#Feeling Alive Part Thirteen

[transformers-spike]

Since you were so graceful to deliver us that magnificent Optimus (and autobots) x Human in their heat cycle, another question arises. What are the autobots' thoughts on eating pussy? What about their styles?? Please and thank u

Good god, I’m going to assume this is general TFP pussy eating and nothing to do with the heatverse. For now I’ll stick to the main cast and add Wheeljack/Ultra Magnus/Smokescreen when I get a better feel for how I want to write them. (also fuck making gifs, thank you for existing, Tenor)

Back when he went by Orion Pax, he was as chaste as a lily. Not from lack of fuckability, oh no. His small frame at the time made him especially cute to onlookers, but it was nigh impossible to hang around him when he was too busy working as a clerk or researching Cybertron’s history in his downtime. There's certainly a possibility he ate at least (1) valve back on Cybertron. Whose? Who fucking knows. My bet would be on Megatronus, but he wouldn’t have horribly fumbled the bag if that was the case. Maybe cunnilingus could have saved their planet… Having, to an extent, merged his consciousness with the thirteen primes, he has gained their wisdom and become something akin to a demi-God by Cybertronian standards. Except with none of the praise, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. Anyway, let’s cease philosophizing about his nature as a Prime, what we’re looking for is how good he is at eating pussy with that extra knowledge. Answer: it depends on the receiver. Considering the size difference, he makes it work without catching your clit between his glossa’s mesh plating. He prefers supporting you in his massive servos, carefully wrapping his digits around your frame in case you start squirming too much and fall off. He applies slow languid licks between pauses, waiting to gauge your reaction in case he’s hurting you. It’s sweet of him, but please Optimus, you need to make your partner cum else they’ll die.

Ratchet has been alive for Primus knows how many slutty millenia. Of course he can eat valves. And if he can eat valves, he can eat human pussy just fine. The hard part is dragging him away from his workstation. Don’t get him wrong, he would love to bury his face between your legs, but he’s got things to do, nevermind a whole ass team to keep alive on top of manning the ground bridge and fixing whatever alien technical bullshittery Raf can’t help with (seeing as the little guy only takes care of the human technical bullshittery). He’s perpetually exhausted, and if Cybertronians had an equivalent to coffee, you’re sure he’d be downing it like a single father after losing everything in the divorce except the kids. So when he gets the chance to eat pussy, he takes his damn time with it, pressing his face against your groin for so long you think he’s fallen into recharge. When he gets to work, he’s savoring every inch of you, making a point to complain there isn’t enough energon to mass displace and taste you completely. The size difference is especially annoying to him, but he makes due nonetheless by slipping the tip of his glossa between your folds, pushing it as far as it can go without hurting you. His engine growls from desperate hunger as he grinds his spike against the ground, grunting and scoffing against your pussy as he has to contend with the smallest sample he’s ever received. Ratchet is going to kill Megatron.

Bulkhead is a complicated case. Yes, he’s tried valves. Any wrecker worth their weight in energon has eaten valves like no tomorrow. But the point is, when you look at his jaw, things get a bit complicated. An overbite in humans is mildly bothersome for a giver, but it gets even worse when you look at Cybertronian anatomy and realize that oh, he’s going to do some major jaw exercises to stick his glossa out properly and eat you out. Thank fuck you’re so small in this case, you have no idea much easier this makes his job. To be fair, his main worry is hurting you. Optimus is careful, yes, but Bulkhead has known destruction for the vast majority of his life, not only as a career, but as a way of life. So when he finds you naked in his servos, smiling up at him, his spike retracts into his panel from anxiety alone. If he so much as bruises you, he will shrivel up and offline. He can handle humans just fine, but during interface? He already has to take a breather before he tries anything in the Cybertronian equivalent of a panic attack. His cooling fans are screeching, and if he could sweat, he’d be causing a major flood in Nevada and all its neighboring states. In conclusion, yes, he can eat out. Not perfectly, but he puts in some valiant effort that’s sure to pay off sooner or later.

At first glance, you may exclaim “Wowzers! Bumblebee doesn’t have a mouth! How can he eat pussy without glossa or lips?” – well guess what! Take a vibrator and stick it between your legs. That’s Bumblebee right there. They should add him as a synonym for it in the dictionary. He may not be able to lick up your juices, but he can buzz incessantly against your groin at a near illegal setting until you come undone. He is so proud of himself. And for his own sake, let’s hope he never got to experience valves before he lost his oral equipment. He tries to be comforting, beeping words of encouragement that you absolutely do not understand but get the gist off anyways. Chances are, he’s either helping you balance on top of his face to get the full hitachi magic wand duct taped to the floor experience, or you’re both lying down while you’re cupped in his servos as he buzzes excitedly between your legs; equal parts cute and overwhelming. You feel bad for using him like this, but he beeps reassuringly and urges you to lie back in his servos and enjoy the ride. He’s such a hitachi toy it’s not even funny anymore. You start giving him setting levels which he eagerly follows like the boyscout he is, keeping the same vibration pace even as you start humping his face plate. You pray to Primus Raf isn’t looking for his guardian, else he’s going to overhear things you would rather die than explain.

Arcee is… way too good at eating out. On Cybertron, she could eat a valve like her life depended on it, sucking on the anterior node and wiggling her glossa inside of it well after her partners would overload, begging her to stop from overstimulation alone. Nowadays, she still has it. With her two-wheeler frame type, she can easily access a human pussy without any trouble, treating it like the cutest minicon valve she’s ever seen. She’s all rapid licks and wandering digits, stuffing you to the brim when she’s busy torturing your clit between her lips, then circling around it as she pushes her tongue between your folds. Arcee’s a fucking menace. She leaves you a crying hyperventilating mess as you plead with her to let you breathe. Yes, she’ll take your words into account and stop at some point. Key word: some. You get a break whenever she fancies. This, or you go into cardiac arrest and she has to deal with your metaphorical blood on her juice-soaked servos, all from eating pussy too good. No one should have that sort of power. But Arcee does, because she’s an unstoppable force. Prepare yourself from some light pillow talk after she takes mercy on you, stroking your cheek and leaning in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on her intake, and she wants you to contemplate the flavor as she wraps her arms around your squishy body in a protective hug, the blue glow of her optics dancing over your skin.

[mrsnancywheeler]

andante, andante // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

3.3k words

request: could you write a oneshot where finnick and reader have always had a flirty relationship. the reader got taken and tortured by snow during the quarter quell, and she was brought to thirteen and when finnick sees her lots of fluff (and maybe smut?) ensues. i love your work, happy 700 followers!

warnings: smut, lots of it, there's some angst in the beginning Captiol related, confessions of feelings, hurt/comfort in the beginning, pnv, some degredation, teasing, use of good girl, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, unedited

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There was no energy left, not a single part of your body had any form of passion left. Long ago you'd grown immune to the effects that Peeta and Johanna's screams had once had on you, probably once the starvation and dehydration had kicked in. Not to mention when you were trying to fight off the rats you could swear where in your pitch black cell, sometimes you'd swear you saw other creatures as well, but you tried to tell yourself it was hallucinations.

So when the team from District 13 came to rescue you all, you desperately willed the energy to return. You couldn't see him like this, Finnick. Technically you were just friends, but your relationship hinged on the flirtatious, playful banter which you didn't know if you had anymore. You hadn't spoken in a while, maybe you wouldn't even recognize your voice, it's not like the Capitol had much information they could get out of you. No one had thought to inform you of the rebel plan, for a while part of you was terrified that Snow would just have you killed for not knowing anything, but you were kept alive.

You'd had endless time to spend, when you weren't hearing or seeing things in your hazy state, to think about Finnick. How you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you that you'd felt about him for years, but should've said something before all this. Wishing that before you surely died in the Capitol he would know you had always cared for him, loved him from afar. You'd rather die with your love unrequited, but known. Yet now you'd see him again and you hoped if there was a chance he had feelings for you that you were half the woman you once were.

Of course, once all the fluids the medics were pumping you full of had taken effect you'd probably feel some of the spirit you'd had return. The universe seemed to look down on you because the first feeling you did feel in full force was anxiety about Finnick. You'd heard whispers of his names from guards so you knew he wasn't dead, but hadn't a clue how he actually was. Maybe you'd made up the voices of the guards and he actually was dead, what a cruel fate that would be, but with the way your life seemed to pan out it wouldn't have shocked you. Although if he was alive it condemned you to living the rest of your life in silent adoration, but he was the only person you would ever do that for.

When you entered the District 13 base on that medical bed the next full force feeling hit, overstimulation. The only noise you had been used to in weeks were the cries of Peeta and Johanna which you'd learned to tune out regardless of how loud, and the occasional order from a guard or a whisper. The flurry of doctors ready to fully assess injuries, people standing around full of questions, all the chatter and noise had your hands flying up to cover your ears. It was too bright, too loud, the bed was rickety in the floors little bumps, and you actually longed to be back in the familiarity of the cell.

“Hey, you're okay, honey." A much softer voice, much closer, warms ringer delicately brushing the hands covering your ears. Finnick. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly observed him.

“Finnick?" Your voice was much quieter, scratchier than you'd remembered it, but he seemed to hear you just fine. His kind smile blessing you as he slowly nodded, the next emotion was relief. You hadn't cried in a while, no water to allow yourself, but the fluids must have been working miracles because you felt like there was a flood about to break through your tear ducts. “You're real right?"

His hand landed more firmly on yours, assuring you with his very real body heat. “I'm real, I'm right here with you." Slowly you moved your hands from your ears, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to handle the noise. He looked like he was going to cry, “God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Finnick's warm embrace surrounded you and it made you want to melt into him forever. “They kept sedating me because I was so worried about you."

It confused you, to hear him talking about worrying about you with so much passion, of course he'd consumed your every thought, but you'd doubted you would've been on his. “Oh, come on, you would've found someone else to banter with, Finn." The first laugh you'd had in so long forced itself out.

“Good thing that the only person I want to banter with is you, and here you are, pretty face and all."

There was a pause before your voice came out again, delicate like a flower petal floating on the waters. "I missed you.” It came out sounding more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe even too fond and he'd pulled his arms away. Before you could retreat though you were shocked when his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, and spoke a thousand words you could only ever wish to translate.

When he pulled away you could only stare at him stunned, he'd felt the same way you'd felt all along. “I'm sorry, I-" Before he could finish you pulled his face back in, kissing him, it was addictive, you could drown in his lips. “You know, it's rude to interrupt." He muttered out before kissing you again.

“Sorry." You weren't, there was no time to be when it was like you living in a dream. Maybe this was a dream, maybe you were back in the Capitol and had officially lost it, but the heat of his touch was too real for you to believe that.

“I've loved you for so long." Finnick's hand cupped your face which must have been burning up.

“Me too, I didn't think you'd ever even noticed me that way."

“How could I not have noticed my pretty, sweet girl that way?" His smile was so perfect it made you feel like you were floating. The doctors insisted on doing an official check up on you which Finnick stuck by you diligently for. Fluids and food was all you really needed besides further psychological evaluation, but there wasn't much time for that when apparently Peeta was turning out to be the biggest problem imaginable.

Finnick had sat by your hospital bed, slowly feeding you a soup that felt like the best thing you'd ever eaten with all the time you'd gone without a scrap. He filled you in on life in District 13, how much protocol there was, but it would be worth it to end all of this so you could be together. Apparently he'd been assigned his own compartment which he rarely used when the breakdowns hit, so he'd spent nearly every night sedated in the hospital wing.

Eventually the doctors agreed to let you take a shower, you'd still be sequestered to the hospital wing, but you were grateful for the chance to finally be clean. You could sense that Finnick hated that you would be out of his sight again, like the moment you walked away he would realize this was all a dream he was having that had slipped away under the cover of night. “Do you wanna come with?" You whispered to him as the medic on the other side took the IV out of your arm, “Somebody's gonna have to show me the way there."

“Can I?" He whispered back and hurt you to know that he'd been this hurt over you, that you'd both gone so long without a confession to the other.

You nodded slowly as you pressed a quick kiss on his lips and he smiled, maybe this wasn't a dream after all. Finnick guided you through the drab underground of District 13. It was stuffy, but you were overtaken by giddiness. The Finnick Odair was holding your hand, the Finnick Odair had meant every flirty comment he'd made, Finnick Odair loved you back, Finnick Odair wasn't just a dream you could never have, Finnick was here, Finnick was yours. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. And the final petal had determined he loved you.

He turned the water on for you and Finnick respectfully turned around so you could undress and get inside of it. Your heart swelled to think he missed you so much he would be content to just sit outside, to feel your presence in the room. The feeling of the water hitting your skin was a relief, to feel the grime being washed away. It was lonely though, to think of him patiently waiting for you, how long he's waited to know you were safe, how long he'd waited for you to confess. “Are you gonna make me be alone in here?” You cringed at the way no matter how quiet your voice was it seemed to echo.

You'd hid behind the curtain, so you didn't have to confront the question. Maybe he didn't want to, but you'd also thought he just wanted to flirt as friends. The curtain swept to the side as he peeked his handsome face in, eyes glued to your face. "Not if you need my help, honey.” You would've sworn the way he said those endearments always made butterflies flutter in your stomach, even if it was something you'd felt guilty about when he initially began using it.

The hot water should have relaxed your muscles, but staring at his perfect, handsome face was making you feel a similar sensation that you despised. Whether he knew it or not, the sound of his voice, the things he'd say, and that smile of his all did unimaginable things to you. Things you'd felt guilty for when the fantasies flashed in your mind. He'd been your friend, so it must've been wrong to imagine him with his hands between your legs. Now though, he wasn't just your friend, and the feeling was back. “Maybe I do." It was embarrassing, but just being by his body would help you or maybe it would make the feeling worse, but you didn't care.

He grinned at you and disappeared for a few seconds before he'd opened the curtain again, slipping into the shower. “What do you need my help with, sweet girl?" Now you'd have to come up with something, you tried not to let your eyes trail over his body, he wasn't looking anywhere but your face. But it was hard when it felt like some tingling part of your body was now controlling your actions.

“Can you help me clean myself off?"

"Of course, honey.” He went to grab the shampoo bottle, eyes never ducking down. Part of you wanted him too though, so that this felt less like a dirty fantasy.

"You can look at me, you know? I won't bite, unless asked, promise.” You tried to sound like it was playful, soft and he laughed.

"Yeah, sorry, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable either." You reassured, “I'm not making you uncomfortable though, am I? If I am-" One of his hands grabbed yours making you pause.

“You're not making me uncomfortable either, you're okay." His sweet smile made you feel more than just like melting, you hoped the wetness pooling between your thighs wouldn't be noticeable in the water. Finnick softly turned you around to wash your hair, he was so particular, taking his time and the feeling of his breath on your neck, clever fingers in your hair. It was so calming, “This okay, honey?" You could only hum in approval as his hands moved so delicately across your scalp. Your brain so easily fell into an easy blissful state as you let his hands move your head with ease. He finished with your hair soon enough and was moving onto washing your body. You shuddered when he carefully pushed your hair off the back of your neck, “You sure you're okay?”

"Yeah.” It comes out more strained than you'd meant it to and you pray he's not put off by it, which he doesn't seem to be as his hands keep trailing downwards. He's soaped and rinsed you off, moving you with so much care that you wish you could absorb each second of it, but you're trying to leave the moment. If you let yourself think about it you're sure you'll give yourself away with the way you'd be responding to his touch. Then it's nearly impossible when he's washing your face, his hands seem like they were perfectly meant to hold your face and suddenly so do his lips when he's kissing you again. Instantly you're pulling him in closer, basically inhaling whatever he gives you. Then you're pausing when his hands start slipping down the small of your back.

Much to your chagrin he pulls away, pausing his hands descent, as he looks at you, “Are you okay with this?" He asks, his eyes speak depths on how much he cares. You nod trying to lean in again, but he leans back, “Need to hear you say it, sweet girl."

"Yes, Finn.” It's barely audible, but he rewards you by kissing you again. Fingers continuing their trail down your back, grazing over nerves that make you shiver. His hands finally land on your hips and you can barely breathe, but you won't let yourself pull away from his lips. They're too addictive and you're too scared you'll wake up to realize you never left the Capitol. And then his hands are slipping lower, your thighs pressing together.

His hands are slowly spreading your legs apart and you let them. Whimpering into his lips when his fingers start tracing over your pussy. His lips pull away and you whine more, even if it gives you a chance to gasp for air. “You're dripping, sweet girl, I haven't even done anything. I bet…” Finnick trails off and you gasp when the tips of two of his fingers are lightly pushing into you. You're instantly clenching around them and he's smirking. “Were you gonna tell me I was making you this dizzy?" You hum out something incoherent when his other fingers start rubbing you. “Seems like someone doesn't know how to use her words, sweet girl, I just have to look at her and understand how needy she is…” He kisses your neck, "Doesn't tell me she feels the same way about me, I have to do it.” Another kiss to another sensitive spot and you gave up on any idea of suppressing the wanton sounds you're making now. He was rubbing you faster now, “Someone's gonna have to teach you to use your words, like a good girl. Not today though."

"Finn-” You moaned out, head tilting back. "Need you, need you so bad. Need you inside me.” You clenched around the tips of his stationary fingers and he thrusted them upwards, the sound you let out was guttural with shock.

“You sure you can take me, sweet girl? Want me to split you open instead of helping you open?" He sounded condescending as he kept moving his fingers inside of you as you whined, before letting out another moan as he slipped a third finger in you.

“Don't care, Finn, don't care if it hurts, need you cock in me. Please, please, please.”

He slipped his fingers out and your eyebrows scrunched together as you whined, he was opening your mouth with his fingers soaked in your juices. “You're my pretty little cock slut aren't you? Gonna let me break you on my cock?" You sucked his fingers in confirmation, licking off your own juices and he smirked. “Did you fantasize about me? Were you not able to tell me how you felt because you were too busy making yourself dumb thinking about my cock?" You nodded, moaning as his other hands began making even more aggressive circles. His hand titled your head up, “If you want my cock, then you're gonna tell me what you thought about when you were fucking yourself stupid."

It was hard to form words when you wanted to do nothing but whine at the pleasure rushing through your body, "You, I thought about how much I wanted you-” Your head fell back when his circles got rougher and then was forcing your head back up, "Wanted you inside of me, touched myself thinking about, oh my god, Finn, please I can't it's too much, wanna cum when you're inside me.”

He was quiet for a second before sighing, “When you beg like that how am I supposed to refuse you anything? Just because my sweet girl just got back to me and must be being so brave, using her words like that. But you're not getting out of it next time, honey." Finnick removed his hand and you let out an involuntary whine.

"Thank you, Finn.” You said breathily as he finally lined himself up with your entrance. “Already so close."

“So needy." He clicked his tongue as he started pushing into you, you clawed into his back. “Jump." You obeyed and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Trying not to hit at his back when caused more of him to push in, but you couldn't stop yourself from the scream you let out when he carefully pushed your back against the shower wall and he bottomed out in you. “So tight, this pussy was made for me, feels so good." He groaned, “Can I move?"

“Please, you're so deep in me, feels so good. Wanna be yours, Finn, want you to do what you want with me." His face planted itself in between your neck and shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your skin.

“You're so sweet, honey." Then he was moving again and you were instantly crying out, “Everyone's gonna find us if you keep this up, know you're mine now." At your insistence he let himself be fast, pound in and out of you as you tightened around him.

Finnick moved a hand up to protect your head as he thrusted recklessly into you. It felt like an eternity of his perfect noises and seeing stars with each movement, you were so grateful that it was your cunt making him groan like that, that he wanted to be inside of you. “Oh my god, Finn, I'm gonna come."

“Good girl, come undone on my cock, sweet girl. Wanna look at your pretty face when you let go for me.” You could've sworn that you'd left the planet when he brought you past the edge. He must have felt it too because your ecstasy doubled when you felt him releasing inside of you, how full you were of him.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, listening to each other's breathing, but nothing had ever felt so perfect. “They're gonna wonder what happened to us." You eventually let out a breathy laugh and he nodded into your shoulder. He tapped your leg and you unhooked them from around his waist. Feet falling onto the cold tiles below.

“Good, I've got to make up for lost time." He kissed your forehead before finally pulling out of you and you hated how empty you felt without him. Finnick pressed his forehead against yours and you watched the steam from the water gather around him, “I should've told you sooner, if you hadn't been okay and here with me again, I don't know if I could've lived with myself knowing you never knew I loved you." And the way he kissed you sealed your fate, you would forever be making up for the times that neither of you confessed to how hopelessly you adored each other and you would relish every moment of it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading! I'm going to try and get chapter two of the river out before I do the next request, working on scheduling these each out! if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs, and my asks/requests are open! thank you again and love you all 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

[sammyofold]

Here are those fic recs I promised you @incesthemes ! I hope there's some in there that you'll really enjoy <3 I split up the recs into overarching tropes to group some together, but I'll start with those that don't fit into any of the groups.

The list got a bit long, so I decided to split it up into two parts.

(Part 1 | Part 2)

Courting Death by theproblematique.

Summary: Sam Winchester lived the first six months of his life in a happy family; the next twelve years as John Winchester's only son, and the last decade as an orphan. He's supposed to die at twenty-two trying to save the woman he loves from a fire, because he doesn't have a brother to pull him back. But the night Sam meets his Reaper he discovers that Death is overly fond of pop-culture references, too beautiful to be real, and reluctant to kill him.

Servant of Servants 'verse by klove0511.

This is a two-part series (though I think it might've been intended to have more fics, its ending doesn't leave you feeling snubbed), posing the question: "what if it had been Sam who'd been mortally wounded at the end of Season 1?"

love potion no. 9 by according2thelore.

Summary: Dean drinks a love potion. Sam is falling apart at the seams because he's been in love with his brother for more than a decade.

keep me in a daydream by according2thelore.

Summary: After an accidental kiss makes a hunt go suspiciously well, Sam and Dean decide to try it again. And again. And again. It's no different from wearing lucky socks, right? A 5 + 1.

for you and me (i got no alibi) by remy.

Summary: There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.

Ben Has Two Dads by regala_electra.

Summary: When Ben turns thirteen and learns that Dean Winchester is his father, he runs away to join his father (and uncle). A tale where boys are boys, Vikings are Vikings, unicorns go to Candy Mountains, Dean and Sam are in big gay love, and Ben becomes a Winchester.

Last Temptation by merle_p.

Summary: Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

Five Times Dean Forgot and One Time He Remembered by elsi.

Summary: Rowena warned him the obliviate curse might have “aftershocks.” That Dean could relapse to his amnesiac state without warning—though only temporarily, she assured. But this? This goes beyond calling a lamp a “light stick.”

Whatever It Is by theproblematique.

Summary: Both Sam and Dean get sent to the year 2014.

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too) by TeacupUnicorn.

Summary: Sam and Dean get handcuffed together during a hunt. With a werewolf on their tail and a proximity to each other they haven’t had since they were kids, their unstable relationship is put to the test and their trust in each other is pushed to the limit. Set sometime after 5x16 and before 5x20.

Not Her Sam by Yuval25.

Summary: Future Dean goes back in time to change the future and saves Jess. Future Sam tags along unexpectedly. And Jess is okay. No, seriously. She's fine.

Mistaken For a Couple

101 - mythology by ani_coolgirl.

Summary: As Sam, Dean, and Kali flee Lucifer's slaughter, Kali makes an assumption. The boys try to clear up any misconceptions. They don't do a very good job.

I need you so much closer by cherryvanilla.

Summary: five times they're mistaken for a couple plus one time they actually are.

Domesticity

Paisley by samsexualdeancurious.

Summary: After his mind wall was broken and was healed, Sam knows he can’t be a hunter anymore, so he and Dean retire, and Sam ends up finding a homeless dog who was abused and together they heal.

The Chicago Verse by compo67.

This is a series spanning a whopping 169 fics. I've read only a few of them and I enjoyed Sam and Dean retiring in this town together. It's still updating, looks like, since the latest fic added was in May of this year.

a few things worth saying by hathfrozen.

Summary: “So this morning,” Dean ventures as they blast down the highway in pitch black night toward a probable werewolf case. Sam looks over at him, thin eyebrows raised, eyes clear and calm. He’s not even difficult about it, doesn’t ask what Dean is after, doesn’t deny what had happened. Instead he says, very simply, “I just figure, why lie?” Alright then.

All The Way In by hunters_retreat.

Summary: Sam never did know how exactly it happened. One day, he and Dean were run ragged, exhausted from yet another disaster of a hunt, no money and no gas, no prospects and no allies left alive to give them a hand. The next, they owned a store with a shooting range and Sam was a professor of religious studies at a local community college.

Pre-Series & Season 1

To Blow Against the Wind by dreamlittleyo.

Summary: After Oasis Plains, Sam and Dean can't. Stop. Touching each other.

