It served a purpose, but it’s time to move on.” He nodded with a wistful smile. “So how was California? The girls seemed like they had a great time.”

“They did, it was so nice to spend that much time with them.” She narrowed her eyes on him, he could see her trying to read him. “How was your week?”

“My week?” He pulled a face. “It was…eventful. Enlightening maybe.”

“You look…tired.” Her eyebrows furrowed a little.

“That’s one word for it.” He exhaled. “I’ve been struggling if truth be told. For a long time. But I’m making some changes, I’m trying.”

“Oh yeah?” Her lip twitched at the corner.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m starting to see things from another perspective. I pushed you away. I was never what you needed me to be.”

“Maybe, but it still doesn’t excuse what I did.” Maeve shook her head sadly.

“It doesn’t. But I think I’m starting to understand. I need you to know I’m sorry for everything I’ve said and done since our separation.” It looked like it pained him a little to admit as much.

“I need to tell you something.” She sighed, rolling her lip between her teeth.

“Did you forget I was a profiler for many years? Not to mention the fact that I know you inside out, even after all this time.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“What?”

“Maeve, I knew the second you got out of the car.” He whispered, eyes welled with tears.

She swallowed thickly, feeling her own eyes brimming.

“The girls don’t know yet.” She sniffed.

“They’re going to be thrilled. Lily’s always wanted a little brother or sister. And you always did want that boy.” A tear crept from his eye but he made no attempt to brush it away.

“There is one more thing.” Maeve sniffed again.

“You’ve had your hands in your pockets since you got here.” Spencer shrugged. “Let me see it, Maeve.”

Maeve closed her eyes as a few of her own tears escaped. She removed her hands from her pockets and brandished the large, diamond ring on her finger.

“Wow,” Spencer croaked, a couple more tears rolling from his eyes. “I’m…happy for you.”

“How much did it pain you to say that?” Maeve laughed through her tears and Spencer couldn’t help but do the same.

“Only a little.” He shrugged.

“He makes me happy.” Maeve nodded, swallowing again.

“And I didn’t.” Spencer sighed.

“Don’t say that.” She reached for him, grasping his hand in her own. “Of course you made me happy. I did love you Spencer. We were just never fated to have a happy ending.”

“I’m starting to think I’m not fated to any kind of happy ending.” He huffed.

“I think you already found it but for whatever reason you pushed her away.” Maeve squeezed his hand.

“Who called you?” He rolled his eyes, knowing this had the BAU all over it.

“Rossi, he’s the only one who doesn’t hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think I might hate Rossi though.”

“Blasphemy.” Maeve laughed. “He’s worried about you, they all are. I’m worried about you.”

“I told her I didn’t love her. I told her I lied to her just to get her into bed. I said some horrible things to her. I told her that I couldn’t risk the girls getting hurt again and she accused me of being a coward. She was right.” More tears fell from his eyes. “The truth is I don’t think I can take another hit, I’m barely holding it together. Isn’t it easier to just be alone than risk that kind of pain?”

“Look Spencer,” Maeve gripped his hand tighter. “I think it’s better to have someone. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s the most painful thing you have to do. Even if it’s the most painful thing you ever have to do. I think it’s better to have someone.”

“Jesus,” Spencer choked on a sob. “Stop making me like you.”

“You don’t like me, you love me.” She chuckled.

“Isn’t that a painful truth?” He laughed too.

“You misunderstand me. You love me,” she repeated, letting go of his hand and getting to her feet. “But you’re not in love with me. Not anymore. You called me the love of your life but we both know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He frowned up at her.

“No,” she smiled with a shake of her head. “We had a great relationship for the most part Spencer. I loved you, I was in love with you. But we weren't the loves of each other's lives.”

“Because yours is Bobby.” He stood up.

Maeve placed her hands on her stomach, not yet showing signs of the life growing inside of her, her ring glistening in the sunlight.

“And Y/N is yours.” She shrugged.

“I’m not so sure.” He shook his head. “But thanks anyway.”

“You’re going to be ok, you have to believe that.”

“I’m trying. Like I said, I’m making changes.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “In that vein, I, uh, spoke to my lawyer yesterday. We started drawing up a new custody agreement.”

“New? As in…” she frowned at him.

“The girls will spend one week with me, one week with you. We’ll switch out the holidays every year. It’s still a work in progress but if it's something you would be interested in…” he trailed off and suddenly Maeve was throwing herself into his arms, with so much force he almost fell over.

He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, accidentally inhaling her shampoo. He thought it might cause him to crumble. But it didn’t.

The smell didn’t breed the kind of sad nostalgia of someone who lost his wife to another man. It was a comforting smell, a familiar smell. It was a reminder that he’d loved this woman but no longer felt that way about her.

The simple smell ignited a hope within him that he and Maeve would one day be able to be friends. If they weren’t already.

“Are you serious?” She squeezed him tightly.

“Yeah, I think it would do us all good.” He stroked her back.

“Thank you, Spencer. You have no idea what that means to me.” She sniffed, pulling back a little so she could look at him.

His hands found her face, cupping her cheeks delicately and brushing away her tears.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” He smiled at her. “Are we going to be ok?”

