#Chapter Twenty Two

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Twenty-Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

(Warning for mild gore and implied violence.)

Fireheart awoke the next evening with a strange tension in his chest—a tightness, really. Like something had wrapped around his body and pulled taut, and his innards were straining against the pressure just to let him breathe. He inhaled slowly and tried to relax completely to dispel the feeling. It didn’t work.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Fireheart opened his eyes. Directly across from him, Goldenflower was silently stepping around still-sleeping cats, peering over them and at them. Her golden eyes were unusually pallid, and (as Fireheart’s own sight cleared and focused) her pupils were slits, even in the dark.

That tension was radiating off of her, he realized. He stretched as he got up, trying to shake the feeling out. That, too, failed.

“Mira?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Goldenflower didn’t quite jump, but she did startle and look at him like he had just screamed in her ear. She kept her words hushed, but the pitch of it was fighting to raise and crack her voice.

“Do you know where Brindleface is?” she asked.

Fireheart blinked, thinking. “…She walked past me this morning. But I’ve been asleep. Why?”

“She’s not here.” Goldenflower’s claw dug through the hay strewn about on the ground. “Her kits came to sleep with me and woke me up. I assumed… I thought she went out to make dirt, but…”

The tightness surrounding Fireheart squeezed just a little harder. He scooted past his friends, still asleep, and hastened to stand with his mother.

“Have you checked the rest of the Barn?” he asked, whispering too. “Or asked Barley, wherever he is?”

“No…” Goldenflower breathed in deeply and let out air in a heartbeat-like staccato. “No, I just started looking.”

“Okay.” Fireheart pressed his cheek to her shoulder. “So let’s be calm and check everywhere first.”

A soft murmur answered him; when he looked back, a tightly-packed bundle of kittens was starting to loosen at the loss of the matriarch’s warmth. Cloudkit was the only one properly awake, sitting upright, and he watched Goldenflower with anxiety in his bleary blue eyes. Fireheart gestured with his paw for Cloudkit to settle down again, which his nephew did reluctantly, though his eyes stayed open.

Fireheart and Goldenflower made their way around their sleeping Clanmates and parted to check each end of the Barn. No Brindleface.

They stepped outside, in fresh snow, and went around the Barn’s perimeter, ending at Barley’s empty food bowl. No Brindleface.

They called her name.

No Brindleface.

Fireheart’s chest began to lose the battle to breathe.

The dark gold fur along Goldenflower’s spine bristled like dead grass. She looked down at Fireheart, mouth loose and trembling.

“Where is she?” she asked him, louder now and with that pitch-crack. “Why didn’t she respond to her name?”

Fireheart willed himself to stay calm. “We need to wake up the others. One of them might know.”

Goldenflower whipped around and half-ran for the inside of the Barn. Fireheart glanced into the cornfield once before following her, trying to keep his tail from bristling.

As it turned out, a good deal of ThunderClan was already awake. They must have heard them calling for Brindleface, because many expressions were that of concern and puzzlement.

“Has anyone seen Brindleface?” Goldenflower burst out.

Many heads turned to silently ask each other, but nothing beyond bemused denials came out of the Clan.

“She went to make dirt last night, right?” Teaselfoot asked. “I thought I heard her say that.”

Goldenflower nodded frantically. “But she didn’t come back. Please, don’t any of you know where she is?”

Headshakes and worried murmurs. Cloudkit, Aspenkit, and Ashkit clustered together, ears back.

Speckletail stood up, shaking off hay. She moved away from the collective of cats and approached Goldenflower and Fireheart, only to turn around and face the rest of the Clan.

“We’ll send out three patrols to look for her,” she announced. “Whitecloud, Dustpelt and Fireheart, take three cats with you each. Whitecloud, look around the house; Dustpelt, go on the left side of the cornfield, and Fireheart, go to the right. Report back as soon as you find something.”

Why did she pick me? Fireheart wondered to himself. He set aside the thought quickly and hurried to the rest of the Clan, just as Dustpelt and Whitecloud began speaking to their Clanmates.

“Greystripe, Ravenwing—” Fireheart looked around. “Mousefur, you too; can you come with me?”

Mousefur nodded firmly and approached, accompanied by Fireheart’s friends. They all looked troubled, but Ravenwing’s face was more grave. Dreading, perhaps.

Fireheart’s search party was the first out, and they hurried around the corn to start down the right side of the long block of plants. The snow was just deep enough to make them step higher than normal, slowing their pace down a bit.

No one said anything beyond calling Brindleface’s name, always followed by a brief silence where they waited for her to respond. She never did. Fireheart’s ribs threatened to break from the constriction.

They were about to round the corner when suddenly, Mousefur stopped. The toms looked back as she tasted the air.

“What do you have?” Fireheart asked.

Mousefur spoke calmly, but her fur stuck out on her back. “Something’s hurt. Someone’s hurt.”

Greystripe turned forward again and plunged through the snow, stumbling to the corner. He looked around it and shouted, “The corn’s been busted through over here!”

The search party ran as well as they could after him. Fireheart rounded the corner and clenched his teeth unconsciously—several cornstalks had been trampled or snapped in half, and the snow was thrashed around, scattered all over the place. A trail of disturbed snow parted from the chaos and headed around the left side of the corn.

Fireheart smelled what Mousefur had tasted. It wasn’t just blood.

It was meat.

Greystripe waited for everyone to catch up to him and let Fireheart take the lead. Dreading every step, Fireheart entered the corn and followed the trail of cracked and stomped-on stalks a little ways forward and to the right. He didn’t miss the blood splattered on the stalks and in what snow had gotten through the plants’ defense. He turned right and went stock-still, frozen to the bone.

Brindleface was incomplete. What remained of her face was shredded and her mouth was open like she had tried to scream, or fight back, something to save herself. Her claws were out with black fur stuck to them. Spilled innards were the source of the smell of meat, Fireheart belatedly realized. Her beautiful coat was marred and torn beyond dignity.

I can see bones. By the Three.

Noises slowly came into focus on the edge of his hearing. Slowly, he turned his head, ears clearing. Mousefur was asking a question.

“What do we do?” she said, shaken.

Fireheart’s eyes drifted to Ravenwing, facing away with his eyes tightly shut, and Greystripe, his throat convulsing like he wanted to be sick.

Slowly gathering himself, Fireheart managed a wobbly, quiet answer. “You and Greystripe, go to the left and stop Dustpelt’s party from coming here. Ravenwing, can you go tell Speckletail what we found?”

It took a long moment for the rest to pull themselves together, and then all of them left very quickly.

Fireheart stayed where he was, facing the gore without really looking at it. Bodies floated through his mind: Spottedleaf, Smallstorm, the kit-apprentices that had fought against WindClan, Cinderpaw’s crippled leg when it was freshly struck. Arpam.

This was worse. The agony and fear she went through displayed themselves all over what the dogs had left behind. There was no pretending things were better.

If StarClan has a drop of kindness in their souls, he thought, she died quickly.

---

The Clan sat together in the Barn, faces turned to the ground, silent. Cloudkit huddled between Fireheart’s front legs, trembling and making small, grieved noises.

“Can’t we see her?” Aspenkit asked again, looking up pleadingly at Goldenflower.

Goldenflower shook her head, her voice soft. “It would hurt you so much more, love.”

Cloudkit backed up as far as he could go, pressing into Fireheart’s underside. He gently held Cloudkit as well as he could with a front paw.

Ashkit sat by Bramblekit and Tawnykit, both of them leaning against him as if they understood. His face was dark with furious grief, but he was silent.

Bluestar stood, cats looking up at her. She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed air, and opened it again, asking, “What should we do with her?”

“I thought you’d have an idea,” Sandstorm said dully, her voice bereft of her usual spunk.

Goldenflower spoke now. “We can’t carry her home, and I refuse to send her to that carrefour place.”

“But leaving her here…” Willowpelt shook her head. “Or burying her on human grounds…”

Yellowfang made a low, rough noise like she was clearing her throat for attention, which she quickly got. Her face, for once, was solemn, her chalky voice even.

“To bury her would, I say, be best,” she said. “She is very close to the Mother. Her spirit will find StarClan with more ease than we could pray for.” She closed her buggy eyes. “Or they shall find her. On either trail, she will be fine.”

“But where humans walk?” Speckletail said, her voice more hopeful than doubtful. “Where no Clan protection lies? What would StarClan think of that?”

The buggy eyes opened to a squint. “If StarClan allows such savage methods as WindClan uses, they will accept her burial in an unfamiliar place that is, nevertheless, close to our holy Mother.”

Cinderpaw spoke up now. “Yellowfang and I can give her some prayers and rites to make absolutely sure her soul will be okay. I mean, I think she’ll be okay no matter what we do, but it’ll help settle our souls.”

Murmurs followed this, cats turning to each other to see what everyone thought. Slowly, nods and affirmatives circled around the Clan. Speckletail looked to Bluestar, who nodded limply, and repeated the nod with more energy to Yellowfang and Cinderpaw.

“If we have volunteers to help carry what we have of her and bury it outside the fence,” Speckletail said, “speak now. I’ll be going.”

Goldenflower raised her head with agony in her eyes, but her voice was still soft. “I’ll do it, too.”

“And me,” Frostfur added. Fireheart marveled at how she looked ill at the thought, but stood up straight and tall nonetheless.

“We can help, too,” Cinderpaw said. “You know, burying her and stuff.”

Speckletail nodded. “That should be enough. Let’s get this done quickly.” She spoke to the rest of the Clan now. “When she’s buried, we can all say our goodbyes at her spot. I strongly believe her body is a sight few cats should see.” She looked at Fireheart sadly. “And I’m sorry anyone has to.”

Fireheart gave her a slight nod, tilting his head as he did so with a slow blink. He tried to send his thoughts to her: I’ll be alright. Don’t feel guilty that I was the first one to find her. I’m not as soft as I was when I joined ThunderClan. I can handle it.

Still, when the image of her remains flashed in front of his eyes, he had to set his jaw and force himself not to flinch. Cloudkit didn’t need that right now.

Goldenflower gave Aspenkit a lick on the top of her head before standing and moving away from her, Frostfur, Speckletail and the seers following as she parted the crowd. She slowed down just enough for Fireheart to touch his nose to her shoulder in silent support, and she blinked at him before moving on.

“I hate dogs,” Ashkit muttered, almost growled. “I hate all of them and I hope they all die.”

Fireheart looked at the bristling grey kitten, his heart stabbed with a thorn of sympathetic sorrow. How hard to be a little kit with no idea what to do with so much anger and grief… even as an adult, it’s too much.

A nudge of the paw holding Cloudkit, and Fireheart looked down. His nephew’s ginger nose was pointed up at him, his eyes wet and dim.

“Mi said he’s gotta talk nice,” he whispered, voice wobbly.

Fireheart kept his voice almost under his breath, speaking in Cloudkit’s ear. “He’s hurting a lot. That makes us say things we shouldn’t or usually wouldn’t. It’s okay for now. We can talk to him about it when he’s feeling better.”

Cloudkit leaned his head against Fireheart’s leg propping his front half up.

“How do you feel?” Fireheart asked, gentle and quiet. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cloudkit buried his nose into that leg and shook his head, voice shaking harder. “No.”

“Okay,” Fireheart said soothingly, touching his nose to the back of Cloudkit’s lowered head. “Then we don’t have to.”

Cloudkit did not respond to this out loud, but to Fireheart’s relief, his body eased a bit. He lifted his nose away from Fireheart’s leg and pressed his cheek where his nose had been, a little ginger paw lifting and holding onto the leg like a lifeline.

Fireheart kept holding his nephew, now looking up and observing his Clanmates. No one had moved from their spot, just spoke quietly to their neighbors. Greystripe was crouched, his face still nauseous. Ravenwing groomed him, trying to purr and failing. Teaselfoot was looking straight down and breathing unsteadily, his sister looking up with distant eyes.

Bluestar, sitting alone now, met his eyes. For just a moment, she squinted in confusion. Then her clouded eyes brightened just a bit, and she nodded to him. He nodded back, not sure what that look meant.

Maybe he didn’t want to know.

[amethystskeleton]

(Excerpt from Chapter 22):

The denim of Theo’s jeans was worn just about white at the knees. The fabric barely hanging onto itself by threads. Liam couldn’t help but wonder if it was some sort of self punishment thing. Before, Theo had always been decorated in nice clothes and semi recognizable brand names. But ever since he had come back he seemed determined to wear his clothes to and past their prime. 

Maybe some sort of guilty indicator? Did Theo even feel guilty? What would he even feel guilty about? Liam could think of quite a few things that probably required some level of guilt to them. But through and through he was only on his own side of the situation. He had no idea how Theo felt about all this. He had no idea if guilt was even something on the chimera’s emotional palette. 

[renee-writer]

What If It Were Brian Chapter Twenty -two

AO3

He is loath to sleep, to close his eyes in fear they will disappear. Brian sleeps against his mama, his red curls mingling with her brown ones. He feels is heart expand to bursting.

 

They are here. He has prayed for them and now they are here. How amazing! To keep them here, with him, he will do anything. Aye, even leaving Scotland. Getting on a bloody ship and going across the ocean. For his wife and child he will even face months of sickness.

 

He lays, head on his hand, eyes misting as he watches them sleep. She gave everything to Jenny and his new nephew, wee Ian. He smiles at the thought of the lad, so new. All of his family brings his heart joy.  He will miss them, miss seeing that new baby growing up, miss watching his namesake become a full man. But…

 

No, no matter the sacrifice, they are worth it. His eyes are getting heavy. He lets himself relax and snuggle against his wife and son. He is soon sleeping soundly.

[aurora-by-jacqui-natla]

20. WE WILL FIGHT

WHY WAS FATE SO CRUEL? WHY WOULD Alice do something like this? To us? To everyone? She had Bella and I travel all the way to Seattle to get false documents, for Jacob, Renesmee, and myself? It seemed like Renesmee would have a future, but Bella and Edward wouldn't be a part of it. I think Bella might have had that grim idea too, that dreadful foresight of a life where she wouldn't see her daughter grow up, where she wouldn't be there to protect and love her. The mere thought of it sent chills down my spine. Kind of like my mother who died at childbirth, never seeing me grow up and seeing the abuse Gavin and Dina put me through, not meeting Ayla and seeing the world I was in now.

But Alice couldn't see shapeshifters or hybrids, so how could she see me being the potential lone survivor? Did she even see me? Or maybe Seth's theory about an invisible wall between vampires and werewolves was right. What exactly did she see that would make her do this? The vision of the Volturi winning and all of us dead? The prospect of our complete annihilation? I dreaded to think about it. My mind was a tumultuous sea of fear and uncertainty, each wave crashing down with more force than the last, drowning my thoughts in despair.

As we stepped out of the building, the rain had ceased its relentless downpour. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and foliage, and the forest seemed to hold its breath. But as the droplets dripped from the leaves and branches, a realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. Renesmee had a future, but it would be Jacob and I - not her parents - protecting her if a conflict arose. The weight of this responsibility bore down on me, a crushing burden that I wasn't sure I could bear. If it happened, that is. If the Volturi came, if the unthinkable occurred.

We picked them up from Charlie's, his eyes filled with unspoken questions and fears. He knew something was wrong, though he couldn't grasp the full extent of our peril. The drive back to the Cullens was silent, each of us lost in our thoughts. The road ahead seemed to stretch endlessly, a dark and uncertain path leading us to an unknown future. I pitied for Bella and Edward, for the family we might lose, and for the innocent child whose life hung in the balance.

As we pulled into the meadow, the house appeared ordinary from the outside. But the commotion inside was anything but. Low voices growled and murmured, creating an intense argument. I could distinguish Gabriel's and Carlisle's voices, along with Amun's, among the others.

Edward parked in front of the house instead of the garage, and Bella exchanged a wary glance with me. Jacob's demeanour shifted, his face turning serious and cautious. Something had happened, but what?

"Alistair is gone," Edward murmured.

"What do you mean he's gone?" I exclaimed, darting up the steps.

As I stepped into the front room, the tension was palpable. The air was thick with the scent of fear and anger, and I could feel my heart racing in my chest. The walls were lined with a ring of spectators, every vampire who had joined us, except for Alistair and the four involved in the quarrel. Helena, Esme, Kebi, and Tia were the closest to the four vampires in the center; in the middle of the room, Amun was hissing at Gabriel, Carlisle, and Benjamin.

Edward's jaw tightened, and he moved quickly to Esme's side, his eyes never leaving the scene unfolding before us. I raced to Ingram and he was relieved to see me again.

"What's going on?" I whispered to him.

"A lot of things," he whispered back his answer.

"Amun, if you want to go, no one is forcing you to stay," Carlisle said calmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

"You're stealing half my coven, Carlisle!" Amun shrieked, his eyes blazing with fury as he stabbed one finger at Benjamin. "Is that why you called me here? To steal from me?"

"He would never do that," Gabriel said, his voice firm and unwavering. Amun snarled at him, his eyes flashing with anger.

Carlisle sighed, and Benjamin rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated by the whole situation.

"Yes, Carlisle picked a fight with the Volturi, endangered his whole family, just to lure me here to my death," Benjamin said sarcastically, his voice dripping with disdain. "Be reasonable, Amun. I'm committed to do the right thing here—I'm not joining any other coven. You can do whatever you want, of course, as Carlisle has pointed out."

"This won't end well," Amun growled, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

"Think of who you're calling sane," I heard Tia murmuring in a quiet aside, her voice barely audible above the rising tension.

"We're all going to be slaughtered!" Amun cried, his voice rising to a fever pitch.

"It's not going to come to a fight," Carlisle said in a firm voice, his eyes locked on Amun's.

"You say!" Amun spat, his eyes blazing with fury.

"If it does, you can always switch sides, Amun," Gabriel commented, his voice calm and measured. "I'm sure the Volturi will appreciate your help."

Amun sneered at him, his eyes flashing with anger. "Perhaps that is the answer," he said, his voice dripping with venom.

Carlisle's answer was soft and sincere. "I wouldn't hold that against you, Amun. We have been friends for a long time, but I would never ask you to die for me."

Amun's voice was more controlled, too. "But you're taking my Benjamin down with you."

Carlisle put his hand on Amun's shoulder; Amun shook it off.

"I'll stay, Carlisle, but it might be to your detriment. I will join them if that's the road to survival. You're all fools to think that you can defy the Volturi."

He scowled, then sighed, glanced behind them - and added in an exasperated tone, "I will witness that the child has grown. That's nothing but the truth. Anyone would see that."

"That's all we've ever asked."

Amun grimaced, "But not all that you are getting, it seems." He turned on Benjamin. "I gave you life. You're wasting it."

Benjamin's face looked colder than I'd ever seen it; the expression contrasted oddly with his boyish features. "It's a pity you couldn't replace my will with your own in the process; perhaps then you would have been satisfied with me."

Amun's eyes narrowed. He gestured abruptly to Kebi, and they stalked past us out the front door.

"He's not leaving," Edward said quietly to Bella. "But he'll be keeping his distance even more from now on. He wasn't bluffing when he spoke of joining the Volturi."

"Why did Alistair go?" Bella whispered.

That was what I wanted to know too. I knew he didn't want to be there and was an extreme introvert, but I still wanted to know the reason why. With that, I decided to listen to their conversation. Then, I heard Edward answering.

"No one can be positive; he didn't leave a note. From his mutters, it's been clear that he thinks a fight is inevitable. Despite his demeanour, he actually does care too much for Carlisle to stand with the Volturi. I suppose he decided the danger was too much."

Though our conversation was clearly just between the two of them, everyone could hear it. Eleazar answered Edward's comment like it had been meant for all.

"From the sound of his mumblings, it was a bit more than that. We haven't spoken much of the Volturi agenda, but Alistair worried that no matter how decisively we can prove your innocence, the Volturi will not listen. He thinks they will find an excuse to achieve their goals here."

"What are you saying?" I asked, joining in.

"When Aro wants someone from a coven," Eleazar began to answer. "It's never long before evidence turns up proving that coven committed some crime."

"You're saying that he has done this before?" I questioned, sounding surprised.

"It happens so rarely, I never realized it was a pattern."

"Apparently he always pardons one person whose thoughts he claims are repentant," Carlisle added.

"This person always has an ability," Eleazar continued. "And they're always given a place with the Guard."

"This is all about Alice," Edward suddenly said as if he had figure everything out. "He has no one like her."

"Which is why she left," Bella added.

"But why does he need witnesses?" I heard Emmett asking them.

"To spread the word that justice has been served," Gabriel replied sadly and then whispered. "After he slaughters an entire coven."

The vampires glanced uneasily at one another and I felt Ingram's grip on my waist tightened. I couldn't get the images of the meeting J. Jenks out of my head and the plan for fake documents for Jacob, Renesmee and myself. I caught a glimpse at Joseph and I think he figured it out, thanks to his telepathy. His face was a mixed of sadness and understanding. He got an idea what happened with Bella and me today.

And the idea that the Volturi would manipulate their own sacrosanct law for gain was not a popular idea. Only the Romanians were composed, their small half-smiles ironic. They seemed amused at how the others wanted to think well of their ancient enemies.

"I do so hope Alistair was right about this," Stefan murmured to Vladimir. "No matter the outcome, word will spread. It's time our world saw the Volturi for what they've become. They'll never fall if everyone believes this nonsense about them protecting our way of life."

"At least when we ruled, we were honest about what we were," Vladimir replied.

Stefan nodded. "We never put on white hats and called ourselves saints."

"I'm thinking the time has come to fight," Vladimir said. "How can you imagine we'll ever find a better force to stand with? Another chance this good?"

"Nothing is impossible. Maybe someday—"

"We've been waiting for fifteen hundred years, Stefan. And they've only gotten stronger with the years." Vladimir paused and looked at Gabriel again. He showed no surprise when he saw that Gabriel was watching him, too. "If the Volturi win this conflict, they will leave with more power than they came with. With every conquest they add to their strengths. Think of what that newborn alone could give them"—he jerked his chin toward Bella - "she is barely discovering her gifts. And the earth-mover." Vladimir nodded toward Benjamin, who stiffened.

Stefan turned his red gaze to me. "And the maxima who could potentially wipe out an entire coven."

I heard a low growl from Gabriel and Ingram. And soon, and almost everyone was eavesdropping on the Romanians now, like me. "With their witch twins they have no need of the illusionist or the fire touch." His eyes moved to Zafrina, then Kate.

Stefan looked at Edward. "Nor is the mind reader is exactly necessary. But I see your point. Indeed, they will gain much if they win."

"More than we can afford to have them gain, wouldn't you agree?"

Stefan sighed. "I think I must agree. And that means... "

"That we must stand against them while there is still hope."

"If we can just cripple them, even, expose them . . ."

"Then, someday, others will finish the job."

"And our long vendetta will be repaid. At last."

They locked eyes for a moment and then murmured in unison. "It seems the only way."

"So we fight," Stefan said.

Though I could see that they were torn, self-preservation warring with revenge, the smile they exchanged was full of anticipation.

"We fight," Vladimir agreed.

I suppose it was a good thing; like Alistair, I was sure the battle was impossible to avoid. In that case, two more vampires fighting on our side could only help. But the Romanians' decision still made me shudder.

"We will fight, too," Tia said, her usually grave voice more solemn than ever. "We believe the Volturi will overstep their authority. We have no wish to belong to them." Her eyes lingered on her mate.

Benjamin grinned and threw an impish glance toward the Romanians. "Apparently, I'm a hot commodity. It appears I have to win the right to be free."

"This won't be the first time I've fought to keep myself from a king's rule," Garrett said in a teasing tone. He walked over and clapped Benjamin on the back. "Here's to freedom from oppression."

"We stand with Carlisle," Tanya said. "And we fight with him."

The Romanians' pronouncement seemed to have made the others feel the need to declare themselves as well.

"We have not decided," Peter said. He looked down at his tiny companion; Charlotte's lips were set in dissatisfaction. It looked like she'd made her decision.

"The same goes for me," Randall said.

"And me," Mary added.

"The packs will fight with the Cullens," Jacob said suddenly. "We're not afraid of vampires," he added with a smirk.

"Children," Peter muttered.

"Infants," Randall corrected.