Star-Crossed by Agent_Hellcat.

Summary: Before Sam departs for Stanford, he writes a letter to Dean, begging him to come to Palo Alto with him.

Birthday Suit by wincestation.

Summary: On the morning of Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Dad takes him to buy a suit. Sam is… interested.

house song by according2thelore.

Summary: “The werewolf.” Sam says, quick. Hushed. Scared. “I don’t know how. I was—He was standing above you and then he wasn’t. And I think I did that.” Dean keeps whispering stuff to Sam, banal reassurances that Sam soaks up like a sponge, but he feels sick. Sammy did something impossible. Sammy’s been doing impossible things. For years. Or: Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences

Outsider POV

What I've Done by Amoreanonyname.

Summary: He wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He could tell, Dean was happy to see him, but wasn’t going to humor this topic. Dean, young Dean would jump to obey John, to answer John’s questions, but this was an older Dean who was more loyal to someone else now. More loyal to his brother. John wasn’t the priority here, and he realized with another guilty jump in his stomach that he never should have been.

something you love and understand by monsterq.

Summary: In heaven, Mary makes an unwelcome discovery about her sons’ relationship.

a skeleton terribly restless by remy.

Summary: Mary knows she doesn't fit right in this strange new world she's woken up in, with these grown men masquerading as her sons, but she tries her best. She really does. She closes her eyes to all the things she does not want to see, and she lies to herself until she's convinced. Until she can't.

Flowers on the Window Sill by orphan_account.

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester's relationship as observed by the good people of Star's Hollow.

Soulmates

Fix You by non_tiembo_mala.

Summary: After their encounter with Famine, the boys are in dire straits. With Dean left shaken by the horseman's taunts - which rang truer than he'd like to admit - and Sam juiced up on demon blood again, Dean is at a loss. He has no idea how to move forward, or where they're meant to go from here. Then again, they’ve always had each other - perhaps their salvation isn't as far away as it seems.

All Too Familiar by sammichgirl.

Summary: Sam's new hobby has consequences they never saw coming. Turns out, that's OK with Dean after all.

What We Do by BleedingInk.

Summary: Castiel catches Sam and Dean in a compromising position.

since feeling is first by queenklu.

Summary: That he wants to think this is Dean yanking a leash should make his blood run cold, not aching hot. It should make him sick, angry, it should get his fucking hackles up and make him fight. He does want to fight. But there’s a skin-thin line between primal things, and fighting isn’t all he wants to do.

if the dam breaks open many years too soon by deirde_c.

Summary: Sam’s soul springs a leak, and Dean’s the one who can repair it.

In the beached margin of the sea by rivers_bend.

Summary: Sam and Dean black out on a hunt, and when they wake up, Dean's having visions and Sam can't get new, strange feelings out of his head. When John finds out about the side effects, he'll do anything to get rid of the "curse". But Sam and Dean don't want to go back to the way things were before.

I Don't Need A Symbol by amoreanonyname.

Summary: It hadn’t meant that much to Sam at first. A warm glow at being able to do something nice for Dean, to give him something for once, to make him as happy as he seemed when he put it on immediately. It was what it meant to Dean that made it mean something else to Sam.

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART SEVEN/ FINAL CHAPTER)

Summary: After Tommy's apology you find yourself back at Watery Lane with the intention to thank him for the flowers he had left you when the eldest Shelby brother unintentionally breaks a tender moment in a bid to help reunite you both, doing more harm than good. Will you and Tommy finally rekindle your strained relationship or is all hope lost?

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, smut (Minors DNI)

Authors note: In this final chapter there is a small cameo from a four legged darling dear to my heart. My dog. A few weeks ago my sweet boy passed away at the old age of thirteen. This way my way of saying goodbye to him through the words of our dear ol' Arthur.

Walking down Watery Lane a feeling of hesitancy overcame you. You never thought you'd step back onto this street, not after you and its most infamous resident who just so happened to be the man you had been hopelessly devoted to for the past five years had a blazing row in front of everyone in the very same spot only a few weeks ago. But here you were, and as you eyed up the betting shop in the distance a ball of nerves started to bounce unforgivably around in the pit of your stomach making you feel less than confident about your descion to turn onto the notorious road. You couldn't quite pinpoint why you felt so anxious, you was supposed to be hating the man who had broken your heart more times than you cared to admit. But since that day when he had unexpectedly turned up at your front door, since he had willingly admitted to his wrongdoings, since he had left the posy of flowers on your bedsit stairs that were sitting in a vase on your kitchen table resembling a rather miserable bunch of weeds than the sweet handpicked arrangement of foliage he had left for you, something had changed. You had desperately kept the small bouquet alive for as long as you could, afraid that the sentimental gesture and the meaning behind it would die along with them. Was it a fluke? Did Tommy mean every word he had said? You thought to yourself as you approached the door with the intention to thank him for the flowers and the phone call he had placed to the manager at the Post Office in regard to the job interview he had for all intents and purposes, sabotaged. Admittedly, after everything he had done and put you through he didn't deserve a thank you let alone one in person. But in a turn of events and unexpected forgiveness on your part your anger towards him suddenly didn't hold weight any more. You found yourself wanting to see him, wanting to be near him as if the past five years hadn't happen, as if this was the very moment you had been desperately holding out for.

" Is Tommy about?" You asked as you walked into the busy betting shop. Monaghan boy was set to race later that day and half of Small Heath had scrambled into the small converted terrace house eager to place their bets on what was set to be the biggest race of the month, one Tommy had undoubtedly fixed in his favour of course. With no answer and not one single Shelby in sight you headed behind the curtains and made your way up the old rickety staircase. It had been so long since you had ventured up to the second floor of Watery Lane. But even now you still remembered where and where not to step on the creaking wooden steps from the countless times Tommy had sneaked you up to his room to spend the night. And just as you did all those years ago you found yourself biting your bottom lip in anticipation that at any moment Polly would shout down from the top of the stairs at Tommy to stop corrupting any innocence you had left, the memory of the days when your biggest worry was not getting caught making your stomach fill with a youthful fluttering of butterflies you never thought you'd experience again. " Tommy?" you called out as you stood in the hallway when you turned your head to the sound of his bedroom door opening.

"Hey" he said putting his head through his white under shirt, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders as he walked out into the landing. It was nine in the morning. Tommy was known to get up at the crack of dawn, had he just woken up? "Had a lie in" he said, surprised by his own omission as he reached for his back pocket for a cigarette. " First time in years" he added placing it between his lips as he lit a match. First time in five years to be exact or to be even more accurate, the third time since he had turned up at your place. Tommy had, for the first time in years slept the whole night through. His worn body aching for the extra time he had let himself have, for the time you had let his restless thoughts unburden themselves of the regret and guilt he had been carrying around for the past five years. Shaking the flame from the small stick of aspen he looked over at you, a faint smile playing on the edge of his lips at your flustered face. Flustered was an understatement, you looked like a dear caught in headlights. Not only was you mentally unprepared to see him half naked after all these years, you couldn't remember the last time you saw him so...relaxed. You had become so accustomed to his usual tightly wound up demeanour that he had unexpectedly caught you off guard making you loose track of what you had planned to say.

" Is everything alrig..."

" I wanted to say thank you" you blurted out cutting him off as Tommy furrowed his brow in surprise.

" Thank you? For what?" he said stepping closer as your eyes briefly darted up to meet his before returning to look at the floorboards beneath you. You felt like a teenager again, and like any teenager standing in front of whom they believed to be the love of their life, the nerves currently coursing through your body seemed to have stopped any previous ability you had to talk let alone think. You had become a fumbling mess, and it hadn't gone unnoticed.

" Y/N?" Tommy said as he ducked his head down trying to catch your line of sight when you failed to elaborate.

" For the post office job" you replied as he looked down at you watching him roll his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

" You would have had that job if it wasn't for me" he acknowledged, exhaling a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling.

" And for the flowers" you said finally making eye contact as you lifted your head.

"Flowers..." Tommy replied, suddenly remembering the small bouquet he had thrown in a panic after seeing, was it Harry or Henry? God, the date was such a bore you still wondered if the whole evening had be a figment of your imagination.

" Oh fuck..Tommy they weren't for me were they? I just thought with the note, with the .." you trailed off into a incoherent mumbling of words you and nobody else could understand as you covered your eyes and turned for the stairs. Your humiliation never ceasing to make itself known by your increasingly reddened cheeks.

" Y/N wait" Tommy said grabbing your arm stopping you and your attempts to flee the awkward situation." Of course they were for you" he smiled as his hand rubbed up and down your arm in a bid to reassure you. "What other woman in Small Heath let alone the whole country likes a bouquet with only three flowers eh? " he chuckled trying to ease the pressure that had suddenly encapsulated you both.

" I do" you said as you looked up into his crystal blue eyes, finding yourself slowly getting lost in his gaze.

" You do" he smiled closing the gap between you both as his thumb came up and tenderly brushed along your check. " I should have given them to you in person" he said as he cupped your face, your fingers finding their way up his chest, turning one of the buttons on his cotton shirt as you looked up at him through your lashes. Apprehensively leaning into you, Tommy's lips ghosted over yours, his thumb still stroking gently against you skin as you both waited for the other to make the next move when a heavy footed second Shelby came stomping up the stairs breaking the long awaited moment between you both.

" Right. I've bloody had enough of this I have" Arthur said as he stormed up the stairs, throwing open the closet door next to you, pushing you both inside and locking it before either of you had the opportunity to react." 'Bout time you both sorted out..." Arthur said as he waved his hand in front of the door, his face scrunched up in deep concentration as he tried to look for the missing word. "... well, whatever this is" he finished as he nodded his head, satisfied with his spontaneous plan of action, one he would later learn did more harm than good.

" Arthur open the fucking door! " Tommy shouted as he rattled the handle, the distant sound of his brother whistling merrily as he made his way down the stairs only infuriating his efforts.

" Did you set this up? " you snapped stood back as you shook your head, a scowl settling on your face as the tender moment you had both shared mere minutes ago started to fade into what was set to be another match of bickering. This is definitely something those two little shits would have conjured up. You thought to yourself as you glared at the only other person in the cramped space, all your anger now directly aimed at him.

" Me?" Tommy scoffed as he reached into his back pocket pulling out his pack of cigarettes only to find he had already smoked the last one. " Only that daft bastard downstairs could have thought of doing something like this" he huffed throwing the empty carton on the floor as he leaned against the door.

" Well.." you said motioning behind him.

"Well what?"

" Aren't you going to get us out of here?" You replied moving him out the way as you gestured at the lock when a small laugh caught in his throat.

" I've gone legitimate darling" Tommy said as you crossed your arms furrowing your brows. " My lock picking days are over" he reiterated as he leaned back against the door giving into the situation he's idiot brother had put you both in. There was no way of getting out of this, not unless you had a spare key hidden in that ample cleavage of yours that was now pressing against his chest. Tommy thought to himself as the temptation to look down was almost too much for him to refuse.

" Pull the over one Tommy" you frowned rolling your eyes at his chilled state. Anyone would think he was happy about this, and to some degree he was.

" So what do we now?" you said as you moved back the few centimetres between you and the metal shelving behind you, shifting your arms back and forth in attempts to put some space between you both.

" Well, I'm guessing we wait" he said as his eyes darted around the dark room that looked suspiciously like the one you had both found yourselves in ten years ago.

" Fuck sake" you mumbled under your breath as you looked up at him, still convinced this was his doing. "You're suffocating me, move back" you sighed blowing the lone strained of hair in front of your face away from your eyes as Tommy let out a loud huff in response, silently cursing his brother for managing to ruin the very moment he had been envisioning for the past five years, and your lesser than pissed off mood with him.

" Tighter squeeze than it was ten years ago" he said as he cleared his throat, a cocky smirk playing on the corner of his mouth.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you asked, daring him to say what you already knew he meant as you crossed your arms in front of you, forming or rather forcing a barrier between you both as Tommy grunted at the sudden impact, your own subdued by the cushioning of your assets. The very same assets Tommy wished he had never mentioned now your elbows were digging into his chest.

" I'm only teasing Y/N" he surrendered, a sudden sense of seriousness over coming him after seeing the frustration rising in your face at the unexpected predicament. In any other circumstance he would have been more than happy to be stuck in a closet with you again. But the scowl on your face said enough for him to not worsen the situation with any more jokes. Instead he attempted to change the mood with a different subject of conversation and break the awkward silence that had descended on you both. " Your mum keeping well?"

" My mum?" You laughed, surprised be the very question you thought you'd never hear leave his lips considering their mutual despise for one another. " Well thanks to you she had a visit from Father Wells"

"From St Mary's ?"

" Yeh. Oh, didn't you know? She's been named the wicked witch of Small Heath" you said as Tommy furrowed his brow in confusion. " You told Finn she was a witch. Finn told every living person he could find, which caused a small gathering of panicked old ladies to demand Father Wells pay her a visit and cleanse her mind, body and soul of evil" you said as Tommy let out a scoff of a laugh at the idea his tall tale had caused quite the commotion with the senior citizens of Small Heath. "Anyway" you said letting your own amusement slip in the form of a small giggle as you looked around the room, a sight Tommy never got tired of seeing, his fingers itching to trace the curve of your smile, desperately wanting to repeat the broken moment you had shared.

" Have a look in there for something, to pick the lock with " Tommy said clearing his throat as he nodded towards the small box precariously sitting on another large stack of cardboard boxes in attempts to snap him out of his day dream your small giggle had let him wander in to. Manoeuvring your arm between the tight squeeze of your bodies pressed together you looked through the small box pulling out a book on the poet " Sir Edmund Spence" as you turned to face Tommy with a look of confusion on your face at the strangest discovery you had ever made in the Shelby home.

" Arthur reads, apparently" Tommy said, as you turned your head back to the box of items, a smile on you lips at your endearing affection for the eldest Shelby and his ever growing list of new hobbies when you leaned forward and a sharp tug on the back of your head had your wincing in pain.

"Great... My hairs stuck" you whined reaching behind your head trying to loosen your locks from the metal shelving pushing into your back. " Tommy! My hairs stuck!" You reiterated, when he didn't automatically jump to your add.

" Bloody hell. Stay still" Tommy said as he reached behind you pressing his chest into your face.

" You're squishing me " you said looking up at him as his eyes stayed fixed on the task entrusted to him. With his attention else where you took the opportunity to take in every small detail of his face you had been missing for the past five years. Each freckle you used to spend countless hours counting when he'd sleep, his long lashes every girl south of Sparkhill envied, his plump lips that..."Ouch" you shrieked when he pulled harder than expected on your recently coiffed locks.

"Do you want my help?" He replied cocking a brow as he continued to unhook your hair from the shelf you had managed to get it knotted in.

"Just pull it out" you huffed wriggling in place.

" Fuck sake Y/N, I would if I could but it's stuck. If you'd stop bloody moving I'd be able to slide it out"

" Tommy..." you whined getting progressively inpatient as he loomed over you, increasing the already stifling heat your two bodies had managed to create in the small cramped space.

" Keep that whining up and you'll attract the rats"

" What rats?!" You yelped as your eyes darted around the room when Tommy finally unhooked your hair and sent you a wink, your face quickly dropping from a panicked wide-eyed stare into a small smile. Thank god you fell for that one, Tommy thought to himself. Watery Lane had become a new home to half the rats of Small Heath no thanks to Finn and his adamant goal on training them to do tricks for the small rodent circus he envisioned them performing in, much to Polly's dismay.

" Thanks" you said smoothing down your hair as Tommy moved his hand around from behind your head, his fingers lingering on the side of your cheek as he brushed the few whispers of hairs away from your face.

"Y/N..." He sighed cupping your cheeks in both his hands as you stood there patiently waiting, expecting him to pick up where things had ended out in the hallway. Had he lost his nerve? What was it about closets that always had this man lost for words? Either way you was not going to wait any longer to find out.

" Fuck it" you said pressing your lips to his as Tommy instantly dropped his hands to your hips pulling you closer into his hold.

" I've missed you" Tommy mumbled between breaths not wanting to part with the embrace any more than essentially necessary, the intensity of the moment catapulting you both back ten years as if you was kissing for the very first time. And just like all those many moons ago the years of suppressed need and desperation for eachother was making itself known quickly, very quickly.

" Tommy please..." You breathed heavily against his mouth as you pulled his suspenders down his arms, both lost in the moment of finally feeling each other, holding each other. As you both fumbled to undo his suit trousers a strained gasp left Tommy's throat when you slid your hand down into his briefs, the sudden feeling of your fingers wrapped around his hard length causing Tommy to stumble forward as his hand reached behind you grabbing the shelf to steady himself from the intense feeling of your touch.

" Fuck...I can't wait any longer" Tommy moaned as he reached under your dress moving your underwear to the side, his fingers ghosting over your wetness as he teased the entrance, making your head spin with desperation to feel him inside of you. Quickly pushing his trousers down, Tommy hitched up your dress as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his darkened stare filled with lust and need catching your eye as you hooked your finger into his briefs and pulled them down.

" Tommy, I..I need you..." You trailed off at the feeling of him grinding his length slowly through your wet folds as he looked down at the very sight he had spent nights fantasising about, trying with all his will power to not cum right then and there. It had been too long, too fucking long since he had last felt you.

" Fuck sweetheart" Tommy moaned, spreading your legs further apart with his knee as he lined himself up and push the head of his length inside of you." Holy...shit, you feel just as I remembered." Tommy breathed out as he pressed his forehead against yours. "Been thinking about this every night for five years" he groaned against your lips, his eyes squeezing shut as he pushed even further when his words suddenly snapped you out of the intensity of the moment.

" Wait stop, stop!" you said pushing him out of you as Tommy groaned at the loss of your heat around him, inches from being fully bottomed out.

" What...what's wrong?" Tommy breathed heavily as he looked at you pushing your dress down.

" This was a mistake." You said straightening out your clothes as his words ringed in your ears. He'd been thinking about this every night, even when he was with her, Grace. He had been wanting you every night but went to her instead. You wasn't naive enough to think that they had never had sex, but you suddenly felt sick at the mere thought of it.

" A mistake? Y/N, talk to me, what's going on?" He said pulling his trousers up as he stood behind you confused as to what he had did, what he had said.

" Every night you thought about me, every fucking night!" you cried as you slammed on the door. " Arthur open this fucking door!"

" Of course I did. What the fucks wrong with that? Didn't you think about me ?" He said trying to turn you around to face him.

" I did but not with someone else laying beside me Tommy!" You cried as you pushed his hands of you. "Did you fuck her thinking of me?" You sobbed disgusted by your own question, one some might be happy to hear that even whilst he was with another woman his thoughts were with you. But it seemed to have the opposite effect on you, you was revolted by the image of you on his mind as he fucked another woman, the same woman that had done nothing but belittle and humiliate you. Was you being irrational, were things moving to fast? Or were you trying to find a reason, any reason to halt your fragile relationship from rekindling, afraid the past would repeat itself?

"Jesus Christ" Tommy huffed as he pinched his brow at the sudden change in mood.

"Well?"

" Of course I fucking didn't! She meant nothing to me, I regretted it the momen..

" Only after then " you said cutting him off not wanting to hear anything he had to say about his time with her.

" You're twisting things" when had he become so bad at formulating the right words. He was beginning to think it was a skill he had perfected only for you.

" Arthur!" You banged loudly on the door, desperate to be the furthest you possibly could from the very man you had dropped everything to go and see that day.

"What in seven hell was that?" Polly said as she walked into the living room pulling the pin out of her hat as she placed her bag down onto the coffee table.

" Y/N and Tommy are working through their... differences" Arthur replied sat in an arm chair with the mornings paper on his lap.

" Oh Arthur what did you do? Actually don't tell me, I already know. You locked them in the bloody cupboard didn't you?" Polly replied as she looked up at the ceiling, your banging on the door rattling the paper thin walls.

" It's for their own good"

" Arthur, did it ever enter your new founded brilliant mind that they were actually on the right path? Tommy had apologise to her you berk! "

"How was I supposed to bloody know, I've been in London haven't I. I can't keep up, their spats change with the bloody wind! Arthur huffed throwing the Birmingham Gazette on the table in front of him.

" Jesus Christ, why do I live in a house of bloody halfwits?" Polly said shaking her head as she clutched the cross around her neck." Give me the key else we'll be calling the undertakers within the next ten minutes"

" Tom would never hurt her"

" It's not Tommy I'm worried about" she said as she hurried up the stairs holding the bottom of her dress.

" Y/N would you calm down" Tommy pleaded as you continued to hysterically pound at the door when the lock turned on the opposite side and you pushed it open, running past Polly and down the stairs out onto Watery Lane.

" What did you do now?" Polly said quirking a brow as she stood in front of the door with her arms crossed.

" At this point, breathed" Tommy huffed as leaned against the shelving in the small closet looking up at the ceiling as he finally puzzled everything together, the sudden realisation as to what his words may have meant to you, words he would have reacted as equally as angry to if he had been on the receiving end of them. It had been a one time thing, a drunken mistake he had regretted instantly. Not that his confession would ease the disgust you now felt for him. Even though you weren't together at the time, he had in that very moment when he sat at the end of the bed felt like he had cheated on you. Betrayed every declaration of love he had ever made to you, leaving him feeling physically sick with guilt as he bolted away and out the presence of the very woman he had just been intimate with.

" Penny for your thoughts?" Arthur said as he turned the corner onto the back alley of your flats a few days later.

" You don't want to hear my thoughts Arthur, and they're definitely not worth a penny" you replied sitting on the brick wall along the path, biting into an apple as you watched your freshly hanged laundry dry. Riveting.

" Why are they naughty? " he grinned as you scooted over to make room for him to sit down.

" No, murderous"

" These murderous thoughts wouldn't happen to be about a beloved brother of mine would they?" He laughed taking the apple from you as you rested your hands on the brick wall, swaying your feet back and forth as Arthur took an abnormally large bite from the last of your lunch leaving nothing left for you." Go on, tell old Arthur all about it" he said mouth half full as you scrunched your brow in amazement watching him eat down to the very core.

" Tommy's been looking for me and I've been avoiding him" you replied tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked down at the ends of your shoes.

" And why's that ay?" He asked already knowing your likely response.

" Because what's the point Arthur? We're never going to get back to how we were, back to being madly in love. Too much has happened. He did too much" you said turning your head sniffing back your tears.

" Are you pulling my leg? Back to being madly in love...you are madly in love! " Arthur chuckled as you snapped your head to him.

" I'm not joking Arthur, there's nothing left to fix" you pouted as you blinked away your tears, refusing to admit to yourself that the love you had for him was as strong as it was back then. Albeit an angrier close to committing murder kind of love.

" Ay, come on you" he sighed putting his arm around your shoulder as he watched your white linen table cloth blow in the gentle afternoon breeze. " Never seen two people in love as much you both. Even after five years of putting all us through the ringer with his bullshit Tommy never went a day without mentioning you Y/N, even if half the time it was him whinging about how you broke his poor old bloody heart first" Arthur said rolling his eyes at the very words you were convinced Tommy never went a day without letting you hear.

" Well I'm glad I wasn't the only one that had to hear that for all those years " you sniffed as a small laugh escaped your lips.

" He loves you Y/N. He's just been shit at showing it" he said as you looked up at him smiling back to you. "Please, put us out of our misery ay. I don't think I can do another five bloody years of this" he said as he squeezed you into his side rubbing your arm up and down like he was trying to start a fire with his bare hands. It was blunt, but it was to the point. Making more sense to you than the countless hours you had spent mulling in self-doubt and pity. Arthur was right could you go through another five years of this?

" Ello mate, where you been then? Out chasing rabbits old boy" Arthur said, both of you welcoming the change from the heavy conversation you'd just had as he dropped his hand down to a black and white dog slowly approaching him, his muzzle greyed by the years he had gracefully earned. " Begging now are we?" Arthur added as the four legged animal sat down in front of him, lifting his muddy paw whilst he eyed up the apple core in Arthur's hand. " Ere, you scruffy mutt" Arthur chuckled as he threw it to him, the dogs aged reflects seemingly unaffected when it came to all things edible. " Gone on, I'll see ya later" Arthur said nodding to the empty path as the dog trotted off, content with his late super firmly grasped within his mouth.

" New friend ?" You asked as you watched Arthur smooth down his stache, a smile poking through the whispers of hair.

" Gave him some leftovers few weeks back, now he won't leave me alone. Gangly looking thing ain't he? All legs and big ears" Arthur said as he watched the dog make his way down the alleyway, the sun setting down at the end of the cobbled path reflecting off the small puddles his four legged friend tip toed nimbly around.

" Bit like you then. No wonder you get along" you laughed as you looked up at the blue skies, nearly two months worth of rain finally easing up.