“I think for the first time in a long time, we might well be.” She smiled back.

“Truce?”

“Truce.” She agreed.

“You should get back to your future husband.” Spencer leaned in and placed the softest kiss on her cheek before letting her go, both physically and metaphorically.

“A part of me will always love you, Spencer Reid.”

“I should hope so.” He teased. “Now get out of here before you make me cry again.”

“See you soon, yeah?” She spoke as she walked backwards down the stairs.

“I hope so. I really do.” He nodded, watching her go.

It was funny really, he’d never realised the extent of the weight of his hatred towards Maeve until he finally decided to let it go.

As he watched her happily slip into the car and kiss Bobby while toying with the new ring on her finger, Spencer felt lighter than he had done in years.

He was happy for Maeve and Bobby and their future child, really genuinely happy for them.

Maybe one day he’d find that kind of happiness. But for now he was content spending his time with his two girls.

***

Spencer focused the next few weeks on his daughter’s and his own rocky mental health. He went to therapy twice a week, took his medication every day and he hadn't had a sip of alcohol in nineteen days.

The girls spent the week after they arrived back from California with him and they took trips to the park, museums and everywhere in between. The second week he let them spend with Maeve even though the new custody agreement wasn’t finalised, he didn’t see the point in waiting.

And the girls loved spending more time with their mom, even Daisy.

While they were at their mom's, Spencer continued packing up the house, going on long walks and seeing his friend’s when he could to help distract himself from the need to drink.

Or the need to call you.

He’d almost called you over a dozen times but every time he went to, he called Emily instead. When he was craving alcohol he called Tara and when he wanted to boot his dog in the face he called Luke.

He knew there weren’t enough apologies in the world to make up for what he’d said to you and the way he’d treated you and it wasn’t fair of him to keep dragging you into his messy life. He loved you, but he needed to let you go.

Maybe one day, once the dust settled and he had a handle on his problems then the two of you might find your way back to each other. If it was meant to be, it would be.

But for now he needed to focus on himself and the girls. Everything else had to wait.

The day Daisy and Lily were coming back to Spencer’s for the next week, he met Maeve and his daughters in the park.

The girls were having a picnic with their mom while Bobby was at work, Daisy laying on her front, head in her phone, most likely texting Cam. Lily was playing with her new favourite stuffed toy, a surfing otter she had gotten in California.

The girls didn’t know he would be joining them, the four of them hadn’t done anything together since Maeve left. She saw him approach them and smiled at him.

“Hey girls, look who it is.” She nudged them both by their shoulders.

Lily looked up wide eyed from her otter while Daisy took a second or two longer to tear herself away from her phone. His eldest sat up and frowned at him while his youngest grinned the brightest smile in his direction.

“Daddy!” Lily squealed.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

“Seemed like a nice day for a picnic.” He shrugged as he got closer, slowly lowering himself down to the blanket on the grass, next to Maeve, giving her a smile.

“Nope,” Daisy suddenly shook her head. “Nuh uh.”

“What?” Maeve frowned at her daughter.

“You two are not getting back together. No way, please god.” The teenager sounded incredulous.

“What on earth would make you think that?” Spencer chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“I have not once seen the two of you smile at each other since you split up.” She was frowning at them.

Lily simply looked between them in confusion.

“We are most certainly not getting back together.” Maeve laughed.

“Yeah, never gonna happen.” Spencer chuckled too.

“Oh thank god.” Daisy breathed a sigh of relief.

“Would it really be the end of the world if your parents got back together?” Maeve was still laughing.

“Yes.” She pulled a face. “I love you guys but you are so much better apart.”

“I mean, I can’t say I disagree.” Spencer shrugged.

“Same here.” Maeve nodded. “And you know Bobby and I are getting married.”

“I’m going to be a bridesmaid!” Lily cheered.

“I was just making sure you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“You don’t need to worry, your mom and I are pretty set on this whole divorce thing.” Spencer insisted.

“Well something is going on.” Daisy’s gaze shifted between her parents.

“I do have something to tell you and I wanted your dad to be here when I did.” Maeve instinctively placed her hand on her belly. “Daisy, Lily, you’re going to get a little brother or sister.”

Lily’s whole face lit up and she started rocking back and forth where she sat.

“I won’t be the little one anymore?” She beamed.

“No sweetheart you won’t.” Maeve ruffled her hair.

“Can I have a brother? I don’t want another sister.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Uh, it doesn’t work like that I’m afraid.” Maeve laughed. “Daisy, do you have anything to say?”

“Not that I can say in front of her.” Daisy shot her sister a look.

“Why?” Lily whined.

“Because you’re a baby.” Daisy hissed.

“I am not!”

Maeve and Spencer exchanged a curious look, unsure of what their eldest wanted to say. Spencer sighed before turning to Lily.

“Lil, why don’t you go play on the jungle gym? I’ll be right over.” He asked her softly.

She pulled a face like she might argue but then she huffed and reluctantly stood up.

“Fine,” she sassed him. “But I am not a baby.”

Spencer and Maeve watched her run off towards the jungle gym before turning back to Daisy who had her arms folded and was glaring at them in frustration.

“You guys are the worst.” She spat.