Jacob grinned tauntingly.

"We'll join you," I said.

"Violet," Gabriel said, looking at me worriedly.

"Reputation is what people think of you. Character is what you are." I quoted him.

Gabriel's face lit up with a fiery passion. Helena stood up and grabbed his hand in his. "I'll join," she said.

"So will I, definitely," Joseph said, walking to us.

"As well I," Ingram said, holding on to me; I could feel a smile creeping on my face.

"And me," Rhona said, standing next to Joseph.

"And me," Alana agreed.

"It's not the first time I've fight," Simon said, holding her hand.

"I guess I'll join as well," Ethan spoke and stood with us.

"Well, I'm in, too," Maggie said, shrugging out from under Siobhan's restraining hand. "I know truth is on Carlisle's side. I can't ignore that."

Siobhan stared at the junior member of her coven with worried eyes. "Carlisle," she said as if they were alone, ignoring the suddenly formal feel of the gathering, the unexpected outburst of declarations, "I don't want this to come to a fight."

"Nor do I, Siobhan. You know that's the last thing I want." He half-smiled.

"Perhaps you should concentrate on keeping it peaceful."

You know that won't help," she said.

"It couldn't hurt," Carlisle said.

Siobhan rolled her eyes. "Shall I visualise the outcome I desire?" she asked sarcastically.

Carlisle was openly grinning now. "If you don't mind."

"Then there is no need for my coven to declare itself, is there?" she retorted.

"Since there is no possibility of a fight." She put her hand back on Maggie's shoulder, pulling the girl closer to her. Liam stood silent and expressionless.

The air in the room was thick with confusion as Carlisle and Siobhan exchanged playful banter. Their words were like a secret code, understood only by the two of them. The rest of us were left to puzzle over their cryptic conversation, our faces twisted in bewilderment.

As the last of the vampires began to filter out of the room, I felt Bella's hand gripping onto my shoulder.

"Can I have a word with you privately?" she asked me, her tone hushed.

I nodded, following Bella as she led me to a quiet corner away from the others. Her eyes, usually so calm and composed, were now stormy with emotion. I braced myself for what she was about to say, sensing the weight of her words before they were even spoken.

"Bella, what's going on?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She took a deep breath, her eyes flickering with a mix of sadness and determination. "I need you to promise me something, Violet," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "If anything happens to Edward and me, you have to protect Renesmee. You, Jacob, and Ingram. You have to keep her safe, no matter what."

The intensity of her plea caught me off guard, and I felt a lump forming in my throat. "Bella, nothing is going to happen to you. We'll all fight together, and we'll win. We have to."

Her grip on my shoulder tightened, her eyes piercing into mine. "I know you believe that, and I want to believe it too. But we have to be prepared for anything. Renesmee is everything to us, and if we fall, she needs someone to guide her, to love her. Promise me, Violet."

I swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of her words settle into my bones. "I promise, Bella. I won't let anything happen to her."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling me into a tight hug. I hugged her back, feeling the warmth of her body and the coldness of our uncertain future mingling together.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear as I spoke in a hushed tone.

"Tell J that Lilac Wolfe isn't going," I murmured, my words barely audible above the din of the departing crowd.

Bella's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly composed herself and nodded in understanding. With a sly smile, she slipped away into the night, her mission clear.

The room slowly emptied as each vampire took a moment to absorb the weight of their declarations and the daunting task ahead. The air was thick with tension and unspoken fears, but a glimmer of determination shone through. As I stood there, contemplating the events that had just unfolded, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Ingram, his eyes filled with concern and resolve.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, feeling the weight of the promise I had made to Bella settle heavily on my shoulders. "We have to be. For Renesmee, for everyone."

He pulled me into a reassuring embrace, his strength and warmth providing a brief moment of solace amidst the chaos. "We'll get through this," he murmured against my hair. "Together."

As we broke apart, I caught sight of Gabriel and Joseph approaching, their expressions mirroring the resolve that now coursed through me. The four of us stood together, a united front against the uncertain future that loomed ahead.

"We need to prepare," Joseph said, his voice steady and determined. "We have to be ready for whatever comes."

Simon nodded in agreement, his eyes flicking towards the door where Bella had disappeared. "And we need to make sure Renesmee is safe, no matter what."

With a shared look of determination, we made our way out of the room, each step a silent vow to protect those we loved and to fight for a future that seemed increasingly uncertain. The forest outside was dark and still, a stark contrast to the turmoil within the house. As we walked, the gravity of our situation settled over us like a shroud, but there was a spark of hope that refused to be extinguished.

The night was far from over, and there was much to be done. But in that moment, surrounded by those who had become my family, I knew we would face whatever came together. And that, I realized, was a strength the Volturi could never take from us.

We gathered in a small clearing, the moon casting a pale light over us as we began to discuss our next steps. Each of us contributed our ideas, strategies, and strengths, forming a plan that would hopefully tip the scales in our favor.

As the hours passed and the first light of dawn began to break through, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. We were not just fighting for survival; we were fighting for each other, for the bonds we had formed and the love that united us. And in the face of such overwhelming odds, that love would be our greatest weapon.

[steele-soulmate]

Princess of Candy Coated Lies, Modern Royalty AU- King Peter Steele & Single Mother OFC, Soulmate AU

Chapter 22

SUMMARY: Single mother Molly Anne Harper does the best she can do, given her circumstances- since she broke up with her ex-boyfriend by sending him to jail, she’s been struggling to be the best mother to twin daughters while working barely minimum waged jobs. But when she meets her soulmate- King Peter Thomas Ratajczyk of Brooklyn- she quickly finds herself falling heads over heels in love with the guarded, battle damaged ruler. Likewise, Peter finds himself with a family of a women and two little girls who call him daddy. But what happens when their father gets out from behind bars and starts to cause mayhem?

A Soulmate AU where you never know what the first words your soulmate says to you until they say it

STORY WARNINGS: stalking, mentions of abuse (nothing graphic)

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS: This fic is dedicated to SkullWoggle on AO3 and @rock-a-noodle on Tumblr.

WORD COUNT: 1301

I swore softly as I opened the envelope, pulling out more pictures of the girls at the farmers market the day before. I held the photographs like they were a venomous snake as I laid them out onto the kitchen island, my entire body quaking violently as my eye scanned the invasive snapshots.

Evie giggling as she and a black nosed sheep rubbed their noses together.

Aria beaming as she handed over money for her miniature pumpkins.

The twins cackling with glee as they pressed themselves under their soon to be father’s arms before tucking into the meal spread out before them.

Aria and Evie feeding each other a French fry at the same time, their playful smiles infectious and happy to look at.

I didn’t look up as King Peter and the twins came up from the garage, where he had been showing the girls how to tinker around the Doom Buggy.

“Sweetheart?” I felt the king coming up behind me, and then I heard the short snort of air being forcefully pushed out his nostrils. “Girls, go up to your rooms.”

“Okay, daddy!” Aria meeped, the pitter patter of their footsteps disappearing up the stairs.

“Sweetheart, I had a small team of a dozen King’s Guardsmen in plainclothes haunt the famers market along with us, and they reported nothing suspicious,” he confessed in a soft rumble. “I’m sorry sweetheart- I should’ve said something beforehand, but I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Please you majesty, please,” I begged, turning and curling deep into his manly chest. “Please protect the girls from their father. What is he even doing out from behind bars? He should not be out, he should never be out ever again.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m aware that not being honest to you about the safety of the girls was an error on my part,” he told me, owning up to his mistake with the grace of love and noble blood. “How about this- I will personally introduce you to the members of the King’s Guardsmen on assignment when aclable, does that sound reasonable?”

“It does your majesty, yes.” Was I crying? I sniffled before pulling away to scrub at my face with the heel of my hand. When did I start crying?

“Come here now woman of mine-” The king lifted me up and settled me onto the kitchen island before crowding himself in between my knees. “What can I do to erase those tears from your beautiful blue eyes?”

Distract me.

“Okay,” he hummed, running his nose up my jawbone and then back down again. “Pamela majored in botany sciences in college and she has a friend of hers who owns a floral shop. She asked me to ask you if you wanted to carry a bouquet when we wed.”

“Yeah… okay… sure…” I tucked my face into the apex of his neck and shoulder, still blubbering uncontrollably in a whirlwind of negative emotions and pure, raw fear.

“Also, do you want me to wear a boutonniere?” he asked me. “Maybe something that corresponds with your bouquet maybe?”

“Only if you’re alright with it,” I told him with a watery smile. “I don’t want to wear the traditional crown from the royal treasury- I really want to wear a flower crown. I won’t be an official member of the royal family until I’ve born you a son to carry on the family name.”

“Sweetheart, I’m rewriting that law,” his nostrils flared out dangerously. “I’ll submit it to be passed on Monday, when I go to visit my mother.”

“Oh, she’s back?” I asked. Queen Annette the Elder had been in Paris when the King and I had met and wasn’t scheduled to return for another two weeks. “Will she be at our wedding?” I felt fear bubbling up in my stomach at the idea of meeting the refined, elegant woman.

“She came back two days ago,” he confessed. “She asked me to ask you when would be a good time to meet you and the girls.”

A different type of fear exploded deep into my stomach, and the king quickly backtracked.

“She wants to meet you at her favorite bookstore,” he told me. “No fuss, no pomp. Just a sweet little old lady who loves books and tea.”

I stilled look unsure as he began to gently trace the finer features of my face with his thumb. I realized with a start that he was waiting for my verdict.

“Does she want to meet the three of us at once?” I question him in a timid tensive tone of voice.

“If you would allow it,” he told me, sneaking a kiss to my temple. “I did tell her that if you didn’t want to meet her with the twins, then she needs to respect your boundary.” The king’s voice was worn out and I knew without a doubt that his mother was an emotional handful.

“She is your mother, the queen,” I reminded him in a shaking voice.

“But you are my soulmate, my fiancé, my woman!” he snarled, jerking his head backwards. “Forgive me for running items of importance by you first!”

“But the queen will respect any boundaries that I lay out,” I fretted as anxiety began to race through my veins. “Won’t she?”

“Oh she will,” he glowered, tucking my face into his muscular chest. “She may get excited and try to help, as she would do to most other people out there, but she only means well enough.”

“Oh,” I hummed, finding myself at ease in this gentle giant’s loving and protective arms. “Can my parents be at our wedding?”

“Sweetheart…?” The king began to rock back and forth with one hand on the back of my shoulder bone and one hand entangled in my mess of curls. “Would you want them there?”

“They cut me out of their lives when I dropped out of Brooklyn University to pursue Henry,” I confessed in a dark mutter. “The last thing that mom ever told me would be to tell me that I could only contact them under two circumstances- to say that I left Henry or that I was being returned to them in a box.”

“Sweetheart, is that a yes or a no?” he asked me in a gentle rumble.

I shut my eyes.

“It’s a yes.”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@elianafilthyrose

@ch3rry-c01a

@rockstarslutt

@angelxfuckk

[isabellafoster13]

Chapter Twenty-Two: Three Hit Dice

WARNING: MENTIONS OF PREVIOUS PANIC ATTACK AND GAMBLING!

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Freed walked behind Lucy, his eyes skimming the doors they passed by, but mostly watching the people around them. Something in him was telling him to shield Lucy from any man or woman who even attempted to look at her in any manner. He looked toward Lucy, seeing that she had wrapped her arms around herself, as if uncomfortable. It irritated him. He rested a hand on the hilt of his rapier and stuffed his other hand in his pocket, an attempt to stop himself from taking her into his arms and soothing her. 

Perhaps she was bothered by the possibility that people were staring at her judgingly due to her previous breakdown. He wouldn't blame her. He grimaced as he remembered when Lucy suddenly had what he could only guess was a panic attack. What had caused it, he was unable to figure out. Nothing had happened that could have caused such a reaction in her, unless she saw something that cause dit. But, what could that be? 

Freed gave a silent sigh. He made a note to look into panic attacks and educate himself on what to do in the event that it happened again. He didn't like not being able to do anything earlier. When he heard Lucy fall to the floor, he could only stand there and watch as she seemed to break down, Loke and Tucana needing to summon themselves in order to help her. 

He remembered that Tucana had used one of Lucy's keys to help. What purpose did that serve? Grounding? Tucana had used her Rainbow Fire Magic to chill it, he knew that, so maybe the coldness of the key was used to bring Lucy out of her panicked mind. As he watched Lucy on the floor, he was frozen, wanting to help, but not knowing how to. After the fact, he had silently cursed at himself, ashamed of himself for doing nothing. He had never felt more useless before in his life, and he hated it passionately. He was in love with Lucy, for Heaven's sake! How could he do nothing to help her? 

The rune mage's sea-green eyes moved toward Rufus, seeing that the blonde man was subtly gazing down at Lucy with a serene smile. He furrowed his brow as his eyes narrowed in a glare. Just before Lucy's attack, he noticed that Rufus had pulled her against himself. Freed was tempted to pull her away and toward himself, maybe even give Rufus a good punch in the process, but he refrained from doing so due to the inability to conjure an excuse in the event that Lucy would ask for his reason for suddenly pulling her toward him and punching Rufus. 

The want to punch Rufus returned to Freed as he continued to glare at him. The blonde man, certainly feeling the glare on him, turned to look back at Freed and swapped his serene smile for a smug smirk. Freed tightened his hold on the hilt of his rapier and balled his other fist inside of his pocket. Resisting the urge to wipe that smirk off of the memory-make mage's face was proving difficult to do. He turned his head away, hoping that not looking at him would help. 

Freed's eyes quickly found their way to Midnight, who was walking in front of Lucy. What was his reason for being here? Why did he decide to join them? Surely he had a reason beyond simply wanting to help. Was he too in love with Lucy? Is that why he joined them? Freed's gut turned at that thought. He made a note to keep an eye on not just Rufus, but Midnight as well. 

He looked around at his surroundings again, grimacing at the sight of people drinking and partaking in a variety of smoked drugs. He was never one to drink regularly, much less even entertain the idea of taking any kind of drugs. He was looking forward to leaving la Cour de Velours, as despite only being here for a day, he was already sickened by the smell and sight of the drugs. He supposed that he should be happy that he was unable to hear or see any intimate relations that may be going on behind closed doors. Although, he suspected that one day was long enough for the smell of drugs to seep into his clothes, meaning, it'll likely take a lot of time and effort to get it out. 

"Here is one." 

Freed looked ahead to see Midnight walking quickly toward a door. He, Lucy, and Rufus hurried after him. When they reached the door, he read the sign that was on it. 

'Celestial Spirit Gate Key up for gamble!' 

He didn't need to look at Lucy to know that she was happy to see this and he followed the other three mages into the room. Inside, there was nothing but a table with two chairs on opposite sides. A man and a woman stood at the head of the wooden table. The man was dressed in comfortable clothing, a blue t-shirt, and dark blue jeans. His hair was sandy blonde and messy. His skin was so pale that he practically glowed in the dim lighting. The woman, in contrast, was dressed in a white coatdress. Her black hair was tied into a tight bun at the back of her head and the dim lighting made her brown skin look darker than it probably actually was. 

The man rested his hands on top of the table and grinned at the small group, speaking once the door was closed, "hey there. So, who will be playing against me? The game we are going to play is Three Hit Dice." 

Freed's eyes widened when he heard the name of the game. He, Laxus, Evergreen, and Bixlow had long ago made it a habit of gambling against each other on rainy days, when they weren't able to go on jobs and didn't feel like trudging through the rain to get to the guild. It was for this reason that he was confident in their ability to succeed in winning any keys they found. He knew how to play several gambling games and was quite good at it, in fact, he won against his closest friends more than any of them had won. 

Lucy stepped toward the table, but Freed's hand instantly shot out of his pocket to grab her shoulder and stop her. When Lucy turned around to look at him, confusion swimming in her beautiful, brown eyes, he explained, "I know how to play Three Hit Dice. Let me do it." 

Lucy shook her head, answering, "no, Freed, it's my job to collect the keys, I'm going to play." 

Freed countered, "but I know how to play. I have played this game against Laxus, Evergreen, and Bixlow more times than I can count. I've never lost." 

Midnight spoke up, "I suggest you let him do it. If what he is saying is true, then he has the biggest probability of winning." 

Lucy looked over at Midnight and gave a slight pout. When she stepped aside to allow Freed to walk to the table, the rune mage silently thanked Midnight for helping him out. He made his way to one side of the table and sat down. The man followed suit while the woman took a couple of small steps back, allowing her to see both Freed and her partner equally as well. She reached into one pocket and produced one six-sided die. She then reached into her other pocket and pulled out several cards and two pencils. 

The man chuckled before saying, "I'm sorry, we haven't introduced ourselves. That was rude. I'm Mo and this is my wife, Lilith." 

Freed responded coolly, "no need to apologize. I'm Freed." 

Lilith then spoke, her voice monotonous, "do you know how to play Three Hit Dice?" 

Freed nodded, explaining, "you will roll a die. The numbers one, two, and three are down, while the numbers four, five, and six are up. Your husband and I must write on cards a three-letter combination of the letters U and D, U representing up and D representing down. Once we write our guesses on the cards and give them to you, you will roll the die until it lands three consecutive times, matching one of the players' guesses." 

Lilith nodded at him, answering, "you are correct. There will be three rounds. Whoever wins at least two of the rounds will win the key." 

Mo praised him, "so smart!" 

Freed resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He glanced over at Lucy, noticing that she appeared to be bothered by something. Why? What was bothering her? Was it because she wasn't playing the game? Did she not have much confidence in him? These questions were quickly answered when he remembered what Lucy had done at the first den. She had examined the die to ensure that it wasn't loaded and she had looked at the key to ensure that it was real. Realizing he had failed to do both of those things and, thus, realizing that Lucy's appearance of being bothered by something was caused by this, the green-haired man turned to Lilith and asked, "could I inspect the die and see the key?" 

Lilith narrowed her dark brown gaze at him, questioning, "why?" 

Freed answered calmly, "to make sure the die isn't loaded and that the key isn't a fake." 

Mo spoke up before his wife could answer, "let him, dear. I don't see any harm." 

Lilith sighed and handed Freed the die before she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key. Freed looked the die over and weighed it in his hand, easily determining that it wasn't loaded. He returned the die to Lilith and held his hand out for the key. When Lilith gave it to him, he asked Lucy, "how do I know if it's real?" 

Lucy answered, "you'll know when you can feel magic energy coming off of it. Send some of your magic into it." 

Freed focused his magic into the key, and when he felt a small surge of magic respond, he handed it back to Lilith with a nod. Lilith put the key back into her pocket and handed the two men in front of her each a card and a pencil. Just as Freed was about to write down a letter, a loud bang on the door sounded, causing him to jump. His head snapped up to look at the door, and Lucy, Rufus, and Midnight turned around to look at the door as well. 

When nothing else happened, Mo commented, "I guess someone bumped into the door." 

Freed ignored the man and resumed what he was doing, moving the card to hide it under the table and writing down DDU on the blank card. He then handed the card to Lilith, Mo doing the same thing. She looked at the cards and laid them on the table, face-down. Freed wasn't incredibly confident in his guess, but he had nothing else to rely on besides the fact that DDU was the most common combination when he played with his closest friends. 

She took up the die and rolled it. 

Two. Down. 

Lilith rolled again. One. Down.

She rolled again. Freed silently willed the die to land on four, five, or six. 

One again. Down.

Lilith sat the die down on the table and turned the cards over, revealing each man's guess. On one card was DDU and on the other card was DDD. 

Freed felt his stomach drop when he heard Lilith announce, "Mo wins the first round." 

When he was handed another blank card, Freed rested it on his knee and wrote his guess. DDU. He offered a prayer to whatever higher power that would listen for him to win these next two rounds. He handed the card to Lilith again. When she looked at the cards and laid them down, face-down, again, she picked up the die. Before she could roll, another loud bang sounded at the door, making Freed jump once again and look at the door, along with his three partners. 

When he turned back to look at Lilith he nodded for her to continue. The woman tossed the die. 

Four. Up. 

Another toss. Six. Up.

Another toss. One. Down. 

A fourth toss. One. Down. 

A fifth toss. Four. Up.

Freed gave a silent sigh of relief when Lilith flipped the cards around, revealing one card had DDU written on it and the other had DUD written on it, and announced, "Freed wins the second round." 

She then handed each of the two men another blank card. Freed once again rested his card on his knee and wrote down DDU. He handed it back to Lilith. Before the woman could take the two cards, a loud bang at the door dragged Freed's, Lucy's, Rufus', and Midnight's attention to it. 

Freed raised an eyebrow. There was a bang at the door three times in a row and just before Lilith rolled the die. Was that a coincidence? As an inkling of suspicion settled into his gut, He turned back around to look at Lilith. She held up the die. 

She then rolled it. 

Four. Up. 

Freed was already overcome with a feeling of anxiety. 

Another roll. Four. Up.

Freed stole a glance at Mo, seeing that he was resting his elbows on top of the table, holding his head on the backs of his fingers that were laced together as he watched the die. If he was as stressed as Freed was, he was doing a hell of a good job at hiding it. How was he so calm?

A third roll. Five. Up. 

Lilith flipped the cards over, DDU and UUU, and announced, "Mo wins the third round. The key stays in his possession." 

Freed's eyes widened and his stomach dropped. The world around him seemed to stop as realization crashed down onto him like a tsunami wave. 

He lost. He failed to get the key for Lucy. 

Lucy barked, "are you serious, Freed? I thought that you knew how to win this game!" 

Freed looked at her. She was angry. Rightfully so. He was angry at himself. How? How did he lose? His DDU strategy had never failed him before. Why now? 

Mo stood up, saying, "too bad. Good game though, right, Freed?" He then reached his hand toward the rune mage, requesting a handshake. 

Freed furrowed his brow and gritted his teeth. He heard the condescending tone that Mo spoke in. This guy was mocking him. It angered him greatly. Freed stood up and slapped Mo's hand away, demanding, "another game." 

Mo blinked at him innocently. The obvious act made Freed even angrier. "What?" Mo asked. 

Freed repeated, "you and I! We play another three rounds!"

Mo then chuckled, answering, "I'm sorry, but Lilith and I will only allow one game. You and your friends will need to leave now." 

Freed looked over at the other three mages. Rufus and Midnight were glaring at him while Lucy had turned around, her head drooping in a way that told him that she was sad and disappointed, and reached for the doorknob. He cursed at himself. How could he lose? He may have just ruined any chance he may have had with Lucy, and put her mission in jeopardy. She's upset and he was the reason. 

His eyes glanced at the door in front of Lucy. He then remembered that a loud bang had sounded at it, causing him and his friends to look at it. Three times in a row and all before Lilith rolled the die. How could that be a coincidence? He then looked at the die that was lying on the table. It had landed on one twice in a row in the first round. Then it landed on four twice and one twice in the second round, the one being twice in a row again. In the third round, it landed on four twice in a row. The odds of a six-sided die landing on a number twice in a row in all three rounds were so low that there was no way this could be a coincidence. 

Freed called out, "wait!" 

When he was sure that everybody was watching him, he straightened and spoke, "at the beginning of each round, my friends and I were distracted by a loud sound at the door. All three times, it happened before Lilith rolled the die." He looked at Mo and Lilith, his brow furrowed and a frown set on his face. He continued, "in each round, a number was rolled twice in a row. One in the first and second rounds, and four in the third round. There is only one explanation for any of this." 

Mo crossed his arms over his chest, inquiring, "which is?" 

Freed remembered what Midnight had said earlier. The den owners do not want to pay and will cheat in order to win. He pointed at the couple and revealed, "you two cheated." 

Lilith took a step forward, growling, "we did not! You are just upset that you lost!" 

The corner of Freed's mouth twitched up in a smirk. He returned, "au contraire, you did cheat, and I can prove it." 

Lilith sneered, "leave!" 

Freed launched himself toward her, pushing Mo to the floor as he shoved Lilith against the wall, pinning her against it by holding her arms behind her back with one hand. He reached into her pocket and silently praised himself upon discovering that he was, indeed, right. He collected the contents and went back to the table, tossing onto it four dice. 

He picked up one and weighed it. It wasn't loaded. He explained, "this was the die that I inspected before we began the game." 