" Cheeky mare" Arthur said nudging his shoulder with yours as he rolled his eyes.

" How old is he?"

" Well I've counted the spots on his back, but he looks like he's been dipped in paint so I don't know"

" Arthur, he's not a ladybird"

" You're too easy Y/n " Arthur chuckled, thinking he had fooled you with his joke you was sure he had been waiting to make the moment he had conjured it up. "Nah, he's alright. He's a good boy" Arthur sniffed looking down to the end of the path as the dog stood there patiently waiting. " It's alright boy, you can go" Arthur called out with a quick nod of his head, reassuring his furred companion he'd see him again soon as he watched him walk over the small hill into the sunset disappearing from sight. " Right. Come on you. No more faffing about, let's go have a cuppa while we wait for Tommy ay? " Arthur said jumping off the wall putting his hand out for you to take as you both made your way through the alleyway, hopping over the puddles as you both giggled like two children making their way home before dark, the welcome heat of the fading sun beaming on your faces.

All day, all bloody day he'd been looking for you. Tommy thought to himself as he walked past the Garrison, the smell of beer and liquor tempting him to drown in his sorrows and abandoned any hope of finding you.

" Still breaking my Y/N's heart" he heard a voice call out on the opposite side of the street as he turned the corner onto Watery Lane, the same voice he'd been intentionally avoiding at all costs for going on five years.

" Don't you have a broom to catch?" Tommy replied as he slowed his pace, keeping a safe distance between him and the fire breathing dragon you just so happened to call mum.

" Trouble, I've been saying it for years " your mum scowled as Tommy eyed up the tea towel sat on top of her weeks shopping in the woven basket resting on her forearm, knowing his turn to feel the back of it was long overdue.

" I hope your dealings with the devil don't run in the family, because I plan on marrying your daughter and I don't fancy having to deal with her temper when it's a full moon and you lot come alive. Tommy said with a chuckle as your mother's eyes widened at the sheer cheek of the boy she'd been trying to keep you away from for as long as she could remember, for when you were together you were an unstoppable force she had no hope of winning. " Ta ra!" Tommy waved above his head as he opened the door to Watery Lane leaving your mum standing there, damning the day you and him had met.

"Two peas in a bloody pod" she huffed as she marched off down the street a small smile making itself known as she looked up at the sky. "Isn't that right my love..."

"Ay up" Arthur said over his tea cup as Tommy came stomping through the front door of Watery Lane, hair disheveled a look of shear frustration on his face as you looked up from your lap.

" Been giving me the runaround all day eh?" Tommy said as he threw his cap on the table, brushing his hand threw his hair with the other.

" I don't know what you're talking about" you replied complacently as you leaned back into the plush armchair whilst Arthur stood in the corner, a smirk on his lips as he watched the drama about to unfold over the warm cup of tea in his hands.

" Right. Enough" Tommy said pointing his finger at you as he marched over. " Stand up, come on, up" he said pulling you to your feet by your arms. " I'm sorry alright, I'm fucking sorry. For all of it" he said cupping your cheeks in his hands as he dipped his head down to look directly into your eyes. " Just one more chance ey? God knows I'm a miserable bastard without you..."

" Ain't that the bloody truth" Arthur interrupted rolling his eyes as he poured two fingers of whisky into his drink.

"... sweetheart, please" he said rubbing his thumb across you chin as he leaned in and rested his forehead on yours. " I can't do this without you Y/N " he said quietly squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for a response, feeling like it was the longest wait of his life than the few seconds it actually took for you to respond.

" One more chance " you replied as Tommy's eyes flew open.

" Yeh?"

" Yeh" you smiled as Tommy crashed his lips onto yours holding you tightly in his arms.

" 'Bout bloody time" Arthur cheered raising his tea that contained more whisky than it did anything else into the air.

" I love you Y/N Y/L/N"

" I love you Thomas Shelby" you said wrapping your legs around his waist as he lifted you up into his body, lips intertwined in an unstoppable embrace.

" Right, I'm off out then" Arthur said raising his brows as he downed his drink as quick as humanly possible " Make sure you turn that gramophone on ay, nobody wants to hear five bleeding years of making up" Arthur chuckled as he scrambled for his coat and hat heading for the door having already seen enough of your and Tommy's passionate display of reconciliation. Together at last. All it took was five years and some wise words from a gangly Shelby who had made it his life mission to not only never let your smile fade but to bring you and his baby brother back together, even if it did mean locking you in a closet.

" Tommy" you said, your head resting against his bare chest and his lazily stroked up and down your back.

" Mmm?" He hummed, his eyes shut, a content smile on his face as sleep beckoned him. He wasn't a young adult anymore, five years of making up had exhausted him. He was convinced he had beat an all time world record in the past twenty-four hours something he was now secretly proud off, maybe his greatest accomplishment yet. At Least now he could say his little white lie ten years ago had been achievable.

" What do you think we'll be doing ten years from now?" You said as Tommy opened his eyes turning his head to you.

" How did I know you was gonna ask me that ey" Tommy replied, brushing his nose with yours as he cupped the side of your face.

" Tommy.."

" The same thing sweetheart, cross my heart and all that" he said feeling his eyes get heavy with sleep again.

"I'm serious Tommy"

" So am I. No more looking back eh? Only looking beside me, you next to me holding my hand like it should've always been. I promise you that" he said pecking his lips to yours as he brought you further into his body, not only promising to you but himself to never let the past repeat itself. Thomas Michael Shelby, the man who had enough stubbornness to endure five years worth of self-inflicted heartache finally felt at peace, the one person he had dreamt to hold in his arms again now permanently by his side. He may not have shown it how he'd intended to do to, but he had always, and would always be, hopelessly devoted to you.

The End.

There we are everyone, we've come to the end of the story for Y/N and Tommy. As always, I want to thank you all for the love you have shown this series. I know I say it all the time but you have blown me away with your incredible support, I appreciate it more than you can imagine. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments on the ending of this rollercoaster of a story. Thank you to each and every one of you, my lovely readers.

Brummie xxx

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[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors with Benefits: Part 6 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge @hellishjoel

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: about 4500

Warning: Mild smut, mild angst

Joel opened his eyes, a damp sweat glistened his body and he had to consciously think about where he was for a moment. He swallowed hard, feeling the parched nature of his throat and then glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

It was just a few minutes past three o'clock in the morning and the only relief from the heat came from the open window that he had climbed through. Next to where he laid you slept on your side with your back to him breathing evenly.

For a moment Joel just stared at you and a part of his mind began to wander to places he actively tried not to. If nothing else he was a realist, and Joel clearly knew all of the heightened emotions were a result of being in the early throes of infatuation - or so that’s what he told himself. Still he couldn’t deny that you made him feel alive for the first time in what felt like forever. He felt youthful and full of life whenever he thought of the two of you, and that feeling made his stomach twist into knots.

Joel sighed and ran his hands over his face and then glanced at the clock again. He knew it would be smart for him to go, given that your parents would be waking up for work within a few hours. He, too, had to be at work in the morning and sneaking out once the sun rose would make the task all the more difficult. It had been risky enough sneaking over there, and one wrong move could have cost him the trust of his neighbors, to say the very least. There was a small part of Joel, somewhere in his subconscious, that almost wanted to get caught so they could just come clean, and let the chips fall where they may.

He took a deep breath. From the position where he laid he could see the very top of his roof through the window. The truth was he didn't want to go back home; but he knew he had to.

"(Y/N) ." Joel whispered your name at first and then he called your name a little louder, "(Y/N) ." He gently placed a hand on your shoulder, prompting your eyes to flicker open. You turned to him with a smile and placed a hand over his, anticipating an intimate encounter given the late hour that he was waking her.

"Hey." Your eyes began to adjust and you pulled him down into a kiss.

Joel reciprocated, making the task of leaving all the more difficult. Intimacy was something that had been missing in his marriage for so long, and since it fizzled out it was nonexistent. You were the first woman he truly felt a connection with in a long time. Joel tried to ignore his growing feelings, but the logical thoughts grew foggy as you kissed him in the dark.

"I have to go," Joel whispered, not wanting to part from you.

"No, you don't," You whispered back, pulling him back to you.

He kissed you again for a moment before pulling away. "I have to. Your parents will be up soon."

"What time is it?" you arched your neck toward the side of the bed where he slept and smirked, "It's only three-thirteen."

"I have to get home before the sun comes up, honey." Joel smirked and kissed you again.

"Are you a vampire or something?"

He chuckled and touched your face before reluctantly sliding out of the bed.

"You're really going?" You asked him, perching yourself up on your forearms as you sat up in bed.

Joel reached for his pants and slid them on over his boxer-briefs.

"Who's going to take care of that for you?" you went on, motioning to his erection beneath the fabric of his pants.

He snickered, "I'll have to fuckin' take care of it myself."

You scrunched your nose. "That's no fun."

"Mmm..." Joel placed his hands on the edge of your bed and touched his lips to hers. "I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to go either." You kissed him a little harder and Joel, like the morning before, had to consciously force himself to part from you. When he reached down onto the floor for his shirt you sat up completely and stared at him with disappointed eyes.

"I'd be getting up in a few hours anyway." Joel slipped on his shoes next and then reached into the nightstand for his keys and cell phone. For the several seconds to follow he just stood there contemplating taking everything off and climbing back into bed. A part of him wished he hadn't woken up in the first place. Had the night just been a little bit cooler he would still be sleeping beside you.

"I know." You looked down and managed a smile. "It's not like I should expect anything from this."

Joel's eyebrows pressed together and he looked down toward the floor. "I'm, uh... I'm not just bailing on you here."

"Yeah, I know." You knew he was being truthful; though you also knew he did have to go. If someone caught him in the confines of your bedroom there would be hell to pay from all angles.

Joel stared down at you for a moment and then let his eyes shift to the clock again. He cleared his throat and then recaptured your gaze. "Send me a text tomorrow."

You nodded. "Okay."

"Before eleven." He tipped his mouth up in a smirk. "I don't think I can wait that long again."

Joel's words made your whole body tingle. You smiled wider and agreed to his requests with another, "Okay."

"Okay." Joel nodded and swallowed hard before carefully sliding up the screen on the window that separated them from the world outside.

You got out of bed and hurried over beside where he shifted himself out. "Be careful," you said in a voice a little too loud.

When Joel leapt down onto a low-hanging roof he braced himself before glancing back up at her. "Put some clothes on," he said quietly with a smirk, staring up at your bare body as you hung halfway out the window. "You'll excite the neighbors."

"I already did." You giggled as you stared down at him, watching as he easily stuck the landing of the next jump to the lawn before turning back to face you. This time he didn't say anything. He just gave a simple wave and hurried in a stealthy fashion through the darkness toward his house next door.

You sighed, able to take in his figure all the way until he disappeared through the back door of his home. The exciting parts were equally as toll-taking as the disappointing parts of the secret romance. For every high there was an equal low, and knowing that Joel had to go back to his own house because he lived a life completely separate from you was a depressing blow to your emotional state.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be separate, you thought, in time.

You ducked back into your room and closed the screen before plopping back down in your bed by yourself. Rather than lay in the middle as you typically would, you laid on the side you had been on when Joel was next to you, letting your arm drape across his side of the bed.

This part sucks, you thought. For the first time you thought you might have it in you to cry, but you willed your mind to be strong. From the beginning of it all you knew there was no easy way out. Still, it didn't make the feelings any easier to deal with.

You tried to get comfortable there without him that night. You tried to tell yourself that you were tired, or needed sleep, and even that it was crazy to think that you might be falling for your older neighbor, particularly so soon. None of it worked. You couldn't convince yourself of any of it. You knew there was only one remedy to the ill-feelings you were experiencing and that was seeing him; being with him - getting your fix.

"Fuck it." You whispered the phrase to yourself and climbed out of bed, throwing on a pair of shorts and a tank top before flinging the window open again. You glanced down at the roof below, which you acknowledged was an easy drop. As a teenager you and your friends had snuck out to sit on the roof, and so it wasn't something you hadn't done before. Still, it had been long enough where your stomach was in knots before you finally got the guts to leave the window ledge.

Your bare feet hit the roof shingles with a quiet thud, though you managed to hold your balance and brace yourself before eagerly making your way to the second part of the little mission you created for yourself. The jump down to the yard was higher than you thought, though it, too, was a doable leap. Without thinking, You crept to the side, took a breath and leapt from the low roof down to the grass.

A small surge of pain crept into the bottoms of your feet, trickling up your right ankle, though the pain wasn't debilitating. You took a second to shake it off, rubbing the area on your ankle before hurrying across the lawn into Joel's backyard and up to the back door.

You let out a sigh before reaching for the handle, only to be disappointed when it didn't fling open from your force.

Damn it... You swallowed hard, noting in your mind that you had, for some ridiculous reason, suspected the door would just be left open as if Joel would have known you would be coming to him. Again, without thinking or caring, your fist knocked at the screen door that sat as the initial barrier to Joel's home.

You felt the sweat in your palms as you waited with closed fists and a heavy heart. The pain in your ankle thudded with each beat of your heart, though you barely felt it when the adrenaline kicked up a notch. Before you could knock again you heard movement from inside and then the locks on the big, wooden door twitched before it was flung open and you were face to face with Joel again through the screen of the storm door.

He stared back at you, looking even better than he had a few minutes before and clad in nothing but his underwear again.

You didn't have it in you to wait. You reached for the handle of the storm door, tugging at it, though it felt silly when you recognized it was the door that had been locked from the get-go.

Joel didn't hesitate. He popped open the lock and pressed the handle, allowing you to burst through the door. Immediately, your lips connected with his and Joel reciprocated, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed you with a hard, needy passion as if you hadn't seen each other in months.

Both of you gasped out a breath when the make-out session was prolonged with such an intensity that left each of you breathless.He used his foot to kick the back door shut, before releasing you briefly to re-lock it and then pulled your back to him with force.

"Couldn't fucking wait until tomorrow?" he barely got the words out and exhaled into your mouth before kissing you several times in a row again.

"No," You admitted.

"How the fuck did you get out?" Joel grinned in darkness without letting up his pursuit of your body.

"Window." You laughed into his kiss, making him laugh back. You moaned as his hard-on dug into your pelvis and it made you need him more by the second. "God... I want you."

Joel held your tighter and with a smacking sound, his lips parted from yours. "You fuckin' got me.” His breath hitched in his throat as he towed you down the hall.

Once in the bedroom you pawed at his body like a needy kitten, mewling his name as Joel pulled your pants off, bringing your underwear down with it as he dropped his own to his ankles. A second later he stepped out of them and climbed on top of you on the bed.

Your mind was clouded with passion as you kissed in a sloppy, needy fashion. You felt him enter you without even trying - like your bodies were meant for one another. It was a hasty, breathless motion that left him thrusting into you a second later with an arm hooked beneath the bend of your left leg.

“Joel,” you mewled his name and let your head fall back into the pillow, exposing your neck for him to devour.

“You are so fucking perfect,” he whispered, clutching your earlobe with his teeth as his hips still thrusted a steady rhythm.

You hugged your arms tighter around him, holding him as close to you as possible. It was right then that you realized you were falling in love. It didn’t matter that you had only known Joel for a short time. Nothing in your life had compared to this, nevermind prepared you for it. The logical part of your brain felt it was too soon, but your body, heart and soul all teamed up against it and easily won the fight.

After coaxing another orgasm from one another, you began to wonder if you'd ever be fully satisfied - if you would ever think, ‘okay, I've had enough’. Because even after you laid still in the darkness, you knew you could have had him again.

“Stay,” Joel whispered into the center of your ear. The line word sent tingles down your body.

“Okay,” you whispered back, placing your hand over his across your stomach. You laid on your back facing the ceiling and continued to hold Joel close as his body cuddled around yours.

Who cares if my parents find out. It was the first time you'd had that thought.

The relationship was passionate and impulsive but it wasn't wrong. Even if they didn't approve at first, you knew in time they would understand. They always did.

Right?

You weren't going to worry about it right then in the early morning hours. You had got what you wanted - and that was falling asleep in Joel Miller’s arms.

There was a beeping sound in the distance that grew louder and louder as you shifted from dreaming to awake. When your mind caught up you knew it was Joel's alarm. Your eyes snapped open and you glanced over to his side of the bed.

Joel's snoring almost overtook the sound of the alarm, and you finally reached across him to turn it off.

"Oh shit." You glanced at the time, noting it was a half hour later than the time he'd set the night before. You suspected that Joel had hit the snooze button in his sleepy, half-conscious state.

"Joel." You hovered over him, shaking him until he groaned and opened his eyes. "The alarm has been going off."

Joel stretched, appearing as if he could still sleep for days. His eyes were heavy and hair in a pillow-tossed mess as he reached over to check the time with little interest.

"Fuck." He grumbled the word and ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Late?" You asked him, giving a big yawn as you did.

"Yeah." Joel cleared his throat. "I have to fuckin'..." He slowly sat up and ran his hands through his hair again.

"What can I help you with?" You asked him, "Coffee?"

Joel nodded. "If you don't mind. I have to shower. You mind grabbing me some clothes out of the closet? Jeans are on a hanger in there, might need to be ironed."

She nodded, happy to play house-wife even if just for a moment. "Where's the iron?"

"Hall closet." He shifted out of bed. "And any of the white tshirts you see would be fine.”

"Sure." You nodded again and stared up as he turned back to you.

"Thanks." Joel winked and headed out of the room into the hallway.

You glanced around the room, eying the floor for your scattered clothing and got out of bed to get dressed. You heard the shower go on, but felt that Joel was in no mood to be playful or he would have invited you in there with him. You decided to do as he asked and made your way to the closet.

When you peeled open the closet doors you saw a collection of polo shirts and button downs. On the very top we're folded tshirts of all colors and a few pairs of pants were draped, half folded, over hangers.

You reached for a pair of jeans and glanced over to the left as you removed them. In the back corner was a wedding dress, covered with clear plastic. Directly in front of it were two petite cocktail dresses and a pair of wedged heels that you guessed would be too small even for you.

Despite that being a part of Joel’s past, the proof that he had a wife was now staring you in the face. Not a friend, not a girlfriend, a wife - who he was still legally bound to.

They aren't together anymore, you reminded yourself, all the while noting it wasn't that long ago that they were. They shared the house, they shared the bed you had just slept in. They ate dinners together at the kitchen table. She probably ironed his clothes on the mornings where he was running late - the way you were about to.

Your eyes closed for a moment and you tried not to be negative. Joel had a past, the same way you did. Would he be jealous if he saw photos of you and the guy you had dated during your first two years of college? Probably not. A part of you knew it wasn't quite the same.

You took a deep breath and reopened your eyes. Without another look, you retrieved a white shirt from the top and pulled the jeans with you as you made your way to the hall closet to locate the iron. Before even attempting to search for it your eyes landed on a stack of old Christmas cards in a small basket on an eye-level shelf, the top one appearing to be one of those self made Walgreens cards Joel and his wife had sent out to friends and family the year before.

Is this supposed to be some sign that I shouldn't be doing this? you wondered upon suddenly being hit in the face with more proof that Joel's estranged wife was, indeed, a real person.

You reached for the card, holding the image of the two of them out in front of you. The woman beside him was sporting a wide smile, leaning an elbow on Joel's beefy shoulder, who smiled just a wide. She donned a traditional Christmas hat that made way to pin-straight dark hair and a set of beautiful big, brown eyes to match with a long, red sweater-dress. Joel looked as handsome as ever and wore a red and green plaid shirt over khakis. His arm was linked securely around her waist and at the bottom read, 'Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays From The Millers’ in a neat, swirly cursive.

She's gorgeous, you thought to yourself and then let your thoughts run deeper. The Millers. What happened between them to cause the divorce?

When the water went off, you almost jumped and replaced the card back on top of the stack before hurrying to locate the iron.

"Find it?" Joel asked, as if he could see you shuffling like a mad-woman through the wall.

You cleared your throat and managed to sound confident; normal. "Yeah."

"Just use the kitchen counter," he went on, "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind." You reached for the iron that had been perched on a higher shelf and then closed the door.

Joel exited the bathroom with a towel around his waist just as you closed the door. "Thanks honey." He slipped an arm around your midsection and planted a kiss on your lips.

You kissed him firmly back, enamored despite the gnawing feeling that now lingered in your stomach. The feel of his beard, his slicked hair, his nearly-naked form that had just the right amount of muscle tone and chest hair and his scent as he came out fresh from the shower - it was all too much. Even the tone of his voice had the ability to send chills down your back.

"You're welcome."

Joel kept you close, studying your expression and moment and then kissed you again. "Sorry I'm in such a rush."

You gave a half-smile. "Let me get to these while you dry off." You held up the pants and smiled another time before heading down the hallway. To your surprise, Joel followed and watched as you set everything up, standing with a hand against the refrigerator.

"I would love to, uh, let you just stay here," he confessed, "But..."

"But my parents and all that.. yeah I know.” You phrased it aloud, "I’m the neighbor’s daughter." You glanced down and ran your palm firmly on top of the left leg of the pair of jeans, feeling a sting in the way you had labeled yourself. The neighbor’s daughter.

Joel didn't say anything back initially. He did what he did best - he studied your body language, waiting to see if you would reveal something even louder than your words as you began to iron his pants.

"I hope..." Joel drew a hand across his beard, searching for the right words, "I mean… you're the first person I've been with outside of my wife in a very long time. I, uh… I'm just not used to this. I hope I'm not overwhelming you-”

"You're not," you assured him right away. You shook your head, "You're not... at all. I just... I get it. I know what this is Joel." Doubt continued to linger inside of you since discovering the wedding dress and the old Christmas card - as if they hadn't been there all along. A part you felt foolish for your sudden doubts, the other part of you felt like you had to guard your heart.

“Well, what do you think this is?” Joel asked, point blank. He stared directly at you now and you glanced up to meet his stare. Without much of a warning, tears threatened to stream down your face, though you continued to find the strength to keep them locked away without falling.

“I don't know,” you confessed. You knew what you wanted it to be, but you didn't know what it was.

Joel took a step in your direction and you almost stepped back to keep your emotions in check, but you didn't. He sensed something was suddenly off. “Did I do something?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“You don't look.. okay.”

You managed a deep breath through your nose. “I just… I don't mind this.” You motioned to the jeans you laid out to be ironed, “All of this. I enjoy it very much actually.”

Joel nodded, seeming to be a bit confused. “Okay. So, what's going on then?”

“I just don't know what you want. You're newly separated from your wife. I'm starting to…” You couldn't put your words together. It was too much to just spout out right there in the kitchen.

“I'm starting to, too.” Joel continued his stroll across the kitchen and pulled you into a hug. He kissed the top of your head and you finally felt a single tear sneak out. You held him firmly against you for a moment before you both pulled back and you dried your eyes.

“We should talk,” he said with a nod, looking you directly in the eye. “Let me take you to dinner. Tonight.”

Finally some relief. You felt part of the weight shift from your shoulders. “Okay.” You smiled at him and let out a little laugh, wiping away one more tear that made its way down your cheek.

“I'm sorry we did this backward,” Joel said. “I probably should have offered you dinner that night in the bar instead of pulling you into the women's bathroom.”

You laughed lightly. “No, that's a memory I prefer to keep.”

Joel smiled back and leaned down and touched his lips to yours. “You're not just the neighbor’s daughter.” He tipped your chin up to make sure he had your full attention.

“What am I then?”

Joel's eyes moved back and forth as they studied your expression. He then tipped up the corner of his mouth in a little smirk. “You're my girl.”

CLICK HERE FOR PART 7

@pedropascal111 @axshadows @mybritishstyle @untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @goodvibesonly421 @cosmic006533-blog @ashleyfilm @maybetomorrowgirl

[brayneworms]

i'll fetch you anything you like.

featuring. aki hayakawa x gn!reader

content. MDNI, smut, riding, begging, crying, smoking, light masochism, burning (reader puts a cigarette out on aki), mild codependency, pet names (loverboy, darling), gender neutral reader, agab not mentioned, sub!aki + dom!reader, a little angst, pining, kissing, vague love confessions.

word count. 3.2k

synopsis. aki's smoking is a nasty habit, but you're certain you can get him to quit. also, aki pines.

notes. minors don’t interact. anyways how’s this for a first post ( totally normal abt aki hayakawa )

Aki Hayakawa is an orphan in every sense of the word.

Literally being the one most people associate him with, but—Aki comes to a realisation when he's maybe thirteen or fourteen that the word runs deeper than that. It's not as if your entire life is defined by your relationship with your parents, after all; even people who have ones that are alive become something other than offspring in their life. Husband, brother, uncle, father. But orphan sticks, no matter how many people you fill your life up with to replace the parents you lost. Aki thinks there is something in the word that rings of loneliness; he could father a hundred children, become grandfather to two hundred more, gain friends and a partner, and still he would be Aki Hayakawa, orphan.