“Excuse me, young lady?” Spencer frowned at her.

“What exactly have we done to earn us that title?” Maeve added.

“You guys slept together?” She hissed, eyes wide. “You’re having another kid but you aren’t getting back together? And you’re marrying Bobby?”

Maeve and Spencer started to laugh out of nowhere, seeing their daughter’s error. Daisy frowned at them while they chuckled heartily.

“Oh pumpkin,” Spencer shook his head. “This is not my baby.”

“We maybe should have said you’d be having a half brother or sister.” Maeve giggled.

“Also I don’t love that you know how babies are made.” Spencer pulled a face.

“I’m fourteen, dad.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure you knew where babies came from when you were fourteen.”

“I had an IQ of one hundred and sixty one when I was fourteen, of course I knew where babies came from.” He clucked.

“So to confirm,” Daisy frowned again. “You did not sleep with-”

“Please don’t say it again.” Maeve cut her off. “No Daisy, we did not. Bobby is the father of my baby, not your dad.”

“Gross so you slept with Bobby.” Daisy pulled a disgusted face.

“Can this conversation please be over now?” Maeve asked no one in particular.

“I’ve got a kid to see about a jungle gym,” Spencer pushed himself up to his feet. “Have fun.”

Spencer left them, heading towards where Lily was hanging from the jungle gym, swinging herself back and forth. He came close to her and placed his hands on her hips and she dropped into his arms.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and arms around his neck while he held her by her thighs. She smiled brightly at him.

“Are you ok, pumpkin? You’re happy about all of this? You’re mom marrying Bobby and having a little brother or sister?” He started carrying her towards the swing set.

“I think so.” She nodded, but she had a curious expression on her face.

“What are you thinking?” He used one arm to hold her, his free hand brushing her unruly hair back off her face.

“If mommy marries Bobby, does that mean he’s my daddy now?” She pouted. “Because I don’t want him to be my daddy. I want you to be my daddy.”

Spencer’s heart wrenched at the mere thought of his kids calling someone else daddy. He grinded his teeth for a moment as he lowered her onto the swing and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Lily, I will always be your daddy, ok? Nothing is ever going to change that. When Bobby marries your mom he becomes your step-dad, but you don’t have to call him that, you can keep on calling him Bobby. I will be your daddy for the rest of your life, pumpkin. Promise.” He used his index finger to poke the end of her nose and she giggled.

“Ok!” She nodded bouncily. “That’s good because you’re the best daddy in the whole wide world and I wouldn’t want another one.”

He closed his eyes for a few beats, trying to force the tears back.

“And you are the best daughter in the whole wide world, you and Daisy. And I wouldn’t want another one of either of you.” He smiled at her.

Lily gripped the chains of the swing and leaned closer to her father, placing a rather sloppy kiss on his own nose.

“I love you daddy.” She beamed.

“I love you too, pumpkin. You have no idea how much.”

***

Waiting outside of the theatre he checked his watch again and huffed out a breath. The movie should have finished fifteen minutes ago, at least that’s what she’d told him.

He didn’t like this one bit. He didn’t like his daughter going on dates, he didn’t like being made to wait fifteen minutes after a movie finished because Daisy and Cam were doing god knows what. He didn’t like anything about this.

He looked at his watch again, wondering how much time could pass before it was appropriate to go in and look for her. When he glanced back up a set of sparkling blue eyes were staring at him.

“When I was their age, my ex-husband and I would stay behind after the movie finished and make out.” Blair shrugged, sidling closer.

“Wow, I did not need that image in my head, thank you.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“They’re fourteen, Spencer. They are most definitely making out in there.” Blair laughed.

Spencer pulled a face, looking a little like a moody child being told he couldn’t have ice cream for dinner.

“I was in college by the time I was fourteen and everyone was significantly older than me. Is it normal to be making out at that age?”

“Very,” Blair nodded, leaning against the wall of the theatre next to him. “You really did not have a normal childhood did you?”

“I did not.” He sighed. “I didn’t kiss a girl for the first time until I was twenty one.”

A silence passed between them, the awkwardness of this situation washing over them like a wave. Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets and rolled his lip between his teeth.

“You didn’t call.” Blair finally broke it, her eyes turned down.

“I specifically remember you telling me not to.” Spencer shrugged.

“Unless you were choosing me.” She nodded. “So you chose then?”

Spencer nodded slowly, inhaling a sharp breath before letting it out through his nose.

“I did.” He caught her eye. “I chose my girls. I chose me.”

“Good for you.” She offered him a half smile.

“I’m sorry for the way things ended. I did intend to call but every time I went to I thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me. I figured with our kids dating it was inevitable we’d run into each other at some point.”

“Did you mean to cringe when you said our kids were dating?” Her smile grew.

“No, that was entirely involuntary. It has nothing to do with Cameron, he seems like a really good kid. I just hate that my daughter is old enough to date.” He laughed.

“And make out with boys.”

“Ok, you have to stop that.” He shook his head, causing Blair to giggle.

Just then the front door of the theatre opened and Daisy and Cameron emerged, hand in hand. The sight made Spencer’s stomach coil into knots and his chest tightened painfully.