He sat the die down and picked up another one. Finding that it wasn't the one he was looking for, he put it back down and picked up a second one. It was heavy on the one, two, and three sides. He went on, "this is the die that Lilith had switched out when we were first distracted by the sound at the door. It is loaded and rigged to land on one, two, or three. Down, Down, Down." 

He picked up the die he had picked up before the down die, continuing, "this was the one that Lilith switched out the second time we were distracted. It too is loaded. It is weighted on the four, one, and six sides. Up, Down, Up. Mo's guess was DUD.”

He then picked up the final die, holding it up like he did with the others, and revealed, "this one was switched the third time when we were, again, distracted. It is rigged to land on one of the Up numbers.” He sat the die back down and went on to speak, “they likely decided beforehand which dice would be used in which round, since I didn’t notice them do anything that could have been a signal.”

He turned to Mo and Lilith, finishing, "this explains why Mo was incredibly calm throughout the game. It is impossible for a human to remain so calm unless he had no reason to worry. This also explains why Lilith reacted so aggressively when I accused them of cheating." 

Lucy questioned, "what about the bangs at the door?" 

Freed looked back at her and answered, "Lilith caused it. She uses Sound Magic." He turned back to the couple, demanding, "you clearly cheated. Now, give me the key." He held out his hand for the key. 

Lilith scowled and launched herself at Freed, aiming to attack him. However, before she could reach him, and before Freed could draw his rapier to defend himself, Mo threw his wife over his shoulder and tossed the silver key at Freed, exclaiming, "just take it and get out!" 

Freed smirked and gave a nod as he responded, "it was a pleasure." 

He then turned around and walked toward the door, leading his three partners out of the room and to their assigned quarters. 

Freed stared down at the key in his hands as he entered his and his partners' assigned quarters. The blade of the silver key was shaped like a wooden club and on the lightning strike-shaped bow was the silhouette of a large, muscular man fighting a lion with his bare hands. He turned around when he heard Lucy speak from behind him, "good job, Freed!" 

The rune mage felt his cheeks warm in a blush when he saw her appreciative smile and heard her praise. He gave her a small smile as he responded and handed her the key, "I was just righting a wrong." 

Lucy hummed and smiled down at the key, "it's still amazing that you were able to figure out their cheat so quickly." She looked back up at him, "although, I probably shouldn't be surprised, considering how smart you are!" 

Freed felt the heat on his cheeks increase and his gut became filled with butterflies. He turned away from her and made his way over to the couch, hoping that Lucy hadn't noticed the almost certainly evident blush on his face. "Thank you for the praise, Lucy, but I don't deserve it. We had to get the key and I was just ensuring that we got it." 

Rufus spoke up from where he was sitting in a chair, "I will agree with Lucy. Good job, Freed." 

Freed looked over at the blonde man, not failing to notice the strained tone in his voice that he had tried to hide and the hard stare that he was casting his way. Was Rufus disappointed in himself for not figuring out the cheat just as quickly, if not quicker? Freed felt even more proud of himself at that thought. 

Midnight sat on one side of the couch just as Freed sat on the opposite side, "it is impressive nonetheless. Everybody here is skilled at gambling, so the den owners will form intricate cheats to win." 

Lucy was the next to speak, "at least we have Hercules' key." 

As Freed, Rufus, and Midnight watched, Lucy pointed the blade of the silver key and announced, "I connect to the World of Celestial Spirits! Heed my call and pass through the gate! Open! Gate of the Strongman: Hercules!" 

Freed squinted his eyes in response to the bright light that glowed as the new celestial spirit appeared. He hoped that he would get used to this soon, or else he was going to go blind before they get back to Magnolia. 

When the light dyed away, a large, muscled man stood there, standing about as tall as Elfman, maybe a little taller. He was dressed in a brown tunic and cloaking him was lion's skin. His hair and beard were unruly and black. Something about his hair and beard made Freed feel like they were dirty. He grimaced at the thought. Unclean hair had always been a personal pet peeve of his. The celestial spirit held a large, wooden club in his hand. 

Hercules stared down at Lucy coldly as the blonde woman greeted him, "hello, Hercules. I'm Lucy. I was wondering if you'd like to make a contract with me?" 

Freed didn't fail to miss Lucy's body language. She was leaning away from the spirit and her arms were crossed over her chest. She was hesitant, perhaps thinking that Hercules would try to attack her. Judging by the way he was staring down at her, Freed couldn't blame her. He leaned forward in his seat, readying himself to defend Lucy should she be attacked. 

However, Hercules surprised all four of the present mages by grinning down at Lucy and beaming, "it's about time you got my key! I'd love to make a contract with you!" 

Freed relaxed at that and leaned back in his seat. He watched as Lucy asked, "what days can I summon you?" 

"Any day that isn't Saturday or Sunday. Just don't summon me alongside Leo, Cancer, or Hydra." 

"Why?" 

"I hate them!" 

"Okay then. What can you do?" 

Hercules threw his club over his shoulder so that it rested across his shoulders behind his neck. He answered, "I don't use magic. I prefer to do the fighting with my hands and my club." He then kneeled in front of Lucy and brought one of his arms up, flexing the muscle for her to see. His grin widened and he boasted, "I can physically overpower the strongest mage in your guild!" 

Lucy chuckled and stepped away from him, responding, "so, I guess you and Taurus would be a great match! I'll keep that in mind for the next time I fight!" 

Hercules gave a booming laugh. Freed glanced over at Rufus and Midnight, seeing that the Sabertooth mage was covering his ears and had a slight grimace on his face, clearly bothered by the not bad, but very loud laugh. Midnight had simply grimaced and turned his head away. Freed suppressed a chuckle at the sight. He was far more used to such sounds, thanks to the fact that he was a Fairy Tail mage. 

He turned his attention back to the pair at the front of the room when the laughter dyed down. Lucy thanked Hercules and the celestial spirit returned to his realm. Freed then questioned, "what is the plan now?"

Lucy hummed in thought before she answered, "let's look for more keys in the morning." She glanced at the clock and added when she looked back at the three men, "it's late. We should get some sleep." 

Freed nodded as Rufus and Midnight stood up, commenting, "that'll give me time to look through the new book that Levy sent me." 

Lucy nodded, "I'll have Virgo retrieve it." 

Midnight then asked, "what book?" 

Freed answered, "a book of criminals. There are several. I've been having Levy send me one book at a time via teleportation. I am looking for any information on Terra, Lust, and Nyx, the three mages that we are combatting. If there is any known information, then it'll be in one of the books." 

Midnight raised an eyebrow as he questioned, "why don't you have Levy look for them herself?" 

Freed accepted the large, leather-bound book that Virgo handed him as he answered, "unfortunately, Levy is too busy for that. No matter, I can do it myself. She'll just need to send them to me." 

With that, the mages split up to ready themselves for bed and try to sleep while Freed remained on the couch and looked through the book that sat on his lap.

[1988-fiend]

READER GETTING THE THOUGHTY THOUGHTS!!

Where as I’m sure Matt’s been there (respectfully) for a while.

But I still can’t wait for the beam of toddler sunshine for her Fourth Birthday Breakfast!

[[and then I met you || ch 22]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k

ao3 link

It takes you a little over an hour to get Minnie to go down for bed. Tomorrow is her birthday party and to say she is excited is an understatement. She was practically jumping off the walls and it took three different books, a bottle, and two lullabies to finally get her to drift off. You are thankful when she doesn’t sit up again and call for you after five minutes, because you have a lot to do. 

You need to clean up the apartment and decorate, you need to prepare pancake batter for a princess style breakfast, you need to finish wrapping presents, and you need to set up the couch for Matt. He will be coming by after his Patrol so he can stay the night and Minnie can wake up to the surprise of him being there, which is the perfect way to start her celebratory weekend.

But before any of that, you need to go take a shower so you can have a proper breakdown. 

When you were younger, you believed crying was a sign of weakness. Your parents had treated it as such, always dismissive if you cried. The reason had never mattered - shedding tears was pointless and for children, so you had learned to bottle everything up and push it all down until the act of crying physically hurt you. Only very recently did you accept that crying is healthy. 

You still hate doing it, though, and the only way you have found to balance your shame and your need for that emotional release is to treat it like another task you need to accomplish. 

You triple check your daughter is truly asleep before you close the door to the bathroom and start the water. You keep yourself composed as you strip and only once you are under the spray do you let the tears start to fall. 

So much has happened in such a short time and your anxiety has been through the roof. 

The first bill for your hospital stay arrived today and you have been too scared to open it. You are terrified to go back into medical debt - giving birth in the United States had drained a lot of your savings and you have built it back up. You know there are all sorts of hidden fees, and you are going to need to do so much work contacting the various billing offices to try to get prices down. 

It isn’t even like you are fully recovered from being in the hospital in the first place. You only just finished your antibiotics last week and your ear still randomly throbs or rings. 

But honestly, you don’t know if that is from being sick or almost having your head bashed in. 

You thought you would be okay after the attack. You thought Minnie would be the one with problems - having nightmares and jumping at shadows - but after the first day of making sure you were okay, she’s been fine. You haven’t been. 

You’ve been plagued with nightmares about hands around your neck. You’ve been jumping at shadows when you leave the apartment. 

You keep constantly checking your locks and you debate ordering pepper spray. 

You don’t know what to do.

You aren’t okay. 

You don’t feel safe. 

The only time you have felt secure is when Matt was there to hold you and remembering such only signals your brain to send a new wave of tears. 

He confuses you in a way no one else ever has. 

You have never met anyone who cares so much before. It is overwhelming how much he loves Hell’s Kitchen - enough so to become a vigilante to protect it - and it is overwhelming how much he loves Minnie. You thought only you could love her that much.

Seeing them together does things to your heart you don’t understand. You just want to watch them play and bond until the end of time. They smile and laugh, and it is the only time you ever feel Whole. You feel like everything is perfect when the three of you are together. 

You don’t know what to make of that. You don’t trust yourself with it - you’ve never felt like that before and you are scared that if you think too hard about it, you’ll find a flaw and the feeling will be ruined. 

You just want Matt to hold you while the two of you watch Minnie play and that isn’t an okay fantasy for you to have. You don’t have that type of relationship with him. 

He is a naturally touchy person with a huge heart. You’ve seen him hug Karen and Foggy before and you know he has only ever wrapped his arms around you to comfort you. 

And he wants to comfort you because you are the mother of his child. He wouldn’t be around if it weren’t for Minnie and that is something you need to remind yourself of. 

Matt loves Minnie. Family is extremely important to him, and he has told you time and time again that he strives to be the best dad possible for her - so of course that means he needs to take care of you and make sure you have a positive relationship.

If you and Matt butt heads, that wouldn’t be what was best for Minnie.

You need to do what is best for Minnie.

Which means you need to stop crying and get to work. 

You wipe at your tears until they start to slow, then wash your face while still under the spray. It takes a minute or two for you to fully calm down, but once you do, it is like the tap is turned off. Crying time is over, so you stop your shower and quickly dry off so you can get dressed.

You feel better, but in a kind of dull way. It is like all the pressures in your life have been turned down to something more manageable and you know you will be able to focus on your tasks without slipping into a panic attack. 

The apartment is not nearly as dirty as you believed it to be. You have to straighten some things up and you take the time to wipe down all the flat surfaces, but after that, you start putting things up. There’s a pink and yellow Happy Birthday banner and you blow up a few inflatables you found shaped like flowers and stick them to the walls. You twirl streamers together to decorate the back of the couch and the dining chairs, and your favorite piece is the pink sparkle fringe to hang over the hallway entrance. It isn’t the most elaborate of set ups, but you know Minnie will love it and that is all that matters to you. 

Once your living space is Birthday themed, you turn to the kitchen. You went shopping today to make sure you had everything needed for a spectacular breakfast. You found a recipe for extra fluffy pancakes, and it seems easy enough - it calls for letting the batter rest overnight and you particularly like that as it is one less thing to do in the morning while trying to handle a rowdy toddler. 

It doesn’t take long to get everything prepped and before you know it, it has been close to two hours since you put Minnie down to sleep and you feel it is finally safe to bring her presents out of their hidey holes to be wrapped. 

She has grown a bit since you last bought her clothes, so you got her a nice little haul, including a new princess dress for her to wear to the zoo. It has sparkles and tulle and the dress comes with a matching crown you just know she won’t want to take off. You are extremely proud of the find. 

You didn’t just get her clothes, though. Minnie has been more and more interested in helping you cook, so you got her a little kitchen play set. It comes with pots and pans, knives, utensils, bowls, plates, and some fake food. You thought it would be fun to have her practice her skills - she’s a pro at helping you stir and mix, and she knows how to use a butter knife to cut up fruit. You hope she enjoys pretending to wash her dishes, so you lure you into helping into that part of cooking, but you don’t think anyone finds that chore fun. 

Before you can start wrapping, you need to go through everything and remove all the tags and stickers. It is a boring activity that takes far too long, so you decide you are going to multitask while doing so. You grab your laptop and notebook and settle down among your pile of bags.

Since your talk with Matt about Daredevil, you have been in research mode. The first few nights, you read every article you could find about the Devil. You started with the reputable sources - purely focusing on news reports - and once you had a timeline of events down, you switched to opinion pieces. You quickly ended up sorting those into three categories - positive outlooks, negative outlooks, and outlooks written by Karen Page. 

You took notes on everything - making pro and con lists on each major event and circling back to jot down questions you had. You felt insane - and frankly a little invasive - but it was how you processed things. You wanted it all laid out nicely in front of you so you could come to your own conclusions. 

But to get to that final conclusion, you still have a lot of internet sleuthing to do, so you open up a new internet tab.

One of the most important things you want to know about Daredevil is how real people feel about him. Published articles are always biased - it is in their nature to be based purely on who produces them - but social media lets the mass in on the conversation. You learned that well after the Attack on New York. 

You remember the majority of the news singing praise for the Avengers and how they saved the Earth - which you truly did appreciate - but no one came and spoke to the people whose lives had been ruined. Sure, they talked about how much destruction had happened and how much it would cost to rebuild, but no one had mentioned how Hell’s Kitchen and Chelsea had been almost flattened. No one cared about the low-cost homes that had been destroyed or the poor people crushed in debris - not when they could talk about the Big Bank buildings the Hulk had run through. Why talk about those genuinely affected when you could bring in a mouthpiece who was halfway across the world?

Iron Man didn’t give two shits about the people whose lives he saved. If he did, he’d help them in the aftermath, and he didn’t. None of the Heroes did - they started going around the world while an uncaring government was left to clean up the mess. Repairs went to the lowest bidder and many things were deemed too expensive and just left to crumble.

But only internet forums and ten second social media videos talked about that.

Matt talks so passionately about helping people in Hell’s Kitchen, so you need to know if it is real, or just all a puff piece. 

You look first into the forums and to your surprise, there is a whole section for New York vigilantes. You resist the urge to dive into the threads about Spider-Man and the Hero of Harlem and you have to scroll to the bottom of the front page to find something about Daredevil. 

It is CCTV footage of Daredevil chasing off what looks to be some teenagers trying to rob a pawn shop and there are a few dozen comments under it. You smile as you start to read them - the majority of it is praise for Matt, with the few negative comments being about the quality of footage.

And each thread you find about Daredevil is like that. You expected to see issues with excessive force like you saw in the opinion pieces, but there is nothing. People who you can tell are locals all comment about how he doesn’t hurt kids, and his punishments reflect the severity of the crime. Muggers get a few good swats while those who commit domestic violence are given as good as they gave. It is gang members and real dangers who end up in the hospital. There are about a handful of posts giving firsthand accounts of how the Devil helped them - ranging from them being in serious danger to Matt helping a drunk woman safely get a cab.

From what you can see, the people who post in this forum like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and genuinely feel safer with him around. The site is a little niche, though, so you switch to a more popular platform to see if you can find different opinions and different opinions you find.

Just not the ones you expected.

There is a new picture of the Devil that has gained traction in his tag that is rather good quality - Matt is squatting on a roof, seemingly observing a street, and is framed in such a way to show off his lower half. His thighs, which you know are all muscle, are highlighted wonderfully and the angle of the photo only emphasizes his backside. His upper back and shoulders are all in shadow, but you can tell just how broad they are. 

Twitter absolutely loves the image, and you think you have to agree with them. You can feel your cheeks heating up and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the screen.

Matt is beyond physically attractive, and it is no wonder the internet is lusting after him. There is a litany of lewd comments from multiple people and one made by a user with a cartoon frog as their profile picture has your core twitching and you quickly hide your face in your hands. 

“imagine him bending you over a rooftop and fucking you until all you can do is drool ♥”

You don’t want to think dirty thoughts about Matt. It makes you feel awkward and guilty but mostly they make you Want, and you desperately want to bat that away.

You very obviously have slept with him before and know what a good lover he is. You know what his skin feels like against yours and your mouth goes dry at the memory of how loudly he moaned while between your legs. His stamina is no joke, and you can only imagine it has improved since he’s started being a vigilante. 

You have no doubt he could easily fuck someone stupid.

You tell yourself you can’t think like this - you are supposed to be researching Daredevil to figure out how you feel about Matt being a vigilante - not ogling pictures of his ass and remembering your night together. 

You gently smack your cheeks a few times and tell yourself to focus. 

That only serves to make you more flush, so you make the executive decision that you have had enough screen time for the night and slam shut your laptop.

You have removed all the tags from the clothes, and you only have a few UPC stickers to pull off fake food, so you hurry through those so you can get to actually wrapping presents and not thinking about what you saw.

It is easy for you to get quickly lost in this new activity. Your perfectionist nature has you needing to make sure every crease is even and crisp and that each present looks picturesque, and you can't do that while distracted. Your thoughts shift from the way Matt’s breath felt against your skin to how many gifts Minnie has and how each one needs to look unique.

You know Minnie is going to tear through them like a wildfire, but it is important to you to make sure love is poured into everything. 

You never got that as a child. Your birthdays were practical affairs and more often than not your present was to go clothes shopping, so you didn’t get to unwrap things or have that grand surprise. You don’t want that for Minnie. You want her to feel like an absolute princess on her special day and if that means rewrapping the same present four times to make it perfect, then that is what you will do. 

You are finalizing bow placements on the gift bags you had to use for odd shaped items when your phone vibrates with an alert. 

For a split second you are confused - it is rather late, and you’ve muted most app notifications - but then you remember Matt is meant to be coming over. 

You don’t know how it could have slipped your mind and embarrassment burns through you. 

How are you going to face him after staring at a picture of his ass until your brain broke?

You hesitate to check your phone, but when you do, you obviously have a text from him saying he is on his way. You groan to yourself, wondering how you can save yourself from this awkward situation? 

Maybe you can go to bed early. You aren’t at all tired - you usually are up for another few hours - but you have a long weekend ahead of you. You will need rest.

In your bed.

Where Matt will not be. 

Because, for the first time in a while, he will be sleeping on the couch. 

Which you still need to prepare.

You finish fussing with Minnie’s bounty of presents and set about arranging them up the Happy Birthday banner like it is a Christmas tree. You have to resist your urge to nitpick and instead turn your focus to cleaning up your mess. You hurriedly shove the pile of trash you made into a bag so you can toss it and your wrapping supplies are tucked into the back of the closet, where they will live until you need them again. 

You do a quick once over to make sure everything is neat and birthday ready before you fetch your spare pillow and blanket. 

You try to not feel guilty as you start making up the couch. You know it isn’t the most comfortable and Matt will probably be sore after doing God knows what all night, but you can’t offer him your bed again. There is no reason for him to be in your bed. As frantic as you are, you don’t need any comforting. 

You just need to stop thinking. 

But not in that way. 

“Stop,” you hiss at yourself. “Stop being a slut. Pure thoughts. Have pure thoughts.”

Scolding yourself does not work as well as you mean it to and all you can do is pour your concentration into folding and refolding the blanket. You roll it up tight first like it is a sleeping bag, then you think that is stupid, so you fold it into a triangle. You realize that is trying way too hard, so into a square it goes. 

The knock at the door startles you and to your credit, you don’t scream. 

You do, however, bury your face into your hands again and take a deep breath. You are panicking over nothing. Everything is just fine. You are overthinking.

You mentally chant that mantra as you go to the door. You hesitate to open it, needing the extra moment to center yourself, and you are surprised you don’t automatically close it again at the sight of Matt. 

His normal daytime attire is a suit, and he wears them like a model, but you much prefer him dressed down as he is now. He’s in a t-shirt and joggers, with a five o’clock shadow and fluffed up hair, and he looks devastatingly handsome. He looks friendly and soft, but everything is just tight enough to show off how toned he is. 

Your body reacts exactly like it did to the picture, but this time you can’t hide. 

So, you run instead.

“Come on in,” you practically squeak out before hurrying to get out of his way. He’s got a gym bag with him - probably to carry his clothes for tomorrow - and your entryway isn’t the largest. It makes sense for you to go back to the living room. 

“Busy night?” He asks as he closes and locks the door, and you are completely thrown by the question. You must make a confused noise, because he follows up with, “You are out of breath, is everything okay?”

Your heart starts to beat hard in your chest and you can feel your entire body getting hot. Of course, he can tell what is going on with your body and you are nearly in full panic mode. 

You need to get to bed and away from him.

You fail at keeping your composure by gesturing around the living room, “Yeah - um - just been busy. Decorating and stuff - it’s a big day tomorrow.” 

“It is,” Matt agrees, a charming and boyish smile creeping onto his lips. You tell yourself he must be excited for Minnie’s birthday and that is why he is in such a nice mood.

“How was..how was your night?” 

He hums at the question, moving to set his bag down by the couch, “It was relatively quiet. With school starting up again and the heat, the younger crowd isn’t out. I made a few laps but didn’t find anything worth going after.” 

“So, there isn’t like…crime every night?” You ask, trying to wrap your head around it all. You haven’t actually asked what a Patrol consists of, so you don’t know what the average one is like.

“Despite what everyone thinks, no. There’s a good number of nights where I just keep things tidy, but being out helps to deter people as well. Not every night is drug busts and gang wars.”

“That is good to know.” And it is - it helps to ease your anxiety that he is out there constantly boxing people. People say New York is crime ridden, but it is not nearly as bad as it is made out to be. It is all scare tactics and sensational news - like the Satanic Panic.

Matt hums again, then tilts his head back towards where you hung the birthday banner, “That is a lot of presents.”

His smile is still bright, and you have to duck your head and bite your lip to keep your mind in check. Your mouth, as always, is quick to quip, “I’m not telling you what is in them. It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise, huh?” He teases, before kneeling down by his bag and unzipping it. You can see colorful wrapping paper peeking through, and you instantly wonder what sort of gift is inside.

“A surprise,” you repeat. “It isn’t any fun if everyone knows what is inside before it is opened.”

“I’ll concede to that, even if it is tempting to peek.” As he says this he stands up, holding three different sized packages in his hands. They aren’t as pristinely wrapped as yours, but you can tell great care went into it and you wonder if Matt did it himself. 

“Foggy said they will come over around noon,” he says like you aren’t on the verge of a crisis. “And Maggie was hoping we could stop by on the way to the park. I told her it would be up to you, but I know she has a few things for Minnie. We’re probably going to need to bring that wagon you got.”

The idea of so many people coming to your apartment for a party - especially a toddler’s birthday party - boggles your mind but your heart soars that so many people want to celebrate your daughter. You watch as he goes to add the gift pile and that confusing feeling swirls in your chest again, reminding you this is everything you ever wanted for Minnie. Matt being in your life means more people to love your daughter like she deserves.

“Okay,” you say because that is all your mind can produce. When Matt begins to stand again, you go into a panic thinking he might say something to start a conversation and blurt out, “I should get ready for bed.”

He turns to you, and you don’t know what to expect, but it is not for him to look bemused. He raises his eyebrows over his glasses and lets out a huff of a laugh, “It’s a big day tomorrow. You should get your rest.” He isn’t condescending or rude about it, but you can definitely hear the hint of teasing.

Your face burns as you nod and stupidly repeat, “It’s a big day.” You clear your throat to try and regain some composure and point towards the couch, “I, uh, left you out pillows and a blanket. The..uh..remote for the fan is on the coffee table. I readded the labels after Minnie tore them off.”