Alone.

"That's a bad habit."

Aki's fingers don't pause in their ministrations, thumb pressing down on the jut of the lighter as it zips to life. The cherry of his menthol cigarette glows in the blue-dark of the office. The sky outside the thin window is pale with the gloaming, and he breathes a haze of gritty smoke over it, sullying the view.

You've made yourself at home on his desk, legs swinging leisurely. You must be cold in only his work-shirt and boxers that cling to your hips and thighs. You watch him passively, head cocked.

"One of my least dangerous ones," he intones, which is true enough for a man who has three years to live at most.

"Oh? What tops the list?"

Aki eyes you serenely. "I dunno if you've heard, but I work for this place called the Public Safety Division."

Your laughter breaks the delicate quiet like a flock of birds taking off from a tree. "Put it out. I hate the smell."

Aki's dark brows crinkle. "I'm not wasting a perfectly good cigarette. If it bothers you so much, eat it."

"Eat it? You freak."

"At least then someone's getting something out of it."

You hop from the desk, yawning. In the dim light that is starting to grow just a little brighter, Aki can see the beginnings of bruises on your throat and collarbone, vanishing in an ugly rainbow trail down to the hastily-down buttons of his work shirt. Your socked feet pad along the threadbare carpet on your way over to him, and Aki inhales deeply. Maybe if there's enough smoke in his lungs it will encourage him not to breathe; that way, he won't do that god-forsaken embarrassing thing he does when you get close. His heart stutters, and it makes his breath hitch audibly. The worst part is you seemed to be goddamn attuned to it—there seems to be little you like more than knowing you have an effect on him.

Aki doesn't stop you when your fingers come up to encircle his cigarette, brushing his as you pluck it gently from between his lips. He hates that even the smallest kiss of your skin against his still sends liquid lightning zipping through him, like he's that seventeen-year-old he was when he met you, the one full of spite and anger who hadn't been held since his mother died.

You pull the cigarette away, still lit; the butt glows red and angry between your delicate hold, gleams in the reflection of your eyes. When Aki meets them, he feels his mouth go dry; your pupils are large and black, engulfing iris, barely blinking as you look up at him.

"Bet I can make you quit," you say.

Aki snorts. "Better men than you have tried."

"Anything can be unlearned," you counter smoothly. "All bad habits go away with a little punishment."

Aki feels his heartbeat quicken, tries not to let the way that one word sets his blood alight show on his face. "Hm," he says noncommittally, but frustratingly, he doesn't think he's fooled you for a second.

Your serene smile curved into something sharp as easily as breathing. "Gimme your hand."

And Aki does, though he knows where this is going. You turn his hand over gently at the wrist, leaving it palm-up, fingers splayed in your grip. You hold him so gently it makes him shiver. Carefully, slowly—Aki thinks, giving him much time to pull away—you raise the burning end of the cigarette and plant it in the centre of his pale palm, a stinging kiss. Aki hisses, grits his teeth, but dutifully doesn't move even as his hand twitches involuntarily at the contact. Just as tears start to needle at his eyes, you twist the butt and pull away, leaving a shallow pool of grey ash, a black soot mark, and a stinging red welt like a patch of burning leaves.

His eyes are glued to the masterpiece you've made of his boring skin. The burn throbs unpleasantly, but something low and hot has come alive in his abdomen at the lingering kiss of pain. It satiates something inside him just smoking the thing could never hope to touch. He likes the futility of feeding himself his own death, sure—makes him feel like he has marginally more control over it, despite what the Curse Devil might have to say about it. This sort of pain is different; it goes straight for the gullet, and it makes it all the more sweet that it's you doing it.

A stupid, lonely part of Aki—orphan—wants to believe you're doing this because you care for him. Because you want him to live as long as possible. The grown, cynical man he supposes he's become thinks you must be just as fucked up as he is. It doesn't really matter either way; Aki's loved you for years, and he's astonished he's even gotten this far with you, and he'll take anything you deign to give him, pleasure or pain because it's all sort of the same to him anyway.

You unscrew a bottle of drinking water and hold it over your discarded blazer, soaking the lapel before pressing it to the burn. Aki grunts, eyebrows knitting up as a strange cocktail of relief and pain throbs slowly through his body. Your hands holds the wet fabric over his one, like a ribcage encasing a beating heart. Oh, Aki would let you hold his heart in your hands, and who cares what you decided to do with it? It's hardly his business; it belongs to you anyway.

He leans in to kiss you, gets close enough to brush his lips against yours and feel his pupils dilate before you turn your head, ducking. Aki feels his heart stutter anxiously as you turn your serene face up to him.

"Hate the taste," you say.

Aki frowns. "I barely smoked it for thirty seconds."

"It lingers."

Aki isn't stupid; this is part of the punishment. And the goddamn annoying part is that it's working. Even as you take his other hand to hold the soaking blazer against his burn and turn away, every fibre in his body wants to stop you. Turn you back around, pin you against the wall, swallow any complaints with his lips. He wants to make you melt against him, wants to melt himself under you in that way you always manage to do to him. He likes feeling like he doesn't have to think with you; just await whatever comes next, pain or pleasure, and he'll take it because it's you.

But Aki doesn't move. He's not a problem dog. He stands quietly and nurses his burn, tracking you with his eyes as you re-dress yourself, his shirt tucked into your slacks, tie wound through the collar, work boots laced up to the ankle.

"I gotta run home and shower," you say, tugging your blazer on. "I'll see you back here in, like, an hour."

Aki nods. "Okay."

The grin you flash him is little more than poisonous; it makes it heart skip a beat. "How's your burn?"

He swallows around a dry throat, holding your stare with a touch of timidity. "What burn?"

Delight shivers over your expression like wind ruffling a field of grass, and you stride the length of the cramped office and kiss him. Aki grunts, rendered thoughtless the moment your mouth touches his, your hands in his collar and his hair; his hands go slack, blazer fluttering to the ground, and the welt on his palm stings horribly when his hands come up to latch around your shoulders and neck. He pulls you closer, a little frantic, and he has barely a moment to reflect on how worrying it is that he's this desperate for your touch after being denied only once, but before he can think to dwell on it you're parting your lips and he's tugged your body flush against his own. He's so close he could drown in you. For a moment, he wants to.

Far too soon, you pull away. You're delighted. "Good," you murmur, and he hates how his heart leaps into his throat. "You're so good, Aki."

His face is on fire. "I'm not a dog," he manages.

"Sure you are," you say matter-of-factly. "And I'm Pavlov. I'll break that nasty habit of yours if it's the last thing I do. Give you something else to focus on. Okay?"

Aki licks his dry lips. "You can try," he says hoarsely, hoping it doesn't sound as much like an invitation as he thinks it does. The impish smile you give him implies he's shit out of luck.

Aki is in hell.

He knows this, because every time the two of you have hooked up since your little conversation in his office, he hasn't been allowed to kiss you if you detect even a whiff of smoke on his breath. It's killing him a little, to be honest. Fucking without kissing just feels wrong. It makes him forget it's you, sometimes, his vision of you sliding out of focus 'till you could be just anyone. And Aki doesn't fuck just anyone. He fucks people he loves.

He loves you. But he can't have you. And he can't even kiss you so he can pretend he has you, if only for a minute. It's just fucking, a tumble of sweating limbs and gasps and grunts, of a thrilling cocktail of pleasure and pain and almost-confessions bitten back at the last second, hidden in the crook of your neck.

Your shitty wooden headboard creaks into the shitty thin bedroom wall, and Aki spends a moment in lucidity to send a silent apology to your neighbours. One arm braces against the wood, flexing with every fast jerk of his hips, and you're under him, eyes clenched shut and meeting his thrusts in a way that has Aki wondering why anyone could think being on top had to mean being in control. He's oiled to your machine, matching the rhythm of your hips and trying not to drown as your back arches up from the sweat-damp sheets, stomach curving into his, one arm holding fast around his neck.

You feel so good he could cry. Not that that would be an irregular occurrence, or anything—he'd practically sobbed the first time you fucked, and back then you'd been all fluttering concern, stopping even though he tried to sputter please, Christ, don't stop, I'll die if you stop, please. He supposes you're kind, in your own way. You'd stroked away his tears and kissed his damp face.

"Aki," you groan, bringing him forcefully back to the present; his dark bangs dangle in his eyes as he looks down at you, mouth agape and head cloudy. "Wh-what's got you so wound up?"

As if you don't know. Aki grits his teeth.

Your hand makes patterns on the damp nape of his neck as his rolling hips slow, as he breathes deep to try and regain a semblance of his dignity. "Loverboooy," you croon up at him, your free hand gripping at the junction between his hip and thigh. Aki grimaces; he hates that nickname. "Talk to me."

Aki glares at you. "You know—I want—you know. St-stop it."

He whimpers somewhere high in his throat as your body tightens around him, free hand coming up to scrub down his face. "D-don't!"

"Sorry, sorry," you laugh. "I'm sorry. Why don't you tell me what you want? Maybe I'm feeling nice."

It feels like a trap, like luring his feelings into the light just to snap a bear trap over them. But Aki wants, he yearns so deeply and desperately that he's just about willing to risk it. "Want to kiss you."

Your eyes gleam. "Do you?" you ask, as if this is news to you.

His arms shake. "Please."

God, he's pathetic. He's so used to being in control, to tailoring every facet of his life meticulously, grooming and tidying and cleaning. He knows the exact amount of calories he should eat per day. He puts his shoes on a rack so he never tracks mud onto the tatami mats. His shower utensils are organised in the order he uses them—shampoo, conditioner, face-wash, scented gel. He likes being in control. He thinks, anyway. You make him reevaluate. You make him reevaluate an awful lot.

You toss your head back against the pillows; you have the audacity to laugh. "Saw you smoking earlier," you tell him, and Aki's stomach goes cold. "Mm... full pack, too. A new one? When'd you buy that."

"Th-that was hours ago." And it's true; when Aki learns you're coming over, he puts his cigarettes in a locked draw and puts the key somewhere difficult to reach. "It won't still taste. I've eaten. I brushed my teeth."

That's just good manners.

"It's the principle of the thing, loverboy," you say, and your hand comes up to his chest and rolls him over. Aki gapes, whining at the loss of contact only to choke on his own voice as you sling a leg over his hips and slide him back into you. Your nails scrape red railroads down the pale skin of his sternum at the stretch, and Aki watches, mesmerised as you start to move, the flex of the muscles in your thighs, the vein bulging in your throat as you toss your head back. He wants to be all over you, a hand on your neck feeling your pulse go berserk for him, his teeth in your skin as proof he was there, nose buried in your hair, dirty and rough and the exact opposite of the way he usually wants you. That is—soft and kind, romantic, slow and heady as syrup.

He wants kisses that taste like tears, whispered confessions into bedsheets. He wants, painfully, the constant assurance he can never ask for. I love you. I love you. Oh, Aki, I love you.

"Kiss me," he gasps instead, writhing against the bedsheets, head thrown back at the brutal pace you set him. He's so close, teeth gritting and muscles locking up but without a kiss it feels cold and incomplete. "Please, please, kiss me, please—"

"You're a brat, Aki," you hiss, and Aki's heart twitches in his chest; he can hear his pulse in his skull. "You ignore the one rule I gave you, and you still think you get to ask for what you want?"

"It's a bullshit rule," he snaps. "I—I can't just, hah, I can't j-just turn it, off, oh, fuck—"

"You okay?" you ask in a fleeting moment of mercy. Aki's eyebrows knit up. "Am I—is it too much?"

Aki shakes his head. "I'm okay," he mumbles pitifully. "I'm close."

"I know, darling," you murmur. "It's okay. I'm gonna give you what you want. And you're gonna give me what I want. Deal?"

"I—I..." Aki chews the inside of his cheek till copper floods his mouth. "I'll try? I'll try, I swear."

You still for a moment. "You mean that?"

Aki nods frantically. "Yes, I—if that's what you want, anything, anything you want, please..."

The beam that breaks out on your face is a million watts. "Aki," you breathe, and finally you lean forward 'till your chest brushes his. Aki can't breathe, transfixed by every swoop of your eyelash and chap in your lip as you lean close. When you speak, you're so close that your lips brush his, and he has to keep every muscle taut to stop himself leaning forward and closing the gap. "Aki, I want you to live a long, happy life. You get that, right? Why I'm doing this?"

He feels his stomach flip, can barely comprehend the words through his dazed mind. His glazed eyes follow you, thunderstruck. "What—what d'you mean?"

"I care about you," you murmur. "I want you to live as long as possible. Want you to stick around with me."

With you? It's a wonder his heart doesn't explode. For a fleeting moment, there exists a future beyond the Gun Fiend, beyond Denji and Power and Nyako, one where he can love you freely. Tears needle at his eyes. It all seems so impossible.

Aki forgets himself, surges up to capture your mouth, but you turn at the last second, planting a kiss to his cheek before focusing on his jaw, his ear, capturing the lobe between your teeth and sucking gently as your hips resume their rhythm. You're faster now, gasping for breath, Aki's hands sliding over the skin of your hips and torso for a lifeline. You tongue at the cords in his neck, the shell of his ear and the sensitive divot just underneath till he's squirming.

Your hands are everywhere—scraping nails across his twitching abdomen, running up the valley between his pecs, tweaking a nipple and pulling. And Aki groans and gasps, every hint of pain from your lovely hands sending him rocketing closer towards the edge. Tears bead at his lashline.

"'M close," he gasps again.

"That's okay, loverboy," you say sweetly, words buzzing against the skin of his throat, and Aki shudders, arching impossibly closer to you. He can feel every nerve in his body sawed open and set alight, impossibly sensitive, boiling with love, and as he comes he buries his face into the crook of your neck with a hoarse cry. Two lone tears streak down his flushed cheeks.

You're not far behind, and Aki wouldn't dream of pulling out, so he squirms and gasps and whines with the prickling of overstimulation as you chase your own high. "Sorry—fuck—you okay?"

"I'm, I'm good," Aki whines. He cracks one steely blue eye open. It stands out against his red skin; he's so flushed as to look sunburnt.

"'M almost, fuck, almost there. Hang on for me?"

Aki raises shaking hands to grip your hips in answer. You laugh between pants, baring down at him.

"That's my boy."

You don't kiss him when you finish, but it's alright. You flop down beside him, taking in deep lungfuls of air, nuzzling your lips to the salt-sweat cooling on his chest. Usually, round about now, Aki would roll to reach his bedside cabinet where his open pack of cigs lay in wait. The lighter is right beside him, open and tempting. He can almost hear the flick of it, the zip of the flame bursting to life, the sizzle of the cherry scorching beneath that controlled flame. The grit of smoke in his mouth and down his throat, emptying his lungs of fresh air.

The pack goes untouched. Aki winds an arm around your shoulders and holds you close, your cheek against his thudding heart.

You don’t kiss him, but it’s alright.

Aki’s not a problem dog.

He's going to earn it.

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[girlwitheconverse]

AMNESIA

╰┈➤ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Genre: romance, fluff, a little angst Story type: two part story, short story

Part 1 | Part 2

Word count: 2k

TW(s) for this part: mentions of torture, super brief mentions of r@pe, a lot of angst

Simon fan art credit: @shkretart

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Taglist: @m3ntally-unstable

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One year, thirteen days and eleven hours.

That’s the time passed since you’ve been declared missing in action, the time that Simon had spent without you, the time that made life feel like hell all over again for him. You had been his light in the dark, making his life seem meaningful again. He still remembers when you two met for the first time, when you saved his life on the battlefield, he remembers your first date – you asked him out first – it was a simple date at a pub, he remembers when you were drunk and pulled up his mask to kiss him.

He remembers when, as a gift for your one year anniversary, he showed you his face and you cried while telling him how handsome he was. Two weeks after that you went out on a mission, as usual, but you didn’t come back when the mission was supposed to end, or one day later, or one week later.

They hadn’t found your body so you got declared M.I.A., missing in action, instead of K.I.A., killed in action.

That happened one year, thirteen days and twelve hours ago.

Simon didn’t know what to believe, if you were alive, where were you? Why didn’t you come back? If you were dead, well…Simon didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

Today was supposed to be your second year anniversary, but you aren’t there to celebrate with him, and even though he knew that you wouldn’t magically appear in your room at the base he still placed the gift he got you on your bed: a silver ring.

He had never been too much invested in marriage, not really seeing the point in it…But with you? He definitely wanted to marry you, but didn’t want to go too fast so he decided to wait at least four years of relationship before asking you to let him be your husband.

That was a stupid idea.

You both were soldiers, risking your life everyday, waiting wasn’t something neither of you could afford. But, as they said, you understand the beauty of things only when you don’t have them anymore, right?

It took him one year, thirteen days and thirteen hours to understand that he should’ve married you sooner.

“Lieutenant Riley, the squad is ready.” A soldier says as he walks next to Simon to the exit of the base, they were going on a new mission, but they weren’t searching for you. They stopped after five months and two days – the Task Force stopped, not Simon, who was always using the mission as excuses to search for new intels about you from the enemies.

Simon doesn’t answer the soldier, acting cold like he wasn’t crying in your room a few minutes ago, he simply nods.

Simon is just Ghost now, on the battlefield, shooting the enemies at sight, not even caring if they had any family that was waiting for them, he didn’t pity them because no one pitied you. He finally reaches the interior of the building and finds the boss of the cartel watching him unfazed as he smokes.

“Are you here for me? Or for the bitch in my possession?” he asks as he lets the smoke get out of his mouth.

“Human trafficking too? This isn’t getting better for you.” Ghost snickers as he points his gun at the man.

“Human trafficking? Oh no, my boy – the man laughs – that woman is a rare jewel, I could never share her if not with some of my most trusted men, of course.” Hearing his words makes Ghost sick in the stomach, he feels that something is off and for the first time in his life he hopes that his instincts are wrong. “You, with the skull mask over there, is your name Ghost by any chance?”

Ghost’s eyes widen a little but he quickly regains his composure, “How did you know?”

“‘Cause that was the only name that bitch could say when I got her a year ago, her name is something like…Y/n? Do you know her or is she just a groupie of yours?” The man laughs and Simon’s heart skips a beat.

Y/n is alive?

His Y/n is alive?

“Where is she?!” Simon snaps and holds the gun against the boss’ neck, “Where is Y/n.”

“Oh, so she is someone important…Let me go out of this place untouched and I’ll tell you how to find her.”

“Deal.” Simon says as he lowers his gun.

“Three floors under this, two of my men stand in front of the door of her room, tell them I sent you and they’ll let you in.” The man explains with a smirk as he walks to the door of the room.

“Thank you for the information,” Ghost says before shooting at the man right in the back of his head, “asshole.”

The next thing he knows is that he’s running down the stairs of the building until he reaches the floor where two men stand in front of a metallic door, “Your boss sent me.” He says, the men look at eachother confused before Ghost shots at both of them in the head. He takes a deep breath and kicks the door open, the room is empty and dirty, the only thing he sees is a small figure curled up against a corner as she rocks back and forth, hugging her knees and with her head between them.

“Y/n?” He asks softly as he kneels next to her, the girl looks up at him and he immediately recognizes you. You’ve lost weight, your cheeks are more hollow, your body more fragile, and your eyes more dull but it’s definitely you.

He knows it.

“Don’t hurt me please…” You whisper as you crawl more against the corner, as if you just want to disappear.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I would never hurt you…” Simon whispers back as he holds out his hands to touch you but you flinch and move your arm away.

“I don’t trust you.” You say as you look at him from behind your arm, using it as some sort of shield.

“Sweetheart, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Simon, Ghost, your Simon…” He whispers trying to not show how much your words hurt him, he more than anyone understands how torture can change someone and he won’t judge you.

“Who are you? Do you work with him too? Are you new?” You ask as you look at him with wide eyes, scared.

“Darling it’s me…Your boyfriend…” He says as he looks at you frantically, have they brainwashed you? Have you…lost your memory?

“I have a boyfriend?” You ask as you slowly let your guard down, why do you already trust this stranger so much?

One year, thirteen days and twenty one hours is the time that took him to find you.

And you have no idea who he is.

“This place is…nice.” You say as you walk around what this man, Simon, says is your room at this military base. You trust him, I mean, he showed you the records of your past missions, he showed some photos of you two together – with dates that go back to two years and more ago – so why shouldn’t you?

And he’s so sweet and gentle with you, he treats you like you’re made of glass.

“The doctor said that your amnesia shouldn’t be permanent…” Simon sighs as he sits on your bed and with a quick motion takes the ring that he had left on your bed before the mission back and hides it in his pocket, without you noticing anything.

“I hope so…” You say as you look at the framed photo on your nightstand: you and Simon hugging in your gear, probably after a mission, “I would love to remember our relationship, it seems so…happy, healthy and full of love…” You smile and take the frame in your hands, then you look at Simon, “You said I’ve been missing for over a year, and you still searched for me?”

Simon chuckles, almost offended at your question, “of course darling, and if I hadn’t found you today I would’ve continued searching for you…Until my death.”

“I was one hell of a lucky woman…I mean…I am one hell of a lucky woman?” You say confused as you place the frame where you found it.

“You don’t remember our relationship so I guess considering us a couple must be…strange, for you…” you hear him whisper under his breath, “so you don’t have to see me as a boyfriend you don’t remember, see me as a…best friend, or just a friend…or a coworker…” he starts to panic, then he takes a deep breath and looks back at your eyes, “just…see me as what makes you comfortable the most…”

You can’t help but smile, he seems like a sweet man, you were lucky to have him as your boyfriend — friend, for now.

“Perhaps there’s something that can help me remember everything? Remember…us?” You ask as you look at him with a hopeful look, he seems so sweet and caring that he just makes you want to remember your relationship. “I don’t know…something we used to do together?”

He thinks for a few seconds, “We did almost everything together…” he chuckles, “But every Saturday evening we would meet up in my room and listen to the radio as we cuddled in the bed. That was definitely a weekly routine.”

Simon looks up at you with eyes full of love because, you may not remember him, but he remembers you perfectly; he remembers your first kiss, he remembers your first date, he remembers the first time you two had together, he remembers every curve of your body.

Just then an idea crosses his mind, now he knows what to do if you don’t get your memories back: you fell in love with him once, he could make you fall in love with him all over again.

“The idea of cuddling may look uncomfortable for you, since you don’t remember anything…so, what do you think about a date? We could ask for a few days of leave and try to give you your memories back…What d’ya think?” He asks with an hopeful smile as he looks at you. “Maybe a picnic or something like that…”

“I’m in.” You say with a smile without thinking twice about it.

And just like that you find yourselves back in London, everyday Simon takes you out for a date, each one always different from the one before. You slowly start gaining back your memory, but they are just pointless memories of the names of your hamsters, or an order Price gave you a long time ago.

But no memories of Simon, zero, absolutely nothing.

But that doesn’t stop him, not even in the slightest, he continues taking you out on dates, talking to you about all the things you did and used to do together; he tells you what happened on the day of your first anniversary and shows you his face again, in the intimacy of your apartment.

You two had planned, one year ago, to move in together in that apartment together once you’d be back from the mission, the same mission where you went M.I.A.

That’s the only thing he doesn’t tell you, because he didn’t know how you could react to that information.

You don’t remember your love for him, but it wasn’t hard for you to fall in love with him all over again in no time, with all the dates he took you in this week.

“Simon, I have to tell you something…” You say while you two are sitting on the couch of your apartment, watching a movie. Simon turns his head towards you with a soft smile, “I don’t know if the memories will ever come back completely, or come back at all…”

“It’s okay, we’ll work on that.” Simon says with a smile as he gently caresses your cheek.

“What I mean is…I don’t remember how our relationship was…I don’t remember loving you, but…Now, I do, love you…” You say as you lean your face in his touch, smiling softly. Simon’s eyes shoot wide as he looks at you.

“Are you sure? I- I don’t want you to feel pressured or…or forced to have feelings for me…” He says nervously as he examines your expression with his eyes, trying to understand if you really mean it or are just saying that to comfort him.

“Hundred percent sure, Si…I love you.” You smile, Simon’s eyes fill with tears as he softly kisses your lips.

He had missed the feeling of your lips on his so much…

“I love you too, I love you so much that you can’t even imagine.” He says as he giggles through the tears and kisses you again. “I don’t care if you get your memories back or not, we’ll build other memories together.”

“Together.”

I love making people cry <3

Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twenty-one | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | canon typical violence, coriolanus snow, a lot of innocent people get murdered but there's no solid description! someone gets hanged as well | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus snow sees district thirteen getting what it deserves and finds himself with a goal

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 i should be studying... But here ya go! Make sure to give me feedback, we're nearing the end soon!