And he did not miss his daughter's kiss-swollen lips.

Oh good god, I can’t deal with this.

Blair nudged him in the arm as he was staring awkwardly at them and he desperately tried to push past it and not dwell on the fact his daughter was making out with boys in movie theatres.

Daisy and Cameron joined them, hands still interlocked.

“How was the movie?” Spencer asked, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.

The teens exchanged a look, smirking at each other.

“It was good.” Cameron shrugged.

“Really good.” Daisy agreed.

Spencer pulled a face, wanting the ground to swallow him whole. Once upon a time he would have snatched Daisy away from him, forbade her from seeing him.

He was growing. Or at least he was trying to.

“Can we all go get ice cream?” Daisy asked, looking between them.

“The four of us?” Blair frowned a little.

“Yeah.” Daisy shrugged.

Blair looked at him with a questioning expression and Spencer sighed.

“Seems super awkward. Count me in.” He agreed.

Daisy let go of Cameron’s hand and he and his mother started walking. Spencer hung back with his daughter and eyed her curiously.

“I swear if this is some kind of parent trap…”

“Dad, trust me when I say I do not want you dating my boyfriend's mom.” Daisy scoffed before walking off, catching up with Cameron and slipping her hand back in his.

Spencer didn’t move for a moment or two, simply staring at their entwined hands and ruminating on his daughter’s words.

“Boyfriend?” He grimaced. “My daughter has a boyfriend.”

@foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamlessfangirl-3 @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @hades-disappointment-child @weirdothatwritess

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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fuedalreesespieces · 15 days

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one of my favorite inuyasha lines ever. he's at his weakest, he's surrounded by broken pottery, peach-heads, and a talking flower, and he's just been offered a power-up as his supposed final option of winning this fight and there isn't even a moment of consideration. just a solid no. i like to think of this scene as kind of a precursor to this one:

inuyasha going from "i'm going to use the shikon jewel to increase my strength" to "I refuse to - even at my weakest - drink something that could potentially help me get stronger, because the person who made it is consumed by their power and I don't want to be like them" to "I refuse to use the jewel because the jewel itself is involved in the harm of a lot of people, including myself, and ending that cycle of harm is more important than my previous goals" is just sooo good.

and it makes the moment he discovers what "full demon" entails later on more satisfying. during the togenkyo arc, he says he doesn't want to drink that "swill" because he doesn't want to be like tokajin. he doesn't want to be consumed by power, but that eventually does happen - not by choice, but it does happen. and it's miserable:

it all kind of comes full circle here. he's already decided that he won't use the jewel for his own purposes, but then he's given a glimpse of what could have happened had he used the jewel. it's an interesting what-if scenario that ties into inuyasha's developing perception of what it means to have power, and i love it.

#togenkyo arc being peak once again who's surprised #inuyasha #inumeta #inuyasha anime #inuyasha manga #inuyasha a feudal fairy tale

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princessmisery666 · 2 months

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The Right Guy On Paper

Summary: Dean receives unexpected news, and his chosen coping mechanism leads him straight back to you. Part 2 of 3. Part 1 - Just Don't Say You Love Me.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, mentions of cheating.

W/C: 4,315.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Mentioned: Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: A bar - An Arrest - Loyalty

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own.

A/N: I finally figured out part 3 so here's part 2.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

How did he not see this coming? Well, he did, maybe, but not this soon. But still, how could he have not seen it coming, especially after his last encounter with you? It had been written all over your face; you didn’t want a full-blown commitment or declaration of love, but the hope of some kind of promise was there. He’d shot it down immediately, made a hasty retreat, and hadn’t spoken to you in over a month.

It doesn’t make it sting any less. But that’s all it is, a sting, a scratch. It will scab over, and he’ll ignore the itch. At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself of as he pulls up at Jody’s.

The door opens as he steps onto the porch. It’s Jody, phone to her ear, and an incredulous look turned in his direction.

“Yeah, he’s here,” she says into the phone. So Dean assumes it’s you checking up on him. “Yeah, will do. Okay. Bye, honey.”

Dean kisses her cheek, perhaps a little too hard, as he crosses the threshold, heading straight for the liquor.

“Dean…” she starts.

He ends it immediately, holding a hand up so she can see it over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t see her surrendering gesture, but he hears it in the sigh she releases over the clink of the bottle hitting the glass. He shoots back the whiskey; it's the cheap stuff and burns more than it should.

He pours another shot, back still turned, but he can feel Jody’s eyes on him, the worry radiating off her. He won’t tell her he’s fine. She’d see right through it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He laughs, humorless but amused because Jody knows the answer, yet she always asks on the off chance he’ll give her a glimpse of what’s going on in his head. If only he knew himself, maybe he’d share it.

Another blazing shot warms him from the inside.

He pours another and takes a breath, waiting for the flame in his gut to simmer. But it doesn't, and it’s not because of the cheap liquor, so he concedes, taking the bottle and the glass to the chair. “Who is he?”

Jody sits opposite him, smiling softly. “His name’s Luke, nice guy.”

“Luke,” he tests out the name before washing it away, swilling the liquid around his mouth. This time, he lets the wince show, accepting that it's more than the booze. “He’s a cop, right?”