“Thank you,” he says with full sincerity, and you cannot take any more of his charm and muscular biceps. 

“I’m going to go to bed now,” you tell him as you start to back up towards the bedroom. You know you should tell him about the fringe covering the hallway, but you just want to flee and hide under your covers until your brain stops all of its nonsense.

“Okay.”

As you finally let yourself turn away from Matt, he says your name just loud enough for you to barely hear it. You freeze in place, but it is like your blood is boiling inside you. You breathe out his name in response.

“Good night.”

((“I love you.”))

--

a/n: orz please take this offering of a chapter - my brain is not working up to standard.

Also - Tomorrow is a Big Day

--

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[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Warnings: no warnings, I am not gonna spoil anything, read at your own risk and minors, get outta here as always

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.5k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult can you believe we made it here?... feels like we just started planning this story! anyways thank you for helping me proofread and perfecting the story ♡

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

“I don’t know if a dress would make him say yes to a date with his mortal enemy.” 

Billy scoffed at your words, rolling his eyes. 

“Mortal enemy, my ass.”

You were fidgety as you were walking towards the GAP store with your best friend by your side. You looked around you and stopped at the entrance, a sudden nervousness came over you when you looked inside. 

This was insane and it didn’t even feel right. You knew he would say no, not even a pretty dress could change his opinion of you. 

Steve couldn’t stand you, it felt ridiculous to even think of asking him out, knowing how it would end but your best friend put so much hope in you, he encouraged you so strongly, how could you not try?

Billy stood before you, a comforting smile crossed upon his features. 

“I– I can’t…”

You looked into his blue eyes, the kindness that was shining just for you, making your lips twitch. 

He took your hand in his and squeezed it, tilting his head down with a nod, he gestured to the store. 

“You can do it, sweets…”

His words echo in your mind, repeating over and over again, blurring your vision further as you look at the man before you with tears rolling down your cheeks and rain pouring down on you, you’re shaking like a leaf, not from the coldness that envelopes your body like an icy blanket but from all the emotions inside of you. 

And Steve, he stares at you, eyes blurred with tears that even you can see through your own. 

His head is pounding from all the sobs that left his lips, from all the tears he shed over you after what Robin told him about you, about your feelings for him. He feels ready to crumble to his knees as he looks at you now, ready to let those tears spill again, ready to take you back into his arms and try to forget. 

But despite the sadness, the brokenness in him, he also feels anger, not even for you but for himself. 

“What do you want?”

Tears spill from your eyes and your chest aches in pain and fear as you look at the heartbroken, angered boy in front of you. 

You have not heard that voice from him in a long time. That voice that had venom in it, directed only at you. The voice that held dislike, disgust, hatred. The voice that Steve once had towards you… and this time it hurts even worse than it ever did before. 

You see the way he looks at you, so different from how he did this morning and it makes you feel small, just the way it always did and suddenly you want nothing more than to turn around and run again, to leave and spare yourself more pain. 

But this can’t be the ending. 

It just can’t be. 

And the pain in his eyes, his reaction to whatever Robin had said to him fuels the hope that began to dwindle. If he didn’t feel anything for you, he wouldn’t stand here like this. 

Thunder crashes behind you so loudly that it makes you flinch and shut your eyes tightly, for only a second but a second enough for Steve to snap and truly look at the sight before him – the storm that rages behind you, the wind that curses through the forest, the lightning that surges through the sky, illuminating everything around you as loud rumbles vibrate against the ground while the rain pours down on you. 

You are standing here, in the middle of a storm, caught in the rain, you are standing here before him. 

His heart lurches to his throat when he hears your sniffle, sees the tears in your eyes and the way you are shaking as your bottom lip trembles. A broken cough falls from your lips and he instantly steps forward. Worry crosses out every other emotion in him as he reaches for your hand, his gaze softening the longer he looks at you. 

“Blondie! What the fuck are you doing here!? It’s— It’s storming!” He yells through the rain and tries to pull you into the house but you shake your head at him and take a step back, refusing to step inside. 

All the words, all the sentences, everything you had rehearsed and looked forward to all day flet away from you, the confession you planned no longer exists in your mind, it’s all blank. 

“I–I… I need to know… I need to ask… I-I never asked and I feel like I’m losing my mind now–”

A desperate sigh falls from Steve’s lips, he shakes his head at you, begging with his eyes as he moves closer to the doorstep, not understanding a single word you are saying. 

“What…? Blondie, you need to get inside, you’re fucking soaked–”

“No!” You shake your head at him, feeling uncomfortable beneath the pouring rain but refusing to give into the warmth just yet. “I need to… I need to tell you something!”

He can see the way you try your hardest not to cry, the way your glassy eyes look into his so brokenly, the way you look as though you will fall to your knees any second and it only makes the aching in his chest so much worse. 

“W-What?”

You take a deep breath and you almost choke from the sob you have kept inside for too long, that you can no longer hold as it falls from your lips so brokenly. 

“It’s all my fault! All this time, I blamed time and I blamed bad luck but never myself! If I only had said something to you, if only I had even shown you a little bit of what I truly feel, you may have noticed! I-I never tried! I never fought! And I am the only one to blame if I end up broken in the end!” 

Steve shakes his head at you, his tears falling yet again at the sight of you crying and speaking so desperately through your cries. 

“Blondie– you’re– you have to get in–”

He tries to reach for you again but you swat his hand away, sniffling and shaking your head. 

“For years I held it in! Even before the upside down, before joining the group and quarreling like never before with you! Even before any of what we had been doing for the past few months! When you passed me in the hallways, when you sat behind me in science class, when you had your basketball matches and even when I went to parties, I always looked at you!” Your voice cracks when another sob escapes you, and then another before they continue falling uncontrollably, feelings overwhelming you as you finally let them out after years of keeping them locked away. 

And Steve, he stares at you with wide glassy eyes, feeling stunned and frozen in place as his heart stops beating for a moment. 

“And– And now– I can’t hold them in anymore, because I feel like if I keep going like this I will explode– but my gut is telling me that I have to say it… but I’m so afraid… I’m so fucking afraid! I-I can’t lose you, not you, Steve.” 

His knees nearly buckle at your words, at his sudden movement as he finally rushes forward, stepping under the rain with you, not letting you move away from him again as he cradles your face with his hands and tilts your head up to make you look at him. 

It all moved so quickly, he didn’t have the time to properly digest everything that just left your lips but it all was enough to bring him back to you, to start his heart again, to fill it with the hope that he thought was burned to ashes only hours ago. He already saw his grave, he already saw his demise, the death of his heart when he thought that he found out what you had really felt for him. 

But you are here, not caring about the storm above you, not caring about the vulnerability you’re letting come through, not caring about anything but him at this moment. 

He grows desperate too and so does his heart as it calls your name. 

He rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, holding you so tightly as he fears that you will slip through his fingers at any moment, that he might wake up to an empty bed after sobbing himself to sleep, thinking about you but then you wrap your hands around his wrists, clutching them tightly as you cry. 

Now he can see it in your eyes, the look he always searched for but couldn’t find, now he can see it all so very clearly but it still isn’t enough, he needs to hear you say it. 

“Please… Please I beg you to say it… I need to know, baby, please. Y-You don’t have to be afraid anymore… not with me… So please, say it.” 

Your body trembles like it never did before, your heart pounds so strongly in your chest, you blink through your tears and stare up at him, into his hazel eyes that beg for you, the eyes that look at you with so much hope and desperation as tears cascade down his cheeks along with the rain that crashes down on the both of you. 

The boy you never thought could ever feel a sliver of what you feel for him stands in front of you, holds you so tightly as he pleads for you, for your love. 

“Please,” he whispers so brokenly, like your words, your love is the only thing he wants and needs. 

He begs for you and no one else, only you. 

The one you always wanted, the one you would give your life for, the one that had your heart from the very start. 

You take a deep breath and hold onto him tightly, your heart jumps to your throat when you finally, finally whisper those three words. 

“I love you.” 

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying falling off his shoulders, his brows furrow as his lips part, fresh tears well up in his eyes and his heart starts beating again. 

He can’t believe that this is real, he can’t believe that he just heard those words coming from your mouth, he can’t believe that you are here, standing right in front of him with no walls built around you any longer, he sees a side of you that he wasn’t sure was there but it is and you let him see, you let him see all of you, the real you, the vulnerable girl that hid from the world, from him.

And now that those words have finally left the sacred place in your heart, you feel an overwhelming sensation taking control over you, your body begins to shake harder than it did before, tears are flowing and sobs continue on falling. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!”

Your voice is so small, yet so loud as you chant those three words through your cries, clinging to him so tightly so you don’t fall to your knees. 

Words that Steve never thought he would hear echo through his driveway, falling from your lips so beautifully, nothing but the truth lingers in your eyes, nothing but vulnerability, nothing but a love he had never thought he would get to feel in this life, let alone from you, you who he had fallen for so unconditionally, so deeply that it hurt not only in his heart but in his soul when he thought that you didn’t feel what he does. 

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you whisper, sniffling. “I love you so much, I always did, I–I loved you from the moment I first saw you, I have loved you for more than you can imagine! I have loved you for–”

A choked sob falls from his own lips before he pulls you tightly against him and smashes them against yours, kissing you with everything that he has, pouring every ounce of love into it, enveloping you in his arms, in his embrace, in his warmth. Holding your face in his hands is no longer enough, he wraps his arms around your body, pulling you tightly against him so your chest is pressed against his own. 

You lift your arms up and cup his wet cheeks, kissing him deeply, holding him tightly, not caring about the salty taste on your tongue or his. 

Steve cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss and getting lost in it, not minding the rain or the storm and you don’t either, you don’t even flinch when the thunder crashes. He kisses you hard and he makes you forget about everything around you, everything ceases to exist, everything but him. 

He murmurs something against your lips when you both grow too breathless to continue the kiss. 

He could not begin to describe the emotions that exploded inside of him. 

You love him. 

You love him just the way he loves you. 

You have loved him for absolutely nothing, when he was cruel to you, when he mistreated you, when he gave you nothing but cold gazes and his cruelty. 

You have loved him during times when he felt most unlovable, when he thought he had no one, when not even his parents wanted him, when his first love lied to him, betrayed him, left him only to come back and fill him with false hope again, only to leave him once again. 

You have loved him when you showed up at Scoops Ahoy that day, you have loved him when you jumped into the water to save him, you have loved him through it all, when this started, and when he began falling, you were already in it so deeply. 

But you were so good at hiding it, you were too good, too good at making him and everyone else believe how great your dislike was for him but you were such a good actress, why else would he have believed Robin’s words?

His hands settle on your upper back and he slowly brings them back to your front, sliding them upwards to your shoulders and then your neck. His brows pull together so strongly as the kiss slows down when the lack of air gets to both him and you. 

Your lips tremble against his, your lashes flutter when you open your eyes again, you trace his bottom lip with your thumb, still sniffling, still crying as you look at his pretty face. You feel so relieved now that it’s all said and done, that your feelings are out in the open and no longer hidden underneath all your layers that you protected yourself with, all these years. 

But you don’t know what this means for you now, not even the kiss could lay it out for you. 

But Steve, he stares at you in awe, at the girl he fell so deeply, unconditionally, otherworldly in love with. The girl that stands under the pouring rain with him, the girl that lets nothing stop her from confessing her love to him, not even the thunder, the storm she fears so greatly, the girl that stands in front of him isn’t the one he started this affair with, the one he bickered with, the one with the harsh words, no, this girl is the real you, the one that lost but still gave love a chance, the one that loved despite the blows to her heart he caused, despite the hurt he put her through. 

You felt that way during his worst days, you felt that way when he loved another, you felt that way when he was with other girls, you felt that way when he spit mean words into your face – all these thoughts overwhelm him, a mix of emotions flood through him, he is not sure if he is even deserving of this, of you but he would be a damn fool if he didn’t fight for you back. 

Steve stares at you through his tears, he leans down closer to you, taking shaky breaths as he finally says the words he never thought would leave his lips again. 

“I love you,” he whispers and cradles your cheeks again, “I love you so much and I’m stupid for not saying anything either–”

Your eyes grow wide, shock freezes your whole body as you stare at him. 

You knew there was something, there had to be but love? Love isn’t something you expected him to feel for you. 

“Y-You love me?” 

Your voice sounds so broken, so small, your eyes well up with more tears, your lips tremble harder than before and somehow you look even more vulnerable than you did seconds ago. 

How could he not love you? 

How could he not give his heart to you?

How could he not imagine a future with you? 

You are everything to him, you are his everything. 

His heart melts at your gaze, at the way you're clinging to him, looking at him wide eyed like you are afraid that he isn’t real, that this isn’t real. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Blondie,” he whispers, his voice cracking and tears continuing to roll down his cheeks, “keeping it a secret was tearing me apart, even more so when I thought that you didn’t feel the same.”

You can’t name the emotions that burn inside of you, not right now, at least. 

But all that you know is that you feel joy and happiness, like you have never felt before. 

Your heart feels alive. 

You feel alive. 

He loves you, Steve loves you, Steve is in love with you. 

His kind, soft eyes look into yours with nothing but adoration, love and affection. His hair clings to his forehead, his clothes wet just like yours are, he is crying, not from sadness anymore but from happiness, just like you are. 

You can’t help but kiss him again, slamming your lips against his shaky ones, you kiss the man who confessed his love for you, the man you never thought would feel the same. 

He wastes not a single second to kiss you back, your noses bump harshly together but it only makes you smile, it makes you both giggle against each other's lips. Feeling your shaking body against his, Steve wraps his arms around your waist and he pulls you back, leading you into the house without breaking the kiss. 

Your sneakers squeak against the tiles in the hallway, water drips down from the both of you, needy whines and huffs fall from yours and his lips, echoing through his house when he finally closes the door to the storm, he pushes you against the red door, caging you in against it as you grab at the collar of his shirt, pulling him tighter against you as the kiss grows more desperate and hungry. 

Steve feels it too, he feels the desperation, the need to feel you closer than this. Your body against his, your hands in his hair, your tongues clashing together through the feverish kiss isn’t enough, he needs to feel your skin on his, he needs to feel your warmth, he needs to hear your sweet moans, he needs to be inside of you. 

But first, he needs you to know. 

He can feel your tears on his lips, hear your sniffles, feel your pounding heart beneath his palm as he touches your chest. 

You have loved him for so long, you have suffered for so long and he knows that you didn’t understand yet just how deep his feelings are. 

Steve pulls away from the kiss, only enough so he can speak, close enough to still feel your lips against his, he leans his forehead against yours, keeps his nose nuzzled with yours, he rubs your cheeks, wipes your tears away as he pecks your lips again and again. 

You are both panting, both clinging to one another, gazing at each other lovingly. 

“You need to hear this, Blondie,” he whispers, not feeling scared or nervous any longer. “You need to understand my feelings for you. They’re not small, they’re not in the slightest. You are the one I imagine myself buying a white picket fence house with, the one I imagine myself marrying, the one I imagine having a family with, no matter if big or small, anything you give me I will take. You need to know that you’re my future, that I have been wanting you in my future for a long while now. There is no one else for me but you.”

Steve watches the way your eyes brighten, the way they almost turn doe-eyed, a shaky breath escapes you, like you can’t believe the words that just left his mouth. You blink at him, lips curling. “Y-You want kids with me?” 

You have been by his side for so long, you have been his girl from the moment you decided you wanted to be, you have always been the missing puzzle in his life, you have always been the one that was supposed to be here, with him. All this time, you waited, waited for him and he was so blind, so unaware, so focused on anything but the love of his life. It took him time to realize that, it took him too long but he knows now, he knew for a while. 

He smiles, wiping the falling tears from your cheeks as he leans in to give you a soft peck, “as many as you’re willing to have.” 

A giggle falls from your lips and you nuzzle your nose against his, leaning your forehead to his as you wrap your arms around him tightly. 

“I can’t believe that this is real.” 

And you mean every word of that. 

Steve can’t believe that someone could love him like this, so strongly, so unconditionally, not even expecting anything in return, loving him through the war between you, loving him through heartbreak, loving him through it all. 

You have been there. 

You have always been there. 

Tears spill over his lashline and down his cheeks, a watery giggle falls from his lips, the hurt in him disappearing more and more as the light seeps back in, a brighter one that his soul had ever seen before, his heart no longer twists in pain, it beats so strongly, so lively, so happily as nothing but love and joy shines in him. 

“Me neither,” he whispers against your lips, voice shaky and filled with tears, “I can’t believe that you love me, Blondie, that you want me like this.” 

You can’t help but kiss him again, again and again. You cup his cheeks, smiling through your tears as you do something you always wanted to, kiss his pain away, kiss the tears away that stream down his cheeks. You kiss his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, every inch his tears have stained, you kiss it all away. 

“I want you more than anything, Steve Harrington,” you murmur into his skin, making the boy sob against you as he holds you tightly, tighter than he ever did before. You grab his hand and pull it towards your chest, placing it above your beating heart, “my heart belongs to you.” 

Steve could never find the right words to tell you how he felt, no matter how long he’d look for them, he would never find them, they didn’t exist, and no words that do come close to explaining just how deeply he felt for you, not even the I love you’s he gave you already come close. 

So he decides to show you instead. 

He bends down and hooks his arm around the back of your knees while the other comes to rest on your back, he tears a squeal out of you when he picks you up bridal style and carries you upstairs. 

You throw your arms around his neck and hold on tight, giggling at his sudden move. 

He can’t help but smile at the sound that falls from your lips, his heart moving in a way it never has before, a whole new rhythm taking over when he feels the shift of energy in you, when he sees the look in your eyes changing, when you let all your guards down, stripping yourself off each layer. 

You press your lips to his, pecking them softly before you move onto his cheek and then his jaw and finally his neck, kissing him while he continues his way up the stairs, trying not to get too distracted by your touch. 

“I love you, Stevie,” you whisper into his skin, “I love you so much.”

You can’t stop saying those words now that you have finally allowed yourself to let them free. 

Steve has to swallow down the sob that threatens to spill from his lips again, your words bring him so much happiness but he is also so emotional.

Rain water drips from the both of you as he walks through his dark hallway, he is careful not to slip with his wet sneakers, he kicks open the door to his room and walks inside, shutting it again, making it slam. The only source of light now being the lightning that still illuminates the sky every few seconds, the rain paddles down harshly against his windows.

Steve puts you down again so he can undress both you and himself and rid you of the soaked and cold clothes but not before cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, rubbing your wet cheeks as your lips and tongues mingle together in a feverish but passionate kiss. 

He brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears, he slips his hands down to your shoulders, removing your jacket and letting it fall to the ground, his fingertips grazing your bare arms that are littered with goosebumps. 

You hum against his lips, hands reaching for his belt, clinking as you unbuckle it. You then pop the button of his jeans and move on to his shirt as he does the same to you.

You both only break the kiss to take the chosen clothing item off, your eyes flutter open, instantly locking with his warm brown ones. You smile at one another as you help each other. 

You raise your arms up when he starts taking your white, now almost see through shirt off, he drops the material and wastes no second to touch your bare skin, staring at you with nothing but awe and adoration, like it is the first time he gets to see you like this. He touches you so delicately, so softly and gently that it brings a new wave of tears to your already sensitive eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers those words to you, followed by your name that always sounds so pretty rolling off his tongue. 

Your heart flutters in your chest, your cold skin heats up beneath his warm touch. 

You take a step closer to him, almost pressing your chest against his now as you go to take his shirt off too, he looks down at you and bites his lip, eyes flashing with a deeper adoration when you rise to your tippy toes to roll the wet material off his skin, messing up his hair further when his shirt gets stuck around his head, making you both giggle. 

You rise up further, trying to pull it off when he mumbles, “don’t say anything now.”

When you finally free him from it, you throw it on the ground next to yours, smiling brightly, “there was a reason I called you Lego–” 

You gasp when he kisses you roughly, not letting you finish the sentence. You don’t hesitate to kiss back, placing your hands on his neck, touching his wet skin and raking your nails down his chest and his stomach, you reach for his belt while he kisses you breathless. 

His own hands travel down to your hips, leaving no space untouched. He feels the way you suck in a sharp breath, hears the way you whine against his lips as you tug at his pants just the way he starts working on popping the button on yours. 

You pull away from the kiss and breathe heavily against his lips, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest. 

He starts pushing down your pants when you stop him by grabbing his wrists. 

“Wait,” you whisper, worrying him with the tightness of your hold on him.

“W-Why? Is something–”

Before he can even question you, you stop him once again by pressing your lips against his, “everything is perfect,” you murmur against his skin, making his heart skip several beats as you continue kissing him, “you’re perfect.” 

He is so close to tears once again, your words match the look in your eyes so perfectly, the love that is and was only ever reserved for him is so strong that he can’t help but wonder how he never saw it before, it’s so clear and so evidently there. 

Steve never saw himself as anything perfect, not even when everyone else thought that about him throughout his short lived ‘reign’, he always had flaws, always saw them in himself, always felt like there was something wrong with him deep inside. But you make him feel special, you make him feel like he is truly something perfect, like he is worth something with the way you look at him and touch him so delicately as you reveal the side of you that wanted to love so desperately but never felt safe to. 

“I want to make you feel good, Steve,” you whisper as you latch your lips onto his neck, slowly kissing your way down to his chest and stomach before you begin to sink to your knees, “please let me.” 

Steve’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes close for a moment, the feeling of your lips kissing his wet body making him shiver in pleasure. He opens his eyes again when you hook your fingers around his belt loops, trying to tear his pants down but he stops you just the way you stopped him, the look you give him nearly makes him crumble, the big and pleading eyes, the pout on your lips, the desperation written all over your face. 

He wants to sink to his knees for you. 

He wants to make you feel good. 

So he leans down and grabs you beneath your armpits, picking you up with ease and throwing you on his bed and despite the sound of your whine, he pulls himself together and takes the rest of your clothes off, tearing off your shoes before he works his way up to your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear. 

He stares at your body in awe and in love, tracing every inch of you with his eyes as he quickly rids himself of his clothes and kicks off his shoes hastily before he gets down before you, wrapping his hand around your ankle, he looks into your eyes and he presses his lips to your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your thighs. 

“Steve,” you whine with a whisper, eyebrows furrowing and pleasure already seeping into your bones. “Please… I want to–”

“Shh, I want to taste you, my love.”

My love. 

My love. 

He called you my love. 

Your heart could burst right this second, it could explode, from joy, from happiness and love. 

You hear nothing but his voice, the smacking of his lips against your skin and the beating of your heart as he loves on you. You no longer hear the howling wind or the crashing thunder, the bolts of lightning only add to the rush you are feeling right now as you look down at him, at the pretty man between your thighs. You throw your hand into his hair, tugging at his wet strands.

“Please, Steve… Baby, I want to taste you too, I want to make you feel good, please let me…” You whine, not feeling ashamed for the desperation in your voice. “W-We can do it at the same time, please…”

Steve’s stomach flutters at your words, he stops moving and looks up at you with a blush making its way up to his cheeks. 

That is something you haven’t done before, not with each other, not with anyone else. 

His blood rushes to his core just at the image of it, his stomach burning with lust as he looks into your eager eyes. 

“You can’t say shit like that, darling,” he nearly growls and pulls away from you to take his boxers off before he moves on top of you, stealing your breath by slamming his lips back against yours, kissing you needily. 

Your moan echoes through his room, getting louder when he grinds against your center, he pushes his hands beneath you so he can unclasp your bra, ridding you off the lacy material, he throws it on the ground before he moves on to your panties. He pulls away for just a second, hooking his fingers around the elastic and helping you get rid of them in a quick motion. His lips slam against yours again as his hands move back up to your waist, grabbing it with both hands, he flips you over so you’re the one on top. 

You press your hands against his shoulders, whining when you feel his cock pressing against your center, thighs already sticking together. 

He moans loudly when he feels your warmth against him, lust swirling inside of him. 

You pull away from one another and he pushes his hands down to your butt, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Turn around, baby…” He whispers and you don’t waste a second to comply.