Beta read by the sweetheart @nowitsmissing

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It was extremely early in the morning when every single Peacekeeper was called into the Peacekeeper base. There was a TV, it was surprisingly a big screen. Definitely from the Capitol. You were standing beside Commander Hoff and behind you were several Capitol officials.

“Today, we make history. Today we'll end the rebellion from its root,” Commander Hoffs’ voice echoes onto the hall.

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows, unsure of what exactly is happening. The confusion is jarring. You looked stoic, your face devoid of any emotions. You never looked so beautiful to him. You looked like power. Fuck.

Coriolanus diverts his eyes before his thoughts turn inappropriate. He looks at the screen and watches it come alive. A familiar face shows up. Lucky Flickerman. The first-ever host of the 10th annual Hunger Games.

Coriolanus furrows his eyebrows before he begins to connect the dots. This has something to do with district thirteen. Ending rebellion from its root? How is that possible? Unless…

District thirteen still exists and the Capitol has fed him lies about it from the beginning. Coriolanus wanted to feel bitter but instead, he felt relief because it meant you were doing something about it. You wouldn't let it go. And this was a gift for him, he realized. District thirteen was what ruined his family and now you're eradicating its existence from the face of Panem.

You were extraordinary.

“Today, district thirteen will cease to exist,” you announced to everyone standing.

And then, Flickerman begins to talk,

“Citizens of Panem, today the Capitol will make history yet again. From the dark age, we have learned not to repeat our mistakes. There won't be a war in Panem ever again, and this is a step towards that,”

He continues,

“Months ago, there was reported activity near the area of district thirteen since then the government has worked tirelessly to find out the truth. It has been revealed that district thirteen exists,” Coriolanus hears multiple gasps, and even Flickerman stops talking for a moment to let the shock settle in.

The man then goes on,

“But those lives there are not blameless. They live with the blood of beloved Capitol citizens on their hands. They have rebellion in their hearts and hence keep themselves a secret. But no more! Because of a special mission approved by the President and esteemed officials' dedication to keeping the Capitol safe,”

“We'll be seeing from our own eyes how the Capitol keeps us safe. We'll see from our own eyes why the Hunger Games is needed. Thank you.”

Coriolanus looks away from the screen and turns his eyes towards you. You were already looking at him and when his eyes caught yours, you smirked.

This was the secret.

This was the mission.

He could only hope that everything goes your way. The screen comes alive in a different scene. People in military gear with weapons of all kinds. Coriolanus' eyes widened, the Capitol would be broadcasting the slaughter of the district in front of their very eyes.

Not much different from the Hunger Games.

Coriolanus wonders why they do that- why broadcast it when you can keep it hidden? This shows Capitol can sometimes overlook some mistakes too. They found out about District thirteen accidentally after all. This is a shame for all of Panem for letting them exist for so long.

But he also thinks that it will reinforce the idea of the Hunger Games. It will make everybody think that violence, the punishment are necessary, or else another district thirteen will pop up again. And history might repeat itself.

Snow looks at the screen and hears the gunshot and the screams. They were murdering indiscriminately but the camera made sure only the armed forces of district thirteen came into view. Most of the soldiers there had extremely pale skin and red eyes. The way they were holding the gun, they were shaking.

All these would be missed by the blind eyes such as of the Capitol citizens but he knew every Peacekeeper and district citizens could notice it. They were sick, extremely so. It was a massacre happening disguised as something else entirely.

There was no fight at all despite what the Capitol wanted to make it seem like. District Thirteen was weak and soon a lot of people were captured, and those people would be tried for treason. Those people would die as well. There was no doubt about that.

He wondered briefly about what would happen to the kids they captured as well. He slightly shook his head, he let those thoughts get out of his head. Not his problem.

“District thirteen is ours now,” you were looking at him as you said that.

Ours.

Coriolanus liked it.

Coryo gives you a split-second smile. The rest of the people present watching the screen go blank. This moment was shared just between the two of you. The mission was a success.

A few seconds later, Commander Hoff speaks,

“To accommodate this victory, several rebels that were caught in District Twelve will be executed at noon . Everyone has to be present. Dismissed.”

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

At noon along with Sejanus, he was standing with his back facing the Hanging Tree. He looks through the faces of the people and tries to find you but fails. Maybe you were busy.

Coriolanus has another thought creep into his mind, but he doesn't let it settle. He was sure he would find you in your room when he got back.

He was stationed beside Sejanus. Every citizen present looked down, their shoulders hunched. Every instinct to fight leaves their body after seeing the latest horrors of the Capitol. It is how it should be.

Snow sees the rebels being dragged to their death. Commander Hoff speaks, loud and clear, “Watch all of you, this is what happens when you challenge the Capitols’ rule of law.”

“He's innocent!” A woman screams out, creating havoc in the crowd. “He's innocent!”

The rebel yells at her to run, and other people in the crowd try to make her stop speaking. The rebel was killed within a split second, his body now hanging. His screams are echoed by the mockingjays. It sends down a chill on his spine. His hatred for the bird increases.

Hoff commands the woman to be captured. Sejanus steps forward as if to stop them. Coriolanus holds him back, glad nobody noticed the moment of misconduct. “Don't,” he said, firmly. Sejanus has no choice but to listen.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Later, he is called into Commander Hoff's office. He was slightly annoyed because he still hadn't seen you since morning. But to his surprise, you were in Hoffs' office along with someone else.

“You have visitors, Mr. Snow,” is what Hoff said before walking away.

“What's this about?” He questions immediately. He looks at you for reassurance. Which you give him immediately.

“I promise it's nothing bad, Coryo.”

The man in the black suit begins to speak,

“I am Richard Heavensbee. I am here as the representative of the government.”

Then the talk happens. Both you and Coriolanus stay silent as the man, Richard, begins to explain why Coriolanus is here right now. Apparently in district thirteen several nuclear weapons belonging to the Snow family were found. The weapons for which the Snow had lost their fortune.

The weapons will be under the government's control as no one in his family is qualified to have the sort of military power. Coriolanus was at the bottom, after all, he should be happy for not having the responsibility. But he wasn't.

He sucks it up because Richard informs them that Coriolanus will receive sufficient compensation for ‘selling’ the weapon back to the government. It was nothing more than a formality. A formality that probably wouldn't have been done if it wasn't for you.

It wasn't enough money to pay for all of his university semesters but it would certainly pay for some. Even with the bills Snow's family already had. Tigris and grandma’am could have some small luxury with this amount. Thinking of that, Coriolanus signs the paper without a fuss.

“Can't I go back to the Capitol?” Coriolanus can't help but ask.

His question is answered with a simple shake of his head. “Your punishment isn't forgiven, I am afraid. There's nothing we can currently do about it without the appropriate permissions.” After that, the man walks out of the room leaving you and Snow behind.

“What he means is that you need to impress Dr. Gaul. And you have to do it real quick, Coryo,” you look into his eyes, your expression more serious than he ever saw, “Because I will be leaving in a few days and I don't know when I can come back.”

With that, even you walked out of the room before Coriolanus could confront you. Coriolanus looks at the empty office of Commander Hoff. He could see himself here in ten years or so if he remains a mere peacekeeper.

That's a future that he can't allow to come true.

NEXT PART

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗬 𝗥𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗡

　　　　　　𝒋𝒂𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆 x mikaelson!reader

SUMMARY: When Edward decides to leave Bella behind for her own safety, Y/N take the lead to take the Cullens to the town where she grew up, with her only concern being how to explain for them her real there.

WARNING: None.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Edward, if you really want to disappear... I know a place we can go." Y/N said, looking directly into the mind reader's eyes, hoping to see some kind of emotion there.

Y/N could imagine the mess that was in Edward's head, the fact that he had, or rather, wanted to leave Bella behind for the girl's own safety was killing him from the inside, and despite feeling angry at the quick choice he made, she couldn't judge him. Y/N could never see herself away from Jasper, just imagining the possibility made her frozen heart hurt.

"Where?" Rosalie chimed in, looking at Y/N waiting for her response.

"New Orleans." She responded a few seconds later, feeling everyone's eyes focus on her.

Everyone in the Cullen family had a story that began at their birth and, often, ended with their last breath before becoming creatures of the night, stories of when their surname was something else, not Cullen.

Each one took their own time to reveal this story to the others, but it was never difficult for Y/N, after all, her life was normal before anything else... Right?

The vampire was born in London, but at the age of thirteen she moved to New Orleans with her mother after her parents divorced for reasons that Y/N didn't know to this day. Her mother chose New Orleans based on the idea that her parents, Y/N's grandparents, lived there and her ancestors came from there too.

From the age of thirteen, Y/N discovered the culture of New Orleans and grew up surrounded by it: street parties, blues players on every corner, restaurants open 24 hours a day, bright night bars and so on. At least that's what Y/N told her new family.

The truth is that the girl came from a lineage of extremely strong and well-known witches in the supernatural world, the Mikaelsons. Anyone who is smart enough would have a question mark in their mind now, after all, the Mikaelsons who are still alive are all vampires and vampires don't procreate, right? Right!

But what if part of the story has never been told? Not in bedtime stories, at least.

Niklaus' father was not the only affair Esther had, the mother of the Mikaelson family had a thing for supernatural beings and, therefore, in addition to werewolves, Esther became involved with a great wizard at the time, from the Bishop lineage.

Wizards weren't as well known at the time, as everyone focused on the female image within witchcraft, sometimes with curious eyes and sometimes with evil ones, but that doesn't mean they didn't exist, and Esther not only found one, she had a daughter with him.

Five years before Esther decided to turn her children into bloodthirsty creatures, she gave birth to Agnes Bishop-Mikaelson. Knowing the gigantic problem it would create if she showed up at home with another daughter in her arms, after her 9-month "trip", and that the child was not Mikael's, Esther decided to leave Agnes with her father and pretend that she never existed, completely removing the name Mikaelson from the child.

And it worked, no one from the Bishop family ever looked for her throughout her life and eternity, but that doesn't mean that the story of having remnants of a Mikaelson in the family tree wasn't passed on.

And Y/N, from the age of thirteen, grew up surrounded by infinite grimoires of her lineage, listening to stories told by her grandparents and mother, finally being able to understand why she could make fire light out of nowhere or objects levitate.

But although the girl saw her magic as a salvation, it was her downfall as well.

After the death of her grandparents, her mother became lost in grief and loneliness, going to the other side of the veil a few months later, leaving Y/N alone in a world of supernatural beings who would do anything to kill her if they knew about her great-great grandmother.

It didn't take much for the story of Esther's secret daughter to be revealed, and consequently, the existence of Y/N. Beings from all over the United States began to appear to the girl, wanting her life in exchange for revenge, and then her ancestors began to haunt her dreams trying to help her, but Y/N didn't understand that, and the situation only left everything worse for her.

Until one day, a charming man wearing a suit that was too expensive to wear on any given day appeared at the door of her house, offering protection and help in exchange for explanations.

Elijah was extremely helpful after understanding what his mother did to the Bishop lineage, being grateful that Y/N had no reservations in showing him all the grimoires and diaries of her ancestors, revealing the complete truth.

And with that Y/N was welcomed by the Mikaelson family, being able to train her magic with Esther's grimoires too, despite not having any physical help, since Kol, one of the Mikaelson brothers, was sleeping in some kind of coffin and Freya was dead, or something like that.

But it was one night when Y/N was walking alone through the streets of New Orleans, eager to return to the home of who she considered family, when everything was stolen from her.

An old and strong enemy of Esther appeared accompanied by reinforcements and not even with all of Y/N's still little knowledge would she have been able to stop them, the girl had only recently started studying strong magic and blamed herself for it, despite it not being her fault.

The girl was kidnapped and taken to a warehouse far from the entrance to New Orleans, surrounded by orchards, where she was tortured for hours, or was it days?

With the little strength she had left, Y/N was able to escape a few meters away from the warehouse, and it was there that she was found by Esme, who at the time was looking for fragrant apples to decorate the counter of her temporary home with her family.

Y/N could never be able to thank Esme enough for saving her life that day, if it weren't for the eldest, she would not have survived, already extremely weak and with fractures that caused irreversible damage to her organs, which would only lead to a slow death. Therefore, when Esme arrived at his house suddenly with the young woman in his arms, Carlisle spared no time before transforming her.

And then Y/N Cullen's new life began. She knew that hiding the whole truth wasn't right, but the last thing she wanted was to put the Cullen family in danger, already putting them at risk enough just by being with them.

"Are you sure you're ready to go back there, my love?" Jasper's question interrupted Y/N's triggered memories, and the girl was momentarily grateful that, with her magic, she could block Edward's reading.

"Yes, it's time to face those fears. Pack your bags, we'll leave at nightfall." Y/N informed decisively, turning around and going to her shared room with Jasper, finally being able to take a deep breath and organize her mind.

She needed to tell them before they put a foot in New Orleans, the girl knew that Niklaus would know of her arrival within seconds and she definitely didn't want to cause any more drama.

Y/N took out her phone and opened the contacts, her finger hovering over Elijah's contact, sighing and closing her eyes tightly before locking the screen, her last meeting with the Mikaelsons wasn't one of the best; Niklaus demanded that Y/N return home, despite her type of vampire being different, while Rebekah blamed herself for not having protected her enough before that night and Elijah tried to calm the whole situation, also begging her with his eyes to return to them, they missed her company, but she knew she couldn't, not at the time.

The girl shook her head, trying to shake off the thoughts, and picked up her and Jasper's bags, starting to organize the piles of clothes that she would take for both of them.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"There, everyone's ready?" Emmett asked after loading all the bags into the four cars and closing the trunk of the last one. Everyone responded with a simple wave and got into their respective cars, Y/N heading to the car she would use with Jasper, getting into the passenger seat and waiting for the long journey to begin.

"Baby, what's going on? Ever since you decided to take us to New Orleans you've been quiet. You know if you don't want to go there, we can aways choose another place-" Jasper began, his right hand on Y/N's thigh as his eyes remained on the road in front of him, casting quick glances at his girlfriend.

"No Jas, I'm fine, just thinking... I wasn't completely truthful with you guys about my life before I turned." She said, looking closely at Jasper, waiting to see his reaction, but only received a nod as if to say "you can continue, I'm all ears". "I think it would be better for everyone to listen." Y/N muttered, pulling out her phone and quickly starting a group call with one person from each car.

"Y/N? Unless Jasper lost his hand, I don't see why you're calling us. Your car looks great." Rosalie was the first to answer, being in the car behind Jasper and Y/N.

Y/N let out a laugh while Jasper rolled his eyes, Rosalie could be sarcastic when she wanted.

"Hello to you too, Rose. I'm just calling you all because I think I should tell you everything before we get to New Orleans. I wasn't completely truthful in the life story I told you before." Y/N began, beginning her long and tragic life story, smiling small when she had everyone's attention.

"This is all... Wow." Alice muttered from Edward's car. "How come I didn't see any of this?"

"Like I said, I'm a witch, and even with the transformation, for some reason, my magic wasn't interrupted or broken, in fact it became stronger and I have more control over it, that's why you only see me in some of your visions and Edward only hears some of my thoughts, I decide what you can see and hear." Y/N explained, seeing a sideways smile spread across Jasper's face, he knew she didn't mention him because she didn't hide her emotions from him, she never did.

"I think it's a lot of information to digest in a short amount of time, but we understand why you kept it from us for so long and I'm grateful that you wanted to protect us all." Carlisle took the lead, followed by "uhum's" from everyone, Y/N sighed in relief.

"When we get there, are we going to stay at this Mikaelsons' house or...?" Alice asked, looking out the window at the constantly changing landscape.

"We're going to the house I grew up in, I never sold or rented it. It must be dusty, but I promise it's big enough for all of us."

"Just the fact that I won't need to sleep with Edweirdo makes it good enough for me." Emmett joked, everyone laughing simultaneously, which calmed the tension.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It didn't take long for the traditional "Welcome to New Orleans" sign to appear up ahead.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, she couldn't imagine the Mikaelsons' reaction to seeing her again, so many years later. And she couldn't lie and say that she wasn't afraid of the Cullens' reaction to seeing what a mess her "other life" was.

The girl quickly took out her phone and opened the message group she shared with the Cullens.

"We arrived in the city that never sleeps, this is my home address, but you can just follow Jasper and I and we'll be there soon."

After sending the text, Y/N started giving Jasper directions to the entrances, trying not to look at the places they passed, as she knew she would get stuck in a memory loop. Finally, after many entrances, the girl saw the house where she spent her adolescence and early youth, smiling small as she felt her eyes fill with tears.

"It's that one over there." She said, pointing to the two-story house with a light pink fence in the front and pastel yellow curtains, just like her grandmother liked.

It wasn't long before the family found themselves unloading the suitcases from the cars and taking them to the living room, Emmett cracking jokes while Esme scolded him and Alice talked about all the clothing and shoe stores she saw on the way there.

A sound of approaching footsteps caught the family's attention, and they looked up to see a blond, green-eyed man approaching with an expression of anger and surprise.

"So it's true?" He spoke up, making Y/N freeze in the middle of the room, her hand dropping the backpack she was holding. "Y/N Bishop-Mikaelson everyone!" The man continued loudly with an ironic tone and sarcastic smile, opening his arms.

"Nik." Y/N whispered, closing her eyes tightly.

"Did you finally remember that you have a family, Y/N? Or did you come to ask for help with some nonsense you got into?" Niklaus asked rhetorically, staring at the entrance where he could see the girl's silhouette.

"Niklaus, please." Y/N spoke, turning and leaving the house, stopping a few meters away from the older man.

The hybrid stopped for a few seconds, analyzing the girl he saw as a daughter before she disappeared from his life, and the only girl Niklaus would set the world on fire if necessary, besides his brothers.

"Why did you come back?" He asked, crossing his arms, as if he was in charge of the city, which in a way is not a lie.

"We were in trouble in Forks and needed some time away." She responded with a sigh, quickly glancing at the Cullens behind her, who were paying attention to the moment without trying to interfere.

"Problems?" Nik paused for a second, a thread of worry passing through his eyes, which was quickly drowned out. "And do you find refuge here?" His nervous tone returned.

"Yes Niklaus, if you don't remember, I grew up here and my entire lineage is from here, I have the right to return to my home." Y/N argued, taking a rigid stance, pointing to her own chest.

"Oh, now New Orleans is your home? Funny how-"

"That's enough Niklaus." A second male voice came before the vision of a dark-skinned man wearing an expensive suit emerged.

"Great, a family reunion! Just what I needed right now." Y/N spoke with false excitement, rolling her eyes.

"Good to see you too Y/N." Elijah spoke, stopping next to Klaus and looking at everyone behind the Mikaelson girl, noticing their uncomfortable expressions at the sudden encounters and barbs exchanged between Nik and Y/N. "Why don't we have dinner at our house with everyone and... talk? We miss you Y/N and it would be great to meet the ones you consider family. If they're important to you, they're important to us too." He finished, sending a quick smile to the Cullens and receiving ones in return.

It would be long months.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Those Summer Nights, When I Look in Your Eyes

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France) Warnings: Sexual Situations; Vague Smut

Summary: Daryl's childhood had lacked so much and at the beginning of the turn, he had never known love beyond Merle's version of it. Now, he had it all and he would never let them wonder how much he cherished them.

A/N: For @louifaith, I hope this is close to what you imagined for our archer. 🩵 - Also, I have Daryl calling reader "pip" because someone suggested him nicknaming her "pipsqueak" in another story and it has just stuck with me. I was as vague as possible about reader’s age but let me be clear - she is above 18. I don’t write for huge age gaps. I don’t judge those that do and I do read them. I just do not write them but I have no control over where your mind takes you. Anyway, the song he hums is attached. ;)

Life was good. 

For thirteen years, there had never been a point in time where Daryl had felt like he could say that and genuinely believe it. For an entire year, the Commonwealth had thrived. Not a single threat. The walls held. The governing unit was fair and compassionate. It really was like the old world. 

But not for Daryl. 

In the old world, he had been a drifter. A useless drifter walking in the shadow of his brother. No job, no friends, no purpose. And he had, at that time, liked it that way. 

Not anymore. 

Because now he had a job. He had friends. He had a family. He had a purpose. And he had everything he had lacked growing up. He had love, and not just Merle’s variation of it.

Carol had taken over Lance’s position when Ezekiel and Mercer had stepped up to govern. She had pulled Daryl aside and asked him if he wanted to stay in their reformed force, giving him the choice. His decision was to promptly decline. So they put their heads together to come up with something. 

Daryl possessed many skills, most of them learned by doing throughout the years. He had one condition that he would not negotiate on, however. 

Daryl’s time outside the walls was over. 

He agreed to train hunters to take his place and conceded to three weeks on the road with volunteers that he left up to Carol’s choosing. There was more than enough trust between them for him to be comfortable with who she would deem worthy to provide for the community. 

Then he was given the job of overseeing construction and structural upkeep, equipment maintenance, and of course, a seat in the governmental advisory council. He was nothing if not adaptable and took to his position quickly, finding that he liked it. He was respected and his suggestions for the good of the community were heard and considered. 

If he chose to hunt or ride, it would be for leisure but he’d hardly needed it in the past year. Domestic life had tamed the inner need to hide or escape that had been ingrained throughout the years even before the turn. 

Years ago, you had tumbled into his life. A hot mess that he had spent many a day battling the urge to absolutely throttle. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide that made his own nothing more than a small trail. He absolutely couldn’t stand you. 

Funny thing, time. 

Now you wore his ring and proudly carried his last name. You had wanted the ceremony, even if his proposal was lackluster. He had been seeking you out after the end of the Whisperers. 

“Where’s Y/N?” At first no one answered. He barely parted his lips, intent on asking again with a little more well placed ardor when a woman he recognized as a former Hilltop resident spoke up.  “I saw your wife! She’s over with the children!” He muttered his thanks and took a single step before you were finding him.  “Daryl!” Your body collided with his, knocking the air from his lungs. His heartbeat lowered regardless, feeling you there in his arms, alive and breathing and whole. “I couldn’t see you in the herd. I was about to come find you but Jude, she made me promise to stay.” “M’here. An’ they’re gone” He tightened his arms around you and rested his cheek on the crown of your head.  “So I’m your wife now, huh?” He felt the shift of your facial muscles against his chest, knew you were smiling.  “What of it?” He grunted. “Ya wanna be?” He felt his heart skip a few beats when you lifted your head to smile at him, beaming and beautiful.  “Of course, I do. Might as well be at this point. We sound like an old married couple.” Daryl snorted and then shrugged. “Then I guess we are.” “That simple?” “That simple.” When you grinned, he knew you would never let it be that simple. 

You got your wedding, simple and intimate, with only the few remaining people that were closest to the two of you. When Gabriel said the words, you got your ring, too. Oh, the hell and herds Daryl had gone through to get them. Matching bands, camelot black titanium. Crafted to withstand the way the world was. 

He was twisting the ring round and round as he walked home, tired from a full day’s work and more than ready for the weekend with his family: you, Jude, RJ, and his little River. His boy was nearly two years old, the spitting image of Daryl with a heaping dose of your attitude. 

You were younger than Daryl, still at an age where pregnancy and giving birth was not considered risky beyond the state the world was in and the lack of some resources. It was horrifying yet the best news he’d ever heard in his self-proclaimed useless life.

River Merle came along right in the midst of the unease in the Commonwealth. When they had taken you and River along with Jude and RJ, it had required all the power Carol possessed to stop Daryl from losing his goddamn mind. He was prepared to rip out entrails with his bare hands and use them to strangle each and every trooper that stood between him and his wife and kids. It was not a good time to support Pamela. 

It all worked out in the end when, bruised but alive, the people took back the Commonwealth.

And now, here he was. A husband. A father. A boss. A survivor. 

Life. Was. Good.

“Ya home, Pip?” The words habitually rolled off his tongue the moment he opened the door and stepped inside. Jude and RJ were watching a movie, the elder looking over with a hey, Uncle Daryl before turning right back to the television. It was the weekend. No reason to bug them about homework. 

“Where else would we be?” You called from the kitchen. Daryl unlaced his boots, was in the middle of pulling off the second one when you came out with River on your hip. “Someone’s cranky today.” 

“I ain’t cranky.”

“I’m not talking about you but assuming I was says a lot.” You smiled softly, passing off the baby while simultaneously stealing a kiss. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” He nearly melted, probably would have if you weren’t situating a small human right against his chest.

“Get a room.” Judith was rolling her eyes when Daryl shot her a harmless look. 

River’s little arms went straight around his father’s neck, his little hiccups and sniffles muffled against Dary’s shirt. “S’wrong, lil’ man. Mama houndin’ ya over veggies like she does me an’ RJ?” River pulled back, rubbing his left eye with a chubby fist, looking at Daryl with a scowl that he knew very well adorned his own face more often than not. Even being so content with his life, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of what you called his resting bitch face.