“Yeah,” Jody confirms.

He smiles, even feels the fondness in it, but the sentiment dies before he finishes his sentence. “She has a type.”

Jody reciprocates the gesture, reaching over to take the glass from him. “Don’t push her out because of this,” she says, “she’s good for you. Some of those broken pieces didn’t seem so broken when you’d been around her. That doesn’t change because you're not sharing a bed anymore. Let her be your friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “maybe.”

But he knows he will push you away because he doesn’t know how to be your friend. After all, you’ve never been just friends.

It’s too easy and not as entertaining as Dean hoped. He’s been on a bender for a few days now. He told Sam he was just stir-crazy, the monsters haven’t been monster-ing lately, and he needs an outlet. It’s partly true. It’s the lack of killing, plus the news Jody delivered a week ago. More so the latter.

You and Luke are engaged.

Dean thinks it's too soon; it’s only been two months. But then again, what does he know? Maybe when you know, you know. You're no fool. And you didn’t suffer fools. You wouldn’t commit to something unless you knew it was right for you.

So Dean’s been doing what Dean does best, finding distractions to bury his tumultuous emotions. He was looking for a warm body, but when no one caught his eye, he settled for ridding some suckers of their hard-earned cash.

He’s up three hundred dollars with double or nothing on the line. Though part of the hustle is to appear drunk, as he finishes his seventh, or maybe it’s his eighth beer - he lost count after shot number four and around bottle five - he thinks he really should slow down. If only for the fact Sam will have to come collect him and Dean doesn’t want to hear the ‘your-not-twenty-six-anymore’ lecture.

His opponent, David, walks around the table, looking for the best angle to take his shot. It doesn’t matter. Regardless of what he does, Dean’s got him in three moves. Or at least he would if his earlier victim, Jason, wasn’t striding up behind him with a furious look that Dean sees in the mirror hanging on the wall behind the table.

“Hey,” Jason calls, a tenth of a second before he throws a punch that Dean ducks.

Dean spins to face him, standing his ground. He can’t back up out of reach cause he’ll hit the wall and box himself in. “C’mon man,” Dean tries, “don’t be a sore loser.”

Jason is already swinging a second punch that Dean recognizes the poor form would likely break his hand had Dean not sidestepped to avoid it.

Two of Jason’s friends are close by but seem reluctant to back up their buddy, so Dean tries to reason with them as he pivots so Jason has his back to the wall, and Dean can back away. “Come get your friend before he gets hurt.”

That’s enough to convince them to intervene, but instead of doing the smart thing and removing their friend from further embarrassment, they descend on Dean, and he’s left with no choice.

He smashes the pool cue into the stomach of the first one. The dude doubles over and falls to his knees. The second man narrowly avoids tripping over him, stumbling towards Dean’s perfectly formed fist, and goes down after a crack of bone and a scream of pain.

Jason looks down at his fallen comrades, and Dean lifts his brow, challenging him.

“Walk away,” Dean advises.

He doesn’t.

Dean has to give credit where credit is due. Jason is tougher than his withering friends. He takes three shots to the face and manages to land a good right hook to Dean’s mouth before he drops to the floor, rolling into the fetal position when Dean takes a step forward.

He can’t be sure whether he was going to kick the man while he was down. But he’ll never know because two sets of hands grab his arms.

Dean doesn’t think. He reacts. Twisting his right arm free, he throws a punch as he turns.

“Okay, you're under arrest…” but it’s too late. His fist connects with the jaw of his captor - a blond cop who still has a hold of him.

Dean’s brain finally registers the uniform and star pinned to his chest, and now he’s really in trouble. “Shit!” He grumbles, holding his hands up as the blood trickles from the cop’s nose.

Dean tells Deputy Callaghan he’s making a mistake and wasting his time hauling Dean to the station. But his suggestion to call Sheriff Mills to get this mess straightened out falls on the deaf ears of the cops in the front of the squad car.

Dean gives up. Jody will have his back, and hopefully, she’s got some leftovers for him at the house.

“You're gonna feel really stupid when we get in there,” Dean says as Callaghan roughly pulls him from the car. “I’m telling you, Sheriff Mills will have your ass for wasting her time.”

“That’d be scary,” Callaghan smirks, smug in whatever knowledge he has that Dean doesn’t. “If she wasn’t on a retreat in Milwaukee until Monday.”

“Crap.”

“Looks like you're our guest until we can get a hold of her, which could be days.”

“Crap.”

Despite Dean’s lack of resistance, Callaghan makes a point of manhandling him through the station doors. He must want to look tough in front of his buddies and make the dried blood on his shirt look like Dean put up a fight that Callaghan won on account of his being detained.

Dean accepts his fate - for now. He doesn’t want to cause more trouble for Jody to clean up.

But maybe he should have because slipping the cuffs and making a run for it would have been easier than facing you. As soon as the door swings shut, like some kind of magnetic pull, your eyes find him, and you're frozen in place staring at him while some newbie who looks about twelve talks at you.

You hand the clipboard back to the young deputy and march with such purpose toward him he’s expecting a Sam-level lecture, but instead, you look around him.