You take a deep breath and cup the side of his face, pecking his lips softly before you turn around, your knees dig into the mattress, your hands grabbing his thighs roughly when you feel a sense of nervousness rushing through you, your cheeks heat up at the position you are in, fully exposed to him in a new way but that feeling in you subsides and turns into something else when you see his erection, pre-cum rolling down his length and making your mouth water as the need to taste him, to pleasure him grows stronger than before. 

And Steve, his eyes darken with lust and he grabs your hips tightly, already leaning forward, he can’t wait any longer when you’re like this in front of him, fully exposed, your folds soaked with your slick and thighs already glistening too, you are so wet that he can smell it. He gives you a rough squeeze before he leans in and licks a stripe from your clit to your hole, making you gasp out in pleasure, a sound that shoots straight to his dick. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the feeling of his tongue, of his mouth on you as he dives right in, devouring you so desperately as though he needs it, needs you like air. 

And you need him too. 

You press kisses along his shaft, teasing him by massaging his balls and you slowly flick your hand up and down around him, humming against him as his moans sound through the room, getting more desperate the longer you continue this. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” you promise before you spit down into your palm, wrapping your hand back around his length, a little firmer this time, you jerk him off and swirl your tongue around his leaking tip before you finally wrap your lips around him and take him deeply into your mouth, closing your watery eyes and hollowing your cheeks around him. 

Steve moans loudly against you, sending vibrations through you, he slips his tongue inside of you, holding you tighter than before as he laps at your pussy with desperation, getting lost in the pleasure of tasting you and feeling your warm mouth around him. 

You look so perfect, so fucking sexy with your hair falling down your arched back, your skin glowing beneath the flashing lights of the storm, he can’t help but run his palm up and down your butt, squeezing and grabbing at your skin, moaning even louder when you grind back against his face as you take him deeper and deeper until Steve can feel the back of your throat. 

He whimpers your name, eyes rolling back as he delves deeper into you, slipping two of his fingers into you along with his tongue, he scissors you, spreading you open for him. He can feel you clenching around his fingers, he can feel you drooling all over him. 

Your moan vibrates all around his cock, making you pull it out of your mouth in order to take a breath. Your concentration starts to fail you as his fingers move rapidly inside of you, his tongue lapping at everything he can take that is dripping out of you. You keep moving your hand on him as your hips twitch. 

“S-Stevie…” He doesn’t care that you are not sucking him off right now, he is only caring about your pleasure. He needs you to feel treasured, cared for, and he needs you to feel it with him only. That he is the only one that can bring you all of this, even if it sounds possessive… He wants to be the only one, forever.

You feel your belly burn and you look down at his cock, trying to pull yourself together, trying to forget about the throbbing happening in your pussy. You want to make him feel good. You want to hear him come undone as well. So you open your mouth once more, licking at the head and pressing the tip of your tongue right on the slit. You feel Steve groan against you, and then you finally take him inside once more.

You bop your head, swirling your tongue around him as tears fall from your eyes, you are so deeply lost in the pleasure, you forget everything around you, only he matters. You can feel him twitching in your mouth, you can hear his moans and how much louder they get and you feel your own release approaching as he flicks your clit with his thumb and curls his fingers inside of you, using both his digits and his tongue to unravel you. 

“I know you want to let go for me, darling,” he murmurs against you. 

You can only hum around him, wanting to feel him cumming down your throat. 

“Please do it, cum on my tongue,” he whispers as he drags his fingers in and out of you, making your stomach tense up hotly. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, twisting your wet palm around him as drool continues to roll down his length. You want him to find his release, you want it so badly. 

You grab his knee, holding on tightly as a cry tears from your throat and your legs nearly give out when your high washes over you, shaking through your core and making your body feel tense yet released all at once. His other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep you pressed against his mouth, not letting you move away.

“Mmm,” Steve hums against you as though you are the sweetest thing he ever tasted. 

You wish you could see his face. 

“Just like that,” he praises, giving your butt another squeeze, he laps at your pussy, dragging his tongue along your folds, teasing your already sensitive clit before he moves back to your entrance. 

His own hips almost buck up when you hollow your cheeks further and take him deeper, nearly making him cum too soon for his liking. 

“W-Wait, baby, please… I wanna cum inside of you,” he says with a shaky, pleading voice as he tugs at your waist, trying to pull you off him so he can have you back in his arms, so he can see your face again and feel you around him differently. He would’ve chuckled at the whine falling from your lips if he wasn’t so emotional right now. “Come here,” he whispers, holding you tightly as he turns you around and pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. 

Meeting his eyes again, your lips part when you see the burning desperation in them, his cheeks are flushed and his chin glistens with your release. He looks so beautiful. 

Steve’s hands move from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as your own hands reach for his shoulders. 

No words need to be said, you both know what you want, what you need as your eager hands reach for one another, trying to pull the other closer and closer until you’re skin to skin, closer than you have ever been before. 

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours and wrapping his arm around you, hugging you against him as you place your hand between you both and wrap it around his length again, teasing both him and yourself when you slip it through your sensitive, wet folds. 

Your bottom lip trembles, emotions running deep because of his words. 

You never thought that you would ever hear such words falling from his lips, you never thought you would ever be this blessed. 

You throw your arm around his shoulder and press your lips against his as you slowly sink down on his length, taking him deeper and deeper until you’re fully seated on him, making both yourself and him whimper in pleasure. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, holding you tighter than ever, he stops breathing when he feels you clenching around him, whining as you adjust to his size. 

His heart skips a beat when you place your palm on his chest, resting it there as you press yourself even tighter against him and it hits him – this is it, everything he ever wanted now belongs to him, it’s all his, you are his. 

And he is yours, wholeheartedly and unconditionally yours. 

You start rolling your hips slowly, breathing heavier, holding onto him tighter, gasping and sucking in sharp breaths when he moves with you, pushing his hips up as he fucks into you deeper. 

A sniffle falls from you when you pull away from the kiss, breathing in shakily, you open your eyes slowly to find him looking at you already, a loving, soft gaze flashing in his honey eyes, the love in them not hidden at all, it’s all open for you now, all there for you to see and to feel as he leans into you, pressing his lips to your chin and peppering kissing along your jawline, making his way down to your neck as he murmurs your name sweetly. 

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, followed by your name that rolls off his tongue so beautifully. “I was going crazy, thinking that I didn’t stand a chance with you, honey.” 

He was the only one for you, from the moment you laid your eyes on him, he was the only one. 

“S-Steve,” you whisper as you feel yourself nearing another sob, his words and his touches overwhelming you.

You bury your hands in his hair, combing your fingers through it before you grab it tightly. 

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispers against your collarbones, leaving tender kisses and marking your skin with love bites, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Your bottom lip quivers, your chest contracts and you can’t hold it in any longer. 

Years of pining and longing, of feeling hopeless and unworthy of him and his love while watching, admiring from afar and wishing for nothing but a chance with him, a piece of his heart, all while losing yourself in a darkness you have found home in, a darkness he took away again. 

He gave you light and warmth and now he gave you more, not only a piece of his heart but he gave you his whole. 

Your tears spill just as strongly as before, an uncontrollable sob falls from your lips, leading you to bury your face in his neck, you wrap your arms around him so tightly, hugging him strongly, breathing in his scent and letting your heart match the beating of his own. 

“I got you,” Steve whispers as he blinks through his own tears, “I got you, darling and I’m not letting you go, not ever.” 

You press your lips to his skin, shutting your eyes tightly. The burning in your chest, in your stomach all feeling too much, you hold onto him, you cling to him, scared of letting go. 

Steve’s heart could burst at any second now, feeling your tears rolling down his skin, your hands, your body clinging to him like you’re afraid to lose him because you are, you are afraid to lose him. 

Someone is afraid to lose him. 

And he nearly let you slip through his fingers. 

A silent cry falls from his lips this time, tears pool in his eyes and he pulls you closer and closer until you’re completely flush against one another, pushing in deeper and deeper to feel you closer, to feel you in the most intimate way as he spreads you open and you pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, whimpering and gasping into his neck. 

“Please don’t let me go,” you whisper, pressing kisses to his hot skin, “please don’t ever leave me,” you beg despite the promise he just made to you. 

The brokenness in your shaky voice only makes him more desperate to show you just how deeply in love he is with you, how he would do anything for you, how there is nothing and no one that could take him away from you, how he would come crawling back to you over and over again even if you didn’t love him. 

He slides his hand up your body, cupping each side of your face, he urges you to face him, wanting to see you again and you look at him, with big and glassy eyes, you look into his eyes. 

“I will never leave you,” he whispers softly, wiping your tears before he reaches for your hand, bringing it back up to his chest, he places it over his heart, “I’m yours, my heart belongs to you, darling.”

Steve sees it in your eyes, just how long you have wanted this for, how special this moment is to you, how special he is to you, how much love there was hidden in your heart just for him. 

He will worship the ground you walk on for the rest of his life. 

“I love you so much,” you sniffle, unable to say anything else. 

His lips curl into a smile despite the tears that fall down his already wet cheeks, he pulls you against him, bumping his nose against yours accidentally as he pecks your lips, “you make me so fucking happy,” he kisses you, “and I don’t think you even realize that.” Kiss. “I’m so in love with you, honey.” Kiss. “I love you with my whole heart–”

You smash your lips against his, kissing him with everything that you have, moving your lips softly yet roughly with his, parting them with your tongue as you slip it into his mouth, deepening the kiss further. 

He moans against you, placing his large hand on your cheek, he matches your pace and kisses you back hungrily, getting lost in the feeling of you, of your heat and your burning skin against his, your walls that tighten so strongly around him that it makes his mouth water and his cock twitch inside of you, his body screams for release but his heart aches for this moment to never stop, not realizing yet that this is only the beginning of your story. 

Your hands grab at whatever they can reach, his shoulders, his biceps, his face, his messy hair and finally his hands as you pull them away from your chest so you can intertwine your fingers with his. You feel the coil in your stomach growing bigger and bigger, the burning in your thighs intensifying by the second. His moans and whimpers vibrate against your lips when you keep clenching around him.

Filthy sounds take over the room, your whines of desperation, the slick noise of his cock slipping in and out of you as you ride him, the sound of your lips smacking against each other. 

But nothing, nothing about this moment is filthy or dirty. Everything about this is more than special, more than what words could describe this very moment. Your hearts beat the same rhythm, finally finding each other, your souls entwine as your bodies meet in the most intimate way, you are both overwhelmed by the feelings that rush through you and yet you feel peace because you finally are where you were always supposed to be, in each other’s arms, holding one another and making love to each other as everything fades to nothing but the two of you. 

And it feels like forever, neither of you no longer wet from the rain but from the sweat that coats your foreheads, your moans turn into weak whimpers as you’re both panting, your kisses never stopping, not even when you lose your breaths, you are aching, you both are, you are sensitive and in need of release. 

You are shaking and so is he, his cock so hard inside of you, your walls so sensitive as you are twitching. 

He holds you possessively, from the strong hold on your waist to the touch of his hand on your cheeks, he is showing you with his touch that you are his, only his. 

No words need to be shared, no warnings, nothing, you both feel it, you both know what you want, what you need. 

Despite the lack of air, your kiss deepens, your lips moving roughly and needily as his digits work on your sensitive nub, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You wrap your arms around him again, hugging him so tightly as you and he finally let go, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure of coming undone. 

Steve moans so needily, pressing his palm so strongly against your shoulder blade, he keeps you close, whimpering your name against your lips followed by not one but a few ‘I love you’s’ as he fills you up to the brim. 

“S-Stevie,” you whisper shakily, twitching and clenching around him still, even as you slow down, more and more. “I love you.” 

And even when this moment felt forever, it still wasn’t enough, how could it ever be? Not even forever would be enough with you, he needs more, so much more. 

You fall limply against him and rest your head on his shoulder as you try to catch your breath and he holds you through it all, panting just like you as he lies back, taking you with him, and rests his head on the pillows behind him, playing with your hair and running his fingers through it, tracing your skin with the tips of his fingers, making no moves to pull out of you just yet. 

The heat of your skin burns against his own, your hand lays over his heart so perfectly and he takes it in his, raising it up to his lips and kissing your bare ring finger. 

In the arms of the man you love is where you found your home a long time ago but now it no longer feels cold or lonesome, one sided or saddening, it truly feels like home now, filled with light and warmth, love. He found a home in you too, he finally did. 

Seconds and minutes go by and you stay like this, clinging to one another and loving every moment of this. Your cheek is squished against his chest, you are breathing him in, your heart fluttering at the thought that this is the true beginning of it all. 

You open your eyes, your lips curling into a smile when you find him looking down at you, adoration so deep in his beautiful features, his hand still holding yours. 

It’s so dark in the room, the lightning no longer flashing, thunder no longer rumbling, the storm has passed and only the light rain remains. You still see his handsome face, the color of his cheeks, the pretty brown eyes that you adore so much, his kissable lips. 

You cup his cheek and tilt your chin up, moving closer to him so you can press your lips against his cheek. 

“You’re so pretty, Steve Harrington,” you whisper and kiss the corner of his mouth, “pretty baby.” 

Steve doesn’t know why out of all the words you have called him, these are the ones that make him blush the most, his cheeks redden and he feels grateful for the darkness in the room. 

“That’s you, darling,” he whispers and steals a kiss from you, snaking his arm around you further, he smiles when you press your palms against his chest and lean your chin down, staring up at him with love filled eyes. 

“Darling,” you whisper, lips curling into a smile, “I love that.” 

His hands squeeze your waist, his eyes not straying away from you, not for a single second, “yeah?” 

You nod and lean closer to kiss his chin, “mhm.” 

As you lay here on top of him, showering him in kisses, gazing up at him starry eyed, he feels comfort and warmth blossom in him thinking back to a time when he wasn’t even aware of all this, when he didn’t think that it was even possible for anyone to love him, to find out that you did, you out of all people, you who he thought hated his guts more than anything but loved him in secret, a secret you nearly took to your grave. 

Oh, he would have suffered, he would have felt such a tragic loss if you had died that night but it wouldn’t have hit him until weeks or maybe even months later, when he would have finally allowed himself to look at your picture, to remember the memories of you, to remember your voice and your beautiful face, remember the few gentle moments you had with each other, only then would he have felt the truth coming to life, the feelings he always refused and denied, he would have realized that it was you, that it should have been you, that it was always supposed to be you but it would have been too late, you would have been gone and it would’ve broken him, he would have never recovered, he would have never forgiven himself for finding his love for you when it was much too late.

You would have been the loss of his life. 

That thought shouldn’t even plague him right now because you’re here, in his arms, tracing his skin with your finger as you smile up at him. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers instead of tracing those words into your skin like he had gotten used to doing. 

This all still feels like a dream, a way too good of a dream.

The smile that reached your eyes wasn’t one he had ever seen before, no matter how happy, how comfortable you were around him, he had never seen such a bright, happy, relaxing smile on your pretty features. 

He had never felt the touch of your lips in such a soft way, a kiss so delicate that it made his chest vibrate with a new wave of emotions. 

“And I love you,” you murmur against his lips, “I hope you don’t get sick of me saying that.”

Steve scoffs at your words, raising his brows as he stares at you in disbelief, his hand moving up to your upper back, resting them on your shoulder blades as he presses a kiss to your nose, “honey, this is all I ever wanted.”

To hear him say such words only makes the dream-like state you are in much more intense. 

Who would’ve thought that you would hear these words from him? 

“I always had a crush on you,” Steve whispers, admitting something to you that he himself struggled to accept only a few months back. 

This time, it’s your eyebrows that shoot up in surprise, shock flashing in your eyes, “w-what?”

There is no way that Steve ever felt anything other than dislike for you, especially before the upside down. 

Steve chuckles to himself, moving his hand up to your face, he tucks your hair behind your ear and smiles at you. 

“I always watched you too, Blondie,” he admits, watching the way your softened eyes fill with confusion, “but I was an idiot, I-I didn’t know how to talk to you, I knew how to talk to every other girl but you? Fuck,” he sighs, furrowing his brows as he takes a deep breath, “I didn’t know how to talk to you because you made me so fucking nervous, it’s like all my confidence slipped away the moment you looked at me with those pretty eyes.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at his eyes well up with tears again, words he had kept inside for so long now finally slipping from his lips. 

“And you weren’t… you weren’t–”

“Nice?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, your heart starts pounding again. 

He chuckles for a moment and shakes his head, “no, I– you weren’t supposed to be nice to me, I wasn’t nice to you, but that’s not what I mean, I… You just, I don’t know how to– I always messed up around you and it kept happening so I put on this King Steve persona, especially when I was around you and fuck… Honey, I tried to impress you but I always felt like you weren’t looking at me, no matter what I did, you were never looking at me.”

You don’t know what hit you harder tonight, the three words he repeatedly blessed you with or this revelation. 

All you know is that you feel it in your core, the shock and the confusion. 

You shake your head a little, like you don’t understand a word he said. 

“When we wrote notes to each other, I-I didn’t want to admit it to myself back then but I really fucking hoped that something would come out of it but nothing did… I know you thought that Tommy set me up to it but he didn’t.”

You don’t know what to say, you don’t even know what to think, it’s all so much, it’s all too much for one night. 

“I-I don’t–”

Steve cups your cheeks, shaking his head as he isn’t done yet. 

“No, I waited for you… I waited for you at every game, I always looked around trying to find you in the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of you, even when I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I always waited for you.” 

Your eyes crinkle though they well up with tears again, you couldn’t describe the feelings in you, not even if you tried. 

His hands on your skin feel softer than ever, his eyes shine with tears and his bottom lip quivers.

“I was there, Steve,” you whisper, blinking through your tears, swallowing the nervousness, “I was there.” 

He nods, lips curling into a soft smile, “I know that now b-but I wish I knew back then, I wish I wasn’t so hard on you…”

You know the look in his eyes, the regret, the guilt he feels from that day at the mall and the few other bad ones. 

But they don’t matter anymore, they haven’t mattered for a while now, and they especially don’t matter now. 

Shaking your head, you lean up, cupping his cheek too, you kiss him sweetly, softly, stealing his breath away with tenderness. You place your hand over his, guiding it down to your chest and placing it over your heart. 

“Those days are over, they don’t matter anymore,” you whisper and keep a tight hold on his hand, “you have me now.”

And you have him. 

He is yours, he wants to be yours so badly. 

Steve nods, leaning into the touch of your hand, he blinks his tears away and moves his head, pressing his lips against your palm, and he kisses you there, making you smile. 

“And you have me,” he whispers softly, watching the way your eyes sparkle with happiness, with love. 

You catch him by surprise when you start showering him in kisses, pressing your lips to his face, to his cheeks and his forehead, to his nose and his chin and then finally his lips, making him giggle at the sudden sweet affection and then, you cutely nuzzle your nose against his, giggling through it all yourself. 

You only did this once, on the fourth of July, when you were wasted. Your lips went crazy across his whole face, you kissed him all over, complimented him and looked at him as though he was your own personal sun. 

How could he not see back then? 

How could he not see that it wasn’t the alcohol but the love you already felt for him, the love you couldn’t contain in that moment. 

Steve makes you squeal when he moves too suddenly, grabbing your waist and flipping you over so he is the one on top, he cups your cheeks and leans down, doing what you just did, leaving no spot unkissed. 

“Steve!” You giggle, squeezing your eyes shut as he trails kisses down to your jaw and your neck, tickling you with his hair and the light stubble around his mouth. You grab at his waist, holding on tightly. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs into your neck, kissing you there over and over until you grab his face and pull him back up to you. 

He looks down at you, moving his hand up to your face, he tucks away your hair and caresses your cheek, admiring your puffy lips, your beautiful eyes as you look at him with nothing but love in them. 

Everything he ever wanted is now right in front of him, in reach and now all he needs to do is ask. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me, Blondie?” He asks, unable to contain the smile on his face as he watches the way your eyes crinkle and a giggle falls from your lips, you cup each side of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, answering him in the sweetest way.  He only chuckles against your lips, pulling away for just an inch in order to mumble against your lips, “I need words darling…”

And that little word that will change your life forever finally comes out of your lips,

“Yes.”

 ♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[muffinlance]

Wan Shi Tong, like the former Admiral Zhao, looked entirely ready to throw down with a teenager.

- Line I almost certainly won't use, so HERE IT IS

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Chapter Twenty-Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

A couple nights passed, each one nicer than the last. Fireheart was once awoken by loud, dragged-out meows that were strained with effort and pain. In the evening, it was Frostfur sitting outside of the nursery, not Goldenflower.

“Brindleface had her kittens,” the white molly explained when Fireheart approached. “Goldenflower’s keeping an eye on her while she rests.”

Fireheart’s tail stood straight before curling over his back. “That’s wonderful! Are they healthy?”

“All three of them are plump and eating fine,” Frostfur replied, her eyes shining. “Our nursery is going to be quite full once Goldenflower has her kittens, too.”

Fireheart nodded enthusiastically, then deflated as his mind drew a conclusion. “I’m not going to be able to visit Goldenflower, am I?”

“I’m afraid not,” Frostfur said sympathetically. “Mates and mollies only.”

Fireheart sighed and rolled a shoulder. “Well, maybe you and Tigerclaw can tell me about them when they’re born.”

Frostfur tilted her head, thoughtful. “I don’t even know if Tigerclaw would be allowed in if Brindleface is here. He makes a lot of queens nervous.”

“Oh.” Fireheart blinked.

“I can at least tell you,” Frostfur said. “When they come around, of course. In the meantime…” She twisted her front half around and called into the nursery, “Kits! Come play outside!”

A unanimous, squeaky cheer echoed from inside the den. Fireheart and Frostfur stepped out of the way just in time for a cloud of white and gold to stampede into the open—and to Fireheart’s surprise, Snowkit wasn’t the last one out. In fact, he beat Thornkit and Brackenkit easily. The kits spread their chaos out, with the golden brothers running to the just-waking elders and Brightkit plunging into the admittedly small prey-pile, pawing at a squirrel about her size. Snowkit stopped in the center of camp, looking around with his big blue eyes before sniffing the air and crouching clumsily, fluffy little tail thrashing about.

“Wonder what he’s up to,” Fireheart said to Frostfur.

Frostfur purred. “He’s been trying to sneak up on his siblings for the past two days.” She paused, then spoke with more confusion than affection. “It’s odd. He used to try and speak, but suddenly he’s not making a single sound.”

“Oh!” Fireheart perked up more. “I’ve seen him; he mimicked Ravenwing when he was telling that story the other night - moving his mouth to Ravenwing’s words. I mean, he didn’t talk, but…”

Frostfur looked at him, eyes wide. “Did he… do you think he understood what Ravenwing was saying?”

Fireheart’s mouth twitched in consideration. “Well, I don’t know, but he looked like he was trying. But—” he hastened to add “—I think he’ll get it down pretty quick. He seems smart.”

“He is smart,” Frostfur said, the tiniest edge in her voice and iciness in her expression. “All of them are.”

“Of course,” Fireheart said quickly. “I just mean– well– you know– I think you don’t have anything to worry about. I think he’ll be just fine.”

The cold edge left Frostfur entirely. She sighed and nodded. “I hope so.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to unnecessarily add more, but he was saved by a high-pitched roar and then a grunt. When he looked to the source, the entrance, Brightkit had just tried to tackle Bluestar, Brackenkit helping on the leader’s other side.

Frostfur shouted in wordless outrage and trotted forward. “Brightkit! Brackenkit! Apologize right now!”

Bluestar didn’t seem bothered. She just gazed down at the unaware kits and gently tousled the top of their heads, one at a time.

“Bluestar, I’m so sorry, they don’t know who you are yet, I—” Frostfur met her and glared at the kits. “You do not attack our leader! Tell her ‘sorry’.”

“It’s fine,” Bluestar said, quiet and calm. “They’re just having fun.” She looked down at the kits again. “But I do need to eat, little ones.”

Bluestar’s request, followed up with Frostfur’s glare, seemed to be enough to convince the kits to back away and mumble nonsense that was probably supposed to be an apology of some kind. Bluestar flicked her tail in acknowledgement and walked slowly to the prey-pile. She sniffed the available prey with some disinterest before taking the squirrel at the top and moving at that same slow pace across camp, reclining where it was quietest. She observed camp without a word, not touching her prey.