“Daddy.” Was all the boy said before burying his face back into Daryl’s shirt.

“He had a nap?” Daryl was jostling his son as little as possible while ridding himself of his precious vest, tossing it over the back of ‘his’ chair at the dining table. His large hand covered a wide expanse of the small boy’s back when he rubbed soothing little circles, following you into the kitchen. You shook your head and took the lid off the pot on the stove. The scent of meat and herbs wafted toward Daryl and his mouth watered, but first thing was first.

“He wouldn’t go down. I think it’s a daddy day.” You smiled at the sauce but it wasn’t meant for the pasta topping at all. Daddy days were Daryl’s favorite. River wanted absolutely no one but him. The baby would fuss during meals, refuse to nap, and absolutely forget about bath and bedtime unless Daryl was there.

“I got ‘im then. See if I can get ‘im down for a bit.” Daryl was ducking and angling his head to catch River’s attention, finally earning a shy smile when blue met blue and the archer scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue. Pressing a kiss into the mess of wavy hair, he noticed you standing with your back against the countertop, a certain type of smile on your face.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just sexy.”

“Pfft, stop.”

“We are so playing chess tonight.”

Daryl arched a brow. “Yeah?” 

You nodded, your smile morphing into something else entirely; something sinful. “Oh, yeah.”

Dinner done, older kids in their rooms after teeth brushing and goodnight hugs, Daryl sat in the nursery with a sleepy River resting his head on his father’s shoulder while the chair gently rocked. The baby’s hair was only the least bit damp but he smelled of the lavender lotion that you always seemed to have near the changing table, instructing Daryl to use it after baths and before bed because it was calming.

Bathed and in a fresh diaper and pajamas, mini-Daryl was beginning to drift off while his father simply rubbed his back or kissed his cheek or even held a little hand just to count the fingers over and over. Soon enough there would be potty training and pre-school—Carol had said that was still a thing in the world now and yes, they had one in the Commonwealth—so for now, Daryl just wanted to soak it all up, take it all in.

River would likely be the only baby the two of you would have, so not a single second was being wasted or taken for granted. You kept a daily journal of simple things that some might find trivial but Daryl knew he’d be reading that journal often enough to wear the ink right off the pages. Sometimes, he missed things because of work, but in the end, that’s what happened when you were a parent, he supposed. His old man didn’t care about milestones or daddy days, and his mama wasn’t around for bath time or boo-boo kisses. River would have it all. And as long as they were his to care for, so would Judith and RJ. In fact, since the baby had Daryl, you were currently reading a story to Rick and Michonne’s son before bed.

Man, if Rick could see Daryl now. Would his brother even recognize him? God, would his brother even recognize him? He let his mind drift for a moment to Rick and Merle, just long enough to keep them close and then he was back to River, pressing a kiss to a chubby cheek. 

You would always rock and sing to the little one but he didn’t need that from Daryl. There was just something about their bond that didn’t require words and hardly even movement. It had been that way since the moment you had pushed him into the world. He had cried, red-faced and angry and cold while Tomi leaned to put him onto your chest. You had your time with him, cuddling and nursing, his little sounds still expressing his discontentment with the change from your warm womb to a loud, bright world.

They had Daryl take off his shirt, which he didn’t understand until you explained better than any doctor or nurse could. The moment River was pressed against his skin, the connection was apparent to anyone who saw. The baby went silent, wide eyes mirroring the ones Daryl himself had. He had felt guilty for the longest time that River wanted you to feed him and then he wanted his daddy back immediately. He still had his mommy days and you said that was enough.

You were always supportive, never angry or jealous. You’d share the moments with him while he enjoyed them with you. 

It was all what he’d never had, so he’d make sure River, Judith, and RJ never went without it.

His eyes were slow to open, squinting at the traitorous window that dared let the morning rays creep across the bed and to his pillow. It took a few sluggish blinks to remember what day it was and that he was free to go back to sleep until River required either you or him. With a deep breath, he stretched his arms above his head and looked at you, still wrapped around him with your head on his chest. Naked. Still so very, very naked.

He was barely in the bedroom door before you were pushing him against it, almost catching his fingers when he attempted to mute the sound of it closing at his back. You had his shirt unbuttoned and your mouth on his before he could even take a breath. “I told you,” you panted against his lips, “we’re playing chess tonight.” Daryl grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you easily, spinning you to press you against the door. “Goddamn right, we are.” The first round was a frenzied bout of moaning and skin slapping skin, hands covering mouths to keep the noise down. Your nails had left gouges on Daryl’s ass and back, clawing at him for more. You weren’t unscathed. A bruise was blooming on the curve of your right breast, a perfect black and purple bite he had inflicted at some point. It ended with you lying across Daryl’s torso while he was flat on his back with the pillow halfway over his face. Panting and sweating while the sheet covered neither of you where it mattered. Why it was anywhere near either of you was anyone’s guess. The second time was slower, every second savored. Your fingertips memorizing his face while his hips rolled into you, back arching to push himself deeper. His lips were on your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks and mouth. His fingers danced down your ribcage and back up to your breasts, gentle caresses while he pressed his lips over the mark he’d left earlier. You didn’t have to try hard to roll him over. He went willingly, his hands going straight for your hips. You let your fingers roam his chest and stomach. His scars were yours to explore, he’d given that power over to you long ago. The marks no longer held him prisoner after you’d shown him how to be free. You were incredibly attracted to the way his body had softened with age and he worshiped each wrinkle and stretch mark that time and pregnancy had gifted you. You loved each other wholly, without condition. 

And you laid where you had collapsed, goosebumps on your skin from the cool morning air. Daryl didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he laid there, watching you and just enjoying the silence with the knowledge that his family was safe. That you had survived together and built something so precious.

When River began to fuss, it was Daryl that slipped out of bed and left you to rest a bit longer. He had no qualms with being the one to get up earlier to take care of the baby.

The weekend went by fast, as it often did. Sunday night, he found himself sitting on the couch after the kids were all asleep. He had helped clean up after dinner and was contently watching you pick up toys and fold laundry. He didn’t step in to help because he had no intention of allowing you to continue for long.

“What?” You finally inquired, obviously catching him staring.

“Nothin’.” He smirked, huffing a laugh that came out as an exhale through his nose. You were still regarding him when he stood and beckoned you with a finger. “C’mere.” Your pretty eyes narrowed but you placed the unfolded towel on the top of the pile in the basket and stepped into his space. Daryl wasn’t romantic, truly believed he didn’t have it in him to be anything near it. Still, when he guided your arms to his shoulders and lowered his hands to your hips, he watched you melt.

“There’s no music, Daryl.”

“Don’t need it.” He shrugged, just swaying back and forth with you, pulling you closer until you rested your head against his chest.

“The formidable Daryl Dixon is dancing with me when there’s no music playing. This’ll make the papers. It’ll be the headline.”

“Stop.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. He was smiling when you sighed, somehow pressing yourself closer to him. You didn’t react at first when he started to hum, whether you were in shock or just relishing the moment. Maybe both. You let him continue.

It was an old tune, one from a favorite album released more than a decade before the first walker rose from the dead. The tune was slow and deep, his chest vibrating with every drone. Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, the corners of your mouth perked.

“What is that?”

“How dare ya! S’Ozzy, woman.” He feigned offense but was tenderly tucking your hair behind your ears.

“I’ve never heard it.”

Daryl scowled playfully before scrunching his nose. “Remind me why I married ya?” You wrapped yourself around him and with the fondest smile he had ever let cross his face, he held you tighter.

“Because you love me.”

“Yeah.” He breathed. “Yeah, I do.”

[intrepidacious]

❤️ a good time!

tat!bucky’s favorite (or least favorite) thing about twelve

… why not both?

cause and effect

chapter summary: How Bucky fell in love with Twelve: Slowly, and then all at once.

pairing: bucky barnes x time witch!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: light angst and negative self talk (this is bucky y'all); some light pining 🤭please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i've literally had this one in my drafts for about two years and i hadn't actually planned on posting it for a while yet but i did promise distractions. and i missed him. i always do.

this is part of the time after time universe but can be read as a teaser and/or a standalone 💚

Bucky’s relationship with time has been fractured ever since a cold day in January that stole away the life he was headed towards and turned him into the monster underneath a child’s bed.

It’s hard to feel good about the concept of time travel once a lot of your own time has been taken away from you. Even now, there’s only so many things in his life he has control over; like the fact that he’s actively choosing to go back to therapy now, or that he’s able to keep a pet for the first time since he was thirteen years old. Stupid little things, like what kind of food he wants for lunch or whether he should take the stairs or the elevator.

Every single one of these things he’s fought for tooth and nail, clawing his way out of the past and carving out his own space in reality again, struggling, trying, hanging on like he wasn’t able to all those decades ago.

He’s probably still failing.

Some days, clinging to the present is tense and brings him nothing but grief. Sometimes, it feels like he’s going to have to mourn the past forever, whatever might have been; and maybe that’s his sentence.

He wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. He deserves worse.

And then there’s you.

Flickering in and out of time, constantly moving, changing in the time it takes him to blink.

It’s infuriating to him, the way you get to use your powers. The way you don’t need to think about consequences, because they don’t have to be permanent, don’t have to be something you need to live with for the rest of your life. To you, time has always been something that can be changed with a single snap of your fingers. Whatever you do can just as easily be undone.

Once you decide you’ve seen enough, you can just take the scene from the top.

And you’re so stubborn.

You’ve already seen how this goes on if you let it, and so you’re always right, end of story. There’s an ease to your steps because of it, a nonchalance in every movement, and it makes Bucky’s blood boil to see it so plainly.

With all the good that you could do, you choose to do nothing instead; to stay out of the picture entirely and burn through your powers just because you can, wasting them all on things that don’t mean anything.

How many lives could you potentially save?

Instead, you consume disturbing amounts of caffeine and then continue to provide running commentary to the world around you based on things that, to him, never happen at all. "Do this", "don’t do that", "take the other one", or, his absolute favorite, "don’t make me fix that".

Why not? he wants to ask, say, demand. Why not fix all of it?

It takes a while for him to realize that all of your fire means you’re burning from both ends. In fact, it takes Becca.

"You should bring her by sometime," she tells him on a rainy afternoon. "While I’m still alive and kicking."

His little sister just turned ninety-eight. Her kitchen sideboard is filled with black-and-white pictures reminding him of all the things in her life that he missed, arranged in perfect little wooden frames.

"And why would I do that?" Bucky asks, scowling at his cards.

"Because you keep mentioning her," Rebecca says dryly and whisks the cards onto her pile with quick fingers.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groans, noting down her points. "And I don’t."

"Do, too. I don’t remember you being this terrible at this game."

"Because I haven’t caught you when you’re cheating."

"Exactly. It’s embarrassing." She wins the next trick, too. "How’s Tuesday?"

"Am I clairvoyant now?"

"I was thinking lunch."

"No." Finally, he gets a couple of points down. When he glances up at his sister again, she’s looking at him expectantly and he sighs. "What?"

"You can’t fault me for being curious," she says. She has just as many opinions as she did when she was sixteen. Her eyes are still the same, too, the same shade of blue as his and the same glimmer of archness as their mother.

"Don’t you think it’s weird?" Bucky says, finally giving in. "The whole … time thing?"

"I think it’s very weird, but so’s you returning from the dead and kvetching about it." Her eyes narrow when he starts to protest. His mouth closes again. "Besides," she continues, shuffling her hand around, "it doesn’t sound all that fun."

"To have the power to never make mistakes?"

"To have to live through every mistake twice without anyone knowing."

Something about her words strikes him like a match, and so he tilts his head and squints at her and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s got it wrong.

That you carry not only your past, but all the futures you’ve seen that never came to be; all the what ifs having turned into answers.

And he thinks, how nice. And then he thinks, how horrifying.

It’s a thought that follows him over the next couple of weeks, and it starts reframing your interactions for him, in a way.

"Will you stop staring at me," you say without looking up from your book.

Honestly, he can’t. He’s still trying to pick up on it, the split second between before and after, that little change of your posture, your hair, your face, that tells him more time has passed for you than it has for him.

It’s more of a feeling than anything else, something right at the back of his mind telling him that something is different if he concentrates on it enough, but he’s never sure what it is. And he doesn’t like that; not one bit.

So Bucky crosses his arms and leans back. "Why?"

A flash of irritation makes your nose twitch, even though you still refuse to meet his eye.

"It’s rude, for one."

"Noted." He waits for the two that never comes. "Anything else?"

And there it is. A blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moment, like the air shifting around you ever so slightly, a certain knowing glint in your eyes when you roll them and get up.

"Annoying!"

He can’t help it. He wonders what your original answer was.

***

Bucky’s relationship with time changes slowly, the deepest cuts carefully mending themselves until looking back doesn’t feel like getting his bones ripped apart anymore, until he looks at you on a cold day in January and realizes he’s fucked.

At first, he hopes that it might be a fluke. A trick of the light, maybe, or seasonal allergies. That’s the reason why his eyes are drawn to your face as soon as he enters a room; the closest source of discomfort always the thing he seeks out first. That’s the reason why his chest constricts like that.

But the truth is, he knows this feeling has been building slowly; he’s just been unwilling to admit it.

Something soft and delicate has started to nestle in that gaping hole inside his chest, unbothered by the walls he’s so carefully built up.

He’d never planned on you.

Fuck, if he’d known in the beginning, he might’ve …

No, he thinks. He wouldn’t have changed anything.

Because you’re too good for him, anyway, and he knows it. Smart and strong and funny and gorgeous and capable of things he’s not sure he’ll ever fully comprehend; and it’s worse than that, because he knows you now.

You’re grouchy in the mornings and you make terrible jokes when you’re nervous and you have a strange feud with his cat and your smile makes him want to put his fist through the wall because what is he supposed to do with any of this?

He’s not made for this dance anymore. That part was taken from him so long ago, and he’s delusional to think that anything or anyone could return it to him after all the bridges he’d been made to cross and burn. Why would someone like him deserve to be given tenderness anymore in this life? Why would anyone want to try?

But that foolish thing blooming inside him feels a lot like hope, despite of what he keeps telling himself.

There’s just something about you that keeps pulling him in, and honestly, he’s tired of fighting it. Then again, the thought of you feeling the same is nothing short of ridiculous.

He’s not the same guy as he used to be. Hell, sometimes he’ll look at old photographs and barely recognize himself.

He remembers life before, and maybe that’s what makes this so hard. He remembers talking to pretty girls, their bright smiles, their soft skin underneath his hands. Good times were easy to come by, even though life was hard in a different way, then. But he was good at it; acting on his feelings alone used to be simple, fun, second-nature almost.

It’s different now.

It used to be different only once before, and look where that’s gotten him.

No, he can’t say anything. Not ever; or not yet, at any rate.

Sometimes, though, Bucky lies awake at night and listens to the rain knocking against his window, and he remembers how much easier falling asleep used to be when he had someone next to him and his mattress didn’t swallow him alive.

He’ll remember the dark circles under your eyes and wish it could be as easy as asking, too. He wonders if there’s a universe you remember where he tries, but he doubts it.

These days, he knows his mind again. And it’s not a burden he wants to share.

You have enough to carry on your own.

Maybe, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling at three in the morning, maybe there’s still a certain comfort in your powers, in knowing all the possibilities, but it also means constantly losing something that’s real; always mourning the life that isn’t.

He can relate to that.

And maybe that means you can relate to him, too, at least a little bit.

It’s odd, how comforting that last little thought is to him.

When he does eventually fall asleep, you make your way into his dreams, too, sometimes. Those times are the worst.

You’re you, and he’s him, and there’s a sort of "us" in the both of you that doesn’t exist in real life. So when you let him lace his fingers with yours and press your lips to his forehead and it feels easy, that’s usually the point when he wakes up, heart tumbling over itself, right hand tracing the ghost of your touch, always too much, never enough.

He knows it’s not real.

He knows it’s just an indulgence; selfish, really.

The problem is that whatever small hope has decided to settle in his very core is impossible to kill, no matter how much he pushes it down; and he’s not sure he wants to lose it again.

Secretly, silently, serendipitously, you make him have faith in the future again.

But it’s not time for it yet.

if you want to read more about these two (plus a lot of time related shenanigans), read the main series here. or check out the rest of my bucky fics, that's also an option 💚 i don't do tag lists but you can follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications

[transingthoseformers]

So!

I really really liked Transformers One!

The visuals were gorgeous, the characters were interesting, more under the cut

I especially liked the designs of the Quintessons, and the Quintesson ships. I liked how the ships themselves seemed like living organics up close, like some sort of massive arthropods.

I'll admit that initially learning Elita's VA had worried me, but I think Scarlett did manage to capture Elita's personality in a very interesting light— so much that I mayyyy have forgotten she was Elita's VA until the credits😅

there were so many recognizable characters in the background, but since I was. Well. In a theater and not in a place where I could pause and screenshot things I'm sure I missed quite a few Easter eggs

May I return to how much I loved the visuals??? Iacon felt alive and busy, and even though you can tell the surface was ravaged by the Quintessons it was full of so many interesting details. I fucking loved the shifting rocks and mountains

oughhh Airachnid was so cool, she gave me heavy xenomorph vibes.

I may or may not have quietly called D-16/Megatron Optimus's wife several times in the theater. I don't think my Grandma heard me as she was screwing around on her phone the majority of the time.

The transformations were pretty cool

Sentinel was the utter bastard I knew he'd be

They didn't kill the Quintessons or even directly go up against them, (which I was expecting them to go against them) which makes me think they might be saving that for a sequel or something.

LOVED THE END SEQUENCE OF D-16 FINALLY BECOMING MEGATRON AND ORION PAX BECOMING OPTIMUS PRIME, visually it was so cool

Alpha Trion's altmode was cool

I didn't expect it to have been Sentinel to scratch the first decepticon badge into Megatron's armor as a mocking gesture

Didn't expect the future decepticons to be called the High Guard, and to have their ties to the Thirteen Primes

again I loved how beautiful everything was, again and again

hehehe mild swearing in a PG movie

Probably more I can't think of right now!

Things I questioned / think could've been changed:

... I'll admit, as much as I love Megs, his character and progression from miner to leader of the decepticons felt a little out of character to me. I understand this is a new continuity with its own rules but I almost felt like Orion and D-16 should've been swapped. Idk, just an opinion. It felt very weird to hear D-16 go "mnnn but maybe we're better off as just miners, we're cogless :/", and I feel like his turn to seek violence was a bit fast.

I've seen the inclusion of Bee/B-127 as part of the original four questioned since the first trailer released, and while I liked him in the movie I do agree he might've should've been another character. Though, I'm inclined to suggest he maybe should've been Dion, and died somewhere at the end of the movie.

I'm a little disappointed we didn't get to see other possible Cybertronian cities like Tarn, Kaon, Vos, or Praxus. Idk if it'd've been realistic for them to include them, but still.

.Still not sure about Chris Hemsworth as Orion/Optimus.

Idk. I liked a lot of things about the movie, but there were a few things here and there, you know?

[storm-angel989]

AWWW I just read your Val & Vox with a little girl and its so so cute!! Can I maybe request a one shot of Vox as a girl's dad too? Like his daughter in life getting to hell in her late teens, and now Vox has to deal with the change in taking care of her because he only knew how to take care of her as a child before he died. Thank youu 💖💙

This request. Could have gone in SO MANY FUN WAYS! Let me know your feedback and thoughts! Enjoy- I can do a part two if you like it!!

I downed my tenth cup of coffee and adjusted myself in my chair. My head pounded and I hoped that just a few more drops of the life-giving liquid would keep the exhaustion at bay long enough to get this project done. I hit the call button on the intercom in my office.

“Charles! Another cup!” 

Ten seconds. Enough of a break. I turned my attention back to the document on my computer. 

My assistant brought in another cup right away. “Ms. Reader, don’t you think you’re getting carried away?” 

“I said coffee. Not lip. Order me a raspberry mocha from the shop down the street and have it here in exactly twenty minutes.” I responded as I continued to type. 

He bowed his head. “As you wish. Mr. Vox asked for an update. What should I tell him?”

I paused for a half a moment. “Tell my Dad it will be ready well before the deadline.” 

I looked back down and continued to type. It had been a month since I first found myself in hell. It took my father no time to locate me- though his reaction wasn’t what I expected. 

“Babygirl, you grew up.” He said as I sat across from him in his perfectly manicured office. A pained expression crossed his face. “Tell me, what did you do in your human life to land you in my office? And so young too…how old are you now? Eighteen?”

Sixteen. I thought to myself. An idea began to form. He didn’t remember my age- that could work to my advantage. After all, acting older than I was was a skill I acquired, and I was more than used to my own independence. I crossed my arms. “Eighteen. I’ve been running your company since I was thirteen.” That much, at least, was true. “What do you think got me here? Your business skills weren’t the only thing I inherited.” 

He sighed. “The same thing that brought me here. Fine.” 

He reached out to touch my face and I jerked away. He was a stranger to me, gone from my life when I was six. My mother tried to keep his company on Earth going, but she didn’t have the business skills I did. And when she passed the company fell to my hands with contingencies. Overnight I became the voice- the face of the company, running between me and the board. 

When I passed she was the first person I looked for. Not that I thought I’d find her- and I was right. She went up, and we went down. My dad and his company found me shortly after, and I wasn’t in the slightest surprised to find he was as much of a go getter down here as he was when he was alive, the sole owner of VoxTech. 

But as I sat in his office across from him, memories of him in life blossomed. Soft words. Snuggles. Hugs and kisses. All the comfort that was ripped away the day he left us, left me. 

“You’re going to need a place,” he continued. “A place to stay. A job. I can give you all those things. Keep you safe.”

My other option was the streets of hell. An unappealing choice at best. And so, I accepted the role he offered and the responsibilities that came with it. I was determined to show my father that I was a hardworking girlboss, worthy of his faith in me. 

“And send,” I said aloud as I finished the final drop of my mocha. My head felt fuzzy and my chest definitely buzzed but it was worth it. I opened my inbox. The time on the clock read ten- I had finished with several days to spare. Might as well keep going. 

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew I startled awake to the feeling of a hand on my wrist. 

“Hey, hey baby girl. Take a deep breath, it’s just me.” My dad said. 

I shifted and realized he had covered me with his jacket. I tried to sit up and realized I wasn’t in my office anymore. Instead, I laid on the couch in his.

Fuck. The project. Did I submit it?

“Wh-what time is it? I’m late, I still need…” I sat up.

Vox pushed me back down. “No. You need to lay down. You’re exhausted and your pulse is really high. The doctor is on his way up to look at you. When was the last time you went home to bed?” 

Three days ago. But I didn’t want to tell him that, so instead I remained silent. Vox let out a soft chuckle. 

“You haven’t changed all that much, have you?” He asked as he smoothed back my hair. “You used to do this when you were little too. Play so hard you fell asleep where you were. I used to pick you up and put you to bed, and you were so exhausted you didn’t wake up.”

“Is that how I got here?” I asked.Throbbing pain pulsed through my skull and I closed my eyes as I pressed my head into my hands. “Ugh, my head hurts.” 

“Yeah. Your assistant found you passed out on your desk around midnight. He called me right away.” He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm and hit a button. “When was the last time you drank water? Or ate anything?” Concern oozed from his voice. “I found like twenty empty coffee cups in your office.”

“I had coffee. I’m good. Lived on it back home. Live on it here.” I winced as the cuff grew tighter on my arm. “I’m fine, Dad.” 

“You’re not. And I want numbers while we wait for the doctor to get here. What were you thinking?” He placed the back of his hand on my head. “Com’on you’re smarter than that.” 

I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m not a child, Dad.”

“Maybe not anymore, but you’ll always be my baby,” he replied calmly. “So will you relax and let me be your dad for a moment?” 

I relented and let him fuss until the doctor came in. Vox stood with his arms crossed until I got the all clear. 

“Just cut down on the caffeine, plenary of fluids, and get a few days of rest, and you’ll be fine in no time,” the doctor said finally. He scribbled a few things on his notepad. “Quick question. How old are you, exactly? Because your father says eighteen, but my records show sixteen.” 

I saw Vox turn to look at me, a mix of fury and annoyance on his face. Shit. He grabbed the clipboard from the doctor and scanned the sheet. Realization flooded his face. 

“Rest and fluids, that I can do,” I said loudly as I pulled myself up to standing. “Dad, you don’t mind if I cut out a few minutes early, do you?”

Vox swallowed and looked at me. “You told me you were twenty.”

“Actually, I said eighteen.” I replied, “not that it matters.”

“Oh, it does matter.” He said, his voice laced with anger. “You lied to me.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been on my own running your company for three years. But anyway, I’m going home, Dad. See you tomorrow.” I went to walk out the door and he caught my wrist. 