Dean’s seen the sneer you unleash on Callaghan before, but there’s an extra layer to it, a venom that spits out with your command, “Uncuff him now.”

Dean is glad he’s not on the receiving end of your ire, and the station falls quiet. All activity ceases while they watch the show.

The softness of Callaghan’s voice doesn’t match his words or reasoning tone. Dean can tell this dude knows he’s on thin ice with you and trying to make it right. “You don’t even know what he did.”

“Bar fight at Lloyds. Heard all about it.”

“He hit me.”

“You're still standing, so it obviously wasn’t hard enough,” you counter, and Dean sniggers, as do some of the other people watching.

“Y/N,” Callaghan tries again.

You purse your lips, stubbornness settling in tight. “Release him and get out of my station.”

Technically, it's not your station, but Dean assumes Jody’s left you in charge while she’s away. He really wants Callaghan to point that out because Dean can see your one smart comment away from adding to the bloody nose Dean gave him.

But you don’t give him a chance to make the mistake of correcting you. “You owe me, Luke, now and forever, so I’m calling in a chip. Release him!”

Silence prevails for a loaded second. Dean turns slightly to look at Luke, jiggling his hands behind his back. “You heard the boss,” he smirks, “I’m a free man.”

Luke shakes his head and looks back at you. “Whoever he is,” he says, pointing a finger dangerously close to Dean’s face, “he’s trouble.”

“She can handle it,” Dean counters and winks when Luke finally breaks the stare-down with you.

That’s enough to deflate his bravado a few notches, and he finally turns and leaves, slamming the door open as he goes.

Dean mumbles a thanks while you unlock his new jewelry, suddenly feeling some embarrassment for being arrested. He turns to face you, rubbing at his wrists now that the metal is gone. “Sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, “no trouble.”

You stare at one another for a short moment, and he sees how tired you look. He opens his mouth to say it's good to see you despite the circumstances, but before he can utter a syllable, you hold up a finger.

Leaning around him, you announce, “Shows over,” and the station springs to life again.

“I should get out of your way,” he says, giving a tight smile.

“Can I give you a ride back to your car?”

He shakes his head, “No, thanks. I’m good. I could use the walk.”

“You got a motel?”

“Nah, just passing through.”

“You’re too drunk to drive back to Lebanon.”

He shrugs, “I’ll find a motel.”

“Here,” you say, fishing in your pocket for a set of keys. “These are for Jody’s. No one’s there. Jody is in Milwaukee, Alex is on vacation with friends, and Clare is hunting in Michigan.”

He makes no move to take them, so you grab his hand and place them on his palm, closing his fingers around them. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, but I’m finishing up here and heading up to her cabin. Jody will be back about three tomorrow.”

“Deputy Dick said she wasn’t back until Monday.”

You roll your eyes, “he lied. He does that.”

You don’t elaborate, and Dean doesn’t push, but he knows there's a story to be told.

“There’s beer and leftover lasagne in the fridge,” you layer on top of the perks, “and it's closer than the bar. Just sleep it off, please. For me.”

He nods, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Take care, Dean.”

“You too,” he says. He wants to hug you or kiss your cheek or something, but instead, he stares at his fidgeting hands. “Um…maybe we can grab a drink soon,” he suggests, “it’d be nice to catch up.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and your smile is genuine and kind when he meets your eyes again. “You know where to find me, Winchester. You never needed an invitation. That hasn’t changed.”

He laughs just as someone calls your name, and you excuse yourself. He watches you cross the room to the same deputy you were speaking with earlier. He really has missed you, but the open invitation dulls the ache a little. He’s definitely going to take you up on it.

You haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s understandable; you’ve been through a lot, so you're surprised that you wake just after eleven to the cheerful, chirping bird song.

It must be the peacefulness of the forest that surrounds Jody’s cabin that allowed the much-needed rest to extend later than usual. You're grateful that she practically forced the mini-break on you - “You need to get away. Get your head straight. Take a few days.” As you step onto the porch with a steaming mug of coffee and the thickest blanket you can find, you realize she was right.

This is definitely what you need: nature and some quiet time. No hustle and bustle of a busy town, no traffic noise or drunks snoring logs in the holding cells.

Wrapping the blanket around you, you get a whiff of the cotton-fresh fabric softener and wrap it snugger around you as you sit on the porch swing.

That’s where you spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon wrapped up in the blanket with a book from Jody’s collection. You brought a healthy supply of food with you, and that's the only decision you need to make today: what to cook for dinner.

You’re two delicious sips into your third coffee of the day when the quiet is disrupted by the unmistakable growl of Baby’s engine. He’s not speeding, and you haven’t missed any calls, so you don’t think it's an emergency.

Dean cuts off the engine as he pulls up behind your truck, returning the forest to its quiet tranquility, and steps out of the car with a bright smile.

“Hey,” he greets as he reaches the bottom step.

“Hey yourself,” you grin, finding his smile endearingly contagious. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” he says, “passing through on my way home and wanted to say thanks again.”

He could have called you from the road, so you know the flimsy excuse is the best he could come up with, but you're not upset that he’s there.

You laugh, “You mean Jody asked you to check up on me?”

“That too,” he admits with a slight shrug.