Driven by a spark of concern in his heart, Fireheart made his way up to her, briefly trying to look casual by glancing around aimlessly. The hollow look in his mentor’s eyes made him give up on that and trot to her directly.

“It’s a good night, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully, coming around to her side and sitting down.

Bluestar, thankfully, did not seem offended or awkward about this intrusion. She simply looked up at him (only shorter now that she was halfway on her side) and flicked an ear.

Fireheart waited a moment for her to respond. When she didn’t, he tried again. “It’s just nice! New kits in the nursery—Frostfur said they’re healthy—and her kits, they’re all strong and happy, running around and enjoying life. And Cinderpaw’s finally resting, which…” He nodded at the crashed-out apprentice lying in a bundle of messy dark fur with her bad leg kicked out. “Took her long enough, right?”

Bluestar hummed in acknowledgement, looking at her apprentice fondly, even if that fondness was dampened with melancholy.

“And then Goldenflower, she’s pregnant!” Fireheart’s chest buzzed happily. “She’ll have kits, too.”

Bluestar finally spoke, quiet and reflective. “She’s been wanting kittens for a very long time.” Her eyes ever-so-slightly crinkled. “Small wonder she took to you so quickly.”

“Small indeed,” Fireheart muttered without any bite in his voice. His left ear turned sideways. “How come she hasn’t had kittens already? Was she just busy as the matriarch?”

Bluestar’s eyes drifted to the nursery. “As far as I’ve known, it was Tigerclaw who wanted to wait. I never pried into it. That’s just what I’ve heard.”

Fireheart pondered that for a moment. “…That’d make sense, I think. Nice of Goldenflower to give him time, then.”

Bluestar didn’t respond. When Fireheart looked at her, her eyes were distant and unfocused, the claws of the paw on her squirrel ever-so-slightly unsheathed, grazing the fur.

Fireheart very gently tapped her with his tail, asking in a murmur, “What’s bothering you?”

He expected her to get snippy with him prying, or even just not respond. She instead looked up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment, before sighing and turning back to watch Snowkit wrestle soundlessly with a yowling Brightkit.

“We’re going to need as many kits as we can get,” she said. “Winter isn’t a kind thing to the Clans. We’re bound to lose a couple as they grow.”

It took Fireheart a moment to realize what she meant. He stiffened. “…‘Lose’ as in die?”

Bluestar nodded morosely.

“But—” Fireheart almost started looking around for someone to refute her words. “But how? Aren’t they all safe in the nursery? Nothing can get them, right?”

“Anything can,” Bluestar said quietly. “Sickness, the cold, weak hearts… we can’t keep everything out of the nursery, as much as we’d like to. Fighting off a stoat or eagle is easy—it’s when a kitten just stops eating or freezes to death overnight that we can do nothing about.”

Fireheart stared at her silently, mouth slightly agape. His mind flew all over the place in its newfound fear: to his sister in the Houses, to Goldenflower in the nursery, to Silverstream in RiverClan, all with a bundle of kits that were ready to die off, one by one. It was a fear he could do anything about as much as he could hold back a storm.

“It happens all the time,” Bluestar said, watching the kits roll around, oblivious to the dangers of the world. “Sometimes… sometimes entire litters are lost.”

Fireheart did not miss her claws sinking into the squirrel’s hide, gripping it like a rogue’s pelt. He leaned forward a little to look into her eyes - pale and foggy like a sun on an overcast winter day, her face the frozen earth.

Fireheart didn’t dare to press, but he saw something unidentifiable in her expression. If he could just thaw it out—

Bluestar sat up and pushed the squirrel in his direction, her claws leaving puncture holes in its side. “Have this. I need to speak with Tigerclaw.”

“Bluestar—” Fireheart started, almost wanting to apologize for a reason he couldn’t name.

“You should eat.” She walked past him with speed, leaving camp before he could even respond, several cats watching her go with confusion.

“I’m not really hungry anymore, either,” Fireheart said to the empty air she left behind.

---

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah.” Fireheart rolled a loose pebble under his paw. “I upset her on accident.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Greystripe said after swallowing his mouthful of squirrel. “The loss of kittens gets to everyone. She was already thinking about it before you said anything, it sounds like.”

Fireheart sighed. “Still…”

“‘Still’ nothing. Just get some food in you, buddy.” Greystripe stretched out a huge paw and pushed at the mole between Fireheart’s feet.

Fireheart twitched his whiskers weakly and looked down at his mole. It was a very fresh one, almost warm still, and fat with rare autumn’s bounty, but his stomach was stiff and icy. Chewing alone seemed a monumental task.

“Maybe I should give this to someone else,” he said.

Greystripe shook his head. “You’d tell me to eat if I was feeling bad, right? Even if I didn’t want to?” At Fireheart’s sheepish nod, he returned with a sharper nod of his own. “Go on, then.”

Fireheart’s stomach stayed chilled, but he bent his head and pulled off a piece of his prey—more like he was pulling a tick off of Halftail than chomping on fresh meat. He chewed without tasting and swallowed. To his relief, his stomach lost its cold just a bit, enough to alert him to how hungry he really was.

Greystripe purred as Fireheart went for more. “Better?”

Fireheart nodded more enthusiastically, his tongue waking up to the taste of mole.

“Awesome.” Greystripe creased his eyes in self-satisfaction before he continued on with the last half of the squirrel.

They ate in silence, occasionally glancing up to watch Swiftpaw try to get Cinderpaw to lay back down or Teaselfoot make some quiet joke that Mousefur swatted him for. The kits were back in the nursery, having lost their energy after bouncing around for quite a while and then staggering into the den. Not a sound came out from under the roots that served as its architecture. Every conversation around them was quiet but cheerful, and as Fireheart half-listened, munching away, his anxiety and guilt gradually subsided.

“Oh, hey—” Greystripe looked to the shifting entrance. “Ravenwing’s patrol might be back.”

Fireheart perked up and waited until Willowpelt and Whitecloud passed through to call a greeting to Ravenwing as he followed behind. Ravenwing turned his head to his friends, who both waved their tails, and trotted over to them, his own tail stiff and slightly puffed out.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, only stopping when he was almost touching Fireheart, and bent his head down, speaking almost under his breath. “Are you two done eating? Can we go out and talk?”

Greystripe and Fireheart looked at each other with mild puzzlement, but nodded. They chomped down the last bits of meat before standing and following Ravenwing back to the entrance.

“Already leaving again?” Willowpelt asked, head tilted.

“Still got some energy,” Ravenwing said quickly. “I just want to hunt a bit.”

Unusually, Greystripe seemed to catch something Fireheart didn’t and added, “Yeah, there’s nothing left for anyone else,” and jerked his chin at the single, pathetic mouse lying in what used to be the prey-pile.

“That’s kind of you.” Willowpelt glanced at her kits by the stump before adding, “Do you think you could find a pigeon for Cinderpaw? I know they might not be out right now, but…”

“We’ll try to find one,” Fireheart said brightly. “What about Swiftpaw? Anything for him?”

“Oh, he likes pigeon too,” Willowpelt replied. “If you only find one, they can share.”

Fireheart dipped his head and followed his friends out of camp.

“So—” started Greystripe, but Ravenwing held up his tail for silence. Greystripe glanced back curiously at Fireheart, who tilted his head with the same unspoken question. The pair continued on after Ravenwing until the scents and sounds of camp were far behind them. Abruptly, Ravenwing stopped and turned around, his eyes wide and nervous.

“Do you know where Tigerclaw is?” he asked quietly.

Fireheart frowned, confused. “The last I heard, Bluestar went to talk with him. Why?”

Uttering a tiny, low groan, Ravenwing looked around, ears swiveling before they flattened against his head. “Okay. Um. This is going to sound crazy, but please hear me out.”

Fireheart blinked. “Of course we’ll hear you out.”

“Something wrong?” Greystripe asked, his casual tone ever-so-slightly leaning into wariness.

“Okay. Okay.” Ravenwing swallowed. “So…I think– I think– well– you know how Tigerclaw called Bluestar to the border and a car hit Cinderpaw because she went instead?”

“Yeah?” Fireheart said slowly.

“And then Tigerclaw called Bluestar to the border again, and you went instead, Fireheart? And you said some black-and-white rogues were coming right for you, but then Tigerclaw showed up and they went away?”

For a reason Fireheart didn’t want to understand, his chest tightened. “…Yeah?”

“And before all of that…” Ravenwing looked around again, much more conspiratorially. “Lionface disappeared, and all we heard about were the sight of two black-and-white rogues? And then Tigerclaw got promoted to deputy?”

Fireheart glanced at Greystripe; his face was weirdly unreadable, like he couldn’t decide what emotion he was feeling. To Ravenwing, Fireheart said uneasily, “What about it?”

“It’s just… weird, you know?” Ravenwing’s teeth clicked a few times. “Why are those two rogues showing up so often? Why does something bad happen, or nearly happen, when there’s some business at the border?” He shivered. “And why do our deputies keep disappearing?”

“Lionface was probably taken away by humans,” Greystripe said, but his eyes were intensely focused now. “And… are you talking about—”

“Redtail,” Ravenwing said. “He fell into the Gorge and we never found a body.” His feet shuffled, pacing in place. “And yeah, okay, that’s the Gorge. We never get anything back from there. But I’ve been thinking about this for a few nights now, and…” He swallowed again. “You know, only Tigerclaw saw what happened to him.”

Ravenwing’s words made the fur on Fireheart’s spine prickle. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not– I’m not sure exactly what I’m saying yet.” Ravenwing heaved a shaky breath, visibly forced his paws to stop moving, and looked between his friends, eyes now alert and face setting into something like determination. “But I want your help in whatever this is. Something’s going on and I want to find out what. Maybe I’m just making things up, I don’t know—but it’s weird. It’s really weird, and I need to at least get some information before I pass it off.”

“We can help,” Greystripe said, his voice low. “Fireheart?”

Fireheart opened his mouth, shut it when he realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say, and then nodded. “…Yeah. What’s the first thing you want to do?”

Ravenwing sighed with relief, then refocused. “First things first… I want to find out exactly what happened with Lionface.”

[1988-fiend]

CHAOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSS!!!!

I love it! I mean, where do we start? Schmexy angry Mob Mikey? Frank getting his bogging knocked?! Reader calling out the family on their crap, OR AMANDA GETTING ONE TO THE SCHNOZ?!!!!

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 22: Look At This Godforsaken Mess That You Made Me

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Birdy invites you into her home for dinner, and you soon realize that her motivations might not be entirely selfless. And then, everything goes downhill when you bump into Frank and finally piece the puzzle together.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, protective Michael, violence, cursing, panic attack, we hate Frank and Amanda

Word Count: 11.2k

A/n: This got very long, but there's a lot of anger (mostly from Michael) and a lot of angst in here. Everything escalates in this one, so buckle up because this is gonna be a wild ride! Also, double update? Yay. I’m back in the writing flow.

Birdy invites you into her four walls with a warm smile. 

“Make yourself at home, dear,” she tells you once you’ve stepped into the spacious house. “Here, let me take yer coat. Just turn right over there and you’ll be in the living room.”

You follow her finger and find your way to the living room. It’s cozy with a lot of space, a comfortable-looking couch, and an open kitchen. A lot more than you could afford for yourself, but as far as you can tell, this family you have found yourself in has more money than most people because of what they do (even though it’s highly illegal, you have to commend them for being consistent and making good money that keeps the entire family going, including Michael. If you look over the murder and the drugs, of course.) 

It’s almost funny to you that only a few weeks ago, you were living in your bubble and wanted nothing to do with Michael’s family; you didn’t even want him to have anything to do with them, and while the latter didn’t change, here you are, in Birdy’s home, and you don’t even mind. You could laugh at yourself for pretending you’re so innocent when your own life, in all honesty, is a shit show as well–a shit show you have been trying to hide from even yourself, but a shit show nonetheless. 

Knowing the truth about Michael is a lot to process, but your own past hasn’t been kind to you either, and while the thought of being connected to the mob now is unsettling, knowing you have someone like Michael by your side gives you a sense of safety because you know he’s the only one who could stand his ground against the man you’re so afraid of. Maybe he’s not even that strong, but he did a number on you, and you carry these memories with you every living second of your life. To you, your father is the most evil man out there, even though you’re sure Michael’s life is soon going to prove to you that there are more men like him and that this won’t be so easy to find evidence your father caused a car accident that killed your sister, and then gaining custody over your teenage sister. Michael is struggling with getting custody of his own daughter, and neither of you knows yet where that case is going, so telling yourself that after last night, all is sorted, is once again just you trying to hide in a pretentious bubble. But it’s better than falling apart, right? 

You stand in the middle of Birdy’s living room a little lost, but she is quick to tell you to take a seat at the dining table.

And that’s when her maternal instincts come out to play, momentarily making you forget the conversation you had with her this morning, her endless questions, and how alarmed Michael was when you told him. You just focus on the feeling of being taken care of without having to ask, something you never experienced from either of your parents or anyone else before. 

Birdy has a talent for making everyone feel welcome, it seems. She likes taking care of people. You wonder if she was the one who took Michael under her wing when he was a child because he has told you many times he understands the kind of childhood you had, so he must have suffered. But he and Birdy seem close from what he told you, his weariness simply comes from a place of love for you and because he knows what his family is capable of, even though he is the closest to the woman who just invited you over for an impromptu dinner. 

“You look starvin’, dear,” Birdy says. She walks into the kitchen. “And thirsty. Have you been workin’ all day?”

You nod, stifling a yawn. “It’s been a long day,” you say.

“Did ya have time to eat?”

“I had a sandwich.”

“Just a sandwich?”

“Yeah.”

She looks at you almost condescendingly and shakes her head. “I can’t have that. You shouldn’t starve because of a job,” she says. “Good for ya that I cook when I’m stressed. Put some food into Michael’s fridge too. I can offer you–“ she opens the fridge, “Lasagna, and if you want somethin’ nice without meat, I made pasta with some lemon sauce. Oh, and vegetables. I fried ‘em. I don’t know how you English people eat yer food. What I do know is that I don’t have any fish and chips. Sorry ta disappoint, dear.” 

“That’s…” You look at her a little flabbergasted. “That’s a lot of food,” you say. “I’m a vegetarian, but I don’t wanna be a bother. You don’t have to share your food with me. You probably cooked for your family, and I can’t take something that’s not meant for me. And my dietary preferences should not be of your concern.”

“But you are family,” she tells you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Or at least to Michael you are, and I respect that. So I want ya t’ take my food. I made too much anyway. I also have chocolate cake, and I’ve learned that it works wonders on overworked lass like you.”

You bite your lip nervously, looking up to meet her gaze. “Well, if it’s not too much work, I’d take the pasta,” you cave.

Birdy smiles. “With cheese?”

“Yes. If it’s alright.”

“It’s more than alright.” 

You sit at the dining table as she serves you a generous portion of pasta with cheese, along with a steaming cup of coffee. The aroma of the food fills the air, making your stomach growl in anticipation. You take a grateful bite and savor the flavors. This is exactly what you needed.

You finish the plate fast, and Birdy offers you seconds. You accept. While you eat, she sits across from you. You don’t mind her watching you. You’re too hungry to care. And once you’re done, you dive into the chocolate cake.

“How was your day, dear?” she eventually asks. “What’s it like workin’ at the Butterfly Effect? Surely, it must be fast-paced.”

You quickly swallow and wipe your mouth. “Well, there are peak hours, but it’s worth it to put a smile on people’s faces,” you answer. “And the money’s not bad.”

She smiles at your answer. “That’s grand.” It’s almost as if she’s obsessed with feeding you as much as you can handle because the next thing you know, she serves you another piece of cake. “You know, I never expected Michael to work in a café, but then again, he is a very hands-on person,” she says. “But he’s also very smart. He showed that in school. Shy and quiet but can fight back when enraged. I guess that comes with bein’ a Kinsella,” she says. “His father isn’t a good man. His mother wasn’t present. I was there for him and Jimmy. They’re my boys.” 

She’s chatty, you note, but you can’t tell how genuine it is under that facade she carries. You’re sure it has to be a facade; someone like her wouldn’t walk around like an open book. From what Michael told you, you have already figured that she has layers, and while they may not be evil, she’s still a Kinsella, and that makes her unpredictable like the rest of Michael’s family. 

“Yeah,” you murmur in response, “I get that.”

“How about your family?” Birdy asks then. 

Oh no.

You lower your fork, the piece of cake only half-eaten. She wants to know who you are, and you have no idea if any of what you say will end up in the ears of the rest of the family. She’s digging and digging and it won’t stop. 

“Ya came here all the way from London. Must be hard on them,” she says. “Especially for a mother. It’s never easy for them to just let go.”

You swallow thickly, not meeting her eyes. How does she know that you’re from London, specifically? Your heart starts to race with the impending revelation. You can feel the sweat forming on your forehead. 

“Then again, you are an adult. A bit younger than Mikey, I imagine, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? And you wanna help him get Anna back? This is where she belongs, y’know. With us. She’s a Kinsella, always has been, and we are her family. That bein’ said, you have a lot of fire in ya, it seems. Under that sweet interior, there’s somethin’ more, and I think tha’s what Michael saw in ya when you first met. It drew him in. He has a distinctive type.”

You try to speak, but the words come out, but she doesn’t seem to care. She just keeps going and you feel like the world is crumbling around you.

“But why did ya really come here?” Birdy asks, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What is your deal? There is not much online on ya, but yer sister…I get it now why you understand loss so well; it’s never easy to lose a child. It’s an unimaginable pain. She was your sister.”

The chocolate cake churns in your stomach. You must be as pale as the color of her walls by now, but she speaks so nonchalantly, it doesn’t even sound like she’s taking apart your life even though she is, and that’s what makes her dangerous.

“I’ve also read tha you have another sister at home. She must be a teenager now. Nothin’ on her current age, but I calculated.”

You open your mouth, but no words or sounds would come out. 

“There was an investigation, I read, and your name was mentioned countless times, but you’re an enigma,” she says, and that’s where her voice drops a little and the look in her brown eyes switches from curiosity to something that reminds you of a venomous snake, and it terrifies you. “I can’t tell if yer a danger to this family or not, which bugs me,” she says. “I don’t know who you really are, and I don’t know if Michael does. If he does, I don’t know if he knows what he signed himself up for. I don’t know if ya know what you signed yerself up for. I need to keep this family safe and with you, nothing’s as it seems. So what is the deal with ya, dear? I just wanna talk.”

You feel your heart pounding in your chest. Birdy listed things she shouldn’t know, and there is a threat somewhere in there. It reminds you of the man that came into the café a few days ago, and your heart picks up the pace even more. There is too much blood in your veins; you start feeling lightheaded with no more air left in your lungs. Panic and fear grip you, and you realize that she has dug deeper into your background than you ever expected. 

“I…” You push the unfinished plate of chocolate cake away from you, “I need to leave,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “This was a mistake.” 

Birdy watches you, her words hanging in the air. You can see the realization dawn on her face that she has crossed a line. But it’s too late. The damage is done, and you can’t risk staying any longer.

You are fucked. 

You quickly gather your things, your hands trembling, and make your way to the door. The atmosphere in the room has turned heavy with tension, and the trust you had started to develop with Birdy has been shattered.

“Wait,” she calls out after you, but you can’t stay. 

When you open the door, you’re ready to storm out and run, hoping Michael is finally home. But when you look up, there is a man in front of you, and his face seems familiar. It takes you a minute to sort out, and he looks equally as shocked as you. 

Now you definitely can’t breathe. A few seconds ago you drew a parallel between Birdy and the stranger in the café, the same man standing in front of you now with his gray hair and glasses.

You’re fucked. 

If he was a Kinsella all along, you don’t want to know what he knows. You’re in danger. Your mind keeps screaming at you to run, to flee, and to seek refuge somewhere, but you’re paralyzed. 

You stand frozen in the doorway, staring at the man who blocks your path. Fear pulses through your veins, and your mind races to process what his presence means for you. 

Maybe you have to leave. Maybe you have to book a plane ticket and move back to London. Maybe you shouldn’t say a word and just go tonight. There are no hurdles in your way. You can drive yourself to the airport, or you’ll take a cab. If the Kinsellas know, you’re not sure how safe you are, if they’d accept you’re in danger and not the danger itself, or if they’ll keep hating you. You don’t understand, but you want to understand, which is something that suffocates and kills you inside. It feels as if the room is closing in around you.

Birdy, now standing behind you, reaches out a hand. “Frank,” she sounds almost warning

That was his name. You remember writing it on the paper cup and handing it to him, and then his subtle threat about taking care of yourself because you don’t know what could happen out there. 

Her touch feels distant, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline in your ears.

“Wait, let me explain,” Birdy pleads with you. 

You shake your head, unable to trust her or anyone at this moment. The realization hits you that you are trapped, caught in a spiderweb of secrets that threatens to consume you.

Without hesitation, you push past Frank and break into a run. Panic guides your footsteps as you head for Michael’s house across the street, your heart pounding in your chest and going faster and faster and faster until it almost jumps out of your chest entirely.

You push the handle down. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked. Just as you close the door behind you, you bump into a broad chest again. You’re convinced you’re stuck in a bad dream because everywhere you look, there is danger lurking behind a corner, and it either takes the face of your father or a threat that you don’t even know the name of. Frank could be the biggest threat of them all, but so could Birdy and the rest of the Kinsella family–at this point, you’re not sure what to believe anymore, and the threat feels more like a concoction of different things molded into one gigantic monster meant to haunt you for the rest of your life. You’re terrified. 

Michael grabs your shoulders, steadying you. “Woah,” he says. “Easy there.” He chuckles, but his smile fades when he sees the panicked look on your face. “Hey, hey,” his hands move to your face, “What happened?”

You can barely catch your breath enough to talk. “I can’t…Birdy…I…”

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs. “What’s with Birdy?” 

Michael touches your forehead, checking for a fever, but the cold sweat on your skin comes from fear. 

“Talk to me, love,” his voice is a steady sound among the uncertainty, but it doesn’t stop your racing heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”

You try to take a deep breath to string together some words, not caring whether they make sense or not, and you can feel the tears starting to well up behind your eyes. “Birdy, she–she invited me for dinner a-and she asked me about my day, but then she kept asking questions and…she knows, Michael,” you say. “She knows. She researched me, but in a way I can’t even…she knows. Birdy knows.”

His jaw clenches. His brown eyes gaze deeply into yours, and he’s both shocked and worried at the same time.

“Breathe,” he tells you again because you continue to stumble over your own words. Then, he asks, “What exactly does she know?”

“Everything!” you cry out. “About Ellie, about Maya, and she knows I’m hiding something. I–I can’t breathe. Your family doesn’t like me. No one does. They–they think I’m the villain and what if–what if she tells them? What if she draws conclusions? What if she shares it with everyone, a-and what if they end up hurting Maya or–or my father finds out that I’m with you and in contact with her, and–what then, Michael?”

His grip on your shoulders tightens. “I need you to breathe.”

You try to calm your breathing so you won’t hyperventilate. Your thoughts are a mess, but his thumb stroking your cheek manages to keep you in the present enough to sort the mess in your head to form an answer. “There was this guy at the café a couple of days ago that seemed ominous, and then he threatened me,” you say. “He said that–that I can never know what could happen out there, so I had to be careful. I–I didn’t know that he…” You point toward the house on the opposite side of the street out of the kitchen window. 

Michael’s grip tightens. There is not a chance in hell you could have deciphered that look on his face. “Who?” he asks. “Who threatened ya?”

“Frank,” you manage to choke out, your body shaking at the mere thought of the dots you connected and the possibility of what it could mean. Michael warned you, but you didn’t listen. 

His frown deepens, and he even looks surprised for a moment. He’s quick on his feet, but even he needs a second to make sense of that simply because he didn’t expect it.

“He’s…there was this man when I stormed out of Birdy’s place a-and his name is Frank,” you explain. “I remember his face. It’s him. That’s the Frank who came to the café the other day, a-and now I think I need to book a plane ticket to London and far, far away from this place to take care of my family because this is entirely too much for me and I can’t–I can’t do this anymore. He threatened me and Birdy knows too much, and who knows what my father will do.”

If they were cruel enough, they could have signed your death sentence already. 