“Oh fuck no. You think I’m going to let my teenage daughter waltz out of here after all this? No. You’re coming home with me. End of discussion. And consider yourself suspended from work for the time being. 

I felt myself freeze. “You can’t fire me, this is my job!” 

He laughed darkly. “Oh honey! You work for me. Consider it your punishment for lying to your Boss.” He stood up. “Let’s go. You’re not staying in that apartment by yourself. You’re sixteen.” He shook his head. “You’re sixteen.”

“Then where am I staying?” I asked, crossing my arms as unease flooded through me.

“Home. With me. Where you belong.” He said firmly as he pressed his hand to my shoulder. 

I felt myself deflate but again, seeing no other option, I let him guide me to the elevator. Three floors later, the elevator opened and I followed him into a spacious living room.

“I’ll have your things taken from your apartment and moved into the fourth bedroom,” he said as he gave me the tour. 

“I’ve been on my own for a month in hell, and even longer before then,” I protested. “I know how to live by myself.”

He stopped walking and turned his head. “Then I guess it’s about time you learned how to be a teenager then, hm?” 

Anger flooded through me. “That isn’t fair! Dad!”

Vox gave me a grin. “There. That’s a great start! But seriously, you’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me!”

He practically puffed himself up. “You’re sixteen and I’m your dad. Of course I can. And you are.” He pushed open the door “and this is your room. You can redecorate as you please.”

I stepped inside. “Wait, this is my room?”

Easily twice the size of my little apartment, the bed alone took up the center of the room. It’s current color scheme was neutral, with huge windows overlooking the city. 

“Yeah, like I said, order whatever you want and I’ll have Velvette…”

“Aunt Velvette?!” I asked, excitement washing over me. 

“You remember her?” He asked in a surprised voice. “Do you remember Valentino too?” He leaned against the doorframe and waited for my reaction. 

I turned around. “Uncle Val? The badass mafia mobster that used to come over and toss me in the pool when you guys got tired of doing it?”

“Hey, who told you he was a mobster?” Vox asked as I continued to look around the room.

“Mom.” 

He sighed. “Of course she did. Well, she wasn’t wrong. But yes. One and the same. We met up in hell and we-“

“Continue to rule together as much as you did in life. Got it,” I replied. “Did you not tell them I was here? In the building this whole time?”

Vox shrugged. “I was hoping to get to know you a bit more before I let them know you were here. But I wanted to give you some time to settle in first. After all, I thought you were an adult. Time…time passes differently down here.”

“Reader? Is that really you?” I heard an excited voice yell from the hallway.

My head turned. I knew that voice. Velvette pushed past Vox and she and Valentino practically ran over to me. 

“Aww, my little Princessa! All grown up I see!” My Uncle Val lifted me up and spun me around like I was five. He kissed me on the forehead and set me down. 

Shock flooded through my body as I looked at them both in their demon forms. Seeing my Dad with a TV shaped head was one thing- it made sense with what he did. Aunt Velvette still looked the same but Uncle Val? He looked…scarily different. Purple skin, sharp teeth. The only thing that stayed the same was his signature heart shaped glasses. 

“Valentino, chill. You spooked her.” Velvette scolded. “It’s been what, how many years?”

“Wait- where is Uncle Al?” I asked 

My father glitched. “We don’t talk about him. Not after what he did to me.” 

“What did he do?” I asked in confusion. 

“Ah, no. Princessa. Baby. You’ll get your daddy all worked up. We don’t want or need that,” Valentino scolded.

I crossed my arms and took a defensive stance. “I’m not five. And I’ve been an adult for a long, long time.” 

“Yeah, why don’t you tell us all about that? Over dinner.” Vox said, slinging his arm over my shoulder. “After all, it’s been a long time since we’ve had a family dinner.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

[satorusugurugurl]

The Vampiress and The Hunter

Summary: When you town suspects you of being a vampire, they send their local vampire hunter to deal with you. Not expecting them the be a longing between you both.

Pairing: VampireHunter!Fushiguro Toji x Vampire!AFABReader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: mentions of u a living, blood drinking, vampire, oral sex (f!rec) hand job, sex unprotected sex creampie.

A/N Kinktober Day Thirteen! Vampire Hunter! I loved this idea, so it sort of came alive! 💚💚💚

“Alright, Mr. Fushiguro.” Toji watched you closely as you typed in your computer, humming as you examined the chart on the screen. “Your blood looks good, along with your vitals.” You pushed yourself across the room towards him. “And you're not on any antibiotics or medication?”

“Nope.” He took in your ashen-colored cheeks, which not everyone would notice with the rouge you wore, but he knew how to look for these things since he hunted your kind for a living.

The mayor of your town had hired Toji to exterminate the vampire living among them—their tiny town in the rural woods. Several animals, like livestock and small pets, had been killed, and from the looks of it, it was done by some sort of wild animal. But people started talking about how strange it was that these attacks started right after the new doctor at the blood bank moved to town.

They deemed you as a vampire and hired Toji to kill you. He, of course, had to do his own investigation, and things weren't looking so good in your favor. You rarely went out during the day; if you did, you were bundled up in clothing and carried an umbrella. You also worked on the night shift at the Blood Bank. And the evidence was pointing at you from the blackout curtains at your house to the cold touch of your skin against him. You were undoubtedly a vampire, and he would have to kill you

Which was a shame because you were fucking beautiful.

He was stunned at your elegance and beauty. You were so proper, kind, and polite. If only you weren't a murderous, bloodthirsty creature. He might have asked you out to dinner sometime.

“Alright, we’ll go ahead and start the process. When you're done donating blood, you must wait here for fifteen minutes so we can monitor you. Do you have any questions?”

“No, thanks, doc.”

Getting a close look at you was the last thing he needed to do before he jumped into action. And from your closed lips, smiles, and ashen skin, Toji knew you were what everyone in town assumed. A vampire, one that was soon to meet her untimely end. Which was always his least favorite part of this job.

But it needed to be done. Later that night, Toji snuck into your house with his duffle bag of wooden stakes, holy water, a crucifix, and garlic. But he pulled out one of the wooden stakes and approached your bedroom. A wave of nausea and unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

Something about this felt wrong. He didn't want to hurt you but had already been paid in full. Plus, all of the evidence suggested that you were a vampire, so why was he feeling so shitty about having to do this? Perhaps it was because he undoubtedly was attracted to you and not because since you had moved into town, you both had been flirting, and he thought maybe he could take you out.

Sadly, that was not in his cards of fate.

He cautiously made his way into your bedroom, and here, you soundly slept in your canopy bed. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room as he inched towards you, wooden stake in hand. It would be a quick job (that he hated) in and out. But an ass you stood above your stake raised above his head to stab into your chest; he did something he had never done in his entire career.

He hesitated; he didn't plunge the stake down; he just stared down at you as you peacefully slept in a red slick nightgown. He was watching as your chest rose and fell with each breath. How was it you were such a beast but so pretty?

He gritted his teeth, continuing to stare at you as a loud clap of thunder shook the windows of your house, pulling you out of a deep sleep. With a few blinks, your vision adjusted to find the man you had been pinning after standing above you with a wooden stake. You didn't scream or bed for mercy; you just lay there, hair sprawled out over silk sheets, and you frowned.

“You figured it out?”

“Yeah.” He whispered, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “The mayor told me you had been killing the animals, and we can't have that.”

You slowly say up on your elbows, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Animals? Do you mean the poor creatures that the bear attacked? The same bear that several old men killed today?” Toji blinked; muscles in his upper arms twitched at this new information. “I would never hurt another creature.” You gently reached out, touching his chest. “And you know that.” Yeah, Toji did know that; you were always so kind—seeing you as a killing machine was difficult.

“But you're still a vampire; if I let you go, how do I know you wouldn't hurt any humans?”

You gave him an almost exasperated sigh. “I work at the blood bank. If we aren’t able to send anyone’s donation to the hospital, I drink that. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I wanna live the best life I can given the circumstances.” Toji allowed himself to pull his arms back away from you. “So I may be guilty of doctoring documentation. But any blood that I take is good for a couple of months. I can stockpile up on it. I want a chance like everyone else.” The stake fell to the ground, rolling under your bed.

“You're serious?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

He sat on the edge of your bed, and you gladly welcomed him. His eyes showed no hostility, and you could sense he genuinely didn’t want to hurt you. So you brought your knees up to your chest, hugging them as you stared at the comforter on top of you.

“My family is a long infamous family of vampires. They don’t typically kill or hunt; they feed off their servants, leaving them drained and overworked.” You traced your fingers over the soft fabric covering your knees. “I came up with the idea of drinking from blood bags that wasn’t going to help anyone. My family didn’t like that idea, so I got kicked out. I moved here and decided to rebuild my life. One that I was proud of living.” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“Fuck, you are being serious.”

“I am.”

“How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you opened the drawer to your nightstand, revealing empty blood bags. “See, I swear to you, I’m telling the truth.” Toji eyed the empty bag skeptically before sighing in relief.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to kill you. I knew you were a good person, and something wasn’t adding up. This proves my point.” Tension began filling the air as Toni learned closer to you. “I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me for being so asinine?”

“For trying to kill me? Mistaking me for some monster you would see in the movies.” he winced, but you could sense the sincerity in his apology. He nodded his head. “I suppose I could forgive you.”

“Okay? How can I gain this trust?”

“You could confess that you like me yourself, and then you can kiss me.”

Never in one million years did Toji think this l moment would ever come to pass. A vampire Hunter is sitting in front of a vampiress. The Hunter was begging for forgiveness. But there was a first for everything, and you were worth it.

“I do like you, you’re strong and independent, and you don’t put up with shit. I've been wanting to ask you. And I was told to investigate. You nearly destroyed me.” His hand gently pressed against your knee. “Will you forgive me?”

You both sat there for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes. The tension in the room continued to swell, like a water balloon filled with too much water about to burst. You swallowed, placing your hand on top of his. He stared at your manicured fingers for a long moment before his navy eyes locked on yours.

“I forgive me, but you forgot something.”

“And what might that be, Doll?”

You inched closer towards him, your lips inches away from his. “You forgot to kiss me, Toji.” It was all out on the field now, you’re feeling, and his; the ball was in his court. He just stared for a long moment, watching us—the glimmering light from lit candles that were soon about to snuff out glimmered off your face.

It could have been your touch, the candles, or how you stared at him, but Toji couldn’t take it anymore. He learned to close the gap between them. Your eyes widened as Toji pressed his lips against your soft ones, causing your body to tense up for a split second before relaxing into his touch. Toji hummed as your icy fingers tightened in his hand as you kissed him back. Your lips moved against each other, sparks flying, causing his heart to pound in his chest.

Toji’s free hand reached up, cupping your cheek and gently grazing it with his thumb. While your skin was cold to the touch, it was also soft and delicate. Compared to the vampire hunter, you were soft and tiny in his hands. Toji turned his hand so his palm was flush against yours, your fingers interlocking as Toji nipped at your bottom lip, gently grazing his tongue over it.

You opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to meet his own as Toji deepened the kiss. Careful to avoid hitting your fangs as he made out with you. God, you tasted so fucking amazing, like cinnamon, so sweet and addicting. If your kisses tasted this addictive, Toji could only imagine how good you would taste elsewhere.

Your tongue teased his, gently rubbing it before you were fighting for dominance. You spread your legs, allowing him to rest against yours, and Toji laid your back against your canopy bed. The kiss was intense and full of passion, which Toji had never experienced before.

Before the two of you knew it, you were full-on making out and grinding like horny teenagers and not mortal enemies. Your hands moved, gripping the hair on the nape of his neck, while sounds of pleasure trickled from between your lips as Toji rocked gently against you. Your limbs were in a tangled mess, the bed creaked under your movements, and your desperation to be closer to each other.

Large calloused hands slid down the curves of your body, resting them against your hips; he held them down against the bed, rocking gently against your clothed pussy, drawing out a strangled whimper from your throat. Toji broke the kiss on your lips to trail those kisses down your neck. The sounds you made, fuck, they had him so hard in his jeans that it hurt. The whimpers, moans, and cries of his name slipping past your lips were amazing.

Toji looked at you, his hand gently hovering over the swells of your breasts, waiting for an okay for him to continue. With a simple nod of your head, Toji cupped and groped at your breasts, listening to the sweet cries that followed. He massaged them harder, watching your face and eyes slightly shut as you watched him biting your lip with every squeeze of his hand.

God, you were beautiful. Your cheeks were slightly flushed as you arched your back into his touch. Toji loved seeing the way you reacted to his every touch. It made him eager for more, which resulted in his fingers slowly inching under the hem of your shirt, shuddering at the silky, cool softness of your skin. The tips of those same fingers inched over your belly button, past the bottom of your ribs, before coming in contact with the lacy fabric of the nightgown.

“God, you're so beautiful,” Toji whispered as the lace tickled the back of his veiny hand while his thumbs brushed over the soft skin of your breasts. “I want to see every inch of you, Doll.”

You grinned, fangs glinting in the low lights as you held your arms over your head. “Go right ahead, " Toji said. Toji raised his eyebrows, a smirk curling at his scarred lip. The silky face fabric was suddenly tugged over your head and thrown to the ground.

“Holy fuck,” his mouth was suddenly dry, and Toji tried to swallow in an attempt to ease the dryness, “Doll, I take back what I said a few minutes ago.” Toji ran his fingers over your skin, watching as your nipples hardened under his gentle touch, “You're fucking gorgeous.”

Leaning over the swells of your breasts, Toji licked at your perky nipples. “Oh fuck,” You whispered breathlessly as Toji reached around you, pulling your breasts closer into his mouth. “Toji,” hearing his name said so sweetly, had Toni sealing his lips around one of your nipples, moaning around it while twisting the other between his thumb and forefinger. Your moans and the squirming underneath him made his dick swell harder inside the confines of his jeans. “That feels so good, Toji.” You whispered, gripping his shoulder, “So fucking good.”

Toji glanced up at you humming gently; if you thought this felt good, you wouldn't be prepared for his tongue in your clit. Something he needed to taste might now. He popped off your swollen nipple before he began trailing sloppy open, mouthed kisses further down your stomach. You were a shaking and writhing mess, sitting up slightly, giving him your full undivided attention.

“Holy shit,” his fingers grazed over your slick folds causing you to curse as your hands dug into the sheets underneath your body, “you're so wet.” Toji dipped his finger into your opening, causing you to shudder, “It feels so good.” Toji gently started pumping his finger, curling it slightly, “So wet and tight and fuck— it’s nice and warm too.” All You could do was let out a moan.

“Toji,” You whispered, reaching down and running, “Toji, I want to make you feel good too.” he wasn’t going to say no. He sat back, allowing you to rub the front of his jeans, “Can I make you feel as good as you're making me?” And just like you earlier, Toji nodded, leaning back a little to allow you access to his jeans. You winked at him before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, giving you enough room to slide your tiny, delicate hand inside his jeans. You licked at your bottom lip while rubbing the front of the boxers, “You’re already so hard for me, Toji. Do you like touching me, a vampire? You like making me moan your name?” Toji sucked in a breath nodding his head as you slid your hand into the boxers, “Good,” You cooed, grabbing his cock by the base before lazily stroking him, “Because I want to hear you moan my name.”

You were going to be the death of Toji, You wanted to hear him moan your name, and fuck Toji moaned it for sure. You stroked him in slow hard strokes, gently squeezing him in your hand while Toji continued to pump his finger inside of your pussy. You pulled away only to remove the remaining articles of your clothing before getting back to touching each other. Your hand had settled on a steady pace, stroking him up and down, while Toji Inserted his middle and ring finger inside of yours, curling them and brushing over the sponge spot of your g-spot.

“Toji, I need you,” You whimpered, grabbing his wrist and stopping him from continuing to finger you, “Please, I need you inside of me.”

“Okay, Doll, I’ll take good care of you.”

Hearing him say that was like an aphrodisiac to you. God, you yearned for this man to touch you. So when Toji rolled on top of you, you whined in excitement. His hands gently rub up the outside of your legs to the curves of your body. The whole time his hands moved, Toji watched as you. You looked so pretty, closing your eyes slowly, moaning gently under his touch.

Toji leaned down, catching your lips against his own, kissing you roughly as he grabbed. You shuddered as the tip of his cock pushed inside of you. God, you were so soft, and the way you cried out, eyes going wide, made it so incredibly hard for him not to push further inside of you. Toji wanted to savor this moment and snapshot it into his memories. The moment he had thrown all his training out the window for the vampiress who was trying to live her best life. Toji wanted to remember this forever.

The way you looked spread out in front of him, and your mouth opened up as Toji slowly began entering you. Toji needed to remember the way you smelled like cherry blossoms and cinnamon. Toji would always look back on this moment, so of course, you wanted to remember every detail of you; that's how special you were to him.

“Toji,” You slowly began rocking your hips against him, eager for more, “Please, Toji need you, I need you to fuck me.” You begged to rock a bit harder, your hands reaching up to grip his broad, muscular shoulders, “Toji, I need you.”

“Anything for you, Doll.” Toji pushed himself further inside of your tightening and pulsing walls. The stretch had him grunting as he dropped his head down slightly. “Fuck.” You felt a certain swell of pride rise in your chest at the sounds. He was making. “Nngh fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me like that.”

You let out a shuddering laugh, “You’re one to talk; you just mhmm,” You rolled your hips, sparks flying between the two of us as we let out sharp cries at the electric pleasure, “You feel like heaven.” Laughing gently, Toj pressed his forehead against yours, kissing yours softly as he thrust in and out of you.

“Oh babe, by the time I'm done with you, you’ll be in orgasm heaven for sure.”

“Take me there.” You whispered against his slightly swollen lips, your legs wrapping around his waist.

And since you asked him so nicely to take you there, that's what his goal was. Toji wanted this to be the best sexual experience of your life. He wanted to make you feel good, for it to be perfect. So he began thrusting, rolling, and rocking his hips in and out of you, making soft, nearly silent moans chime out from both of our mouths. Your legs tightened around him, pulling him closer as you dug into his shoulders.

This hunter wasn't moving fast enough. Toji was going at a slow and steady pace, wanting to draw this out as long as he could, even though he knew that this wouldn't be a one-time thing. Both of you knew after this, there would be no going back because you could feel it in your souls. You were meant to be with each other.

That’s what this was; it wasn’t just pointless sex to get off. to fuck out the frustration. No, this was real. It was about connecting with someone who had suffered as much as he had. He could imagine himself getting close to you, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do in so many years. Both of you had been afraid to get close to anyone. It wasn't very often you came across someone who could accept a vampire, and Toji hardly found people who saw him as more than a hunter. But he saw the human and you. And you saw the human in him. And both of you wanted to explore more of each other, and that is what fueled your desire.

Moans and whimpers, along with the sound of the creaking bed, mixed in with the moans of our names coming out of your mouths. You pulled his head down to the crook of your neck as you began rocking your hips in time with his thrusts. Everything was becoming less planned out, full of calculated rhythm, and turned into more of an erratic and intense pace as the both of us grew closer to our orgasms. Every sound that was coming out of your mouth clued him that you were getting closer with every each snap of his hips. Toji grunted and growled against your neck, drawing closer to that sweet release.

“I-I’m cumming, of fuck Toji I-I’m cumming!” You dug your sharp nails deeper into his skin, so deep that it broke the skin as you raked them down his toned muscular back. You came hard walls fluttering and pulsating around him and came, “Toji!!” You screamed as the vampire Hunter above you kept thrusting, his thumb reaching down and rubbing your clit to draw your orgasm out.

As you clamped down on him, Toji followed right behind you, jerking his hips forward. Toji came inside of your pussy,. Grunting and grabbing a handful of your hair, he continued thrusting and milking himself inside of your wet heat until he was utterly spent, collapsing on top of you, panting roughly.

As you lay there trying to regain your breath, you sighed, running your hands up and down his scratched-up back, “That was amazing; it’s as if we had a connection.” Toji breathed out against your skin before pulling away slightly to look down at you.

“And there’s definitely a connection.” You nodded in agreement, leaning up to press your lips against his for what seemed like the thousandth time, “kinda like apples and cinnamon.” Toji lay down next to you, pulling you against his body and wrapping his arm around your waist.

“We just had the most amazing sex ever, and you're going to compare our attraction to fruit and spices?” You found yourself in a fit giggles shaking your head back-and-forth, “you are something else Toji.”

“What can I say?” You looked up at him through your half-lidded eyes as Toji looked down at you. You truly are as sweet as pie. Hell, you might even be sweeter. But you can't deny the connection between us.”

“You’re right; I cannot deny it.”

After that night, everything between the two of you was perfect. You were as close as two people could be. It was funny how you had started as mortal enemies. Toji had been sent to kill you, but you weren’t what he expected. You so much more, and he would spend the rest of his days protecting you from any other person that would try to do you harm. Because that undeniable connection and chemistry between you grew stronger and stronger every day with every waking moment. One that you both were treasured until the end of time.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

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@candy-s72

[ilguna]

☼ between life and death pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you’re supposed to be dead. you remember taking your last breath in that arena, but now you’re back, as if it never happened. and there's only one person to blame for it.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, death mention, someone gets hurt, there's some illusion (she's not totally sane), idealization of the capitol.

wc; 5k

notes: you might find the pov changes weird but embrace it.

part one.

--

District Thirteen’s hospital is in complete chaos.

Finnick comes to a sudden stop two steps in, eyes widening as he watches the scene in front of him. The shouting of orders from across the room by doctors, nurses running back and forth with armfuls full of equipment to tend to the volunteers. The loud beeping from machines getting to know their patients.

His lips part, face twisting, a question forming on his tongue, but he’s not even sure what he’s thinking to ask. Maybe, where is she? Is she okay? Did they hurt her? Is she still the same? Did his interview work? Did everyone make it out alive? He closes his mouth, swallowing, eyes searching for a reason to move.

Right as he thinks to take a step forward, both he and Katniss are cut off by a gurney being guided by a nurse who’s determined to get to her destination. He gets a quick glimpse of an unconscious woman with her head so sharply shaved, there is no hair on her scalp. From what he could see, on the skin that isn’t covered by the gown, she’s covered in fresh bruises and healing scabs.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the hall, out of reach, does he realize who it is. It’s Johanna.

Finnick turns, as if he’s going to follow after her, because that’s what a good friend does, when a voice cuts through all the noise, clear as day. His heart jumps to his throat. He could be dead, six feet under, and her voice could bring him back to life.

“Finnick!” She shrieks, he whips around. He can feel the wave of tears coming before they've even reached his eyes. The tight pressure, the hot feeling in his face. The sight of her on the other side of the room sends him over the edge.

Annie’s here, her green eyes full of so much life—something he was afraid would be taken away from her in the Capitol. She hadn’t been back there in years, since she won and they shipped her away, uninterested due to her mental illness.

She comes running at home, only wearing a gown, but she doesn’t care, and neither does he. “Finnick!” She cries again. He’s instantly drawn to her like a magnet, he takes off away from the door to reach her sooner, arms open to embrace. As soon as she’s in arms reach, she jumps into him.

Finnick picks her up without an ounce of hesitation, a hand sliding into her dark, tangled hair. She’s alive, the thought is full of electricity. He leans too far forward, making him lose his balance, causing him to overcompensate. When he straightens, it sends him stumbling, back slamming into the wall. They slide down to the floor, where neither of them move, holding on to each other tight.

He was convinced he’d never see her again.

Katniss watches them jealously from the door she entered through with Finnick, feet firmly planted. It’s not that she’s specifically jealous of either partner, but the fact no one could ever doubt their love. Everyone knows how much they mean to each other. She’s still having to fight to get people to believe that’s how she feels with Peeta.

She presses her lips together, tearing her eyes away from the two on the floor to share a look with Haymitch. She manages to catch a glimpse of Gale through a doorway, he’s stripped down to his waist, skin glistening with sweat. A doctor stands over him with a pair of tweezers, removing something from under his shoulder blade.

“Gale!” Katniss is relieved, and she begins to go to him first, until a nurse pushes her back, and then shuts the door to his room. 

Katniss goes back to standing next to Haymitch, waiting. Her attention is directed to Boggs next, who led the mission. He comes to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway.”

“I heard you picked up someone extra?” Haymitch asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

Katniss’s eyebrows twitch. “There were no other tributes in the arena.” She says, and then backtracks a second later. “I guess Annie wasn’t there either…”

“They found a girl in the same hall as the victors. She was right next door to Peeta.” Boggs says, at the mention of Peeta’s name, butterflies swarm Katniss’s chest, reminding her that he’s here.

“Do you think she could be a victor?” Haymitch asks.

“Beetee and Plutarch are trying to figure it out right now.” Boggs shakes his head. “If she is, we don’t know the significance of her being there. She could be anymore.”