You feel the hurt constrict your chest again. Jody’s concern is a reminder of what happened. “She tell you why she wanted you to check up on me?”

“No,” Dean says, climbing the few stairs to stand on the porch. “Doesn’t take a genius, though.”

“Just a sober hunter.”

“Ow, low blow,” he laughs.

You laugh with him for a second but cut it off with a deep sigh. He will hear the story sooner or later. It may as well come from you. Closing the book and putting it on the table, you ask, “Can you stay for dinner?”

He claps his hands and rubs them together, “What’re we having?”

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to fall back into the familiarity of working together. Dean chops peppers and onions while you put the chicken breasts in the oven. It’s effortless, moving around without getting in each other's way.

You’ve missed it, and from the slight smile that remains while Dean works, you think he feels the same.

He doesn’t press for information, though you’re sure he’s desperate to know why you're at Jody’s cabin alone and if Luke was/is your Luke owed you big enough to let him go without question.

You wash your hands and move on to making the dough, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean. It’s easier to talk that way without the embarrassment of looking at him face-on. Though you know he won’t judge you, you don’t want his pity. Still, you start with an easier question.

“You have Charlie’s unlimited credit card.” Mixing the ingredients in the bowl, you ask, “So it’s not like you need the money. Why were you hustling people?”

He shrugs. “Needed some entertainment.”

“It work?”

“Yeah, for a minute,” he chuckles, “at least until I got socked in the mouth.”

You see his tongue poke out to lick at the cut on his lip. “Maybe that's what I need.” you wonder, sprinkling flour on the countertop.

“To get clocked in the face?”

You chuckle along with him. “No, smartass. Some mindless entertainment, forget everything for a while.”

“Like why Luke owes you now and forever?” Dean asks.

“Nice transition,” you jest.

“I thought so,” he says, walking to the fridge to grab the cheese along with two beers.

He twists the caps off and tosses them in the trash. He’s started grating the cheese before you decide to tell him what happened.

“It was good for a while, really good, dreamlike even.” you take a long pull on the beer, and he’s nice enough to keep working, piling grated cheese to the side before continuing to work on the remainder of the block. “But obviously, it was too good to be true. His ex showed up. She’d left him to take a promotion a couple of years ago but decided her career wasn’t all she wanted after all. He made a big show of telling her no and asked me to marry him." The dough takes the brunt of your ire, words punctuated with huffs of breath while you knead it into shape. “He took a demotion to be closer to me. I thought I’d bagged a good one, a real devoted guy. But I was wrong. It didn’t take long for him to cheat.”

“Glad I clocked him.”

“Me too.” silence stretches, and you break it by blasting out a long sigh. “I’m such an idiot. I chose the stable guy, the guy that was right on paper. I picked the easy way, and it backfired.”

“That doesn’t make you an idiot.”

“No?” you question, pausing your work to look at him. He halts his task, too, looking at you fully. “When I found out, I did all the tests, holy water, silver, recited an exorcism ‘cause I didn’t believe he was just a bad guy. If that doesn’t spell out desperate idiot, I don’t know what does.”

“It doesn’t!” He argues, frustrated that you're talking down about yourself. “But you know what does spell out ‘idiot’? Cheating on someone as awesome as you.”

You cock a small smile, “Thank you.”

You hold one another's gaze for a long moment. You want to tell him that you would have picked him over Luke, over anyone else, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear it. As if he can read it in your expression, he clears his throat and breaks the loaded stare to turn back to his task.

“C’mon,” Dean says, “Let’s get these pizzas baking and get drunk.”

The late morning rise must have been a fluke because you can’t sleep. Considering the half bottle of whiskey you drank with Dean, you're surprised by your inability to fall asleep.

Maybe that’s the cause of your insomnia, too much alcohol in your system, or the fact that it feels weird knowing Dean is sleeping in the room next door, or perhaps the emotional turmoil of the last few weeks is taking its toll. Whatever the reason, the more you try to force it, the further away it seems to get and the angrier you become. After an hour of tossing and turning, you give up.

You need to do something to occupy your mind and decide to bake some cookies. Once in the kitchen, you realize that using a mixer will most likely disturb Dean, who’s just down the corridor. But now that you’re up, you really want cookies and decide to mix them by hand.

The first batch is just starting to rise in the oven when Dean appears, fully dressed but with messy hair and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Crap, did I wake you?” You ask.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, bleary-eyed, squinting under the brightness of the kitchen lights. “Don’t tell Sam,” he says, “but I’m not twenty-six anymore. Indigestion woke me up.”

You laugh lightly, “There’s Pepto in the bathroom.”

“Found it,” he tells you, clicking the button on the coffee machine. “Then I smelled cookies, so I came to investigate.”

“Well, perfect timing. The first batch should be ready by the time the coffee’s done.”

He doesn’t speak while the coffee brews, but you feel his eyes following you. You wonder what he’s thinking but know better than to ask. Maybe you truly don’t want to know. The thought of him pitying you fills you with embarrassment despite knowing Luke’s actions are not a reflection on you.

Dean pours the fresh coffee and adds sugar and a splash of cream to yours, sliding it closer to you while you pull the first batch of cookies from the oven and onto a cooling rack.