You have seen a lot of looks on Michael’s face, a lot of different emotions, and a lot of different moods he’s been through, but the change that happens right before your eyes steals your breath away. You have never seen him so feral. There’s no word for the look in his eyes or the way his muscles tense up under his shirt, it just happens and it makes you shake in your boots because that look seems dangerous in itself. 

“He did what?” Michael asks through gritted teeth.

“Threatened me,” you repeat quietly, finally being able to regulate your breathing. “At work,” you say. “In front of Sarah a-and everyone. But the way he looked at me…I should have known, but I pretended it was just another crazy guy. I’m so stupid. If Birdy knows, he probably knew then, too, and that’s why he threatened me.”

Now you’re drawing conclusions, but they make the most sense, and it feels like you’re on the right track, which makes the plane ticket sound so much more lucrative.

“The fuck–” Michael shakes his head, blinking as if that would help him make sense of everything. “Frank…he threatened ya? And Birdy?”

“I don’t know if Birdy threatened me, but–”

“No, that sounded pretty much like a threat to me. Fuck!” He lets go of your shoulders, running a hand through his hair. “Frank. That fuckin’–No.”

You snap out of your haze when he suddenly pulls away from you entirely. Michael yanks the fridge in the kitchen forward, and you gasp at his immense strength. 

Michael moves it forward. You can hear the faint sound of duct tape ripping. And then you see it–he is holding a gun in his hand.

“Why the fuck do you have a gun behind your fridge?” you say, your voice high-pitched and alert. 

“Days like today,” he grumbles. “Stay here. I’ll handle it.”

You know exactly what he means by that, and you jump into action. 

“Michael!” you call out for him, but he has already opened the door and is strutting toward Birdy’s house. 

“No,” he snaps. “No one threatens ya and the safety of a child that has no one but you to fall back on, and then gets away with it!” 

You follow him, trying to keep up, but he is fast when he’s determined. The gun is steady in his hand as his arms hang on either side, but his finger is already on the trigger. 

“Michael, stop!” you plead. He ignores you. “Please!”

Why everyone keeps their doors open, you don’t understand. Michael easily bursts into the house and heads for the living room. You were wrong about Jamie’s death being the moment shit hits the fan. This is it. Michael’s rage is the last nail in the coffin, and you’re shocked. Birdy is, too, and Frank can also be added to that list. That look in his eyes…you’re weirdly even more attracted to Michael now, and he’s carrying a loaded gun. But you’re also scared because does he really want to do what you think he’ll do? For you? You can’t believe it. It must be a cruel joke. 

But it’s not. 

Michael grabs Frank by the collar and pushes him into one of the armchairs. He can’t fight back. The gun presses just underneath his chin, ready to blow his skull like you always see in the movies. 

You slap a hand in front of your mouth. Well, shit. 

“Michael!” Birdy calls out in shock. She takes a calculated step back the same way you do, and her eyes are wide, but she has seen this many more times than you have. 

Seeing the man you love holding a gun so confidently sends a chill down your spine, and it’s not an entirely comfortable one, while also being in awe of him at the same time because he is doing this for you and Frank deserves it. 

“Jesus!” Frank cries out when his backside meets the soft cushions in a rather harsh way. “What the fuck–” The cold metal of the gun seems to freeze him in place. Panic flashes across his eyes, and you start thinking he might not be in this position as often as you thought. 

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” Michael spits, and he digs the gun deeper into Frank’s chin, tilting his head slightly back and forcing him to look into his feral eyes. “That you know exactly what the right thing is for this family and no one else matters but yer fuckin’ money? Is tha what ya fuckin’ think, Frank?” 

Frank quivers, his arms now raised, palms facing forward. “Wha has gotten into ya, Michael?” he asks. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, Jesus Christ!”

Michael shakes his head. “You threatened her,” his breath fans hotly against his face, “and ya think I’d let you get away with it? That I wouldn’t find out?”

“Mikey,” Birdy begs behind him. “Put the gun down. Yer not helpin’ anyone with this. He’s family.”

“I don’t give a fuck about family right now! And I’m not done with ya either, Birdy,” says Michael. “But Frank,” he adds more pressure to the gun, “you crossed a big fuckin’ line this time!”

“She was distractin’ ya,” Frank retorts, finding his voice again. “Keepin’ you from doin’ what you should be doing instead of applying fer a job at a fuckin’ café. I threatened her ‘cause this family is no place for someone like her, and you need ta realize that, Michael. You don’t wanna lose another wife, do ya?”

You’re not his wife, but his words cut deep nonetheless. You don’t want to imagine what Michael is feeling right now. 

“She has secrets and I’m sniffin’ them out so you can see who she really is.”

Michael's ferocity shocks you to the core, but Frank’s words are even worse, and perhaps he deserves that gun to his neck after all.

“You think we don’t talk, hm?” Michael challenges. “I know who she is. You had no right to do that. You threatened her, you freaked her out and you hurt her. I should put a bullet in yer fuckin’ head for that!” The gun moves to his temple. “For thinkin’ this will change my mind. For expectin’ me to prioritize this life and not my daughter or the woman I love,” he says. “For puttin’ yourself first over and over again as if nothin’ else matters but you. You get tha?”

“Michael, maybe we should–“ Birdy tries again, but fails. 

“What did you do?” he cuts her off by asking Frank, “What the fuck are you planning? ‘Cause I know ya and you’d never threaten someone without havin’ a fucked up plan to back ya up.”

Frank’s eyes switch from the gun and Michael’s face to yours. “Her sister,” he states almost too calmly for your liking. “I put some men on her, to watch her, take some pictures and send them t’ her. Not to hurt her, but to scare her ‘cause she’s her weak spot. I needed ta get her out. Ya know how serious things are with Eamon right now, especially after what happened to Jamie last night, and you still think someone like her is safe with us? Tha Eamon is not gonna use her against you?” His eyes twinkle. “Grow up, Michael!” Some of his spit hits Michael’s face, and all traces of the calm man he pretends to be fade into oblivion.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” Michael says. 

At the mention of Maya though, your blood runs cold. “What?” you whisper into the heated tension, and much to your surprise, you’re being heard. 

“Threaten the little sister, the big one will come runnin’,” Frank says. “It’s that simple. You may not understand it ‘cause you don’t know what we’re dealin’ with, but the future of this family and whether or not we’ll be forever controlled by a man even worse than us hangs in the balance, and you could seriously mess with tha.”

His explanation doesn’t even make sense to you. Even if they were at war with a rival gang, it still doesn’t excuse him using your little sister to scare you away, someone who would never have gotten involved in any of their business in the first place. You love Michael, but you would never voluntarily mess with anything his family is doing, and whoever the man is Frank mentioned, you have someone else probably just as bad you need to get rid of, and that requires most of your attention. But by doing what he did, he might have just blurred your lives instead of separating you completely, and that means chaos.

You let out a shaky breath. “No, this can’t be–tell me you’re lying,” you say. “You didn’t…you can’t. She’s not supposed to be easy to find. She’s not supposed to be followed in that godforsaken home.”

He seemingly has no idea what he has done with this, and that shows how quickly people are to judge without knowing the full story. 

In one swift motion, Michael hits Frank over the head with his gun, causing the skin above his eyebrows to split. He cries out in pain. “I did!” he confesses. 

Michael repeats his action, this time not to get him to answer but simply because all of his fuses have been blown by now, and you can’t even excuse Frank’s behavior. You wanted to try giving him the benefit of the doubt because you are not a cruel person, but he proved himself to be even crueler, and he deserves whatever is coming for him. 

“I don’t even know you!” you clap back. “How could you do this to someone you don’t know, who has never done anything to you?” Your voice cracks. “Just because Michael met me when he was at his lowest and you didn’t like he was trying to make a life for himself outside of this family?”

“I told you–” he tries, but you cut him off.

“I don’t care how hard you try to explain yourself, no excuse in this world could fucking excuse what you did!”

“You don’t belong here,” he says. 

“The fuck does that have to do with my sister? She’s just a child! Take it out on me, but not on her. Fuck you!”

Michael’s grip tightens around the gun, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain his own fury. His voice cuts through the tension-filled atmosphere. “You sick fuck,” he seethes. “You really used her sister as leverage? You endangered an innocent child! Is that who you are now? Is this what we do?”

Birdy steps forward. “Maybe we should just talk about this properly,” she says, but you can tell there is anger deep down that she is trying to mask, and it seems to be just as strong as Michael’s. You’re in a room full of high tempers, and it’s intimidating. 

Frank winces when the barrel of the gun digs into the fresh wound, blood trickling down his forehead. “I had to make her see…to make her realize she doesn't belong here. She’s a weakness, a vulnerability,” he says. “And it’d be easier if ya just fucked her and got it over with. Can’t have her if she’s not ready to be involved, and involving her would be a big mistake in our current situation. Ya can’t win in this situation, Michael. You can’t be a Kinsella and have her.”

“I’d rather fuckin’ die than not have her!” Michael’s voice echoes off the high walls. “And I’d rather never see any of ya again if it means I get to be with someone who actually sees me for who I am. You know,” he says, “to think I even considered for a moment to come back once I have everythin’ settled with my daughter, and she would have supported me…”

He’s right. No matter how badly you want to deny it, you would have supported him because you want him to do whatever he sees best. And family is clearly important to him, but, as you realize now, so are you. You are his family. Anna is his family. And that’s all you’re really sure about. 

“If this were Anna,” you whisper, “would you have her followed too? Or does it just apply to innocent teenagers you don’t know?”

“This is different,” Frank is quick to defend himself. 

“Anna’s a child too, just like my sister. Would you have done the same to her?”

“She’s a Kinsella!”

“Fuck you and your stupid family name, using it as if it means anything to me. Fuck you, Frank! I mean it.”

Tears well up in your eyes as the realization of the danger Maya has been subjected to settles deep within your soul. The urge to protect her, to shield her from the darkness that has infiltrated your life, swells within you like an unstoppable force. 

You take a step closer to Frank. “She’s just a child. How could you possibly think that using her against me just to get me away from Michael would be the right thing to do?”

He’s sick in the head, you’re sure of that. 

“You don’t understand,” Frank says. “Yer too young, too naive, and too innocent t’ grasp any of this, lass.”

“You have no idea what you did,” you whisper. “My age or supposed innocence has nothing to do with it. And who I fuck is none of your business either. My point here is that you endangered an innocent child, and you’re doing so as we speak.” Your teeth are bared and a certain rage bubbles up inside of you that you never thought possible. It’s an overwhelming feeling that eats you alive and shoots fire straight through your veins, into your heart. 

Frank opens his mouth again, “I–”

“You said you weren’t planning on hurting her, but you’re not the only sick man out there,” you say. 

Birdy cuts in to ask, “What do you mean, dear?” Her eyebrows are slightly furrowed, but you won’t let the worry in her eyes fool you, not again. 

You trust her about as far as you can throw her. 

“My father is an abusive asshole that almost made me lose an eye because he threw a glass at me,” it’s still foreign to say it out loud, especially to them, but how else would they understand why you’re reacting the way you are? They need to learn that nothing is ever as it seems. You’re an enigma to others, that much is true, and you’re hard to unravel or even read, but what Frank did is wrong on so many levels, and so much worse now that you think of all the consequences it could carry. 

“My father…” You swallow thickly, your fists balled at your side. “My father is the same man that locked me in my room for days when I got an F so I could study. The man that sometimes wouldn’t allow me to eat dinner. The man that killed my little sister when she was three, and I still don't know why because he would beat me senseless whenever I asked questions. He would beat me whenever I didn’t cook dinner or seemingly disobeyed him, even in my twenties, and he would push me down the stairs. And he told me he’d kill me if I ever got close to Maya again, so if he finds out that I’m connected to you in any way–” You break off to point your finger at him oh-so-slowly. “You’re responsible if he hurts my sister, and you’re responsible if I end up dead and unable to protect her.”

Michael presses the barrel of the gun deeper into the wound, making Frank howl in agony. “He’ll kill her,” he growls. “Is tha what you wanted? For her t’ die?”

“No!” Frank is quick to answer. “I just wanted to scare her. I don’t kill innocents, Michael. I’m not evil. I had ta take a calculated step and it seemed like the right thing t’do. I couldn’t have fuckin’ known tha her father is who she says he is! That’s not exactly something ya find out online.”

“Her and her sister could both die. Who knows what her father is capable of? If he finds out, she’s fucked, and it’s gonna be yer fault. If I lose her…” He bares his teeth. “Then it’s not just Eamon you have t’ fuckin’ worry about!”

“Michael, please,” he begs. “I’ll take the men off her sister. Hell, I’ll tell them to look after her or tell them to get rid of her bastard father, just–” 

As much as you like the thought, death would be too kind. He needs to be put behind bars for all eternity, and you want to watch him suffer through it. You want the satisfaction of winning for once in your life. And you don’t want help from Frank, specifically. Michael offered the same thing to you. From him, you’ll take it. 

You’re not afraid to die, but you’re afraid of Maya losing more of her childhood and you’re afraid of loss. You can't go through that again. 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Michael sneers. 

“I’ll take it back, I’ll tell ��em to stop. I promise,” Frank continues begging like a pathetic child. Maybe now he knows what it feels like to be helpless. 

Michael’s finger itches to pull the trigger. “Your word means shit t’me right now!”

You take another step forward. You know this is wrong on so many levels. Part of you wants him to do it, and he would, but you know the guilt would eat him alive. “Michael,” you interject. “We can’t allow ourselves to stoop to his level. He’s not worth it. He’s worth nothing. Believe me, I want nothing more than to see you hurt him more than you already did,” you say, “but you shouldn’t.”

You said so pathetic now too, but you feel like it’s the right thing to do. 

Michael only sneers again. “He hurt ya,” he says. “He deserves to pay for what he did. If I lose you–”

“You won’t lose me,” you’re quick to answer. 

He shakes his head. The thought is eating him alive. “I can’t lose you or Anna, and I don’t want Maya to get hurt. I don’t know her, but I know what it feels like to have a child, and she’s like one to ya. Frank–” He turns back to him. “How sick do ya have to be? What is wrong with you? That’s not how I know you,” he says, and he sounds almost…sad. “Ya’ve never been so cruel before, and you’ve done a lot of questionable things. It’s like I never fuckin’ knew ya.” The disappointment is clear and even Birdy lowers her head in shame. 

You frown. Something more is brewing and you’re terrified of the truth. 

“Michael, dear,” Birdy says, “Maybe if we let him explain–” 

“There is nothin’ to explain. Just answer me this: Did you know?”

She stays quiet. 

“Fuck!” Michael’s finger ghosts dangerously close to the trigger. 

Frank swallows. “If ya kill me now, there’s no one that can tell the men I told to follow her sister to step back,” he argues. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “You’d only do it to save yourself, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, and you have your answer. 

“You’re sick,” you tell him the same thing Michael did. 

He’s evil in your eyes. Perhaps it would be a good idea to end this here for now because you can’t be part of a family that does things to hurt someone just because one of the members stepped out of line. Michael had every right to put himself and Anna first. He wasn’t going to leave the family, only the business so his life could calm down and a court would take him seriously. 

Why Frank did what he did, you don’t even want to know in full. Your sister is the only thing on your mind. The anger in your veins boils burning hot, and you stop telling Michael to step back. Frank brought this upon himself.

Your eyes fall on Birdy. She looks deadly pale. “Did you know?” you ask her. 

Her eyes meet yours. “Why do you think I asked ya all these questions, dear?” she says, her voice quiet and bordering on a whisper. 

Your mouth opens, but you’re mute. 

“It wasn’t to sniff ya out,” she says. “It was to get to know ya so I could find a way t’get Frank to back off. I know him better than anyone else and sometimes he needs a swift kiss in the arse ta stop whatever he’s doin’. But he’s not evil.”

“Oh, my–But you knew,” you whisper. “And you didn’t think about doing anything about it earlier? What kind of person does that? ‘But he’s not evil’ my ass! You can’t excuse that. I thought you were kinder than this, Birdy. I…I started trusting you. You took care of me. So it was all just an act?”

It breaks her heart to see you like this, and even more to see that she hurt you so deeply. But she’s not the first maternal figure that disappointed you. You just needed a mother, and she cared like one. 

“He’s still my brother,” she says softly. “I didn’t think he’d go to such lengths. And I didn’t know that your father hurt you. Jesus–” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. No child should ever have ta live with bein’ abused by their own parents, and neither did you. I’m sure if Frank knew, he wouldn’t have done it. Right, Frank?”

Frank nods as much as he can with the gun still pointed at his head. “If there’s one thing I hate it’s fathers who hurt their own children,” he says. “I have a son. He almost died last night, I–”

“Oh, fuck off!” you snap. It’s a pathetic attempt at redeeming himself, and you won’t let him fool you. You sneer. “No matter how many times you say it, sorry doesn’t save my sister.”

Michael’s rage burns hot, fueling his anger and pushing him to the edge. His eyes bore into Frank. The weight of the gun in his hand feels heavy, and every instinct urges him to unleash his anger upon the man who has endangered you and an innocent child that is already suffering at the hands of another man with his controlling nature. 

His voice cuts through the air. “You vile piece of shit,” Michael growls, his words dripping with venom. He looks at you, uttering your name. “You think I won’t protect her, that I won’t unleash hell on anyone who dares to touch her? Her sister is a child. She’s in a completely different country and you decide to fuckin’ mess with both of them? Do you even think before ya act?”

Frank leans back a little and the gun moves from his temple to the middle of his skull. 

“Do you think it’s that easy to google her and draw conclusions?” Michael says. “That’s fuckin’ prejudice and you know it! I won’t stand for ya hurtin’ the woman I love and tryin’ to take her away from me. Especially not like this. There is nothin’ between ya and my fuckin’ gun right now.”

He knows you wouldn’t hold him back. You can’t. 

Frank flinches. Blood streams down his forehead, mixing with the sweat of his fear. He stammers, attempting to find words to defend himself, but Michael’s rage consumes any space for explanation.

“You’re not sorry. You’re sorry you got caught, sorry yer sick plan backfired. Well, I promise ya this, Frank; you will regret ever laying a finger on her. I don’t know wha you thought would happen, but it would never break us apart.”

“But it would get her to a different country,” Frank spits back.

The gun once again collides with his head. From the look in his eyes, he’s getting dizzy, but Michael doesn’t care. His grip tightens on the gun. The desire for vengeance battles with the need to protect, and it’s a war within him that threatens to explode.

“You tell me and Jimmy that doin’ something against the man that’s responsible for killin’ Jamie–” 

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes widening a little. What happened while you were at work? Suddenly this isn’t just about you and Maya anymore, this is about his son and the man that killed him. 

Michael told you he doesn’t know what he would do, but it seems like Jimmy had an idea and Michael followed along, and Frank disputed it, and from the looks of it, Birdy was also there and now you’re confused, and angry, and don’t know what to do or say. 

“You took money from Eamon so we wouldn’t do anythin’ that might endanger whatever dynamic we have now,” Michael says. “Jamie died and you thought money could make up for it. Money doesn’t fix everythin’. I may not be hungry for revenge, but now you’ve hurt her–” he nods toward you, “And I won’t fuckin’ let ya destroy her life. She’s been through enough. I don’t know what’s wrong with ya tha you thought this would be a good idea, but you fucked up.”

Frank’s arrogance and twisted logic crumble under Michael’s wrath, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

“You know exactly why I did wha I did,” he says. “Don’t act like ya don’t understand what’s at stake here.”

“That gives you no right to involve someone I love and threaten her!”

“You wouldn’t listen!”

“Yer an asshole,” Michael growls. “See this?” He tips the gun a little. “I should use it to blow yer brains out. God knows I wanna.”

Just as it seems that Michael’s rage might consume him entirely, the sound of footsteps and voices approaching from the hallway shatters the tense atmosphere. And then, Jimmy and Amanda burst into the room.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” Jimmy’s voice booms, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene before him.

Amanda gasps. “Michael!” she exclaims. “What the fuck are you–put the gun down!” 

“No,” Michael retorts. 

“What the–” Jimmy turns to Birdy, and that’s when he sees you. “What is he–what is he doing? And what is she doin’ here?”

“I have a name, you know,” you shoot back.

“Can ya tell me why Michael’s holding a gun to Frank’s head?” he challenges you. 

You bite your lip. You can, but you won’t.

Michael cuts in, “Tell ‘em, Frank,” he demands. “Tell ‘em what you did.”

Frank trembles, collecting his words. The wounds on his head are still bleeding, staining the armchair. “I found out who she is,” he says. “And then I put some men on her sister ta make her see that she doesn’t belong here. I threatened her, but I never said I’d hurt her.” The last part of his sentence is directed at Michael who only scoffs in response. 

Jimmy’s eyes flick between you and Frank, processing the words. Amanda is eerily quiet. Her eyes remind you of a snake’s venom when she looks at you. There is no pity or remorse, only emptiness. You can’t even tell if there is grief. 

“What the fuck, Frank?” Jimmy says eventually, sounding exasperated. “What were you thinkin’?”  

“He wasn’t,” Michael cuts in. 

His brother waves him off. “I don’t like the thought of Michael not helpin’ us, believe me. And I don’t like that he’s prioritizing everythin’ else over his own family, especially after…after wha happened to Jamie. But threatening his girlfriend? What the fuck is wrong with ya? He was happy.”

Frank rolls his eyes as if that would help him get out of this.

When Jimmy opens his mouth again, his words break the unknown. “Is that why ya came over the other day?” he asks. “With the file and–and the ominous speech about how ya thought it would be just a fling between ‘em and you would’ve accepted that, but now that Michael’s attached, you have t’do somethin’ about it? Is that why you asked for my help?”

Michael’s head snaps around, and he’s suddenly standing completely straight. “What?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. “Frank came t’ me the other day, bein’ all mysterious about her–” he points to you, “And he asked for my help to get her out of the way, but I didn’t know what he was planning.”

Michael turns back to Frank. “My own brother, seriously?” he says. “You have no shame, do ya?”

Frank’s eyes are focused on Amanda though, and you get a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that Jimmy just opened Pandora’s box. 

“Why don’t you ask your sister-in-law?” Frank’s voice cuts the tension with a knife, yet adds to it. 

You’re not stupid. One look at Amanda is enough to tell you all you need to know. “Oh my God,” you whisper.

“Amanda?” Michael questions. “What is he talkin’ about?”

Jimmy joins in, “That’s what I’d like ta know, too.”

Amanda’s gaze remains fixed on Frank, her expression hardened and unreadable. The silence stretches between them, heavy with tension. 

Finally, she takes a step forward. “It’s true,” she admits. “Frank approached me, and I made a choice.”

Michael’s face contorts. “You helped him?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amanda’s shoulders sag, the weight of her actions pressing upon her. “I was tryin’ to protect you, Michael. I thought if we could remove the obstacle–if we could make her leave, everythin’ would go back to how it was before.”

“You couldn’t even grant me this one thing? You couldn’t even grant me a sliver of happiness and–and hope? You were willin’ to destroy it? For what?”

“Family,” she states. “She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t understand what she’s gotten herself into. It’s only gonna cause trouble if we have ta protect a civilian. We’re in a fickle–”

Michael pulls away from Frank entirely, turning around and approaching Amanda instead. He’s holding the gun at his side, but it’s still out, and she takes a step back.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” Michael bellows. “Yer not in charge of me or this family.”

“Frank is–”

“He doesn’t know shit, Amanda! And I thought you knew better than to try and ruin an innocent woman’s life. What the fuck is wrong with ya?”

She looks at Jimmy for support, but he looks absolutely bewildered. He shakes his head in disbelief. “Is it true?” he asks.

“I was just tryin’ to fix things,” she defends herself, but now even her husband isn’t having it anymore.

“What the fuck?” He glares at her. “What, were ya jealous that Michael found someone new?”

Oh. You press a hand in front of your mouth. He knows. Michael told you that he believes Jimmy knows, but this just proves that he is well aware of the affair between them, and probably that Jamie wasn’t even his son, but he raised him, so he was his.

“What? Of course not!” Amanda snaps. “Why would I feel threatened by her?”

“Excuse me?” you blurt out. 

“You’re messing up everything,” she says to you, and her eyes speak volumes. 