“What about Peeta?” Katniss asks. As curious as she is about the mystery girl, there’s only one person in this building she wants to see right now. She’s been waiting to see him for weeks.

“Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.” Boggs nods to the nearest hall. “The nurse won’t let you in until she’s done with her work, there’s a chair outside of the door.”

“Thanks.” Katniss murmurs, breaking off.

Haymitch does not, staying with Boggs. If Peeta’s going to be unconscious for a little while longer, he might as well help them figure out who this girl is. Boggs motions for Haymitch to follow a few doors down, where Plutarch is standing with a walkie talkie in his hand. It has to be the fastest form of communication here.

Plutarch looks up from the floor when he senses their presence. “Oh, Haymitch.” He’s relieved. “Maybe you have an idea.”

“Where is she?”

“We have her isolated.” Boggs motions to the nearest window covered by blinds. “Until we figure it out.”

“Take a look.” Plutarch encourages.

Haymitch steps forward, prying the window shade open wide enough to give him a look inside. His eyes land on a girl sitting on a bed—most definitely older than Katniss—who looks to be in as good condition as Annie, maybe a little worse. Her head is turned to the side, seemingly taking in the room, observing it. 

“How old is she supposed to be?”

At the sound of Haymitch’s voice, her head turns, eyes finding his through the shades. He’s able to get a good first look at her face before he lets go, disturbed by the intensity of the eye contact, and looks at Plutarch.

Boggs shakes his head. “No idea. We have no information on her.”

“We drew blood from her before she woke up.” Plutarch says, holding up the walkie. “Beetee’s cross-referencing it with residents from Four right now.”

“You think she’s from Four?” Haymitch raises his eyebrows, a little stunned by the assumption. “She doesn’t look like a Four resident.”

“Coin said to start there.” Plutarch shrugs, Haymitch thinks he catches an eye roll, but he’s not certain. “I would’ve gone for one of the outskirts districts, possibly Six or Eight, but she thinks that there might be some significance there.” 

“For who? Finnick? They already took Annie.”

Plutarch raises his hands defensively, telling Haymitch that it’s out of his hands. He only does what Coin wants. 

“Did you try asking Finnick?” Haymitch suggests. 

“No, not yet. We’re letting him reunite with Annie before we drag him into it.” Boggs says. “You don’t recognize her at all?”

“I knew a lot of the victors in recent years, she doesn’t look like any of them.”

The sound of static fills the air before Beetee’s voice comes through, not entirely clear. “I can’t get any information on her. The DNA system in Thirteen is telling me her blood is outdated and doesn’t match any records. It wants a better sample.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure this system is up-to-date?”

Plutarch’s face twists, raising the walkie to his mouth. “Coin said it is. What do you mean her blood is outdated?”

“It doesn’t give me anything else. I’m going to need a bigger sample if you want me to begin to check the other districts she could be a part of.” Beetee answers. “Was she drugged in the Capitol? That might be messing with it.”

Plutarch sighs. “Just the gas to make an easy transfer. Unless the Capitol doctors were doing something to her. Give me some time, I’ll send someone to you.”

“Echo.” Beetee responds, and then the line goes quiet.

Plutarch turns to look at the door belonging to the mystery girl. He rubs his jaw, thinking, before calling on the nearest doctor to join him to draw more blood. The doctor agrees, pulling the gloves off her hands, telling Plutarch there’s already vials in the room she can use in the cabinet.

Plutarch opens the door, motioning for her to go first, before he follows. The door shuts behind them, the doctor prepares to draw more blood, using a key on her lanyard to unlock the cabinet to grab a bigger vial this time. Plutarch sticks by the door, not wanting to get closer.

“I’m just going to draw blood.” The doctor tells the girl, but she pays no mind to her.

Her attention is on Plutarch, eyes boring into his, an intense staring contest. No one in the room speaks, as the tension begins to rise between the three of them. And then she speaks first.

“You’re a traitor to the Capitol.” Her voice is hoarse, scratchy.

Plutarch blinks in surprise, the doctor briefly looking up, before directing her attention back on the blood. He stares at her for a second, before deciding to take the opportunity to question her. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/n) (L/n).” She answers.

His expression doesn’t change, he doesn’t recognize the name. “What district are you from?”

“Two.”

Plutarch’s face twists, not expecting a Career district to be the answer. Her eyes narrow in displeasure. The doctor interrupts them to announce she has what she needs, allowing the two of them to escape the room. Once the door closes, he feels like he can take a breath.

“What would you like me to do with the blood?” The doctor asks.

“Will you please run it down to Beetee Latier in Special Defense?” Plutarch asks, but he’s not looking at her, his eyes are on Boggs.

“Right away.”

There’s an uneasy feeling in his stomach. With the way she called him a Capitol traitor, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. She knows something. Maybe she’s a loyalist in District Two? But that doesn’t explain what she was doing in the Capitol, then. And in that case, why wouldn’t they just set up Enobaria to be taken to Thirteen? 

Unless Snow knew Thirteen wouldn’t take the chance. 

Plutarch holds the walkie to his mouth. “I have a doctor running the sample down to Special Defense right now. I got some information in the meantime.” 

“I’m ready.” Beetee answers.

“Her name is (Y/n) (L/n). She said that she’s from District Two.”

Beetee doesn’t answer for a second. “A victor or a resident?”

“It could be either. I wasn’t in the room for long.”

“The Capitol system won’t let me check the resident history of District Two without the DNA sample.”

“What about victor history?” Plutarch asks.

There’s a couple moments of silence, where Haymitch shakes his head a little. It’s clear they’re grasping at straws. “There’s been no (Y/n) in the past ten years, that’s when she would’ve won, right?”

“Unless she’s older than she looks.” Boggs tells him. “Capitol modification?”

And right on cue, Beetee comes over the static. “No (Y/n) in Two.”

Plutarch’s face screws, stumped.

“Could she be lying?” Boggs asks.

“She looked angry when I made a face at her.” Plutarch murmurs. “We can’t check the Capitol database without her blood sample, either.”

“Plutarch.” Beetee’s voice comes over.

“One second.” Plutarch answers him.

“No, I can cross-reference her intake picture with the history of tributes in the Hunger Games.”

Immediately, Haymitch is skeptical, and even laughs a little bit. “What would that help with? The only tributes alive are victors or those who escaped the Quarter Quell arena.”

Plutarch, who knows too many Gamemaker projects for his own good, raises the walkie to his lips. “Go ahead.”

The static is gone.

Haymitch shakes his head, uninterested in the outcome of this search. It’s ridiculous. “I’m going to check on Katniss and Peeta.”

“Good luck.” Plutarch tells him.

Haymitch leaves, back down the hall to the front entrance of the hospital, before taking a right where Boggs had directed Katniss. A few moments of silence pass, as Beetee searches for their mystery girl in the hundreds of faces that have been submitted over seventy-five years. 

Beetee is back. “I found (Y/n) (L/n), Plutarch.”

“In the tribute database?”

“Yes.” Beetee pauses. “She was a District Two tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. She made it to the final five.”

“Which Games did you say?”

“Sixty-Fifth.”

—

“Remember.” A muffled voice tells you, possibly coming from the Capitol doctor in front of you. Or maybe not, there is no color to her, there is no accent. She’s dressed in a grey jumpsuit, a lab coat over top of it. She holds a device in her hand, illuminating her face in a questionable angle, causing bright, colorful prisms to cover her face. “Remember who you are.”

When she speaks, the shades of the rainbow break apart, first into shiny bubbles, which reflect the light too harshly. They transform into butterflies the higher they go, before popping, causing a rain of glitter.

She can’t be real.

I know who I am, you think. You’re (Y/n) (L/n). You are—were—a resident of District two. You were a tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. You’re supposed to be dead. Instead you’re here, in this white room. Which is eerily similar to the one you were in a couple hours ago. Except, that one was bare. This one has a cabinet, a bed, a tray of medical utensils…

You told them who you are, already. More importantly, you told Plutarch Heavensbee who you are. As instructed by the colorful doctors, the ones with the sickly shaded skin and the odd shapes on their faces. Those people had to be from the Capitol, right?

This one stares at you for a long moment, only furthering your idea that she isn’t real. She takes your silence, turning to leave the room. You watch as she becomes transparent with each step she takes, becoming completely invisible before her hand touches the doorknob.

You’re finally getting a hang of this.

You slide to get off the bed, wandering over to the metal tray a few feet away. You come into contact with the cool metal of the table, touching over the several options that are available, confirming they’re real. You decide on the knife, the scalpel. Once you have it in your hand, you return to the hospital bed, hiding the scalpel beneath your right thigh. 

Back home, they taught you to always be prepared in unfamiliar situations. Especially when you feel like you’re at a disadvantage. With what has been pumped into your system since you got here, you’re not at your best. You’re not safe.

It was different in the Capitol, they weren’t trying to hurt you there, only inform you. They were trying to help you before you got taken. They were telling you the truth of what happened in the arena. What was really going through Finnick’s head.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but it’s important.” Plutarch’s voice is muted through the wall, but not completely silent. You can make out the words. “We have an issue.”

“Does it involve me?” The other voice asks, sending shivers down your spine.

Finnick Odair.

What a bitter name on your mind.

“Well, yes. It involves you, Finnick.” Plutarch pauses. “It’s about your Hunger Games, do you remember anything from it?”

“Practically all of it.” Finnick says, he sounds almost the same from the arena, just more grown up now. “I’d like to see someone who doesn’t. Why?”

“Who was your district partner?”

“Amaryllis.” Finnick says.

The name hits you hard, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid watching the room suddenly spin. Amaryllis, the one who stabbed you. Finnick set you up, he knew she’d be able to overpower you. It was their plan to join at the end, all along. They had to get you out of the way first. 

He knew her younger sister, the thought forces its way through.

“I knew her younger sister.” Finnick says, as if he’s reading directly from your mind.

“Do you remember who killed her in your Games?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. It’s obvious that Plutarch is testing Finnick’s memory, seeing what he knows before he admits who’s in this room. You.

“Yes, it was a girl from District Two.” Finnick says slowly.

“What was her name?”

“She introduced herself as (Y/n).” Finnick says. “Why?”

“How old was she?”

“The same age as I was at the time. Why?” Finnick emphasizes.

“How did she die?”

There’s silence following the question, leading you to believe that it’s out of guilt, as if he’s going to admit it’s his fault. That he took on the One tributes because he knew Amaryllis would be more than happy to kill you. Neither of them planned on you barely making it out of that fight alive.

“Tell me why first.” Finnick then demands.

Plutarch sighs. “We believe we may have rescued her from the Tribute Center. Beetee’s research tells us she’s a tribute from your Games.”

“That can’t be possible, she bled to death.” Finnick shuts him down coldly. “She was stabbed by Amaryllis. She hid the wound from me. She died.”

“We—”

“I watched her die on a screen with the entirety of Panem during the three hour long recap.” Finnick cuts him off. “She died due to blood loss. She was my ally.”

Liar, you were never his ally. Just a stepping stone.

“Will you please calm down?” Plutarch asks. “We just want you to confirm that the girl in this room is her, that’s all.”

You think you can hear an annoyed sigh through the wall, then silence follows. Your eyes search the window, hungry to see if it’s actually him. A second later, the blinds rise up far enough to give you a whole look of his face.

Immediately, his tanned skin pales as if he’s seen a ghost, and you’re sure he has. Those familiar green eyes, his tanned skin. He’s grown into his face, that’s for sure. All those pictures the Capitol had been showing you are true. He looks exactly like he did in that interview, where he lied about Snow.

The blinds drop in the next second.

“How is that possible?” He demands, voice loud. “She died in the arena, I heard the canon. I saw her in the sky. I saw her during the recap. Mags told me she died because of the amount of blood she lost. How is she in there?” 

“We—”

“Is she some clone?” Finnick asks. “A mutt?”

Mutt. 

The room begins to spin violently, causing you to close your eyes again or else you’ll get sick from the intensity. Is that what he thinks of you? Just a mutt? You’re not even human to him anymore?

“The Capitol doesn’t have the technology to clone.” Plutarch clarifies. “Not yet, at least. They’ve been working on it. What they do is take samples of DNA and they splice it together with an existing mutt to give it the same qualities. Like the dogs in Katniss’s games.”

“Then how?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say they took her, revived her in the hovercraft, and kept her in a coma.”

“Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Will you—” Plutarch’s voice briefly gets quieter, causing you to strain to hear. “Can you get Beetee? He should know.” His voice comes back into focus. “She might have qualities they can use. If she’s smart, a good fighter, if she’s pretty. They can use her for a number of things. Even reintroduce her as a Capitol citizen.”

“That makes no sense.” Finnick’s voice is quiet. “Why?”

Silence, and then suddenly static. “Beetee, are you still there?”

“Yes, Plutarch. What can I do?”

“I’ve sent a doctor your way to bring you to the hospital, there’s a small lockdown to keep families out. You’ll need him to get inside.”

“Do you need me to bring anything to the hospital?”

“No, but can you do me a favor and bring up the file on (Y/n) in the Capitol database? Usually they have information there on why they have dead tributes.”

“She’s not the first one?” Finnick asks.

“One moment.” Beetee tells him.

“No, she’s not the first.” Plutarch tells him. “But usually they don’t survive for more than a couple of years. She’s been alive in their care for ten.”

“You knew they were doing this.” It’s not a question, it’s an accusation.

“I knew of their projects, I never actually got to see them personally.” Plutarch clarifies. “I had access to a lot of information, I made sure to read through almost all of it when I became the Head Gamemaker so I knew what to expect when the rebellion came into play.”

“Where would they keep her?”

“Probably in the basement, where the victors would be taken care of for the recuperation week. There’s many rooms down there, just hidden behind walls. There could be dozens of tributes.”

Static interrupts their conversation. “There’s no notes, they must’ve deleted them.”

“Does it say anything?”

“It says, ‘saved, 65th’.”

Neither of them speak, taking in this information, or the lack of it. 

An ear-bleeding scream fills the air, silencing the background noise of the hospital as everyone stops to listen. A voice shouts for Plutarch, so you assume he leaves to see what all the commotion is about. You don’t move from where you sit on the bed, but you do keep your eyes on the window. 

No one comes to see you for a long time, whatever happened outside of your room must’ve been a surprise. You don’t mind sitting here, though. The more time passes, the better grip you have on reality. There’s no abstract shapes with bright colors floating around the room, and the voices are becoming quieter as they realize that you’re not listening.

You’re beginning to feel normal, your thoughts becoming clearer.

Once the hospital staff gets their situation under control, you’re back to being their first priority to figure out. Plutarch is nowhere to be seen, or heard. Maybe he’s disinterested in why you’re here, satisfied with the half-answers he got with Beetee. Maybe he’s searching the Capitol database, himself.

Either way, the doctors treat you like it’s an interrogation, and they don’t believe any of the answers you give them as they go on. Their questions are repetitive and irritating, thankfully easy to answer. It’s the basic stuff that the Beetee guy figured out through his research.

Who you are, how old you are, where are you from, if you participated in the Hunger Games, how old you were at the time, who did you kill, who were your allies, did you get injured, did you die, how did you survive, where have you been, how has the Capitol treated you.

It’s harder to answer them as the questions get more specific. You don’t know how you survived, other than what you were told, of course. The Capitol saved you from the arena because they saw how unfair the alliance between Finnick and Amaryllis was. It wasn’t your fault it was planned behind your back. They said you deserved a second chance, because if it weren’t for them, you would’ve been the victor.

And where have you been? The Capitol, obviously, where else? Only, when they ask you where in the Capitol, you direct them to ask Plutarch. After all, he was the Head Gamemaker, he’s the one that was snooping in on Capitol projects. He said so himself that you were probably kept where all the victors wake up.

All you know is that you were gassed unfairly by the hospital’s troops. When you say this, they ignore you, brushing you off. Then they claim that they have someone who wants to see you, and they collectively leave the room at once. 

Your eyes narrow, watching the door.

It opens after a couple of minutes, revealing the boy who set you up. Finnick takes a step in the room, gently pushing the door shut until it clicks. You can feel every muscle in your body begin to stiffen, the scalpel beneath your thigh is burning a hole through your skin, lip starting to curl.

You grit your teeth, refusing to take your eyes off of him, even though you have a feeling you’re being watched through one of the windows. They’re messing with you, gauging your reaction on how to press your buttons. That’s why they sent Finnick in here, because they know what he did to you.

You move your hands to be on either side of your thighs, trying to seem casual. In actuality, this gives you an easier access to the scalpel when you go to stab Finnick. Who’s coming closer by the second, taking one step at a time, but not saying a single word. It makes it impossible to decide what to do next.

No, that’s wrong. You know what to do next. You were given instructions by the doctors in the Capitol. They said they could help you. All you have to do is kill him, or severely injure him for lying about Snow to Panem. If you do this, you can go home. You were told that you can see your family again if you go through with it.

Your heart pounds in your chest, hands gripping the metal bars of the bed frame, trying not to jump the gun. But as soon as he steps into arm’s length, you can’t sit still any longer. You launch off the hospital bed, hand swiping at the scalpel, slicing your hand in the process. A stinging sensation travels down your wrist, temporarily taking control of your mind.

It’s thrown away when you’re able to tackle Finnick to the ground, arm swinging to stab him in the throat. That will teach him not to tell lies. He’s just barely able to catch your wrist, arm trembling under your weight.

The doorknob to the room is being violently shaken, as the bystanders outside try to get the door open. There’s knocking at the window, several people shouting at you to stop what you’re doing. They don’t understand. They’ve all been manipulated by Finnick’s charm, if they knew the truth, they wouldn’t be trying to save him.

“You set me up!” You snarl, pressing down, wanting to finish the job.

Finnick stares back at you with an open mouth, like a fish out of water. The blood from your hand is being pulled by gravity, now. Little droplets on his grey jumpsuit, his tanned skin, his reddening face.

“You knew she was stronger than I was!” You snap. “That’s why you refused to kill her.”

“(Y/n).” He chokes out. “Wait.”

“You left me to die!” You shout, causing him to flinch. “And you almost got what you wanted, if it weren’t for the Capitol intervening. I bet it was a surprise seeing that your plan never worked.”

“You asked me to leave you there!” He argues, the room begins to spin, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want you to leave.”

The hospital room slowly starts to change, and the doubt of how real this situation is beginning to set in. The tile turns to grass, the walls become tall trees, and the ceiling is now a dark sky. It’s the middle of the night.

“That’s not true.” You tell him, “You’re a traitor. You knew I wouldn’t survive on that hill, and you left anyway.”

His jumpsuit is darkening in color, right around his stomach. Your face twists, trying to remember if you stabbed him or not. You couldn’t have, right? You’re still trying to get him in the throat.

“You told me to go.” Finnick insists. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to carry you to our base, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not what the doctors told me.”

“The doctors lied.” Finnick emphasizes. “I can prove it.”

“You’re full of shit.” 

“(Y/n), I promise. Just let me talk to them—”

The sky shatters, causing you to flinch, Finnick shoves you off of him. The white hospital room is coming back, the scalpel slides across the floor, leaving a smear of blood out of your reach. You try to sit up, but you’re slammed down by a hard boot to your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Get him out of here!” A man barks, referring to Finnick.

“Stop.” Finnick says, waving his hand. “Stop, she’s fine.”

He’s pulled to his feet by his armpits, being directed to the door by Plutarch, who glares in your direction.

“Take her out, we need to get her chained down.” He says.

“No.” Finnick objects. “No, she’s just confused. That’ll only make it worse.”

“She’s not confused.” Plutarch says back.

The man above you raises his gun in the air, the butt aimed at your face. The last thing you’re able to register is Finnick being dragged out of the room, begging them not to, before the gun comes down.

[sluttywoozi]

void | ljh x gn!reader

“are you really him? or are you something else?”

“does it matter?”

Rating: sfw | WC: ~1k | Pairing: ljh x gn!reader | Genre: angst

warnings: death, grief, dark thoughts

it’s been thirteen days since jihoon passed. thirteen days since he left for work and never came home. thirteen days since you died right along with him. 

you’re still alive, technically, unfortunately, but you don’t feel it. you don’t feel much of anything, except for the gaping, gnawing chasm in your chest. your love for jihoon lived there but it’s changed, turned into something dark and twisted and hopeless, something that eats you alive every day you wake up without him next to you. 

your memories are still pure, their light breaking through the storm clouds of your grief to help you get out of bed, help you take care of yourself, help you keep going when you feel like you’d rather the alternative. but they can’t fix everything. 

they can’t fix the fact that you’ll never get to see him again. 

they can’t fix the fact that you’ll never adapt to a life without him. 

they can’t fix the fact that you’ll never want anyone, trust anyone, love anyone but him. 

they can’t fix how empty the house feels and how big the bed is and how cold your hands are, and they definitely can’t fix your aching, hollowed out heart. 

.

winter is coming, the nights growing longer and colder as the days turn drearier. you go to work,  watch your friends enjoy their fall festivities, decline all invitations to hang out, and let every hour pass you by like time has no meaning. 

because, really, it doesn’t. 

not when the days are blurring together, when you spend them wandering the house in a dream-like state, searching for something, anything to make life worth living again. 

you don’t think you’ll find it, but jihoon wouldn’t want you to stop looking, and that’s the thought you hold onto even as you sink to your knees in the hallway out of sheer exhaustion. you can almost hear him now, hear him telling you to-

“get up, baby.”

you groan and get comfortable on the floor, your brain too addled with despair and fatigue to register the voice or who it belongs to, until you hear it again. 

“baby, it’s me. c’mon, i can’t let you sleep on the floor.”

you squeeze your eyes shut as they fill with tears, refusing to open them out of fear of what you’ll see, or maybe what you won’t see. you know what you hear but it’s just not possible, because jihoon died. 

he died and he’s never coming back and there’s no way in hell you’re hearing him right now. 

“okay, yes, i did die. but i found my way back to you, so can you please get up? for me?” 

maybe this is just a figment of your subconsciousness, part of your self-preservation instinct trying to keep you alive, and when you open your eyes, you’ll be alone. 

but maybe jihoon really did come back to you, and when you open your eyes, he’ll be here. 

you decide it’s worth the possible soul crushing disappointment and take a peek, squinting at the floor and letting your eyes drift until they land on a pair of socked feet and slides. you let your gaze travel up, up, up, taking in every solid-looking inch of him and marveling at his blurry edges. 

you feel the air freeze in your lungs and the tears freeze on your cheeks when he takes a step closer to you, reaching down to brush away the icy shards with gentle, chilly fingers. all you can do is stare at him when he takes your hands and starts pulling you up, taking stilted steps with him as he walks backwards towards the bedroom. 

your heart is pounding, the return of sensation almost painful, and you can’t stop your thoughts from racing around in your head, doubt and disbelief warring with shock and exultation. he holds your gaze the whole time, his expression open and sincere and so love-soaked, it could send you back to your knees. 

you don’t know how he’s here, or if he really even is, but you missed him too much to question it. 

“i missed you too, so fucking much. but i’m here now, and i’ll never leave you again, okay?”

nodding dazedly, you climb up on the bed when he does, letting him pull you into his arms and hold you against his chest. he feels so real, his muscles just as big under your cheek as they were before, but he’s colder now, freezing almost, and the air around him buzzes with energy, every point of connection electric. 

you can feel the sleep deprivation catching up to you once more and your body draws tight with fear as you realize you’ll have to give in eventually, have to close your eyes and hope you don’t wake up alone, hope that he’s not just a delusion brought on by heartache. 

“jihoon, if i go to sleep, will you go away?” 

“is that what you want?”

“no! never.” 

“then i won’t. you can rest, baby, i’m not going anywhere.”

with that, you burrow deeper into his arms and suppress a shiver, your eyes falling closed as he starts to pet your hair and hum. 

you’re asleep before he finishes his song.

.

you blink awake to darkness and a chill you can feel in your bones. 

before he died, waking up cold meant jihoon had gone off to the studio sometime in the night. 

now, it’s just the same way you went to sleep. what’s different is the swirling mass of black next to you, a void that ripples and reforms into a shape you recognize, one that looks like jihoon but feels just a bit off. 

it doesn’t help that as soon as the mass forms eyes, they open to stare at you. 

“are you really him? or are you something else?” you ask quietly, reluctantly. you regret it before you’ve even finished speaking.

“does it matter?” he responds, reaching big hands out to pull you into his chest in a move so familiar to you, you allow it without a second thought. 

you don’t take much time to think about his question, knowing that you’ll take jihoon however you can get him. 

“i guess not.”

AN: wrote the beginning of this a year ago for kinktober and decided it was too sad and didn't fit the vibe! it popped into my head so i wrote it out a bit more and decided to post bc i'm trying to teach myself that not everything i release has to be fully fleshed out and perfect (this might also be me trying to process that liam payne is no longer with us)