He steals one, “hot, hot, hot,” he hisses, juggling it from one hand to the other. Despite the obvious temperature, he takes a bite, huffing out the heat before it's cool enough to bite down.

He chews three, four times, hesitates, and chews some more. It’s evident from the face he’s trying, unsuccessfully, to not pull that it’s terrible.

“It’s awful, right?” you ask with an apologetic scowl.

He nods, grimacing, “Disgusting,” he confirms but starts chewing again as if the taste will improve.

“Well, don’t eat it!” You scold, laughing, “spit it out!”

He rushes to the trashcan and spits out the chewed-up wad.

“I’m sorry,” he says, swiftly walking back to grab his coffee and taking a big gulp. “I was trying to be polite, but yeah, that was not good.”

You know he’s not being purposefully mean. You’ve never been good at baking, and clearly, eyeballing the ingredients didn’t work, but it still hurts a little. You sigh, watching the cookies slide off the plate and into the trash.

You scoop the second batch of cookie dough onto the spoon and into the trash, “I guess I wouldn’t have made a good wife after all.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Dean reprimands. “You’d make an awesome wife.”

Has he really thought about what kind of wife you would be? Why would he? That was never a possibility for the two of you, so it’s purely a reflex, saying something nice to make you feel better.

You don’t respond, continuing to tidy the mess you’ve made while Dean steps out of the way, leaning his shoulder against the fridge to watch you.

While your back is turned, he asks, “Is that really what you wanted? To be his wife?”

You shrug, wiping down the countertop with a damp cloth. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“You were so career-driven, always seemed happy in the moment. I never pegged you for the white picket fence type,” he comments, sipping his coffee again.

“I never was.” You laugh without an ounce of humor because he has you dead to rights. How well he knows you always surprises you, which in turn surprises you more because that’s what he does for a living. He has to read people. The same way you do - checking for tells and body language of victims and suspects. Dean knows when he’s being lied to. You know you’d never sneak one past him. Yet he doesn’t seem to understand that he was the one who changed your perspective. He was the one who made you believe there was more to life than a career.

“So it was him then?” he softly asks, as if he’s expecting you to reveal a secret. “He changed your mind, made you want it all?”

The anger and bitterness swell inside of you. Not just towards Luke for promising you a future and then ripping it away, but at Dean for being oblivious to the fact he’s the reason for the change of perspective.

“It doesn’t matter what changed. It’s over now,” you snap, throwing down the cloth and knocking the neat pile of crumbs you’d made onto the floor. “All of it.”

“Why are you mad at me?” he yells, looking slightly confused and standing straighter.

“I’m not,” you try to backtrack, though your volume increases. “I’m just mad! Mad at Luke for being an unfaithful asshole, mad at myself for falling for it, mad at the universe for giving me something good and taking it away again. And y’know what? Yeah, I am mad at you, Dean! I’m fucking furious ‘cause you changed my mind. You made me realize I could have it all: a career and partner who understood my commitments, someone who was happy to slot into my life when it worked for both of us, and made me see it could be effortless. I didn’t want any of that until we started our thing.”

“Hey!” he shouts back, “I never said never. I said not right now. Or then or whatever.”

“Bullshit! You said you couldn’t make any commitments, even without Chuck pulling the strings.”

“Yeah, I meant I needed a minute to process, figure some stuff out. You said we were good. You didn’t want any ‘awkward conversations’,” he counters with full-on air quotes.

“I didn’t want to scare you off!”

“And I didn’t want you to run off and meet someone new!”

“Yeah, well, that worked out just fucking great, didn’t it!” The anger simmers, and you hold his eyes until he blurs behind your tears.

Dean blasts out a sigh, “Maybe I should go.” He phrases it as a suggestion, but he’s already tipping the remainder of his coffee into the sink, so obviously, he’s made up his mind.

“Yeah, maybe you should,” you say, blinking up at the ceiling to stem the tears. “I’m really not in the headspace for this right now.”

You keep your back turned while he shuffles around, going to the bedroom to grab his duffle.��

Why did Jody send him? She was the one who suggested the vacation, and she, of all people, knows how much losing Dean hurt you. You’d confided in Jody about the commitment comment, which had been the catalyst for realizing how deep you’d got with Dean and how much it wasn’t reciprocated.

A chair momentarily teeters as Dean pulls his coat off the back, but the jingle of his car keys is what pulls you out of your own head.

Tears suffocated and stalled, you find the courage to turn around, but he’s already at the door. “Dean,” you call. He stops and half turns to face you, but you don’t know what to say. It’s too soon to let yourself be vulnerable with anyone, but you don’t want him to leave, at least not like this.

You stare at him, hoping he can read the words you can’t find in your expression.

He breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. “I’ve, er… I’ve missed you.”

It lifts a weight you weren’t aware you were carrying but brings fresh tears to your eyes. “I’ve missed you too.”

He drops his bag at the door, crosses the room, and swiftly tugs you into a tight hug. “Call me when you’ve figured all this out,” he requests, and all you can do is nod into his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head and rushes out like a gust of wind.

Part 3 - Just Say You Love Me

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