You don’t flinch. “And you don’t know what you did,” you retort. 

“I was just–”

“My father is an abuser and he told me if I ever come close to my sister again, he’ll kill me.” It’s the same thing you told Frank. “And by threatening her and trying to get me to run to her rescue, you not only endanger her but you put a fucking target on my back. I came here to start new–” Your throat swells up with tears. “I didn’t do anything to prompt this. I wasn’t threatening this family or your business. I have nothing to do with it. I just want Michael.”

And with Amanda, that seems to be precisely the problem. Can you even compete with her? Your shoulders slag and you suddenly feel so small. 

Michael takes a step closer to Amanda. “You thought you were protecting me?” he asks. “By betraying my trust and attempting to manipulate the situation? That’s not protection, Amanda. That’s tearin’ us apart.”

“C’mon, Michael, you can’t possibly think it’s a good idea to have her here,” she says. 

Before he can answer or lift his gun again, the water in your glass bubbles over. “I chose to stay,” you tell her. “Because I love him. Something you lot seem to really fucking suck at. I know what I’m getting myself into. I don’t care. But you don’t know what my father is capable of. You just dug two graves, but I’d be damned if I let my sister get hurt because of you. She’s a child.”

“She’s sixteen,” Amanda retorts. “Not a child.”

You know this will cut deep, but you see red. Attacking you is one thing, but dragging Maya into it is where you draw the line. So you say, “How old was Jamie?” And you see the color fade from her skin.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” her voice drops an octave. 

“You’re a mother,” you say, “and yet you were willing to do all this just because I’m an obstacle, as you’ve so kindly phrased it? How does any of that make sense?”

“Yeah, well, you’re not a mother. You could never understand.”

Your eyes widen. You thought she would at least understand that part, but apparently, she’s colder than you thought. It hurts to hear it because it’s true, but why should you cave? She’s right but she’s also wrong, and she has no right to claim things like that as if she knows you. You used to be a people pleaser, but maybe it’s time for you to step up and burn bridges now. 

“I raised my sister,” your words are like venom from your tongue, ready to poison her. “Both of them,” you say. “And then one got killed at three years old by my own father. I may not be their biological mother, but I raised and protected them. I took the hits while they only suffered from his control, but at least they were the favorites. So don’t tell me I’m not a mother. I know I’m not, but I’m allowed to feel like I am.”

Her bottom lip quivers, and you know she’s pissed now because you won’t retreat to submission like you planned. “What? You expect an apology? ‘Cause if so, yer not gettin’ one. I’m a real mother,” she tells you, “and I do whatever it takes to protect my family. If your father is so dangerous, you should have thought twice before fuckin’ a Kinsella.”

You hate violence. You disagree with throwing punches and hurting others, mostly because you know what it does to someone from experience. You don’t know what got into you, but the way she phrased and said the last sentence of her little speech flicked a switch inside of you. Your fist collides with her nose before you can even realize what’s happening. 

Gasps fill the room. Amanda holds her nose as she cries out, and you realize that punching someone is very bad for your knuckles. 

Michael stands there, completely stunned, and even Jimmy takes a moment before rushing to Amanda’s aid. 

There are a lot of things he would have expected from you, but landing a punch like that was not on his list. He’s not mad or concerned for Amanda’s well-being, not at all, he only stares at you with wide eyes of shock, and he’s more impressed than anything else. 

“Jesus Christ!” Jimmy finally exclaims. “What the fuck is wrong with ya?!” He also shoots Michael a glare as if your actions are somehow his responsibility, but you are your own woman and he knows that very damn well. 

Birdy also snaps out of her guilty haze and rushes to stand between you and Amanda, functioning as a human shield. “That’s enough!” she calls out. She sounds assertive, and Michael and Jimmy instantly stop moving. 

You clutch your fist; it really hurts, and you’re sure you sprained your wrist, but the relief that spreads through you manages to calm your racing heartbeat. You shouldn’t feel proud, but you are. 

“Have ya lost yer minds?” Birdy asks into the room. Everyone looks away. “Frank, what ya did is unacceptable and Michael has every right to be angry because this woman right here makes him happy. He’s in love. It’s his choice whether or not he’ll help ya, but you know that if we really need him, he’ll always be there. He’s just one call away, always. Hell, did ya see him and Jimmy earlier? Michael’s family, he just wants Anna back and he wants to be better, and that’s his right. We all lost somethin’ when Jamie died, but that is no excuse to start threatenin’ each other,” she says. 

“And you can’t pull an innocent woman into this mess and think it’s alright. Especially you, Amanda–” she looks at her with purely disappointed eyes, “I thought ya knew better than to judge. Now you and Frank put her at risk, dragged her sister into this and God knows what her bastard father is capable of. But we can’t keep hurtin’ each other. It’s not gonna fix this. Michael,” she glares at him, “Put the gun down and look at yer girlfriend’s wrist. It’s startin’ to swell. Frank, grab your stuff and leave before I do somethin’ I’ll regret. And Amanda? Take Jimmy and piss off! We’ll talk about this later. Like adults.” 

Silence settles into the room. Your breathing becomes labored, your chest rising and falling, but there is not enough oxygen to go around. Your hand goes numb. You can barely feel your heart or your limbs. The world turns into a blur. The walls cave in and you’re trapped. You need to get out. 

Michael reaches out to touch your arm, but his touch burns. You take a step back. “I can’t…” Your brain registers the danger, and with a quiet apology, you head straight for the door. 

Michael calls out to you. You can barely hear him over the cotton in your ears. “Wait!” he pleads, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. 

Your car is still in Michael’s driveway. The keys are in your backpocket. Your coat is still at Birdy’s house, but you don’t care. You’re just going to pick up some of the belongings you left at Michael’s house the day before and then you’re gone. 

The moment you step outside, a rush of cool air fills your lungs. The world outside is a blur as you stumble forward, tears streaming down your face. The reality of the situation crashes over you. It’s as if the ground beneath your feet is shifting, and you struggle to find your footing.

Thoughts of Maya consume your mind. The events that have unfolded only solidify your decision to keep her safe from the dangers that surround you. 

As you continue walking, the pain in your hand grows more pronounced. Guilt gnaws at your conscience. It’s a mix of regret, frustration, and a desperate need to defend yourself and those you love.

You storm into the house, finding your wallet on his kitchen table. You’re going to need your credit card to book a flight. You can’t think straight.

The door opens behind you, but you’re too busy checking your wallet for your credit card. 

“Hey,” Michael says. “Stop. What are you doin’?”

“I need to leave,” you say. “You can find last-minute flights from Dublin to London online. I just need my credit card and then I need to pack and–and–”

He cuts you off. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“No, I am. Maya’s in danger. I need to get her out of there. He’s gonna find out anyway, and maybe–maybe I can protect her like this. She’s not safe. I’m not safe. Your family…it’s not safe.” You drop your wallet and everything you keep inside falls to the floor. “Fuck! Damn it!” 

You get on your knees to collect your cards. Michael follows. He gently grasps your shoulder. “Hey, listen to me,” he says. “Listen! Runnin’ away won’t solve anything. You can’t fly to London and get yer sister out without endangering yourself. This is not the way. You need to plan this.”

“No, I have to–”

“You’re not thinkin’ straight. Hey!” He holds you tighter now. “Yer not goin’ anywhere. Not in this state. Not after everythin’ that happened. I won’t let ya get into that car, let alone by yourself. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You can’t hold me here!” you shoot back. “Let me go, Michael.” You struggle against his grip again, but it’s futile. “Let me go!” 

He shakes his head. “I understand you wanna protect her, I really do, but this won’t solve anything. Look at me!” He grabs your chin. “You can’t go alone. This is a stupid idea and you need to stop and think, love. Don’t do this.”

“Frank has men watching her. I can’t just stay here and do nothing!”

“He’s tellin’ them to back off,” he says. “You get that, right? They’re not coming for her anymore. We’ll put security on her or somethin’, but yer not goin’.”

“You don’t know that!” you cry out. “What if my father already found out? What if the damage is done? I have to at least check on her. I have to…I…” You forget how to breathe. “She’s my life and I won’t fuckin’ let you stop me!”

You break free for only a moment, but he drags you back down. The tears spill over and onto the canvas of your cheek. 

“Shh,” Michael coos and pulls you into his arms, your wallet long forgotten. 

You both sit on the floor together and he holds you as the sobs wreck your body. He tells you to breathe and you try, but you fail. You focus on his heartbeat and point out what you can see, hear, taste, and feel, but it takes an agonizing while before your body stops trembling and your lungs grasp the oxygen again.

Tears continue to stream down your face. “I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to her,” you choke out. “I can’t lose her too. Please, let me go.”

You’re so fragile in his arms. If he lets you go, he’s convinced you will fall apart like broken glass.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not lettin’ ya go. Not without me.”

“Please…”

He shakes his head, cradling your face in his hands. “We’re gonna calm down first. We’re gonna think. We’re gonna talk. You’re gonna text your sister and check if she’s okay, and if she is, we come up with a plan. And if you still want to leave then, I’ll buy myself a plane ticket and come with ya.”

You shudder. He wipes the tears on your cheeks with his thumbs. He’s too soft. “I don’t know what to do,” you whisper. “I don’t know who I can trust anymore. I’m scared.” 

“Trust me,” he says. 

You meet his eyes, your own softening when you see the look on his face. “I’ve never stopped,” you answer. 

Michael smiles at you. “I know.” He wipes your tears. “So, trust me. Don’t leave. Let’s think.”

“I can’t think. It’s too much.”

He lowers his forehead to yours. It’s a silent gesture that still speaks volumes. 

“Please don’t let me fall apart,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “It hurts too much.”

“Shh,” he coos, “you’re not alone. You never were.”

With him, at least, that is true. 

You start feeling the pain in your hand again and you hiss when it accidentally brushes against his shirt. 

He gently reaches out to take your hand, inspecting it. His brows furrow as he assesses the damage, his fingers tracing over the swollen knuckles and the redness that has begun to form.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I never wanted it to come to this.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault,” you reply softly. “None of this is. I just… I couldn’t handle the way she talked about Maya. It was like a switch flipped inside me. I don’t usually hit people.” 

He bites his cheek, but he can’t help but smile a little. “Not sayin’ she deserved it, but…”

“She deserved it?”

“Yeah,” he says. “And ya did look quite badass.”

He manages to put a smile on your face. “Thanks,” you say.

“In all seriousness, I understand how you feel. You were pushed to your limit. It’s okay. We all snap sometimes. But we need to take care of that hand.”

Michael rises from the floor and helps you up as well. Leading you to the nearby kitchen sink, he turns on the faucet and lets the cool water run over your injured hand. The sensation soothes the pain slightly as he delicately cleans the area. 

“I think you sprained your wrist,” he murmurs. “I’ll bandage it and put some ice on it. You need rest. Other than tha, ya’ll be alright.”

You can only nod. He finishes cleaning your knuckles, retrieves a bandage from the first-aid kit he keeps next to the sink, and wraps your hand in it. You watch him. He moves elegantly, knowing exactly what to do. And when he grabs an ice pack for you and places it on your wrist, he kisses your forehead. 

You wordlessly make your way upstairs where he helps you get changed into a comfortable set of clothing. You text Maya when you’re finally tucked into bed, and you stare at the phone screen for quite a while.

Michael watches you while he gets dressed, your fingers tapping your thigh anxiously.

“It’s late,” he reminds you, “she might just be asleep.”

“No, it’s not her bedtime yet,” you say. 

It takes a while before the text finally comes in, but the tears form in your eyes again when you read her text.

‘I’m ok. Why?’ 

You let out a sigh of relief, wiping your cheeks in the process. You don’t tell her what happened or what’s going on so she won’t freak out and do something stupid, or your dad might find the message. You tell her you wanted to check in and that’s it. She seems a bit confused, but she accepts it. You wish her a good night, and she responds within seconds. At least you can rest a little easier knowing that right now, she’s okay. She’s not safe, but she’s okay, and you can rest and then think about it when your head is a little clearer. For now, though, the exhaustion drags you down.

Michael settles into bed next to you. “You wanna cuddle?” he asks. “Or do ya need some space?”

You give a faint smile. “Cuddles, please,” you say.

Michael wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. You nestle your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

As you both lie in bed, his arms enveloping you, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you. You close your eyes. With each breath, you sink deeper into the comfort of his arms, your mind slowly quieting down. The rhythmic rise and fall of Michael’s chest lull you into a state of tranquility.

One of his hands is cradling your head while the other stays wrapped around your waist. His fingers start to stroke your temple, rubbing up and down until you’re completely relaxed.

“How’s that?” he asks. 

You let out a contented sigh. “It’s perfect,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

In the warmth of his embrace, you can feel the tension in your body melting away. His gentle touch provides a comforting anchor amidst the storm. Your breathing steadies and a serene calm settles over your weary mind.

You don’t know how long you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, but the passage of time becomes inconsequential. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss on your forehead. “And I love you,” he says. 

With a sense of serenity, you drift off to sleep, knowing that you’re safe in his arms. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plot: It’s been twenty years since Joel and Y/n parted ways with a farewell so crushing, they were sure it would last forever. Now, fate brings them back together in the form of a 14-year old named Ellie and forces them to set aside their past in order to secure the future.

Warnings: M for violence, gore, language, implied smut, and adult themes (16+)

————

Chapter One: Reunited

Chapter Two: Strangers In The Night

Chapter Three: Out On The Town

Chapter Four: Luck

Chapter Five: Soundtrack of Life

Chapter Six: Road Trip

Chapter Seven: Hands

Chapter Eight: Someone’s Something

Chapter Nine: Dry Your Tears

Chapter Ten: September 26th, 2003

Chapter Eleven: Almost

Chapter Twelve: As We Were, As We Are

Chapter Thirteen: Carry You Home

Chapter Fourteen: Violent Innocence

Chapter Fifteen: Room for Three

Chapter Sixteen: The Great Sin

Chapter Seventeen: Twenty Years Later

Post-S1

One Shot #1: The Little Things

One Shot #2: Symptoms of Survival

One Shot #3: Talking to the Sky

One Shot #4: The Artist Formerly Known As Joel Miller

One Shot #5: The Bad Nights

——————

playlists

creations: moodboard by @nairafeather

Q + As + Headcanons:

Rosebud’s Age

Alternate Scenes

Alternate Ending (no Cordyceps)

Alternate Breakup (concept)

Joel and Rosebud + pregnant in Jackson (AU)

Joel and Rosebud + single mom (AU)

Joel and Rosebud + fights

Joel and Rosebud + cheating

Joel and Rosebud + meeting after Outbreak

Joel and Rosebud + pregnancy

Joel and Rosebud + baby names

Joel and Rosebud + accidentally injuring one another

Rosebud + leaving Joel post-Outbreak

Rosebud + joining the Fireflies

Rosebud + dating before Joel/meeting Joel pre-Austin

Rosebud + Taylor Swift songs

Joel and Rosebud + folklore

Joel and Rosebud + music

What if…Tommy and Rosebud?

Joel and Rosebud + multi-fandom ships

Rosebud + fancast

Harry Potter houses

[dropoutconfessions]

I am so frustrated by the fandom’s constant misogynoir directed towards Aabria. I truly think she is the best storyteller by miles, and when I come to spaces to express my genuine excitement and love for her campaigns, I keep seeing nitpicking that never happens to Brennan or any of the white players. (Her DM style is unique, notice I said storyteller not DM, because I think what you look for in a DM comes down to preference.) I am so grateful for her seasons, and the way she challenges my thinking in unique and beautiful ways. I just really feel like this community should be able to do better, and I think Brennan and the white players would want us to do better too.

-

[renee-writer]

April 15th Chapter Twenty-two

AO3

She finds life at Lallybroch peaceful. It is a far cry from the hustle and bustle of New York. Fergus thrives in the fresh air and among family. He and Hazel find fast friends in wee Ian and Maggie. The cousins show them around the grounds.

 

She doesn’t worry about her son, knowing he is in good hands. All the farm hands keep a close eye on young master Fergus and the sweet lass.

 

She spends her days learning to knit, learning the running of the house, and recovering from the horror of the tragedy.

 

Her new family doesn’t ask her about it. They are aware the memory still haunts her. Vivid nightmares wake her, Jamie, and the house on really bad nights. Jamie holds her, grounding her back to the present.

 

They are all happy that Fergus was to young to remember. He will be told when he is older about how he became a Fraser. For now, they are getting him used to the idea of becoming a big brother.

 

The baby’s arrival grows closer. The local midwife makes frequent visits to Lallybroch. She delivered wee Ian and Maggie and is trusted.

 

As his wife gets bigger and closer to delivering, Jamie spends more time preparing. He is building a cradle. Yes, there is the one his niece and nephew used but that isn’t  good enough. He wants their baby to have a new one.

 

“Besides it keeps his hands busy.” Jenny says in way of explanation, “they get antsy as it gets closer. Ian repaired every fence on the property. If he hadn’t, I imagine Jamie would be working on that.”

 

Claire laughs, understanding the need to be about something. She has mastered knitting enough to make a sweater and booties for the baby. Now she sits working on embroidery on one of the impossibly tiny shirts. Fergus rests against her. For the last day, he has been keeping close.

 

Jenny notices and nods to him, “He knows. It will be soon. Wee Ian was the same with me right before Maggie came.”

 

“I have been feeling queer. Able to take deeper breaths.” Jenny raises and comes over, placing her hands over her sister-in-law.

 

“The bairn has dropped. You are needing the loo more?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Aye, it will be any day.”

 

She is right.

[fishareglorious]

i do a light chuckle once i remember hofmann and semmelweis are friends but then i remember semmelweis and marcus' suitcase interaction where they talk about her and i am once again inconsolable about this old woman's death

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Twenty Two♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Twenty Two Warnings: profanity, mentions of blood Visit my pinned post to see all other chapters.

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Twenty Two]

You wiped the blood spattered across your cheek, and it spread across your skin. Velvette smirked at seeing you, taking back the spear you held out to her, your face emotionless.

“Another successful day staking claim to territory?” She asked. You nodded wordlessly, stepping into your bedroom, then the en suite. She followed you, grabbing every bloodied article of clothing you peeled off and tossed.

“Turn around,” you said bluntly. “I’m taking my bra and underwear off now.”

Velvette turned. “So. Revenge.”

You sank into the hot water. “Yes, revenge.” You combed your fingers through your hair. “You can turn around now. Just keep your eyes-“ you flipped a finger to your face. “-Up here, dolly.”

Velvette spun around clumsily, face turning bright red. “Right, right.” She rested her elbows on the side of the tub, watching as you poured shampoo into your open palm. “So, who exactly are we getting revenge on?”

“We?” You said dryly. “It’s me who’s getting revenge. You three stay out of it.”

Vel sighed, drumming her fingers on the side of the bathtub. “Right, right. But who?”

You bit your lip. You weren’t even sure you wanted revenge- the more time you’d had to think about it, the less you trusted Alastor. But if you wanted to be sure about anything, you needed either Alastor or Lucifer in front of you. You needed to talk to them face-to-face. You’d only told the Vees you wanted revenge in a fit of angry passion- but you needed to take things slow, to find out the truth first. 

Being an overlord would be an asset either way. Your eyes slid to Velvette, who was looking at you expectantly. And if the Vees ever became a problem, you could just send them to whatever came after Hell. 

“No one yet,” you murmured slowly, full of thought. “But maybe once I find myself some answers.”

Velvette nodded. “And that is…?”

“I need to speak with Lucifer Morningstar.”

Velvette’s mouth turned into an ‘o’ shape, but one look at your face and she pressed her lips shut, pushing down all the questions. She stood up. “Well, there’s towels, I’ll send over your clothes, and, uh…” she sneaked a glance at you. “I’ll get going. Bye babes.”

“Bye. Vel.”

The door shut. 

-

“[name].”

You’d wiped off another smatter of blood from your face, stood over the now-dead overlord before you, as your eyes swept over the newly claimed territory, when you heard the familiar voice that sent your mind and body into overload. You snatched the spear up, pointing it straight in between Lucifer’s eyes.

“You take one step closer and I will make mincemeat of you.” You licked your lips. “Did you know cannibals quite like the taste of angels?”

Lucifer pushed the blade away from his face. “You talk as if I’m not ten times stronger than you,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours, “or as if you’re not an angel yourself.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not really any more, am I?”

“Well, we all have choices, angel.”

Your lip curled, and you looked away. “Whatever,” you muttered, lowering the spear. “What do you want from me?”

“To talk.” You looked up, and his face was pleading now. It always shook you, the way he could look like he was toying with you in one moment then begging you the next.

“Go on, then, talk.”

“I-“ he choked up, then looked away. His eyes flicked back, and he reached out. “C-can I touch you? Please, I… I haven’t seen you in so lo-“

“No.” You struggled to fight the wavering in your voice. “Not yet, no. I’m sorry.”

“Angel, whatever the reason you may be angry at me for-“

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“And so do you!” He burst out, then took a deep breath. “Please, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” you sighed. 

“[name], I- did you really threaten to burn the hotel down?”

“I- what?” Your eyes widened with outrage, as you lifted the spear once more. “Why would you say that?”

“I know it’s not the first thing to start with, but I just need to know, for Charlie-“

“For Charlie?” You spat. “To Hell with her. Who do you- who does she- who do any of you think you are?”

He stepped back, a scowl blooming on his face. “[name], I’m not done talking.” 

“Well, I am. Maybe you shouldn’t have started with an accusation of-“

“-It was a simple question-“

“-that I would never do-“

“[name], if you don’t start listening to me I swear to-“

“Who? God? The guy who fucking abandoned you? The guy who kicked you out of your only home-“

Lucifer pressed his lips together, fury blazing in his eyes, then his shoulders slumped. He reached his hand towards you. “[name], what- are you really… okay? I mean- I-“ He ran his hand through his hair. “What happened to you?”

You smacked his hand away, and he hissed, recoiling. Golden blood stained his white skin, where your now-sharp nails had cut into his flesh. Guilt bloomed fresh in your stomach, and tears sprang to your eyes as you stepped back, away from him, face crumpling. 

“You did.” 

“I- no, [name], I haven’t fini-“

“I’m done here.” You turned around, wings spread. “I need to go. I- come find me again, and I’ll-“ you drew in a shuddery breath. “I’m not in the right state of mind to be having a level-headed conversation with you right now.” Your voice weakened. “I’m sorry.”

You spread your wings, preparing for flight. He didn’t object. You didn’t turn around to check if he was even still there anymore as you launched yourself into the red sky. 

You wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t.  

-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You dragged your hand across your scalp, letting out a broken sob as the spear clattered to the floor. What the fuck was wrong with you? Why would you hurt him like that? Every time you closed your eyes, the image of his crestfallen face, cradling his hand, appeared in your mind. You were so prepared to just pick up the spear and drive it through your heart. 

The guilt was gnawing away at you until you would be nothing but an empty shell of all your mistakes. 

You took in a deep shuddery breath. But that wasn’t all. Instead of explaining everything, giving you a chance to ask him about Alastor’s recording, he immediately accused you of something as barbaric as- you cut the thought short, pacing the room. Why should you feel guilty? For all you knew, everything Alastor had said was true.

You could have found out if you had stayed longer, but your emotions were so out of control you would have definitely caused irreparable damage in a violent fit of fury. Leaving was the wiser option. There was always next time.

But was there?

And, despite all that, you still felt undeniably guilty. You sank to the floor, putting your head in your hands. 

You missed him. 

You missed his stability, the way he’d be there for you every year, the touch of his hand, the brush of his lips, the way his fingertips would trace your skin. But now nothing was certain. He could very well be the monster Heaven had told you he was.

“[name]?” 

You looked up to see Velvette standing in the doorway. You sighed, looking back down. She padded over to you, hoisting you up. “It’s late, babes. You should go to sleep. You look…” her eyes flicked over you and she sighed. “Tired.”

“That’s an understatement,” you laughed, voice cracked and raspy with the toll of heavy emotions weighing down on every inch of you. She dragged you over to the bed.

“Sweet dreams, you goddamn bitch,” Velvette sighed. You chuckled, eyes barely open. 

“Sweet dreams, Vel.” 

A/N: did anyone notice the callback to chapter four?